On the 30th March, being Sunday, he held a service in the town, and had a large audience of Shans. His delivery is very simple and unaffected. The man is a thorough gentleman at heart, as well as an earnest enthusiast in his mission. The more I saw of him, the more I liked him. I never, during our long journeys together, saw him do a selfish action. When tired, and nearly worn out with insomnia and fever, he sat up late, night after night, to translate for me, because otherwise I could not procure the information I required, as everything had to be packed and the elephants off by daybreak.
Many hundreds of Lapoon immigrants on their way to Kiang Hsen were encamped near our sala, and one morning fully 1000 others crossed the river on their way to Kiang Hsen. It is pitiful to learn from Mr Archer that he was told by the Chow Hluang of Kiang Hsen in 1887, that about a third of the immigrants had died since the foundation of the colony in 1881. In Mr Archer’s words, “The privations the early settlers had to suffer probably increased the mortality; but fever was doubtless engendered by clearing the rank vegetation, and will lose much of its virulence when the country is better occupied.”
One morning the mist lifted from the valley of the Meh Khoke, and I was able to sketch the hills stretching thirty miles to the west, or as far as the eye could reach. It was evident that the great rib spurs jutting towards the river from the northern range were very much higher than the backbone from which they sprang: this seems frequently to be the case in the hills between the Meh Kong and the Salween.
View up the Meh Khoke from Kiang Hai.
Whilst watching a couple of the elephant-drivers boxing with regular boxing-gloves, our old acquaintances the Moosurs came to pay us a visit, and again brought their children with them. It was merely a case of “How-do-you-do?” and “Good-bye,” as we had to go to the Chow-Hluang’s to complain about two of the promised elephants not having arrived. On reaching his house he told us that the wife of the owner of the elephants had sent word that the elephants had been scared by a jungle-fire, and had stampeded; that her husband was away after them, and had not yet returned. On our telling the Chow Hona the cause of the delay, he ordered the woman to be brought to the Court-house and put in chains. The elephants were at once brought in, and we were able to start on the morrow.
Next morning, the 31st March, the Chow Hona and Chow Nan Kyow Wong, our companion from Zimmé, came to see us off, and were accompanied by the Chow Phya, or head judge of Kiang Hai, who had been told off to conduct us to Penyow. Six large elephants, two of which had babies with them, had been hired for us, and Dr M‘Gilvary rode the elephant he had purchased. I once more chose an easy-going female elephant for myself, and had the amusement of watching the pranks of its big baby during the march. These young elephants were the source of immense fun, but were an intolerable nuisance to the men on foot, whom they delighted to playfully tumble over like ninepins when the opportunity, for which they were always on the alert, occurred. By half-past six we had said good-bye and left Kiang Hai, which is 183 miles distant from Zimmé by the road we were to take. The mileage on this journey implies the distance from that place, and therefore gets less as we proceed.
Leaving the city by the south gate, we journeyed for ten miles through the plain to the village of Yang Tone, situated on the Meh Low, where we halted for breakfast. Our march led us through or near eleven villages, all of which were embosomed in orchards fringed with beautiful feathery bamboos. On our way we met a caravan of thirty laden cattle, a company of eight Burmese Shans, and a Buddhist monk wearing a huge yellow turban, similar to those worn by the monks in the Chinese Shan States.
KIANG HAI TO LAKON