Siam : The Land of the White Elephant as It Was and Is

Mouhot remained for four months among the mountains of Pechaburi, "known by the names of Makaon Khao, Panam Knot, Khao Tamoune, and Khao Samroun, the last two of which are 1,700 and 1,900 feet above the level of the sea." He needed the repose after the fatigue of his long journey, and by way of preparation for his new and arduous explorations of the Laos country, from which, as the result proved, he was never to come back. He returned to Bangkok, and after a brief season of preparation and farewell, he started for the interior.

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 - Proceedings of the Royal Geographical Society for March, 1888.]

CHAPTER XVI.

SIAMESE LIFE AND CUSTOMS

The impression which most travellers in Siam have received in regard to the moral characteristics of the people has been generally favorable, and is on the whole confirmed by the judgment of foreigners who have been longer resident among them. They have, of course, the defects and vices which are to be expected in a half savage people, governed through many generations by the capricious tyranny of an Oriental despotism. And the climate and natural conditions of the country are not suited to develop in them the hardier and nobler virtues. Industry and self-sacrifice can hardly be looked for as characteristics of people to whom nature is so bountiful as to require of them no exertion to provide either food or raiment. And, on the other hand, with the sloth and inactivity to which nature invites, the animal passions, by indulgence, often become fierce and overmastering. But it seems to be agreed that if the Siamese lack the industry and economy of their neighbors, the Chinese, they have not the passionate and sometimes treacherous character of the Malays. To the traveller they seem inoffensive, almost to timidity, and with a more than ordinary share of "natural affection." One of the Roman Catholic missionaries, quoted in Bowring, says, "Parents know how to make themselves extremely beloved and respected, and Siamese children have great docility and sweetness. Parents answer to princes for the conduct of their children; they share in their chastisements, and deliver them up when they have offended. If the son takes flight, he never fails to surrender himself when the prince apprehends his father or his mother, or his other collateral relations older than himself, to whom he owes respect." Bowring himself testifies that "of the affection of parents for children and the deference paid by the young to the old, we saw abundant evidence in all classes of society. Fathers were constantly observed carrying about their offspring in their arms, and mothers engaged in adorning them. The king was never seen in public by us without some of his younger children near him; and we had no intercourse with the nobles where numbers of little ones were not on the carpets, grouped around their elders, and frequently receiving attention from them."

The large sums frequently expended in the decoration of the little children with anklets and bracelets and necklaces and chains of gold (often hundreds of dollars in value and constituting their sole costume), are another proof of the same parental fondness. The great beauty of the children has attracted the notice of almost all travellers, and they seem as amiable as they are beautiful. Their skins are colored with a fine powder, of a deep, golden color, and an aromatic smell. "In the morning, Siamese mothers may be seen industriously engaged in yellowing their offspring from head to heel. So universal is the custom, that in caressing the children of the king or nobles, you may be certain to carry away yellow stains upon your dress. A small quantity mingled with quick-lime makes a paste of a bright pink color, of which the consumption is so large for spreading on the betel-leaves which are used to wrap around the areca-nut, that I have seen whole boatloads moving about for sale amidst the floating bazaars on the Meinam. This curcuma or Indian saffron is known to be the coloring matter in the curries, mulligatawnies and chutnees of India" – and is thus seen to be available for the inside as well as the outside of men.

The relations between the sexes seem to be characterized by propriety and decorum; and though polygamy is permitted and practised by the higher classes, and divorce is easy and somewhat frequent, yet, "on the whole," says Bowring, "the condition of woman is better in Siamese than in most Oriental countries. The education of Siam women is little advanced. Many of them are good musicians, but their principal business is to attend to domestic affairs. They are as frequently seen as men in charge of boats on the Meinam. They generally distribute alms to the bonzes, and attend the temples, bringing their offerings of flowers and fruit. In the country they are busied with agricultural pursuits. They have seldom the art of plying the needle, as the Siamese garments almost invariably consist of a single piece of cloth."

Of the acuteness and wit of a people, the best evidence is to be found in their familiar proverbs, and the following may be cited (from Bowring) in illustration of their shrewd sense and Chinese aptitude for seizing nature's hints.

"When you go into a wood, do not forget your wood-knife.

"An elephant though he has four legs may slip; and a doctor is not always right.

"Go up by land, you meet a tiger; go down by water, you meet a crocodile.

"If a dog bite you, do not bite him again."

Between the luxury and splendor of the king's court and the poverty of the common people there is of course the greatest and most painful contrast. The palaces of the king are filled with whatever the wealth and power of their owner can procure. The hovels of the common peasants are bare and comfortless, the furniture consisting only of a few coarse vessels of earthenware or wicker-work, and a mat or two spread upon the floor. In houses of a slightly better class will be found carpenter's tools, a movable oven, various cooking utensils, both in copper and clay, spoons of mother-of-pearl, plates and dishes in metal and earthenware, and a large porcelain jar, and another of copper for fresh water. There is also a tea-set, and all the appliances for betel chewing and tobacco smoking, some stock of provisions and condiments for food.

Probably the most reliable witnesses to the true character of the Siamese are those Protestant missionaries whose lives are passed in intimate association with the people and devoted to doing them good. From a recent book written by one of these, Miss M. L. Cort,[10 - Siam: or, The Heart of Farther India. New York, 1886.] we shall obtain a fair idea of life in Siam and of certain customs dear to the common people.

"Women enjoy greater liberty than in almost any other Oriental land. You meet them everywhere; and in the bazaars and markets nearly all the buying and selling is done by them. As servants and slaves, too, they are seen performing all sorts of labor in the open streets. Still, they are downtrodden and considered infinitely inferior to men. It is a significant fact that although boys have been educated for past centuries in the Buddhist monasteries, there are not and have never been, so far as I can learn, any native schools for girls. Quite a number, however, learn to read in their own families, but such knowledge is looked upon as a superfluous accomplishment, and they are not encouraged in it, neither is any one ashamed to acknowledge her ignorance of books.

"The Siamese are a pleasant, good-natured people, but lazy and indolent to the utmost degree, and vain, shallow, and self-conceited. Their greatest vices are lying, gambling, immorality, and intemperance, although the latter is strictly forbidden by one of the commandments in their Buddhist decalogue."

The Siamese are deplorably susceptible to the evil effects of alcohol and opium. Physically they are a small and rather weakly race, and the effect of strong drink upon them is shown in the rapid deterioration of their bodily health; while their temperament, which is by nature light, timid, and gay, becomes morose and sullen under the same influence. The terrible inroads which were at one time made on the health and well-being of the people from the too-abundant use of arrack, a native spirit distilled from rice, brought these truths vividly before the minds of the authorities, and led to the adoption of stringent regulations affecting the sale of that spirit, to the loss and much to the regret of the Chinese dealers who had acquired a monopoly of the trade. A still more determined crusade was undertaken against opium-smoking, which was even held to be a blacker and more pernicious habit than swilling arrack. Strict laws prohibiting the practice were passed and enforced; and any ill-starred Siamese now found pipe in hand has the choice given him of either denationalizing himself by adopting the Chinese pig-tail, and paying an annual tax as an alien, or of suffering death. In this traffic also the purveyors are Chinese, who, while protesting, perhaps too much, against the importation of the drug into their own country, show no compunction whatever in distributing it broadcast among the people of other nations.

Returning to Miss Cort's account: "The dress of the Siamese," she writes, "is very simple and comfortable, consisting of a waist-cloth, jacket, and scarf, and sometimes a hat and sandals. If all would at all times wear the native dress there would be no occasion for fault-finding. But as a nation they do not know what shame is, and as the climate is mild and pleasant, and the majority of the people poor and careless, their usual dress consists of a simple waist-cloth, adjusted in a very loose and slovenly manner; while many children until they are ten or twelve years old wear no clothing whatever. When foreigners first arrive in Siam they are shocked almost beyond endurance at the nudity of the people; and although they constantly preach a gospel of dress, their influence in this respect seems less apparent than in almost any other. Not until Siam is clothed need she expect a place among respectable, civilized nations.

"The old-fashioned shave, which left a patch of stiff bristles on the top of the head, like a shoe-brush, is no longer the universal style. European trims are fashionable in the capital, and some of the young men are trying to cultivate the mustache, while the women let their hair cover the whole head and dress it with cocoanut oil. They shave their foreheads, rub beeswax on their lips, powder their faces, and perfume their bodies. They bend their joints back and forth to make them supple, and give the elbow a peculiarly awkward twist which they consider very graceful.

"Their salutations are decidedly peculiar. The old style is to get down on all fours, and then resting on the knees, raise the clasped hands three times above the head, and also bow the head forward until the brow touches the floor. They kiss with their noses, by pressing them against their friends', and saying 'Very fragrant, very fragrant!' while they take long, satisfied sniffs. Many are now learning to shake hands and make graceful bows like Europeans, but the imported kiss is not yet in vogue, and I do not see that it ever can be until betel is discarded, for at present the nose is a more kissable feature of the Siamese face than the mouth.

"The people are exceedingly fond of jewelry, and often their gold chains and rings are the only adornment the body can boast. Many a young girl refuses to wear a jacket because it would cover up her chains, which are worn as a hunter carries his game-bag, over one shoulder and under the arm. She prefers a scarf which she can arrange and rearrange, and thus display the glitter of her golden ornaments. They wear a great many gold rings, and their ear-rings are often costly and beautiful. They also have gold armlets and anklets and charms encircling neck and waist, and the higher ranks now wear gold girdles with jewelled clasps. The jewelry is of odd and unique designs – snake-bracelets; necklaces of gold turtles, fish and flowers, set with gems; dragon-headed rings, with diamond, emerald, or ruby eyes, and a tongue that moves. Some rings have little birds poised upon them, with out-spread wings and sparkling with jewels; golden elephants, and many other rich and costly designs…

"All ordinary Siamese houses must have three rooms; indeed, so important is this number considered to the comfort of the family, that the suitor must often promise to provide three rooms ere the parents will let him claim his bride. There is the common bedroom, an outer room where they sit during the day and receive their visitors, and the kitchen. Let me begin at the latter and try to describe the dirty, dingy place. Having no godliness, the next thing to it, cleanliness, is entirely lacking. There is a rude box filled with earth, where they build the fire and do what they call the cooking; that is, they boil rice and make curry, and roast fish and bananas over the coals. There is no making of bread or pie, of cake or pudding; no roasts, no gravies, no soups. Even vegetables are seldom cooked at home, but are prepared by others and sold in the markets, or peddled in the streets. There they buy boiled sweet potatoes, green corn, and preserved fruits, curries, roasted fish, and ants, peanuts, and bananas, sliced pineapples, and melons, and squash. Pickled onions and turnips are sold in the streets of Bangkok just as pickled beets are in Damascus. Curry is made of all sorts of things, but is usually a combination of meat or fish, and vegetables. If you want an English name for it that all can understand, you must call it a stew. The ingredients are chopped very fine or pounded in a mortar, especially the red peppers, onions, and spices. The pre-dominant flavor is red pepper, so hot and fiery that your mouth will smart and burn for half an hour after you have eaten it. Still many of the curries are very good, and with steamed rice furnish a good meal. But sometimes a 'broth of abominable things is in their vessels,' as for instance, when they make curry of rats or bats, or of the flesh of animals that have died of disease, and they flavor it with kapick, a sort of rotten fish, of which all Siamese are inordinately fond. It is unrivalled in strength of fragrance and flavor. Siam is unique in that she possesses two of the most abominable things, and yet the most delicious, if we believe what we hear, and they are the durian, a large fruit found only on this peninsula, and 'kapick,' which I hope is not found anywhere outside of Siam.

"There is no regularity about their meals, and they do not wait for one another, but eat when they get hungry. In the higher families the men always eat first and by themselves, and the wives and children and dogs take what is left. The usual rule is for each one to wash his own rice-bowl, and turn it upside down in a basket in a corner of the kitchen, there to drip and dry till the next time it is needed. They eat with their fingers, very few having so much even as a spoon.

"The kitchen floors are nearly all made of split bamboos, with great cracks between, through which they pour all the slops and push the dirt, so there is no sweeping or scrubbing to do. Near the door are several large earthen jars for water, which are filled from the river by the women or servants as often as they get empty, and here they wash their feet before they enter the house. They also use brass basins and trays a great deal, but for lack of scouring they are discolored and green with verdigris, and I cannot help thinking the use of such vessels is one fruitful source of the dreadful sores and eruptions with which the whole nation is afflicted."

It would be hopeless to endeavor to describe all the peculiarities of native fashion and thought, many of which, indeed, are already disappearing under the advancing tide of western civilization. Like all idolatrous nations, the people are subject to rank superstitions and curious fancies, some of them gross or brutal, but more often whimsical in their extravagance. To express, for example, the duration of a kop, one of the divisions of eternity, they say that when a stone ten miles square, which is visited once a century by an angel who brushes it with a gossamer web, is finally worn away, then a kop is completed. Compared with other Asiatic nations, the Siamese cannot be called cruel, what pain they inflict comes in most cases from ignorance or obtuseness, seldom from wantonness. Punishments, of course, involve whipping, and in capital offences the victim loses his head in the old-fashioned way. But, Miss Cort tells us, "after taking a soothing draught, provided by merciful Buddhists who wish to make merit, the victim's eyes are bandaged and his ears stuffed with mud, and thus he is at least partially unconscious of the stroke that destroys his life… Some offenders, instead of being executed, are degraded from all titles and rank, and condemned to cut grass for elephants for life. They are branded on the forehead, and have to cut the grass themselves; no one is allowed to help them, nor can they buy it with their own money." A glance at the customs connected with birth, marriage, and death will be interesting, and will serve to illustrate the peculiarities of Siamese life.

"Marriages," says Sir John Bowring, "are the subject of much negotiation, undertaken, not directly by the parents, but by 'go-betweens,' nominated by those of the proposed bridegroom, who make proposals to the parents of the intended bride. A second repulse puts the extinguisher on the attempted treaty; but if successful, a large boat, gayly adorned with flags and accompanied by music, is laden with garments, plate, fruits, betel, etc. In the centre is a huge cake or cakes, in the form of a pyramid, printed in bright colors. The bridegroom accompanies the procession to the house of his future father-in-law, where the lady's dowry and the day for the celebration of the marriage are fixed. It is incumbent on the bridegroom to erect or to occupy a house near that of his intended, and a month or two must elapse before he can carry away his bride. No religious rites accompany the marriage, though bonzes are invited to the feast, whose duration and expense depend upon the condition of the parties. Music is an invariable accompaniment. Marriages take place early; I have seen five generations gathered round the head of a family. I asked the senior Somdetch how many of his descendants lived in his palace; he said he did not know, but there were a hundred or more. It was indeed a frequent answer to the inquiry in the upper ranks, 'What number of children and grandchildren have you?' 'Oh, multitudes; we cannot tell how many.' I inquired of the first king how many children had been born to him; he said, 'Twelve before I entered the priesthood, and eleven since I came to the throne.' I have generally observed that a pet child is selected from the group to be the special recipient of the smiles and favors of the head of the race.

"Though wives or concubines are kept in any number according to the wealth or will of the husband, the wife who has been the object of the marriage ceremony, called the Khan mak, takes precedence of all the rest, and is really the sole legitimate spouse; and she and her descendants are the only legal heirs to the husband's possessions. Marriages are permitted beyond the first degree of affinity. Divorce is easily obtained on application from the woman, in which case the dowry is restored to the wife. If there be only one child, it belongs to the mother, who takes also the third, fifth, and all those representing odd numbers; the husband has the second, fourth, etc. A husband may sell a wife that he has purchased, but not one who has brought him a dowry. If the wife is a party to contracting debts on her husband's behalf, she may be sold for their redemption, but not otherwise."

One natural result of polygamy is, not only to take away from the beauty and dignity of the marriage relation, but also to lessen the amount of ceremony with which the marriage is celebrated. A Siamese of the higher class is generally "so much married," that it is hardly worth his while to make much fuss about it, or indulge in much parade on the occasion. Accordingly the ceremonial would seem to be much less than that of burial. For a man can die but once, and his funeral is not an event to be many times repeated.

A singular custom connected with childbirth is described by Dr. Bradley, a former American missionary. The occasion was the first confinement of the wife of the late second king, in the year 1835. Dr. Bradley was dining with a party of friends at the house of the Portuguese consul. He says: "Just before we rose from table, a messenger from Prince Chowfah-noi [the late second king] came, apologizing for his master's absence from the dinner, and requesting my attendance on his wife in her first parturition. The call for me, although silently given, was quickly understood by all the party, and the interest which it excited was of no ordinary character, because it indicated a violation of the sacred rules, absurdities, and cruelties of Siamese midwifery, and that too by the second man in the kingdom.