

A SCIENTIFIC MISSION TO CAMBODIA. 311 



Yunnan and Laos in a narrow valley, and, entering Cambodia, pours 

 its waters over it for about four months of every year. In the heart 

 of this country the river is divided into three arms, two of which 

 continue their course as the front and the back river, while the 

 third turns back toward the Toule-Sap lake. This arm presents the 

 phenomenon, which is believed to be unique, of flowing during part of 

 the year in one direction, and the rest of the time in another. When 

 the snows melt, it is swelled to above the level of the lake, and turns 

 its flood into it, and away from the sea. The lake thus serves as a 

 waste-weir and regulator, and is capable of holding in reserve some 

 thirty-five milliards of cubic metres of water. But this is not enough, 

 and in some seasons the water, overflowing the banks of the river and 

 its affluents, covers at least a third of the country and transforms it 

 into a sea navigable for boats having a very respectable draught of 

 water. This periodical inundation has impressed the manners and 

 customs of the Cambodians with a peculiar stamp. The lake itself 

 forms a prominent feature in the life of the people. It is about 

 seventeen miles wide and ninety miles long, and furnishes in its fish- 

 eries one of the most reliable sources of the country's wealth. 



The character of the Cambodian house is largely determined by 

 the phenomenon of the inundation. It is built on piles, often, on one 

 side at least, some twenty or twenty-five feet above the ground. The 

 piles on one side stand in the river, and the door is on the other side, 

 All that the proprietor asks is that the floor shall be a few inches 

 above the water in time of freshet. He might put it on the level 

 ground near the stream, but he prefers to have it overhang, in part 

 at least, and slope. The floor is reached by ladders, which are drawn 

 up in the evening — the surest mode of closing the house in a country 

 where there are no locks. 



Under the floor the pirogue is moored on one side, while the poul- 

 try, dogs, and pigs live on the other side. The pigs have hollow 

 backs and their bellies drag on the ground, but their owner does not 

 disdain to share his abode with them. I have seen the Cambodian 

 and bis pig lying side by side at noonday, enjoying their siesta. 

 Places are also found under the house for the wagons, plows, and 

 fishing-tackle. The floor is usually a wicker-work of woven bamboo 

 laths, which bend and creak at every step, and which we, with our 

 shoes and heavy walk, find it hard to get over. But the Cambodian 

 walks light-footed and carefully, much as we try to do when we go 

 on tip-toe, but, not being troubled by shoes, with vastly better success. 

 Bending his legs a little and leaning forward, with his arms brought 

 up toward his chest, he puts his foot delicately on two or three of 

 the slats at a time, and walks noiselessly on, while we would always 

 feel as if we were going to break through. These open floors are 

 easily cleaned with a dash of water which runs off, no one cares 

 where. In case the inundation should threaten to rise above them, 



