Following the stream of the Yingan till it joined the Yembine, we continued down the valley of the latter, accompanied by the mournful wailing of the gibbons in the forest, the plain gradually opening out to more than a mile in width, but contracting at times to a quarter of a mile, as spurs jutted in from either side. After travelling for three hours and a half, we halted for breakfast at the Karen village of Nga-peur-dau, which is beautifully situated on the hillside to the south of the valley.
The hills opposite the village were bold, and in some places precipitous, appearing as though they had been punched up from below, and were most likely mural limestone. Clay-slate, limestone, and sandstone are the chief rocks in this part of the country. Silver, copper, lead, and iron pyrites are found in Bo Toung, a hill some miles to the north of Nga-peur-dau, and felspar and porphyry are met with along the Salween some distance above Yembine.
We were now within eight miles of the village of Yembine, which is situated at the junction of the Yembine with the Salween. After walking about a mile and a half farther along the hillside, it became evident that a railway could be carried from Yembine to Teh-dau-Sakan with the greatest ease, meeting no difficulties in its path. I had previously ascertained, by visiting Yembine, that the Salween could be crossed in the defile to the south of it by a bridge of four or five hundred feet span; and, from my former experience in the country, I was aware that a line could be carried from the Rangoon and Mandalay Railway to this crossing through one continuous plain. It remained to be seen whether such a line could be continued along the course we were taking to South-western China, or whether the better course lay eastwards from Maulmain to Raheng, and thence northwards to the same goal.
We learnt from the Karen villagers that the Karens in the hamlets scattered through this region, and those to the north and the east, are still heathens, and I was glad to find that the missionaries are now on their scent. Most of the Karens elsewhere in Lower Burmah have become Christians, and the American Presbyterian and Baptist missionaries, who have so well worked the field, are turning their attention to Upper Burmah, Karenni, the Shan States, and Siam. I was amused by reading in a missionary report some months ago the complaint of a missionary that all the Karens in his district had embraced Christianity, and he had not another one to convert. He was a pastor, but no longer a missionary.
The Karens, Shans, Kakhyens, and other hill tribes, who are spirit-worshippers and not Buddhists, are the stocks from which converts are produced in Burmah and Siam. If you wish to have Burmese Christians, it is necessary to train them in mission schools from childhood. A Burmese adult behaves like a goat in the sheep-fold. He skips in and out as it suits him. Too often he merely enters to see what he can get from the shepherd. It is said to cost more to convert a Burman than it does to convert a Jew. A Roman Catholic missionary told me some years ago that he very much doubted whether his mission had ever made a real convert out of an adult Burman. As the sapling is bent, so the tree grows.
Having finished the inspection, we returned to camp, where I regaled myself with my long-wished-for smoke. The boys, when scolded for their delinquencies, pretended to look chapfallen; but I am afraid I had a twinkle in my eyes when rebuking them, as I saw the three convulsed with laughter before they were many paces away. During our absence the other elephant-drivers had shot a deer, and on our return presented us with a leg. This was a delightful surprise, as we had been subsisting on fowls and tinned provisions for several days.
The next day was Sunday, so we had a delightful day’s halt. I sent some of the Karens off to the neighbouring villages to obtain sufficient fowls and rice for our journey to Maing Loongyee, where we could obtain a fresh supply. Veyloo and Jewan went off on a lark, but soon returned in a dismal plight to seek my aid. In attempting to get honey, one had been stung on the eyelid, the other on the neck. An application of Perry Davis’s pain-killer acted like magic, taking away the pain; and a little ointment sent them off again light-hearted—putting down their punishment, I hope, to their yesterday’s conduct.
On Monday we started a little before seven, and followed the Yembine and its branches to the crest of the pass over the range which divides the drainage of the Salween from that of the Thoungyeen. The pass—32 miles from Hlineboay—has its crest 612 feet above sea-level, or 446 feet above our camp at Teh-dau-Sakan. On our way we met a party of Shans proceeding to Maulmain. A descent of about 50 feet from the crest brought us to the plateau, interspersed with detached hills, which is separated from the narrow plain through which the Thoungyeen runs, by a row of cliff-faced masses of limestone 1000 and 2000 feet in height, between which the drainage of the country flows to the river.
Close to the northern foot of the pass we came to the Tee-tee-ko stream, flowing through a pretty and pleasantly wooded valley, along which we proceeded. Turning up a northern affluent, when the Tee-tee-ko turned to the east on its way to the river, we halted for the night under some noble Kanyin trees. These trees, from which a brown resin and superior wood-oil is procured, have stems, often 25 feet in circumference, rising straight as a dart 120 feet from the ground to the first branch. The dense foliage completely shuts out the rays of the sun, thus affording a splendid shade for a mid-day halt. You do not realise their enormous size until from a distance you notice how dwarfed people camping under them appear. An elephant by their side looks like a pig under an ordinary tree.
The next morning, at a distance of two miles from the pass, we crossed the Meh Pau, a stream 60 feet wide and 7 feet deep, which, flowing from our right, enters the Thoungyeen some distance below the Siamese guard-house and below our point of crossing. We then clambered up a circular knoll rising 700 feet above the plateau, and had a fine view of the Pau-kee-lay Toung—one of the precipitous limestone masses lying three-quarters of a mile to the east. Descending from the knoll, which is ascended by the track to save half a mile of extra distance, we breakfasted on the bank of the Koo Saik Choung, just above its rapid descent between two great limestone precipices to the river.