The Hills of Singapore

by Dawn Farnham

  William tilted his head towards John. “Doubtless unsavoury acts took place …”

  John pursed his lips.

  “However,” William continued, “once he realised where his best alliances could be made, he acted swiftly and decisively. And …” William now turned to John, “Bonham was forced to find a means to fight piracy which cost the Singapore government nothing, the East India Company refusing to pay anything and the merchants refusing to pay taxes.”

  John nodded. “That is true. The merchants would put up with anything, even piracy and murder, to avoid paying taxes.”

  “Ibrahim withdrew support for piracy amongst his followers and used his growing influence with other leaders in the peninsula,” William explained. “Naturally the open backing of the colonial authorities, and several successful raids on pirate strongholds, increased his personal reputation. Many people sought refuge with him in Telok Belangah. He became the intermediary between the government and the Malay chiefs.”

  William took a drink of tea. He had a rather feminine way of holding his cup with his little finger crooked, Charlotte noticed. Then he went on: “That was when I became involved with him. It has been a struggle for him. He was rewarded only a few years ago by being officially recognised as Temenggong Sri Maharaja of Johor, not only by the British but importantly, by the other Sultans of the archipelago. In the absence of a legitimate Sultan of Singapore, he has become the most important Malay leader here. Governor Butterworth has full confidence in him.”

  John snorted and William ignored him. “Now he has seen the commercial potential of the land he controls in Johor. He has had the wisdom to cooperate widely with the Chinese community, granting land leases to develop pepper and gambier plantations. However he is also astute enough to make sure he retains control of these kangchu, or headmen, with scrupulous documentation and close supervision. No one who knows the organisational ineptitude of other unruly Malay sultans can fail to be impressed by Daeng Ibrahim’s foresight and vision. He will make of Johor a mighty state.

  John looked at William sharply and remarked, “And those who go with him will make their fortunes and the devil take their morals.”

  William shrugged and smiled.

  Their conversation was interrupted by the entrance of a group of Malay men, several Europeans and three Chinese merchants. To her absolute astonishment, Charlotte saw that one of the three was Zhen.

  He stopped abruptly at the sight of her and she too, was transfixed. Then the Temenggong entered and the moment passed. Her heart, which for that moment had been normal, suddenly began to beat hard, and she felt very hot. She waved her fan quickly and turned to John.

  “I fear we are intruding,” she said, desperate to leave. “We have taken up enough of the Temenggong’s time. He is a busy man.”

  She rose and took John’s arm. Ibrahim had glanced up as she moved and now came to her side.

  “I am sorry our party has been interrupted. Some unexpected business has come up. Forgive me.”

  She could hardly concentrate on what the Temenggong was saying. Zhen had moved away from the group and was making his way towards her, but he hesitated to approach her whilst the Temenggong was speaking. She wished he would not. Charlotte did not trust herself or her emotions.

  “May I invite you to the Istana again, Mrs Manouk?” The Temenggong smiled and she curtsied, hardly aware of what he had asked.

  “It is for Hari Raya, the festival which marks the end of the fasting of Ramadan.” Ibrahim turned to John. “Of course, you are also invited, Mr Thomson. I always have a large party. With fireworks.”

  John bowed and the matter was settled. Ibrahim nodded to Charlotte and spoke to his minister, who was at his elbow. She was immediately surrounded by a small group of guards and realised that Ibrahim was paying her a great honour. For better or worse, Zhen was unable to reach her, and her last view of him was as she turned on the jetty and saw him outside, staring down to the landing place. She wanted to raise her hand, but suddenly John took her arm and helped her into the boat. By the time she had twisted out of his grasp and looked again at the hill, he had disappeared.

  19

  Charlotte was in the garden, directing the planting of a grove of pretty yellow flowering cassod trees. It was early, the day still fresh, when a servant came racing towards her. A policeman tuan was here with a message, the servant said.

  She went back to the house and found Edmond Hale, one of Robert’s European sergeants in a state of agitation. Before she could speak he said, “Robert. It’s Robert. He has been injured down at Rochor. Attacked, there’s been an attack.”

  Charlotte’s hand flew to her mouth. Robbie injured, my God! She stared at Edmond, unwilling to believe it.

  “I’ve just had word. I thought you should know. Stay here Charlotte. I will go and send back news,” he said firmly.

  But Charlotte put up her hand. “‘I will not stay, Edmond. I must come with you.” She called Malik, her major domo. A man of grace and efficiency, he would take charge of the house immediately. She considered herself lucky to have him. He was something of a snob but she did not mind. He had served Governor Bonham until the Governor’s departure. Butterworth had no need of him, for he had brought his own butler and staff from India.

  She and Edmond took to the carriage and set out for Rochor Road. Though he moved quite fast down North Bridge Road, Edmond was forced to slow constantly for the state of the roads was dreadful with great potholes here and there, especially as they approached Kampong Glam.

  “Damnable roads, makes our job twice as difficult. No one wants to pay for the upkeep, though God knows, the convict labour is free,” he grumbled.

  Charlotte could hardly take any of this in. Why was he talking about roads when Robert might be in mortal danger?

  The carriage crossed the intersection by the Sultan’s mosque very slowly, for here the ground was muddy and churned. The track, for it was merely this, was all but impassible at Jalan Trang, and by now they could hear the sounds of men shouting. Edmond got down and, with Charlotte following, they advanced down the track. A great number of Malays were gathered, mingled with some policemen. The noise grew tumultuous, but none of the Malays was making a sound. The din came from around the corner on Jalan Rochor, where the police station was situated. Heavy noise, voices raised, sticks beating tin, a roar. Then she saw a man being carried on a stretcher, covered in blood. She let out a cry and ran forward, but she quickly saw it was not Robert. The poor man was Chinese and was horribly beaten.

  Edmond spoke to the two peons carrying him. “The Chinese interpreter, beaten by the mob. I’ve told them to take our carriage, get him to the hospital.” Edmond had to yell over the din.

  Charlotte’s robe was now heavy with mud. She was having difficulty walking, and Edmond, anxious for her, told her to wait. But she was too afraid now to wait alone. The press of men was all around, and two policemen, seeing the Europeans and recognising Edmond, came to their aid.

  As they turned the corner, Charlotte saw, to her horror, the full import of the situation. The noise came from the angry, distorted faces of thousands of Chinese men. The number was incredible; they formed a great mass so closely melded together that they swayed like black foam on a river. Above them rose a sea of flags and banners. It was, Charlotte knew, the massed members of the kongsi, the Chinese society which regulated affairs in the settlement. Their lodge and temple were on Rochor Road.

  A line of policemen formed a thick cordon at the Rochor bridge, guns raised. Only this bridge separated the furious mass from the other side of the river. The lane and banks on the far side were thick with men, banners lifted, voices raised in a chant. Pah, pah, pah, it sounded like. Strangely, through the din came the sound of a Chinese band, its high tones a countermelody to the chant. Charlotte stood transfixed by this powerful, violent symphony of sound and music which ebbed and flowed, until Edmond took her arm and pulled her into the police station.

  Robert was seated on a
chair inside, his face bloody. His arm was hurt in some way, she could see, hanging limply at his side.

  “Kitt, Kitt, oh dear. Why are you here? It has all got out of hand so very quickly,” he cried.

  Charlotte shook her head and called to one of the men for some water. Taking up her petticoat, she tore a great strip and began to wipe Robert’s bloody face. She could see he had received blows.

  Robert smiled wanly at his sister and turned to Edmond. “You should not have brought her here, really Edmond.”

  “Not Edmond’s fault. I would not stay away. We had news you were injured.”

  Robert winced as the water stung his wound. “Captain Cuppage is still out there, guarding the bridge. He has sent for the army. We cannot control this number of men. Why there must be five or six thousand of them.”

  “What has happened, Robert?”

  “All this because of a funeral. The head of the kongsi died two weeks ago, and an application was made to me to bury the body with due form, which for the Chinese means a very public procession. You know what it is like, Charlotte, lots of show and so on.”

  Charlotte nodded. She was worried about Robbie. She had cleaned the wound as best she could, but it needed a surgeon. She tore another strip and wound it round Robert’s head. Then she made a sling for his arm. He was in pain; it showed on his face though he made not a sound as she tied the sling around his neck.

  “I consented to the procession so long as the number of followers did not exceed one hundred. Fine chance! The procession was to proceed directly through the town to the burial ground at Mount Palmer and be carried out in an orderly fashion. Other mourners were permitted to gather there, at the burial site. All this was agreed to by the leaders of the kongsi, and now you see the result. Why, they lie as they breathe.”

  Edmond had gone out to check the bridge. Now he came back with Captain Cuppage in tow. “Adam,” said Robert, “what news?”

  “Still, for the moment. I think there has been a bit of shock at your wounding, and they are deciding what to do. Most of the noise is for show. That was a foolish brave thing to do, Robert.”

  Adam smiled at Robert and bowed to Charlotte. He had never seen this sister of his friend, and he was, despite all the fracas, glad to see that reports of her looks had not been exaggerated.

  Charlotte nodded at Adam Cuppage.

  “What happened, Captain Cuppage?”

  “Your brother saved that poor Chinese man from certain death.”

  Robert was drinking water, some colour returning to his face. Adam Cuppage continued. “We got reports of this huge mob gathering at the river, and the whole force was mustered. When we got here, I took up guard at the bridge and Robert went to talk to the leaders, for this appearance of six thousand men was too much. Of course they said they had no control over what the men did. What nonsense. These men are here only by their bidding! Well, as Robert was about to come back to me, a scuffle broke out, and the men began attacking the Chinese interpreter with iron bars. Robert went back and used his rifle butt to get the men off the poor fellow and brought him out. Not without the knocks and bruises you see upon his person.”

  A policeman, breathing heavily, interrupted them. A heavy drumming had begun. “The procession is on the move. We cannot hold them.”

  Robert looked at Adam. “Good God. The whole town will be pillaged.” He rose, shakily.

  “Edmond, you must stay here with Charlotte. We must contain it, cut off the side streets. They don’t want to stay here. When it has passed by, take my sister home.”

  Robert looked severely at Charlotte. “Do as I say, Kitt.”

  Charlotte nodded.

  “Come on, Adam. Get the men organised, keep the procession moving down North Bridge Road. Don’t let any strays off on the cross streets.”

  The two men left, and Charlotte and Edmond waited inside the police station with a cordon of men before the door. The sound of drumming had increased, and the music of the band had suddenly risen to a fever pitch. Robert’s men moved back slowly from the bridge before the procession’s leaders who were carrying the large banners, until they blocked Jalan Rochor, forcing the procession to turn on Jalan Trang. It was the first test and it was successful. The men turned; the band passed; the mob came on and then the huge catafalque, carried by sixty men, passed before their eyes, its purple embroidered covering shimmering with gold thread. The men, a seething, chattering mob, went by. It seemed to take a long time, but finally the music faded, the drumming dimmed and the last stragglers moved on.

  The policemen guarding the street dispersed and Charlotte knew they would run to join their companions, down the parallel lanes, leapfrogging the procession.

  Edmond and Charlotte made their way out into the now quiet street. Her carriage had gone. The streets were a muddy morass and they began, slowly, to pick their way out, down Jalan Rochor to the beachside bazaar, turning onto Jalan Bugis towards home. The streets had emptied, everyone returning to their usual pursuits and the wind had picked up. The boatmen were hammering boats on the sand; some fishermen were repairing nets. A group of children followed them, chattering for a while, until Edmond shooed them away. Everything was normal. Charlotte could hardly believe the events of a mere fifteen minutes ago had actually happened, were still happening in the town.

  That night she went to Robert’s house on Beach Road. He was freshly bandaged and Teresa was fussing over him, pouring tea. She looked tired. The pregnancy and the strain, of course, of Robert’s injuries—the anxiety—were wearing on her. How he had managed with his arm, she did not know, for Dr Oxley had declared a fracture and it was now constrained inside his splint of gutta-percha.

  It was the second time in a very short while she had discovered the useful properties of this material. Dr Oxley had perfected the use of it for broken and fractured bones. When pressed sheets of it were immersed in hot water, they became so pliable they could be applied to the patient and moulded to form a perfect splint. When they were cold they became as hard as plaster. After the patient was healed, a little warm water would return the sheet to its original malleable form, so it could be removed easily. It was marvellous and Charlotte examined Robert’s arm in admiration. He was not in pain. He had been prescribed a little opium and she could see he was at ease.

  Her mind, very briefly, strayed to opium. She had been an addict for a time, cured now. It was old history. Still, the thoughts of the pleasures of opium were like the pleasures of love: they lingered in the mind, never far away.

  Today, however, she dispelled them quickly. Her attention turned to the news of the day. The procession, she learned, had been contained. The troops had arrived in number and the mob was prevented from entering the town, corralled away from Hill Street to turn down Coleman Street and cross the bridge at South Bridge Road. From there the going was straight to the Chinese burial ground, every crossroad sealed off.

  “It is not over yet. Stay close to home, Kitt. I have discovered there is a trouble between two rival kongsi. I had thought there was but one, but it is not so. The Teochew and Hokkien kongsi are rivals. The Straits merchants here in Singapore are trying to break the Teochew monopoly of the gambier agriculture both in Rhio and here in Singapore.”

  Robert put his hand to his head. His voice was vibrant, excited. He could see everything clearly. Charlotte knew this was the first stage of the effect of opium. All pain dulled, but the mind as clear as a bell. “I have been a dupe and this wound serves me right,” he said. “Chew Tock, my voluntary interpreter, turns out to be no other than the head of this Hokkien kongsi. When the other side saw him at my side, they imagined the worst and I have also discovered that there were many of his men in the crowd itching for a fight. Tan Tock Seng has told the Resident Councillor that bitter and hostile feelings exist between these two parties. I fear things will get much worse in the coming weeks. There is a battle going on which we barely begin to understand.”

  Robert sighed and suddenly seemed to wilt. “For
the love of the Lord, Teresa, take away this tea and bring me a whisky.”

  Teresa started to speak but Robert put up his hand. “Please,” he said and smiled wanly. Teresa left the room.

  “Kitt, I have to speak to you.”

  Charlotte frowned slightly. Robert’s tone was anxious, but she detected the opium underneath, loosening his tongue. This usually preceded the last stage, the dulling of the senses entirely.

  “Yes Robbie, of course. What is it?”

  “I have … done something.” His voice was becoming very low and slow. He was very tired, she could see. The opium was taking effect. He needed to sleep.

  Charlotte rose and went to him, taking his hand. “What, Robbie? What is it?”

  “I have … Shilah.”

  Robert’s head began to loll. The opium was taking him to the land of pleasant dreams. Charlotte frowned. “What, Robert? What about Shilah?”

  He raised his head and smiled a dreamy smile. She recognised it. Dangerous dreams. “Shilah … I … Shilah.” His head fell back onto the cushion of the chair, and she knew he was far away.

  20

  Zhen looked at the women in the kitchen. The family was gathered at the mansion on River Valley Road. Noan’s mother, aunts and cousins and her father’s third concubine were making glutinous rice dumplings for the Dragon Boat Festival in two days.

  Noan was pregnant and happy at her family’s pleasure. She could see that her father and mother were refreshed at the thought of this birth. But it was tempered by anxiety. So much trouble with Lilin. Her continued absences from the family home, her stubborn nature, these were causes of anxiety for everyone. Noan’s third sister had been married away, to the son of the Kapitan at Batavia. They would not meet again until Chinese New Year. Her fourth sister was married to a wealthy merchant in the rice trade in Cochin China. He was, she had heard, not a young man. Two sisters gone and one so lost. She felt a terrible, love for Lilin, who seemed so very far away.