wind is tearing up the sea, and clouds—and
waves, and gale, as we near the vortex, get all
mixed together in wild hubbub of air and water—
that the mind put into a weatherly European
ship comes out, and the junk, water-logged and
pooped, goes helplessly to the bottom.

There are very splendid junks, owned by
leviathan merchants, the props of the opium
trade, or the tea trade, or silk trade, or birds'-nest
and seaweed trade, or possibly of that
Canton cotton guild which offered to stake
thirty thousand pounds sterling on our second
repulse from the Peiho forts. Often these
junks are as roomy as one of our own old
"Jackass" frigates and, with very considerable
stowage for cargo, have exceedingly gorgeous
cabins for the owner and captain:—as fine,
indeed, as they are to be made with paint,
tinsel, and carving. Such cabins are very
luxurious affairs indeed; they have silk curtains
and ottomans, delicate mats, and carpets of the
yellow wool (for it is more like wool than hair)
of the Tartar yâk, furniture inlaid with mother-
of-pearl, coral, and crystals of different colours,
and pillars and window-lattices of carved ivory
so elaborately worked as to look like point lace.
Round mirrors of polished metal, great old
porcelain vases made at Nankin and Song-tcheou
m the palmy days of the now degenerate
manufacture, jars full of wonderful flowers, flags
embroidered with amazing prodigality of toil and
gold thread, astonish the European who visits
his acquaintance Ching, or Chang, or Ho-Sin, on
board one of these floating palaces. Sometimes
the pavilion is ornamented by a row of the
gilded and hideous effigies of the owner's
ancestors, standing in richly carved niches, and
these are not seldom mistaken for idols: a mistake
the more pardonable because there are generally
incense-lamps kept steaming in front of the
images, and their heads are usually adorned with
fresh garlands of the choicest flowers. In junks
of this class you may even see a little pagoda,
flaunting with red flags and glowing with paint,
sprout out of the deck, like a strange excrescence.
Within it, is an image of Buddha, frightful
and bejewelled, with two yellow-faced
bonzes, who trim the lamps that burn before
the idol. This is rare, however, though we often
see a small image of Buddha let into a niche
beneath the compass, handy to receive worship
from any Buddhist sailor.

The compass is never absent from a sea-going
junk. The Chinese are proud of the honour of
its discovery, and it is a pride which has now
lasted them four thousand years, by their own
showing. They still prefer their original
compass to more perfect European instruments, and
in a handsome junk the whole binnacle arrangement
has very much the air of an altar. It is
tinselled and flowered, has a silken drapery for
grand occasions, and, in a niche opposite to the
little bronze Buddha, displays the effigy of Fei-ho,
the inventor of all central civilised arts, with a
small slice of the tche-chy, or loadstone, hanging
like a talisman round his neck, while a huge
painted lantern dangles from above. To do the
Chinese justice, though their compass is a
primitive one, they know how to make good use of
it, and they guard the precious needle from
deflection with most jealous care. They are
especially averse on this account to iron cannon,
iron anchors, wire ropes, iron chains, or any
other masses of iron, which must not be
permitted to approach the sacred compass. Before
our navy had adopted the process of "swinging"
an outward-bound ship, was perfectly
well known in China. In the same way, the
modern plan of dividing the hull into watertight
compartments has been practised by the
Chinese time out of mind, and has saved many a
valuable freight from being spoiled, and many a
crew from drowning, ages before our ship-builders
had dreamed of such an innovation. Indeed
it is curious to think how active the inventive
faculty in China must at some past time have
been, and how early its progress must have been
arrested. When our ancestors had no vessels
more trustworthy than wicker coracles covered
with hides, the Chinese junks were as we see
them now.

Going forward along the clean decks, and
passing the bamboo hatches of the enormous
hold, we come to the dens of the sailors. It is
wonderful to see the narrow airless holes in
which those sailors contrive to live, and laugh
and cook, and smoke, and sleep. The
atmosphere when they are below decks is nearly as
dreadful as that of a slaver, yet the broad-faced
muscular fellows, in their rattan hats and dirty
cottons, appear to be happy, vigorous, and
light-hearted, as they boil their mess of rice and beans,
or stew the fish they have just hauled up with
those many-hooked lines that are hanging all
about the bows, or as they dreamily puff at their
tiny opium-pipes. Probably there is to be heard
towards the forecastle the noise of a tom-tom, or
drum-gong, and a portion of the crew is to be
found singing and dancing, or, perhaps, going
through some low comedy performance, with
their own native aptitude for mimicry. They
are absolutely amphibious; this is the case with
the whole population of the river banks and
sea-coast; and I have more than once wondered
at the feats of diving they perform, when
anything has been dropped overboard. To swim and
dive are not accomplishments among the Chinese
mariners; their wonder is all for the awkwardness
of European seamen. Very many of our seamen
and marines do not swim at all, and a skilful
diver is as rare on board one of our men-of-war
as a black swan in Rome. Not only do the
Chinese sailors, and the fishers, and the watermen,
swim and dive like so many rats, but every
member of the myriads of families whose
floating abodes, arks swarming with life, are to be
seen on all the rivers and canals, is thoroughly
at home in water, even to the very young
children, who, although they are buoyed up with
gourds and bladders as precaution against
accident, can often swim much better than they
walk. Accordingly, it is not easy to drown
a Chinaman in sight of land.

The wages of a Chinese sailor are not high;