Part 5

Far more interesting was the Temple of the Five Hundred Saints. In the gateway, as in the former case, two josses of stupendous size mount guard. One is represented as solacing himself with a tune on a kind of mandoline; and I noticed that many of the scraps of paper with which he has been “chin-chinned” were cut in the shape of his favourite instrument. Without let or hindrance we wandered through a maze of white-washed and neatly-kept cloisters, until we came to the refectory (for there is a monastery attached to this temple), where we found the monks at their afternoon meal. Just as we arrived, a tiny musical-toned bell was sounded, at which signal the brethren rose, and what appeared to be a short prayer or grace was recited in chorus, after which a monk of higher rank, preceded by an attendant, left the hall, which was a square room with long tables, and fenced off from the cloisters at one end by a low bamboo railing. As soon as the great man was gone the others fell to at their chopsticks and small bowls with renewed vigour. The monks wear a long light gray robe, and they shave the whole head, but in other respects their dress does not differ from that of laymen. The temple itself is a large hall in which the five hundred, placed in alleys at right angles, sit facing one another in all their majesty. They are all of gilt metal or wood, and under life size, if one may use such a term with regard to idols. They are represented in every variety of attitude, occupation, and expression. Some are playing on musical instruments, and are bland; others are evidently preaching, and are didactic; others are inflicting punishment or doing battle, and are very fierce; one is performing a difficult act of horsemanship on a large kylin, while two smaller kylins are looking on in admiration—one and all are made to look fat and comfortable, with huge paunches. Before each is placed a small green porcelain pot filled with the ashes of the joss-sticks which have been burnt in his honour. The monks were uniformly civil to us, and neither here nor in the Temple of Horrors was any fee asked or expected; how much better it would be if Europeans would follow the example of these heathens, and not ask admission fees in their cathedrals and churches.

You may well imagine that during a first visit to a great Chinese city everything appeared strange and marvellous, but the greatest wonder of all was that we should be able to wander hither and thither, intruding into temples, thrusting our curious noses into every hole and corner, like ferrets in a rabbit warren, elbowing our way unmolested through crowds that a very few years ago would have mobbed and brick-batted at least, and perhaps tortured and murdered by inches, any European that ventured outside the factories. It seems almost a fatality that now that the city is safe, and its inhabitants peacefully inclined, the opening of the Yang-Tse-Chiang should have turned the European traffic with the interior, of which Canton was formerly the headquarters, into a new channel. The prosperity of Canton is evident, and very striking. But it is a native and self-containing prosperity, and in no ways dependent on Europe, and shows that the Chinese were quite right when they asserted that they could do very well without us. Just before the principal English firms withdrew their representatives from the city, finding that the little business there was to do could be more cheaply transacted by agents drawing a small percentage, an arrangement was made with the local government whereby we became the lessees of a small mud island, which had to be filled in at a great cost, called Shah-Meen. This was to become the English quarter. The church and new consular buildings have been erected there, and there are a few empty bungalows belonging to merchants, but the place does not seem likely ever to wear a look of great importance; the merchants see no likelihood of an inducement to return, so Shah-Meen has so far been a poor bargain.

Not far from Shah-Meen are the pleasure-gardens of a merchant named Po-Ting-Qua. Terraces, summer-houses, stairs, drawbridges, carp-ponds, rock-work, and flowers are thrown together most fantastically, exactly like the gardens that the ladies and gentlemen on teacups and plates walk about in. The doors are cut out of the walls in quaint shapes, such as circles, jars, bottles, etc. As the rainy season has set in the garden was not looking its best, but it was very pretty nevertheless, although there was a little too much stagnant water about for our ideas. Lord Bacon in his essay on gardens says: “For fountains they are a great beauty and refreshment; but pools mar all and make the garden unwholesome, and full of flies and frogs.” If this is true in England, how much more does it apply to the East. Such things as flower-beds are unknown here. The plants grow anyhow, without order or arrangement, but they are carefully tended, and indeed the whole place was beautifully kept, and there seemed to be a large staff of gardeners and carpenters, who play a conspicuous part in a Chinese garden.

You will be wanting to hear about the curiosity shops. I went to see them, but found nothing but rubbish at outrageous prices. The Chinese buy up everything good at any price. The dealers carry round their best things to the native connoisseurs, and put off any trash upon chance customers, swearing that everything is “oloo and culew,” old and curious. I bought one small bottle for a few shillings as a souvenir of Canton, but even if I had had heaps of money, there was no temptation to spend it. I found an old friend at Canton in the person of Mr. R., our consul, who was a most amiable cicerone. He has passed the chief part of his life in China, and is a great authority upon all matters connected with our relations with the Chinese. He lives in a fascinatingly picturesque Yamên with quite an extensive garden—a curiosity in itself,—we spent most of the day together and met for dinner, either at my quarters or in his beautiful Aladdin’s palace, every evening.

We returned to Hong-kong on May Day. I found that the P. and O. Co. had put on an extra steamer, to start on Thursday the 4th, so I determined not to wait for the mail, but to start for Shanghai without delay. This prevents me from making a trip to Macao, which is par excellence _the_ “outing” from Hong-kong. But as the rainy season has begun in earnest, perhaps I do not lose much—at any rate, I shall leave my Hong-kong friends with the utmost regret; their kindness and hospitality have known no bounds.

LETTER II

SHANGHAI, _10th May 1865_.

The _Ganges_ did not leave Hong-kong until the 5th at noon, and we anchored off the lightship in the estuary here on Monday night, but the river is so difficult of navigation that we could not run into Shanghai until the next morning. We had on the whole a fine passage and a very quick one; C. and R., who were my companions at Canton, came on with me, and the captain of the ship being a very well-read, gentlemanlike man, sparing no pains to make every one comfortable, we had a very cheery voyage. We had besides a young French artillery officer on his way to revisit the scene of the campaign he had made in 1860, a few nondescripts, two or three Chinese families, and a Parsee. Of course the Chinamen pigged together separately, and his “odium theologicum” forbade the Parsee to eat with us, which was a benefit to all parties, for he was not a desirable companion by any means. The point of dirt at which the Chinese passengers contrived to arrive during the voyage, and the whiffs which came from their cabins when the doors were opened, surpass belief; one of their great gentlemen here stood over the French officer and myself as we were playing backgammon one day, and manifested the utmost interest in the game, uttering exclamations at every lucky throw, for the Chinese are gamblers to the backbone,—but so noisome was he that we had to leave off playing and rush on deck for fresh air. This being the condition of a “gentleman,” fancy how pleasant the 110 coolie passengers under the forecastle were to sight and smell. The Chinese ladies did not show at all, but they used to send their dirty little brats up on deck to play, and very offensive they contrived to make their small selves. Independently of their dirt, Chinamen are a sorry spectacle on a journey—their heads require shaving (a week’s crop looks even worse on the poll than on the chin), and their tails get untidy and shaggy from being slept upon. Talking of tails, it seems to be the “chic” at Shanghai to lengthen them with white instead of black silk, which does not look near so well. I noticed one man who, like little Cock Robin, had “tied up his tail with a yard of blue bobbin.” (I found out afterwards that these white and blue tails are signs of mourning.)

The voyage from Hong-kong to the north, being principally a coasting affair, is not so dull and uneventful as more sea-going cruises. We were constantly in sight of land—numberless headlands and islands mark the course, but render it dangerous in bad weather. There are plenty of ships to be seen, and all around the rocky islands the sea is alive with fishing-smacks, their crews busily at work. We had no mails on board, nor stern officers in charge, so the captain stopped once and bought a quantity of fresh fish, delicious pomfret all alive and kicking, paying the fishermen in kind with ship’s biscuit, which I hope was as great a boon to them as their fish was to us. It is such a fine sight in one of these narrow island passages, where one can almost hear the sea dashing against the basaltic rocks on either side, to pass a great sailing-ship close on our lee, and steam away from her at top speed. Long before the estuary is reached, the sea, which in these parts is of a deep aquamarine green, becomes clouded and discoloured. This is owing to the immense volume of yellow dirty water which the Yang-tse-kiang pours down. It is much the same colour as the Rhine, and quite as foul-looking.

We began ascending the river soon after daybreak on Tuesday morning. Its banks are low and flat. If it were not for a few trees there would be nothing to relieve the eye from the monotony of the filthy water and vast plain. Here and there a group of European houses and an ensign or two mark a settlement. By eleven o’clock we had threaded our way through the labyrinth of shipping and had reached Shanghai. I landed at once and heard of an opportunity for Tientsing on Friday next, of which I shall avail myself. By the way, I must tell you here, that so far as I can learn, the communications between Tientsing and this place are somewhat uncertain, so if any mail should not carry a letter to you from me, do not pay me the compliment of being uneasy, but let no news be good news.

My good quarters and the kind hospitality which I had met with at Hong-kong seem to follow me on my travels. Here again I have been received with the warmest welcome by Mr. D., a junior partner of C.’s, and I am assured of the same at Tientsing. If all the travellers and officers stationed in China, whom I have met, did not tell me that this hospitality is the universal rule, I should be almost shy of accepting so much kindness.

I have little enough to tell you about Shanghai. The city is ugly and unattractive, the river dingy, and the country a dead level plain. From the top of the club-house the view in every direction is utterly unbroken, there is not a mound the height of dear old Salt Hill. Then, commercially speaking, the town at the time of my visit was a blank. The crisis of which I have spoken to you before has told here more than elsewhere; to my eye the harbour seems full enough of shipping, but I am told that there are not more than a third of the vessels that used to be seen in former years. One of the causes which has brought about this effect has been the speculation in land. When the rebellion panic was upon the Chinese they were only too glad to flock into the settlement for shelter; land rose in value, and was bought up in every direction. Now that the revolt has been put down in this part of the empire the natives have gone home to their own abodes, and of course landed property has fallen, so that those speculators who did not sell in time have their money hopelessly tied up. This, and the competition system practised by the Europeans in contrast to the Chinese, who do everything by combination, together with “hard times,” have brought Shanghai very low. In short, morally as well as physically, it is, for the present, flat.

I have had a good deal of conversation with Sir Harry Parkes, our consul here. You will recollect him as famous for the pluck he showed when he and Loch were taken prisoners in Peking; he is one of the great authorities in China, and one of our ablest officers in the East. He tells me that he considers the state of feeling between the Chinese and Europeans in this part as on the whole satisfactory; that the natives have begun to accept us and our trade as a necessity; to use his own expression, it is a sort of husband and wife arrangement, with slight incompatibilities of temper on both sides. Sir Harry Parkes is a man of extraordinary determination and energy; his knowledge of the Chinese language, customs, and character have given him an immense influence over the natives. He is in every way a remarkable man, and great things are expected of him, even by those who differ from him in opinion. It is only fair to say, that there are many men of judgment and experience out here who do not agree with him in holding that our trade with China stands on a solid footing. They consider that the unwilling spirit with which the natives first received us has by no means died out, and that little by little, always by fair means and without violence,[4] for they know our strength, the Chinese will endeavour to oust us from our position, and return to their traditional conservatism. Perhaps this is a pessimist creed, but still it is largely professed. At any rate the Chinese will find it a hard matter to get rid of us, for no Government will give up a matter of nearly six millions of revenue without a struggle. For the present the British are welcome here. The Ta̔i Pi̔ngs have been driven out of this part of China, and the rebellion has dwindled down to comparative unimportance. The Chinese may be given credit for so much of gratitude as looks upon past benefits as earnests of future favours. We can still be useful, so we are still courted. It remains to be seen whether, when we shall have played our part out, our friends will try to cast us on one side.

When Sir Rutherford Alcock was in authority here he established a municipal system which so long as Shanghai was prosperous answered very well; of course, however, this being Chinese territory, subscription to the authority of the municipality could not be compulsory, nor were its enactments binding; but it suited the interests of the public to accept it, and so it was supported by all the respectable part of the community. Now the failures have told upon this as upon every other institution, and unless better times come, it will fall to the ground for want of funds and strength. It would be a great pity that this should be the case, for there are many improvements needed here; above all, gas-lighting. It is really to be hoped that things will take a better turn soon, for they seem to be quite at their worst.

I must tell you of rather a funny offer of service that I received the other day. R.’s Chinese boy came into me, and after playing nervously with his tail for a little while, said, “My massa talkee my too muchee fooloo; my thinkee more better my walkee Peking side long you.” I felt half-inclined to engage the man for his simplicity, especially as he is a good servant, though certainly not over bright.

_11th May._

I have just been to see my berth on board the _Yuen-tse-Fee_, a private steamer. She is to stop at Chihfu. I have a cabin to myself, a piece of good luck which I have enjoyed ever since Galle. In about a week hence I expect to be at Peking. We sail at three in the morning to-morrow, so I must go on board this evening. The _Yuen-tse-Fee_ is a very tiny craft; nothing big can get up the Peiho, so if it blows at all shan’t we just pitch about!

We are expecting the mail in hourly, but I hope to reach Peking before it.

LETTER III

Ship _Yuen-tse-Fee_, In the Gulf of Pechili, _15th May 1865_.

I daresay you will understand that I was rather melancholy at leaving Shanghai. For the first time on all this long journey I was to set out alone, and my hosts, although they were only recent acquaintances, had been so kind to me that I felt as if I were leaving old friends. I took leave of them at half-past eleven on Thursday night, 11th May, for as the ship was to sail at three in the morning I had to sleep on board. The harbour was dark and gloomy, and it was as much as I could do to steer the six-oared gig by the dim light of the lanterns at the various masts’ heads. In short, everything looked black and dismal, and I felt very much like going back to school after the holidays; but it don’t do to give in, and very soon after I got on board I was sleeping as sound as the rats in my cabin and bed, and an army of mosquitoes which had flocked on board, would let me. When I woke next morning we were hard and fast aground in the estuary; a thick fog had come on in the night, and the captain, missing his course, had run upon one of the many treacherous shoals of the great river. The tide took us off again at about eleven, and we went on without further accident.

I had one fellow-passenger, an officer of the purveyor’s department of the army, on his road to Peking to seek employment under the Imperial Government.

We had a strong head wind against us at first and very dirty weather on Friday night. But in spite of wind and weather the little _Yuen-tse-Fee_ justified her name, which a Chinaman interpreted for me as “walkee all the same Fly,” and she kept up a good average of eight knots and a half.

On Sunday morning we were off the Shantung promontory, a fine broad headland with a rough, jagged outline. Notwithstanding the haziness of the atmosphere we had a good view of the coast and of the Rocky Islands which make this sea so dangerous. Passing Cape Cod, we left to the westward the spot where the unlucky _Race Horse_ was lost, and arrived at Chihfu at about five o’clock the same evening.

For a town which really has some little commercial importance, Chihfu is certainly one of the most wretched dens I ever saw. It consists of one long narrow street of untidy stone and brick houses, the peculiarity of which is that they have no apparent front or back, so that it is a mystery how the inhabitants get into or out of them. Two or three European houses, the office of the Chinese officer of Customs, a few godowns more or less empty, and here and there a hovel built up of mud, seaweed, and bamboo matting, complete the town. Its only ornaments are the flags of the consul and of the Chinese officer. It is prettily situated at the foot of a range of low, but picturesquely tossed-about hills, and the harbour with its fleet of junks and ships looks very well from the town. The type of the inhabitants is different from that of the southern Chinese, the Tartar features are very prominent among them, and it seemed to me that they were stronger and finer men. I certainly never saw a better boat’s crew than the six men who rowed me on shore. Whether they would have the pluck to “stay” against an English crew I cannot say, but their short spurt was admirable.

In spite of its mean appearance there is sufficient trade carried on at Chihfu to induce some seventy Europeans to reside there. It is, moreover, likely to become popular as a sea-bathing resort and sanatorium.

In former days it was a great port for the junks, and there are still many of them running there; but the junk trade has been very much knocked on the head by foreign ships and steamers, which the Chinese see the advantage of chartering, although they continue to build their own clumsy and unwieldy craft. The principal exports of Chihfu are peas and bean cake, and a little manufactured silk; there is besides a small import trade of shirtings and opium.

_17th May._

The best part of Monday was occupied in discharging our cargo, and we did not get up steam until five o’clock. A strong wind had sprung up from the north-west, and the harbour, which is very much exposed on that side, gave signs and tokens which led us to expect a very squally night outside; however, the wind dropped suddenly and gave place to a thick fog, so we escaped being tossed about, at the expense of a few alarms of running on to the rocks; which is not at all a pleasant look-out, for even if our lives would not have been in actual danger, there was the certainty that if we had struck a rock we should have lost all our baggage, and passed a very uncomfortable night. We took up another passenger at Chihfu, an interpreter, bound for Tientsing—apparently a very popular gentleman, for the captain had to turn out neck and crop a company of friends who had come to see him off, and who were inclined to prolong that ceremony, which involves much sherry and brandy drinking, until long past the hour fixed for our departure.

On Tuesday morning we took up our pilot for the Peiho River. He reported having come across a junk wrecked and without masts—all hands had evidently been lost; and on fishing about the cabin with a boat-hook in order to get the papers if possible, he found two or three dead bodies in a fearful state of decomposition. It is supposed that she must have been wrecked more than a month ago.