These pirates, some years before the capture of Saigon, managed to force the barrier and enter the Imperial palace under fire from the guns of the citadel of Hué, while the Emperor Tu Duc fled in terror.
The Annamites have a great regard for this retentiveness of memory and their consistent hostility towards all their neighbours robs that regard of all taint of partiality. However, once the fact is established, it follows that many legends founded on actual occurrences but transmitted orally from generation to generation in default of any written record may have as much authority for ethnography as if their authenticity had been established by documentary proof. But it cannot be denied that the imagination of the Moï has equally played a part in the composition of some of the current stories which were originally true statements of fact. Like all other peoples they have been subject to those influences which silently introduce elements of the apocryphal into the well of truth. Their folklore exhibits the same phenomena which can be studied at all times in similar groups. For example they transform the hero of some particular locality into a hero of the whole group, or, in other words, make a national property of what is strictly a local possession. To the same end they substitute the name of their country for the name of the place where great events have taken place. In these ways all get credit for what only the few deserve, and in the end they have a fine collection of heroes and adventures filched from every source. But in spite of these alterations, the motive of which seems to be the ambition to have more great men and stirring deeds than their neighbours, it is patent that these legends faithfully reflect the principal conceptions of these primitive folk.
As the prevalent superstitions vary in different localities it would be absurd to suppose that all the legends, myths and fables which I am about to speak of enjoy universal currency. On the contrary, some circulate in one part of the country, others elsewhere. But I have attempted in making a selection to confine myself to those which are most widely known. Some of them originated among the Laotians or Annamites. Very few are of native origin, for the imagination of this group has always been undeveloped.
The biblical account of the early history of the world has been curiously adapted and transformed. The great deluge, for example, appears under the following guise.
In the beginning a Genius incarnated in a kite disputed with one of his colleagues incarnated in a crab, and a lively quarrel ensued, in the course of which the latter had his shell broken by the beak of the bird, an insult of which he bears the mark to-day. Casting about for some means of revenge, the Crab-Genius conceived the idea of raising the waters of the sea until they covered the high mountain on which the Kite-Genius was perched. Every human being perished with the exception of a young couple, brother and sister, who saved their lives by taking refuge in a huge pumpkin. This original boat deposited them safe and sound on the top of the highest mountain. The rescued couple at once sought far and wide for any other survivors of the human race, but all in vain. Their fellow beings had all perished. A tortoise which they met with advised them to marry to ensure the continuance of the race. The young man, horrified at the suggestion, cut the creature in pieces as a punishment, but the pieces quickly reunited, a marvel of which the tortoise has ever since borne the traces. The couple then renewed their wanderings and soon met a bamboo which offered the same advice, and was treated in the same way. Again the pieces reunited, and from that day to this the bamboo has always had knots. Finally, a Spirit descended to earth to terminate so embarrassing a situation. He offered the girl eight beans, promising her that if she ate one each year she would conceive on each occasion. In delight at the gift and the prospective fulfilment of all her hopes, she hastened to put the beans in her mouth, and, forgetting her instructions, swallowed them all at once! What the Spirit foretold then came to pass. She produced eight children at a birth and these founded the principal human families.
The tradition of the dispersion of the human race is also perpetuated. The Djarai Moï, for example, give the following description of the event.
"Our own land was the centre of the earth where the peoples of mankind, having outgrown their resources, built the Tower of Separation before scattering over the surface of the globe. The tower was so lofty that the topmost story could only be secured by bands of strong fibre which the workmen fastened by clinging to them with all their weight. Perched on the very top was one who thus surveyed the whole expanse of earth spread out before him. His duty was to indicate to those below the paths which led to the most fertile portions. After a short survey he called out to the workmen who were holding the ropes: 'To the Eastward I see a wondrous plain washed by the ocean, to the Westward a rich valley watered by a great river.' Before he could continue, however, an ominous rumbling was heard, the tower trembled for the space of a moment, and then fell to the earth with a crash, burying him under its ruins. The Annamites and Laotians were the unkind workmen who had all let go in their frantic haste to find the prosperous regions so eloquently described! As for the Moï, they were far too lazy to enter into an exhausting competition, so they remained on the forest-clad mountains which no one envied them."
The story of Joshua stopping the sun is replaced by that of a Spirit exhibiting the same powers.
"In the beginning there dwelt in the land of the Moï-Bahnar a valiant chieftain named Diong, whom the gods themselves were unable to subdue. So great was the fame of his exploits that women frequently deserted their husbands in order to follow him. One of these offenders was the wife of the chief of the Moï-Djarai, who resolved to punish the author of his wrong, and declared war on him. The two tribes composed of equal numbers of skilled warriors fought with the utmost desperation, but fortune finally favoured Diong, who ended the day by slaying the injured husband with his own hand. Firmly convinced that his triumph was only due to celestial intervention, the victor begged the Spirits to put back the course of the sun in order to allow him time to annihilate his foes. His prayer was answered, for the gods drew back the sun and started it again at midday."
Most of these legends have been collected by the Catholic missionaries, whose work among the people of Bahnar has met with a large measure of success. It is possible that the higher standard of education to which the people of this region have attained has made possible the investigation of these biblical stories. Other groups, when questioned on the subject, can give no account of their legends whatever. I ought to say, however, that the story of the pumpkin saving the human race at the time of the deluge is well known among all the semi-savage peoples of Indo-China.
Sometimes the individual characteristics of a group are illuminated by a legend or fable which explains their origin. For example, the origin of the Moï practice of filing the teeth may be sought in a Cambodian fable.
When Buddha dwelt among men he was fed by each of his faithful disciples in turn. He visited the Moï and after them the Cambodians and asserted that the meats offered him by the former were much inferior to those of the latter. The reason for the difference was then made clear to him. The Moï were too lazy to pound the rice and contented themselves with grinding it in their teeth. The Master was greatly incensed at this lack of respect towards himself and condemned them to file their teeth in such a way that a repetition of the offence would be impossible. Further they were compelled to wear in their hair the small sticks which served for cooking utensils and, to add to their shame, he pierced their ears and forbade them to wear anything but the plainest clothing. The Moï found these restrictions more than they could bear and they fled to the mountains, leaving the plains to the Cambodians who dwell there to this day.
The extraordinary configuration of the regions inhabited by the Moï was bound to give birth to many legends which would furnish them with some satisfactory explanation of the phenomenon. The chief characteristics of these stories will be illustrated by the following examples, which I have selected at random.
The highest point of the great Annamite chain is a lofty mountain with a curious needle-shaped peak. The summit is inaccessible, and our surveyors had to be content with establishing their geodetical station at its foot. The peak is a well-known landmark and, according to the Moï, none other than the wife of a Spirit, who turned her into stone. In the beginning of creation a company of demigods dwelt on this spot. One day the husband went to get food, leaving his wife at home. She took advantage of his absence to deceive him, and in the fulness of time became pregnant. On his return the Spirit learned of the injury he had suffered and turned on the accomplice who took to flight. The husband gave chase, came up with his rival as he was on the point of casting himself into a river, seized him, cut off his head and turned his corpse into a stone.
Unsatisfied with this act of vengeance the murderer retraced his steps and likewise turned into stone everyone who had assisted the flight of his rival. On entering his palace he observed a crowd gathering round his wife who, in the throes of childbirth, had summoned a midwife and all her friends. The sight maddened him, and with a wave of his hand he transformed every living creature within reach into a mountain. Even the elephants, which in this country serve as transport animals, did not escape his vengeance. That is why this massive group of peaks is known as "The Mother and Child," a name preserved even by our cartographers.
Even more general than legends are ballads, fables and popular songs. Some of the chants which approximate to liturgical psalms are only known to a few select spirits who sing them together on special occasions.
Henri Maître, the commissioner, has translated one of these rhapsodies which he discovered in the course of his ethnographical researches. A few extracts will illustrate the halting simplicity which characterizes these compositions.
"The Gods created the Earth and the trees. That is why men know how to make gongs and tom-toms with which they accompany their sacrifices to the Spirits....
"Men create jars for spirits and the hollow bamboo tubes through which they suck up the liquid....
"Parents bring children into the world and feed them until they are able to look after themselves....
"Thanks to the protecting care of the Spirits, the children grow up hardy and splendid like a tall tree or a great river....
"Later, they too will marry."...
By the side of such outpourings with their sprinkling of archaic words and their more or less religious flavour there are also numbers of jovial popular songs which the young men hum at work or sing to the girls who catch their fancy. If the lady deigns to reply these songs develop into a kind of choral repartee. This practice is confined to the Laotians and their immediate neighbours.
The Laotians also still preserve the Court of Love, which has many features in common with the celebrated European institution of the Middle Ages.
At the period of the year when the rice harvest has been gathered in and work in the fields is temporarily suspended the chief occupation of the young men is to court the girls. Stages are erected on which the Laotian ladies in search of a husband assemble. At their feet burn lamps, by the light of which every detail of form or costume is discreetly brought to the notice of the swains. A plate of betel and a bamboo spittoon pass from hand to hand. Squatting in a row before their lady-loves the young men compose verses in their honour, and the ladies reply according to the burden of their hearts. Each couple keeps up the interchange of vocal repartee before a public only too ready to record its approval when one party or the other scores a point. The couples are not allowed to touch each other. If the burden of a song requires the performance of this act the singer symbolically touches himself. Both the singing and acting are accompanied by measured music, which adds to their charm.
The Malays also frequently improvise rhapsodical poems called "Pantouns," in which two persons converse together. The Malayan literary tournaments have acquired a widespread reputation.
The following is an excellent example of a love-poem sung by a Moï man and girl:
"Hallo, pretty girl. You smell sweeter than an orchid!...
"Your legs and bosom are like ivory!
"Your body is so white that it might have been shaved!...
"Your figure is as sinuous as that of a serpent!...
"If you walked in the forest to gather moss and batatas, I should wish to meet you alone to offer you some betel! (That being the emblem of accepted love.)
"If you will marry me I can give you a large rice-bowl, a warm coverlet for the cold nights, and an ox from my stables!...
"At night we will lie on the same mat as close together as the legs of a shackled elephant!"...
The girl's answer is cruel:
"If you could give me ten silver necklaces and five ropes of white pearls I would have none of you or your offerings, but tell your brother, the swift hunter, that he can have me for a green banana!"...
I have already dwelt on some of the superstitions which have gathered round certain animals, and it only remains to say that there is hardly a creature which is not the subject of a legend, a fable, or, at least, a popular saying. From a comparison of the relative importance of these legends or fables, it is plain that the Moï believe in a regular hierarchy in which each species has its place. This belief is shared by the Annamites, and its existence was clearly demonstrated by the following tragic incident.
One morning one of our engineers, a man named Petaud, was found crushed to death by elephants while engaged in tachymetrical operations. He was quite unrecognizable and it was plain that one of the infuriated monsters had flung him to the ground and the whole herd had then stamped his body into dust. We were quite unable to assign a cause for this terrible catastrophe. The only plausible explanation was that the unfortunate victim had been so preoccupied with his observations that he had stumbled into the midst of a sleeping herd and had taken them for rocks. The part of the forest in which he was found was, in fact, studded with huge granite boulders, many of which resembled elephants in colour and form. Without loss of time we set to work to clear the neighbourhood of the dangerous foe. Many of the monsters fell beneath our bullets and it occurred to us to send the feet to one of our countrymen on the coast, with a request to send them by an Annamite junk to Saigon. We knew of a naturalist in that town who makes elephants' feet into stands for flower-pots. Our discomfiture was complete when we were informed that no one would undertake the carriage of the booty to the coast at any figure we named. The following reason was advanced for this refusal.
"The elephant is the highest of the animals which reign on earth, but his powers can only be exercised on land. At sea the whale is mistress and she is very jealous of any encroachment on her prerogative. Accordingly, if we took any part of an elephant into her domain she would manifest her displeasure by capsizing our vessel."
Our prospective flower-pot stands had to wait for the arrival of a European ship!
Wild beasts and, in fact, all animals which may be harmful to man are given high-sounding titles by the Moï in the hope of tickling their vanity and thus earning their gratitude. On the other hand, harmless creatures, especially those which cannot be used for food and are therefore useless to mankind, are given names of derision or contempt. Further, certain species whose wiles defy all attempts at capture are considered as being emanations of the spirits themselves. Suppose a rat has the impertinence not merely to avoid all the traps, but also to defy the Chief of the tribe and watch from a beam while a jar is being opened. Its ordinary name is immediately transformed. Henceforth, everyone refers to it as "the gentleman with magic powers." The same title is extended to the termite ants who succeed in making a home in cooking utensils in spite of all efforts to keep them out.
Other insects, such as the spider, are considered by their presence to incite married persons to infidelity. Accordingly a wife never goes to bed without making a thorough search for the malignant creature. If a spider fell from the ceiling between husband and wife the lady would know for a certainty that her spouse had torn up the marriage contract.
Popular fancy has also fastened on certain products of the vegetable kingdom. When the millet or rice is in flower no one is allowed to pass by who carries a truss of hay, for these plants are very sensitive and would invariably follow the example of the hay, which bears no grain.
If a pregnant woman were stupid enough to eat a double banana she would infallibly give birth to twins whose fingers would be knotted together.
There are numbers of nursery tales for children, many of which bear strong traces of Hindu influence. The following are good specimens:
The Rabbit, the Tiger and the Elephant
One day the Rabbit met the Elephant, who looked very distressed. The small quadruped asked the big one the cause of his trouble.
The Elephant, grateful for the sympathetic inquiry, made reply:
"I have wagered my life with the Tiger and lost the wager. To-morrow I must put myself at his disposal and he will eat me, but he has given me one day in which to bid farewell to my children."
The Rabbit thought a moment and then told his friend to take heart for he had frequently found a way out of much more formidable complications. The Elephant believed in the assurances of his friend, and they separated after fixing a rendezvous for the next day.
The monster turned up punctually to the moment and found the Rabbit already waiting for him. The Rabbit told him to lie at full length on the ground. When the Tiger was heard bounding through the forest the Rabbit jumped on the Elephant's back and began to cry out at the top of his voice:
"I have just had an elephant for my dinner but I really don't feel equal to a tiger for dessert."
Terrified at such a miracle the King of the Jungle covered eight yards at a bound and vanished in a twinkling into the depths of the forest.
The Tiger and the Tortoise
One evening when the Tortoise was slowly walking up a mountain path she was brusquely ordered out of the way by a Tiger who wished to drink at the river.
"Out of my way, Tortoise! You are only hindering me and you know I can run faster than you!"
"Run faster than I!" exclaimed the Tortoise indignantly; "it's a lie!"
"Will you bet on it?" queried the Tiger.
"Certainly. You see these twelve hills. I bet you I will climb them all before you."
"Done!"
As it was then getting late they agreed to postpone the trial of speed to the next day. The Tortoise, however, was not idle during the night, but called together twelve of her sisters, to whom she gave instructions to take up their stations on the top of each of the twelve hills and to pretend to the Tiger that it was his rival whom he found waiting for him.
Her instructions were carried out to the letter and daybreak found each of the tortoises at her post.
The race began at once. The Tiger started off, covering yards at each bound. When he reached the top of the first hill he looked back in contempt for the Tortoise.
"Where are you, Tortoise?"
"Here I am," replied the first Tortoise. "Don't waste time chattering but get on your way."
Astounded that his competitor had displayed such a fine turn of speed the Tiger resumed the race without a moment's delay. In a few bounds he had reached the next hill, only to find (as he thought) the Tortoise waiting for him with a few mocking words for his slothfulness.
The Tiger lost heart and leapt forward in desperation, but the effort was too much for him. He was soon out of breath and collapsed in a heap long before his goal was in sight.
The fable of the Tiger and the Toad is very similar to the foregoing.
One day the Toad said to the Tiger:
"Will you run a race with me?"
"Don't be a fool," replied the Tiger.
"Come on all the same. I feel myself possessed by an invisible force and I am sure I can beat you."
"Very well then, but what's to be the stake?"
They agreed that the winner should eat the loser. A tortoise who chanced to pass by was selected as judge and performed the office of starter. The Tiger, with his customary astuteness, claimed that he need only touch the starting-post with the end of his tail. The Toad was up to this and promptly caught hold of his rival's tail and refused to be shaken off during the race. When within a few paces of the goal the Tiger suddenly stopped short and the Toad shot over his head. He was greatly chagrined to see the Toad thus arrive before him and complained bitterly to a monkey who had witnessed the contest.
"I saw it all," the monkey said. "The Toad owes his success to a trick. He caught hold of your tail and it was your sudden stop that precipitated him in front of you. Try to get him to run another race with you, and this time be careful to tie a stone to your tail to prevent a repetition of his underhand behaviour."
The Tiger was delighted with this advice and invited the Toad to a second trial of speed, offering his wife as an additional prize.
The monkey induced the Toad to agree and both watched the Tiger start off. He had not gone far, however, before he plunged into a stream which crossed the course. The weight of the stone dragged him down, and in spite of his struggles he perished miserably.
The monkey, tortoise and Toad were highly delighted.
The Toad and the King of Water
In the beginning of things a drought of several months completely dried up a marsh in which a Toad dwelt. By reason of this catastrophe the Toad could not bring up his young, so he decided to make a complaint in person to the King of Water.
To give greater weight to his plea he begged the Fox, the Bear and the Tiger to go with him.
The journey was long and wearisome, but at length the four animals, marching in single file, left behind them the narrow path which leads to heaven, and reached the gate.
A tom-tom was hung there, and the Toad banged it vigorously to announce his presence, while his companions discreetly drew aside.
Hearing the noise, the King of Water sent a genius to find out who the new-comer was.
"It is only a miserable toad," the messenger reported. "What must I do with him?"
The King ordered the cocks to put the intruders to flight, but the Fox flew at them and made a mouthful of them.
The King ordered the dogs to seize and punish the Fox, but then it was the Bear's turn to give them his deadly embrace. The King became more and more angry and ordered his archers to shoot the Bear with poisoned arrows.
With one bound the Tiger laid low the warriors before they could even stretch their bows, and torn by his fangs and claws they soon took to their heels.
The King, seeing himself thus at the end of his resources and tired of war, had the Toad brought into his presence, and inquired the object of his visit.
"I salute thee humbly, Sire," said the Toad, "and would make an urgent supplication before thee. The great heat hath turned the ground to stone, since thou hast forgotten to send rain for many weary months. I can no longer feed my children who are on the point of death through thy neglect."
Touched at the story, the King acknowledged his remissness and at his command a refreshing shower immediately fell upon the earth, which soon revived.
Since that fortunate interview, whenever there is a drought men hear the toad croaking his petition and rain falls without further delay.
It will be noticed in these fables how careful the Moï is to give the Tiger, his dreaded foe, the rôle of the vanquished. They also show signs of education in the habits of the animal world. It is just because the croaking of the toad coincides with a change in the atmosphere that the Moï attributes to that plaintive sound the power to bring down rain.
Is it not equally true that the illustrious chanticleer had only to utter his morning call to cause the sun to rise?
General characteristics of the Cham—A Mohammedan group—Its place among ancient civilizations—Social life—Dress and ornaments—The calendar—Rites accompanying the construction of a house, a cart, and a junk—Agriculture and industry—Medicines—The use of narcotics by criminals to stupefy their victims.
I have now concluded my investigation of the complex of barbarous peoples who, in spite of the proximity of civilized races, have preserved almost intact the rudimentary instincts and ferocious customs of primitive man. No account of these regions, however, would be complete which omitted all references to the Cham,[2] a curious Mohammedan people, formerly very powerful, whose conversion to that faith took place during the zenith of their power and prosperity. The traces of this one-time pre-eminence and the Cham themselves are fast disappearing.
The group belongs to the Malayo-Polynesian race, of which the parent stock seems to have inhabited the region of Annam. The Cham were formerly the rulers of the powerful Empire of Champa, which occupied, as far as we can judge from the somewhat conflicting and unsatisfactory evidence, the eastern coast-line of Indo-China proper. Marco Polo tells us of the fertility of this region in the thirteenth century. It may even be that this country is the self-same Zabai of which Ptolemy speaks.
Nominally Islam is the official religion of this people who seem to have passed through previous stages of Animism and Brahminism. The ancient faiths were too well established to be uprooted by the Moslem conquerors and the outcome is a strange conglomeration in which the ancestral superstitions frequently profit at the expense of the precepts of the Koran.
The last survivors of this once flourishing empire (in all perhaps 130,000 souls), are now confined to the province of Binh-Thuan in Annam. At the time of its downfall before the rising power of the Annamites many of the conquered preferred exile in Cambodia and Siam rather than humiliation and servitude in the land of their birth.
The opportunity of observing and noting the customs, beliefs, and institutions of the Cham was furnished by the preliminary survey which preceded the construction of the railway from Phantiet to Phanrang. During the whole of this time our party was quartered among this interesting people and had many opportunities of developing friendly, and even intimate, relations.
We cannot pretend to have been the first to do so, for previous to our arrival two eminent philologists, MM. Aymonier and Cabaton, had made a searching examination of the manuscripts in the possession of the priests and published two singularly exhaustive studies on the subject.[3]
The Cham have preserved almost unmodified their physical and moral characteristics, largely by means of their law which prohibits intermarriage with any other people. For this reason they exhibit a marked contrast to the Annamites.
The average height of a man is about five feet six inches, that of a woman five feet. The skin is somewhat coarse and varies between a dark brown and a shade of reddish brown such as a European acquires after long exposure in a tropical climate. The auburn or black hair is fine and brittle, while the growth of beard and moustache is more generous than among the Annamites. Partial, or even total, albinism is not uncommon.
The lips and facial outline offer resemblances to those of the European. This is not remarkable, for of all Asiatics the Cham and the Malays exhibit the nearest approach to the Western type.
In spite of a certain tendency to be hollow-backed the women are of fine presence, elegant, and graceful in their movements. Their carriage in walking is particularly remarkable and can be compared with that of the Egyptians. The women of both these races habitually carry heavy objects either on their shoulders or heads and can only maintain them in equilibrium thanks to the most perfect ease in their movements.
If the vigour of this race has not deteriorated during the last centuries it is certain that their fertility has diminished. For some time the birthrate has remained stationary. Retrogression is exhibited in other ways also, for although their ancient civilization must have been highly advanced, little trace of it remains in their present low level of intellect. All ambition to renew the glories of the past has long since evaporated. The ruins of many monuments tell of the ancient splendours, but the living representatives are quite content to recount the triumphs without any desire to emulate them. Is it incapacity or merely universal apathy? The indolence of the Cham is notorious. Even the building of their houses they leave to their neighbours the Annamites.
The first time I entered a Cham village I was amazed at the absence of all vegetation. Shade is one of the prime necessities of life in this country, where the fierce rays of the sun pour down pitilessly all day and make it painful, and even dangerous, for a man to be exposed to them without cover. My colleagues, who had been established in the place for some time, soon explained that as long as we remained among the Cham we might as well relinquish vain hopes of finding a house which would not be exposed to the sun.
This inconvenient defect is the outcome of a popular superstition that the shade of a tree exerts a baneful influence over the house beneath it. A somewhat similar belief prevails in Cambodia, where, however, the minister of evil is alleged to be not the shade but the roots of trees which penetrate below a house.
However, the lack of shade was by no means the greatest discomfort we were called on to face. There were many others.
A native habitation comprises as many miniature houses as there are households (and almost even members) in the family. Every girl of marriageable age has a special room. The married members have another, while a third is reserved for the boys who have attained puberty. Naturally, the larger the family the smaller are the separate rooms, and so the apartment assigned to us was usually little more than a box with space for only a small folding-bed, the solitary piece of furniture. These low, thatched huts were scattered about a kind of compound bounded on each side by a flimsy palisade of bamboos secured together by thongs of cane.
The costume of the men consists of a skirt and a very long robe. The women wear a large piece of cloth wrapped round to form a rude skirt. Gay colours are somewhat restricted, white and white striped with red and green being the most popular. For bodice they have a clinging dark-green tunic open at the throat.
Their taste in jewellery is remarkably restrained. The rich wear silver or gold buttons in their ears. Of the poorer classes some confine their personal embellishment to copper nails and others wear a plait made of coloured threads which falls over their shoulders. We sometimes noticed bracelets on the wrists of some of the girls. This ornament serves to remind its wearer of the temporary vow of chastity which she has taken to guard her against some danger or cure an illness.
Others again wear a necklace of large amber beads from which hangs the Tamrak, a kind of amulet which wards off the powers of evil. This indispensable talisman consists of a small cylinder of lead on which a priest has traced mystic characters with a sharp-pointed instrument.
Both sexes keep their hair long and, like the Annamites, twist it into a knot at the back. The men wear as head-dress either a large turban or sometimes merely a kerchief. Pockets are unknown, but two purses hung from a long girdle provide an excellent substitute.
In early times the Cham princes set up their royal residence and the seat of government in Phanrang. In the seventeenth century their office was still hereditary, but the Court of Hué reserved the right of investiture. In the nineteenth century successive invasions undermined the authority of those potentates and all appointments to administrative offices were made by the Annamite conquerors, who made their selection among the local aristocracy.
The Cham of Cambodia are all Mohammedans, but of those of Annam about two-thirds have remained Brahmins. Their countrymen of the later faith call them "Kaphirs" (infidels), and reserve to themselves the title of "Bani" (sons of the faith). Nevertheless, there is perfect toleration between the followers of the two religions. The priests honour with their presence the ritual ceremonies of the group whose beliefs they do not share and neither party attempts to make converts of the adherents of the other.
The calendar of the Cham is partly lunar and partly solar. The beginning and end of each month coincides with a new moon. As in the Hindu calendar, this lunar month has a light half which culminates in the full moon and a dark half which is terminated by the new moon. The duodenary cycle is employed for the purpose of measuring time. This system was invented by the Turks, but the Chinese have been mainly instrumental in securing its adoption throughout the Far East. Each of the twelve years of which it is composed is called by the name of some animal—Rat, Buffalo, Tiger, Hare, Dragon, Snake, Horse, Goat, Monkey, Cock, Dog, Boar.
The year begins in April-May and comprises twelve lunar months of thirty and twenty-nine days alternatively. They are numbered from one up to ten, but the eleventh and twelfth have special names. Every three years a month is added, and it may well be imagined to what difficulties and disputes this proceeding gives rise in the absence of agreement between the villages.
There are seven days in the week. Their names are borrowed from the Sanscrit and, like ours, represent a planet. Each day has twelve hours, twice the length of ours, of which the first begins at cockcrow. The night consists of five watches.
These are the component parts of the system in which it is quite simple to calculate any date. For example, a document may be dated thus: "Signed, Monday the fourth day of the light half of the fifth month of the year of the Dragon."
It is probable that in early times the Cham computed time by a system similar to that of the ancient Javanese, a people with whom they maintained close political and commercial relations, as witness several alliances between members of the two reigning houses. The Javanese calendar comprised a week of five days, a month of six weeks, a year of ten months, each with its special tutelary deity.
Life among the Cham is greatly complicated by rules of etiquette, of which the most stringent regulate the relations between those of different age and rank. Age is regarded with special reverence and an old man, whatever his social condition, is always addressed as Uncle or Grandfather by his juniors in years. An inferior addresses his superior as Elder Brother.
As in Cambodia methods of greeting are various. If a man meets a friend of superior station a due and proper sign of deference is to adjust his girdle or cross the cloth which fulfils the functions of trousers. If he is carrying an umbrella he will hold it forward towards the person he thus wishes to honour. Then a conversation will take place. During the whole time he will take the greatest care to avoid swinging his arms, the most flagrant act of disrespect. To guard against even an unwitting breach of this regulation a well-bred Cham will clasp his hands together, a precaution which prevents any movement of the arms. If a woman desires to address a request to a Mandarin or a European, her preliminary salutation is a complicated manœuvre which recalls the Andjali of the Hindus and cannot be executed without preparation. She takes off the turban which keeps her hair in position, wraps it round her like a shawl, drops on her knees and finally prostrates herself three times in succession at full length on the ground. In the interval between each prostration she rubs her face with her hands.
In India, where etiquette takes a different form, no one should appear in public without an ornament of some kind in the hair; if the head is completely unadorned it signifies either mourning or absolute retirement from the world. This rule seems to be of very ancient origin and to have been kept alive largely by sculpture. It is remarkable that all the statues of divinities in the temples have an ornament of some kind in the hair.
It is not merely the number and variety of the rules of etiquette which distinguish the Cham from other groups of similar culture. They are equally remarkable for the multiplicity of the rites which accompany each act, however insignificant, of their daily life. I can only recount here some of the more important ones which present features of their own.
An accidental fire destroyed the native house which a village chief had placed at our disposal, during the survey in that neighbourhood. We offered to rebuild it on our own lines, with the latest improvements. Far from expressing any gratification at the suggestion he showed the greatest surprise and displeasure and was more than contented with the very modest sum we gave him with which to do the work himself. Little did we imagine the trials in store for us. We were provided with temporary accommodation in a barn, without shade of any sort. The ill-fitting planks let in as much sun as rain and wind, and we were all impatience to see the completion of our future dwelling. Time, however, counts for next to nothing in the Far East, and for nothing at all among the Cham. Within a few days it was patent that a long delay was inevitable and we were soon resigned to the prospect of waiting indefinitely while the rebuilding, impeded by innumerable daily ceremonies, proceeded from stage to stage.
First of all, a place which is to be hallowed by the performance of so many rites must be enclosed within a light palisade as holy ground. For this purpose dead wood is chosen, for it must never be forgotten that the shade cast by foliage forbodes evil. In this enclosing wall an opening is made to give passage to the divinities of the five cardinal points. Without their help it would be vain for man to enter upon so grave an undertaking.
The area having thus been marked out, the next step is to determine its centre. For this purpose a cord is requisitioned. The spot thus fixed serves as a point by which to find the positions for the columns which are to support the building. A hole is dug to furnish a foundation for the north-east column. Into this the owner throws a magic amulet with the most elaborate precaution. The talisman consists of a sheet of lead on which certain mystic characters are engraved. Only after this solemn consecration is the column fixed in position. The day's work is then concluded. Next day a similar performance accompanies the establishment of a second column. One day one column is more than we can stand, and after every form of persuasion and argument the easy-going architect consents to consecrate the remaining columns on the same day.
Alas! When the framework of the roof is complete religious observance requires that an amulet shall be inserted at every point of contact with the beams of the walls! Then again there is a prolonged and bitter controversy over the choice of thatch. Our Annamite coolies have been foolish enough to collect a supply of bulrushes which are considered to exert a malignant influence! The offending material is immediately burnt and a new delay begins. At length the work is completed and the house stands ready for immediate occupation. Nothing seems to prevent our entry into possession and at daybreak we move across with our baggage and establish ourselves each in his diminutive cabin. Hardly has the unpacking begun than the owner rushes in with hands upraised in horror. In our haste we have unwittingly committed almost every conceivable act of sacrilege!
A cat should have been the first to enter the new abode, and after it the Master, and he alone may declare the building open. There is no help for it. We hastily put back our belongings and tumble the boxes out into the yard. We remain as unwilling spectators of a ceremony which we are assured is positively the last. Our host prostrates himself on the ground at the exact spot which he selects for his own bed. He then rises and intones a chant proper to the occasion, which consists of the recital of all the places to be avoided when selecting a site for a new dwelling.
"I will flee far," says the Holy Canticle, "from the haunts of the White Ant. I will turn aside from the dwelling-places of demons and evil spirits. Sloping places I will shun. I will sound clayey soil. In short I will never be found where evil is to be apprehended."
And the pious architect concludes the last of the rites and leaves us to the place.
Irritated though we were by the interminable proceedings which had postponed our occupation of the promised land, it is only fair to say that at all times we displayed the greatest interest in other ritual ceremonies which involved no personal disadvantages to ourselves. Each day provided us with new matter for investigation and speculation.
Undoubtedly one of the most curious proceedings is the consecration of a cart before its entry into active service. The manufacture of these vehicles is, perhaps, the most flourishing industry of the Cham. Their reputation is almost world-wide and thoroughly deserved. The industry dates from a very early period and was brought into prominence during the fourteenth century by the demand of the Hindu princes for beautiful cars for wedding gifts to their brides. The dedication takes place with the greatest pomp and is not complete without a sacrifice. First the wheelwright sprinkles his new material with holy water, then takes it to the river bank. There he subjects it to a severe scouring, after which it is considered as purified. Next coloured tapers are fixed on the uprights and finally he draws his knife and cuts out the framework.
"Cart," he cries, "woe betide you if ever the fancy take you not to roll your best."
The Cham prefer the banks of a river or the shores of a lake as a site for their settlements. They frequently build whole villages on huge floating rafts, but the staple industry of these lake-dwelling groups is the building of light boats and racing skiffs. These are made from trees and, as long narrow trunks are indispensable, the favourite medium is the dipterocarpus, which is plentiful in these regions. The tree is felled and then hollowed to its full length, the ends being shaped to a tapering point. To obtain the necessary elasticity the parts are exposed to a wood fire before the moulding process is commenced. Every stage of the proceedings is accompanied by prayers and sacrifices such as we have seen marking the dedication of the wagon.
It is general knowledge that in Cambodia and the region of Laos canoe races figure in all public festivals of importance. These regattas attract a large number of spectators of all nations and the Cham naturally take a conspicuous part.
The boats display quite a high standard of artistic skill. On the inside they are decorated with red lacquer. On the outside they are black and gold. Some idea of the size appears in the fact that they are sometimes built to accommodate fifty paddlers.
Every king, prince, bonze and noble has, or should have, his private boat and liveried crew, for the races proper are preceded by an aquatic procession, when each boat passes before the dais on which is seated the President of the Festivities. Nothing could be more elating than the sight of the beautiful rhythmical movements of the paddlers swinging forward with mechanical precision until their foreheads almost touch their knees. These voluntary sailors furnish an example of discipline which might well be followed in high places.
Agriculture among the Cham is limited to the cultivation of a few ricefields and the growth of tobacco, cotton and pea-nuts. Cattle-raising does not include that of cows and pigs, the flesh of which is forbidden by religion. Other industries are bee-keeping, the export of the wax for religious purposes, and the manufacture of torches of resin which find a ready market among the Annamites. I have already mentioned other specialities.
Agriculture, commerce and industry show not the least sign of expansion. The Cham is not ambitious, much less inventive and exhibits no trace of envy of his progressive Annamite conquerors, whose industrious activity is a vivid contrast to the proverbial lethargy of Orientals. Unhappily the indifference of the Cham to material prosperity is a recent development. In the great days of Empire they must have been a very active and intelligent race and even to-day we find relics of their inventive skill among their Medicine Men.
These specialists jealously guard the secret, which has been handed down by tradition, of certain medicines to which Europeans have had recourse on occasion. More than once during our expedition we were glad to invite the good offices of the native herbalists when, prostrated by dysentery, shivering with fever or weakened by anæmia, we had exhausted the resources of our own pharmaceutical arsenal. The native doctors are as skilful as the Chinese in utilizing various simples and are quite familiar with the medicinal properties of certain animal products.
We have known cases in which an unnameable brew, of which the principal constituents were the shells of beetles, the scales of snakes, and the parings of stags' antlers and bullocks' hooves, effected a quicker cure than all our European drugs, for all their scientific names. The pharmacopœia of the Cham is certainly an offshoot of that of the Chinese. It comprises a list of all manner of remedies for moral as well as physical disorders.
Camphor, a substance universally appreciated, appears also among the medicines of the Cham. They use a certain oil which, when impregnated with camphor, acts as an anæsthetic by evaporating and producing a freezing sensation. It forms a kind of liniment and is kept in a small, brightly coloured glass flask, which is stoppered with a cork of wax to prevent evaporation.
Wax is also used to make capsules, about the size of a pigeon's egg, to hold drugs and other medicinal substances which must be kept from contact with the air.
Cholera, which is endemic throughout this region, is treated by taking pills made up of a mixture of sandalwood, the bark of the mangostan, and eagle-wood. Eagle-wood, of which I shall have much to say later on, is well known as an excellent tonic. Popular superstition endows it with powers so remarkable that a single piece could effect an immediate cure.
Most of the brews or broths are prepared by decoction rather than by infusion and the operation should take place over a slow fire, which makes them more potent. Their effect is extremely violent, and in Europe we should unhesitatingly classify them with the group of remedies popularly known as "horse pills."
Among the most potent I might mention the gall of animals which is often used to produce the effect of an emetic.
At one time the Cham sorcerers used human bile as well as that of animals. This human bile was useless unless taken from a living subject, and consequently murders without number were committed for the purpose of obtaining it. Its reputation as a talisman was universal. It was said that any man who rubbed himself with it became invulnerable. Of course it was inevitable that a warrior should become invincible when he was certain that his victory, thanks to his supernatural protection, was a foregone conclusion. The King himself had no doubts as to the efficacy of this talisman and before going into battle ordered his elephants to be sprayed with it. His special emissaries, who enjoyed the name of Jalavoi ("Stealers of human bile"), drew their host of victims from every quarter, and even to-day the memories of their horrid activities evoke a shudder.
Happily those evil days have departed. Human bile is no longer used either for protective or medicinal purposes. It remains only as the subject of legend.
Besides this special and curious emetic the Cham produce the same effect by certain mechanical processes the originality of which merits detailed description.
When a sick man's stomach seems overladen with bile and the medicine man wishes to empty it completely, he stuffs a rag soaked in urine and other evil-smelling substances into the patient's mouth. He rams it down as far as it will go and then quickly withdraws it. Physical aversion and the irritation of the glottis produced by a foreign body immediately provoke a spasm of sickness. No doubt some milder emetic would have been equally successful.
I frequently doctored the Cham and I can bear witness that they make the best of patients. They took ipecacuanha, castor-oil, or sulphate of soda, as if they enjoyed them. When they came again they often brought me a present of a little candle in a curious candlestick made from the banana-plant. I learnt later that it was the custom to bring an offering of some kind in lieu of fee to the native doctors.
Suicide is very uncommon in these regions, where the means of life are within the reach of all, passions easily mastered, and an easy-going philosophy is practised from the cradle. The few who find life not worth living leave it with the help of opium which they mix with vinegar.
At present the native authorities throughout Indo-China have taken no steps to regulate the manufacture and sale of poisons. It is quite usual for the most virulent of these to be sold publicly in the open market, and it must be admitted that any regulations would probably be ineffective to stop the trade. Nature in Asia has always been lavish with toxic substances. Even if the sale of these were prohibited, anyone could find as many as he wished in the nearest forest. This abundance is undoubtedly responsible for the large and increasing number of murders by poison which distinguish the regions inhabited by the Cham. We ourselves, isolated in the bush, had to take the most elaborate precautions to prevent fatalities of this kind.
On our arrival in the country we were forewarned of the danger by the French resident magistrate of the province. He laid special stress on the risks run by young bachelors who attempted any intimacies with the native girls. The seducer, it appears, is marked out for destruction, even if he has only yielded to the blandishments of the woman. Further, many of the Cham poisons only work slowly and the mischief they cause in the system is frequently taken for disorders which follow anæmia and other illnesses, to which foreigners in this climate are peculiarly liable. One of my colleagues died from an attack of what we believed to be malaria. We all feel now that if an autopsy had been made we should probably have discovered that what we thought was cachexia was the effect of poison.
Besides being familiar with the nature and use of poisons the Cham are also expert in concocting stupefying drugs and narcotics of all kinds. They often poison the air of a room in which a patient is lying by blowing stupefying vapours through hollow canes inserted in the wattled walls. The effect of these fumes is to make the victim sleep more heavily and the criminals take advantage of this circumstance to rob him at their leisure.
I had a vivid personal experience of this diabolical procedure. One evening I arrived with my escort at a house which our coolies had built specially for us and where we were to stay several weeks. The furniture consisted of nothing more than a bamboo bedstead supporting a mattress of cotton wadding. My room was very narrow and the seven cases which contained my instruments and cooking utensils were all the furniture I needed in addition. I told my boy to push two of these cases under the bed in order to save space. We had been marching all day under a tropical sun and I flung myself on the mattress and fell asleep at once. I awoke, according to habit, at about four in the morning and was surprised to feel myself so cramped that I could hardly move. To add to my astonishment I could not find my matches which I always kept within reach. The case which I had placed to serve as a bedside table had likewise disappeared.
With great effort I rose from bed and stumbling at each step managed to get out of the house. My sole garment was my pyjamas, for my clothes had followed the matches. It was still dark and I soon collided with an obstacle which proved on investigation to be one of the cases. I was somewhat alarmed and called for my servants. No one answered. A feeling of overpowering drowsiness overcame me and I had just time to get back to my bed before I fell asleep again. When morning came my orderly came in to announce that six out of the seven boxes were scattered about the outskirts of our camp. Locks had been forced and all my papers, instruments, photographic plates and prints, and wallets ruthlessly thrown out after obvious examination. It was plain that the burglars had been hunting for bank-notes. Fortunately I had no money in the cash-box. I had left the few thousand piastres which constituted our reserve with a colleague, so the total haul did not amount to more than two silver bangles and a few gewgaws, which together were not worth more than ten piastres.
As for the seventh case, it contained the whole of our supplies, and its disappearance left us with nothing but the impressions of our journey to breakfast on.
That evening, while clearing the thickets quite six kilometres from our camp, our coolies came upon the missing case. It was almost intact. Only one box had been opened and it bore upon its label a sketch of the sucking-pig it contained. As swine's flesh is abhorred by the Cham I can only conclude that we owed the recovery of our portable larder to that happy chance.
Two years later a second attempt of the same kind and not less audacious was perpetrated upon me. I was at Hanoi, residing in a house situated in a narrow avenue and next to the barracks. It was at the beginning of the rainy season and a violent storm was raging. I was sleeping on the first floor, and one of my Tonkinese orderlies, a hardy young bachelor, stationed himself at the bottom of the stairs to guard me. I had allowed another to bring his family into the house and the family, including its real members, friends and acquaintances, turned out to comprise eleven persons. In return for this concession they arranged to mount guard in turn. It will be acknowledged that I was thus not alone in the desert!