Bacon George Blagden
Siam : The Land of the White Elephant as It Was and Is
CHAPTER XV.
THE TRIBES OF NORTHERN SIAM
Until recent years little has been known or said of the inhabitants who occupy the remoter districts of Siam. Owing to its debilitating climate and the many dangers of travel in jungle and wilderness, explorers have thus far made but meagre contributions to our knowledge of the shy and savage tribes in the north and west. In spite of our ignorance, however, it is admitted that these various races found in the Indo-Chinese peninsula present problems of great ethnological interest, the solution of which will some day explain the origins of many language and race puzzles now quite insoluble. To most foreigners, Siam is the city of Bangkok and its neighborhood; yet, to obtain a fair conception of the kingdom, as one of the foremost states of Asia, we must understand the variety and extent of the country, a few glimpses of which we may have through the reports of those who have penetrated its wilds.
For the most part, we are told by Mr. McCarthy, whose six years' experience in superintending the government survey, entitles him to respect as an authority, "the people settle on the banks of the rivers and are employed chiefly in cultivating rice. There are but few villages distant from the large rivers, and in the mountainous parts of the kingdom the towns and villages are built in open flat valleys, picturesquely surrounded by the mountains, which are clothed with forests from top to bottom, the undergrowth being so heavy that one seldom or never sees any sport which would change the monotony of daily trudging through mountains, where one's view is confined to within ten yards around. There is one peculiar feature in this population of different nationalities, and that is that they do not amalgamate with one another; thus it comes about that near Bangkok itself villages of Burmans and Annamites are found living in separate communities, preserving their own language and customs."
The region to the west of the Meinam is mostly mountainous and a perfect wilderness of jungle, the country being sparsely inhabited. A short distance from the broad valley the high range appears which forms the water-shed between the Gulf of Siam and the Bay of Bengal. The portion of this range which lies above the Malay peninsula appears to be drained on its eastern slope, not by the "Mother of Waters" itself, but by its neighbor, the Mei-Klong, running almost parallel with it from the heights of the Karen country to the Gulf. "This river to Kanburi," says Dr. Collins, an American missionary who was the first to cross the wild district between Bangkok and Maulmein, "is an exceedingly winding, broad, clear, shallow stream, with a slow current and well-defined banks, on which are a few villages and many separated habitations. The best land seemed to be in the hands of Chinese, who cultivate tobacco, sugar-cane, cotton, and rice. Many of the Chinese located on the banks of this river, as in other parts of Siam, have married native women and form the best element of the population. Quite a number are Roman Catholics, while all are sober, industrious, orderly, and prosperous."
After leaving his river-boat at Kanburi, the missionary pursued his journey across country by elephant through the regions occupied by the Karens, a simple and hardy race of mountaineers, who worship the forest spirits. This folk occupy in small numbers the border-land between Siam and Lower Burmah. "We saw," continues Dr. Collins, "very few signs of animal life in the forests; generally a profound silence reigned, broken only by the wild songs of the Karens, or the cracking of bamboos in the pathway of the elephants. It is true, in the early mornings we would see along the river banks whole families of monkeys basking in the warm sunshine, and talking over the plans of the day, but as we passed along they would retire into the depths of the forest. These forests could not be infested with tigers and other dangerous animals, as we frequently passed Karen families on foot, journeying from one village to another. The Karens have settlements all through the jungle. Their small villages consist of a few rude bamboo huts, and around them are cultivated their upland rice and cotton, while the mountain streams furnish them fish in abundance. Sometimes they raise fowls, and cultivate sweet potatoes, the red pepper, and flowers. They seldom remain over two or three seasons in the valleys, but move away to fresh land. Our forest paths led through many abandoned Karen villages and plantations, where now rank weeds and young bamboos supplant the fields of rice and cotton. The Karens with whom we came in contact were mountain heathen Karens. They seemed to possess no wealth, cultivating only sufficient land to clothe and feed themselves. The women were fairer than the Siamese or Birmese; and it was a pleasant sight to see them always cheerful and industrious – pounding paddy, weaving their garments, or otherwise occupied in their simple household duties, and lightening their toil by singing plaintive native songs." Owing to a tradition that they would one day receive a religion from the West, these people are said to be peculiarly amenable to the influence and instruction of Christian missionaries.
Of the Lao or Shan tribes owning allegiance to the King of Siam, we have spoken very briefly in the second chapter of this volume. They probably represent the mixed and deteriorated remnant of the aborigines who were originally driven from Central China to occupy, under the national name of Tai, the forests and coasts of Indo-China. Such accounts as we possess of these peoples are fragmentary, and often strangely contradictory, their tribal names and divisions being applied by different travellers to a great variety of localities. In general, although the names are often used interchangeably, the word Lao seems to be given to that part of the great Shan (or Tai) race who live in the north and east of Siam, some of their tribes coming down as far south as the Cambodian frontier. Mr. Carl Bock, in his notes taken on the spot, explains that "there are six Lao states directly tributary to Siam, all entirely independent of each other, but with several minor states dependent upon these larger ones. The rulers in all these states, even the smaller ones, are autocratic in their authority. Their chiefs hold office for life, but their places are not hereditary, being filled nominally by the King of Siam, but really on the election and recommendation of the people, who send notice to Bangkok on the decease of a chief, with a private intimation of their views as to a successor. Tribute is paid triennially, and takes the form of gold and silver betel-boxes, vases, and necklaces, each enriched with four rubies of the size of a lotus-seed, and a hundred of the size of a grain of Indian corn. Besides these are curious representations of trees in gold and silver, about eight feet high, each with four branches, from which again depend four twigs, with a single leaf at the end of each. The gold trees are valued at 1,080 ticals (£135) each, and the silver ones at 120 ticals (£15) each.
"Of all Laosians, those living in the extreme north are the most backward, and from what has been said it will be gathered that the instincts of the people generally are not of a very high order. They are mean to a degree; liberality and generosity are words they do not understand; they are devoid of ordinary human sympathy, being eaten up by an absorbing desire to keep themselves – each man for himself – out of the clutches of the spirits. Their highest earthly ambition is to hoard up money, vessels and ornaments of gold and silver, and anything else of value; as to the means adopted for obtaining which they are not over-scrupulous. They are extremely untruthful and wonderfully apt at making excuses, and think no more of being discovered in a lie than of being seen smoking. I give them credit, however, of being, generally speaking, moral in their domestic relations.
"If a man's face is an index to his feelings, then the Laosians must be bereft of all capacity to appreciate any variety of mental emotions. It is the rarest phenomenon to see any change in their countenance or deportment, except – there is always one exception to every rule – when they are aroused to anger. This statement is more particularly true of the men, but even the women – demonstrative as the sex usually are – are seldom moved to either laughter or tears. Whatever news a Laosian may receive, whether of disaster or of joy, he hears it with a philosophic indifference depicted on his calm, stoical countenance that a European diplomatist would give a fortune to be able to imitate. But when any sudden feeling of anger or any latent resentment is aroused, then the passion begins to display itself, if not in any great change of facial expression, at any rate in general demeanor and in quick, restless movements of impatience and irritation."
A rather more favorable estimate of Laosian character is made by the missionaries who live among them, and presumably know them better. "Considering their disadvantages," says Miss McGilvary, "the Laos are a remarkably refined race, as is shown by many of their customs. Should a person be telling another of the stream which he had crossed, and wished to say it was ankle-deep, as he would feel a delicacy in referring to his person, his expression would be, 'I beg your pardon, but the water was ankle-deep.' If one wished to reach anything above another's head, he would beg the latter's pardon before raising his hand. A great and passionate love for flowers and music also indicates a delicacy of feeling. Although before missionaries went there the women did not know how to read, they were always trained to be useful in their homes, and a Laos girl who does not know how to weave her own dress is considered as ignorant as a girl in this country who does not know how to read.
"The holiday which most interests the missionaries' children is the New Year, when all, and especially the young, give themselves up to a peculiar form of merry-making, consisting in giving everyone a shower. Armed with buckets of water and bamboo reeds, by which they can squirt the water some distance, these people place themselves at the doors and gates and on the streets, ready to give any passer-by a drenching, marking out as special victims those who are foolish enough to wear good clothes on such a day. It is most amusing to watch them, after exhausting their supply of water, hasten to the river or well and run back, fearing the loss of one opportunity. Sometimes several torrents are directed on one individual; then, after the drenching, shouts of laughter fill the air. On this day the king and his court, with a long retinue of slaves, go to the river. Some of the attendants carry silver or brass basins filled with water perfumed with some scented shrub or flower. When the king reaches the river's brink he goes a few steps into the water, where he takes his stand, while the princes and nobles surround him. The perfumed water is poured on the king's head, afterward on the heads of the nobles, and they plunge into the river with noisy splashings and laughter. The custom is also observed in families. A basin of water is poured on the head of the father, mother, and grandparents, by the eldest son or by some respected member of the family. The ceremony has some religious significance, being symbolical of blessings and felicity; a formula of prayer accompanies the ceremony in each case."
Like remote and uncivilized tribes the world over, the Laos are extremely and fanatically superstitious. Their fears of the supernatural are far more influential in directing their daily lives than their respect for the doctrines and practices of Buddhism, which is their accepted religion. An interesting account of one of their ruling delusions is quoted from Mr. Holt Hallett's article on Zimmé (Cheung Mai) in Blackwood's Magazine for September, 1889. "The method practised when consulting the beneficent spirits – who like mortals are fond of retaliating when provoked – is as follows: When the physician's skill has been found incapable of mastering a disease, a spirit-medium – a woman who claims to be in communion with the spirits – is called in. After arraying herself fantastically, the medium sits on a mat that has been spread for her in the front veranda, and is attended to with respect, and plied with arrack by the people of the house, and generally accompanied in her performance by a band of village musicians with modulated music. Between her tipplings she chants an improvised doggerel, which includes frequent incantations, till at length, in the excitement of her potations, and worked on by her song, her body begins to sway about and she becomes frantic and seemingly inspired. The spirits are then believed to have taken possession of her body, and all her utterances from that time are regarded as those of the spirits.
"On showing signs of being willing to answer questions, the relations or friends of the sick person beseech the spirits to tell them what medicines and food should be given to the invalid to restore him or her to health; what they have been offended at; and how their just wrath may be appeased. Her knowledge of the family affairs and misdemeanors generally enables her to give shrewd and brief answers to the latter questions. She states that the Pee– in this case the ancestral, or, perhaps, village spirits – are offended by such an action or actions, and that to propitiate them such and such offerings should be made. In case the spirits have not been offended, her answers are merely a prescription, after which, if only a neighbor, she is dismissed with a fee of two or three rupees and, being more or less intoxicated, is helped home. In case the spirit medium's prescription proves ineffective, and the person gets worse, witchcraft is sometimes suspected and an exorcist is called in. The charge of witchcraft means ruin to the person accused, and to his or her family. It arises as follows: The ghost or spirit of witchcraft is called Pee-Kah. No one professes to have seen it, but it is said to have the form of a horse, from the sound of its passage through the forest resembling the clatter of a horse's hoofs when at full gallop. These spirits are said to be reinforced by the deaths of very poor people, whose spirits were so disgusted with those who refused them food or shelter, that they determined to return and place themselves at the disposal of their descendants, to haunt their stingy and hard-hearted neighbors. Should anyone rave in delirium, a Pee-Kah is supposed to have passed by. Every class of spirits – even the ancestral, and those that guard the streets and villages – are afraid of the Pee-Kah. At its approach the household spirits take instant flight, nor will they return until it has worked its will and retired, or been exorcised. Yet the Pee-Kah is, as I have shown, itself an ancestral spirit, and follows as their shadow the son and daughter as it followed their parents through their lives. It is not ubiquitous, but at one time may attend the parent, and at another the child, when both are living. Its food is the entrails of its living victim, and its feast continues until its appetite is satisfied, or the feast is cut short by the incantations of the spirit-doctor or exorcist. Very often the result is the death of its victim. When the witch-finder is called in he puts on a knowing look, and after a cursory examination of the person, generally declares that the patient is suffering from a Pee-Kah. His task is then to find out whose Pee-Kah is devouring the invalid.
"After calling the officer of the village and a few headmen as witnesses, he commences questioning the invalid. He first asks 'Whose spirit has bewitched you?' The person may be in a stupor, half unconscious, half delirious from the severity of the disease, and therefore does not reply. A pinch or a stroke of a cane may restore consciousness. If so, the question is repeated; if not, another pinch or stroke is administered. A cry of pain may be the result. That is one step toward the disclosure; for it is a curious fact that, after the case has been pronounced one of witchcraft, each reply to the question, pinch, or stroke is considered as being uttered by the Pee-Kah through the mouth of the bewitched person. A person pinched or caned into consciousness cannot long endure the torture, especially if reduced by a long illness. Those who have not the wish or the heart to injure anyone, often refuse to name the wizard or witch until they have been unmercifully beaten. Or the sick person naming an individual as the owner of the spirit, other questions are asked, such as, 'How many buffaloes has he?' 'How many pigs?' 'How many chickens?' 'How much money?' etc. The answers to the questions are taken down by a scribe. A time is then appointed to meet at the house of the accused, and the same questions as to his possessions are put to him. If his answers agree with those of the sick person, he is condemned and held responsible for the acts of his ghost.
"The case is then laid before the judge of the court, the verdict is confirmed, and a sentence of banishment is passed on the person and his or her family. The condemned person is barely given time to sell or remove his property. His house is wrecked or burnt, and the trees in the garden cut down, unless it happens to be sufficiently valuable for a purchaser to employ an exorcist, who for a small fee will render the house safe for the buyer; but it never fetches half its cost, and must be removed from the haunted ground. If the condemned person lingers beyond the time that has been granted to him, his house is set on fire, and, if he still delays, he is whipped out of the place with a cane. If he still refuses to go, or returns, he is put to death.
"Some years ago a case came to the knowledge of the missionaries, where two Karens were brought to the city by some of their neighbors, charged with causing the death of a young man by witchcraft. The case was a clear one against the accused. The young man had been possessed of a musical instrument, and had refused to sell it to the accused, who wished to purchase it. Shortly afterward he became ill and died in fourteen days. At his cremation, a portion of his body would not burn, and was of a shape similar to the musical instrument. It was clear that the wizards had put the form of the coveted instrument into his body to kill him. The Karens were beheaded, notwithstanding that they protested their innocence, and threatened that their spirits should return and wreak vengeance for their unjust punishment. In Mr. Wilson's opinion, the charge of witchcraft often arises from envy or from spite, and sickness for the purpose of revenge is sometimes simulated. A neighbor wants a house or garden, and the owner either requires more than he wishes to pay or refuses to sell. Covetousness consumes his heart, and the witch-ghost is brought into action. Then the covetous person, or his child, or a neighbor falls ill, or feigns illness; the ailment baffles the skill of the physician, and the witch-finder is called in. Then all is smooth sailing, and little is left to chance."
The following paragraphs from the same article give an agreeable picture of Cheung Mai, or Zimmé, the chief town of this region, and the headquarters of an important branch of the American Presbyterian Mission.
"The city of Zimmé, which lies 430 yards to the west of the river, is divided into two parts, the one embracing the other like the letter L on the south and east sides. The inner city faces the cardinal points, and is walled and moated all round. The walls are of brick, 22 feet high, and crenelated at the top, where they are 3-1/2 feet broad. The moat surrounding the walls is 30 feet wide and 7 feet deep. The outer city is more than half a mile broad, and is partly walled and partly palisaded on its exterior sides. Both cities are entered by gates leading in and out of a fortified courtyard. The inner city contains the palace of the head king, the residences of many of the nobility and wealthy men, and numerous religious buildings. In the outer city, which is peopled chiefly by the descendants of captives, the houses are packed closer together than in the inner one, the gardens are smaller, the religious buildings fewer, and the population more dense. The floors of the houses are all raised six or eight feet from the ground, and the whole place has an air of trim neatness about it. Dr. Cheek estimates the population of the area covered by the city and its suburbs at about one hundred thousand souls…
"It is a pretty sight in the early morning to watch the women and girls from neighboring villages streaming over the bridge on their way to the market, passing along in single file, with their baskets dangling from each end of a shoulder-bamboo, or accurately poised on their heads. The younger women move like youthful Dianas, with a quick, firm, and elastic tread, and in symmetry of form resemble the ideal models of Grecian art. The ordinary costume of these graceful maidens consists of flowers in their hair, which shines like a raven's wing and is combed back and arranged in a neat and beautiful knot; a petticoat or skirt, frequently embroidered near the bottom with silk, worsted, cotton, or gold and silver thread; and at times a pretty silk or gauze scarf cast carelessly over their bosom and one shoulder. Of late years, moreover, the missionaries have persuaded their female converts and the girls in their schools to wear a neat white jacket, and the custom is gradually spreading through the city and into the neighboring villages. The elder women wear a dark-blue cotton scarf which is sometimes replaced by a white cotton spencer, similar to that worn by married ladies in Burmah, and have an extra width added to the top of their skirt which can be raised and tucked in at the level of the armpit. On gala occasions it is the fashion to twine gold chains round the knot of their hair, and likewise adorn it with a handsome gold pin. The Shans are famous for their gold and silver chased work; and beautifully designed gold and silver ornaments, bracelets, necklaces, and jewel-headed cylinders in their ear-laps are occasionally worn by the wealthier classes."
Notices of the wilder tribes who inhabit the northeast of Siam are extremely inadequate, the region being practically unvisited by Europeans, and almost unknown to its titular sovereign, the king. The French expedition under Lagrée passed through the lower edge of the country on their toilsome journey up the Mekong in 1867, and M. de Carné furnishes us with some particulars of the natives in and about the chief centre, Luang Phrabang. "One must go," he says, "to the market to judge the variety of costumes and types. At a glance at this mixed population the least skilful of anthropologists would see beforehand the inextricable confusion of races and languages which he will meet at a short distance from Luang-Praban. Numbers of savages who have submitted to the king come every morning to the town to sell or buy. They live in the mountains. Their dress is extremely simple; so much so that it could hardly be lessened… The Laotians, who are very proud of their half-civilization, look on these savages as much inferior to themselves, and indeed as almost contemptible. Every group of three miserable huts of theirs has a name of its own, known in the neighborhood; but the most important village of the people, who may be regarded as the original owners of the country, is called by the common and scornful name of Ban-Kas [or Bang Kha,] a kraal of savages. The stranger refuses to accept this estimate formed by perverted pride. The savages are hard workers, and the finest fields of rice and noblest herds of cattle I have seen have been in their parts of the country. They are all shy at first, but they are easily brought to be familiar. How often have I in my walks had to ask these children of the woods for shelter from the sun, or water to quench my thirst, or a mat on which to forget my fatigue! They did not understand my words, but divined with the quick instinct of hospitality the wants which brought me among them, and hastened to satisfy them. I have enjoyed positive feasts in these huts, where the bamboo, worked in a hundred ways, spread all the luxury before me it could display; and I cannot recall without gratitude the recollection of a collation made up of sticky rice, smoked iguana legs, and pepper, which a savage, some sixty years of age, whom I met in the forest, to whom my long beard caused astonishment rather than fear, offered me one day."
This was during the Mohammedan rebellion in southern China, when the natives south of the empire enjoyed a comparative degree of peace and prosperity. Since the conclusion of this and the Taiping insurrection, and the sharp conflict of the French in Annam, great numbers of Chinese, many of them the dregs of their country, have flocked to this wild region, and under their different "flags" or bands have for many years past inflicted untold misery in the gradual extermination of these harmless natives. The devastators of this beautiful region are known generally as Haws. Our latest and most exact information about them comes from Mr. McCarthy, who was sent with a party by King Chulalonkorn to investigate the raids perpetrated in the kingdom by these wandering robbers. "The term Haw," he informs us, "is the Lao word for Chinamen, but it is now being applied to those worthies who employ their time in plundering. It is supposed that they were originally remnants of the old Taiping rebellion, who settled in Tonquin and lent themselves as soldiers to the then Annamite governors. In time they became too powerful for the governors and either exacted a large annual payment in silver or became governors themselves. They ranged themselves under different standards, the principal colors of which were black, red, yellow and striped (red, white and blue). The name of the chief of the standard was written in Chinese characters on the principal one. The bands were composed of Chinese from Yunnan, Kwangsi, and Kwangtung [the three southern provinces of China]. They ravaged the countries near them, extending their operations yearly, the governors of which used to employ another band to revenge their wrongs; and in this way the different flags were constantly fighting one against another until the French war in Tonquin, when they became united for the single purpose of fighting the French.
"It was the Haws of the striped banner who overran Chiang Kwang or Muang Puen about the year 1873, and extended their ravages as far as Nongkai [on the bend of the Mekong in about latitude 18°]; here, however, they were destroyed by the Siamese. They came back, and the same Siamese general, Phraya Rat, who defeated them before, was sent against them again. He was wounded, however, shortly after making his attack upon their position, and the Haws eventually escaped. The honor of destroying the place fell to Phra Amarawasie, the son of the prime-minister, who has done credit to the training he received at the Royal Academy of Woolwich. On the northeast of Luang Phrabang, Phraya Suri Sak, a general in whom the king has always placed implicit trust, has been operating against Black Flags and Yellow Flags. These Black Flags are excellently armed with Remingtons, Martini-Henries, Sniders, and repeating rifles, and their ammunition is of the best, being all solid brass cartridges from Kynoch of Birmingham. I understand that an arrangement has been entered into by which the Haws are to be suppressed by the combined action of the French and Siamese. Let us hope that these beautiful countries will soon be restored to prosperity, and the inhabitants left free to lead the peaceful lives they so much desire."9