[A TOUR ROUND THE WORLD.]
By Mrs. JOSEPH COOK.
[Concluded.]
The two weeks’ voyage from Galle to Hong Kong is pleasantly broken by visits to Penang and Singapore. On the fourth day out, mountainous islands appear above the smooth stretch of sea, and late in the afternoon we anchor in the harbor of Penang at the head of the Straits of Malacca. Penang is an island fifteen miles long by eight in width, on which a mountain towers nearly 2,800 feet high. The native town lies on the flat strip of land adjoining the sea, but the bungalows of the European residents nestle on the hill slopes. We go on shore in a Sampan boat, and find the almond-eyed Celestials here in full force, not the gliding, apologetic creatures we see in San Francisco, but a sturdy, independent, self-assertive people, with the industries of the town in their hands. There are some grandees among them, for we see Chinese gentlemen lolling back in luxurious carriages, with Hindu coachmen and footmen. The joss houses are numerous, the roofs of which resemble immense ornate canoes, with sea-monsters at either end, as their forms are outlined against the evening sky. We have only time for a drive through the principal streets. The lights are gleaming out along the shore, and the twilight is fading as we float over the waves to our sea-home, the “Gwalior.” The next day we are in the Straits of Malacca, with picturesque views of Malay villages and tropical vegetation. The temperature, which has been in the nineties, dropped a few degrees as we approached the outlet into the open sea, and, going on deck on the second morning after leaving Penang, the air was still further cooled and freshened by a tropical downpour of rain just as we were passing the wooded islands which lead to the beautiful harbor of Singapore. These clouds, the rain, the temperature, and the deciduous trees make us think of home, and especially as this land-locked harbor might be a Scottish or American lake instead of the outlet of the Straits of Malacca, seventy-nine miles above the equator.
The P. & O. steamers stop for coal at a wharf some three miles from the town, but we had the satisfaction of walking from the steamer to the land without the usual intervention of a small, wave-tossed boat. We engaged a comfortable looking carriage attached to an absurdly diminutive pony, but the driver insisted that it was “good horse, good horse,” and we found that there was a wonderful amount of speed and endurance in the creature. Beautiful specimens of the traveler’s palm outline their huge, fan-like semicircle of leaves against the sky. This growth belongs to the plantain rather than the palm family, and is called the traveler’s palm because it contains a reservoir of water which runs down the grooves of the long stems and is retained at the base, where the incision is made, and the precious fluid, cool and refreshing, flows out. We saw again the acacia flamboyante, that splendid tree with its crown of scarlet blossoms, whose acquaintance we first made in the gardens of the Taj, and which came originally from Rangoon and Sumatra. Here, as in Penang, the Chinese are the chief factors in all the industrial pursuits. The temperature ranges from 80° to 90° the year round, and we were assured by European residents that the eye wearies of constant greenness and longs for the changing seasons of the temperate zone. The evening on our quiet steamer, which is anchored here for the night, reminds us of Lake George. The wooded heights and islands dream under the light of a full moon, while the constellation of the Southern Cross hangs over against Ursa Major. Early the next morning the Malay boys appear on the scene. They are equal to the Somalis for diving, but the charm of novelty is gone, and they do not seem such merry, audacious creatures as those who entertained us at Aden. Boat loads of coral and beautiful shells followed us for some distance, but we soon lost sight of them as we steamed away past the green and sunlit islands into the open sea.
After six days of debilitating moist heat in the China Sea, we were met on our approach to Hong Kong by a sudden change of temperature—a strong, fresh breeze following a heavy shower accompanied by thunder and lightning. Our ship scarcely moved during the night previous to our reaching the coast of China, for it was very dark, and we were entering upon a network of rocky islands. When we went on deck in the morning what a change in all our surroundings! Purple and blue mountains, reminding one in their general form of Scottish heights, yet with that peculiar shade of green which belongs to the hills of Wales, rose out of the sea on every hand—giant peaks of vast, submarine ranges. For twenty-five miles or more before reaching the superb, land-locked harbor of Hong Kong, we threaded our way among these mountainous islands, beautiful in form and color, and lighted up now and then with a sudden sunburst.
Hong Kong is built on an island and belongs to the British. The town extends for some distance along the shore and creeps up the slope of Victoria Peak, which rises to a height of 1,800 feet. The European houses, nestling among the trees, present a very attractive appearance with their double-storied, arched verandas. The magnificent bay resembles one of our inland lakes with mountains rising on all sides, from a few hundred to nearly 2,000 feet high. Here are ships of war, ocean steamers from all ports, trading junks of every shape and color, floating, thatched-roofed homes, where in one boat three generations are often found, and in which birth and death and all the round of human life occurs. Stalwart, sturdy women, with babies strapped on their backs, use as much strength and skill in the management of the boats as the men, and it would be hard to distinguish the sex if it were not for the added burden imposed on the woman. The streets are so steep in Hong Kong that horses are very little used and the vehicles employed are sedan chairs, attached to long bamboo poles, and carried on the shoulders of two, three or four coolies. This open, airy vehicle is an immense improvement over the heavy, funereal palanquin of Calcutta. John Chinaman, with his inevitable pig-tail and fan, his blue, loose garments and immaculate hose was everywhere present, and the odors of sandal wood and dried fish were all pervasive. We went to the curio shops which line the arcades of Queen’s Road and saw lacquered wood and ivory carving to our heart’s content. The Chinese shop-keeper holds himself aloof from the purchaser with true Celestial indifference. You enter his shop and examine his wares. No one accompanies you in your round. If you want to know the price of an article you must seek out the proprietor or clerk and inquire. You feel that the price is “fixed,” and even after three months’ demoralization in India you have not the presumption to ask this lordly Chinaman to take less. A pathetic proof of the chronic home-sickness which seems to possess European residents in the East, and which we ourselves appreciate, is the text engraven on the stone arch of the post-office doorway: “As cold waters to a thirsty soul, so is good news from a far country.”
The morning after our arrival in Hong Kong we leave the “Gwalior” which has been a most comfortable, agreeable home to us for the past two weeks, in order to visit Canton. It is a sail of some eight hours up the Pearl River to Canton, and we found ourselves on an American-built steamer not unlike our river boats at home, although not so luxuriously furnished as our floating palaces on the Hudson. However it gave us quite a home-like feeling, which was still further enhanced by the captain being a fellow-countryman and the breakfast bill of fare including waffles, griddle cakes and ice water. Although we are at the antipodes of Boston, we have a strange sense of being nearer home than at any time since leaving England. Sitting at the breakfast table the captain pointed eastward toward the open sea and said, “In that direction you can travel 6,000 miles before reaching land, and the nearest shores are those of America.” Knowing the reputation the Chinese have for being a peaceable race we were somewhat surprised to see that the wheel house was quite an armory of weapons, and that the companion-ways were closed and guarded. Inquiring into the meaning of these war-like demonstrations, we were told that not many years ago the Chinese passengers on one of these river steamers conspired together and, when the captain and the few Europeans were at lunch, they rose, seized the weapons, murdered the whites and took possession of the boat. Since that time unknown passengers, of whom there were on this trip about one thousand, are kept carefully guarded. The scenery was very pretty as we steamed up Pearl River, the banks being visible on either side. The chief characteristics of the view were low rice lands, or paddy fields as they are called here; distant blue mountains, the last spurs of the Himalayas; terraced pagodas of five, seven, or nine stories high, with trees and shrubs growing from the top and sides; bamboos, plantains and deciduous trees, and at one point in our journey was a knoll of pine trees with a carpet of brown sheddings, which reminded us of the spot at Concord where Hawthorne is buried. The most prominent building in Canton and the one which first attracts the attention of a stranger, is the stately, granite Catholic cathedral. It was a hopeful sign to see this imposing Christian edifice with its twin towers looming up above the low-roofed houses and temples of this distinctively Chinese and heathen city. Another noticeable feature among the buildings was eight or ten huge, gray, square towers, which we were told were pawn houses.