Civilizing mountain men, or, Sketches of mission work among the Karens

Front matter

^ tUt ilKOtojifji/

PRINCETON, N. J.

Purchased by the Hammill Missionary Fund.

Introduction

V lege of seeking and carrying the word of salvation to the mysterious and scattered descendants of long- exiled “ Israel,” — a privilege that bids us glory in the Anglo-Saxon origin and language of the successful explorers. For further details on this head, we must refer the reader to our concluding chapter, and in our Introduction confine ourselves to indicating what the rest of the book is about.

It is chiefly the history of the raising of Self-sup- PORTiNQ Female Schools among the Karens, in which shall be trained those village teachers and Bible-readers, who shall spread everywhere the knowledge of the Lord among a people prepared above all others by ancient associations to receive it.

Mrs. Mason remarks, that teachers, as men, have seldom the time and the patience to sit down on a low seat with the ignorant, and say one simple truth over and over, in varied ways.

If you would have Burmah redeemed to the Lord, she adds, send woman to woman, and let her teach the A B 0 of Christianity, which is mothers’ work aU the world over : — “ Moung Shway Moung is like Mount

a 2

VI

INTRODUCTION.

]\Ieru, very high ; he knows everything,” say the women of Burmah, “ but he can’t talk woman talk ; we don’t understand therefore, if you want to teach heathen women, begin with them as girls.

Now, this is what Mrs. Mason has done, amid many “ waitings, and watchings, and wearyings, and heartachings.” She has had the gift from God to stir up others to liberal donations and earnest labours in this department. She has persuaded wild chiefs to choose the cleverest gdrls of their clans, and bring them down from the mountains to be educated, supporting them and pro\dding for their simple wants while undergoing the process. The capacity and docility of the pupils are amazing, and the result of their acquirements, as taught to others almost as soon as attained by themselves, is not a little marvellous. The time elevation of woman by Christian education has been thus recognised as a duty by the chiefs of seven tribes in Tounghoo.

So few people read a Preface, that we have sometimes thought it is scarcely worth while to write one ; we hasten, therefore, to dismiss our readers to their mountain rambles, believing that they will return from them

INTRODUCTION.

Til most deeply interested in the hitherto despised and outcast Karens, and willing to help in every way the disinterested workers in that now important Missionary field.

It may only he further necessary to remark, that the name of the nation is pronounced Ka-r^’«s, the first syllable short ; and the appellation “ mama,” so frequently used by the natives, is not pronounced as in English, but contrariwise — the accent on the first syllable.

L. N. R.

Part I

Chap. Page.

I. — Among the Gheen Mountains . . 1

II.— Haltings among the Cities and Waters op Martaban . . . . .14

III. — The Dong Yahn Conguerors — My Husband’s

IV. — Beginning of the Tounghoo Mission . 55

V.— Tounghoo, and what we Found there . 78

VI. — The Minstrel and his Battle Song 96

VII — First Christian School in Tounghoo . 105

yill.— Karen Dress— Witchcraft— My Tutauman 116

PART II. I. — Going to India — not Overland . , .135

II. — The First Girls’ School in Tounghoo . . 140

III. — Gathering up the Manna .... 151

IV. — Forming an Education Society . .165

V. — Getting a Title Deed ..... 177

VI. — The Karen Canaan . . . . .188

VII. — Civilizing Mountain Men .... 200

VIII. — Establishing a Karen Ferry . 209

IX.— Seeking Timber for the Institute . . .221

X. — Life in the Woods ..... 2.30

X

CONTENTS.

Ch»p, Page.

XI. — CoNQUEaiNO Difficulties . . . .241

XII.— The Raising — the Pic-nic .... 253

XIII. — The Karen National Banner . . . 262

XIV. — Help from England ..... 269

XV. — The Tabernacle in the Mountains . . . 279

XVI. — The Mighty Hand in the Mountains . . 297

PART III. I. — Settling a Colony

II. — Sretches of Karen Character HI.— The “ King OP Tounghoo ” . . . .

IV. — Karen Soldiers ......

V.— Conclusion — Deductions— the Past op the Karen Nation ... . . .

Part I. Chaptek I

AMONG THE GREEN MOUNTAINS.

When a child eleven years old, my mother always gave me one hour a day for my omi time. This was invariably spent by the side of a wild mountain brook, that came tumbling and dancing down through a grove of birch-trees. It was a most companionable little stream, clear as crystal, full of smooth white pebbles and little speckled trout.

My brother fitted me up a small leafy alcove, carpeted with scarlet lichens, close down to the margin, with my pet flowers, the wild violet and the forget-me-not, all around, and close by, a patch of those bright red wintergreen berries that all New England children know. There the old family Bible was daily spread open at Solomon’s Prayer. There, too, the woods often echoed with the “ Sweet Bower of Prayer,” while I dug gold thread and made little golden skeins for baby sister.*

There, with the brook and the trout, I planned many

* The fibrous yellow roots of the three-leaved Hellebore, which New England school children delight in.

B

BESIDE THE BROOK.

a castle, which then seemed as much beyond my grasp as the moon ; yet, somehow or other, almost every plan has been realized. The reason may have been, that every castle had a Bible and a Bower of Prayer.

I don’t know why I liked Solomon’s Prayer so much better than Agur’s ; but young Solomon, the brave Daniel, the good Samaritan, and the poor Publican, were my favourites among Bible men ; with Deborah and IMary JMagdalen among the women. There were other companions too. These were the letters of Ann H. Judson and Harriet Newel ; and often did I turn the old brown and yellow birches into Burmese and Hindu girls. Many a time have I talked till tears came to these imaginary heathen women, and then sung to them ever so much more.

I loved my Bible, and I loved nature. It seemed a great deal easier to pray out in a grove among the mountains. I never wondered that Jesus went on to the mountain to pray, or that Daniel kept his window open.

Even the great giant-looking larches of Canada had a charm. They were real old Samsons, or Knights Templars, all in their armour, as they lay so stiff, and black, and awful, in the moonbeams, on the crusted snow.

One time they were indeed awful to me. “ Elder Huntley,” as everybody called my father,* was for more than forty years a “ Gospel Banger ” among the hills of Vermont, New Hampshire, and Canada ; and as soon as

* Leland Huntley.

A PRESERVATION.

o

o

L was old enough, he took me into his cariole with him. One time he had been out to hold a “ Protracted Meeting” in Lower Canada. We were returning home at midnight, through a tamarack swamp, winding leisurely along the well-trodden wood road, my father thinking of his sermons, and I covered head and eyes in the buffalo skins. Suddenly a strange sound : “ Crazy Jane ” pricks up her ears. Again, faint, low, fearful. Instantly Crazy Jane gave a bound that almost broke the traces. My father heard it, and, with an anxious look at me, he gave the startled creature the reins, when she flew over the road as if chased by lightning. On came the boding sound, nearer, nearer, clearer, clearer. A murmuring as of many waters, a clear bark, a tremendous howl of a whole pack of wolves ! “ Oh, God, save papa ! Oh,

God, I will, I will go ! ” This was the earnest cry of the moment, for I had no doubt hut God was calling me to work for the heathen ; yet deep and painful had been the inward struggle, even at that early age, and I had always answered, “ I cannot leave mamma.”

Crazy Jane had just time to leap into the open village when the hungry wolves appeared on the skirts of the forest, thanks to the Hearer of prayer.

“ Call upon -me in the day of trouble, I will deliver thee.” This was the promise that came to me as I nestled in the hufialo skins.

When but nine years old, there seemed to be some propelling power ever pushing me on to Burmah. “ Get ready, I will call for thee,” was for ever whispered in the air. How I should get ready, was the difiicult question.

B 2

EARLY STUDIES.

My father was a poor Baptist Minister ; he could not help me. He loved the cause of missions ; but he was poor, for he gave all his time and talents for others ; and so did my faithful, self-denying, and beautiful mother.

The fii’st effort toward my undertaking was made in flowering oil-cloths, by which I bought myself a grammar, when thirteen years old. I had never had any school books but a spelling book and “English Reader but I had read, and thought, more than many children. I borrowed a geography, and studied it open in the window, while I rinsed the cups and saucers, standing upon a stool beside the table. “ Milton’s Paradise Lost,” “Young’s Night Thoughts,” “ Pollok’s Course of Time,” “ Thomson’s Seasons,” these were among the graver books that had charmed me tiU midnight over my pine torches — I could not afford candles — so my brother, dear, kind little fellow that he was, would, every few days, lay before me a votive offering of pitch pine-knots from the plains ; and it was by the light of these that I read two thick volumes of moral philosophy, and studied the fragments of a copy of Josephus, found on the shelf of some old book store. After securing the grammar, I obtained permission to leave home for a few months, as companion to a doctor’s wife. It was one evening while with her, that I found a large volume of the “ Arabian Nights ” in my bed-room. I had never seen it before, and, of course, strained my eager eyes over it tiU the long candle was burned to the socket. The next night the “Arabian Nights” was gone, and a Missionary

THE RESOLVE.

Magazine lay there. I took it u}), a little vexed to lose the stories ; opened it, and the first thing that struck me vas the “ Journal of Francis Mason.”

Next Saturday night I said, “ Papa, I must go to Burmah.” I had often spoken of going, but my father had never believed me serious, and always called it “ El’s wild scheme.” Now he looked at me with the deepest earnestness of his grave eye, and uttered not a word. From that time he never opposed, never ridiculed ; and my mother — my dear, fond mother — expected me to go some time.

It was very near where the Fairfax Literary Institution now stands that I first read that journal which threw a spell, a strange, drawing spell, over all my future.

With the money the doctor’s wife gave for my little services, my bill was paid at a select school, where I made my first attempt at model letter-writing. I rememlier it perfectly, the old yellow page ruled down the side, leaving an inch margifi, and beginning, as all models did, “ I take my pen in hand,” &c. I can see her now, that tall, straight schoolma’am, so shocked when I said, “ Oh, hliss Sage, I can never get this right ; please let me write my mother a real letter.”

I wanted to tell her I had got her a new cap ribbon. It was the first thing I had ever earned for her with my own hands, and I was all on tip-toe to show her what I thought the daintiest little ribbon in the world. !Miss Sage bade me write my copy, and learn propriety — a thing I have been trying to learn ever since.

I can’t tell you, reader, half the things about getting

SCHOOL-TEACHING IN AMERICA.

ready, graved in burning lines upon my oivn memory, but if you will glance at two or three dissolving views, they will fling a few faint lights over the shadowy past. I speak of these personal scenes only to show you that God does honour trust and works, and allows our best hopes to be realized.

hlaking way through drifted snows, boys shoveling the road, a young girl has prepared breakfast for five little brothers and sisters, has dressed them, put the house in order, and is on her way to the school-room, where she has a charge of some forty children, young men and young women. Her father and mother are on a mission to the Isles of Lake Champlain, and are icebound. They cannot know the load on their daughter’s heart ; they could not reach her if they did. She is sixteen years old — is striving for Burmah.

“ Ye shall reap i/^e faint not.”

It was among the lumber* men on Lake Champlain, close upon the romantic waters of Lake George, over which I have glided for hours in a little log boat, steered by lumber women, catching the yellow perch and trout which we could see tlirough the lake clear to the bottom. It was a missionary undertaking, for they had no church, no tract visitors, no school of any kind within many miles. It was Sunday. I had called on all the mothers, and now they came dropping in, leading their little ones.

* “ Lumber : in America, timber sawed or split for use.” —

tt'EBSTER.

EABLY STRUGGLES.

The room was fragrant with flowers, and Bible-pictures hung on the wall. We had just sung —

“ There is a land of pure delight.”

Who is that ? A fine-looking man, the superintendent of the colony, appears, steps to the open door. ‘'Miss Huntley, may — may we come in?” and eight or ten strong-souled men in their checked shirts are waiting admittance, A stammering “Yes, if you'll help us,” was given, and I am sure no one can tell, hut the angels, what delightful Bible readings we there enjoyed, amidst the log cabins, partitioned only with blankets, glazed with paper, and made habitable by huge altar-like pillars of stone in the middle for chimneys.

What is the matter ? why does the young girl tremble so ?

“ Children, you may go home.” And she sits an hour, helpless, shaking with ague, then recovers and creeps home. The next day tries again ; but every other day these hon’ors return ; so for two years she struggles on ; thin, pale, weak, suffering as only one can suffer with the terrible lake fever and ague. It is the effect of the miasma of the lumber region.

At last the goal is reached, — a female seminary where she may quench her burning thirst for knowledge.

Months pass : “ Miss S ,” she asks, one morning,

in faltering tones, “ may I go home ? I have no more money, and I can’t bear to give up now when the term is so near over.” She had been li^ung three months on a trifle over five dollars, boarding herself.

HOME, SWEET HOME.

“ Why do you go home ?”

“ I have a dear brother ; possibly he may help me.”

■ “ How are you o-oino;?”

» On foot.”

“ On foot ! How far is it ?”

“ Twelve miles !”

“ Twelve miles ! Why, child, you can’t travel twelve miles. You ’d better send for your brother.”

“ He cannot come. Only say I may go.”

A reluctant consent is given. The young girl starts alone.

She draws her belt very tight, for she is hungry. She has tasted no supper, no breakfast ; scarcely anything for a whole week but a loaf of bread. Not a cent is left ; but she cannot beg.

“ Good morning, Ellen. Come back soon,” says her preceptress.

“ Good morning. Miss S .” When you are hun-

gi7, may God feed you, she prays inwardly, and departs.

Longer and longer seems that weary way. Now up a steep, hard hill, now stretching like a narrow line away over the plains. She comes to a river ; the bridge is gone ; she enters in, is carried down, struggles, reaches the bank, walks on, comes to another, fords it.

What is the matter ? She cannot see ; everything swims ; she falls, revives, and creeps up on to the steps of an old church — prays for strength, prays for Burmah.

At ten o’clock she sees the light glimmering from her mother’s window, falls upon the steps, returns to consciousness, is lying in her own little room. Her tender

SCENES BEYOND.

mother is chafing her brows, the big tears chasing each other down silently, while little hands are holding cups of hot tea and gruel, murmuring out, —

“ Sissy not die. God takes care of sister.”

“ For I say unto you, that their angels do always behold the face of my Father which is in heaven.”

There are other scenes behind. Higher and higher swell the waters, keener and keener grows the anguish ; but purer the longings, sweeter the peace.

See you that young girl’s eye ? Mark you the pent-up agony ? She holds a newspaper ; the superscription is her lover’s ; she knows there are burning woi’ds within that wrapper. The spirit longs, thirsts for their sweet sympathy, for she is a stranger in a strange circle.

“ Must I leave it?” she asks herself, pressing her temples. Yes, her purse is empty, utterly empty. Those rainbowed, precious words must go to the dead-letter office. She lays it back — that dear, dear handwriting — that radiant hand. She turns and leaves it there, crushing down agony for heathen women.

What hand that upon the burning brow ? A letter. It opens. Out falls a bank bill — the most beautiful, shining bank bill ever made. Who sent it ? The Angel of the Lord sent it. By whom ? Ask the loved teacher, now Mrs. Nott, of Schenectady, and her Persis-like sister. Miss C. Sheldon, of Philadelphia. The Lord told them to send it. May He tell somebody to send them beautiful bank bills if they ever need them !

A missionary’s welcome.

Another scene. A school group — but not a white group. There are mountains, but not the old gTeen mountains. There are trees, but not the birches, the beeches, the spruces of her childhood. There are flowers, but not the daisies and honeysuckles of her fatherland. Her pupils are black-eyed, bronze-coloured girls, boys, men, and women. The trees are the light bamboos arching over them, and each mountain has a spire, a tall beacon spire all alone — it is a Buddhist pagoda, and that land is Burmah.

When I first stepped upon the shore of India, it was at Maulmain. The Bev. Dr. Judson kindly met our large party at the quay, and, giving me his arm, led me through a long line of native Christians to his own door. My own emotions on reaching a heathen land were perfectly overpowering. I could not speak. 1 could do nothing but weep.

It was the remembrance of my childish yearnings, and of God’s infinite goodness, that so overpowered me on reaching a pagan land. The letters, the journal, the old family Bible, the “gold thread,” the wee sisters’ eyes, all came back with the last, last kisses of a home, and the deep love of the tenderest of mothers that I was never to see again. Then I heard those strange old household names, Mah, Dokes, Menlas, and a host of others, all verily living beings before me ! Dr. Judson’s princely brow too ! Was I indeed in the body or out of it ?

It was truly a strange linking of circumstances, that the writings of Dr. Judson’s wife should first have stirred

SYMPATHY OF DE. JUDSON.

my soul for Burmah, and then that his lips should have been the first to greet me, and his arm the first offered me to lean upon. It was strange that Mr. Mason should have united him with his loved Sarah, and then that Dr. Judson should have performed the same service for us at a day long after this. I had been married to Mr. Bullard some time before I left America.

Heat, bilge-water, destitution of milk, and of every comfort for my babe, in the six-foot cabin of a merchant ship for nearly five long months, had induced extreme weakness and inflammation in my eyes.

It was during these weeks of intense suffering, just after reaching Burmah, that I learned the real kindheartedness and self-forgetting spirit of Dr. Judson. Full of anxious desire to speak to the women, it was hard to do nothing ! I had not then learned to wait as now. Dr. Judson saw it, and seemed to give me a special corner in his warm heart, for after we left his house, which he would not allow for many days, about two o’clock daily I would hear his military-like step, and feel the sympathizing grasp of his dear hand as he drew me down beside him, and made me foro-et past sufferings and present agony in his inimitable manner, language, and stories. With him I lived over the whole past history of the mission, and much of its hidden life.

One day he was telling me of a lady who alu'ays greeted the native women with, “ ‘ Ma-a-lah — H-o-wd-ye?’ drawing it,” he said, “clear across the room in her eterlasting rocking chair.” Another spent nearly

THEN AND NOW.

her whole time in making pills, smelling bottles, and plasters for the natives ! “ What wonder,” he would

ask, “ that both gave up and went home ?”

The proper medium line between indifference and undue anxiety in regard to the physical wants of the heathen, — this was what Dr. Judson was endeavouring to impress upon me, and what he never lost sight of. I loved him ever after as my own father, for it was no small self-denial for a man of his experience and his duties to lay all aside and sit down daily to instruct an inexperienced Missionary woman. His exquisite tact, too, won my most profound reverence, while his gay good humour taught me the secret of good health in Burmah.

It was seventeen years ago that I sat there the wondering pupil of Adoniram Judson. Alas, the changes ! Then Sarah B. Judson was there, always so gentle and loving in her pretty pinlc or wliite wrapper, and often she would call me to accompany her when she took aside the native Christians to settle their petty difficulties in her prayer room. Then Fanny Forrester was struggling upward in Utica. My husband, jMr. Bullard, was with us, and jMr. Mason was with his little Maria and her mother in Tavoy.

Now, where are we aU ? What a changing, painful drama ! Dr. Judson’s Sarah on the rock of the sea, himself in his ocean coffin ; his Emily triumphant over her sharp mission conflict ; sweet Maria and her loved mamma passed into heaven ; ]\Ir. IMason in a region then unexplored, translating the Bible into a language then unknown; Little “Euna” Judson, who used to come

THEN AND NOW.

lo

in to rock “ Baby Ella,” now proclaiming the Gospel for his father ; Baby Ella wandering over half the globe, a teacher to heathen women ; while her adored father, who would have given his Hfe for either of us, is calmly sleeping by the Salwen,* and I struggle on amidst innumerable hindrances for the same great work for which Anna H. Judson died, viz., the establishment of Woman’s Mission in Heathen Lands.

Mr. Bullard died at Maulmain, April 5th, 1847.

Chapter II. Haltings Among The Cities And Waters Of Martaban

“The Golden Waters! The Golden Waters !” all exclaimed in raptures, as the good ship Charles swept round into the Gulf of Martaban, and along its semicircled shore of wild adventure and Christian toil. Four sun-lit streams roll their waters into this lovely scallop of the ocean. First, on the right, comes poiuing the noble Salwen, with the city of Martaban on one side, and Maulmain on the other. Farther round, the Sittang, with the city of Sittang ; then Pegu, with its antique ruins ; and still beyond the Irrawaddy, with the cities of Rangoon and Bassein.

The first city of importance on this coast is Rangoon — Lord Dalhousie’s enchanted garden — which, under Col. Phayre, is rapidly becoming one indeed. It resembles the modern portion of New York. I did not learn the number of streets, but saw one marked, I think, the fifty-third. The principal streets are parallel with each other, very broad, and nicely macadamized. Along these, in the business part of the town, stucco buildings are rapidly running up in simple Grecian style, uith flat roofs and Ionic pillars. The olficers and civilians erect

KEMENDINE.

beautiful teak bungalows in the environs, surrounded by tail forest trees.

To the north there is a romantic drive through a wide tract of woodland, out to old Kemendine. There the numerous clusters of snowy tents whitening the landscape, with the broad Irrawaddy pouring its silver spouts around, make it truly, to the artist’s eye, enchanted ground. This drive to Kemendine also leads to what is intended to become the Binney College, just founded by tliree benevolent gentlemen in Philadelphia, "Wm. Bucknell. Esq., W. C. Mackintosh, Esq., and David Jayne, M.D. Mr. BuckneU invited Dr. Binney to undertake this enterprise, and he with the other two have ever since sent him a personal support of 1,200 doUai’s, or £250, per annum. This is nobly done, and now, if the founders go on, endow the college and make it permanent, it will be an honour to the denomination, an honour to their country, and an inestimable blessing to the Karen tribes through all time. Both Dr. and hlrs. Binney possess a magic power over their pupils. There is also a Theological School in the same buildings, all under the patronage of the American Baptist Missionary Union.

There are two other schools of importance at this station, a Preparatory English and Vernacular School, aided much by Government, under Mrs. Vinton, a lady who has prepared many valuable books in Karen, and whose hymns will be chanted over the Karen hills when she shall be harping with the harpers. Another Normal School is in charge of the Rev. D. L. Brayton. This is for the Pwo Karens. It is taught in the vernacular, and missionaries’ children.

is dependent upon voluntary aid for support. Both Mr. and hlrs. Brayton, and their daughter, Mrs. Rose, are teachers of long experience, and their school really merits S}Tnpathy and support.

Not far from this station is a most hopeful mission under Mrs. Ingalls, widow of the late Rev. Lovell Ingalls. This is a mission to the Burmese as well as to the Karens, and the very remarkable success of our lone friend proves that woman’s sympathy, patience, and quiet perseverance may tell more upon the hearts of heathen men than even public preaching. Mrs. Knap, also a widow lady there, is another of our silent coral workers. This friend greatly aided j\Irs. Brandis, sister of Lady Havelock, in establishing the Burmah Female School Society, and a day school for girls in Rangoon.*

Seven children of the Burman Missionaries have entered upon the same service. How cheering it is to see a mission receiving back its own sons and daughters to stay up the hands of their parents ! May the time come when it will be understood that this is the duty of Missionaries’ children, rather than to seek ease and civilized

* Messrs. Stevens and Dawson are in charge of the Burman Department of Rangoon, and Mr. Vinton, son of the late Missionary Vinton, is a preacher in the Karen Department. Doctor and Mrs. Wade are the oldest Missionaries on the coast. They are at Maulmain, working on with all their rich experience as earnestly as ever, with Messrs. Bennett and Haswell, and J. Haswell, Jr.

There are also American Missionaries on aU these rivers, except Pegu : Messrs. Kincaid and Simons at Prome, Messrs. Thomas and Crawley at Henthada, Messrs. Beecher and Vanmeter at Bassein, Mr. Harris at Shwagyn, and Messrs. Mason, Cross, and Bixby, at Tounghoo.

OPHIR OF THE ANCIENTS.

comforts for themselves, while their fathers and mothers faint under their bm’dens alone.

In all, there are on the Burmah coast twenty-two American J\lissionary families, with about fom’ hundred and fifty native preachers and schoolmasters, and some twenty-six thousand baptized converts. Of these, about five hundred and fifty are Bm’mese and Talaings, and twenty-two of them are preachers ; the others are mostly Karens. The population of Bangoon is about thirty thousand.

Now, reader, would you believe these Pegu waters and lands to be the veritable Ophir of the Ancients, and the real old Byssinga of the Alexandrian geographers ? My word-loving husband says so, and you will find some pretty strong proof of it in his book on Bunnah.

I can almost see the strange old Phoenician craft and banner floating still before me ; King Solomon’s boys chasing each other over the ridges after peacocks for Queen Belkis, and King Hiram’s sailors plying up the rivers for Almug- trees. Yes, truly, I have to look round to see if these old Tyrians are not now washing out the gold for the basins, the tongs, and the pomegranates. Who knows but the Tyrian king did send a colony over to these rivers ? The Talaings look enough like the old Theban mummies to be their brothers. I saw mummy heads from Thebes in the Academy of Natural Sciences in Philadelphia, that in fonn were as near as possible like Talaings. They are known to be the oldest race on this coast, and Dr. hlason thinks them related to the Koles of Hindustan by their language. Evidently their