A thousand miles on an elephant in the Shan States

by Holt S. Hallett

Surely one would imagine, until acquainted with the manners and customs of the place, that such a distinguished, trusted, and useful factotum would receive a salary for such multifarious duties a little above that of his theatrical representative, or at the very least above that of a parish beadle at home; but such was not the case. The Deputy Lord Mayor, Magistrate of the capital of Siam, High Chamberlain, Gold-Stick-in-Waiting, rejoiced in a pittance of 200 Siamese ticals a year, the equivalent of £20 in English money. Such pay for such appointments, of course, implied nearly unlimited patronage, pickings, and such “insults” as Poo Bah and Siamese officials cheerily pocket. I do not assert that Nai Sin profited by his many golden opportunities, but if he did not, and general rumour is to be believed, he forms nearly the single official exception in the realm of Siam.

Anyhow, Nai Sin looked the picture of a thriving and prosperous man, owned rice-mills and fields, houses and a steamer, wives, concubines, cattle and slaves, beamed with good-nature—or a very good semblance to it—was a capital companion, and gave me one of the pleasantest holidays I ever enjoyed in my life. By 5 A.M. we were on board the steamer, with our bedding, servants, and baggage, and in a few minutes were steaming slowly down the river in a thick mist which hid the beautiful orchards that skirt the river and delude the stranger as to the real size of the suburbs.

Two hours later we were passing Paknam and the pretty pagoda-decked islands in the river, and smiling at the trumpery fortifications that had been erected, under the supposition that they would tend to frighten a hostile fleet from endeavouring to enter the river. It is needless to say that one or two of our modern gunboats could not only silence these batteries in a few moments, but demolish the ludicrously armed and manned tin-pot vessels that his Majesty pleases to term his fleet.

Leaving the river, we quickly crossed the bar, and soon felt the unpleasant effects of a heavy swell, arising from a strong gale that had been blowing a few hours before. Passing junks partially dismasted, endeavouring to make headway with the remnant of their mat-sails which had been blown to tatters, and winding through fishing and mussel stakes driven into the bed of the sea, we were glad to enter the mouth of the Bang Pa Kong river and steam once more in quiet waters.

Journeying up the river, we passed several small villages, in which the space between the ground and the floor of the houses, some six or eight feet, was nearly filled with the shells of mussels, in which small pearls are frequently found, and reached the Kow Din, or “cut off” of the river, formed by a wood-cutter making a ditch for drawing his boat over the neck of a bend. The ditch rapidly widened, thus shortening the course of the river by several miles.

Nai Sin told me a story concerning this Kow Din. It appears that a few years ago, when the cut off was yet only 70 feet in breadth, a famous Buddhist monk arrived at the place. Finding his progress stopped by the ditch being too deep to wade across, and believing in the power of his merit, he faced his disconcerted disciples and addressed them thus: “Stay where you are, and I, by the power of my merit, will become a bridge for you to pass over. After crossing this stream, you can restore me to my natural shape by pouring consecrated water upon my head.” He then plunged into the river, and taking the form of a monstrous crocodile, stretched across from bank to bank. A mouse was never yet found to bell the cat. How could the infatuated monk expect such perfect faith in his disciples as to make them tread across such a horribly hideous bridge? Human nature had its way: no sooner was the miracle performed than the disciples, glancing at the huge reptile, as if by general consent fled homewards.

The Bang Pa Kong river is very serpentine in its course; so we did not reach Toon Chang, the village where Nai Sin had his mill, until three o’clock in the afternoon. The village was occupied by Chinese from Swatow—married to Siamese and Lao wives—and by pigs. The population of the various villages we passed on the river consisted chiefly of Cambodians, Cochin-Chinese, Lao, a few Siamese, and Chinamen. Chinamen in Siam seem to be ubiquitous. Half the population of the Meh Nam delta is Chinese, and very few of the people are without some trace of Chinese blood in them. The Chinese are neither serfs nor slaves, and can go as they will throughout the country. Mr Eaton, the able and painstaking American Baptist missionary in Bangkok, who attends to the Chinese section of the Mission, terms them the Americans of the East. They are the tax-gatherers, and, jointly with the king’s favourites, the monopolists of the taxes of the country. Nearly all the trade is in their hands. They are the shopkeepers, shoemakers, bricklayers, carpenters, tailors, gardeners, and fishermen of Siam; the owners and agents of some of the steamers; the coolies employed in the mills; they man the cargo-boats and unload the ships; and are considered by Europeans the best servants in the country. They are frugal in their habits, quick to learn, and utilise everything. According to M. Gaston Rautier, in an article in a recent number of the ‘Revue Française,’ the most recent estimate of the population of Siam puts it down at about 10,000,000, roughly composed of over 3,000,000 Siamese, 3,000,000 Chinese, 1,000,000 Malays, 1,000,000 Cambodians, 1,300,000 Lao, and about 400,000 Peguans, Karens, and other tribes. The Chinese, therefore, form about a third of the population of Siam, and are nearly as numerous as the Siamese.

Chinese immigrants not European subjects are considered by the Siamese to be under their jurisdiction, and are subjected to the laws of the realm. After three years’ residence, and at the close of every three years from that date, they have to pay a tax of 4¼ ticals, equivalent to 8s. 6d. They are exempted from corvée labour, and all other Government requisitions, except the ordinary taxes. Their children have the option of submitting to the triennial tax, or of selecting a Government master and becoming Siamese. The grandchildren of Chinese immigrants are classed and registered as Siamese, and are liable to corvée labour as soon as they measure 2½ sok, or 50 inches, to the shoulder, and are marked to one or other Government master. The mark is tattooed on the back of the right or left wrist, and all persons thus marked are liable to be called out in their master’s department.

The people and the Government are both imposed upon by the unscrupulous officials. Marked men die. The master avers that the man had not served for a number of years, and claims arrears of money, equivalent to the value of the labour he has omitted to do, from his wife and family. As certificates for times served are not given, no available proof can be brought to show the dishonesty of the master’s claim. Either the sum must be paid or a paper of indebtedness must be made out giving the master the power of selling the family, or as many of them as will cover the amount of the declared deficit.

Another mode of making money out of the people is as follows: On receiving an order for the services of a certain number of men, the master calls many more than are required, and says he has to choose so many from them. They all naturally want to beg off: those who offer the smallest bribe have to serve. If instead of men being requisitioned, the order is for posts, or other materials, oppression comes similarly into play. Some years ago the king requisitioned ten posts from the minister of certain provinces, the minister ordered twenty from the governor, who ordered forty from the Samien, who ordered eighty from the masters of the prai-luangs, who made the prai-luangs cut a hundred and sixty, on the plea that some of them would be hollow or otherwise imperfect.