March 22nd.—I have just returned from a walk to the top of a hill, on the opposite side of the flat on which the town is situated from that which we mounted yesterday. The day is charming, clear, with a fanning, bracing air. We had a finer view almost than yesterday. The same character of scenery all round the island. Spacious flats on the sea-board under irrigation; about one-half of the fields covered (now) with water, and the other half in crop, chiefly beans, wheat, and rape, which, with its yellow flower, gives warmth to the colouring of the landscape; these flats, fringed by hills of a goodly height—say from 600 to 1,200 feet,—which cluster together as they recede from the sea-board, compressing the flats into narrow valleys, and finally extinguishing them altogether. The hills themselves barren, with patches here and there of Chinese cultivation and fir plantations, the first I have seen in China. Turn your eyes to the sea, and you have before you innumerable islands dotting its surface, the same in character, though smaller in size, than that on which you are standing. I have seldom seen a more delightful spot. In going on our walk, we passed by the burying-ground of the British who died while we occupied the island, and we did something to put order among their neglected graves. On our return, we passed by a cottage where an old lady was seated at her spinning-wheel. I entered. She received us most courteously, placed chairs for us, and immediately set to work to prepare tea. When she found that one of the party was a doctor, a son (grown up) was produced who was suffering from ague. We brought him on board, and gave him some quinine. He showed us the medicine he was taking. It appeared to be a sort of mash of bits of bamboo and all sorts of vegetable ingredients. The doctor who tried it said it had no taste. I should mention that at the landing-place we met some of the French, missionary's boys, who brought me a present of eggs and fowls and salad from the farm, in return for a dollar which I gave them yesterday to buy cakes withal.
[Sidenote: Potou.]
[Sidenote: Bonzes.]
March 23rd.—We set off this morning to visit Potou.[4] After lauding on the beach, we proceeded along a spacious paved path to a monastery, in a very picturesque spot under the grey granite hills. We entered the buildings, which were like all other Buddhistic temples —the same images, &c.—and were soon surrounded by crowds of the most filthy and miserable-looking bonzes, some clad in grey and some in yellow. All were very civil, however, and on the invitation of the superior—who had a much more intelligent look than the rest—we went into an apartment at the side of the temple and had some tea. After a short rest we proceeded on our way, and mounted a hill about 1,500 feet in height, passing by some more temples on the way. I never saw human beings apparently in a lower condition than these bonzes, though some of the temples were under repair, and on the whole tolerably cared for. The view from the top of the hill was magnificent, and there was glorious music here and there, from the sea rolling in upon the sandy beach. We met some women (not young ones) going up the hill in chairs to worship at the temples, and found, in some, individuals at their devotions. In one there was a monk, hidden behind a great drum, repeating in a plaintive tone, over and over again, the name of Buddha, 'ameta fo,' or something like that sound. I observed some with lumps on the forehead, evidently produced by knocking it against the ground. The utter want of respect of these people for their temples, coupled with this asceticism and apparent self-sacrifice in their religion, is a combination which I cannot at present understand. It has one bad effect, that in the plundering expeditions which we Christians dignify with the name of war in these countries, idols are ripped up in the hope of finding treasure in them, temple ornaments seized, and in short no sort of consideration is shown for the religious feelings of the natives.
The following notice of the same sacred island occurs in one of his despatches:—
I trust that I may be permitted to offer one remark in reference to Potou, an islet adjoining Chusan, which I touched at on my way from the latter place to Chapoo. Little information, of course, was to be gathered there on questions directly affecting trade or politics, for it is a holy spot, exclusively appropriated to temples in tinsel and bonzes in rags; but it was impossible to wander over it as I did, visiting with entire impunity its most sacred recesses, without being forcibly reminded of the fact that one, at least, of the obstacles to intercourse between nations, which operates most powerfully in many parts, especially of the East, can hardly be said to exist in China. The Buddhistic faith does not seem to excite in the popular mind any bigoted antipathy to the professors of other creeds. The owner of the humblest dwelling almost invariably offers to the foreigner who enters it the hospitable tea-cup, without any apparent apprehension that his guest, by using, will defile it; and priests and worshippers attach no idea of profanation to the presence of the stranger in the joss-house. This is a fact, as I humbly conceive, not without its significance, when we come to consider what prospect there may be of our being able to extend and multiply relations of commerce and amity with this industrious portion of the human race.
The private journal proceeds:—
March 24th.—We are gliding through a perfectly smooth sea, with islands on both sides of us, on a beautifully calm and clear day, warmer than of late, but still tart enough to feel healthy. We passed a fleet of some hundreds of junks, proceeding northward under convoy of some lorchas of the 'Arrow' class, carrying flags which they probably have no right to. These lorchas exact a sort of black mail from the junks, and plunder them whenever it is more profitable to do so than to protect them. They often have Europeans on board. Poor Yeh has suffered severely for our sins in respect to this description of craft. We are on our way to Chapoo now, a port not opened to trade, but one which I am ordered by the Government to induce the Chinese to open. As it is very little out of the way to Shanghae, I wish to look at it in passing.
[Sidenote: Chapoo.]
March 25th.—We reached Chapoo at about 5 P.M. I did not land, but some of the party did, and mounted a hill from whence they looked down upon a walled town of no great size, and a plain, perfectly flat, stretching for any number of miles beyond it. The people, as usual, were civil, and made no difficulties, although we have no right to land there. The bay in which we anchored is open, and not in any particular way interesting. At about three this morning we started, and have been favoured with as good a day as yesterday. We have had nothing of the bold coasts of previous days, and passed occasionally islands flatter than those seen before. We are now in the mouth of the Yang-tze-kiang, with a perfectly flat and low shore on one side, and an equally flat one just discoverable with the aid of the telescope on the other. A good many junks are sailing about us, their dark sails filled with a lively breeze. Before us is a large man-of-war, which I am just told is the American 'Minnesota.' So our cruise is coming to an end, which I regret, as it has been a very pleasant break, and at least for the time has kept me out of reach of the bothers of my mission. We have reason too to be most thankful for the weather with which we have been favoured, and if Mr. Reed is before me he cannot complain, as I am here on the very day on which I said I should reach Shanghae. This is a very strange coast. The sea seems to be filling up with the deposits of the rivers. We have an island (inhabited) beside us, which did not exist a few years ago. We have not during all yesterday and to-day had ever more than eight fathoms of water.
[Sidenote: Shanghae.]