In this valley, which extends for miles, I first made acquaintance with the poppy in full bloom. Fields of white and purple equalled in number the patches of wheat, barley, and rape. Where the flowers had fallen, the peasants, principally women and children, were busy harvesting the juice. The tools used in the operation are simple but effective. Towards evening, the peasants may be seen moving in the poppy fields, each armed with a short wooden handle, from one of the ends of which protrude three and sometimes four points of brass or copper blades, firmly inserted in the wood. Seizing a capsule with the left hand, the operator, with his right hand, inserts the points of the blades near the top of the capsule, and draws them downwards to the stem of the plant. From the incisions thus made a creamy juice exudes, which gradually becomes of a dark brown colour. This is scraped off in the early morning by means of a short curved knife, and deposited in an earthenware bowl, the contents of which are afterwards fired or left in the sun to dry. In this way, the weight is reduced about one half, and the opium is then ready for boiling. The whole process is simple, and may be accomplished by the women and children of the family, thereby permitting the more able-bodied to attend to the other farm duties, thus reducing the price of labour and consequently the cost of the drug. The bleeding of the capsule is continued until the flow of juice is exhausted.
The remainder of the valley was occupied by rice fields, submerged in preparation for the summer sowing. Sometimes they are allowed to soak for months, their surfaces being frequently covered with floating water-plants, which are afterwards utilized as manure. They are likewise stocked with fish; in the early spring, reeds and rank grass are cut from the hill sides and made up into small bundles, which are then strung on bamboos, laid down in shallow water in the Yang-tsze, and weighted with stones. Here the fish spawn, and the ova adhere to the grass and reeds, which are then taken up and sold. The grass is afterwards scattered in the higher fields, between which and the lower, water-communication is kept up by digging small outlets, which can easily be filled up at a moment’s notice. Here the ova are hatched, and good fishing may be had after a few months.
The modus operandi deserves a short description. Neither line nor hook is used, the requisite gear consisting of a long bamboo and a round wicker basket, open at the bottom with a hole at the top. The fisherman wades into the field, the water usually reaching to the knee; grasping the bamboo in his right, he sweeps the surface of the water in front of him with a semicircular motion until a silver streak and a dash into the mud meet his eye, when he plunges forward and caps the spot with the basket which he has been carrying in his left hand. He then gropes for his prey through the basket, and is, I may say, rarely at fault. The fish—some six inches long—is then tossed over the shoulder into a smaller basket strapped to the back, and the farmer recommences his field-fishing.
The wood-oil tree—Aleurites cordata, M. Arg.—was scattered about among the fields. It seems to prefer thin-soiled, rocky ground, being met with in great abundance on the banks of the Yang-tsze west of Ichang. It grows to a height of about fifteen feet, and has large, beautiful, shady green leaves, which were lighted up as we passed with bunches of small pink-white flowers. It produces a large green fruit like an apple, the large pips or seeds of which contain the oil for which the tree is famous. The fruit is gathered in August and September. Primitive wooden presses with wedges are used for extracting the oil, which is sent to market in wooden tubs with tight-fitting lids, and is employed for a variety of purposes, such as the manufacture of paint, varnish, waterproof paper, umbrellas, as well as for lighting. The seeds, if eaten, cause nausea and vomiting.
THE MANUFACTURE OF PAPER.
Between Ch’ung-k’ing and Ch’i-chiang Hsien, the first city of any importance on the southern road to Kuei-chow, there are a number of factories for the manufacture of the ordinary coarse Chinese paper. Here, too, the process is exceedingly simple. There is an entire absence of machinery for washing and shredding rags; there are no troughs of pulp, chemicals for bleaching, resin for watering, wire moulds for receiving, and drums for firming the paper as it comes from the pulp-troughs. Bamboo stems and paddy straw are steeped with lime in deep concrete pits in the open air, and allowed to soak for months. When nothing but the fibre remains, it is taken out and rolled with a heavy stone roller in a stone well until all the lime has been removed. A small quantity of the fibre is placed in a stone trough full of water and the whole stirred up. A close bamboo mould is then passed through the mixed fibre and water, and the film which adheres to it emerges as a sheet of paper, which is stuck up to dry on the walls of a room kept at a high temperature. The sheets are afterwards collected and made up into bundles for market.
Ch’i-chiang Hsien is a city somewhat irregularly built along the foot and on the slope of a hill which rises from the left bank of a river, a tributary of the Yang-tsze and bearing the city’s name. It is of very considerable importance as a trade depôt for north-eastern Kuei-chow, and, being in water communication with the Yang-tsze, it is a valuable inlet for the Ssŭ-ch’uan salt trade with that province. Kuei-chow, unlike Ssŭ-ch’uan and Yün-nan, is unprovided with salt wells within its borders, at least they have not yet been discovered, and the Lu Chou junks have their terminus at Ch’i-chiang, whence the mineral is distributed on the backs of bipeds.
This latter was to me a painful sight. Men and boys (children, I should rather say, many of them being not more than eight years of age) staggered on with enormous loads of cake salt packed in small creels and on wooden frameworks projecting above them. Walking in Indian file along the pathway that served as a road, they halted every few yards, resting their loads on a crutch which each carried in his hand, and, uttering that half whistle, half sigh, which proclaims the body’s utter weariness and its gratitude for a moment’s relief, scraped from their brows and faces, by a ring of split bamboo attached to the load by a string, the sweat that literally gushed from them. Of a surety they earn their bread by the sweat of their brow!
One expecting to find amongst such men a splendid development of muscle would be sadly disappointed. Like the brick-tea carriers on their way to Tibet, of whom I shall have occasion to speak hereafter, they were painfully wanting in leg. Yet the maximum load is about two hundred and forty pounds. For carrying the salt the distance of one hundred miles between Ch’i-chiang and T’ung-tzŭ, the first district city across the Kuei-chow border, they were paid at the rate of ten cash a catty, or one and a third pounds. As the journey occupied them ten days, and the return, empty-handed except for their wages in cash, two days, the strongest man earned not more than sixpence a day. But rice and lodging are cheap, and they are more or less happy at the end of each day’s weary toil.
SILKWORMS AND THEIR FOOD.