Chapter 837: Merchant's Report (IV)

The three of us debated the purpose of those peculiar wooden poles at some length. Mr. Gonzalez insisted they must be some distinctive form of idol worship—ritual structures invested with sacred meaning. But Mr. Leibtrini dismissed this theory, pointing out that the poles bore no religious significance whatsoever: they hardly resembled idols, and no Australian showed the slightest gesture of veneration toward them. I found myself siding with Mr. Leibtrini. Throughout our entire journey, we observed no one expressing reverence or worship toward these poles, nor any trace of such practices—no offerings, no incense burned, no sacrifices laid before them.

The distance from Bopu to Bairencheng proved remarkably short—we estimated scarcely more than a league. Soon we entered what we understood to be Bairencheng's environs. Later we learned the truth: we had never actually set foot within Bairencheng proper. The so-called Bairencheng was the Australians' fortress itself, which no one save the Australians and their most trusted native servants was permitted to enter. Yet around this citadel had risen a city of considerable scale—they call it East Gate Market, for it lies to the east of Bairencheng. We were told that when the Australians first arrived in Lingao, this was where they conducted trade with the local population. In just a few years, what had begun as a crude marketplace had blossomed into a remarkably prosperous town.

East Gate Market possesses no protective walls, but watchtowers stand sentinel at every road entrance. These structures are ubiquitous here—not only in Bopu but distributed along both sides of the roads throughout the territory. The Australians appear to rely upon them as their primary defensive measure. The towers are generally square, their foundations laid with thick stone slabs and their bodies constructed of fired brick. Some are cruder affairs, assembled from interlaced timber or bamboo. Most rise two or three stories. The more substantial towers could be considered small fortresses in their own right, encircled by moats and low walls, with cannons mounted atop. The Australians station guards in these towers, creating an intricate web of surveillance. Clearly, the Australians harbor considerable anxiety about their presence on this island and remain perpetually vigilant against attack.

Our carriage entered East Gate Market along the main thoroughfare running east to west. The street was both broad and impeccably level—wide enough for twelve fully armed cavalrymen to ride abreast. Shops lined both sides, their shelves displaying a dazzling array of merchandise. The buildings rose two or three stories, packed closely together. The streetscape reminded me forcefully of the commercial districts of The Hague or Amsterdam. Australian architecture bears no resemblance to Chinese building traditions; rather, it echoes European styles, though rendered with greater frugality and practicality. Their exploitation of space has reached an astonishing degree—how to extract the maximum utility from limited ground appears to be their sole architectural aesthetic. What struck us most profoundly was that every building we saw was tiled, and every structure, regardless of size, featured windows fitted with large panes of glass.*

Numerous lateral streets branched from the main thoroughfare. Whether main street or side lane, pedestrians were surprisingly few. All roads were paved with the same black gravel used for the main highway—equally level and smooth. The streets were astonishingly clean. In all my travels through East and West, only in the Netherlands have I encountered such immaculate urban conditions—no refuse, no sewage, no human or animal waste.**

Raised stone sidewalks flanked the streets, planted with coconut palm saplings. The Australians appear to hold coconut palms in particular esteem, cultivating this useful plant at every opportunity. Here we again encountered objects resembling the poles along the main road, but their purpose now became immediately apparent—they were streetlamps. Iron lamp heads crowned with glass shades confirmed our deduction. We were told that each evening, designated workers light these lamps. Illuminating the streets at night obviously provides both shops and pedestrians with considerable security. Nevertheless, such an expensive practice does seem to support the commonly held view that the Australians "live extravagantly."

Our carriage halted before a handsome red-brick building—a square structure with a sloped roof covered in German-style tiles, its windows tall and narrow. Of all the Australian buildings I had observed in Lingao, this one came closest to European aesthetic sensibilities. According to our accompanying official, this was the Trading House, specially designated for receiving visiting dignitaries. Visiting merchants could also elect to stay here, enjoying fine food and comfortable rooms.

We alighted from the carriage under the official's guidance. The Australians appear to have no regard whatsoever for pomp and ceremony. Besides our accompanying officials and guards, no superfluous personnel were present—certainly no resplendent ceremonial guards. We were simply led into the Trading House and brought to a small waiting hall.

Before entering the hall itself, our attendants and interpreters were all detained in the antechamber. I objected to this arrangement, pointing out that we would be unable to communicate. The official replied in German: "Your interpreter who speaks only Cantonese will not be needed."

His German was somewhat peculiar, yet it was the most accurate German I had heard anywhere in Asia outside of native speakers. His accent seemed northern German in origin.

But afterward, no matter how I attempted to engage him in conversation, he remained obstinately silent until we were finally ushered into the reception hall.

The hall was not large in area but sumptuously appointed. From the ceiling hung an exquisite branching glass chandelier—though we noticed that the glass shades appeared to be completely sealed, with no trace of candles visible within. Perhaps it was merely decorative. A magnificent Chinese-style screen dominated the center of the hall, larger in scale than any Chinese screens we had encountered in India or Persia. Enormous paintings on paper adorned the walls, depicting mountains, rivers, and flowers in vivid colors. Some of these works nearly covered entire walls. Mr. Leibtrini observed that the paintings displayed unmistakable European techniques—their treatment of light, composition, and perspective. Recalling the pamphlet Your Excellency provided me, which mentioned Portuguese missionaries active in Lingao, these were likely the work of some friars.

The floor was spread with luxurious Persian carpets. Before the screen, Chinese-style chairs and tea tables had been arranged in a neat semicircle. An Australian high official awaited us in front of the screen.

This official bore the title of "Executive"—a status comparable, we were told, to our own masters. Our accompanying official reminded us that this was one of the nine most exalted Senators in the entire Australian Senate, invested with complete authority over trade matters.

The Executive was remarkably young. Since Australians do not wear beards at all, judging their precise age proves difficult, but I estimated he could not yet be thirty. For someone of such tender years to hold so elevated a position, I surmised it must have been inherited. His attire was exceedingly plain, indistinguishable from that of every other Australian official we had encountered along the way. Had our accompanying official not made the introduction, we would never have recognized such an important personage on the street.

Your Excellency, during our voyage I had read several accounts of China written by travelers and missionaries. Every one noted that Chinese officials adore grand and magnificent displays—large retinues and ceremonial guards are considered essential accoutrements for every official. But among the Australians, we observed no such tastes whatsoever. As an Executive, this man had neither ceremonial personnel nor numerous clerks and guards in attendance. He received us in the plainest manner imaginable. This reminded me strongly of our homeland—the Australians share many similarities with us in this regard.***

The Executive invited us to be seated in the chairs before the screen. Through our accompanying official, he expressed regrets that no one locally understood our native language. If High German could not serve as the medium for our talks, he inquired whether we might use French, English, Spanish, or Latin. I indicated that High German would serve our purposes admirably.

Before the talks commenced, I presented the letter from the Batavia East Indies Council to the Lingao Australian Senate, along with the inventory of gifts we had brought. The Executive expressed his thanks. Thereafter, we began substantive discussions on trade matters.

The Australians expressed keen interest in all the goods we had transported. They were willing to purchase our entire cargo and eager to conduct further negotiations for expanded trade. I seized this opportunity to raise objections regarding customs tariffs. Your Excellency will have observed in my previous report that while they levy very modest tariffs on most imports—or none at all—they impose heavy duties on the Company's primary export commodity in the East Indies: spices. I protested this arrangement and proposed that we establish a unified rate—namely, that all goods we bring to Lingao for sale, excepting duty-free items, be taxed at a uniform 1% customs duty. Additionally, I requested that we be permitted to sell our goods freely in Lingao rather than have them purchased in bulk by the Australians. That is, I proposed that goods follow the market rather than being traded at prices imposed upon us—conditions I considered entirely inappropriate.

The Executive rejected this. He maintained that a 1% customs duty was far too low and categorically dismissed the concept of unified tariffs, proposing instead that duties be assessed according to the particular circumstances of each commodity. However, he agreed to adjust the tariff on spices and grant us preferential rates on spice imports. As for the bulk-purchase policy, he also consented to exempt us from this practice and permit free sale at market prices. Though we ultimately failed to secure agreement on the 1% unified tariff, obtaining acceptance on these two points represented, I believe, quite significant progress. I subsequently endeavored to reduce export duties on Company goods to more reasonable levels.

In early 17th century Europe, many cities still had thatched roofs. Some cities did not transition entirely to tile until the late 18th century. Additionally, glass windows did not become common until the 18th century.

*The cities of the United Provinces—the Dutch—were famous throughout Europe for their cleanliness. Additionally, Dutch dignitaries of that era were also known for their plainness—at least by the standards of the time.

(End of Chapter)