The day following our arrival in Meng-ting the weekly market was held, and when Wu and I crossed the little stream to the business part of the village, we found ourselves in the midst of the most picturesque crowd of natives it has ever been my fortune to see.  It was a group flashing with color, and every individual a study for an artist.  There were blue-clad Chinese, Shans with tattooed legs, turbans of pink or white, and Burmans dressed in brilliant purple or green, Las, yellow-skinned Lisos, flat-faced Palaungs, Was, and Kachins in black and red strung about with beads or shells.  Long swords hung from the shoulders of those who did not carry a spear or gun, and the hilts of wicked looking daggers peeped from beneath their sashes.  Every man carried a weapon ready for instant use.

Nine tribes were present in the market that day and almost as many languages were being spoken.  It was a veritable Babel and half the trading was done by signs.  The narrow street was choked with goods of every kind spread out upon the ground:  fruit, rice, cloth, nails, knives, swords, hats, sandals, skins, horns, baskets, mats, crossbows, arrows, pottery, tea, opium, and scores of other articles for food or household use.

Dozens of natives were arriving and departing, bringing new goods or packing up their purchases; under open, thatched pavilions were silent groups of men gambling with cash or silver, and in the “tea houses” white-faced natives lay stretched upon the couches rolling “pills” of opium and oblivious to the constant stream of passers-by.

It was a picturesque, ever changing group, a kaleidoscopic mass of life and color, where Chinese from civilized Canton drank, and gambled, and smoked with wild natives from the hills or from the depths of fever-stricken jungles.

After one glimpse of the picture in the market I dashed back to camp to bring the “Lady of the Camera.”  On the way I met her, hot and breathless, half coaxing, half driving three bewildered young priests resplendent in yellow robes.  All the morning she had been trying vainly to photograph a priest and had discovered these splendid fellows when all her color plates had been exposed.  She might have succeeded in bringing them to camp had I not arrived, but they suddenly lost courage and rushed away with averted faces.

When the plate holders were all reloaded we hurried back to the market followed by two coolies with the cameras.  Leaving Yvette to do her work alone I set up the cinematograph.  Wu was with me and in less than a minute the narrow space in front of us was packed with a seething mass of natives.  It was impossible to take a “street scene” for the “street” had suddenly disappeared.  Making a virtue of necessity I focused the camera on the irregular line of heads and swung it back and forth registering a variety of facial expressions which it would be hard to duplicate.  For some time it was impossible to bribe the natives to stand even for a moment, but after one or two had conquered their fear and been liberally rewarded, there was a rush for places.  Wu asked several of the natives who could speak Chinese if they knew what we were doing but they all shook their heads.  None of them had ever seen a camera or a photograph.