Captain Billy's Whiz Bang, March 1922 · page 57 of 68
Captain Billy's Whiz Bang #31 — page 57: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains a first-person travel narrative—not a cartoon—describing the author's visit to Macao, likely early 20th century. The text reflects period Western attitudes toward Asian cultures through heavily stereotyped description. The passage describes Chinese women with racist imagery (exaggerated makeup, betel-nut staining, "unnattractive to an Occidental eye"), presenting them as exotic and morally suspect via a quoted proverb about female deception. The opium factory section uses gothic, dehumanizing language—workers as "imps," the facility as "Devil's smithyshop." This reflects Western moral panic about opium while documenting actual industrial processing. The tone combines voyeuristic travel journalism with moral disapproval, typical of early 20th-century American periodicals. The satire targets Asian practices rather than critiquing Western imperialism or exploitation.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Captain Billy's Whiz Bang 55 cially whitened and rouged faces were ghastly, and their flower-and-jewel-bedecked hair glued down to the skull was anything but attractive to an Occidental eye. Their lips were red like the dawn of day, their complexions like con- gealed ointment, and their betel-nut-stained teeth like black watermelon seeds. They un- furled painted fans, sipped tea, nibbled sweet- meats, puffed at opium-pipes, and looked quite flowery in their blue collars, purple tunics and bright green trousers. I wonder if the men, whom they were entertaining, remembered the Chinese proverb, “There is no such poison in the green snake’s mouth or in the hornet’s sting as in a woman’s heart.” After visiting next day a firecracker fac- tory, temples, joss-houses, and a tobacco plant where little children and old women were at work sorting the leaves, I was conducted to Macao’s notorious opium factory. I entered a low-ceiling room where men were stripped to their waists like blacksmiths at the forge. They picked up the crude opium, shaped like a cocoa- nut shell, scooped out the chocolate-looking sub- stance, threw it into a kind of brass wash-basin under which roared the fire, until it steamed and blubbered like a pot of hot mush or molas- ses. They darted here and there like imps with these pans. Then the liquid was poured in por- celain boxes of various sizes. The whole place seemed like a Devil’s smithyshop where chains were being forged for lost souls. The odor was