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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At Chieng Kawng I was sorry to find the governor sadly crippled. In descending a flight of steps he had slipped to the ground, dislocating his ankle and bruising the bone. The joint had been barbarously treated, was fearfully swollen, and caries of the bone had evidently set in. I urged him to take an elephant and go to our hospital, as the only possible chance of cure. He was favourably inclined to the idea, and promised to do so after trying somewhat longer the incantations of a noted sorceress, who was believed to have great power over wounds. It almost passes belief that such an intelligent man could have any faith in it. Yet reason and ridicule alike failed to dispel the hope that she might succeed. The result might have been predicted. After giving him great suffering, the treatment cost him his life.

While I was in Chieng Kawng, a Nān prince returning from Mûang Sing brought the news that negotiations then on foot between France and Siam would put a stop to all further settlement of that district; would, in fact, transfer the whole region east of the Mê Kōng to France. The Prince of Nān was greatly disappointed; but little did we think that the transfer would ultimately prove an effectual barrier to our work also. It is surely one of the anomalies and anachronisms of the twentieth century that a Christian nation of Europe should oppose the introduction of Christianity into a region over which it has absolute control!

On the last night before we left, all the princes and officers came to see us, and remained till midnight. They were as loath to have us leave them as we were to go.

The journey from Chieng Kawng was intensely hot; the thermometer standing at 103° in my howdah by day, and on one night in my tent at 96°. On the banks of the Mê Ing I found native white roses in bloom in abundance, and brought home with me a plant which Mrs. McGilvary greatly prized, for this was the only native rose I had found in the Lāo territory.

On the way to Mûang Tông I passed the camp of Chao Wieng Sā, a Nān prince whom I had met in his home on two former visits. He was overseeing the felling and running of teak timber down the Mê Ing and the Mê Kōng to Lūang Prabāng. He had received and read a Siamese New Testament, was quite familiar with the life and teachings of Jesus, and admired His character. A lawsuit afterwards brought him to Chiengmai, where I saw a great deal of him. He was surely a believer at heart. To me he was willing to confess that his only hope was in Jesus Christ, but was not ready to make a public profession of his faith. I love to think of many such whom I have met as like the Gamaliels, the Nicodemuses, and the Josephs of Christ’s day.

At Mûang Tông, as soon as I dismounted from my elephant an officer met me to enquire who I was, and to escort me to the public sālā. I soon learned that he was the brother of another officer whom I had found on the road to Chieng Rāi the year before, unable to travel and, apparently, sick unto death with fever. His company could not linger indefinitely in the forest, and so had left him there with two men to watch him, and probably to see him die. A dose of calomel, and the quinine which I left with instructions as to its use, seem to have cured his fever and enabled him to reach his home in safety. He was himself now absent, but his brother’s heart had been opened to friendship, and he did all that he could for my comfort. At night he invited his friends to the sālā to meet me, and we had an interesting evening. In all these places Nān Suwan and Noi Siri would often be heard talking to the audience after I had retired, and until sleep closed my eyes.

During our absence from Chieng Rāi a case of oppression, or, at least, of evident injustice, on the part of the Court, had led our friend the governor to take all Christians under his personal protection as his own dependents. The kindness was well meant, and we thanked him for it. But I doubted its wisdom. The only scheme under which Christianity can really establish itself in all lands, is to have Christians stand on precisely the same level before the law as Buddhists or Brahmans or the followers of any other religion.

From Chieng Rāi the elders were sent on to Cha Pū Kaw’s village to see how the Mūsôs were getting on. I followed them in a day or two. When I reached the chapel at Mê Kawn, the elders had returned from the Mūsô village with a glowing account of their constancy. This the testimony of Noi Tāliya and of all the Lāo Christians confirmed. They had not missed a single Sunday service; old and young alike came, and mothers, as before, bringing their children tied on their backs. They had shamed the Lāo Christians by their earnestness, getting to the chapel first, studying hard, and returning home late.

On Saturday morning the whole village came down, and we spent the day together. They remained that night as the guests of the Lāo. The next day, Sunday, was largely given up to their instruction. They all had renounced the worship of spirits; they all accepted Jesus as their Saviour; they were all diligently learning to read and to sing. Their conduct was most consistent; they had a good reflex influence upon the church; and their conversion was an astonishment to the non-Christian community.

These Mūsôs had all come, expecting to join the church. They had been taught that public baptism—confessing Christ before men—was the consummating act, the external seal of their initiation into the privileges of the church. Although we impressed upon them that they were not saved by the mere ceremony of baptism, yet somehow they felt that without it they were not quite in the church, and hence probably not quite safe from the spirits. Since it would be nearly a year before they would have another opportunity, it seemed unwise not to receive some of them at this time. The greatest doubt was about Cha Waw. Yet he felt that more than any other he needed whatever protection and assistance the church could afford him. He had begun with his whole strength to break the chains of his opium habit, to seek pardon and be saved. He felt confident that with God’s help he would succeed.

The final decision was that, in order to bind them to the service of Christ, they were all to appear before the session and make their profession; but that only the two old men should be received into full communion, and that one grandson from each family be baptized as non-communing members. It was thought best to let the others wait till our next visit; though I have never been satisfied that they should not all have been admitted that day. Three of these Mūsô boys accompanied me to Chiengmai on my return, and entered the Boys’ School. It is not at all surprising that, in surroundings so different from those of their mountain homes, they presently grew lonesome and homesick. But they were satisfactory pupils, and remained in school long enough to get a good start in reading and singing.

Cha Waw, after a manful struggle, finally succeeded in breaking away entirely from his opium—by the help of prayer and of quinine, as he always believed and affirmed. When the non-Christian tribesmen with their opium pipes visited his village, he was accustomed to go down to the elders at Mê Kawn, to be away from temptation, and under Christian influence. He lived a number of years after this to attest the reality of his victory—the only case I have ever known where the victory was surely won.

That year there was a famine among all the hill tribes. The upland rice was almost entirely cut off by a plague of rats. I do not believe in “rice Christians”; but when people are famishing with hunger, I believe in feeding them, whether they are Christians or not. These did not ask either for money or for any other aid. But when I left them, I made arrangement with the Lāo elders to furnish them with sixty buckets of rice, for which I paid ten rupees in advance. They were very grateful for the aid.

The days spent among the Mūsôs that week were inspiring. Glowing visions arose before us of a new tribe brought into the Christian church, of which these were the first-fruits. On this whole tour, indeed, only nine adults and seventeen children were baptized. But in addition to the opening of work among the Mūsôs, we had for the first time preached the Gospel beyond the borders of the kingdom of Siam; and our longing eyes were turned toward the Sipsawng Pannā, and beyond the great river. By this time the rains had already begun to fall. A new season was needed to fulfil our desires.

Much as I always enjoy my long tours, when my work is done and my face at last is turned homewards, the gait of my sadaw seems distressingly slow. On reaching Chiengmai I found all in fair health, and all departments of work in full operation. But while I was still on my way, word reached me of the death of Mrs. Briggs in Lakawn, only a month and nine days after that of Mrs. Phraner. So unexpected was it that I was not even aware that she had been ill. In answer to my request for a few particulars from Dr. Briggs, I have received the following, which I know he will excuse me for transferring to these pages:

“Mrs. Alice Hamilton Briggs was from Truro, Nova Scotia. Although within a year of graduation, she gave up her medical course and accompanied her husband to the Lāo mission in answer to the call of the Board. When she bade good-bye to the Secretaries of the Board, Dr. Gillespie said to her, ‘It is a pleasure to see you so robust and strong. In this respect you are better off than your husband. There have been so many missionary women who have broken down on the field, that we are glad to see that you have a reserve of health.’

“Before leaving American shores, however, Mrs. Briggs contracted a slight cough which developed in severity during the voyage. On her arrival in Siam it became apparent that the case was one of pulmonary tuberculosis. The disease seemed to respond to treatment, and for months improvement was marked. Up to within twenty-four hours of death Mrs. Briggs was so hopeful of a return to health that she refused to allow her family at home to know of her condition. On Saturday she was cutting out a new dress for herself. On Sunday night she passed away. Dr. Briggs was spending the evening with her, when a call came to attend a child said to be dying just across the road. The doctor said he would be back soon. A few minutes later he was called back too late even to hear a last word of farewell.”

The event most interesting to us as a family during the fall of this year, 1891, was the arrival of our son Evander with his young bride, and our daughter Margaret, to carry on the work begun by their parents. Our son had made special preparation for translating the Scriptures into the Lāo language, then the most pressing need of the mission.