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.