Hawshuenshan had evidently been a place of great importance, being a much larger town than Shuayduay, and must have contained at least three thousand inhabitants. At this time a considerable number of refugees had here found an asylum, who had fled from the deserted villages of Shangnan, Tahinshan, &c. We were shown an open grassy plot on the southern outskirts of the town which had, only a few months previously, been strewn with the corpses of imperialist Chinese. The people of Hawshuenshan had declared against the Panthays, and joined the Chinese partisan Low-quang-fang; on this plot they had been attacked and defeated. As usual, no quarter was given, and all who failed to fly were massacred, and afterwards buried where they fell. A fine temple overlooked a small stream running down from Shuayduay, and which now formed a small lake just outside the town. This water was crossed by a handsome stone bridge, with picturesque archways. From this we followed a raised causeway to the head of the valley, and, passing the Tahô waterfall on the left, ascended gradually four hundred feet to Momien. This vale of Hawshuenshan, though not more than two miles long by one broad, had been once encircled by large villages, the ruins of which still attested that before the war they must have been places of no little wealth.
With the exception of the walled bazaar, the once populous faubourgs of Momien had been laid in ruins; the heaps of bricks, the stone sides of the ancient wells deeply grooved by rope marks, and the long rows of detached mounds, with little grass-grown squares, defined the position of the southern and north-eastern suburbs. The houses of the north occupying a smaller area, surrounded by fine gardens, and shut in between the river and the city wall, seemed to have escaped demolition.
Amidst the general desolation within the city walls, two remarkable objects of art and nature stood, as it were, memorials of the past. One was a tall whitewashed pagoda seven stories in height, of the usual and familiar Chinese form. The other was a magnificent fir tree, which towered fully one hundred feet, although its top had been broken by a storm; at the height of four feet from the ground, the trunk measured fifteen feet in circumference.
In default of other resources, we spent a good deal of time strolling among the ruined temples and monasteries, which were numerous both in the city and suburbs; by far the greater majority were in ruins, but a few only partially destroyed were still tenanted by a few poor priests who, in spite of the Mahommedans, kept the incense burning before the gods of their forefathers. The massive stone gateways, richly carved roofs, and the elaborate decorations of the altars and images, afforded proofs of a high proficiency in art. Combinations of plants and birds furnished many of the designs of the decorations, executed either in well chiselled carvings or richly coloured paintings. In the carvings, dragons and monsters are frequent; all are generally coloured, the standard tints being red, blue, green, and yellow. The outsides of the principal walls are frequently decorated with medallion pictures of small animals and birds in black, grey, and white, alternating with squares or circles of complex geometrical figures. As far as could be judged from the images of the various deities, these temples appeared to be shrines of a compound of Buddhism, Taouism, and Confucianism, though no Buddhist priests were to be seen—or at least their yellow religious garb was nowhere visible—the priests having no distinctive costume, and living generally in their own houses in the suburbs. The images of the deities are nearly all life-sized, the place of honour being occupied sometimes by one, sometimes by three, seated on a pedestal in the centre of the principal hall. Around the central figures are disposed the statues of lesser deities, sages and scholars. In one temple where the central images were undoubtedly Buddhistic, the walls of the outer court were surrounded by fifty life-sized male and female figures, all seated, which seemed to represent the army of the Thagyameng. In another the chief deity was a colossal seated image, with a dragon at each knee, and the body of a snakelike dragon passing up under the double girdle, and breaking on the breast into a number of heads, recalling the seven-headed cobras of Hindoo mythology; the head and neck of a serpent-formed dragon issued, too, from under each armpit. Some of the female figures are seated on lions, other forms have the heads of bulls and birds, while four-armed figures also occur. In the khyoung, which formed our residence, there was a figure of Puang-ku, the creator, seated on a bed of leaves resembling those of the sacred padma or lotus. This remarkable four-armed figure was life size, and naked, save for garlands of leaves around the neck and loins. He was seated cross-legged like Buddha, the two uppermost arms stretched out, forming each a right angle. The right hand held a white disc and the left a red one. The two lower arms were in the attitude of carving, the right hand holding a mallet and the left a chisel. Except the Shuayduay images, which were of stone, almost all were constructed in the following manner: a frame of wood, making a sort of lay figure, is roughly put together, and afterwards padded to the proper proportions with layers of straw wound tightly over it; a layer of clay is plastered over the whole, and when dry, the flesh tints are laid on with marked realistic truth, and the garments duly coloured. The fact that the breast of every image of importance had been broken open seemed to show that a jewel or gold had been deposited therein, as is the custom in Burma.
During our stay the festival of the Goddess of Agriculture occurred. The stem of an iris and a branch of wild indigo were hung up over every door, and a general holiday observed; but nothing else marked the occasion, save that the priests insisted on kindling the incense in our khyoung, which act of devotion had been on other days pretermitted for the sake of our lungs. In one of the few khyoungs still inhabited by priests—all of which were situated in out-of-the-way places outside the town—I found a boys’ school conducted by an intelligent priest. A heavy shower of rain drove me in for refuge, and the master, who was seated at a low black desk, politely invited me to a seat. The pupils at once left their desks and crowded round us. A sign directing them to resume their desks and tasks was only so far obeyed that all began shouting their lessons at the full pitch of their voices; a word from the master, however, quickly dispersed them. I produced cheroots, and the priest sent for tea, and we chatted for an hour. Lying on the desk was a flat piece of wood like a gigantic paper-cutter. To explain its use, he called up a small boy, and, taking one of his hands, rubbed the palm with the instrument in a mysterious way. Suddenly, however, the paper-cutter rose and descended rapidly, tears started to the boy’s eyes, but were dried by a kindly word from the master, explaining that it was only an exhibition, not a punishment. The boys, whose ages varied from six to fifteen, seemed to enjoy their lessons there. The school hours lasted from nine to five o’clock, with an hour and a half’s interval, during which each boy purchased his dinner from a hawker of small bowls of Chinese dainties. Every boy has his own books, and, seated at a table, shouts his lesson aloud till he thinks he knows it, and then proceeds to attempt to recite it to the master, on whom he turns his back during the repetition. They learn to write at the same time as to read, for each boy first copies his lesson, getting the exact pronunciation of each letter and word from the master—thus whole books are committed to memory; but the babel of voices during the process is deafening, and the plan is not recommended for adoption to our school boards, although the punishment of the paper-knife might offer them a good model for imitation.
One bright little Momien boy was a great favourite; he was the pet son of the chief military officer, who brought him, as being deaf and dumb, in order to see what could be done. As the child attempted to imitate sounds, he was not deaf, and careful examination discovered that he was tongue-tied. A successful operation removed the impediment, much to the astonishment and delight of his father. The latter, whose title was Tah-zung-gyee, was a fine young Panthay soldier, of rather a jovial temperament. He invited us to a grand feast at his house, which was one of the few remaining uninjured within the walls. The invitation was duly conveyed to each on a piece of pink paper; and at the hour appointed—about 1 P.M.—a messenger arrived to inform us that the feast was ready. The house was approached through an outer court containing the stables. It formed a large square enclosing a central court. The principal building, facing the entrance, was raised on a terrace about four feet high, with a flight of steps at either end, each leading into an open hall. From this two doors led to the women’s apartments. The buildings on the other three sides of the square suggested Swiss cottages by their deep eaves and the large latticed windows of the second floor. A kitchen and store-rooms occupied the ground floor, and on one side was a dovecot. The eaves of the house were richly decorated with carvings representing landscapes with running water, bridges, and trees. A court outside contained a very choice garden filled with dwarf trees in vases; besides which, there were tall crimson hollyhocks and passion flowers. Two small stone tanks contained gold fish with remarkable doubly divided tails; and in one corner there was a model roughly carved in stone of a hillside, with caves and a pagoda. The walls of the rooms were decorated with Chinese landscapes and pictures of birds, in sepia and colours, which were mounted on rollers, like maps on a school-room wall. The entertainment, as usual, commenced with tea and cakes, followed by delicious nectarines and plums; after which came the more solid items of the repast. A decoction of samshoo seasoned with aromatic herbs was handed round like a loving-cup, our host first taking a vigorous pull, and passing it round till the jug was emptied. The liquid was warm and rather agreeable; but it fell to my lot to finish the contents, and, much to my disgust, I observed unmistakable pieces of pork fat among the herbs and spices. Our Mahommedan host not only drank samshoo, but allowed his drink to be thus flavoured with pork! He was most genial, and declared he would most willingly bestow his sisters on us as wives; and, in token of friendship, presented each with a jade ring and camellias. The women were curiously watching the strangers from the curtained doors; and towards the close of the evening the host asked for remedies for barrenness, with which some females of his household were affected. After some hesitation, the three patients mustered courage to show themselves, and were fine, young buxom women, with dwarfed feet. Some disappointment was evidently experienced at the refusal to prescribe for such patients as these.
The jealous reserve of the Chinese ladies was always pleasantly contrasted by the Shan manners, which united perfect modesty with a frank and pleasant demeanour. Thus the tsawbwa-gadaw of Muangtee visited us with her retinue of ladies. The old lady was splendidly attired, her towering turban being ornamented in front with the Panthay rosette of green, blue, and pink stones set in gold, and at the sides with little silver triangles set with small enamelled flowers. Her skirt was richly embroidered in silk and gold thread, and her light blue silk jacket was trimmed with black satin, which contrasted well with her massive gold bracelets. She wore amber and jade finger-rings, and a handsome silver chatelaine and richly embroidered fan-case hanging by her side. One of her maidens carried a small Chinese hookah, and another her embossed silver boxes of betel-nut, &c. She was greatly pleased with a present of a handsome carpet, needles, scissors, &c.; and her maids were charmed with small circular mirrors, which they at once fastened to their jackets as ornaments. These keenzas, as they called them, were immensely prized; and a few days after, as I was engaged in searching for land shells below the city wall, one of the Shan ladies hailed me from the battlements. The owner of the pretty face peering over the wall was evidently begging for something, which at first I thought was cheroots, and bade her by signs lower down her long head-dress, in the corner of which I tied a few cheroots, but these proved unsatisfactory; and the word keenza, keenza, at last made it plain that the young Shan lady wanted a mirror, and one had to be brought and sent up to her; and her glee was most amusing when she pulled up the cloth and found the keenza and a packet of needles. Compared to the pretty faces and picturesque attire of these Shan maidens, the dress and appearance of the Chinese women was very miserable. All the women who appeared in the streets were ugly and ill-clad, though the children had chubby, red cheeks. The majority wore pork-pie hats. All except the slaves had their feet dwarfed, and wore Dutch-like clogs in the rainy weather. The costume consisted of trousers, drawn tight round the ankle, a long loose blue garment, and a large blue double apron in front. Notwithstanding the dwarfed feet, the women walked to market three or four miles, carrying heavy loads, and seemed to think nothing of shouldering two buckets of water, slung to a bamboo. Every day our khyoung was besieged by crowds of beggars of all ages, from little ragged urchins to old men and women bent with age. Their rags and filth defied description, and sordid poverty in various degrees characterised all the wretched inhabitants of the ruined suburbs that surrounded the almost empty city. It must seem wearisome to harp upon the utter desolation and ruin that had resulted from the long continuous warfare, and the reader may prefer to gather some information as to the rebellious Mahommedan Chinese and their doings.
[26] ‘Pioneer of Commerce,’ appendix v. pp. 464 and 466.
[27] A tickal is rather more than half an ounce troy.
[28] ‘Pioneer of Commerce,’ p. 186.