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                              RICE PAPERS




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                              RICE PAPERS

                                   BY

                              H. L. NORRIS




              “EXERCISE YOUR FACULTIES OF SEEING, AND YOU
                     WILL GET GOOD THINGS TO EAT”
                                     Chinese Proverb




                        LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
                       39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON
                          NEW YORK AND BOMBAY
                                  1905
                          All rights reserved




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                                   TO
                             THE COMMODORE
                              AND OFFICERS
                                   OF
                             H.M.S. “TAMAR”




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          THESE stories possess the merit of not being true, nor are
          they necessarily founded on fact; they were written during
          three years’ service in China, and their conception served to
          more or less pleasantly while away many hours. If they afford
          the reader as many pleasant minutes, they will have well
          fulfilled their purpose. To those whose ideas of a Chinaman
          are gathered from the good-natured, doddering idiot as he is
          so often represented on the stage, he is here shown in a
          different form, however inadequate the portrayal may be.




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                                CONTENTS

                 TO EXPLAIN                                   1
              I. THE STORY OF FUNG WA CHUN                   19
             II. FENG SHUEY                                  51
            III. THE BACKSLIDING OF LAO                      79
             IV. THE PUNISHMENT OF HONG                     107
              V. BONE OF MY BONE                            129
             VI. THE MELANCHOLY MAGISTRATE OF FOH LIN       155
            VII. THE HUNCHBACK’S PIETY                      183
           VIII. HOO, THE DAUGHTER OF TAK WO                209
             IX. KWA NIU’S DERBY                            235




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                              RICE PAPERS




                               TO EXPLAIN


THE sun had shone brilliantly and torridly all day over the mud-laden
river, the surrounding paddy-fields, and the copper- backs of
the sweating Chinese boatmen as they laboured at their yuloes in sampen
and junk. It had, indeed, been a hot day even for up-river, and the
extreme humidity of the atmosphere after the rains made the heat felt in
every pore of the skin, so that even the half-naked steersmen of the
junks sweated at their rudders.

But now the sun is setting. On all sides can be heard the rattle of the
winches and the creaking as the heavy mat sails slide down the mast of
the junks, a splash as the stone-weighted wooden anchor drops over the
bows, and each junk in time swings to its rattan-twisted cable in the
pea-soup known as fresh water in Chinese rivers. The heavy damp air is
suddenly rent by a bugle note which signals the fact that the flag which
represents the sovereignty of King Edward the Seventh is being hauled
down till eight a.m. the next day on board the gunboat lying in the
muddy river.

A careful study of the illustrated weekly papers will give us a fair
knowledge of the appearance of the average naval officer, and we shall
also gather from this same source that when he’s not rushing about after
<DW65>s with a field-gun, he’s employed attending balls at various
Government Houses, or talking to beautiful ladies on a huge
electric-lighted quarter-deck, what time the moon calmly shines on some
picturesque Mediterranean harbour.

Undoubtedly our friends have experienced all these social joys in their
time, but at present they are far removed from such soothing influences.
Still, we have to deal with a gunboat of some pretensions, one wherein a
gossamer vest and white trousers are not considered _de rigueur_ for
dinner. The wardroom is much as others in a “bug trap,” but it has one
great adornment, a punkah, which is pulled during meal hours by a
diminutive and quite expressionless “makee learn.” The lights are
burning and the table laid for four, the “makee learn” is waiting by the
pantry hatch ready to pull the punkah, and, on the entry of an officer,
comes in and, sitting on a stool, begins to violently jerk the rope
leading through a brass sheave to the small punkah which flaps away some
large and well-fed bluebottles.

The officer is smoking a cigarette, and dressed in white duck trousers,
a soft white shirt, and white mess-jacket, all of which goes to prove
that we are in a smart ship. He strolls idly over to the thermometer
hanging on the bulkhead and observes that the mercury stands at 84°. He
idly places the burning end of his cigarette near the bulb of the
thermometer and watches the mercury rise to 95°, while the “makee learn”
violently agitates the punkah. Having performed this simple operation he
sits in a cane chair, and another officer enters and flings himself on a
settee without any remark.

“Good evening, Pill,” says the first officer. “Pretty hot to-night.”

“Don’t agree with you,” remarks the other. “But, anyway, I’m open to bet
it isn’t ninety.”

“All right,” says the Chief, for such we will call the person who first
entered the wardroom. “Bet you a sherry and bitters it is.”

The surgeon jumps up and looks at the thermometer, then leans over the
table, rings the electric bell, and sings out, “Ah Hing, two sherries
and bitters!”

The bitters are brought in and disposed of, and then another officer
comes in.

“Nice and cool to-night, Pill,” he remarks.

“Don’t agree with you,” says the surgeon.

“But I think it’s much cooler,” remarks the navigator, for that is the
rating of the new-comer.

“Well, I’ll bet you it’s over ninety,” says the surgeon.

“What’ll you bet?” says the navigator.

“Oh, a cocktail, to-morrow forenoon. Then look for yourself,” says the
surgeon.

The navigator strolls over to the thermometer and says, “Eighty-eight.”

“Be blowed for a yarn!” says the surgeon. “Let’s look.” But on
consulting the mercury column he finds it stands at eighty-eight, so
muttering a curse that everybody and everything is against him to-day he
sits down and shouts to Ah Hing to bring some chow-chop-chop.

“Hurry up, Ah Hing!” says “No. 1” as he comes in. “Hullo, my pippins!
What cher! Well, Pill, fisherman’s luck, eh? Shot anything?”

“Yes,” says Pill; “darned sight too much!”

“Well, tell us all about it. You’ve been grubbin’ round the Chinese city
I suppose, Chief, lookin’ for curios?”

“Yes,” remarks the engineer officer; “and got two bits of blue and white
china and a confoundedly ancient-looking joss.”

Ah Hing brings in the soup, and “No. 1” says: “Well, doc, you might tell
your adventures to the poor devil who’s had nothing to do but stop
aboard the ship in this confounded stinking river.”

Thus appealed to the surgeon begins—

“A day like this is enough to break any man’s heart. I haven’t the pluck
now to open a jackpot on four kings, feeling certain somebody’d hold
four aces and the joker against me. As you know, we two went shooting,
and left the Chief to grub about the native city for curios. When we
landed we hired two coolies to carry the drinks and chow, which they
slung on a pole between them, and off we went to the right among the
paddy-fields. There wasn’t a thing in the paddy except frogs, snakes,
and cockie-ollie birds, so we went up towards the hills. Nothing to be
found there, but after passing a small village we got into some scrub
and long grass, when up got a quail. It flew to my left rear, and I let
him have one barrel. Then he passed right behind me, and I let him have
the other barrel, the contents of which went smack into the lunch-basket
and blew it to bits. In the excitement I’d never noticed that our
coolies were only a few yards behind me. There was instantly no end of a
hullabaloo, and one coolie lay on the ground kicking and rubbing himself
furiously, what time both of them kept up a most damnable screaming. I
ran up to see what was the matter, and saw that his chest was covered
with blood; but all my efforts at getting a look at his wound were
unavailing, as he would keep rubbing his hands over his chest. My own
opinion is that he hadn’t got at most more than one pellet in him; but I
had no further time to look after him, because we were in a few seconds
surrounded by the men, women, children, lunatics, and incurably leprous
of the neighbouring village. They got to hustling us, and things looked
ugly. All of ’em were singing out something in Chinese, and when they
started pulling me about I got nasty and let out at ’em. Then they took
my gun away, and by this time we were nearly crushed by the crowds round
us. It was no use to create international complications by letting ’em
have a few charges of No. 6, so we concluded to go without resisting to
their village and see the matter out. So the howling, stinking mob
conducted us to their village, and led us through filthy pig-infested
lanes to an open space near the centre of the village, in which stood a
dismal banyan tree, under whose shade a baby or two and some half-dozen
hens and scraggy pigs were grubbing. A very benevolent-looking,
grey-bearded Chinaman approached, and from the increased yells of our
conductors we concluded that he was a man of some importance. He calmly
surveyed us for quite a while, and spoke to our furiously shouting
accusers in a calm and passionless manner. The wounded coolie was
brought forward amid more shouts and gesticulations, and our ancient
friend spoke a few words to him in a rather off-hand manner.

“We were getting a bit tired of all this hoop-hooraying when suddenly
our ancient friend turned to me and said, ‘Say, what you goin’ to do
about it?’ We were both pretty surprised at hearing him speak English,
but I was jolly glad to find someone could understand us. I explained
that the whole thing was an accident, that the man wasn’t much hurt, and
that now, as we understood each other, we might go back to the ship, as
having lost our tiffin, we didn’t care to do any more shooting that day.
Our genial friend smiled kindly on us, and said it would be very hard to
make his poor uneducated fellow-villagers understand that the shooting
had not been done on purpose. He explained that no Chinaman was such a
fool as to suppose that anyone with sense would shoot at a bird flying,
that a bird could by no possibility be shot unless sitting still, and
that my firing into the luncheon-basket was only a pretext to kill both
coolies when they least expected it. He remarked, moreover, ‘We’ve got
your gun, and I guess it’s worth at least forty