[Illustration]
Though Hong Kong, when handed over to Great Britain in 1841, was a
practically uninhabited island, it has now a population of 377,000, of
which 360,000 are Chinese. The city of Victoria is situated round the
southern shore of the harbour, and is, next to London, the greatest
shipping port in the world. Behind the city steep hills rise to the
height of over 1,800 feet, their rugged sides scored by well
constructed roads and dotted over with handsome buildings, while a
cable tramway leads to the Peak (1,200 feet high), where fine houses
and terraces afford in summer accommodation for the European
residents, who find in its cool heights relief from the oppressive
temperature of the sea level. It is hard to say whether Hong Kong is
more beautiful from the harbour or from the Peak. From the one is seen
the city crowded round the shore behind the broad praya or sea front,
and sweeping up the precipitous sides of the hills--spreading as it
climbs from street to terrace, from terrace to villa, up to the very
Peak--terrace and villa nestled in the everlasting verdure of the
luxuriant tropics, varied by blazes of colour from tree, shrub, and
climber, the blue masses of hydrangea at the Peak vying with the
brilliant masses of purple bougainvillia, or yellow alamanda of the
lower levels, the whole bathed in such sunshine as is rarely seen in
temperate regions, while above the blue sky is flecked with light
fleecy clouds. Away to the eastward is the happy valley, a flat oval,
around which the hill-sides are devoted to a series of the most
beautifully kept cemeteries in the world. Here Christian and
Mohammedan, Eastern and Western, rest from their labours, while below
them, in the oval valley, every sport and game of England is in full
swing.
From the Peak we look down upon the city and the harbour, and our gaze
sweeps onward over the flat peninsula of Kowloon to the bare and
rugged hills that sweep from east to west. But the interest centres in
the magnificent harbour, on whose blue bosom rest the great steamers
of every nation trading with the Far East, round whose hulls are
flitting the three hundred and fifty launches of which the harbour
boasts, whose movements at full speed in a crowded harbour bear
witness to the splendid nerve of their Chinese coxswains. Out in the
harbour, towards Stonecutter's Island, the tall masts of trim
American schooners may be seen, the master--probably part owner--with
sometimes his wife on board, and with accommodation aft that the
captains of our largest liners might envy, while the thousands of
Chinese boats of all descriptions look like swarms of flies moving
over the laughing waters of the bay. The hum of the city is inaudible,
and even the rasp of the derricks that feed the holds of the
steamships or empty them of their cargoes comes up with a softened
sound, telling its tale of commercial activity.
[Illustration: A STREET STALL.]
At night the scene is still more enchanting, for spread out beneath
are gleaming and dancing the thousands of lights afloat and ashore.
The outlines of the bay are marked by sweeping curves of light, and
the myriad stars that seem to shine more brightly than elsewhere are
mirrored in the dark waters, mingling with the thousands of lights
from the boats and shipping.
This is normal Hong Kong, and in the warm season, for in winter it is
cold enough to demand the glow of the fire and the cheerful warmth of
furs. But the beautiful harbour lashed to wild fury by the dreaded
typhoon is a different sight. All may look well to the uninitiated,
who wonders to see groups of sampans and lighters, sometimes twenty or
more, being towed by single launches to Causeway Bay, the boat harbour
of refuge; but the gathering clouds in the south-east, the strong
puffy gusts of wind, and the rapidly falling barometer with the
characteristic pumping action, warn the watchful meteorological staff
that the time has come to hoist the warning signal, while in addition
the south-easterly heave of the sea gives notice to the careful
sea-captain that he had better not be caught in narrow waters except
with both anchors down and a full head of steam ready.
With a blackening sky, increasing wind, and troubled sea there is no
longer room for doubt, and active preparations are made ashore and
afloat. While cables are lengthened, top hamper made snug, and steam
got up on sea, all windows are carefully fastened with hurricane bars
on shore, for should a window be blown in when the typhoon is at its
height there is no knowing how far the destruction may extend, the
walls being sometimes blown out and the contents of the house
scattered over the hill-side. I have seen such a typhoon that reached
its maximum in the early morning. The whole harbour was foaming with a
devil's dance of wild waters, hidden by a thick blanket of spray,
through which from time to time great waves were dimly seen dashing
over the high wharf premises, or godowns, of Kowloon, while
minute-guns of distress boomed from out the wrack of sea and mist,
heard as dull thuds in the howling of the mighty typhoon, and calling
for help that none could give. By ten o'clock the typhoon had swept
on to the north, leaving scores of ships and junks sunk in the
harbour, a mile of sampans smashed to pieces at the Kowloon wharves,
and hundreds of victims beneath the now moderating seas, while the
harbour was filled with floating bales of merchandise.
[Illustration]
The incident was the means of demonstrating the organizing capacity of
the Chinese. As soon as the sea had moderated sufficiently to allow a
launch to live, I sent for a Chinese gentleman and suggested that
something should be done to relieve the sufferers and rescue those who
still required assistance, and found that already the guild had sent
out two powerful launches, one with coffins for the drowned, the
other, with a doctor on board, equipped with the necessary means of
succour for the injured, and food for those who had lost their all.
Steaming along the Kowloon shore an hour afterwards, where the
wreckage of boats was heaving and falling in a mass of destruction
twenty to thirty feet wide along the sea wall, there was no sign, as
might have been expected, of stunned despair; but the crowd of
boat-people, men and women, who had escaped with their lives were
working with a will and as busy as bees, each endeavouring to save
something from the smashed wreckage of what had been their home, the
men jumping from one heaving mass to another, diving betimes and
struggling with the adverse buffets of fate with an energy none the
less for their stoical acceptance of the inevitable.
Although Hong Kong is a British possession it is essentially a Chinese
city. British supervision has seen to it that the streets are wide and
all the houses well and solidly built, save a few remaining houses of
the era preceding the creation of a sanitary board, and cleanliness of
house and surroundings is secured by careful and unremitting
inspection. The shops are a mixture of European architecture and
Chinese decoration, which runs into rich and elaborate carving and
gilding. Outside are hung the same pendant signs that give such colour
to the streets of Canton. Blue is the predominant colour worn by all
Chinese, save the sweating coolies who toil along the quays of the
great port, and the blue crowd that fills the busy streets harmonizes
with the surrounding colours. The splendid buildings in what are
called the principal streets, where banks, hotels, and counting-houses
of the important European firms are situated, with the shops that
cater more especially for the wants of foreign residents and tourists,
differ but little from the architecture of a European city, while the
shops contain all that purchasers can require of European wares, or
Chinese and Japanese products wherewith to tempt the inquiring
tourist. But the wealthiest part of the city is in the Chinese
quarter, and here property has changed hands at startling figures,
sometimes at a rate equal to one hundred and sixty thousand pounds an
acre. Here the shops are purely Chinese, and every trade may be seen
in operation, while the doctor puts up a sign that he cures broken
legs, or the dentist displays a small board, from which hang five or
six long strings of molars of portentous size showing every phase of
dental decay. Everywhere is seen a teeming population instinct with
ceaseless activity. Rickshaws rush past, these most convenient little
carriages for hire having one coolie in the shafts, while private
rickshaws have one or two in addition pushing behind; or the more
sedate chair swings by, borne by two or four coolies, the men in front
and rear stepping off with different feet so as to prevent the
swinging of the chair. The shops in this quarter have abandoned the
glass front and are open, save when at night they are closed by planks
set up and fastened with a bar behind the last two. The shop is then
secure from any attempt to break in from the outside; but cases are on
record where armed robbers have slipped in at the last moment and,
closing the plank which secured them from observation, produced
revolvers and walked off with the contents of the till, leaving the
terrified owner and his assistants bound and gagged while they made
their escape.
[Illustration]
The early life of the city is an interesting study. At five o'clock
the people are astir. The working men apparently take their morning
meal in the streets, where tables are erected on which are large
vessels of rice, and of boiling congee (a mixture of rice flour and
water), piles of vegetables of various sorts chopped fine, dishes of
scraps of meat, including the uncooked entrails of fowls, pieces of
fish, and relishes of soy and other sauces. The hungry customer is
handed a bowl half full of rice, on which is placed small portions of
the various vegetables and a piece of meat, or some scraps of
entrails, over all is poured a ladle full of the boiling congee, and
the repast is ready. With his chopsticks the customer, holding the
bowl to his wide open mouth, shovels in nearly as much rice as it will
hold, then picking from the bowl pieces of the luscious morsels with
which it is garnished, he lays them on the yet untouched rice, when he
closes his mouth and proceeds with the process of mastication and
deglutition. Each mouthful is a course, and the same process is
repeated until the morning meal is complete. Hard by may be seen a
purveyor of whelks, which are a favourite food, especially with boys,
who have all the excitement of gambling in satisfying their hunger.
The whelks are in a basket, to the handle of which a dozen pieces of
wire with crooked ends are attached by long cords. A small boy appears
and lays a cash upon the stall, at the same time drawing from a deep
bamboo joint a bamboo slip, one of the many in the pot. At the end of
the slip is a number, or a blank, and the hungry lover of chance may
find the result of his first venture a blank, or he may be fortunate
enough to draw a prize with a number, which represents the number of
whelks that he is to receive. These he deftly picks out with one of
the crooked wires. They must, of course, be consumed "on the
premises," for the cautious caterer takes no chances by permitting the
wire to be detached from the cord. Boys are active and unscrupulous,
and crooked wires cost money. Balls of rice flour, fried in lard, are
another favourite food of the streets, and sweetmeats of appalling
stickiness and questionable preparation are always to be found in
Chinese quarters. The morning crowd is always good-humoured, chaffing
and laughing with a heartiness that explodes the European idea of
Chinese stolidity and want of expression.
[Illustration]
The Chinese workman eats but twice a day. His morning meal is between
six and eight o'clock, and his afternoon meal is at four.
By this time the boats have arrived from Kowloon with their loads of
vegetables, and the small hawkers are busily carrying them from house
to house for the consumption of Chinese households, while the outlying
greengrocers are being supplied with their daily stock, in the setting
out of which great care is exercised, the Chinese greengrocer having
an artistic eye for effect. No small shop does a more flourishing
business than the druggist's and herbalist's, the Chinese having faith
in the use of "simples," though remedies including the calcined teeth
of tigers and vertebræ of serpents are not without their moral effect,
and the mystery of a pill three-quarters of an inch in diameter has
yet to be fathomed. At the Chinese New Year, tied up over every door
will be seen a small bundle of vegetables, consisting of five plants:
the _Acorus calamus_, representing a sword, and the _Euphorbia_, a
fighting-iron, to ward off evil spirits; the onion, to guard against
the spirit of malaria; the _Artemisia vulgaris_ and the _Davallia
tennifolia_. This charm is as efficacious as the house leek that, in
the imaginative pre-national school days, was carefully planted on the
roof of Irish cottages as a sure preservative against fire.
[Illustration: ON A BACKWATER.]
But the busiest man in the early morning is the barber, for the
Chinese workman does not shave his own head, and small crowds assemble
in each barber's shop, where tongues wag freely, and some read the
morning papers while awaiting their turn. However great the crowd,
there is no sign of hurry in the manipulation of the placid barber.
Not alone is the front of the head shaved, but the eyebrows and
eyelashes are attended to; then the ears are explored and cleaned with
minute care; and, lastly, the client is massaged and shampooed while
he sits bent forward, the hammering upon back and sides being by no
means gentle, and ending with a resounding smack with the hollowed
palm of the barber's hand. The constant manipulation of the ears is
supposed to be injurious as tending to produce deafness, but without
it the customer would not consider that he had value for his thirty
cash, the usual fee--about one-third of a cent. The end of the
operation is the plaiting of the long queue, which between the real
and the false hair freely used reaches nearly to the heels, and is
finished by a silk tassel plaited into the end. Sometimes a man may be
seen plaiting his own queue, which he does by taking it over the rung
of a ladder, and moving backwards so as to preserve the strain.
Among the skilled workmen, the sawyer and the stonecutter are most in
evidence to the ordinary visitor, who is astonished to see a squared
log two feet in diameter being sawn by a single man. Having got the
log into position, one man with a frame-saw does the whole business.
He stands on top, and the work is extremely arduous; but an enormous
amount of timber is sawn in this way. The stonecutter has a lighter
job. The Chinese are very expert quarrymen, and cut out by iron or
wooden wedges great blocks of granite, the wedge-holes having been
prepared by iron chisel-headed bolts. Wooden wedges are then driven in
and wetted, the expansion of the wedge forcing out the block, which
requires but little squaring, so carefully is the cleavage effected.
One generic difference between the physical formation of Western and
Eastern races is the facility with which the latter can sit upon their
heels. An Asiatic will sink down upon his heels with as much ease and
with as restful comfort as can a European upon a chair; and in
stonecutting the workman may be seen sitting upon the stone on which
he is working, sometimes seated on the edge while chiselling the
perpendicular side below him. In this position a row of workmen look
at a distance like a row of vultures sitting upon a ledge.
The lowest form of labour in Hong Kong is the work of the coolies, who
carry coals and building materials to the Peak district; and here we
have a striking evidence of the patient industry and extraordinary
ingenuity with which the piece-work labourer secures the largest
possible amount of result from the day's labour. Up the steep
hill-side every brick or basket of sand and lime that has gone to
build the houses and barracks of the Peak district has been carried up
in the double baskets, suspended from the bamboo carrying-pole of a
working coolie, who is paid by the load. Now a heavy load, sometimes
weighing a hundredweight, carried up very steep roads for two miles or
so, means slow progress, with many rests. The coolie manages to reduce
the intervals of rest to the smallest compass. Placing two loads
together, he carries one for fifty yards and there deposits it,
returning for the second, which is carried up one hundred yards.
Dropping that, he--or she, for the matter of that, for the coolie
hill-carriers are sometimes women, not seldom old and feeble--returns
to the first load and carries the burden fifty yards beyond the
second, which is in turn taken up in the same way. There is no
standing idle or sitting down to rest, the only relief being that of
dropping the load and walking back down hill to take up the one left
behind. This system of overlapping saves all the time that otherwise
must be lost in resting, as no human being could carry up a load to
the Peak without frequent intervals of rest.
[Illustration]
After the day's work is ended the workman does not affect a tavern. He
dearly loves a game, or, more strictly speaking, a gamble; and while
all gambling-houses are put down with a strong hand, no conceivable
official ingenuity could circumvent the gambling propensities of a
people whose instruments of games of chance are not confined to cards
or dice. The number of seeds in a melon, or any other wager on
peculiarities of natural objects will do as well, and afford no
damning evidence should an officious member of the police force
appear. The game of chi-mooe is not confined to the working people,
but is a favourite game with all classes, and the shouts and laughter
that accompany it now and again bring complaints from the neighbours
whose rest is disturbed. The game is simple and is played by two. One
suddenly flings out his hand with one, two, or more fingers extended,
at the same moment the other must guess the number. Curling has been
called the roaring game, but no curler ever made a greater racket than
two excited chi-mooe players. One would imagine that the guessing of
the number of fingers extended must be a matter of pure chance, but a
Chinese gentleman assured me that in the flinging forward of the hand
there is a muscular difference in the form if one, two, three, or more
fingers are to be extended, and this difference is observed with
lightning rapidity by an expert player.
However content the adult Chinaman may be with sedentary amusements,
the energy of youth is in full force in the Chinese schoolboy. He is
rapidly acquiring a taste for European games, such as cricket and
football, but he has always played the game of hopscotch, but little
differing from the game played in an English village. Where a ring can
be formed he also plays a game of shuttlecock, the only instrument
being a cork or piece of light wood with two or three feathers to
regulate its flight and fall. This is played solely with the feet, the
shuttlecock being kicked from one to the other with extraordinary
dexterity. The shuttlecock is often kept up for five or even ten
minutes at a time, foot and eye working together with wonderful
precision.
[Illustration]