by Dawn Farnham
‘Poor scared thing that I was, I felt I could not afford it for lots were selling for up to twelve hundred dollars and, in any case, I did not believe that Singapore would become so densely populated. You see what a poor thing I am, no foresight whatsoever. How would I pay? I thought, but no money ever changed hands. How would I build a stone house, when no house was required? How would I manage to return to Malacca? All these silly worries. So I made a bad mistake.’
At the Catholic chapel, Charlotte was drawn to the Reverend John Lee, a handsome Cantonese who had been educated in Penang. He was a charismatic preacher, there could be no doubt, and he was responsible for a great number of Chinese conversions. He had an aura of invincibility, as if faith really could move mountains. His gentle manner reassured her, had she been in any doubt, that it was not only the Malays but Chinese men, too, who had a soul.
Hundreds of Chinese coolies went to mass on Sunday, and a small chapel had opened recently at Bukit Timah to tend to the needs of the growing flock in the interior. Father Baudrel had proposed a new church, and an appeal for funds had gone out. The French community was a tiny, close-knit group and she liked her time at the chapel, speaking French and occasionally learning some Chinese with the boys who boarded with the priests.
As Charlotte and Evangeline were teaching one afternoon, a sudden clamour arose from the garden and two Chinese men rushed into the chapel, bleeding and covered in dirt and mud. Evangeline and the children cried out, and Father Lee came from the sacristy to find a chaotic scene. Water was sent for, and the women began to tend the men’s wounds as Father Lee interrogated them. The children were all taken to the parochial house by one of the older Chinese boys.
‘They say they were attacked. Thirty or forty men came out of the jungle with parangs, knives and sticks, and set about the farm. They have killed three others, and these two fled. Two or three days ago they say. The attackers burnt everything to the ground.’
Father Lee was simply translating as the men spoke. Now he looked up at Father Baudrel, who had just entered the chapel.
‘Reprisals against the Catholic Chinese, most certainly. We interfere with the power and control of the Chinese societies over the plantations of the interior. How can we protect these poor souls?’
In response to a message, Dr Montgomerie and Robert soon arrived and joined Charlotte at the chapel. Dr Montgomerie had the patients moved to the parochial house. After talking to the fathers, Robert and Charlotte left to make their way back home.
‘Nothing to be done by my men, of course,’ Robert told Charlotte. ‘I may station some peons out at Bukit Timah with some weapons, but really what can we do against such numbers in the jungle? I have told Father Baudrel that these men who convert are placing themselves in danger. If possible they should try to seek work in town, or at least very near town. The far-flung areas are impossible. This situation will only get worse as time goes on, mark my words.’
As they were passing Tir Uaidhne, they called in and were invited to stop for refreshments. Talk invariably turned to the ball, now all but a few nights away. Robert, who had matters of violence on his mind and who had had more than he could bear about this wretched ball, left the ladies to their pleasures and made his way back to the courthouse for a word with the governor.
Yet the ball stayed on his mind; he couldn’t rid himself of this nuisance. The dance instruction evenings with M. le Comte Papanti had been unbearably irritating. Robert was a fair dancer when it came to quadrilles, but this waltz was a difficult proposition. The man had to guide the woman, and he had stepped on Charlotte’s toes so often she had smacked him with her fan. The ladies and the officers of the regiment seemed to have grasped the thing right away, and Colonel Murchison and Coleman were positively annoying as they swept their partners round the hall. The count, to Robert’s horror, had insisted on showing him personally. ‘Avanti, Roberto!’ He shuddered at the memory of holding this perfumed little man in his arms and cringed as he saw how the ladies fairly swooned when the count guided them through the steps. Even Charlotte had not seemed immune. Evangeline, sensible woman, had refused the instruction but was happy to play the waltz melodies on Coleman’s piano. Coleman had given out the latest music sheets from Herr Lanner and Herr Strauss to the regimental band. There was nothing for it, Robert knew he would have to dance at the ball and now, as he made his way, he directed a kick at a stray dog which happened across his path. What a bother it all was, and no Shilah either. He had kept his word to George and not been near her. Fortunately, the rooms in the house at Middle Road were almost ready, his birthday and his inheritance were only a week away.
Leaving his horse with the boy, Robert climbed the curved staircase of the courthouse to Bonham’s office on the first floor, its three windows overlooking the river.
The quality which Robert valued most of all in Bonham was his broadness of mind, for he had cast aside, as far as he dared, the monopoly of patronage to men of the East India Company. From this he and Coleman had benefitted in their appointments to government positions. Without him, Robert knew, no matter what their merits they would have been passed over.
Today Bonham looked unwell and had a glass of white liquid on his desk.
‘Church’s d— d— d— dinner last night,’ he replied on enquiry. Indeed Mr Church, the resident councillor, was noted for his poor dinners, a fact so widely known, even in Calcutta, that it had been an insurmountable obstacle to his promotion.
They sat amiably for some time and discussed the attacks, as well as the spate of robberies on the sultan’s compound at Kampong Glam. Piracy was another issue preoccupying the governor’s mind. In this way, the afternoon passed and eventually both Robert and Bonham repaired home.
Later, around five o’clock, Robert and Coleman together with a couple of young clerks met at the fives court on the riverside. It was their custom once a week to have a game, which usually attracted an audience of curious onlookers.
After this, the men wandered home to bathe and take dinner. A stroll or ride around the plain was a common activity in the cooler evening, with groups gathering on the beachfront at Scandal Point to rattle over the news and affairs of interest. The European contingent in the town was no more than two hundred and all were known to each other. As the light fell and the oil lamps were lit, they turned for home. The bachelors might yet get together for billiards at one of the grander houses or seek out companionship in the Chinese town.
Amateur dramatics was popular, but no plays had been put on for some time. Robert had formerly been feted as one of the best low comedians in town, but upon taking charge of the police the governor had hinted that his days on the stage should probably come to an end. Neither he nor Church could think that private theatricals and the midnight watch for Chinese thieves could go together. For most of the Europeans sleep came early, for the gun at Government House would be waking the town at five o’clock the next morning.
14
Inchek Sang and Baba Tan were drinking tea in the baba’s elegant courtyard. The rich carving of the wooden doors, lattice windows and red and gold furniture contrasted with the cool water pool near which they were seated. This was a Peranakan house. Baba Tan was the first child of a baba father and a nonya mother. With no women permitted to leave China, Chinese merchants who settled in Malacca and, later, Penang, had married non-Muslim local women and begun families far from their homeland. Although they endeavoured to marry their daughters to Chinese men, this had not always been possible, and Peranakan intermarriage was the norm. This centuries-old mix had produced a hybrid culture of which Sang did not wholly approve. There might have been little direct Malay influence for several generations, yet the women of the house continued to dress in Malay fashion passed down by their mothers and to chew the betel, a habit which no pure Chinese woman would have countenanced.
The food that Sang was served was a mix of Chinese and Malay tastes, which he did not like. Occasionally he picked up a peanut or some other delicacy, bu
t the spices of the nonya cuisine were repugnant to him. Even the baba language was difficult to understand, a mélange of Hokkien and Malay words and grammar. Sang was used to it by now, after long years in Malacca and Singapore, but he did not like it any the more.
Baba Tan, fully aware of Sang’s prejudices, made a point of calling for spicy nonya food whenever he came to visit. The women of the house were confined to the upstairs rooms. However, they had a spyhole in the roof over the entrance, through which they could check on visitors, and they always looked this old man over. With his withered skin and grey beard, his claw-like nails and his old-fashioned clothes, he was a sight they could gossip about for hours. Tan’s wife had met Sang’s two wives on occasions at the temple or in the market. She felt sorry for them, having to be cooped up with such a man. She knew he did not care much for his daughters, who she suspected were ill-used. Everyone knew of the scandal of the first son-in-law. There was a sickly adopted son who looked like he might drop dead any day.
In a nonya house, daughters were valued, of the highest order, for, unlike in China, they would often remain in their parents’ house and bring into the home new Chinese men, new blood: men who could speak the language which they could not, who could continue the ancestral customs of the old country and who, most importantly, would be malleable and obedient to the ways of the Peranakan lifestyle. Healthy, smart but poor Chinese young men were the ideal choices.
Nonya Tan was a happy woman, for she had no sons. This fact had, at first, saddened her, made her feel unworthy. She had feared her husband would take a second wife but to her surprise he had not. She knew he had a concubine in Kampong Glam, but she made no fuss, for she was glad that there were no sons and no other wives to usurp her authority in the home. She had given her husband four daughters, all pretty and healthy. She was the ruler of her home and, on his death, would become the matriarch, for foreign sons-in-law counted for very little. Love had not been an issue between them; she had been sixteen when they had married. They met on their wedding night, and those early years of unhappiness in the house of her husband’s family, with her tyrant of a mother-in-law, she preferred to put behind her. Since then, husband and wife had grown gradually to like each other, sharing the responsibility for their daughters and the family finances.
Now she was very happy, for she knew that her husband and this old man were discussing marriage partners for their daughters.
‘Well, Lao Sang, how shall we proceed with this matter? I have heard of the two young men, Zhen and Qian.’
Sang nodded but said nothing. He had heard from Ah Liang of the exploits at the opium farm. These two might turn out to be good choices, but until the ceremony of initiation tomorrow he would not commit to either. He put a long fingernail against his cheek and scratched lightly. Tan shuddered slightly internally. Really these geezers and their ancient ways. Whenever he looked at the old man he was reminded of a shrivelled corpse. Tan himself was only thirty-four.
‘Baba, you will allow me first choice. Age has some privileges. It may be wise to bring them into town to work for us for a while. In a few months we should be able to judge which is better suited to our families. This one called Qian is keeping accounts at one of my farms. He can work at my godown for a time. The other you can bring to your shop. After a time we can exchange them. Are you agreeable to this arrangement?’
Baba Tan nodded his head. It seemed reasonable. After all, he had yet to meet either of these two men. And Sang was a wise old bird. He was right to be cautious after the awful business of the first son-in-law. This was an important step; better to go slow. Tan loved all his daughters but especially the eldest, who was pretty and very smart. He had been unable to resist teaching her to read Malay and English and some Chinese characters that he could remember. It was unusual, he knew, but he could not understand why women should remain ignorant of everything except domestic chores. His own marriage had not suffered for his wife’s lack of education, for she was a canny housekeeper, but she had been a timid person and this he did not want for his own children.
His concubine was a beautiful girl purchased at the Bugis slave market. The colourful and numerous Bugis fleet of distinctive prahus arrived to great fanfare on the south-east monsoon every June, bringing a vast array of marine and island produce, the lifeblood of trade in Singapore. They also brought slave girls and boys captured amongst the thousands of islands of the archipelago. The English authorities frowned on slavery in theory but had done little up till now to stop it.
Her house was in Kampong Glam, and he had been careful to make sure that she and their two sons would have money after his death. These sons could not inherit his wealth, of course, nor carry out ancestral rites, but they would be taken care of and would eventually work in his business. He made sure to keep his two households well apart, for he had seen what evil came about when other men tried to keep everything under one roof. Jealousy, cruelty—even murder, though that was extreme. Usually everyone was just miserable, and the first wife generally bullied the second and subsequent wives or concubines ceaselessly. The bullying was echoed by the first wife’s children, who cruelly picked on and tormented the concubines’ offspring.
‘Very well, Lao Sang, let us proceed this way.’
‘Hao, hao, good. Tomorrow there is a ceremony. Their loyalty will be assured.’
Baba Tan raised his hand in slight protest. He knew of these goings-on in the jungle, but it did not serve his purpose to know too much. The English speaking Peranakan Chinese had, through long association, won the trust of the European administration in the town. None of them cared to get too close to the activities of the powerful kongsi. To know was one thing; to be involved, another. Tan knew the real need for such associations as a control mechanism and a lifeline for the singkehs and was grateful that they were run, very efficiently, by others. All the Peranakan families preferred their role as middlemen, taking neither side but reaping substantial rewards for their deep knowledge of the cut and thrust of local conditions. The British administration depended on them almost entirely.
‘Well, baba. Reluctant to face realities, as usual. You know it is an interesting situation. Should I will it, I could wipe all the Europeans from this place with one word. I have the control of thousands of men. You see how powerless are the white men to deal with even small bands of robbers.’
This was talk that Tan had heard before. Sang liked to boast and flex his muscles.
‘Of course, you are right. But what would it serve? Fortunes are to be made only with the English trading power and network. They open the world to us. It was so in Malacca, and more so here. The English do our donkey work by bringing opium and weapons. Everything we trade yields profit. I find them easy to deal with. But you are most certainly correct that a word from you could put an end to all this. We are fortunate that you are a wise man.’
Sang rose, placated.
‘Well, well. They serve our purpose for the time being. On the matter of sons-in-law, we shall speak again when we have had time to examine the two men.’
After he had left, Nonya Tan came to her husband.
‘You heard our discussions. That old fool, Sang, how he weevils on. As if any of this would be possible without the English. Well, well, we shall see what these two men are made of. I know it is not customary, but would it not be worth letting first daughter take a brief look at them? If there is not much in the choices, it would be best if she could like one of them. It may help her happiness.’
His wife looked at him in surprise. He was getting soft in his old age. She had never heard of such a thing. But she could see his point. Their own marriage had been so miserable at the beginning. It would be a happier home if her daughter could care for the man she was going to marry.
15
The day of the initiation ceremony had arrived. Zhen and Qian joined a band of some thirty men and made their way across country, with some difficulty, since rain had fallen all night. Much of the land they crossed had bee
n completely cleared of forest, but great swathes of thick-bladed grass had sprung up where the trees had been cut. It was the typical pattern that, as the soil became barren and the trees were all felled, the gambier and pepper farmers moved on and cut down the next part of the jungle. Zhen was not sure how big this place was, but a lot of it seemed to have been used up. At one point they skirted the burnt-out buildings of a plantation settlement. Zhen was curious to know what had happened there, and addressed one of the guards.
‘It is a question of territory. A rival gang run by the ang mo has tried to challenge the power of the kongsi. This is what happens.’
Zhen was surprised. The white men had a kongsi here? Quite interested, he tried to find out more, but these guards knew nothing. He decided he would raise this with Master Liang when he had the chance.
They continued for many miles. At times along the way, they met men with black masks who guided them. Finally, at about four o’clock in the afternoon, exhausted from the terrain and heat, they arrived at an encampment. A pack of dogs came rushing, barking and growling, along the jungle path, until a man came out of a hut and called them off. In the centre of a large clearing stood three large, temple-shaped buildings each at least 180 feet in length, flags and pennants fluttering atop their roofs and walls. Inside and around the huts, men swarmed like maggots. Zhen recognised the flags of the seasons, the flags of the ranks. Others he did not know.
Around the perimeter of the huts, deep trenches twenty feet wide had been dug. As the group approached, planks were laid down. When the men had crossed to the other side, the planks were lifted away. On the far side the guard called them to halt. He pointed out small signs which indicated a maze of holes covered with loose brushwood and dried banana leaves. The top was strewn with earth so that it looked like firm ground. These holes were eighteen feet deep, the guard warned, and anyone not knowing about them would certainly fall in.