THE LAOTIANS.
The Laotians have not the curiosity of the Siamese, and ask me fewer questions. I find them more intelligent than either the latter race or the Cambodians, and among the villagers especially there is a curious mixture of cunning and simplicity. They do not as yet seem to me to merit their reputation for hospitality,—a virtue which appeared to be much more practised in Siam. I should never have obtained any means of conveyance without the letter from the Viceroy of Korat, and my experience has been that they are less respectful, but at the same time less importunate, than the Siamese.
The ground between Leuye and Kenne Thao is hilly, but traversed without difficulty. The formations are calcareous rocks, sandstone, slaty sandstone, and lime mixed with clay; the sandstone in long beds, not in blocks. In the streams I found stones, not boulders, but with sharp angles.
The Chinese and Indians alone traffic here; it requires a day’s journey to conclude the smallest bargain, and a whole village is assembled to make sure that the money is not spurious. On my route here I have not met a single Siamese, but in every village have seen Birmans, Kariens, and people from Western Laos. I have found men in Lao-Pouene moulded like athletes and of herculean strength, and thought that the King of Siam might raise in this province a fine regiment of grenadiers. In all the villages I have visited, the inhabitants, including even the priests, set to work to collect insects for me, glad to receive in return a few copper buttons, glass beads, or a little red cloth.
At Paklaïe, which I have already mentioned as a pretty town, I had the pleasure of again seeing the beautiful stream, which now seems to me like an old friend: I have so long drunk of its waters, it has so long either cradled me on its bosom or tried my patience, at one time flowing majestically among the mountains, at another muddy and yellow as the Arno at Florence.
ROAD FROM KENNE THAO TO PAKLAÏE.
The road between Kenne Thao and Paklaïe is dreadful. You have to force your way along a narrow path, through a thick jungle, and sometimes there is no path at all, or else it is obstructed by bamboos and branches which interlace and often catch hold of your saddle. Every moment you are in danger of being hurt by them; our hands and faces were covered with scratches, and my clothes torn to pieces.
Muang-Moune-Wa.—This place is surrounded by mountains. I am very feverish and tremble with cold, although the thermometer shows 80 degrees of heat. I am getting tired of these people, a race of children, heartless and unenergetic. I sigh and look everywhere for a man, and cannot find one; here all tremble at the stick, and the enervating climate makes them incredibly apathetic.
15th August, 1861.—Nam Kane. A splendid night; the moon shines with extraordinary brilliancy, silvering the surface of this lovely river, bordered by high mountains, looking like a grand and gloomy rampart. The chirp of the crickets alone breaks the stillness. In my little cottage all is calm and tranquil; the view from my window is charming, but I cannot appreciate or enjoy it. I am sad and anxious; I long for my native land, for a little life; to be always alone weighs on my spirits.
LOUANG PRABANG.