On halting for the night, we were so tired and weary that we at once fell upon sardines and cold rice, without waiting for dinner to be cooked, having had a very poor breakfast. When dinner was at length served, I was in bed, and my companions on their way there. The edge was off our appetites; sleep was dulling our senses,—so the boys enjoyed the dinner, while we enjoyed repose.
In the morning Mr Martin had a touch of the fever from which he had previously suffered. Dr M‘Gilvary had long been endeavouring to ward off recurring visits of the same enemy by taking quinine in teaspoonfuls. The Shan servants accompanying the missionaries, as well as my men, likewise had it at times, and I alone remained impregnable. I was very thankful for my immunity from it, as otherwise I could not have stood the constant strain upon my attention.
Leaving the camp, we crossed a spur to the Huay Pun, and proceeded for a mile up its course, rising 339 feet, to the crest of the pass over the range which links on the Pa-Yat Pa-Yai plateau to the eastern hills. This range of hills separates the waters flowing into the Meh Pam from those flowing into the Meh Ngat. The crest of the pass lies 51 miles from Zimmé, and 2277 feet above the sea.
Whilst sitting on a stone taking the height with the boiling-point thermometer, a snake, called Shin Byee in Burmah, wriggled from under it. The men said the bite of the snake was deadly, and that it possessed two heads, one where its tail should be. On using my magnifying-glass I proved to them that this was a delusion, though the shape and marks on the flat end to the tail gave some reason for the general belief. A number of emigrants passed us here on their way to Muang Fang; the women, like good housewives, were carrying their spinning-wheels on their backs.
We descended the pass to the Meh Ngat, and after breakfast continued up the valley of that stream for a mile and a half, when we crossed it near where some men and half-a-dozen women were fishing in the stream. These hurried away as fast as they could put foot to ground, and hid themselves in the forest. Our crossing was 48 miles from Zimmé, and 1676 feet above sea-level; and the river 30 feet broad and 4 feet deep, with 6 inches of water in its bed.
Leaving the stream, we marched over the low plateau round which the stream turns to enter the great plain of Muang Pow (Pau). On reaching the plain we had a magnificent view of Loi Chaum Haut and its eastern spurs, and could see the head of Loi Kiang Dow peeping over the hills I had sketched at Ban Meh Meh. To the east of the plain, which averages 12 miles in length and 8 miles in width, spur after spur was seen stretching in a south-easterly direction to the range in the background that divides the waters of the Meh Ping from those of the Meh Low. To the south the Meh Ngat breaks through the hills in a long defile, and to the north appeared the hills we had passed on our journey. Nothing could be more peaceful than the aspect of this beautifully situated plain. It seemed to be cut off from the turmoil and din of the world by the surrounding mountains,—a place one might long to retire to—
“Where rumour of oppression and deceit,
Of unsuccessful or successful war,
Might never reach me more.”
But history tells a different tale: this pleasant little valley, encircled by beautiful parks of trees skirting the foot of the surrounding hills, has been the theatre of many a hostile raid, and its inhabitants are migrating from it, being discontented with the imposition of monopolies which they consider to be oppressive.