In a reclining position, on boards placed on tressels, ranged around long, disgustingly dirty rooms, may be seen, at all hours of the day, haggard beggars, with putrefying sores, whose miserable feelings of desperation and woe drive them here to obtain a partial alleviation, by steeping their senses in forgetfulness. The stem of the pipe used for smoking is made of hard wood, and would be taken for an English paper-ruler, about eighteen inches long, and an inch in diameter. The earthenware bowl or head screws on and off, at about three inches from the end. An assistant of the divan, sitting in a corner of the room, is constantly engaged in scraping and cleaning these heads, which, from the small size of the hole through which the opium is inhaled (about the size of a pin’s head), are apt to get clogged. The quantity of opium intended to be smoked, varying at a time from twenty to a hundred grains, is dipped carefully out of small gallipots, laid on a leaf, and charged for at the rate of a dollar per ounce. The opium is used by dipping into it the pointed end of a small wire, which is then applied to the flame of a lamp. In ignition it inflates into a bubble, and is then, with a dexterity obtained only by constant practice, rolled on the pipe head until it assumes the shape and size of a small orange-pip cut in half, and of the hardness of wax. It is then placed over the orifice in the head of the pipe, like a small chimney, through which the flame of the lamp is drawn into the bowl, converting the opium, in its passage, into a blue smoke, which is inspired by long continuous whiffs, and without removal of the pipe from the mouth, respired through the nostrils. Two or three pipes may be taken by persons unaccustomed to the habit without leaving any other unpleasant feeling than a harshness in the throat. There are in Hong-Kong ten regular licensed divans for the smoking of opium, and nearly all these are in the Chinese portion of the town.
This picture would, however, be incomplete, without a few more particulars concerning the individuals who give themselves up to indulgence in the drug. And for this we must again seek the aid of an experienced medical man, who for years lived and laboured in the midst of opium smokers. “Nothing on earth,” he states, “can equal the apparent quiet enjoyment of the opium smoker. As he enters the miserable scene of his future ecstasy, he collects his small change, the labour, or begging, or theft of the day, with which he supplies himself with his quantity of Chandu; then taking the pipe, which is furnished gratis, he reclines on a board covered with a mat, and with his head resting on a wooden or bamboo pillow, he commences filling his pipe. As he entered, his looks were the picture of misery, his eyes were sunk, his gait slouched, his step trembling, and his voice quivering, with a sallow cast of countenance, and a dull unimpressive eye. He who runs might read that he is an opium-smoker, and, diving still deeper below appearances, would declare him an opium sufferer. But now with pipe in hand, opium by his side, and a lamp before him, his eye already glistens, and his features soften in their expression, while he is preparing the coming luxury. At last it is ready, and the pipe being applied to the lamp, there is heard a soughing noise, as with a full and hearty pull, he draws in all that opium and air can give. Slowly is the inspiration relaxed, but not until all the opium that is in the pipe is consumed; then, allowing the vapour, impregnated with the narcotic influence, to remain in his chest until nature compels him to respire, he gently allows it to escape, seeming to grudge the loss of each successive exit, until all is gone, when exhausted and soothed—
“‘Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams,’
he withdraws the pipe, reclines his head, and gives himself up to the first calming effect of the drug. His next attempt confirms the comfort, and now no longer does he complain of racking limbs or aching bones; no longer does the rheum run from his eyes, and relaxed is the tightness of the chest, as he dwells with fond affection on the inspiring pipe. His second pipe being finished, he can now look round, and has time to gaze on what is going on; but his soul is still wrapped in the bliss that is anticipated from what remains of his allowance, for not until a third or fourth whiff do the feelings of positive pleasure arise. Then is felt a lightness of the head, a tingling in every limb—the eyes seem to be enlarged, and the ears sharpened to hearing, an elasticity, an inclination to mount on high is experienced—all pains are gone, and pleasure now remains—all weariness has left, and freshness takes its place. The loathing of food that was lately experienced is changed to a relish for what is piquant, and a great desire is frequently felt for some particular food. The tongue is now loosened, and tells its tale. For whatever is secret becomes open, and what was intended for one becomes known to all. Still there is no excitement, but a calmness, soft, soothing, and sedative. He dreams no dreams, nor thinks of the morrow but with a smile in his eye; he fills his pipe with the last of his allowance; slowly inhaling it, he seems to brighten up. The smile that was sparkling in his eye, extends to other features, and his appearance is one of complete, yet placid enjoyment. Presently the pipe is slowly displaced, or drops by his side; his head, if raised, is now laid on the pillow—feature after feature gives up its smile—the eye becomes glazed—now droops the upper eyelid, and falls the chin with the lower lip, deeper and deeper inspirations follow—all perception is gone; objects may strike the eye, but no sights are seen; sounds may fall on the ear, but no sensations are excited. So he passes into sleep, disturbed and broken, from which the wretched being awakes to a full conception of his misery. ‘To sleep, perchance to dream!’—and what dreams!—what ecstatic delights!—what ravishments!—what illusions!
“‘Things
Seen for the first time, and things, long ago
Seen, which he ne’er again shall see, do blend
Strangely and brokenly with ghastly things
Such as we hear in childhood, scorn in youth,