At the Annual Meeting of the mission in December, 1892, the broad field of Tai peoples north of the frontier of Siam was discussed, and Rev. Robert Irwin and myself were appointed to make a tour into that region as long and as far as in our judgment might be deemed wise. The tour occupied nearly five months—from January 3d to May 25th, 1893. This time we went fairly well supplied with portions of Scriptures and tracts, and a good outfit of medicine. Of quinine we carried a hundred ounces, and returned with less than twenty-five. We relied on the medicines for the welcome they never yet had failed to win for us. And Mr. Irwin had a cornet which did excellent service throughout the tour. For riding I had my big “sadaw” elephant, and Mr. Irwin had a pony; so we could exchange mounts at our convenience. I pass over the earlier portion of our route, already so often described, and the two weeks spent among the hill-tribes visited on previous trips.

The chief object of our trip was to visit, in their ancient homes, two northern tribes of the Lāo race—the Kôn and the Lû—from which very many of our parishioners in the southern provinces derived their origin. For, under conditions which lasted very nearly down to our own time, there was almost constant predatory warfare going on in this northern country—stronger states raiding the weaker, and sweeping away the entire population of the districts they overran, to plant them in their own realms. Thus whole villages, and even entire districts, in the Lāo provinces of Siam, are peopled by the descendants of such colonies of captives. We found it unadvisable to attempt both visits in the same season, and the Lû were the more accessible, living on the nearer slopes of the Mê Kông valley. We went up on the west of the river along the edge of the British territory, now known as the South Shan States, and beyond it into Chinese territory, as far as Chieng Rung;^[15] then, returning, we made a somewhat wider sweep to the east of the river, through French Indo-China; finally recrossing the river at Chieng Lāp, where we struck once more our outgoing trail.

After leaving Mûang Len, the utmost point of a former trip, we travelled awhile by a fine road along the summit of a ridge so regular as to seem almost like an artificial embankment, and affording noble views over the valley. At Wieng Mai, a recent offshoot of Mûang Yawng, we spent a most interesting Saturday and Sunday. Here the Prince-Governor sent to ask if he should not put up a sālā to shelter us during our stay. In the morning we preached in the market-place, and afterwards I distributed medicine and talked with the people till noon, when I had to flee away to rest under the shade of a big tree by the river. The people seemed hungry for the bread of life. I could not supply all the requests made for copies of the Scriptures.

Mûang Yawng, the older and larger city, we reached on Monday forenoon, after a two hours’ ride. An officer met us at the gate, and showed us to the sālā. When the Chao Mawm heard of our arrival, he sent for us, meeting us at the door. We had a very interesting interview, but he was not inclined to talk on the subject of religion. He told me that the city and district had been entirely depopulated in 1809 by a force from Chiengmai, when “nothing was left behind but the ground.”^[16] It had recovered itself, however, and its population was now larger than that of Lampūn. With Nān Suwan I visited the market and the Court. At the latter place I learned that the British Commissioner would arrive the next day. Knowing that everything would be in confusion, we decided to move on the next morning.

From this point on, our elephant was everywhere an object of great interest. Sometimes the people climbed trees to get a better view of him. A long day’s march brought us to Mûang Yū, picturesquely situated on high bluffs, with deep gorges running down to the Mê Lūi. Here we remained only overnight, leaving early the next morning for Mûang Lūi, which we reached about noon. That evening we had a large attendance at worship, the governor and officials remaining till after eleven o’clock. The original population of both these districts, as well as that of Mûang Yawng, are now scattered throughout the provinces of Chiengmai and Lampūn.

Next morning we crossed the beautiful stream on a raft, while our elephant took the ford. During the forenoon we came upon Captain Davis of the Commissioner’s staff, who had been sent to make a detour by Mûang Sing, and was then on his way to join his party. He was resting by the roadside, ill with fever, and was glad to get from me some quinine.

The following day, Saturday, brought us to Mûang Lūang, the largest and most important place in the valley and the southernmost of the old Sipsawng Pannā confederacy. The valley population is wholly Lû. There is scarcely a Ngīu (Western Shan) to be found east of the Keng Tung watershed. Here were the best roads we had seen anywhere in Farther India, with a real arched bridge of stone across the stream at the entrance to the city. Early next morning we were awakened by a noisy crowd about our tent, anxious to see us. It was the great market day, so, instead of attempting a regular service in camp, we chose the market-place. There, whether reading or speaking, we always had some attentive listeners.

On Monday our road lay for many miles along the summit of a low ridge on which at intervals were fifteen large villages, just at the edge of the long fertile plain, where are the rice-fields that feed the country. I never saw in all my touring anything quite to equal that row of villages. It seemed too bad to pass through so many without even stopping.

On the fourth day from Mûang Lūang we reached Chieng Rung, the limit of our northward journey. Its location is strikingly beautiful, on a high steep bluff overlooking the Mê Kōng River, which sweeps in a majestic curve about its base. It is in Chinese territory, and is ruled by a Chao Fā appointed from Yunnan. An officer from Yunnan was there at the time collecting tribute. The influence of the English was already felt there. Mûang Chê, to the west, had rebelled against the Chao Fā, who thereupon sent out an expedition which captured and brought away some three hundred families of the inhabitants. But England cannot allow border warfare to go on along her frontier. An English officer appeared on the scene, and the thing was stopped.

At Chieng Rung we were still in the midst of an area of Lāo-speaking people—an area which extended far beyond on every side. I gave a portion of Scripture to a Lû whose home was ten days’ journey northward; and others to men from as far to the east and to the west.

We had an interview with the Chao Fā by previous appointment. At the door the officer suggested that we pull off our shoes. We replied that it was not our custom, and was unnecessary. He looked very doubtful, but said no more, and we walked in. The Chao Fā received us courteously. We took him to be a man of no great strength of character, about forty years of age, and somewhat weakened by the use of opium. He asked whether we had not some antidote to enable him to stop its use. He listened attentively to our statement of the object of our coming, and said, “You are merit-makers, and that is a good work.”

When we called at the court, the presiding officer had a wise suggestion as to how we might further our purpose and establish our religion in the place—a suggestion evidently not originating with himself, but from a higher source. “The favour of the Chao Fā,” said he, “will be necessary and all-sufficient. I see you have a fine elephant. Just make a present of him to the Chao Fā. He will be delighted, and your road will be all smooth.” I told him that I was an old man, far from home, and dependent on the elephant. So I could not part with him. This same suggestion was pressed upon us several times afterwards, by the highest officials, and quite up to the hour of our departure; though its form was modified from a gift to a sale. I became at last a little anxious about the result, and was somewhat relieved when we actually got away without loss of the elephant.

I may mention at this point an incident of this trip which never came to my knowledge till thirteen years later, showing how we were providentially spared from what would have put a sudden and tragic end to our tour and to our lives. When Dr. S. C. Peoples and Dr. W. C. Dodd were in Keng Tung in March, 1907, the presiding officer of the Court told them that he had met Dr. McGilvary and Mr. Irwin on their way to Chieng Rung; that when the people of Chieng Rung first heard that some foreigners from the south were en route to their capital, they planned to kill and plunder them. But when they saw that the foreigners rode elephants and were accompanied by carriers, they decided that this was probably the advance guard of a formidable army, which it might not be well to attack. And then, he said, the kindness of the missionaries so completely won their hearts, that all thought of murder and plunder was given up.

Our return was to be through the region to the east of the Mê Kōng. Its northern cities still belonged to the Sipsawng Pannā. But the rest of it was territory recently ceded by Siam to France. The governing race—the people of the plains—were everywhere Tai, speaking the Lāo language and using the Lāo literature. On its mountain ridges dwelt numerous hill-tribes, especially the Kamu and the Lamēt.

The route we were to take crosses the river two days’ journey south of Chieng Rung; so we had at first to retrace our steps. We left the city on Monday, March 13th, safe from unseen plots, and with our elephant. On the second day, after leaving our upward road to strike across to the river, we entered unexpectedly a large village, where we met with a reception ludicrously hostile. At every door men were standing with guns in their hands. We were surprised; but, supposing that it might be muster-day or something of the sort, we passed innocently along, without challenge, to the monastery, where we dismounted and began to unload. Then guns were laid aside and the head man and villagers came up to see us and to offer assistance. They had heard that foreigners were coming with elephants and men, whether for peace or war no one knew. So they had taken the precaution to be ready. When they found out our peaceful errand, they were ashamed. We had a pleasant visit and worship with them that evening.

The next stage of our road was bad. In some places we had to cut our way through, and there were difficult passages of brook-beds and gorges. We reached the river at Chieng Hā in a pouring rain, and it rained again at night. The next day was the Buddhist sacred day, and we were awakened early by the crowd of merit-makers and worshippers—the women and girls, as usual, in their head-dresses and gay colours, and all anxious to see the elephant and the white faces.

It was 10:30 that morning before we got away. Ourselves, our men, the saddles and luggage, were carried over by the ferry. Nān Suwan alone faced the deep river on the sadaw to guide him through. At the first plunge all of the elephant save his trunk, and half of the rider, went out of sight. Thence on they went, now up and now down, till they struggled out on the further shore. Such an effort is very exhausting to the animal, and he has to have a good rest and breathing-spell after it.

Mûang Ham, on the eastern bank, is larger than its neighbour on the west. Its governor was a Chao Mawm, next in rank to the Chao Fā of Chieng Rung, and his wife was the Chao Fā’s sister. I had a long talk on religion with the wife. It was a new thought to her that any one could be greater than the Buddha, though he was neither Creator nor Saviour, but only a man. It is unnecessary continually to state what was everywhere the case throughout this trip; namely, that we had good audiences and interested hearers. We left in every place some books in the hands of those most likely to use them; though we could have used to advantage many more, if we had had them.

From Mûang Ham two days’ march brought us on a Saturday to Mûang Nūn, the most important city on our route, and, therefore, a most desirable place to spend Sunday. The city is in the valley of the Nam Bān. It has well paved streets, and a very large monastery on an eminence above, where we camped. The abbot gave us a hearty welcome, and did all he could to make us comfortable. At our night worship the monks and other visitors were very attentive.

On Sunday morning we called on the head officer of the Court, and had a pleasant conversation with him, for he was both intelligent and inquisitive. Just as we were ready for our own morning worship, the Chao Mawm, a relative of the Chao Fā for Chieng Rung, sent to ask us to call. We sent word in reply that it was our hour for worship, and asked whether he would, perhaps, like to have us worship in his residence. His answer was a cordial invitation to come and do so.

The Prince was young and very pleasant. He had a spacious house, and soon he had it filled with his own family, his officers, and his people. Mr. Irwin, as usual, had his cornet. We find that singing our Gospel hymns, with a short explanation of their central truths, is a better way to hold a mixed crowd where women and children form a goodly proportion, than is a regular service. Nān Suwan’s Lû dialect served a very good turn. We had a very interesting morning, and we were cordially invited to hold a similar meeting at night, when many who had been absent in the morning might attend.

At night the house was crowded with a remarkable gathering, for one could hardly call it a congregation. The invitation, the place, the attendant circumstances, were all unique. We sang and prayed and preached with as little restraint as if we had been in our own church in Chiengmai. The part of the service which most impressed them was Nān Suwan’s prayer—a direct appeal to a Person unseen, whom he addressed as Father, Redeemer, Saviour, and Friend. Seldom have I felt so strongly for any as for these, that they were as sheep needing a shepherd; hungry souls asking for bread, and getting that which satisfied not. Ethical teaching they had in abundance, but no Divine Voice asking, “Wilt thou be made whole?” or saying, “Thy sins be forgiven thee. Arise and walk!”

Next morning we made our formal call upon the Prince; but he sent to our camp for our books and the cornet, and soon we had another congregation, and were having worship again. In the afternoon the Prince made us a long call. Then there was a continuous stream of visitors, mostly for medicine, and I vaccinated a number of persons. The son of the chief officer of the Court, a fine young man, was almost ready to come with us to Chiengmai to study our religion further. His father, too, was willing that he should come. The young man promised that he surely would do so next year, if we came again. And now, seventeen years after these events, it saddens me to think no missionary has ever been there since. An occupancy, then, of those open Sipsawng Pannā States would have turned the flank of French obstruction, and have ensured an entrance from the north.

Early on Tuesday morning we left Mûang Nūn, after a visit all too short. The Prince, with his officers and a large crowd of people, were on hand to bid us good-bye. That day we found our track very much obstructed by the jungle growth, and had some difficulty in cutting our way through. Another complication presently arose in the illness of my associate, Mr. Irwin. An attack of indigestion developed next day into symptoms of dysentery, which made further travel for the time impossible. So we were laid up until the following Tuesday at Mûang Wên—and anxious nights and days they were. Milder measures failing, we had to resort at last to a most heroic treatment which I had seen used in the hospital, namely, large doses of ipecac. By this means the disease was got under control; and by care and dieting Mr. Irwin was able at length to continue his journey on my elephant, though throughout the rest of our tour he was far from being well.

At Mûang Pōng, one of the three largest cities on the route, we again stopped over from Thursday night till Tuesday. Here I had an ague-chill on the night of our arrival, but, with free use of quinine and a little rest, I escaped further attack. There was a great deal of fever in the place, and I spent much time in ministering to the sick.

On Saturday I called upon the Prince and his chief officer. I was told that the city furnished five hundred men for the Chao Fā’s expedition, and had seventy villages within its jurisdiction. In former times it had been raided by an expedition from Nān, and some of the Nān villages to this day are peopled by descendants of those captives.

On Monday the Prince and his chief officer made us long calls. The Prince had never seen a repeating rifle, and seemed incredulous that it could fire twelve shots in unbroken succession, till I fired three by way of demonstration. His look of surprise was ludicrous. He must have the gun, he said, to protect his country, and began bidding for it. At last he offered a fine riding pony, which I accepted. He was delighted, saying that we two should always be brothers. If I should never come again myself, he would welcome and aid our assistants. Four years later I did visit the place, but the Prince had been killed.

On Tuesday we reached Mûang Māng, which proved to be one of our most hopeful places. Sitting in front of our tent, with the whole village about us, we talked till midnight. I had a sore throat, but our assistants were inspired with enthusiasm. At last we almost had to drive the crowd away.

Mûang Sing was the objective of this portion of our tour. I first became interested in it when it was about to be occupied as a dependency of the province of Nān. Mr. Phraner and I made an attempt to reach it in 1891, but were turned back. Then, again, it seemed about to fall into British hands, under some old claim by Burma. Even at the time we were there, its status was still uncertain. It gave evidence of having once been a large city, and still had a very large territory under its jurisdiction. Its earlier importance was reflected in the title borne by its ruler, Chao Fā—Lord of the Sky—a title borne by no other Lû ruler south of Chieng Rung. My interest in Mûang Sing had been deepened by acquaintance with a patient in the Chiengmai hospital, of whose case Dr. McKean has kindly furnished the following account:

“This Prayā Singhanāt, a prominent man in the local government, had been for years a great sufferer from vesical calculus and had tried all kinds of remedies without avail. Fearing his disease had been occasioned by offending the spirits in the building of a new house, he tore the house down. This gave him no relief. Although he had spent years in the monastery, and had taken all the degrees of the order, he concluded to re-enter it in the hope of being cured of his malady, spending again six months in the monastery. A travelling merchant who had himself been cured of calculus by an operation in the mission hospital in Chiengmai, advised the Prayā to go there for relief. This he determined to do, not without great opposition from the Prince and from his own family. But he was determined. He sold his possessions, and started with 800 rupees. His journey was long and painful. For weeks or even months at a time he could not travel on account of great pain. Once he was beset by dacoits at night. A part of his money and all his guns were stolen. When he finally reached Chiengmai twelve months after leaving home, he was penniless, and of course still suffering intensely. He was received into the mission hospital and was wholly relieved by an operation. A more grateful patient one rarely sees. He regularly attended service at the hospital and evinced great interest in Christianity.”

When we reached Mûang Sing, we were disappointed to find that the Prayā was away. But he had loudly sung the praises of the mission hospital, and that was a good introduction for us. The chief officer of the Court was a friend of his, and he proved to be a friend to us, too. Hearing that we were come, the Chao Fā sent for us, and turned out to be a relative of the great Chao Fā of Chieng Rung. Though not of a nature so deeply religious as some, he was interested in religion; and our reply to his first question as to the object of our visit, immediately introduced the subject.

At first he was inclined to cavil, asking such questions as, whether Jesus could rise in the air as Buddha did, and the like. But this was evidently to “save his face” before his officers. For a while he maintained that the universe is self-existent, having come into being by the concurrence of the matter which composes it. But presently he confessed that it is too complicated for that, and plainly shows design—that is, a mind or Mind. At last he asked what argument made us foreigners so certain of our view that we should come to ask them to change their religion for ours. We told him that Jesus Christ Himself was the all-sufficient argument. No matter how the world came into existence, we are here, and we all know that we are sinners. The Buddha confessed himself to be only a man, and himself seeking a refuge like the rest of us. Jesus Christ claimed to have come down from heaven, and to be the Son of God. He challenged the world to convince Him of sin. Those who knew Him intimately saw something in Him not only different and superior, but of a different kind. He showed this not only by His spotless life, but by the miracles that He wrought. He claims to have power to forgive sins. And thousands and millions who have accepted Him believe that He has forgiven them; and show that fact by becoming better men. We talked thus an hour and a half. He evidently felt the force of the arguments.

Sunday was the fifth-day market or fair—the largest and finest we had seen in the north. The hill-tribes, as usual, were out in full force. I was still suffering with sore throat, but Mr. Irwin and the assistants had a fine morning’s work, and in the afternoon had a fair attendance at the regular service.

One of the most interesting incidents of our stay was the night service, held in the residence of the Chao Fā at his express request on the evening before our departure. The audience was mainly his own family and dependents, and the Prince was more free than before. During the singing he asked that the cornet be stopped in order that he might hear the words more plainly. When Nān Suwan led in prayer, he wished to know if we always prayed in that way. There was the usual sad refrain—no hope of pardon, bondage to the spirits, the drawing to a better way, but so strong a counter-current! Yet who can tell how many, after all, the truth may have reached?

We left Mûang Sing on Wednesday, April 12th. There is no need to weary the reader with details of the ten days’ travel before we reached Chieng Sên, or with the varied incidents of our work.

At Chieng Sên we received letters that were disappointing to my plans. The mission had unanimously decided that, partly for considerations of our health, and partly for reasons of mission policy, Mrs. McGilvary and I should take our furlough at once. We had been ten and a half years on duty in the field. My wife was not really sick, but was not well, and the doctor advised her going. I was very anxious to repeat the same tour the next year, in spite of the few malarial chills I had encountered this time. But arrangements had been completed, and there was no option but to submit.

My companion on this tour was far from well, and it was important that he should hasten home at once. What with daily rains, bad roads, and swollen streams, Mr. Irwin had a hard trip of it alone the rest of the way; and it was some little time before he was well again. For my return there was no such need of haste. The work among the Mūsô had been left, upon the whole, in hopeful condition. The power of the tribal bond, which almost annihilated individual responsibility, had been somewhat weakened. Many head men had promised to enrol themselves as Christians this season. It was certain that no tour among them could be made the coming year. I must visit them now.

The experiences of this visit were entirely like those of the previous ones—everywhere the same warm welcome, interesting night meetings, earnest consultations, and ministering to the sick; days spent in wading brooks, climbing mountain ridges, plunging down ravines, to get from one village to another, where the same round would be repeated. They would all become Christians if only another officer or two would join them. Thus it went on till we had visited nearly all of the eleven villages, and were back at Sên Chai’s and Sên Bun Yūang’s, where we began. These people were nearer to Nān Suwan’s Christian village, had known more of our religion, and, no doubt, were believers in the truth of our teaching. We talked with them till late at night, and our parting with them had a tragic interest. They were apparently on the verge of accepting the Gospel. We used our utmost endeavours to persuade them to join Cha Pū Kaw on the other side of the river, and not wait for the others who might come in afterwards. This was probably my last visit; but if any sufficient number would join the church, the mission would not desert them. If not, in all probability the offer would never be pressed upon them again.

And so it proved to be. About half of the villages were under the governor of Chieng Sên. The inhabitants of these were assured of their safety in taking the decisive step, so far as the rulers were concerned. But some of the larger villages were under the governor of Mûang Len. His opposition was a foregone conclusion, because of his interest in the opium traffic. My failure to gain a large entrance among them was one of the greatest disappointments in my whole work.

That I was not mistaken in the hopefulness of the work among the Mūsôs has since been demonstrated by the many thousand converts won among the same tribe by our Baptist brethren in the Keng Tung region. At the same time they are better prepared for such a work than were we. Their wide experience among the Karens of Burma, and the large number of educated Karens through whom they work, give them advantages in this particular work which our mission does not possess. On the other hand, it is surely to be regretted that our mission should be limited in its access to all branches alike of the Tai population found in the northern states, for which, by identity of race and language and literature, we are far better prepared than our Baptist brethren. For while, to use a legal phrase, the missionary holds a brief for no one particular tribe; while his commission and his duty is to preach the Gospel to all whom he can reach; yet it is a well recognized fact that the Tai family has largely fallen to our mission. And it will be seen from what we have said above, that we returned from this trip with enlarged views and bright prospects of opening up work among our own Tai people in the north. It will take years of hard work and a useless expenditure of time and money for any other missionary organization to reach the point at which we were ready to begin work among these people. But this is a complicated question, the tangled web of which it is not possible for any one man to unravel.