CHAPTER XIII.

Departure from Hakodadi--The _Highflyer_ aground--Kanagawa again--Japanese Diet and Junks--Rowing anyhow--Domestic Life--Hatred of Chinamen--What the Highflyers thought--Departure--Touch at Shanghai--Hong-Kong: a Disappointment--Growling with a Cause--Our Captain goes Home--Up to Whampoa--Our new Captain--A Dab-down--The Mud Dock Builders--Study under Difficulties--Messmates and Crossmates--The Admiral’s Visit--My Messmates--A Run on French Island--Cotton-cleaning--Warlike Preparations--Scenes on Shore.

We left Hakodadi on the 26th, and in due time arrived in the Strait of Yeddo, and as it fell calm, got up steam, and we glided along pleasantly through the water, till nearly six bells in the first watch, when, going but slowly at the time, we struck upon a hard sandy shoal, and, despite all our exertions, couldn’t get off till the middle of next day. Happily the ship sustained but trifling damage, and soon after we again were at anchor in the Bay of Kanagawa. As this was the last time we anchored in Japanese waters, I will add a few remarks about what the people eat before saying good-bye to them. Their food, so far as I could see, is chiefly vegetable; but there is a considerable consumption of fowls, and the various courses are served up at table in very small dishes, on waiters of the native lacquered ware. Great propriety is observed during the meals, each course having its clean plates, and so forth.

Among the exports are vast quantities of potatoes, equal to those of European growth; and another important article is the japanned ware; and a certain kind of vegetable tallow, beautifully clean, white, and hard.

As by a law of the empire trading voyages to foreign countries are not permitted, the Japanese junks are built only for coasting voyages. Their construction is such that they could not stand in a sea-way, being perfectly flat-bottomed, high at the bow and stern, with a hollow running up into the centre of the vessel, just like the paper boats we used to make at school. They are rigged with a large sail of thin cotton cloth, fitted to a single stout spar in the centre of the deck. The stern is comfortably fitted up with cabins and eating-rooms, all perfectly clean. The midship part of the junk is for cargo. The cables are made of coir, and the anchors of a dark heavy material not unlike iron-wood.

Their row-boats are of good build, having bow and stem alike, with a keel also after the fashion of Europeans. Japanese rowers, however, do not pull together, but one after the other--“the same as they came into the world,” said one of our gruff Highflyers, as he stood watching their movements.

The Japanese women enjoy a far greater amount of freedom and happiness than do those of the Chinese. In their conduct to their children they seem very loving and gentle. I never saw among them the porter-like practice of carrying their children in sacks behind their backs; but groups of parents may be seen playing with their little ones outside the door, in the calm evenings, with evident pleasure, the husband sitting by on the stone bench, smoking his pipe, and calmly enjoying the happiness of his family.

Another marked characteristic with the Japanese is their hatred of the Chinamen. This arises possibly from the expeditions which the latter have several times sent against the Japanese with the intention of making them pay tribute and yield obedience to the Brother of the Sun and Moon; but the Japanese, like bricks as they were, proudly refused, and gave the Celestials some severe thrashings, so that they got at last satisfied; and in the spirit of “You are best man--I’ve done,” the Chinese begged to be allowed to trade to the port of Nagasaki once a year with two junks. This was granted, and to the present time the junks are sent for their yearly cargo. To sum up, I may say the Japanese are far less bad-smelling, far more polite than the Chinaman, besides being quite as learned, and twice as ingenious. We thought them preferable in all respects. One does meet with fair and upright dealing in Japan, but it ought never to be depended upon in China, where the trader’s main object is to cheat and mislead. Most of us were very much pleased at having had a chance of seeing Japan, and some of our grumblers said, “’Twas a fizzing country--they’d like to live there.” At all events, the change from the sickly Shanghai River, the fresh scenery, strange people, and Japanese breezes, had wonderfully improved the health of all hands.

On the 10th of November we said farewell to this interesting and still partially mysterious country, of which I, for one, would gladly have seen more. Ten days later we touched at Shanghai to say good-bye, and take in old Government stores, and then, having steamed down to Woosung, we took advantage of a favourable breeze and made all sail, heading away for Hong-Kong, most of us in good spirits, and all of us thinking that when we arrived there we should get orders for home. We had heard, moreover, that we were likely to be sent to Singapore. But all our hopes were cruelly dispelled, for we had not been many hours in Hong-Kong when word was brought that, after refitting, we were to go up that Canton River again. Here was a disappointment! The very thought made us gloomy and savage; and all hands foresaw a very discontented ship. Why were we not ordered home? We had been exposed to risk and danger for three years--quite long enough for a spell. Why, of all others, should we be selected for that blessed Canton River? Thus we grumbled and growled like so many bears.

Our growling, however, did not make me forget to go to the hospital-ship _Melville_ and thank Dr. Anderson for bringing the parcel. He received me very kindly, placed a bottle of beer before me, and allowed me to talk to him for nearly two hours. It was such a pleasure to inquire about my friends in England--for he had seen them since I had--and to hear his remarks about many things that were new to me. It made up in some degree for our disappointment. At length he rose, shook my hand, and said he must go and look after his patients, among whom he always found plenty of occupation.

The weather at this time was remarkably fine, so much so that on Christmas Day we had service on the upper-deck in the open air. How different I fancied it was at home. There frost and snow and snug firesides could be found, and holly branches with red berries bedecking the churches, and mistletoe hanging from many a ceiling, under which----But to return.

January 1st, 1860.--Under this date I find written in my log-book: “Captain Shadwell gives up charge to-day, and goes to England by the next mail. May he have a pleasant passage home; soon get the better of his wound, and live to command many another gallant ship with honour and distinction!”

January 18th, at daylight, we left for Whampoa to go into dock. Unfortunately, in our passage up the river, and when a mile or so beyond the Bogue, our port boiler sprung a leak, or, as some clever newspaper correspondent had it, “burst.” We wished it had, for then we should have had to go home whether or not. The accident compelled us to steam the rest of the distance with only one boiler.

On arrival at Whampoa the next morning, we hauled immediately alongside the wharf, under the shears, and commenced clearing the afterpart of the vessel, and had two days of very hard work before she was light enough to enter the dock. The tides being highest at night, we went in after dark; and the next morning saw us properly shored up, and the steam-engines busy pumping the dock dry. The same day our new captain joined the ship, and he was no sooner on board than all hands had to appear aft, where we saw our chief standing on the quarter-deck--a little man, in striking contrast to the tall and portly gentleman who had left us. After taking a look at us, he read his commission hastily and indistinctly, making a three minutes’ job of it; then, folding up the document, he said sharply, and in a squeaking nasal tone, “Pipe down!” and set an example of obedience by immediately diving below. Well, here was something for us to talk about, which would help us to get over a day or two of our wearisome anchorage; and of course we canvassed our new master pretty freely. We soon found out that, although in the main a man of few words, he could swear pretty freely when the fit took him. Most of the old hands called him “four foot of trash.”

I had frequently heard a great talk of Whampoa, and had passed it at a distance, yet I never expected to see it close, still less to dock there; but as I am here, and likely to be so for the next twelve months, I commit to paper, or, as Jack Lee said to me, “dab down” what I think of it.

The river, as you approach it, is crowded with small craft of all sorts, plying about continually to and from the shipping, which here muster pretty strongly, all waiting for that indispensable commodity, tea.

Whampoa New Town (the city is a mile farther inland) is a confused mass of houses, partly on the north and partly on the south bank of the stream, and looks as though, at some time far back, there had happened a shower of houses, falling some in bunches of twos and threes, others quite isolated; then a grand jumble of stone, wood, bricks, and mortar. It puzzled me at times to make out how the people could live there.

The country for a mile or so within sight of the river is for the most part flat and well wooded and cultivated; farther inland it assumes a bolder character, rising into partially wooded hills, down which torrents rush with lively noise; and amid these hills are villages secluded in the valleys and embosomed in trees. Far away to the north-east are dimly seen the heights of Canton, and look which way you will, there is the ever present feature of a Chinese landscape--water.

But this little sketch would not be complete if I were to omit some mention of the docks, which are so useful to shipping in Chinese waters.

A few years ago there arrived at Whampoa an energetic English artisan and his son; they had a small capital, so they bought some land close to the water, and dug and built docks lined with wood, commonly called mud-docks; large enough, however, to hold a good-sized ship. By-and-by, shipping frequenting the docks, they built more, till still further requirements forced upon them the necessity of a stone dock; but before the elder Cowper could properly make his plans, the disturbances in his neighbourhood nipped the project for a time, and before another chance occurred, he was treacherously seized from on board his own chop, and was strangled at Canton by order of Yeh. The son, however, inherited his father’s energy; and now there is a range of good docks: two entirely of stone.

Near Whampoa, and up one of the numerous creeks, is a lonely circular tomb among the hills, where, as tradition has it, lies buried the great Kwang, a sober citizen and sometime governor, or Tauti of Whampoa, but who, for his partiality to Europeans, was beheaded. To this time in the neighbourhood his name is mentioned with great respect.

I told my messmates this story once: “Well, I’m blowed,” says Jemmy King, “he was a fool and no mistake; didn’t know when he was well off, he didn’t!”

Truly reading and writing on board ship are done under trying difficulties. On all sides, and fore-and-aft, men are singing and talking, card-playing, fighting, and even drinking; for in spite of the strict and severe rules against the smuggling of liquor into the ship, men _will_ and _do_ do it, heedless of consequences. Or perhaps in the mess next your own they are keeping up a chum’s birthday. Before them on the table is a large kettle of rum, or brandy-flip; the glass is passed repeatedly round, till the liquor beginning to take effect, they commence singing, dancing, and quarrelling, which often leads to fighting: in such cases the results are, the liquor is capsized, the combatants look nasty at one another, and knock each other about to them utmost, till the master-at-arms, attracted by the noise, comes to the scene of conflict, collars the chief actors, and marches them on the quarter-deck, where the first-luff, making but short work of it, orders them in irons. They are taken below to the cockpit to repent in darkness, and left to their own reflections, which cannot be of the pleasantest kind, for if they be reported to the captain he makes no hesitation in talking of four dozen.

Such scenes are not uncommon even in a well-disciplined ship, but of course they bring their own punishment, and the leaders of them are never treated with any kind of confidence.

March 16th.--We were inspected by Admiral Hope, who told us of his entire satisfaction. I admired the appearance of the brave chief. He is tall and well built, with an open and commanding countenance, and bright blue eyes that seem to pierce right through one; some of our men said, “he’d got a eye like a hawk,” and that there were “no two ways about _him_.” We were very glad to see the Admiral recovered from his terrible wounds, for after doing what he did at Peiho the men could not but admire and respect him. But there were some who thought Sir Michael Seymour the better man of the two.

Well, now let me introduce my messmates; the reader knows one or two already:

First in order comes the caterer, generally a steady-going petty-officer, who is considered responsible for the orderly state of the mess, and any faults committed by his messmates. Harry B. is an open-hearted, intelligent man, fond of reading, and very well informed; he is tolerably lenient and impartial in his judgment. He and I often used to have a romp together.

Then there’s Mikey, a real broth of a boy; good-tempered when sober, but inclined to liquor, and when so, extremely wild and racketty. He has read a great deal, and is pretty intelligent and thoughtful; in fact, quite a step above the common herd. He is greatly incensed at the abuses which are creeping into the service, and vows when paid off he will join the Yankees: “something like, their service is!”

J. W. comes next, commonly called West-Country. An old Arctic man--he has been out with Captain Kellett in two expeditions, searching for Sir John; he is generally light-hearted and cheerful, full of curious yarns. For example: “I was once,” said he, “along with a first-lieutenant, and he was everlasting a-pickin’ his nose; he was always a-findin’ fault; he’d stop p’raps at the cable-tier, or the shot-locker, then he’d begin at the nose again: ‘Dirtiest hole in the ship, master-at-arms! dirtiest hole in the ship!’ How the chaps used to laugh at him.” He used to say also, that “he was once towed six mile under water by a whale, and on’y came up once to breathe.” He has, in common with the rest, one sad failing: whenever he can he gets drunk, and firmly believes it does him good.

Bill is the next one, a young fellow who has served most of his time in big ships, and considers small ships to be a bore: “’Cause they ain’t half manned, and wants the work done big-ship fashion all the same, little big-ships I call em.” He growls tremendously, and says, “Andrew won’t catch him in a small craft again; and when his time’s up he’ll have a slap at the Yankees.”

Young Joe comes before us next, looking dissipated, but has a redeeming blue eye, and an amiable temper; he is very ignorant of books, but eagerly listens to folks who know more than he does; is quick and handy at his work, but knows too much of what is no good to him.

Who next? Quimbo; born in the West Indies, very good-natured and simple. He has, though, a wicked temper; he also greatly affects the dandy; hence he is the general butt of the mess. I used to write his and young Joe’s letters---love-letters and all. They would bring the paper to me with the request; and then, “You know what to say well enough; I’m going to have a smoke,” and I was left to concoct the letters alone; and so great faith had they in me that when I read it to them they would say, “Oh, that’ll do fizzin’.” In fact, I was letter-writer for many a shipmate.

The carpenter, or ‘wood-spoiler,’ comes next; a disagreeable fellow, and to use the men’s favourite expression, “He’s a big eater, and his shipmates don’t like him.”

I come next--but I trust the reader will be able to describe me without any further help on my part.

Now for the last and youngest in the mess, Dick, a fine sprightly little fellow, with a good elementary education, and a fair stock of common sense; not a bad seaman, and one day will do some good for himself. So much for portrait sketching.

May-day being intensely hot made us grumble the more at our dreary anchorage. “Here we must lie,” so runs my log, “till the Admiral chooses to relieve us. Why can’t we be allowed to go to the north again, and get satisfaction for last year’s mishap? why is not some other ship sent up here? Of the three years since we have arrived on the station, we have spent thirty months swinging at our moorings in fresh-water, while other ships have had the cream and honey of the station! ’Tis too bad.”

June 4th.--Our monotony was this day relieved by all hands being allowed a run ashore on French Island. I enjoyed my ramble much among the quiet hills which border the swampy paddy-fields. The peasants whom I met seemed disposed to be friendly, and gave me a hearty chin-chin. Stopping before one of their rural dwellings, I watched the process of cleaning cotton. A bow with a light string is held by the carder over a heap of cotton; pulling down the string with some force under a portion of the cotton, he suddenly allows the bow to recoil, and the vibration thus kept up loosens the cotton without destroying the fibre.

Great activity now prevails here in building troop-boats, water-tanks, and other equipments for the expedition to the northward, of which we hear rumours now and then: that it is a very large one, well arranged; that Hong-Kong harbour is not large enough to anchor all the transports, and Hong-Kong itself is like a military town, there are so many soldiers there. Many rumours are raised among the Chinese, who say that the emperor “no likee our make bobbery.”

Where our ship is lying now the stream is narrow, and the vessel swings close in shore; then it is that we can get a peep at the in-door life of the Whampoa Celestials. Now a street scene attracts our attention: a rascally boy has robbed one of the numerous fruit-stalls, the owner spies him out, and gives chase. I am not the only observer from the ship; other men see it. “Go it, little ’un!” “Crack on, kinchin!” say several. “If you ain’t nailed I glories in yer sperrit!” exclaims Jemmy King. The boy dodges and doubles along the water’s edge, but the man has the best of it, and nabs the thief just as he is bolting into a sanpan, and begins thrashing him. “Served ye right,” say one or two of my companions; “no business to be cotched.” “Give it him, old ’un, he’ll make a clean job of it next time.” The boy sings out awfully, after the manner of boys, and this attracts a crowd, and the stall is secretly lightened by some, so that in administering justice the poor man suffered injustice.

The ship has swung still farther, and is now opposite to a tidy-looking wooden house: at the window sit two young native girls, busy with the ‘steel-bar,’ as sailors call the needle; they are looking at some book, and, judging from their animated chatter, perhaps it was their pattern-book.

Still swinging, we are opposite the market, with its busy traffic and its buzz of voices, while in and out of the crowd jostle old men and little boys with nasty-looking little cakes and mysterious pastry. Here is now coming along a grave elderly gentleman, with his servant holding an umbrella over him, to screen his head from the hot sun; a beggar meets him, and makes a low obeisance, craving charity; the grave personage looks at him scornfully for a moment, and then impatiently tosses him a coin, and strides haughtily on his way. “If I was that beggar I’m hanged if I’d have his money, I’d heave it at him,” said young Joe, who was looking on, leaning on my shoulder. “If you were that beggar, Joe,” said I, “you’d do as he does.” “Ah!” he rejoined, “you won’t live long, John! Have you had some needle-puddin’ to-day?”

Swinging right round to meet the change of tide, the ship nears the opposite shore, which is marshy and flat, just fit for growing paddy, being often overflowed by the tide. Here, in a little bight, hidden partly by reeds and rank grass, lies a putrefying corpse. A villanous-looking dog, enticed by the smell, comes to have a meal; our first-luff for pastime shoots at him, but unfortunately misses his mark, and the animal retreats, and some hands are sent from the ship to sink the body. The cur comes again next day, but he had better have stayed away; for the lieutenant is ready, and a well-directed shot from his musket tumbles the dog over dead among the rushes.