C H A P T E R X X V I I
L E A V I N G T H E 'C I T Y
HIGH noon and à turning tide] The yellow river,
laden with its burden of'land-creating loam, runs
by, and there is à turmoil in the narrow ways between
the ship’s side and thé wooden pier. Scattered over
the great stream the ocean-going steamers and the
sailing-ships lie at anchor, their prows swinging northward,
in obedience to the tide. The foreshore slime
glistens in the light. A multitude of small craft ply,
or are at rest, in its neighbourhood. Up near the concrete
river wall, there are rows of idle sampans lashed to
a forest of stakes. Their brethren on the water are busy,
and boat after boat sways by, laden with passengers for
the other shore. Here are the panting launches, full
of a swift vitality ; the heavy barges ; the red-funnelled
river-steamers of the Flotilla ; and the Burmese country-
boats with half-moon roofs of matting, red and yellow and
dark vandyke ; and a long perpetual stream of passengers
which flows from the shore to the river, along the sloping
pontoons that rise with the rising tide and float, or
bridge the intervals of slime. Burmese families in silks
of colour, and under the shelter of yellow translucent