CHAP. XII.
CHUSAN ARCHIPELAGO.—STORM IN A SMALL BOAT.—NEARLY UPSET.—KIN-TANG, OR SILVER ISLAND.—ITS INHABITANTS.—THEIR SURPRISE ON SEEING A FOREIGNER.—YANG-TSE-KIANG RIVER.—ITS NUMEROUS SAND BANKS.—OUR SCHOONER AGROUND.—NOVEL METHOD OF GETTING ASSISTANCE FROM THE CHINESE.—VILLAGE OF WOO-SUNG.—OPIUM STATION.—REMARKS ON THE OPIUM TRADE.—ITS EFFECTS UPON THE CHINESE.
In the summer of 1844 I was frequently engaged in exploring the islands of the Chusan Archipelago, more particularly that portion which lies between Chusan and the opposite shores of the main-land. It was of course necessary for this purpose to employ Chinese boats, which are not very trustworthy. The distance from Chusan to the town of Chinhae, at the mouth of the Ning-po river, is about thirty miles. A sail across a sea such as this is generally pleasant enough, because the water, which is hemmed in on all sides, is frequently as smooth as a mill-pond. Sometimes, however, the wind comes down in gusts from the openings amongst the hills, and then the little China boats are all laid nearly upon their beam-ends before the sail can be taken in. Once, in particular, I had a narrow escape from a watery grave amongst these islands. I had engaged a boat to take me across from the city of Ning-po to Chusan; and, as I was in a hurry at the time, I was anxious to reach my destination as soon as possible. The wind blew rather fresh as we were going down the Ning-po river, and when we reached the town of Chinhae, at its mouth, evening had set in, and the sky had a threatening and stormy appearance. The boatmen pointed this out to me, and were anxious to remain where we were until daylight. As I was afraid of being too late for a passage in an English vessel, which was then at anchor in the bay of Chusan, I would not consent to this prudent proposal, but insisted that they should proceed across without further delay. After exhausting all their arguments, they at length unwillingly got up the anchor, and we proceeded on our voyage. The land and hills on our way from Ning-po to the mouth of the river had sheltered us, and prevented me from feeling the full force of the wind; but no sooner had we passed the forts, and reached the open sea, than I found I had done a very foolish thing in urging the boatmen to take me across in such a night, and I would gladly have gone back had it been prudent or indeed possible to have done so. It was now, however, too late, for with a strong spring tide and a heavy head sea, it was impossible to get back again to Chinhae, and we therefore kept on in the direction of Chusan. "Are you not carrying too much sail in such a wind as this, and with such a heavy rolling sea?" said I to the captain of the boat, an old weather-beaten man from the province of Fokien. "No fear, no fear," he replied in his broken Chusan English, "my can manage he." "But I think there is fear, Fokei," I replied; and the words were scarcely said, when a tremendous gust came down upon us, and at the same moment a heavy sea struck the side of our boat, and laid her fairly on her beam-ends. In an instant the boat filled in all her divisions from bow to stern. "Lower the sail, lower the sail, quick, quick," cried the helmsman, "or we shall all go to the bottom." Several of the crew flew to the sail, which fortunately came down readily, and our little craft righted once more, but rolled and plunged very heavily in consequence of the great quantity of water in her hold, and seemed as if she would go down at every plunge, and leave us exposed to the fury of the waves. We again got a few feet of sail hoisted, and kept her away before the wind. It was now dark, not a star was to be seen in the heavens, the mountains, although not distinctly visible, yet loomed through the gloom, and the only objects clearly distinguished were some lights flickering on the distant shore. The crew now surrounded the helmsman, and besought him to try and get back to Chinhae, but I was sailor enough to know that if we attempted to put the helm down and bring the boat round, in all probability we should ship another sea, and had we done so we must have gone down. I immediately went and stood by the helmsman, and kept the crew from interfering, telling him to keep on our course and try to get under the lee of some island as soon as possible. The men now began to throw off their clothes as a last resource, and so completely lost all their self-possession that no remonstrances could induce them to attend to the boat and get some of the water out of her. The captain or helmsman, however, did his duty well, and to his firmness and knowledge we, doubtless, owed our lives. Providentially the wind lulled for a short time, which enabled us to hoist more sail; and soon afterwards we got to leeward of one of the numerous small islands which are scattered over this part of the coast. As soon as we had anchored all hands began baling the water out of the boat. We were in a most pitiful condition, all our clothes and beds being completely soaked with seawater; some plants, but luckily only duplicates, which I had with me, were, of course, totally destroyed; but our hearts were light, and we were thankful that our lives had been saved. Before daylight the boat was all right again, and as the weather had moderated, we were able to proceed on our course to Chusan.
Kintang, or Silver Island, as it is called by the English, is a large island in this archipelago. Although near Chusan, it was seldom visited by any of the English there; but its hills and valleys were very interesting in a botanical point of view, and on that account I was in the habit of anchoring my little boat in some of its numerous bays, and exploring its botanical productions. The surprise of the simple inhabitants, many of whom had never left the island in their lives, was often very great when I came down unexpectedly upon their little villages. The reader will easily credit this, if he will only picture to himself the surprise and astonishment with which a Chinese would be regarded were he to appear suddenly in some secluded village in the highlands of Scotland or Wales, where no such phenomenon had ever been seen before. I remember, on one occasion, that having toiled up to the top of one of the beautiful hills on the island of Kintang, I observed on the other side of the hill, a few yards below me, a Chinese youth engaged in cutting the long grass and bushes for fire-wood. As he was employed he did not observe me, and I approached the place where he was at work, and standing upon a rock a few feet above him, made some noise to attract his attention. He looked up, and never shall I forget the look he gave me. Had I been a being from another world he could not have been more astonished; indeed, I suppose he thought that I had fallen from the clouds, or come out from the bowels of the hills. For a second or two he stood in silent amazement, seemingly completely paralysed, and then throwing his grass-knife away, fled down the hill over rocks and stones with a rapidity hardly credible, nor did he ever look behind, until he had crossed the narrow valley, and reached the village on the opposite side. The news was soon communicated to the villagers, who rushed out of their houses and assembled in great numbers in front of their buildings. I walked slowly and quietly down towards them, and soon removed all their fears. My young friend the grass cutter was very shy at first, but we parted excellent friends.
The port of Shanghae is situated about 80 or 100 miles to the north-west of Chusan, the latter being in lat. 30° north, and the former in 31° 20'. On leaving the Chusan group of Islands, and sailing to the northward in the direction of Shanghae we pass the Bay of Hangchow on the left, and enter the mouth of the noble Yang-tse-kiang, the "child of the Ocean," as its name implies. The country, which, up to this degree of latitude from the south, is very mountainous, now changes, and becomes perfectly level. The shores of the river are, in many places, lower than the river itself, which is kept within its bounds by large and strong embankments. The mountainous scenery disappears entirely, and even from the top of the highest mast of a ship, no hill is seen to bound the distant horizon—all the view is a vast level plain. This is what is called the valley of the Yang-tse-kiang, and is the great northern Nanking cotton district. The land is a deep rich loam, and is without doubt the finest in China, if not in the world.
At the entrance of the river, the navigation is rather difficult, particularly in thick weather, owing partly to the numerous sand banks, which are all covered at high water, and partly to the difficulty of getting prominent land-marks. Since the opening of the trade in 1843 several ships have got entangled amongst these banks, and have been totally wrecked. When I first visited the Yang-tse-kiang, it was quite a common occurrence for vessels to get aground at low water, but as the greater part of them were small opium clippers, commanded by men who knew the region well, they generally got easily off again when the tide flowed. One evening in April, we were sailing up this river with a fair light breeze, which was sending us on at the rate of six or seven miles an hour. The man at the lead was singing out his soundings; and as it was "and a half three," and "by the mark three," the captain concluded that we were in the right channel, and went below for a minute or two. The leadsman was still singing out three fathoms, when, all at once, we felt the bottom of the vessel touch the ground, and in two seconds she was hard and fast in the mud. The tide was ebbing rapidly at the time, and as one side of the schooner was in deeper water, we were obliged to get out all the spare planking we had to prop the vessel and prevent her from falling over. The next question was, how we were to get off when the tide rose. In the course of the afternoon, we had observed a number of junks astern of us, coming up the river and bound for Shanghae. Some of these were now within a quarter of a mile, and had dropt their anchors until the commencement of the flood tide. After some consultation, the captain came to the determination of boarding one of them, and getting the people to shift their anchoring ground and come a little nearer the schooner, so that a rope might be passed from the one to the other, and our vessel hauled off when the tide was sufficiently high to float her. As I was able to speak a little Chinese, I was asked to go in the boat and explain what our object was, and likewise to tell them that they should be well paid for their trouble. The boat's crew armed themselves with cutlasses, and, in order to render the business more imposing, the captain put on an old uniform which had formerly belonged to a naval officer, and with a cocked hat on his head and a sword dangling at his side took his seat in the boat. The night was dark but fine, and we could just discern the masts of the nearest junk. In a few minutes we were alongside, and were challenged by the man who had the watch upon deck, and who at the same moment, seeing we were foreigners, ran to give the alarm, exclaiming that the Hong-mou-jins, or "red-haired men," were upon them. Without further parley we sprang into the junk, and when we looked round we found her decks deserted—the watch and every body else having hid themselves below. The captain directed our men to go down the hatchways and try to get the Chinese upon deck, but he gave them strict orders to use them kindly. It was not a little amusing to see our tars going about this part of the business, which they did with right good will and glee. They soon dragged the Chinamen out of their hiding places, and, much against their inclination, mustered them on deck. I now explained to their captain that our intentions were peaceful, but that our vessel was in very great danger, and that it was absolutely necessary they should get up their anchor immediately, and come to our assistance. At the same time, I told them that they should receive twenty dollars for their trouble. They now held a consultation amongst themselves, and at last came and informed us that they would render the required assistance on the following morning. This, however, would not answer our purpose, and besides we knew enough of the Chinese to be perfectly aware that this "to-morrow" would never come, and was only said to get rid of us altogether, and leave us to our fate. We therefore told them that this arrangement would not suit us, and again requested them to get up their anchor. Another consultation was held, and as it was quite evident to me that they were procrastinating, and that we might go on in this manner all night, I advised the master of our schooner to set his own men to work to heave up the Chinaman's anchor, and hoist her sail. The sailors, who were getting rather impatient, gladly obeyed these orders, and when the junk's crew saw what was going on, they also gave their assistance, so that in a few minutes we were under weigh. Having gone as near the schooner as we considered prudent, the anchor was dropped, and a strong rope made fast to the two vessels in order to draw ours off the mud when the tide rose high enough to float her. This was accomplished during the night, and we were safely anchored in three fathoms of water. At daylight, however, we found that our Chinese friends had made sail, and gone away without waiting to claim the promised reward.
The small village of Woosung, where one of the battles was fought during the last war, stands on the banks of another river, commonly known as the "Shanghae river" by Europeans, and at the point where it falls into the Yang-tse-Kiang. This is one of the principal stations in China for the opium merchant vessels, and I believe latterly more of the drug has been sold here than at all the other stations put together.
So much has been said about this trade and opium smoking, that a few remarks upon the subject will not be out of place here. It is well known that the greater part of the opium which is brought to the Chinese coast is grown and manufactured in our East Indian possessions. Those English or American merchants who deal largely in this production employ very fast sailing vessels for bringing it from India to China, and also keep up what are called receiving ships in many of the bays or harbours along the coast of China. These receiving ships are regularly supplied by the fast-sailing vessels which bring their cargoes from India or Hong-kong. The Chinese smugglers come out from the adjoining bays and towns, in small boats, well manned and armed, in order to protect their property, which is generally of great value. Silver, in the form of South American dollars or Sycee, is bartered for the opium at all those stations on the coast, where no other trade is carried on; at other places the foreign merchants often find it advantageous to barter the opium in exchange for raw silks and teas, which are the two chief exports of the country.
The statements which have been frequently made in England, both as regards the smuggling and the smoking of opium are very much exaggerated. When I first went to China, I expected to find those merchants who were engaged in this trade little else than armed buccaneers, indeed, if I do not mistake, they have been represented as characters of this kind on the English stage. Instead of this, the trade is conducted by men of the highest respectability, possessed of immense capital, and who are known and esteemed as merchants of the first class in every part of the civilised world. The trade in opium, although contraband, is so unlike what is generally called smuggling, that people at a distance are deceived by the term. It may be quite true that its introduction and use are prohibited by the Chinese government, but that prohibition is merely an empty sound, which, in fact, means nothing. The whole, or at least the greater part, of the mandarins use it, and it is not at all unlikely that his Celestial Majesty himself makes one of the number of its devotees. The truth is, the Chinese government, whatever it may say, has no wish to put a stop to its introduction. It is necessary, however, to publish every now and then strong threatening edicts against it, which are only consigned to oblivion in the pages of the Peking Gazette, and have no effect whatever in restraining the Emperor's loyal subjects. It is now the opinion of all intelligent foreigners, and also of many of the more enlightened amongst the Chinese themselves, that the importation of opium ought to be legalised, and that it should be admitted at a small duty, as, by this means, much of the demoralising effects of smuggling would be got rid of, and a considerable revenue would flow into the coffers of the Chinese treasury.
Many instances of the feeble kind of opposition which the Chinese government employ to stop the opium trade, occurred during my residence in the country. Sometimes an admiral, renowned for his valour, was sent with a number of war junks to a particular station, where the opium ships were anchored, for the purpose of compelling them to leave the Chinese shores. Gongs were beat, guns were fired, at a respectful distance, however, and the junks came down with all that pomp and parade which the Chinese know so well how to assume, and which seem to form a principal part of their warlike operations. In the meantime the little opium vessels were laying quietly at anchor, apparently paying but slight attention to all these threatening demonstrations. Presently a message was sent from the admiral, ordering them to get up their anchors and stand out to sea, and never more to dare to enter the waters of his celestial majesty under the penalty of being completely annihilated.
A summons like this in former days might have had some weight, but now it had none; and the only answer the messengers carried back was, "that the foreign vessels were well armed, and that they would not leave their anchorage." This was quite sufficient to cool the courage of the admiral, who was now in a dilemma; he durst not light the "barbarians," and if he did not manage to get them out of the way, his character for courage would suffer when the affair was represented at head quarters. He therefore altered his tone, and requested the captains, as a great favour, to leave the anchorage and move outside for a day or two only, after which time they might return to their old quarters. This was agreed to on the part of the captains of the opium vessels, and on the following morning they got under weigh and went out to sea. The Chinese, who were on the look-out at the time, made a great noise by beating gongs and firing guns, and followed the opium ships until they were fairly outside. The admiral now sent up a report to his government to the effect that he had fought a great battle with the "barbarians," and had driven them away from the shores; or very probably he said that he had blown some of their vessels to pieces, and sunk the rest in the depths of the sea. In the meantime, even before the report was half-way to Peking, the opium vessels had quietly taken up their old anchorage, and things were going on in the usual way! Such is a specimen of the way in which affairs are managed in China.
The opium from Bengal, which consists of two kinds—namely, Patna and Benares—is always of a good quality and pure, but the Bombay Malwa is now so much mixed up with other ingredients, that the Chinese smuggler will not buy it until he has had an opportunity of testing its quality. This is done in the following manner:—having selected the chest or number of chests which he wishes to purchase, they are opened, and he takes out three or four of the worst-looking cakes, cuts a small piece from each, and dissolves them in a copper ladle over a charcoal fire. When the opium is melted, it is poured out into a coarse paper filter. If it is not of the worst description, it readily passes through the paper into a small basin, which is placed under it. When it will not pass through the filter, the Chinese call it Man-ling, by which name they designate opium which is so bad, or so mixed with extraneous ingredients, that it will not dissolve in water or pass through the paper filter. This description of the drug is, of course, only bought at a very reduced price.
When the mixture passes through the filter, the paper is carefully examined, and if any sediment remains, such as sand or rubbish, with which the opium is frequently adulterated, it detracts considerably from its value. This filtered mixture is now put again into a clear copper pan, and boiled slowly over the charcoal fire, until the whole of the water is evaporated, and nothing remains but pure opium. The drug is then poured out into a small porcelain cup, and stirred round and examined with great care. At this stage of the process, colour forms the principal test of its quality, and as the smuggler stirs it round, and holds it up to the light, he pronounces it to be "tung-kow" if it is thick like jelly; "pak-chat," if it has a whitish colour; "hong-chat," if it is red; and "kong-see-pak," if it is opium of the first quality, or like that sent round by the East India Company.
Opium is prepared for smoking much in the same manner as I have just described, and is kept in small cups, which are made for the purpose. The smoker lays his head upon a pillow, has a lamp by his side, and with a kind of needle he lifts a small portion of the opium to the candle; and having ignited it, he puts it into the small aperture of the bowl of the pipe. The candle is applied to the bowl during the process of inhaling, and the smoke is drawn into the lungs in the same manner as an Indian or Chinese swallows tobacco. A whiff or two is all that can be drawn from a single pipe, and, therefore, those who are accustomed to the use of the drug have frequently to renew the dose.
No one who has seen any thing of the habits of the Chinese, will deny that the use of opium, particularly when taken to excess, has a most pernicious effect both upon the constitution and morals of its victims. From my own experience, however, I have no hesitation in saying that the number of persons who use it to excess has been very much exaggerated; it is quite true that a very large quantity of the drug is yearly imported from India, but then we must take into consideration the vast extent of the Chinese empire, and its population of 300,000,000 of people. I have, when travelling in different parts of the country, often been in company with opium smokers, and am consequently able to speak with some confidence with regard to their habits. I well remember the impressions I had on this subject before I left England, and my surprise when I was first in the company of an opium smoker who was enjoying his favourite stimulant. When the man lay down upon the couch, and began to inhale the fumes of the opium, I observed him attentively, expecting in a minute or two to see him in his "third heaven of bliss;" but no: after he had taken a few whiffs he quietly resigned the pipe to one of his friends, and walked away to his business. Several others of the party did exactly the same. Since then I have often seen the drug used, and I can assert that in the great majority of cases it was not immoderately indulged in. At the same time I am well aware that, like the use of ardent spirits in our own country, it is frequently carried to a most lamentable excess. Lord Jocelyn, in his "Campaign in China," gives the following account of its effects, which he witnessed upon the Chinese at Singapore. "A few days of this fearful luxury, when taken to excess, will give a pallid and haggard look to the face, and a few months, or even weeks, will change the strong and healthy man into little better than an idiot skeleton. The pain they suffer when deprived of the drug after long habit, no language can explain; and it is only when to a certain degree under its influence that their faculties are alive. In the houses devoted to their ruin, these infatuated people may be seen at nine o'clock in the evening in all the different stages; some entering half distracted to feed the craving appetite they had been obliged to subdue during the day; others laughing and talking wildly under the effects of a first pipe; whilst the couches around are filled with their different occupants, who lie languid with an idiot smile upon their countenance, too much under the influence of the drug to care for passing events, and fast merging to the wished-for consummation. The last scene in this tragic play is generally a room in the rear of the building, a species of dead-house, where lie stretched those who have passed into the state of bliss the opium smoker madly seeks—an emblem of the long sleep to which he is blindly hurrying."
Opium Pipe.