Another lady describes a picnic given to some newly-arrived missionaries by a Cheung Mai princess:
“At four A. M. my clock struck the alarm, and we opened our eyes to find it still dark. It did not take us long to dress. Lighting the oil-stove, we soon had boiling water, and coffee, which, with mango sauce and bread and butter, gave us a light breakfast before the long trip began. Just before six I ran down to the gate and saw the four elephants crossing the river; to my astonishment, the young prince, Chow Kope, was driving one of them. Like most boys, he thought it would be fun to throw aside the dignity of the princeship for a while. He is a bright, intelligent and winning boy. He drove his elephant up to the front veranda, raised the floor of the howdah (a little house placed on the back of the elephant, and in which we ride), stored our baskets, shawls, etc. in a sort of catch-all, and then, putting down the floor, spread my boat-mattress over it, and placed the pillows at one end that I might lie down if I wished to. Our drivers sit upon the heads of the elephants, climbing up by means of the chain which holds the howdah on, and using the knee of the fore leg of the elephant for a stirrup, or rather a step-up. The elephant, when punched on the knee, holds up his foot; the driver places his foot on the broad step made by the elephant’s knee, and, catching hold of the chain, swings himself up to the monster’s head, where he sits—monarch of all he surveys. Taking Chow’s hand, I reached the elephant’s head, and then perched myself, as comfortably as you can imagine, in my little house. Others of the party mounted elephants, and some rode on horseback.
“We started off, moving slowly but surely. Crossing at the elephant ford, we soon reached the road at the east gate of the city-wall; following the road till we reached the north-west gate, we struck out across the rice-fields—great plains, with only now and then a little cluster of trees. We could command a fine view of the plains, and the atmosphere was so clear that, for the first time, I saw the belt of mountains which encircles the valley wherein Cheung Mai is nestled. The mountain to which we were going seemed to be only about two miles away, but was in reality four miles. The rice-field road took us across some little brooks, which the elephants must have enjoyed, for they filled their trunks with water, and every few minutes amused us by throwing it over themselves, till one would almost have supposed that that long proboscis was an unfathomable reservoir. Before reaching the mountain proper we came into the woods, composed of bamboo and a multitude of other trees and shrubs of which I did not know the names, and a dense undergrowth. The path from this place up the mountain was narrow, rough and steep, but not once did the clumsy-looking creatures stumble. They frequently came to places so steep that it seemed as though it were folly to attempt to climb up, but up they went, carefully, slowly, placing the knees of their fore legs on the high step, then drawing up the other feet, never missing their footing. At the foot of the mountain we saw the stream Hoa Kao, which we followed in the already beaten pathway. Up, up we went, over rocks and shrubs, and so close to the edge of precipices from one hundred to one hundred and fifty feet high that it seemed as if we must fall over. Oh, it was grand! At one place on the mountain-side we had a very fine view of the country for miles.
“You may wonder how the drivers guide the elephants. A knock on the right side of the head means turn to the left, a knock on the left means go to the right, one on the forehead means go slowly. They use, in thus guiding these beasts, a bamboo stick two feet long with a prong on the end of it. It did seem wonderful that they were so easily managed. When we came to a steep place Chow would say ‘Coy’ (carefully).
“At last, after a two hours’ ride, we saw the princess Chow O’Boon, with her train of servants, waiting for us on a large flat rock by the stream. With their many-colored skirts and scarfs, dark skins, black hair and shining eyes they looked like a band of gypsies. Here my elephant carefully knelt down, and, stepping on to its head, a man helped me, and once more I was on terra firma. This spot was as far as the elephants could go, but Chow’s slaves picked up our luggage, and we walked to where the stream was quite narrow. By its banks were great flat rocks, and projecting over these and at a height of thirty feet was a very large umbrella-like rock. It must have projected twenty-five feet, and was about seventy feet long. Under its shelter we had our dinner, and after this a nice resting-time. Having brought our bathing-suits, we went up the stream later in the day and had a delightful bath. At four o’clock we started for home. The ride back was delightful, though it was quite exciting coming down the mountain. The sky was beautiful: low in the horizon were dark clouds threatening rain; above them the lighter clouds changed from golden to scarlet, then gradually back to golden. A pleasant breeze was blowing, and had not the fact that I was riding an elephant kept me awake I should have gone to sleep. We reached home about seven o’clock, and all pronounced Hoa Kao a beautiful stream. We felt very grateful to Chow O’Boon for giving us the use of her elephants and thus affording us so much pleasure.”
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But better perhaps than all else of reward or comfort in a missionary’s experience are the consistent life and triumphant death of one rescued from the darkness and superstition of his people and brought into the kingdom of God. The man mentioned in the following account, the first Laos convert, had for a number of years been walking with God in humble faith:
“Dear old Nan Intah is at rest—gone to be with Jesus whom he loved. I wish that many of those who talk so much about the failure of mission-work could have been at his bedside and seen his resigned and peaceful death.
“When told that he could not live through the day, he turned to his eldest child and committed the mother to his care. He gave his hand to each of us first, then to his dear faithful wife and children and grandchildren, and last to the church-members, saying to them, ‘Be patient! be patient! trust in Jesus, all of you.’ To his youngest son he said, ‘I am walking on the way you all must go; only be ready for our Lord. Oh, my son, do not fall from the right path. Trust in the Lord now, and do his work, as I have tried to do. You will suffer many trials, but they will be forgotten when the day of reward comes. You plant the rice-fields in the water and in the rain, but three months from now you will gather the harvest. Learn from your yearly work the lesson of life, and strengthen yourself in Jesus.’ He suffered greatly, but toward the last he lay quietly as if sleeping, then suddenly opened his eyes and looked at me as if he would speak, but he was not looking at me, for his eyes were full of light and joy. A smile passed over his face, and at the same instant he breathed his last.
“The children were violent in their grief, but the dear old wife and mother would say, ‘Let us rejoice rather that father is now free from suffering. Jesus saved him from sin, and now has only taken him to himself. God has called him home before us, but we may follow and be with him. Be patient and trust, as your father said.’ She was heartbroken herself, and nearly exhausted with the long, patient nursing, and yet she would only say, ‘Loong Nan never complained in all his two years’ sickness. Let us not complain of what the Lord has done.’