The government of Macao derives its greatest revenue from the licensing
of gambling houses, and these form one of the principal attractions in
the city to the European from Hong Kong as well as the native
Portuguese and Chinese. Whatever fault the visitor finds, on moral
grounds, with these houses he must admit the fact that they are quiet
and orderly, while the picturesqueness of the life within them and that
peculiar glamour which varnishes all that pertains to a great gambling
hall where fortune shows herself directly face to face with us, has a
charm which hides the immorality from even the most straight-laced
Puritan.
One of these houses was the favourite and nightly resort of Dom Pedro,
where he played high or low according to the state of his finances at
the moment. Dom Amaral, though himself a devotee of the fan-tan table,
observed with fear this controlling passion of his son which he believed
would some day destroy the comfortable fortune he had amassed with so
many years of labour.
Adams would have certainly preferred to spend the whole evening in the
family circle, but Dom Pedro urged him with so much, and such unusual
kindness to accompany him to the gambling house that he consented, and
at about eleven o'clock the two young men left the Praya and walked into
the town beneath the soft lights of the oil lamps. The streets were
deserted as usual, here and there a policeman, hooded like a pilgrim,
sauntered leisurely along, or the Chinese watchman with drum and
clapper woke the echoes of the lonely ways warning thieves of his
approach.
The only illuminated houses were fan-tan houses and these presently
became numerous; now and then music was heard but not of a very
seductive kind. Into one of the largest and most gaily decorated houses,
Dom Pedro and Robert Adams went, climbing to the second floor by stairs
bordered with shrubs in huge Chinese pots.
The main playing room contained several tables or counters arranged
along the walls, behind which sat the croupiers; at one of these Dom
Pedro stopped. On the table was a plate of metal divided into quarters
of about a foot square by deep cut lines crossing it, each square being
marked in Chinese characters indicating one, two, three and four. The
croupiers rattled a pile of bright brass coins, with square holes in
them, called cash; then as Dom Pedro made a sign that he was about to
play, the croupier drew away a part of them under a bowl and Dom Pedro
placed his wager on number three. The croupier with a bamboo wand then
counted out the remaining cash one at a time in sets of four, until
finally there were but three left; this being Dom Pedro's number, he won
the stakes.
"In good luck to-night," he said, turning to Adams, "Try if this is a
lucky day for you." Robert Adams placed his money on the same square
which Dom Pedro had won from, and again the croupier counted the
remainder slowly, having drawn away some of the cash under the bowl,
four at a time until but two remained and Adams' stake became part of
the bank. "Lucky in love, unlucky at play" he said with a laugh, "I
shall bet no more to-night." Dom Pedro's face darkened but in silence he
continued winning at every count.
Above the table was a square hole in the ceiling opening into an upper
room where those could sit who did not wish to be seen, and were thus
able to let their bets down in a little basket and with the same draw up
their winnings. This upper room being purposely kept in half light
enabled its occupants to see those below without being seen themselves.
Dom Pedro's luck was astonishing and quite a crowd of onlookers gathered
about. Robert Adams growing weary of the play in which he took no
interest, left, saying that he would walk slowly as far as the ruined
cathedral of St. Paul and on his return step in again. As he stepped
back from the table he looked up toward the opening in the ceiling where
were two women with faces wrapped in black silk robosas, which showed
only the eyes; as the eyes seemed fixed upon him he raised his hat. The
action seemed to cause the women considerable consternation, for both
hurriedly sprang back from the rail and in doing so one let fall, upon
the table below, the basket with a bit of paper and several Mexican
dollars which rolled about the room. Everyone looked up laughing at the
accident but no one from above claimed the money. Adams left the room
glad to be in the fresh air under the clear, starlit sky.
No more lonely or picturesque ruin ever existed than the church of St.
Paul; though human habitations crowd close upon it, they are however the
houses of Chinese and make the Christian edifice seem the more solitary.
The church is of that favourite style of architecture so common in new
and old Spain, which always brings to the mind of the wanderer in
foreign lands the name of good San Xavier.
The half moon had risen high enough to illuminate the whole front as
Adams climbed the broad, massive steps to the paved space before it.
Leaning against the heavy balustrade he enjoyed the picture. The shadows
were deep and through the sightless windows shone a few silver stars.
The magnificent front of solid granite with graceful scroll-work and
carved outline, blackened here by smoke and there by age, with vines and
trees growing from crevices, stood in wondrous beauty.
The detail showed clearer than by day; the panels in high relief, of
full rigged ship, the double dolphin and the skeleton seemed too fragile
to have stood through earthquake and typhoon and the conflagrations of
war for more than two hundred years. The exquisite frieze composed of
many unconventionalized flowers extending across the front, wherein the
artist and worker had been one, was a petrified garland. This scene was
a revelation to Adams for often as he had viewed and sketched the ruin,
he had never been there by moonlight when its beauties were enhanced and
its defects hidden. He could see plainly each Chinese character upon the
carved scrolls and the words "Mater Dei" above the doorway.
Slowly the shadows crept along, making the six broken saints in their
niches seem alive; slowly the shadows upon the ruin crept along, but a
swifter shadow suddenly came forward from the steps and Adams having
forgotten, in the entrancing scene the murderer and thief who lurk in
all Macao's corners, turned as he heard a soft step, just in time to
receive in his right arm the upward blow of a dagger aimed at his side.
He lost his balance falling backward down the steps, striking his head
upon a heap of broken roof-tiles where he lay insensible. As he fell, a
woman's scream pierced the night. There was hurried tramping of sandaled
feet, as of a dozen or more coolies. The shriek was again heard and
then all was silent and the plaza empty.