During this time our leader had been busily engaged adjusting the division of three hundred rupees among the Kakhyen pawmines; they were most demonstrative in their expressions of friendship, and urgently pressed us to confide ourselves to their escort on the return route. Presents were also distributed to the headmen of the town, and those of Sanda and Muangla, and the officials escorted us on a visit of ceremony to the tsawbwa-gadaw. Her haw, or palace, built in the Chinese style of telescopic courtyards, formed an enclosure in the centre of the town. We passed through two courtyards, the sides of the outer one forming the stables, and those of the inner one the kitchen and servants’ rooms, with the residence filling up the end. The entrance from the first to the second court formed a waiting-room, where a bench covered with silken draperies had been placed. After a few minutes we were invited to proceed through the second court to the house, which was raised about three feet from the ground, with an open reception hall, apparently off a third court, containing the private apartments. The reception court was laid out with flowers, dwarf yews, and a vine trained over a trellis. High-backed chairs with red cushions were set out, and presently the dowager appeared from her apartment, accompanied by some white-robed Buddhist nuns, or rahanees, and attended by three maids. One of the nuns was her daughter; the others had visited Rangoon, as pilgrims to the great pagoda, and brought back strong impressions of the excellence of British rule; both in Manwyne and elsewhere these pious ladies subsequently did good service by spreading favourable reports of the English visitors.
But we are forgetting the tsawbwa-gadaw. She was a stout little woman of fifty summers, of quiet self-possessed carriage. Above her round fair face towered a huge blue turban eighteen inches in height. Her costume consisted of a white jacket fastened with large square enamelled silver clasps, and a blue petticoat with richly embroidered silken border and broad silken stripes; her leggings and shoes were also covered with exquisite embroidery. She entered smoking a long silver-stemmed pipe, and received us with pleasant affability. Sladen held a long conversation with her concerning the mission, and she greatly rejoiced in the prospect of reopening Burmese trade, and promised her hearty support. Small cups of bitter tea, and saucers furnished with all requisites for betel-chewing, were handed round, the style of everything being thoroughly Chinese, and we took our leave, having evidently won her esteem.
The next morning, May 13th, the entire population of the neighbourhood assembled to see the visitors depart. The fair ones were in their holiday attire, their head-dresses decorated with sweet-smelling flowers. Many parting presents of these, accompanied with good-natured nods and smiles and kind wishes, were bestowed on the travellers. Several Shan officials accompanied us, perched high on huge red-cloth saddles and padded coverlids heaped on their small ponies. The route lay along the undulating right bank of the river, over a tolerable but narrow track, which crossed the mountain streams flowing into the Tapeng by substantial granite bridges, built of long slabs laid side by side, so as to form an exact semicircular arch.
About four miles from Manwyne, our attention was called to a number of men who rushed out of a village on the opposite bank of the river. Although they were all armed, and indulged in threatening shouts and gesticulations, we did not suspect any really hostile intentions. Presently, however, we found ourselves exactly opposite to them, when, whiz! came a bullet, passing close to Sladen’s pony, which plunged violently. At this they yelled, and fired some more shots, accompanied by furious brandishing of dahs. We took no notice, and this apparent indifference cooled their ardour, and the road, diverging from the river, soon took us out of sight. The fact that small but well-armed parties of Shans were posted at intervals suggested that the officials had expected an attack.
Beyond this the march to Sanda was an ovation, the people lining the road, and waving us on with shouts of Kara! kara! “Welcome! welcome!” Most striking was the panorama of the fertile and populous valley, with the broad Tapeng winding through it, and the magnificent wall of mountains towering on either hand. Village succeeded village, and every available acre was cultivated, the young rice now rising about two inches above the water, and tobacco plantations on the higher ground displaying their delicate verdure.
Halfway between Manwyne and Sanda, the road passes through Karahokah, the chief Chinese market-town of the valley. The village consists of two long parallel lines of houses separated by a broadway, down the centre of which the booths and stalls are placed on the weekly market-day. It was full market when we passed, so by advice we went round outside the village, but the curious crowd streamed out and nearly closed the road. A striking feature was added to the landscape by the bright red soil of the lower spurs jutting out from the higher range. In contrast to the dense forests above, they were almost destitute of trees, except at the extreme points, and clothed as they were with rich short grass, their strongly marked red and green colouring completed the unique beauty of the Sanda valley. At five o’clock P.M. we reached Sanda or Tsandah, seventy-five miles from Bhamô, and were conducted to a small temporary Buddhist khyoung built on the site of one wrecked by the Panthays.
It was little better than a thatched hut, with the ground for a floor. Here, as in other Shan towns, a striking difference was observed between the phoongyees and those seen in Burma. Their huge yellow turbans, coiled round yellow skull-caps, stood out each like a solid nimbus or glory. They wore white jackets and yellow trousers, girdles, and leggings, and shoes contrary to the precepts of their religion. Each carried on his back a broad-brimmed straw hat covered with green oiled silk. Their profusion of silver ornaments, buttons, rings, and pipes, was utterly at variance with the vows of poverty taken by Rahans.
The town of Sanda, marked on maps as Santa-fu, occupies the end of a ridge in a northerly bend or bay of the valley, a mile and a half from the Tapeng. The remains of a thick loopholed wall enclose an irregular area about six hundred yards square, over which are scattered eight hundred to one thousand houses, with a population of four to five thousand. We saw neither towers, pagodas, nor public buildings, save in ruins, excepting the tsawbwa’s house. The Panthays stormed the town in 1863, and the ruined defences and buildings had not yet been restored. Indeed the dejected and poverty-stricken inhabitants had only partially repaired their own brick-built dwellings.
Four hundred yards from the north-east gate was the bazaar, a village in itself, inhabited solely by Chinese, consisting, like Karahokah, of two lines of houses, the broadway between being closed at either end by a wall. A Chinese joss house, the ruins of which showed its former importance, stood near the entrance. In our wanderings through the bazaar, we met two women from the hills to the north of Sanda, of an entirely different race from Shans, Chinese, or Kakhyens, who called themselves Leesaws.
The next day was devoted to a ceremonious visit to the old tsawbwa. We entered his haw, a handsome structure of blue gneiss, through a triple archway, and passed through the courtyards, the whole building being arranged on the same plan as the Manwyne palace, but on a much larger and handsomer scale. High-backed Chinese chairs were duly set out in the vestibule of a building leading directly to the private apartments, and the courtyard in front was crowded with the leading townsmen. The tsawbwa, a frail old man with an intelligent face and polished manners, was dressed in a long coat of sombre Shan blue and a black satin skull-cap. He was nervous and silent, nearly all the talking being done by his officials, who seemed to be gentlemen of education and considerable intelligence. They were unanimous in expressing their hopes that our mission would result in settling the country and restoring the trade.