In the very first days of the trip, I had understood my status on the junk from the nature of the food that had been given me. The cook served me no meat or chicken at all, and only certain vegetables, and certain measures of rice, and I saw that the grade of my diet was far below that of the owner and his wife, below that of the head tracker, the bow steersman, the cook himself, the drummer, and other specialists, and just above that of the common trackers. Perhaps this was one reason I had fallen sick; not, I mean, of undernourishment, but of dismay at seeing such a mediocre value put upon my person. I was an American, and I had received an advanced education in the great science of engineering—and I was ranked just a few leeks’ worth above these paupered, ignorant men.

Gradually, however, the cook relented and morsel by morsel upgraded me. As I have said, he had made me various broths during my illness. He and the owner’s wife seemed to reach some kind of understanding about me, for they nodded, winked, and laughed over me, as if I were some rare and comical taxidermist’s specimen. The cook was by turns amused and horrified by my, to him, uncouth and barbarous habits. When he saw me one day deposit two blasts of nasal phlegm in a square of cloth and treasure these excreta in one of my pockets, he actually went to the owner and complained, requesting that I be put ashore at the next port on the river. But evidently his curiosity transcended his disgust. My diet improved, and I did not lie to the cook about the goodness of his food.

I had got in the habit of eating forward with the crew, because it had begun to embarrass me to be near the owner and Su-ling during meals. Her delicacy, her dexterity with her chopsticks, above all the motions of her lips filled me, I am frank to say, with carnal delight, and I could scarce keep my eyes off her face; with the result that the owner could scarce keep his off mine. These feasts of staring soon palled, and I sneaked forward to eat.