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Chapter 3 
- Song of Solomon. 
GOOD housewife of my acquaintance - one of those worthy people who make themselves very uncomfortable in the pursuit of comfort - tells me that she could never bring herself to visit the cook's den on a houseboat. Herein, I think, she is wise; nor would I recommend to those who hold extreme views on sanitation and hygiene too close a scrutiny of the boys' quarters. At the best of times, and giving him all facilities, there is a wide gulf between the Chinaman's standard of cleanliness and ours. He endorses that scientific definition of dirt which calls it matter in the wrong place, and his philosophy teaches him that, sooner or later, the wanderer will find its way home without the help of man. Each one of us, he knows, must cat his peck o' dirt in a lifetime, and if length of days or inscrutable destiny increase the peck to a bushel, what of it I If kings must needs go a progress through the guts of a beggar, if imperial Caesar's dust should stop a bung-hole, the cook knows, without word of the immortal Dane, that this also is but one of Nature's fantastic ways, and that the beggar is none the worse for the vagaries of these poor atoms. Let us admit, strictly between ourselves, that many of us have a sneaking fehow-feeling for the Oriental attitude in this matter. Doctors, of course, cannot indulge it, nor sanitary inspectors, nor good women brought up in the household wisdom of Penelope, but to the plain man these strident voices of Public Health authorities in our kitchens and boudoirs are something too emphatic. They would have us go in fear all our days, bringing the imminent shadow of Death before us in guise of grisly microbe at every street corner, at the tiffin table, ay, even on Clorinda's ruby lips. We hear them, shuddering, and then, harking back to our unguarded but joyous youth; - remembering our salad bachelor days when filters were not, and the cook was a law unto himself, we take heart of grace and go our unregenerate ways in cheerfulness. Nevertheless, and as a compromise between conflicting theories, it is not a bad thing to descend suddenly at intervals upon the boy and cook in their lairs, ejecting things unseemly and of purely native origin; hygiene apart, it is not fitting that our omelette should be cooked with, but after, the lowdah's seaslugs.
Our immediate followers up country on ordinary occasions are three-boy, cook, and dog-coolie, and on long trips, where steady work is before us, it is wise to include in the ship's company two sturdy beaters, men of tried prowess in covert.
The boy and the cook have between them, for their respective duties, impedimenta and the disposal of their own persons a cubic area something less than that of a Saratoga trunk. Cast your eye, my Lady, on this kitchen equipment, observe its limitations, the nice adjustment of necessity to space, and you will wonder with me how one small stove can carry all its brew. Dine with us, Madam, and as each course, reussi and fittingly served, emerges from these mysterious regions, pause not to ask how the plates were washed, nor where the baked meats lay before they came to table. If to-day's fillet and to-morrow's trussed fowl came aboard neatly packed in the cook's wardrobe, why, ignorance is bliss and the saucepan covereth a multitude of sins. And so for Ganymede, whose labours, between the kitchen devil and the deep sea of clamorous white men, are compassed about so narrowly with crockery and pendent glass that he looks for all the world like some contortionist juggler at his tricks-pray you, indulgence. Which of us has not wondered beneath the armour of their stolidity what these followers of ours think of our excursions and sorties? To the severely practical mind for which we usually give them credit, the whole business must be a monstrous enigma, one of those mysteries inseparable from foreign devildom, which Confucius bids them neither consider nor discuss. For they must recognise the astounding fact that the cost in sycee of the game we bring home, after long toilful days, is ten times more than we could buy it for in the market; even with the best of luck there can be no profit in shooting with cartridges that cost eight cents apiece, and they know us for men who can afford the luxury of leisure. All the ways of this "White Peril" are indeed inscrutable; those who recklessly waste money, enduring hard labour up country, are of the same mad world which pursues divers balls with bats and clubs; rides violently, without errand, across the face of the earth, and postures to the sound of horns with other men's wives. Such beings are classed in the native mind with prodigies, monsters, and the immortal gods, and accepted accordingly, without, question or complaint.
Despite their res angusta afloat, I believe our followers are rather partial to upcountry life in their own way; Ah Kong the dog-coolie welcomes it, I know, in spite of his aversion to long walks, his wife being a notorious vixen and his home a place of wrath. The boy who answers cheerfully to the name of Gehazi. and Wang-hi the cook, enjoy their peaceful days on board, especially when our programme includes cold tiffin in a basket. 'Enjoys' is perhaps too strong; their attitude is one of philosophic calm, due to the fact that for a while they can cat, sleep, and gamble undisturbed. In none of them have I ever perceived any signs of interest in the country itself or its inhabitants; whether we go to the lakes or to the hills appears to be a matter of absolute indifference, and the only spots for which they ever display preference are those where they can buy salt or other commodities, which, smuggled to Shanghai, will show a profit. Gehazi will sit in his pantry reading an absurd chronicle of the Han Dynasty, while the boat takes him, all unconscious. through unknown places where men live by strange crafts; to him they are such stuff as dreams are made of, and he can provide better dreams of his own. This, at least, is the impression the native's nonchalant stolidity conveys, but who shall say what are the thoughts that lurk behind these wall-faces?
Now and again they will surprise you, these Chinese, with glimpses of unsuspected thoughts and motives in their mental depths unfathomed by us who live amongst them. Strange breaths of spring stir at times the dusty recesses of their emotionless souls; voices call to them from the past through opium haze and cult of cash, and for a moment their commonplace lives are touched with a ray of the light which, ages ago, sent Chinese artists and poets to teach Corea and Japan. In some squalid courtyard I'll find ragged fellows listening in long silence to a caged thrush's song; sometimes, on the sorriest beggar-boat on the creek, or in the tea-house of a dingy by-street, you shall see a sprig of flowering plum-blossom; on the walls of country rest-houses I have found not only verses from the classics, but the original work of passers-by - student or pilgrim - singing of autumn winds in the bamboo grove and the flight of wild geese between the hills. I am by no means sure that Gehazi himself does not invoke the lyric muse with compositions of this kind in spring, for I have seen verses at the end of the book in which he keeps a record of what he is pleased to say I owe him.
Ah Kong, master of the hounds, and his fellow-beaters arrayed for the chase, suffer "Shame-face" in the eyes of the crew; and not without reason, for they are indeed figures of fun. Their own kit being useless in covert, I provide them with boots (originally made for Indian policemen), wide trousers of sail-cloth cut in the fashion of clowns', and old hats. Ah Kong, being an enthusiast, sports a grey Monte Carlo and a pair of ancient kid gloves; good fellows these, of Spartan philosophy and wondrous patience, who will beat their way through scrub and sword-grass for days, and take a friendly interest in your bag. One ragged suit of clothes to their backs, no certainty as to next week's rice, yet they face the world and its back-bending affairs cheerily with hearts undismayed. I like to hear them when, after their long tramp, they have hung the game, seen to the dogs, and foregathered round the lowdah's rice-pot with the crew; the day, with all its chances and events, will keep them talking for hours. In their tales the beater often cuts a more heroic figure than his master, if only because it is denied to him to relieve himself by cursing audibly the adverse Fates. They sum us up, these heathen, all our little weaknesses and some of our virtues, in racy opinions, as just, and quite as kind, as those recorded by our friends of the club smokingroom.
I have written of the up-country menage as I know it, but there are, I believe, people who go into remote parts of these provinces with hirelings - boy and cook engaged for the trip. In most cases, no doubt, this is the outcome of the married state, and criticism halts at the recognition of necessity; but the results are, nevertheless, not to be cornmended even to a benedict. I, who am no epicure, have suffered many and grievous things at the hands of the shortjob cook; and your 'hotel-boy' on board is a sorry rogue at best. Often you do not know your friend's habits or necessities in these matters; you start for a week's outing, learning the truth too late, and these varlets take from you much peace of mind and bodily content. To the leisurely enjoyment of houseboat life you must bring a soul unharassed by the sordid things of domesticity. And this brings to mind an adventure of my friend M'Nab, a parlous case of the hireling not without its humorous retrospect. He had taken a varlet for a week, one of the 'oiled and curled Assyrian bull' type, reeking of gambling dens and petty larceny. On the second day out, in the wild country beyond Haiyee, the fellow showed signs of eccentricity -laid tiffin on the bunks and made curious gurgling noises in his throat. Next day, grasping one of the crew, he jumped overboard, was rescued, dried, and locked up in the pantry, where he lay, cursing horribly and scratching on the partition. Towards morning he contrived an escape, and thereafter gave M'Nab and his friend, an un-suspecting British sailor, one of the most exciting hours in life. The trip was abandoned, and they took him home chained in the dog-kennel. It was subsequently stated that he adopted insanity to avoidance of settling certain urgent debts - a ruse not infrequent in his class. The explanation is not as important as the fact
that M,Nab, by agreement with his wife, now takes his No. 2 boy up country and that travelling on his hospitable boat is much pleasanter in consequence.
In the matter of cuisine, your houseboat should strike a cheery midway note, avoiding Scylla of the superfluous and Charybdis the unlovely. Grandon, who takes his chef with him, and feasts hugely, after unwonted exercise, on truffied entrees and port, is more attractive in food and philosophy than the man who professes to rough it on a badly-cooked chop and a bit of cheese but both are unseemly. A stock-pot, ever simmering, is one of the secrets of houseboat economy; into it should go all the odds and ends of the bag - except perhaps civet cats and foxes - and from it should come a savoury mess such as Esau loved. For dinner, after all, is no inconsiderable moment in the healthy human animal's day, a thing not to be despised even of philosophers. It was one of the cheeriest of these who said, "A good meal and a bottle of wine is an answer to most standard works upon the question of life. When a man's heart warms to his viands, he forgets a great deal of sophistry and soars into a cosy zone of contemplation. Death may be knocking at the door, like the Commander's statue; we have something else in hand, thank God, and let him knock."
Therefore, friends, let us have viands that our hearts can warm to.
unless otherwise indicated
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