This was the approach to Chusan, the largest island of the group, at which we anchored at noon. The place fell under a British attack in 1841, remaining in our possession until the more convenient and more valuable island of Hong Kong was ceded to us in exchange. Before us lies a considerable town called Tinghae, where are buried many of our poor fellow countrymen and their families who fell victims to fever and the attacks of a cruel enemy during the occupation. We found their graves in a very neglected condition, many of the tombstones having been appropriated by the inhabitants to prop up those architectural abominations which it would be a libel to term houses. Admiral Coote subsequently sent the "Modeste" down with orders to repair the burial ground; the misappropriated stones were speedily restored to their places by the blue-jackets, who dealt with the natives in a very summary manner by wrecking their houses about their ears. It was not long before a sleek old Chinaman, rejoicing in the imposing Chin-English name of "_Chin-Chang-Jim-Crow_," came on board and introduced himself as "me de bumboat"; he further explained that it was so long since a man-of-war had been in that neighbourhood, that probably he would experience some difficulty in procuring "_Chow_." In the course of a day or so the admiral arrived from Ningpo, which was the signal for our at once heaving up anchor and continuing our voyage. We are now in the estuary of one of the noblest rivers of the world, and the largest in China. It is estimated that this river, the Yang-tsze-Kiang, "Son of the Ocean," brings seaward, annually, as much solid matter as would make an island as large as Ireland! The navigation of its mouth is extremely dangerous, on account of the constantly-shifting sandbanks and consequent alteration of the channel. Fortunately, the European pilots are very skilful in detecting these changes. It is usual for large ships to drop anchor on this mud, locally termed the "flats," until boarded by a pilot, who takes you either to Wosung or Shanghai, according to your draught of water. Wosung scarcely merits the name of town; perhaps with more accuracy it might be termed a village. It is nevertheless, the head quarters of a large junk fleet, and has one of the finest and strongest forts in China to protect it from seaward. The place is interesting to us in one sense, because in 1875 an English company obtained permission to construct a line of rail from here to Shanghai.