In contrast with these rude domiciles we find in the vicinity of every town large and elaborately finished temples. Upon them the wealth and taste of the community are concentrated. They are built of brick and plastered with white cement, which gleams like marble through the heavy, dark foliage of the trees in the temple-grounds. Wood-carvings and gold-leaf and mosaics of colored glasses or isinglass wrought into many devices decorate the front entrance and doorway. Standing apart, they have a domain of their own. Their broad grounds are enclosed by a brick fence covered with white cement. In proximity to the temple are the numerous little houses of the priests, whom we can see, at all hours and in all places, marching about in dress of bright yellow and with bald, shaven heads.
The shady seclusion of these grounds, with the images of Buddha sitting in darkness within the temple, and it being also the abode of the priesthood, make it a place of great sanctity and veneration to these superstitious people.
The same uniformity presents itself in every hamlet and town in our route. Between these places miles and miles of solitary silence stretch away, until we could readily imagine that all of human kind had forsaken the earth, and that we, by some strange destiny, were left in this big “basket of bulrushes” to go on and on interminably. What wonder, then, that the sight of a town or a passing boat are pleasant interruptions on this monotonous highway?
Reaching Nakawn Soowun (i. e. “City of Heaven”), a provincial capital ten days’ journey below Rahang, we find it situated at the junction of two branches of the river. Our route leads us into the left or north-west branch. Here the current is so swift that it becomes necessary to abandon the oars and resort to the long poles (iron-pronged at the end) to push the boat through the seething waters. All the dexterity and acuteness of the polesmen and pilot are put to the test now in keeping within the channel and to prevent our being cast upon a sandbar. The bed of the river is filled with masses of sand, which are in a state of perpetual change. Whirling and careering and finding no permanent lodgment, it is constantly displacing the channel, while we in our pursuit of it often miss it by a half space of the boat, one side of which is lying on a sand-drift, and at the other there may be the depth of twelve or fourteen feet of water. In pushing off, the current carries us down stream, and as we recover our distance again we think of the problem of the frog in the well, and our question is: If in one hour we gain three miles and lose one, when shall we reach Rahang?
However, as “perseverance conquers all things,” we make our way through this war of waters (passing several towns on our way) more or less difficult of navigation, until we reach Rahang, where we find the river divided into several channels by little islands. The banks are high and the situation is beautiful for a city, with its mountain-range and its two sentinel mountains, one east, the other west, of the town.
Rahang marks the terminus of one-half our journey, and is the most northern of Siamese towns. By some it is reckoned as the most southern Laos town.
Its officials are in general Siamese, although its population is mixed and is estimated at fifteen thousand. Here we see Laos, Siamese, Chinese, Burmese, Peguans, Karens, etc. At a glance you will see the importance of its occupation as a missionary centre. About two years ago Dr. McGilvary labored alone here for many months. He was kindly received and much encouraged in his work. As its fruit some were led to the Saviour, and a permanent mission-station is to be established here during the coming year.
After two or three days’ sojourn, spent in making preparation for the last part of our journey, we set forth again, and now to enter the border of Laos.
A few miles north of Rahang the river branches once more. We follow the north-west fork, called the Maping. The other branch (Mawang) leads to the province of Lakawn, where is one of our Laos churches. Although the country in this vicinity is comparatively level, yet the high banks and the views of distant mountain-ranges or hills diversify the scenery, which has not the dull monotony of the lower Menam—a pleasing change, and one that beguiles our time and attention as the boats are slowly making their way toward the rapids; and seven or eight days’ “poling” bring us to the entrance of the ravine at their foot.
After weeks of voyaging on a broad river and through a flat country, with a wide horizon always encircling us, how anomalous to be confronted by this rocky pass, through which we must thread our way up forty rapids to the equally level territory of Laos beyond it! As we enter the gorge from the bright sunlight a sombre shade closes over us, even “the shadow of a great rock in a weary land.” Wild and grand beyond description are these cañons and falls of the Maping River, and far exceeding any portrayal are the lofty, majestic mountains through which the river cuts its way.