A year in China

A voyage to China in a sailing vessel is an every-day occurrence, and its monotonous sea-life usually barren of interesting incidents; but taking a steamer, and making a sort of yachting trip of it, as it was our good fortune to do, renders it one of the most enjoyable pieces of sea-travel one can make.

We took passage for Hong-Kong in the Poyang,—a new steamer belonging to the mercantile house of Messrs. Olyphant & Co., and designed for navigating the Yangtsz-Kiang, one of the largest rivers of China. Although in appearance greatly like one of our river steamers, she was constructed,—in respect to strength and durability,—more on the model of our best sea-going vessels. She was also most ably commanded by Captain George Briggs, and left the dock at the foot of Tenth Street, East River, on the afternoon of October 26, 1861. Two or three steamers, built and intended for the river navigation of China, had, previous to this time, sailed from New York; but we believe none of them had carried passengers, while the Poyang had, with the women and children, sixteen. On going aboard the vessel we found her deck and cabins quite thronged with people, few of whom were incited by curiosity, but were attracted thither from affectionate interest, to make their final adieus, and to cheer with good wishes those of their friends who were about to leave for that far off land,—

The morning had been cloudy, and a slight drizzling rain, which set in a little before the warning bell summoned our friends to leave the vessel, did not tend to make our last farewells the more cheerful. A steam-tug was to accompany us down the Narrows, and the Messrs. Olyphant, with a party of friends, together with several clergymen and some friends of the passengers, remaining on board, we enjoyed their companionship for two or three hours longer, during which time a cold collation was served; and having some missionaries among our passengers, interesting religious services were had in the cabin, when, with much earnest prayer, we were commended to the care of our heavenly Father. The time for the return of these friends having at length arrived, the steamer was stopped, and with many adieus they were safely transferred from the vessel to the tug. Then amid loud cheers and the waving of handkerchiefs we separated; and as the distance was fast widening between us, the colors of each vessel were constantly dipping, and making their last signals of farewell. There was also a general waving of handkerchiefs from the silent group on our quarter-deck, and a straining of moistened eyes to get a last look of the little vessel, whose final disappearance, upon the far-off horizon, told us that we had bidden a long farewell to dear friends and Fatherland.

Our good steamer ploughed swiftly through the billows, and in a short time we were well out at sea, having ample opportunity, before reaching the rough Gulf Stream, to look about and note our surroundings as they affected our prospects for a comfortable or an uncomfortable voyage. The kind and stirring character of our stewardess soon satisfied us as to our cabin prospects, nor did she in the least disappoint our expectations. In all respects we were well cared for, and everything was arranged to make us as comfortable as we could be during so long a voyage. The next morning we were in the Gulf Stream, where we had very rough weather for three days,—during which time, as we expected, sea-sickness made its appearance, but fortunately, in nearly every case, to be of only brief duration. It soon left us to the full and uninterrupted enjoyment of sea-life; but our early recovery we attribute chiefly to remaining much of the time upon deck, and to constant regularity at meals;—the sensible advice, as it proved to be, of a friend experienced in voyaging, and which we commend to all others who may at any time be similarly circumstanced with ourselves. A few of the passengers, however, suffered greatly; and the state-rooms becoming uncomfortable as we entered the warm latitudes, the half-way invalids arranged themselves at their ease in the cabin; some lying down, and others in a variety of attitudes, sitting and bracing themselves against the sides of the cabin, with lugubriously distressed faces, presented pictures of a life on the ocean wave which embodied far more of the grotesque than the picturesque.

We had entered the tropics, and the heat increasing, although we were almost constantly favored with a fine cool sea-breeze, our dining-saloon was becoming too warm for comfort. This was somewhat remedied by resorting to the punka-frame,—being a frame, as its name implies, covered with muslin and placed over the table, where at meal-time it was put in motion by the machinery of the vessel, and served all the purposes of a fan. The weather was charming, and we steamed along as quietly as though on a placid river. We had a kind and polite company of passengers, and there being clergymen among the number, prayers were had in the cabin morning and evening, and religious services were held in the dining-saloon every Sunday, to which all were invited. Our experienced and gentlemanly captain and his officers were men to inspire confidence; and the rough passage through the Gulf Stream had fully satisfied us that our vessel was a stanch and firm sailing craft, and also that whatever experience and skill could do for our safety during the voyage, would be done.

On the morning of the 9th of November we sighted St. Antonio, the northernmost of the Cape de Verd Islands. The atmosphere was hazy, and at a distance of twenty miles the island had the appearance of a bank of clouds resting upon the horizon. On closer observation, however, we saw the rugged sides of the mountain steeps; and what had appeared to be a heavy, dark cloud, became the well-defined crest of a mountain, which loomed up in the centre of the island to the height of seven thousand four hundred feet above the level of the sea. We coasted for some time within four or five miles of its rocky, precipitous sides, finding it sublime in lofty peaks, deep gorges, and barren wastes, which, with its shadowy ravines, presented a series of grandly unique pictures. The sea was of the purest aqua-marine hue,—a lovely, tropical sea,—and so clear that one could easily follow the movements of the finny tribe far down in what seemed to be the deepest deep.

The Cape de Verd Islands belong to Portugal, and are of volcanic formation, many of them being nothing more than masses of barren rocks and mountains. They are three hundred miles distant from the coast of Africa, and have a hot and unhealthy climate.

We were to stop for coals at Porte au Grande, the chief port of the island of St. Vincent, and, leaving the shores of St. Antonio, a sail of thirteen miles brought us to the entrance of the fine bay which forms the harbor of this island. On nearing the shore we found the scenery more wildly picturesque in jagged rocks, and wonderful mountain peaks, than at St. Antonio; and it did not require any very great effort of the imagination to transform the singularly castellated and battlemented cliffs into ruined castles and fortresses of the olden time.

The little town or village of Port au Grande,—a miserably squalid nook of houses,—lies on the borders of a beautiful bay which is shut in on the south, east, and west by mountains, one of which, directly in the rear of the settlement, appears like an old fortress, and has a cloud continually resting upon its summit. The bay itself opens to the north, from which quarter one gets a cool sea-breeze; and in the distance, through a yellowish gray, dusty atmosphere are seen the mountains of St. Antonio. It is said that this peculiar atmosphere is produced by an impalpable sand blown by the wind from the African coast.

There are but few white people in this colony, but the African race are quite numerous. We were coaled by these people, who are not slaves, but, in common with the whites, are always spoken of as Portuguese. There are slaves on some of these islands, but the Portuguese Government some two or three years ago passed a law manumitting them in fourteen years. They speak a patois of Portuguese, English, and French, mingled with their African dialect. Little boats lying just under the stern of our vessel were filled with these people, all chatting glibly, and most curiously interlarding their conversation with an occasional word of English or French, which only made their unintelligible jargon seem the more rude and barbarous. The houses had a most miserable appearance, and were stuccoed in the Oriental style with a kind of dirty yellow or cream-colored chunam. The place boasts of one Romish church, the priests of which are Africans, who have been educated and prepared for the position which they occupy by Portuguese missionaries. Some of our passengers visited this church for the purpose of witnessing a marriage ceremony; but their account of it, together with the other services performed there, did not impress us very favorably either in regard to the priests or the people. The weather was very warm,—the mercury rising as high as 87° in the shade on reaching the islands. There is very little vegetation here; but we observed the palm growing before one or two houses in the town, and we also found some tropical fruits, but they were grown on the more fertile and productive islands. This island is mostly sterile, while St. Antonio has some fruitful valleys.

There were two wells a little back of the shores of the bay,—one of them an Oriental-like fountain, which, with its shrubs and overhanging trees, was a very attractive object. The life-picture which this fountain presented at evening, when resorted to by the young women of the place,—who, filling their water-jars, and placing them on their heads stepped lightly homeward,—reminded us that we were fast journeying towards the East.

We displayed the American flag and fired two guns on entering the harbor; but, although there were two United States vessels, besides some English and French, lying at anchor within the bay, none of them noticed us. This, however, was satisfactorily explained when the English Consul boarded the steamer; for we then learned that we had been mistaken for the Rebel pirate Sumter, and that our approach, and entrance into the port, had caused a good deal of commotion in the little colony, the Home Government of which had but a short time before sent instructions to the Governor that no privateers, of the so-called Southern Confederacy, should be permitted to stop in those waters for coals or other supplies; and the officials, being determined to carry out these instructions, were already on the point of bringing some guns from a little fort, perched on the steep mountain-side, and placing them in a position where they could be brought to bear upon our vessel. The masters of the United States ships were also, for a short time, in great trepidation; and one captain of a whaler made ready to slip his cable as we steamed towards the bay. He hailed from New Bedford; but, instead of being obliged to run away from us, came on board with evident pleasure, bringing a boat-load of his men to attend our Sunday religious services. Before reaching these islands we fell in with several vessels, but in almost every instance, when our colors were unfurled, there was no recognition of the civility until the distance between us was fast increasing; and one vessel in particular we thought exceedingly ill-bred, in not at all noticing our salutations. It seemed now to us very evident that we had all along been mistaken for a Rebel pirate. Our vessel was long, low, and dark-looking; but with all these suspicious circumstances against us, it seemed as though, whenever we sighted a strange ship, or were entering a strange port, that a single glance through a glass at the women and children on our quarter-deck, would have satisfied any one that our mission was anything but piratical.

The heat had so increased that on the twelfth day of November the mercury stood at 89°; but although we were to steam directly into a region of much fiercer heat, we were glad to hear, at noon, that our vessel was coaled and nearly ready for sea. Towards evening we took a last look of the beautiful harbor of Porte au Grande, with its remarkable surroundings; and steaming out of the bay, found ourselves the next morning coasting along the island of Fuego,[1] and near to the foot of a mountain by that name, which is a volcanic peak, and has given its appellation to the island. It was a matter of regret that this volcano was not in a state of eruption, as we were not more than twelve miles from it, and could distinctly trace the rough and jagged edge of the crater, and the deep seams down which the lava had formerly flowed to the sea. Another lofty mountain, reminding us, in its outline, of the best pictures we have of Mount Ararat, loomed up by the side of Fuego; but no mountain on any of the islands can compare with the latter either in height or grandeur of appearance.

We passed the southernmost point of Fuego, having the island of St. Jago, the largest, most populous, and productive of the Cape de Verd group, on our left. We were too far distant, however, to see the land distinctly, and before the 15th of the month had left the whole group far behind, and were nearing the African coast. Shortly after leaving the islands we were spoken by an English merchantman; and it was quite interesting to observe (although we were several miles distant from each other) how easily our captain and his first officer, with the aid of a glass, translated the nautical signs by means of Marryatt’s well-devised code of signals. The ship in question was the Ocean Gem, bound for Cape Coast Castle; and the captain wished us to report her at the first port we entered. Cape Coast Castle brought painfully to mind the sad fate of L. E. L.,—the gifted Miss Landon; and her own words,—

“But thou dost leave thy memory like a ghost,”—

seemed sadly in keeping while sailing so near the spot where her sudden death, still somewhat involved in mystery, occurred.

When in the latitude of Sierra Leone and Liberia, we were fifty miles off the coast of Africa, and our first view of this continent was near Cape Mesurado. It was a very warm, although a bright and beautiful tropical morning; and after passing a little south of the Cape we coasted within eight or ten miles of the shore, having in full view a region of country most luxuriant in rich tropical verdure. The land is low near the sea, but rises with gentle undulations in the distance; and with the aid of a glass the thatched huts of the natives could be distinctly seen, sprinkled among what seemed to be extensive and beautiful groves of the palm. Many of these groves stretched back as far as the eye could reach; and the trees being of magnificent growth, the landscape presented a scene of the most surpassing beauty. The sea-shore was dotted with fishermen’s huts; and wherever the eye turned, vegetation wore an aspect rich and luxurious beyond description.

While admiring one of these lovely landscapes a little after mid-day, opposite the Grain Coast, several small and frail-looking canoes suddenly made their appearance upon the waters around us, each one being paddled by a stout man, and a boy of not more than twelve or fifteen years. When first seen one of the little craft was making every effort to reach us; and her sable navigators were, by signs, trying to induce us to stop and barter with them for fish; but paddle for dear life, as both old and young Africa seemed to do, they were disappointed; yet nothing daunted they still persevered in the chase, their little shuttle-shaped canoe darting beautifully over and between the waves; until, in the end, they were compelled to give us up and return. In ten or fifteen minutes, however, another canoe appeared, as if by magic, still nearer to the vessel; whereupon we were so importuned that our captain finally gave orders for stopping the engine, and then called stoutly for Africa to come alongside. This graceful little bark, like the first, was manned by two persons, whom we thought to be father and son; and they evidently understood the full force of the phrases,—“Now come on as fast as you can,” “pull away,” “paddle hard,” &c. They sat in the bottom of the canoe, and their paddles, which were made of bamboo, were plied without their moving the body; being first thrust into the water on one side, and then on the other, with an extraordinary ease, dexterity, and grace, while they were approaching us with marvellous speed; now with prow and half her length in air, then sinking behind a wave we nearly lost sight of her, but directly would appear the heads and shoulders of these athletic, dusky people, giving unmistakable proof of possessing some skill, with much vigorous bone and muscle. On nearing the ship they made us understand by signs that another of their boats, directly in the rear, contained a man capable of speaking English; and just then another canoe was seen coming, if possible, with greater swiftness, the men paddling and propelling her like athletes, while she darted through the water with the celerity of an arrow from a well-strung bow; and being in a moment alongside our vessel the occupants lost no time in endeavoring to barter their fish for bread and clothes. During the progress of these negotiations some sea-biscuit was given them, which they devoured with evident relish.

These fishermen did not have stupid faces, but their countenances beamed with an intelligent and eager interest when nearing us; not merely an animal eagerness, nor was it that dull and brutified expression which some maintain to be a predominant characteristic of the African in a state of nature.

The vessel being once more under way, one of our Anglo-African friends complacently waved his hand, and, bowing, said “Adieu!” and when responded to by some one on board ship, seemed much delighted, and, as if proud of his knowledge of the English language, animatingly rejoined,—“Good-night!” A good-night salutation from such a source, and addressed to us, a company of voyagers from the far-off occident, who at that moment were in danger of coup de soleil from the mid-day heat of a blazing tropical sun, afforded us great merriment; and altogether, our falling in with this strangely unfortunate race broke pleasantly into the monotony of our sea-life, and gave us new and interesting topics of thought and conversation. The coast opposite was about fifty miles from Monrovia, and these fishermen had probably obtained the little knowledge of English, which they possessed, in process of intercourse with that settlement. The next night we passed Cape Palmas,—a point we greatly wished to see,—but the sky was dark, and no land visible. Before morning, however, we had reached the Gulf of Guinea, and on the 21st of November passed the most eastern meridian of Greenwich, crossing the equator the same night.

Our entrance into the South Atlantic was disagreeable in the extreme. It was the rainy season, which one must experience in order to have any idea of the discomforts of its damp, chilly, and yet sultry atmosphere. Everything becomes saturated with moisture, and “the damp, the mould, the rain,” penetrates into one’s bone and marrow, as well as into all of one’s personal effects. We found it necessary to put on woollen garments, although the mercury indicated a temperature of 84° and upwards,—one day reaching even to 93°. Accustomed as all of us were to great extremes of heat, this weather proved most trying and debilitating,—the chilly dampness giving us aching limbs; nor was the blazing tropical sun, which shone forth with its withering heat, after every shower, less to be dreaded.

The night of the 26th of November was very dark and rainy; and as we were nearing the port of St. Paul de Loando there was a constant heaving of the lead, and ringing of the bell for the engine to be put at half speed, until after midnight; when, not having any pilot, and it not being sufficiently light to admit of steaming into the bay with safety, we laid to. At eight bells, the daylight beginning to appear, we were again on the move, with the shores of Western Africa in full view; and before breakfast, turning a high, sandy bluff, entered and anchored within the harbor. We were directly boarded by our Consul, Mr. Cunningham, and some Portuguese officials; the former of whom remained to breakfast with us, and was evidently pleased at our arrival. He is a New Englander, and has lived here, altogether, nine years; having visited the United States only once during that period. From him we learned many interesting particulars in regard to this colony and its inhabitants; but a life here must be disagreeable and solitary in the extreme, for an Anglo-Saxon, and we only wonder how any of our race can ever become accustomed to the fierce heat and disagreeable character of the climate.

We anchored in a spacious and beautiful bay, the shores of which were very bold and barren. Iron and copper abound in this and the adjacent regions of country; and the bluffs are composed of a coarse ferruginous sand, having very dark surfaces, in consequence of the liberal admixture of iron in the soil. At one point, below the bluff formation, in a part of a curve of the bay near the sea, this cuir-colored sand is heaped in small pyramids, in shape not unlike those of Upper Egypt. Little is known of their formation, but every year they become smaller, and are imperceptibly wasting away. They are four-sided, and the outer edges of their angles are as smooth and regular as though constructed of masonry. This, together with their uniformity of position, on the curve line of the bay, gives them every appearance of having been formed by the hand of man.

Loando is a well-known Portuguese colony, formerly one of the greatest slave marts on the coast, and no friend of humanity can enter the port without indulging in the most painful reminiscences of the sad wrongs and cruelties formerly perpetrated in these waters. In consequence of the strict espionage, however, which the English Government now maintains on the high seas, the slave-trade cannot be carried on successfully; and an English Commissioner, whose presence is not overmuch relished, is also stationed here, in order to see that the treaty stipulations are properly regarded. But for this precaution, it is feared that the Portuguese Government would endeavor to revive their horrible traffic in human beings at the first favorable opportunity.

The town of Loando is situated on a high, sandy bluff, sloping quite down to the water, and the houses of the European residents, which are constructed of sun-dried bricks, with very thick walls, are of two stories, and furnished with verandas. They are located along the curve of the bay, so as to command the cool sea-breezes, and are finished externally with pale yellow chunam. The roofs are flat and tiled, while those of the natives are thatched. The windows are not glazed, but are draped with some kind of curtain fabric instead, and in some instances with a fine matting made by the natives.

There are four churches in the place, one of which—an old cathedral, but now falling into ruins—was built more than two hundred years ago. We were informed, however, by a Portuguese officer, that no one but the priests attend at the morning service of mass; and that only a few negro women were to be seen at church at any time during the day; and yet but a few weeks before our arrival there was an importation into this colony of a bishop and thirty priests, from the mother country. There is a large, low, and substantially built Custom-house near the beach, where most of the commercial business is transacted, and nearly all the importations are sold at auction. The town is lighted with oil, and as seen of an evening from the quarter-deck of the Poyang, presented quite a brilliant and imposing appearance. It is, however, fast going to decay,—the slave-trade, which enriched and built it up, being nearly destroyed; this mart, that once nourished, and was supported by the ill-gotten gains of cruelty and oppression, has now lost nearly all outward appearance of thrift and prosperity.

Our attention was particularly arrested, on first entering the harbor, by the situation of the three forts whose battlements frown over its waters. One,—the San Pedro, built on the bluff point around which we sailed on entering the bay,—is in a most commanding position to guard the channel through which vessels enter from the north. It is built of brick, with an exterior finish of chunam, like that of the private houses in the town. The San Francisco stands three quarters of a mile farther down in the curve of the bay, on a low, sandy point or beach, extending quite out into the water. This fortification is also of brick, and is finished with a chunam mixture, which gives it the appearance of being constructed of a light gray limestone. The last of these three fortifications—the San Miguel—is built on the extreme and highest point of the bluff on which the town is situated, and is a much larger and more formidable structure than either of the other two; and commanding, as it does, the entire sweep of the bay, can be made a sure defence for the place from any attacks of vessels of war.

The native population of Loando and the adjacent villages is said to be 40,000, with only three thousand Portuguese; and of the latter four hundred are convicts, sent here by the Home Government to garrison the forts, protect the people, and sustain the laws. (?) There certainly can be but little confidence inspired by the presence of soldiers made up of such characters; nor can a colony defended by them be a very desirable retreat. The Portuguese ladies appear on the promenade only towards evening, and are then carried in palanquins by their slaves. The extreme heat did not permit of our making an excursion in the vicinity of the town, and we saw but little, therefore, of its natural attractions. The tamarind tree was nourishing, and in full bloom, a little back on the shores of the bay,—its delicate foliage of exquisite green contrasting beautifully with the surrounding landscape.

Only a few of the whites speak pure Portuguese, nor can one directly from the mother country understand the patois in use. It is a mixture of Portuguese and Congo, but made up more of the latter than the former. The Portuguese themselves fall into the habit of using it, and are compelled to do so from necessity, as all their servants,—slaves,—as well as the rest of the people about them, speak either this lingo or the pure Congo.

Two vessels bearing the American flag were lying at anchor as we entered the harbor, one of which,—the J. T. Dodd,—a large American bark, was towed from up the coast a few days previous, by an English gun-boat that fell in with her while cruising in search of slavers. She was first seen near Cape Palmas, and her commander (professing to be the first mate) said that the captain and some of the crew had gone into the interior to bargain for palm oil and ivory, of which they proposed taking a cargo. The vessel had formerly been a slaver, and had already taken two cargoes of slaves from this coast, with the last of which she was herself taken and sold as a slaver. Her appearance now was very suspicious; but nothing could be done, as her papers were all right, and her clearance dated from Cadiz, although her crew were Portuguese. Having, however, all the appliances for shipping a cargo of slaves, the gun-boat hovered about her for many days. She was old, decayed, and in a leaky condition; and her self-styled mate finding that he could not elude the vigilance of John Bull, finally made a virtue of necessity, and wisely concluding that his old craft was unseaworthy, engaged the captain of the gun-boat to tow her into this port, where she was sold the day after our arrival for $2500.

Here, as at Rio, in South America, the slave boatmen always sing at their work, and their strangely irregular and monotonous refrains are heard from early morn until late at night. The coaling of our ship was done by these men in the following manner: The coals to be shipped were lying on the shore directly opposite where we were at anchor, and a gang of slaves rowed lighters to the beach, where there was another gang of men and women, with native baskets, shaped much like our New England wooden bowls, and holding nearly half a bushel. These they filled with coals, and placing them on their heads waded out to the lighters, into which they deposited their contents. At the ship the coals were hoisted from the boats in large tubs, by means of a pulley and tackle; and at the head of the gang doing this work was a tall Congo, of fine physique and great muscular strength, who, full of animation, cheered on the men, and acting as a sort of fugleman for the party, was the first to pull at the tackle and the first to stop, each time giving the word of command to the rest of the gang. He also led them in singing their wild and mournful refrains, pulling at the rope, and keeping excellent time; now assuming the most fantastic and comical attitudes, and now with the head, body, and hands in motion, keeping up a sort of half dancing, half stepping movement of the feet, at once very grotesque and amusing. If at any time a pause in their labors chanced to occur, this man, waving his hand and throwing back his head, with delighted expression and a broad grin on his features, began the singing and dancing with renewed energy, which quickly communicated itself to the whole gang, and for a few minutes the scene before us was startlingly wild and weird-like. These people work slowly, and an overseer was constantly moving about among the shore-gang, with a whip in one hand, ready, as one of our passengers remarked, to stir them up the moment they showed any disposition to flag in their labors. We trust that the day is not far distant when, in our intercourse and dealings with this unfortunate race, there will be some recognition of the principle taught by our Saviour’s golden rule,—“As ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to them likewise.” The most valuable of these slaves can be purchased on the coast for twelve or fourteen dollars a head, while at the island of Cuba, and also in most of the Southern Slave States, previous to the rebellion, they would have brought as many hundreds,—and one of our party thought that the leaders of the gang would there be valued as high as two thousand dollars! None of this unfortunate race that came under our observation appeared weak either in mind or body, nor did their faces indicate a vicious and hardened character. Several grades of them visited the vessel, most of whom were tall, well-formed men, arrayed in all kinds of African costume—some more or less grotesque in appearance—and many wearing only the cummerbund; while others, bearing themselves with a manly and reserved air, were elaborately and picturesquely draped in cotton prints of large figures, and strikingly brilliant colors. We had two subordinate Custom-house officers on board, night and day, as long as we remained in port, who were also pure Africans, but dressed in the European style. All the high officials were Portuguese of gentlemanly bearing, and wearing the showy uniform of Southern Europe.

We received an early visit from the English Consul, Sir Henry Hartley, a Post-Captain in the Royal Navy. He is a man quite advanced in years, having been in the naval service at the time of the fall of Napoleon, and was also on board the ship that carried him a prisoner to St. Helena. There was no English mail steamer from this dark, out-of-the-way corner of the earth, and we were greatly indebted to Sir Henry for his thoughtful and kind politeness in offering to send our home mail, with his despatches, to the English Consul at Lisbon, where they would be forwarded to England, and thence to the United States.