Part 23

The arrival of young missionaries on the field rendered some kind of physical and social recreation necessary. Croquet had formerly been tried, but it gave very little exercise, and had been supplanted by the better game of lawn tennis. In the fall of 1890, Mrs. McGilvary prepared a court in our front lot, and invited the missionaries and the small European community to an “At Home” on Tuesdays at 4:30 P.M. The game furnished the very exercise needed after a day’s confinement in school or study. It proved so beneficial to health and to efficiency in work, that the “At Home” was continued, with occasional interruptions from weather or other causes, for thirteen or fourteen years. This was Mrs. McGilvary’s little contribution to the health and the social recreation of the community in which we lived; and it was highly appreciated.

In August I had occasion to visit Wieng Pā Pāo. Before I was out of the Chiengmai plain I had an exciting runaway on my big sadaw elephant. A mother cow was grazing at some little distance from her calf. As the elephant approached the calf, the mother became alarmed for its safety, and rushed frantically towards it, bellowing to the utmost capacity of her lungs. This was quite too much for my big timid beast. He started off at a fearful pace, which the driver in vain endeavoured to control. Fortunately it was on an open plain with no woods or trees. The same elephant on a previous occasion, when Mrs. McGilvary was riding him, on some slight alarm rushed off into a thicket of low trees; and once, with me on his back, went crashing through the standing timber in the forest. In both cases it was nothing but the strength of the three-strand rattan girth that saved either howdah or rider. The elephant’s fastest run is not a “lope,” but a kind of long swing from side to side. It is an awful sensation. I never was in an earthquake, but I imagine the two experiences must be somewhat similar, with the fear in this case of being at any instant dashed from your lofty perch to the ground.

The special reason for this trip was the fear of some collision or trouble between the government and the Christians with regard to the Sunday question. Besides keeping their own Sabbath, the Christians were forbidden to do any manual work on the Buddhist sacred days as well, making altogether eight days in each month. Had the rule been the outcome of conscientious scruples on the part of a religious people at seeing their sacred day desecrated, we should have respected their scruples. But the day was a mere holiday, and, except by a few of the more religious, it was largely spent in hunting and fishing. I had to remind the governor of his beautiful inconsistency. He would not allow the Christians to use an axe or a plow on sacred days, while the people generally were allowed to kill animals, thus breaking the most stringent of Buddha’s laws. He must have felt the force of the argument, for before the very next sacred day an order was issued forbidding hunting and fishing on it.

But till the original order was revoked, strict obedience was enjoined upon the Christians.

The Annual Meeting was held in Lakawn early in December. Just before it convened, Dr. and Mrs. W. A. Briggs and Rev. Robert Irwin arrived, together with Dr. and Mrs. Peoples, returning from furlough. For the present these were stationed at Lakawn. At the same time Rev. and Mrs. Stanley K. Phraner were nearing Chiengmai on the Mê Ping fork. But our song of joy over their arrival was destined soon again to have a sad refrain. The two young brides had scarcely reached their husbands’ field of labour—which they thought was to be theirs also—when they were both called to a higher sphere.

XXIX

LENGTHENING THE CORDS AND STRENGTHENING THE STAKES

While in the United States, Dr. Peoples had succeeded in procuring a font of Lāo type, with the necessary equipment for printing. For twenty-three years we had used only the Siamese Scriptures and literature. With many present disadvantages, it had some compensations. Those who could read Siamese had access to the whole of the Old and New Testaments. The press was set up in Chiengmai, and Rev. D. G. Collins was made manager. The first printing done was Mrs. McGilvary’s translation of the Gospel of Matthew.

My daughter had been sent down to aid the Phraners on their river trip. Word was sent ahead that Mrs. Phraner was not well. As they drew nearer, her condition became so critical that Dr. McKean hastened with all speed to meet them. When she reached Chiengmai, her condition, while still critical, was more hopeful. I was ready to start on my tour as soon as the party arrived. When I left home, we were still hopeful that rest, kind nursing, and medical treatment would set her right again.

During my absence this year I was fortunate enough to receive a regular weekly mail from Chiengmai. A staff of engineers were surveying a railroad route for the Siamese government, and had a weekly mail sent to their stations along the line. They were very kind to include my letters also, which was particularly fortunate in that thus I could have news of the invalid left behind.

I have learned to start on my tours with very flexible plans, leaving much to the guidance of providential openings on the way. On this trip, at the village of Pāng Krai—which, because it was a mile or two away from the road, I had not visited in seventeen years—I was delayed three days by a reception so cordial that I could not pass on. On my previous trip a man from the village, Noi Tēchō by name, came with his little girl across to our camp and begged us to visit it. This I could not then do; but he remained with us till late at night, and seemed to be a believer. I now found that in the interval the man had kept the Sabbath, and had given such other evidence of his sincerity, that we could not refuse his reception to the communion and fellowship of the church. On the last night of our stay we had a baptismal and communion service that was memorable. The man made a good confession before many witnesses, and his little daughter was baptized as a non-communing member.

As in many other cases, this family had been driven by trouble to our religion. Originally he was the slave of a prince in Lakawn. The accusation of witchcraft then settled on the family; but before they were driven off the Prince compelled them to borrow money in order to redeem themselves from him—to do which the man had to give two of his children as security. After a move or two, he was driven by famine from Lakawn, and came to this village.

One morning at Wieng Pā Pāo I was summoned in great haste to attend one of the engineers who was thought to have been nearly killed by a fall from a runaway horse. I found that he had broken a collar-bone, but was otherwise uninjured. I applied all of my amateur surgical skill, and set the bone. But my patient, naturally enough, could not feel quite sure; and thought it safer to go down to our hospital and get Dr. McKean’s judgment on the case. He found the bone set all right.

Late one Saturday evening I reached Bān Pā Hōng in Chieng Rāi province, and stopped with the first Christian family. Next day I learned that in the next section of the village there was a Christian girl very low with consumption. Early on Monday morning I moved on, but was only in time to see a lovely form and face apparently in the most natural sleep; but the living soul had departed. I had baptized her two years before, when she was fourteen years of age. She had been sick for seven months, and had spent most of the time in prayer. It made me inexpressibly sad when I learned that her strongest desire was to see her own “Paw Krū” before she departed. On the previous evening, when she heard that we had reached the village near by, she said, “And the Paw Krū is at Noi Lin’s, and I cannot see him!” I preached her funeral sermon, and saw her decently buried.

* * * * *

The next Sunday morning, while sitting in the Mê Kawn chapel and preparing for service, I looked up and saw standing on the ground before the door some people in a strange costume evidently not Lāo, looking in as if in doubt whether to enter or not. I immediately recognized them as belonging to the Mūsô tribe, quite numerous in the mountains near by. Their ready acceptance of my invitation to come in showed that they were waiting to be asked, and feared only lest they might be intruders. As the Mūsôs will be prominent in our narrative of this and the two following years, a word of introduction may be desirable.

They are one of a numerous group of hill-tribes which have gradually followed the mountain ridges down from the interior of the continent. They live under a patriarchal government, if it may be rightly called a government at all; and they enjoy great personal freedom, though the authority of the clan approaches very near to absolute despotism. They are worshippers of spirits, which are held to preside over the universe and the destinies of men generally; while as a tribe they are under the guardianship of their own “spirits.” They have a twelfth—day sabbath or sacred day, not very definitely marked. They make a great deal of their “kin waw” or New Year feast, when all communication with other villages even of their own tribe is cut off during the five or seven days of their feasting. The religious head of the village is called Pū Chān, and the head Pū Chān of a province holds in his hands the conscience of all his flock.

Their manner of life is as follows: They select a locality, the higher up the better, near the source of a mountain brook. They fell the trees and undergrowth at the close of the rainy season, let them dry during the hot season, and just before the next rainy season set fire to the clearing on a windy day. All that is readily combustible is consumed, leaving the logs on the ground. With a small hoe or a narrow spade they make shallow openings in the earth some ten inches apart, all over the field, and deposit in each a dozen rice grains, more or less. The rains do the rest till the harvest. The second year’s crop is the best, but it is seldom that they can compete with the scrub-growth for a third crop. A temporary shack is easily erected, if possible, contiguous to three clearings. When these are abandoned, they move on and repeat the operation elsewhere. By this means all the higher mountains are being steadily denuded of their forests.

Being bound by no system of hoary age and venerable associations, like Buddhism or Brahmanism, most of the hill-tribes are very receptive of the Gospel. Their clannishness, however, is such that if they become Christians at all, they come in a body. But it is very difficult for individuals or families to break away from the clan. At the same time their migratory and unsettled habits are by no means favourable to their education and civilization. To any other power than that of the Gospel that would seem to be a hopeless task.

But to return to our visitors at the chapel. There were seven men and boys in the party. The spokesman, Cha Pū Kaw, was tall and well proportioned, with the bearing of one who might be a leader of some position. He understood Lāo better than most of his tribe, and through him it was by no means difficult to draw the others into conversation. They were from three families that had been driven down nearer the plain by accusation of witchcraft. They had learned from our elder that Christians were not afraid of witchcraft, nor of expulsion from the country. They had also talked over with him the plan of salvation for sinful men provided in the Gospel, and had asked to be informed whenever we should come again. They readily consented to remain through the morning service, which was modified to suit the needs of the new audience. It was the first Christian worship they had ever attended, and they were evidently pleased. The Christians invited them to share their dinner, and the most of the afternoon was given up to their instruction. The boys were put to reading the catechism and learning to sing the Lāo version of “There is a Happy Land.” They remained with us till there was only light enough left to enable them to find their way home.

Early next morning we crossed the plain to the foot of the mountain, where we struck the little brook along which and in which lay our pathway. The climb was a stiff one, but with noble outlooks over the plain below. In their little hamlet there were three families, or, rather, three divisions of one family, numbering twenty-six souls. By their intercourse with the Christians at the chapel the soil had been prepared for the seed. So from nine o’clock till noon we addressed ourselves to teaching the elders, while the children were becoming more and more interested in the catechism, and especially in the “Happy Land.”

While the men and boys were thus engaged, the grandmother and her daughters were busy preparing dinner. When all was ready, the steaming white rice was emptied on a board like that on which our housewives knead their bread. With it was a vegetable curry, sweet potatoes steamed over the rice, bananas, and other fruits, with native sugar in cakes for dessert. The board piled with food was set before me, and I was invited to partake. They were delighted that I could eat and enjoy it.

After all had finished their meal, the exercises of the morning were resumed, with the women now disengaged and free to listen. Long before night Cha Pū Kaw and his brother-in-law, Cha Waw, of about the same age, expressed their firm belief in the truth of our religion, and their acceptance of the Gospel offer as far as they understood it. The women said they would follow their husbands. The sun was already getting low when we had worship together before leaving. When we came to bid our hosts good-bye, we found that we were to be escorted down by the two elder men and the boys, lest a tiger might meet us on the way. It was almost dark when we reached the chapel.—A day never to be forgotten!

At the chapel I found letters from Chiengmai bringing the news that Mrs. Phraner’s long and painful sufferings were ended. She died on February 13th. All that three able physicians could do was done; but in vain. Her mother and her family were never willing that she should become a missionary, being sure that she could not endure the strain of a missionary’s life. That fact filled the husband’s cup of sorrow to overflowing. My letter stated that he was beside himself with grief; that the physicians, and, in fact, the whole mission, strongly advised him to join me on my tour; and that he would reach me not long after the letter.

On the following Friday, while getting the new chapel ready, I heard the shout, “There comes the new teacher!” He was worn and haggard, and visibly older than when I left him; but making a brave effort to be cheerful. He said very little of his great loss.

On Sunday the whole Mūsô village was on hand long before the hour for worship. The women came with their babes tied with a scarf to the mother’s back, according to their custom. The news that they were become Christians had spread, and drew a larger number than usual of our non-Christian neighbours to the services. The Christians, too, were greatly encouraged thereby. In the afternoon a few of the tribe from another village were present, and listened with surprise to Cha Pū Kaw’s first sermon. He had evidently entered upon his new faith in earnest, and was not ashamed to bear his testimony.

On Monday we moved on to Chieng Rāi, where I was to direct the removal of a house to the lot which the Governor had offered us. But Mr. Phraner’s condition demanded movement and change of scene. Arrangements were, therefore, made to have the house moved by others, while we went on at once to Chieng Sên. There we found the Chao Uparāt just returned from a trip via Mûang Len to Mûang Sing, some hundred miles or so to the northeast on the other side of the Mê Kōng River. He was profuse in his praise both of Mûang Sing and of the journey thither; and suggested that it would be a fine opening for a mission, and a most interesting tour. The suggestion seemed attractive to us both. So, after a week of work in the church and in the city of Chieng Sên, we started for Mûang Len and Mûang Sing.

Mûang Len is the common market centre of a large number of hill-tribes that inhabit the mountain ridges in all directions round about. All the cities and towns north of Chieng Sên hold a fifth-day fair or market. We were fortunate in striking market-day on the Saturday of our arrival. Early in the morning people began to pour into the place from all directions. The mountain tribes came out, their beaux and belles all in gala dress, some to buy and sell, and others because it was their weekly holiday.

From Chieng Sên I had brought along Nān Suwan, the Lû elder, who had come into closer contact with these mountain tribes than had our elders from the south. He could make the men, and especially the head men, understand fairly well. To all who understood the Lāo I could, of course, speak directly. We took our stand at the end of the market, and the crowd gathered about us. None of them had ever seen a missionary. None, save some few of the Lāo men, had ever read a book, or knew even a letter of any written language. They were children of nature, artless and unsophisticated. We pressed home the thought, new to them, that there must be a maker of the world and of all creatures in it. We told them the old, old story of the infinite love of God, our Father, and of Christ, His Son, who suffered and died to save us, and of pardon freely promised to all who believe in Him. This is the final argument that wins these people.

After the merely curious among the crowd had withdrawn, this doctrine of salvation from sin held the more thoughtful, and brought them to our tent in the afternoon, and even far on into the night. The head men especially, who were more free to come to me, expressed a deep personal interest in the new doctrine. The most interested and interesting man was Sên Ratana, the governor of the Kôn quarter of the city. We met him on Sunday. On Monday we called on him and spent most of the morning at his house, explaining to him the plan of salvation and dictating to him portions of Scripture for him to copy; for by this time the Lāo manuscript copies which we brought with us were exhausted. He copied, also, the first few questions and answers of the Shorter Catechism, hoping that with these as a key, he could learn to read the Siamese Gospel and catechism which I gave him.

On our return to our tent on Monday evening we found almost a panic among our people. Some lawless men had lounged about the tent most of the day, asking suspicious questions about how much money we carried, and how many guns, and whither we were going from there, etc., etc. The result was that those who had been most eager for the trip beyond the Mê Kōng to Mûang Sing, began now to beg us to return. Mr. Phraner, moreover, became uneasy about his borrowed elephant, which would be a great prize for robbers. So, after consultation, it was decided to retrace our steps. However disappointing this might be to me, I had at least learned the road to Mûang Sing and Mûang Yawng. The tour to both those places, and to many others, was only deferred to the following year, when we might hope to have at least one printed Gospel in the Lāo language, and a tract or two to distribute. The news of Cha Pū Kaw’s conversion spread far and wide, and was preparing the way for further work among his tribe.

Leaving Mûang Len on Wednesday, we breathed more freely after we had crossed the border into Siam. On reaching Chieng Sên, Mr. Phraner decided to return to Chiengmai. He had reaped all the benefit possible from change of scene. He felt that he ought now to be in his future home, settling down to a systematic study of the language. But I greatly missed his pleasant company.

The object of the missionary’s visit to an outlying church like that of Chieng Sên, is to “lengthen the cords and strengthen the stakes”—to awaken the careless, to attract the indifferent, and to deepen impressions already made. Within the range of influence of such a church there are always those who, though taught, indeed, by its native officers, still need further instruction by the missionary—who have objections to be met and doubts to be resolved beyond the power of these officers to cope with. Not infrequently some one who is already a believer has a wife, a husband, or children on whom his own final decision depends. These must be visited in their homes. Their confidence must be won and their friendship gained as a preliminary to awakening their interest in our religion.

For the sake of the Christians personally, as well as for the work in general, it is important to cultivate the friendship of the local rulers. It is to them that the Christians are responsible. And then the Christian families must be visited, their children instructed, their difficulties settled, their sick be treated, and instructed how to treat themselves in our absence; and as much Scriptural teaching is to be given as our time by night and by day will permit. But our most important duty is to instruct the elders themselves, and give them an uplift.

When my work in Chieng Sên was done, I started for Chieng Kawng, taking Nān Suwan along, for he was well known there and in most of the region to be visited as far as Chieng Rāi. The Mê Tam, already referred to as the stream which rises from under the mountain west of the plain, becomes quite a river as it enters the Mê Kōng near Chieng Sên. The bottom land is covered with reedy grass so tall that a large elephant carrying a high howdah can be seen only a short distance away. Here we lost our way completely, and wandered about bewildered for a long time.

When finally we reached the stream, its trough was so deep that we failed in a number of attempts to get down to the water. At last we dug down as best we could the edge of the high sandy bank, and, after much urging, and some protest on his part, my sadaw tremblingly reached forth his front feet, lay down, and slid like an alligator, dragging his hind legs after him, till, with a mighty plunge, we landed in deep water. It was an awful sensation for the rider. The place was in a bayou with “back water” so deep as to be quite over one’s head; and, unlike the natives, the rider could not swim! The landing on the further shore was little better. There the elephant struggled up the bank until he got his forefeet on the edge above. Then, with a gigantic effort, he drew himself up so suddenly that the rider had to hold on for dear life to avoid being thrown over his head. It was a feat that only an elephant could perform, and one would much prefer witnessing it from a distance to being on his back during the operation.