CANTON
| THE RIVER PIRATES |
HE cruise to Canton begins, in this instance, from the Harbor of Hongkong around the evening hour of ten, when the velvety blackness of the hot oriental night has settled around the traveler, making him feel a bit uncomfortable—as if he were shrouded in a thick, woolen blanket and confined in a warm room on a July day.
In the city of Victoria, resting on the rim of the harbor, there gleams a profusion of lights which silvers in places the mist hanging over the island. The lights are constantly flickering, some dying all of a sudden and others blazing forth where the fingers of night had been piling up dark shadows just a moment before.
A weird cry arises from the water front and is flung back by the multifold echoes. The cry comes from a group of men engaged in a dispute on one of the piers. The echo seems to startle them, for they run, bending low and glancing over their backs. The clump, clump of police boots is heard, and a thread of light from a flash-light travels through the gloom. A spurt of orange-colored flame and a staccato "crack-crack." Some one is being reckless.
A broad beam of light from a search-light on a warship, whose outlines are vaguely discernible in the distance, attracts the attention—since all men resemble moths, in that they are more or less fascinated by light. The warship flashes a signal to an invisible receiver. The flood of light is checked as suddenly as it was released. Points of reflected light glisten from the tops of small waves in the harbor. It's a question whether the light comes from the city or from the crescent moon which hangs from a wreath of clouds in the sky.
The voyage begins, and after crossing the harbor the river steamer is lost for a time in a tortuous channel wriggling in and around the maze of small islands between Hongkong and the mainland.
In about two hours' time the ancient Bogue fortresses come into view, and the
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