by Dawn Farnham
The group was motioned to sit under the shade of a jackfruit tree, and pumpkin and roasted potatoes were brought out. Water was passed around in dirty cups which smelt of liquor. The guards went off to eat their meal with the owner and, as the men ate and dozed, Qian took a look around.
‘This place is damn well guarded,’ he whispered. Dozens of shields, several iron tridents, twenty or thirty daggers and six or seven pairs of white men’s trousers were stacked against the wall inside an outhouse. The trousers looked as if they’d just been laundered and taken either from the dhobi or a white man’s house.
‘Been some thieving too, by the looks,’ muttered Zhen.
A scrawny man emerged from the wooden house and addressed them, staring at them through rheumy eyes. He was Teocheow and spoke with a thick accent, using some words the Hokkien group did not understand.
‘Brothers, you are welcome here. This place is called To Tang Leng. It is far from the ang mo settlement. Here your brothers will help you, teach you the work and supply you with your needs. This is a plantation of gambier and pepper which you will tend. Food will be supplied to you, and there is liquor and opium at the kangkar stores. You can go there once a week. There are some women there also. Others will work on the opium farm, which is an hour from here. Soon there will be the initiation ceremony, where you will pass through the Hung Gate and swear loyalty to the kongsi. Is there any man here who does not wish to swear?’
He waited a few minutes, then smiled thinly.
‘Well, go with the brother; he will show you where you will sleep.’
He turned and went back into the hut.
Most of the men seemed happy to have things settled. Work, grog, women; this they had understood. It was better than they had imagined. They would work off their year and soon be able to save some money for their families back home. In a few years they would return to China.
Zhen and Qian looked at each other. They wandered to one side of the compound to take a piss. Zhen took aim at a large red ant.
‘Did you see how they mark the trail?’ he asked.
Qian was surprised by the question, for he had noticed nothing in the exhaustion and difficulty of the march. He shook his head.
‘If you look carefully along the ground, there are painted rocks about every ten feet or so. On this trail they are coloured red. My guess is that different trails have different colours. Sometimes, too, the big trees are stained with three red lines high up, like those over there. Didn’t you notice anything, sweetheart?’
Qian looked up and saw the mark on the tree trunk but refused to rise to Zhen’s joshing.
‘Well, we shall bide our time and learn what goes on here. The boss men seem to have everything organised to make sure these stupid coolies never leave. When they are sick on grog and opium they will never return to China, unless it is in the afterlife.’
They joined the others and made their way to a large attap-covered building, where rough cots were set out. Baskets of rice were stacked at one end, raised off the floor. Their first job was to put the rice into rat-proof wooden containers near the cook house. They all set to work.
‘Never mind, ah,’ Zhen confided to Qian. ‘Soon the ceremony will be held, I shall meet the headman and we shall get out of this god-awful backwater and into the town where the real money is made.’
And where a woman with violet eyes is waiting, he thought, but this he did not voice. The prospect of an improbable liaison with this foreign woman had begun to occupy his thoughts and, despite himself, his dreams. From his book of poetry he read often now the verses of his favourite Taoist poet, who could contemplate the empty wind but still find a place for love, the old refrain, the eternal wellspring of passion, as old as time itself, made new in every new lover’s heart.
‘A lovely maiden roaming
The wild dark valley through
Culls from the shining waters
Lilies and lotus blue
With leaves the peach trees are laden
The wind sighs through the haze
And the willows wave their shadows
Down the oriole-haunted ways
As, passion-tranced, I follow,
I hear the old refrain
Of Spring’s eternal glory
That was old and is young again.’
He suspected he was in danger of becoming passion-tranced.
10
Monkeys watched from the tree tops as the group made its way along the track. Wild almond and cinnamon, red-headed flame of the forest, the spiny-spiked toddy palm, glossy pong pong, pagoda-shaped pulai, dense- domed jambu laut, the fabulous columned jelutong, stretching high into the sky and a myriad of other trees spread on either side. The arms of the tembusu trees closed the sky overhead forming a cool canopy.
Charlotte, Miss Scott and her brother, together with Takouhi, were seated in a gharry pulled by two sturdy ponies. These were led by one of Captain Scott’s Indian syces. Robert, Jemadar Kapoor and Mr Coleman rode their horses alongside. From time to time Coleman would make a comment, and the group would burst into laughter.
They had spent a pleasant morning and lunch with Captain Scott on his plantation. His house stood amidst orchards of spice trees and groves of purple cocoa, rambutan, duku, mangosteen, durian and graceful betel-nut palms. The road ran out abruptly at his gate and beyond lay impenetrable jungle.
He was an amiable old man and had made them all welcome. One of his own chickens had been killed and prepared; rice, a mild green curry, pickles and yams had been served.
The previous evening Robert had checked on the police post on the far side of the road and found the two peons fast asleep. He rebuked them mildly, for he did not know what they would have done had any attack taken place. Sometimes he felt it was a losing battle with his tiny band.
Captain Scott had his own weapons. In this isolated place he was well aware that he had to look out for himself. After a discussion with Robert, he had decided it was no place for the children, and it was agreed to take them into the town to board with Mrs Whittle at her school and receive what education they could. Laurie would attend the institution which Mr Coleman was extending. Captain Scott, though a kindly man, was a bachelor and had found the children trying. He was not sorry to see them leave.
Charlotte had been pleased by the unexpected arrival of Mr Coleman and Takouhi, and they had driven out of town on the new road. Near the town, gangs of convicts were still working on filling in the sides, creating ditches and stabilising the centre with broken rocks and pebbles. They stopped from time to time while George addressed the headman of each of the groups. Charlotte was surprised to see how fit and lean these men looked despite their hard labour.
To her enquiries, Coleman said, ‘Good food, decent living conditions and a hope for a better life. These men are sent from India for years of penal servitude. Bejaysus, for most of them have stolen from hunger or such like. Sure, and poverty can make criminals of us all. The Calcutta government dumps them on us, but I don’t mind, I do not. I can make use of them very well and teach ’em trades. They police themselves, and many stay and marry local brides. The Indian convict women work in service and are snapped up for marriage.’
He waved to a contingent that was resting by the roadside, smoking.
‘Robert recruits the men for his new force, for they’re as reliable as you’ll find here. The troublemakers or hard types are whittled out and generally made to see the error of their ways. When they work in the outer areas like this lot, they have their own huts and strong fences to keep out the beasties, and I leave them to themselves. There’s little chance of rebellion, as the old Indian caste system ensures a complete lack of unison and cooperation. It works a rare treat, and when I feel like a good curry I invite myself, for Takouhi doesn’t care for it.’
Takouhi shook her head and wrinkled her nose. She smiled at George as if he was a foolish child stating the obvious, and said something in Malay. To Charlotte she said, ‘George very ignorant ma
n and silly-billy.’ They all laughed.
‘Yer know, she’s just learnt that word. Underneath her exotic looks beats the heart of a true Armenian, which wouldn’t be so bad, but there’s a touch too much Dutch. Her tastes run to the most dreadful bland. It’s a constant source of trouble between us.’
Takouhi was dressed today in a white and brown kebaya and sarong with loose leather sandals on her tattooed feet. Takouhi had told Charlotte this was mehndi, the art of staining with pachar. She did not know the English name. George said it was called henna and, with a wink, that the sight of it on a maiden’s skin made men wild. Charlotte could imagine this to be so, for it exerted a strange charm even for her.
Although it had rained, the track was reasonably passable and now, on the return journey, had dried off well enough to make going easy. Robert pointed out some graves off the roadside as they passed by. The Chinese graves were particularly interesting, with their horseshoe shapes and large mounds. Further along they passed a Sumatran burial site with simple longhouse-shaped tombs. From time to time they saw trees wound with coloured threads, enshrined with flowers and incense: temples to invisible spirits and ghosts of the land.
Suddenly the horses grew restless, stamping their feet and tossing their heads. Monkeys screeched urgently across the tree tops, and the small group turned their eyes upwards in alarm. The sharp cracking sounds of rapid movement rustled through the undergrowth. Their heads turned as each new noise erupted around them. Then, the jungle fell ominously silent. Jemadar Kapoor whispered tersely to Robert.
Robert addressed Charlotte in French.
‘Ecoute-moi bien, you must stay very calm and in a minute may have to see the children stay quiet. We think there is a tiger in the vicinity.’
Charlotte’s hand flew to her mouth, and her heart began to beat wildly. She held herself under control with great effort and put her arm around Elizabeth Scott, who looked bewildered. Coleman dismounted and explained to Takouhi, who calmly moved over to sit squashed up next to Laurie. Charlotte whispered to the children and put a hand over Elizabeth’s mouth. Fortunately the youngsters made no sound, Laurie contenting himself with looking around curiously. The men drew their weapons and waited. The horses continued to shuffle and whinny.
From the shadows at the roadside about a hundred feet away, the animal appeared. The jemadar handed the reins of his horse to Robert, dropped to one knee and took aim at the tiger. The tiger looked in their direction but paid them scant attention and padded into the middle of the road. Here, he flopped down noisily and emitted a low groan, followed by a great yawn.
Coleman whispered to Robert, ‘He looks fat; I think he has eaten, for there’s plenty of wild boar in the jungle round here. Perhaps if we shoot in the air he may be scared off. Otherwise we may be in for a long wait while he has his nap.’
Before they could decide what to do, a sudden commotion in the jungle caused the tiger to jump to his feet. He gave a deep, ferocious growl. Within seconds chaos erupted. The horses pawed the ground and reared into the air. Coleman’s horse pulled his reins and started at a gallop back down the path. The tiger gave another great growl and began loping towards them. Elizabeth screamed, and Charlotte and Takouhi looked at each other in terror. Laurie, demented child, stood up and began waving at the beast. Charlotte pulled him down. It was all George and Robert could do to control the ponies and keep the carriage still. The Indian syce ran to hide behind the carriage.
Kapoor gripped his rifle and fired at the animal, but his shot was wide. It served, however, to stop the tiger in its tracks. Then, to their collective amazement, a wild-looking man, hair flowing round his face and shoulders, jumped out onto the path and took aim. The tiger, sensing danger, turned and jumped as the shot bit into the road. In a flash he had had enough and with another roar fled into the jungle. The sounds of his crashing retreat could be heard for several minutes.
The wild man stood checking his rifle ruefully. Coleman called to him.
‘Carroll, for gawd’s sake, you’re a lousy shot. Tu tires mal,’ he added in Irish-sounding French. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Mr Carroll, a Frenchman from Canada, tiger hunter and all-round mad ol’ blaggard.’
In the carriage, the passengers simply stared. Charlotte thought Mr Coleman must be as mad as the tiger hunter. The men, however, laughed with relief, and Kapoor sent the syce to retrieve George’s horse, which had stopped not far back and was now chewing absently on the verge.
Carroll was a big man, over six feet tall, dressed in a green batik jacket and black cotton trousers. On his head he wore a flea-bitten hunting cap with several feathers poked into the brim. Grey, stringy hair flowed about his shoulders, and a thick beard fell to his waist. Halfway up, this mass of hair was drawn together with a large gold ring. Below the ring hung little plaits of different sizes. Shouldering his rifle, he approached the carriage. The children’s eyes goggled. Charlotte, calmer now, surmised from his musky odour that any washing that took place on his person was purely at the whim of the rain.
Robert had heard about Carroll and was pleased to meet him. He had brought several dead tigers into the settlement. He had hunted in Canada for twenty years and feared no creature except humans. His arrival in Singapore was a mystery; where he lived in the jungle was a mystery, and rumours about him abounded. He made a good living, for the governor paid a hundred dollars for bringing in a dead tiger, and then Carroll sold the flesh, pelt, bones and all the rest to the Chinese or Indians, who paid highly for an animal which guaranteed sexual potency, strength and long life. There would be money for many a year, for tigers swam over the strait from Johore to hunt pigs, deer and Chinamen and would be doing so after Carroll was dead and gone.
The men exchanged a few words, and then Coleman mounted his horse, bid farewell to the Canadian and set off down the track to check on his convict labour force. Kapoor put the trembling syce on his horse and took the reins of the ponies. Robert walked some distance behind, talking with Carroll. Monkeys called shrilly in the forest.
As they came within sight of the settlement, Carroll left them and disappeared into the undergrowth. Robert was quiet, deep in thought, for he had been alarmed by their conversation. Carroll had told him that there were large groups of Chinese in the interior. He thought they might even have a large fort up towards the Seletar River, with five to six thousand men. Robert decided he would speak to the governor, but what they all could do about it he had no idea. Not for the first time, Robert felt how precarious was the European position in this town.
11
When they got back to the settlement the children were left with Mrs Whittle, and Takouhi and Charlotte made their way to the institution. Their route ran the length of the freshwater stream, past the church and the end of the plain. Here, the carriage went up over a charming stone bridge at the sea’s edge, where a mighty banyan tree stood, and followed a curved drive to the entrance. The building had been recently rebuilt and extended by Coleman and his men from the unfinished original building which had been a tumbledown eyesore. Covered in jungle and stagnant marsh, it had become a hide-out for thieves. In this condition it had lain for some ten years, offering newcomers to Singapore the surprising aspect of an ancient castle ruin. Now the jungle excesses had been cleared, and palms and trees occupied its vast grounds. The far wing was still under construction, and the chinking and clinking of stonemasons could be heard. It gleamed white with chunam, its shutters freshly green. A low fence ran round the sea side, and it looked over a grassy space to the sandy beach and, from there, a view to the to and fro of small boats, the ships at anchor, the glittering sea and islands. Beyond the institution, large houses and luxuriant gardens lined the length of Beach Road: princely mansions which George had erected a few years before, occupied by the richer merchants of the town. The sea breeze was delicious after the closeness of the forest. Charlotte could hardly believe the episode with the tiger had occurred less than an hour before. This town was full of surprises.
As they arrived, the women turned to see Coleman gallop over the bridge. Jumping from his horse, he approached the carriage. Putting his hands round Takouhi’s slender waist, he lifted her lightly. Without a word she lay a hand on his shoulder as he held her just a moment. When she smiled down at him, he released her gently to the ground.
Charlotte could clearly see the deep tenderness between Takouhi and George. A palpable aura of unassuming romance surrounded them. She was momentarily envious. She recalled, suddenly, the encounter in the temple and the face of the young man. Surely something had happened then. But what?
Coleman turned to Charlotte, bowed and held out his hand to help her down.
‘One of life’s little pleasures, and you never know when the tigers’ll get you. Except for the dance floor, whenever else do you get the chance to hold beautiful ladies without impropriety?’
He gave a wink but was careful to hold her hand only briefly. Charlotte found herself wishing he had lifted her, too, wanting to feel his hands on her waist. Ashamed, she flushed slightly. Though she had no idea what George had said, Takouhi noted Charlotte’s discomfort, stepped up and took her hand. Charlotte guessed she was not unaware of the effect that George could have on women.
‘Alamah, George, you silly-billy, go away.’
Coleman made an exaggerated flourish and bowed extravagantly. Leading his horse, he disappeared around the building.
They entered the cool precincts of the institution, and Charlotte again looked in admiration at the elegant art of Coleman’s designs. They mounted the broad staircase and strolled along the tiled corridor where the shutters were all thrown open to admit the breeze. Soon they arrived at a room which gave a wide view over the sea. Takouhi drew her gauzy silk shawl over her hair and knocked very lightly on the open door.
At the sound a man looked up and smiled widely: Munshi Abdullah bin Abdul Kadir. He had, Charlotte saw, the physiognomy of a Tamil from southern Hindustan and was dressed in the style of Malacca Tamils. He was spare, with a slight stoop, his complexion bronze, his face oval with a high nose and a lightly bearded chin. One eye squinted outwards a little. George had told Charlotte that he had the vigour and pride of his Arab heritage, the subtlety of his Hindu mother, but in language and sympathies he was Malay.