The Chinese are splendid sailors, and as is well known, they invented the water-tight compartment in their junks, sanpans and wupans forgotten centuries ago. I have had much intercourse with the watermen of the southern provinces and can speak well of their seamanship. They compose the crews of the mercantile fleets which cross the Pacific, and have brought their ships through those awful circular typhoons which rage for days. They have also developed modern yacht designers like Ah King at Hongkong, and they are quick at the tiller and boom. I have, in writing of the Chinese, given perhaps a hundred instances of things which they do oppositely to the Occidental manner. Here is the one hundred and first: Holding their nostrils, they dive feet foremost, like the pearl fishermen of the Manaar Gulf of Ceylon! When our launch screws would get tangled with the many ropes of Blake Wharf, Hongkong, I have often seen half of the crew merrily jump overboard with knives in their teeth, and work under water for an extraordinary length of time; and though some writers call the Chinese stolid and humorless, I have always seen them highly appreciative of applause and good-natured laughter over the unexpected incidents that arise in an Oriental day’s work. On one occasion the writer, who was exhausted with the tide, was saved from drowning at Junk Bay, Hongkong, by the quick-witted efforts of a native laota (coxswain) who deftly swung his launch within reach, and whose ready arms reached out to “chiu ming” (save life).