This is all the information respecting the government of Cochin-China, that could be obtained from the natives. CHAPTER XVI. PASSAGE FROM COCHIN-CHINA TO THE GULF OF SIAM--ARRIVAL AT THE MOUTH OF THE RIVER MENAM--PACKNAM--PROCESSION TO THE GOVERNMENT-HOUSE--RECEPTION--GOVERNOR--SIAMESE TEMPLES--INTERVIEW WITH THE SIAMESE FOREIGN MINISTER--PRIMA DONNA--FEATS OF STRENGTH--SIAMESE FEMALES--FIRE AT BANG-KOK--WHITE ELEPHANTS--EMBALMING--SHAVING-HEAD CEREMONY AND FEAST--FOX-BATS. We weighed anchor on the eighth of February, for the gulf of Siam; light winds and calms detained us nearly two days, within sight of the bay, in which lies Vunglam, &c., &c. We kept near to the coast, and found it bold and free from dangers; the land was hilly and frequently broken into mountains, more particularly between that bold promontory, called Cape Varela, and Cape Padaran. We passed the latter within three miles; from thence the land gradually dwindled into a gently undulating country, and then into low land. We finally lost sight of it off the numerous mouths of the great river, Kamboja. On the same afternoon, being the twelfth, we passed Padaran, and saw Pulo Cica de Terre and Lagan point. At meridian, on the following day, Pulo Condore was in sight, and the islands to the westward, called the Brothers. At daylight, the next morning, we beheld Pulo Ubi, or Yam island, which lies to the southward of cape Camboja. On the fourteenth, the islands and islets called Pulo Panjang, and ascertained their correct position to be in latitude 9° north, by a meridian observation, and by the chronometers, in 104° 32′, east longitude. At daylight, on the following morning, we found ourselves in the midst of a group of islands, lying so peacefully amid the glassy surface of the gulf, that Dana’s beautiful description of “Quiet Islands,” was at once brought to my recollection, from which I have made the following extract:-- “The island lies nine leagues away, Along its solitary shore, Of craggy rocks and sandy bay, No sound but ocean’s roar, Save where the bold, wild sea-bird makes her home, Her shrill cry, coming through the sparkling foam; “But when the light winds lie at rest, And on the glassy, heaving sea, The black duck, with her glossy breast, Sits swinging silently, How beautiful! no ripples break the reach, And silvery waves roll noiseless up the beach.”