Part 8 (2/2)
I pa.s.sed amid the s.h.i.+ps of all kinds, large and small, which crowd the harbour; boat-houses (literally dwelling-houses) of the natives who at Hong Kong, as at Canton and Shanghai, and other places, live in the wherries in aggregate thousands. Small and limited is the accommodation, truly, when a family, with a pig, and perhaps ducks, live on board. The chances are in favour of drowning; but the _male_ children are tied to the gunwale; the girls are let to go as they please, and if they disappear--it is ”only a girl”! There is little care for life in China--of the natives, I mean--and least of all for female children.
The evening was drawing in, and I had not found any vessel on which I recognised the so-called ”j.a.ps.” There were hundreds of s.h.i.+ps of all sorts, and I was pleased to hear a hail in English from a clipper schooner as I was pa.s.sing in the dusk.
I pulled alongside the vessel whence the ”hail” had come, and, when close aboard, I recognised the speaker as a friend who had a.s.sisted me once or twice in the past when I had been unhappy and in need. His name was Eagan.
Glancing along the trim and natty decks of the schooner, I gained the gangway. The little s.h.i.+p was ready to put to sea, the anchor was already weighed, and the schooner was only fast to a buoy, for the breeze was light. I recognised the craft as a former smuggling vessel, and named _Harada_ by her late owner. She traded in ”natives” up the coast, and to Formosa, the Pescadores, and as far as Shanghai, or even farther north.
”Hallo! back again?” I cried, as I clasped Eagan's hand.
”Why, certainly,” he replied; ”think I'd scooted? What are _you_ prowling about for?”
”Simple curiosity,” I said. ”Thanks, yes, I'll have a 'peg,” I added, as he indicated refreshment by a nod in the direction of the cabin.
”A tidy berth this,” I continued. ”Suits you, anyway.”
”Yes, not badly. What's your _simple curiosity_ led you to? I can estimate the curiosity, but I don't see where the simplicity comes in.”
”Really?” I asked, as I watched him mixing a soothing draught.
”No, really. What's your spot? What's your little game?”
”My game! I'm just sculling around--that's all.”
”By accident. One of your freaks, o' course! Still acting on the _Feng Shui_, I suppose?”
”Yes; but confirmed now--second.”
”Ah! Going north yet?”
”Presently--I mean by and by. When do _you_ sail again?”
”When I receive sailin' orders. Maybe to-morrow--maybe never.”
”Come, Eagan, you're mysterious, for _you_! Your anchor's a-peak, and you are loosing sails. You are just off. What's the game? Whither bound--honour bright?”
He paused and looked at his tumbler, then raised it and looked at the lamp through the liquid the gla.s.s contained. He slowly brought his eyes back upon mine, and said--
”Honour it is! Chemulpo perhaps--Shanghai certain.”
”Oh!” I exclaimed. ”I say, Eagan, what's your _j.a.p_ up to?” He started and stared at me, then he replied--
”I say, Jule, what's your _Chinese_ up to?”
”_Rats_,” I replied. ”What's the coil _here_?”
”_Snakes_,” he retorted. ”What's your notion?”
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