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Title: Wanderings in the Orient
Author: Reese, A. M. (Albert Moore), 1872-
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Wanderings in the Orient" ***

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Foreword                                           5

   I. Life in a Philippine Village                 7

  II. A Visit to Tay Tay                          18

 III. The Leper Colony of Culion                  24

  IV. From Zamboanga to Singapore                 29

   V. Singapore, the Melting Pot of the East      42

  VI. How Rubber Is Made                          53

 VII. Two Chinese Cities                          58

VIII. Meanderings in Modern Manila                69

  IX. A Pacific Paradise, Honolulu                77


To most Americans, "going abroad" means visiting Europe. Since European
travel will doubtless be unsatisfactory for some years to come, the
globetrotter may well turn his attention to the Far East which, while
not so accessible, is after all easily reached if the cost be not
prohibitive; and the ubiquitous Cook is nearly always on hand to help
the traveler out of difficulties.

The trip across the Pacific is of course a long one, but the journey is
interrupted, before the end of the first week, by a stop at that
tropical paradise, the Hawaiian Islands.

If one should need a complete rest, this seven thousand mile voyage is
just the thing. If he desire he may read or study to good advantage. If
inclined to sea-sickness there is plenty of time to recover and still
enjoy the greater part of the journey. While the distances between
stopping places are often great one feels that he can "do" a place in
much less time than it would take in Europe, where objects of historic
and other interest are so crowded together. If interested in the work of
foreign missions abundant opportunity offers for their study at first

It was chiefly during these journeys between stopping places that the
following sketches were written, as a sort of diary or log, illustrated
by photographs taken by the writer.

On a beautiful morning in May the U. S. Army Transport "Sherman," after
a voyage of twenty-eight days from San Francisco, tied up at the dock in
Manila. The regular lines make the trip in much less time than the
leisurely transports, but the writer, as a representative of the
Smithsonian Institution, was furnished passage on the government vessel.
With Manila as headquarters, collecting trips were made to various
regions roundabout. Some of these places are described in the following

Finally, upon one of the inter-island transports, a trip to the
southernmost islands of the Philippine group was made, ending at
Zamboanga, where the North German Lloyd steamer was taken for Singapore,
via Borneo. From Singapore a four days' trip, without stop, brought us
to Hongkong; whence, after seeing that place and the nearby city of
Canton, a two days' trip brought us again to Manila. It is the various
places visited in this more or less out-of-the-way circuit that are
described in the remaining chapters.

  A. M. R.



The little village or _barrio_ of Mariveles is situated just inside the
narrow cape that forms the northern border of the entrance to Manila
Bay. The city of Manila lies out of sight, thirty miles to the
southeast, but the island of Corregidor lies only seven miles to the
south, and the great searchlights at night are quite dazzling when
turned directly upon the village. A large amount of money has recently
been spent in fortifying Corregidor until it is now considered
practically impregnable.

The village extends for about half a mile close along the beach and is
flanked, on the west, by the buildings of a United States quarantine

Arriving by a very dilapidated launch from Manila I waited at the
government dock while the native boy I had brought with me went to the
village to find, if possible, a vacant house. He soon returned, with
another boy to help carry our baggage, (there was not a cart or wagon of
any sort in the place) and with the information that he had engaged a
house for our use. A whole house for two people sounded rather
formidable but as this house contained only two rooms its rental was not
as extravagant as might have been imagined. It was located on the main
thoroughfare which had the very American name of Washington Street. Like
the typical native house, our Washington Street mansion was built
chiefly of bamboo and _nipa_ palm, with a few heavier timbers in the
framework. Upon the main timbers of the frame was built a sort of
lattice of split bamboo, upon which in turn was sewed, shinglewise,
close layers of nipa palm that are quite impervious to rain, are fairly
durable, and are very inflammable. The _people's_ floor was elevated
four or five feet above the ground, thereby securing not only air and
dryness for the people above, but also providing a very convenient
chicken-coop and pig-pen beneath. The floor was made of split bamboo
which made sweeping easy--merely a matter of pushing the dirt
through the cracks between the strips of bamboo.


Although the smell of even a _clean_ pig under the dining-room table is
rather objectionable at first, as is the crowing of two or three
roosters early in the morning, it is surprising how soon one becomes
accustomed to these little annoyances, and it simplifies domestic
science considerably to be able to throw, from one's seat at table,
banana skins and other scraps through a convenient hole in the floor and
have them immediately disposed of by the pig and chickens beneath.


The dining room, as in many American houses, also served as a kitchen.
The stove was a large box, elevated two or three feet from the floor,
lined with baked clay upon which the fire is made. Large iron spikes,
arranged in groups of three, may be imbedded in the clay to hold one or
more pots of different sizes. There was no chimney, but a convenient
window carried out the smoke quite effectively. The fire-wood was stored
under the house in the pig-pen and consisted chiefly of short sticks of
such diameter as could be easily cut with the large knife or bolo that
the natives wear suspended from a belt at the waist. The sticks, when
the cooking is done, are simply withdrawn from beneath the pot and lie
ready to be pushed in again when the fire is lit for the next meal. A
very few sticks will thus serve for cooking a large number of the simple
native meals. Opening from the kitchen was the front door, leading to
the ground by a flight of stairs or a ladder. Thanks to the United
States Mariveles is supplied with abundant water, piped from some miles
up in the mountains, and some of the better houses of the barrio have a
private faucet on the back porch, which is luxury indeed. The main room
of the house was used as a living room and bedroom. In such houses there
are usually large windows, without sash of course, which are shaded by
day and closed by night and in severe storms by a hinged awning of nipa,
seen in the photographs. In spite of the warmth nearly all natives close
the window shades tight when they sleep, so that, in spite of the
numerous cracks, the ventilation must be very bad; this may partly
account for the prevalence of tuberculosis on the islands.


Around the better houses in such a barrio is usually seen a high fence
generally made of closely set vertical saplings, driven into the ground
and bound together with rattan at the top; this fence serves to keep
the chickens in, and, at night, to keep prowling animals out.

Many of the houses have a tiny store at the ground level in which a
small stock of canned goods, native fruits, dried fish, native shoes
etc. may be seen. One of the main department stores of Mariveles is
shown in the accompanying photograph, with the very American sign at the
side of the entrance.


Like many native villages Mariveles has a large stone church, with red
tile roof, bell tower, etc.; it is now in such bad repair as to be
unsafe, so that a crude shed with thatched sides and corrugated iron
roof has been built to take its place. No priest now lives in this
barrio and the shed-like church did not have the appearance of being
much used.

The village school, on the other hand, gave every indication of
activity. Although not housed in a very handsome building, a glance
through the windows and door showed many students of various ages all
apparently busy and orderly under the supervision of several neat and
bright looking native women.

On the same street with the school a link with the outside world was
seen in the sign "Telegraph and Post Office." This office was in charge
of a native who, unlike most of the residents of the barrio, spoke
English. In these villages it is usually easy to find natives who speak
Spanish, but it is frequently difficult to find one who understands

[Illustration: THE OLD CHURCH.]

The men of the village were mostly engaged, though not very strenuously,
in the rice paddies or in fishing. The women looked after the
housekeeping, washing, tending the stores, etc., and their position of
respect and authority in the homes and in society was in marked contrast
to that of other oriental and even of some European women.


A tiny store across the street from where we lived was tended during
most of the day and in the evenings by an attractive young native woman
who seemed to be quite a belle. Every evening, at about dark, a dapper
young native, in an American suit of white, always appeared and seated
himself upon the bench in front of the store, where he could see and
talk to his brunette lady love without interfering with her commercial
duties, which were not heavy. Often several other suitors appeared and,
while it was not possible to understand what was said, since
the conversation was all in Tagalog, from the frequent laughter it was
evident that the girl was as able to entertain several admirers at once
as are some of her blond sisters across the sea. Her voice was softer
and her laugh more attractive than that of many an American belle of
high social standing. In fact the women of this island village were, as
a class, of remarkable dignity and modesty, so that there was probably
less to shock one's modesty here than at many a fashionable American
watering place. Of course ignorance of their language made it impossible
to understand all that was going on, but to judge by their actions and
the tones of their voices it would seem that their family life is as
peaceful and happy as that of the average American family. It is truly
the "simple life" that they lead, and to us it seems a very narrow one;
yet it has its advantages over the "strenuous life" that most of us are
compelled to live. There was little or no drunkenness or quarreling
among the men, whose chief vice seemed to be gambling.


This gambling instinct is gratified mainly by means of the cockpit. One
of the most familiar sights of the islands is the native man with a
game cock or just a plain rooster under his arm. They pet and fondle
these birds as we do cats or lap-dogs, and on Sundays (alas!) they
gather at the cockpits to match their favorites against each other. Many
barrios have large covered pits seating hundreds of people. The pit of
Mariveles, which happened to be in the yard next to ours, was simply a
square of about twenty feet enclosed by a low bamboo fence, in the shade
of a huge acacia tree. Around this square were gathered about one
hundred men (probably all of the men of the barrio) and two or three
women, and we shall hope that the few women who were there to witness so
unpleasant a spectacle were looking after their husbands to see that
they did not bet too heavily.


Inside the square were two or three officials, and two men holding the
two contesting birds. A man at a table outside held the stakes and
presumably kept track of the bettors, odds, etc. Instead of the weapons
provided by nature each bird had securely fastened to his left leg,
in place of the spur that had been cut off, a villainously sharp
steel spur, slightly curved and about three inches long. A well
directed thrust from this steel weapon may kill the victim almost
instantly, and one victim was already hanging head-down to a near-by
tree when I entered.


While the bets were being arranged each bird was held, in turn, to let
the other peck him ferociously, probably with the idea of making them
mad enough to fight. When the bets were all arranged the birds were
placed on the ground facing each other, and with lowered heads and neck
feathers erected they dashed together like tigers, jumping high over
each other and endeavoring to stab one another with their artificial
weapons. In the one fight witnessed (and one was enough to learn the
ways of the cockpit) both birds were soon bleeding profusely and had
lost their desire to fight, so that the crowd called out some word and
the cocks were picked up and "sicked" on each other again; this was
repeated until one bird had enough and retreated ignominiously to the
farthest corner of the pit, amid the shouts of the men who had bet on
the other cock. In many cases, it is said, the vanquished bird is killed
outright before he has time to retreat.

The sport, while rather exciting, is certainly demoralizing, especially
with the betting that always accompanies it.

Such is the life of these simple people. Of course among the less
civilized and the savage tribes conditions are very different, and a
white man would not dare enter so intimately into the life of a barrio;
in fact in some regions it is very unsafe to go outside of the army
posts without a proper guard.

As to the character of the civilized Filipinos opinion seems to differ
among the Americans of the Islands. That they are not yet capable of
self-government seems to be almost universally believed by Americans who
have lived among them; and that they are not energetic as a class is
only what might be expected in such a climate. Some Americans have a
rather high opinion of the moral character and general trustworthiness
of the average native; others do not hold such a high opinion of him and
consider him the inferior of the American negro, mentally, morally and
physically. As students in the University of the Philippines it is said
they compare favorably with students in American universities.

Doubtless there is as much variation, mental and moral, among the
natives of the Philippine Islands as among the inhabitants of an
Anglo-Saxon country, so that one's opinions are apt to be influenced
by the class of natives with which he chiefly comes in contact.


The cutter _Busuanga_ of the Philippine Bureau of Navigation had been
chartered to go to Tay Tay on the Island of Palawan, to bring back to
Manila the party of naturalists of the Bureau of Science who had been
studying the little-known fauna and flora of that far-away island, the
most westerly of the Philippine group.


After leaving the dock at Manila at sundown we steamed out of the bay,
past the searchlights of Corregidor and the other forts which were
sweeping entirely across the entrance to the bay in a way that would
immediately expose any enemy that might attempt to slip by in the dark,
and by nine o'clock we were headed in a south-westerly direction across
the China Sea.

The next day we passed through winding passages along the Calamaines
group where every hour brought to view new islands of the greatest
beauty and of every size and shape. Upon one of these islands is a leper
colony which we visited and found most interesting.


Early on the second morning we entered the harbor of the small but
ancient village of Tay Tay (pronounced "tie tie" and spelled in various
ways) on the eastern shore of Palawan. Not a white man lives in this
inaccessible hamlet and it is seldom that one visits it, as there is no
regular communication of any sort with the outside world.

The village consists of a dozen or two native huts along the beach in a
very pretty grove of coconut trees. Back of the village is a range of
low mountains covered with tropical jungle. The main point of interest
is a well constructed fort of stone, built on a small promontory that
projects out into the bay. The walls of the fort are very massive and
are surmounted at each of the four corners by a round watch tower. On
its land side the fort is entered through a narrow gate that leads by a
stone stairway to the top of the promontory. On various parts of the
walls are carvings and inscriptions showing that the different bastions
were built at different times.


Within the fort and overlooking the walls is an old stone church whose
roof has long since fallen in. Within the fort is also a large
cement-lined, stone cistern to hold water in case of siege. The Spanish
inscriptions on the walls show that the fort was begun about 1720,
though the mission there was established about 1620. Lying about within
the fort are a few large iron cannon that were doubtless used by the
Spaniards in repulsing the attacks of the Moro pirates. It was for a
refuge from these pirates that this old fort was built nearly two
hundred years ago in this tiny, reef-protected harbor, on an island that
even now is unknown to a large majority of American people although it
is a part of our territory.

On the shore, just back of the fort, is another stone church whose roof
has also fallen in; and back of this church is a small thatched bell
tower with two very good bells of harmonious tones hanging in it. How
long these bells have been silent it is difficult to say, but no priest
now remains to carry on the work begun nearly three hundred years ago by
the brave padres from Spain, and not a Spaniard now lives in that almost
forgotten village. But for the moss-covered and still massive gray walls
of the fort and the crumbling ruins of the two churches one would never
imagine that this tiny village of brown men had ever been inhabited by
subjects of the kingdom of Spain.


In passing out of the harbor of Tay Tay we visited a small volcanic
island of curiously weathered and water-worn limestone. Except for a
narrow beach the sides of this island are almost perpendicular, and the
cliffs are honeycombed with dozens of water-worn caves. Many of these
caves are of great beauty, resembling the interiors of stone churches;
some extend far back into the dark interior of the island, others are
lighted by openings at the top. Many of them are beautifully colored,
and in an accessible region would doubtless be frequently visited by
tourists, while in their isolated location it is possible that they had
never before been visited by white men, unless in the old Spanish days.
It is in these and in similar caves of this region that the natives
obtain the edible birds' nests so highly prized by some, especially the
Chinese. The natives are said to have claims on certain caves, and any
one found stealing nests from another man's cave is supposedly dealt
with as a thief.


These curious nests are built by swifts (swallows) against the walls of
the dark caves much in the some way as is done by our common chimney
swifts, except that instead of cementing a number of small twigs
together by a kind of sticky secretion or saliva, the entire nest is
made of the sticky substance which dries into a sort of gummy mass. This
substance has but little taste, and why the wealthy Chinese should be
willing to pay such enormous prices ($12 to $15 per pound) for it is
hard to understand.

It is said that the first nest the bird makes in the season brings the
highest price because it is of pure material; this nest having been
taken the bird builds another, but, having a diminished supply of the
secretion, it introduces some foreign matter to help out, and this
foreign matter, of course, makes the nest less valuable as food. A third
nest may succeed the second, but it has still more foreign matter to
still further diminish its value. That the collection of the nests is
attended with considerable danger is evident from the vertical, jagged
walls of rock that must be scaled, either from below or above, to obtain


To those of us who lead busy lives in the centers of what we call
twentieth-century civilization, life in a place so isolated from the
rest of the world as Tay Tay seems impossible. Yet the inhabitants of
this barrio are quite contented and fairly comfortable. They live "the
simple life" indeed. While their resources are exceedingly limited their
needs and desires are correspondingly few. They never suffer from cold
and probably not often from heat or hunger: and they are not cursed with
the ambitions that make so many of us dissatisfied with our lives.


It was early Sunday morning when the "Busuanga" dropped anchor in the
harbor of Culion Island, one of the Calamaines group of the Philippines,
and two or three of us were fortunate enough to be invited to land, for
an hour or so, to visit the leper colony that is said to be the largest
in the world.

We were met at the tiny dock by the physician-in-charge, Dr. Clements,
and by him escorted about the colony. This physician, who has spent long
years in these eastern lands, gives the immediate impression of a man of
quiet force, and the work he is doing in this seldom-visited island is
as fine a piece of missionary work, though carried on by the government,
as can probably be found anywhere.

Including the dock a few acres of the island are fenced off, and into
this enclosure the lepers are forbidden to enter; otherwise they have
the run of the island, but are not allowed boats for fear they would be
used as a means of escape.

Within the non-leprous enclosure are located the residences for the
doctors and other officials; the living quarters, kitchens etc. (all of
concrete) for the non-leprous laborers; and various shops and other such

At the "dead line" fence between this and the leprous part of the island
a Chinaman has a small store where the lepers can buy various articles
such as may be seen in a small country store. The articles are in plain
sight, but the leper is not allowed to touch anything until he has
decided to take it; he then drops his money into a sterilizing solution
and gets his purchase. A more modern store is being arranged by the
government that will soon displace the _Chino_.

Passing this minute store we entered the gate of the "forbidden city,"
and, though there is no danger from merely breathing the same air with
lepers, it gave us a rather strange sensation to be surrounded by
thirty-four hundred poor wretches who in Biblical times would have been
compelled to cry "Unclean! unclean!" We, of course, did not touch
anything within the colony, though the doctors do not hesitate to touch
even the lepers themselves.

The colony proper is located on a small promontory looking eastward to
the harbor and the Sulu Sea. At the end of this promontory is an old
Spanish fort of stone with its enclosed church. Most of the Christian
lepers are Roman Catholics, though there is a small Protestant church in
the colony, in charge of a leprous native minister.


The lepers are brought from the various islands of the Philippines to
this colony so fast that it is with great difficulty that they can be
accommodated; but all are made comfortable, in fact much more
comfortable, in most cases, than they would ever have been at home.
Except for homesickness, which cannot, of course, be avoided, they are
quite happy, or as happy as any hopelessly sick people can be away from
home and friends.

Fine concrete dormitories are supplied, but many prefer to build their
own native houses of nipa palm and bamboo. A certain amount of help is
given the lepers in building these houses on condition that they first
obtain a permit and build in the proper place in relation to the streets
that have been laid out.

Besides the dormitories there are several concrete kitchen buildings
where the lepers can prepare their food in comfort.

A plentiful supply of pure water is distributed by pipes to various
convenient parts of the colony, and several concrete bath and wash
houses are conveniently located. A concrete sewage system leads all
sewage to the sea.


In this tropical climate it is, of course, unnecessary to provide any
means of heating the buildings. At the time of our visit a large
amusement pavilion was nearly completed where moving pictures and other
forms of entertainment will help pass the time for these poor wretches
who have nothing to look forward to but a lingering death from a
loathsome disease.

A large number of the patients who are in the incipient stages showed,
to the ordinary observer, no effects of the disease. There were others
who at first glance seemed perfectly normal, but on closer scrutiny
revealed the absence of one or more toes or fingers. Others had horribly
swollen ears: some had no nose left and were distressing objects; but
it was not until we visited the various wards of the hospital that we
saw leprosy in all of its horror. Here were dozens of cases so far
advanced that they were no longer able to walk; they were lying on their
cots waiting for death to come to their release. Some were so emaciated
as to look almost like animated skeletons. Others, except for and
sometimes in spite of their bandages, looked like horrid, partially
decomposed cadavers. It was a sight to make one shudder and devoutly
hope that a cure for this awful disease may soon be discovered. These
extreme cases are cared for carefully and their last hours are made as
comfortable as possible.


As we came, out three Catholic sisters entered the women's ward to do
what they could for the patients there.

Shortly before leaving the colony we were led to a small concrete
structure (near the furnace where all combustible waste is burned), and
as the door was opened we saw before us on a concrete slab four bodies
so wasted and shrivelled that they seemed scarcely human. These were
those who had at last been cured in the only way that this dread
disease admits of cure. About forty per month are released by death, and
those we saw were the last crop of the here _merciful_ not "dread

At the back of the colony we met four lepers of incipient stages
carrying a long box on their shoulders. Just as they came abreast of us
they set it down, to rest themselves, and we saw that in the box was
another "cured" leper. He was being carried to the cemetery not only
"unhonored and unsung" but also "unwept": not a single friend nor
relative followed his wasted body to its final resting place. After this
pitiful spectacle, added to the horrors of the hospital wards, we were
not sorry to turn our steps back toward the boat. As we passed through
the fence at the "dead line," going away from the colony, we were
compelled to wade through a shallow box of water containing a small
percentage of carbolic acid which disinfected the soles of our shoes,
the only things about us that had come in actual contact with the leper
colony. In this way all visitors when they leave the colony are
compelled, not to "shake its dust from their feet" but to wash its germs
from their soles.

As an antidote for dissatisfaction with one's lot in life, or as an
object lesson for the pessimists who claim there is no unselfishness in
the world, or as an illustration of the value of the medical missionary,
this little island, lying "somewhere east of Suez" between the Sulu and
the China Seas, is not easily surpassed.


When the North German Lloyd steamer "Sandakan" left the dock at
Zamboanga she had in the first cabin only three passengers, a Russian of
uncertain occupation, a young lieutenant of the Philippine constabulary,
and myself. We had, therefore, the pick of the deck staterooms, which is
worth while when traveling within ten degrees of the equator in

Zamboanga is the chief city of the island of Mindanao and is the capital
of the turbulent Moro province, which includes the well-known island of
Sulu with its once-famous sultan.

After a night's run we tied up at the dock of Jolo, the chief town of
the island of Sulu. Here my two companions left the ship, so that until
we reached the next port, Sandakan, I was the only cabin passenger, and
when the ship's officers were prevented by their duties from appearing
at the table I had the undivided attention of the chief steward, two
cooks, and three waiters. This line of vessels being primarily for
freight the "Sandakan" has accommodations for less than twenty
first-cabin passengers, and it probably seldom has anything like a full
list on this out-of-the-way run from "Zambo" to Singapore. So far as its
accommodations go, however, they are excellent, and a pleasanter trip of
a week or ten days would be hard to find, in spite of the tropical heat.

While the first cabin list was so small, the third class accommodations
seemed taxed to their utmost, and the conglomeration of orientals was an
unending source of amusement. They slept all over their deck and
appeared happy and comfortable in spite of the fact that they seemed
never to remove their clothes nor to bathe; it is probable that to most
of them ten days without such luxuries was not a noticeable deprivation.

Leaving Jolo, a picturesque walled city with a reputation for dangerous
Moros (one is not supposed to go outside the walls without an armed
guard, and many men carry a "45" at their hip at all times), we sailed
southwest through the countless islands of the Sulu Archipelago, and
after a run of about twenty hours passed the high red cliff at the
entrance to the harbor of Sandakan, the capital of British North Borneo,
and were soon alongside the dock.

Sandakan is a rather pretty little town of two or three thousand
inhabitants, including about fifty white people. It extends along the
shore for about a mile and in the center has the athletic or recreation
field, that is found in all these little towns, as well as the post
office and other government buildings. In this central part of the town
are also the Chinese stores, usually dirty, ill-smelling and
unattractive; but there are no others. In all this region the Chinese
seem to have a complete monopoly of the commercial business.


A hundred yards or more from the shore the hills rise steeply from
sea-level to a few hundred feet, and over these hills are scattered the
attractive bungalows of the white residents. There is also here a
handsome stone church, overlooking the bay, with a school for native
boys in connection with it. The hills farther from the town are heavily
wooded, and the timber is being sawed at mills along the shore road. On
the streets are seen men of several nationalities, Chinese, Malays,
Moros, East Indians, and occasionally a Caucasian in his customary white
suit and pith helmet; but of all these the most dignified and stately is
the Indian policeman. He is tall and slender, with frequently a fine
black beard; his head is covered with the usual white turban, set off
with a touch of red. His gray spiral puttees generally do not quite
reach the bottom of his khaki trousers, thus leaving his knees bare.
Hanging from his belt is his club, similar to those carried by American
policemen, and jangling in one hand is usually a pair of steel
handcuffs. In passing white men he often raises his hand in a formal
military salute that would be worthy of a major general. Altogether he
is a most impressive personage and, with such examples constantly before
them, it would seem incredible that the citizens should ever cause
a-disturbance. An interesting contrast was seen in a group of men,
sitting idly in the shade and watching eight little Chinese women
stagger by with a huge tree trunk that would seem too heavy for an equal
number of strong men to carry: but this is "East of Suez, where the best
is like the worst," whatever Kipling meant by that.


The "Sandakan" at the Dock.]

At Sandakan the first cabin passenger list was increased 100 per cent by
the advent of a young Danish rubber man--not a man made of young
Danish rubber, but a young Dane from Singapore who had been inspecting
rubber plantations, of which there are many on Borneo.


Leaving the capital city at sunset we arrived at Kudat, our next
stopping place, early the next morning. With a very similar location
this is a much smaller town than the preceding, consisting of four or
five hundred people including half a dozen Caucasians. In spite of its
small size it has a small garrison of native soldiers and the inevitable
recreation ground. Besides this there is here a race track at which a
meet was about to be held. Attracted probably by the races was the
ubiquitous moving picture show, set up in a tent near the race track. It
is impossible to escape the "movies." I attended a moving picture
exhibition given in the cockpit of a small Philippine village about
fifty miles out from Manila, and here was another in a still smaller
village on the Island of Borneo, hundreds of miles from _anywhere_. In
the same way it is impossible to escape the voice of the phonograph. On
several occasions I have heard them in tiny nipa shacks in small
Philippine villages, and in a Moro shack in Kudat, built on poles above
the water, I heard the sound of what seemed a very good phonograph of
some sort.


In the northeast corner of Borneo is its highest mountain, Kini or Kina
Balu, the Chinese Widow, supposedly so named because of the fancied
resemblance of its jagged top to the upturned face of a woman. It is
really a very impressive peak and, being seen from the sea, it looks its
full height of nearly fourteen thousand feet; being exactly under the
sixth parallel it is, of course, too close to the equator to be
snow-capped. Its position near the coast enabled us to enjoy it as we
approached the island from the northeast and as we passed around and
down the west coast, so that it was visible for nearly three days. Other
mountain peaks of five or six thousand feet are visible along the west
coast but they appear insignificant in comparison with old Kini Balu.


[Illustration: RACE-COURSE AT KUDAT.

Movie tent in the left background.]

Leaving Kudat in the evening we arrived at Jesselton the following
morning. This is a town of about the same size and character of location
as Kudat, but as the northern terminus of the only railroad on the
island it seems much more of a metropolis. It has a clock-tower, too,
the pride of every Jesseltonian heart, located in plain view of
the railroad station so that there is no excuse for the trains leaving
Jesselton more than two or three hours late. There is here again the
recreation field and market house, and, of course, the usual Chinese
stores and Indian policemen; besides this it is the home town of the
Governor (an Englishman, of course) of British North Borneo. But the
railroad is the chief feature of Jesselton. To be sure it is only a
narrow gauge, but it carries people, if they are not in too big a hurry,
and freight. The engines are of English type but the cars
are--original, surely. There are first and third class passenger
coaches, no second class, to say nothing of a baggage "van." The third
class cars have simply a rough wooden bench along each side and seat
about twenty people. The first class cars are of two types: the first is
like the third class with the addition of cushions to the seats and
curtains to the windows; the second kind is a sort of Pullman car; it is
of the same size, but instead of the benches it has about half a dozen
wicker chairs that may be moved about at will.

[Illustration: MORO SHACKS AT KUDAT.

In one of these a phonograph was heard.]

Having a few hours to spare I decided to take a ride into the country. I
had already climbed one of the hills where I could get a view inland to
Kini Balu, over miles of jungle where no white man has ever been. But I
wanted to see a little of this country, from the car-window at least. So
I entered the station and interviewed the station master, a portly
official of great dignity. He told me, in fair English, that the train
on the "main line" had left for that day but that I could take a "local"
out into the country for about three miles. This was better than
nothing, so I climbed (and climb is the proper word) aboard the first
class car of the local that was soon to start. I was the only
first-class passenger and I felt like a railroad president in his
private car. Soon after starting the conductor entered. He was a tall
and, of course, dignified East Indian in turban and khaki uniform. He
had the punch without which no conductor would be complete, and,
suspended from a strap over his shoulder, was a huge canvas bag, like a
mail bag, the purpose of which puzzled me. The fare, he told me, was
fifteen cents to the end of the line; on giving him a twenty-cent piece
I found the purpose of the canvas bag; it was his money bag, and he
carefully fished from its depths my five cents change. The Borneo
pennies are about as big as cart wheels so this bag was not so out of
proportion as it might seem. In exchange for my fare he gave me a ticket
marked "fifteen cents," which he gravely punched. I did not know what
the ticket was for as I thought there would hardly be a change of
conductors in a run of three miles, but I kept it and in about five
minutes the dignified conductor returned and gravely took up the ticket
again; this impressive performance was repeated on the return trip.


After leaving the crowded(?) streets of the city our speed rapidly
increased until we were traveling at a rate of not less than ten miles
an hour, which was fast enough considering there were no airbrakes on
the train of three cars, and we had to be ready to stop at any moment
when somebody might want to get on or off. Doubtless the "flyers" on the
main line of the British North Borneo State Railroad run at even greater
speeds than this. The dignity of the officials of this miniature
railroad was most interesting, and was almost equal to that of a negro
porter on the Empire State Express.


Leaving this railroad center early the next morning we arrived, before
dark, at our last stop in Borneo, Labuan. We had added 50 per cent to
our cabin passenger list at Jesselton by taking aboard a young English
engineer from South Africa.


The Island of Labuan upon which the town of the same name is situated
lies just off the northwest coast of Borneo. It came under the
protectorate of Great Britain in 1846 and, though small, has a more
up-to-date appearance than any of the other towns visited. The stores
are mainly of concrete with red tile or red-painted corrugated iron
roofs, which, among the tall coconut palms, are very attractive in
appearance. There is one main street, parallel to the beach line, that
is extended as a modern, oiled road for some miles into the country.
Along this road are the very attractive official buildings, each with
its sign in front; also the recreation field and the residences of the
few white inhabitants. All of the streets are clean and have deep cement
gutters on the sides that lead to the sea or to the various lagoons that
extend through the town. Water pipes also extend along the streets with
openings at convenient intervals. Extensive coal mines are located near
the town, but for some reason they were not profitable and the cars and
docks for handling coal are now nearly all idle. On one of the lagoons
is a rather artistic Chinese temple of concrete, well built and in good

On the main street is a school, and, seeing a crowd of natives at the
door, I joined the throng to see what was going on inside. It proved to
be the singing hour, and about fifty little Chinese boys, from six to
ten years of age, all in neat khaki uniforms, were singing at the tops
of their voices, led by a very active Chinese man. The little fellows
seemed to enjoy the singing thoroughly, and, after hearing several
songs, all in Chinese, of course, to strange and unusual tunes, I was
surprised to recognize one of the tunes--it was "John Brown's body
lies amoulding in the grave" though what the words were I was unable to
tell since, like the other songs, they were in Chinese.


At Labuan the last of our cabin passengers came aboard, two Englishmen,
one a mining engineer, the other a government man. Since no more stops
were to be made in Borneo, the Sandakan headed in a southwest direction
straight for Singapore, and in exactly three days we entered that busy
harbor and dropped anchor among the more than two dozen other ocean
liners from all parts of the world.

[Illustration: MAIN STREET AT LABUAN.]


Singapore is one of the busiest seaports in the world and the hundreds
of vessels of all sizes and types against the background of handsome
white and cream-colored buildings make a very interesting and impressive


Thus ended a most interesting voyage of nine days, through a region
seldom visited by any but a few Englishmen who are interested in some
way in the development of that, as yet, little developed part of the
world. Although it is a trip that is easily arranged by visitors to the
Philippines it is one that is seldom taken by the tourist.


In Singapore, it is said, can be seen more races of men than at any
other one spot in the world, so that it has been well named "The Melting
Pot of the East." It is also sometimes spoken of as "The Gateway of the
East," since all vessels bound for ports in the Far East call there.


It is said, perhaps without sufficient historical evidence, that the
town was first settled by Malays in 1360 A. D.; but as a port of any
importance its history begins in 1819 when it was ceded by Jahore to
Great Britain through the instrumentality of Sir Stamford Raffles, whose
name is perpetuated in connection with many of the local institutions.



In the early days, in fact until the introduction of steamships, there
was much annoyance and danger from pirates at sea and robbers on land,
but that of course is now long past and one is as safe here as in any
other part of the world.

The present-day Singapore is a thriving town of more than 250,000
inhabitants, and is one of the busiest harbors in the world; more than
three dozen sea-going steamships may sometimes be seen in the harbor at
the same time, and the number of rowboats and other small craft is


On landing one is fairly overwhelmed by the _rickisha_ men, for the
_jinrikisha_, the two-wheeled Japanese cart, is _the_ method of travel
in Singapore, though one may hire a pony wagon (_ghari_), or even an
automobile at very reasonable rates. As to the electric cars, or
"trams," the less said the better; they would disgrace a city of
one-tenth the size of Singapore.

The streets are excellent and are nearly all level, so that the
rickishas, usually pulled by Chinese, make good time. Many residents own
their own rickisha and hire the man by the month; more well-to-do
people, and there are many wealthy people both native and foreign in
Singapore, have their own teams and automobiles.

[Illustration: THE SCOTCH KIRK.]

While there are regular rickisha stands in different parts of town,
especially near the hotels and other public places, there are few
streets so unfrequented that one cannot "pick up" a rickisha at a
moment's notice. Umbrellas are scarcely needed, for in case of a shower
one may call a rickisha to the curb and be whisked to his destination
dryshod. In fact there is very little walking done in Singapore,
especially by Europeans; it is so easy to get into the ever-present and
alluring rickisha. Moreover, it is very hot in the sun, for Singapore is
only a little more than one degree from the equator. There is a regular
scale of prices for public vehicles, but the newcomer is always
"spotted" and is charged double or treble the regular fare until he
learns better than to heed the pathetic or indignant protests of the
rickisha men.

[Illustration: Y. M. C. A. BUILDING. Methodist Church in left

[Illustration: ST. JOSEPH'S COLLEGE.]

Like other cities in the East Singapore is a mixture of beauty and
squalor. In the region of the banks, steamship offices, and wholesale
houses there are many handsome buildings: but in the Chinese districts
that make up the greater part of the business section, for the Chinese
merchants far outnumber all others, there are narrow crowded streets,
small houses, and large and variagated smells. There is also a
notorious and wide-open red-light district that is a disgrace to a
modern and supposedly civilized town.

While the saloon is not particularly in evidence the indulgence in
_stengahs_ (Malay for _half_), or whiskey and sodas, is well-nigh
universal among the European population, not always excluding the women
and clergy. Since alcohol is said to be particularly dangerous in the
tropics it would be interesting to know the total effect of this general
indulgence. It is generally conceded that after a few years of tropical
life Europeans must go home to recuperate; it would be interesting to
know if the use of strong alcoholics bears any relation to the frequency
of these necessary trips to temperate regions.


Certainly life seems easy and pleasant in Singapore, especially among
government officials. About eight or nine o'clock in the morning a
stream of rickishas, carriages and automobiles carries the men down town
from their pleasant and often very handsome homes uptown or in the
suburbs. Many of the finest of these homes are owned by wealthy Chinese
merchants. About five in the afternoon the stream sets in the other
direction, carrying those whose day's work is over back to their cool
villas or to some recreation ground where tennis, cricket, golf, or
football may be enjoyed for an hour or two before dark. Dinner is
usually between seven and eight and is over in time for evening
entertainments which begin late. Although too far from the beaten tracks
frequently to enjoy first-class dramatic talent, there are the
ubiquitous "movies," and for the transient visitor the Malay and Chinese
theaters are of great interest.


An excellent race course provides entertainment of that sort at frequent
intervals. For the more serious-minded the extensive Raffles Museum and
Library is centrally and beautifully located.

The beautiful Anglican Cathedral is the largest church in the city, and
many other denominations possess smaller but attractive churches.

The central building of all is the beautiful Victoria Memorial Hall with
its tall clock tower and chimes. In front of this white building is the
black statue of an elephant, presented to the city by the king of Siam
to commemorate the first visit ever paid to a foreign city by a Siamese
monarch. In the neighborhood of the Cathedral and Memorial Hall are the
hotels, which are good in most respects but whose charges to transient
guests are usually exorbitant: here is also the main recreation field
where cricket, tennis and football are played every afternoon by both
natives and Europeans.

[Illustration: A HINDU TEMPLE.

Rickishas passing.]

While these churches, residences and parks (including the well-known
botanical gardens) are interesting, it is the oriental element that has
the greatest charm for those from other lands. A rickisha ride through
the teeming streets of the Chinese or Malay quarters, especially at
night, is most interesting. If taken during the day a Chinese funeral
procession with its banners, bands and tom-toms may be met; in fact the
death-rate among the squalid Chinese residents is so high that funerals
are of very frequent occurrence.

[Illustration: THE MOSQUE AT JAHORE.]

At the docks and other gathering places one is fascinated by the
constantly shifting sea of strange faces and costumes; sometimes the
lack of costume is more noticeable than the costume, as among the
coolies or laborers from India or Arabia. Chinese, Japanese, various
races of Malays and East Indians, jostle elbows with Englishmen,
Americans and every other race under the sun except perhaps, the
American Indian. It is surely a motley throng and the tower of Babel
was nowhere compared to this conglomeration of tongues.

The oriental is a rather mild individual as a rule and wrangling and
fighting is probably less common than among occidental communities.

Several interesting temples are to be seen in Singapore; their quaint
architecture is always interesting to the occidental tourist, and the
hideous images to be seen within will repay the trouble of removing
one's shoes, which must be done before admittance is granted.


When the sights of the city have been exhausted a visit to Jahore on the
mainland (Singapore is on a small island) of the Malay Peninsula will be
interesting. Here is the summer palace of H. H. the Sultan of Jahore;
also a large and handsome mosque. Here is also a wide-open gambling
establishment where hundreds of Chinese may be seen playing "fantan."

On the return from Jahore, if interested in such things, a visit to a
rubber estate may be made, and the whole process in the manufacture of
rubber may be seen in a few hours; it is a strange and fascinating
process and is, perhaps, the most important industry of the Federated
Malay States.

It is interesting to compare Singapore which has been a British colony
for nearly a century with Manila, a city of about the same size, that
has been under American rule for less than two decades. The results that
have been accomplished in the latter place along the lines of
sanitation, education, and other civilizing influences should make an
American proud of his native land.


One of the principal products of the Malay Peninsula is rubber. Like
most people who have never happened to investigate the matter my ideas
as to the way in which an automobile tire is extracted from a tree were
very hazy; so, with another American, who had charge of a mission
school in Singapore, I boarded the Jahore express on the F. M. S. R. R.
(F. M. S. meaning Federated Malay States) and after a run of half an
hour arrived at the Bukit Timar rubber estate some ten miles northwest
of Singapore.

The Bukit Timar is an up-to-date plantation of more than one hundred
thousand trees, and here we saw the whole process, from tree to sheet
rubber, as shipped to all parts of the world and sold by the pound.
Rubber trees grow to a considerable size, but this being a young
plantation most of the trees were not over six or eight inches in
diameter. In the middle of the estate was a very attractive bungalow
where lived the manager and his wife, a young English couple, and the
former very courteously showed us about his place and explained the
different processes.

"Tapping" begins at daybreak, and all the juice or _latex_ is collected
before noon. Dozens of native and Chinese men and boys are employed in
this process, some of the latter being so small that they can scarcely
carry the two buckets of latex on the bamboo stick over the shoulder.

In tapping, a very thin and narrow piece of bark is gouged off, just
deep enough to make the tree bleed, but not deep enough to kill it; so
that by the time the bark on one side of the tree has been cut away that
on the opposite side has had time to regenerate. The process is thus a
perpetual one and the tree lasts indefinitely.

The exact method of tapping varies, but usually it is begun as two
slanting grooves that converge to form a V. The latex oozes from the
freshly cut bark, runs down the converging grooves to their point of
union, and is caught in a small glass cup or other vessel suspended
under a tiny spout at the apex of the V. The method of tapping shown in
the photograph is different from this somewhat, though the principle is
the same. The latex that oozes from the grooves is a pure white, sticky
fluid resembling milk; about a tablespoonful is obtained each day from
each tree.

By the time each man has tapped or gouged all of the trees assigned to
him (perhaps two or three hundred) the first-tapped trees have bled all
they will for that day, so that collecting is begun at once. In each cup
is a little water to prevent the latex from coagulating and sticking to
the bottom.


The first V is cut several feet from the ground, and the amount that is
gouged from each side of the V each day is so very thin that it will be
months before the apex of the V reaches the ground, by which time the
regeneration of the first cuts will be well under way.

After the flow of latex has ceased for the day a narrow strip hardens
along each groove, like gum on a cherry tree. These little strips of
rubber, with bits of adherent bark, as well as any drops that may have
fallen to the ground, are collected in bags and carried to the factory
to be made into sheets of cheap grades of commercial rubber.


    The white lines are the latex running down the grooves into the
    glass cup at the bottom. Above the two slanting lines is seen
    the scarred tissue where the bark has been gouged away. When the
    lower end of the lower line reaches the ground the tree will be
    tapped on the opposite side. The amount of latex in the cup
    seems greater than it really is because of the water upon which
    it floats. The size of the tree may be judged from the kodak
    case at its foot.]

After the trees have been tapped the latex is collected in carefully
cleaned tin buckets, brought to the factory and strained into huge
earthenware tubs. It is then put into enamelware pans about twelve by
thirty-six inches in size and three inches deep, and a very weak acid
(usually acetic) is stirred into it. In about half an hour the acid
coagulates the latex (like rennet in making junket from milk) into a
soft, pure white mass, about two inches thick and of the area of the
pan. This soft mass of rubber is carefully floated out of the pan onto a
table, where it is rolled on both sides for a few minutes with a wooden
rolling-pin to squeeze out the excess of water and acid. It is then
carefully lifted into a large vessel of pure water to harden until the
next day.


    The boy in the middle of the group has the canvass bag over his
    shoulder in which he carries the scraps of dried rubber from the
    grooves on the trees.]

The next day it is run several times through smooth steel rollers under
dropping water, where it is flattened out into sheets of about an inch
or less in thickness and of a proportionately greater area. It is next
passed through roughened steel rollers that mark it off into ridges and
depressions like a waffle.

These sheets, now tough and elastic, are hung in a closed chamber and
smoked until they reach a proper shade of brown, when they are ready for
shipment. The smoking process, which is to preserve the rubber, often
takes many days, though at the time of our visit the manager of the
Bukit Timar estate was experimenting with a method that would complete
the smoking in a few hours.

The production of rubber in the Malay Peninsula is of rather recent date
and it has increased by leaps and bounds. In the various "booms" that
have taken place many fortunes have been made--as witnessed by the
palatial residences about Singapore--but many have also been lost,
though the witnesses to these are not so evident.


Whether the increased demands for rubber will justify the thousands of
young trees that are still being planted, not only on the Malay
Peninsula but on Borneo and other islands of the Far East, remains to be
seen; but, judging from the opinions of several rubber experts of
Singapore, this is quite doubtful.


After a voyage (unusually calm for the China Sea) of four days from
Singapore, the S. S. "Bülow" slowly steamed among the islands at
the entrance and came to anchor just after sunset in the beautiful
harbor of Hongkong. There is really no _city_ of Hongkong, though
letters so directed will reach their destination, and even the residents
of the city in whose harbor we were anchored would have spoken of living
in Hongkong. The name "Hongkong" belongs to the small island, ten miles
long by three wide, that lies about a mile from the mainland of China.
Along the north or land side of this island lies the city of Victoria,
with a population of 350,000, commonly known by the name of the entire
island, Hongkong.

Practically the whole island is occupied by mountains of a maximum
height of about 1800 feet, so that the town has only a narrow strip of
level ground along the beach and extends in scattered fashion to the
very top of the ridge.

As we came to anchor the twinkling lights of the streets and houses were
just beginning to appear, and in a little while, when the short tropical
twilight had changed to darkness, the shore line was a mass of lights
which gradually became more scattered toward the hill-tops, where often
a single light marked the location of some isolated residence. Across
the harbor another smaller group of lights showed the position of
Kowloon, a small seaport on the mainland and the southern terminus of
the Kowloon and Canton Railroad. On the water between the two towns,
really one great harbor, were thousands of lights, indicating the
position of invisible steamships, junks, tugs, launches and sampans.
Most of these lights were stationary, showing that the vessels to which
they belonged were at anchor, but some of them were in motion, and
hardly had we come slowly to a standstill and dropped anchor before we
were besieged by a swarm of launches and sampans all clamoring for
passengers to take ashore.

As is customary in the East, steamers usually anchor in the harbor at
Hongkong at some distance from shore, so that the larger hotels, as well
as Cook's Agency, have private launches to take passengers ashore. Since
it was rather late to see anything of the town most of the cabin
passengers preferred to remain on board for the night, and the view of
the lights of the harbor and town as seen from the ship was well worth
enjoying for one evening.


The next morning we were able to see the meaning of the lights of the
night before. The business part of the town, with its crowded Chinese
sections and its fine municipal and office buildings, lies as a narrow
strip along the shore, while struggling up the mountain side are the
residences, churches, schools, etc. of the English and wealthy Chinese
residents. On this mountain side is also a most beautiful and
interesting botanical garden. On the highest point of "The Peak," as the
main peak of the range is called, is a weather observatory and signal
station, and from this point one of the most beautiful views in the
world may be obtained; to the south, the open China Sea, with numberless
green islands extending almost to the horizon; to the north, the
mainland of China, fringed with low mountains; between the mainland and
the island the long, narrow strait forming the harbors of Victoria and
Kowloon; at the foot of the mountain the densely crowded business
streets; and extending up the almost precipitous northern slopes of the
mountain the beautiful, often palatial homes of the wealthy residents.
Winding along the mountain sides a number of fine roads and paths give
access to these homes, but to reach the higher levels, especially, there
may be seen the cable tramway, going so straight up the side of the
mountain that it is almost alarming to look forward or back from the
open cars. The homes nearer the foot of the mountain are usually reached
by means of sedan chairs carried by two, three or even four coolies,
while in the level business section the usual means of travel are the
electric cars and the ever-ready rickishas. Horses are practically
unknown except for racing purposes; carts are pulled by Chinese coolies
instead of by horses, and merchandise is carried by coolies in baskets
or bales on the shoulders. It is an interesting though unpleasant sight
to see strings of Chinese men and women toiling up the steep sides of
the mountain, carrying stones, cement, window frames, timbers, and all
other material used in building the palaces in which the wealthy people
live. For a day of this back-breaking labor they are paid about what one
of their rich employers would give for one of his best cigars. Every
stick, stone and nail in all of these houses has been carried up all
these hundreds of feet on the backs of men and women, chiefly the


In a beautiful little level valley between the bases of two of the
mountains is the play ground of Hongkong, known as "Happy Valley"; here
are tennis courts, a golf course, etc. overlooked on either side, rather
incongruously, by a Chinese and a Christian burial ground.

Having visited the various points of interest about Hongkong, which is
really a part of the British Empire (ceded by the Chinese in 1841)
though a vast majority of its residents are Chinese, I decided to have a
look at a real Chinese city, Canton, located about ninety miles up the
Canton River. As Canton happened to be in the throes of a revolution at
that time, people were flocking by the thousands from there to Hongkong.
Cook's Agency was warning people to keep away, and Hongkong papers had
as headlines "Serious Outlook in Canton"; but I did not expect ever to
have another chance to visit this typical Chinese city, so I boarded one
of the boats of the French line that left Hongkong late in the evening
for the run up the river. I learned later that one of these boats had
been "shot up" a few days before by the revolutionists, and that a
number of the passengers had been killed. However we were not molested,
and reached Canton about eight the next morning.

After daylight we were able to get an idea of the country on either bank
of the muddy river; it was low and marshy, every acre being planted in
rice. Occasionally, on a slight elevation, would be seen a pagoda-shaped
temple, standing lonely among the rice fields, where doubtless it had
stood for many centuries.

At frequent intervals we passed small native boats, some of them with
sails and loaded with goods, most of them rowed by one or more oars. It
was to be noticed that when there was only one oar it was being worked
vigorously by a woman, while a man sat comfortably in the stern and
steered. These people were evidently going from the crowded villages in
which they lived to work in the rice fields.

At Canton the river, which is there only a few hundred yards wide, was
jammed with craft of all kinds, including one or two small war vessels
and hundreds, probably thousands, of _sampans_. The latter carry
passengers and small quantities of freight; they are roofed over more or
less completely and serve as the homes of the owners' families, all the
members of which take a hand in the rowing.


The foreign (mostly English and French) quarter of Canton is known as
"the Shameen" (meaning sand-bank), a small island in the river
connected with the city proper by a couple of bridges. It has
beautifully shaded streets and fine houses, and is utterly different
from the Chinese Canton. At the Shameen's one hotel, which charges the
modest rate of from four to eight dollars per day for very ordinary
service, I was told that conditions were "very uncertain" and that
nobody was allowed to enter the walled city after 9 P. M. without a

[Illustration: A WIDE STREET IN CANTON.]

A guide having thrust his services upon me before I could get off the
boat, we left the Shameen, crossed one of the bridges and plunged into
the network of streets where, without a guide, a stranger would be lost
in a few minutes.

In a few of the streets outside of the walled city rickishas are the
usual means of travel, but inside the walls most of the streets are too
narrow for rickishas to pass one another, and paving of large flagstones
is too rough for wheels, so that the sedan chair is the only means of
locomotion except one's own legs. My self-appointed guide said he would
get chairs for seven dollars per day ($3.00 in American money) but I
told him I expected to walk and that if he wanted to go with me he would
have to do likewise; he immediately professed to think that walking was
the only way to go, so we agreed to see the town afoot. After we had
walked pretty briskly for three or four hours he inquired meekly, "Can
you walk this way all day?" People in the tropics are not usually fond
of walking, but Ping Nam was "game" and made no further remarks about my
method of locomotion. Some of the less frequented streets where there
were no sun-screens overhead were very hot, but in the busy streets the
sun was almost excluded by bamboo screens and by the walls of the houses
on each side, so that the heat was not nearly so oppressive as might be
expected in so terribly congested a city. Many of these streets were so
narrow that a tall man could touch the houses on each side with
outstretched hands.

On each side were stores of all sorts with open fronts with gay signs
and with gayly colored goods on display, making a picture of wonderful
fascination and everchanging interest.

Although we wandered for hour after hour through a perfect wilderness of
such streets we saw not a single white person; it seemed as though I
were the only Caucasian among the more than a million Asiatics, though
this, of course, was not actually the case.

In the busier streets the crowds filled the space from wall to wall, so
that when a string of coolies came along, bearing burdens in the usual
manner from a stick over the shoulder and humming the cheerful though
monotonous "get-out-of-the-way" tune, we had to step aside, close
against or into some store to let them pass; and when an occasional
chair came along it swept the entire traffic aside as a taxi might in a
crowded alley of an American city.

In spite of the density of the population the people all seemed happy
and contented; even the little children with faces covered with sores,
as was often the case, appeared cheerful, and ran and played like other

In the stores the people could be watched at work of all kinds, from
blacksmithy to finest filigree silver work inlaid with the tiny colored
feathers of the brightly colored kingfisher; and from rough carpenter
work to the finest ivory carving for which the Chinese are famous. Of
course the amount they pay for some of this work of extreme skill is
ridiculously small, yet their living expenses are so small that they
are doubtless in better circumstances than many of the workers in our
larger cities.

The silk-weavers, working at their primitive looms in crowded rooms,
excite one's sympathy more than most of the other workers, though they
too seemed to be quite cheerful over their monotonous tasks.


Through these crowded streets we wandered, the sight of a white man and
a camera exciting some interest, though not a great deal. Canton is said
to have been the scene of more outrages of one sort or another than any
other city in the world, but in spite of the fact that a revolution was
supposed to be in progress we saw no signs of disorder. There were
soldiers and armed policemen everywhere, and groups of people were
frequently seen reading with interest proclamations posted at various
places; what the nature of the proclamations was I was, of course, not
able of myself to learn, and Ping Nam did not seem to care to enlighten
me, possibly thinking he might scare me out of town and thus lose his

Occasionally stopping to watch some skilful artisan at work or to make
some small purchase, we went from place to place visiting temples and
other objects of especial interest. Some of these temples are centuries
old, others are comparatively new. Some are comparatively plain, others
like the modern Chun-ka-chi ancestral temple, which is said to have cost
$750,000 "gold," are wonderfully ornate, with highly colored carvings
and cement mouldings. Others are of interest chiefly because of the
hideous images they contain; one of these has hundreds of these idols
and is hence known as the "Temple of the Five Hundred Genii."


After visiting several of these temples and the picturesque flowery
pagoda we set out for the famous water clock that is said to have been
built more than thirteen hundred years ago. It is now located in a dark
little room in the top of an old house and is reached by a winding
flight of outside stone stairs. It consists of four large jars of water,
one above the other, so that the water may run slowly, at a definite
rate, from the upper to the lower jars, and gradually raise, in the
lowest jar, a float with an attached vertical scale that tells the time.
In the window visible from the street below signs are placed at
intervals that tell the time indicated by the clock.

From the water clock we visited the ancient "City of the Dead," a small
cemetery just outside one of the old city gates. These gates, some of
which are large and imposing, pierce the dilapidated wall at intervals.
The wall, about six miles in circumference, is surrounded by the remains
of a moat, now chiefly useful as an addition to the picturesque
landscape and as a breeding place for mosquitoes. The top of a city
gate, reached by a winding stone stairway from within, is a convenient
place from which to view the densely crowded roofs of the adjacent part
of the city.


From the "City of the Dead" we made for the fairly wide street along the
river front; here we took rickishas, much to the relief of my tired
guide, to say nothing of my tired self, and were soon at the Canton
terminus of the K. & C. R. R. The station was thronged with people
waiting for the Kowloon express.

The road-bed of the K. & C. R. R. is excellent, and the cars and
engine, all of English make, made a very respectable appearance.

For nearly half of the distance to Kowloon I had my section of the one
first-class car to myself, as I was the only Caucasian on the train:
then an English civil engineer and his family came aboard and shared my
compartment for the rest of the way. The second-and third-class cars,
of which there were half a dozen or more, were crowded with natives,
with boxes and bundles of all sorts and sizes.


After making the run of about ninety miles in something less than three
hours we reached the ferry at Kowloon, and in a quarter of an hour more
we were again in Hongkong, as different from Canton as though it were on
the other side of the world instead of being only three hours away.


Manila, after twenty years of American control, is a fascinating mixture
of past and present; of romance and commercialism; of oriental ease and
occidental hustle.

Enter through one of the beautiful old city gates, say the Santa Lucia,
which bears the date 1781, and one finds himself in the old or walled
city, Intramuros, still very Spanish in its appearance, though the
government offices and other public buildings are here located. The
massive gray stone wall, started in the early part of the seventeenth
century, was originally surrounded by a moat, with drawbridges. It is
said that a very efficient American official once suggested the
desirability of having the wall whitewashed; fortunately his idea was
not carried out.

In contrast to the comparative quiet of the narrow streets of the
Intramuros the docks along the Pasig River, that flows through the heart
of the town, present a scene of bustle and confusion worthy of a city of
its size, some 300,000 inhabitants. Here may be seen vessels of all
sorts, from all parts of the world: steamships, junks, tugs, rowboats,
and _cascos_, the last being the name given the native barge for
carrying freight. The casco is covered by a roof of matting, made in
sliding sections, with a cabin in the stern where the family of the
owner lives.

While there is an excellent electric street railway system and plenty of
automobiles to be had, the common method of getting about is to 'phone
for, or to hail, a passing one-horse vehicle, of which there are three
distinct types charging different fares for the same service; the more
expensive vehicles are, however, more comfortable and have better
horses. Like the taxi-driver of New York or the rickisha-man of
Singapore the driver of the _caratella_ or _caramata_ will charge all
the traffic will bear, and it is well for the newcomer to inquire of an
old resident what the proper fare for a given distance is before

[Illustration: SANTA LUCIA GATE.

One of the entrances to the Walled City. Erected 1781.]

The typical vehicle for hauling freight is the low, two-wheeled cart,
drawn by the slow-moving, long-horned _carabao_ or water buffalo, one of
the most characteristic animals of the islands. This beast is
well-named, since it delights to lie buried in a muddy pool of water,
with just its head above the surface. It may be seen in the larger
lakes, swimming or wading in the deeper waters at a distance from the
shore. In the cities it is a quiet, peaceful brute that one brushes
against without a thought, but in the country, where is browses in the
open fields, it behooves the white man to be very circumspect as he
passes in its neighborhood, for it seems to have an aversion to the
Caucasian race and will frequently charge in a very unpleasant, not to
say dangerous, way. It is said that the carabao never shows this
hostility toward the natives. A peculiarity of the law is such that
should a man shoot a dangerous carabao to protect his own life he would
have to pay for the animal he killed.


Seen from the outside.]

Of course for small amounts of freight, in Manila as in all places in
the Orient, the ubiquitous Chinese coolie is the usual means of
transportation, and with a huge load at each end of a bamboo pole across
his shoulder he shambles along with a curious gait, between a walk and a
run, that he seems capable of sustaining for an almost indefinite time.


Casco in right foreground, with matting roof.]

The "Chino" of course is the merchant of Manila as of all the cities of
this part of the world. The main shopping street, the Escolta, is fairly
lined with Chinese stores of all sorts, some of them quite extensive;
and some of the narrower side streets, in the same neighborhood, have
practically no other stores than those kept by the Chinese. It is
wonderfully interesting to wander about these narrow, winding streets,
and into the dark, sometimes ill-smelling stores, but one should early
learn the gentle art of "jewing down" the prices that are first asked
for goods that are offered for sale. The Oriental always asks much more
than he is willing or even eager to accept. You ask the price of a
garment, say, and are told "Two pesos": you shake your head and say "Too
much": "Peso and half" will then be tried: you again say "Too much" and
perhaps turn as though to leave the shop; "How much you give?" says the
crafty merchant; "One peso," perhaps you suggest; "Take it," says the
eager merchant as he hands you an article that should probably sell for
half the amount paid. You leave the store feeling good over having
gotten ahead of the crafty Oriental, and he probably chuckles to himself
over having cheated the rich American.

[Illustration: A CARAMATA.

The taxi of the lower classes in Manila.]

[Illustration: A CARABAO AND CART.]

Most of the shopping is done in the morning or late in the afternoon.
For several hours, during the heat of the day, many of the stores are
closed while the proprietors enjoy a midday lunch and siesta.

[Illustration: PLAZA DE SANTO TOMAS.]

When tired of shopping or sight-seeing one may wander into a nearby
church or rest in some public park or square, such as the Plaza de Santo
Tomas. Many of these old squares are exceedingly picturesque and

The different sections of the city are given distinct names, as though
they were separate towns, but they are separated by imaginary lines
only. In one of the more residential of these sections is the great
Manila General Hospital, an up-to-date, modern plant; nearby is the main
part of the University of the Philippines, whose students, it is said,
compare quite favorably with the average college students of America. In
this same neighborhood is also the main part of the Philippine Bureau of
Science, where trained chemists, geologists, botanists, zoologists,
bacteriologists, engineers, and other scientific experts are engaged in
numerous lines of investigation of importance to the welfare of the
islands. Most of these experts have, in the past, been drawn from the
United States, as have the professors in the University. Just what will
be the condition of affairs in these high-grade institutions when the
islands are entirely under native control is somewhat problematic.


While the hotels are not numerous in Manila one may secure the best of
modern service by going to the Manila Hotel, down on the water-front,
just off the great promenade and playground known as the Lunetta, where
everybody goes at night to see everybody else and to listen to the band.
Or one may see more of the native, especially the Spanish, life of the
town by stopping at the Hotel de Spain, in the heart of the town, just
off the Escolta. Here one may be quite, if not luxuriously, comfortable
at a much more reasonable rate, and may enjoy watching the Spanish and
other foreign guests of the hotel instead of the usual crowd of military
and other well-dressed Americans that frequent the Manila Hotel.


Although the population of Manila largely adheres to the Roman Catholic
Church, many of the Protestant denominations have churches of their own,
and a flourishing Y. M. C. A., with a fine, modern building, is
available for the men of the city.

Life in such a town is certainly very attractive, and there is a charm
about the place that makes one wish to return; but it is a long, long
way from home and from many of the things that may be had only in the
greater countries of Europe and America.


The long voyage to or from the Orient is delightfully interrupted by the
stop at Honolulu, capital of the Hawaiian Islands, about 2,100 miles
southwest of San "Francisco. This interesting group of volcanic islands
named in 1778 by their discoverer, Jas. Cook, the Sandwich Islands after
the Earl of Sandwich, then Lord of the British Admiralty, is said to be
the most isolated group of inhabited islands in the world. It is
possible that the real discoverer of the islands was not Jas. Cook, but
a Spanish seaman named Juan Gaetano, who sighted them in 1555. Cook and
his men were treated as supernatural beings and worshiped by the
superstitious natives as gods, until the death of one of the sailors
showed that they were mere mortals; and in 1779, by their overbearing
conduct, the Englishmen came into conflict with the irate natives and
Jas. Cook was killed. "His body was taken to a _heiau_ or temple; the
flesh was removed from the bones and burned, and the bones were tied up
with red feathers and deified. Parts of the body were recovered,
however, and committed to the deep with military honors, and a part of
the bones were kept in the temple of Lono and worshiped until 1819, when
they were concealed in some secret place. A monument erected by his
fellow countrymen now marks the place where he fell on the shores of

In 1893 the queen was deposed and a provisional government was
established, to be succeeded, in 1894, by the Republic of Hawaii. In
1900, by an act of Congress, the Hawaiian Islands became a territory of
the United States. Of the one hundred and ninety and odd thousands of
inhabitants of the islands, in 1910, nearly eighty thousand were
Japanese. The native Hawaiians come next in point of numbers and are the
most interesting people to the average tourist. Though dark-skinned,
they are quite different in appearance from the negro, and many of the
young men and women are decidedly good-looking.

As the vessel enters the beautiful harbor, with the city of Honolulu
spread out along the shore and the mountains rising abruptly in the
immediate background, the well-formed young men and boys are seen
alongside in the water or in native boats, ready to dive for the coins
that the passengers seem always ready to throw to them. These amphibious
people, like most of those in the tropics, are perfectly at home in the
water and seem never to tire, no matter how far they may go to meet the
incoming vessels, as they slowly wind their way through the tortuous
channels among the treacherous coral reefs.


At the entrance to the harbor of Honolulu.]

To the south of the entrance to the harbor, which it guards with
batteries of concealed cannon and mortars, is the extinct volcanic
mountain known as Diamond Head, shown from the land side in the picture.
A grass-covered, bowl-shaped crater of perhaps half a mile diameter may
be entered through a tunnel on the land side, where Fort Ruger is
situated. The rim of the crater, which is only a few hundred feet high,
may be easily scaled and in most places affords easy walking and a fine
view of the harbor. In the higher portion of the rim, seen in the right
of the photograph, is a heavy battery of big guns, concealed in
passages in the solid rock, that could probably protect the entrance of
the harbor below from any ordinary fleet. Visitors are not allowed to
see these rock-hidden batteries, whose existence would never be
suspected from the smooth, apparently unbroken surface of the rock as
seen from the harbor.

Like many other beautiful places, Hawaii is said to have the "most
perfect climate in the world." Add to this wonderful climate and
beautiful scenery, of sea and mountains combined, the fact that there is
supposed to be not a snake nor a poisonous plant nor an insect worse
than bees in all the islands, it would seem that this is truly a
paradise, without even the serpent to cause trouble.

For the tourist there are excellent hotels and all the conveniences of a
continental city, and amusements of sufficient variety to suit the most
blase. For those who are merely stopping off for a day on the way to or
from more distant ports it is hard to decide which of the many
interesting places to visit. If it be his first visit, the mere city
streets with the royal palms and other magnificent trees, the stores,
the cosmopolitan crowds and other strange sights and sounds will be
fascinating. A drive to the Punchbowl, the Poli, or more distant points,
may be taken in a few hours, while if interested in natural history the
gorgeous fishes and other marine forms to be seen at the Aquarium will
be a revelation to one accustomed only to the life of the temperate

At the Bishop Museum the natural history, ethnology, etc., of the
islands may be studied in a synoptic form. It is here that the famous
war-cloak of Kamehameha I is on exhibition. It is a truly wonderful
garment, four feet long, with a spread of ten feet or more at the
bottom. It is made of the yellow feathers of the mama bird, and when it
is realized that each bird furnishes but two small tufts of feathers,
one under each wing, it will be imagined how many thousands of these
small birds were sacrificed to make this one robe. It is valued at
$150,000. It is carefully protected from dust and light but is exhibited
to visitors to the museum.

In the cool of the evening, when tired from a day of sight-seeing, the
traveler may listen to the Honolulu Band, on some public square. It is
composed of native musicians, but the instruments are those of the
ordinary American brass band, and but for the cosmopolitan character of
the audience one might imagine himself in a city of southern California
or some other subtropical part of the United States.

Besides having the most equable climate in the world Honolulu claims the
most perfect bathing-resort on earth, Waikiki Beach. The water is
certainly all that could be desired, but the not infrequent sharp masses
of coral that project up through the white sand of the otherwise perfect
beach are decidedly objectionable, and the writer cut a gash in his
foot, by stepping on one of these pieces of coral, that was many days in

[Illustration: ROYAL PALMS, HONOLULU.]

Another of the points of interest in the city is the Royal Mausoleum,
where are the bodies of many of the royalty of the Hawaiian dynasties.
The Hawaiian alphabet consists of but twelve letters, and the
preponderance of vowels in many words seems remarkable to an
English-speaking person. For example one of the bodies in the Royal
Mausoleum is that of "Kaiminaauao, sister of Queen Kalakaua"; it will be
noticed that eight of the eleven letters in this name are vowels. In
this Mausoleum doubtless now rest the remains of Liliuokalani, the last
queen of Hawaii, who was deposed in 1893 for attempting to force a less
liberal constitution upon the people. She married an American and twice
visited the United States, after his death.

If time permit, and the pocketbook too, most interesting side trips to
the other islands of the group may be made, especially to the active
volcano, Mauna Loa, 13,760 feet high, with Kilauea on its eastern slope,
situated on the Island of Hawaii.

While the Hawaiian Islands may not be as perfect as they are advertised,
they nevertheless give a very fair imitation of Paradise, and a better
place in which to rest and enjoy nature in her kindest moods would be
hard to find.

Transcriber's Notes:

Inconsistencies in the hyphenation of words retained. (nearby, near-by)

Pg. 45, unusual spelling of word "variagated" retained. (and large and
variagated smells)

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