THE sun had shone brilliantly and torridly all day over the mud-laden
river, the surrounding paddy-fields, and the copper-coloured backs of
the sweating Chinese boatmen as they laboured at their yuloes in sampen
and junk. It had, indeed, been a hot day even for up-river, and the
extreme humidity of the atmosphere after the rains made the heat felt in
every pore of the skin, so that even the half-naked steersmen of the
junks sweated at their rudders.
But now the sun is setting. On all sides can be heard the rattle of the
winches and the creaking as the heavy mat sails slide down the mast of
the junks, a splash as the stone-weighted wooden anchor drops over the
bows, and each junk in time swings to its rattan-twisted cable in the
pea-soup known as fresh water in Chinese rivers. The heavy damp air is
suddenly rent by a bugle note which signals the fact that the flag which
represents the sovereignty of King Edward the Seventh is being hauled
down till eight a.m. the next day on board the gunboat lying in the
muddy river.
A careful study of the illustrated weekly papers will give us a fair
knowledge of the appearance of the average naval officer, and we shall
also gather from this same source that when he’s not rushing about after
niggers with a field-gun, he’s employed attending balls at various
Government Houses, or talking to beautiful ladies on a huge
electric-lighted quarter-deck, what time the moon calmly shines on some
picturesque Mediterranean harbour.
Undoubtedly our friends have experienced all these social joys in their
time, but at present they are far removed from such soothing influences.
Still, we have to deal with a gunboat of some pretensions, one wherein a
gossamer vest and white trousers are not considered _de rigueur_ for
dinner. The wardroom is much as others in a “bug trap,” but it has one
great adornment, a punkah, which is pulled during meal hours by a
diminutive and quite expressionless “makee learn.” The lights are
burning and the table laid for four, the “makee learn” is waiting by the
pantry hatch ready to pull the punkah, and, on the entry of an officer,
comes in and, sitting on a stool, begins to violently jerk the rope
leading through a brass sheave to the small punkah which flaps away some
large and well-fed bluebottles.
The officer is smoking a cigarette, and dressed in white duck trousers,
a soft white shirt, and white mess-jacket, all of which goes to prove
that we are in a smart ship. He strolls idly over to the thermometer
hanging on the bulkhead and observes that the mercury stands at 84°. He
idly places the burning end of his cigarette near the bulb of the
thermometer and watches the mercury rise to 95°, while the “makee learn”
violently agitates the punkah. Having performed this simple operation he
sits in a cane chair, and another officer enters and flings himself on a
settee without any remark.
“Good evening, Pill,” says the first officer. “Pretty hot to-night.”
“Don’t agree with you,” remarks the other. “But, anyway, I’m open to bet
it isn’t ninety.”
“All right,” says the Chief, for such we will call the person who first
entered the wardroom. “Bet you a sherry and bitters it is.”
The surgeon jumps up and looks at the thermometer, then leans over the
table, rings the electric bell, and sings out, “Ah Hing, two sherries
and bitters!”
The bitters are brought in and disposed of, and then another officer
comes in.
“Nice and cool to-night, Pill,” he remarks.
“Don’t agree with you,” says the surgeon.
“But I think it’s much cooler,” remarks the navigator, for that is the
rating of the new-comer.
“Well, I’ll bet you it’s over ninety,” says the surgeon.
“What’ll you bet?” says the navigator.
“Oh, a cocktail, to-morrow forenoon. Then look for yourself,” says the
surgeon.
The navigator strolls over to the thermometer and says, “Eighty-eight.”
“Be blowed for a yarn!” says the surgeon. “Let’s look.” But on
consulting the mercury column he finds it stands at eighty-eight, so
muttering a curse that everybody and everything is against him to-day he
sits down and shouts to Ah Hing to bring some chow-chop-chop.
“Hurry up, Ah Hing!” says “No. 1” as he comes in. “Hullo, my pippins!
What cher! Well, Pill, fisherman’s luck, eh? Shot anything?”
“Yes,” says Pill; “darned sight too much!”
“Well, tell us all about it. You’ve been grubbin’ round the Chinese city
I suppose, Chief, lookin’ for curios?”
“Yes,” remarks the engineer officer; “and got two bits of blue and white
china and a confoundedly ancient-looking joss.”
Ah Hing brings in the soup, and “No. 1” says: “Well, doc, you might tell
your adventures to the poor devil who’s had nothing to do but stop
aboard the ship in this confounded stinking river.”