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mate, as we are sure of a fine coast breeze, with a better view of the scenery, no smoke or bad odors from heated oil, and much less jar from the machinery.
After breakfast the captain very kindly showed me over the boat, which was crowded with Chinese passengers, although there were only ten or twelve Europeans in the forward saloon. The main cobin aft was filled with the better class of Chinese, mostly merchants, and quite a number of small footed ladies. Every party had their chow chow, or lunch boxes. Most of the people were dressed in silk or broadcloth robes, and were squatted on fine mats on the floor, while the luggage was piled on chairs and seats. On the main deck were the second class natives, piled in so close that it was difficult to pass through. They were gathered in groups smoking, some tobacco, and a few opium, and nearly all were gambling. So inveterate is the habit of gambling that when a boy invests his copper cash in a handful of nuts he will bet with the seller whether the number is odd or even, or as to the number of seeds in an orange, agreeing if he loses to pay two cash instead of one. The officers of the Fire King are Americans, but of course the crew are coolies. The Chinese appreciate the value of time, for the common people pay a dollar fare for a seven hours ride in the steamer, rather than go in a junk for a quarter that sum and be two or three days on the way. To show how much behind the times are the English guide books, if you refer to "Bradshaw" you will find it recorded that "to go from Hong Kong to Canton you must take a native junk," although a daily line of steamers have been running for over ten years.
The first fifty miles of the route seems more like a broad bay than a river, and we thread our way swiftly, without a collision fortunately, through fleets of junks, some very large and gayly painted, and nearly all armed with rusty old cannon, that look more dangerous to the gunners than to the target they are aimed at.
At the narrow entrance to the Pearl River we pass quite close to the Bogue forts, once quite formidable but now in ruins. The British battered them down in 1856, and the shattered granite blocks remain as they were left at the close of the bombardment. Here I catch the first sight of a pagoda, perhaps 150 feet high with nine stories. It is curious that all the pagodas in
