Opium Habit and Its Consequences

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LIFE IN A NEW YORK OPIUM DEN.—ONE WHO KNOWS ALL ABOUT IT TELLS OF HIS STRANGE EXPERIENCES.

IHAVE read so many untrue and unreasonable articles about opium and opium smokers that I deem it a duty, as one who has had a thorough introduction to this habit, to write a true and unbiased account of all my experience, which will serve to enlighten your readers in all the details that have heretofore remained a mystery. It is no fault of the papers that they have been unable to get at the bottom facts, because those addicted to the habit are not noted for their veracity, nor do they wish their secret to become known. But I have been cured of the habit and so have no more interest in keeping the secrets of the United Order of “Dope” fiends.

One evening three years ago I met a friend whom I had not seen for some time. For one who professed to be so delighted to see me again, I thought it very strange he should be in such a hurry to leave, and I told him so. He then unbosomed his reasons for leaving. He was going to “hit the pipe.” I demanded he should take me with him. He showed great reluctance, but after some persuasion consented, reminding me that if I ever had cause to repent the visit to a joint I should never blame him. I laughed at the idea of harm coming, except if the place were raided, and this I was willing to risk. So away we went, taking a car down-town.

Getting off the car we proceeded to Pell Street, where he led the way up several steps through a dark hall, and rapped at a door in the back part leading to the basement.

Some one from the inside inquired “Who?”

My friend replied “En she quay." (Chinese words meaning opium smoker.)

Who en she quay?” was asked.

“Little Doc,” my friend answered again.

After a moment’s waiting a bolt was withdrawn from the inside, and opening the door we proceeded down the stairs, which were lighted by a lantern hung from the ceiling. There were about six steps, then another door, in which a little wicket opened, and a yellow face appeared, scrutinizing us inquiringly.

“How many?” the face asked on seeing us.

“Two,” my friend replied, and another bolt was withdrawn. My friend opened the door, and we entered.

It was a small room, smelling like most Chinese laundries, only the odor was more pronounced. The room was about twenty feet long by fifteen wide. On one side, extending the whole length, was a platform raised two feet above the floor, and wide enough to permit a man to lie at full length. Four or five feet above this was another platform, only a few feet below the ceiling. At the further end of the room were two similar platforms.

The end of the room was partitioned off, having a door and a large window. This window had a number of wooden bars running across it. These were to prevent any one reaching their hands through to the counter behind. This little room was lighted by a single gas jet, and a couple of Chinamen were in there talking away in their own language. The platforms were occupied by men and women in little groups, lying around little lamps and smoking cigarettes and, I afterwards learned, opium. Several people were stretched out asleep.

My friend was evidently well acquainted with the smokers, for they nearly all saluted him and asked him what was new out in the world. Selecting a vacant place, my friend told me to take off my coat and place it on a little stool to be used as a pillow. He sat on the edge of the bunk talking to a man who had risen from the bunk when we entered.

He invited this man to smoke with us, and introduced him to me as “Frankie, the Kid.” The Kid accepted the invitation and lay on the other side of us, my friend resting his head on my breast. A “lay-out,” as my friend called it, was ordered, and one of the Chinamen brought it to us. The “lay-out” consisted of an ordinary little tin waiter, a knitting-needle flattened at one end and gradually receding to a point at the other, which he called a yen hock, a little glass lamp of peculiar pattern, a wet sponge in a china dish, a small tin dish to deposit cigarette stumps or ashes, and a pipe of very curious construction. A small clam-shell contained a black, tarry-looking stuff, and this was the opium.

The “Kid” prepared the pipe and my friend smoked, taking one long draw. Next was my turn, and I tried to do likewise, but it threw me into a fit of coughing. They told me to breathe through my nose whenever I felt the choking sensation. I did this, and got along pretty well, they said, for a beginner.

When I had smoked several times I began to have a dizzy sensation about my head and objects appeared very indistinct to my vision. I had an itchy feeling all over my body, which I tried in vain to relieve. I smoked a little more and there was a feeling of nausea at my stomach. I then decided to stop smoking.

My friend told me to lay perfectly still and try to go to sleep, but the more I tried the less sleepy I felt. My nerves became exceedingly sensitive, the least little noise causing me to tremble with fear, and my heart beat wildly. I also felt very thirsty and asked for a drink, but they told me that I must not, above all things, attempt to drink water. So I lay quiet a little while longer, getting all the more nervous, and then determined to start home.

My friend warned me not to, but I persisted and rose up. The moment I stood on my feet the room seemed to whirl around and around and strange noises buzzed in my ears.

This passed off in a few minutes and my throat felt so dry I could not resist the temptation of taking a drink from a bucket of water that stood on a table in the joint. The moment I drank it I was sorry I had not heeded my friend’s advice, for the instant it was down up it came as bitter as gall; so, hastily bidding my friend good-night, I staggered out and started for home.

The fresh air revived me somewhat, but I vomited every few steps, pitching about like a drunken man, I was completely bewildered; everything appeared backward to my mind, and it was with the greatest difficulty I managed to find my way to a car.

But in some way, how I am unable to say, I succeeded in reaching home. I did not wait to disrobe, but threw myself on the bed just as I was, going to sleep instantly. I awoke in the morning, still very dizzy, undressed and got into bed; slept straight through till the next morning; awoke with a pale face, bloodshot eyes and a dull pain in the back of the head; felt like going to sleep again, but conquered this and started out to attend to my business for the day.

As soon as this sickness passed off I longed to smoke again, and did a day or two later.

This time I did. not smoke as much, lay quietly in the joint after smoking and drank no water. It was not till I reached the street that any unpleasant feeling arose, and then I had exactly the same experience as before, but was able to get up in the morning, only feeling very thirsty and dull.

For several other nights I had the same trouble, but each night I went it was less marked. A few more nights and I commenced to get the real enjoyment from the pipe.

After smoking I felt extremely easy and comfortable, lay indulging myself to the extent of my imaginative nature, indulging in the wildest fancies, that appeared at the moment so real, and no thought of worldly trouble entered my mind. Then the frequenters of the joint were always telling stories, cracking jokes. Sometimes we sang in low voices. Then we drank beer. Feeling hungry, two or three of us clubbed together and bought a kettle of hot coffee and sandwiches from a little restaurant near by. Again such refreshing sleep. How the time flew! Hours were only minutes and days hours.

My next step was to learn how to prepare my own opium for smoking, and before this I always had to get some one else to do it for me. This is termed cooking and takes months to become proficient in. To do this the needle or yen hock is grasped between the thumb and first two fingers of the right hand. The point is dipped into the opium, and on removing it a small portion, the size of a bead, adheres to the yen hock.

It is now held over the flame of the lamp and swells up to the size of a chestnut. Striking it against the globe of the lamp it bursts and a little confined steam escapes, leaving it all shriveled up. This is repeated until it ceases to swell.

The object of this process is to evaporate all moisture from the opium, changing it from a sticky substance to a solid, similar to sealing-wax.

The pipe is held in the left hand and the bowl warmed over the light. The opium, in a melted condition, is rolled over the face of the bowl until it is shaped into a cone, the apex being the point of the needle. This is termed chying. The cone is now heated until it is very soft, the needle is pushed into the small hole of the bowl and flattens the apex of the cone till it becomes a cylinder. The hole of the bowl is thoroughly heated, the needle is pushed entirely into the hole, melts the opium, which now adheres to the bowl; the needle is then twisted out, leaving a small hole through the opium to the opening of the bowl. This mass is termed a pill. To smoke this the bowl is held over the lamp, so that the pill is directly above the flame. The opium melts, giving forth a vapor or smoke. This is sucked into the bowl along with the melted opium.

It took me over a month to do this right. I now came to the joint every night, frequently lying in one spot two nights and a day. Some of the frequenters didn’t leave the joint once a week, and then only for a few hours, having no home to go to.

They were the professional cooks, receiving so much for every twenty-five cents’ worth of opium, that was brought in a shell. I hardly ever eat more than one meal a day. Sometimes I only took that because I thought it was best for me, and not because I cared for it.

Some nine months after my first introduction to a joint I was unable to get my usual smoke one night. I felt very bad when I got in bed, but immediately fell into a heavy sleep, from which I was aroused in the morning after much calling.

On becoming thoroughly awake I went through a series of novel sensations.

First, I began to gape and a pain in the back of the head started, then tears ran from the eyes, a catarrhal discharge from the nose, my teeth chattered and I trembled from head to foot, a cold sweat covering my body. I tried to eat some breakfast, but it would not stay on my stomach. Half an hour more and rheumatic pains shot through my limbs, cramps in the stomach. I took a dose of laudanum and in a few moments all the disorders ceased.

I now realized for the first time that I was a victim to the opium habit, or, as the Chinese have it, “inyun fun.” I was compelled thereafter to smoke at least once a day, sometimes oftener. When I could not smoke I used laudanum or morphia.

The misery I suffered is indescribable. Sometimes right in the midst of conversation I would be seized with this sickness, and must quickly get an opiate or be completely prostrated.

This went on for some time. My face became sallow; my eyes bright, the pupils contracted. I never passed a comfortable hour unless I was either under the influence of opium or liquor. My mind was filled with the darkest thoughts towards myself, and life became almost unbearable. It was then I determined to break the habit or die.

My treatment was this: I went to the country, away from my old associations, kept reducing my dose of opium every day gradually, at the same time taking nervines and tonics. It took nearly three months of unmentionable suffering before I was cured.

My advice is to keep away from opium in all forms, as no good comes of it. The opium used for smoking, called by the smokers “dope,” is an aqueous extract of the ordinary commercial gum. The Chinese have a secret mode of preparing this extract, making it more palatable to the taste and easier to get ready for smoking. It is imported from China in an oblong brass box about five inches long, two and a half wide. The can is only half filled, as in warm weather it puffs up and would overflow the can if allowance was not made for this swelling. It is about the consistency of tar melted in the sun, and nearly the same color. The mode of measuring it when selling is by a Chinese weight called fune. There are about eighty-three fune in an ounce, and a can contains 415 fune, or about five ounces. This sells for $8.25 a can, best quality, and inferior grades as low as $6. In smaller quantities, eight to ten fune are sold for twenty-five cents.

The people who frequent these places are, with very few exceptions, thieves, sharpers and sporting men, and a few bad actors; the women, without exception, are immoral. No respectable woman ever entered one of these places, notwithstanding the reports to the contrary. The language used is of the coarsest kind, full of profanity and obscenity. The old saying, “There is honor among thieves,” applies equally well to opium fiends. They never steal from each other while in the joint. I have seen men and women come in the joints while under the influence of liquor, lie -down and go to sleep with jewelry exposed and money in their pockets, but no one would ever think of disturbing anything.

As a general thing the men who are regular smokers have very little money, relying almost entirely upon the women, who spend their money freely upon the fiends. Beer and tobacco are generally sold, which considerably swells the revenue of the keepers.

Though a desperate set, fights rarely occur in a joint. In three years I can only recall one instance, and that was through a misunderstanding. A gambler struck “Sheeny” Sam across the arm with a pipe, breaking one of the arm bones. A fiend suffering with the inyun is a man to be avoided. His suffering renders him almost insane, and he is not responsible for what he does.

Few white men can run a “joint” successfully. A Chinaman is meek, pretends to not understand when anything insulting is said to him, and so long as he gets paid for the opium does not care what the patrons do. On the contrary, a white man will not stand insult, and wants to boss the place to suit himself.

Frank Webb, a well known west side character, opened a joint in a second-story room in Seventh Avenue. His patrons were of a better class of crooks. Among the frequenters of his place could be seen most any night such noted characters as “Kid” Miller, banco man; “Kid” Fox and Raymond, swindlers; our absent “Hungry Joe” (Joe did not “hit the pipe,” but only came to see his associates); “Yen Hock” Harry, who earned his title by stabbing a man with a yen hock, and many other noted characters less known to the public. Women from the Haymarket, Tom Gould’s, the Cremorne and other disreputable places in the immediate vicinity came there after these places closed, which was generally near morning.

At the present time there are no public joints in the city, most of the smokers owning a “lay-out” of their own, and smoking in their rooms, where the law cannot interfere with them.

The cost of a lay-out is from $5 up to $25, the value depending on the age of the pipe, it becoming more valuable the longer it is used.

THE EXPERIENCE OF AN OLD CALIFORNIAN WITH OPIUM.—REMARKABLE INFLUENCE OF THE DRUG ON THE FACULTIES—A STRUGGLE TO OVERCOME A TERRIBLE CRAVING.

“Oh, yes,” he said, as we sauntered through Chinatown and were assailed by its unsavory odors, “I have smoked opium. I recognize the familiar smell.”

“And still continue to do so?”

“No, thank God, my experience with the drug was short and decisive, but sharp while it lasted. The opium habit is like getting into a quicksand; once in its grasp escape is almost impossible.”

“You got out, it appears.”

“But not without a struggle. I feel the effects of the drug even to this day, and it is many years ago since curiosity induced me to try the first pipe. Of course, I had to give some excuse for my foolishness:—I wished to learn the secret of opium’s control over the minds and bodies of its votaries. This is how it was, and I might as well make a clean breast of it. I’m not a De Quincey, but I’ll tell you as clearly as I can my feelings while under the influence of the drug. I had become acquainted with a gambler, one of the most expert in the State, whether in front or behind the game. I noticed that he often left the table, when dealing, and after he returned, say in half an hour, his manner had undergone a change; he manipulated the cards with greater steadiness and ease. One day I asked him the plain question:

“‘ Why do you call on a substitute, and quit the table so often?’”

“‘ Opium, my boy,’ he said, in a feverish way. ‘I can do nothing without it. Steadies the nerves. Deprive me of my periodical pipe and I’m like a fiddle minus strings. Ever try a whiff?’”

“‘ No.’”

“‘Then you’d better take my advice and continue to let it alone.’”

“But my curiosity was aroused, and after accompanying D—— to his favorite opium haunt several times, I resolved to realize the sensations derived from smoking, whatever they might be. I ‘hit’ my first pipe, as the slang goes, about four o’clock one afternoon, and shudder now as the remembrance of the terribly sickening experience I passed through recurs to me. It was hard work in the beginning to get the pipe-stem properly adjusted to my mouth, and the method of smoking is different from that when you are enjoying tobacco. In inhaling opium smoke you draw the fume into the lungs by a long pull, and then exhale it slowly. A pipeful will last about one minute, and then you have to roll a new pill, and so on, till the desired effect is obtained. Like most beginners, I smoked too much at the start, but hardly felt the power of the drug till I rose from the bunk where I had lain.

“Then I became comparatively helpless and staggered like a drunken man, zigzagging toward a water-pitcher, of the contents of which I drank a cupful or more. Nausea followed and when I reached my wooden couch again my lower limbs gave way completely and I fell helpless and insensible. I lay in that state for three hours, or until my friend D——, who had missed me, and, suspecting where I had gone, found and brought me to myself. With his help I got to my room in the hotel, where I again fell into a sleep, disturbed by restlessness and horrible dreams. I would awake screaming and with the idea some one was in the room seeking my life. In fact I made such a racket that the night clerk threatened to send for the police and have me arrested for being drunk and disorderly and alarming the house. He summoned D——, who sat up with me until morning, when I still felt the effects of the drug, but was able to rise.

“‘Well, old fellow,’said he, in a bantering tone, ‘how do you like it as far as you’ve gone?’

“‘ It’s a pretty rough introduction,’ I replied, ‘and I guess I’ll go no further.’

“‘That’s right,’ said he; ‘you’d better stop right now, but I’ll bet a twenty you won’t. Of course you smoked too much, and then drank water to make the matter worse. If thirsty after the pipe, all practised opium smokers drink only good strong tea.’

“‘Well, I’m done with the stuff, anyhow.’

“‘ No, my boy,’ he said, quietly; ‘you’ll tackle it again—you don’t like to give up beat.’

“The time came when I did tackle the pipe again, thinking myself strong enough to smoke without getting sick. I pulled away for about three minutes, consuming three pills, and this time I got a glimpse of what is called the opium devotee’s paradise. With my body and limbs completely relaxed, I dropped into a state of delightful dreamy half sleep, languidly knowing all that was going on around me, but caring for nothing. I was above and beyond all worldly considerations, all responsibilities. Then there came a change. Restlessness supervened, and the dream of delight was rounded off by horrible mental images that resembled the harpies of Doré, as he pictured them in the Inferno. Then I came back, in a dazed way, to real life again, drank the strong tea, as I had been advised, and went home with all my nerves in a state of protest, and I then, after a terrible struggle, left the drug alone.”

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