I knew the Chinese for rice, flourcake, tea, egg, chopsticks, opium, bed, by-and-by, how many, charcoal, cabbage, and customs.

My laoban could say in English, or pidgin English, chow, number one, no good, go ashore, sit down, by-and-by, to-morrow, match, lamp, alright, one piecee, and goddam.

This last named exotic he had been led to consider as synonymous with "very good." It was not the first time I had known the words to be misapplied.
I remember reading in the _Sydney Bulletin_, that a Chinese cook in Sydney when applying for a situation detailed to the mistress his undeniable qualifications, concluding with the memorable announcement, "My Clistian man mum; my eat beef; my say goddam." There was a small village behind us.

The villagers strolled down to see the foreigner whom children well in the background called "_Yang kweitze_" (foreign devil).

Below on the sand, were the remains of a junk, confiscated for smuggling salt; it had been sawn bodily in two.
Salt is a Government monopoly and a junk found smuggling it is confiscated on the spot.
Kueichow, on the left bank, is the first walled town we came to.