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.