That evening I met the governor at home and, save for the presence of his wife, alone. His intelligent enquiries as to the truths and teachings of our religion showed that he had already thought much on the subject. Krū Nān Tā and he were not very distant relatives, and had had many conversations on the subject. His regard for our mission and his earnest desire for a mission station, as well as the protection he afterwards gave the Christians when they were wronged, had, I believe, a deeper foundation than an intellectual interest, or even a personal friendship for us.
Our next stage was Chieng Sên. There Nān Suwan, our ruling elder, and his family gave us a warm welcome. He met us at the city gate, hardly hoping there would be a missionary in the expedition, which, rumour told him, was coming. His house stood on the bank of the river, just where Dr. Vrooman and I landed thirteen years before, when the only occupants were wild beasts. The new settlers had been so busy providing housing and sustenance for themselves, that only one monastery building had been roofed, and only a portion of its images stored under shelter. Our old friend the governor had only a bamboo residence. Nān Suwan had made friends by the help of the quinine with which he had been supplied, and he had the best house in the city. It served, also, as a chapel, in which, with grateful hearts, we worshipped on Sunday.
The governor was even more insistent in his demand for a mission station than the governor of Chieng Rāi had been. He even offered to send down elephants to move us up, if we would come. His was not the deep religious nature of the Chieng Rāi governor. He possibly believed that in their sphere all religions were alike good. He urged, as he had done before, that we might even then forestall the monasteries and preoccupy the field. Nothing would have pleased me more, had it been possible, than to accept the cordial invitation. It was true, as the governor said, “The people must and will have some religion. If you do not give them Christianity, they must take Buddhism.” It was only necessity that could resist such a plea. But half a loaf is better than no bread. If we were not ready to start a regular station in Chieng Sên, we must somehow work the field as best we could. That consideration determined my long tours in the dry seasons of the years that followed.
Up to this time I had never been properly equipped and outfitted for such tours. One outcome of this trip was a great improvement in my means of transportation for the future. An application made long before this to the Board for an elephant, had been received as a huge joke. But now it happened that in the assignment of elephants for our upward trip, a large sadaw—a male without tusks—had fallen to me. He proved to be an exceptionally fine beast belonging to an estate about to be divided. He must be sold, and was held at a very cheap figure. With the help of a contribution by Mr. Hallett, and the hire paid for its use, I was able to purchase it. The deputy governor gave me a good howdah for it. I was as proud of my new acquisition as ever a boy was of a new toy. But since few elephants will travel well alone, I now needed a mate for him. Before long I was fortunate enough to get a cheap and equally good female. I was then prepared for my long tours. I could cross streams in safety, and be protected from rain, even if my journey were prolonged beyond the limits of the dry season.
On our return journey, in Mûang Payao, we came in contact with the worst epidemic of smallpox that I have ever seen. We met it at every turn in the street. With difficulty could we keep parents with children, all broken out with the disease, in their arms, from crowding round us in our sālā. We had hardly taken our seats on the rugs spread for us at the governor’s official reception of Mr. Hallett, when we discovered cases of smallpox all about us. Dr. Cushing was nervously afraid of it, and retired. I had to remain an hour as interpreter. Imagine our consternation on reaching the next station to find that the Doctor showed unmistakable signs of having contracted the dreadful disease, although he had been vaccinated in his youth. What a discovery to be made on a journey, and four days from home! On consultation it was thought best to hasten on to Chiengmai, a thing which our mode of travel made possible. Mr. and Mrs. Chalmers Martin had arrived during our absence, and had taken up their quarters in our house. It was, therefore, impossible to take our sick friend in. We did the next best thing, and gave him a new bamboo house on our hospital lot, where Dr. Peoples carefully watched over him till he made a rapid recovery, and was able to return home in a boat as far as Bangkok, and thence by sea via Singapore. It was a sad close, however, to our pleasant visit together, and to our otherwise interesting and profitable tour.
I returned from Chieng Sên, as we have seen, with an elephant of my own. On reaching home I found awaiting me the best pony I ever had. It was sent to me as a present from the governor of Mê Hawng Sawn, near the Salwin River. I had never been to Mê Hawng Sawn, and had but a very limited acquaintance with the governor. According to my uniform custom in those days, on his official visits to Chiengmai, I had twice called upon him as the governor of a neighbouring province. On both occasions we had conversation on the different merits of the two religions. On one of these visits he had brought down some ponies to sell, and on my asking the price of one he said, “I am very sorry that I have sold all my gentle ones. There is only one left. If you can use him, I shall be glad to give him to you.” It is a McGilvary trait not to be timid about horses, and I said, “I will try him.” So the pony was sent down to my house; but he proved rather too much for my horsemanship. The first time I mounted him, he threw me and sprained my wrist. It was the unanimous vote of the family that he be returned with thanks. The governor sent back word that he was very sorry; but never mind; when he reached home he would see to it that I had a good pony—a message which, I am sorry to say, I took as a good oriental compliment. I had even forgotten all about the matter, when, on my return from this trip, I found the pony in my stable. He was a most valuable and timely present.
But we are not quite done with Mr. Hallett’s survey. He made a short excursion without an interpreter to the hot Springs. But his final trip was to be to Mûang Fāng, six days to the north and west of the route previously taken, and distant some eighty-three miles from Chiengmai. His object was to see if there were not an easier route to Chieng Rāi down the valleys of the Mê Fang and the Mê Kok. The trip strongly appealed both to Mr. Martin and to me, and we gladly accepted Mr. Hallett’s invitation to accompany him.
Mûang Fāng was an ancient city captured and destroyed by the Burmese in 1717; so that it lay in ruins nearly two hundred years before it was re-peopled. Besides Mûang Fāng, we visited, either in going or returning, four other cities—Chieng Dāo, Mûang Ngāi, Mûang Pāo, and Mûang Kên. Not far to the south of Mûang Fāng we visited the cave of Top Tao, noted in the Buddhist legends of Northern Siam. Mr. Hallett thus describes our experiences there:
“Inside was a lofty cavern lighted by a natural skylight. On a raised platform in the cave was a great reclining image of Buddha some thirty feet long, and around it a number of figures representing his disciples. Numerous small wooden and stone images of Buddha had been placed by pious pilgrims about the platforms. Pillows, mattresses, robes, yellow drapery, flags, water-bottles, rice-bowls, fans, dolls, images of temples, doll’s houses for the spirits, and all sorts of trumpery, were lying together with fresh and faded flowers that had been offered to the images, and were strewn in front of them. A steep ladder led up to niches near the roof of the cave, in which images were enshrined.