Colonel—now General—Frey in his admirable work on the subject, compares them to the feudal lords of the Middle Ages, since they administered the territory occupied as a fief, all the inhabitants being subjected to regular taxation, wisely calculated so as not to excite discontent, and their authority was undisputed. These two leaders could dispose of from two to three thousand Chinese, armed with rifles, part of which force they would certainly be willing to place at the service of De-Tam on the payment of a stipulated sum of money. In fact, this is what actually did happen. Ba-Ky and Luong-Tam-Ky submitted to French rule in 1895, but their territory has not been occupied by the troops, for two very good reasons: first, because the district is so poor that the expense entailed would hardly be justifiable, and also owing to the fact that the region is so unhealthy that Europeans cannot remain there any length of time without falling victims to fever and dysentery.
When we reached Nha-Nam, I received a hearty greeting from my comrades, some of whom, owing to my prolonged absence, were under the impression that I had also fallen a victim to the Cho-Trang fever, as they called it. It was comforting to find myself back in my former quarters, to fall once more into the jargon of the corps and take part in the daily routine of the garrison.
Two days later Lipthay left for Thaï-Nguyen with Lieutenant Deleuze. I saw this smart intelligence officer. He was a small, brown-faced, wiry man, whose most remarkable trait was the quiet, low toned voice in which he spoke to those under him. The men told wild tales concerning his wonderful knowledge of the language and customs of the natives, whereby, it was said, he had on several occasions been able to adopt a disguise, and accompany some of the native spies on their expeditions. Whether this was exact or not I should not like to declare, but it is certain that this officer possessed a wonderful knowledge of the vernacular, and was a topographical expert of no small merit.
I had hardly time to settle down in my old quarters again, for a week after my arrival my section was sent off to Bo-Ha to strengthen the garrison in that part, which at the time consisted of a company of native troops under the orders of Captain Perrin.
One night, shortly after our arrival there—it was the 16th January, 1892—the section was suddenly called out, orders being given for each man to take with him a flannel suit, rolled up in his waterproof blanket—which was slung across the chest—and provisions for two days. We soon learned that a long night's march lay before us; for a wire had been received from the Brigade, to the effect that a portion of Ba-Ky's band was marching on Cho-Trang with the intention of rushing that outpost, and our orders were to get there as soon as possible by the nearest way. A guide was supplied by the headman of Dao-Quan, who led us away by a track slanting off to the north-east of Bo-Ha, across a wild, uncultivated region, hitherto little explored, and generally considered impracticable.
We started off at eleven, and it was easy walking for the first mile or so, but once we had left behind us the cultivated district surrounding our fort, the path went from bad to worse. We passed for several miles over a plain covered with jungle, after which the track went into the hills, and, though we kept up the pace, it was terrible work as we went now up, now down, then splashing through the icy cold water of the little streams coursing down each valley. Though the night was fairly clear it was dark, and difficult to see ahead in the gullies and dips, and we had to trust to luck sometimes when putting our foot forward.
We reached Cho-Phang, a Muong village, at a quarter past three in the morning, and a pedometer which I carried registered 18½ miles. We had now gained the rocky chain of the Nui-Dong-Nai, and thence the path ran along at the foot of these heights. We rested a quarter of an hour, and then continued our hurried tramp till we reached the Deo-Mou-Phieu pass, concerning which I have already written when describing my first journey to Cho-Trang. We passed through the cleft, going due north, and reached our destination at a few minutes past seven.
This was the hardest march it has ever been my lot to undertake, and, as already stated, we covered close upon 32 miles in about eight hours. The garrison—they were tirailleurs, for the detachment of the Legion had left more than a month before—was on the alert when we arrived, but had seen no sign of brigands. We were all glad to get inside the fort and take a few hours' rest. During the morning a telegram was received, stating that the band had taken another direction, and that all danger was passed. Desiring, no doubt, that we should not pass the night in so unhealthy a region, Captain Perrin, who had come with us, started us on our way back at two in the afternoon. We went at a moderate speed, passing the night at Cho-Thuong, where there are some wonderful caves, the entrance to which is some 60 feet from the ground. In these some of us tried to sleep, but were driven away by a host of parasites. Access was gained to these caverns by means of long bamboo ladders. When their village, which is situated at the base of the rock, is attacked by bandits, the Muongs take refuge with their women and children in these caves, where, after hoisting up the ladders, they are absolutely secure from attack. Strange to say, they succeed in getting their cattle into these shelters in time of danger, but whether they do so by the aid of ropes, or through some lower entrance known only to themselves, I was unable to ascertain.
We reached Bo-Ha at three in the afternoon on the following day.
During the next few weeks our detachment was kept very busy preparing things for the troops, which were soon to be concentrated at this point; and we spent a considerable part of our time working at the road from the landing-stage on the Song-Thuong up to the fort. This had to be widened and levelled so as to allow of the passage of field artillery.