Chapter III: Part 3

The bay of Manila is so extensive that the steamer appears to be entering a great inland sea. The shores are low-lying and it takes about an hour before the steamer nears the city, so that one can make out the landmarks. To the right, as one approaches the city, is Cavite, which Dewey took on that historic May day in 1898. The spires of many churches are the most conspicuous landmarks in Manila, but as the distance lessens a huge mass of concrete, the new Manila hotel, looms up near the docks. The bay is full of ships and alongside the docks are a number of passenger and freight steamers.

Just as we are able to make out these things, our ears catch the strains of a fine band of music and we see two launches rapidly nearing the ship. In one is a portion of the splendid Constabulary Band, the finest in the Orient. In the other launch was the special committee of the Manila Merchants' Association. The band played several stirring airs, everybody cheered and waved handkerchiefs and for a few minutes it looked as though an impromptu Fourth of July celebration had begun. It is difficult to describe an American's emotions when he sees the Stars and Stripes for the first time in five weeks. The most phlegmatic man on the ship danced a war dance, women wept, and when the reception committee boarded the ship and met the passengers in the dining saloon there was great enthusiasm. Plans were arranged for crowding into the two days' stay all the sightseeing and entertainment possible and these plans were carried out, giving a fine proof of Manila hospitality.

Manila differs from most of the Oriental cities in the fact that American enterprise has constructed great docks and dredged out the harbor so that the largest steamers may anchor alongside the docks. In Yokohama, Kobe, Hongkong and other ports ships anchor in the bay and passengers and freight must be transferred to the shore by launches and lighters. Reinforced concrete is now the favorite building material of the new Manila. Not only are the piles and docks made of this material, but all the new warehouses and business buildings as well as most of the American and foreign residences are of concrete. It is substantial, clean, cool and enduring, meeting every requirement of this tropical climate. The white ant, which is so destructive to the ordinary wooden pile, does not attack it.

The Pasig river divides Manila into two sections. On the south side of the old walled city are the large districts of Malate, Ermito and Paco. On the north side is the principal retail business street, the Escolta and the other business thoroughfares lined with small shops, and six large native districts. The Escolta is only four blocks long, very narrow, with sidewalks barely three feet wide; yet here is done most of the foreign retail trade. In a short time a new Escolta will be built in the filled district, as it would cost too much to widen the old street. As a car line runs through the Escolta, there is a bad congestion of traffic at all times except in the early morning hours. The Bridge of Spain is one of the impressive sights of Manila. With its massive arches of gray stone, it looks as though it would be able to endure for many more centuries. One of the oldest structures in the city, it was built originally on pontoons, and it was provided with the present arches in 1630. Only one earthquake, that of 1863, damaged it. Then two of the middle arches gave way, and these were not restored for twelve years. The roadway is wide, but it is crowded all day with as picturesque a procession as may be seen in any part of the world. The carromata, a light, two-wheeled cart, with hooded cover, pulled by a native pony, is the favorite conveyance of the foreigners and the better class of the Filipinos. The driver sits in front, while two may ride very comfortably on the back seat. It is a great improvement on the Japanese jinrikisha because one may compare impressions with a companion. The country cart is built something like the carromata and will accommodate four people. Hundreds of these carts come into Manila every day with small stocks of vegetables and fruit for sale at the markets. A few victorias may be seen on the bridge, but what causes most of the congestion is the carabao cart, hauling the heavy freight. The carabao (pronounced carabough, with the accent on the last syllable), is the water buffalo of the Philippines, a slow, ungainly beast of burden that proves patient and tractable so long as he can enjoy a daily swim. If cut off from water the beast becomes irritable, soon gets "loco" and is then dangerous, as it will attack men or animals and gore them with its sharp horns. The carabao has little hair and its nose bears a strong resemblance to that of the hippopotamus. Its harness consists of a neckyoke of wood fastened to the thills of the two-wheeled cart. On this cart is frequently piled two tons, which the carabao pulls easily.

Another bridge which has historic interest for the American is the San Juan bridge. It is reached by the Santa Mesa car line. Here at either end were encamped the American and Filipino armed forces, and the insurrection was started by a shot at night from the native trenches. The bridge was the scene of fierce fighting, which proved disastrous to the Filipinos.

Aside from the bridges and the life along the Pasig river, the most interesting part of Manila lies within the old walled city. This section is known locally as "IntraMuros." It is still surrounded by the massive stone wall, which was begun in 1591 but not actually completed until 1872. The wall was built to protect the city from free-booters, as Manila, like old Panama, offered a tempting prize to pirates. Into the wall was built old Fort Santiago, which still stands. The wall varies in thickness from three to forty feet, and in it were built many chambers used as places of confinement and torture. Until six years ago a wide moat surrounded the wall, but the stagnant water bred disease and the moat was filled with the silt dredged up from the bay. Fort Santiago forms the northwest corner of the wall. Its predecessor was a palisade of bags, built in 1571, behind which the Spaniards defended themselves against the warlike native chiefs. In 1590 the stone fort was begun. Within it was the court of the military government. Seven gates were used as entrances to the walled city in old Spanish days, the most picturesque being the Real gate, bearing the date of 1780, and the Santa Lucia gate, with the inscription of 1781. These gates were closed every night, and some of the massive machinery used for this purpose may be seen lying near by--a reminder of those good old days when the belated traveler camped outside.

In the old walled city are some of the famous churches of Manila. The oldest is San Augustin, first dedicated in 1571. The present structure was built two years later, the first having been completely destroyed by fire. The enormously thick walls were laid so well that they have withstood the severe earthquakes which proved so destructive to many other churches. In this church are buried Legaspi and Salcedo, the explorers, who spread Spanish dominion over the Philippines.

The Church of St. Ignatius is famous for the beautifully carved woodwork of the pulpit and the interior decorations; that of Santo Domingo is celebrated for its finely carved doors. The greatest shrine in the Phillippines is the Cathedral, which fronts on Plaza McKinley. This is the fifth building erected on the same site, fire having destroyed the other four. The architecture is Byzantine, and the interior gives a wonderful impression of grace and spaciousness. Some of the old doors and iron grill-work of the ancient cathedrals have been retained.

AMERICAN WORK IN THE PHILIPPINE ISLANDS

It will surprise any American visitor to the Philippine Islands to find how much has been accomplished since 1898 to make life better worth living for the Filipino as well as for the European or the American. Civil government through the Philippine Commission has been in active operation for ten years. During this decade what Americans have achieved in solving difficult problems of colonial government is matter for national pride. The American method in the Philippines looks to giving the native the largest measure of self-government of which he is capable. It has not satisfied the Filipino, because he imagines that he is all ready for self-government, but it has done much to lift him out of the dead level of peonage in which the Spaniard kept him and to open the doors of opportunity to young Filipinos with ability and energy. I talked with many men in various professions and in many kinds of business and all agreed that the American system worked wonders in advancing the natives of real ability.

Rev. Dr. George W. Wright of Manila, who has charge of a large Presbyterian seminary for training young Filipinos for the ministry, and who has had much experience in teaching, said: "In the old days only the sons of the illustrados, or prominent men of the noble class, had any chance to secure an education and this education was given in the Catholic private schools. With the advent of the Americans any boy possessing the faculty of learning quickly may get a good education, provided he will work for it. I know of one case of a boy who did not even know who his parents were. He gained a living by blacking shoes and selling papers. He came to me for aid in entering a night school. He learned more rapidly than anyone I ever knew. Soon he came to me and wanted a job that would occupy him half a day so that he could go to school the other half of the day. I got him the job and in a few months he was not only perfecting himself in English, but reading law. Nothing can keep this boy down; in a few years he will be a leader among his people. Under the old Spanish system he never would have been permitted to rise from the low caste in which fortune first placed him."

Imperial Gate, Fort Santiago, Manila.
This is the Main Entrance to the Old Fort,
Built Into the Massive Wall. This Wall
Was for Spanish Defense Against
Warlike Native Chiefs]

More than a thousand American teachers are scattered over the Philippine Islands, and for ten years these men and women have been training the young of both sexes. Some have proved incompetent, a few have set a very bad example, but the great majority have done work of which any nation might be proud. They have not only been teachers of the young, but they have been counselors and friends of the parents of their pupils.

The work done in a material way in the Philippines is even more remarkable. Of the first importance is the offer of a homestead to every citizen from the public lands. So much was paid for the friar lands that these are far beyond the reach of anyone of ordinary means, but the government has large reserves of public land, which only need cultivation to make them valuable. Sanitary conditions have been enormously improved both in Manila and throughout the islands. In the old days Manila was notorious for many deaths from cholera, bubonic plague and smallpox. No sanitary regulations were enforced and the absence of any provisions for sewage led to fearful pestilences. Now not only has Manila an admirable sewerage system, but the people have been taught to observe sanitary regulations, with the result that in the suburbs of such a city as Manila the homes of common people reveal much better conditions than the homes of similar classes in Japan. The sewage of Manila is pumped three times into large sumps before it is finally dumped into the bay a mile from the city.

The island military police, known as the Constabulary Guard, has done more to improve conditions throughout the islands than any other agency. The higher officers are drawn from the United States regular army, but the captains and lieutenants are from civil life, and they are mainly made up of young college graduates. These men get their positions through the civil service and, though some fail to make good, the great majority succeed. Their positions demand unusual ability, for they not only have charge of companies of native police that resemble the Mexican rurales or the Canadian mounted police, but they serve as counselor and friend to all the Filipinos in their district. In this way their influence is frequently greater than that of the school teachers.

All this work and much more has been accomplished by the insular government without calling upon the United States for any material help. It does not seem to be generally known that the Philippine Islands are now self-supporting, and that the only expense entailed on the general government is a slight increase for maintaining regiments assigned to the island service and the cost of Corregidor fortifications and other harbor defenses. This has been accomplished without excessive taxation. Personal property is exempt, while the rate on real estate in Manila is only one and one-half per cent. on the assessed valuation, and only seven-eights of one per cent. in the provinces. The fiscal system has been put on a gold basis, thus removing the old fluctuating silver currency which was a great hardship to trade.

SCENES IN THE CITY OF MANILA AND SUBURBS

Every visitor to Manila in the old days exhausted his vocabulary in praise of the Luneta, the old Spanish city's pleasure ground, which overlooked the bay and Corregidor Island. It was an oval drive, with a bandstand at each end, inclosing a pretty grass plot. Here, as evening came on, all Manila congregated to hear the band play and to meet friends. The Manilan does not walk, so the broad drive was filled with several rows of carriages passing slowly around the oval. To-day the Luneta remains as it was in the old Spanish days, but its chief charm, the seaward view, is gone. This is due to the filling in of the harbor front, which has left the Luneta a quarter of a mile from the water-front. However, a new Luneta has been made below the old one, and the broad avenues opened up near by give far more space for carriages than before. Every evening except Monday the Constabulary Band plays on the Luneta, and the scene is almost as brilliant as in the old days, as the American Government officials make it a point to turn out in uniform. Nothing can be imagined more perfect than the evenings in Manila after the heat of the day. The air is deliciously soft and a gentle breeze from the ocean tempers the heat.

The best way to see the native life of Manila is to take a street-car ride through the Tondo and Caloocan districts, or a launch ride up the Pasig river. On the cars one passes through the heart of the business district, the great Tondo market, filled with supplies from the surrounding country as well as many small articles of native or foreign manufacture. This car line also passes the Maypajo, the largest cockpit in the world, where at regular intervals the best fighting cocks are pitted against each other and the betting is as spirited as on American race tracks in the old days. On the return trip by these cars one passes by the San Juan bridge, which marked the opening of the insurrection; the old Malacanan Palace, now the residence of Governor-General Forbes, and the Paco Cemetery, where several thousand bodies are buried in the great circular wall which surrounds the church. These niches in the wall are rented for a certain yearly sum, and in the old Spanish days, when this rental was not promptly paid by relatives, the corpse was removed and thrown with others into a great pit. Recently this ghastly practice has been frowned on by the authorities.

The average Manila resident does not pay more than fifty dollars in our money for his nipa house. The framework is of bamboo, bound together by rattan; the roof timbers are of bamboo, while the sides of the house and the thatch are made from the nipa tree. The sides look like mats. The windows are of translucent shell, while the door is of nipa or wood. These houses are usually about fifteen feet square, with one large room, and are raised about six feet from the ground. Under the house is kept the live stock. When the family has a horse or cow or carabao the house is ten feet from the ground, and these animals are stabled underneath. In nearly every house or yard may be found a game cock tied by the leg to prevent him from roaming and fighting.

In most of the houses that the cars passed in the big native quarter of Tondo, furniture was scanty. Usually the family has a large dresser, which is ornamented with cheap pictures, and the walls are frequently covered with prints in colors. There is no furniture, as the Filipino's favorite position is to squat on his haunches. In many of the poorest houses, however, were gramophones, which are paid for in monthly installments of a dollar or two. The Filipinos are very fond of music, and the cheap gramophones appeal to them strongly. Nearly every Filipino plays some instrument by ear, and many boys from the country are expert players on the guitar or mandolin. On large plantations the hands are fond of forming bands and orchestras, and often their playing would do credit to professional musicians. The Constabulary Band, recognized as the finest in the Orient, has been drilled by an American negro named Loring.

In the Santa Mesa district are the houses of wealthy Filipinos. These are usually of two stories, with the upper story projecting far over the lower, and with many ornamental dormer windows, with casement sashes of small pieces of translucent shell. In Manila the window is provided to keep out the midday heat and glare of the sun. At other times the windows are slid into the walls, and thus nearly the whole side of the house is open to the cool night air. Many of these houses are finished in the finest hardwoods, and not a few have polished mahogany floors. Bamboo and rattan furniture may be seen in some of these houses, while in others are dressers and wardrobes in the rich native woods. These houses are embowered in trees, among which the magnolia, acacia and palm are the favorites, with banana and pomelo trees heavy with fruit.

A Glimpse of the Escolta,
Manila. The Escolta,
Only Four Blocks
In Length, Is the Business
Street in Manila.
Clarke's, the Restaurant
and Tea-House in the
Foreground, Is the
Favorite American
Headquarters in
Manila]

Old Church and Bridge
at Pasig. Built of
Massive Stone and
Overgrown With Moss,
This Bridge and
Church Seems Older
Than the Ancient Wall
of Manila]

The Binondo Canal, Which Intersects a
Crowded District of Manila. The Picture Gives
a Good Idea of the Cascoes or Native
Cargo Boats]

On the Malecon Drive, Manila.
One of the Picturesque Roads, Lined
With Feathery Palms, That
Lead to the Luneta]

View on a Manila Canal.
This Gives a Good Idea of the Native Nipa
Huts Along the Banks of the Canal,
and a Bamboo Foot-bridge]

A Filipino Peasant Girl on the
Way to Market. She Wears the Native Costume
With the Enormous Bamboo Hat.
The Water Jar is Like the
Spanish-American Olla]

The Carabao Cart in the Philippines.
The Carabao or Water Buffalo is the Filipinos' Chief
Beast of Burden. The Cart is Crude and Heavy,
With a Home-made Yoke. The Buffalo
is also Used for Ploughing and
Other Farm Work]

The Nipa Hut of the
Filipino. This Style of
House, With Bamboo
Frame and Thatched
Sides and Roof of Nipa
Grass, Costs About
Fifty Mex. or Twenty-Five
Dollars in United
States Gold Coin. It
Is Usually About
Six Feet From the
Ground]

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.

The City of Boats at
Canton. This Floating
City in the Pearl
River Opposite Canton
Contains 250,000
People, Many of Whom
Never Venture
On Land]

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.

SINGAPORE THE MEETING PLACE OF MANY RACES

Of all the places in the Orient, the most cosmopolitan is Singapore, the gateway to the Far East; the one city which everyone encircling the globe is forced to visit, at least for a day. Hongkong streets may have seemed to present an unparalleled mixture of races; Canton's narrow alleys may have appeared strange and exotic; but Singapore surpasses Honkong in the number and picturesqueness of the races represented in its streets, as it easily surpasses Canton in strange sights and in swarming toilers from many lands that fill the boats on its canals and the narrow, crooked streets that at night glow with light and resound with the clamor of alien tongues.

Singapore is built on an island which adjoins the extreme end of the Malay Peninsula. It is about sixty miles from the equator, and it has a climate that varies only a few degrees from seventy during the entire year. This heat would not be debilitating were it not for the extreme humidity of the atmosphere. To a stranger, especially if he comes from the Pacific Coast, the place seems like a Turkish bath. The slightest physical exertion makes the perspiration stand out in beads on the face.

Singapore has a population of over three hundred thousand people; it has a great commercial business, which is growing every year; it already has the largest dry dock in the world. Its bund is not so imposing as that of Hongkong, but it has more public squares and its government buildings are far more handsome. As Hongkong owes much of its splendid architecture and its air of stability to Sir Paul Chator, so Singapore owes its spacious avenues, its fine buildings, its many parks, its interesting museum and its famous botanical gardens to Sir Stamford Raffles, one of the British empire-builders who have left indelibly impressed on the Orient their genius for founding cities and constructing great public enterprises. Yet, Singapore, with far more business than Manila, is destitute of a proper sewer system, and the streets in its native quarters reek with foul odors.

The feature of Singapore that first impresses the stranger is the variety of races seen in any of the streets, and this continues to impress him so long as he remains in the city. My stay in Singapore was four days, due to the fact that it was necessary to wait here for the departure of the British West India Company's steamer for Rangoon and Calcutta. In jinrikishas and pony carts I saw all quarters of the town, and my wonder grew every day at the remarkable show of costumes presented by the different races. One day, late in the afternoon, I sat down on a coping of the wall that surrounds a pretty park on Orchard road, and in the space of a half hour watched the moving show that passed by. At this hour all Singapore takes its outing to the Botanical Gardens, and one may study the people who have leisure and money.

The favorite rig is still the victoria drawn by high-stepping horses, with coachman and postilion, but the automobile is evidently making rapid strides in popular favor, despite the fact that the heavy, humid air makes the odor of gasoline cling to the roadway. A high-class Arab, with his keen, intellectual face, rides by with a bright Malay driving the machine. Then comes a fat and prosperous-looking Parsee in his carriage, followed by a rich Chinese merchant arrayed in spotless white, seated in a motor car, his family about him, and some relative or servant at the wheel. Along moves a rickshaw with an East Indian woman, the sun flashing on the heavy gold rings in her ears, while a carriage follows with a pretty blonde girl with golden hair, seated beside her Chinese ayah, or nurse. A score of young Britons come next in rickshaws, some carrying tennis racquets, and others reading books or the afternoon paper. The rickshaws here, unlike those of Japan or China, carry two people. They are pulled by husky Chinese coolies, who have as remarkable development of the leg muscles as their Japanese brothers, with far better chests. In fact, the average Chinese rickshaw coolie of Singapore is a fine physical type, and he will draw for hours with little show of suffering a rickshaw containing two people. The pony cart of Singapore is another unique institution. It is a four-wheeled cart, seating four people, drawn by a pony no larger than the average Shetland. The driver sits on a little box in front, and at the end of the wagon is a basket in which rests the pony's allowance of green grass for the day. The pony cart is popular with parties of three or four and, as most of Singapore's streets are level, the burden on the animal is not severe.

This moving procession of the races goes on until eleven-thirty o'clock, the popular dinner hour all along the Chinese coast. It is varied by the occasional appearance of a bullock cart, which has probably changed very little in hundreds of years. The bullocks have a pronounced hump at the shoulders, and are of the color and size of a Jersey cow. The neckyoke is a mere bar of wood fastened to the pole, and the cart is heavy and ungainly. Nowhere in Singapore does one find coolies straining at huge loads as in China and Japan, as this labor is given over to bullocks. Here, however, both men and women carry heavy burdens on their heads, while the Chinese use the pole and baskets, so familiar to all Californians.

The Malays and East Indians furnish the most picturesque feature of all street crowds. The Malays, dark of skin, with keen faces, wear the sarong, a skirt of bright-colored silk or cotton wrapped about the loins and falling almost to the shoe. The sarong is scant and reminds one strongly of the hobble-skirt, as no Malay is able to take a full stride in it. The skirt and jacket of the Malay may vary, but the sarong is always of the same style, and the brighter the color the more it seems to please the wearer. The East Indians are of many kinds. The Sikhs, who are the police of Hongkong, here share such duty with Tamils from southern India and some Chinese.

No Malay is ever seen in any low, menial employment. The Malay is well represented on the electric cars, where he serves usually as conductor and sometimes as motorman. He is also an expert boatman and fisherman. He is very proud and is said to be extremely loyal to foreigners who treat him with justice and consideration. The Malay, however, can not be depended on for labor on the rubber or cocoanut plantations, as he will not work unless he can make considerable money. Ordinary wages do not appeal to a man in a country where eight cents is the cost of maintenance on rice and fish, with plenty of tea. The Malay is a gentleman, even when in reduced circumstances, and he must be treated with consideration that would be lost or wasted on the ordinary Chinese.