I was surprised, when anchoring in Singapore Roads, to find myself before so large and handsome a town, remembering, as I did, how short a time had passed since its foundation by Sir Stamford Raffles. It stands on the banks of a salt-water creek, which has been dignified by the name of the Singapore River; one side contains the warehouses, offices, stores, etcetera, of the merchants and shopkeepers, with fine and extensive wharves; and on the same side are the native streets and bazaars. Opposite to it is an extensive plain, adorned by numerous elegant mansions; and beyond is the Kampong Glam and Malay town, with the residence of the Sultan of Jahore and his followers. From this chief the British Government purchased the island, with an agreement to pay him an annual stipend.
Beyond them, again, is an undulating country, backed by thickly-timbered hills, which add much to the beauty of the landscape. It may truly be called a town of palaces from the handsome appearance of its colonnaded buildings, and, still more justly, a city of all nations; for here are to be found representatives of every people under the sun engaged in commercial pursuits. The costumes of Europe, Arabia, Persia, all parts of India, China, Siam, and all the islands of the Archipelago, may be seen in the streets together, while their flags wave above the residences of their consuls, or at the mast-heads of the barks which crowd the harbour. Even at the time of which I speak, there were upwards of twenty thousand inhabitants, while in no place are so many flourishing merchants to be found. A few years ago this place was a mere swamp, with a few huts on it, inhabited by barbarians. It will be asked, What has worked this change? I reply, Commerce. Its position on a great highway of trade—a strong government, and protection to all comers, and perfect freedom to well-doers. Besides those attracted by trade, numbers take refuge here from all parts of the Archipelago, from the tyranny and misrule of their chiefs; and were other ports established by the English, they would, from similar causes, be peopled with equal rapidity.
The river near where we lay presented an animated scene, from the arrival and departure of native boats, with fruit, vegetables, and live stock, as well as from the numbers of neat sampans plying for hire, or attending upon the commanders of vessels; while at anchor were numbers of the Cochin-Chinese, Siamese, and Chinese junks, as well as the Bugis and other prahus from all the far-surrounding islands.
I went on shore as soon as we dropped our anchor, to endeavour to obtain information regarding the object of my search. I saw several merchants to whom I had letters, and they were all very anxious to aid me; but I could learn nothing, and therefore resolved to proceed to Macao, and to commence my inquiries from thence.
Once more at sea, away we flew over the light curling waves, thrown up by the fresh but favouring breeze. In ten days we came in sight of the Ladrone Islands, off Macao, at the entrance of the Tigris river, on which Canton is situated. The captain and crew were now on the alert to guard against surprise from any of their enemies, either from the pirates who take shelter among the islands I have named, or from the Chinese revenue cruisers—not that the latter are much feared. We ran into the harbour of Cap-sing-moon, and went alongside a large opium-receiving ship, into which we were to discharge our cargo. From this ship it would, I learned, be conveyed up to Canton in Chinese smuggling boats. These boats are well manned and armed; and if they cannot get away from the mandarin boats, the crews will often fight very desperately.
I, in the meantime, proceeded to Macao. This ancient colony of the Portuguese in China has a very picturesque appearance from the sea, and has received its name from the supposed resemblance of the peninsula on which it stands to a mallet, of which macao is the Portuguese name. The streets are narrow, dirty, and ill-paved, but the houses of the merchants are large and commodious. Besides the Portuguese and Chinese, there are a large number of English and also American residents. Of course I had but little time or inclination for visiting the objects which usually interest strangers. I managed, however, to take a glance at the Cave of Camoens, the poet of Portugal, where it is said he composed his immortal Lusiad. It is rather a pile of granite rocks than a cave; and the garden in which it is situated is full of shrubs and magnificent trees—a romantic spot, fit for a poet’s meditations.
After many inquiries, I found that the vessel in which my friends left Macao had been consigned to a Mr Reuben Noakes, an American merchant; and to him I accordingly went, in the hopes of gaining some information to guide me. His counting-house had not an attractive appearance; nor did I like the expression of countenance of two clerks who were busily writing in an outer room. When I asked for Mr Noakes, one of them pointed with the feather of his pen to a door before me, but did not get up. I accordingly knocked at the door, and was told to come in.
“Well, stranger, what’s your business?” was the question asked me by the occupant of the room, a tall lank man, with a cadaverous countenance. He was lolling back in an easy chair, with a cigar in his mouth, a jug and tumbler, containing some potent mixture, by his side, and account books and papers before him.
Wishing to be as concise as he was in his questions, I asked, without attempting to look for a chair, (he did not offer me one):—
“Were you the consignee of the Emu brig, which sailed from here last year, and has not since been heard of?”