The Project Gutenberg eBook, Indo-China and Its Primitive People, by Henry Baudesson, Translated by E. Appleby Holt

Photo by L. de Layougune.
[The Tomb of a Radé Chief] decorated with Statues of his Faithful Women.

Indo-China and its Primitive People

By Captain Henry Baudesson.

Translated by E. Appleby Holt.

With 48 Illustrations from photographs.

LONDON: HUTCHINSON & CO.
PATERNOSTER ROW

TO
PROFESSOR ANTOINE CABATON
A TOKEN OF REVERENCE AND AFFECTION

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

FOREWORD

No nation which desires worthily to fulfil the rôle of Protector to the barbarous races on whom it proposes to confer the benefits of civilization can afford to remain ignorant of their ways of life and thought. The interchange of ideas is as essential to successful colonization as the exchange of commodities. Unfortunately the path to knowledge is beset with difficulties. In the first place the savage or semi-savage is unable to apply the method of synthesis to those of his institutions which seem founded on custom. He cannot tell us which of his usages have been borrowed or imposed from outside. Further, as a rule, it seems impossible to find any medium of communication between his language and ours, so that any attempt at cross-examination is met by the sorry pretence that our questions "make his head ache."

During the period covered by the geodetical and topographical surveys which preceded the construction of the Trans-Indo-Chinese railway, the members of the mission to which I was attached lived for years among the natives upon terms of the greatest familiarity. We saw them in their homes, at their work and recreations, and we can at least claim that we obtained our knowledge at first hand.

I have not hesitated throughout this book to record the conclusions of my colleagues and to compare or contrast them with my own for the sake of the light they may throw upon each other.

I have analysed the rites and superstitions which came to my notice with a mind unhampered by obsession or prejudice. If I have seemed to dwell too fondly on analogous ceremonies among other peoples and in other days it is only because I wish to arrive at the broad principles which seem to me to underly all these phenomena, principles which are as immutable as human nature itself.

BOOK I
AMONG THE MOÏ

[Indo-China and its Primitive People]

[CHAPTER I]
AMONG THE MOÏ

General characteristics of the Moï—A legend as to their selection of a home—The part played by ocean currents in the distribution of races—Had primitive peoples a sense of direction?—Features of daily life—The hut—The village—Clothing and ornaments—A primitive method of kindling a fire

The half-civilized races who inhabit the mountains and uplands of Indo-China are known by different names among their neighbours. The Birmans call them "Karens," the Laotians, "Kha," the Cambodians, "Stieng," or "Pnong," the Annamites, "Man," or "Moï." "Moï," which can be translated by "savage," is perhaps the most convenient label for the whole complex of these primitive folk.

Their number is not capable of exact computation but probably approaches 400,000, divided between tribes of different names. They are to be found scattered between the eleventh and the twentieth degrees of latitude, from the frontiers of China to the boundaries of Cambodia and Cochin-China.

From the earliest times they have made their homes in the wooded uplands at an altitude which secures them from the fear of inundation. Their love of mountain and forest is a primitive and unchangeable instinct and all attempts to acclimatize them to the plains have ended in failure. Further, this instinct is reinforced by their religious beliefs and their respect for ancestral tradition. According to a charming legend this domain was the gift of Eve herself.

"The first human family had offspring so numerous that the land of their birth could no longer sustain them. The mother resolved that they should scatter to people other portions of the earth. Before the separation she called them all together for the last time and made a great feast in their honour. All did credit to her bounty with the exception of one, who took nothing but some red pimento.

"This self-restraint was not lost on Eve. She recommended those of her sons who appreciated good cheer to share the fertile plains, and giving a bow and arrows to her sober guest, promised him the kingdom of the mountains where the beasts rove the forests.

"He was the father of the Moï. His descendants share his frugality, and, like his, their wants are few."

These characteristics distinguish them to-day. Our first discovery on arrival among them was that the use of money is unknown. They value an empty bottle more highly than a piastre, and if by chance they accept some such coin it is only to cut it in pieces for an ornament. Though their disposition is generally peaceful, some tribes are extremely jealous of their independence and receive an intruder, however innocent, with showers of arrows. In this, as in all other respects, the people reflect the character of their surroundings.

As the national costume consists of the absence of it there is no obstacle to the observation of their physical forms. The European on his first arrival in this country will think himself in a museum of classical statuary! Simplicity, harmony, virility and grace are all exhibited in perfect combination.

An average figure measures five feet five inches in height. Few of the natives are more than five feet nine inches, or less than five feet one inch. The torso is faultless, the line of the loins elegant. Sometimes the lower limbs are rather frail. The big toe, while preserving its prehensile faculty (the feature of all races of the far East), is not detached from the other toes. In this respect the Moï differ from the Annamites, who have gained the nickname of "Giao-Chi" (detached toe).

The adipose tissue is so fine that obesity is rare. Generally speaking the skin is of the colour of earth and varies between reddish brown and dark yellow. It has a characteristic odour resembling that of a wild beast in good condition. There is an abundance of coarse black hair, which is generally rolled up in a knot at the back and fastened with a comb or band of stuff. In case of illness the patient lets his hair fall loose to conceal his face. The forehead is low and narrow and sometimes terminates in a point. The expression of the eyes, which are frequently oblique, is one of fearless frankness. The thick chin is the characteristic prognathous feature. The lips are fleshy and colourless. The prominence of the cheek-bones give the face the appearance of a pentagon with the chin as its apex. The long and narrow skull places the type among the dolichocephalic races.[1] These are the broad characteristics of all branches of the Indonesian race and are especially to be remarked among the peoples of the Asiatic archipelago, the Battaks of Sumatra, the Dyaks of Borneo and the Alfurs of the Celebes, who show the least alteration from the original type.

It is well known that these primitive peoples were aware of the existence of ocean currents and used them for their own purposes. No other theory can account for the distribution of the Malayo-Polynesian races among the swarm of islands, some of them hundreds of leagues apart. It demonstrates beyond doubt the importance of the influence of currents on the dispersion of the human race over the surface of the globe.

The existence of a large number of legends common to the two peoples reinforces the physiological resemblance between the Moï and the primitive races of the Malay Archipelago. The folklore of all of them speaks of the existence of human beings reputed to have had a tail like a monkey's, and, what is even more extraordinary, a razor-edged membrane on the forearm which was used to cut down branches obstructing their path.

Curiously enough Borneo possesses a people, the Murut, who habitually wear the skin of a long-tailed monkey. At a distance this appendage seems to belong to the wearer rather than to the garment.

In the same way it may be that the custom of carrying a wooden knife, practised by forest-roving peoples, is responsible for the illusion which confuses the weapon with the arm which wields it.

The Moï have a wonderful memory for places and a marked sense of direction. The latter faculty is attributed mainly to a peculiarly highly-developed sensibility to physical contact. Like all peoples who spend most of their time in the open air they are constantly noting the direction of the wind. They know the exact hour at which, according to the season, the wind will rise or fall. However light, a breeze will induce a sensation of freshness immediately recorded by their bodies, especially when moist with exertion. As they walk or run they note carefully every movement which obstacles oblige them to make. According to Doctor Ouzilleau, this sixth sense is localized in the ampullæ of the semicircular canals. A movement of the head causes the displacement of the endolymph which acts on the auditory nerves.

Further, the Moï possess keen vision and a highly-developed sense of smell which bring to their notice objects which would remain unobserved by Europeans. A small drop of blood is on a leaf. It is the evacuation of a wild boar whose lair is close at hand.

As is well known, instinct prompts almost all the actions of the semi-savage. Accordingly the psychology of the Moï is not easy to describe. Is he capable of altruism, pity, or gratitude? With few exceptions these virtues are almost completely unknown. But he will learn them, like anyone else, as soon as civilization has given him more favourable conditions than under his present precarious existence. To-day he falls an easy victim to injustice, intrigue and exaction. So if Europeans arrive in force they are treated as an enemy to be feared and therefore worthy of respect, but a casual foreigner may easily pay for his rashness with his life.

Like all men of weak character, the Moï is very revengeful and awaits with patience the day of redress. Months and years may pass without effacing the least detail of his wrong. I was frequently called upon to compose their quarrels and it was seldom that the injury was not one of long standing.

"But why," I asked, "wait so long before taking action?"

"I had other things to do," came the answer.

"What other things, you idler?"

"Oh, invitations to share a flask of spirits of rice or a fat pig."

Nothing, not even the most imperious necessity, can overcome their inveterate laziness.

I shall never forget the curious impression produced on me by my first entry into a Moï village. The village in question was Dran on the Da-Nhim, whose narrow valley marks the outposts of the great Annamite chain. Five or six straw huts had been erected on stakes some ten feet above the earth, less to avoid dampness than to secure immunity from the raids of wild beasts.

Some women were pounding paddy (a preparation of rice) for the evening meal in mortars of ironwood. The measured beat of a metronome and the regular thuds of the pestles set the time for the wailing chant with which the women beguiled their work. On seeing me they looked up startled. A single piece of flimsy cloth draped from the waist to the knee revealed the outline of many a full and graceful thigh and emphasized rather than concealed their sinuous movements. The children played around or pretended to help in lifting the heavy pestles.

At the top of a pole a rude figure had been carved of the genius of the village armed with a murderous-looking cross-bow. He was the tutelary deity of the place.

The supports of the houses are built of ironwood, the other portions being of plaited bamboo sticks. The roof is open to the sky and overhangs both the farmyard and the pigsty. We had no difficulty in conjuring up the discomforts that awaited us should we ever be compelled to lodge in such a place. The thin wattled walls would not spare us the least noise nor the slightest odour.

My unwonted appearance still continued to excite demonstrations of alarm, but it seems my beard was mainly responsible for the indiscriminate flight which ensued. One old woman only was brave enough to remain seated in her doorway. I asked her for permission to inspect her dwelling, accompanying my request with a gift of a large packet of tobacco. She acceded, not without hesitation and a look of infinite distrust in her eyes. A rude wooden approach with apologies for steps led up to the interior. The rooms, one of which is assigned to each distinct family, were about the size of a horse-box, but a special apartment was reserved for strangers and solemn occasions such as a general reunion. The hearth, raised a few inches above the level of the floor, consisted of a platform on which three fires were burning and an appetizing and harmonious murmur proceeded from three pots in which rice, the evening meal, and the food for the pigs were being prepared. There was no chimney, for the duty of the smoke is to keep off the mosquitoes, which are such a plague in these regions. Accordingly every object in the place was covered with a thick layer of soot, and no window was to be seen.

The inhabitants of this particular village were poor and the huts were very small, but in some of the more fortunate villages the houses sometimes attain a length of two hundred yards.

Huge blocks of wood served as beds to a people usually too tired to be critical. The walls of the partitions were hung with a medley of gongs, tom-toms, weapons and domestic utensils. The spirit flask, without which no family celebration is complete, was suspended from a post adorned with rude carving.

The frightened inhabitants eyed us askance and behaved like whipped curs. The children squalled and hid under any convenient object, nor could I gain their confidence by emptying my pockets of all the tempting trifles I had brought with me for the purpose.

Seen from a distance there was nothing to point to the presence of a village. It was perched on the side of a ravine with the forest behind it, and thick brushwood in front protected it from the gaze of the inquisitive. The only entrance, known to the initiated alone, was that furnished by two narrow passages. Even when the entrance has been found, another dark passage has to be traversed which is designed for easy defence in case of attack. A small number of determined warriors would be quite sufficient to repel invaders.

The open space in the centre of the village was adorned with two public buildings, a large hut reserved for the boys who had just attained the age of puberty and another which contained the last harvest. The door of this public granary was secured in a manner which demonstrated to perfection the naïve simplicity of these folk. The lock consisted of a rattan thread passed through an empty egg-shell. Of course it was impossible to touch the thread without breaking the shell, and as all are equally interested in the preservation of the precious grain supply, each man thus became policeman to his neighbour.

The Moï is not nomadic by nature, but moves his habitation periodically as soon as he has exhausted the natural resources of the soil he occupies. Other causes of this periodical exodus are serious misfortunes, such as a fire, an epidemic, or unpleasantly frequent raids by the tiger. Such mishaps are invariably attributed by the Moï to the evil influence of the genius of the place. To dispute the possession of the ground with so powerful a divinity would be sheer madness, and accordingly he yields with grace and betakes himself elsewhere without regret.

The choice of the next habitation is not a mere matter of chance. The Geomancer is called in to consult the omens, and no selection is made until after ripe reflection.

But I am forgetting the mild adventure which was the occasion for these general observations. After some time I became aware that my visit could not be prolonged without a breach of etiquette and that I was trespassing on the time of my hostess. She herself recalled me to good manners by resuming her multifarious household duties. Accordingly I bade her farewell and left her surrounded by a crowd of the feathered tribe who assembled in answer to her guttural cry of "loc-loc," the usual signal for a generous distribution of maize.

The national costume is marked by an almost evangelical simplicity. The men may truly be described as clothed in sunbeams, for a flimsy piece of cloth draping the waist can hardly be dignified with the name of dress. A knife in a leather or wooden sheath is the only weapon carried, though another small knife is frequently fastened in the hair, which is twisted into a knot and secured by a comb. The women have a clinging skirt, which does full justice to their graceful figures. The bust is seldom covered at all, but in cold weather a large piece of cloth is draped round the waist. Both sexes sometimes wear a rough cloak trimmed at the edge with a variegated fringe, but in spite of such precautions they are very liable to affections of the throat.

The chief peculiarity, however, which distinguishes them from the other groups of Indo-China is their inordinate love of personal decoration. The passion for finery gives rise to the most embittered rivalry among the women, and takes many curious forms, such as the artificial elongation of the lobe of the ear, in which various ornaments are introduced. This painful process begins in infancy, when the ears are pierced with a sharpened bamboo rod. A wooden ring is inserted in the hole thus made, and weights hung from it, at first small, then increasing in size. The lobe, unnaturally distended, sometimes reaches the shoulder, in which case it is accounted a feature of the greatest beauty, and a husband with every talent and virtue is assured to its fortunate possessor. But it is of prime importance that the ear should remain unbroken. Should the skin give way, the two hanging pieces will be an eternal reproach. No husband will want a woman thus degraded, and a hopeless spinsterhood will be her lot in life.

The men are addicted to the same practice, but with rather more discretion. They confined themselves to filling the holes in their ears with our champagne corks, which were quite at a premium on the market and shared the honours with our boxes of Swedish matches. Sometimes, too, their taste turned to an ivory serviette ring or even a simple drawing pencil. Another fashionable masculine ornament is a brass collar, consisting of a number of spiral rings. We never satisfied ourselves as to whether this was pure decoration or served some ulterior purpose, such as protection against affections of the throat.

Copper and brass bangles adorned the wrists and ankles, but he who wished to touch the supreme height of fashion wrapped his head in one of the towels with which we rewarded our more industrious coolies.

I brought from Paris a supply of beads, in the hope of finding them useful as a medium of exchange. To my surprise the natives took no interest in them at all and they proved almost worthless. The Moï, like the European, follows the caprice of fashion, and our beads, it seemed, were too heavy and not gay enough for his taste. Besides, they were not the mode of the moment.

It was thus sufficiently demonstrated that the wearing of clothes is not even essential for the display of feminine vanity and coquetry. Artifice can dispense with clothing, and if the sexes in this strange land attract each other by means that seem curious and unaccountable to us, the end in view is always and among all peoples the same, the continuance of the race.

It must be remembered, too, that the development of a fashion is similar to the development of a living organism. A certain form of dress or style of decoration undergoes successive transformations, the stages being generally exaggeration, diminution and ultimate disappearance. For illustration we need go no further afield than the recent vagaries of fashion in Europe which seem to oscillate between the bell and the asparagus, but perhaps a more striking example is the long, pointed shoes of the Middle Ages. At first the points were quite reasonably short. Then little by little each man tried to sort himself out of the common ruck of his neighbours by having longer points, and after about a century the fashion culminated in the absurd extravagance of the shoe with points long enough to be drawn upwards and fastened to the knee. The mode first saw the light in the middle of the thirteenth century and disappeared abruptly in 1428. The same evolution can be traced in the progress of the ruff of the fifteenth century and the crinoline of the nineteenth.

It is at least open to belief that ethnical transformations are governed by similar laws. This distension of the lobe must be traced to the practice of continually adding to the number of ornaments with which the ear was overloaded.

Every individual tends to overrate the feature which is considered the characteristic of his race. "Le beau pour le crapaud c'est sa crapaude," said Voltaire, and the natural instinct of the savage is to exaggerate what he regards as the most worthy of admiration. This instinct is indubitably responsible for most of the mutilation practised by primitive peoples. Thus the negresses of Africa produce an artificial elongation of the nipple by the sting of a certain insect, and the platyrrhine Malays make their flat noses even flatter, while the Persians take the most elaborate pains to induce an extreme hook on a nose already aquiline. This theory of exaggeration inherent in our nature can alone explain certain customs which are otherwise unaccountable.

[ A Moï Maiden with Enlarged Ears. ]

[A Cham Chief and his Daughter.]

[ Laotian Barque under Full Sail. ]

[A Moï Farmer at work].

I ought perhaps, before leaving the subject, to enumerate three other methods of decoration practised by the leaders of fashion among the Moï. The women powder their hair with an odorous substance obtained from the berries of the vetiver. Both men and women smear their teeth with a kind of lacquer to protect the enamel from the action of lime, the principal ingredient of the betel leaf.

Finally the society ladies dye their nails a vivid vermilion with the sap of the plant "Semrang."

As I said above, our matches soon went to a premium as a medium of exchange, but the Moï already employed two methods of kindling a fire. One was by striking a flint against a piece of pyrite of iron, the other by simply rubbing together two pieces of wood. The process is as follows. A very dry bamboo is split at one end for about five inches of its length. The two sections are kept apart by the insertion of a wooden wedge. In this way a rude ventilating chimney is made under which the operator piles up some dead leaves, bamboo cuttings and moss. He now passes a long cane under the apparatus (which he keeps steady with his foot) and rubs it rapidly backwards and forwards until a spark appears, which is usually within a minute. The movement closely resembles that of sawing.

This last method is only practised in the bush, for in the villages the fires are carefully preserved under the ashes and seldom allowed to go out. This preservation of fire is a phenomenon which characterizes all primitive peoples in every clime.

[CHAPTER II]
INDUSTRIES AND OCCUPATIONS

Agriculture—Industries—Weaving, iron and copper mining—Commerce and industrial products—Food supplies—Fishing—How we once fished with dynamite—Hunting—Various methods of big-game hunting—My first elephant hunt—Some useful hints to big-game hunters—Poisons—Arms and weapons of defence—The tiger, a dangerous neighbour—A bathing tragedy.

The principal industry of the Moï is the cultivation of rice. The method adopted, however, is unlike that of the Annamites of the plains. Instead of cultivating a rice-field by continuous irrigation which produces three crops a year, the Moï wait until November, the end of the rainy season. They then clear a portion of the forest large enough to raise a crop for the entire population of the village. In April they set fire to the fallen trunks which the sun has dried. For several days the whole mountain is illuminated by these immense braziers and the crackling of the timbers can be heard for miles around. Finally the ground is covered with a layer of fine ashes, which are washed into the soil by the first rains. Then begins the sowing.

Armed with a pointed stick the women hollow trenches in the soil and throw in the seed. The rains first and then the soil itself complete their work. The baskets are soon full and the public granaries stocked with the precious cereal. Good as a harvest may be, however, it is seldom that a crop is sufficient to support the population till the next. More often the supply runs short and the tribe has to subsist for several weeks on bamboo shoots and forest roots.

Several times during my visit I tried to inculcate in the natives some elementary notions of thrift and foresight. A "Pholy," or village chief, once showed me in a word the weak point of my counsels. "If I were to start putting by a store," he gravely told me, "my elder brother, the white warrior, would take it from me to feed his escort."

I vigorously denied in the name of my kind any such evil intentions.

"In that case," he continued, "my younger brothers in the neighbourhood would seize it. So I am prudent and keep no store at all."

Now what answer could I have returned to that?

However, whether the Moï blames civilization or his very human neighbours, it is certain that he is happy-go-lucky by nature and lives from hand to mouth. His ignorance of economy may be ascribed to two causes, one that he possesses nothing of his own, since all property is held in common by the tribe, the other that Nature is so bountiful as to render foresight generally unnecessary.

Quite otherwise is the character of the Annamite, who spares no pains over the cultivation and improvement of his ricefields. His barn is never empty. The Emperor of Annam himself sets the example and takes part each year in sowing the grain which is destined for religious sacrifices. By a long series of proclamations the Government has raised the status of the tiller of the soil, for it is generally accepted that the prosperity of the country depends more on its agriculture than on the expansion of its commerce. As for the profession of arms, it has long been regarded as a relic of ancient barbarism.

Here is an example of one of these proclamations:

"The tiller of the soil is a man of worth. The police shall never molest him. But he who bears arms is a brigand and my sbires will treat him as such."

This is no doubt the origin of the popular scorn of the military profession. A parallel is offered by France in the time of Sully, when the interests of agriculture were the special concern of the legislature.

Throughout the territories occupied by the Moï the cultivation of rice is carried on alternatively with that of maize. In the fertile soil this latter grows to an enormous size. On the plateau of Langbian it is quite usual to find stalks thirteen to seventeen feet high.

Every household grows its own tobacco. Cigarettes are made by rolling up tobacco in the dried leaves of the banana tree. In shape they resemble an extended cone of which the small end is put in the mouth. The pipes are of copper and have a long stem. An inner shell of bamboo fibres is attached to the bottom of the bowl and the more this is impregnated with nicotine the more it becomes an object of desire, especially to the women. Even the babies play their part in this little comedy, for they compete eagerly for a suck at the stick which serves their fathers as a pipe-cleaner.

Industry is in its infancy and is confined to the manufacture of simple objects of daily use, such as stout wicker baskets and glazed pottery. These vessels are not baked in a furnace but dried in the sun, and are consequently very brittle. Another staple manufacture is the three-foot chandelier, surmounted by a torch of resin. The women weave various coarse cloths of cotton. Their sole implement is a weaving frame consisting of two pieces of wood between which are stretched two sets of threads. The shuttle is worked by hand with a fair degree of skill.

Without professing any great knowledge of the art of dyeing the women are quite familiar with the properties of certain substances, of which they take full advantage. Thus indigo furnishes black as well as two shades of blue, a colour more highly esteemed. Yellow is obtained from the saffron. Alum and filtered cinders are put to a similar use.

Cotton is bleached by soaking the material in a concoction of rice-water boiled for several hours.

The needles which we bestowed on the most skilful of the housewives were accepted and preserved by them as precious objects of art. These ladies, as guardians of the ancient traditions, remained faithful to ancestral custom and preferred to use a blunt brass pin, which dispenses with the necessity for a thimble, the manipulation of which passes their understanding.

Iron, though found almost everywhere in its natural state, is worked by only a few tribes which have specialized in the industry. The anvil consists either of a huge stone or of a block of metal encased in a wooden armature. The hammer is fairly long and has a bamboo handle. Bamboo cylinders convey the draught to the furnace. This rudimentary equipment produces lances and knives of the greatest efficacy.

The extraction of iron is carried on by the Catalan method. The mineral in its natural state is first mixed with a large quantity of charcoal and then covered over with clay and collected into a kind of circular bin made of bricks. The mixture is then stirred vigorously for twenty-four hours, at the end of which it liquefies and falls into three layers. The lower part is composed of iron of a very poor quality, the upper mainly of ashes. The middle layer alone is of the desired temper and can be prepared for all purposes by a vigorous hammering.

All these operations are accompanied by a series of religious sacrifices, for the genii of the mine must be propitiated, and copious libations alone can humour their caprice. A special day, the fourth of the month, is devoted to an annual festival in their honour.

A few groups manufacture gongs of copper, which is found just below the surface of the soil. It seems to be the practice among these tribes, as soon as copper-bearing lands have been discovered, to secure seclusion and freedom from interference by expelling all the inhabitants of the country around. This is certainly one explanation of the weird stories which the evicted competitors tell of their successful rivals. If the vanquished are to be believed, the industry is carried on by the women, who live alone except for one annual visit to their husbands. These women are not merely unnatural wives, but also unnatural mothers, for they slay all their male children, keeping only the girls. Their other characteristics are hardly less formidable. They wield the lance with a skill and vigour of which any man might be envious. They are always accompanied by dogs, and finally (for a touch of the supernatural is inevitable), the legend runs that their spinal column terminates in a short tail.

I was extremely curious to make the acquaintance of these Amazons, but my informant invariably took refuge in silence when I pressed him for information of their whereabouts.

Whatever may be the value of these stories, it is well known that in this country, where money is unknown, gongs, pots and jars serve as the medium of exchange. The measure of value is the antiquity of the particular object. If it has several centuries behind it, its price reaches a truly fantastic figure.

Perhaps the Moï recognize that the arts are on the decline and that modern productions, if more attractive, are far less beautiful than those of bygone ages. It is very unlikely, for their æsthetic sense is still in an early stage of development.

The value of a red earthenware jar three feet in height and two hundred years old is equal to that of thirty buffaloes. Another vessel known as "The Mother and Child," which is composed of two jars of different sizes joined after the manner of the Siamese twins, is worth fifty buffaloes. At the top of the scale stands a vase worth one hundred buffaloes, partly because it enjoys the reputation of being unique and partly because it is adorned with the figure of a shapeless and mysterious human being.

The same curious standards of taste are revealed in the sets of gongs and tom-toms. These instruments are designed to give three or five concords, by the blending of which every variant of the Moï scale may be produced.

There is also a flourishing industry in the cultivation of cinnamon, both for the home market and for export to China, which is the largest customer for that product.

The hunters make long journeys for the purpose of exchanging elephants' tusks and feet and rhinoceros horn. A horn of the latter animal is ordinarily worth ten buffaloes among the Moï, but one which is new and flawless has been known to fetch the enormous sum of five hundred piastres, or fifty pounds in English money. The Annamites are the most successful hunters and dealers. Every power aiming at colonial expansion should concentrate its efforts on developing commercial relations with the natives. Trade is the most potent agent of conquest and the only one which brings prosperity and security in its train.

We found fishing with dynamite another means of peaceful penetration into these regions, though available only in places watered by a stream or river. We made a point of inviting all the inhabitants of the villages in the neighbourhood of our camp and it was seldom that the audience was not large and representative, so great was the interest roused by this operation. Judging by the horde of women which issued from every hamlet and the enormous baskets brought by the children we might have been setting out to clear the river of every living creature in it. The men, who fish both for food and sport, showed themselves very willing to indicate the favourite haunts of our prey.

Curiosity was roused to the highest pitch by the preparation of the charge and the Bickford train was an object of interest almost approaching reverence. I fired a few inches of this and astonishment knew no bounds. The younger members of my audience spoke openly of sorcery, while the elder smiled in a knowing manner but kept at a safe distance.

At length the charge was ready. I fired the end of the train and threw the infernal machine, weighted with a stone, into the middle of the water. The stone described a long parabola and fell into the dark depths carrying the instrument of destruction after it. For some seconds there was a deathly silence. Then a terrific explosion rent the air and a column of smoke and steam rose from the surface of the water to the height of the highest trees. There was a whirr of wings as the birds scattered from the branches. The Moï gaped at each other in amazement and prostrated themselves on the ground. Screams of fear from the children announced their conviction that the genius of the river, enraged at this intrusion on his dominions, was coming to carry them off.

[Fishing with Dynamite]: After the Explosion.

[ A Floating Village. ]

[ A Typical Village in Laos. ]

[ Primitive Irrigation in Laos. ]

Soon the cloud vanished, transformed into a shower of refreshing rain. Calm replaced the storm. The startled doves cautiously returned to their nests. The stream flowed on, unruffled, forgetful. Suddenly a few white specks appeared on the surface, vanished and reappeared in ever-increasing numbers until the waters seemed alive. These were the fish, their air-bladders burst by the force of the explosion and now floundering helplessly at the mercy of the swift current. The crowning moment had arrived. With one accord the spectators dived into the stream to secure their easy prey. The more wary had armed themselves with a liane, to which they fastened their victims by the gills. The booty was then easily towed between their teeth.

The women and children were in the very forefront of the fray, and there are few more entertaining spectacles than that of all these babies racing each other amid screams of delight. In a few moments the water was cleared of its shouting, struggling invaders, whose bronze skins glistened beneath a silver film of pearly drops. One by one, after adjusting their simple garb, they advanced to lay their booty in a large basket at my feet, then withdrew with a delightful affectation of indifference as to my intentions. Then began the ceremony of distribution. The basket raised on a mound of earth became the centre of a circle. The children advanced in single file, the youngest first. At the head of the procession was a youngster of less than six years of age, who had no difficulty in selecting the largest fish, which he dragged away by the tail stammering with excitement. The mothers followed, more modest in their desires. In a few moments I was left alone, a dismal survival of the merry throng.

Fish is the favourite food of the people in these regions and every river contains an apparently inexhaustible supply of it. The three current methods of fishing are with line, net, and spear. The nets are spread across the narrow channel, which is always left in the middle of the bamboo dams. The bait consists of the stalks of certain weeds and plants, which are treated to form a soft paste. When a haul has been particularly successful the fish is smoked and preserved for several months. For this purpose it is pounded with salt and pimento and stored in bamboo tubes. In this state it is a favourite condiment.

There is little change of diet, for the food supply is virtually restricted to the products of fishing and hunting. Domestic animals are never used for food except upon special occasions such as religious sacrifices.

Traps are preferred to weapons for keeping down the wild beasts which swarm in the forests. Both in devising and constructing snares the natives display a high degree of invention and skill. We found apparatus of different kinds all over the country, its form being apparently determined by the seasons of the year and the particular region. For example, the following method is employed in a thickly-wooded country where the presence of beasts of prey is only known by the tracks leading to their watering-places.

The hunters select a young tree, supple but yet sufficiently strong for their purpose. The top is forced over and secured to the ground by means of a tough fibre in which a noose is made. The long grass conceals all these traces of human intervention. Now the monster, tiger or panther, approaches. It cannot pass the spot without disturbing the simple mechanism which the least shock would set in motion. The sapling, suddenly released, flies back, and the unfortunate captive finds its neck or paw firmly gripped by the noose. The more it struggles the tighter becomes the knot, and if not actually strangled, it soon becomes exhausted by its agonized efforts to escape, and hangs, a miserable object, on this improvised gallows.

Another method is to dig a pit in a track the course of which has been carefully noted. Animals have fixed habits according to the season of the year. Shortly before nightfall they emerge from their lairs on an expedition to secure an evening meal. The pit must be both narrow and deep, and its dimensions calculated so nicely that the movements of the prisoner will be hampered in every direction. This object is further secured by driving stakes into the ground at the bottom so that the mere act of falling in will inflict the most severe injuries. The place is then concealed by a layer of branches, a part of the operation which needs the greatest care if the trap is not to be detected. A little earth from the excavation lying on the ground at the side is quite enough to warn some animals of the presence of danger and the condition of the grass and branches, which quickly decay, is in itself a suspicious circumstance. The tiger is one of the most wary and observant of beasts and is seldom captured in this manner, except when being pursued, when it has not the time to take its usual precautions. Deer, on the other hand, seem much less suspicious and frequently fall a victim to this particular wile.

There is another trap which requires equal care in construction, and closely resembles the eel traps which are common in Europe. It is a cage, circumscribed by a double row of bamboos as a palisade. The beast has to penetrate a hedge of bamboos to find the entrance which leads to an open space where a pig or goat rewards its curiosity. Once inside, however, its retreat is cut off, for the bamboos spring back to their natural position, thus closing up the entrance, and the palisade is quite strong enough to resist attack, however fierce.

It will be recognized that the construction of these snares calls for a degree of skill and experience to which few Europeans can attain. Sometimes the pits were so cunningly dug that it was almost impossible to detect their presence and we were in serious danger of falling in ourselves. As a rule the natives indicate the proximity of a trap by some signal such as a broken branch, a spear driven into a tree, or a stalk twisted in a certain manner; but, of course, the purport of these signs is known only to the initiated, and at the beginning of our expedition we had much more to fear from the tiger-traps than from the chances of an encounter with the beast for which they were intended.

It must not be imagined that the Moï confine themselves to the destruction of wild beasts only, or merely those which threaten their safety. Elephants are slaughtered ruthlessly for the sake of their ivory. The elephants haunt the damp and sandy regions of this country. During the dry season from November to March herds consisting of anything from ten to twenty beasts make their way to the forests both for shelter from the heat and for the pools which have not yet dried up. It is generally at watering-time that the creature makes itself heard with loud trumpetings which are audible at an immense distance and betray its presence to its human enemy. When the elephant is undisturbed its progress is sedate and leisurely and it stops every now and then to pluck a branch either for recreation or to serve as a fly-swish.

It is this last habit, well known to the native hunter, which betrays it and leads to its downfall. The first time I took part in an elephant-hunt I was amazed to see that the native who was guiding me kept his eyes fixed upwards all the time. I should have thought it was obvious that we needed no other guide than the enormous footprints left by the unwieldy beasts, and told him so. I was not long left in error. Without relaxing his efforts he soon showed me that these tracks were very unreliable, that they frequently pointed different ways, cut across each other, and sometimes, in fact, disappeared altogether. He told me also that the evacuations of the creature are liable to be misleading unless quite fresh, still viscous, and unaffected by insects. A trail in a forest must then be sought not on the ground but in the branches of the trees. It is by the broken branches, the appearance of the severed ends, and the consistency of the gum which escapes, that the experienced hunter can deduce the more or less recent passage of a herd.

I smile now when I think of the succession of surprises I experienced on that first hunting adventure and the ignorance I must have exhibited. We came to some swampy ground where my guide stopped short before some tracks that seemed to him the most fresh we had yet encountered. He carefully made some fresh tracks at the side with his feet and then lay at full length on the ground to compare the two sets of footprints. After a most minute examination of their respective appearances he calculated that less than half an hour had elapsed since the animals had passed by and went on his way without comment.

We had started out at sunrise, which is the orthodox and best time. To set out earlier is to court failure, for it is impossible to be sure of the traces in the darkness. At first we had directed ourselves by the pools, and on reaching a third pond were overjoyed to observe some traces obviously quite fresh. It is usually hopeless to start on a trail which is several days old, for a track made only the previous evening may easily take one much farther than is agreeable. Hunters who say that they have tracked elephants for weeks show more perseverance than intelligence. As it was, my companion lost the trail several times, but never took a short cut in the wild hope of picking it up farther on. He might as well have started hunting for shadows. Every time this mishap occurred he retraced his steps to the point of departure and looked again. He was not to be deflected from his purpose even by the trumpetings of the elephants themselves, though these were quite audible at times.

"Ong Bioi (Mr. Elephant) would make a liar of me," he explained in his picturesque jargon.

He was quite right, for in tracking these monsters the only safe rule is to follow the trail and leave short cuts severely alone. Besides, this hunting sense, if I may so call it, is only a practical application of that sense of direction of which I have spoken before, and which seems almost to be an instinct with some people. It is something analogous to the sense of danger which is found in certain specially constituted individuals who can foretell the presence of a danger by the twitching of the muscles of the back.

Soon, without any apparent reason, my guide signalled to me to relieve myself, and as I did not comply at once, he repeated his order with a gesture that left no doubt as to his wishes. He knew from long experience of big-game hunting how dangerous a nervous contraction, such as that of an overcharged bladder, can be at a moment when the accuracy of a shot may make all the difference between life and death.

He then took off my colonial helmet, which in all its khaki glory was a somewhat conspicuous object, and replaced it by his own head-gear, a muddy-coloured turban, quite unnameable, which certainly harmonized better with our surroundings. I was dressed in a suit of Chinese linen, slate grey in colour, which seemed to meet with his approval, while, for himself, he carried his whole wardrobe, consisting of a thin woollen cloth, lightly wrapped round his waist.

He then picked up a handful of dust and threw it up in the air to observe the direction of the wind. This is the most indispensable precaution, for if the elephant is not blessed with keen sight, its hearing is extremely acute and can detect an unwonted sound at a great distance. It must be approached, therefore, against the wind.

During the hottest part of the day the elephant either stands with its trunk wound round the lower branch of a tree, or else lies down, sometimes with its legs folded under it and sometimes at full length on its side, just like a horse. In none of these positions does it need the assistance of a mound of earth or a tree trunk to rise, though some travellers would have us believe it. In spite of its immense bulk it can get up unaided at the first hint of danger. M. Millet, of the Woods and Forests Department of Indo-China, who was also a member of our party was a specialist in this form of sport, and gave me the benefit of his fifteen years' experience.

It must be understood that though the preliminary stalking is usually done by the natives the honour of executing the sentence of death is reserved for the European. This would naturally seem the easiest part of the operations, for it would appear impossible to miss so vast an object at short range. The uninitiated always fall into the error of underrating the difficulties involved in killing these creatures, but the error rarely survives the first experience.

To begin with, the hunter who wishes to kill with the first shot must have a considerable knowledge of the beast's anatomy. Otherwise he exposes himself to a furious charge or to the mortification of seeing his bullet reach a non-vital spot and his prey vanish into the forest unharmed. A knowledge of the structure of the skull is, in fact, indispensable, for a miss by a hair's-breadth in that region will change a wound that might have been mortal into an insignificant scratch. The natives are notoriously ignorant of such matters, and, in consequence, usually aim at the shoulder and lose half the animals they hunt.

The vulnerable spot to which all experienced shots direct their attention is the temple, or rather a spot about one third of an inch above the ear-hole. If the hunter can find some eminence which puts him at the level of this vital place his bullet will pass straight through the brain and out at the other ear. Death occurs instantaneously. The creature sinks down, its fore legs bent under him, its back legs stretched out, while its head and body remain rigid. The same result is obtained by aiming behind the ear. On the other hand it is almost useless to fire straight into the advancing creature or hit it at the base of the trunk, especially with rifles of small bore.

It was this last shot that I attempted on this first elephant hunt when I was still in the depths of ignorance. The creature uttered a roar of agony, raised its trunk in the air and charged straight at me, covering thirty yards in a flash. I thought myself lost, but when almost on me it suddenly made a half turn on its haunches with as much agility as a circus pony and dashed off at a tangent smashing every obstacle in its path. My tracker had also fired with his Laotian rifle, and both shots were, in fact, mortal, though quite incapable of arresting its mad career. Only next day we came upon its carcase, already in a state of putrefaction and half devoured by white ants.

No less important for big-game hunting of this character is the choice of a rifle.

Fired by an expert a Winchester bullet not more than seven millimetres in diameter and fourteen grammes in weight is quite sufficient for all purposes, but a beginner should never start with anything less than ten millimetres in diameter and nineteen grammes in weight when hunting the tiger or any larger animal. Such a ball, projected at an initial velocity of 650 metres to the second, will stop any animal if it strikes either the shoulder or the breast. The Moï, of course, are not armed with our modern rifles. In fact, few of them possess a rifle at all, but the more fortunate among them buy the rustic Laotian rifles, a kind of blunderbuss which kicks and not infrequently knocks them down. The projectile used is not a bullet but a poisoned arrow made from an extremely hard wood.

Among the Moï the sorcerers alone know the secret processes which are employed in the manufacture of two extremely powerful cardiac poisons, antiarin and strophanthin, though these are also in use among the Dyaks of Borneo. No one else is allowed to be present when their preparation is taking place, but fortunately one of my compatriots in the mission, M. Odera, who was in the Woods and Forests Departments and had thirty elephants killed or captured to his credit, was once honoured by an invitation to be present at the ceremony.

A moonlight night is chosen. The novice first invokes the genii of the forest and then cuts a portion of the creeper strophantus giganteus, strips off the bark, grinds it up in a mortar and boils it over a fire until it attains the consistency of gum. This operation takes place at a great distance from the village, for the fumes are supposed to be noxious. To ascertain whether the required strength has been attained they cut off part of a lizard's tail and put a drop of the concoction on the severed end. Death ought to be immediate.

The second poison is obtained from the antiaris toxicaria without any special preparation. An incision is made in the bark of the tree. In some regions the arrows are poisoned by the simple expedient of sticking them into the trunk of the poison-bearing tree and leaving them in this novel pincushion until required.

It is a curious fact that game killed by poisoned arrows is perfectly wholesome if the wound is carefully washed at once. The young plants also of the antiaris toxicaria supply an absorbent poison. Their sap is not as powerful as that of the full-grown trees, but on the other hand has neither its bitterness nor repulsive smell.

Both the strophantus giganteus and the antiaris are found all over the Indo-Chinese and Malay peninsulas. The effect of antiaris is the same whether introduced into the digestive organs or applied to the cellular tissue, but in the former case the dose must be considerably stronger to produce the same result. It is pleasant to record that there is little data on which to base observations on the effect of the Moï poisons on human beings. Our own experience furnished one or two illustrations, however. While we were in Nhe-An, a province of Annam, one of our captains was wounded by two arrows and, though they were taken out at once, he died twenty-two days later in fearful agony. Another officer was struck by a poisoned missile and after a few minutes went mad and committed suicide. The danger of attack by the rebellious Moï was always present to our minds during the expedition. Two officers, MM. Canivey and Barbu, were wounded by several arrows. As there was no post where medical assistance could be obtained within several days' march and no doctor among us, I undertook a rational cure. All the symptoms pointed to poison. The nervous tremours, the alternating phases of excitement and lethargy, the dilation of the pupil, the feeble voice and the subnormal temperature left no doubt as to the nature of the malady. For a long time it seemed that recovery was impossible, for the arrow heads had not been immediately extracted; but events took a happier turn and in four weeks they were both well again. I can only conclude that the poison cannot have been fresh and consequently had lost much of its strength. The natives treat a patient for poison by first making the wound bleed, then washing it in water impregnated with sea salt and calcined alum, and finally inducing a heavy perspiration by making him drink an infusion of mulberry leaves.

Most of the Moï arm themselves with the cross-bow, which is a deadly weapon at a range of not more than forty yards. At half that distance the arrow will easily penetrate through two inches of the hardest wood. The arrow head is made of iron or wood, around which is wound a thread impregnated with the poisonous substance. It is fashioned with a notch at the base to make its extraction from a wound difficult, if not impossible.

The manipulation of the cross-bow requires no little strength. The bowman props the cross against his body and holds the bow firm on the ground with his foot. The strain of fixing the arrow is so great that it has been known to burst the bladder.

When the Moï goes to war with his neighbours he generally swathes his body in a multitude of thick wrappings to give him protection against such weapons as knives and daggers. His shield is of stout cane or buffalo hide and usually ornamented with the insignia of his tribe. Finally his panoply is completed by a spear with a handle of mahogany or sometimes by a two-handed sword. He is also ingenious at constructing subsidiary defences. On the outbreak of hostilities the neighbourhood of a village is thickly studded with small bamboo javelins, which are extremely difficult to distinguish from the grass and brushwood. Some of our party received grievous wounds from these concealed weapons.

The forests we encountered during our topographical survey are the home of a certain kind of buffalo of immense size. This species, which is very rare and not found elsewhere, is no other than the Aurochs, which are called "Con-minh" by the Annamites and "Co-bay" by the Moï. These animals are bay in colour and have a short and scanty coat, with the longest hairs under the belly and at the throat. They have white spots on all four feet, and resemble the wild buffalo in not being dewlapped. They are formidable foes and never wait to be attacked, but charge with lowered head at a prodigious speed. The tiger seems to have no terrors for them and many are the stories of their triumphs over the king of the forest himself.

Now, as a rule, a tiger is not dangerous unless it takes the initiative itself, which it seldom fails to do in these regions, where its supremacy has hardly yet been seriously challenged. Hence the saying which experience has abundantly justified: "In Indo-China the tiger is the hunter and man the hunted."

Of course, it is very unusual to meet this ferocious creature by daylight, even in regions where its ravages are the most frequent. Every traveller will pass by its lair in the bamboo groves, but it is quite exceptional to see the beast itself, except at nightfall, when it comes forth to seek its prey. Once a tiger has tasted human flesh it prefers it to all other food. Accordingly, the natives live in a state of chronic fear of the man-eater and will willingly abandon their villages rather than make the least effort to rid themselves of the pest. As I shall show later, they endow their enemy with human qualities and frequently refuse to destroy it when at their mercy for fear of arousing the vengeance of the whole species.

One of our party once witnessed the following scene. A tiger had fallen into a pit which had been laid for some deer. It had not been wounded, but the space was so cramped that it was quite unable to move. The natives were terrified lest it should die, in which case its spirit would never cease to molest them; so they decided to set it free. They made a cage without a floor, lowered it into the pit and then raised it up again by means of ropes passed under the creature. Perched on the neighbouring trees they pulled away the prison and let the captive go, offering it their humble apologies for having already detained it so long! Our representative had been compelled to promise his acquiescence, and, lest he should repent and show fight, his rifle was carefully left behind in the village.

I myself saw tigers on several occasions and often under circumstances when I wished them at the bottom of the deepest pit that human ingenuity could devise. One such occasion has left so vivid an impression on my mind by reason of its tragic outcome that I shall relate it here.

It was during the hot season when Sergeant Valutioni and I were in charge of a reconnoitring party sent forward to report on a region which he assured me was infested with tigers. In fact on the day in question he had gone so far as to bet me that we would meet a man-eater before nightfall. Now during the whole of my ten months' residence in Annam I had frequently passed through alleged tiger-stricken provinces but had never seen a single tiger, though at every station I was literally shot through and through with stories of their wholesale depredations. According to my colleagues every step was accompanied by the probability of immediate destruction. I became more and more sceptical and finally persuaded myself that the fearsome tales were spread by the old colonists with a view to discouraging newcomers. Accordingly I dismissed Valutioni's sinister predictions with a knowing smile.

Our way led through a magnificent forest. The sun grew hotter with every step, the ground harder as the carpet of moss and ferns dried up and withered. The trees became more stunted and their branches, almost denuded of leaves, took on strange fantastic shapes. Such foliage as there was seemed burnt up and ready to fall at the first breath of wind. Now and then a huge ant-heap broke the level sky-line and blended bewitchingly with the reddening trunks. A deathlike silence reigned, unchallenged even by a bird, over this realm of ill-omen.

Sao, the nephew of the chief of our escort, was walking a few yards ahead of me carrying my rifle. He was an intelligent boy about twelve years of age, with a peculiarly frank and pleasant expression, and I had had considerable hesitation in bringing him with us on an expedition which was bound to be long and trying, if not actually dangerous. His urgent request to join the party, however, overcame my reluctance, and I was also tempted by the knowledge that the young Moï is more tough and reliable than his elders.

He busied himself with cutting down the low projecting branches which impeded my progress and enlivened our march by humming a plaintive native melody in honour of the great Spirit who keeps watch and ward over the tigers. About midday we found a thick bamboo grove which offered welcome shelter against the torrid heat. Sao now took on the duties of scullion and rendered invaluable aid to my boy in preparing our bushman's lunch.

Valutioni lost no time in attacking a consommé of parrakeet, while a salmi of rat met with universal approval, and this sumptuous feast was crowned with a cup of mocha in St. Galmier water, which accompanies every expedition, as the forest pools are both few and foul.

Meanwhile our Moï escort were preparing and taking their more frugal meal. They made a fire and cooked a kind of pancake, of which rice is the chief constituent. The thick paste swells up rapidly looking like a piece of bread soaked in water. Sao made a hearty meal, showing a healthy contempt of European delicacies.

When we resumed our journey the sun was more cruel than ever. Not a breath of wind stirred the parched air, which almost burnt our nostrils. The bearers were hindered in their march by a thick carpet of dried branches and the necessity of stopping at frequent intervals to remove the thorns from their feet.

These delays were particularly aggravating, as we had resolved to make our night quarters at Song-Phan, where the river promised us a welcome bathe and an ideal spot for a camp. Also the horses, tormented by the flies, became so restive as to be almost unmanageable.

At length the sound of the torrent broke the silence, and presently a sheet of water gleaming like burnished steel appeared between two gaunt bluffs. In a few minutes our men had felled two large trunks to serve as a bridge from one bank to the other, and in a few more the fires were burning brightly. Valutioni insisted on my taking some precautions against the attacks of wild beasts and I issued an order that no one should go to find water without some escort.

One who has never experienced the pangs of a tropical thirst cannot imagine the delirious delight of a "bushman" when a chance is presented of a drink of pure water. How much greater is his ecstasy when the opportunity of a bathe is added! We threw prudence to the winds and took to the water like ducks in spite of Valutioni's solemn warning that the hour was late and none other than that selected by the tiger for its evening work.

Soon night came down, unheralded by twilight, and shrouded the earth in a thick mantle of darkness. We felt somewhat awed and dressed ourselves in silence. The way back to the camp took us by a narrow path cut in an impenetrable bamboo thicket. A party of water-carriers passed us, Sao bringing up the rear swinging his heavy gourd and singing the same melancholy chant. He looked so happy that I could not resist giving him a friendly pat on the cheek as he went by.

I had not advanced five yards when a heart-rending scream made me turn round sharply just in time to see the boy in the grip of a huge tiger and still struggling feebly. I snatched my rifle, raised it and took aim. At what? With one bound the monster had cleared the stream, bearing its prey in its fearful jaws, and vanished into the jungle.

A hoarse roar of horror and dismay broke the silence. All the Moï of our escort were screaming frantically as if suddenly stricken with madness.

"The Lord Tiger," they yelled, waving their long bamboo poles in the air.

My companion and I gazed at each other dumbfounded. What was to be done? The night was now black, the jungle impenetrable. Pursuit under such circumstances would be the height of folly. Realizing that we must wait for daylight and raging at our impotence, we returned to the camp fires thinking of the ghastly tragedy that was being enacted behind that barricade of brambles, perhaps only a few yards away.

I called up the unhappy uncle to offer what consolation I could. He was almost dumb with weeping, but managed to inform me amid his tears that the same evil fate had befallen both the father and mother of the poor boy.

"My brother should know," he added gravely, "that the spirits of my relations who never received burial nor the rites that were their due have long demanded another companion."

At that time I was profoundly ignorant of beliefs and superstitions which came to my notice later, and I attributed his words to the raving of a madman. Valutioni soon enlightened me, however, and showed me that not only the Moï but most of the Annamites also entertain the most curious beliefs on this subject.

They believe that the spirit of a tiger's victim is compelled to ride on the back of his murderer and guide it. Accordingly, when a trap is being laid the natives are careful to sprinkle a quantity of roasted maize around the place. When the monster approaches the spirit smells the grain, is warned of the impending danger, and leaps off in time to avoid falling with the tiger into the snare.

The story may raise an incredulous smile but is not so fanciful as it sounds. The attacks of the tiger on the Moï are so frequent, ruthless, and calculated that a savage naturally ascribes them to the direct instigation and assistance of some supernatural power. All Europeans will testify to the ferocious malevolence of the creatures, and many a traveller has paid for his ignorance or carelessness with his life. It was probably pure chance that Sao's evil fate did not befall my companion or myself.

It was evident that while we were enjoying our reckless bathe the tiger must have been watching us from the thicket, awaiting a favourable moment to spring. With its usual cunning it selected the weakest for its prey, and neither rifles nor knives would have barred its path. The slightest wound from its paw filled with putrefying matter is calculated to bring tetanus and an agonizing death.

Such was the course of our melancholy reflections when our attention was aroused to the presence of a new danger by the voices of a number of coolies who were arguing in undertones. We pretended to be asleep but listened carefully. They were talking of flight.

Someone was seeming reluctant, suggesting that the country was strange, the tigers at large. The whites had angered the spirits and brought all this evil upon them. It would be better to wait till the morning and steal away at daybreak.

We realized that vigorous measures were called for to avert a crisis. The nearest station was more than a hundred miles away and the country was absolutely without resources. If our escort fled we should have to give up the expedition. Fortunately the chief remained faithful to us. I ordered him to collect all the identification cards which every coolie carries with him in accordance with the regulations. Each card recites the length of the finger-joints of its owner and is stamped with each of his finger-prints.

Deprived of their cards, our men became as meek as sheep. The prospect before them was not inviting. They would have to pay the native equivalent of three piastres and produce satisfactory evidence of identity in the capital of the province before a duplicate would be supplied, and happily a coolie with three piastres is a rare phenomenon.

This danger disposed of, we attempted to sleep, but all in vain. The dog trembled and whined as if scenting evil. The tiger must have been watching us!

At dawn we beat out the thickets and at length came upon the tiger's lair where, among a mass of unrecognizable remains, we distinguished the corpse of the last victim. Not a fragment of flesh was to be seen on the skull which looked like an ivory ball. The animal's rough tongue had literally scraped it clean. A few paces away was a path, access to which was barred by the fallen trunk of an immense banian struck by lightning. It was plain that persons using this path had been unable to pass this obstacle and had been compelled to make a detour through the thicket. Hidden behind its bamboo barrier the tiger had watched them threading their way, and fallen upon them at the moment they presented their backs to it. We saw several fragments of human clothing and many bones to prove, if proof were needed, that we were on the site of a veritable man-trap.

We proceeded to give the poor boy as decent a burial as time and the circumstances permitted. His corpse was reverently laid in a shroud of latania leaves and buried in a grave at the very spot on which he had met his death. His uncle asked me for a piece of drawing paper, on which he traced the rude figure of a tiger with a pencil. He then drew three figures on the tiger's back. He explained to me that as the boy's parents were both very big, only a small place remained on the beast's back, quite near the tail.

"That is the reason," he added, "that my brother, the White Mandarin, has not been devoured. The tiger loves the flesh of a white man far more than that of my countrymen, and if there had been room he would doubtless have taken my brother for his victim."

I could say nothing to turn him from this conviction, and indeed I knew that my imprudence in bathing at so dangerous a time might very well have proved fatal.

The old man finished his drawing and then solemnly burnt it, scattering the fine ashes over the tomb to the accompaniment of many prayers. When the soil had all been returned the grave-diggers strode several times round the grave crying to the High and Mighty One to seek no more victims.

The moral effect of this tragedy was so great on the Moï of our escort that it seemed to me wiser to suspend the expedition with a view to avenging the boy's death and restoring confidence. Unfortunately the Moï were even more terrified at this suggestion and spared no efforts to dissuade me. They feared the vengeance of the tiger, but I was not to be turned from my purpose.

I took up my station in a tree and secured a fine young roebuck as bait. For fourteen nights I waited for the tiger to come within range, but it never came. It ravaged the neighbourhood frequently, startling the forest with its roars, but we never had a glimpse of it. At the end of the period the escort became restive and I acceded to the general desire to strike our camp and retreat before the enemy.

A few months later Lieutenant Gautier, another member of the mission, was devoured on the same spot.

CHAPTER III
FAMILY LIFE

Diseases and their cure—Betrothal and marriage—Adultery—Divorce—A Moï wedding—Birth—Childhood—The game of Pig-Snatcher.

No one with the least experience of the savage, no matter to what race he may belong, will deny that the best way to win his friendship is to cure his ailments.

Speaking for myself I habitually relied on my medical knowledge as a passport to the approval of the Moï, and I was rarely disappointed, for invalids of all sorts and conditions came daily to invoke the aid of my medicine chest. Most of them suffered from ailments caused by sudden changes of temperature, and their scanty clothing is a prolific source of bronchial affections. They always came up with their hair in disorder, hiding their faces as a sign of distress, putting out their tongues, and striking themselves on the breast to draw my attention to the seat of all their woe. They could hardly contain their glee when I painted the affected part with iodine. Their bronzed skins assumed a violet hue, then turned to browny red, assisted by their vigorous scratching.

Some came from immense distances for auscultation, and my patients included a large number of women, inspired, I think, more by curiosity than any immediate necessity, for I usually presented a mirror to each new patient. A few brought me their aged parents, under the impression that I was quite capable of restoring them to youth. A man with one arm came to ask for another, a man with one eye seemed astounded when I repeated my refusal to get him a new one. I remember once a patient appearing who was shivering with fever. I gave him a few grains of quinine and a glass of water to wash it down.

"Now whistle, my boy."

He whistled at once under the impression that this musical exercise was part of the treatment, whereas in truth my only object was to make sure that the drug had really been swallowed. Its bitterness had no deterrent effect whatever, for he stretched out his hands, accompanying the movement with a wink which means in all languages; "I can do with as much as you like."

In another case a chronic bronchitis demanded treatment by wet-cupping. A thick plank which happened to be handy took the place of an operating-table, while an empty Madeira glass had to perform the functions of the cupping-glasses of which I was destitute.

Lack of cleanliness and ordinary precautions is mainly responsible for the fatal outcome of so many of the more serious complaints. Even the most trifling ailments last an abnormal time, but I soon proved that with reasonable treatment the adult Moï easily shakes off quite virulent diseases. The race is, in fact, submitted to a process of strict selection by the mortality among the infants, which is very high. Only the hardiest specimens survive their childhood and are all the more fitted to resist the attacks of disease.

Infants are fed in the most ignorant and reckless manner, hence the prevalence of gastro-enteritis and rickets. On the other hand, the Moï suffer considerably less from malaria than the Annamites and the Chinese. Tuberculosis is uncommon and where found carries off its victims with incredible rapidity.

The use of simples is not unknown and some of the less complicated ailments have been successfully treated by this method. In general, however, all diseases are attributed to the displeasure of the Spirits, a superstition which the Sorcerer habitually turns to his own advantage.

At first we had the greatest difficulty in inducing the natives to submit to vaccination. The story was busily circulated that the mark left by inoculation was a badge of servitude, and it was some time before we succeeded in exposing the fallacy.

[ Birth Ceremonies: Carrying Fuel to a Young Mother. ]

[ The Wife of a Moï Chief. ]

[ A little Moï Family. ]

Among certain Moï groups, such as the Sedang, Djarai and Rognao of the lower lakes, it is usual for the boys to sleep in a special hut after puberty has been reached. The primary purpose of this custom is to prevent sexual intercourse before marriage, but it is quite ineffectual to prevent the girls from meeting their lovers on the sly. The usual result is that the mother generally kills her firstborn, as no one comes forward to claim the fatherhood.

It is not too much to say that the Moï seems to attach no importance to feminine chastity. Marriage is only the consecration of a cohabitation of long standing, and sometimes there are several children of the union before either party thinks of putting it on a legal footing.

As a rule, a man must take his wife from the same group, or, in other words, endogamy is de rigueur. The only connecting links with other groups are the alliances with female slaves, to which the woman need not be a consenting party. The consequence is that all the inhabitants of a region are related. We have often tried to decide the vexed question as to whether this consanguinity exercises a good or bad influence on the progress of the race, but it is impossible to say more than that the evidence is inconclusive.

Some European travellers, who, like myself, have resided among the Moï, say that marriages are forbidden between first cousins on the mother's side. They deduce from this fact that the natives consider the part played by the mother in the transmission of hereditary qualities more important than that of the father.

This theory, interesting and valuable as it might be if it applied to a race in a higher stage of development, is probably unsound with regard to the Moï, the phenomenon on which it is based being probably merely the effect of coincidence. There has been an increasing tendency of late years to attribute to half-civilized races scientific knowledge which we have only recently acquired ourselves, and to consider certain customs and beliefs primitive merely because they are ignorant and coarse. Both tendencies are liable to lead to error and require careful watching. In nine cases out of ten such customs are not inspired by any exact knowledge of physiological phenomena at all.

Only a few groups permit exogamy, that is marriages with others than members of the clan, and even where the system persists it does not seem to be due to any defined totemic rule.

Totemism is a semi-magical, semi-religious system which is based on the belief in a bond of relationship between a group of human beings and some species of animal regarded as protector, "totem." It has been noticed that a characteristic feature of totemism is the prohibition of marriages between men and women with the same totem and therefore belonging to the same clan.

The Moï are a strictly monogamous people, for the very natural reason that the males outnumber the females, and this again for the equally natural reason that the men are hardier and more able to survive the manifold mischances of infancy. Another contributory cause to their moderation in the matter of wives is their financial disability to keep more than one. But it is not a matter of principle, and a man would not hesitate to add to his stock if a sudden windfall made it possible.

A woman's commercial value depends on her age and social condition and varies also in different localities. In most cases she is paid for in instalments to her parents, for the future husband is too poor to give the presents which constitute the purchase price, and his only resource is to sell his labour to pay off the debt. Accordingly there is a stage more or less prolonged during which the young man combines wooing and the duties of maid-of-all-work in the home of his beloved. No arrangement could be happier in this country where labour is scarce. The real object, however, of this cohabitation on trial is to make sure that the characters of the two young people will harmonize and that their affections will survive continuous personal contact. Here, as elsewhere, there are cynics who say that familiarity breeds contempt.

If the engagement is broken off the man must pay an indemnity fixed beforehand. He pays his pig and takes his leave.

This custom is also in vogue among the Annamites, who call it "The Son-in-Law in the making." A similar institution is found even to-day in France, in certain villages of Haute-Savoie. The future son-in-law comes to reside with his future wife's parents. In popular phraseology he "makes the goat's marriage." The allusion becomes clear when we know that in this country it is usual to lead the he-goat to the she-goat, whereas in the case of other animals, such as bulls and horses, the female is always taken to the male.

Returning to the question of a woman's commercial value, I made inquiries in every province we visited, but found it seldom higher than the equivalent of fifty francs.

The final act that seals the marriage compact is a reciprocal scratching. While I was still in ignorance of this custom I received a severe rebuff from a girl to whom I offered some ointment for the scratches that disfigured her face. She refused it with scorn, for the nail-marks with which her lover had adorned her cheeks were, in her eyes, no other than his signature to the marriage-contract.

The rites and customs relative to betrothal and marriage vary greatly in different parts of the country and among different groups. One rule, however, is universal, and that is that the first step must be taken by the man's parents, who approach those of the girl, not without trepidation at the outset, for nothing is more humiliating than to be rejected. Accordingly the first interview is popularly dubbed the "Visit of the little gift of betel to the little garden gate."

If the parents' advances are received with favour a second visit follows and the presents are more valuable than on the first occasion, generally including chickens, rice, and still more betel. This last substance is considered throughout the Far East as the emblem of fidelity.

The dowry is met with only among the more prosperous groups. Of course it is the future husband who provides it, a far more reasonable arrangement than that with which we are familiar in Europe. In this happy land worldly considerations count for nothing; dressmakers and fashion-plates are unknown. The most expensive jewellery is of copper, the finest coiffures are the superb orchids which abound in the forests. There is no need to save up for the children to come. Books are unknown. The sons will learn to hunt, their sole education, and the girls will be taught to spin and weave. Far from being a burden to her husband a wife is his most valuable assistant, so it is only fair that the husband should make some compensation to her parents for the loss he occasions to them.

The Moï, thanks to the kindly influences of the Laotians, have a much higher idea of the status of womanhood than their neighbours the Annamites. The husband always takes his wife into his confidence and consults her in all the crises of life, and the wives reward their husbands with a very high degree of fidelity. I remember one occasion when I offered a trifling gift to the wife of one of our coolies. She refused it point blank with the one word "bao" ("I am married"). She was not familiar with our gallant European manners, and regarded the acceptance of a present from a man as the first step towards the rupture of the marriage tie.

The penalty of adultery is renowned for its severity. There was a woman in our camp who was feeding her new-born baby. One night I was roused by a succession of screams, and thinking that a fire must have broken out, I called my boy and asked him the cause of the disturbance. He adopted a tone of lofty cynicism and told me that a husband was thrashing his unfaithful wife. Next day the woman was unable to go to work and the child was nowhere to be seen. It seems that her husband had suddenly conceived doubts as to its paternity, and, suspecting his wife of adultery with an Annamite soldier who was in our escort, he had turned himself into an instrument of justice, beaten her without pity and cut the baby's throat. I complained of his conduct to the Pholy (village chief), but far from taking any proceedings he delivered himself in these words: "My only regret is that the betrayed husband did not kill both the adulteress and her paramour." I learnt thereby that the Moï regard an act which may enfeeble the race as a crime against the community and punishable with the utmost severity. The Annamites take a similar view, for their code provides no punishment for a husband who kills an adulterous wife and her paramour if caught in the act. The other alternative is to arraign them before the provincial tribunal, which usually means a sentence of ninety strokes with the lash. In most cases this severe penalty has fatal results, but it may always be compounded at the price of one franc per stroke, the redemption money being paid to the husband as damages.

Divorce is easy and can be demanded at the instance of either party or by mutual consent. The village elders meet to hear the charges and complaints and assess the amount of compensation. If the dissolution of the marital tie is the wish of both, the care of the younger children is confided to the mother, that of the elder to the father. Divorces, however, are uncommon. The husband does not want one, for it will be difficult to replace the partner who represents half his capital and perhaps all his labour. The wife is equally reluctant whatever her sorrows may be, for any change may easily be for the worse. If she marries another she will be little more than his humble slave. All the heavy farm and household work falls on her shoulders, including arduous duties which in civilized countries are assigned exclusively to men. She crushes the rice, shells the corn, attends to the harvest and assists in clearing the brushwood. Pregnancy makes no difference to the burden of her daily tasks except for the entirely inadequate period essential to delivery.

If the husband's means permit she will have no objection to his taking a companion to himself. On the contrary, the new-comer will be an addition to the household staff to whom she will assign the largest burdens. She knows that as first wife her position will never be seriously challenged, and as undisputed mistress of the household she will exercise authority over the other "wives." This unwritten law prevails throughout the Far East. A widow has little difficulty in remarrying, as the area of choice is extensive, owing to the numerical superiority of the men.

I was once honoured with an invitation to a Moï wedding. It was in the village of Lebouy where I resided for some time, and my host was no other than the chief himself, who couched his request in the following terms:

"My elder brother, the great Giver of Tobacco" (this being the name under which I was popularly known), "will, I hope, do me the honour of sharing a buffalo which I propose to offer up at the marriage of my daughter."

It would have been ungracious to decline an invitation expressed in terms of such old-world courtesy. I exhibited my appreciation of the honour by offering him a large glass of Madeira. He hesitated at first, then squatted on the ground as a compliment to the excellence of the liquor, took the glass gingerly in his hand and slowly emptied it. The slaves who formed his bodyguard watched him with evident admiration.

The evening before the wedding the bride-elect went to the banks of the Da-Nhim, a river which flows at a distance of a few hundred yards from the village. All her relations formed themselves into an escort, for it is absolutely imperative that the whole family should be present at the kind of ritual bathe on which she was bent. The entire company plunged into the water, and after a few seconds of merry splashing emerged and dried in the sun.

The opening item of the next day's festivities was the slaughter of the buffalo which is, so to speak, the foundation of the feast. The young warriors of the village armed with lances formed a circle round the victim and hurled their weapons in turn, until at length one struck a vital part and the beast fell over dead. The carcase was dragged to the foot of a pole wreathed round with bamboo-shoots, and the amateur butchers proceeded to cut it up into strips, of which some were reserved to be smoked at a later stage.

The nuptial ceremony proper then began and was marked by an extreme simplicity. The Guru, or Sorcerer, placed the couple and their parents before a row of lofty posts adorned with the horns of recently killed buffaloes. With great solemnity he then drew his knife, seized a white cock and cut off its head, throwing the body over his right shoulder. The headless bird struggled for a moment, flapped its wings in a last spasm, and finally remained motionless on its breast on the ground. The Sorcerer spat into a copper vase, not so much to relieve his feelings as in satisfaction, for the victim's position foretold a numerous posterity to the young couple. He then took a cotton thread and bound the right hand of the man to the left hand of the woman. This act made them man and wife and was of the same force as the exchange of rings in our own country. A rapid invocation to the Spirits of the Hearth followed, and then the feast began.

First I was requested to take my place on a rush mat under a huge shed built for the occasion. A number of women appeared bringing fried locusts, spices, bitter oranges, spirits of rice and meat, almost raw and cut into strips. The newly married couple overwhelmed each other with attentions, filled each other's mouths with rice and accepted in good part the food which all their friends and relations thought it necessary to offer them. Perhaps this rite is a symbol of the principle of mutual help which ought to actuate not merely a family but also tribes and nations.

Meanwhile a woman was conducting an orchestra of four all but naked boys who beat a tattoo on huge gongs. Lest this should become monotonous a musician played a melody in the minor mode and not without a strange haunting charm. The instrument was a large empty gourd on which three bamboo tubes were fastened. The range of this original organ was confined to five notes, but the tones blended pleasantly and in spite of the dragging time the tune was anything but discordant.

[ A Sorcerer performing the Marriage Ceremony before the Sacrificial Posts. ]

[ Children scrambling over the Remains of the Wedding Feast. ]

We encouraged this artist with an offer of some cigarettes, and presently he began to play for a dance, of which the principal movements seemed to be raising the feet in turn, and striking the ground with the heels or a stick. These operations became more rapid and ended with a tremendous contortion of the whole body. It reminded me forcibly of the well-known "bear dance," and is not peculiar to the Moï, being also popular in Thibet.

Both the musician and the dancer were rewarded with the most unstinted applause and invited to take a well-earned rest in view of the orgy which now followed. On such an occasion the Moï regard sobriety as an insult to the host, and indeed the charge could not have been levelled at any of the guests then assembled. The last stage of the proceedings was the distribution of presents, for interest can always seal the bonds of friendship. At a given signal the husband flung lemons, mangoes, areca nuts and other fruits among the crowd, who scrambled for them without the least regard for order or good manners. For some moments a free fight seemed imminent, but good humour finally prevailed and the combatants dispersed chewing the inevitable betel and bidding each other an inebriated farewell.

Among the Moï, as everywhere else, the birth of a child is an occasion for rejoicing both to the family and the village. Such is the fear that malevolent spirits will assail the mother during the critical period that a special hut is made for her accommodation and all strangers are forbidden to enter the village itself. This prohibition, or "taboo," is known as "Dieng" in some regions and as "Calam" in others. The experienced traveller will never dream of attempting to evade it and expose himself to a summary vengeance at the hands of the inhabitants, who are under orders to see it enforced. Foreigners stand in no privileged position and we ourselves had frequent occasion to bewail this absurd regulation. Imagine our rage after a hard day's march under a tropical sun or soaked by torrential rains when we found ourselves condemned to spend the night perched in trees for fear of tigers, with the fires of a tabooed village burning almost under our noses! The punishment of Tantalus was nothing to this, and little consolation is to be derived from inveighing against the ignorance which is the offspring of such blind superstition.

The house in which the mother-to-be is lodged is distinguished from the others by a tuft of pompelmoose and a piece of charcoal suspended from the roof. About the time when the happy event is to take place all the inhabitants forgather in a special place to await the good news.

Even to-day in certain European countries custom forbids the husband and family to be present during labour.

If the group is not altogether destitute, sacrifices must be offered to conciliate the Spirits, especially if it seems likely that complications are threatening. Of course, the villagers offer no more than they can help. The bidding, so to speak, for divine favour generally starts with an egg and rises if the complications continue. The egg will be followed by a chicken, then a goat, then a pig, and finally an ox in cases of extreme necessity.

Only the woman's nearest relations are allowed to be present at the accouchement, for which she assumes a sitting position. As soon as labour begins they rub her stomach from top to bottom with tiger's gut and make her lean against the knees of a female nurse. This is not a universal practice, for in the North, among the Tho, for example, the woman stands supported by two cords passed under her armpits. Immediately after the birth the child is washed and anointed with cocoa-nut oil. The navel-string is then cut with a sharpened bamboo and the severed end tied up with a cotton thread or a blade of long grass. The placenta is buried either in the house itself or in some place adjacent.

It is interesting to compare these rites with those which accompany the same event among certain African races. Among the Bushongo of the Belgian Congo the woman adopts a sitting position and is supported by the knees of a midwife. The placenta is likewise buried and also, at a later stage, the foreskin of the child, if male. In Mandeling (on the western frontier of Sumatra) the child is first washed and then kept in confinement in the house, the natives claiming that this procedure secures the child against evil influences.

After delivery the Moï woman lies on a low bed and a fire is kept burning at her side day and night, the ashes from which are left smouldering in earthenware vases to keep the room at an even temperature. The smoke is supposed to act as an antiseptic. All the young woman's friends demonstrate their devotion by bringing wood for the fire, taking care to select the dead branches of certain species of trees. Drifting logs from a river must on no account be used. They bring fearful convulsions and certain death to the child.

A potion composed of simples which stimulate the circulation is now administered to the invalid and the effect is augmented by rubbing her all over with ginger. Her first meal consists of ginger, eggs and rice. She is allowed to drink a concoction made from the horns of a young stag. Strange as it may sound, this beverage is a valuable tonic, which we ourselves used at times with great effect.

Ten or fifteen days after the birth the woman resumes her usual arduous occupations. The baby is hung on her back in a little cloth sack, secured over her shoulders to her girdle. His feet dangle on each side of her, and in this position he passes the days cradled by his nurse's movements.

The child is fed at the breast until between two or three years of age, a custom which is a great strain on the mother. To lessen this she gives him manioc and rice, taking care to soften them in her own mouth first. The net result is that the baby's stomach attains an unnatural size and his digestive organs suffer.

The nursling's first meal is the occasion of a special ceremony. The mother is not yet ready to feed him herself, so the duty falls on one of her attendants, who takes her seat on an upturned earthenware jar. The position of this jar is highly significant in the eyes of the Moï. A jar so placed can hold no water. Similarly a child's stomach can hold no food, for it empties itself as fast as it is filled. Dyspepsia, it would appear, is unknown among this fortunate people! After this first meal an attendant goes through the pretence of flattening the child's head against the centre pole of the hut. This is to ensure that the head may not become pointed later on, a physical peculiarity which is regarded as a sign of bad character. Another favourite superstition in these regions is that certain odd numbers are lucky and certain even numbers unlucky. Every mother hopes to give birth to a three or a seven. Her fear is that the birth may occur during the last quarter of the moon. As everyone knows, this belief in the efficacy of certain numbers is almost universal and dates from remote times. The Hebrews and Egyptians furnish many examples, and many more are met with among the peoples of the Far East. Thus the Brahminic Trinity comprises three persons, Brahma, Vishnu and Siva. Angkor was built in seven days, as the Bible tells. The stars which the faithful of Asia worship are seven in number.

The child is not named for the first two years of his life and is doubtless happy enough to be called "Con-Nie," which to all intents and purposes corresponds to our term "baby." Both the Moï and the Annamites regard the naming of a child as a matter of great moment, for the future depends on a fortunate choice. Nothing can be done before the Sorcerer has been called in to consult the Spirits. This official suggests a name, which is usually whispered into his ear by the mother or the person who presided at the birth. The popular name for a boy is "Squirrel," for a girl "Mouse." A large bowl filled with rice is brought in. The Sorcerer empties it, taking out the grains two at a time. If at the end of this operation only one grain is left at the bottom the proceedings must be repeated until that ill-omened result does not recur. It is not surprising, therefore, that occasionally several days elapse before the ceremony can be continued. The Sorcerer has an interest in the prolongation of these rites, for throughout the whole time he is the guest of the family. If the child dies or is attacked by one of the infantile affections so common in this treacherous climate the mischance is attributed to the choice of an unlucky name. The only hope is to change it at once, which involves a repetition of the ritual rigmarole.

When the child is old enough to bear a light burden he will carry on his back a basket, or even a younger brother, securely rolled up in a kind of sack. Nothing could be more amusing than the solemnity with which the youngster performs his function of dry nurse.

Among certain groups the children's hair is always kept short except for a long wisp at the crown, which gives them a curiously old look.

Clothing is forgotten, as a rule, till the sixth year is past. Sometimes a metal disc is hung from a cord round the waist, and a favourite ornament is an anklet of iron with a small bell attached, which is made and fitted by the village blacksmith. It is a badge of servitude, for henceforth the child is devoted to the service of the Spirits, who, in return, make him an object of their peculiar care.

During their early years the boys are active and intelligent and readily absorb knowledge of all kinds, but as manhood approaches they become apathetic, lazy and incapable of sustained effort. I once undertook the experiment of training a boy to act as my servant. He was about twelve years old, with a remarkably bright face, and very quick and graceful in his movements. In a short time he had learnt to read and count. His eyesight was so good that we always used him when taking sights for our geodetical instruments. He was never happier than when I gave him a rifle to carry during our shooting-parties. After a year, however, his character changed completely. He became intractable and moody, and fiercely resented any criticism. We were a long way from his tribe and he could not return home except through a forest infested with tigers. The prospect of a long and dangerous journey seemed to have no terrors for him. He begged me to let him go, and jumped with joy when I gave my permission. In a twinkling he was out of his European clothes and had donned the old loin-cloth, which he had preserved with the greatest care as a mark of race. He bowed three times, took up his basket and disappeared with every expression of jubilation. His obvious glee was some consolation for the annoyance his departure caused me, for I had set my heart on softening his savage nature and winning his affection. It was with real regret that I confessed myself beaten. On the other side of the account must be placed the feat of Madame Cunhac, the wife of one of our governors, who successfully brought up a Moï girl. The child grew to have an unshaken belief in her mistress and followed her about like a faithful dog, showing her affection and gratitude on every possible occasion, nor could she be induced to return to her village by threats or bribes.

A child receives nothing that can be dignified with the name of education. His incessant occupation consists of playing all day with his little companions. Many of the games played are extremely interesting and we spent many an hour in the evening watching them. Perhaps the favourite is a game they call "The Pig-Snatcher," in which there are three principal dramatis personæ, the Snatcher, the Shopkeeper and the Pig. The greatest competition is for the position of the two former, so the candidates are subjected to a preliminary trial. They all take turns at catching a twig on a long pole and balancing it, and the two most expert are rewarded with the rôles of Shopkeeper and Snatcher respectively. The next plays the part of the Pig, which consists of saying nothing, but grunting vigorously at intervals.

The unsuccessful candidates join hands and make a ring round the lucky three.

The Snatcher now approaches with slow steps and interrogates the Shopkeeper as follows:

"Hello, maternal aunt! Please give me some fire."

"O elderly brother, the fire is under the ashes."

"Well, then, give me a gourd of water."

"The water is at the bottom of the well."

"Then give me a guava."