“I could not afford to carry less,” he quickly replied; “I am paid so much a pound, and I have to pay my own expenses. I have to eat often,” he explained, “or I should break down. I have to pay for my bed at night, and I must have a certain amount over to take home to my wife and family. If I were to reduce the weight I could not do that, and so I am compelled to put every pound into my load that I can possibly carry in order that my family may not suffer.”
But here comes a sedan chair that has come in with a rush whilst we have been talking. The bearers are both young strapping fellows, and we can tell from the hot flush on their faces that the strain upon them is a severe one. They are too proud, however, to acknowledge that, and instead of letting the chair down gently, they give it a toss in the air as though it were a plaything, and with a jaunty air they drop it on to the ground. They then begin to chaff some of the other bearers that are seated on the tables, and in a leisurely, easy way saunter to a seat as though it were a matter of perfect indifference whether they had any refreshment or not. The keeper of the eating-house, however, knows exactly the requirements of these two brave young fellows, and so he quietly slips a bowl into the hand of each, and, in spite of their feigned unconcern, they are soon shovelling down great mouthfuls of the hot savoury rice.
As we sit looking at the shifting scene that passes like a moving panorama before us, we are impressed with the pathetic side that seems to us to be the prominent one. The passers-by are nearly all representatives of the working classes, and even they come from the poorer stratum. Some of them are men from a distance, as may be seen by their dust-soiled garments and their air of weariness. Others are farmers who have been to the neighbouring city to dispose of their farm produce, whilst not a few are nondescripts, the waifs and strays that heathen society tosses up, whose hold upon life is always a precarious one, and who may any day be landed amongst the beggar class to fight and struggle for existence as best they may.
Now and again a man in easier circumstances may be detected by the independent swing of his walk, and by the jolly look that illumines his broad, but unæsthetic features. There are young fellows, too, who, full of exuberant spirits, lark and joke with each other, and make the air ring with their laughter, but there are only too many with a shadow on their faces that tells of an inner life where the heart throbs with a hidden pain. For one thing, at least, the Chinaman is a man to be greatly admired for the patience and the heroism with which he bears the ills and the disappointments of life. It is not because he is of a callous nature, or that he is insensible to the human touches that sweep over the spirit of other races, and make the heart break down in tears. It is simply because he has a wonderful power of self-restraint; and because pain and distress are inevitable as he considers, he hides within his bosom, under a face that absolutely refuses to let out his secret, the sorrow that amongst us we could not disguise.
The chair-bearers have had their bowl of rice. They have seized a handful of peanuts which lie in little mounds on the table, and are hastily cracking their shells, and as they pick their kernels out they propel them with a jerk into their mouths. Finally they fill their diminutive bamboo pipes with tobacco, and after three or four good long whiffs, they call out in a cheery voice, “Now let us go.” The chair is swung up on to their shoulders, they shuffle their feet until they get into step, and then, with a steady trot, they start for the next stage that lies two or three miles ahead.
Our way lies across a plain that is thickly dotted with villages. These at a distance have a very charming appearance, and remind one very much of similar places in the homeland. They are nearly always embowered amongst great stately trees, that the forefathers planted when the foundations of the new home were laid. They have grown since then, and now beneath their spreading branches only a pointed roof or a whitewashed gable can be caught sight of through the rifts in the foliage of the trees.
The plain is a populous one, and the road on which we are travelling being a great thoroughfare, little market towns have sprung up on it. If there is one thing more than another that these impress upon a stranger from the West it is the absolute want of taste that the Chinese show in the building of their houses and in the laying out of their streets. Broken-down shanties, badly kept houses, streets that reek with smells, people dressed in an untidy and slovenly manner, and with hands and faces that very rarely become acquainted with soap and water; these are the common sights that meet one wherever he travels in this great land of China. The country has an old and worn-out look about it, and seems as though it needed whitewashing and renovating; whilst the people as a whole require washing and scrubbing and a liberal use of “Sunlight Soap,” to remove the grimy, dusty accumulations that rest upon them wherever you meet them.
Our journey so far has taken us through a very fertile district, and luxuriant crops of rice testify not only to the excellence of the land, but also to the skill of the farmers in the wise methods they have learned to employ in the cultivation of the land. That they succeed so well is no doubt due to the long and assiduous care that the nation has given to agriculture. From time immemorial the farmer has held a high position in the estimation of the nation. One of the most honoured amongst their ancient kings was a man that was taken from the plough, and was made a co-ruler with a man that, for the probity of his reign, has always been spoken of in the annals of the empire as a sage.
The Chinese, therefore, have had long experience in the art of cultivating the soil, and out of this has been developed the touch in their fingers that nature recognizes and responds to so readily. They seem to have no trouble in making things grow. Apparently without any effort they plough their land and scatter their seed with careless hand, and granting that the rain falls with tolerable regularity, everything springs up just as they have planned.
After passing through a number of villages and hamlets, and small market towns, all frowsy and slattern-looking, and pervaded with the Oriental bad smells wherever a human habitation exists, we came late in the afternoon to the mouth of a wide river, where our land journey was to end, and where we were to continue it by boat until we should reach our destination.