The great Chang Chih-Tung is very emphatic in his denunciation of the drug. “A hundred years ago the curse came upon us, more blasting and deadly in its effects than the Great Flood or the scourge of the Fierce Beasts, for the water assuaged after nine years, and the ravages of the man-eaters were confined to one place. Opium has spread with frightful rapidity and heartrending results through the provinces. Millions upon millions have been struck down by the plague. To-day it is running like wild-fire. In its swift deadly course it is spreading devastation everywhere, wrecking the minds and eating away the strength and wealth of its victims. The ruin of the mind is the most woeful of its many deleterious effects. The poison enfeebles the will, saps the strength of the body, renders the consumer incapable of performing his regular duties, and unfit for travel from one place to another. It consumes his substance and reduces the miserable wretch to poverty, barrenness and senility. Unless something is soon done to arrest this awful scourge in its devastating march, the Chinese people will be transformed into satyrs and devils!”[20] Many thoughtful Chinese are apprehensive that opium will finally extirpate the race. This is a severe indictment, but there are plenty of leading men who will endorse it.
The Republican Government determined to stamp out the evil, and none but the Chinese could have accomplished so great a reform so rapidly: in many of the northern provinces there is no poppy grown. But the Southern Government has not followed suit. No doubt the question of revenue prevents it; for opium is one of the most lucrative crops as regards taxation. Naturally there are times of great scarcity, and then it is quite common for the people to sell their children for food. A missionary told us of one child being sold for one and a half dollars (about three shillings): this was a boy of three years old. We saw two nice little girls on the road being taken to be sold as slaves.
After leaving Küticul we found our coolies very troublesome, and had to have recourse to the magistrate on two occasions, with a good result. One day the men firmly refused to go more than an absurdly short stage, and deposited us in the middle of a village. Our head man stormed and raged, not another step would they budge. Finally we made a compromise: we stayed there on the understanding that they would do a hundred and five li next day, about thirty-two miles. The magistrate later in the day had an interview with Li and the head coolie, and emphasized the fact that the agreement had got to be carried out, and the escort was instructed to come early.
The spell worked! We started about six o’clock on a lovely misty morning, the dew lying heavy on the grass, and our men walked with a will for some hours. But like the mist, their zeal evaporated: after lunch they said they must each have a dollar to go on. Li was in despair at seeing his remonstrances unheeded. I sent him off to the magistrate. He counselled giving them ten cents each, and ordered them to start: there was nothing to be done save agree to it, as the head coolie had disappeared, evidently feeling unable to cope with the situation. The men grumbled, but set off, and by a quarter past six we reached Ping-yi, a stiff twelve hours’ journey. We felt a little sorry for the luggage coolies and wondered if the loads were not rather heavy, but as they raced at the end of the stage to see who would be in first, we felt our pity was misplaced. We stayed in mission premises where a kind old caretaker was most solicitous for our welfare. Yao could hardly be persuaded not to prepare our evening meal, but we decided to prepare it for ourselves and sent him off to the inn with Li.
This was our last night in Yünnan, and we had a wonderful moonlight view over the valley, which, combined with a hard bed, led me to spend much of the night beside the window, writing letters. It was an unwonted pleasure to sleep upstairs and to have a view.
Next day in our escort we had a most friendly young policeman, who was keen to help us pick flowers after assiduously dealing with our luggage. We crossed several fine bridges and counted seven varieties of roses, five varieties of azaleas, iris, Japanese anemones, etc., etc. By midday we had climbed up to the dividing line between the provinces of Yünnan and Kweichow: it was marked by a most dilapidated archway leading into a little village. The usual tutelary stone lions are on either side the pailou, but those facing into Yünnan have dust and fishy scales carved on their backs, while those facing into Kweichow have only scales. What is the meaning of this symbolism? Dust stands for wind and scales for water, and truly Yünnan has not only rain but also wind in full measure, while as for Kweichow, we no sooner crossed the threshold than the sun disappeared and down came the rain.
One day we asked a Kweichow man who had attached himself uninvited to our company, when we might hope to see the sunshine! He took a long time to answer the question, and appeared to have been giving Li an exhaustive discourse on the nature of sunshine. However, the summary of the discourse was that under the old Imperial regime things were fixed, and you could count upon them—but under a Republic you could be sure of nothing!