This port, which is also the seat of the government of the Straits Settlements, has not inaptly been called the “Liverpool of the East,” and the applicability of that title soon becomes evident to the stranger from “home,” who finds himself on the landing-stage at Tanjong Paggar for the first time. Here is a range of warehouses or “godowns” for the storage of goods, and coaling sheds for the supply of the mail and other steamers moored alongside. One is soon glad to get away from the heat, the noise of the steam winch, and the coal-dust; and a gharry or cab having been procured, the dusky Jehu springs to his seat on the shaft, from which “coign of vantage” he uses both whip and voice in urging on at a gallop a plucky little pony, scarcely larger than a donkey, and most probably bred either in Sumatra or Pegu. You meet other little ponies in other little gharries coming full tilt down the road to the wharf, a string of buffalo-carts, or occasionally a neat little private carriage, and you soon become aware of the fact that Singapura, as it is still called, of the Malays is both hot and dusty. On you go, and the stuffy little gharry, even if it has no windows, soon becomes as hot as an oven, and the perspiration streams from every pore. By the time you reach the hotels the chances are that your shirt and collar are in the state best described as “pulpy;” and if you are of a sanguine temperament, your face may be said to resemble “the rising sun.” Of course you have kept your eyes open as you came along past the rough hedges on the right clothed with red lantanas, the neat police-station on the bank to the left, with those beautiful crimson and buff-flowered hibiscus bushes before the door. Then the rows of Chinese houses and shops, an elaborate Hindoo temple or two of white stone, and then street after street of whitewashed red tile roofed shops, until you reach the square, where you meet your agent, or to the hotels, nearly all of which are clustered around the tall spire of the cathedral, which you will have seen as the ship steamed slowly into harbour. The chances are you will have been recommended to one or other of the hotels by some knowing friend.

The Hotel de l’Europe is the principal one; but at the time I arrived in Singapore the chef-de-cuisine had such a bad name that I was recommended elsewhere. One is sure to be comfortable at any of the first-class houses at prices varying from two to five dollars daily, or less by monthly arrangement. For this sum one may secure a more or less comfortable bedroom or suite simply whitewashed, the floor covered with yellow rattan matting, which is both cool and clean. The walls, as a rule, do not boast of anything great in the way of pictorial embellishment; at night, however, lively little insect-eating lizards disport themselves thereon; and then, too, the hum of the hungry mosquito is heard. In the morning you rise soon after gun-fire (5 A.M.). It is daylight about 6 A.M.; and after partaking of a cup of tea or coffee, and the inevitable two bits of toast, you have a walk. Everybody nearly seems astir. While dressing, the chances are you will hear a gentle tap at the door, or hearing it opened very cautiously, you turn suddenly, and are startled by a dusky apparition in an enormous white turban. It is an itinerant Kling, or Hindoo Figaro, who seeing you are one of the new arrivals by yesterday’s mail, would like to shave you, or cut your hair, at a charge of half a dollar.

Strolling outside into the main thoroughfares you see a strange motley crowd. The markets are full to overflowing with edibles of all kinds; meat, fish, vegetables, and fruit lie about in glorious profusion. Here a heap of fresh fish of the most vivid colours, there a pile of yellow pine-apples or bright scarlet chilies, oranges, pomoloes, mangosteen and rambutan, Chinese long beans, fresh green lettuces and young onions, tomatoes, and the hundred and one elements of native cookery, which are perfectly unintelligible to any but native eyes. Chinese coolies coming in from the interior of the island laden with fruit and vegetables, or other commodities. Sleek fat-faced celestials in black jackets, loose white trousers, and white European felt hats, taking their morning’s stroll, and in every doorway gaunt-featured Chinese artizans of the tailor and shoemaker type sit or stand enjoying the cool fresh air and their morning’s whiff of tobacco at the same time. The Chinese predominate, but you will find dusky spider-limbed Klings and the more compact little brown Malays fairly represented. You will notice gharries coming into town laden with Chinese traders, and other vehicles bring in the European storekeepers, agents, clerks, &c. You return about eight o’clock, and have a bath, and then dress for breakfast.

As you sit in the verandah or open basement awaiting the gong for breakfast being struck, various itinerant traders, generally Klings or Chinese, try to tempt you with their wares, for which they ask about five times as much as they are worth, or could be bought for in London. Japanese and Chinese fans, slippers, cabinets, lacquer ware, and carved ivory goods, all of second or third rate value, form their stock in trade in general, while some offer gold brocade worked for slippers or smoking-caps, crape handkerchiefs and shawls, or Indian embroidery, and even socks and white handkerchiefs of cheap European make.

Of course, to a new arrival, everything is strange, and not the least perplexing is the Babel of language on all hands. English, Dutch, German, Chinese, Javanese, Hindustani, Spanish, Portuguese, and Malay, the latter by far the most general—the lingua franca which all use in common. At last, bang! bang!! bang!!! goes the gong, and breakfast is ready exactly at 9 A.M. There is no ceremony. A little regiment,—an awkward squad rather,—of Chinese “boys” hand the dishes in turn. As a rule, everything is well cooked, and there is variety enough for everybody. Beef-steaks and mutton-chops, one or two well-made curries and rice, eggs and bacon, cold ham, boiled eggs, salads, vegetables, and plenty of fresh fruit. Coffee or tea is not so much in favour here in the East as at home, bottled Bass, claret, or Norwegian beer, being preferred instead. After a long morning’s walk, however, scarcely any beverage is so grateful as an accompaniment to the post-prandial cigar as is a cup of freshly-roasted coffee. Breakfast over, the real business of the day commences. All the large stores and godowns are opened at 8.30 or 9.0 A.M., and from 10 until 12.30 everyone is alert and busy. Gharries are whisking about in all directions. The fattest and sleekest and richest of Chinese merchants arrive in their more or less imposing carriages, boats and sampans are going to or returning from the shipping in the roads, buffalo carts ply between the godowns in town and those at the wharf, the sun pours down its heat and light from the zenith, and everybody seems intent on making their hay while it shines.

All the principal stores and shops are either in “the Square” or its vicinity, and here you can procure home comforts of nearly every description, together with the latest books and home papers. You will procure the latest news at Little’s Store, and will see many things there to interest you. Sale & Co.’s, and Katz’s Stores, are also well worth a visit, and few of the Chinese shops will compare well with that of the late Hon. C. Whampoa, C.M.G., who was a most influential trader in the place. The “Square” is an oblong plot of turf planted with various tropical trees, and one of these, although fast going to decay, is well worthy of notice, being completely enshrouded with rare orchids of various kinds. This stands immediately opposite the Singapore Dispensary, and owes its interesting appearance to Mr. Jamie, who first planted it with orchids some years ago. Amongst other plants Aerides suavissimum is especially luxuriant, completely wreathing some of the principal branches with its glossy green leaves, and many seedlings of this species have germinated and are now promising little plants. Vandas, PhalÆnopsis grandiflora, and P. amabilis also grow and flower well here in close proximity to the dusty streets. In Singaporean gardens the rarest of moth orchids are planted in cocoa-nut shells and hung from the verandahs, or placed on the mango or orange trees on the lawn, where they soon establish themselves. How many English orchid amateurs would wish for such a genial clime.

A morning in the “Square” gives one a tolerably clear insight into the enterprise and trade of Singapore. You hear a good deal about the price of sago or gutta and rice, or about the chartering of steamers or sailing craft, or the freight on home or export goods. You are sure to meet two or three captains of trading steamers. Captain Linguard, perhaps, after one of his trips to the Coti river away on the south-east of Borneo, and then you will hear something of the rubber-market, or of the pirates, of whom, perhaps, few men know more than this energetic “Rajah Laut,” or “Sea King,” as he is called by the natives.

Another maritime celebrity is Captain Ross, a genial sailor, who owns the mail steamer “Cleator,” which runs between Singapore, Labuan, and Brunei, on the north-west Bornean coast. Captain Ross is well acquainted with the principal places in the whole Malayan Archipelago; and few residents have an equal colloquial knowledge of their languages. He has been attacked by pirates more than once in the old days, and is quite a nautical authority in every way. That tall, dark young fellow yonder, with the heavy moustache, is Captain Cowie, who ran the gauntlet of the Spanish gun-boats so successfully during the Sulu war, carrying rice, powder, and arms for the Sultan’s people; and here one also meets “old sea dogs” of nearly every nationality, but more especially English and Dutch.

One must of course look in at Emmerson’s for tiffin, and a glance at the home papers and telegrams. Tiffin is much like breakfast, only nearly all the dishes are cold. The curries here are excellent; and a well-made salad of fresh green vegetables is a treat, when the temperature is 92° in the shade. The Raffles Institution is well worthy of a visit—an interesting museum of native curiosities and natural history specimens having recently been formed; and there is here an excellent library of books, on nearly all subjects. A collection of economic products is in course of formation, and if well carried out, will add much to the interest of the place. The Botanical Gardens are situated at Tanglin, a distance of about three miles from the town of Singapore; and as the roads are smooth and level, it is a very pleasant journey, either in the morning or evening. One night each week the military band performs in the garden; and then a good many of the residents ride or drive out to “eat the air,” and hear the music before dinner. Good collections of orchids, palms, and economic plants, are here kept up, and the place forms an agreeable promenade morning and evening. In addition to the plants, a small collection of animals and birds, for the most part natives of the Archipelago, may be seen here. The island itself is tolerably flat, the elevated portions being in the form of low hills, or “bukits,” the highest, Bukit Timah, being about 400 feet above sea level. Many of the rare plants, formerly found here, have died out since the destruction of the old forest for cultivation. Wild pigs are plentiful; but the tigers do not often repeat the predatory visits of twenty or thirty years ago, when two or three hundred Chinamen were devoured every year. They now very rarely cross the “Old Straits,” a channel about half a mile wide, which separates the island from the mainland of Jahore.

In the Singapore Times, however, for Feb. 1, 1879, the following paragraph appeared, which shows that the brutes have not quite lost their old-established man-eating desires:—

“Tigers, it would appear, are approaching Singapore town unpleasantly close. On the 29th January a Chinaman was taken away by one on a plantation only about four miles from town; and unpleasant rumours are afloat that some have lately been seen in Sirangoon and Changhie.”

Much fruit is grown; and there are cocoa-nut, gambir, pepper, indigo and gamboge plantations on a small scale. Vegetable crops here, as in San Francisco, are a monopoly of the thrifty Chinese gardeners. The trade in economic products of the soil of the neighbouring islands is an important one, and, ere long, when cultivation extends more fully into Jahore and Perak, this will be much increased. Some of the planters from Ceylon have already commenced extensive clearing operations in Jahore; and if these succeed, the rest is but a question of time. A few rare and interesting plants yet linger in the jungle, notably, the curious pitcher plant (Nepenthes Rafflesiana), which, singularly enough, is one of the first plants to spring up after a jungle fire. Gleichenia dichotoma clothes some of the hill-sides here as freely as the common brake-fern at home.

One of the most singular of native plants, however, is that known as Amorphophallus campanulatus, a relative of the “Lords and Ladies” of our English woods; but this tropical species is of Titanic dimensions, producing a lurid spathe, nearly two feet in circumference, and exhaling the most fetid and repulsive of odours.

In rambling about the island one comes across fertile little gardens and groves of mangoes, mangosteen, and other fruit trees, the tenants being generally Chinamen. The bye-streets of the town present some novel sights to a stranger, being tenanted for the most part by Chinese artizans and shopkeepers, the workshops being generally quite open to the street. Blacksmiths, tin-workers, tailors and shoemakers, carpenters, coopers, and basket-makers here ply their callings, and turn out excellent work, although some of the tools used are exceedingly clumsy in appearance from our own point of view.

Passing down some of the streets beneath the shade of the piazzas, one meets with general stores of every description, each with its little stall right outside the door close to the path. Here you can purchase almost everything; tools, nails and screws, needles, pencils, cotton, cutlery, ammunition, old Tower muskets—indeed nearly everything in the way of hardware goods, whether Chinese or European. The European goods are such as are especially made for this market, and the prices are surprisingly low.

It is curious to observe how some industrial products are universally used here to the exclusion of others. For example, “Bryant & May’s” matches, so common at home, are here supplanted by a neatly made “TÄndstickor,” ten little boxes of which are made up into a packet, which sells for as low as six cents, although ten cents is always asked of strangers. In many Chinese and Kling shops European tinned provisions and patent medicines may be obtained at a very slight advance on home prices, as these petty traders watch the sales of old ships’ stores very closely, and are thus enabled to purchase very cheaply.

The Chinese compete with all comers in cheap labour; and their innate capacity for imitation enables them to do so very often with advantage in the case of manufactures. If you can only give a Chinese workman a pattern or sample of the goods you require—whether boots, clothing, cabinet work, or jewellery, he may be trusted to imitate the same even to a fault. They are most industrious, having apparently no regular hours of labour, but often toiling from early morning until far into the night for a scanty pittance; but no matter how small their earnings, they generally contrive to save something. Indeed it is difficult to say whether ’tis their industry or their thrift which most deserves commendation. Of course they have their faults as a people, and most serious some of them are; and wherever they are admitted as emigrants, a strong hand is needed to keep them in order.

For opening up new trading enterprises or colonies in the East their aid is invaluable, as they are most frugal, and possess a peculiar habit of making the best of circumstances. In Sarawak, and also in the British colony of Labuan, the money derived from the opium and spirit farms form a main feature in the revenue, so that eastern colonies, in favouring Chinese emigration, add to their revenue by their expenditure as well as by their labour. Many, by thrift and frugality, rise to positions of affluence, and then it is curious to see how thoroughly they fall into the ways of the class to which they reach. This makes a Chinese colony so prosperous as a rule; for if a man has money he is sure to spend it either in trade, or in a fine house, garden, servants, horses and carriages, and other luxuries. As a rule they deal with their own class, but they take to European luxuries very kindly. I was asked out to dine several times at the houses of wealthy Chinese whilst in the East, and was at first rather disappointed at the thorough European character of the repast. Clean cloth, knives and forks of course; and every course might have been prepared in Pall Mall, if we except the curries; and it is but natural that the curries of the East are inimitable elsewhere. You get most delicately prepared pastry, and ten to one, roast beef and plum pudding, which are all the world over understood to be our national dishes.

A gentleman told me that once when in Paris, just after the war, he was conversing with a friend near the Tuileries, when a wicked-eyed young gamin overhearing his bad French with an English accent, observed, “Ah, M’sieu rost-bif, God-dam,” as he rapidly vanished round the corner. Many of the rich merchants speak English well; if not, then Malay is the medium of conversation. And the wherewithal to wash down your food is not forgotten: indeed, many of the rich “babas” give excellent champagne breakfasts, and “Bass” and good Bordeaux are as common as at European meals. However addicted to “samshu” and “shandu,”—the baleful narcotic immortalised by De Quincey,—a Chinaman may be privately, you will find him courteous, and eagerly apprehensive as to the comfort and enjoyment of his guests on all occasions when he entertains Europeans.

Sometimes you meet with a surprise at a Chinese dinner—a surprise especially prepared for your benefit. I was present at one where we had small dishes of rice and condiments set before us, with “chop sticks” in lieu of knife and fork. Now a native to the manner born will use his two chop sticks as cleverly as Mr. G.W. Moore handles his bones; and as he leans over his dish you see a constant stream of food running up to his mouth, while with your chop sticks awkwardly held you simply demonstrate what “eating porridge with a knitting pin” really means. Well, dish followed dish, and we began to think the whole thing “awfully slow,” when the host arose and requested us to accompany him to the “dining-room.”

Sure enough we found ourselves in a large and well lit interior. There was a dinner-table laid in European style, the silver and glass irreproachable, and floral decorations rather tastefully arranged graced the board. Of course there was a good deal of laughter as the neat Chinese “boys” handed round the sherry and bitters as we stood in groups; and a few minutes afterwards the gong was beaten for dinner in quite a homely fashion. A jolly old Spanish priest was present, and our long-tailed host did not omit to ask him to say grace, which he solemnly did, first in English, standing the while, and then we were all surprised as the rubicund-cheeked friar rolled out a Chinese prayer interlarded with choice maxims from Confucius, and all in the Hokien dialect of Chinese. The whole thing was much enjoyed. We had soup oxtail and “birds’ nest,” the latter extremely good, but perhaps rather too sweet for European liking; fish of several kinds, beef and mutton cooked in various ways, also pork cutlets excellently cooked, as indeed only Chinese cooks can prepare them; pastry, cheese, and such fruits for dessert as no money could procure from Covent Garden. Fat juicy mangoes, delicate mangosteen, rambutan, bananas, and other kinds, never eaten in perfection anywhere but in the tropics—the gardens of the sun.

A “wyong” or Chinese play had been organised by our host, one portion of his house being fitted up as a private theatre, and to this we adjourned after dinner. The performers were a celebrated troupe just arrived from China, and very clever they were, especially in pantomime. Of course we understood not a word of what was spoken; and yet so expressive were the actions that the plot and motive of the play was perfectly comprehended even in detail. The music of shrieking two-stringed violins, and the rattle of gongs and tom-toms which accompanied them, however, might fairly be added to Mr. Sothern’s list of things which “no fellah can understand.” The plot was of an undutiful daughter of poor parents who was beloved of a youth of her own age and station. A rich mandarin, however, loves and marries her. Her young lover is the most dutiful of sons, and a good spirit helps him on; while at the same time a bad one causes the mandarin heavy losses by sea and land. The undutiful daughter has her parents driven from her husband’s gates, where they had come to beg, while her former lover succours them, and they ultimately die, blessing him. Eventually the mandarin is degraded, and the dutiful youth is elevated to his place for some service he has rendered to one of the emperor’s favourite ministers. He then makes a speech, telling how good and clever he has been, and ultimately marries the tiny-footed daughter of the minister who has befriended him. Nor does the play finish until his “poor, but honest parents” and the audience are convinced by ocular proof that a son and heir has been born of the union, a piece of good fortune for which the rich but wicked mandarin before him had hoped in vain. The character of the youth was excellently played throughout by a young Chinese lady from Hong Kong, and I do not remember to have seen a male part acted much better by a female actress anywhere. So that the Lottie Venns and Kate Vaughans of our own stage must look to their laurels, as ere long they may possibly have to compete with the “cheap Chinese labour” of the Eastern mimes.

It was late that night as we drove back to our hotel, and such a night as one can see only in the tropics, where the moonlight is bright enough to read by, and streams down like a gloriously brilliant bridal veil over sweet-scented blossoms wet with dew, and the most elegant of palm-trees, over the gorgeous floral treasures of eastern gardens, and over the homes of thousands of dusky brides. The sounds heard during the otherwise still hours of evening or night are peculiar, the clucking sound of a lizard in the tree overhead is quite bird-like, you hear some frog-like croaking in the wet ditch beside the road, the subdued humming of distant tomtoms reaches you from the hut of a Hindoo Syce, and the almost mournful cadences of a Javanese prayer chanted by a party of labourers in a garden-house or field-hut reach you on the cool breeze. Then comes the boom of the “Kayu Kutoh,”1 or wooden gong on which the Malay “mata mata,” literally “man with eyes,” or watchman, beats the hour at one of the outlying police-stations. Fires are not at all uncommon, and then you are roused out of a sound sleep by a couple of shots from the signal battery, which shake the whole place. As you lean from your window enjoying just the last sweet whiff ere turning in for the night you may, perchance, hear the silence broken by snatches of song familiar to your ears—the songsters being a party of rowdy sailors returning to the ship after a “wet night” on shore. I am sadly afraid that the low grog-shops monopolise much of “Jack’s” time and money when ashore, notwithstanding that there is here an excellent “Sailor’s Home,” furnished with many conveniences, and supplying the comforts of an hotel at a cheap rate. Towards morning the chattering of sparrows and the shouting of rival roosters are among the most familiar of sounds which remind one of home.

The society of Singapore will compare favourably with that of any British Colony, and for genial hospitality its residents cannot well be surpassed. As in India, new comers are expected to call upon the residents first. In my own case I brought letters of introduction to some of the older inhabitants, and I must here acknowledge how handsomely those cheques were honoured by them. One scarcely knows how valuable genial hospitality really is at home, but far away it is pleasant to find how thoroughly English—British, one ought to say—is the welcome extended to strangers. Government House is the Court, of course, and it is needless to say, that all courtesies essential are there extended to both residents and others. Of course, in a community formed of many nationalities, and of people whose trade and other interests are liable to clash with those of their neighbours, there are sure to be little murmurings and bickerings, together with petty jealousies of various kinds. This is so, more or less, everywhere, but in the Colonies there are few, if any, old titled families to balance the commercial interest. One may see some bonny English faces in the carriages which are here driven around the Esplanade just as along the “Lady’s Mile” at home; or one evening a week are gathered around the band-stand at the gardens. The climate, however, is not well suited to the development of the rosy cheeks we see at home; the peach-like bloom too soon gives place to the soft purity of the lily, and it often becomes necessary for the wife and children to return to a cooler climate, in order to regain somewhat of the health and strength of which a lovely but debilitating climate has robbed them for a time. Here, as in India, this is a serious drawback to many residents. Here, too, there are no hill stations sufficiently near, or, as yet, adapted to serve as Sanatoriums. Now that Jahore is being opened up, however, it is to be hoped that a few bungalows may be erected on Gunong Puloi, on the summit of which the air is comparatively cool and bracing, much more so than on Penang Hill, and it may be readily reached from Singapore in two days. The cost of living here, even in proportion to the large salaries received, is far in excess of that at home, and the mode of life itself is different. Here, one must have a large house, and if there is a family, five or six servants at least are needed. The wages paid to these appear small when compared with the cost of English servants, but at least three times as many are required. The master must have his “boy,” the mistress her “ayah,” then the cook, water-carrier, grooms, gardener, must be provided, to say nothing of nursery attendance. Native provisions are tolerably cheap, but many things essential must be imported from home at an advanced rate. Furniture is dear, and pianos, and many other necessities, to say nothing of luxuries, must also be brought from the old country, and freight, if not commission, has to be added to the cost. The very nature of the currency used adds to other expenses. Many things purchasable at home for a shilling, here cost a dollar, at the least a rupee or two shillings, and the result of all this is that with an annual income of five hundred pounds in England, one must think twice ere a jump is made at what appears a tempting bait, namely, “a thousand a year” in the East.

The progress and importance of Singapore, commercially and politically, have never ceased to increase since 1819, when the British flag was first raised on the island by Sir Stamford Baffles.