And I sigh for that dear shore
Distant o’er the sea.”
The Baron describes the waiters on board as follows:—“The head waiter is a native of Hamburg. He and his white comrade lead an easy life; they confine their labours to overlooking the Chinese men, and pass the rest of their time in flirting with the ladies’-maids. These are the only two idlers in the service. Thirty-two Chinamen do the duties of waiters on the passengers and at table. Although short, they look well enough with their black caps, their equally black pig-tails, which go down to their heels, their dark-[pg 38]blue tunics, their large white trousers, their gaiters or white stockings, and their black felt shoes with strong white soles. They form themselves into symmetrical groups, and do everything with method. Fancy a huge cabin, in which the small table of twenty-two guests is lost, with all these little Chinamen fluttering round them and serving them in the most respectful manner, without making any noise. The Hamburg chief, idly leaning against a console, with one hand in his trousers’ pocket, directs with the forefinger of the other the evolutions of his docile squadron.” The daily inspection, common on all well-regulated passenger ships, is thus described:—
“July 6.—Every day, at eleven o’clock in the morning and at eight o’clock in the evening, the captain, followed by the purser, makes the rounds of the ship. In that of the morning all the cabin-doors are opened, only excepting those of the ladies; but the moment these have gone out the captain visits them with equal care. If any matches are discovered they are pitilessly confiscated. This morning the captain invited me to accompany him, and I could convince myself with my own eyes of the perfect order and discipline which reign everywhere. Nothing was more tempting than that department which one greatly avoids, the kitchens. The head cook and his assistants, all Germans, did the honours of their domain. Every man was at his post, and only anxious to show the visitors the most secret corners of his department. It was like an examination of conscience carefully made. The provision and store-rooms were admirable. Everything was of the first and best quality; everything was in abundance; everything was classed and ticketed like the drugs in a chemist’s shop. The Chinese quarter is on the lower deck. We have about 800 on board. They are all in their berths, smoking and talking, and enjoying the rare pleasure in their lives of being able to spend five weeks in complete idleness. In spite of the great number of men penned into so comparatively small a space, the ventilation is so well managed that there is neither closeness nor bad smells. The captain inspects every hole and corner, literally everything—and everywhere we found the same extraordinary cleanliness. One small space is reserved for the opium-eaters or smokers; and we saw these victims of a fatal habit, some eagerly inhaling the poison, others already feeling its effects. Lying on their backs and fast asleep, their deadly-pale features gave them the look of corpses.”
A common occurrence, but always of great interest to the passengers, is thus described:—
“July 7.—Contrary to our usual sleepy habits, we are all to-day in a state of excitement and agitation. The China is to come to the point where it ought to meet the America, which was to leave Hong-Kong five-and-twenty days ago. Our top-sails are filled with little Chinamen, whose eager eyes are fixed on the horizon. The captain and officers are standing close to the bowsprit, their telescopes pointed in the same direction. Even my Spanish friend has left his engine, his flower-pots, and his wife’s portrait, to gaze at the blue sea, slightly rippled, but, as usual, without a speck of a sail. No America! The captain’s heart is in his shoes. He consults his charts, his instruments, his officers, all in vain. The day passes without the steamer being signalled. The dinner is silent and sad. Every one seems preoccupied, and the captain is evidently anxious. It seems that the directors of the company make a point of their two boats meeting. It is [pg 39]to them a proof that their captains have followed a straight course, and that the San Francisco boat has crossed, without any accident, a third of the Pacific. The passengers gladly avail themselves of this precious opportunity to write to their friends. For the captains themselves it is a question of honour. They like to show their skill in this way, and their cleverness in being able, despite the variable and imperfectly-understood currents of the Pacific, to make a straight course across this enormous sheet of water.
“July 8.—At five o’clock in the morning the second officer rushed into my cabin—‘The America[17] is in sight!’ I throw on my clothes and tumble on deck. The morning is beautiful, and this colossal steamer, the largest after the Great Eastern, draws near majestically. The usual salutes are exchanged, and the America’s gig brings us an extract from their log, the list of the passengers, the newspapers from Hong-Kong, Shanghai, and Yokohama, and, which is essential, takes charge of our letters for America and Europe. A few moments after she resumes her course. What a grand and imposing sight! At six o’clock she has already disappeared behind the horizon. At the moment of meeting we had run exactly 1,500 miles—that is, half the distance between England and New York.”
The China encountered a cyclone, or rather the outer edge of one, which is graphically described by Hübner. He says:—“At this moment the ocean was really magnificent. In the boiling sea the foam was driven horizontally towards the east. The water was positively inky, with here and there whitish gleams of light. The sky was iron-grey; to the west a curtain of the same colour, but darker. The thermometer was still falling rapidly. In the air above the waves I suddenly saw a cloud of white flakes; they were little bits of Joss paper which the Chinese were throwing into the sea to appease their gods. I passed before the open door of the engineer; he was watering his plants. The passengers were all gathered together in the saloon. Some of them were moved almost to tears. At twelve o’clock the sky cleared a little, and the faces brightened considerably. I have often remarked that people when in danger, whether real or imaginary, are like children; the slightest thing will make them laugh or cry. The Bombay master-baker, the Chinese merchant, and the two Japanese, struck me by their imperturbability. The first whispered in my ear, ‘The company is very unwise to have a Chinese crew; the Malays are much better. Chinese sailors are scared at the least danger, and would be the first to make off in the lifeboats.’ Fung-Tang has an equally bad opinion of his fellow-countrymen. He says to me, ‘Chinese good men, very good; bad sailors, very bad!’ I reply, ‘If we go to the bottom, what will become of Fung-Tang?’ He replies, ‘If good, place above; if bad, below stairs, punished.’
“July 20.—In the middle of the night the ocean suddenly calmed. The China has got out of the region of the cyclone. The weather is delicious; the sea like glass. But at [pg 40]four o’clock in the afternoon we suddenly find ourselves amidst colossal waves; and yet there is not a breath of wind. They tell us that this was probably yesterday the centre of the typhoon. It has exhausted itself or gone elsewhere; but the sea which it lashed into fury is still agitated, like the pulse of a fever patient after the fit is over.”
Yokohama, whose very name signifies “across the sea and shore,” has been before briefly described in these pages. Travellers have given some interesting accounts of it, and as in a tour round the world it would form one of the leading stopping-places, some further allusion to it may be permitted.