A Half Century Among the Siamese and the Lāo: An Autobiography

by Daniel McGilvary

One incident which occurred before the various rumours had been cleared up, though well-nigh tragic at the time, seemed afterward amusing enough. After the appalling treachery of the younger daughter of the Prince in regard to Nān Chai, while professing constantly such personal friendship for us, we naturally regarded her with profound distrust. What, then, was our surprise, when, one night in the darkest time of our troubles, a summons came for me to go at once to her palace with the officer who brought the message. I was by no means to wait till morning, and I could get no clue to the object of the summons. But it was almost a royal command. Whatever it might mean, nothing would be gained by refusal; so I promised at once to go. But a difficulty arose. My wife positively refused to let me go alone. If the worst were to come, she would be there to see it.

So the children were left in bed, and off we walked three-fourths of a mile in the dark to the palace. We found it brilliantly lighted up. Was it for the final act? But our fears were soon allayed. The Princess received us as she always had done—probably a little surprised to see Mrs. McGilvary with me. A foreign rug was spread for us, and soon was produced a formidable package of documents in English, which the Princess wanted us to translate! They were from the court in Maulmein, and had reference to the lawsuits. They had just arrived, and she could not wait till morning. We glanced over them, gave her the substance of them, and promised that if she would send her scribe down next day, we would translate them. She was relieved to find that there was nothing more formidable in them—and so were we. The whole interview did not last more than fifteen minutes; and when ready to return, we were escorted home by servants with lanterns.

For a time we had very few visitors even for medicine. But the monasteries were always open, and we were welcomed in nearly all the homes of the princes. I regularly called on the Prince. When he was in a pleasant mood, I had pleasant conversations with him. If I found him moody or busy, I paid my respects and retired. His elder daughter and her husband were always pleasant, and she was always interested to talk on the subject of religion.

Another friendship formed the year before was then a great comfort to us, though no one could really help us. A wealthy Chinese, who had charge of collecting nearly all the revenue of the government, had been shot in the city of Lampūn, eighteen miles away. A messenger with an elephant was sent, begging me to come at once. It seemed at first impossible for me to go, but finally I did so. The ball had entered below the knee while the man was lying down, had followed the bone, and had lodged in the soft part of the thigh. It was extracted, and I remained there till the patient was out of danger. The wife, a Siamo-Chinese, was a merchant, and acted as our banker for ten years. At this writing, the family has not yet forgotten the service rendered.

But our hourly thoughts were directed to Bangkok. What would be the outcome of our letters? We were continually asked what we were going to do. Our reply was that, of course, we intended to remain. There was no telegraph then, nor even a monthly mail. It was not till November 26th that the first news of what was doing in our behalf reached us. It was brought by messengers sent on in advance to notify the government that a Royal Commissioner had arrived in Lampūn, with two foreigners and a train of eighteen elephants and fifty-three attendants. They were to be in Chiengmai the next day. No intimation, however, was given as to what the object of the Commission was. But plainly it must be a matter of no slight importance.

Early on the morning of the 27th every one was on the alert. A body of men under the direction of an officer were scrubbing the old sālā next door to us, for the letter had asked that preparations be made for the party. A prince whispered in our ears to enquire whether we knew what the “Kā Lūang” was coming for. But we knew as little as he did. We were so hopeful, however, that we began to prepare for our guests, too. The whole place seemed in an attitude of expectancy. The sudden arrival of a Kā Lūang was not an everyday occurrence. And then the two foreigners—two “white kolās”!

In the afternoon the curiosity of every one was gratified by the arrival of the long train with the Commissioner at its head. The two “white kolās” were none other than our associates in the Siamese mission, the Rev. N. A. McDonald, and the Rev. S. C. George. Were ever guests more welcome! The story was soon told of the receipt of our letters in Bangkok, and of the negotiations which had resulted in their coming with a Royal Commissioner and with a “Golden Seal,” as the royal letter is called. We now knew definitely that the Commissioner had come on the business of the mission and the treatment of the Christians. But our brethren did not know the contents of the royal letter. No human sagacity could yet predict what turn affairs would take. Was the mission to be securely established, or were we to be escorted safely out of the country? The Commissioner immediately notified the Prince of his arrival with the “Golden Seal,” and awaited His Highness’ pleasure. The Prince’s curiosity and anxiety were guarantee that there would be no delay. Nine o’clock next morning was named as the hour for the audience. The Commissioner notified us to be ready. An officer was sent with a palanquin to escort the “Golden Seal” under the golden umbrella to the palace.

Mr. Wilson and I, of course, joined the procession. On reaching the grand reception hall at the palace, we encountered such an array of princely state as we had never before seen among the Lāo. Every prince, princess, and officer who could come was already there. I quote from Mr. McDonald’s official report to the Board, dated February 2d, 1870, an account of the audience. (Presbyterian Record, June, 1870.)

“The next morning after our arrival the Regent’s letter was conducted in state to the palace under the royal umbrella, and the golden tray containing it was placed on a stand near the middle of the hall. Very soon the king entered the hall apparently calm, but pale with suppressed rage. We arose and bowed to him, and then resumed our seats. The Siamese officers, however, remained prostrate before him, as did every other one in the hall. The king immediately broke the seal and handed the letter to the Siamese secretary to read. After the reading of the letter he looked up, evidently quite relieved, and remarked, ‘This letter does not amount to so much. It gives the missionaries privilege to remain if they wish, or to go if they prefer.’”

Mr. McDonald, then, as a member of the Commission, addressed the King, referring to the kindness with which the missionaries had been received by him on their arrival—which was in keeping with the favour shown them in Bangkok, and with the beneficent nature of their work—but regretting that late difficulties had made their stay unpleasant. Among other things he referred to the desertion of their servants. But neither he nor the royal letter made the slightest reference to the murder of the Christians. Mr. McDonald then proceeds: