ON THE WAY TO HONG-KONG
Spread out in the low, flat valley of the Menam, Bangkok was a dull city
of rambling rows of cottages. Her poorly paved streets were crossed by
many canals, on which low-roofed boats and floating houses set on bamboo
rafts were rising and falling with the tide.
The people of the city were dull and careless. They had the black teeth,
the bristling pompadour, and they wore no more clothing than their
brothers of the trackless bush. There were many Chinamen and some
Europeans.
We found that deck passage to Hong-Kong cost next to nothing, and four
days after our arrival we went to buy tickets at the steamship offices.
The next afternoon a “wild woman” paddled us lazily across the Menam in
a raging downpour, and set us aboard a small steamer that was officered
by five Germans and manned by a hundred Chinese seamen, stokers, and
stewards. When the Germans and Chinese talked together they spoke
English.
Three hours after we boarded the vessel she cast off her shore lines and
slipped down over the sand-bar at the mouth of the river. Never before
had she carried white men as deck passengers. The Chinese thought the
deck belonged to men of their race, and that we had no business there.
They glared at us with scowls and snarls when we came on board, and
tried their best to get in our way and to bump against us while about
their work. We laughed at their unfriendly acts, and, choosing a place
back of the wheel-house, took our coats off and settled down for a long
and tiresome voyage.
[Illustration: Bangkok is a city of many canals.]
On the afternoon of our second day aboard, about thirty Chinese stewards
marched to our end of the vessel with their bowls of rice, and squatted
in a half circle about us. We paid no attention to them. One of them sat
down on the bundle containing my camera. When I motioned for him to get
off, the fellow leered at me and refused to move. I pushed him off, and
picked up my bundle. In his fall he dropped and broke his rice-bowl. The
entire crowd sprang to their feet.
“Kang kweitze!” (“Kill the foreigners!”) screamed the chief of the
stewards suddenly. With a roar the Chinamen surged forward. A heavy
piece of timber struck me a stunning blow on the back of the head, and I
landed face down among some chains near the railing.
When I came to enough to realize what had happened to me, a dozen
Chinamen were beating me with bamboo clubs. I struggled to my feet.
James was laying about him right merrily. Inch by inch we fought our way
around the deck, and had almost freed ourselves, when James stumbled and
fell headlong. A score of Chinamen rushed at him; every man of them
struck him blow after blow with some weapon. A Chinaman struck at me
with a long thin knife. I threw up my right hand, grasping the blade. It
cut my palm and slashed my wrist; but the fellow let go of the weapon. I
snatched hold of it with my other hand and with its help fought our way
forward, where four of the German officers stood huddled together like
frightened sheep.
We washed our wounds in salt water and bound them up as best we could.
The captain armed himself with two revolvers and marched down the deck
to restore order among his seamen. He pretended that it had not been
much of a fight, and tried to laugh it off; but he turned over to us an
unfurnished cabin and left us to spend a feverish and painful night on
the wooden slats of the narrow bunks. In the morning there was not a
spot the size of a man’s hand on either of our bodies that was not black
and blue.
Eight weary days the creaking old tramp of a ship wheezed past the many
bays that cut into the southern coast of French Indo-China. Early one
gray morning, one year after my departure from Detroit, two small
islands rose from the sea on our left. Several queer-looking Chinese
boats, manned by evil-faced, unshaven yellow men, bobbed up out of the
dawn, and, hooking the rail of our vessel with grappling-irons, floated
along beside us, while their crews shouted to the passengers, offering
to help them with their baggage. Greener islands appeared, and when we
slipped into the horseshoe-shaped harbor of Hong-Kong it was still half
shaded by the forest that incloses it.
A Chinese house-boat containing a large family set us ashore. We made
our way to the Sailors’ Home. My hand had healed, but James was still so
badly injured that we tried to secure entrance for him at the city
hospital. For several days he was turned away; but at last, when he had
become much worse, he was admitted, and I turned my attention to
outgoing ships, eager to be off, though sorry to leave behind the best
companion with whom I had ever shared the joys and miseries of the open
road.
The next morning I boarded an English freight steamer about to sail for
Shanghai, and asked for work to pay for my passage.
“Sure, lad,” cried the good-natured British mate. “Come on board
to-night and go to work. The old man will be glad to give you a few bob
for the run.”
At midnight we sailed. Four days later we were steaming slowly up the
dark river between flat banks and warehouses. Our ship stopped close by
the Sailors’ Home.
I saw many Americans and Europeans in Shanghai. In fact, the city is
filled with blocks of great buildings where business is carried on
solely by European merchants. Outside the European section lies many a
square mile of two-story shanties that crowd one another in an effort to
stand upright. The maze of narrow foot-paths winding among these
buildings are aglow with the brilliant signboards of gay Chinese shops,
and swarm with sour-faced yellow men who scowl fiercely at the white
foot traveler, or mock his movements and make faces at him. Cackling
peddlers zigzag through the crowd; wealthy Chinamen in gay robes and
carefully oiled queues pick their way along the narrow meandering lanes.
Great, muscular runners, carrying on one shoulder a Chinese lady who
cannot walk, jog in and out among the shoppers.
After spending three days in Shanghai I awoke one morning to find it
raining dismally. To spend a day indoors was too much for me, and I
began to think of continuing my journey. So I packed my belongings
hurriedly, and an hour later was slipping down the plank on board a
Japanese steamer. Among several hundred third-class passengers I was the
only European; but I was treated kindly by my fellow-travelers. Our
sleeping quarters consisted of two shelves sloping toward the wall and
running along half the length of the ship. In my ignorance, I neglected
to apply for a place on this shelf until every foot of it had been
claimed. But I lost nothing thereby; for no sooner was it noised about
among the Japanese that an American was aboard without a place to sleep
than a dozen crowded round to offer me their places. I joined a party of
four students returning from Pekin, and, by packing ourselves together
like spoons, we found room without robbing any other of his rest.
On the second morning out, the rolling green hills of Japan rose slowly
above the sun-flecked sea. My companions cried out joyfully when they
caught sight of their native land, and tried to make me believe that it
was the most beautiful spot on the globe. We soon steamed into the
harbor of Nagasaki. From the water’s edge rose a brown-roofed town that
covered low green mountains like a wrinkled brown carpet, and faded away
into the blue wreaths of hillside forests.
The port was busy and noisy. House-boats, in which stood Japanese
policemen in snow-white uniforms, scurried toward us. Close to our
vessel two dull gray battle-ships scowled out across the harbor.
Doctors, custom officers, and armed policemen crowded on board. By
blazing noonday I had stepped ashore.