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.

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.