Out in the Midday Sun

by Margaret Shennan

  In the morning … the firing suddenly began again just outside the gaol, and the order was given for all women and children to go to the old prison. I was making the babies’ food at the moment and dashed across with the boiling milk and any other indispensable article of infants’ food and clothing I could carry … Such an awful scene of horrible dirt and squalor we found there; the building is old and not in use generally except for executions – the floor thick with dust and the ceilings with cobwebs. Every room had families of poor, tired women and filthy, tired, howling, hungry children – one ghastly child of three, halfwitted and having screaming fits and convulsions all the time, added to the general air of misery … the mutineers were firing from the hill opposite and we had to keep away from the window.28

  In the confusion, the police and military responded slowly. On the first night the Central Police Station was manned against an expected attack by a small number of Volunteers ‘armed with old sniders, 1869 pattern, with long bayonets’.29 When the Mutiny began, Colonel Martin, the 5th Infantry’s CO, found himself cut off from his troops, marooned in the officer’s quarters (as was Mrs Cotton, wife of his second-in-command). He managed to escape across the rifle range to his residence, to meet up with a force of the MSVR sent to assist him. There they were all bottled up for a nerve-racking night. The Mutiny failed to escalate thanks to the presence of mind of two men: the Rajput bugler of the guard, who blew the alarm and ensured that the Germans were denied the sepoys’ rifles, and a naval intelligence clerk, who responded coolly to a warning message. In the GOC’s name he contacted Captain Marryat of HMS Cadmus moored in Keppel Harbour and ordered him to send every available man, including a machine-gun party from the sloop. A detachment of sixty men was landed at the P. & O. wharf, and it was their fire power which on 15 February stopped an advance on the city that had started in the area of Pasir Panjang and Alexandra Roads. In addition, the next day they helped a party of Singapore Volunteer Rifles to flush out the mutineers and send them scooting from their barracks like hunted hares, to melt into the jungle behind Alexandra Barracks. These same British naval gunners were, however, an unpredictable bunch. As dawn broke over the CO’s residence, where the Colonel and the Volunteers were besieged, ‘the rattle of machine gun bullets on the roof of the house warned us that the over-keen Cadmus men had mistaken us for the enemy’. Reports also spread that the same gunners ‘went on their way shooting all kinds of dark-skinned but quite innocent people – milk and food vendors plying their trade in the streets’, for ‘every Tamil coolie and Bengali bullock-cart driver was a potential enemy’.30

  With a loose cordon placed around Singapore town and Alexandra Barracks back in control by the second day, the main objectives were to restore order at Tanglin Barracks and then to round up the renegades. The first task was easily accomplished. It was fortunate that, in Major Thompson’s words,

  The behaviour of the former Singapore German Residents in the P.O.W. Camp was excellent. One or two members of the Guard, who were in the Camp when the attack took place were hidden away; Captain Pahnke, Marine Superintendent of the North German Lloyd took command, confined the Seamen element to their Barracks and placed armed sentries over them. On my arrival, I was greeted with many sincere expressions of regret and horror at what had taken place.31

  What finally saved the day for the British was their opponents’ failure to carry out their original strategy. When the Germans failed to cooperate, the rising disintegrated. On the second day, the 16th, one of the ringleaders, the Indian corporal, was wounded and captured by a gunner from the Cadmus and incarcerated in the gaol with ninety-eight other mutineers. (The English refugees in the gaol heard him reciting the Koran and saw ‘his picturesque white draperies and turban … soaked in blood’.)32 On the same day the mutineers who had attacked the guard put up a white flag. Major Thompson was instructed

  to get them into a position where they could be surrounded, and demand their unconditional surrender. On my arrival I was surprised to find myself in the midst of a detachment (60–70) of the 36th Sikhs. They were greatly excited, and as nervous as cats. However, by making them fall in and do a little squad drill, I got them in hand, and then got their story from the Halvildar-in-charge.

  Thompson explained in their defence that ‘The attack on the Guard was over before they realized what was going on.’33

  Meanwhile Lieutenant Shelley of the MSVR came face to face with some forty mutineers near the Keppel Harbour. They

  were marching down the road … the leader was carrying a white flag … there was only one thing to be done, and that was go to out and call upon them to surrender. So I hastened up the road to meet them … The funk which I felt … was pardonable when it is remembered that the last thing known about this regiment was that they were wandering abroad shooting all Europeans at sight. When they were some 20 paces away from me I gave three commands in quick succession – ‘Halt’, ‘Ground Arms’, ‘Quick March’, and they carried out the orders with precision, like the well-drilled soldiers that they were.34

  Other groups of mutineers were at a loss to know how to surrender. A party of 200 sepoys tried to persuade the Manager of a rubber estate to help them by telephoning Colonel Martin, but the telephone failed. The party hung around Seletar Police Station for some time, and then, having dejectedly broken up, made off in the direction of Johore. ‘One mutineer was found outside Raffles’ Hotel disguised as a Chinese coolie … Two others were caught near the Europe Hotel, sitting on the Padang by the sea … Some were found disguised as Malays, but most were caught in the jungle, hungry and miserable.’35 The Sultan of Johore had shown his loyalty at the outset, by personally accompanying a detachment of his own Johore forces by train to support the British. He also lent his Tanglin mansion, ‘Tyersall’, as accommodation for MSVR officers; and he willingly co-operated over the transfer to prison of a party of sixty-five captured mutineers, most of whom, the evidence showed, had been involved in the conspiracy.

  The rounding up of the renegades carried on into March. All that time intermittent sniping could be heard, and there were frequent false alarms. Although Lady Evelyn Young, the Governor’s wife, had left for Johore, ‘Government House was very nervy and expected attack each night,’ one of the officers recalled.36 Mrs Howell had predicted that the British would rush in reinforcements, and she was right. The Shropshire regiment arrived shortly after ‘a party of 150 Frenchmen landed from one of their warships, then about 180 Japs from two of their ships and 40 Russians’, all hastily organized by the Admiralty.37 Convinced that most of the 5th Infantry were loyal, Major Thompson had some 700 of them transported to the quarantine station on St John’s Island, where the task of rehabilitating the battalion began. The mutineers were housed in the overcrowded cells of the Central Police Station or on a coolie hulk in the harbour awaiting trial by court martial, a process which continued into May. Before this, however, another rising had developed in rural Kelantan. Questions were bound to be asked: ‘Was the Ruling House involved? Was it engineered or encouraged by enemy agents?’38 In fact, the unrest was apparently unconnected with the Mutiny, but it shared an undercurrent of pro-Muslim, anti-British feeling. It also left those British families who lived ‘upcountry’ somewhat uneasy.

  Kelantan could be reached from Singapore only by Danish coastal steamer, and the voyage was often a nightmare. About the size of Yorkshire, the state had a population of about half a million concentrated on the coastal plain. There were a few British rubber estates, a large coconut plantation, also British, and a British-owned trading company, along with six British officials. The rebellion of April 1915 – known as ‘The Outbreak’ – was led by a charismatic named To’ Janggut, described by Haji Hamilton, the chief British police officer involved, as a religious fanatic with a heavy beard and of mixed Indian ancestry.

  The first indication of trouble came when the British Adviser in Kota Bharu, William Langham-Carter, received a warning from the Malay District Officer at Pasir Puteh that
two Malay policemen had been shot dead while serving a summons on To’ Janggut for refusing to pay tax. There were rumours of a more widespread rising involving 5,000 Malays, who surrounded the residence of the District Officer, Abdul Latif. The possibility that European bungalows might be burned down and the involvement of a Kelantan chief – the ruling class of some of the rayats disliked the new British land reforms – forced the British Adviser into decisive action. Haji Hamilton summarized what happened:

  Langham-Carter, a delightful person but a bit weak in a crisis, wired to Singapore for help. And H.M.S. Cadmus rushed up and fired a few shells at random into the coconut groves along the coast, doing a little damage to the property of inoffensive villagers, and may even have caused casualties … Langham-Carter collected all the Europeans together in Kota Bharu which became an armed camp. And the country police [Malays], being out on a limb, did the sensible thing and ‘went bush’. The Malay Volunteers from Singapore were hurriedly despatched.39

  There was some division in the administrative top brass as to how to proceed, until Langham-Carter and others, with a body of Sikhs, went off

  in the direction of where To’ Janggut was beating his war drums … by sheer luck [they] came up against some of To’ Janggut’s men who were in a straggling kampong on the other side of a stretch of padi fields. There was a little sniping to which the Police replied and then advanced. But there was no further opposition and the Malays walked away leaving a few dead, including To’ Janggut, shot clean through the heart, which ended the stories of his invulnerability, and the rebellion.40

  One of those with the police party, W. E. Pepys, later wrote:

  The ‘Engagement’ only lasted about 15 minutes and when all was quiet again we went over to see what was behind the hedge and found about seven bodies including that of To’ Janggut (who suffered from elephantiasis) lying appropriately enough beside an elephant gun … About seven of the leading rebels were proclaimed and given a week to surrender, after which we knocked down their houses by the simple expedient of cutting a coconut tree to topple down on to them.41

  One of To’ Janggut’s accomplices was caught and condemned to be executed by firing squad. ‘Brahim Taling was blindfolded and tied to a stake; he faced his end with courage, protesting that he was not to blame. No others were present, there was no demonstration, no evidence of sympathy.’ Alan Morkill, watching the scene, came to regret that his presence had somehow condoned the death penalty. Before this, at the Sultan of Kelantan’s request, To’ Janggut’s body was displayed, hanging by the feet from the crossbar of a goalpost, on the padang at Kota Bharu.42

  The Outbreak was over by the time a company of the Shropshire Light Infantry arrived to restore order. ‘A few suspects had to be found and the country was patrolled,’ Morkill observed.43 Meanwhile, the denouement of the Mutiny was played our in Singapore. There was no clemency for the thirty-seven condemned mutineers. They were shot in batches over a period of days at Outram Road Gaol (except for Mansoor, who was hanged). The public execution of the ringleaders was meant as a warning to the Asian races. The horror of the responsibility for the execution fell to the men and officers of the Volunteers. Lieutenant Shelley of the MSVR was ordered to lead the firing squad that was to shoot two of the ringleaders. Years later he produced a stringent account of incidents which had been ‘impressed upon my memory as though they had occurred but yesterday’:

  ‘That’s your job,’ said Captain Smith turning to me. ‘But what am I to do?’ I asked. ‘That’s for you to find out,’ was the reply. Slosher, the R.S.M. – and Old Guardsman – he would know all about it: he knew all there was to know about everything. So off I went to find Slosher. Slosher did know nothing about it, but of course he wouldn’t admit it. ‘We must first select the party of ten men,’ said the practical Slosher, ‘And give them a little practice.’ So the ten men were selected.44

  Shelley’s problem was the more acute since an efficient operation was essential ‘to look more impressive to the natives’.45 Finding no mention of firing parties in the little red book on musketry practice and ceremonial, he quizzed officer friends at the Europe Hotel as to procedure and learned that it would ultimately be his duty, as officer in charge, to deliver the coup de grâce. When the time came,

  the two mutineers were brought out from the gaol and placed in position against the stakes. They were handcuffed with their hands behind their backs, but were not blindfolded. An enormous crowd had gathered to watch the execution and the Colonel proceeded to read out in a loud voice the offence … The Colonel’s words were then translated by Interpreters into three or four native languages. During the last three or four minutes the two mutineers and the firing party had been standing face to face. The two Indians appeared to be undergoing the Ordeal with great fortitude …

  Turning to the firing party I gave the order ‘Load!’ … one or two of the men were nervous … One man … was very shaky …

  When I saw that all the rifles were loaded and the men ready I gave the order ‘Aim!’ and, following quickly, the order ‘Fire!’ A good volley rang out and the Indian on the left dropped in a crumpled heap. But the Indian on the right – a very tall, well-built man – remained standing. The expression on his face was one of such terrible agony that it will for ever remain impressed on my memory.4

  Shelley’s unemotional extract describes the stark reality of a harrowing duty done. But as electrifying as the sight of this act of force majeure was the unnerving sound that rose from the gaol and filled the air: the ‘weird and blood-chilling wail of the Moslem death-chant’.47

  The official attitude towards all the convicted mutineers was expressed by a British barrister present at the trial of the merchant Mansoor, who was condemned to death for treason: ‘He lived as a British subject within the benevolence of the British nation and he sought to betray that nation and bring untold sufferings to its people here.’48 Then, with a little hindsight, alternative judgements emerged. ‘The whole thing was so senseless and so wicked; these brave fellows were just cat’s-paws, persuaded by lies into the doing of something that never could have affected the war in any way, and that could never have had the slightest chance of success.’49 And Majorie Binnie was unequivocal in her condemnation of their punishment: ‘Of the trial and execution of several of these [mutineers] it suffices to say that it was a chapter unworthy of British decency and fit, perhaps, to be associated with the savage punishment of Indian soldiers fifty years or more earlier when they were blown from guns after the Indian Mutiny.’50

  Curiously, there was some sympathy for a few of the German internees. ‘Poor old Saloman!’ wrote Edwin Brown:

  If ever a man suffered ‘the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune’, it was he … He was suspected here, quite unfairly, of being a secret agent because he had been decorated by the Kaiser with some minor order … he remained [in Tanglin Barracks] on parole with his wife until the end of the war, watching his property and possessions disappear, shunned by people who had called him friend, a broken-hearted man. There must have been many Germans like him.51

  It was clear that British colonial opinion was divided. The wife of an Englishman present at the public execution was satisfied ‘that it was very well done’.52 In an enthusiastic letter to his mother and sister, Lowther Kemp of the Singapore Volunteer Rifles wrote, ‘Now that is all over I am very glad that it happened – except of course for the murders – as we had a great deal of fun out of it … The whole thing has been very interesting and amusing …’53 Whether he reflected a widespread view is hard to establish, but in 1917 there appeared a publication called Mutiny Musings and Volunteer Sketches, by W. Arthur Wilson, with an introduction by Brigadier-General Ridout. The advertisement reminded the public that ‘Nearly 3 years ago there was a mutiny in singapore. It was a time of tragedy but there was lots of humour, too.’ Prospective readers were promised ‘It gives you all the Fun of the Mutiny, and some of its Pathos, in Brilliantly Witty Sketches and Verses’, at $1.00 a c
opy.54 This sort of levity suggests that there was not too much soul-searching among the British community. It seems that, once the Mutiny and the Outbreak were past, they breathed a collective sigh of relief and carried on as normal, helped by the fact that most households had been untouched by the crisis. In fact the British were surprised and indeed moved by the honesty and devotion of their domestic servants. The Allens’ ‘splendid Madrassi’ boy had visited the Ipoh daily with clean clothes and other supplies. Victoria Allen spoke for many when she said, ‘the servants … Indian, Malay, Chinese, Javanese, were marvellous’. And, once their neighbourhood of Cairnhill Road was declared safe, they ‘returned to find the house spotlessly clean, flowers beautifully arranged in all the vases, silver gleaming, and tea laid’ – all of which, she declared, would be gratefully remembered.55

  But the Mutiny had unforeseen repercussions. It had, for instance, shown up the deficiencies in police communications, the inadequate telephone system, and the lack of officers with understanding of the Indian people or languages. The most urgent need was the reorganization of the Singapore Police Force. In addition, through the introduction of martial law,

  We were enabled to establish a Military Censorship on mails passing through the port; take off to examine or intern suspects who otherwise could not have been touched. Details of Plots having their origin in Berlin, Chicago, Switzerland and San Francisco were obtained, funds were impounded, Garrisons strengthened at threatened points. Gun running was stopped, all as a result of discoveries made in Singapore.56

  A spate of war legislation included a number of enactments imposing restrictions on trading with the enemy and on the import and export of goods. Not only was the flow of German trade with Malaya extinguished, but a deadly blow was struck against German commerce with Siam and the Dutch East Indies. The war marked the end of the rich German community in Singapore.57 In Penang, too, new security measures were introduced following the Emden episode, with far reaching consequences. The Japanese navy took on the role of policing the Straits and seemed to take charge of Penang. There was tension between Japanese naval officers and Penang’s experienced master mariners, such as Captain Macintyre, the Harbour Master, and Captain Brown of the pilot service, who resented what they took to be Japanese officiousness. Not for nothing were the Japanese referred to as ‘The Germans of the East’!58 And, with the gloomy experience of Japanese surveillance, suspicion grew as to Japan’s long-term aims. The Hon. Robert Young, a member of the Penang Legislative Council, believed even then that the Japanese were planning to take over Malaya.