The Sea: Its Stirring Story of Adventure, Peril, & Heroism (Vol. 1-4). Frederick Whymper
fabled dreams, but they are easy of realisation here. There is scarcely a part of the island, except those few places where the original forest and jungle have been cleared away, from which at night-time, on the first breathings of the land winds, may not be felt those lovely forest perfumes, even at the distance of more than a mile from shore. These land winds—or, more properly, land airs, for they can scarcely be said to blow, but only to breathe—usually commence at ten o’clock at night, and continue within an hour or two of sunrise. They are welcomed by all—by the sailor because they speed him on either course, and by the wearied resident because of their delicious coolness.”
Another writer101 speaks with the same enthusiasm of the well-kept country roads, and approaches to the houses of residents, where one may travel for miles through unbroken avenues of fruit-trees, or beneath an over-arching canopy of evergreen palms. The long and well-kept approaches to the European dwellings never fail to win the praise of strangers. “In them may be discovered the same lavish profusion of overhanging foliage which we see around us on every side; besides that, there are often hedges of wild heliotrope, cropped as square as if built up of stone, and forming compact barriers of green leaves, which yet blossom with gold and purple flowers.” Behind these, broad bananas nod their bending leaves, while a choice flower-garden, a close-shaven lawn, and a croquet-ground, are not uncommonly the surroundings of the residence. If it is early morning, there is an unspeakable charm about the spot. The air is cool, even bracing; and beneath the shade of forest trees, the rich blossom of orchids are seen depending from the boughs, while songless birds twitter among the foliage, or beneath shrubs which the convolvulus has decked with a hundred variegated flowers. Here and there the slender stem of the aloe, rising from an armoury of spiked leaves, lifts its cone of white bells on high, or the deep orange pine-apple peeps out from a green belt of fleshy foliage, and breathes its bright fragrance around. The house will invariably have a spacious verandah, underneath which flowers in China vases, and easy chairs of all kinds, are placed. If perfect peace can steal through the senses into the soul—if it can be distilled like some subtle ether from all that is beautiful in nature—surely in such an island as this we shall find that supreme happiness which we all know to be unattainable elsewhere. Alas! even in this bright spot, unalloyed bliss cannot be expected. The temperature is very high, showing an average in the shade, all the year round, of between 85° and 95° Fahr. Prickly heat, and many other disorders, are caused by it on the European constitution.
VIEW IN THE STRAITS OF MALACCA.
The old Strait of Singhapura, that lies between the island of Singapore and the mainland of Johore, is a narrow tortuous passage, for many centuries the only thoroughfare for ships passing to the eastward of Malacca. Not many years ago, where charming bungalows, the residences of the merchants, are built among the ever verdant foliage, it was but the home of hordes of piratical marauders, who carried on their depredations with a high hand, sometimes adventuring on distant voyages in fleets of forty or fifty prahus. Indeed, it is stated, in the old Malay annals, that for nearly two hundred years the entire population of Singapore and the surrounding islands and coasts of Johore subsisted on fishing and pirating; the former only being resorted to when the prevailing monsoon was too strong to admit of the successful prosecution of the latter. Single cases of piracy sometimes occur now; but it has been nearly stopped. Of the numberless vessels and boats which give life to the waters of the old strait, nearly all have honest work to do—fishing, timber carrying, or otherwise trading. “A very extraordinary flotilla,” says Mr. Cameron, “of a rather nondescript character may be often seen in this part of the strait at certain seasons of the year. These are huge rafts of unsawn, newly-cut timber; they are generally 500 or 600 feet long, and sixty or seventy broad, the logs being skilfully laid together, and carefully bound by strong rattan-rope, each raft often containing 2,000 logs. They have always one or two attap-houses built upon them, and carry crews of twenty or twenty-five men, the married men taking their wives and children with them. The timber composing them is generally cut many miles away, in some creek or river on the mainland.” They sometimes have sails. They will irresistibly remind the traveller of those picturesque rafts on the Rhine, on which there are cabins, with the smoke curling from their stove-pipes, and women, children, and dogs, the men with long sweeps keeping the valuable floating freight in the current. Many a German, now in England or America, made his first trip through the Fatherland to its coast on a Rhine raft.
The sailor generally makes his first acquaintance with the island of Singapore by entering through New Harbour, and the scenery is said to be almost unsurpassed by anything in the world. The steamer enters between the large island and a cluster of islets, standing high out of the water with rocky banks, and covered to their summits by rich green jungle, with here and there a few forest trees towering above it high in the air. Under the vessel’s keel, too, as she passes slowly over the shoaler patches of the entrance, may be seen beautiful beds of coral, which, in their variegated colours and fantastic shapes, vie with the scenery above. The Peninsular and Oriental Steamers’ wharfs are situated at the head of a small bay, with the island of Pulo Brani in front. They have a frontage of 1,200 feet, and coal sheds built of brick, and tile-roofed; they often contain 20,000 tons of coal. Including some premises in Singapore itself, some £70,000 or £80,000 have been expended on their station—a tolerable proof of the commercial importance of the place. Two other companies have extensive wharfs also. The passengers land here, and drive up to the city, a distance of some three miles. Those who remain on board, and “Jack” is likely to be of the number, for the first few days after arrival, find entertainment in the feats of swarms of small Malay boys, who immediately surround the vessel in toy boats just big enough to float them, and induce the passengers to throw small coins into the water, for which they dive to the bottom, and generally succeed in recovering. Almost all the ships visiting Singapore have their bottoms examined, and some have had as many as twenty or thirty sheets of copper put on by Malay divers. One man will put on as many as two sheets in an hour, going down a dozen or more times. There are now extensive docks at and around New Harbour.
On rounding the eastern exit of New Harbour, the shipping and harbour of Singapore at once burst on the view, with the white walls of the houses, and the dark verdure of the shrubbery of the town nearly hidden by the network of spars and rigging that intervenes. The splendid boats of the French Messageries, and our own Peninsular and Oriental lines, the opium steamers of the great firm of Messrs. Jardine, of China, and Messrs. Cama, of Bombay; and the beautifully-modelled American or English clippers, which have taken the place of the box-shaped, heavy-rigged East Indiamen of days of yore, with men-of-war of all nations, help to make a noble sight. This is only part of the scene, for interspersed are huge Chinese junks of all sizes, ranging up to 600 or 700 tons measurement. The sampans, or two-oared Chinese boats, used to convey passengers ashore, are identical in shape. All have alike the square bow and the broad flat stern, and from the largest to the smallest, on what in a British vessel would be called her “head-boards,” all have two eyes embossed and painted, glaring out over the water. John Chinaman’s explanation of this custom is, that if “no got eyes, no can see.” During the south-west monsoon they are in Singapore by scores, and of all colours, red, green, black, or yellow; these are said to be the badge of the particular province to which they belong. Ornamental painting and carving is confined principally to the high stern, which generally bears some fantastic figuring, conspicuous in which can invariably be traced the outlines of a spread eagle, not unlike that on an American dollar. Did “spread-eagleism” as well as population first reach America from China?
“It is difficult,” says Mr. Cameron, “while looking at these junks, to imagine how they can manage in a seaway; and yet at times they must encounter the heaviest weather along the Chinese coast in the northern latitudes. It is true that when they encounter a gale they generally run before it; but yet in a typhoon this would be of little avail to ease a ship. There is no doubt they must possess some good qualities, and, probably, speed, with a fair wind in a smooth sea, is one of them. Not many years ago a boat-builder in Singapore bought one of the common sampans used by the coolie boatmen, which are exactly the same shape as the junks, and rigged her like an English cutter, giving her a false keel, and shifting weather-board, and, strange to say, won with her every race that he tried.”
Passing