In the river are moored the coasting steamers that carry the rice of Siam to Singapore or Hong-kong, that transport lean cattle to the Malay States and Archipelago, and bring back goods of European or Asiatic manufacture, as well as thousands of Chinese coolies for the labour market. There are great Norwegian sailing vessels taking in teak, and tank steamers discharging kerosine oil.
Chinese junks and "lighters" pass slowly by with heavy, yellow, mat-like sails, bearing cargo to the island in the gulf, where it will be transferred to the larger steamers. On the prow of every junk is painted a big wide-open eye, whose powerful optical properties are supposed to aid the vessel in steering a safe and speedy course. Says the Chinese maritime philosopher, "No have got eye; how can see?" There are no Siamese junks or steamers, for the trade of the country is in the hand of foreigners, who, for commercial purposes, use either the steamers that owe their design and construction to modern invention, or else the huge unwieldy junks that the conservative Chinese crews would be exceedingly loth to relinquish.
The teak that is exported, is sent down to the capital from the northern forests in the Shan uplands around Chiengmai, bound together in cumbersome rafts. After passing through the perilous rapids of the Meping, they are stopped at the Customs station at Raheng, and duties are there levied upon them. They are then allowed to drift with the current and are steered with a number of perforated, rudder-like oars fastened at both ends of the raft. In the centre there is always a little temporary hut rudely fashioned out of a few branches and leaves. Some member of the crew will generally be found taking a comfortable nap therein.
CHINESE TRADING JUNK.
Fiery little steam-launches tear across the river, whistling, shrieking, rushing like so many water fiends, half swamping or upsetting many of the smaller boats in their swell. Tiny mites of children paddle freely and easily along in tiny cockle-shell canoes, without any signs of fear or hesitation. They easily avoid the big "fire-boat," and guide their craft into the swell in order that they may enjoy the fun of riding upon the miniature waves. The most common form of boat to be seen on the river is the native gondola, or "rua-chang". It is used for purposes of business or pleasure, but it is rapidly losing its popularity as a ferry boat owing to the introduction of the more rapid little steam-launches. Both sexes are employed as gondoliers. They stand to their work with one foot upon the edge of the boat. Their oars are fastened loosely to a small piece of wood near one end, and the boat is propelled with long graceful sweeps of the oar, by a method that no European has ever yet been able to acquire. They turn about with amazing rapidity, or preserve a straight course from point to point, with but little apparent effort on the part of the boatman, and with no seeming variation in the movement of the oar. As a matter of fact, the whole work of steering or of turning is done by a peculiar twist given to the oar at the end of the stroke, but so deftly is the motion made that in the smaller boats it is practically invisible. The ease and gracefulness with which the Siamese gondolas skim across the waters, is in pleasing contrast to the ugly jerky motion of the boats that serve the same purpose in the rivers and harbours of China, and represents a degree of skill on the part of the oarsmen, probably unattained by any other boatmen in the world. Long "dug-outs", mere hollowed-out trunks of trees, sunk to the water's edge with a heavy freight of rice, fruit or vegetables, are paddled along by two men, one at each end. They squat on their haunches on flat projecting ends whose superficial area is about eighteen square inches. In the early morning, the priests paddle themselves from house to house in long narrow canoes, with their alms-bowls deposited on the floor in front of them, for when they put on the yellow robe, they do not put off their aquatic attainments.
Moored in every available inch of space are the house-boats in which thousands of the inhabitants spend the whole of their lives. They are born in the boat, are reared aboard, and are only taken permanently ashore when life is ended. Generally speaking, these house-boats are wide in the beam, and possess a deck whose planks are removable in order that cargo, clothes, and provisions may be stored underneath. In the centre is the house, consisting of the deck for a floor, and an elliptical plaited rattan shell for walls and roof. A small sliding framework of light wood or matting projects from one end of the house to the stern end of the boat, and bears a number of removable curtain-like frames around the sides, so that the steersman is well protected from wind and rain. In these boats a whole family may be gathered together, from grandfather to grandchild. There is but little room for exercise, and they sleep close together, side by side, like sardines in a box, yet they always seem happy and contented. Every home contains a small altar to Buddha, with a seated image of the saint himself placed thereon. This they delight to decorate with flowers and bundles of incense sticks placed in blue and white china vases. The poorest always manage to spare a few coppers on festive occasions to re-decorate and adorn their domestic idol. If there are any Chinese on board, their presence is indicated by a number of red prayer-papers bearing mystic symbols in black and gold, stuck here and there upon the roof and walls of the cabin.
Rice is brought from many places inland, in a boat of very similar appearance and construction, but in this case, there is practically no room for anyone but the crew, as the central house-like portion is filled to the roof with the valuable grain. Round the edge of the boat, through its entire length on both sides, runs a projecting ledge about a foot wide, along which the men walk when they find it necessary to pole their way through shallow water. The external appearance of the boat is materially improved by varnishing it with a common native compound that gives to the wood a bright reddish-brown hue. All such vessels are made in the country from woods found in the native forests, for the people are as clever in building boats as they are in propelling them. A great part of the amphibious population is not resident in the capital. The people live in the country where they till the fields that lie on the banks of the rivers or canals, in those places where the jungle has been cleared. There they anchor their homes until the time of harvest, when they gather in the fruits of their labour and then proceed leisurely south. On arriving at Bangkok, they dispose of their cargo, take a short holiday, visit their friends, see the sights of the city, and finally return to their fields, gardens, orchards again, taking with them quantities of kerosine oil, cheap prints, matches, and many small articles of domestic use.
The water population is complete in itself, and is perfectly independent of its terrestrial neighbours in every way. It has not only its own houses and shops, its water omnibuses and hansoms, but even its floating restaurants and pedlars. The restaurant is contained in a fairly small canoe, but it is surprising what a quantity of cooking apparatus and what a varied assortment of food the chef manages to carry. He passes from house to house, from boat to boat, boiling and cooking as he goes, and easily disposes of his curries and boiled rice.