Round the Wonderful World

Then they opened a great tubful of cooked rice and put some on two plates and gave it to us, and they put beside us two little bowls filled with smashed-up sardines, at least I thought it was that, but oh – You would have known it was there a mile off! I would have stood it, because I didn't want to hurt their feelings, as they meant to be polite, but Joyce stuffed her skirt into her mouth and held her nose, and they all laughed and took it away quite easily. There were no forks or spoons, but we were very hungry, so we just fell to with our fingers on the rice and it wasn't at all bad, I can tell you. When we had done they gave us some very good bananas – I could have done with more of them – and then they tried us with a lump of stuff that was simply a bit of wood; it came from the Jack-fruit tree. I saw one growing right out of the trunk on a little stalk by itself next day, but how anyone ever eats it I can't imagine.

When we had finished they poured water over our fingers to clean them, a very unsatisfactory sort of wash it was, and the water ran away between the boards, quite convenient that!

When we were satisfied we began to take more notice of what the house was like. The walls were made of very coarse mats, and there were no tables or chairs. There were a number of people; the father of the house, who had brought us in, had a kind shrewd face, so that you couldn't help liking him, and the mother was a very thin, plain, little old woman, with twinkling eyes. Joyce thought first she was the cook, for she had no jewellery on at all and no fine clothes, while the two girls, the daughters, were quite smart. They were all ready to laugh and smile, but the two girls were the most friendly; they sat down by Joyce and fingered her skirt and examined her very dilapidated shoes. "I wish they wouldn't, Jim," she said, trying to pull them up under her very short skirt, which was no use at all. At last she took them off because they were so wet, and one of the girls put her little brown toes into them, and then they all shrieked with laughter again. You couldn't help laughing too, they were so jolly nice.

I put my finger on Joyce and said "Joyce," then on me and said "Jim," and then pointed at the two girls; they understood at once and said Mah Kway Yoh (Miss Dog's Bone) and Mee Meht (Miss Affection). Then they pointed to a young man at the back and said Moung Poh Sin (Mr. Grandfather Elephant).

I tried to make them understand we wanted to get back to the ship, but nothing would do it. "Draw it," suggested Joyce. She had a wee gold pencil on her gold bangle, but we had no paper and there was none there – there wasn't anything, in fact, except a box. "On your cuff," Joyce suggested, but I hadn't any cuffs, only a soft shirt.

"On the floor," she said then.

I tried, but of course the lead broke. They all gathered round, much interested, pushing their shiny black heads close together. It's funny that they all have just the same sort of hair, isn't it? They followed everything I did with the deepest interest, and then went into fits of laughter, and so did we.

Just then a boy came in, not much older than me. He had on very few clothes, and his legs looked as if they were stained dark blue. When he came near to me and saw me looking at them with very much interest he showed them to us. They were tattooed all over like a pair of breeches, and the pictures on them were very well done; there were tigers and a kind of dragon, like those we saw at the pagoda steps, and many other animals, and each one was in a kind of scrollwork which made a little frame. He spoke a few words of English and pointed at the two men and said, "Them too," then, "All Burmans." It is odd they should go through all that pain; what's the use of it?

I tried to explain to him about the ship. I called it "ship," "steamer," "vessel," "craft," and everything else I could think of, but he shook his head. At last Joyce suggested "big boat," and then he understood, and got quite excited and told the others. Partly by gestures he made us understand that we were a very long way off, and that no one could take us back that night, but that we could go early in the morning. I wanted to know why not now, but he waved his arms and said, "Nats, beloos," and looked quickly over his shoulder.

"Nats are spirits," said Joyce. "I know all about it. The Burmese are frightened of them, and put little bits of rag at the top of the posts in the houses for them to live in, so that they won't come inside. Mother read that to me out of a book."

We looked for the little rags, but couldn't see them, though I expect they were there. Joyce knows a lot for a girl.

Well, we couldn't go home by ourselves, so presently we lay down on our mats and went fast asleep, and I suppose everyone else did too. Anyway, it was morning when I woke. Perfectly glorious it was! I shall never forget that morning. Joyce was out on the verandah already, and I went and stood beside her. The moon was there still, but every moment growing paler and paler. The air was full of that burnt-wood smell which is clean and rather nice. The sun seemed simply to rush up, and in five minutes from a world of black shadows and no colours it turned to a world of green and blue and yellow. The houses were all like ours, built on legs with thatched roofs, and there were great shady mango trees and plantains growing beside them. The dogs were everywhere, and the people were squatting in the sun to warm their backs. We ate more rice and drank more coco-nut milk, and then we shook hands all round and thanked the people, and went away with the boy to guide us. His name was Moung Ohn (Mr. Coco-Nut) he told us. We made him write down his own and his sisters' names on a piece of paper in Burmese on the ship afterwards, so that we could always keep them.

It was quite a long way, as he had said, but it was so beautiful we wanted to dance and jump all the time. Moung Ohn scolded off the beastly pariah dogs and led us out of the hole in the great stockade and through a grove of palms. He pointed to two different sorts, one was the usual kind, feathery, and coco-nuts grew on that. He pointed to himself and grinned, but we didn't understand till afterwards that his name was "Coco-Nut." The other sort of palm had leaves like the great fans people sometimes have in drawing-rooms, at least Joyce said they were. A man was walking down the long, straight stem of one, and I could see, as Moung Ohn had said, that his legs were tattooed too. He just walked down. He had a band round his waist and round the tree, so he leaned against it and pressed the soles of his feet against the tree. I longed to try, but Joyce was wanting to get back to her mother. When the man came down he had a little iron pot filled with juice, and he offered it to me to drink, but when I looked in and saw dead flies and insects by the dozen I declined politely. He had hung up other little pots on the tree near the stalks of the great leaves in which he had cut gashes, so the juice dripped out into them. I found out this makes a strong drink called toddy.

We passed over rice fields, where many of the people were at work already, and then, after going a good distance, we got on to the road, but it was not the same part where we were the day before. I'm beginning now not to be quite so sure that my direction was right after all, but don't say so before Joyce.

Just then we heard a most awful noise like a hundred demons groaning and shrieking together.

"Nats!" exclaimed Joyce, standing stockstill. Moung Ohn laughed and shook his head. Then there came into sight a slow lumbering bullock-cart with the wheels screaming enough to give you toothache. Why on earth don't they grease them?

"Perhaps they prefer them like that," said Joyce, and I expect she is right.

It wasn't long before we reached the steamer, and then what a scene! When I saw how Joyce was smothered I was glad men don't kiss. You just shook hands with me and told me I was an object to scare crows with!

When we offered Moung Ohn some money for his trouble he refused to take it, and went away saying good-bye so gracefully, bowing and touching his forehead with his hand.

CHAPTER XXVI

THROUGH EASTERN STRAITS AND ISLANDS

In every long journey there comes a time when one feels a little dreary. So many new things have been seen that the mind and eye are tired. Then maybe there is just a touch of home-sickness mingled with it, and when one gets to a part less beautiful than what has gone before all at once there is a longing to turn and fly back to all that we are accustomed to. It seems to me that you and I are suffering from that now. We have left Burma behind, and for two days have ploughed down the Gulf of Martaban toward Penang in the Straits Settlements. We did not want to make friends with anyone on board, and were just a trifle grumpy even toward each other. We felt the parting from Joyce and her mother, who had made Burma so enjoyable, and we weren't ready to begin making new friends all at once.

Burma forms the western part of a great peninsula, and stretching out southward from it is a long arm, the shape of an Indian club, narrower in the neck and broadening out, to run up finally to a point. Alongside of the broadest part is the great island of Sumatra, belonging to the Dutch, who are our principal rivals in this region of the world.

"The captain's compliments, and we're going to set off some rockets to scare the sea-birds," says one of the officers, suddenly appearing beside us. "We're passing close by that little island there – Pulo Pera."

Now there is something to see we wake up at once. Sure enough there it is ahead, a little island rising like a cliff out of the water. It is evidently deep close in, for we go quite near to it. Just as we are abreast off goes rocket after rocket, and in a moment the scene is transformed as if by magic. A dense mass of shrieking, screaming birds springs to life. The moment before the sun was shining in a clear sky, now in an instant it is obscured as by a thick cloud. You never saw anything like it! The birds on the Bass Rock are fairly thick, but here – day is turned to night and the commotion and uproar are wildly exciting, like the clash of legions in the sky.

Long after we are past we can see them thinning down gradually as some keep dropping back on to their island home, while the more restless, nervous spirits still circle and swoop in loops and curves.

A marvellous sight!

Penang itself is an island, and as we swing round to the capital town, Georgetown, on the inner or land side, we see an astonishing mass of green, with a great hill clothed almost to the summit rising behind the town. We can go up there to-morrow if you like, as we have a day to spend here owing to a change of steamers.

As we come to anchor in the bay a perfect swarm of small boats, called sampans, dance round the ship, and the owners offer their wares with astonishing noise. Looking down you can see the yellow faces of the men who have narrow eyes and pigtails coiled round their heads under enormous hats. It looks as if we had tumbled into China by mistake, for these are nearly all Chinamen, and yet the inhabitants of this country are Malays. The Malay, however, is like the Burman in that he does not care to exert himself if he can help it, so he lets the Chink, as the Chinamen are familiarly called, do all the business. The rich earth yields a hundredfold, and the Malay has only to scratch a very little of it very gently, and plant or sow a small quantity of something, and he is provided for for a year! The Chinaman is an industrious soul and an uncommonly good market-gardener, so he grows vegetables for sale and makes a good thing out of it; half these boats are full of vegetables grown by the very men who are selling them.

Soon we are in a sampan, being rapidly rowed shore-wards. The man works the boat standing up and faces the way he is going; he does it very easily, with the ends of his long oars crossed over and worked almost entirely by wrist play. We are right under a high, old-fashioned-looking trading ship now; do you see that great eye painted on the bows? There is another on the other side. That shows it is a Chinese ship; the men have a superstition that the ship cannot see without these eyes. They say, "No got eye, no can see; no can see, no can savee."

Great rocks stick out from the foliage on the hillside, and nearer is the town, with its pretty thatched houses and palatial mansions and avenues of greenery. It is all slightly different from the countries we have seen already, and yet it is difficult to say quite where the difference lies. Here is our old friend the rickshaw man, only he is a Chinaman, of course, and some of these rickshaws are two-seated, so we can both get into one; the man who pulls starts off gently as if it were no trouble. He wears nothing above the waist, and we can see the well-developed muscles moving under his sun-browned skin. On the road we meet many Chinese women dressed in trousers; you must have seen some in Hyde Park, I think, for people often bring them over to England as nurses for their children, they are so clean and reliable. They all wear trousers like that, just plain, straight down, shapeless trousers, with a tunic falling over them; it is a neat and effective dress.

Whew! It's hot! I don't feel inclined to move a limb; this steamy heat is so much more trying than the heat we had in the dry zone of Burma, where you and Joyce got lost; there the nights were always cool, almost sharp sometimes. That building you are pointing at, with the dragons over the doorway, is a Chinese temple, and I don't suppose they would mind our going in at all. It looks nice and cool, anyway. We stop the rickshaw man and pass through several courtyards enclosed by high walls. In one is an open upper storey like a first-floor room with a wall knocked out; this is a stage. You may well ask how anyone in the courtyard can see the play – they can't! Only the favoured few who sit in the galleries get a good view!

In all the courts a few Chinamen lounge about on the steps; they are probably half-stupid with opium, for they are not naturally lazy. Passing on to the inner shrine we see a much-decorated screen, behind which an image is hidden, but we are not allowed to pull it aside. The room in which it stands is crowded with hideous figures, squat devils, grinning dragons, and other disagreeable forms. Before them are empty tin biscuit-boxes full of sand, in which are stuck messy little tapers. There is a funny smell of incense mixed with tallow in the air. It is a creepy, uncomfortable place, and the Chinese religion is not one that would attract a stranger; I expect you would have to be brought up in it to understand it!

Unfortunately next day our expedition to the mountain is spoilt by torrents of rain which stream down unceasingly, and time hangs heavy on our hands.

"It always rains here, all the year round, more or less," says a friendly Englishman in the hotel. "If you like I'll take you to see a well-to-do Chinaman who is a friend of mine. The Chinamen are all rich here, lots of them keep motors." We gladly accept and go off under borrowed umbrellas to the outskirts of the town. The house stands by itself in a clump of trees and is very imposing with its great white marble pillars; as we get near we see huge gold letters in weird characters all across the front. Then before we have time to notice any more we are in the hall looking at a great bowl of gold-fish, and in another minute our host is bowing before us. He is wearing a very magnificent embroidered coat of red silk with great wing-like sleeves; the embroidery is a marvel, dragons in blue and gold, and fishes of rainbow hues disport themselves all over it. Under it is a short black satin petticoat, rather like a kilt, and black boots with thick white felt soles. The gentleman is tall and well made, a fine figure of a man, and on his head is a little round black cap, from which escapes his pigtail. He stands bowing before us and shaking hands with himself, which, as a method of greeting, is perhaps better than our own way. He takes us into a dark gloomy room full of cabinets of black lacquer richly decorated with gold and mother-of-pearl. There are sombre carved wood chairs set back against the wall. It is all very costly, but to us it seems uncomfortable and funereal. The chief things that attract us are rows of little red pieces of paper of odd lengths hanging over strings from the ceiling, as if they were drying after a washing-day. The Englishman explains that the Chinaman is very proud of these, for they are all New Year's greetings from his friends, and the number of them shows what a popular man he must be. As the Chinese New Year's Day is on April the first, and that was only a week ago, these are all new; but if we had arrived at any time of the year we should have seen them just the same, for they are left hanging all the year round till the next lot arrives.

On the whole we are not sorry to leave Penang; we have felt limp all the time, worse even than we did in the Red Sea. The steamer we board this time is the Khyber of the P. & O. Company. She belongs to the Intermediate Line, which comes right out to Japan from England, taking about six weeks on the way. For anyone who wants change and rest and no worry that's a fine voyage, as the boats stop at many places. We shall go on with her to Japan. As we are starting on the steamer we hear various cracks and snaps from the boats near, where crackers are being exploded. The captain happens to pass on the way to the bridge and smiles as he hears them. "They're not firing salvos in our honour," he says; "they think the ship is full of devils, and in case a few have escaped and might land in their blameless boats, they're frightening them back again before it is too late." It makes a great difference to have a captain who takes an interest in his passengers and bothers to tell them incidents as they happen, though to him they may be dull as ditch water, as he has been through them all dozens of times already. The next time we meet the captain it is growing dusk, and he points ahead to what looks like a black rock looming up sheer from the sea. "Curious thing that," he says meditatively; "it's an island, Pulo Jarrak, – islands are all Pulo here, – and owing to the quantity of rain which falls here the vegetation grows so thickly it makes the island stand right out; even on a dark night you can see it ten to twenty miles off. It looks quite black."

We have only one stop on the way to Singapore, exactly midway between it and Penang, at Port Swettenham.

As we pass southward the Straits narrow and we can see the hills of Sumatra on one side, and sometimes funny little villages built on piles out over the water on the other. Pretty good sport to be able to drop a fishing-line out of one's front door, isn't it?

When the land gets very close on both sides we swing round suddenly, and behold! we are at Singapore, which, like Penang, is an island, and stands at the extreme south point of the long peninsula. It guards this useful passage where all the traffic between China and Japan on the one side comes to India on the other, just as Aden guards the Red Sea and Gibraltar the Mediterranean. Great Britain manages somehow to pick up all the lucky bits, and it is not by design either, it just happens that way. I can tell how this one happened; it was because there chanced to be a Man out here – a Man with a capital letter!

We go ashore and get into rickshaws and start for the town, which is a long three miles off. We shan't have time to do more than look round. The road runs by the docks at Singapore, which are enormous and extend all along the coast up to the town. On the way we pass men of all nations. There are natives of India, companies of Sikhs, Madrassees like Ramaswamy, – who is well on his way back to his master now, – Cingalese, Tamils with frizzy heads, little Japanese ladies in rickshaws, plenty of Chinese, and many Malays. The Malays are yellow rather than brown; they have just that slight narrowing of the eyes which tells they are akin to the Chinese, and they are, as a rule, well-made neat men, wearing loose blue skirts, with orange or red sashes, and large hats; some of them have short white jackets which are the universal top garments out here, when there are any at all.

The town itself is astonishingly well built; electric trams run everywhere, and there are splendid public buildings. As we trot along in our rickshaws we enter a large square. Do you see the name up there? Raffles Square. Sir Stamford Raffles was the man who made Singapore. In his time, the first part of the nineteenth century, Great Britain was very anxious to give away everything she had in the East to the first person who asked for it, as she did not want to fight about it, and could not see what use it could be, for the idea of Imperialism and Empire had not been developed. The Dutch asked largely and always got what they asked for, whether they had a right to it or not; this enraged Raffles, who happened to be out here, and so he looked around and noticed that the island of Singapore was placed in a wonderful position for trade, that it commanded the Straits, and that no one as yet had made any claim on it. He settled down here and put up the British flag. It was years before his country finally decided to acknowledge him and not give his territory up to the Dutch, who immediately asked for it; but in the end they did, and now here stands Singapore, a mighty city with miles of docks, a colossal trade, and a teeming population. There is a statue to Sir Stamford Raffles, as it is right there should be. The Botanical Gardens are worth seeing, and we can get tiffin in one of the palatial hotels, and then we must go back to the ship.

The scene in the bay as we depart is most lovely; ships of every nation are at anchor there, and as we pass out slowly we see island after island all covered with that rich green growth which is the result of the constant rain and warmth. Blue and green and gold is the world, and the little brown boys play about their water-built villages, tumbling in and out of the water, and living in the warm sea as much as on land day by day. Shoals of them come round us in their catamarans and dive for money, catching the silver bit as it twinkles down through the water, even though they make their spring from many yards off. As we get farther out we feel the difference in temperature at once, for now we are heading north, and the night is cold and rough – it is like passing into another climate.

These are wonderful seas, and dearly should I like some day to bring you on a cruise in and about this group of great islands to the south, which is like nothing else in the world! There is Borneo, that gigantic island, twice as large as the British Isles, which belongs partly to the British and partly to the Dutch. The story of Sir Stamford Raffles is outdone by the story of the Rajah of Sarawak, which shows that even in our own times the blood of Drake and Cook runs in the veins of Englishmen.

Hong-Kong is another island and also belongs to the British; it was given to them by treaty in 1841. As we sail in under the lee of the island by the narrow entrance to the bay between it and the mainland, we see what a splendid natural harbour this is. High above on the island rises what is called the Peak, and up and up and up it, in rows and terraces, are the houses of the people who live here. We can go up the Peak by a tram-line if we have time. The city is called Victoria, and is actually built on the rock or, rather, on terraces cut out of the face of it, one above the other. It is strange to find this little British colony isolated here on a bit of China, separated from the real China by half a mile of sea. As the steamer comes to rest on the mainland side at Kowloon Wharf we must take a ferry over to the city.

Once we are there we find a well-built town with wide roads, tree lined and very clean; there are many quite English-looking buildings of stone, and in the shops a strange mixture of wares, European and Eastern. Some of the shops are piled with the rich Eastern silk embroideries, ivory and lacquer work, carvings and fans, silver and metal work, paintings and furniture.

We have time to run up to the top by the tramway, and higher and higher as we go, houses still, houses all the way, and even at the very top there are some houses where the governor and other important people live in summer. It has been gloomy and cloudy all day, threatening rain, but just as we reach the summit the sun comes out in yellow glory, dropping to the West, and all the innumerable inlets and bays are turned to gold. The land between stands up in capes and cliffs and headlands, rather dim and misty, with the golden water flashing between.