IN THE PORTUGUESE COLONY OF MACAO
Forty miles from Hong Kong, hidden away among the countless islands
that fringe the entrance to the estuary of the Chukiang or Pearl
River, lies the Portuguese settlement of Macao. Once flourishing and
prosperous, the centre of European trade with Southern China, it is now
decaying and almost unknown—killed by the competition of its young and
successful rival. Long before Elizabeth ascended the throne of England
the venturesome Portuguese sailors and merchants had reached the Far
East. There they carried their country’s flag over seas where now it
never flies. An occasional gunboat represents in Chinese waters their
once powerful and far‐roaming navy.
In the island of Lampacao, off the south‐eastern coast, their traders
were settled, pushing their commerce with the mainland. In 1557 the
neighbouring peninsula of Macao was ceded to them in token of the
Chinese Emperor’s gratitude for their aid in destroying the power of a
pirate chief who had long held sway in the seas around. The Dutch, the
envious rivals of the Portuguese in the East, turned covetous eyes on
the little colony which speedily began to flourish. In 1622 the troops
in Macao were despatched to assist the Chinese against the Tartars.
Taking advantage of their absence, the Governor of the Dutch East
Indies fitted out a fleet to capture their city. In the June of that
year the hostile ships appeared off Macao and landed a force to storm
the fort. The valiant citizens fell upon and defeated the invaders; and
the Dutch sailed away baffled. Until the early part of the nineteenth
century the Portuguese paid an annual tribute of five hundred taels to
the Chinese Government in acknowledgment of their nominal suzerainty.
In 1848, the then Governor, Ferreira Amaral, refused to continue this
payment and expelled the Chinese officials from the colony. In 1887,
the independence of Macao was formally admitted by the Emperor in a
treaty to that effect.
But the palmy days of its commerce died with the birth of Hong Kong.
The importance of the Portuguese settlement has dwindled away. Macao
is but a relic of the past. Its harbour is empty. The sea around has
silted up with the detritus from the Pearl River until now no large
vessels can approach. A small trade in tea, tobacco, opium, and silk is
all that is left. The chief revenue is derived from the taxes levied on
the numerous Chinese gambling‐houses in the city, which have gained for
it the title of the Monte Carlo of the East.
Macao is situated on a small peninsula connected by a long, narrow
causeway with the island of Heung Shan. The town faces southward and,
sheltered by another island from the boisterous gales of the China
seas, is yet cooled by the refreshing breezes of the south, from which
quarter the wind blows most of the year in that latitude. Victoria in
our colony, on the other hand, is cut off from them by the high Peak
towering above it; and its climate in consequence is hot and steamy in
the long and unpleasant summer. So Macao is, then, a favourite resort
of the citizens of Hong Kong. The large, flat‐bottomed steamer that
runs between the two places is generally crowded on Saturdays with
inhabitants of the British colony, going to spend the week‐end on the
cooler rival island.
The commercial competition of Macao is no longer to be dreaded. But
this decaying Portuguese possession has recently acquired a certain
importance in the eyes of the Hong Kong authorities and our statesmen
in England by the fears of French aggression aroused by apparent
endeavours to gain a footing in Macao. Attempts have been made to
purchase property in it in the name of the French Government which
are suspected to be the thin end of the wedge. Although the colony
is not dangerous in the hands of its present possessors, it might
become so in the power of more enterprising neighbours. Were it
occupied by the French a much larger garrison would be required in
Hong Kong. Of course, any attempt to invade our colony from Macao
would be difficult; as the transports could not be convoyed by any
large warships owing to the shallowness of the sea between the two
places until Hong Kong harbour is reached. One battleship or cruiser,
even without the assistance of the forts, should suffice to blow out
of the water any vessels of sufficiently light draught to come out of
the port of Macao. If any specially constructed, powerfully armed,
shallow‐draught men‐o’‐war—which alone would be serviceable—were
sent out from Europe, their arrival would be noted and their purpose
suspected. Still an opportunity might be seized when our China squadron
was elsewhere engaged and the garrison of Hong Kong denuded. On the
whole, the Portuguese are preferable neighbours to the aggressive
French colonial party, which is constantly seeking to extend its
influence in Southern China. In 1802 and again in 1808 Macao was
occupied by us as a precaution against its seizure by the French.
When garrison duty in Hong Kong during the damp, hot days of the summer
palled, I once took ten days’ leave to the pleasanter climate of Macao.
I embarked in Victoria in one of the large, shallow‐draught steamers
of the Hong Kong, Canton, and Macao Steamboat Company, which keeps up
the communication between the English and Portuguese colonies and the
important Chinese city by a fleet of some half‐dozen vessels. With the
exception of one, they are all large and roomy craft from 2,000 to
3,000 tons burden. They run to, and return from, Canton twice daily
on week‐days. One starts from Hong Kong to Macao every afternoon and
returns the following morning, except on Sundays. Between Macao and
Canton they ply three times a week. The fares are not exorbitant—from
Hong Kong to Macao three dollars, to Canton five, each way; between
Macao and Canton three. The Hong Kong dollar in 1901 was worth about
1_s._ 10_d._
The steamer on which I made the short passage to Macao was the
_Heungshan_ (1,998 tons). She was a large shallow‐draught vessel,
painted white for the sake of coolness. She was mastless, with one
high funnel, painted black; the upper deck was roomy and almost
unobstructed. The sides between it and the middle deck were open; and a
wide promenade lay all round the outer bulkheads of the cabins on the
latter. Extending from amid‐ships to near the bows were the first‐class
state‐rooms and a spacious, white‐and‐gold‐panelled saloon. For’ard of
this the deck was open. Shaded by the upper deck overhead, this formed
a delightful spot to laze in long chairs and gaze over the placid
water of the land‐locked sea at the ever‐changing scenery. Aft on the
same deck was the second‐class accommodation. Between the outer row of
cabins round the sides a large open space was left. This was crowded
with fat and prosperous‐looking Chinamen, lolling on chairs or mats,
smoking long‐stemmed pipes with tiny bowls and surrounded by piles of
luggage.
Below, on the lower deck, were herded the third‐class passengers,
all Chinese coolies. The companion‐ways leading up to the main deck
were closed by padlocked iron gratings. At the head of each stood an
armed sentry, a half‐caste or Chinese quartermaster in bluejacket‐like
uniform and naval straw hat. He was equipped with carbine and revolver;
and close by him was a rack of rifles and cutlasses. All the steamers
plying between Hong Kong, Macao, and Canton are similarly guarded; for
the pirates who infest the Pearl River and the network of creeks near
its mouth have been known to embark on them as innocent coolies and
then suddenly rise, overpower the crew and seize the ship. For these
vessels, besides conveying specie and cargo, have generally a number of
wealthy Chinese passengers aboard, who frequently carry large sums of
money with them.
The _Heungshan_ cast off from the crowded, bustling wharf and threaded
her way out of Hong Kong harbour between the numerous merchant ships
lying at anchor. In between Lantau and the mainland we steamed over the
placid water of what seemed an inland lake. The shallow sea is here so
covered with islands that it is generally as smooth as a mill‐pond.
Past stately moving junks and fussy little steam launches we held our
way. Islands and mainland rising in green hills from the water’s edge
hemmed in the narrow channel. In about two and a half hours we sighted
Macao. We saw ahead of us a low eminence covered with the buildings of
a European‐looking town. Behind it rose a range of bleak mountains.
We passed along by a gently curving bay lined with houses and fringed
with trees, rounded a cape, and entered the natural harbour which
lies between low hills. It was crowded with junks and sampans. In the
middle lay a trim Portuguese gunboat, the _Zaire_, three‐masted, with
white superstructure and funnel and black hull. The small Canton‐Macao
steamer was moored to the wharf.
The quay was lined with Chinese houses, two‐ or three‐storied, with
arched verandahs. The _Heungshan_ ran alongside, the hawsers were
made fast, and gangways run ashore. The Chinese passengers, carrying
their baggage, trooped on to the wharf. One of them in his hurry
knocked roughly against a Portuguese Customs officer who caught him
by the pigtail and boxed his ears in reward for his awkwardness. It
was a refreshing sight after the pampered and petted way in which the
Chinaman is treated by the authorities in Hong Kong. There the lowest
coolie can be as impertinent as he likes to Europeans, for he knows
that the white man who ventures to chastise him for his insolence will
be promptly summoned to appear before a magistrate and fined. Our
treatment of the subject races throughout our Empire errs chiefly in
its lack of common justice to the European.
Seated in a ricksha, pulled and pushed by two coolies up steep
streets, I was finally deposited at the door of the Boa Vista Hotel.
This excellent hostelry—which the French endeavoured to secure for a
naval hospital, and which has since been purchased by the Portuguese
Government—was picturesquely situated on a low hill overlooking the
town. The ground on one side fell sharply down to the sea which lapped
the rugged rocks and sandy beach two or three hundred feet below. On
the other, from the foot of the hill, a pretty bay with a tree‐shaded
esplanade—called the Praia Grande—stretched away to a high cape about
a mile distant. The bay was bordered by a line of houses, prominent
among which was the Governor’s Palace. Behind them the city, built on
rising ground, rose in terraces. The buildings were all of the Southern
European type, with tiled roofs, Venetian‐shuttered windows, and walls
painted pink, white, blue, or yellow. Away in the heart of the town the
gaunt, shattered façade of a ruined church stood on a slight eminence.
Here and there small hills crowned with the crumbling walls of ancient
forts rose up around the city.
Eager for a closer acquaintance with Macao, I drove out that afternoon
in a ricksha. I was whirled first along the Praia Grande, which runs
around the curving bay below the hotel. On the right‐hand side lay a
strongly built sea‐wall. On the tree‐shaded promenade between it and
the roadway groups of the inhabitants of the city were enjoying the
cool evening breeze. Sturdy little Portuguese soldiers in dark‐blue
uniforms and _képis_ strolled along in two and threes, ogling the
yellow or dark‐featured Macaese ladies, a few of whom wore mantillas.
Half‐caste youths, resplendent in loud check suits and immaculate
collars and cuffs, sat on the sea‐wall or, airily puffing their cheap
cigarettes, sauntered along the promenade with languid grace. Grave
citizens walked with their families, the prettier portion of whom
affected to be demurely unconscious of the admiring looks of the
aforesaid dandies. A couple of priests in shovel hats and long, black
cassocks moved along in the throng.
The left side of the Praia was lined with houses, among which were
some fine buildings, including the Government, Post and Telegraph
Bureaus, commercial offices, private residences, and a large mansion,
with two projecting wings, the Governor’s Palace. At the entrance
stood a sentry, while the rest of the guard lounged near the doorway.
At the end of the Praia Grande were the pretty public gardens, shaded
by banyan trees, with flower‐beds, a bandstand, and a large building
beyond it—the Military Club. Past the gate of the Gardens the road
turned away from the sea and ran between rows of Chinese houses until
it reached the long, tree‐bordered Estrada da Flora. On the left lay
cultivated land. On the right the ground sloped gently back to a bluff
hill, on which stood a lighthouse, the oldest in China. At the foot
of this eminence lay the pretty summer residence of the Governor,
picturesquely named Flora, surrounded by gardens and fenced in by a
granite wall. Continuing under the name of Estrada da Bella Vista, the
road ran on to the sea and turned to the left around a flower‐bordered,
terraced green mound, at the summit of which was a look‐out whence
a charming view was obtained. From this the mound derives the name
of Bella Vista. In front lay a shallow bay. To the left the shore
curved round to a long, low, sandy causeway, which connects Macao with
the island of Heung Shan. Midway on this stood a masonry gateway,
Porta Cerco, which marks the boundary between Portuguese and Chinese
territory. Hemmed in by a sea‐wall, the road continued from Bella Vista
along above the beach, past the isthmus, on which was a branch road
leading to the Porta, by a stretch of cultivated ground, and round the
peninsula, until it reached the city again.
After dinner that evening, accompanied by a friend staying at the
same hotel, I strolled down to the Public Gardens, where the police
band was playing and the “beauty and fashion” of Macao assembled.
They were crowded with gay promenaders. Trim Portuguese naval or
military officers, brightly dressed ladies, soldiers, civilians,
priests and laity strolled up and down the walks or sat on the benches.
Sallow‐complexioned children chased each other round the flower‐beds.
Opposite the bandstand stood a line of chairs reserved for the Governor
and his party. We met some acquaintances among the few British
residents in the colony; and one of them, being an honorary member of
the Military Club situated at one end of the Gardens, invited us into
it. We sat at one of the little tables on the terrace, where the élite
of Macao drank their coffee and liqueurs, and watched the gay groups
promenading below. The scene was animated and interesting, thoroughly
typical of the way in which Continental nations enjoy outdoor life,
as the English never can. Hong Kong, with all its wealth and large
European population, has no similar social gathering‐place; and its
citizens wrap themselves in truly British unneighbourly isolation.
The government of Macao is administered from Portugal. The Governor
is appointed from Europe; and the local Senate is vested solely with
the municipal administration of the colony. The garrison consists of
Portuguese artillerymen to man the forts and a regiment of Infantry of
the Line, relieved regularly from Europe. There is also a battalion
of police, supplemented by Indian and Chinese constables—the former
recruited among the natives of the Portuguese territory of Goa on
the Bombay coast, though many of the sepoys hail from British India.
A gunboat is generally stationed in the harbour. The troubles all
over China in 1900 had a disturbing influence even in this isolated
Portuguese colony. An attack from Canton was feared in Macao as well as
in Hong Kong; and the utmost vigilance was observed by the garrison.
One night heavy firing was heard from the direction of the Porta
Cerco, the barrier on the isthmus. It was thought that the Chinese
were at last descending on the settlement. The alarm sounded and the
troops were called out. Sailors were landed from the _Zaire_ with
machine‐guns. A British resident in Macao told me that so prompt were
the garrison in turning out that in twenty minutes all were at their
posts and every position for defence occupied. At each street‐corner
stood a strong guard; and machine‐guns were placed so as to prevent
any attempt on the part of the Chinese in the city to aid their
fellow‐countrymen outside. However, it was found that the alarm was
occasioned by the villagers who lived just outside the boundary, firing
on the guards at the barrier in revenge for the continual insults to
which their women, when passing in and out to market in Macao, were
subjected by the Portuguese soldiers at the gate. No attack followed
and the incident had no further consequences. At the close of 1901 or
the beginning of 1902, more serious alarm was caused by the conduct
of the regiment recently arrived from Portugal in relief. Dissatisfied
with their pay or at service in the East, the men mutinied and
threatened to seize the town. The situation was difficult, as they
formed the major portion of the garrison. Eventually, however, the
artillerymen, the police battalion, and the sailors from the _Zaire_
succeeded in over‐awing and disarming them. The ringleaders were seized
and punished, and that incident closed.
The European‐born Portuguese in the colony are few and consist chiefly
of the Government officials and their families and the troops. They
look down upon the Macaese—as the colonials are called—with the
supreme contempt of the pure‐blooded white man for the half‐caste. For,
judging from their complexions and features, few of the Macaese are of
unmixed descent. So the Portuguese from Europe keep rigidly aloof from
them and unbend only to the few British and Americans resident in the
colony. These are warmly welcomed in Macao society and freely admitted
into the exclusive official circles.
On the day following my arrival, I went in uniform to call upon the
Governor in the palace on the Praia Grande. Accompanied by a friend,
I rickshaed from the hotel to the gate of the courtyard. The guard at
the entrance saluted as we approached; and I endeavoured to explain the
reason of our coming to the sergeant in command. English and French
were both beyond his understanding; but he called to his assistance
a functionary, clad in gorgeous livery, who succeeded in grasping the
fact that we wished to see the aide‐de‐camp to the Governor. He ushered
us into a waiting‐room opening off the spacious hall. In a few minutes
a smart, good‐looking officer in white duck uniform entered. He was the
aide‐de‐camp, Senhor Carvalhaes. Speaking in fluent French, he informed
us that the Governor was not in the palace but would probably soon
return, and invited us to wait. He chatted pleasantly with us, gave us
much interesting information about Macao, and proffered his services
to make our stay in Portuguese territory as enjoyable as he could. We
soon became on very friendly terms and he accepted an invitation to
dine with us at the hotel that night. The sound of the guard turning
out and presenting arms told us that the Governor had returned. Senhor
Carvalhaes, praying us to excuse him, went out to inform his Excellency
of our presence. In a few minutes the Governor entered and courteously
welcomed us to Macao. He spoke English extremely well; although he
had only begun to learn it since he came to the colony not very long
before. After a very pleasant and friendly interview with him we took
our departure, escorted to the door by the aide‐de‐camp.
On the following day I paid some calls on the British and American
residents and then went down to the English tennis‐ground, which is
situated close to Bella Vista. Here, in the afternoons, the little
colony of aliens in Macao generally assemble. The consuls and their
wives and families, with a few missionaries and an occasional merchant,
make up their number. Close by the tennis‐courts, in a high‐walled
enclosure shaded by giant banyans, lies the English cemetery.
That night a civilian from Hong Kong, Mr. Ivan Grant‐Smith, and I had
an unpleasant adventure which illustrates the scant respect with which
the ægis of British power is regarded abroad. We are prone to flatter
ourselves that the world stands in awe of our Empire’s might, that the
magic words, “I am an English citizen!” will bear us scatheless through
any danger. The following instance—by no means an isolated one—of how
British subjects are often treated by the meanest officials of other
States may be instructive.
We had dined that evening at the house of one of the English residents
in Macao. The dinner, which was to celebrate the birthday of his son,
was followed by a dance; so that it was after one o’clock in the
morning before we left to walk back to the hotel, about a mile away.
Leaving the main streets, we tried a short cut along a lonely road
hemmed in by high garden walls. The ground on one side sloped up,
so that the level of the enclosures was but little below the top of
the wall fronting the road. As we passed one garden some dogs inside
it, roused by our voices, climbed on the wall and began to bark
persistently at us. In the vain hope of silencing them, Grant‐Smith
threw a few stones at the noisy animals. They barked all the more
furiously. A small gate in the wall a little distance farther on
suddenly opened and a half‐dressed Portuguese appeared. I had happened
to stop to light a cigar, and my companion had gone on ahead. The
new‐comer on the scene rushed at him and poured forth a torrent of what
was evidently abuse. My friend very pacifically endeavoured to explain
by gestures what had happened; but the Portuguese, becoming still more
enraged, shouted for the police patrol and blew a whistle loudly.
An Indian constable ran up. The infuriated citizen spoke to him in
Portuguese and then returned inside his garden, closing the gate. The
sepoy seized Mr. Grant‐Smith by the shoulder. I asked him in Hindustani
what my friend had done. The constable replied that he did not know. I
said, “Then why do you arrest the sahib?”
“Because that man”—pointing to the garden—“told me to do so.”
“Who is he?” I demanded, naturally concluding that we must have
disturbed the slumbers of some official whom the sepoy recognised.
To my astonishment he replied—
“I do not know, sahib. I never saw him before.”
As Grant‐Smith was ignorant of Hindustani and the Indian of English, I
was forced to act as interpreter.
“Then,” said I, “as you don’t know of what the sahib is guilty or even
the name of his accuser, you must release him.”
“I cannot, sahib. I must take him to the police‐station.”
Another Indian constable now came on the scene. I explained matters
to him and insisted on his entering the garden and fetching out the
complainant. He went in, and in a few minutes returned with the
Portuguese hastily clad. He was in a very bad temper at being again
disturbed; for, thinking that he had comfortably disposed of us for the
night, he had calmly gone to bed.
We all now proceeded to a small police‐station about a mile away,
passing the hotel on the road. Furious at the unjust arrest and
irritated at the coolness of the complainant and the stupidity of the
sepoy, my friend and I were anxious to see some superior authority. We
never doubted that a prompt release and apology, as well as a reprimand
to the over‐zealous constable, would immediately follow. British
subjects were not to be treated in this high‐handed fashion!
Arrived at the station, we found only a Portuguese constable, with
a Chinese policeman lying asleep on a guard‐bed in the corner. The
accuser now came forward and charged my companion with “throwing
stones at a dwelling‐house,” as the Indians informed me. Using them
to interpret, I endeavoured to explain the affair to the Portuguese
constable. He simply shrugged his shoulders, wrote down the charge,
and said that the prisoner must be taken to the Head Police Office for
the night. He added that, there being no charge against me, I was not
concerned in the matter, and could go home.
However, as my unfortunate friend required me as interpreter, I had no
intention of abandoning him, and accompanied him when he was marched
off to durance vile. The Portuguese policeman at first wished to send
him under the charge of the Chinese constable, whom he woke up for the
purpose; but we explained that if such an indignity were offered us we
would certainly refuse to go quietly with the Chinaman and might damage
him on the way. He then allowed the Indian sepoys, who were very civil,
to escort us. My luckless companion was then solemnly marched through
the town until the Head Police Office was reached, over two miles away.
It was a rambling structure in the heart of the city, with ancient
buildings and tree‐shaded courts. Down long corridors and across a
grass‐grown yard we were led into a large office. A half‐open door in
a partition on the left bore the inscription, “Quarto del Sargento.”
On the right, behind a large screen, a number of Portuguese policemen
lay asleep on beds. The sepoys roused a sergeant, who sat up grumbling
and surveyed us with little friendliness. The scene was rather amusing.
My friend and I in correct evening dress, as haughtily indignant as
Britishers should be under such circumstances, the Indian sepoys
standing erect behind us, the surly complainant, whom the light of the
office lamps revealed to be a very shoddy and common individual, the
half‐awakened policemen gazing sleepily at us from their beds, would
have made a capital tableau in a comedy. The sergeant rose and put
on his uniform. Seating himself at a table in the office he read the
charge. Without further ado he ordered a bed to be brought down and
placed for the prisoner in the empty “Quarto del Sargento.” He then
rose from the table and prepared to retire. I stopped him and demanded
that our explanation should be listened to. I told him, through the
interpreters, that if the ridiculous charge against my friend was
to be proceeded with, he could be found at the hotel. There was no
necessity for confining him for the night, as he could not leave
Macao without the knowledge of the authorities. The sergeant curtly
replied that as there was no complaint against me I had better quit
the police‐station as soon as possible. If I wished to give evidence
for my friend, I could attend at the magistrate’s court in the morning
and do so. I informed him that I was an officer in the British Army,
and demanded to see a Portuguese officer. He replied that he was a
sergeant, and quite officer enough for me. His manner throughout was
excessively overbearing and offensive. I then threatened to appeal to
the British Consul. I am afraid that this only amused the Portuguese
policemen, who had left their beds to come into the office and listen
to the affair. They laughed amusedly; and the sergeant, smiling grimly,
bade the interpreting sepoy tell me that he did not care a snap of
his fingers for our Consul. I then played my trump card. I demanded
that a message should be immediately conveyed to the aide‐de‐camp
of the Governor, to the effect that one of his English friends with
whom he had dined the previous night had been arrested. The effect
was electrical. As soon as my speech had been translated to them, all
the Portuguese policemen became at once extremely civil. The sergeant
rushed to a telephone and rang up the police officer on duty. I caught
the words “ufficiales Inglesos” and “amigos del Senhor Carvalhaes.”
After a long conversation over the wire he returned smiling civilly,
saluted, and said that my companion could leave the station at once.
Would he have the supreme kindness to attend at the magistrate’s court
at ten o’clock in the morning? If he did not know where it was, a
constable would be sent to the hotel to guide him.
We marched out with the honours of war. With profuse courtesy we were
escorted out of the police‐station, a sentry shouldering arms to us as
we passed; and the sergeant accompanied us to the outer gate, where he
parted from us with an elaborate salute.
We reached the hotel about 3.30 a.m. Before nine o’clock I presented
myself at the palace, where I interviewed Senhor Carvalhaes and
recounted the whole affair to him. He was indignant at the conduct of
the police. He told me that we need not attend the court, as he would
settle the matter himself. Later on my friend and I saw the British
Consul, whom we knew personally, and told him all that had happened.
He said that he could not have helped us in the least had we appealed
to him. Some time previous an English colonel, in company with several
ladies, had been arrested by the police for not removing his hat when
a religious procession passed. As this officer happened to be a Roman
Catholic, his action was not meant to be disrespectful. He was not
released until the British Consul had interviewed the Governor. By a
curious coincidence I met this colonel some months later in Seöul, the
capital of Corea.
That afternoon Grant‐Smith and I were invited to the Portuguese Naval
Tennis Club ground near Flora, the Governor’s summer residence.
Carvalhaes, who was present, came to me and told me that the affair
was settled. The trumpery charge had been dismissed; and the Indian
constable who had arrested Grant‐Smith had been punished with six
weeks’ imprisonment. As the unfortunate sepoy had only done what he
considered his duty and had been very civil throughout, as well as
helping me considerably by interpreting, I begged that the punishment
should be transferred from him to the discourteous Portuguese
sergeant. On my representations the Indian was released; but I doubt if
the man of the dominant caste received even a reprimand.
Our adventure was now common property. We were freely chaffed about the
arrest by the Portuguese officers and the British residents present at
the Tennis Club. The wife of the Governor laughingly bade one of the
English ladies bring up the “prisoner” and present him to her.
When one reflects that this quaint and old‐world little Portuguese
colony is only forty miles from Hong Kong with its large garrison, our
treatment by its insolent subordinate officials does not say much for
the respect for England’s might which we imagine is felt throughout the
world.
I had another experience of an arrest in Japan. The spy mania is rife
in that country; and no photographing is permitted in the fortified
seaports or in large tracts of country “reserved for military
purposes.” In the important naval station of Yukosŭka, an hour’s
journey by train from Yokohama, an American gentleman and I were taken
into custody by a policeman for merely carrying a camera which, knowing
the regulations, we had been careful not to use. We found afterwards
that our ricksha coolies had given information. I was fortunately able
to speak Japanese sufficiently well to explain to our captor that we
had no intention of taking surreptitious photographs of the warships
in the harbour. I pointed out that as most of these vessels had been
built in England it was hardly necessary for a Britisher to come to
Japan to get information about them. Our little policeman—with the
ready capacity of his countrymen for seeing the feeblest joke—was
immensely tickled. He laughed heartily and released us. But shortly
afterwards an Italian officer, on his way to attend the Japanese
military manœuvres, innocently took some photographs of the scenery
near Shimoneseki. He was promptly arrested and subsequently fined forty
yen (£4) for the offence. A few days later an Englishman at Moji was
taken into custody for the same crime. Moral: do not carry a camera in
Japan; content yourself with the excellent and cheap photographs to be
obtained everywhere in that country of delightful scenery.
To return to Macao. Its greatly advertised attraction is the famous
Chinese gambling‐houses, from the taxes on which is derived a large
portion of the revenues of the colony. Most visitors go to see them and
stake a dollar or two on the _fan‐tan_ tables. I did likewise and was
disappointed to find the famed saloons merely small Chinese houses,
the interiors glittering with tawdry gilt wood carving and blazing
at night with evil‐smelling oil lamps. On the ground floor stands a
large table, at the head of which sits the _croupier_, generally a
very bored‐looking old Chinaman. Along the sides are the players,
who occasionally lose the phlegmatic calm of their race in their
excitement. On the “board” squares are described, numbered 1, 2, 3,
and 4. On them the money is staked. The _croupier_ places a handful
of “cash,” which are small coins, on the table and covers them with
an inverted bowl. The number of them is not counted, as he takes them
at random from a pile beside him. As soon as all the stakes are laid
down, he lifts the bowl and with a chopstick counts the coins in
fours. The number left at the end, which must be one, two, three, or
four, represents the winning number. The bank pays three times the
stake deposited, less ten per cent., which is kept as its own share
of the winnings. In a gallery overhead sit European visitors and more
important Chinamen who do not wish to mix with the common herd around
the table. Their stakes are collected by an attendant who lowers them
in a bag at the end of a long string, and the _croupier_ places them
where desired. _Fan‐tan_ is not exciting. The counting of the coins
is tedious and the calculations of the amounts to be paid out to the
winners takes so long that the game becomes exceedingly wearisome.
Other attractions of Macao are the ruins of the old cathedral of San
Paulo, built in 1602 and destroyed by fire in 1835, of which the façade
still remains in good preservation; and the Gardens of Camoens, with
a bust of the famous Portuguese poet placed in a picturesque grotto
formed by a group of huge boulders. Camoens visited Macao, after
voyaging to Goa and the East by way of the Cape of Good Hope.
In the basements of some of the older houses in Macao are the
Barracoons, relics of the coolie traffic suppressed in 1874. They
are large chambers where the coolies, to be shipped as labourers to
foreign parts, were lodged while awaiting exportation. Among other
points of interest near the city is the curious natural phenomenon
known as the Ringing Rocks. They are reached by boat to Lappa. They
consist of a number of huge granite boulders, supposed to be of some
metallic formation, picturesquely grouped together, which, when struck,
give out a clear bell‐like note, which dies away in gradually fainter
vibrations. Altogether Macao is well worthy of a visit. The contrast
between the sleepy old‐world city, which looks like a town in Southern
Europe, and bustling, thriving Hong Kong, all that is modern and
business‐like, is very striking. For the moneymaker the English colony;
for the dreamer Macao.