Drawn by M. Clerget, from a Photograph.
PORTICO OF THE AUDIENCE HALL AT BANGKOK.
VISIT TO KHUN PAKDY.
October 20.—Having reached Thama Triestard at night, we slept at the entrance of the village, and early this morning I stopped my boat before the house of Khun Pakdy, the kind chief who, two years ago, accompanied me to Phrabat. The worthy man was not a little surprised to see me, and could scarcely believe his eyes, for he had heard that I had died at Muang-Kabuic. We soon renewed our acquaintance, and I was pleased to find that his regard for me, especially when stimulated by a glass of cognac, had survived the lapse of time. Poor Khun Pakdy! if I were King of Siam—which Heaven forbid!—I would name you Prince of Phrabat, or rather resign my throne to you.
He gave immediate orders to prepare breakfast for me; then, on finding that I was going to Korat, he remembered that he had promised again to be my companion if I brought him a gun from Bangkok. “If it were only worth three ticals it would do,” said he; but seeing only the same percussion guns, “You have not brought me one,” he observed; “but never mind, I will go with you all the same.” It was only when I told him that I should make but a very short stay at Korat, and intended to proceed farther on into places where he would doubtless have to “tighten his belt,” and that I did not wish him to lose his comfortable mandarin’s embonpoint, that I succeeded in checking his enthusiastic devotion. But when he heard that we should be obliged to sleep among the woods by the light of the stars, he turned the conversation.
As soon as we had breakfasted I returned to my boat to escape his rather too demonstrative conversation, and the noisy eulogiums he continued to pour upon me.
From hence are visible the beautiful chain of hills which extend from Nephaburi, and which, I conjecture, join those of Birmanie and the Deng mountains, which do not appear more than fifteen miles off, and awaken a host of agreeable recollections. I feel sure the fine season has arrived; the air is pure, the sky serene, and the sun shines almost constantly.
SAOHAIE.
Saohaïe, October 22.—I have not yet reached Pakpriau, and already I have met with, and begun to suffer from, the annoyances inevitable in a country like this, inundated during a great part of the year, and in which the means of travelling are so difficult to obtain, particularly when one is burdened with an extra, though indispensable, quantity of luggage.