form of the Sphinx, hewn out of solid natural rock, having the body of
a lion with a human head. It is one hundred and seventy-two feet long
and fifty-six feet high. The Sphinx was symbolic of strength,
intellect, and force, and thousands of Egyptians were employed twenty
years in its construction.
Having spent two days of most interesting sight-seeing in this old
historical city, I returned to the cruiser, and after remaining a few
days in the harbor of Port Said, commenced our journey through the
Suez Canal.
This canal, which connects the Mediterranean and Red Seas, was built
by Ferdinand De Lessepps, a Frenchman. France built the canal, but
England owns it, although she permits Frenchmen to run it. The idea
originally was not De Lessepps’, as there had been a canal connecting
the Mediterranean and Red Seas thirteen centuries before Christ. When
Napoleon was in Egypt, he also entertained the project, in order that
France might supplant England in the eastern trade; but it required
the indomitable courage and wonderful genius of De Lessepps to carry
the herculean task to triumph.
The work was begun in 1860 and finished in 1869. One hundred million
dollars were spent, and thirty thousand men were employed in its
construction. The canal is eighty-eight miles long, twenty-six feet
deep, one hundred feet wide at the bottom, and about three hundred
feet wide at the top. The waters contain three times more salt than
ordinary sea water. There are stations along the route where ships tie
up to permit ships going in an opposite direction to pass. Its course
lies through the Nubian Desert, the land which Pharaoh gave to Joseph
for his father and brethren. An occasional drawbridge is in evidence
where the caravansaries cross going to and coming from the Holy Lands.
A novel sight midway in the canal was a French transport loaded with
French soldiers returning from the Boxer campaign in China. Vociferous
cheering from the Americans was responded to by the Frenchmen.
After ploughing the waters of the Suez Canal, our ship entered Bitter
Lake, where we anchored for the night, departing on our voyage at the
break of dawn. Entering “The Gate of Tears,” a strait between Arabia
and the continent of Africa, and so called from the danger arising to
navigation caused by strong currents, we beheld the entrance to the
Red Sea. The Twelve Apostles was the first memorial to remind us of
the historical chronology of this broad body of water. These
“apostles” seem to be of mysterious origin; they consist of twelve
symmetrical columns of rock, which project from the sea in a straight
line, the same distance apart, and shaped identically alike. Not far
from the coast on our port side could be seen Mt. Sinai and Mt. Horeb,
famed in biblical history. Some distance beyond is Mecca, the
Jerusalem of the Mohammedans, near which a spot is pointed out as
being the place where, under the providence of God, the Red Sea was
divided, making a dry pass for the deliverance of the Israelites from
their bondage in Egypt, under the leadership of Moses, the
God-inspired liberator of his people.
Steaming by Mocha, celebrated for its production of the finest coffee
in the world, we entered the harbor of Aden, our first port in Arabia.
Aden is a city typical of the “Far East”; spices of a rich odor
permeate the atmosphere for miles from the coast. The city is built in
the crater of an extinct volcano, and has an altitude of one thousand
feet, is strongly fortified, and commands the trade to India. Arabs
engage in trade of all kinds; beautiful ostrich feathers, Bengal tiger
skins, and ornaments of carved ivory, and souvenirs of sandal-wood are
displayed in the bazaars. Aden is not the dreariest place on earth,
but the few palm trees which surround the city only serve to remove it
a bit from this inconceivable state.
The heat in this section of the world is intense, and, as we steamed
out of the harbor of Aden, it seemed we were ploughing through molten
copper; however, the nights were cool. After passing through the
Straits of Bab el Mandeb and the Gulf of Aden, we entered the Indian
Ocean, enjoying a delightful cool breeze; but soon encountered an
interval of calm, which was followed by an East Indian “monsoon,” a
veritable hurricane at sea. Engines were shut down, guns were lashed,
hatches battened, and lookouts were strapped to the crow’s nest.
Mountainous swells of water washed aboard the ship, and for nine hours
the vessel was at the mercy of the waves. The storm having finally
abated, our rigging was restored, awnings spread, and, after a few
days of delightful cruising in the Indian Ocean, we entered the harbor
of Colombo, the capital of Ceylon, firing the customary salute, which
was returned by the forts and the various navies here represented.
Ceylon, a British possession, is an island in the Indian Ocean, lying
southeast of the peninsula of Hindustan, and is covered with a rich
luxuriance of tropical vegetation. The Singhalese are the most
numerous of its inhabitants; they are devoted to Buddhism, the
prevailing religion of the island. In Kandy, an inland town near the
capital, the sacred tooth of Buddha is guarded with jealous care.
Ceylon is rich in metals, minerals, and precious stones; its gems,
such as sapphires, rubies, topaz, garnets, amethysts, and cats-eye,
have been celebrated from time immemorial. The interior of the island
abounds with birds of paradise and immense bats resembling the
vampire. Animals, such as the elephant, bear, leopard, wild boar,
deer, and monkeys, roam at will, while the crocodile, tortoise, and
large lizards, infest the bogs of the jungle. A celebrated mountain
visible from Colombo is Adam’s Peak, which attains the height of 7420
feet above sea-level.
Colombo, the capital, a fortified city on the western side of the
island, shaded by the trees of the cocoanut palm, is progressive as a
maritime port and particularly as the entrepôt for the East India
trade. The hotels are furnished with “punkahs,” while hammocks of
rattan are stretched on every veranda.
In addition to the native Singhalese, Hindus, Tamils, Moors, Malays,
and Portuguese engage in various occupations, a large number of these
being employed on the coffee and tea plantations.
In the Prince of Wales Hotel I met some soldiers of the famous “Black
Watch” who had participated in the Boer War and who had been sent to
Colombo to recuperate; I accompanied them to their barracks, where we
exchanged various curios.
A large revenue is derived by the government from the pearl-fishery in
the Gulf of Manaar, and whales are captured off the coast.
Seven days were spent in the harbor of Colombo, after which our ship
steamed across the Indian Ocean, and through the Straits of Malacca to
Singapore, an island in the Straits Settlements, south of the Malay
Peninsula, and eighty miles from the equator. It commands the highway
leading from British India to China, and became a British possession
by a treaty with the Sultan of Johore in the year 1824.
Singapore is the entrepôt for the trade of the Malayan archipelago and
China; its chief exports are tapioca, tin, tortoise-shell, camphor,
coffee, nutmegs, gutta percha, and rattan. Situated on the south side
of the island, the town has a very oriental appearance, and its
inhabitants represent sixteen nationalities speaking different
tongues, the most enterprising of these being the Chinese. Though very
warm, the climate is healthy and it is seldom subjected to quarantine.
For ages past the tiger has been a menace to Singapore, and the
government’s archives record an average of three hundred Chinese and
other natives carried off annually by these blood-thirsty man-eaters.
While lying in the harbor of Singapore, the crew of the _New York_ had
the opportunity of witnessing a total eclipse of the sun. Astronomers
from various nations had come to take observations and data for the
official chronological records of their respective governments. It was
an amusing sight to watch the natives as the eclipse passed over the
sun; their superstition led them to believe that the end of the world
had come, and their utterance and performance were ridiculous.
From Singapore our ship steamed into the China Sea for ports in the
Philippine Islands.
V.
Hong Kong, China, and the Denizens of the Underworld
A Trip to Canton――“Happy Valley” the “Epsom Downs” of the Far
East――Discovery of an American Actress in an Opium Joint――A “Rough
House” in which Guns are Drawn――Moonlight Meditations on the
Quarter-deck of the _Rainbow_――Encounter with a Victim of Brain
Storm.
I had made numerous trips across the China Sea, and had been up and
down the Chinese coast from Taku to Saigon several times, on board the
United States Cruiser _New York_, during the Boxer campaign. On this
particular trip, however, I was serving on board the United States
Flagship _Rainbow_, in the capacity of orderly to the junior commander
of the Asiatic fleet, the late Rear Admiral Wilde.
This trip had been looked forward to with great pleasure as our ship
was scheduled for dry dock and this meant lots of shore leave for the
crew.
Leaving Manila we steamed across the China Sea, which required about
three days. After the usual quarantine inspections we entered the
land-locked harbor and cast anchor near Kowloon, a town on the
mainland of China.
Hong Kong is situated on Victoria Island and is a British possession;
the island rises to an immense altitude on the slope of which, facing
Kowloon, spreads the City of Hong Kong. The entrance to the harbor is
well fortified and from a light-house on a cliff a powerful light is
cast at night for miles over the China Sea.
Having visited Hong Kong several times, it was my desire this time to
pay a visit to the more typical Chinese City of Canton. So,
accompanied by the Japanese steward of the _Rainbow_, I secured
passage on the British side-wheeler _Moonlight_.
The passengers seemed to represent every nation on earth. There were
Bombay and Chinese merchants, American and European tourists, East
Indian Sikhs, Japanese waiters, and Chinese sailors.
After an all night run on the Pearl River, dawn broke with our eyes
fastened on this great Chinese city, Canton. Here years could be spent
without learning a great deal about its historical calendar.
Entering through a gate of the old stone wall, we found the only
European hotel in the city, the “Victoria,” where, after having had
breakfast, we engaged two sedan chairs carried by coolies, and sought
the places of interest. The streets are so narrow that two chairs can
just barely pass each other. We visited the ancient pagodas, the
execution ground and block where highbinders are beheaded, the
markets, bazaars, and opium dens, and finally witnessed a Chinese
wedding.
One of the interesting sights of the Pearl River is its floating
population. It is estimated that three million Chinese live in junks
on this river.
I was not at all reluctant to leave this relic of the dark ages for
the more up-to-date city of Hong Kong. We know the nations of the
earth are represented in our New York, but for real cosmopolitanism
the “Queen’s Road” in Hong Kong makes old Broadway look like a street
in a country village.
The principal enterprises of Hong Kong are shipping, the manufacture
of chinaware, silk goods, sedan wood-work, and pyrotechnics. Labor is
very cheap, and, as British imports are entered free of duty, the
living in this city of the far East is very cheap.
Many Hong Kong Chinamen are educated in the English language, have
adopted the customs and manners of the English people, and for
cleverness in business and practical affairs are unexcelled.
A tram-way leads up the mountain-side to the Peak Hotel, from which
you can be conveyed in sedan chairs to the zenith of Victoria Peak. At
the Peak Hotel I met two American prospectors, with whom I played
several games of billiards; these men had spent three years in Sumatra
and were awaiting a liner for “Frisco.” With them I visited Happy
Valley, the Chinese Court, the Dairy Farm, Douglass Castle, Kennedy
Road, the Chinese market, the Royal Naval Canteen, the barracks of the
Welsh Fusileers, the Highlanders, the Scots Guards, and the Sikhs, old
Chinese joss houses, and the famous Traveller’s Inn, where British
bar-maids do the honors.
Horse-racing is the favorite sport in Hong Kong, and the track at
Happy Valley is the Epsom Downs of the Far East. A Derby is a signal
for the suspension of business, and the excitement in the paddock,
grand stand, and along the rail is akin to that at Sheepshead Bay on
the day of the Brooklyn handicap.
The Chinese are born gamblers, whether playing at “fan tan” or picking
the winners on the track. They will carry complete data of a horse:
the distance he can go at his best; the weight he can best carry;
whether fast or slow in starting; and whether a good or bad animal in
mud; all this a Chinaman will study over before placing his money, and
it is usually safe to follow his system.
Hong Kong, like all other cities of the earth, has its underworld.
These labyrinthal subways, where flourish the opium dens, are as
thickly infested with thugs as are the darkest recesses of Mulberry
Bend. Having accompanied a party of Highlanders and Welsh Fusileers
into these dimly lighted caverns, for the purpose of seeing opium
smoked, we fell upon sights which seemed degrading even to a party of
slumming soldiers; here and there in deep recess were cots on which
reclined the sleeping forms of seminude victims of the yenhock.
Further on, an American girl in a kimono approached me with the query
as to what part of the United States I was from. Her flushed face
indicated that she was under the influence of “samshu,” a popular
native intoxicant. She told me how eager she was to get back to her
native land, but how impossible it seemed to raise the price of the
transportation. Her home she said was in St. Louis, that she had
accompanied a theatrical troupe from San Francisco to Australia, which
had stranded and disbanded in Sydney; from Australia she had
accompanied a troupe through the Straits Settlements, and finally
arrived in Hong Kong, only to fall a victim to the plague, from which
she recovered, and finally drifted penniless into the abode of the
denizens of the underworld. Her story was a sad one, but you meet the
same class and hear similar stories in all cities of the world. As we
bade her adieu and passed on through this “chamber of horrors,” we
could hear her voice, singing, “Give me just one little smile; every
little bit helps.”
There were some ugly-looking heathens in this underground bee-hive,
and, before leaving, we played at “fan tan,” having considerable luck,
which seemed to irritate an almond-eyed highbinder to such an extent
that he broke up the game. This caused a Highlander to hand him a jolt
on the eye, and this started a “rough house,” in which I was compelled
to declare peace along the barrel of my Colt automatic; it looked like
work for a coroner, but Chinese are afraid of a gun, and the
resumption of order was momentary.
Having visited every nook and cranny of this quaint city during my ten
days’ shore leave, I returned to the arduous duties about the deck of
a “man-of-war.”
The _Rainbow_ had changed her position from the anchorage ground in
the bay to a dry dock in Kowloon opposite the City of Hong Kong; here
she was undergoing a process of renovation.
On board a “man-of-war” the hours for performing duty are divided into
three watches, each watch commencing at eight bells. At eight o’clock
commences what is known as the first watch, this watch is relieved at
twelve o’clock by the mid watch, and this is relieved at four o’clock
by the dog watch, the night watches being regulated the same as the
day.
In the navy the non-commissioned officers of the guard exercise no
authority over the orderlies of the admiral and “skipper,” and there
is no posting an orderly, as in the case of a sentry, there being a
mutual compact that each relief report promptly on the hour.
At night it is customary for each orderly to waken his own relief. As
eight bells struck for the dog watch, I was in the bulkhead leading to
the admiral’s cabin, testing my annunciator and receiving any verbal
orders which might have been left by the flag-officer or officer of
the deck. On this particular night Admiral Wilde, who “by the way”
commanded the _Boston_ of Dewey’s fleet at the battle of Manila Bay,
accompanied by Commander Staunton of the _Rainbow_, had left the ship
to attend a dinner party on board the British commerce destroyer
_Terrible_.
The old man being away, I spent my watch in leisure, as an admiral’s
orderly takes orders from no one but the admiral. After sampling a few
of his mild Manila cigars and running off a few letters on the
typewriter, I climbed aloft to the quarter-deck, where the capstan and
brass tompions of the big aft eight-inch guns shone bright in the
moonlight.
What a night this was! Never on such a night could Dewey’s fleet have
passed unseen the forts of Corregidor. There, stretching over the
mountain-side of Victoria, lay the illuminated City of Hong Kong; the
wavelets of the Pearl River, with its myriads of junks and sampans,
seemed to dance in the moonlight; off at the entrance, from the tower
of a light-house, a powerful revolving search-light cast its rays
beyond the horizon of the China Sea. Here and there dotting the harbor
were the “dogs of war” of the American, British, German, and French
navies; large junks with colored Chinese lanterns at the bow, which
trembled in the soft breeze, and an eye on either side, to guide it on
its way, passed to and fro, like phantoms of the mist.
All was silent about the deck. The tramp, tramp, tramp of the big East
Indian Sikh who patrolled the water front was the only sound to
disturb the tranquillity of this dream-like night. As I leaned on the
taffrail of the quarter-deck, in deep meditation, I thought of what a
prodigious subject this scene would make for the pen of a Byron or a
Browning, and that it was on such a night in Venice that Desdemona
eloped with her tawny Moorish warrior.
As my eyes feasted on the grandeur of these moonlight scenes, the
tongue of the bell tolled seven; it was half past eleven and time to
call my relief. With a dark lantern I started for the berth-deck; near
the entrance to the conning tower I was approached by an excited
sailor, who asked my opinion of the terrible massacre in Hong Kong. I
informed the fellow that I had heard nothing of a massacre, whereupon
he volunteered to show me a bulletin; leading the way to the
pilot-house, he found it locked; gazing through the window, the man
exclaimed, “Look there! read that!” The light was on, and, sure
enough, there was a scrip attached to the wheel, the writing of which
it was impossible to read.
Having aroused my curiosity, I further inquired as to the
circumstances leading to the massacre. For several minutes the fellow
was non-committal, acting surprised at my ignorance in not even having
heard the report of the guns. Impulsively he shouted, “Look there! see
that cloud of smoke? The Inniskilling Dragoons have fired on the Royal
Artillery, and, as the result of the conflict, ten thousand natives
lie strewed in death.” This unusual surprise did not exactly paralyze
me, but it was the cue for me to make my exit, which I did with
symptoms of the ague, having made an excuse to go below for a pair of
binoculars that we might gaze on the scene more clearly.
This was my first experience with a victim of brain storm, and,
although I shrink from the admittance of “having cold feet,” I must
admit that the atmosphere on this occasion was unduly chilly.
On the main deck I met some coal-passers who had been gambling in the
engine-room; apprising these fellows of there being a crazy man on
deck, we concurred in the advisability of notifying the master at arms
and having him put away for safe keeping. In a short time the fellow
was manacled and led to the brig, protesting his innocence of having
been a party to the massacre.
Upon examination by the surgeon, the man was removed to the “sick
bay,” where it developed that the unfortunate fellow was suffering
from acute melancholia. During the investigation to consider the
advisability of sending him to a sanitarium in Yokohama, he tried to
cough up a ten-inch shell which he claimed to have accidentally
swallowed. Having undergone a course of treatment on the Island of
Hondo, Japan, the fellow fully recovered, and I have since learned
that he regained his normal health and is prospering in the middle
West.
Upon completion of our ship in dry dock, we bade adieu to the land of
the heathen Chinee and steamed into the China Sea _en route_ to the
Sula Archipelago, spending Thanksgiving in the harbor of Puerto
Princessa on the Island of Palawan.
VI.
A Trip to Japan
Departure of the “Flag-Ship” from Manila――A Typhoon in the China
Sea――The Inland Sea of the “Rising Sun”――Baseball with the Kobe
Country Club――Fujiyama――Yokohama――Tokio, and the Imperial Palace
of the Mikado――A French Fleet Celebrates the Taking of the
Bastille――Unveiling of Perry’s Monument――A Reception on Board the
_New York_ to the Nobility of the “Flowery Kingdom.”
The United States Cruiser _New York_,――flying the ensign of Rear
Admiral Rodgers, commander-in-chief of the Asiatic station, who had
received orders to proceed to Yokohama, Japan, to participate in the
unveiling of a monument erected by the Japanese government in
commemoration of the achievement of Commodore Perry, his grandfather,
who anchored there with his fleet in 1854, and, as ambassador sent by
President Filmore, succeeded in opening the ports of Japan to foreign
commerce,――drew anchor June 25, 1901, and steamed into the China Sea,
with the gun-boat _Yorktown_ following in her wake.
The cruise was uneventful for the first few days, when, about 11 A.M.
of the third day, the barometer suddenly dropped several degrees and
dark, heavy clouds gave evidence that a typhoon was approaching. All
sails on board were secured, guns were lashed, hatches battened down,
and sou’westers donned by the lookouts. A few minutes later we were
being rocked in a heavy sea; a terrible gale of wind, whistling
through the ventilators, brought relief to the coal-passers below. Our
deep fog-whistle was blown every minute, and the boatswain and his
mates were active and constantly on the alert. Our engines were kept
going as usual, and by evening the typhoon had broken and we were
sailing on a fair sea off the coast of Formosa.
After two days’ more sail, occasionally passing a man-of-war or
mail-steamer, we sighted the beautiful islands of the Inland Sea, the
land of the Rising Sun, which we entered at sunrise. This land-locked
Japanese body of water is a broad lake over two hundred miles long,
filled with islands and sheltered by uneven shores. From sunrise to
dark, shadowy vistas opened and peaceful shores golden with ripening
grain slipped by. There was nothing to disturb the dream-like charm,
and yet human life and achievement were constantly in sight. Along the
shores stretched chains of villages, with stone walls, castles, and
temples soaring above the clustered roofs, or peeping from wooded
slopes were terraced fields of rice and grain, ridging every hill to
its summit and covering every lower level.
Dotted throughout this fairy-like lake are stone torrils, miniature
light-houses, which guide the ships at night. Junks and sampans lie
anchored in fleets or creep idly across the water, and small coasting
steamers thread their way in and out among the islands. For miles we
steamed by what is supposed to be the most picturesque scenery in the
world. It was yet twilight when Kobe was seen in the distance at the
head of the Inland Sea, sheltered from the land by the range of
mountains back of it. We entered the harbor after having been
inspected by the Japanese quarantine officials, and anchored astern of
the British battleship _Aurora_. Before the last notes of tattoo were
sounded our booms were spread and launches lowered, and the
beautifully illuminated city of Kobe lay before us. Kobe means “Gate
of God” and is the model foreign settlement of the eastern part of
Japan, with a population of 215,000.