No scientific survey has ever been made of the incline of the river, neither accurate measurement of the height of its mountains. Missionaries have approximated the altitude of some of the cliffs that border the river at from eight hundred to fifteen hundred feet. The geology and flora of this region remain unclassified. In silent beauty they await the coming of one who may some day unlock their secrets.
It occupies from one to two weeks in getting through the rapids. Some are so difficult of ascent as to require many hours for its accomplishment, while others can be gotten over in less than half an hour. By means of ropes and pulleys the men, with the “Heave-O” cry that is heard the world over, pull and push the boat upward through the gushing waters to the top of the fall, where we glide on in smoother ease—several miles, it may be—until a warning roar in the distance announces the approach to another rapid.
The river is very winding in its course and variable in breadth—narrow here, where perpendicular walls of granite rise sheer out of the water to prodigious heights, shutting us in with heavy shadows and deep solitude; wider there, where the rocks recede and stand apart, leaving valleys between, where many a boulder, large and small, in “rank confusion” lies, and where at the river’s edge are spaces of white sandy beach. Here, where we halt for the night, a spacious ampitheatre encloses us apart from all of earth. Encompassed by the “everlasting hills” and under the silent stars, we sing our evening song of praise and worship “Him who is from everlasting to everlasting.”
When the morning sunlight sends us on our way again, fresh revelations of beauty meet our wondering eyes—cliffs whose precipitous sides have been under the frescoing pencil of the sun and rain for a thousand years; castellated rocks with great columns of stalactites pendent on the gray walls; caves, crags and ravines with crystal cascades singing their solemn tune in lonely places. Nor is there destitution of vegetable life. In beautiful relief we find the rich green so peculiar to the tropics spread everywhere amongst this rugged scenery—trees, bushes, flowers, vines, ferns and mosses.
At the head of the rapids, and soon after passing out of the mountains, we get our first sight of a Laos village; and cheerful it is to come again amongst the habitations of men. During our two weeks’ transit from this point to Cheung Mai we find a country having the same general features as that below the falls, with the exception of higher banks along the river; but here we have another type of people, entirely different in dress and address from those of the lower Menam. In common with the Siamese, they adhere to the Buddhist faith, adding also spirit-worship. They have the same habit of betel-chewing and the same forms of superstition, yet are a distinct race in customs and modes peculiar to themselves.
Many sights of exclusively new character are continuously meeting us too. The first that strikes the attention is the Laos system of waterwheels, used for the irrigation of rice-fields and gardens. They are made of bamboo, and are about twenty feet in diameter, and so adjusted as to be turned by the current of the river, their rims being furnished with small bamboo troughs which dip up the water as the wheel turns down, and is emptied as the wheel turns up into a large trough on the bank, and thence conveyed away by bamboo gutters. We see these wheels at every turn (right and left side) of the river, yet never lose interest in the rude machinery nor in the constant dipping and emptying process.
Still proceeding northward, we come amongst the cucumber-gardens which are planted on the broad sandbars. The Laos women, taking advantage of the low water at this season, occupy in free possession every available spot. The morning and evening they give to the cultivation of these sandy gardens, in which they raise cucumbers, beans and sweet potatoes. A fascinating sight it is to see these islands of “living green” scattered up and down the bed of the river.
But what a spectacle we have in the long lines of little cows and oxen, each laden with baskets of rice which they are carrying from the harvest-fields! Two long baskets, holding perhaps a bushel, are joined by a yoke which rests on the animal’s back, while the baskets hang at its sides in the fashion of saddle-bags. In one train we may see twenty, forty or one hundred, and they walk single file. The leader has great preeminence in having its face masked with an embroidery of shellwork, while over its head stream the gay feathers of the peacock, and a string of bells (resembling sleigh-bells) is hung around its neck. Many of the others also have bells, and what a merry sound they make as they pass along on the banks above us! This is the only way the Laos utilize the cow, for they abhor milk and butter.
At Rahang we saw elephants in limited numbers, but here we see them in scores. This is literally true in the case of a prince’s retinue, when we see from forty to sixty or more in one procession. They are in universal use as beasts of burden.
See those large buffaloes that stand at the edge of the water! They have short and thin hair—in some pinkish in color, in others gray. To cool themselves and to escape the biting insects they walk into the river and lie down, and are so completely submerged that not a spot of them is visible but the nose. Sometimes we see them standing in the water and birds hopping along their backs or perching between the huge horns. The buffalo manifests no annoyance, and the birds have it all their own way. They are old and familiar friends. These buffaloes are used in ploughing, and they also tread out the rice.