Newfoundland to Cochin China. Ethel Gwendoline Vincent

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      Published by Good Press, 2019

       [email protected]

      EAN 4064066233310

Table of Contents

       CHAPTER I. OUR PREMIER COLONY.

       CHAPTER II. THE MARITIME PROVINCES, AND THROUGH LAKE AND FOREST TO THE QUEEN CITY.

       CHAPTER III. BY THE GOLDEN WAVE TO THE FAR WEST.

       CHAPTER IV. THE CANADIAN ROCKIES AND THE SELKIRKS.

       CHAPTER V. TO THE LAND OF THE RISING SUN.

       CHAPTER VI. NEW NIPPON.

       CHAPTER VII. THE WESTERN CAPITAL AND INLAND SEA.

       CHAPTER VIII. THE YELLOW LAND.

       CHAPTER IX. THE CELESTIAL CITY.

       CHAPTER X. THE FORBIDDEN CITY.

       CHAPTER XI. SHANGHAI AND HONG-KONG.

       CHAPTER XII. COCHIN CHINA.

       APPENDIX.

       BRITISH AND AMERICAN TRADE IN CANADA.

       BRITISH TRADE WITH JAPAN.

       "BRITISH INTERESTS IN CHINA."

       Select List of Books in all Departments of Literature

       BOOKS BY JULES VERNE.

CHAPTER I.

       OUR PREMIER COLONY.

       Table of Contents

      Land in sight when I awake at 5 a.m., a grey streak across the oval of the port. With what intense satisfaction we gaze on the line of barren rock, which has a suspicion of green horizon on the summit of the grey cliffs, only those can picture who have been at sea for some time.

      Presently we glide past Cape Race, with its neat signal station on the cliffs, and know that in a few minutes the arrival of our ship, the Nova Scotian, will be signalled at St. John's. We see a few fish-curing sheds on the tiny bays of yellow sand, and some white specks that represent cottages. They are dreary little settlements, and near them the fishing-boats pass us, returning home after their rough night's work, for this is the inhospitable coast of Newfoundland, the Premier Colony of England.

      As the morning wears on and the sun rises, it is a pretty scene. The great blue restless ocean, with its mighty Atlantic swell, lashing itself in spray and foam, with a long white line breaking and disappearing, re-appearing and dying against the bleak rock-bound coast. Sometimes the cliffs are formed of strata of grey lava or limestone, at others they are of rich red sandstone, colours that are intensified with the peculiar clearness of the atmosphere. Above all, there is a pure blue sky, with white clouds chasing each other and casting shadows along the coast. Now and again we pass large fishing luggers sailing swiftly by in the brisk breeze. Some have tawny orange or deep brown sails, others pure white ones, looking like wings spread in the sunlight, gliding swiftly and silently past. It is a rich bit of colouring to eyes tired and sad with the monotony of an impenetrable, all-surrounding line of sky and ocean.

      The approach to St. John's is romantic. The barrier of cliffs still rises to larboard, without an apparent break or indentation, whilst they say that we shall be anchored at the wharf in ten minutes. Another scanning of the coast reveals at length two rocks rising higher than the others, with a slight fall between them. The ship ploughs along broadside, and until exactly opposite this opening. With a few final plungings, and last rollings and tossings, she is brought sharply round, and we face the harbour of St. John's. The great brown rocks, sparsely sprinkled with green, rise up forbidding our entrance, and inside these is another amphitheatre of granite against which the town of St. John's is built. The line of wharves forms a black foundation. The haven where we would be lies peaceful and blue in the midst. The first sight of St. John's and the last, always include the twin red towers of the Roman Catholic Cathedral standing out on a platform above the town.