Kitabı oku: «The Critic in the Orient», sayfa 5
HONGKONG, CANTON, SINGAPORE AND RANGOON
Hongkong, the Greatest British Port in the Orient
The entrance to the harbor of Hongkong is one of the most impressive in the world. The steamer runs along by the mainland for several miles. Then a great island is descried, covered with smelting works, huge dockyards, great warehouses and other evidences of commercial activity. This is the lower end of the island of Victoria, on which the city of Hongkong has been built. The island was ceded by China to Great Britain in 1842, after the conclusion of the opium war. It is separated from the mainland of China by an arm of the sea, varying from one mile to five miles in width. This forms the harbor of Hongkong, one of the most spacious and picturesque in the world. It is crowded with steamers, ferryboats, Chinese junks with queer-shaped sails of yellow matting, sampans, trim steam launches and various other craft. As the vessel passes beyond the smelting works and the dry docks it rounds a point and the beauty of Hongkong is revealed.
The city is built at the foot of a steep hill nearly two thousand feet in height. Along the crescent harbor front are ranged massive business buildings with colonaded fronts and rows of windows. Behind the business section the hills rise so abruptly that many of the streets are seen to be merely rows of granite stairs. Still farther back are the homes of Hongkong residents, beautiful stone or brick structures, which look out upon the busy harbor. With a glass one can make out the cable railroad which climbs straight up the mountainside for over one thousand feet and then turns sharply to the right until the station is reached, about thirteen hundred feet above sea level.
Hongkong differs radically from Yokohama, Tokio, Kobe, Nagasaki or Manila, because of the blocks of solid, granite-faced buildings that line its water front, each with its rows of Venetian windows, recessed in balconies. This is the prevailing architecture for hotels, business buildings and residences, while dignity is lent to every structure by the enormous height between stories, the average being from fifteen to eighteen feet. This impression of loftiness is increased by the use of the French window, which extends from the floor almost to the ceiling, all the windows being provided with large transoms.
The feature of Hongkong which impresses the stranger the most vividly is the great mixture of races in the streets. Here for the first time one finds the sedan chair, with two or four bearers. It is used largely in Hongkong for climbing the steep streets which are impossible for the jinrikisha. The bearers are low-class coolies from the country, whose rough gait makes riding in a chair the nearest approach to horseback exercise. The jinrikisha is also largely in evidence, but the bearers are a great contrast in their rapacious manners to the courteous and smiling Japanese in all the cities of the Mikado's land.
Queen's road, the main business street of Hongkong, furnishes an extraordinary spectacle at any hour of the day. The roadway is lined with shops, while the sidewalks, covered by the verandas of the second stories of the buildings, form a virtual arcade, protected from the fierce rays of the sun. These shops are mainly designed to catch the eye of the foreigner, and they are filled with a remarkable collection of silks, linens, ivories, carvings and other articles that appeal to the American because of the skilled labor that has been expended upon them. Carvings and embroidery that represent the work of months are sold at such low prices as to make one marvel how anyone can afford to produce them even in this land of cheap living.
The crowd that streams past these shops is even more curious than the goods offered for sale. Here East and West meet in daily association. The Englishman is easily recognized by his air of proprietorship, although his usual high color is somewhat reduced by the climate. He has stamped his personality on Hongkong and he has builded here for generations to come. The German is liberally represented, and old Hongkong residents bewail the fact that every year sees a larger number of Emperor William's subjects intent on wresting trade from the British. Frenchmen and other Europeans pass along this Queen's road, and the American tourist is in evidence, intent on seeing all the sights as well as securing the best bargains from the shopkeepers. All these foreigners have modified their garb to suit the climate. They wear suits of white linen or pongee with soft shirts, and the solar topi, or pith helmet, which is a necessity in summer and a great comfort at other seasons. The helmet keeps the head cool and shelters the nape of the neck, which cannot be exposed safely to the sun's rays. Instead of giving health as the California sun does, this Hongkong sunshine brings heat apoplexy and fever. All the Orient is represented by interesting types. Here are rich Chinese merchants going by in private chairs, with bearers in handsome silk livery; Parsees from Bombay, with skins almost as black as those of the American negro; natives of other parts of India in their characteristic dress and their varying turbans; Sikh policemen, tall, powerful men, who have a lordly walk and who beat and kick the Chinese chair coolies and rickshaw men when they prove too insistent or rapacious; Chinese of all classes, from the prosperous merchant to the wretched coolie whose prominent ribs show how near he lives to actual starvation in this overcrowded land; workmen of all kinds, many bearing their tools, and swarms of peddlers and vendors of food, crying their wares, with scores of children, many of whom lead blind beggars. Everywhere is the noise of many people shouting lustily, the cries of chair coolies warning the passersby to clear the way for their illustrious patrons.
The Chinese seem unable to do anything without an enormous expenditure of talk and noise. Ordinary bargaining looks like the beginning of a fierce fight. Any trifling accident attracts a great crowd, which becomes excited at the slightest provocation. It is easy to see from an ordinary walk in this Hongkong street how panic or rage may convert the stolid Chinese into a deadly maniac, who will stop at no outburst of violence, no atrocity, that will serve to wreak his hatred of the foreigner.
Although Hongkong has been Europeanized in its main streets, there are quarters of the city only a few blocks away from the big hotels and banks which give one glimpses of genuine native life. Some of these streets are reached by scores of granite steps that climb the steep mountainside. These streets are not over twelve or fifteen feet wide, and the shops are mere holes in the wall, with a frontage of eight or ten feet. Yet many of these dingy shops contain thousands of dollars' worth of decorated silks and linens, artistic carvings, laces, curios and many other articles of Chinese manufacture. Unlike the Japanese, who will follow the tourist to the sidewalk and urge him to buy, these Chinese storekeepers show no eagerness to make sales. They must be urged to display their fine goods, and they cannot be hurried. The best time to see these native streets is at night. Take a chair if the climate overpowers you, but walk if you can. Then a night stroll through this teeming quarter will always remain in the memory. Every one is working hard, as in Japan, for the Chinese workday seems endless. All kinds of manufacture are being carried on here in these narrow little shops; the workers are generally stripped to the waist, wearing only loose short trousers of cheap blue or brown cotton, the lamplight gleaming on their sweating bodies. Here are goldsmiths beating out the jewelry for which Hongkong is famous; next are scores of shops in all of which shoes are being made; then follow workers in willow-ware and rattan, makers of hats, furniture and hundreds of other articles. In every block is an eating-house, with rows of natives squatted on benches, and with large kettles full of evil-smelling messes. The crowds in the streets vie with the crowds in the stores in the noise that they make; the air reeks with the odors of sweating men, the smell of unsavory food, the stench of open gutters. This panorama of naked bodies, of wild-eyed yellow faces drawn with fatigue and heat passes before ones' eyes for an hour. Then the senses begin to reel and it is time to leave this scene of Oriental life that is far lower and more repulsive than the most crowded streets in the terrible East Side tenement quarter of New York on a midsummer night.
Hongkong, both in the European and native quarters, is built to endure for centuries. Most of the houses are of granite or plastered brick. The streets are paved with granite slabs. Even the private residences have massive walls and heavy roofs of red or black tile; the gardens are screened from the street by high walls, with broken glass worked into the mortar that forms the coping and with tall iron entrance gates. These residences dot the side hill above the town. They are built upon terraces, which include the family tennis court. The roads wind around the mountainside, many of them quarried out of solid rock. All the building material of these houses had to be carried up the steep mountainside by coolies and, until the cable railway was finished, the dwellers were borne to their homes at night by chair coolies.
This cable railway carries one nearly to the top of the peak back of Hongkong, and from the station a short walk brings one to the summit, where a wireless station is used to flash arrivals of vessels to the city below. The view from this summit, and from the splendid winding road which leads to the Peak Hospital, not far away, is one of the finest in the world. The harbor, dotted with many ships and small boats, the indented coast for a score of miles, the bare and forbidding Chinese territory across the bay, the big city at the foot of the hill; all these are spread out below like a great panorama.
The British are firmly entrenched at Hongkong. Not only have they actual ownership of Victoria Island, on which Hongkong is built, but they have a perpetual lease of a strip of the mainland across from the island, extending back for over one hundred miles. The native city across the bay is Kowloon, and is reached by a short ride on the new railroad which will eventually connect Hankow with Paris. On the barren shore, about a mile from Hongkong, has been founded the European settlement of Kowloon City. It comprises a row of large warehouses, or godowns, a big naval victualling station and coaling depot, large barracks for two regiments of Indian infantry and several companies of Indian artillery, with many fine quarters for European officers. The city in recent years has become a favorite residence place for Hongkong business men, as it is reached in a few minutes by a good ferry. Near by are the great naval docks at Hunghom, extensive cement works and the deepest railway cut in the world, the material being used to fill in the bay of Hunghom.
A Visit to Canton in Days of Wild Panic
Every traveler who has seen the Orient will tell you not to miss Canton, the greatest business center of China, the most remarkable city of the empire, and among the most interesting cities of the world. It is only a little over eighty miles from Hongkong, and if one wishes to save time it may be reached by a night boat.
While in Manila I heard very disturbing reports of rioting in Canton and possible bloodshed in the contest between the Manchus in control of the army and the revolutionists. This rioting followed the assassination of the Tartar general, who was blown up, with a score of his bodyguard, as he was formally entering the city by the main south gate. When Hongkong was reached these rumors of trouble became more persistent, and they were given point by the arrival every day by boat and train of thousands of refugees from Canton. Every day the bulletin boards in the Chinese quarter contained dispatches from Canton, around which a swarm of excited coolies gathered and discussed the news. One night came the news that the Viceroy had acknowledged the revolutionists and had agreed to surrender on the following day. This report was received with great enthusiasm, and hundreds of dollars' worth of firecrackers were burned to celebrate the success of the new national movement.
That night I left Hongkong on the Quong Si, one of the Chinese boats that ply between Hongkong and Canton, under the British flag. A half-dozen American tourists were also on the boat, including several ladies.
The trip up the estuary of the Pearl river that leads to Canton was made without incident, and the boat anchored in the river opposite the Shameen or foreign concession early in the morning, but the passengers remained on board until about eight-thirty o'clock. The reports that came from the shore were not reassuring. Guides who came out in sampans said that there was only a forlorn hope of getting into the walled city, as nearly all the gates had been closed for two days. They also brought the alarming news that the Viceroy had reconsidered his decision of the previous night and had sent word that he proposed to resist by force any effort of the revolutionists to capture the city. The flag of the revolution had also been hauled down and the old familiar yellow dragon-flag hoisted in its place.
While waiting for the guide to arrange for chairs to take the party through the city, we had a good opportunity to study the river life which makes Canton unique among Chinese cities. Out of the total population of over two millions, at least a quarter of a million live in boats from birth to death and know no other home. Many of these boats are large cargo junks which ply up and down the river and bring produce to the great city market, but the majority are small sampans that house one Chinese family and that find constant service in transferring passengers and freight from one side of the river to the other, as well as to and from the hundreds of steamers that call at the port. They have a covered cabin into which the family retires at night.
These sampans are mainly rowed by women, who handle the boats with great skill. A young girl usually plies the short oar on the bow, while her mother, assisted by the younger children, works the large oar or sweep in the stern. The middle of the sampan is covered by a bamboo house, and in the forward part of this house the family has its kitchen fire and all its arrangements for food. The passenger sits on the after seat near the stern of the boat. These boats are scrubbed so that the woodwork shines, and the backs of the seats are covered with fresh matting.
Looking out from the steamer one saw at least two miles of these small sampans and larger craft massed along both shores of the river, which is here about a half-mile wide. The foreign concession or Shameen is free from these boats. It is really a sand spit, surrounded by water, which was made over to the foreigners after the opium war.
North of the Shameen is the new western suburb of Canton, which has recently been completed on European lines. It has a handsome bund, finely paved, with substantial buildings facing the river. Close up against this bund, and extending down the river bank for at least two miles are ranged row on row of houseboats. Every few minutes a boat darts out from the mass and is pulled to one of the ships in the stream.
Across the river and massed against the shore of Honam, the suburb opposite Canton, is another tangle of sampans, with thousands of active river folk, all shouting and screaming. These yellow thousands toiling from break of day to late at night do not seem human; yet each boat has its family life. The younger children are tied so that they cannot fall overboard, and the older ones wear ingenious floats which will buoy them up should they tumble into the water. Boys and girls four or five years old assist in the working of the boat, while girls of twelve or fourteen are experts in handling the oar and in using the long bamboo boat hook that serves to carry the small craft out of the tangle of river activity.
A type of river steamer which will amaze the American is an old stern-wheeler run by man power. It is provided with a treadmill just forward of the big stern wheel. Two or three tiers of naked, perspiring coolies are working this treadmill, all moving with the accuracy and precision of machinery. The irreverent foreigner calls these the "hotfoot" boats, and in the land where a coolie may be hired all day for forty cents Mexican or twenty cents in our coin this human power is far cheaper than soft coal at five dollars a ton. These boats carry freight and passengers and they move along at a lively pace.
After an hour spent in study of this strange river life I was fortunate enough to go ashore with an American missionary whose husband was connected with a large college across the river from Canton. She came aboard in a sampan to take ashore two ladies from Los Angeles. She invited me to accompany the party, and as she spoke Chinese fluently I was glad to accept her offer. We went ashore in a sampan and at once proceeded to visit the western suburb. This part of Canton has been built in recent years and is somewhat cleaner than the old town. It is separated from the Shameen by bridges which may be drawn up like an ancient portcullis. Here we at once plunged into the thick of native life. The streets, not over ten feet wide, were crowded with people.
We passed through streets devoted wholly to markets and restaurants, and the spectacle was enough to keep one from ever indulging hereafter in chop-suey. Here were tables spread with the intestines of various animals, pork in every form, chickens and ducks, roasted and covered with some preparation that made them look as though just varnished. Here were many strange vegetables and fruits, and here, hung against the wall, were row on row of dried rats. At a neighboring stall were several small, flat tubs, in which live fish swam about, waiting for a customer to order them knocked on the head. Then we passed into a street of curio shops, but the grill work in front was closed and behind could be seen the timid proprietors, who evidently did not mean to take any chances of having their stores looted by robbers. For three or four days the most valuable goods in all the Canton stores had been removed as rapidly as possible. Thousands of bales of silk and tons of rare curios were already safe in the foreign warehouses at the Shameen or had been carried down the river to Hongkong. Often we had to flatten ourselves against the sides of the street to give passage to chairs containing high-class Chinese and their families, followed by coolies bearing the most valuable of their possessions packed in cedar chests.
At an American hospital we were met by several young Englishmen connected with medical and Young Men's Christian Association work. They proposed a trip through the old walled city, but they refused to take the two ladies, as they said it would be dangerous in the excited condition of the people. So we set out, five in number. After a short walk we reached one of the gates of the walled city, only to find it closed and locked. A short walk brought us to a second gate, which was opened readily by the Chinese guards, armed with a new type of German army rifle. The walls of the old city were fully ten feet thick where we entered, and about twenty feet high, made of large slabs of granite.
Once inside the city walls a great surprise awaited us. Instead of crowded streets and the hum of trade were deserted streets, closed shops and absolute desolation. For blocks the only persons seen were soldiers and refugees making their way to the gates. In one fine residence quarter an occasional woman peered through the front gates; in other sections all the houses were closed and barred. Soon we reached the Buddhist temple, known as the Temple of Horrors. Around the central courtyard are grouped a series of booths, in each of which are wooden figures representing the torture of those who commit deadly sins. In one booth a victim is being sawed in two; in others poor wretches are being garroted, boiled in oil, broken on the wheel and subjected to many other ingenious tortures. At one end is an elaborate joss-house, with a great bronze bell near by. In normal conditions this temple is crowded, and true believers buy slips of prayers, which they throw into the booths to ward off ill luck.
The rush of refugees grew greater as we penetrated toward the heart of the city. On the main curio street the huge gilded signs hung as if in mockery above shops which had been stripped of all their treasures. Occasionally a restaurant remained open and these were crowded with chair coolies, who were waiting to be engaged by some merchant eager to escape from the city. Gone was all the life and bustle that my companions said made this the most remarkable street in Canton. It was like walking through a city of the dead, and it bore a striking resemblance to San Francisco's business district on the day of the great fire. At intervals we passed the yamens of magistrates, but the guards and attaches were enjoying a vacation, as no court proceedings were held. Progress became more and more difficult as the rush of refugees increased and returning chair coolies clamored for passageway. The latter had taken parties to the river boats and were coming back for more passengers. As it became evident that we could not see the normal life of the city, my companions finally urged that we return, as they feared the gates might be closed against us, so we retraced our way, this time taking the main street which led to the great south gate.
Not far from the gate we came on the scene of the blowing up of the Tartar general. Seven shops on both sides of the street were wrecked by the explosion. The heavy fronts were partly intact, but the interiors were a mass of brick and charred timbers, for fire followed the explosion. The general had waited several months to allow the political excitement that followed his appointment to subside. He felt safe in entering the city with a strong bodyguard, but not over one hundred yards from the gate a bomb was thrown which killed the general instantly, mangled a score of his retainers and killed over a dozen Chinese bystanders. The revolutionists tried to clear the street so that none of their own people should suffer, but they failed because of the curiosity of the crowd.
Near by this place is the old Buddhist water clock, which for five hundred years has marked the time by the drip of water from a hidden spring. The masonry of this water-clock building looks very ancient, and the clock is reached by several long flights of granite stairs.
After viewing the clock we reached the wall and passed through the big south gates, which are fully six inches thick, of massive iron, studded with large nails. Outside on the bund were drawn up several rapid-fire guns belonging to Admiral Li, the efficient head of the Chinese navy at Canton, who also had a score of trim little gunboats patrolling the river. These boats had rapid-fire guns at bow and stern.
So we came back to the Canton hospital, where we had luncheon. After this I made my way back to the steamer, to find her crowded with over one thousand refugees from the old city, with their belongings. The decks and even the dining saloon were choked with these people, and during the two hours before the boat sailed at least three hundred more passengers were taken on board. We sailed in the late afternoon and were followed by four other river steamers, carrying in all over six thousand refugees.
