Henri Mouhot

Town of Chaiapume—Journey to the Town of Korat—The Province of Korat—Temple of Penom-Wat—Return to Chaiapume—PoukiÉau—Monang-Moune-Wa—Nam-Kane—Louang Prabang, Capital of West Laos.

On the 28th February, 1863, I arrived at the town of Chaiapume, and presented myself before the governor to request his permission to hire some elephants or oxen to enable me to continue my journey. I showed him my French passport, and also gave him the letter from Khrom Luang, and another from the Governor of Korat; but all in vain. He replied that, if I wanted oxen or elephants, there were plenty in the forest. I might easily have done without the assistance of this functionary, and procured animals from people in the village; but they would have made me pay two or three times the ordinary price, and my purse was too slenderly filled to allow of my submitting to this extortion, which would probably be repeated at every station.

The only thing left me to do, therefore, was to retrace my steps, and, leaving one of my servants at Korat with my baggage, to return to Bangkok and claim aid from the consul, the ministers, or the king himself; for there is a treaty between the Governments of Siam and France, concluded by M. de Montigny, which obliges the king to afford assistance and protection to the French, and especially to missionaries and naturalists. It was a sad loss of time for me, and might occasion me serious inconvenience; for, if I were delayed, the rainy season might surprise me in the midst of the forests before I could reach a healthier region, and the consequences might be fatal. However, I was forced to submit, and I returned to Bangkok.

It cost me some time and trouble, and I found it needful to make some valuable presents before I succeeded in my object; but at last I obtained more stringent letters to the governors of the provinces of Laos, and left Bangkok once more, after having experienced for a fortnight the kind hospitality of my friend Dr. Campbell, one of the best men I ever met with: his goodness, friendliness, and British frankness, won my heart and my esteem.

After all this loss of time and great expense I went again to Korat, where I was well received by the governor; and he gave me, in addition to my other letters, one for the mandarins of all provinces under his jurisdiction, commanding them to furnish me with as many oxen and elephants as I might require. The greater part of the inhabitants, with Phrai at their head, came out to meet me, and several gave me presents—sacks of rice, fish, fruits, or tobacco, all in abundance.

Speaking to me of his journey to Korat, Dr. House, the most enterprising of the American missionaries at Bangkok, and the only white man who has penetrated so far for many years, told me that he found everything disappointing. I could have said the same, if, like him, I had started with any illusions; but I had a good idea of the forest, which I had already passed at several points, as at Phrabat, Khao Khoc, and Kenne KhoÉ, and amidst whose deleterious shades I had already spent one night. Nor did I expect to find towns amidst its thick and almost impenetrable masses of foliage, through which one can distinguish nothing beyond a distance of a few feet.

I have lately again passed ten successive nights in this forest. During our journey through it, all the Chinese in the caravan, happy to find themselves still among the living, at every halting-place hastened to draw from their baskets an abundance of provisions wherewith to make a comfortable repast: then choosing, for want of an altar, some large tree, they laid out their dishes, lighted their matches, burned a quantity of gilt paper, and, kneeling down, murmured their prayers. Both on entering and leaving the forest they erected a shed of leaves and sticks interwoven, and raised upon four bamboo stakes, intended as a sort of chapel, in which they placed a number of offerings, in order, as they said, to drive away demons and save them from death.

As for the Laotians, I have found them, although superstitious, very courageous, especially those who traverse this forest eight or ten times a year. Some of them even venture to awake the “King of Fire” by bringing down game or shooting at robbers: yet death, even in the best season, carries off one or two out of every ten who travel here. I think the number of those who fall victims to this terrible journey must be considerable in the rainy season, when every torrent overflows its bounds; the whole soil is soaked, the pathways nothing but bogs, and the rice-grounds covered with several feet of water. After five or six days’ walking through all this, with feet in the mud, the body in a profuse perspiration, and breathing a fetid atmosphere, hot as a stove and reeking with putrid miasma, what wonder that many sink and die?

Two Chinese in our caravan arrived at Korat in a frightful state of fever. One I was able to save by administering quinine in good time, but the other, who appeared the strongest, was dead almost as soon as I heard of his being ill.

We halted at five o’clock in the evening and encamped on a little hill, where, in the absence of grass, our poor oxen could only appease their hunger with leaves from the shrubs. The river, which flows down from these hills, is the same which runs near Korat, and on the opposite bank was encamped another caravan with more than 200 oxen.

In a gorge of the mountain, and on the almost inaccessible heights, I found a small tribe of Karians who formerly inhabited the environs of Patawi, and who, for the sake of preserving their independence, live here in seclusion; for the dread of fever prevents the Siamese from penetrating to their haunts. They have neither temples nor priests; they raise magnificent crops of rice, and cultivate several kinds of bananas, which are only found among tribes of the same origin. Many of the inhabitants of the neighbouring districts appear to be ignorant of their very existence. It is true they are of migratory habits; others say that they pay a tribute in gum-lac, but the Governor of Korat and several chiefs of the province of Saraburi, seemed to me profoundly ignorant on the subject.

The following morning, an hour before sunrise, after having counted the oxen dead from fatigue and exhaustion, which would serve for food to the wild beasts, and repacked our goods, we resumed our march. Towards eleven o’clock, having quitted Dong Phya Phai, we entered a long tract of ground filled with brushwood and tall grass and swarming with deer, and here, before long, we halted near a stream.

The next day, after making a dÉtour of some miles to the north to find a pass, we ascended a new chain of hills running parallel to the last, and covered with blocks of sandstone; and here the vegetation was extremely luxuriant. The air was fresh and pure, and, thanks to repeated ablutions in the running streams, those of the party whose feet had suffered most at the beginning of the journey found them greatly improved.

Every day we met one or two caravans of from eighty to a hundred oxen, laden with stag and panther skins, raw silk from Laos, langoutis of cotton and silk, peacocks’ tails, ivory, elephants’ bones, and sugar; but this latter article is scarce.

The country presented much the same kind of aspect for four days after leaving the forest. We passed through several considerable villages, in one of which, SikiÉou, are kept six hundred oxen belonging to the king. The journey from Keng-KoË to Korat occupied ten days. The Chinese quarter of this latter town contains sixty or seventy houses, built with bricks dried in the sun, and surrounded by palisades nine feet high, and as strong as those of a rampart.

These precautions are very necessary, for Korat is a nest of robbers and assassins, the resort of all the scum of the Laotian and Siamese races. Bandits and vagrants, escaped from slavery or from prison, gather here like the vultures and wolves which follow armies and caravans. It is not that they enjoy complete immunity, for the governor, son of Bodine, the general who conquered Battambong and the revolted provinces, is viceroy of the state, has absolute power of life and death, and is, they say, very severe, cutting off a head or a hand with little compunction. But still it is Siamese justice, “non inviola:” there are neither gendarmes nor police; the person robbed must himself arrest the offender and bring him before the judge. Even his neighbour will give no assistance in the capture.

It was necessary to look out for a dwelling, and I applied to the Chinese, hoping to find a house rather larger than the one where Phrai had settled himself with my luggage, and I had not much difficulty in doing so.

At the end of the Chinese quarter, which is the bazaar, commences the town properly so called, which is enclosed by a wall of ferruginous stone and sandstone, brought from the distant mountain—a work which I at once recognised as that of the KhmerdÔm. Within is the residence of the governor and those of the other authorities, several pagodas, a caravanserai, and a number of other houses. A stream of water, eight metres wide, crosses the town and is bordered by little plantations of betel and cocoa-nut trees.

The real town of Korat does not contain more than five or six thousand inhabitants, including six hundred Chinese. The Siamese I found impertinent and disagreeable, the Chinese friendly and kind. It was the contrast between civilization and barbarism—between the mass of vices engendered by idleness, and the good qualities cultivated by habits of industry. Unfortunately, however, the money acquired by these indefatigable merchants furnishes the means of gratifying their baneful propensities, gambling and opium-smoking.

Stretched on a carpet in some shed they lie, thin and emaciated-looking, playing at cards, or else, plunged in a kind of lethargy, they surrender themselves to the influence of the seductive drug in their dark and filthy hovels, lighted only by a single lamp. Yet, in spite of their gambling, most of them grow rich, though they generally begin poor, and with goods lent to them by some countryman from his shop, and a few voyages frequently suffice to make their fortunes.

The merchants who bring silk, which, though of inferior quality, is an important article of commerce, come from Laos, Oubone, Bassac, and Jasoutone.

The entire province of Korat comprises a number of villages, and more than eleven towns, some containing as many as fifty or sixty thousand inhabitants. This little state is simply tributary, but on condition of furnishing the first and most considerable levy of men in case of war.

The tribute consists of gold or silver, and in several districts, amongst others those of Chaiapume and PoukiÉan, amounts to eight ticals a head. Some pay in silk, which is weighed by the mandarins, who, as with the cardamom at Pursat, and the langoutis at Battambong, buy a further quantity on their own account, and at their own price.

Elephants are numerous, and a great many are brought from the north of Laos as far as Muang-Lang. I should think there must be more than a thousand of these animals in each province. Oxen and buffaloes were formerly exceedingly cheap, but the distemper, which has for some years committed great ravages among the herds, has doubled or tripled the price. They are brought southward from the extreme north of East Laos, and even from the frontiers of Tonquin.

I went to see a temple nine miles east of Korat, called Penom-Wat. It is very remarkable, although much inferior in grandeur and beauty to those of Ongcor. The second governor lent me a pony and guide, and, after crossing extensive rice plantations, under a vertical and fiery sun, we reached the spot to which my curiosity had attracted me, and which, like an oasis, could be recognised a long way off by the freshness of its cocoa-trees and its rich verdure. I did not arrive there, however, without having taken an involuntary bath. In crossing the Tekon, which is nearly four feet deep, I, in order to escape a wetting, tried to imitate Franconi, by standing on my saddle; but, unluckily, according to the custom of the country, this was fastened on by two pieces of string, and in the middle of the stream it turned and sent me head foremost into the water. But there was no worse result from the accident than my having to remain for half an hour afterwards dressed in Siamese fashion.

This temple is built of red and grey sandstone, coarse in the grain, and in some places beginning to decay. On one of the doors is a long inscription, and above are sculptures representing nearly the same subjects as those at Ongcor and Bassette.

In one of the pavilions are several Buddhist idols in stone, the largest of which is 2 metres 50 centimetres high, and actually covered with rags.

You might here easily imagine yourself among the ruins of Ongcor. There is the same style of architecture, the same taste displayed, the same immense blocks polished like marble, and so beautifully fitted together, that I can only compare it to the joining and planing of so many planks.

The whole building is, without doubt, the work of the KhmerdÔm, and not an imitation, and must be as old as the illustrious reigns which have left the traces of their grandeur in different parts of the empire. The exterior is not equal to the interior. Penom was the temple of the Queen, so say the Siamese; that of the King, her husband, is at PimaÏe, a district about 30 miles east of Korat.

To consult any existing maps of Indo-China for my guidance in the interior of Laos would have been a folly, no traveller, at least to my knowledge, having penetrated into east Laos, or published any authentic information respecting it. To question the natives about places more than a degree distant would have been useless. My desire was to reach Louang-Prabang by land, to visit the northern tribes dependent on that state, and then again to descend the Mekong to Cambodia. Setting out from Korat, I had but to proceed northwards as long as I found practicable roads and inhabited places; and if I could not go by a direct route to Louang-Prabang, I should only have to diverge to the east when I judged it necessary.

I was again delayed a few days at Korat before I could obtain elephants, in consequence of the absence of the viceroy; but on his return he received me in a friendly manner, and gave me a letter of introduction to the governors of the provinces under his jurisdiction. He likewise furnished me with two elephants for myself and servants, and two others for my baggage; so at last I was able to set out for Chaiapume. Before I started, the Chinese with whom I lodged gave me the following advice:—“Buy a tam-tam, and, wherever you halt, sound it. They will say, ‘Here is an officer of the king;’ robbers will keep aloof, and the authorities will respect you. If this does not answer, the only plan to get rid of all the difficulties which the Laotian officials will be sure to throw in your way is to have a good stick, the longer the better. Try it on the back of any mandarin who makes the least resistance and will not do what you wish. Put all delicacy aside. Laos is not like a country of the whites. Follow my advice, and you will find it good.”

I was, however, much better received on my second visit to Chaiapume, and required neither tam-tam nor cane. The sight of the elephants and the order from the viceroy of Korat made the mandarin as supple as a glove, and he provided me with other elephants for a visit to some ruins existing about 3 leagues north of the town, at the foot of a mountain. The superstitious Laotians say that these ruins contain gold, but that every one who has sought for it has been struck with madness.

Two roads lead from Chaiapume to PoukiÉan; the first, across the mountains, is so excessively difficult, that I decided on taking the other, which, however, is much longer. The first day we started at 1 o’clock, and reached a village named Non Jasiea, where we were overtaken by a fearful storm. We sheltered ourselves as well as we could, and arrived before night at the entrance of a forest where we slept.

For five days we were compelled to remain in the forest on account of the weather; it rained great part of the day, and throughout the night; the torrents overflowed, and the earth was nothing but a sea of mud. I never in my life passed such wretched nights, as all the time we had to remain with our wet clothes on our backs, and I cannot describe what we suffered. The snow hurricanes, so frequent in Russia, and which nearly killed me when in that country, seemed trifling miseries in comparison. My poor Phrai was seized with a dreadful fever two days before reaching PoukiÉan, and I myself felt very ill.

The passage of the mountains was easy, and the ascent very gradual; blocks of stone obstruct the road in various parts, but our oxen and elephants made their way without much difficulty. I had bought a horse for myself at Korat.

The vegetation, though not thick, is beautiful: the trees, many of which are resinous, are slender, the stems being seldom more than a foot or two in diameter, and often 25, 30, and even 40 metres in height. Under their shade are to be seen great numbers of deer, and tigers are not uncommonly met with. In the mountains are many elephants and rhinoceros. We found immense beds of stone, and in some places saw small brick buildings containing idols. During the journey one of my chests was thrown to the ground by the movements of the elephant, and broken to pieces, as, unfortunately, were all the contents, consisting of instruments, and bottles of spirit of wine containing serpents and fishes.

PoukiÉan is a smaller village than Chaiapume. I met with a friendly reception from the governor, who had just returned from Korat, and had heard of my intended journey. Poverty and misery reign here; we cannot find even a fish to purchase; nothing but rice; and as soon as my faithful Phrai is on his legs again we shall leave the place.

Tine-Tine attracts the most attention. The people do not, as we pass, cry out first, “Look at the white stranger,” but “A little dog!” and every one runs to see this curiosity. My turn comes afterwards.

In these mountains the Laotians make offerings to the local genii of sticks and stones.

The same chain of hills which, from the banks of the Menam, in the province of Saraburi, extends on one side to the southern extremity of the peninsula, on the other encircles Cambodia like a belt, runs along the shores of the gulf, and forms a hundred islands; stretches directly northwards, continually increasing in size, and spreading its ramifications towards the east, where they form a hundred narrow valleys, the streams flowing through which empty themselves into the Mekong.

The rains had commenced on my second entrance into Dong Phya Phai, and I was greeted by a perfect deluge, which continued with intervals of two or three days; but this did not stop me, although I had to pass through a country still more to be dreaded than this forest, and where no one goes willingly.

The elephant ought to be seen on these roads, which I can only call devil’s pathways, and are nothing but ravines, ruts two or three feet deep, full of mud; sometimes sliding with his feet close together on the wet clay of the steep slopes, sometimes half buried in mire, an instant afterwards mounted on sharp rocks, where one would think a Blondin alone could stand; striding across enormous trunks of fallen trees, crushing down the smaller trees and bamboos which oppose his progress, or lying down flat on his stomach that the cornacs (drivers) may the easier place the saddle on his back; a hundred times a day making his way, without injuring them, between trees where there is barely room to pass; sounding with his trunk the depth of the water in the streams or marshes; constantly kneeling down and rising again, and never making a false step. It is necessary, I repeat, to see him at work like this in his own country, to form any idea of his intelligence, docility, and strength, or how all those wonderful joints of his are adapted to their work—fully to understand that this colossus is no rough specimen of nature’s handiwork, but a creature of especial amiability and sagacity, designed for the service of man.

We must not, however, exaggerate his merits. Probably the saddles used by the Laotians are capable of great improvement; but I must admit that the load of three small oxen, that is to say, about 250 or 300 pounds, is all that I ever saw the largest elephants carry easily, and 18 miles is the longest distance they can accomplish with an ordinary load. Ten or twelve miles are the usual day’s work. With four, five, or sometimes seven elephants, I travelled over all the mountain country from the borders of Laos to Louang-Prabang, a distance of nearly 500 miles.

All this eastern portion, with the exception of a few villages filled with “black-bellied savages”—so called from the manner in which they tattoo themselves—is inhabited by the same race, the “white-bellied Laotians,” who call themselves Laos, and are known by this name to all the Siamese, Chinese, and surrounding nations.

The black-bellied or western Laotians are called by their eastern brethren by the same name which, in Siam and Cambodia, is bestowed on the Annamites, ZuÈne, Lao-ZuÈne. The only thing that distinguishes them is, that they tattoo the under part of the body, principally the thighs, and frequently wear the hair long and knotted on the top of their heads. Their language is nearly the same, and differs little from the Siamese and Eastern Laos, except in the pronunciation, and in certain expressions no longer in use among the former.

I soon found that, but for the letter from the governor of Korat, I should have met everywhere with the same reception as at Chaiapume; however, this missive was very positively worded. Wherever I went, the authorities were ordered to furnish me with elephants, and supply me with all necessary provisions, as if I were a king’s envoy. I was much amused to see these petty provincial chiefs executing the orders of my servants, and evidently in dread lest, following the Siamese custom, I should use the stick.

One of my men, to give himself importance, had tied one of these bugbears to the arms which he carried, and the sight of it alone sufficed, with the sound of the tam-tam, to inspire fear, whilst small presents judiciously distributed, and a little money to the cornacs, procured me the sympathy of the people.

Most of the villages are situated about a day’s journey from one another, but frequently you have to travel for three or four days without seeing a single habitation, and then you have no alternative but to sleep in the jungle. This might be pleasant in the dry season, but, during the rains, nothing can give an idea of the sufferings of travellers at night, under a miserable shelter of leaves hastily spread over a rough framework of branches, assaulted by myriads of mosquitoes attracted by the light of the fires and torches, by legions of ox-flies, which, after sunset, attack human beings as well as elephants, and by fleas so minute as to be almost invisible, which assemble about you in swarms, and whose bites are excessively painful, and raise enormous blisters.

To these enemies add the leeches, which, after the least rain, come out of the ground, scent a man twenty feet off, and hasten to suck his blood with wonderful avidity. To coat your legs with a layer of lime when travelling is the only way to prevent them covering your whole body.

I had left Bangkok on the 12th of April, and on the 16th of May I reached Leuye, the chief town of a district belonging to two provinces, Petchaboune and LÔme. It is situated in a narrow valley, like all the towns and villages through which I have passed since I left Chaiapume.

This is the district of Siam richest in minerals; one of its mountains contains immense beds of magnetic iron of a remarkably good quality. Others yield antimony, argentiferous copper, and tin. The iron only is worked, and this population, half agriculturists, half artisans, furnish spades and cutlasses to all the surrounding provinces, even beyond Korat. Yet they have neither foundries nor steam-engines, and it is curious to see how little it costs an iron-worker to establish himself in a hole about a yard and a half square hollowed out close to the mountain.

They pile up and smelt the mineral with charcoal: the liquified iron deposits itself in the bottom of the cavity, and there hollows out a bed, whence they withdraw it when the operation is completed, and carry it home. There, in another cavity they make a fire, which a child keeps alive by means of a couple of bellows, which are simply two trunks of hollow trees buried in the ground, and upon which play alternately two stopples surrounded by cotton. These are fixed to a small board, and have long sticks for handles, to which are attached two bamboo hollow canes which conduct the air into the cavity.

In several localities I discovered auriferous sand, but only in small quantity. In some of the villages the inhabitants employ their leisure time in searching for gold, but they told me that they hardly gained by this work sufficient to pay for the rice they ate.

In this journey I have passed through sixty villages, numbering from twenty to fifty houses each; and six small towns, with a population of from four to six hundred inhabitants. I have made a map of all this part of the country.

Since leaving Korat I have crossed five large rivers which fall into the Mekon, the bed of which is more or less full according to the season. The first of these, 35 metres wide, is called the Menam Chie, lat. 15° 45'; second, the Menam Leuye, 90 metres wide, lat. 18° 3'; third, the Menam Ouan, at Kenne-Tao, 100 metres in width, lat. 18° 35'; fourth, the Nam Pouye, 60 metres, lat. 19°; fifth, the Nam-Houn, 80 or 100 metres wide, lat. 20°.

The Chie is navigable, as far up as the latitude of Korat, from May to December; the Leuye, the Ouan, and the Houn are only navigable for a very short distance on account of their numerous rapids; neither is there any water-communication between the Menam and the Mekon in Laos or Cambodia, the mountains which separate them forming insurmountable obstacles to cutting canals.

The Laotians much resemble the Siamese: a different pronunciation and slow manner of speech being all that distinguishes their language. The women wear petticoats, and keep their hair long, which, when combed, gives the younger ones a more interesting appearance than those have who live on the banks of the Menam; but, at an advanced age, with their unkempt locks thrown negligently over one temple, and their immense goÎtres, which they admire, they are repulsively ugly.

Little commerce is carried on in this part of Laos. The Chinese inhabiting Siam do not come as far, owing to the enormous expense of transporting all their merchandise on elephants. Nearly every year a caravan arrives from Yunnan and Quangsee, composed of about a hundred persons and several hundred mules. Some go to Kenne Thao, others to M. NÂne and Chieng MaÏ. They arrive in February, and leave in March or April.

The mulberry does not thrive in these mountains; but in some localities this tree is cultivated for the sake of furnishing food to a particular insect which lives upon its leaves, and from which is obtained the lague or Chinese varnish.

All the gum-benzoin which is sold at Bangkok comes from the northern extremity of the state of Louang Prabang, and from a district tributary both to Cochin China and Siam, and peopled rather by Tonquinites than Laotians.

On the 24th of June I arrived at PaklaÏe, lat. 19° 16' 58, the first small town on my northward route. It is situated on the Mekon, and is a charming place; the inhabitants seem well off; the houses elegant and spacious,—larger, indeed, than I have seen before in this country; and everything betokens a degree of prosperity which I have also remarked wherever I have stopped since. The Mekon at this place is much larger than the Menam at Bangkok, and forces its way between the lofty mountains with a noise resembling the roaring of the sea and the impetuosity of a torrent, seeming scarcely able to keep within its bed. There are many rapids between PaklaÏe and Louang Prabang, which is ten or fifteen days’ painful travelling.

I was tired of my long journey on elephants, and was anxious to hire a boat here, but the chief and some of the inhabitants, fearing that I might meet with some accident, advised me to continue my route by land. I therefore proceeded as far as Thadua, ninety miles farther north, and during eight days passed through much the same style of country as before, changing one valley for another, and crossing mountains which became more and more elevated, and being more than ever annoyed by the leeches. We were, however, no longer compelled to sleep in the jungle, for every evening we reached some hamlet or village, where we found shelter either in a pagoda or caravanserai.

As among the Grisons or the mountains of the Valais, the whole population, from Dong Phya Phai to this district, who drink the water of the mountain rivulets, are disfigured by immense goÎtres; but the men are not so subject to them as the women, who rarely escape.

I have only passed through one village where any serious ravages are committed by the tigers. There is one danger, which may be serious, incident to travelling with elephants in a region like this. Usually, among the caravan there are one or two females, followed by their young, who run about from one side to another, playing or browsing. Now and then one of them stumbles and falls into a ravine, and immediately the whole troop jump down after him to draw him out.

In a letter which I wrote from Cambodia I described the Mekon river as imposing, but monotonous and unpicturesque; but in this part of the country it presents a very different appearance. Where it is narrowest the width is above 1000 metres, and it everywhere runs between lofty mountains, down whose sides flow torrents, all bringing their tribute. There is almost an excess of grandeur. The eye rests constantly on these mountain slopes, clothed in the richest and thickest verdure.

On the 25th of July I reached Louang Prabang, a delightful little town, covering a square mile of ground, and containing a population, not, as Mgr. Pallegoix says in his work on Siam, of 80,000, but of 7000 or 8000 only. The situation is very pleasant. The mountains which, above and below this town, enclose the Mekon, form here a kind of circular valley or amphitheatre, nine miles in diameter, and which, there can be no doubt, was anciently a lake. It was a charming picture, reminding one of the beautiful lakes of Como and Geneva. Were it not for the constant blaze of a tropical sun, or if the mid-day heat were tempered by a gentle breeze, the place would be a little paradise.

The town is built on both banks of the stream, though the greater number of the houses are built on the left bank. The most considerable part of the town surrounds an isolated mount, more than a hundred metres in height, at the top of which is a pagoda.

Were they not restrained by fear of the Siamese, and their horror of the jungles so prolific of death, this principality would soon fall into the hands of the Annamites, who now dare not advance nearer than seven days’ journey off. A beautiful stream, 100 metres wide, unites with the great river to the north-east of the town, and leads to some Laotian and savage villages bearing the name of Fie. These are no other than the tribes called Penoms by the Cambodians, Khu by the Siamese, and MoÏ by the Annamites,—all words simply signifying “savages.”

The whole chain of mountains which extends from the north of Tonquin to the south of Cochin China, about 100 miles north of Saigon, is inhabited by this primitive people, divided into tribes speaking different dialects, but whose manners and customs are the same. All the villages in the immediate neighbourhood are tributary; those nearest to the town supply workmen for buildings erected for the king and princes, and these are heavily taxed. Others pay their tribute in rice.

Their habitations are in the thickest parts of the forests, where they only can find a path. Their cultivated grounds are to be seen on the tops and sides of the mountains; in fact, they employ the same means as wild animals to escape from their enemies, and to preserve that liberty and independence which are to them, as to all God’s creatures, their supreme good.

Yesterday, and the day previous, I was presented to the princes who govern this little state, and who bear the title of kings. I know not why, but they displayed for my benefit all they could devise of pomp and splendour.

The Laotians of Leuye appear to me more industrious than the Siamese, and, above all, possess a much more adventurous and mercantile spirit; and although, both physically and morally, there are great points of resemblance, yet there exist shades of difference which distinguish them at once, and are apparent in their dialect, or rather patois, and in their manners, which are more simple and affable. They are all much alike in features; the women have round faces, small noses, large almond-shaped eyes, thick hair, the mouth large and strongly-marked; but the men do not exhibit so great a diversity of race as they do in Siam.

Alas! what a journey my fragile collection of specimens, so difficult to gather together, has still to take, and what various accidents may befall them! Those who in museums contemplate the works of Nature do not think of all the perseverance, trouble, and anxiety required before they are safely brought home.

The Laotians have not the curiosity of the Siamese, and ask me fewer questions. I find them more intelligent than either the latter race or the Cambodians, and among the villagers especially there is a curious mixture of cunning and simplicity. They do not as yet seem to me to merit their reputation for hospitality,—a virtue which appeared to be much more practised in Siam. I should never have obtained any means of conveyance without the letter from the Viceroy of Korat, and my experience has been that they are less respectful, but at the same time less importunate, than the Siamese.

The ground between Leuye and Kenne Thao is hilly, but traversed without difficulty. The formations are calcareous rocks, sandstone, slaty sandstone, and lime mixed with clay; the sandstone in long beds, not in blocks. In the streams I found stones, not boulders, but with sharp angles.

The Chinese and Indians alone traffic here; it requires a day’s journey to conclude the smallest bargain, and a whole village is assembled to make sure that the money is not spurious. On my route here I have not met a single Siamese, but in every village have seen Birmans, Kariens, and people from Western Laos. I have found men in Lao-Pouene moulded like athletes and of herculean strength, and thought that the King of Siam might raise in this province a fine regiment of grenadiers. In all the villages I have visited, the inhabitants, including even the priests, set to work to collect insects for me, glad to receive in return a few copper buttons, glass beads, or a little red cloth.

At PaklaÏe, which I have already mentioned as a pretty town, I had the pleasure of again seeing the beautiful stream, which now seems to me like an old friend: I have so long drunk of its waters, it has so long either cradled me on its bosom or tried my patience, at one time flowing majestically among the mountains, at another muddy and yellow as the Arno at Florence.

The road between Kenne Thao and PaklaÏe is dreadful. You have to force your way along a narrow path, through a thick jungle, and sometimes there is no path at all, or else it is obstructed by bamboos and branches which interlace and often catch hold of your saddle. Every moment you are in danger of being hurt by them; our hands and faces were covered with scratches, and my clothes torn to pieces.

Muang-Moune-Wa.—This place is surrounded by mountains. I am very feverish and tremble with cold, although the thermometer shows 80 degrees of heat. I am getting tired of these people, a race of children, heartless and unenergetic. I sigh and look everywhere for a man, and cannot find one; here all tremble at the stick, and the enervating climate makes them incredibly apathetic.

15th August, 1861.—Nam Kane. A splendid night; the moon shines with extraordinary brilliancy, silvering the surface of this lovely river, bordered by high mountains, looking like a grand and gloomy rampart. The chirp of the crickets alone breaks the stillness. In my little cottage all is calm and tranquil; the view from my window is charming, but I cannot appreciate or enjoy it. I am sad and anxious; I long for my native land, for a little life; to be always alone weighs on my spirits.

Louang Prabang, 29th August, 1861.—My third servant, Song, whom I had engaged at Pakpriau, begged me to allow him to return to Bangkok in the suite of the Prince of Louang Prabang, who was going there to pay tribute. I did all I could to induce him to remain with me, but he seemed to have made up his mind to go; so I paid him his wages, and gave him a letter authorising him to receive a further sum at Bangkok for the time occupied by his return journey.

Same date. Song is gone. How changeable we are! He was always complaining of cold or had some other grievance, and I cared less for him than for my other servants—but then I had not had him long. Yesterday, however, when he asked permission to go, I was vexed. Either he has really suffered much here from illness, or has not been happy with me; perhaps both. I hired a boat to take him to the town, and my good Phrai accompanied him there this morning, and recommended him from me to a mandarin whom I knew. I gave him all that was necessary for his journey, even if it lasts three months, and on his arrival at Bangkok he will receive his money. On taking leave he prostrated himself before me; I took hold of his hands and raised him up, and then he burst into tears. And I, in my turn, when I had bid him farewell, felt my eyes fill, nor do I know when I shall be quite calm, for I have before me, day and night, the poor lad, ill in the woods, among indifferent or cruel people. He has a great dread of fever, and, if he had been taken ill here and died, I should have reproached myself for keeping him; and yet, if it were to come over again, I almost fancy I would not yield to his desire to leave me. He was confided to me by the good Father Larmandy. May God protect the poor boy, and preserve him from all sickness and accidents during his journey!

Drawn by M. Janet Lange, from a Sketch by M. Mouhot.

RECEPTION OF M. MOUHOT BY THE KINGS OF LAOS.