It was most refreshing, after the leafless forest about Muang Haut, to see the magnificent foliage skirting the river. Large bamboos in bunch-like clumps, not the impenetrable thickets we had previously met; the lights and shades on the golden greens of their delicately coloured plumes; and the deep recesses between the clumps, in whose stately presence the scrub-jungle disappears; the cooing of doves; the gaily decked kingfisher watching for its opportunity to plunge on its prey; the lep-pan (silk-cotton trees) 120 feet high, with pegs driven into the trunks to serve as ladders for the cotton-pickers, their white trunks and bare horizontal branches looking like shipping with yards up as we rounded the bends; the flower of the pouk flaming out at intervals; low islands covered with scrub willows, whose leaves glistened in the sun; the mist driving along the face of the water, ascending in little twirls and vanishing; the bell-music of passing caravans; the plaintive cry of the gibbons; the oo-kee-or calling its own name; and little grey and buff-coloured squirrels springing about the trees,—all added a charm to the scene. Even without an Eve, one felt inclined to express one’s pleasure in Adam’s words:—
“Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet,
With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun,
When first on this delightful land he spreads
His orient beams on herb, tree, fruit, and flower,
Glist’ring with dew; fragrant the fertile earth
After soft showers.”
The silk-cotton of the lep-pan tree is too short and brittle to be made into yarn or cloth; the soft downy cotton is therefore solely used for stuffing cushions, pillows, and beds.
Resuming our journey, we passed Ta Nong Hluang—the Ferry of the great Fishery or Lake—where several fishing-stake dams stretched across the river and had to be opened to allow our boats to pass. Some distant hills were now visible to the east, and occasional hillocks were seen in the same direction. A little beyond the 164th mile the Meh Kom, or Golden River, entered. The Meh Kom drains the gully in the hills to the north of Loi Kom. As we proceeded, the banks to the east were occasionally perpendicular bluffs of soil, sand, and gravel, remains of the old lake-bottom not yet washed away by the movements of the river. We halted for the night at Ban Hsope Kyem, a small village at the mouth of the Meh Kyem, which enters from the west after draining the hills in the vicinity of Loi Pah Khow—the Mountain of the White Cloud—so called from its head generally being enshrouded in mist. Our camp for the night was 167 miles from Hlineboay, and was bounded on the west by beautiful and grand hill scenery.
