Travels in Tartary, Thibet, and China during the years 1844-5-6. Volume 1

by Evariste Régis Huc

The Mongols are equally disinclined to fishing; and accordingly, the highly productive lakes and ponds which one meets with so frequently in Tartary, have become the property of Chinese speculators, who, with the characteristic knavery of their nation, having first obtained from the Tartar kings permission to fish in their states, have gradually converted this toleration into a monopoly most rigorously enforced. The Paga-Gol (Little River), near which we were now encamped, has several Chinese fishing stations upon its banks. This Paga-Gol is formed by the junction of two rivers, which, taking their source from the two sides of a hill, flow in opposite directions; the one, running towards the north, falls into the Yellow River; the other, proceeding southwards, swells the current of another stream, which itself also falls into the Hoang-Ho; but at the time of the great inundations, the two rivers, in common with the hill which separates their course, all alike disappear. The overflowing of the Hoang-Ho reunites the two currents, and that which then presents itself is a large expanse of water, the breadth of which extends to nearly two miles. At this period, the fish which abound in the Yellow River repair in shoals to this new basin, wherein the waters remain collected until the

commencement of the winter; and during the autumn, this little sea is covered in all directions with the boats of Chinese fishermen, whose habitations for the fishing season are miserable cabins constructed on either bank.

During the first night of our encampment in this locality, we were kept awake by a strange noise, constantly recurring in the distance: as it seemed to us, the muffled and irregular roll of drums; with day-break the noise continued, but more intermittent and less loud; it apparently came from the water. We went out and proceeded towards the bank of the lake, where a fisherman, who was boiling his tea in a little kettle, supported by three stones, explained the mystery; he told us that during the night, all the fishermen seated in their barks, keep moving over the water, in all directions, beating wooden drums for the purpose of alarming the fish, and driving them towards the places where the nets are spread. The poor man whom we interrogated had himself passed the whole night in this painful toil. His red, swollen eyes and his drawn face clearly indicated that it was long since he had enjoyed adequate rest. “Just now,” he said, “we have a great deal of work upon our hands; there is no time to be lost if we wish to make any money of the business. The fishing season is very short; at the outside not more than three months; and a few days hence we shall be obliged to withdraw. The Paga-Gol will be frozen, and not a fish will be obtainable. You see, Sirs Lamas, we have no time to lose. I have passed all the night hunting the fish about; when I have drunk some tea and eaten a few spoonfuls of oatmeal, I shall get into my boat, and visit the nets I have laid out there westward; then I shall deposit the fish I have taken in the osier reservoirs you see yonder; then I shall examine my nets, and mend them if they need mending; then I shall take a brief repose, and after that, when the old grandfather (the sun) goes down, I shall once more cast my nets; then I shall row over the water, now here, now there, beating my drum, and so it goes on.” These details interested us, and as our occupations at the moment were not very urgent, we asked the fisherman if he would allow us to accompany him when he went to raise his nets. “Since personages like you,” answered he, “do not disdain to get into my poor boat and to view my unskilful and disagreeable fishing, I accept the benefit you propose.” Hereupon we sat down in a corner of his rustic hearth to wait until he had taken his repast. The meal of the fisherman was as short as the preparations for it had been hasty. When the tea was sufficiently boiled, he poured out a basin full of it; threw into this a handful of oatmeal, which he partially kneaded with his fore finger; and then, after having

pressed it a little, and rolled it into a sort of cake, he swallowed it without any other preparation. After having three or four times repeated the same operation, the dinner was at an end. This manner of living had nothing in it to excite our curiosity; having adopted the nomad way of living, a sufficiently long experience had made it familiar to us.

After having examined a few of the nets, he stopped to see if the haul had been productive. Already the two wells, constructed

at the extremities of the boat, were nearly full. “Sirs Lamas,” said the fisherman, “do you eat fish? I will sell you some if you please.” At this proposition, the two poor French missionaries looked at each other without saying a word. In that look you might see that they were by no means averse from trying the flavour of the fish of the Yellow River, but that they dared not, a sufficient reason keeping them in suspense. “How do you sell your fish?” “Not dear; eighty sapeks a pound.” “Eighty sapeks! why that is dearer than mutton.” “You speak the words of truth; but what is mutton compared with the fish of the Hoang-Ho?” “No matter; it is too dear for us. We have still far to go; our purse is low, we must economize.” The fisherman did not insist; he took his oar, and directed the boat towards those nets which had not yet been drawn up from the water. “For what reason,” asked we “do you throw back so much fish? Is it because the quality is inferior?” “Oh, no; all the fish in the Yellow River are excellent, these are too small, that is all.” “Ah, just so; next year they will be bigger. It is a matter of calculation; you refrain now, so that in the end you may get more by them.” The fisherman laughed. “It is not that,” he said; “we do not hope to re-capture these fish. Every year the basin is filled with fresh fish, brought hither by the overflowings of the Hoang-Ho; there come great and small; we take the first; and the others we throw back, because they do not sell well. The fish here are very abundant. We are able to select the best . . . . Sirs Lamas, if you like to have these little fish, I will not throw them back.” The offer was accepted, and the small fry, as they came, were placed in a little basket. When the fishing was over, we found ourselves possessors of a very respectable supply of fish. Before leaving the boat, we washed an old basket, and having deposited our fish in it, we marched in triumph to the tent. “Where have you been?” exclaimed Samdadchiemba, as soon as he saw us; “the tea is now boiled, and it soon gets cold: I have boiled it up again; it has again got cold.” “Pour out some of your tea,” answered we. “We will not have oatmeal to-day, but some fresh fish. Place some loaves under the ashes to bake.” Our prolonged absence had put Samdadchiemba in an ill humour. His forehead was more contracted than usual, and his small black eyes flashed with displeasure. But when he beheld in the basket the fish which were still in motion, his face relaxed into a smile, and his countenance insensibly grew more cheerful. He opened smilingly the bag of flour, the strings of which were never untied except on rare occasions. Whilst he was busily occupied with the pastry, we took some of the fish, and proceeded to the shores of a lake at a short distance from the tent. We had scarcely got there, when

Samdadchiemba ran to us with all his might. He drew aside the four corners of the cloth which contained the fish. “What are you going to do?” said he, with an anxious air. “We are going to cut open and scale this fish.” “Oh, that is not well; my spiritual fathers, wait a little; you must not transgress thus.” “What are you talking about? Who is committing a sin?” “Why, look at these fish; they are still moving. You must let them die in peace, before you open them: is it not a sin to kill a living creature?” “Go make your bread and let us alone. Are we always to be pestered with your notions of metempsychosis? Do you still think that men are transformed into beasts, and beasts into men?” The lips of our Dchiahour opened for a long laugh. “Bah!” said he, striking his forehead, “what a thick head I have; I did not think of that; I had forgotten the doctrine,” and he returned not a little ashamed at having come to give us such ridiculous advice.

The fish were fried in mutton fat, and we found them exquisite.

In Tartary and in the north of China, the fishing continues to the commencement of winter, when the ponds and rivers are frozen. At that time they expose to the air, in the night, the fish they have kept alive in the reservoirs; these immediately freeze, and may be laid up without trouble. It is in this state that they are sold to the fishmongers. During the long winters of the northern part of the empire, the wealthy Chinese can always, by this means, procure fresh fish; but great care must be taken not to make too large a provision of them to be consumed during the time of the great frosts, for on the first thaw the fish become putrid.