The Hills of Singapore

by Dawn Farnham

  Butterworth reluctantly responded to the new crisis, and Colonel Cameron himself headed the Madras sepoys and a corps of navy marines landed from H.M.S. Sybille, Lily and Rapid. The sight of such a large occupying force brought calm to the streets, and the fighting continued only in desultory attacks on passers-by.

  To forestall further problems, Robert sent word to all the European merchants to attend a meeting at noon at the Police House. When John Thomson arrived at the head of a large group of sympathetic government officers, Robert’s spirits were buoyed, and together they set off to wait upon Butterworth.

  Butterworth was dressed in military uniform festooned with his medals and insignia. Robert and John exchanged glances.

  “Sir,” Robert began.

  Butterworth held up his hand and looked at them with a jaundiced eye. “Gentlemen, I thank you for your visit and understand your anxieties. Every exertion is now being made to put an end to these disorders. I have taken charge and, with the assistance of the Senior Naval Officer, we have no doubt that peace will soon be restored.”

  “Colonel, with respect,” Robert said, “I think you are underestimating the gravity of the situation.”

  Butterworth threw haughty glance at Robert. “So you say, Superintendent, so you say. I shall be happy to have your written report. However we must differ on this matter. It is not serious, and I shall handle it.”

  “Sir, may I ask at least that you take the precaution of swearing in the civilians as special constables, in case their services are urgently needed in defence of their homes and property, and, even the town itself?”

  Butterworth stared at Robert as if the idea was quite ridiculous. He smiled slightly and threw a complicit glance at Mr Church, who lowered his eyes.

  “It is entirely unnecessary. However,” he said, his voice filled with condescension, “if you men insist and if it will allay your fears, then, naturally I shall do so.”

  “Thank you, Colonel. Noon at the Police House, sir.” Robert turned and left the room, filled with fury. “The man is a fool. He has no idea what he is up against and refuses to listen,” he said to John.

  “You’ve done what you can, Rob.”

  The swearing-in took place with seventy of the Europeans stepping forward. These were invested with the authority to arrest, detain, bear and use arms. As he headed back over the river, Robert sent his two European policemen and several peons to round up the Chinese merchants and bring them to the Reading Rooms on Commercial Square. All the shops and the godowns were ordered to be closed.

  When the Chinese merchants arrived, they shuffled amongst themselves. Mr Church, as Resident Councillor, exhorted them to use their influence to restore order. Robert was unconvinced that this plea would do any good. The Chinese merchants would have little stomach for this.

  He spotted Zhen and went up to him. “What do you know of this business? Your kongsi has the power to stop it, certainly.”

  Zhen shook his head. This rioting had sprung up out of nowhere. But he was not surprised. The age-old hatreds of the two factions had been brewing for some time. Now, though, the rival kongsi were organised, taking advantage by bringing more men in from the countryside.

  He considered what to tell Robert. “Things that have been brewing for some time have come to a head. I do not believe the Europeans are in any danger. This is between the Chinese. I can do nothing to stop it.”

  Robert looked Zhen in the eyes. He was sure Zhen was speaking the truth. Robert also guessed that Zhen knew more than he had said, but he was being honest: the matter was not in his hands.

  “Believe me,” Zhen said. “This is kind of blood-letting. We can do little but wait for it to pass. But it is serious. Be vigilant over the next few days.”

  The merchants departed. Robert saw they had no power to deal with this situation, and he knew Zhen’s words were true. In hopes of discouraging disorder, Robert called for a curfew, and all business ceased. With the restoration of peace, Butterworth sent word that troops should go back to the barracks at nightfall and await orders. Robert sent a written protest, explaining that sources had told him of what would transpire. The protest was ignored.

  The next day was Sunday. Robert called all the special constables together at the Reading Rooms and addressed them. “I know there will be trouble tomorrow. I believe the rioters will expect the Europeans to observe Sunday and not come into town at all. With the troops gone, I firmly believe they will take advantage of this and bring reinforcements into town.”

  He looked over the faces of of his fellows, old and young, merchants and traders, not soldiers or policemen. “My men are done in with the last two days and nights. I need every one of you to be on duty in the streets at four o’clock,” he said. “Five groups of eighteen men, fully armed. I will head one, Henry Cluff, the Deputy Superintendent, another, Mr Hale a third and two Magistrates will lead the other two. The Governor will not be convinced of the seriousness of the situation. It is up to us.”

  “We’re with you Robert,” called John Thomson, and the others answered.

  Robert smiled. “Thank you, men. Now go home and get as much rest as possible. We will meet here again at three o’clock.”

  Robert posted a small contingent of his men throughout the town as the troops pulled out at seven o’clock. The streets were calm. Before the storm, he thought, but was glad to go home and fall fast asleep.

  The night passed without incident. At daybreak every man had reported for duty. They alone had the entire charge of the town.

  At first, as day broke, few Chinese ventured onto the streets, but reports came to Robert that in Circular Road, the upper part of Market Street, Telok Ayer and other places, houses were crammed to bursting with men, and there was a raging ferment indoors. Robert knew that it was only the sight of his patrols that was preventing this ferment from sweeping out onto the street and the whole town going up in flames.

  A little before six o’clock, a gang of men attempted to plunder a house at the corner of Circular Road and South Bridge Road, but Hale’s patrol dispersed the mob. Robert’s patrol met with knives and swords on Philip Street; two other patrols broke up violent riots on Market Street and within two hours had taken fifty rioters into custody. Two of the merchants were wounded.

  Robert joined John Thomson and eight other men with the two wounded merchants, along with the captured rioters, and marched them, covered in blood, to the steps of the Court House and called on the Governor and the authorities to take charge. “Now, sir, will you not see sense?”

  Butterworth stood, appalled at the sight of the town’s European merchants, bloodied, beaten but angry, with fifty wild Chinese in tow. For the first time, the full extent of the very real danger to this community hit home, and, finally, he acted All the Chinese boats on the river, which were swarming with men, were corralled into the centre and patrolled by the cutters of the naval men-of-war in the harbour.

  Marines and sepoys descended on the town to relieve the tired special constables. The rioters took to their heels and headed out of town and into the countryside. Reports of violence rapidly came in between the warring factions. The police station at Rochor was attacked and six men killed.

  By Monday all the violence was in the country districts, particularly Paya Lebah and Geylang. The special constables joined Robert and Cluff in rebuffing mob attacks on the stations and bringing in refugees.

  On Tuesday, houses in Tanglin were burned and hundreds of men on Bukit Timah Road were turned back by the special constables and two of Robert’s policemen. A pitched battle took place near Cluny. Murders of villagers at Siglap and Serangoon were reported, with dozens killed. A mob of hundreds of men near the police station at the fifth milestone on Thomson Road was turned back after vicious fighting which left scores dead.

  On Wednesday, Butterworth issued a proclamation calling for calm, warning of the intervention of the military and ordering all junks in the harbour to anchor in position.

  Finally the dis
order was so widespread that the steamer Hooghly was despatched with sepoys and Malay special constables to land at intervals around the entire island. From information received, Colonel Cameron destroyed a Chinese jungle stockade of arms, plunder, rice, opium and arrack at Bedok. A further proclamation was sent around town warning the populace of dire consequences if the violence continued and reminding them that this was not their country to do as they wished.

  By Thursday the town at least was quiet, and businesses opened. But the countryside continued under fire and sword for seven more days, leaving plantations in ruins, houses and orchards destroyed, roads dug up and villages burned. There was uneasiness in Malacca which, fortunately, came to nothing, and in Johor there was some trouble with the disruption of rice supplies from Singapore, and trade was suspended.

  The lock-up and the gaol were crammed with over five hundred prisoners. Acts of unspeakable excess were reported and arrests made from the rural areas, where no rein was put on the hatred of, as the Grand Jury heard, “people who lived in a state of semi-barbarism with little or no idea of what law and order is and where one faction had, by a preponderance of numbers, great power over the other.” At the end of the sessions, six men were sentenced to death and executed, sixty-four were sentenced to hard labour and eight were transported.

  When it was all over and the town had settled down to its repairs, Robert called to see Butterworth. Robert knew very well that the Governor was in a difficult position. He had acted so tardily it had caused the riots to get fully out of hand. The island had been pillaged and his authority diminished. Without the civilian population’s forethought and courage, the town would have been burned to the ground. Questions had been asked in India. Robert’s report had been unstinting in its exposition of the facts.

  Robert stood before Butterworth’s desk and waited. His report was open in front of the Governor.

  Butterworth tapped the paper. “Have you sent this to anyone else, Superintendent?”

  “No, sir. But if you think it useful I would be happy to send it directly to the government in India.”

  Butterworth looked at him sharply. “That won’t be necessary, Mr Macleod.”

  “No, sir. For the present I will leave it to your discretion.”

  There was a silence.

  “Is there any other matter you wish to raise with me, Governor Butterworth?”

  The Governor steepled his hands. Robert waited. Butterworth was thinking hard, but there seemed no way out of this particular conundrum. The Governor looked up, directly at Robert.

  “No, Superintendent. Carry on.”

  Robert smiled and bowed slightly. “Thank you, sir.”

  45

  Jeanne had hardly changed. She was older to be sure, grey streaks in her curly black hair. She had remained as slim as a girl, though, and nothing could hide her beautiful eyes. She had been a great beauty, and Robert and Charlotte knew she had had many suitors. But she had refused them until they came no more. Young, her memories of her dead fiancé had refused to relinquish their hold on her heart, and when she’d felt those ties loosen, it had been too late.

  By then Robert and his sister had come to Aberdeen, and Jeanne had loved them like her own children. Charlotte and Robert had made some mathematical calculations and decided she was around fifty-six years old. Robert could not quite believe it, for though her skin bore the signs of long walks in the Scottish winds, she was lithe and bonny.

  As she stepped onto the quayside, she saw him and smiled. It was the smile of the mother she had been to those two orphaned waifs, sad and afraid. He felt his heart lurch with love for her.

  Robert put his arms around her, and tears welled. So long, so many years had passed, and he had forgotten how much they owed to her, for without her they would surely have perished from misery.

  “Aunt, Aunt, I am so glad you are here safe.”

  Jeanne held Robert very tightly, the emotion of seeing him again quite overwhelming. He was so handsome, so much a man, but she remembered him still as a boy. They had been a gift to her, these two. When she had lost her father, her fiancé, then her beloved brother, she had also almost lost her faith. But then He who had closed a door had opened a window and given her the care and love of these children.

  She drew herself under control, a habit of a lifetime. “Robbie, my boy. It is good to see you.”

  Robert released her, and they smiled at each other. He wiped his eyes. It did not do for the police chief to stand around in open displays of emotion, and he took her hand.

  As she settled into the carriage and began to look around, Robert spoke. “Aunt, something terrible has happened since you left Scotland.”

  Jeanne looked at Robert and listened. By the time they arrived at Charlotte’s house, Jeanne understood. The memory of her own tragedy, of learning of Edward’s death had, with time, naturally faded, but it had never quite gone away. She had felt like dying too, for life had seemed at that time to hold little meaning. Neither Jeanne nor her mother were given to melodrama, so of course no such expressions took place, and Jeanne had borne it alone, weeping soundlessly at night, only to put on the face of the day every morning.

  At the house, Jeanne went immediately to Charlotte’s room. Charlotte was sleeping, and Jeanne stood looking down at this precious child. She was so lovely, still. Too thin, but that was the grief. And it was three o’clock in the afternoon. This would not do. She bent and kissed Charlotte’s damp forehead. The room was hot. Actually, the whole town was hot and very uncomfortable. She had said nothing to Robert, but the heat was oppressive. She now felt rather foolish for sending knitted socks on every packet.

  Jeanne went downstairs and told Robert to get the servants to make some tea. She was going to wake Charlotte. It was time to set the household onto a proper routine. Routine might not heal Charlotte, but in times of misery, routine was the net without which, Jeanne was certain, they would all be swept to sea.

  “I will go to my room Robbie, and change, for it is most fearsomely humid. Is a bath possible?”

  Robert smiled. His aunt was here, and she would know what to do.

  Light flooding the room roused Charlotte from sleep. She blinked, putting her arm across her face.

  “My lovely Kitt, wake up. Here is a nice cup of tea.”

  Charlotte opened her eyes. She recognised the voice of her aunt. She was sitting on the side of the bed, and Charlotte looked up into her face. It was unbelievable.

  She sat and threw herself into Jeanne’s arms. “Oh, Aunt Jeanne, oh. You. Here.”

  She burst into tears, and Jeanne held her and rocked her until they subsided. It was like the first morning Charlotte had woken, a little girl in a strange, cold place. Jeanne had waited by her bedside, knowing she would be afraid. She wanted the first face Charlotte saw to be hers, the face of a loving friend.

  Within days Jeanne had completely taken charge of the house. Malik adored her precise, Scottish nature and attention to detail. She roused Charlotte early each morning and, with Alex and Adam in tow, had Ravi take them on a ride around the padang or occasionally out onto the roads of the island, which had returned to relative safety.

  Charlotte had spoken of Charles only once. She had finally found the courage to read the letter Harriette had written and the last letter from Charles. He had known he was dying only at the very last, and it was brief, the merest words of love for her, but in his shaking hand. She cried until she was exhausted and turned to Jeanne for comfort.

  “I can offer little comfort, my wee bairn,” Jeanne said. “It is a platitude, but time does help. We go from hour to hour, then day to day.”

  “I feel I am lost,” Charlotte said. “Everything I do is terribly trivial and pointless.”

  “You have your children, Kitt. Alex is terribly worried about you, and Adam is missing you. It is time to pretend.”

  Charlotte looked at her aunt, a frown furrowing her brow.

  “Pretend?”

  “Aye, yes. Pretend. To
get us through this, we must put on an act. At first the act is difficult and we fall in and out of it, but gradually, each day, it becomes natural until finally the act is not an act any more. It has become true. We go on with our lives, and the pain of memory intrudes only occasionally. You should know this better than I, for you have lost more than Charles. You have lost a husband with whom you have shared the desires of the flesh.”

  Charlotte stared at Jeanne.

  “Do not be so shocked, Kitt. Do you think I am a dried-up old prune who does not think of such things? When I lost my Edward I was like you. I thought that life was the most silly thing. What on earth was its purpose? I thought like that much too long, my bairn. Remember Charles and his goodness, be angry at his death so young, but do not allow this loss to drag you to a terrible place.”

  Charlotte contemplated Jeanne. That she knew exactly how she felt there could be no possible denial. She felt a sudden great strength. Jeanne had lost all her youth to grief. This was her warning.

  She rose and went to her aunt, sitting next to her, and Jeanne put her arms around her. “Today we shall go to church and remember Tigran and Charles and Edward and all those we love. Your mother and father, my dearest brother. Why, even your grandmother, eh?”

  Charlotte smiled.

  “Then, we shall rise and thank the Lord for his comfort, and stride out like good Christian soldiers into the fray once more. For there is nothing else to do.”

  46

  “Do you think it is wise?” Qian glanced at Zhen as Ah Rex disappeared up the stairs of the brothel.

  “It is time. He is thirteen years old. Min will be careful. The girl is experienced. She knows what to do.”

  Qian looked doubtful. “His mother does not know.”

  Zhen frowned.

  “No,” he said, annoyed. “This is man’s business. I am his father. In this I know best.”

  Qian shrugged slightly, but he was not entirely convinced. Ah Soon was almost the same age as Ah Rex, and Qian was not sure he was ready for such an encounter. But Ah Soon and Ah Rex were two different boys. Ah Rex was every inch Zhen’s son: bold, adventurous and brave.