"About seven o'clock this morning, while walking for exercise along the

north wall, on the outside of the city, we were attacked by several

Chinese, who had been following us, and increasing in numbers, from

the building known to foreigners as the Five-storied Pagoda. At first

they commenced by throwing stones, which endangered our lives, and by

some of which we were struck. This attack was aided and encouraged by

a number of Chinese, who followed us along the top of the city wall,

hurling large stones, which, if they had struck, would have killed

those at whom they were aimed. Mr. Jackson was first attacked by men

brandishing swords and daggers; his arms were pinioned, and his gold

chain snatched from his neck. The Rev. Mr. Stanton and Mr. Martin

perceiving that Mr. Jackson was not following returned to aid him,

and were themselves seized. One of the assailants thrust a dagger at

Mr. Martin's breast, two endeavoured to throw him on the ground, and,

whilst struggling with them, his pockets were rifled. The same course

was pursued with Mr. Jackson and Mr. Stanton. The latter lost his

watch; the former still retained his, but every thing else was taken.

The assailants then left us; but the persons on the wall followed us

for sometime, hurling large stones and using menacing gestures and

opprobrious language.

"Proceeding southward beneath the wall to reach to the river side, we

were again followed and attacked by another party. Mr. Jackson received

a violent blow on his chest, and a roof was torn up to furnish large

sticks to the assailants. In this attack Mr. Jackson was deprived of

his watch; our clothes were torn; and at one time the people were

disposed to strip us. No resistance was offered: it was hopeless to

have attempted it, not only by reason of the numbers and weapons of the

multitude, but also on account of the attack on us from the watch tower

and along the walls.

"The outrage was entirely unprovoked. Our own official character, and

the presence of a minister of religion, was a guarantee for peaceful

conduct; and had his presence not restrained Mr. Jackson and Mr.

Martin, bloodshed might probably have ensued. Reaching a more populous

part of the suburbs, we rested a moment and then proceeded home; but

not unfrequently hearing opprobrious epithets, mingled with cries of

'Kill them, kill them.'

"From no nation in Europe would British subjects suffer this treatment.

There can be no excuse for tolerating a continuance of such conduct

towards us in China; and we think there cannot be a doubt that the

Chinese government have it in their power effectually to put a stop,

not only to the personal insults which the English daily experience,

but also to prohibit effectually the repetition of the injuries we have

experienced. By the prohibition to enter the city of Canton, the lower

classes of the Chinese are encouraged to regard us as inferiors, and

to treat us with marked contumely. No measures, that we are aware of,

have ever been taken by the authorities to prevent the constant insults

to which the British community are subjected; and which, instead of

diminishing by time, or being subdued by acts of kindness, seem to

become more frequent and more virulent.

"Anxiously desirous to maintain peace and to promote amity, we make

this representation, believing that, unless the Chinese authorities

remedy the evils complained of, the most serious consequences must

inevitably and ere long ensue."

[1] Literally, "foreign devil."

[2] Presents.

CHAP. X.

VISIT TO THE NINGPO GREEN TEA DISTRICT.--MOUNTAIN TRAVELLING

CHAIR.--THE BUDDHIST TEMPLE OF TEIN-TUNG.--SCENERY AROUND THE

TEMPLE.--TRADITIONAL HISTORY COMMUNICATED BY THE PRIEST.--THE TEMPLE

AND ITS IDOLS.--INVITATION TO DINNER WITH THE PRIESTS.--FIRST

TRIAL WITH CHOPSTICKS.--POLITENESS! OF THE CHINESE.--USUAL

DINNER COMPANY.--MY BED.--DEVOTIONS OF THE PRIESTS.--WILD BOAR

HUNT.--NARROW ESCAPE.--MODE OF FRIGHTENING THE ANIMALS FROM

THE BAMBOO PLANTATIONS.--MOUNTAIN SCENERY.--BUDDHIST TEMPLE OF

AH-YU-WANG.-POO-TO-SAN, OR THE WORSHIPPING ISLAND.--ITS TEMPLES AND

IDOLS.--BRONZE GODS.--TREES AND SHRUBS.--GARDENS AND PET PLANTS OF

THE PRIESTS.--SALE OF GODS OR JOSSES.--OFFERINGS TO THE GODS IN

SHANGHAE AND NINGPO.--PROCESSIONS IN HONOUR OF THE GODS.--CHRISTIAN

MISSIONS.--MEDICAL MISSIONARY SOCIETY.--ROMAN CATHOLICS.

Having despatched my collections to England by three different vessels

from Hong-kong, I sailed again, at the end of March 1844, for the

northern provinces. During the summer of this year, and in that of

1845, I was able to visit several parts of the country, which were

formerly scaled to Europeans, and which contained subjects of much

interest.

About the beginning of May I set out upon an excursion with Mr. Thom,

the British consul, and two other gentlemen, to visit the green

tea district near Ningpo. We were informed that there was a large

and celebrated temple, named _Tein-tung_, in the centre of the tea

district, and above twenty miles distant, where we could lodge during

our stay in this part of the country. Twelve or fourteen miles of our

journey was performed by water, but the canal ending at the foot of

the hills we were obliged to walk, or take chairs for the remainder

of the way. The mountain travelling chair of China is a very simple

contrivance. It consists merely of two long bamboo poles, with a board

placed between them for a seat, and two other cross pieces, one for the

back and the other for the feet: a large Chinese umbrella is held over

the head to afford protection from the sun and rain.

[Illustration: Mountain Chair.]

The Chinese are quite philosophers after their own fashion. On our

way to the temple, when tired with sitting so long in our boat, we

several times got out and walked along the path on the sides of the

canal. A great number of passage-boats going in the same direction

with ourselves, and crowded with passengers, kept very near us for a

considerable portion of the way, in order to satisfy their curiosity.

A Chinaman never walks when he can possibly find any other mode of

conveyance, and these persons were consequently much surprised to see

us apparently enjoying our walk.

"Is it not strange," said one, "that these people prefer walking when

they have a boat as well as ourselves?" A discussion now took place

amongst them as to the reason of this apparently strange propensity,

when one, more wise than his companions, settled the matter by

the pithy observation, "It is _their nature_ to do so;" which was

apparently satisfactory to all parties.

It was nearly dark when we reached the temple, and as the rain had

fallen in torrents during the greater part of the day, we were drenched

to the skin, and in rather a pitiable condition. The priests seemed

much surprised at our appearance, but at once evinced the greatest

hospitality and kindness, and we soon found ourselves quite at home

amongst them. They brought us fire to dry our clothes, got ready our

dinner, and set apart a certain number of their best rooms for us to

sleep in. We were evidently subjects of great curiosity to most of them

who had never seen an Englishman before. Our clothes, features, mode of

eating, and manners were all subjects of wonder to these simple people,

who passed off many a good humoured joke at our expence.

Glad to get off our clothes, which were still damp, we retired early

to rest. When we arose in the morning, the view which met our eyes

far surpassed in beauty any scenery which I had ever witnessed before

in China. The temple stands at the head of a fertile valley in the

bosom of the hills. This valley is well watered by clear streams,

which flow from the mountains, and produces most excellent crops of

rice. The tea shrubs, with their dark green leaves, are seen dotted

on the lower sides of all the more fertile hills. The temple itself

is approached by a long avenue of Chinese pine trees. This avenue is

at first straight, but near the temple it winds in a most picturesque

manner round the edges of two artificial lakes, and then ends in a

flight of stone steps, which lead up to the principal entrance. Behind,

and on each side, the mountains rise, in irregular ridges, from one

to two thousand feet above the level of the sea. These are not like

the barren southern mountains, but are clothed nearly to their summits

with a dense tropical looking mass of brushwood, shrubs, and trees.

Some of the finest bamboos of China are grown in the ravines, and the

sombre coloured pine attains to a large size on the sides of the hills.

Here, too, I observed some very beautiful specimens of the new fir

(_Cryptomeria japonica_), and obtained some plants and seeds of it,

which may now be seen growing in the Horticultural Gardens at Chiswick.

After we had breakfasted, one of the head priests came and gave us a

very pressing invitation to dine with him about mid-day; and in the

meantime he accompanied us over the monastery, of which he gave the

following history:--"Many hundred years ago a pious old man retired

from the world, and came to dwell in these mountains, giving himself

up entirely to the performance of religious duties. So earnest was he

in his devotions that he neglected everything relating to his temporal

wants, even to his daily food. Providence, however, would not suffer

so good a man to starve. Some boys were sent in a miraculous manner,

who daily supplied him with food. In the course of time the fame of

the sage extended all over the adjacent country, and disciples flocked

to him from all quarters. A small range of temples was built, and

thus commenced the extensive buildings which now bear the name of

"Tein-tung," or the "Temple of the Heavenly Boys;" _Tein_ signifying

heaven, and _tung_ a boy. At last the old man died, but his disciples

supplied his place. The fame of the temple spread far and wide, and

votaries came from the most distant parts of the empire--one of the

Chinese kings being amongst the number--to worship and leave their

offerings at its altars. Larger temples were built in front of the

original ones, and these again in their turn gave way to those spacious

buildings which form the principal part of the structure of the present

day.

All the temples are crowded with idols, or images of their

favourite gods, such as the "three precious Buddhas," "the Queen

of Heaven"--represented as sitting on the celebrated lotus or

nelumbium--"the God of War," and many other deified kings and great men

of former days. Many of these images are from thirty to forty feet in

height, and have a very striking appearance when seen arranged in these

spacious and lofty halls. The priests themselves reside in a range of

low buildings, erected at right angles with the different temples and

courts which divide them. Each has a little temple in his own house--a

family altar crowded with small images, where he is often engaged in

private devotion.

After inspecting the various temples and the belfry, which contains

a noble bronze bell of large dimensions, our host conducted us back

to his house, where the dinner was already on the table. The priests

of the Buddhist religion are not allowed to eat animal food at any of

their meals. Our dinner therefore consisted entirely of vegetables,

served up in the usual Chinese style, in a number of small round

basins, the contents of each--soups excepted--being cut up into small

square bits, to be eaten with chopsticks. The Buddhist priests contrive

to procure a number of vegetables of different kinds, which, by a

peculiar mode of preparation, are rendered very palatable. In fact, so

nearly do they resemble animal food in taste and in appearance, that

at first we were deceived, imagining that the little bits we were able

to get hold of with our chopsticks were really pieces of fowl or beef.

Such, however, was not the case, as our good host was consistent on

this day at least, and had nothing but vegetable productions at his

table. Several other priests sat with us at table, and a large number

of others of inferior rank with servants, crowded around the doors and

windows outside. The whole assemblage must have been much surprised at

the awkward way in which some of us handled our chopsticks, and, with

all their politeness, I observed they could not refrain from laughing

when, after repeated attempts, some little dainty morsel would still

slip back again into the dish. I know few things more annoying, and yet

laughable too, than attempting to eat with the Chinese chopsticks for

the first time, more particularly if the operator has been wandering on

the hills all the morning, and is ravenously hungry. The instruments

should first of all be balanced between the thumb and forefinger of the

right hand; the points are next to be brought carefully together, just

leaving as much room as will allow the coveted morsel to go in between

them; the little bit is then to be neatly seized; but alas! in the act

of lifting the hand, one point of the chopstick too often slips past

the other, and the object of all our hopes drops back again into the

dish, or perhaps even into another dish on the table. Again and again

the same operation is tried, until the poor novice loses all patience,

throws down the chopsticks in despair, and seizes a porcelain spoon,

with which he is more successful. In cases like these the Chinese

themselves are very obliging, although scarcely in a way agreeable

to an Englishman's taste. Your Chinese friend, out of kindness and

politeness, when he sees the dilemma in which you are, reaches across

the table and seizes, with his own chopsticks, which have just come out

of his mouth, the wished-for morsel, and with them lays it on the plate

before you. In common politeness you must express your gratitude and

swallow the offering.

During dinner our host informed us that there were about a hundred

priests connected with the monastery, but that many were always absent

on missions to various parts of the country. On questioning him as

to the mode by which the establishment was supported, he informed

us that a considerable portion of land in the vicinity belonged to

the temple, and that large sums were yearly raised from the sale of

bamboos, which are here very excellent, and of the branches of trees

and brushwood, which are made up in bundles for fire-wood. A number of

tea and rice farms also belong to the priests, which they themselves

cultivate. Besides the sums raised by the sale of these productions,

a considerable revenue must be derived from the contributions of the

devotees who resort to the temple for religious purposes, as well as

from the sums collected by those of the order who are out on begging

excursions at stated seasons of the year. The priests are of course

of all grades, some of them being merely the servants of the others,

both in the house and in the fields. They seem a harmless and simple

race, but are dreadfully ignorant and superstitious. The typhoon of

the previous year, or rather the rain which had accompanied it, had

occasioned a large slip of earth on one of the hill-sides near the

temple, and completely buried ten or twelve acres of excellent paddy

land. On our remarking this, the priests told us with great earnestness

that every one said it was a bad omen for the temple; but one of them

with true Chinese politeness remarked that he had no doubt any evil

influence would now be counteracted, since the temple had been honoured

with a visit from us.

After inspecting the tea farms and the mode of manufacturing it, Mr.

Thom, Mr. Morrison, a son of the late Dr. Morrison, and Mr. Sinclair,

returned to Ningpo, leaving me to prosecute my research in natural

history in this part of the country. I was generally absent from

the temple the whole day, returning at dark with the collections of

plants and birds which I had been lucky enough to meet with in my

peregrinations. The friends of the priests came from all quarters of

the adjacent country to see the foreigner; and, as in the case of a

wild animal, my feeding time seemed to be the most interesting moment

to them. My dinner was placed on a round table in the centre of the

room, and although rather curiously concocted, being half Chinese and

half English, the exercise and fresh air of the mountains gave me a

keen appetite. The difficulties of the chopsticks were soon got over,

and I was able to manage them nearly as well as the Chinese themselves.

The priests and their friends tilled the chairs, which are always

placed down the sides of a Chinese hall, each man with his pipe in his

mouth and his cup of tea by his side. With all deference to my host

and his friends, I was obliged to request the smoking to be stopped,

as it was disagreeable to me while at dinner; in other respects, I

believe I was "polite" enough. I shall never forget how inexpressibly

lonely I felt the first night after the departure of my friends. The

Chinese one by one dropt off to their homes or to bed, and at last my

host himself gave several unequivocal yawns, which reminded me that

it was time to retire for the night. My bed-room was upstairs, and to

get to it I had to pass through a small temple, such as I have already

noticed, dedicated to _Tein-how_, or the "Queen of Heaven," and crowded

with other idols. Incense was burning on the altar in front of the

idols; a solitary lamp shed a dim light over the objects in the room,

and a kind of solemn stillness seemed to pervade the whole place. In

the room below, and also in one in an adjoining house, I could hear the

priests engaged in their devotional exercises, in that singing tone

which is peculiar to them. Then the sounds of the gong fell upon my

ears; and, at intervals, a single solemn toll of the large bronze bell

in the belfry; all which showed that the priests were engaged in public

as well as private devotion. Amidst scenes of this kind, in a strange

country, far from friends and home, impressions are apt to be made

upon the mind, which remain vivid through life; and I feel convinced

I shall never forget the strange mixture of feelings which filled my

mind during the first night of my stay with the priests in the temple

of Tein-tung. I have visited the place often since, passed through the

same little temple, slept in the same bed, and heard the same solemn

sounds throughout the silent watches of the night, and yet the first

impressions remain in my mind distinct and single.

The priests, from the highest to the lowest, always showed me the most

marked attention and kindness. As many of them as I wished cheerfully

followed me in my excursions in the vicinity of the temple; one

carrying my specimen paper, another my plants, and a third my birds,

and so on. The gun seemed an object of great interest to them, being

so different from their own clumsy matchlocks; and percussion caps

were looked upon as most magical little objects. But they were great

cowards, and always kept at a most respectful distance when I was

shooting.

One evening a deputation, headed by the high priest, came and informed

me that the wild boars had come down from the mountains at night, and

were destroying the young shoots of the bamboo, which were then just

coming through the ground, and were in the state in which they are

highly prized as a vegetable for the table. "Well," said I, "what do

you want me to do?"

"Will you be good enough to lend us the gun?"

"Yes; there it stands in the corner of the room."

"Oh, but you must load it for us."

"Very well, I will;" and I immediately loaded the gun with ball.

"There, but take care and don't shoot yourselves." There was now a

long pause; none had sufficient courage to take the gun, and a long

consultation was held between them. At length the spokesman came

forward, with great gravity, and told me they were afraid to fire it

off, but that if I would go with them, and shoot the boar, I should

have it to eat. This was certainly no great sacrifice on the part of

the Budhist priesthood, who do not, or at least should not, eat animal

food. We now sallied forth in a body to fight the wild boars; but the

night was so dark that we could see nothing in the bamboo ravines, and,

perhaps, the noise made by about thirty priests and servants warned the

animals to retire to the brushwood higher up the hills. Be that as it

may, we could neither see nor hear any thing of them, and I confess I

was rather glad, than otherwise, as I thought there was a considerable

chance of my shooting, by mistake, a priest instead of a wild boar.

The priests have two modes of protecting their property from the

ravages of these animals. Deep pits are dug on the hill sides, and, as

there are springs in almost all these places, the pits are scarcely

finished before they are half full of water. The mouth of each pit is

then covered over with a quantity of sticks, rubbish, and grass, to

attract the animal, and no sooner does he begin to bore into it with

his snout, than the whole gives way, and he is plunged, head foremost,

into the pit, from which it is quite impossible for him to extricate

himself, and he is either drowned or becomes an easy prey to the

Chinese. These pits are most dangerous traps to persons unacquainted

with the localities in which they are placed. I had several narrow

escapes, and once in particular, when coming out of a dense mass of

brushwood, I stept unawares on the treacherous mouth of one of them,

and felt the ground under my feet actually giving way; but managing to

throw my arms forward I caught hold of a small twig which was growing

near, and by this means supported myself until I was able to scramble

on to firmer ground. On turning back to examine the place, I found that

the loose rubbish had sunk in, and a deep pit, half full of water, was

exposed to my view. The pit was made narrow at the mouth and widening

inside like a great China vase, being constructed in this manner to

prevent the boar from scrambling out when once fairly in it. Had I

fallen in, it would have been next to impossible to have extricated

myself without assistance, and as the pits are generally dug in the

most retired and wild part of the mountains, my chance would have been

a bad one. The fate of my predecessor, Mr. Douglas, who perished in a

pit of this kind on the Sandwich Islands, must still be fresh in the

recollection of many of my readers, and his melancholy end naturally

coming to my mind at the time, made me doubly thankful for my escape.

The other method of protecting the young bamboos from the ravages of

the wild boar, is an ingenious one. A piece of bamboo wood, about eight

or ten feet long, and rather thicker than a man's arm, is split up the

middle to within a fourth of its length. This is made fast to a tree in

the bamboo thicket, and at an angle of about forty-five degrees, the

split part being left loose, a cord, also made of bamboo, is fastened

to it by one end, and the other is led to some convenient place out

of the thicket, where a man is stationed. When the boars come down

in the dead of night to attack the young shoots, the man pulls the

rope backwards and forwards, and clank, clank, clank goes the bamboo,

producing a loud and hollow sound, which on a quiet evening may be

heard at a great distance. The animals are frightened and make off to

their dens on the hills. The first time I heard these things beating at

night, all over the country, I imagined that some religious ceremony

was going on, the hollow sounds of the bamboo being not unlike those

produced by an instrument used in the Budhist worship in all Chinese

temples.

There are a large number of Budhist temples scattered over all this

part of the country. One, named _Ah-yu-wang_, which I also visited, is,

like _Tein-tung_, of great extent, and seemingly well supported. They

both own large tracts of land in the vicinity of the monasteries, and

have numerous small temples in different parts of the district which

are under their control. All the temples, both large and small, are

built in the most romantic and beautiful situations amongst the hills,

and the neighbouring woods are always preserved and encouraged. What

would indicate the residence of a country gentleman in England, is in

China the sign of a Budhist temple, and this holds good over all the

country. When the weary traveller, therefore, who has been exposed for

hours to the fierce rays of an eastern sun, sees a large clean looking

house showing itself amongst trees on the distant hill-side, he may be

almost certain that it is one of Budha's temples, where the priests

will treat him not only with courtesy, but with kindness.

_Poo-to_, or the Worshipping Island, as it is commonly called by

foreigners, is one of the eastern islands in the Chusan Archipelago,

and seems to be the capital or stronghold of Budhism in this part of

China. This island is not more than five or six miles in circumference,

and, although hilly, its sides and small ravines are pretty well

wooded, particularly in the vicinity of the numerous temples. As it is

only a few hours' sail from Chusan, it had been visited at different

times by a number of our officers during the war, all of whom spoke

highly of its natural beauties and richness of vegetation. I was also

informed that the resident priests were fond of collecting plants,

particularly Orchidaceæ, and that their collections were much increased

by the itinerant habits of the begging priests, who visit the most

distant provinces of the empire, as well as by the donations of the lay

devotees, who come to Poo-to at stated seasons of the year, to worship

and leave their offerings in the temples. I therefore determined to

visit the place in order to judge for myself, and accordingly set out

in July, 1844, accompanied by my friend, Dr. Maxwell, of the Madras

army.

Leaving Chusan at night, with the tide in our favour, we reached the

island at sun-rise on the following morning. We landed, and pursued our

way over a hill and down on the other side by a road which led us into

a beautiful and romantic glen. It is here that the principal group of

temples is built, and when we first caught a glimpse of them, as we

wended our way down the hill, they seemed like a town of considerable

size. As we approached nearer, the view became highly interesting. In

front there was a large artificial pond, filled with the broad green

leaves and noble red and white flowers of the _Nelumbium speciosum_,--a

plant in high favour with the Chinese. Every body who went to Poo-to

admired these beautiful water-lilies. In order to reach the monastery

we crossed a very ornamental bridge built over this pond, which, when

viewed in a line with an old tower close by, has a pretty and striking

appearance.

The temples or halls which contain the idols are extremely spacious,

and resemble those which I have already described at _Tein-tung_ and

_Ah-yu-Wang_. These idols, many of which are thirty or forty feet in

height, are generally made of wood or clay, and then richly gilt. There

is one small temple, however, of a very unassuming appearance, where we

met with some exquisite bronze statues, which would be considered of

great value in England. These, of course, were much smaller than the

others, but, viewed as works of art, they were by far the finest which

I saw during my travels in China.

Having examined these temples, we pursued our way towards another

assemblage of them, about two miles to the eastward and close on the

sea-shore. We entered the courts through a kind of triumphal arch,

which looks out upon the sea, and found that these temples were

constructed upon the same plan as all the others. As we had determined

to make this part of the island our home during our stay, we fixed upon

the cleanest looking temple, and asked the High Priest to allow us,

without farther delay, to put our beds and travelling baggage into it.

On the following day we inspected various parts of the island. Besides

the large temples just noticed, there are about sixty or seventy

smaller ones, built on all the hill sides, each of which contains

three or four priests, who are all under the superior, or abbot, who

resides near one of the large temples. Even on the top of the highest

hill, probably 1500 or 1800 feet above the level of the sea, we found a

temple of considerable size and in excellent repair. There are winding

stone steps from the sea beach all the way up to this temple, and a

small resting-place about half way up the hill, where the weary devotee

may rest and drink of the refreshing stream which flows down the

sides of the mountain, and in the little temple close at hand, which

is also crowded with idols, he can supplicate Budha for strength to

enable him to reach the end of his journey. We were surprised to find

a Budhist temple in such excellent order as the one on the summit of

the hill proved to be in. It is a striking fact, that almost all these

places are crumbling fast into ruins. There are a few exceptions, in

cases where they happen to get a good name amongst the people from the

supposed kindness of the gods; but the great mass are in a state of

decay.

From the upper temple on Poo-to-san the view is strikingly grand.

Hugged mountains are seen rising one above another and capped with

clouds. Hundreds of islands, some fertile, others rocky and barren,

lay scattered over the sea. When we looked in one direction amongst

the islands, the water was yellow and muddy; but, to the eastward, the

deep blue ocean had resumed its usual colour, and the line between the

yellow waters and the blue was distinctly and curiously marked.

The wood on the island is preserved in the same manner as it is around

all the other Budhist temples. The principal species of trees and

shrubs met with are _Pinus sinensis, Cunningham lanceolata_, yews,

cypresses, the camphor tree, tallow tree, oaks, and bamboos. The

_Camellia japonica_ grows spontaneously in the woods, where we met with

many specimens from twenty to thirty feet in height and with stems

thick in proportion. The variety, however, was only the well-known

single red. In other respects the flora of Poo-to is nearly the same as

on the island of Chusan.

A few pet plants were cultivated by all the priests who were fortunate

enough to have private residences at the little temples on the sides

of the hills. We were much pleased with the interest these poor people

took in their favourite flowers, but were disappointed in the number

and variety of plants, which, from the reports of others, we expected

to have found. Almost the only orchidaceous plant which they had,

proved to be the common and well-known _Cymbidium sinense. Daphne

odorata_, two or three species of _Gardenia_, several varieties of

Rose, the common Balsam, and the favourite _Nelumbium_ were nearly all

the plants met with in the gardens of the priests.

The island of Poo-to is set apart entirely as a residence for the

priests of the Budhist religion. Few other persons are allowed to

live there, and these are either servants or in some way connected

with the priests. No women are permitted to reside on the island, it

being against the principles of the Budhists to allow their priests

to marry. The number of priests are estimated at 2000, but many of

them are constantly absent on begging expeditions for the support

of their religion. This establishment, like Tein-tung, has also a

portion of land allotted to it for its support, and the remainder of

the funds are made up by the subscriptions of the devotees. On certain

high days, at different periods of the year, many thousands of both

sexes, but particularly females, resort to these temples, clad in

their best attire, to pay their vows and engage in the other exercises

of heathen worship. Little stalls are then seen in the temples or at

the doorways for the sale of incense, candles, paper made up in the

form of the ingots of Sycee-silver, and other holy things which are

considered acceptable offerings to the gods, and are either consumed

in the temples or carried home to bring a blessing upon the houses

and families of those who purchase them. The profits of these sales,

of course, go to the support of the establishment. When we consider

that these poor deluded people sometimes travel a distance of several

hundred miles to worship in the temples on Poo-to-san and other

celebrated places, we cannot but admire their spirit of devotion. I was

once staying in the temple of _Tein-tung_ when it was visited for three

days by devotees from all parts of the country. As they lined the roads

on their way to the temple, clad in the graceful and flowing costume of

the East, the mind was naturally led back to those days of scripture

history when Jerusalem was in its glory, and the Jews, the chosen

people of God, came from afar to worship in its temple.

Although no Christian can look upon the priests and devotees of the

Budhist creed without an eye of pity, yet he must give them credit

for their conduct, since he has every reason to believe them sincere,

and I am inclined to believe that justice has not been done them in

this respect. Mr. Gutzlaff, in describing his visit to Poo-to, is of

a different opinion. He says, "We were present at the vespers of the

priests, which they chanted in the Pali language, not unlike the Latin

service of the Romish church. They held rosaries in their hands, which

rested folded upon their breasts. One of them had a small bell, by the

tinkling of which their service was regulated; and they occasionally

beat the drum and large bell to rouse Budha's attention to their

prayers. The same words were a hundred times repeated. _None of the

officiating persons showed any interest in the ceremony_, for some

were looking around laughing and joking, while others muttered their

prayers. The few people who were present, not to attend the worship,

but to gaze at us, did not seem, in the least degree, to feel the

solemnity of the service. "What Mr. Gutzlaff says is doubtless true,

but after residing for months in their temples, at different times,

and in different parts of the country, I have no hesitation in saying

that such conduct is very far from being general. In certain instances

I have seen it myself, but this levity and apparent want of attention

was exhibited by the servants and lookers on, who were taking no part

in the ceremony, and not by the respectable portion of the priests.

On the contrary, I have generally been struck with the solemnity

with which their devotional exercises were conducted. I have often

walked into Chinese temples when the priests were engaged in prayer,

and, although there would have been some apology for them had their

attention been diverted, they went on in the most solemn manner until

the conclusion of the service, as if no foreigner were present. They

then came politely up to me, examining my dress and every thing about

me with the most earnest curiosity. Nor does this apply to priests

only; the laity, and particularly the female sex, seem equally sincere

when they engage in their public devotions. Whether they are what they

appear to be, or how often they are in this pious frame of mind, are

questions which I cannot answer. Before judging harshly of the Chinese

let the reader consider what effect would be produced upon the members

of a _Christian_ church by the unexpected entrance of a small-footed

Chinese lady, or a Mandarin, with the gold button and peacock feather

mounted on his hat, and his long tail dangling over his shoulders. I am

far from being an admirer of the Budhist priesthood; they are generally

an imbecile race, and shamefully ignorant of every thing but the simple

forms of their religion, but nevertheless there are many traits in

their character not unworthy of imitation.

There are two other sects in China, namely, the followers of

_Kong-foo-tze_ or Confucius, and the sect of _Taou_ or Reason. Although

these three sects form the principal part of the population, it is well

known that there are a great number of Mohommedans in every part of

the empire, who are not only tolerated, but admitted to offices under

government in the same manner as the members of the three established

sects. Jews also are found in several districts, but more particularly

at a place called Kae-foong-foo, in the province of Honan.

The various religious ceremonies which the Chinese are continually

performing prove at least that they are very superstitions. In all the

southern towns every house has its temple or altar both inside and

outside. The altar in the inside is generally placed at the end of the

principal hall or shop, as the case may be, raised a few feet from the

ground, and having some kind of representation of the family deity

placed upon it. This is surrounded with gaudy tinsel paper, and on

the first of the Chinese month or other high days candles and incense

are burned on the table which is placed in front of it. The altar on

the outside of the door resembles a little furnace, in which the same

ceremonies are regularly performed. In the vicinity of small villages,

and sometimes in the most retired situations, the stranger meets with

little joss-houses or temples, gaudily decorated with paintings and

tinsel paper, and stuck round about with the remains of candles and

sticks of incense. In almost all Chinese towns there are shops for

the sale of idols of all kinds and sizes, varying in price from a few

"cash" to a very large sum. Many of those exposed for sale are of great

age, and have evidently changed hands several times. I am inclined to

believe that the Chinese exchange those gods which do not please them

for others of higher character, and which they suppose are more likely

to grant an answer to their prayers, or bring prosperity to their homes

or their villages.

The periodical offerings to the gods are very striking exhibitions to

the stranger who looks upon them for the first time. When staying at

Shanghae, in November, 1844, I witnessed a most curious spectacle in

the house where I was residing. It was a family offering to the gods.

Early in the morning the principal hall in the house was set in order,

a large table was placed in the centre, and shortly afterwards covered

with small dishes filled with the various articles commonly used as

food by the Chinese. All these were of the very best description which

could be procured. After a certain time had elapsed a number of candles

were lighted, and columns of smoke and fragrant odours began to rise

from the incense which was burning on the table. All the inmates of the

house and their friends were clad in their best attire, and in turn

came to _Ko-tou_, or bow lowly and repeatedly in front of the table

and the altar. The scene, although it was an idolatrous one, seemed

to me to have something very impressive about it, and whilst I pitied

the delusion of our host and his friends, I could not but admire their

devotion. In a short time after this ceremony was completed a large

quantity of tinsel paper, made up in the form and shape of the ingots

of Sycee silver common in China, was heaped on the floor in front of

the tables, the burning incense was then taken from the table and

placed in the midst of it, and the whole consumed together. By and by,

when the gods were supposed to have finished their repast, all the

articles of food were removed from the tables, cut up, and consumed by

people connected with the family.

On another occasion, when at Ning-po, having been out some distance in

the country, it was night and dark before I reached the cast gate of

the city, near which I was lodged in the house of a Chinese merchant.

The city gates were closed, but two or three loud knocks soon brought

the warder, who instantly admitted me. I was now in the widest and

finest street in the city, which seemed in a blaze of light and

unusually lively for any part of a Chinese town after nightfall. The

sounds of music fell, upon my ear, the gong, the drum, and the more

plaintive and pleasing tones of several wind instruments. I was soon

near enough to observe what was going on, and saw, at a glance, that it

was a public offering to the gods, but far grander and more striking

than I had before witnessed. The table was spread in the open street,

and every thing was on a large and expensive scale. Instead of small

dishes, whole animals were sacrificed on the occasion. A pig was placed

on one side of the table, and a sheep on the other, the former scraped

clean, in the usual way, and the latter skinned; the entrails of both

were removed, and on each were placed some flowers, an onion, and a

knife. The other parts of the table groaned with all the delicacies

in common use amongst the respectable portion of the Chinese, such as

fowls, ducks, numerous compound dishes, fruits, vegetables, and rice.

Chairs were placed at one end of the table on which the gods were

supposed to sit during the meal, and chopsticks were regularly laid at

the sides of the different dishes. A blaze of light illuminated the

whole place, and the smoke of the fragrant incense rose up into the air

in wreaths. At intervals the band struck up their favourite plaintive

national airs, and altogether the whole scene was one of the strangest

and most curious which it has ever been my lot to witness.

There is another ceremony of a religious character which I frequently

observed in the northern cities--I allude to processions in honour

of the gods. I saw one of them at Shanghae, which must have been at

least a mile in length. The gods, or josses, were dressed up in the

finest silks, and carried about in splendid sedan-chairs, preceded

and succeeded by their numerous devotees, superbly dressed for the

occasion, and bearing the different badges of office. The dresses of

the officials were exactly the same as of those who form the train

of some of the high mandarins. Some had a broad fan, made of peacock

feathers, which they wore on the sides of their hats, others were

clad in glaring theatrical dresses, with low caps, and two long black

feathers stuck in them, and hanging over their shoulders like two

horns. Then there were the ill-looking executioners with long, conical,

black hats on their heads, and whips in their hands for the punishment

of the refractory. Bands of music, placed in different parts of the

procession, played at intervals as it proceeded. Anxious to see the end

of this curious exhibition, I followed the procession until it arrived

at a temple in the suburbs, where it halted. The gods were taken out of

the sedan-chairs, and replaced with due honours, in the temple, from

which they had been taken in the morning. Here their numerous votaries

bent low before them, burned incense, and left their gifts upon the

altar. Numerous groups of well-dressed ladies and their children were

scattered over the ground in the vicinity of the temple, all bending

their knees and seemingly engaged in earnest devotion. A large quantity

of paper, in the form of the Sycee ingots, was heaped up on the grass

as it was brought by the different devotees, and, when the ceremonies

of the day were drawing to a close, the whole was burned in honour of,

or as an offering to, the gods. The sight was interesting, but it was

one which no Christian could look upon without feelings of the deepest

commiseration.

In the course of my travels in China I often met with Christian

missionaries, both Protestant and Roman Catholic, who have been

labouring amongst the Chinese for many years. Until very lately the

efforts of the Protestants had been chiefly confined to Macao and

Canton. Since the war, however, they have had an opportunity of

extending their operations, and some are now settled at all the new

ports which have been opened for foreign trade, as well as on our

Island of Hong-kong, which will now become their head-quarters.

The medical missionaries also act in conjunction with the others, and

are of great use in curing many of the diseases which prevail in the

country, while, at the same time, the truths of the Christian faith

are presented to the minds of their patients. Dr. Lockhart of the

London Missionary Society, who has established himself in the town of

Shanghae, had his hospital daily crowded with patients, many of whom

had come from very distant parts of the country. All were attended to

in the most skilful and careful manner, "without money and without

price." The Rev. Mr. Medhurst, who has laboured long and zealously as a

Christian missionary in the East, was also at Shanghae. This gentleman

is well known as an eminent Chinese scholar, and, besides preaching to

the people in their own tongue, he has a printing establishment with

Chinese type continually at work, for the dissemination of the truths

of the gospel. Several other gentlemen and their families had arrived

at the same port previous to my departure, and were closely engaged

in the study of the language. Ning-po and Amoy were also occupied by

missionaries, both from England and America, and I suppose, ere this

time, some have also reached Foo-chow-foo on the River Min.

From my own experience of Chinese character, and from what I have seen

of the working of the Medical Missionary Society, I am convinced that

it must be a powerful auxiliary to the missionaries in the conversion

of the Chinese. I regret, however, to say, that up to the present time

little progress appears to have been made. One portion of the people,

and a large one, is entirely indifferent to religion of any kind, and

the rest are so bigoted and conceited, that it will be a most difficult

task to convince them that any religion is better or purer than their

own.

The Roman Catholic missionaries conduct their operations in a manner

somewhat different from the Protestants. They do not restrict

themselves to the out-ports of the empire, where foreigners are

permitted to trade, but penetrate into the interior, and distribute

themselves over all the country. One of their bishops, an Italian

nobleman, resides in the province of Keang-soo, a few miles from

Shanghae, where I have frequently met him. He dresses in the costume

of the country, and speaks the language with the most perfect fluency.

In the place where he lives he is surrounded by his converts; in

fact it is a little Christian village, where he is perfectly safe,

and I believe is seldom if ever annoyed in any way by the Chinese

authorities. When new Roman Catholic missionaries arrive, they are met

by some of their brethren or their converts at the port nearest their

destination, and secretly conveyed into the interior; the Chinese dress

is substituted for the European; their heads are shaved, and in this

state they are conducted to the scene of their future labours, where

they commence the study of the language, if they have not learned it

before, and in about two years are able to speak it sufficiently well

to enable them to instruct the people. These poor men submit to many

privations and dangers for the cause they have espoused, and although

I do not approve of the doctrines which they teach, I must give them

the highest praise for enthusiasm and devotion to their faith. European

customs, habits, and luxuries are all abandoned from the moment they

put their feet on the shores of China; parents, friends, and home, in

many instances, are heard of no more; before them lies a heathen land

of strangers, cold and unconcerned about the religion for which they

themselves are sacrificing everything, and they know that their graves

will be far away from the land of their birth and the home of their

early years. They seem to have much of the spirit and enthusiasm of

the first preachers of the Christian religion, when they were sent out

into the world by their Divine Master to "preach the gospel to every

creature," and "to obey God rather than man."

According to the accounts of these missionaries, the number of

converts to their faith is very considerable; but I fear they, as

well as the Protestants, are often led away by false appearances and

assertions. Many of the Chinese are unprincipled and deceitful enough

to become Christians or in fact any thing else, in name, to accomplish

the object they may have in view, and they would become Budhists

the very next day should any inducement be offered them to do so.

Judging from appearances, the day must yet be very distant when the

Chinese, as a nation, will be converted to the Christian faith. Could

those individuals in our time, who predict the near approach of the

Millennium, see the length and breadth of this vast country, with its

three hundred millions of souls, they would surely pause and reflect

before they published their absurd and foolish predictions.

CHAP. XI.

THE TEA-PLANT OF CHINA.--THE SPECIES FOUND IN THE GREEN AND BLACK

TEA DISTRICTS.--BEST SITUATION FOR TEA PLANTATIONS.--REMARKS

ON THEIR MANAGEMENT.--SEASONS, AND METHODS, OF GATHERING

THE LEAVES.--MANUFACTURE OF TEA.--COTTAGES AMONGST THE TEA

HILLS.--FURNACES AND DRYING PANS.--FIRST APPLICATION OF HEAT.--ROLLING

PROCESS.--EXPOSURE OF THE LEAVES TO THE AIR.--SECOND HEATING.--LENGTH

OF TIME REQUIRED.--TWO KINDS OF TEA.--DIFFERENCE IN THE MANUFACTURE

OF EACH.--SELECTING AND PACKING TEAS.--APPEARANCE AND COLOUR OF THE

LEAF.--PECULIAR TASTE OF FOREIGNERS FOR DYED TEAS.--GOOD SENSE OF THE

CHINESE.--TEA MERCHANTS.--THEIR VISITS TO THE TEA HILLS.--MODE OF

BUYING FROM THE SMALL GROWERS.--BLACK TEA DISTRICT IN FOKIEN.--TEAS

DIVIDED INTO TWO KINDS.--PECULIAR METHOD OF PREPARING EACH.--CAUSE

OF THEIR DIFFERENCE IN COLOUR.--FLOWERS USED IN SCENTING THE FINER

TEAS.--SIR JOHN FRANCIS DAVIS'S REMARKS ON DIFFERENT KINDS OF TEAS SOLD

AT CANTON.

There are few subjects connected with the vegetable kingdom which have

attracted such a large share of public notice as the tea-plant of

China. Its cultivation on the Chinese hills, the particular species or

variety which produces the black and green teas of commerce, and the

method of preparing the leaves, have always been objects of peculiar

interest. The jealousy of the Chinese government, in former times,

prevented foreigners from visiting any of the districts where tea is

cultivated, and the information derived from the Chinese merchants,

even scanty as it was, was not to be depended upon. And hence we find

our English authors contradicting each other, some asserting that the

black and green teas are produced by the same variety, and that the

difference in colour is the result of a different mode of preparation,

while others say that the black teas are produced from the plant called

by botanists _Thea Bohea_, and the green from _Thea viridis_, both of

which we have had for many years in our gardens in England.

During my travels in China since the last war, I have had frequent

opportunities of inspecting some extensive tea districts in the black

and green tea countries of Canton, Fokien, and Chekiang, and the result

of these observations is now laid before the reader. It will prove that

even those who have had the best means of judging have been deceived,

and that the greater part of the black and green teas which are brought

yearly from China to Europe and America are obtained from the same

species or variety, namely, from the _Thea viridis_. Dried specimens

of this plant were prepared in the districts I have named by myself,

and are now in the herbarium of the Horticultural Society of London, so

that there can be no longer any doubt upon the subject.

In various parts of the Canton province, where I had an opportunity of

seeing tea cultivated, the species proved to be the _Thea Bohea_, or

what is commonly called the black tea plant. In the green tea districts

of the north--I allude more particularly to the province of Chekiang--I

never met with a single plant of this species, which is so common in

the fields and gardens near Canton. All the plants in the green tea

country near Ning-po, on the Islands of the Chusan Archipelago, and

in every part of the province which I had an opportunity of visiting,

proved, without exception, to be the _Thea viridis_. Two hundred miles

further to the north-west, in the province of Kiang-nan, and only a

short distance from the tea hills in that quarter, I also found in

gardens this same species of tea.

Thus far my actual observation exactly verified the opinions I had

formed on the subject before I left England, viz., that the black teas

were prepared from the _Thea Bohea_, and the green from _Thea viridis_.

When I left the north, on my way to the city of Foo-chow-foo, on the

River Min, in the province of Fokien, I had no doubt that I should

find the tea hills there covered with the other species, _Thea Bohea_,

from which we generally suppose the black teas are made; and this was

the more likely to be the case as this species actually derives its

specific name from the Bohee hills in this province. Great was my

surprise to find all the plants on the tea hills near Foo-chow exactly

the same as those in the green tea districts of the north. Here were

then green tea plantations on the black tea hills, and not a single

plant of the Thea Bohea to be seen. Moreover, at the time of my visit,

the natives were busily employed in the _manufacture of black teas_.

Although the specific differences of the tea-plants were well known to

me, I was so much surprised, and I may add amused, at this discovery,

that I procured a set of specimens for the herbarium, and also dug up a

living plant, which I took northward to Chekiang. On comparing it with

those which grow on the green tea hills, no difference whatever was

observed.

It appears, therefore, that the black and green teas of the northern

districts of China (those districts in which the greater part of the

teas for the foreign markets are made) are both produced from the same

variety, and that that variety is the _Thea viridis_, or, what is

commonly called the green tea plant. On the other hand, those black and

green teas which are manufactured in considerable quantities in the

vicinity of Canton are obtained from the _Thea Bohea_, or black tea.

And, really, when we give the subject our unprejudiced consideration,

there seems nothing surprising in this state of things. Moreover, we

must bear in mind that our former opinions were formed upon statements

made to us by the Chinese at Canton, who will say any thing which suits

their purpose, and rarely give themselves any trouble to ascertain

whether the information they communicate be true or false.

The soil of the tea districts is, of course, much richer in the

northern provinces than it is in Quantung. In Fokien and Chekiang it is

a rich sandy loam, very different from the sample which will be found

noticed in the chapter on climate and soil. Tea shrubs will not succeed

well unless they have a rich soil to grow in. The continual gathering

of their leaves is very detrimental to their health, and, in fact,

ultimately kills them. Hence a principal object with the grower is to

keep his bushes in as robust health as possible; and this cannot be

done if the soil be poor.

The tea plantations in the north of China are always situated on the

lower and most fertile sides of the hills, and never on the low lands.

The shrubs are planted in rows about four feet apart and about the

same distance between each row, and look, at a distance, like little

shrubberies of evergreens.

The farms are small, each consisting of from one to four or five acres;

indeed, every cottager has his own little tea garden, the produce of

which supplies the wants of his family, and the surplus brings him in a

few dollars, which are spent on the other necessaries of life. The same

system is practised in every thing relating to Chinese agriculture. The

cotton, silk, and rice farms are generally all small and managed upon

the same plan. There are few sights more pleasing than a Chinese family

in the interior engaged in gathering the tea leaves, or, indeed, in

any of their other agricultural pursuits. There is the old man, it may

be the grand--father, or even the great-grandfather, patriarch like,

directing his descendants, many of whom are in their youth and prime,

while others are in their childhood, in the labours of the field. He

stands in the midst of them, bowed down with age. But, to the honour of

the Chinese as a nation, he is always looked up to by all with pride

and affection, and his old age and grey hairs are honoured, revered,

and loved. When, after the labours of the day are over, they return

to their humble and happy homes, their fare consists chiefly of rice,

fish, and vegetables, which they enjoy with great zest, and are happy

and contented. I really believe that there is no country in the world

where the agricultural population are better off than they are in the

north of China. Labour with them is pleasure, for its fruits are eaten

by themselves, and the rod of the oppressor is unfelt and unknown.

In the green tea districts of Chekiang near Ning-po, the first crop of

leaves is generally gathered about the middle of April. This consists

of the young leaf-buds just as they begin to unfold, and forms a fine

and delicate kind of young hyson, which is held in high estimation

by the natives, and is generally sent about in small quantities as

presents to their friends. It is a scarce and expensive article, and

the picking of the leaves in such a young state does considerable

injury to the tea plantations. The summer rains, however, which fall

copiously about this season, moisten the earth and air, and if the

plants are young and vigorous they soon push out fresh leaves.

In a fortnight or three weeks from the time of the first picking, or

about the beginning of May, the shrubs are again covered with fresh

leaves, and are ready for the second gathering, which is, in fact, the

most important of the season. The third and last gathering, which takes

place as soon as new leaves are formed, produces a very inferior kind

of tea, which, I believe, is rarely sent out of the district.

The mode of gathering and preparing the leaves of the tea-plants is

extremely simple. We have been so long accustomed to magnify and

mystify every thing relating to the Chinese, that, in all their arts

and manufactures, we expect to find some peculiar and out of the way

practice, when the fact is, that many operations in China are more

simple in their character than in most other parts of the world. To

rightly understand the process of rolling and drying the leaves, which

I am about to describe, it must be borne in mind that the grand object

is to expel the moisture, and at the same time to retain, as much

as possible, of the aromatic and other desirable secretions of the

species. The system adopted to attain this end is as simple as it is

efficacious.

In the harvest seasons the natives are seen in little family groups on

the side of every hill, when the weather is dry, engaged in gathering

the tea leaves. They do not seem so particular, as I imagined they

would have been, in this operation, but strip the leaves off rapidly

and promiscuously, and throw them all into round baskets made for

the purpose out of split bamboo or rattan. In the beginning of May,

when the principal gathering takes place, the young seed vessels are

about as large as peas. These are also stripped off and dried with the

leaves; it is these seed-vessels, which we often see in our tea, and

which have some slight resemblance to young capers. When a sufficient

quantity of leaves are gathered, they are carried home to the cottage

or barn, where the operation of drying is performed.

The Chinese cottages, amongst the tea hills, are simple and rude in

their construction, and remind one of what we used to see in Scotland

in former years, when the cow and pig lived and fed in the same house

with the peasant. Scottish cottages, however, even in these days,

were always better furnished and more comfortable than those of the

Chinese are at the present time. Nevertheless, it is in these poor

cottages that a large proportion of the teas, with their high-sounding

names, are first prepared. Barns, sheds, and other outhouses, are also

frequently used for the same purpose, particularly about the temples

and monasteries.

The drying pans and furnaces in these places are very simply

constructed. The pans, which are of iron, and are made as thin as

possible, are round and shallow, and, in fact, are the same, or nearly

the same, which the natives have in general use for cooking their rice.

A row of these are built into brick work and chunam, having a flue

constructed below them, with the grating, or rather fire-place, at

one end, and the chimney, or, at least, some hole to allow the smoke

to escape, at the other. A chimney is a secondary consideration with

the Chinese, and in many instances which came under my observation,

the smoke, after passing below the drying-pans, was allowed to escape,

as it best could, through the doors and roofs of the houses, which,

indeed, in China, is no difficult matter.

When the pans are first fixed, the brick-work and chunam are smoothed

off very neatly round their edges and carried up a little higher,

particularly at the back of the pans, at the same time widening

gradually. When complete, the whole has the appearance of a row of

large high-backed basins, each being three or four times larger than

the shallow iron pan which is placed at its bottom, immediately over

the flue. When the fire is applied, the upper part of these basins,

which is formed of chunam, gets heated as well as the iron pan, though

in a less degree. The drying pans, thus formed, being low in front, and

rising very gradually at the sides and back, the person, whose duty it

is to attend to the drying of the leaves, can readily manage them, and

scatter them about over the back of the basin. The accompanying sketch,

which was made on the spot, will render this description more clear.

[Illustration: Furnaces and Drying Pans.]

The leaves having been brought in from the hills are placed in the

cottage or drying-house. It is now the duty of one individual to light

the little fire at the mouth of the flue, and to regulate it as nicely

as possible. The pans become hot very soon after the warm air has

begun to circulate in the flue beneath them. A quantity of leaves,

from a sieve or basket, are now thrown into the pans, and turned over,

shaken up, and kept in motion by men and women stationed there for this

purpose. The leaves are immediately affected by the heat. They begin to

crack, and become quite moist with the vapour or sap which they give

out on the application of the heat. This part of the process lasts

about five minutes, in which time the leaves lose their crispness,

and become soft and pliable. They are then taken out of the pans and

thrown upon a table, the upper part of which is made of split pieces of

bamboo as represented in the annexed sketch. Three or four persons now

surround the table, and the heap of tea leaves is divided into as many

parcels, each individual taking as many as he can hold in his hands,

and the rolling process commences. I cannot give a better idea of this

operation than by comparing it to a baker working and rolling his

dough. Both hands are used in the very same way; the object being to

express the sap and moisture, and at the same time to twist the leaves.

Two or three times during the operation the little bundles of rolled

leaves are held up and shaken out upon the table, and are then again

taken up and pressed and rolled as before. This part of the process

also lasts about five minutes, during which time a large portion of

green juice has been expressed, and may be seen finding its way down

between the interstices of the bamboos. The leaves being now pressed,

twisted, and curled, do not occupy a quarter of the space which they

did before the operation.

[Illustration: The Rolling Process.]

When the rolling process is completed the leaves are removed from the

table and shaken out for the last time, thinly, upon a large sort of

screen, also made out of split pieces of bamboo, and are exposed to the

action of the air. The best days for this purpose are those which are

dry and cloudy, with very little sun. The object being to expel the

moisture in the most gentle manner, and, at the same time, to allow the

leaves to remain as soft and pliable as possible. When the sun is clear

and powerful the moisture evaporates too rapidly, and the leaves are

left crisp, coarse, and not in a proper state to undergo the remaining

part of the process. There is no stated time for this exposure, as

much depends upon the nature of the weather and the convenience of the

work-people; sometimes I have seen them go on with the remaining part

of the operation without at all exposing the leaves to the air.

Having in this manner got rid of a certain part of the superfluous

moisture, the leaves, which are now soft and pliant, are again

thrown into the drying-pans, and the second heating commences.

Again one individual takes his post at the furnace, and keeps up a

slow and steady fire. Others resume their places at the different

drying-pans--one at each--and commence stirring and throwing up the

leaves, so that they may all have an equal share of the fire, and none

get scorched or burned. The process of drying thus goes on slowly and

regularly. This part of the operation soon becomes more easy, for

the leaves, as they part with their moisture, twist and curl, and

consequently take up much less room than they do at first, and mix

together more readily. The tea leaves being now rather too hot for

the hand, a small and neat brush, made of bamboo, is used instead of

the fingers for stirring them up from the bottom of the pan. By this

means the leaves are scattered about on the smooth chunam-work, which

forms the back of the drying-pan, and, as they roll down on this heated

inclined plane they dry slowly, and twist at the same time. During

this operation the men and women who are employed never leave their

respective stations, one keeps slowly feeding the fire, and the others

continually stir the leaves. No very exact degree of temperature is

attempted to be kept up, for they do not use the thermometer, but a

slow and steady fire is quite sufficient; that is, the pan is made and

kept so hot, that I could not place my hand upon it for a second of

time. In order to get a correct idea of the time required to complete

this second part of the process, I referred to my watch on different

occasions, and at different tea farms, and always found that it

occupied about an hour; that is, from the time the leaves were put into

the pan after exposure to the air, until they were perfectly dry.

When the operation of drying is going on largely, some of the pans

in the range are used for finishing the process, while others, and

the hottest ones, are heating and moistening the leaves before they

are squeezed and rolled. Thus a considerable number of hands can be

employed at once, and the work goes on rapidly without loss of time or

heat, the latter of which is of some importance in a country so ill

provided with fuel.

The tea prepared in the manner which I have just described is greenish

in colour, and of a most excellent quality. It is called by the Chinese

in the province of Chekiang, _Tsaou-tsing_, or the tea which is _dried

in the pan_, to distinguish it from the _Hong-tsing_, or that kind

which is dried in flat bamboo baskets over a slow fire of charcoal.

This latter kind--the _Hong-tsing_,--is prepared in the following

manner:--The first process, up to the period of rolling and exposure to

the air, is exactly the same as that which I have just described, but

instead of being put into the drying-pan for the second heating like

the _Tsaou-tsing_, the _Hong-tsing_ is shaken out into flat baskets,

which are placed over tubs containing charcoal and ashes. The charcoal,

when ignited, burns slowly and sends out a mild and gentle heat.

Indeed, the only difference between the two teas consists in the mode

of firing, the latter being dried less and more slowly than the former.

The _Hong-tsing_ is not so green in colour as the _Tsaou-tsing_, and I

believe has rarely been exported.

After the drying is completed the tea is picked, sifted, divided into

different kinds and qualities, and prepared for packing. This is a

part of the operation which requires great care, more especially when

the tea is intended for the foreign market, as the value of the sample

depends much upon the "smallness and evenness" of the leaf, as well as

upon its other good qualities. In those districts where the teas are

manufactured solely for exportation, the natives are very particular in

the rolling process, and hence the teas from these districts are better

divided and more _even_--although I should doubt their being really

better in quality--than they are in the eastern parts of the province

of Chekiang. When they have been duly assorted, a man puts on a pair

of clean cloth or straw shoes, and treads the tea firmly into baskets

or boxes, and the operation is considered complete, in so far as the

grower is concerned.

I have stated that the plants grown in the district of Chekiang produce

green teas, but it must not be supposed that they are the _green_

teas which are exported to England. The leaf has a much more natural

colour, and has little or none of what we call the "beautiful bloom"

upon it, which is so much admired in Europe and America. There is now

no doubt that all these "blooming" green teas, which are manufactured

at Canton, are dyed with prussian blue and gypsum, to suit the taste

of the foreign "barbarians:" indeed, the process may be seen any day,

during the season, by those who will give themselves the trouble to

seek after it. It is very likely that the same ingredients are also

used in dying the northern green teas for the foreign market; of this,

however, I am not quite certain. There is a vegetable dye obtained from

_Isatis indigotica_ much used in the northern districts, and called

_Tein-ching_, and it is not unlikely that it may be the substance which

is employed.

The Chinese never use these dyed teas themselves, and I certainly

think their taste in this respect is more correct than ours. It is

not to be supposed that the dye used can produce any very bad effects

upon the consumer, for, had this been the case, it would have been

discovered before now; but if entirely harmless or inert, its being so

must be ascribed to the very small quantity which is employed in the

manufacture.

When the teas are ready for sale, the large tea merchants or their

servants come out from the principal towns of the district, and take

up their quarters in all the little inns or eating houses, which are

very numerous in every part of the country. They also bring coolies

loaded with the copper coin of the country, with which they pay for

their purchases. As soon as the merchants are known to have arrived in

the district, the tea growers bring their produce for inspection and

sale. These little farmers or their labourers may now be seen hastening

along the different roads, each with two baskets or chests slung across

his shoulder on his bamboo pole. When they arrive at the merchant's

abiding place the baskets are opened before him, and the quality of

the tea inspected. If he is pleased with its appearance and smell, and

the parties agree as to the price, the tea is weighed, the money paid

down, and the grower gets his strings of copper money slung over his

shoulder, and returns to his farm. But should the price offered appear

too low, the baskets are immediately shouldered with the greatest

apparent independence, and carried away to some opposition merchant.

It, however, sometimes happens that a merchant makes a contract with

some of the tea growers before the season commences, in which case

the price is arranged in the usual way, and generally a part paid in

advance. This, I understand, is frequently the case at Canton when a

foreign resident wishes to secure any particular kind of tea.

After the teas are bought up in the district where they are grown,

they are conveyed to the most convenient town, where they are assorted

and properly packed for the European and American markets. Such is the

system of green tea culture and manufacture which came under my own

observation in the province of Chekiang.

_The black tea districts_ of Fokien, which I visited, are managed in

the same way as those of Chekiang.

I have already said that the species of plant which produces the black

teas near Foo-chow is the very same as that found in the green tea

districts of the north. Being further south, and of course in a hotter

climate, the tea plant of Fokien is generally grown at a high elevation

amongst the hills. At the risk of some little repetition I will insert

an account of my visit to the tea hills of Fokien.

Every cottager, or small farmer, has two or three patches of tea

shrubs growing on the hill sides, which are generally planted and kept

in order by the members of his own family. When the gathering season

arrives, the cottage doors are locked, and all proceed to the hills

with their baskets and commence plucking the leaves. This business, of

course, only goes on during fine days when the leaves are dry.

The first gathering takes place just when the leaf-buds begin to unfold

themselves in early spring. This tea is scarce and of a very superior

quality, being, in fact, the same, or nearly the same, as that which

is made from the young leaves in the green-tea district. The second

gathering produces the principal crop of the season; the third crop is

coarse and inferior.

When the leaves are brought home from the hills, they are first of all

emptied out into large flat bamboo sieves, and, providing the day is

not too bright, are exposed in the open air to dry off any superfluous

moisture. When this moisture has evaporated, convenient portions of the

leaves are brought in and thrown into a round flat iron pan, such as

the Chinese use for boiling their rice, and are exposed to the heat of

a gentle fire which is lighted below them. As soon as this heat reaches

them, they give out a large quantity of moisture with a crackling

noise, and they soon become soft and pliant. The person who attends to

them stirs them about with his hands, and in about five minutes takes

them out and puts in a fresh supply. The heated leaves are emptied out

on a large round and flat bamboo sieve, which is placed upon a table

at a convenient height from the ground, and the process of rolling

commences. Three or four persons take a portion of the heated leaves

and begin to squeeze and roll them in the manner which I have already

described. This goes on for a minute or two, when each person takes his

portion and examines the effects which have already been produced; it

is then shaken well out upon the table, after which it is gathered up

and the operation of rolling and squeezing goes on as before. This is

repeated three or four times, and then the whole is shaken well out,

on another large flat bamboo sieve, in such a manner as to spread it

thinly upon it.

Up to this stage of the process all the leaves have been subjected to

the same treatment. But the tea in this district is now divided into

two classes, each of which is treated in a peculiar manner. They are

called, in the language of the district, _Luk-cha_ and _Hong-cha_. The

former seems to be a kind of mixture of black and green, and I should

imagine it is only made for the use of the natives themselves; the

latter is our common black tea.

_The Luk-cha_ is prepared in the following manner:--The leaves, after

being rolled and squeezed, are shaken out thinly and exposed to the air

to dry. Great care is taken not to expose them in this state to much

bright sunshine, and hence a fine dry day when the sun is partially

obscured by thin clouds is always preferred for this part of the

operation. After being exposed for an hour or two, or even longer, as

the case may be, for this depends upon a variety of circumstances, such

as the dryness of the air, or the convenience of the workpeople, they

are brought within doors, and the drying process commences. The flat

rice pan, in which they were first heated, is so constructed, that it

can be taken out at the pleasure of the cottager. It is now removed,

and a bamboo sieve, exactly the same size, is put into its place, and

filled with the leaves. A very slow and steady fire of wood or charcoal

is now kept up, and the remains of the moisture in the leaves is thus

gradually and slowly evaporated. After a few minutes the sieve is

lifted out and placed in one of a larger size with a closer bottom.

The leaves are then well shaken up and turned over, and any of the

smaller tea which falls through the open sieve, during the operation,

is thus collected in the under one and carefully saved. Both sieves are

now placed over the flue, and the leaves carefully watched and turned

frequently, for about an hour, when the tea is considered properly

fired. Sometimes, if the day is fine, it is exposed a little while to

the sun before it is packed away.

_The Hong-cha_, or our common black tea, is prepared rather

differently. In the first place the natives seem more particular in

the rolling process, especially when it is for the foreign market,

although the operation is performed much in the same way. After heating

and rolling, the leaves are shaken out on large screens, and subjected

to the action of the open air; the natives in this, as in all other

cases, taking care not to expose them to a bright and burning sun. This

is a most important part of the manufacture. The black tea is left in

this state sometimes for two or three days before it is fired, which,

doubtless, is one cause why the colour of this tea is so much darker

than those kinds which are prepared from the same plants and quickly

dried.

After being exposed for a sufficient length of time to the action of

the air, the leaves are taken in for the purpose of firing. Instead,

however, of being heated in baskets, like the other kind, this is

thrown at once into the pan. An old and experienced person takes his

place at the furnace, and keeps up a slow and steady fire, while it is

the duty of the younger branches of the family to keep the leaves in

the pan in continual motion and prevent them from being burned. This

is done by means of little hand-brushes made from the prolific bamboo,

the outer flinty part being split for this purpose. The tea prepared in

this manner soon becomes of a dark colour, and is quite different in

appearance from the _Luk-cha_. After it has been sufficiently dried, it

has, of course, to undergo the other operations of sifting, picking,

and dividing, before it is fit to be packed up for the foreign market.

From hence it appears, that the black tea is rendered darker in colour,

first by being longer exposed to the air in a soft and moist state; and

secondly, by being subjected to a greater degree of fire-heat. With

regard to the green teas, there can be no doubt that those used by the

Chinese themselves are of the genuine colour which they acquire in the

drying; and that those "blooming" kinds, prepared to suit our depraved

tastes, are, one and all, dyed. Moreover, in conclusion, I may repeat,

what I have already proved, that the black and green teas of the north

are produced from the same species, the _Thea viridis_, and that the

true Canton teas are manufactured from the leaves of the _Thea Bohea_.

It therefore follows that the black teas can be, and, in fact, are made

from both species; and with regard to the green, as it is the result

of a dye, the Chinese, I doubt not, could substitute for that colour

either red or yellow, should our tastes change and lead us to prefer

more glaring tints!

There are several different kinds of scented flowers, which are grown

in particular districts, for the purpose of mixing with and perfuming

the tea. Amongst these I may mention the following:--_Olea fragrans,

Chloranthus inconspicuus, Aglaia odorata_, &c. I believe these flowers

are dried by themselves, and afterwards mixed with the teas.[*]

* In order to give the reader some idea of the different sorts of teas

manufactured for the European and American markets, I cannot do better

than quote some excellent remarks on this subject, by Sir John Francis

Davis, in his work, "The Chinese:"--[1]

"As tea has always held so principal a place in our intercourse with

China, it requires some particular consideration as an article of

commerce. We have seen before, that the fineness and dearness of

tea are determined by the tenderness and smallness of the leaf when

picked. The various descriptions of the Black diminish in quality

and value as they are gathered later in the season, until they reach

the lowest kind, called by us Bohea, and by the Chinese (_Ta-cha_),

'large tea' on account of the maturity and size of the leaves. The

early leaf-buds in spring, being covered with a white silky down,

are gathered to make Pekoe, which is a corruption of the Canton name

_Pak-ho_, 'white down.' A few days' longer growth produce what is

here styled 'black-leaved pekoe.' The more fleshy and matured leaves

constitute Souchong; as they grow larger and coarser they form Congou;

and the last and latest picking is Bohea. The tea-farmers, who are

small proprietors or cultivators, give the tea a rough preparation,

and then take it to the contractors, whose business it is to adapt

its farther preparation to the existing nature of the demand. The

different kinds of tea may be considered in the ascending scale of

their value.

"1. Bohea, which in England is the name of a _quality_, has been

already stated to be, in China, the name of a district where various

kinds of black tea are produced. The coarse leaf brought under

that name to this country is distinguished by containing a larger

proportion of the woody fibre than other teas; its infusion is of a

darker colour, and as it has been more subjected to the action of

fire, it keeps a longer time without becoming musty than the finer

sorts. Two kinds of Bohea are brought from China: the lowest of these

is manufactured on the spot, and therefore called 'Canton Bohea,'

being a mixture of refuse Congou with a coarse tea called Woping,

the growth of the province. The better kind of Bohea comes from the

district of that name in Fokien, and, having been of late esteemed

equally with the lower Congou teas, has been packed in the same square

chests, while the old Bohea package is of an oblong shape.

"2. Congou, the next higher kind, is named from a corruption of

the Chinese _Koong foo_, 'labour or assiduity.' It formed for many

years the bulk of the East India Company's cargoes; but the quality

gradually fell off, in consequence of the partial abandonment of

the old system of annual contracts, by which the Chinese merchants

were assured of a remunerating price for the better sorts. The

consumption of Bohea in this country has of late years increased,

to the diminution of Congou, and the standard of the latter has

been considerably lowered. A particular variety, called _Campoi_,

is so called from a corruption of the original name _Kien-peoy_,

'selection--choice;' but it has ceased to be prized in this country,

from the absence of strength--a characteristic which is stated to be

generally esteemed beyond delicacy of flavour.

"3. Souchong (_Seaou-choong_, 'small, or scarce sort') is the finest

of the stronger black teas, with a leaf that is generally entire

and curly, but more young than in the coarser kinds. What is called

'Padre Souchong' is packed in separate paper bundles, of about half

a pound each, and is so fine as to be used almost exclusively for

presents. The probability is that its use in that way by the Catholic

missionaries first gave rise to the name. The finest kinds of

Souchong are sometimes scented with the flowers of the _Chloranthus

inconspicuus_, and _Gardenia florida_; and they cannot be obtained,

even among the Chinese, except at dear prices. A highly-crisped and

curled leaf called _Sonchi_, has lately grown into disrepute and

been much disused, in consequence of being often found to contain a

ferruginous dust, which was probably not intended as a fraud, but

arose from the nature of the ground, where the tea had been carelessly

and dirtily packed.

"4. Pekoe being composed mainly of the young spring-buds, the

gathering of these must, of course, be injurious in some degree to

the future produce of the shrub, and this description of tea is

accordingly both dear and small in quantity. With a view to preserving

the fineness of flavour, the application of heat is very limited in

drying the leaves, and hence it is, that Pekoe is more liable to

injury from keeping than any other sort of tea. There is a species

of Pekoe made in the Green-tea country from the young buds, in like

manner with the black kind; but it is so little fired that the least

damp spoils it; and for this reason, as well as on account of its

scarcity and high price, the Hyson-pekoe as some call it, has never

been brought to England. The mandarins send it in very small canisters

to each other, or to their friends, as presents, under the name of

_Loong-tsing_, which is probably the name of the district where the

tea is made.

"Green teas may generally be divided into five denominations, which

are--1. Twankey; 2. Hyson-skin; 3. Hyson; 4. Gunpowder; 5. Young

Hyson. Twankay tea has always formed the bulk of the green teas

imported into this country, being used by the retailers to mix with

the finer kinds. The leaf is older, and not so much twisted and

rolled as in the dearer descriptions: there is altogether less care

and trouble bestowed on its preparation. It is, in fact, the Bohea

of green teas; and the quantity of it brought to England has fully

equalled three-fourths of the whole importation of green. 'Hyson-skin'

is so named from the original Chinese term, in which connection the

skin means the _refuse_, or inferior portion of anything; in allusion,

perhaps, to the hide of an animal, or the rind of fruit. In preparing

the fine tea called Hyson, all those leaves that are of a coarser,

yellower, and less twisted or rolled appearance, are set apart and

sold as the refuse or 'skin-tea,' at a ranch inferior price. The

whole quantity, therefore, depends on, and bears a proportion to, the

whole quantity of Hyson manufactured, but seldom exceeds two or three

thousand chests in all.

"The word Hyson is corrupted from the Chinese name, which signifies

'flourishing spring,' this fine sort of tea being of course gathered

in the early part of the season. Every separate leaf is twisted and

rolled by hand, and it is on account of the extreme care and labour

required in its preparation, that the best Hyson tea is so difficult

to procure, and so expensive. By way of keeping up its quality, the

East India Company used to give a premium for the two best lots

annually presented to them for selection; and the tea-merchants were

stimulated to exertion, as much by the credit of the thing, as by

the actual gain in price. Gunpowder, as it is called, is nothing but

a more carefully picked Hyson, consisting of the best rolled and

roundest leaves, which give it that _granular_ appearance whence it

derives its name. For a similar reason, the Chinese call it _Choocha_,

'pearl-tea.' Young Hyson, until it was spoiled by the large demand

of the Americans, was a genuine, delicate young leaf, called in the

original language _Yu-tsien_, 'before the rains,' because gathered

in the early spring. As it could not be fairly produced in any

large quantities, the call for it on the part of the Americans was

answered by cutting up and sifting _other_ green tea through sieves

of a certain size; and, as the Company's inspectors detected the

imposture, it formed no portion of their London importations. But the

abuse became still worse of late (as we shall presently see), for the

coarsest _black_ tea-leaves have been cut up, and then _coloured_ with

a preparation resembling the hue of green teas.

"The remission of the tea duties in the United States occasioned, in

the years 1832 and 1833, a demand for green teas at Canton which could

not be supplied by the arrivals from the provinces. The Americans,

however, were obliged to sail with cargoes of green teas within the

favourable season; they were determined to have these teas; and the

Chinese were determined they should be supplied. Certain rumours being

afloat concerning the manufacture of green tea from old black leaves,

the writer of this became curious to ascertain the truth, and with

some difficulty persuaded a Hong merchant to conduct him, accompanied

by one of the inspectors, to the place where the operation was carried

on. Upon reaching the opposite side of the river, and entering one of

these laboratories of factitious Hyson, the parties were witnesses to

a strange scene.

"In the first place, large quantities of black tea, which had been

damaged in consequence of the floods of the previous autumn, were

drying in baskets with sieve bottoms, placed over pans of charcoal.

The dried leaves were then transferred in portions of a few pounds

each to a great number of cast-iron pans, imbedded in chunam or

mortar, over furnaces. At each pan stood a workman stirring the

tea rapidly round with his hand, having previously added a small

quantity of _turmeric_ in powder, which of course gave the leaves

a yellowish or orange tinge; but they were still to be made green.

For this purpose some lumps of a fine blue were produced, together

with a white substance in powder, which from the names given to them

by the workmen, as well as their appearance, were known at once to

be _prussian blue_ and _gypsum_.[2] These were triturated finely

together with a small pestle, in such proportion as reduced the dark

colour of the blue to a light shade; and a quantity equal to a small

tea-spoonful of the powder being added to the yellowish leaves, these

were stirred as before over the fire, until the tea had taken the fine

bloom colour of Hyson, with very much the _same scent_. To prevent

all possibility of error regarding the substances employed, samples

of them, together with specimens of the leaves in each stage of the

process were carried away from the place.

"The tea was then handed in small quantities, on broad shallow

baskets, to a number of women and children, who carefully picked out

the stalks, and coarse or uncurled leaves; and, when this had been

done, it was passed in succession through sieves of different degrees

of fineness. The first sifting produced what was sold as Hyson-skin,

and the last bore the name of Young Hyson. As the party did not see

the intermediate step between the picking and sifting, there is

reason to believe that the size of the leaves was first reduced by

chopping or cutting with shears. If the tea has not highly deleterious

qualities, it can only be in consequence of the colouring matter

existing in a small proportion to the leaf[3]; and the Chinese seemed

quite conscious of the real character of the occupation in which they

were engaged; for, on attempting to enter several other places where

the same process was going on, the doors were speedily closed upon the

party. Indeed, had it not been for the influence of the Hongist who

conducted them, there would have been little chance of their seeing as

much as they did."

[1] Charles Knight and Co., Ludgate Street, 1840.

[2] Prussiate of iron, and sulphate of lime.

[3] The turmeric and gypsum are perfectly innocuous; but the prussian

blue, being a combination of prussic acid with iron, is a poison.

CHAP. XII.

CHUSAN ARCHIPELAGO.--STORM IN A SMALL BOAT.--NEARLY UPSET.--KIN-TANG,

OR SILVER ISLAND.--ITS INHABITANTS.--THEIR SURPRISE ON SEEING A

FOREIGNER.--YANG-TSE-KIANG RIVER.--ITS NUMEROUS SAND BANKS.--OUR

SCHOONER AGROUND.--NOVEL METHOD OF GETTING ASSISTANCE FROM THE

CHINESE.--VILLAGE OF WOO-SUNG.--OPIUM STATION.--REMARKS ON THE OPIUM

TRADE.--ITS EFFECTS UPON THE CHINESE.

In the summer of 1844 I was frequently engaged in exploring the islands

of the Chusan Archipelago, more particularly that portion which lies

between Chusan and the opposite shores of the main-land. It was of

course necessary for this purpose to employ Chinese boats, which

are not very trustworthy. The distance from Chusan to the town of

Chinhae, at the mouth of the Ning-po river, is about thirty miles. A

sail across a sea such as this is generally pleasant enough, because

the water, which is hemmed in on all sides, is frequently as smooth

as a mill-pond. Sometimes, however, the wind comes down in gusts from

the openings amongst the hills, and then the little China boats are

all laid nearly upon their beam-ends before the sail can be taken in.

Once, in particular, I had a narrow escape from a watery grave amongst

these islands. I had engaged a boat to take me across from the city of

Ning-po to Chusan; and, as I was in a hurry at the time, I was anxious

to reach my destination as soon as possible. The wind blew rather

fresh as we were going down the Ning-po river, and when we reached the

town of Chinhae, at its mouth, evening had set in, and the sky had a

threatening and stormy appearance. The boatmen pointed this out to

me, and were anxious to remain where we were until daylight. As I was

afraid of being too late for a passage in an English vessel, which

was then at anchor in the bay of Chusan, I would not consent to this

prudent proposal, but insisted that they should proceed across without

further delay. After exhausting all their arguments, they at length

unwillingly got up the anchor, and we proceeded on our voyage. The

land and hills on our way from Ning-po to the mouth of the river had

sheltered us, and prevented me from feeling the full force of the wind;

but no sooner had we passed the forts, and reached the open sea, than

I found I had done a very foolish thing in urging the boatmen to take

me across in such a night, and I would gladly have gone back had it

been prudent or indeed possible to have done so. It was now, however,

too late, for with a strong spring tide and a heavy head sea, it was

impossible to get back again to Chinhae, and we therefore kept on in

the direction of Chusan. "Are you not carrying too much sail in such a

wind as this, and with such a heavy rolling sea?" said I to the captain

of the boat, an old weather-beaten man from the province of Fokien.

"No fear, no fear," he replied in his broken Chusan English, "my can

manage he." "But I think there is fear, Fokei," I replied; and the

words were scarcely said, when a tremendous gust came down upon us, and

at the same moment a heavy sea struck the side of our boat, and laid

her fairly on her beam-ends. In an instant the boat filled in all her

divisions from bow to stern. "Lower the sail, lower the sail, quick,

quick," cried the helmsman, "or we shall all go to the bottom." Several

of the crew flew to the sail, which fortunately came down readily, and

our little craft righted once more, but rolled and plunged very heavily

in consequence of the great quantity of water in her hold, and seemed

as if she would go down at every plunge, and leave us exposed to the

fury of the waves. We again got a few feet of sail hoisted, and kept

her away before the wind. It was now dark, not a star was to be seen in

the heavens, the mountains, although not distinctly visible, yet loomed

through the gloom, and the only objects clearly distinguished were

some lights flickering on the distant shore. The crew now surrounded

the helmsman, and besought him to try and get back to Chinhae, but I

was sailor enough to know that if we attempted to put the helm down

and bring the boat round, in all probability we should ship another

sea, and had we done so we must have gone down. I immediately went and

stood by the helmsman, and kept the crew from interfering, telling him

to keep on our course and try to get under the lee of some island as

soon as possible. The men now began to throw off their clothes as a

last resource, and so completely lost all their self-possession that no

remonstrances could induce them to attend to the boat and get some of

the water out of her. The captain or helmsman, however, did his duty

well, and to his firmness and knowledge we, doubtless, owed our lives.

Providentially the wind lulled for a short time, which enabled us to

hoist more sail; and soon afterwards we got to leeward of one of the

numerous small islands which are scattered over this part of the coast.

As soon as we had anchored all hands began baling the water out of the

boat. We were in a most pitiful condition, all our clothes and beds

being completely soaked with seawater; some plants, but luckily only

duplicates, which I had with me, were, of course, totally destroyed;

but our hearts were light, and we were thankful that our lives had been

saved. Before daylight the boat was all right again, and as the weather

had moderated, we were able to proceed on our course to Chusan.

Kintang, or Silver Island, as it is called by the English, is a large

island in this archipelago. Although near Chusan, it was seldom visited

by any of the English there; but its hills and valleys were very

interesting in a botanical point of view, and on that account I was in

the habit of anchoring my little boat in some of its numerous bays,

and exploring its botanical productions. The surprise of the simple

inhabitants, many of whom had never left the island in their lives,

was often very great when I came down unexpectedly upon their little

villages. The reader will easily credit this, if he will only picture

to himself the surprise and astonishment with which a Chinese would be

regarded were he to appear suddenly in some secluded village in the

highlands of Scotland or Wales, where no such phenomenon had ever been

seen before. I remember, on one occasion, that having toiled up to the

top of one of the beautiful hills on the island of Kintang, I observed

on the other side of the hill, a few yards below me, a Chinese youth

engaged in cutting the long grass and bushes for fire-wood. As he was

employed he did not observe me, and I approached the place where he

was at work, and standing upon a rock a few feet above him, made some

noise to attract his attention. He looked up, and never shall I forget

the look he gave me. Had I been a being from another world he could

not have been more astonished; indeed, I suppose he thought that I had

fallen from the clouds, or come out from the bowels of the hills. For

a second or two he stood in silent amazement, seemingly completely

paralysed, and then throwing his grass-knife away, fled down the hill

over rocks and stones with a rapidity hardly credible, nor did he

ever look behind, until he had crossed the narrow valley, and reached

the village on the opposite side. The news was soon communicated to

the villagers, who rushed out of their houses and assembled in great

numbers in front of their buildings. I walked slowly and quietly down

towards them, and soon removed all their fears. My young friend the

grass cutter was very shy at first, but we parted excellent friends.

The port of Shanghae is situated about 80 or 100 miles to the

north-west of Chusan, the latter being in lat. 30° north, and the

former in 31° 20'. On leaving the Chusan group of Islands, and sailing

to the northward in the direction of Shanghae we pass the Bay of

Hangchow on the left, and enter the mouth of the noble Yang-tse-kiang,

the "child of the Ocean," as its name implies. The country, which, up

to this degree of latitude from the south, is very mountainous, now

changes, and becomes perfectly level. The shores of the river are,

in many places, lower than the river itself, which is kept within

its bounds by large and strong embankments. The mountainous scenery

disappears entirely, and even from the top of the highest mast of

a ship, no hill is seen to bound the distant horizon--all the view

is a vast level plain. This is what is called the valley of the

Yang-tse-kiang, and is the great northern Nanking cotton district. The

land is a deep rich loam, and is without doubt the finest in China, if

not in the world.

At the entrance of the river, the navigation is rather difficult,

particularly in thick weather, owing partly to the numerous sand banks,

which are all covered at high water, and partly to the difficulty of

getting prominent land-marks. Since the opening of the trade in 1843

several ships have got entangled amongst these banks, and have been

totally wrecked. When I first visited the Yang-tse-kiang, it was quite

a common occurrence for vessels to get aground at low water, but as the

greater part of them were small opium clippers, commanded by men who

knew the region well, they generally got easily off again when the tide

flowed. One evening in April, we were sailing up this river with a fair

light breeze, which was sending us on at the rate of six or seven miles

an hour. The man at the lead was singing out his soundings; and as it

was "and a half three," and "by the mark three," the captain concluded

that we were in the right channel, and went below for a minute or two.

The leadsman was still singing out three fathoms, when, all at once,

we felt the bottom of the vessel touch the ground, and in two seconds

she was hard and fast in the mud. The tide was ebbing rapidly at the

time, and as one side of the schooner was in deeper water, we were

obliged to get out all the spare planking we had to prop the vessel

and prevent her from falling over. The next question was, how we were

to get off when the tide rose. In the course of the afternoon, we had

observed a number of junks astern of us, coming up the river and bound

for Shanghae. Some of these were now within a quarter of a mile, and

had dropt their anchors until the commencement of the flood tide. After

some consultation, the captain came to the determination of boarding

one of them, and getting the people to shift their anchoring ground

and come a little nearer the schooner, so that a rope might be passed

from the one to the other, and our vessel hauled off when the tide

was sufficiently high to float her. As I was able to speak a little

Chinese, I was asked to go in the boat and explain what our object

was, and likewise to tell them that they should be well paid for their

trouble. The boat's crew armed themselves with cutlasses, and, in order

to render the business more imposing, the captain put on an old uniform

which had formerly belonged to a naval officer, and with a cocked hat

on his head and a sword dangling at his side took his seat in the boat.

The night was dark but fine, and we could just discern the masts of the

nearest junk. In a few minutes we were alongside, and were challenged

by the man who had the watch upon deck, and who at the same moment,

seeing we were foreigners, ran to give the alarm, exclaiming that the

_Hong-mou-jins_, or "red-haired men," were upon them. Without further

parley we sprang into the junk, and when we looked round we found her

decks deserted--the watch and every body else having hid themselves

below. The captain directed our men to go down the hatchways and try to

get the Chinese upon deck, but he gave them strict orders to use them

kindly. It was not a little amusing to see our tars going about this

part of the business, which they did with right good will and glee.

They soon dragged the Chinamen out of their hiding places, and, much

against their inclination, mustered them on deck. I now explained to

their captain that our intentions were peaceful, but that our vessel

was in very great danger, and that it was absolutely necessary they

should get up their anchor immediately, and come to our assistance.

At the same time, I told them that they should receive twenty dollars

for their trouble. They now held a consultation amongst themselves,

and at last came and informed us that they would render the required

assistance on the following morning. This, however, would not answer

our purpose, and besides we knew enough of the Chinese to be perfectly

aware that this "to-morrow" would never come, and was only said to get

rid of us altogether, and leave us to our fate. We therefore told them

that this arrangement would not suit us, and again requested them to

get up their anchor. Another consultation was held, and as it was quite

evident to me that they were procrastinating, and that we might go on

in this manner all night, I advised the master of our schooner to set

his own men to work to heave up the Chinaman's anchor, and hoist her

sail. The sailors, who were getting rather impatient, gladly obeyed

these orders, and when the junk's crew saw what was going on, they also

gave their assistance, so that in a few minutes we were under weigh.

Having gone as near the schooner as we considered prudent, the anchor

was dropped, and a strong rope made fast to the two vessels in order

to draw ours off the mud when the tide rose high enough to float her.

This was accomplished during the night, and we were safely anchored in

three fathoms of water. At daylight, however, we found that our Chinese

friends had made sail, and gone away without waiting to claim the

promised reward.

The small village of Woosung, where one of the battles was fought

during the last war, stands on the banks of another river, commonly

known as the "Shanghae river" by Europeans, and at the point where it

falls into the Yang-tse-Kiang. This is one of the principal stations in

China for the opium merchant vessels, and I believe latterly more of

the drug has been sold here than at all the other stations put together.

So much has been said about this trade and opium smoking, that a few

remarks upon the subject will not be out of place here. It is well

known that the greater part of the opium which is brought to the

Chinese coast is grown and manufactured in our East Indian possessions.

Those English or American merchants who deal largely in this production

employ very fast sailing vessels for bringing it from India to China,

and also keep up what are called receiving ships in many of the bays or

harbours along the coast of China. These receiving ships are regularly

supplied by the fast-sailing vessels which bring their cargoes from

India or Hong-kong. The Chinese smugglers come out from the adjoining

bays and towns, in small boats, well manned and armed, in order to

protect their property, which is generally of great value. Silver, in

the form of South American dollars or Sycee, is bartered for the opium

at all those stations on the coast, where no other trade is carried on;

at other places the foreign merchants often find it advantageous to

barter the opium in exchange for raw silks and teas, which are the two

chief exports of the country.

The statements which have been frequently made in England, both

as regards the smuggling and the smoking of opium are very much

exaggerated. When I first went to China, I expected to find those

merchants who were engaged in this trade little else than armed

buccaneers, indeed, if I do not mistake, they have been represented

as characters of this kind on the English stage. Instead of this, the

trade is conducted by men of the highest respectability, possessed of

immense capital, and who are known and esteemed as merchants of the

first class in every part of the civilised world. The trade in opium,

although contraband, is so unlike what is generally called smuggling,

that people at a distance are deceived by the term. It may be quite

true that its introduction and use are prohibited by the Chinese

government, but that prohibition is merely an empty sound, which, in

fact, means nothing. The whole, or at least the greater part, of the

mandarins use it, and it is not at all unlikely that his Celestial

Majesty himself makes one of the number of its devotees. The truth is,

the Chinese government, whatever it may say, has no wish to put a stop

to its introduction. It is necessary, however, to publish every now and

then strong threatening edicts against it, which are only consigned

to oblivion in the pages of the Peking Gazette, and have no effect

whatever in restraining the Emperor's loyal subjects. It is now the

opinion of all intelligent foreigners, and also of many of the more

enlightened amongst the Chinese themselves, that the importation of

opium ought to be legalised, and that it should be admitted at a small

duty, as, by this means, much of the demoralising effects of smuggling

would be got rid of, and a considerable revenue would flow into the

coffers of the Chinese treasury.

Many instances of the feeble kind of opposition which the Chinese

government employ to stop the opium trade, occurred during my residence

in the country. Sometimes an admiral, renowned for his valour, was

sent with a number of war junks to a particular station, where the

opium ships were anchored, for the purpose of compelling them to leave

the Chinese shores. Gongs were beat, guns were fired, at a respectful

distance, however, and the junks came down with all that pomp and

parade which the Chinese know so well how to assume, and which seem

to form a principal part of their warlike operations. In the meantime

the little opium vessels were laying quietly at anchor, apparently

paying but slight attention to all these threatening demonstrations.

Presently a message was sent from the admiral, ordering them to get up

their anchors and stand out to sea, and never more to dare to enter the

waters of his celestial majesty under the penalty of being completely

annihilated.

A summons like this in former days might have had some weight, but now

it had none; and the only answer the messengers carried back was, "that

the foreign vessels were well armed, and that they would not leave

their anchorage." This was quite sufficient to cool the courage of the

admiral, who was now in a dilemma; he durst not light the "barbarians,"

and if he did not manage to get them out of the way, his character for

courage would suffer when the affair was represented at head quarters.

He therefore altered his tone, and _requested_ the captains, as a

great favour, to leave the anchorage and move outside for a day or two

only, after which time they might return to their old quarters. This

was agreed to on the part of the captains of the opium vessels, and on

the following morning they got under weigh and went out to sea. The

Chinese, who were on the look-out at the time, made a great noise by

beating gongs and firing guns, and followed the opium ships until they

were fairly outside. The admiral now sent up a report to his government

to the effect that he had fought a great battle with the "barbarians,"

and had driven them away from the shores; or very probably he said that

he had blown some of their vessels to pieces, and sunk the rest in the

depths of the sea. In the meantime, even before the report was half-way

to Peking, the opium vessels had quietly taken up their old anchorage,

and things were going on in the usual way! Such is a specimen of the

way in which affairs are managed in China.

The opium from Bengal, which consists of two kinds--namely, _Patna_ and

_Benares_--is always of a good quality and pure, but the Bombay _Malwa_

is now so much mixed up with other ingredients, that the Chinese

smuggler will not buy it until he has had an opportunity of testing

its quality. This is done in the following manner:--having selected

the chest or number of chests which he wishes to purchase, they are

opened, and he takes out three or four of the worst-looking cakes, cuts

a small piece from each, and dissolves them in a copper ladle over a

charcoal fire. When the opium is melted, it is poured out into a coarse

paper filter. If it is not of the worst description, it readily passes

through the paper into a small basin, which is placed under it. When

it will not pass through the filter, the Chinese call it _Man-ling_,

by which name they designate opium which is so bad, or so mixed with

extraneous ingredients, that it will not dissolve in water or pass

through the paper filter. This description of the drug is, of course,

only bought at a very reduced price.

When the mixture passes through the filter, the paper is carefully

examined, and if any sediment remains, such as sand or rubbish, with

which the opium is frequently adulterated, it detracts considerably

from its value. This filtered mixture is now put again into a clear

copper pan, and boiled slowly over the charcoal fire, until the whole

of the water is evaporated, and nothing remains but pure opium. The

drug is then poured out into a small porcelain cup, and stirred

round and examined with great care. At this stage of the process,

colour forms the principal test of its quality, and as the smuggler

stirs it round, and holds it up to the light, he pronounces it to be

"_tung-kow_" if it is thick like jelly; "_pak-chat_," if it has a

whitish colour; "_hong-chat_," if it is red; and "_kong-see-pak_," if

it is opium of the first quality, or like that sent round by the East

India Company.

Opium is prepared for smoking much in the same manner as I have just

described, and is kept in small cups, which are made for the purpose.

The smoker lays his head upon a pillow, has a lamp by his side, and

with a kind of needle he lifts a small portion of the opium to the

candle; and having ignited it, he puts it into the small aperture of

the bowl of the pipe. The candle is applied to the bowl during the

process of inhaling, and the smoke is drawn into the lungs in the same

manner as an Indian or Chinese swallows tobacco. A whiff or two is all

that can be drawn from a single pipe, and, therefore, those who are

accustomed to the use of the drug have frequently to renew the dose.

No one who has seen any thing of the habits of the Chinese, will

deny that the use of opium, particularly when taken to excess, has

a most pernicious effect both upon the constitution and morals of

its victims. From my own experience, however, I have no hesitation

in saying that the number of persons who use it to excess has been

very much exaggerated; it is quite true that a very large quantity of

the drug is yearly imported from India, but then we must take into

consideration the vast extent of the Chinese empire, and its population

of 300,000,000 of people. I have, when travelling in different parts

of the country, often been in company with opium smokers, and am

consequently able to speak with some confidence with regard to their

habits. I well remember the impressions I had on this subject before

I left England, and my surprise when I was first in the company of an

opium smoker who was enjoying his favourite stimulant. When the man

lay down upon the couch, and began to inhale the fumes of the opium, I

observed him attentively, expecting in a minute or two to see him in

his "third heaven of bliss;" but no: after he had taken a few whiffs

he quietly resigned the pipe to one of his friends, and walked away to

his business. Several others of the party did exactly the same. Since

then I have often seen the drug used, and I can assert that in the

great majority of cases it was not immoderately indulged in. At the

same time I am well aware that, like the use of ardent spirits in our

own country, it is frequently carried to a most lamentable excess. Lord

Jocelyn, in his "Campaign in China," gives the following account of its

effects, which he witnessed upon the Chinese at Singapore. "A few days

of this fearful luxury, when taken to excess, will give a pallid and

haggard look to the face, and a few months, or even weeks, will change

the strong and healthy man into little better than an idiot skeleton.

The pain they suffer when deprived of the drug after long habit, no

language can explain; and it is only when to a certain degree under

its influence that their faculties are alive. In the houses devoted

to their ruin, these infatuated people may be seen at nine o'clock in

the evening in all the different stages; some entering half distracted

to feed the craving appetite they had been obliged to subdue during

the day; others laughing and talking wildly under the effects of a

first pipe; whilst the couches around are filled with their different

occupants, who lie languid with an idiot smile upon their countenance,

too much under the influence of the drug to care for passing events,

and fast merging to the wished-for consummation. The last scene in this

tragic play is generally a room in the rear of the building, a species

of dead-house, where lie stretched those who have passed into the state

of bliss the opium smoker madly seeks--an emblem of the long sleep to

which he is blindly hurrying."

[Illustration: Opium Pipe.]

CHAP. XIII.

SHANGHAE IN 1844.--ITS GARDENS AND PLANTS.--START FOR THE HILLS IN

THE INTERIOR.--CANALS AND BRIDGES.--ADVENTURE WITH MY PONY.--THE

"TEIN-CHING," OR BLUE DYE, FOUND.--HILLS AND THEIR VEGETATION

DESCRIBED.--THE SURPRISE OF THE NATIVES ON SEEING A FOREIGNER.--THEIR

CURIOSITY AND HONESTY!--PLANTS SENT TO ENGLAND.--ANOTHER JOURNEY

INTO THE INTERIOR.--SOME LARGE NORTHERN CITIES NOTICED.--A MIDNIGHT

VISIT FROM THIEVES.--THE FAR-FAMED CITY OF SOO-CHOW-FOO VISITED.--A

DESCRIPTION OF IT.--NEW PLANTS FOUND.--CENTRAL POSITION OF SOO-CHOW AS

A PLACE OF TRADE.--BATHS FOR THE MILLION.--RETURN TO SHANGHAE.

I again visited Shanghae on the 18th of April, 1844, and spent two or

three weeks there at different times. My principal object was to see

all the plants in the different northern districts as they came into

flower, and it was therefore necessary that I should stay as short

a time as possible in each place. I have mentioned that I purchased

a collection of _Tree Pæonies_ during my first visit to Shanghae in

the winter of 1843, which were said to be very splendid things, and

entirely different in colour from any plants of the kind which were

known in England. I had of course, at that time, no opportunity of

seeing their flowers, and was now, therefore, particularly anxious to

get some which were in bloom, and had intended to send my old friend

back again to Soo-chow for another collection, stipulating, however,

that the plants should this time have blooms upon them. One morning,

however, as I was going out into the country, a short distance from

Shanghae, I was surprised at meeting a garden labourer with a load of

Moutans all in full flower, which he was taking towards the city for

sale. The flowers were very large and fine, and the colours were _dark

purples, lilacs_, and _deep reds_, kinds of which the very existence

had been always doubted in England, and which are never seen even at

Canton. Two English gentlemen who were excellent Chinese scholars,

being with me at the time, we soon found out the name of the Moutan

district; and from the state of the roots in the man's basket, I was

quite certain that the plants had not been more than an hour or two out

of the ground, and that consequently the place where they were grown

could not be more than six or eight miles from Shanghae, a surmise

which I afterwards found to be perfectly correct. This was doubtless

the place where my nursery friend had procured his plants in the

previous autumn, and where he would have gone again had I not been

lucky enough to find that I could easily go there myself. Indeed, I

afterwards discovered that there was no Moutan country in the vicinity

of Soo-chow, having met a man from that place in the Shanghae district,

where he had come for the express purpose of buying Tree Pæonies. I

now went into the Moutan district daily during the time the different

plants were coming into bloom, and secured some most striking and

beautiful kinds for the Horticultural Society.