NEWFOUNDLAND TO
COCHIN CHINA.
[Illustration: TRAIN EMERGING FROM SNOW-SHED. Page 90.]
NEWFOUNDLAND
TO
COCHIN CHINA
_BY THE GOLDEN WAVE, NEW NIPPON,
AND THE FORBIDDEN CITY_
BY
MRS. HOWARD VINCENT
AUTHORESS OF "40,000 MILES OVER LAND AND WATER."
WITH REPORTS ON BRITISH TRADE AND INTERESTS
IN CANADA, JAPAN, AND CHINA
By COL. HOWARD VINCENT, C.B., M.P.
WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS
LONDON
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & COMPANY
_Limited_
St. Dunstan's House
FETTER LANE, FLEET STREET, E.C.
1892
[_All rights reserved_]
TO MY CHILD
VERA,
IN THE HOPE THAT ONE DAY SHE MAY TRAVEL
AS HER PARENTS HAVE DONE,
AND
WITH AS MUCH INSTRUCTION
AND
ENJOYMENT.
The favourable reception vouchsafed to "40,000 Miles over Land and
Water" has induced me to yield to the kind wishes of many Friends and
Constituents, and to record the impressions of my second circle round
the world.
ETHEL GWENDOLINE VINCENT.
1, Grosvenor Square.
_May 31st, 1892._
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
OUR PREMIER COLONY 1
CHAPTER II.
THE MARITIME PROVINCES, AND THROUGH LAKE
AND FOREST, TO THE QUEEN CITY 21
CHAPTER III.
BY THE GOLDEN WAVE TO THE FAR WEST 40
CHAPTER IV.
THE CANADIAN ROCKIES AND THE SELKIRKS 70
CHAPTER V.
TO THE LAND OF THE RISING SUN 105
CHAPTER VI.
NEW NIPPON 149
CHAPTER VII.
THE WESTERN CAPITAL AND INLAND SEA 183
CHAPTER VIII.
THE YELLOW LAND 217
CHAPTER IX.
THE CELESTIAL CITY 247
CHAPTER X.
THE FORBIDDEN CITY 272
CHAPTER XI.
SHANGHAI AND HONG-KONG 297
CHAPTER XII.
COCHIN CHINA 311
APPENDIX.
BRITISH AND AMERICAN TRADE IN CANADA 325
BRITISH TRADE WITH JAPAN 337
BRITISH INTERESTS IN CHINA 348
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
St. John's, Newfoundland 3
Plan of a Manitoban Township 53
The Ranche Pupil 66
Howe Pass 70
Kananaskis Falls 73
Cascade Mountain, Banff 74 and 75
Bird's-eye View of Banff 77
Bow Valley 79
Banff Springs Hotel, Canadian National Park 80
The Pool, Hot Springs, Banff 81
Mount Stephen, the King of the Canadian Rockies 85
Train emerging from Snow-shed 90
Great Glacier, Canadian Rockies 92
The Loops 94
Frazer Cañon 97 and 98
"A Little Mother" 129
The Red Lacquer Bridge, Nikko 139
Pagoda of the Temple at Nikko 142
Mausoleum of Yeyásu 144
An Imperial Garden, Tokio 152
A Typhoon 159
Street of Enoshima, Japan 163
My Carriage at Kioto 189
A Chinese Street 229
Our Home on the Peiho 235
How I went to Peking 241
A Gate of Peking 250
A Street in Peking 261
Her Ladyship's Foot 270
All that is seen of the Forbidden City 278
Homage to "The Son of Heaven" 280
The Great Wall 295
Harbour of Hong-Kong 305
Botanical Garden, Saigon 314
NEWFOUNDLAND TO COCHIN CHINA.
CHAPTER I.
OUR PREMIER COLONY.
Land in sight when I awake at 5 a.m., a grey streak across the oval of
the port. With what intense satisfaction we gaze on the line of barren
rock, which has a suspicion of green horizon on the summit of the grey
cliffs, only those can picture who have been at sea for some time.
Presently we glide past Cape Race, with its neat signal station on
the cliffs, and know that in a few minutes the arrival of our ship,
the _Nova Scotian_, will be signalled at St. John's. We see a few
fish-curing sheds on the tiny bays of yellow sand, and some white
specks that represent cottages. They are dreary little settlements, and
near them the fishing-boats pass us, returning home after their rough
night's work, for this is the inhospitable coast of Newfoundland, the
Premier Colony of England.
As the morning wears on and the sun rises, it is a pretty scene. The
great blue restless ocean, with its mighty Atlantic swell, lashing
itself in spray and foam, with a long white line breaking and
disappearing, re-appearing and dying against the bleak rock-bound
coast. Sometimes the cliffs are formed of strata of grey lava or
limestone, at others they are of rich red sandstone, colours that are
intensified with the peculiar clearness of the atmosphere. Above all,
there is a pure blue sky, with white clouds chasing each other and
casting shadows along the coast. Now and again we pass large fishing
luggers sailing swiftly by in the brisk breeze. Some have tawny orange
or deep brown sails, others pure white ones, looking like wings spread
in the sunlight, gliding swiftly and silently past. It is a rich bit of
colouring to eyes tired and sad with the monotony of an impenetrable,
all-surrounding line of sky and ocean.
The approach to St. John's is romantic. The barrier of cliffs still
rises to larboard, without an apparent break or indentation, whilst
they say that we shall be anchored at the wharf in ten minutes. Another
scanning of the coast reveals at length two rocks rising higher than
the others, with a slight fall between them. The ship ploughs along
broadside, and until exactly opposite this opening. With a few final
plungings, and last rollings and tossings, she is brought sharply
round, and we face the harbour of St. John's. The great brown rocks,
sparsely sprinkled with green, rise up forbidding our entrance, and
inside these is another amphitheatre of granite against which the town
of St. John's is built. The line of wharves forms a black foundation.
The haven where we would be lies peaceful and blue in the midst. The
first sight of St. John's and the last, always include the twin red
towers of the Roman Catholic Cathedral standing out on a platform above
the town.
[Illustration: St. John's, Newfoundland.]
Now we are passing immediately under the cliffs, with which we make
very near acquaintance as we go through the Narrows. To add to the
difficulties of this passage, there is a rock at the narrowest part
called the Great Chain Rock, where in olden times a chain was fastened
across the harbour to guard the entrance. Another and greater danger,
a sunken rock, lies hidden under the smooth water. A gun is fired from
the lofty signal station, to tell anxious hearts of the incoming mail,
and with a large part of the population of St. John's on the wharf (for
they always gather to greet and speed the fortnightly steamer) we land
in Newfoundland.
On the kind invitation of Lady O'Brien and the Governor, we are driven
by Mr. Cecil Fane, his Excellency's aide-de-camp and able secretary,
to Government House. This is a handsome stone building, looking more
so amongst its surroundings of wooden houses, standing above the town
in its own grounds. The view from the house into the open country is
charming. In the far distance a range of purple mountains. Then patches
of dark pine forests, alternating with green, park-like spaces. The
Roman Catholic cemetery with its wooden crosses lying on a hillside.
Beneath it in a basin, the little blue lake of Quidi Vidi, which plays
such an important part in the social life of St. John's. Here they
yacht and boat, fish and bathe in summer. In winter they use it to
sleigh, skate, and toboggan on, but above all they hold their annual
regatta here. It is fixed for next week, and may be called the Epsom
of Newfoundland. The population from all parts of the Island gathers
to see it. In olden days each merchant chief had his yacht and crew of
employés, and partisanship ran high, but now the races belong to the
clubs in town, such as the Temperance, Athenæum, etc.
In the afternoon the Hon. Augustus Harvey took us for a beautiful
drive of twenty-eight miles across the Island. Who, seeing that bare
rocky coast in the morning, would have believed that the interior of
the Island could be so lovely! We drove along a good macadamized road,
passing the pretty white wooden houses with red roofs and neat palings,
the country residences of the merchants. Here is the one belonging to
Mr. Baird of lobster fame. Each house has a flagstaff and floating
flag; indeed, St. John's is called the city of flags, for everyone who
is anybody possesses one, and flies it proudly when in residence. There
are great clumps of purple iris growing wild by the roadside. We pass
through many plantations of fir trees, junipers and larches. The great
feature of Newfoundland scenery is water. It is everywhere. Flowing in
rivulets, covered with reeds by the roadside, enclosed in hollows in
the hills as lakes, hurrying from the mountains as a gushing torrent,
protesting angrily in rapids and foam against the rocks in its course.
It is the great feature and the great charm, and one-third of the
Island is said to be water. In one drive you may count as many as two
dozen lakes.
At times, as you look round, the country reminds you of Scotland, with
the purple blue mountains in the distance and the dark patches of fir
trees. At others there is a marshy and barren bit of bog land, with
cabins recalling the wilds of Connemara. Then some scene in the Tyrol
is brought before you; high mountains and deep valleys filled with
dense pine forests, a lake hidden in their midst. Frequently a chain
of mountains has a similar chain of lakes winding at its base. These
lakes are divided by a narrow isthmus of land, or connected by flowing
streams. They are full of fish of all descriptions. If England is the
paradise for horses, this is the paradise for fishermen. Other sport
can be obtained by the partridge-shooting in August and September. The
partridges resemble Scandinavian ptarmigan. There are also wild deer to
be had by stalking the mountains forty miles in the interior.
We always think of Newfoundland as the land of fog, lobster, and cod,
and know it best in connection with the breed of Newfoundland dogs.
This race is degenerating and threatened with extinction, and there
are scarcely any good specimens of these beautiful and intelligent
dogs left in the island. But I think few have any idea what extremely
beautiful scenery there is, and when there is no fog, the atmosphere
is remarkable for extreme dryness and clearness, giving the most vivid
colouring and the sharpest delineations to the mountains.
This was the case to-day; and as we drove to the Twenty Mile Lakes, so
called because they are twenty miles round, I thought I had rarely seen
brighter, prettier, or more varied landscape. The water of St. John's
comes from these lakes, and they claim to have the purest supply of any
town in the world. Instead of being bare and desolate, the country is
green and smiling. There are a few widely scattered farm-houses, but as
a whole not much cultivation is attempted.
After a long ascent, we gain a glimpse of the sea. We have been
driving across a narrow mainland, from the ocean to the ocean, and
before us, gleaming softly in the evening sunlight, is the beautiful
Bay of Conception. The surrounding cliffs are quite purple, the ocean
is a golden sea broken up by green islands. Far below us is a cluster
of houses, a fishing settlement, with a lobster factory and some flakes
run out over the rocks. There are boats idly rocking at the quay,
whilst others are catching bait for a fishing schooner, lying at anchor
in the bay. They told us of one of the governors who was brought here
within sight of this bay to die. He thought it so beautiful. So did we.
Then we drove home quickly in the dusk, late for dinner, but charmed
with the island. We found Sir Terence and Lady O'Brien just arrived
from a few days' cruise by the "Out-ports" on the coast. They give us
wonderful descriptions of the grandeur of the scenery. The government
steam yacht, in which they journeyed, will start with the judges on
circuit in a few days.
_Thursday, Aug. 6th._--We awoke to a lovely spring morning, with the
breeze whispering amongst the trees, and the Union Jack flapping gently
against the flagstaff in Government House garden. Spring has just
come. Asparagus and peas are coming up in the garden, strawberries are
ripening and the hay is ready to cut. We have gone back three months in
our season. The climate of Newfoundland is abominable. The winter is
interminably long and severe, lasting from the beginning of October to
May. There are incessant fogs, which envelop everything in a cold damp
pall.
Nor is the island exempt from these fogs even during its short summer.
The climate is also subject to extreme and rapid changes, from heat to
cold, in a few hours. The summer has been unusually delayed this year,
and had we come three weeks earlier, we should have seen an iceberg in
the middle of the harbour.
Newfoundland is about the size of Ireland, or one-third more. Its
population is some 200,000, but of this number 28,000 live at St.
John's, which is therefore the centre of all life, commercial,
political and social. The remainder of the population is chiefly
settled on the coast, in fishing villages called the "Out-ports",
whilst the interior of the island is sparsely settled, and in some
parts unexplored. The population is dwindling, and there is no
immigration, of which they are jealous, as reducing the means already
deficient of living, but there is emigration to Canada and the United
States.
The people are of English, Scotch and Irish descent, but those from
England are chiefly from the west coast and Devonshire. The Premier,
Sir William Whiteway, is a Devonian. And a curious little fact
exemplifies this. If you ask for cream, it is always Devonshire clotted
cream that is brought.
Newfoundland was the first of England's colonial possessions.
Sebastian Cabot discovered the island in 1497, and claimed it for
Henry VII. With the discovery of America, all nations came forward
to claim a share, but it was England and France who chiefly engaged
in the fisheries, which were then a source of great wealth. Sir
Gilbert Humphrey and Sir Walter Raleigh annexed the island for Queen
Elizabeth. Even at that time 100,000_l._ worth of fish were annually
exported. The ships left England in March, and returned in September,
and these voyages formed a nursery for English seamen. In 1635 the
French obtained permission from England to dry fish on the shores
of Newfoundland. This may be said to have laid the beginning of the
troubles which are now so active. The island was kept in a deserted
condition by the merchant adventurers up to 1729. They persuaded the
authorities at home that it was uninhabitable, in order that they might
retain the fishing rights in their own hands. Masters of vessels were
obliged to bring back to England each soul they embarked, under penalty
of 100_l._ When at length this tyranny gave way, a governor sent from
England, and the island colonized, the fishermen were still so poor
as to be in complete subjection to the merchants under the "supplying
system." This baneful "truck" practice begun so long ago, continues
in use unto this day, with equally evil results. The only support of
the fishermen (who form the bulk of the population) is fish. Upon the
result of the fishing season the year's comfort and prosperity depend.
But this, to be done on a profitable scale, requires a considerable
plant. There are only three classes in Newfoundland: the merchants,
the planters, and the fishermen. The last class are in durance to the
first, through the medium of the planter. The planter obtains from the
merchant the necessary outfit for the fishermen in clothes and goods,
and this is sold on credit. On his return from the fisheries (the
chief of which are off the Great Bank), he seizes the catch and repays
himself, and the merchant, who disposes of the fish. Thus the fishermen
are kept in a hopelessly poor and dependent position.
Of course, since our arrival, we have heard every side of this
much-vexed Fishery Question. But at least we can now fully understand
the "life-and-death" importance of the question to the island, of the
curtailment of their fishery grounds by the French shore dispute. The
life of the codfish and lobster is the life of the Newfoundlanders, and
to lessen their catch of fish is to lower proportionately their already
low standard of living. The question of the French obtaining bait and
erecting lobster factories is discussed at every dinner table. Mr.
Baird, by defying Sir Baldwin Walker, is called the village Hampden.
They feel deeply the apparent want of sympathy of the Home Government,
and indeed it cannot be easy for Her Majesty's Ministers to understand
the vital interests involved in this dispute to the islanders without a
personal visit to St. John's.
We should like to have visited the disputed fishing shore off the
islands of St. Pierre and Miquelon, but it lies 135 miles down the
coast, and the only means of communication is by a fishing schooner.
We went sight-seeing in St. John's in the morning. Our first visit
was to the adjacent square stone building, the House of Assembly. It
is a miniature House of Commons, contained in a lofty room, with long
windows. There is the Speaker's chair, the table, the ministerial and
opposition benches, though the latter are only occupied by the eight
members in opposition, whilst the ministerial benches boast a cohort
of twenty-six, of whom all but two are said to be in receipt of an
official salary. There is also a Legislative Council, or Upper House;
and an Executive Council, or Cabinet, which meets weekly at Government
House.
Sir William Whiteway, the Premier, returns by the next steamer from the
Delegation to England, but his colleagues are here, and we meet them
all.
The Roman Catholic cathedral is the next most prominent building
at St. John's. Its situation on a plateau high above the town, and
facing the harbour, tells in its favour. Inside the railed-off square
there are four beautiful marble statues. The Cathedral is finely
proportioned inside, and over the high altar there is a fine bas-relief
representation of the Dying Christ. The more you travel, the more
struck you are with the activity of the Church of Rome in all parts
of the world, and particularly in the Colonies. We found it so in
Australia and New Zealand. In Eastern and Central Canada the finest
buildings in the cities are the Roman Catholic cathedrals. So it is
at Ottawa, at Montreal (where they are building one with a dome after
the model of St. Peter's), and at Halifax. Here it is the same. One
wonders whence the money comes, and whether it is true that the Roman
Catholics, with no State endowment, are more generous in the support
of their religion than us Protestants. We visited Bishop Power, for we
hold a circular autograph letter from Cardinal Manning (my husband's
godfather, now gone to his rest), written in Latin, and addressed to
all the Archbishops, Bishops and Clergy of the Roman hierarchy in all
parts of the globe. It ensures us a welcome from them everywhere.
We then went to the English cathedral, which lies lower down in the
city, and is a fine Gothic structure designed by Sir Gilbert Scott,
but it presents a sorry contrast to the other, as there is a blank
where the tower should be, and, save for a few stained glass windows,
it is bare and undecorated. There is a heavy debt of 20,000_l._ on the
cathedral, to meet which several public-spirited gentlemen have banded
together and insured their lives in its favour. They feel that they
have made sufficient sacrifices, and that having built the fabric, it
must be left to their sons to decorate it.
Then we descended to Water Street. It is the principal street, lying
parallel with the harbour, and a somewhat untidy and unsavoury avenue.
It is a real descent to reach it, for the other streets climb up
from it at right angles, and each one is a mountain to ascend. There
is one cab-stand here for the whole town. The vehicles on it are of
antiquated date, the seat for the driver dovetailing into a back
seat for a passenger. There are frequent stand pipes ready for the
fire brigade, who have stations with the horses standing ready under
suspended collars, and all the new improvements. The pressure of water
is so good that, with hoses attached, the jets will pass over the
cathedral. Thrice already destroyed by fire, St. John's now takes all
human precautions. There are several banks, a fine hotel, from without
at least, but which is said to defeat its exterior promise inside,
a general hospital, penitentiary, orphanages, sailors' homes, and a
technical and high school. The education of the island is in a far
advanced state, with compulsory and free education. The museum in the
post office contains specimens of the marble, coal and gypsum found in
the island. Newfoundland is rich in mineral wealth, and only requires
capital for its development.
We had a heavenly afternoon for a tea picnic to Logy's Bay. Indeed
the beautiful drives and expeditions seem endless, and Logy's Bay is
only one of the many lovely coves and bays that indent the coast. We
dip over the hill and look down on an exquisite little picture, with a
blue bay surrounded by headlands of red and green cliffs, and the sea
shimmering beyond. Far away on the horizon there is a gleaming white
pillar. It is a floating iceberg. We wish, oh! so much, as we eat
strawberries under the cliffs, that it was nearer to us.
Before we descended into Logy's Bay, we knew that it contained a
fishing settlement, by the pungent odours of highly flavoured fish
that ascended to us, and over the bay there are many extended flakes.
These flakes are formed by rough supports made of fir poles covered
with branches of fir-trees. Each codfish is split, salted and laid open
on these flakes. It takes six weeks of exposure to cure the fish, and
there is a good deal of labour involved. Each morning the cod must be
laid out on the flake. Each evening it must be gathered in, stacked and
covered with bark, to which stones are attached to keep it down. This
fish is then exported to Roman Catholic countries like Spain, Brazil,
Portugal, Austria and Italy, where it forms the staple of food for the
poorer population on fast days. It is worth about 2_d._ per lb. The
small boats that we see outside the bay, are busy collecting bait.
The bait they obtain to catch the cod are caplin, herring and squid,
according to the season. We have just missed seeing a lobster factory,
as they closed by law on August 5th. The factory, it appears, only
consists of an open shed and a stove. As the lobsters are only worth
here about three shillings per hundred, it seems that a large profit,
by exporting them fresh, might be made in England.
In returning, we drove round Lake Quidi-Vidi and on reaching the top
of a hill looked down on a typical fishing settlement. The granite
rocks of the coast shut it into a narrow cove, through which courses a
stream that finds a narrow outlet to the ocean. The wooden houses are
huddled together, finding foundations on and against the rocks, whilst
the flakes are run out in all directions over the stream, and men and
women are hard at work splitting, salting and drying the last arrived
boat-load of fish.
There was a dinner party at Government House in the evening, where we
met Lady Walker, wife of Sir Baldwin Walker, Mr. Bond, Mr. Harvey, and
other members of the Government, as well as Mr. Morine, the leader of
the opposition. The next day was Sunday, and we experienced a sudden
and disagreeable change of climate. It was bitterly cold, and we were
glad of fires. But we have not yet had a real Newfoundland fog.
We are in great difficulty as to how to leave the island, and find
ourselves steamer-bound. That tardy line, the Allan, has a fortnightly
service _via_ Halifax to St. John's, but we shall be obliged to take a
cargo boat.
_Monday, August 10th._--A mid night embarkation on the Black Diamond
Line s.s. _Coban_, from the deserted wharves of St. John's. The donkey
engine is at work all night, and in the cold grey of early dawn we
slipped out of the harbour. There ensued two days and nights of
abject misery, only relieved by the sight of land at seven o'clock on
Wednesday evening. We enter Glace Bay on the peninsula of Cape Breton.
The channel entrance is so narrow that we executed some wonderful
nautical manœuvres before anchoring at the wharf. We are landing on
a barren shore, the chief object of interest being a coal shoot with
some trucks of coal on it. We are near the great Sydney coal mines, and
the country is as bleak and desolate as our Black Country. The sun is
sinking, but the air is warm and moist.
We land at this uninviting place, and after some searchings amongst
a half-dazed population, who seem to show surprise, mingled with
resentment at our intrusion, we find a ramshackle country buggy, in
which to drive fourteen miles to Sydney. We are told the track is
rough. The light is fast failing. There is only one narrow seat for
the somewhat bulky driver and ourselves. For a moment I cannot see
where I am to sit. But every second it is growing darker, and with
no alternative I scrambled up, and fortunately being small, I was
wedged in securely, and during the very rough drive was perhaps the
less shaken. The four-year-old pony sorely tried my nerves at starting
by shying, and turning sharp round--a fatal thing in these lockless
buggies. Our good driver--the local constable--negotiated the worst
places, the holes and rocks and frail wooden bridges, with great care,
and saved us all he could. Still, we suffered severely.
We passed the two great coal mines of Sydney which supply all the coal
to Newfoundland, and much to Canada. It is soft and dirty fuel. We saw
the lights of the miners' cottages, and passed some of them returning
with an electric lamp in their caps. On and on we drove. The twilight
failed, and a pale crescent moon rose, but its dim light only added
half-seen terrors to the road, as we drove through dusky pine forests
and heard the rush of unseen waters, whilst the lamp of the luggage
cart in advance looked like a will-o'-the-wisp dancing up and down.
On and on for what seemed like hours. No dwelling-places in sight, no
human being seen, no sound heard, as we crossed in the darkness that
isthmus of land between Glace Bay and Sydney.
After a weary while we at last saw the welcome lights of Sydney, and
drove into a sleeping village, only to be told that every room in
the place was full. At length a priest and a commercial traveller,
fellow-passengers from the steamer, found a room, which they gave up to
me. It was in a little public-house, but the bed-room was lighted by
electricity!
We were up at 5 a.m., and in a torrent of rain drove to the station.
The Intercolonial Railway only opened this new line from Sydney across
Cape Breton eight months ago. It communicates with the magnificent
harbour of Sydney and the exceedingly beautiful Bras d'Or Lakes. We
travelled by the shores of several "guts," or inlets from the harbour.
Then opens out the broad expanse of the lake itself, surrounded by
mountains, along the foot of which we are creeping. The name Bras d'Or
has such a pretty origin. When the French, in exploring Cape Breton,
first saw the lake, it was autumn, and the shores were all golden in
their autumnal glory; hence they called it the Golden Arm. For miles we
are passing along its shores, which the waters are gently lapping under
a leaden sky, and the great mountains covered with fir forests, rise
gloomy and forbidding on the further shore, bathed in clouds and mists.
It is a beautiful, though depressing scene. The lake closes in, and its
banks nearly meet at the Narrows, which the train crosses on an iron
trestle bridge from one shore to the other. There is excellent fishing
in this lake, and now that the railway has opened it up, it is sure to
become known and largely visited.
At the Straits of Canso, the contents of the train, including
passengers, are embarked on a ferry, and cross the narrow strip of sea
that divides Cape Breton from the mainland of Canada. We disembark in
Nova Scotia.