From the time we left Pemptiélan we had, except at rare intervals, to pass through dense forests, and at first the ground was so marshy that our miserable waggons occasionally sank deeply; and it required the united strength of the oxen and all our men to extricate them. We got over the latter part of our route more agreeably; for, as we reached a higher elevation, the ground became dry, and the aspect of the country more varied.
We had only been able to accomplish 60 miles in five days, and were still 30 miles from Brelum. I grew tired of the incivility of the inhabitants from whom I hired the oxen, and of the slowness of these animals: when we had no shelter for the night, we suffered much from rain and damp; our clothes were almost always soaked through; and, to crown our misfortunes, my two servants were attacked with intermittent fever; the Annamite particularly, who had a tertian fever, lasting for ten days.
The mode of life of the Cambodians is similar to that of the Siamese: rice, as with the latter, is the chief part of their food: they eat it with vegetables, such as pumpkins or gourds, and wild potatoes. Those in better circumstances add to it fish, but rarely meat; and yet the country is as fertile as Lower Cochin-China, the soil of which yields so abundant a return for all that is put in the ground.
The poverty of the inhabitants of these miserable villages engenders a repulsive dirtiness: a strip of matting or an old filthy cushion thrown on the ground, and full of vermin, some basins of coarse Chinese porcelain, a sort of hatchet, and a piece of cotton, intended either for counterpane, scarf, or cloak, according to the season and time of day, are the usual contents of a Cambodian hut.[19]
We arrived at Pump-Ka-Daye, on the confines of Cambodia, and inhabited by about twenty Stiêns, who have approached the boundary in order to escape slavery in their own tribe. Our waggons halted before a small caravanserai, open to every wind; and after having carried in our luggage, our guides disappeared much faster than they had come. The chief soon presented himself, followed by some men: he had all the characteristics of a savage in his face, and of a Cambodian in his nature. I handed him my letter, but he returned it, saying that he could not read. “These, then,” said I, “are the contents. It is the king’s order to all chiefs of villages where I shall stop to furnish me with waggons to continue my journey to Brelum.” “We have no waggons,” was the answer.
We made ourselves as comfortable as we could till the next day, when a second interview with the chief proved to me that I should get no aid from him. I therefore sent Niou with two Cambodians to carry a letter to M. Guilloux, and bring me an answer. This arrived on the evening of the fourth day; and in it M. Guilloux assured me of a cordial welcome, adding that he was interested in my undertaking, and had already a great regard for me, without seeing me, for my courage in coming so far.[20] The good father sent me three waggons from the mission settlement, and some of his Annamites, as well as two Stiêns, to help me on my way. This letter completely removed all fear of being a troublesome and unwelcome guest to the poor hermit, and I set out with pleasure and confidence. It took us two long days’ journey to reach Brelum: we encamped one night near a torrent, lying on our mats beside a good fire, which we lighted to keep off the ferocious denizens of these forests. The second night we passed in a deserted cabin some miles from Brelum; and on the 16th August, at nine in the morning, we came to a clearing of from 250 to 300 metres square. We were betwixt two hills, at the foot of which was marshy ground. On the slope of one I saw two long bamboo houses, covered with thatch, and with the mission-garden attached: higher up was the cross planted two years before amidst these frightful solitudes by the noble and courageous French missionaries.
CHAPTER X.
Sojourn of Three Months among the Savage Stiêns—Manners of this Tribe—Products of the Country—Fauna—Manners of the Annamites.
I resided nearly three months among the savage Stiêns. Is this too short a period to enable me to form an opinion of them? One would think so, on hearing Father Guilloux repeat often that, although he has lived here two years, he is yet far from knowing all their superstitions and devilries.
We are surrounded by forests, which are infested with elephants, buffaloes, rhinoceros, tigers, and wild boars, and the ground all about the pools is covered with their footprints. We live almost as in a besieged place, every moment dreading some attack of the enemy, and keeping our guns constantly loaded. Sometimes they come close to our quarters, and we cannot go even a few steps into the woods without hearing them. As a general rule, however, they fly from the approach of man, and in order to get a shot it is necessary to lie in wait either amongst the branches of a tree or hidden amid the brushwood near the spots where they come to drink.
Scorpions, centipedes, and, above all, serpents, were the enemies we most dreaded, and against which precautions were chiefly requisite; but the mosquitoes and the leeches, though less dangerous, were the most troublesome and most inveterate plagues. During the rainy season you cannot be too much on your guard; going to bed or getting up, you are ever in peril of putting hand or foot on some venomous snake. I have killed more than one in my house with a gun or a hatchet. As I write, I am obliged to be continually on the watch, fearing to see one reappear on which I trod this evening, but which made his exit without hurting me. From time to time, also, I stop to listen to the roaring of a tiger, who is wandering round our dwelling and looking longingly at the pigs through their fence of planks and bamboos. Again, I hear a rhinoceros breaking down the bamboos which oppose his progress towards the brambles encircling our garden, on which he intends to banquet.
The savage Stiêns who inhabit this region have probably the same origin as those who people the mountains and the table-land which separate the kingdoms of Siam and Cambodia from that of Annam, and which extend along the great river from 11° north lat. and between 106° and 108° east long. They form as many separate communities as there are villages, and seem to be a race distinct from all the people who surround them. I am myself inclined to believe them to be the aborigines of the country, and to suppose that they have been driven back from the sea and the rivers to the districts now occupied by them by the successive invasions of the Thibetans, who have spread themselves over Laos, Siam, and Cambodia, and nothing that I can discover leads to any other supposition.[21]
These savages are so strongly attached to their forests and mountains that to quit them seems almost like death, and those who are dragged as slaves to the neighbouring countries languish under captivity and try every method of escape, frequently with success. Like other savages, they have appeared formidable to their neighbours, and the fear inspired by them has occasioned exaggerated reports of their wonderful skill in shooting with the bow, as well as of the pestilential climate. However, it is a fact that fever prevails here terribly; numbers of Annamites and Cambodians have fallen victims to it, and I am assured that I am the only stranger who has come without suffering from it more or less. These people love the deep shade of the pathless woods, which they do not trouble themselves to cut down; but if they cling to their country, they do not to any particular locality, for if they meet with any inconvenience in their neighbourhood, or if any of their family die of fever, they raise their camp, take their children in baskets on their backs, and set off to make a settlement elsewhere; land is not wanting, and the forest everywhere alike.
These tribes are nearly independent, although the Cambodians on one side, and the Laotians and Annamites on the other, levy on the villages near them a triennial tribute of rice and wax. The King of Cambodia does not want the will to treat the Stiêns as he did the Thiâmes, in order to people some of his desert provinces.
The inscription placed—alas! so vainly—on our public edifices is here, notwithstanding slavery, the motto of the people, and its sincerity is evidenced in their practice. We use words; they act. If there is abundance at one house, the whole village shares in it, and when scarcity prevails, which is often the case, all alike suffer.
They work admirably in iron and ivory, and some tribes are noted, as in Annam, for their hatchets and the beautiful workmanship of their sabres. Their drinking-vessels are rude, but of their own manufacture, and the women weave and dye the long fine scarfs which they wear, the best of which are often valued at the price of an ox. They cultivate rice, maize, tobacco, various kinds of vegetables, and fruit-trees, such as bananas, mangoes, and oranges. Every person of any substance possesses several slaves, and a field, always at some distance from the village, and very carefully attended to. In these fields, in little huts raised on piles, the Stiêns pass the whole of the rainy season, during which they can neither hunt nor fish, both on account of the inclement weather and the leeches, the immense numbers of which, as in the forests of Siam, make them a perfect pest.
All the domestic animals of the neighbouring countries, such as oxen, pigs, fowls, and ducks, are found here, but in small numbers. Elephants are scarce; but farther north, among the tribe of the Benams, it is said that no village is without them.
When the harvest has been gathered in the Stiêns commence a series of festivities. The rice having been piled up in oblong stacks, they take from these every morning as much as suffices for the day’s consumption. One community sends invitations to another, and the inhabitants of a wealthy village will often kill as many as ten oxen for the entertainment; all must be consumed before they separate, and day and night they eat and drink to the accompaniment of the Chinese tam-tam and tambourine. This excess, after a long period of privation, brings on illness, commonly the itch and other cutaneous disorders. Much of this, however, also proceeds from the want of salt, which they cannot always procure. For all internal complaints, the general remedy here, as in Cambodia, is an iron heated in the fire and applied to the pit of the stomach, and there are few men without scars on this part of the body.
They are acquainted with many of the remedies drawn from simples; they never cover up a wound or sore, but leave it exposed to the air and sun, and it generally heals. They appear to be exempt from leprosy, so common among the Chinese; but then they are very cleanly, and bathe in all weathers, often three times a day.
The Stiêns have no resemblance to either the Cambodian or Annamite races; like the last, however, they wear the hair long, twisted up, and fastened by a bamboo comb, in which is often inserted, for ornament, a piece of brass wire surmounted by the crest of a pheasant. They are usually above the middle height, are well proportioned and robust; their features are regular, and the thick eyebrows and beard of the men, when they do not pull out the hair from the face, give them a grave appearance. The forehead is well developed, and announces an intelligence much beyond that of the Annamites. Their manners are hospitable, and a stranger is always certain of being well received and feasted. They either kill a pig or fowl, and offer you wine, which is not drunk out of any sort of vessel, but sucked, through a bamboo cane, from a large jar; it is made from rice, fermented, but rarely distilled. To refuse a pipe when offered is considered a great rudeness, which more than one savage has paid for by a knife-thrust. It is also etiquette to eat the whole of the food set before you.
Their only dress is the long scarf I have already mentioned, and which, when worn, appears only about two inches wide. I often surprised them quite naked in their cabins; but on perceiving me they always covered themselves.
The greatest liberty is allowed to slaves, and corporal punishment is never inflicted on any one. For theft, a forfeit is exacted of a pig or ox, and several jars of wine, of which the whole village partake. If the fine be not paid, it rapidly increases in amount; the offender is soon in debt to the community for fifteen or twenty buffaloes, and finally he is sold as a slave.
The Stiêns have neither priests nor temples, yet they recognise the existence of a supreme being, to whom they refer everything good or evil; they call him “Brâ,” and invoke him in all cases. They believe also in an evil genius, and attribute all diseases to him. If any one be suffering from illness, they say it is the demon tormenting him; and, with this idea, make, night and day, an insupportable noise around the patient, which they keep up until one of the party falls in a kind of fit, crying out, “He has passed into my body; he is stifling me.” They then question the new patient, asking him, first, what remedies to give the sick man, and how the demon can be made to abandon his prey. Sometimes the sacrifice of a pig or an ox is required, often a human victim; in this latter case they pitilessly seize upon a slave and offer him up to the evil genius.
Funerals are solemnly performed, the whole village assisting, with the exception of the nearest relatives, who generally remain at home. All those present fill the air with lamentable cries. They bury their dead near their dwellings, covering the tomb with a little roof of branches, beneath which they place gourds full of water, and sometimes small bows and arrows; and every day some member of the family comes and sows a few grains of rice, that the dead may have something to eat. These customs resemble those of the Chinese.
Before every meal they take care to spill a little rice to feed the souls of their ancestors, and in their fields and other places formerly frequented by them they make similar little offerings to them. At the end of a long bamboo planted in the ground they suspend plumes of reeds; lower down are fastened smaller bamboos containing a few drops of wine or water; and, lastly, on a slight trellis-work raised above the ground, is laid some earth, in which they stick an arrow, and on which they throw a few grains of cooked rice, a bone, a little tobacco, and a leaf.
According to their belief, animals also have souls which wander about after their death; thus, when they have killed one, fearing lest its soul should come and torment them, they ask pardon for the evil they have done to it, and offer sacrifices proportioned to the strength and size of the animal. For an elephant, the ceremony is conducted with pomp; the head is ornamented with crowns, and musical performances on the tam-tam and tambourine, with singing, are continued for seven consecutive days. The whole village, summoned by sound of trumpet, assembles to take part in the fête, and every one is entitled to a portion of the flesh.
The Stiêns smoke the flesh of the animals when they desire to preserve it for any length of time; but ordinarily, all those taken in the chase are eaten on the spot, and within a few days; they then merely singe them whole, without skinning, and afterwards cut them in pieces and cook them.
It is rare to meet a Stiên without his cross-bow in his hand, his knife over his shoulder, and a basket on his back, which serves both for quiver and game-bag. Hunting and fishing occupy all the time not given to the cultivation of the ground. They are indefatigable in the chase, and glide amidst the thickest woods with the speed of a deer, seeming not to feel fatigue. The women appear as robust and strong as the men. Their cross-bows are very effective weapons, and they are skilful in the use of them; but rarely shoot from a distance of more than fifty paces. They use poisoned arrows for the larger animals, the venom being extremely rapid in its effects; if the beast, whether it be elephant, tiger, or rhinoceros, have the skin ever so slightly pierced, so that the poison touches the blood, it is almost certain to be found dead a few hundred yards from the place where it was struck.
They are very fond of ornaments, particularly beads of brilliant colours, which they make into bracelets. Glass ornaments and brass wire pass among them as money; a buffalo or an ox is valued at six armfulls of thick brass wire; a pig is nearly as dear; but for a small piece of fine wire or a bead necklace you can purchase a pheasant or a hundred ears of maize. Men generally wear a bracelet above the elbow and one at the wrist; but the women cover both arms and legs with these ornaments. Both sexes have their ears pierced, and widen the hole every year by inserting pieces of bone or ivory three inches long.
Polygamy is held in honour among the Stiêns, although only the chiefs are rich enough to allow themselves the luxury of several wives.
While I was among them there was a total eclipse of the sun, which, if I remember right, was also visible in England. Like the Cambodians, on the occurrence of such phenomena, they believe that some being has swallowed up the sun and moon; and in order to deliver them, they made a frightful noise, beat the tam-tam, uttered savage cries, and shot arrows into the air, until the sun reappeared.
One of their favourite amusements is to send up kites, to which they attach a musical instrument somewhat resembling a bow, and this, when agitated by the wind, produces sweet and melodious sounds to which they are fond of listening.
Their memories are bad, and they have great difficulty in learning to calculate. If a hundred ears of maize are to be offered for sale, they are arranged in tens, to make sure that the number is correct. Their notions of geography are very limited; they imagine that white men inhabit only a few obscure corners of the globe, and, judging of them by the Catholic missionaries, doubt much if they have any women among them.
Hostilities between one village and another are not infrequent, but they are never very serious: they seek to surprise and take one another prisoners in the fields or pathways, and the captives are sold as slaves to the Laotians or Cambodians. Their disposition is gentle and timid, and at the least alarm of an enemy they retire into the forest, previously placing in the paths sharp-pointed stakes of bamboo, which often pierce quite through the feet of their pursuers.
The manners of the savages of Brelum and those of the surrounding villages differ considerably; this is owing to the influence of the good and courageous missionaries, who, although they do not make many converts—which is their chief trouble—have at least the consolation of being able by their presence, good counsel, and example, to soften and enlighten these poor creatures—in one word, to civilize them.
The Fauna of this country does not differ much from that of the kingdom of Siam; thus, with the exception of some beautiful new species of insects and land shells, and a number of interesting birds, I shall gain by my excursion nothing but the pleasure of having been able to study the habits of a curious people, and the not inferior gratification of making them known to the public, should these rough notes, written hastily, and with no claim to any merit but truth, be destined to see the light. Whether God reserves for me the happiness of again seeing my native country, in which event it will be my endeavour to put them into some sort of readable shape; or whether I fall a victim to pestilence or ferocious beasts, and some kind person takes charge of these sheets, scribbled generally by the light of a torch, and on my knees at the foot of a tree, amidst interruptions of all sorts, of which the mosquitoes are not the least annoying; in either case, living or dead, I shall need, I am aware, an indulgence seldom granted. Most readers prefer being amused to being instructed; while my sole aim has been to paint faithfully, and to the best of my poor abilities, what came under my observation.
My arrival here was—I may say it without vanity, for I was a stranger to him—quite an event in the poor missionary’s lonely life; and the landing—for it did not deserve the name of room—left vacant by the departure of Father Arnoux, was placed at my disposal. I ask pardon of the good, brave, and generous priests who have aided, welcomed, and sheltered me through all my wanderings, if I have spoken too plainly of their poverty and privations of all kinds; if I have raised the curtain which, perhaps, they would wish to keep drawn, for, I repeat, they look not for recompense in this world; but I have done it that the world may know that their life is one of the hardest and most painful, and requires self-sacrifice more than any other. Exposed to the influence of pernicious climates, badly lodged, badly fed, far from their families and from their country, often ill and dying without help—such is the lot of these men.
The house of uncle Apait was at least as elegant and well furnished as that of the humble priest at Brelum: both had the bare ground for a floor, walls of bamboo canes, and dried grass for thatch. The hut was divided into four compartments, two being used by the missionaries, another by their servant, and the fourth served as a chapel. This, like the others, was far from splendid, and the whole house had been so undermined by the white ants, that it seemed menaced with approaching ruin.
Speaking of the Annamite servants, I shall quote what the Abbé Gagelin says about them, for I can testify to its truth. “All sensibility,” says he, “appears deadened among them; they are very proud, however, and great cheats. There is so little affection among them, that the nearest relations never think of embracing; even a child, returning to his parents after a ten years’ absence, would not think of such a thing. Among brothers and sisters it would be considered almost a scandal. They will not permit us missionaries to caress a child, not even a baby. This coldness is not confined to their domestic relations; under an ardent sky, which should warm the imagination, they, in their stupid sang froid, will not tolerate in a preacher the slightest movement or gesture.” However, to compensate for these defects, the abbé, who, even in the opinion of several of the other missionaries, has been guilty of great errors in his letters, might have added that, at times, they are capable of acts of devotion and self-sacrifice truly great and courageous.
The French missionaries in Cochin China must have had many proofs of this, for, hunted as they are like wild beasts, they could not long escape the vigilant eyes of the mandarins, nor continue, in spite of the most terrible persecutions, to reside in the country. It is death for any one to be caught sheltering or assisting a priest; but, notwithstanding, they and their goods are conveyed in boats from Singapore, eluding all the spies set to watch for them, and remain hidden for months and even years. If an alarm is raised, in spite of the danger of discovery, they are conveyed to another locality, where they find new friends equally ready to peril their lives for them. Missions are founded amongst the most savage tribes; and in spite of the terrible reputation of this climate, in spite of fevers, wild beasts, and love of home, the missionary has but to speak, and he is sure to find poor Christians ready to follow him, often without fee or reward. In what country in the world, among what civilized people of the West, can you find more than this?
Intelligent, and with a desire for civilization, the only difficulty is to know how to guide them. From my own experience and that of others, I believe the Annamite to be lively, adroit, intelligent, and courageous; but obstinate, vindictive, a dissembler, a liar, and a thief; slow to get into a passion, but terrible when he does so. His dirtiness surpasses anything I have ever seen, and his food is abominably nasty. Rotten fish and dog’s flesh are his favourite diet.
Drawn by M. Catenacci, from a sketch by M. Mouhot.
SCENE IN THE JUNGLE BETWEEN BATTAMBONG AND BANGKOK.
The tiger of Annam is terribly savage, and his strength is equal to his ferocity. Often, however, a couple of men will go alone to attack one, armed merely with pikes. As soon as they see the animal, the more powerful or more courageous of the two lowers his pike; the tiger hesitates a moment, and sometimes, if not pressed by hunger, turns and disappears with the rapidity of lightning; but at other times he will make a spring at the hunter, when, if the force of the leap do not carry him right over the man’s head, he falls upon the pike, which the hunter then elevates by pressing the handle on the ground. The second hunter now comes forward, and in his turn pierces him, and uniting their strength, they both hold him down till he dies. Occasionally the first man misses his aim, and his pike breaks; then all is over for one, if not both. The most common method of hunting the tiger has more actors engaged. There is in every village some experienced man who leads the attack; and if any one has been carried off by one of these animals, the tam-tam is sounded to summon people from the neighbouring villages to follow this leader after the creature. As he always sleeps near the spot where he has left the remains of his repast, they are pretty sure of discovering his retreat.
When they have tracked the tiger to his lair, all the hunters form a circle as large as their number will allow, and sufficiently apart not to impede each other’s movements. These preparations completed, the leader makes sure that the animal has no outlet for escape. Some of the most daring then venture into the centre and cut away the brushwood, during which operation they are protected by others armed with pikes. The tiger, pressed on all sides, rolls his eyes, licks his paws in a convulsive manner, as though preparing for combat, then, with a frightful howl, he makes his spring. Immediately every pike is raised, and the animal falls pierced through and through. Accidents not infrequently happen, and many are often severely hurt; but they have no choice but to wage war against the tigers, which leave them no rest, force the enclosures, and carry off domestic animals and even men, not only from the roads and close vicinity of the houses, but from the interiors of the buildings. In Annam, the fear inspired by the tigers, elephants, and other wild animals, makes the people address them with the greatest respect; they give them the title of “Grandfather” or “Lord,” fearing that they may be offended, and show resentment by attacking them.
During the three months I passed in Brelum and its environs, my two poor servants were almost constantly ill with fever. I think myself very fortunate to have preserved my health, for even in these forests I have not had a touch of this complaint. In the rainy season the atmosphere is dreadfully damp and oppressive; in the thickest wood, where the sun scarcely penetrates, you might fancy yourself in a stove, and with the slightest exercise you are in a bath of perspiration.
In July and August we experienced violent storms, which burst out every second or third day; but in September and October it rained without intermission. At the beginning of November, after a change of wind, we had some refreshing nights, which made the thermometer fall to 12° centigrade. From noon to three o’clock there was little variation in the temperature.
Having paid visits to all the villages in the neighbourhood, and been visited in return by many of the inhabitants, I announced to my two excellent friends the missionaries that I must shortly leave them, and fixed my departure for the 29th November, meaning to return to Pinhalú and Udong, and from thence to ascend the Mekon as far as the great lake Touli-Sap.
CHAPTER XI.
Return to Pinhalu and Udong—The Great Lake Touli-Sap—Meeting with Nine Elephants—Recent Acts of Oppression towards the People—On the eventual Regeneration of the People—The Province of Battambong—Grand Ruins.
On the 29th I took leave of my amiable fellow-countryman and friend, M. Arnoux, to, I may venture to affirm, our mutual regret, and set off, accompanied by Father Guilloux, who had some business at Pinhalú. They both wished me to remain with them until Cochin China was open, and I could travel through the country in safety: I should have liked to do so, could I have foreseen an approaching termination of the war; but in the then state of affairs that was impossible.
As far as Pump-Ka-Daye, the first village we came to after leaving Brelum, I had the society and aid of the missionaries, and of the old chief of the Stiêns, who furnished me with three waggons for my baggage, while Phrai and M. Guilloux’s Annamite attendants took charge of my boxes of insects, which, if placed among my other goods, would have been injured by the jolting.
The rains had ceased for the last three weeks, and I was agreeably surprised at the improvement in the state of the country since August. The paths were dry, and we had no longer to flounder through dirty marshes, nor suffer from the wet nights which we formerly found so unpleasant. When we reached the station where we were to pass the first night, our servants lighted a fire to cook their rice, as well as scare away the wild beasts; but, notwithstanding this, we remarked that our oxen, dogs, and monkey showed signs of great fear, and, almost immediately afterwards, we heard a roaring like that of a lion. We seized our guns, which were loaded, and waited in readiness.
Fresh roarings, proceeding from a very short distance off, completed the terror of our animals; and we ourselves could not help feeling uneasy. I proposed to go and meet the enemy, which was agreed to, and we accordingly plunged into that part of the forest whence the sound came. Although familiar with these terrible creatures, we felt far from comfortable; but before long we came upon recent tracks which were quite unmistakeable, and soon, in a small clearing in the forest, perceived nine elephants, the leader being a male of enormous size, standing right in front of us.
Drawn by M. Catenacci, from a Sketch by M. Mouhot
HALT OF THE CARAVAN IN THE JUNGLE BETWEEN BATTAMBONG AND BANGKOK.
On our approach he set up a roar more frightful than ever, and the whole herd advanced slowly towards us. We remained in a stooping position, half hidden behind the trees, which were too tall for us to climb. I was in the act of taking aim at the forehead of the leader, the only vulnerable part, but an Annamite who stood beside me, and who was an old hunter, knocked up my rifle, and begged me not to fire; “for,” said he, “if you kill or wound one of the elephants we are lost; and even if we should succeed in escaping, the oxen, the waggons, and all their contents would be overwhelmed by the fury of these animals. If there were but two or three, we might hope to kill them; but nine, of whom five are very large, are too many; and it will be more prudent to retreat.” At this moment, Father Guilloux, who had not much confidence in his powers of locomotion, fired his gun in the air to frighten the elephants; and this plan fortunately succeeded: the herd stopped in astonishment for an instant, then turned round, and marched into the forest.
When we reached Pemptiélan we stopped at the house of the mandarin, whose authority extends over the neighbouring district, and, contrary to the usual custom, he offered us hospitality under his own roof. Scarcely, however, were we installed when he came to me and asked for the best of my guns, and, on my declining to part with it, he begged for something else, intimating that we should have begun by offering a present. Thereupon I gave him a suit of European clothes, a powder-flask and some powder, a hunting-knife, and some other small articles. In return he presented me with an ivory trumpet, and placed at my service two elephants to enable me to continue my route more comfortably: he likewise sent off our people with a letter to the chiefs of the Srokkhner.
We resumed our journey on the following day, the Abbé on one elephant, reading his breviary, and I upon another, both of us greatly enjoying the beauty of the landscape. Thus we traversed the beautiful plains, which, when I formerly travelled this road, were inhabited by the poor Thiâmes; but now, in place of rich harvest, I was astonished to find nothing but large trees: the villages were abandoned, and the houses and enclosures in ruins. It appeared that the mandarin of Pemptiélan, executing or exceeding the orders of his master the king of Cambodia, had kept these unfortunate people in such a state of slavery and oppression that they had even been deprived of their fishing and agricultural implements, and, being left without money or resources, experienced such frightful poverty that many of them died of hunger.
The poor wretches, to the number of several thousands, and under the conduct of a chief on whose head a price had been set, and who had secretly returned from Annam, rose in revolt. Those from Penom-Peuh went to Udong to protect their brethren in that place in their flight; and when all were united in one body, they descended the river, and passed into Cochin China. Orders were issued by the king to arrest their departure, but no one remained to execute them; for the whole Cambodian population, with the mandarins at their head, had fled into the forests at the first news of the rising.
Besides the interest inspired by the misfortunes of these poor people, their conduct, when all fled before them, and left Udong, Pinhalú, and Penom-Peuh defenceless, was so noble as greatly to increase this feeling. “We have no enmity against the people,” said they, “if they will but let us pass and respect our property; but we will put to death whoever opposes our flight.” And, in fact, they never touched one of the large boats which were moored near the market, and unguarded, but took to the river in their narrow and miserable pirogues.
In passing opposite the island of Ko-Sutin we stopped to see Father Cordier. The good missionary was in a sad state: his malady had got worse; and his debility was such that he could scarcely drag himself from his bed to a chair. He had no food but rice and dried fish; and the only persons to care for him, and wait upon him, were two children of ten years old. We begged him to accompany us to Pinhalú, but he declined, on account of his weakness. “All I regret,” said he, “is, that I shall see my poor parents no more; but for that, I should await death calmly, and almost with joy.” All our solicitations that he would go with us were unavailing; and we were forced to pursue our journey, very sad at leaving him in so painful a position, and at our inability to give him any relief.
On the 21st December we at last reached Pinhalú.
Penom-Peuh is about 103° 3′ 50″ long. of Paris, and 11° 37′ 30″ north lat. It is the great market of Cambodia, and only two or three leagues from the southern frontier of Cochin China: it is situated at the confluence of the Mekon with its tributary: from this point the river flows first north-east, and then north-west, as far as China and the mountains of Thibet. The arm, which has no name, but which, to distinguish it, it might be well to call Mé-Sap, from the name of the lake Touli-Sap, flows from its source south-east to the point of junction. About 12° 25′ north lat. commences the great lake, which stretches as far as 13° 53′. In shape it might be compared to a violin. The whole space between it and the Mekon is a vast plain; while on the opposite side are the great chains of Poursat and its ramifications.
The entrance to the great lake of Cambodia is grand and beautiful. The river becomes wider and wider, until at last it is four or five miles in breadth; and then you enter the immense sheet of water called Touli-Sap, as large and full of motion as a sea. It is more than 120 miles long, and must be at least 400 in circumference.
The shore is low, and thickly covered with trees, which are half submerged; and in the distance is visible an extensive range of mountains whose highest peaks seem lost in the clouds. The waves glitter in the broad sunshine with a brilliancy which the eye can scarcely support, and, in many parts of the lake, nothing is visible all around but water. In the centre is planted a tall mast, indicating the boundary between the kingdoms of Siam and Cambodia. Before crossing the lake it may, perhaps, be as well to say what remains to be told respecting the latter country.