We left Ashan in heavy rain, and commenced to descend in a southerly direction. The path led along the crest of a spur running down to a village. The ponies and mules could not keep their feet on the wet, slippery paths, and kept sliding down on their hindquarters. As steep declivities bordered the path, the descent was not without risk, and a pedestrian could only keep his footing by catching hold of the long grass, and so lowering himself down.
Having crossed the Namkhong, swollen by the rains into a tempestuous stream, which taxed the uttermost strength of the ponies, the path lay over a wet and muddy alluvial flat into another valley and across another torrent. We then made a very steep ascent up the mountain side, passing the village of Lasee, perched on a lofty rounded peak. From the height we gained a full view of the ranges to the southwards, running nearly parallel to each other, east-north-east and west-south-west, with intervening valleys, much broken up by spurs. A descent of a few hundred feet brought us to the village of Muangwye, on the southern slope of a hill covered with trees and enormous granite boulders.
Our halt here was a device of the local tsawbwa, who was anxious to have the honour of entertaining us. The other chiefs had gone on to Loaylone with the baggage and commissariat, expecting us to proceed to that village as our resting-place for the night. The chief did his best to reconcile us to his hospitable ruse by a hearty welcome and liberal supplies of sheroo and samshu.
The usual and direct route from Ashan to Hoetone, the last Kakhyen village before descending to the plain, only occupies one good day’s march; but the anxiety of the respective chiefs to entertain us caused them to lead us from village to village, and make three marches instead of one; and as the rain was almost incessant, and the path up and down the hillsides slippery in the extreme, we found Kakhyen regard almost as embarrassing as the former hostility.
The next day we crossed the Muangkah stream, about fifteen feet across, and flowing in a deep nullah, which is the boundary line between the Lakhone and Cowlee Kakhyens, into whose borders we now entered. The glen was very narrow, but the rich black soil very fertile, judging from the appearance of the small rice fields. The only bridge was a felled tree, less than a foot broad, with a ricketty bamboo tied on as a handrail, along which we scrambled, almost envying the animals, which swam across. Ascending another ridge, we passed the remains of the old Chinese frontier fort, commanding this route, as a custom-house, as that above the Nampoung commands the Ponsee road. A hundred feet below, the village of Loaylone occupied a steep slope, stretching out in an amphitheatre. This was the largest and most thriving Kakhyen village we had yet seen, and the chief’s house presented the unusual feature of a high bamboo fence enclosing it. The chief was bountiful in his supplies of fowls and sheroo; and in the evening his younger brother, the tsawbwa of Mattin, paid us a visit, and proved to be the most polished and intelligent Kakhyen we had met, his manners and style being fully equal to those of any Burmese or Shan gentleman. His dress was a mixture of Shan and Chinese, but his hair was arranged in Burmese fashion. He proved to be perfectly acquainted with Burmese and Chinese, and held a long conversation on the advantages of re-establishing trade, in which he professed the utmost readiness to co-operate. He was very anxious that we should become his guests at Mattin for several days; and, after exhausting the pleas of the ill-health of some of the party, the rains, &c., we were obliged to urge that delays on the way would prejudice the minds of our rulers against the embassy route. It was necessary to remain a day at Loaylone, as, according to custom, the mules and porters had to be paid off here, and replaced by others belonging to the Cowlee Kakhyens. The ordinary central route to Momien is said to be from this place to Muangwan, a view of which valley can be gained from the Chinese fort of Loaylone, whence the road leads to Nantin, avoiding the Hotha valley. There was, of course, some trouble with the muleteers, who invariably put forth extortionate demands, only to be met by firm refusal. At the very moment of our departure, two of the Namboke pawmines laid an embargo on a mule-load of luggage as a pawn for payment for some rice, which they had already received.
The direct road to Hoetone is only six miles by a comparatively level route along the paddy fields, but the necessity of accepting Mattin’s invitation lengthened our march to fifteen miles, involving the ascent of one of the highest ranges. In a glen below Loaylone we met a caravan of mules from Bhamô laden with cotton and salt. From this point steep ascents over a succession of spurs, and descents into shallow valleys, brought us to the summit of the main ridge at an elevation of five thousand feet. Close to our left, and five or six hundred feet higher, rose the high dome-shaped hill which we had sighted from Ashan. To the south-east and south rose a few still higher peaks, but none apparently exceeding an elevation of six thousand feet. The summit of this ridge was covered with fine turf and a few trees, and strewn with enormous granite boulders, under the shelter of which were built the houses of a small village named Loayline.
From this point we began to descend the main mass of the Kakhyen hills, and soon arrived at the village of Mattin, situated on the ridge of a spur. A salute of three guns and a musical clash of gongs and cymbals announced our arrival, and we were ushered up a broad flight of stone steps leading to a Chinese gateway in a substantial brick and stone wall. Within this stood the chief’s house, of Kakhyen design, but, by its construction and rich ornaments of carving, deserving the name of a Kakhyen palace. After being duly presented to the chief’s family, and admired by an enthusiastic crowd of his subjects, who, be it said, were vastly superior both in their appearance and dress to their compatriots of the northern hills, we were conducted into a small external pavilion, and refreshed ourselves in privacy.
From Mattin a descent of two miles brought us to Hoetone, situated on a flattened depression of the same spur, strewn with huge gneiss and granite boulders. In front of the tsawbwa’s house three flat blocks of stone, about three feet high, were fixed in the ground in line, which were described as the altar whereon buffaloes were offered to the nats. We had observed similar stones in a grove outside the village, which the numerous skulls strewn about showed to have been the scene of numerous offerings. In this place there was also a circular wall, three feet high, with one of the standing stones built into it, and the ground covered with the decaying skulls of sacrificed buffaloes. The next morning we were visited first by the aged tsawbwa of Hoetone, accompanied by his wives, children, and grandchildren, all in their best attire, and laden with the usual presents of fowls, vegetables, cooked rice, and sheroo. The next to appear were the tsawbwas of Kadaw and Sakhiy, dressed in ancient black satin jackets, with their womankind attired à la Kakhyen, but decorated with a profusion of Shan silver ornaments. The sub-chief who had followed us to Momien, and died there of small-pox, was a son of Kadaw, and although he had come to Momien of his own accord, Sladen considered it just to promise to the old father that, when at Bhamô, he would consult with the other chiefs as to compensation for his son’s death. With this assurance the father departed well pleased; but a younger brother of the deceased thought fit to bully and demand instant payment, and enlisted a few of the muleteers on his side. The usual Kakhyen wrangle and bluster ensued, but being met with firm expostulation, according to custom, ended in nothing; but our departure had been thereby delayed till midday, when we gladly recommenced our descent to the plains.
In dry weather it is usual to travel from Hoetone to Bhamô by Momouk, across the plain, on the left bank of the Tapeng; but the low grounds being now under water, it was necessary to proceed to the Tapeng below its exit from the hills, and descend it in boats to Bhamô. A short distance below Hoetone, we came to a division in the road, and a discussion ensued with the Mantai tsawbwa, who was acting as guide to the advance party of the cavalcade, as to the proper path to follow. One road, along the spur which we had descended, appeared evidently to be the direct route, as the other turned off to the left down a deep hollow, towards another spur to the southward. This, the tsawbwa insisted, was as good and as short as the other, and we perforce followed him. From the brow of the spur a noble panorama of the extensive plain of the Irawady burst upon our view.
The great river, now swollen to its fullest width, wound like a broad band of silver through the plain, and our followers literally jumped and shouted with joy at the prospect, realising the speedy termination of their six months’ wanderings. Those of our party whose dignity forbade such demonstrations rejoiced no less in spirit; for even this grand hill scenery becomes wearisome when one has to scramble up the steep mountain paths and slide down the counter slope in torrents of rain. We could not grumble at the slight detour which the Mantai chief had imposed upon us, for the whole population of his village was eagerly awaiting our arrival, and saluted us with five guns. In his house, which was enclosed with a bamboo palisade, mats were spread for us, and his wife and daughters, two almost handsome maidens, vied with each other in demonstrations of welcome and proffers of very excellent sheroo. Leaving them highly delighted with a few bright silver coins and compliments, we remounted, and began a slippery descent through bamboo jungle, in which there was a fair chance of being impaled on the fallen stems, as the ponies slid down on their haunches, utterly unable to change their course. Having at least reached four thousand feet below Hoetone, we had to cross at the bottom a roaring mountain torrent by a newly constructed bridge. A large boulder lay in midstream, and two large bamboos were placed from it to the banks on either side, with smaller cross pieces to keep all secure; this primitive and rickety bridge, about eighteen inches wide, sloped down to the stone, and then rose up at a steep incline to the other bank. It was a perilous path for man and beast, for to lose one’s balance meant being swept down by the resistless current into the Tapeng. The level ground on either side of the stream was closed in by high hills, which echoed with the roar of the latter river; but the high grass which covered the alluvial flat hid it from us, until, having crossed a low spur, we came upon the banks of the foaming yellow flood, rushing down to the plains in a magnificent torrent. About two miles further, we left the Tapeng, and turned to the south-west, and, crossing a low spur, came upon the right bank of a moderate-sized, deep-flowing stream, with a very strong current, called Namthabet, which flows into the Tapeng, at its exit from the hills. This stream had to be crossed by a raft, which two Kakhyens had been sent from Hoetone to construct, but they had only completed half their task when we arrived. We were therefore compelled to bivouac, and all hands set to work to construct the small bamboo huts thatched with grass, which the Burmese call tai. The night was fine, but the sandflies proved utter foes to sleep, defying mosquito curtains; and the morning brought a tremendous thunderstorm, followed by torrents of rain, as if the hill nats wished to give us a farewell benefit.