From Chieng Sên we crossed the broad prairie-like plain westward to Bān Tam. The officer of the village was Sên Yā Wichai—mentioned in the early part of this narrative as the very first believer in Chiengmai. The journey was one of the worst for elephants that I ever made. Heavy rains had soaked the ground so that at every step it seemed almost impossible for them to pull their huge feet out of their tracks. The Sên lived only a quarter of a mile from a remarkable feature of the mountain ridge. The Mê Tam, the largest river in the plain, flows bodily out from under the mountain, much as does one of the sources of the Mê Ping at Chieng Dāo.
It was a great pleasure to spend a Sunday with our now venerable Christian and his family. It was a family of officers, his three sons all being either of the grade of Tāo or of Sên—which shows the esteem in which the family was held. But, unfortunately, their official position made it more difficult for the sons to follow the example of their father.
On Sunday night the rain came down in torrents, reminding us that it was better for us to be at home. We started homeward early the next morning. Our route skirted the beautiful mountain range, crossing brooks and the larger streams of the Mê Tam and the Mê Chan. Already the road had become almost impassable except for elephants and natives unencumbered with shoes or trousers.
We have already spoken of the great mortality incurred in the attempt to people these new Lāo states. Occasionally the straggling remnant of a family might be seen returning. One poor little boy awakened my deepest sympathy. All of his family had died except himself and his brother, a monk, who were trying to save themselves by flight back to their old home in the province of Chiengmai. After I passed them I began to wonder whether the pale, weary-faced, and exhausted travellers would ever reach the rest they sought. Then I began to think that here I was enacting again the old tale of the priest and the Levite who passed by on the other side. At last I could stand it no longer. I stopped and waited for them to come up. I offered the pitiful little skeleton of a boy a seat with me on the back of the elephant. At first he somewhat distrusted my motive, wondering what I wanted to do with him; but he was too weary to refuse. When he revived, he proved to be a veritable little chatterbox, and good company. I kept him nearly a week, till we entered the Chiengmai plain at Doi Saket. Only four years ago, eleven children out of five Christian families who had settled in Wieng Pā Pāo, died during the first year.
Returning through Chieng Rāi, we revisited the new families of Christians in that province. In the city the governor’s wife asked us to have worship in their new house, to which they reverently listened. When we ended she said, “Why, they pray for everybody!” Pū King, the executioner, was holding on with a death-grip to the hope of salvation for the chief of sinners. The case of the apostle himself, and of the penitent thief, greatly encouraged him. Nān Tā also was greatly rejoiced that his brother Sên Kat became a believer on this tour.
On my return I found Mr. Martin but little, if at all, improved, by his trip. He was so thoroughly discouraged that he felt that he could not face another hot season. He remained with us till the end of the rainy season, and then, with his family, left Siam for the United States. I never had felt so thoroughly crushed as I was at his departure. During three whole years we had lived in the same house, and worked together hand in hand in the evangelistic work, of which he was very fond.
Dr. Cheek already had severed his official connection with the mission, and had gone into business of his own. But he kindly gave his professional service to the missionaries, and was ready to perform pressing surgical operations for the natives who came to the hospital.
I have often wondered whether all foreign missions, have as many and as rapid alternations of sunshine and shadow, as the Lāo mission. Our medical work was once more at a standstill; and by the departure of Mr. Martin, the evangelistic work again was crippled. But at Hong Kong Mr. Martin met Rev. and Mrs. D. G. Collins, Dr. and Mrs. A. M. Cary, and Rev. W. C. Dodd, on their way out for the Lāo mission, with Rev. W. G. McClure for Lower Siam. Mrs. Cary had become so exhausted by continual sea-sickness during the whole voyage, that, on her arrival in Bangkok, many thought her unable to endure the long river trip of six or seven weeks. Mr. McClure offered to exchange fields with the Carys; but Mrs. Cary, with true pluck, said that she had been appointed to the Lāo mission, and to the Lāo she would go. But, alas! it was to be otherwise. She became worse soon after leaving Bangkok. On Sunday, January 16th, 1887, a mile above Rahêng, she became unconscious, and shortly after gently passed into her everlasting rest.
It was still a month’s journey to their destination. There was nothing to be done but to lay the body to rest in the grounds of a monastery. Who can portray that parting scene, or adequately sympathize with the bereaved husband and sister (Mrs. Collins), or with the other members of the party, as they performed the last sad offices, and then resumed their lonesome journey!