Of my
new escort from Sin-kiang all three have dreadfully sore eyes, and one
wretched mortal is as piebald as a circus pony, from head to foot, with
the leprosy. Added to these recommendations, they have the manners and
instincts of swine rather than of human beings.
The same sampan is re-engaged to convey us farther down stream; beneath
the housing of bamboo-mats, the rice-chaff leaves barely room for us to
crowd in and huddle together from the rain and cold prevailing outside.
The worst the elements can do, however, is far preferable to personal
contact with these vile creatures; and so I don my blanket and gossamer
rubbers, and sit out in the rain. The rain ceases and the chilly night
air covers everything with a coating of hoar-frost, but all this is
nothing compared with the horrible associations inside, the reeking fumes
of opium and tobacco adding yet another abomination to be remembered.
At early morn we land and pursue our way for a few miles across country
to Lin-kiang, which is situated on a big tributary stream a few miles
above its junction with the Kan-kiang. Our way loads through a rich strip
of low country, sheltered and protected from inundations by an extensive
system of dykes. Here we pass through orchards of orange-trees bristling
with the small blood-red mandarin oranges; we help ourselves freely from
the trees, for their great plenteousness makes them of very little value.
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