CHAPTER XIV.

A few Words to Boys who want to go to Sea--Characteristics--Talk about Books--Swallowing a Johnson--Sneaking from Church--Seamen’s Prayer--Disreputable Officers--The Servants not the Service--Man the Ropes--The Lieutenant’s Dog--Craft on the Creeks--The Tax-boat--Canoes and Capers--Rambles in Canton--Deities for Sale--False Tails--Street Gamblers--A Sing-song--The Temple of Five Hundred Gods--The City Wall and Scenes beheld therefrom--French Head-quarters--Yeh’s Park--A threatened Flogging--Our Chaplain.

Some of my young readers may now be ready to exclaim, Why! you are only a fresh-water sailor. There’s nothing in your book about shipwrecks and terrible storms. Have patience, boys, it is not my fault that the _Highflyer_ was kept for three years in fresh-water idleness; and perhaps if we had been wrecked you would not have had this book to read. I have told you how we visited some wrecks, and of an escape that we had; and of the hurricane of battle, which was a great deal more terrible than the hurricane we fell in with on our voyage home, of which you will have notice by-and-by.

Meanwhile, let me say a few words to young fellows who think they would like to go to sea. It is not always fine weather there any more than it is anywhere else; and as for seeing the world, it amounts for the most part to seeing a surprising quantity of water. Seamen don’t have leave to go and ramble about every bit of land they touch at. And then, as to the romance of being a sailor: whatever one who lives on land may think of the comforts, conveniences, and freedom of a sailor’s life, he will find himself greatly adrift should he come to prove them in reality. In fine weather and with favourable breezes, a sailor’s life is jolly enough, but reverse the scene and how different it becomes! In a gale and during a dark night-watch, the various duties which Jack has to perform assume a comfortless, harassing, and dangerous character.

Turned suddenly out of his warm hammock, he is sent aloft to reef topsails, aft to the wheel, or is at once shoved into the chains to heave the warning lead. Going below after the watch has expired, he finds he cannot get his bag to procure dry clothes, and is not allowed to hang up his wet ones; so, weary and dispirited, he throws himself into his hammock, only to be roused out again as occasion requires.

And yet, despite all this, Jack does his work cheerfully and manfully, and amid all his perils would not change his existence for a better one. He is full of generosity; but the long confinement and restraint on board ship make him when ashore full to overflowing with joyous spirits; hence he commits excesses and abuses which in his calmer moments he would be ashamed of. He must buy everything which takes his fancy, however useless it may be. After all his money is gone, if he doesn’t break his leave, he comes aboard and tells his messmates he has had a slashing cruise; only he would have liked more dollars. Drink is his realisation of happiness, at least, it is with the generality. Lucong was to many a beautiful place, and why? Because there they could go ashore, get plenty of that horrid samshu for a mere nothing, and when riotous and drunken were just in their element. What to them was the inviting landscape, the blue hazy hills, or the sweet unknown plants and flowers, so long as they could obtain that curse of seamen--grog.

Religion has but little value in Jack’s estimation, the loose oath or the careless jest is generally upon his lips: he says, himself, “Religion isn’t for the likes of us who never think about it;” yet they are susceptible of religious emotion, as I have often seen. I have generally noticed that if a man be seriously disposed and quiet, the majority of his shipmates respect him. But sometimes he is tormented; if he sits down often to read, he must make up his mind to be addressed thus, as I was sometimes: “Ah, John, them books’ll drive you crazy some day, and then what will you do?” “Charlie, old fellow, I can’t say that I agree with you; have not books made some of our greatest men? Do not authors and poets live on books? For what were books made, to look at and not to study?” “Oh yes, that’s all very fine talk, but you don’t think them books’ll do you any good, and that you’re a-going to better yourself.” “Yes, indeed I do; and if not, why my present study keeps away the devil, and makes me feel contented.” “Ah,” rejoins the wise Charlie, “it’s a pity you hadn’t a been a parson, John, the navy ain’t no place for you.” And I must do the careless ones the justice to say that they make a show of respect for a shipmate who has made good use of his time at school. “He has swallowed a Johnson,” they say, or “He’s got a mortal long headpiece.”

On Sundays their behaviour corresponds with what I have said of religion; so that the Church-service seemed to me like an ungodly mockery. The men have to be driven aft almost forcibly, and when aft, as soon as the service begins, down they go on all fours and shin away forward to get a basin of tea, or a game at cards, or perhaps it may be to hear a messmate read a chapter out of some interesting book. Those who are left behind are pretty attentive, and the singing adds to the attraction. Ships’ boys and the schoolmaster generally answer the responses; the rest of the people are at liberty to join in if they please. I have often thought to myself that the only really earnest and devout man present was the chaplain. I may be mistaken, but godliness is a rare article in a man-of-war. There the universal prayer is:

“From rocks and sands and barren lands, Good Lord deliver us.”

But with all his faults a sailor is a man and a fellow-being. Natural darkness is not lasting; neither is the moral darkness of all sailors.

There are many officers, too, who, so far as vice and bad habits are concerned, often outdo the fore-mast man. Some of them come to sea for honour, as they term it; and after remaining sufficiently long in the service for his captain and companions to find out he is a fool and a bore, quits it, as he says, with ‘disgust;’ so that there is a great deal of truth in the sailor’s adage: “It ain’t the service, that’s well enough, ’tis them that’s in it.”

We had a clever third-luff, who, upon the ship being caught in a squall one dark night, sung out frantically, “Man the ropes, men! man the ropes!” instead of giving orders what to do. This same luff had a dog, too, an unhappy looking cur, something of a cross, as the men used to say, between a bull-dog and a window-shutter; nevertheless, he was attached to the animal. The men knew of his partiality, so in the night-watches they would lie down to nap in the gangway, taking the dog with them; the animal being very glad to nestle under their lee from the cold. This made his master’s heart warm towards the men, and he would send for a bottle of grog and give them “for being good to Ponto.” The bottle did not last long among many, and as soon as it was gone, the wretched Ponto would be saluted with divers kicks and thumps in the ribs, making him sing out dismally, ‘pen and ink,’ and cut his lucky; while his master declared they were bad men to hurt “poor dear Ponto.”

Now after this long yarn we’ll have a look at the river. Our ship is surrounded by numerous sanpans, which, however, lie off at a respectful distance, for if they come near their owners get pelted with bits of the holystone that we scrub our decks with. There they lie, jabbering to one another, and on the look-out for a chance job, and furnishing us with something to talk about.

Numerous creeks run away inland from the river, and along these may be seen, sailing or sculling, large trading junks and smaller craft, their brown curiously cut sails seeming to glide along the top of the flat fields which skirt the edge of the creek. Some of them that carry a few guns have an ugly, suspicious look, and should you doubt their honesty, one glance at the thievish-looking crew will settle the question. They are opium smugglers for the towns and villages along the creeks, and are, besides, not at all unwilling to plunder villages when opportunity offers, or to cruise as pirates on a pinch.

Now from behind yonder point shoots out a row-boat bearing the Imperial flag; how she glides along, and well she may, for twenty-eight oars on each side make her walk amazingly fast. Most of her crew look well-fed and sleek, as though the collection of state revenues were pleasant work.

Presently a junk comes in sight, amid noise and confusion. She has many rowers, and her light cotton sails might be taken for great handbills, for they are covered with writing in the native character. That is the Imperial tax-boat, taking her rounds to gather in the revenue. No wonder there is such a hubbub from the fleet of sanpans that follow in her wake.

One day, about the latter end of July, a great many long and gaudily-painted canoes, decorated with flags and banners, and moved by about thirty paddles on each side, passed up and down the river opposite the town. In the middle of each canoe was a monster drum, which two Celestial drummers beat with a vengeance. “Why don’t ye hit a little harder, old fellow?” sung out one of our mess. “You call that tum-tum, do ye?” After a bit we noticed that the paddlers kept time to the beating of the drums, while a showily-dressed fellow, posted beneath each of the standards, jumped up two or three feet at every stroke of the drumsticks. Up and down, up and down, they all kept on, as if they were moved by springs, or had the spirit of dancing dervishes; and all the time the hot sun was beating down upon their uncovered heads. Some of these canoes were superior to the rest, having carved figure-heads, and covered sterns; being, as our joker said, “Titivated off to the nines.” When this squadron arrived at the end of the town, the rowers, instead of turning the boats round, turned themselves round. I was afterwards told that this was a part of certain ceremonies performed during the Feast of Dragons. To us it was quite a novel sight, and one of the prettiest we had seen in China.

The main excitement we got about this time was having occasionally to pull some of our officers up to Canton; a trip for which volunteers were always ready, for we got leave to roam about and see sights, a liberty not allowed at the time when we helped to take the city. In my first good uninterrupted stroll in the city I went along the street of Benevolence and Love, or “Ill-will and stink,” as old Archie said it “had ought to be called.” It was thronged with natives of all classes: grandees and coolies, and clerks with a business air about them, and an inkhorn stuck in their girdle; and such a lot of lazy, loaf-about fellows, who apparently would sooner live by their wits than their work: bold, bad men, sallow and unhealthy-looking from the effects of opium, and who always endeavour to stare you out of countenance.

Turning suddenly round an angle of the street, we came upon a manufacturer of gods--strange as it may sound, it was so. With a small quantity of clay and putty, or chunam, and a few pots of red, blue, or some other attractive colour, we saw him making little deities for the curious and eager people around him. Another thing that surprised us was to see among the paints and perfumes a barber’s shop, and a number of false tails hung up for sale to Canton coxcombs. Well, if women wear false curls, why should not puppies wear false tails?

I had heard often that the Chinamen were fond of gambling, but had never seen them at play, until in one of my rambles on a wet day I saw a party under a rude shed rattling dice in a basin and throwing three times in succession, and then counting gains or losses. Three out of the five men were soon stumped, and away they went, with vexed and sheepish looks, to raise the wind for another attempt; their two comrades meanwhile playing away as hard as ever. Soon one of these lost his all, and began gazing rather mournfully into the watery sky; when, taking compassion upon him, I gave him a few cash which I had about me; not from any approval of his gambling propensities, but a curious desire to see if he would put the unexpected supply to a better use; but I had not time to wait and see.

One day I went to look at a ‘sing-song,’ as the Chinese call a singing-house. It was a huge boat, with a long room built on the deck, displaying specimens of good carving, and decorated with large mirrors and brilliant hanging lamps. The musicians sat on each side of this room with their various instruments, and a gay company of young painted females, who accompany the music with their voices, in a harsh, screeching tone, which made Jem say, “His poor old mother’s Tom cat ’ud do it better nor that.”

After the concert comes a repast of sweetmeats for the singers, and tea without milk or sugar was given to the audience in tiny china cups, for one cash: about the twentieth part of a penny. After this the row went on again, with but little variation, till we got tired and went away. I was told, however, that they break up somewhere about cock-crow.

One day a party in which I was included had a week’s liberty, and went up to the city. We lodged while there at naval head-quarters, a house near the river, with rooms for the senior naval officers, and a large room for the seamen attached; the ground before it sloped down to the water, and a pleasant old willow overshadowed the door; and on a little pier leading from the captain’s quarters was a flagstaff, on which the Union Jack was hoisted every morning.

I took the opportunity to call on Mr. M’Clintock, the commissary-general, who had brought me out a book from home, to express my thanks for the favour. He was lounging in his bamboo chair (it was early in the afternoon). He looked hard at me upon my entrance; but when I told him my name, he expressed himself glad to see me. “It was such a trifling thing he did for me,” he said, “not worth mentioning--he would be glad to do it again. Had I been in England he would have recommended me to his brother, Captain M’Clintock; but if he saw a good thing before our ship left the station he would remember me.” He then said good-bye. But the good thing did not turn up, for I heard from him no more.

I and another went to see the Temple of the Five Hundred Gods, situate in the north-west quarter of the city. After a walk of about four miles we arrived at the temple, a huge square building, gloomy-looking and forbidding. Many priests, with shaven crowns and clad in long black robes, were flitting about the entrance; they appeared very willing to show us the curiosities of their temple. The interior is lofty, and about two hundred feet square, looking more like a prison than a place of reverence. Platforms are ranged about the floor, on which the gods stand close together. We wondered if they felt uncomfortable in hot weather. They are about half the size of life, many of them of horrible shapes, some having half a dozen arms, three or four legs, three heads: all as ugly as possible. Most of them represent the male sex, but there were one or two solitary females, gorgeously gilt, whose features and form were less unnatural than those of their male companions. One of these fellows was a hideous monster of a blubberly figure, with great folds of fat hanging from his breast and cheeks. His name is Chong, and, as we were told, he watches over the happiness of young maidens. What English girl would face such a frightful god as that! We saw, however, a great many Canton lasses who had evidently come to have a look at their ugly protector.

The wall of Canton is worthy of notice, and it is possible to have a ramble on the top of it. I got up very early one morning, before sunrise, on purpose to go this journey. About the east gate the wall is broad and firm, and from between the rows of embrasures you get a good view of the plain of Canton and the country round about. That red brick building with the glazed tiles, and with two scathed and withered trees growing over it, is the building used for a magazine when we captured the city, and which blew up by some accident as our blue-jackets were clearing it of the jars of powder and pitching them into the ponds. Groups of green trees something like willows, groves of orange-trees and mandarins’ houses on little eminences, and lonely little ferries across the creeks, are here the features without the wall. Looking from the heights near the north gate, you see the city lies like a huge village beneath. The houses are mostly low--about two stories--but, contrasted with the look of an English city, they appear like wretched huts: no glass windows, no ornamental glass work, chimney-pots, trellis-work, water-spouts, are visible. As their fires are generally made from charcoal, there was not a dim pall of smoke over the city, but a misty haze, as is generally seen over big towns that don’t burn coal. The only buildings which catch the eye and relieve the general monotony are one or two lofty pagodas and the glazed tiles of the turned-up and highly ornamental temples. You see more of the country, too, here, and miles of tea plantations, which give the appearance of a garden.

On coming to the north-east gate, I observed, at one of the angles, marks of the effect of our shot and shell of three years ago.

The eastern suburbs, or ‘subrubs,’ as the Highflyers would say, attracted a good share of my attention, and I stood for some time looking down into the narrow street, just opposite a tea-shop, in which were ranged enormous canisters of the plant, and large porcelain basins heaped up with the different samples. The shop, even at that early hour, was full, and I could hear the clink of money, the rustling of the crisp, dry tea, and voices in compliment or bargain, from my high station. I passed the north-east gate, going on towards the north, when I observed beneath me, without the wall, a small plot of ground, which I at first sight took to be a garden; but the low hillocks and headstones, telling of frail mortality, soon undeceived me. It was the Christian burial-ground, and it seemed like an oasis in the pagan land. Many a poor fellow-countryman, I thought, as I looked at it, lies here, whether sped to his last home by the musket-ball or a victim to the climate. Soon after I got to the north gate, at the foot of the heights. Here the road had been partially rebuilt by us. The heights are like a slope, with shady trees and houses.

To reach the west gate I had to pass through the court-yard of the pagoda of the French head-quarters. On each side of the entrance to the building stands a lion, well carved in stone, of ancient workmanship. All was quiet as I thus stood for a minute, looking about, for our French neighbours were not yet up. There was only a solitary seaman sentry to be seen at the entrance; so, helping myself to a draught of their wine-and-water, which stood ready for use in the court-yard, away I went, and got back to our quarters in time for breakfast.

Having heard by report a great deal about Yeh’s park, I went a day or two after to see it. One would smile at the name applied to such a thing in England. Badly-kept shrubs skirt its straggling pathways; an imperfect fishpond, its waters polluted and stinking, occupies the centre. Picture the remainder as about two and a half acres of scurvy-looking grass, growing in sub-divisions, cropped by sundry scraggy-looking ponies belonging to anybody, and a small herd of meagre white-spotted deer, and you have the park. I noticed some of our shot and missiles lying in the neglected place.

Soon after our return on board an incident occurred which gave us another touch of our new captain’s character. One of the marines, a sickly man, had given some offence--I forget what--and the captain said he would flog him, and turned the hands up to hear the warrant read. Well, it was read by him very angrily, and the poor fellow was being taken below to be kept in irons till the next day, when the doctor interposed: “Sir,” said he, touching his cap, “that man is not capable of bearing corporal punishment; he is on the sick list.” “Are you quite certain he can’t bear it, doctor?” “Quite, Sir.” “Oh! Yes. Well,” says the captain, turning to the culprit, “it’s a good thing you are sick; but, mark you! I _will_ flog you, as sure as my name’s ------; if I wait till doomsday you shall have it. Pipe down, boatswain’s mate. Doctor, report to me when he _is_ well enough; bear it in mind.”

“There’s a little bantam-cock for you,” said some of our men, as we went forward again. “Now, ain’t ye sorry old daddy S---- left ye?” “Pay her off,” rejoined others, “it’s near time; if we lives together much longer, we’ll be eating one another up.”

After all, the monotony wearied me less than the others; for it was while lying off Whampoa that I had the privilege to become acquainted with our chaplain. It came about in this way: I had asked the ship’s schoolmaster if he knew of a Homer’s Iliad that could be borrowed, and he, not knowing, inquired of the chaplain, who sent me a summons to his cabin. He asked me many questions, particularly as to my occupation before taking to the sea. “Whatever could have possessed you?” he said; “surely you do not mean to continue a sailor?” I answered that I bitterly repented, and that if ever I got home again I’d try for my discharge. After a little more talk he showed me a Homer, which was truly all Greek to me, and advised me when I wanted anything to apply to him; he would lend any of his books, and always be glad to tell me anything. A short time afterwards I told him I had been trying to work out a problem or two in navigation. He asked to see them, and so began a course of kind teachings, which continued for many months. I used to do two or three problems and then go and show them to him. He would correct them or point out mistakes, and give me something more to go on with, and finish off with a few good and kindly words and his pleasant smile. He was much gratified when I added trigonometry to my lesson; and when, some weeks later, I showed him my first ‘day’s work’ as the fruit of his instruction, he spoke words of encouragement which I shall never forget.