by Dawn Farnham
Charlotte was glad to be busy. Robert was often away all day. After his birthday celebration he had actually disappeared for two full days, and recently his absences at night had increased. She did not worry too much, for he seemed happy and in better spirits than he had been for a while.
She soon developed a routine. They rose with the gun, took some coffee, and then Robert took a long ride. After breakfast, Charlotte would walk slowly along the seafront and over the little stone bridge to the institution, enjoying the air and waving to the fishing boats. The harbour was never empty; ships continually moved in and out, lining up along the horizon as far as she could see. For three days every week she studied Malay here and helped with the English classes. In the afternoons, when the rain often thundered down, she helped at the chapel school. The evenings were spent with Coleman and Takouhi and young Meda or with Robert’s two European policemen, William and Thomas. They were often invited to the da Silva home for musical evenings, for everyone in that large family played an instrument and loved to put on concerts and plays.
Meda Elizabeth and the other children had recovered their health. Captain Scott, who had been forced to take in his niece and nephew for the duration of the outbreak, was volubly relieved to have them return to town. Little Thomas Hallpike had been the only European victim, but Charlotte knew there had been deaths in the Chinese and Malay communities. For the first time it occurred to her that the other communities were in a difficult position when it came to sickness.
She knew there was a Chinese paupers’ hospital by the stream between Church Street and Bencoolen Street and seen the wretched state of the coolies who, destroyed by hard work, poverty and opium, inhabited this dilapidated building. She had seen Chinese medicine shops, and Charlotte Keaseberry told her the Malays were very clever with plants for their illnesses. The Indian community appeared to have been spared. The soldiers and convicts were tended by Dr Montgomerie or his assistant, Dr Oxford, in the military hospital in the Sepoy Lines beyond Pearl’s Hill, or at the gaol.
Sailors who came ashore wounded or ill were looked after expensively by a new arrival, Dr Little, at his dispensary on Commercial Square or, more generously, by Dr Oxford at the inn in Tavern Street. There was no hospital for civilians. Robert told her that there was often talk in the chamber of commerce of starting one, but somehow no one wanted to come up with the funds. Appeals to the authorities in Bengal fell on deaf ears.
Every Tuesday morning, if the weather was clement and he was not busy, Charlotte and Robert would take out Sea Gypsy for an hour or two of sailing. They had learned to sail in Madagascar and had continued in the chilly waters of Scotland. Walking the hills around Aberdeen and sailing with Robert and her cousin, Duncan, had been Charlotte’s greatest outdoor pleasure. Here in the tropical warmth it was an even greater joy, whether sailing round Pulau Brani with its stilt villages of orang laut or butting along the coast, taking in the colourful Malay kites floating above the plain and the great houses along the beach.
There was the big old da Silva house just before Middle Road, the sultan’s elegant new palace, which George had built, and the old attap-covered pagoda-style mosque. The sultan was still absent, but the village around his palaces was always bustling. Here on the beach side was a constant bustle of ship repair, boat-and sail-making using the wood and bark of the glam tree, from which the kampong took its name. When the wind turned suddenly, they could hear the clanging of the blacksmith and the noises of the shipwrights. On these Tuesdays they sailed into the bay at Tanjong Rhu and up the Rochor River to the Bugis kampong houses built out over the water. Unlike the European town, there were children here in abundance: little brown bodies jumping into the water and calling in Malay, ‘hello, hello!’. From September, the mouths of the Rochor and Kallang rivers were filled with the fabulous sight of 300 Bugis Macassar prahus. These vessels, with their polished black-and-golden teak hulls, raked stems, and seven colourful sails, made a sight so spectacular that people from the town would leave work and ride out to watch as the great fleet sailed majestically into the bay.
The population of the kampong would suddenly swell then by 9,000 men. Their ships carried coffee, gold dust, pearls, spices, fabulous birds and tortoise shell. The Bugis merchants would hawk these wares around the Chinese town for a long time before settling on a sale. They never took money but always bargained for opium, iron, gold thread and piece goods. Charlotte loved the sight of these fierce-looking warriors as they strutted around the town half-dressed, their straight, thick black hair festooned with multi-hued feathers. Their bare, muscular arms were tattooed and bound with leather amulets. Their skin, smooth and hairless, was the colour of burnished copper. Their bodies were strong and compact and their faces handsome, with dark eyes and high cheekbones. Their teeth were black and filed to a point. The sight of a group of these fabulous men bristling with swords, kris and machetes gathered around a mild-mannered Chinese merchant was one she was not soon to forget. Though she tried hard, she knew she failed to adequately describe such sights in her letters home to Aunt Jeannie.
In the Bugis season, a fair would spring up on the beach to display and sell the cloth and the sarongs which were made all over the islands. Unable to resist the beauty of these garments, Charlotte had taken, like many of her acquaintance, to wearing these cool and pretty clothes at home. She did not quite yet dare to attract the opprobrium of Mrs Keaseberry by ‘going native’ on the streets of the town, though.
When sailing, however, she wore masculine garb for ease of movement and had had made several pairs of loose trousers and roomy shirts for just this purpose. She loved the waters around Singapore, especially when the sun rising over the crests of the waves turned the sea from slate to green. As it jumped over the horizon, great rays would illuminate the shallows. Then they would drop the sail and watch the bright fish flitting in and out of snowy corals just below the luminous water of the surface. Sometimes, when they had time, they would sail out to an emerald-ringed islet and jump onto the beach.
One day they ventured further round the island to the east. Robert had promised her a surprise. They had sailed alongside the palm-fringed beach at Tanjong Rhu to a place where a great rock jutted out into the sea. Beyond this, Robert said, were the beaches of Katong. He had just received a grant to lease a tract of land along here to begin a coconut plantation.
When they drew up to the shore, she was delighted to find a simple wood-and-attap building on fat stilts, just behind the fringe of palms. An old Malay couple took care of it and lived at the kampong down the coast. Standing on the verandah, looking out to sea, it was easy to imagine that there was no one else in the world. She was sorry to leave, but over the next weeks they went often to this place.
One morning Charlotte arrived at the Catholic mission to see Baba Tan in conversation with Father Lee. She had walked slower than usual around the plain, for there was a great hullabaloo as ships were debarking troops and setting up tents. Several cheeky types had whistled and whooped as she went past. She did not mind: they sailed to war. The harbour was crowded with ships. Robert and George were full of news of a great campaign to open up the Chinese ports. These ships were destined for Canton, where they would wage war on the weak Chinese authorities. Day after day new ships arrived, and the Chinese merchants, whether they had misgivings or not on this matter, rushed to fill the orders that such an influx meant.
She was glad to see Baba Tan. After Mr Whampoa, he was her favourite amongst the Chinese merchants who spoke English.
Baba Tan tipped his top hat to her as she approached and smiled broadly. He was happy to see her and delighted to know that she was teaching English to the young Chinese men in Father Lee’s class.
‘How do you do, baba? So nice to see you.’ She curtsied politely, for she knew this charmed him.
‘My pleasure also. I am here to discuss some new students for you. Father Lee talks highly of you and of the progress among his students.’
Father Lee smiled at
Charlotte.
‘Yes, it’s true. The baba is enrolling two young men and urgently asking that I not try to turn them also into good Christians. I have told him that if these young men wish to learn about Christianity it is not I who will stop them. He has offered a generous donation to the new church if you will teach them separately from the others, and a handsome salary for you. In view of such generosity, I think we can meet his demands. What do you think, Charlotte?’
‘I would be happy to help Baba Tan in any way possible,’ she nodded, smiling. ‘I know that he is a good friend to us and helps Robert a good deal in his police work.’
They talked a little longer, and it was agreed that these classes could begin after the great funeral of Inchek Sang, for one of the young men was likely to be involved in those proceedings.
The truth was that Baba Tan had not meant at all to get involved with the business of Qian. But when he had put his marriage proposal to Zhen, he had been surprised to be confronted with a man who was most adamant in his terms. Zhen agreed to enter this new Peranakan household and learn its ways, to be a good husband to Tan’s daughter, give him grandchildren and learn the business and bring profit to his house. He would take Tan’s name and, after his death, carry out the ancestral rites. It was not difficult for Zhen to promise these things, for his elder brother in China would take care of this for their father when his time came.
For all these things he demanded only a certain freedom from restrictions, money to begin his own business in cooperation with his father-in-law, and a house of his own should he wish to take other wives or concubines. In this he was frank with Tan, and the baba realised that he had chosen a rather formidable man for his daughter. He was not displeased; Zhen’s requests were bold but not ridiculous. Any man would wish to take concubines; few would settle, like him, for just one wife. Tan began to see what Sang had meant: Zhen had strength and boldness, but it was tempered with a reasonable mind. He would make an excellent merchant. To have these things clear from the start was a good thing.
Zhen’s last request also met with Tan’s approval. He needed to learn English and wished his good friend Qian to join him. He had heard that the teacher at the Catholic mission house was good with Chinese people. It would be a good idea for him to begin to mingle with the Europeans and follow the example of his future father-in-law. These, after all, were the men he must do business with. Tan had agreed to include Qian until such time as the other man entered Inchek Sang’s household. A period of mourning would have to be observed, which might last some time. Until then Qian would work for Ah Liang, who would defray Qian’s expenses while he was groomed for marriage to Sang’s daughter. Tan was well pleased. It had all worked out for the best, and he felt less guilty about his lie if he helped Qian to come on as well. Sang’s weak second son might be worked on by an intelligent man such as Qian to become a decent husband for one of Tan’s daughters. An alliance between their two houses would make Tan the richest man in the Straits Settlements.
When Zhen lay down to rest that evening he could not sleep. Truly this island was a land of good fortune for him. Perhaps the legends of the red phoenix were not far fetched after all. A wife and money. Where else could such a thing happen? He wondered what this Tan daughter looked like. He hoped she would be pretty, but it didn’t matter. Actually, it might be better if she was plain; he didn’t want to feel too much affection for her. He would give her the wedding night of her dreams, this little virgin who had brought him so much luck. It would even be nice to be able to make love freely, not worry about disease. Yes, it might be nice to have a wife. He would get her pregnant right away, and everyone would be delighted. Now that he thought about it, he would be pleased to have a son. Then, if she wasn’t too repulsive, he would sleep with her just enough to keep her happy. He had no intention of being locked up in the family home.
And there was the money. Tan had spoken of leasing a shophouse for him, for his new son-in-law would need a place to prepare for the peculiar rituals of the Peranakan marriage, as well as a place of business. Zhen had been allocated a not unreasonable allowance, and after the wedding this would increase. He could send money to his family, help them rise out of their poverty. Once he was established he would send for his younger brothers.
These thoughts occupied him for some time. Then he remembered. He would soon be meeting the violet-eyed Ch’ang O. He sprang from the bed, clapped his hands and danced a little jig, his long queue jumping like a sprite behind his back.
22
Qian was happy to go along with the arrangement that Zhen had negotiated. After the period of mourning he would begin his grooming to marry the second daughter of Sang’s house. There was a young son and heir who was only eleven, so part of his duties would be to groom this child to take over Sang’s large holdings. Ah Liang had spoken to Qian and told him he had been specially chosen by Sang. In the meantime, he left Qian in the hands of the Eurasian clerks, who began to teach him, in a mixture of Malay and halting Chinese, the intricacies of the business.
What he should do on his marriage night lay constantly at the back of Qian’s mind. There were young men at some of the whorehouses and, in a moment of intense curiosity and frustration, he had visited one. It had been an explosive revelation. He now knew he had a real problem to deal with but did not know where to turn.
Ah Liang had his hands full, organising the funeral and consulting the hierarchy as to who should replace Sang as grand master. Sang’s obvious successor was another rich merchant who had been his number two, but this man had been ill himself and declined the post. After several meetings it was finally agreed that Chen Long, a kongsi man from Malacca, who had arrived in Singapore only a year before but had considerable influence and wealth, should be appointed.
Chen Long did not care for the ang mo any more than had Sang, though to their face he was friendly and cooperative, knowing the value of such a relationship for commerce. He had a particular dislike for the Catholic Church and its works in converting poor Chinese. Why did these interfering priests not stick with their own kind? The Buddhist priests at the temple didn’t go round giving out tracts and preaching to the foreign community. After the funeral was over and his appointment official, he would call a meeting of the higher authorities and put this problem to rights once and for all.
Things were changing in the settlement. The gambier and pepper plantations were less and less profitable as the land was depleted. Opium smuggling decreased the profitability of the opium farm. In any consortium, to buy up the licences offered by the governor every year for the grog, gambling and opium farms, Chen Long would bring huge capital. He had begun to make a considerable fortune in the tin mines on the mainland. If land needed to be cleared over there, he would be of great use. Also he wanted to address the issue of piracy, which plagued not only the British but the Chinese ships as well.
He thought the Malays a useless and lazy race and was annoyed at the kowtowing the British seemed to do to the temenggong and all that rabble at Telok Blangah. His English was good, better than Sang’s strangled attempts. He could speak to the governor, and they could work to sort out this piracy thing. For this he knew he needed British cooperation. He had already thought that the newly developed steamships were the thing and was considering buying one himself. Chen Long had other plans, too. One of them included marrying his second daughter to Sang’s weakling son and heir. A grandson and hopefully a quick death of the sickly boy would ensure he had his hands well into that fortune before long. Well, all in good time. For now, that could wait.
Zhen became involved in Sang’s funeral in the oddest way. A discreet visit from Ah Liang one evening had been a surprise. Since he had been a ‘red rod’ back in China, he surely knew how to round up and control the crowds who had been ordered to turn out for the funeral. Their main honggun was not well; actually he had been severely injured in a knife fight, though Ah Liang did not tell Zhen this. Ah Liang was a bit short on muscle, and the sight of Zhen in full
regalia would give them pause.
Zhen had considered this very carefully. As a prospective son-in-law of Baba Tan, he had to be careful what he got up to now. On the other hand, to be seen by the British as having a controlling influence over the kongsi, as a man who could keep order, would be to his advantage. Zhen asked Ah Liang to prepare a paper ordering him to attend and give help to Incheck Sang’s entourage as a means of keeping order. This he showed to Baba Tan, who, after some initial concerns, considered it not a bad idea at all.
Armed with this paper Tan went to the governor and told him that his new prospective son-in-law was being put in charge of public order by the Ghee Hin Kongsi. Although he was not closely involved with that body he was considered a person able, by his natural authority, to keep the peace, which he had had occasion to do back in China. Bonham had first congratulated Tan, then expressed his delight at the young man’s help with the peacekeeping effort. Robert was informed and he, too, was pleased and relieved. It was then arranged that Zhen and Robert would meet, even more desirable, said Baba Tan, since his sister Charlotte had agreed to teach Zhen English.
Robert was more than happy for this arrangement. Perhaps, he suggested, Baba Tan could come to the police office with Zhen tomorrow night to discuss the route and any security arrangements. At the same time, he would have the honour of introducing his sister.
When Zhen heard this news, he bowed to Baba Tan, keeping his face resolutely lowered. Then he turned and busied himself with the stocks of a newly arrived shipment of chandu from the farm inland. He drew a deep breath. Soon he returned to Tan’s office and began a delicate discussion of his clothes. He was slowly trying to learn Baba Malay and had made some progress, and with him Tan made an effort to speak proper Hokkien.
Zhen had nothing fitting to wear to meet these Europeans, he said. Most of his day was spent half-naked loading bales. Baba Tan nodded. He would find him clothes. After all, he wanted this young man to be very pleasing to his daughter, and a little vanity in that line did not hurt. He was himself, after all, a good-looking man and had kept his physique. His concubine never complained.