The Hills of Singapore (25 page)

In a land where the only possible mode of travel was by water, boats of all sorts often filled the river, from the small sampan, scooped from a tree trunk, so narrow as to seem insufficient to contain its numerous passengers, to the large, sheltered houseboats propelled by old men sitting cross-legged, dressed in dirty white cotton drawers and jaunty conical hats. Yet sometimes the river was lonely as a tomb, only the engine of the boat echoing in an eerie and silent world.

Isabel, whose countenance had improved greatly, sat quietly on deck with Charlotte. Neither could find any words to speak of this long, slow journey into they knew not what. An unpalatable breakfast of hard biscuits, melting tinned butter, boiled eggs and dark Chinese tea was not tempting, and both women sat contemplating the riverside as Mr Richards, Captain Elliott and the other men made short work of the meal.

Clearly they would both have to make some adjustments in diet in this far-flung paradise. Some kinds of tinned food had only recently found popularity. The containers were thick and difficult to open. Charlotte did not care for them at all, the more so as she knew that the tin can and the process of preserving food had been invented for Napoleon's troops. It was difficult, even dangerous to open them, requiring a sharp knife or some blunt instrument, and injuries were commonplace. And the tinned foods were expensive. Charlotte recognised the value for the army and navy forces and, even here in isolated Sarawak, she knew that tinned meat, cheese and butter were amongst the supplies for the Rajah, but she did not care for such food herself.

At last, after two and a half hours, as the sun climbed into the sky, a final turn in the river revealed the fort on a low hill covered in cropped grass: a long white building with cannon at the port-holes, manned by a contingent of Malay soldiers. A single cannon shot rang out, and they realised the town had been advised of their arrival. They continued past the fort and into the tiny town, and Mr Richards called for the anchor to be dropped just before the Rajah's residence which was clearly visible on a raised knoll on the right-hand side of the river. It was a large, double-storey wooden residence with a deep verandah and a thatched roof.

Charlotte could see a small contingent of Europeans waiting on the landing place, bristling with yellow flags and parasols carried by the native guards, the famous Dyaks, of which she had been told many tales. The staff carried the Rajah's flag, a red and purple cross on yellow. The river was wide here, and town was open to their gaze.

Opposite the Rajah's compound stood a square wooden building, with lattice work covering its upper parts. A red Chinese temple and a number of thatched huts and low houses led away from the shore towards a rising hill. Atop it stood a large Tudor-style English house. Such a sight in the midst of the wilds of Borneo ought to have surprised, but, Charlotte thought, perhaps she had lived too long in the East that such a sight did not seem in the least out of place. It was, she knew from Mr Richards' narrative, the home of an English Reverend, Francis McDougall, and his wife Harriette, and why should they not choose Tudor?

The thought suddenly seemed comical and made her smile. How mad a place it must be, this little English kingdom in the midst of headhunting tribes, sea pirates and bewildering vastness!

I must suspend judgement, Charlotte thought, until I know something more of the place. Mr Richards had told her of the great benefits of Great Britain's enlightened civilisation which Sir James Brooke wished to visit on the poor Dyaks of the interior. But against the piratical sea Dyaks, who terrorised the peaceful coastal villages, he would join forces with the British Navy for the purposes of punishment and, if possible, extermination. Mr Richards was so enthusiastic and ready in his praise of the Rajah that Isabel had become almost overexcited and Charlotte had settled them all down by asking the steward for a cup of tea.

Now they could see a low barge approaching, conducted by bare-chested Malay and Dyak men, their paddles painted in the colours of Sarawak, red, yellow and black. Within minutes the barge had arrived at the side of the
Rajah
and two soldiers had climbed aboard, together with Charles Maitland.

He came forward with both hands extended and took hers. Charlotte smiled her happiness at seeing him.

“Welcome, Kitt and Miss Isabel, Captain Elliott.”

Charles helped the two ladies down into the barge for the short journey to the river's edge. A drum began a rhythmic beating, and several of the native men on shore began a dance, stamping their feet and shaking their long spears. As the visitors stepped from the barge the drum rose to a crescendo and the men set up a long and piercing call, then suddenly fell silent.

Charlotte was introduced to John Brooke Johnson, the Rajah's nephew and heir, a pleasant-looking man in the uniform of a midshipman. The Rajah was awaiting them in the Lodge, as his residence was known. Isabel clung to Charlotte's hand, eyeing warily the guard of honour, some twenty half-dressed and fierce-looking Dyak men, with long feathers adorning their headdresses and arm bands. Intricate black tattoos covered the length of their arms and backs. They wore beads and bangles in profusion and waistcloths of red, yellow and white. These, Charles explained, belonged to the Sarawak Rangers, the Rajah's force of Malay and Dyak warriors.

They made their way up the sloping path to the Lodge, and Charlotte could not repress a tingle of excitement. To meet Rajah Brooke here in his kingdom surrounded by these fearsome men, some with bones in their ears and noses; this was a most extraordinary event that one did not meet with every day. Charlotte felt Isabel's excitement in the squeeze of her hand.

The Rajah was in audience in the main hall of the Lodge. He was sitting surrounded by the local chieftains. As the party climbed onto the verandah, the Rajah rose and came forward, the men seated on the floor parting to let him pass.

“Charlotte and Isabel, welcome, welcome.”

Isabel seemed so in awe of James Brooke that she stood stock still. Charlotte dropped into a curtsy and pulled Isabel's hand. Isabel dropped almost to her haunches. Both women lowered their eyes until James let out a long peal of delighted laughter.

“No need for such formality, my dears,” he said, chuckling. “We are quite informal here.”

James took up Charlotte's hand and kissed it gallantly and then took Isabel by the hand and pulled her up. He turned and made his way back to his seat, and Charlotte and Isabel were accompanied by John Brooke and Charles to their jungle accommodations.

28

The Lodge stood in large grounds. The overwhelming scent of blooms floated on the air, and Charlotte noticed very large bowls of green and golden flower petals along the edge of the verandah. They were the blossoms of the
kenang
and the
champak
, flowering trees which grew near the house.

Within the grounds stood four or five other houses, similar to The Lodge, of double height, surrounded on all sides by long verandahs. The day was pleasantly cool and overcast. Charlotte and Isabel were shown to a house standing to one side of the Lodge on the banks of a stream which wound its way down the hillside and into the river. A small bridge led over this stream to other houses. The Lodge was home to Arthur Crookshank, the Rajah's first minister, and his wife, Bertha, to the Rajah's nephew and to Harold Grant, James Brooke's private secretary, whom the Rajah always addressed, rather disconcertingly, as Hoddy Doddy. Spenser St. John, his brother James, Charles and a group of other men shared a second house.

Bertha Crookshank was indisposed, Charlotte was told. She was pregnant and had contracted a fever. She was currently being cared for by Dr Treacher, although the principal doctor for the town was Frank McDougall. Charlotte felt very sorry for Bertha Crookshank. The prospect of being pregnant and unwell in this jungle town was not to be envied.

Charlotte called to Captain Elliott, who was waiting for her to be settled before taking up his own billet with the St. John brothers. “Bring the chest of medicines directly to the Rajah, please, James. If we can be of service to Mrs Crookshank, it would be a mercy.”

The medicine chest was aboard the
Rajah
, and James Elliott turned immediately to carry out her orders. She had brought a large supply of quinine for the swamp fever, also quantities of laudanum, Godfrey's cordial, tincture of opium, a mixture for coughs. Dr Oxley had prepared the chest with other items, bandages, dressings and poultices for boils. Fortunately, Charlotte had been vaccinated against smallpox in Singapore when the government had ordered mandatory vaccinations of the entire population.

Charlotte considered herself extremely fortunate not to have contracted malaria during all the years she had lived in these islands. Almost everyone had malaria from one time or another. Charles, she knew, had contracted it in Batavia and, he told her, he had bouts from time to time. It was simply matter of fact. Everyone was indisposed sooner or later. Charlotte really had quite a morbid fear of it and listened to Captain Elliott on the matter. He advised, whilst in these jungle places, to stay indoors at dusk, for it appeared that was when the miasma was most dangerous and prevalent.

Isabel and Charlotte were shown their rooms. They were large and comfortable, the wood floors polished to a high gleam. It was a pleasant space. Charlotte's room had a wooden four-poster bed, a wardrobe and a chest of drawers, a small table and chair. A net stood over the bed, and shuttered doors led to the verandah. Two young Malay girls stood shyly by the door. They had been sent to take care of the two white women. Charlotte's maid, who had supervised the arrival of the luggage, now took these girls in hand, bustling and pointing to clothes, giving orders, sending them hither and thither for this and that. Charlotte could see she was thoroughly enjoying herself. She left them to their business and went out onto the verandah.

As she gazed out over the small stream which bubbled down to the slow-moving river, she detected, suddenly a whiff of perfume. She smiled. One of the greatest charms of the jungle was these mysterious and exquisite scents which came suddenly from unseen flowers hiding in the heart of the forest and nestling under great leaves on river banks.

Isabel, who had quite recovered her spirits, came noisily along the verandah. “Isn't it exciting, Charlotte? Did you see the headhunters? I thought I should die, really. Oh, and Captain Maitland is so dashing, and the young John Brooke, isn't he marvellous? I can't wait to cross the river, can you, to visit with Mrs McDougall. I met her in Singapore, and she is such a wonderful woman, bringing the word of the Lord to the natives. Don't you think that is marvellous of her? And her husband, such a saint.”

Isabel prattled on, and Charlotte took no notice. She was not sure what she thought of this place at all. Charles Maitland had left her until the evening, and Charlotte now wondered what on earth people got up to in this kingdom of the white Rajah.

Just as this thought passed through her mind, she was informed that the Rajah's butler, Talip, was here and sought to speak to her. Charlotte thought she would very much like to meet a Sarawakian butler, and she and Isabel went downstairs to the lower verandah.

Talip was a Sarawakian Malay; he was an unusually tall, good-looking young man with dark, intelligent eyes, a thick black moustache and an abundant head of curly black hair forming a fringe under his elaborate head-kerchief. Charlotte could see he was something of a dandy. He was extremely neat, his spotless snow-white jacket covering the folds of his yellow and black sarong and narrow white trousers. His feet, however, were bare.

As the ladies approached he bowed solemnly and handed Charlotte a note. It was from Harriette McDougall, an invitation for Charlotte and Isabel to dine at her residence tomorrow evening.

In Malay, Charlotte said, “Thank you, Talip. If you bring some paper I shall respond immediately.”

Talip smiled, a charming grin which showed his slightly blackened teeth. “
Puan
speaks Malay well.”

Charlotte smiled and nodded.

“Would the
puan-puan
like tea or some fruit?” Talip asked.

“Oh, yes, I'm suddenly starving, it's almost lunchtime,” Isabel said to Charlotte in English. “What are we to do about lunch, Charlotte?” Isabel could understand Malay very well, but her grasp of spoken Malay was poor. At home she spoke only English or Portuguese.

Charlotte nodded at Talip. “Thank you, some lunch perhaps. Rice and curry, some tea and fruit would be nice.”

She and Isabel sat in the rattan chairs on the verandah. Talip bowed quickly and moved inside the house, calling for refreshments and paper.

When the tea tray had been laid and served and Charlotte had finished writing to Harriette, she handed the letter to Talip, who had been standing, waiting quietly, in the corner of the verandah. He took it but did not move off immediately, and Charlotte felt a small hesitation.

“Is there something else Talip?” she asked

Talip coughed very slightly, putting his hand to his mouth. “Since
Puan
speaks Malay, would
Puan
like to meet some Sarawak ladies? I know they are most curious about you. I can bring them in the afternoon for tea. They like tea,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “and cakes. The Rajah's cook will make cakes.”

“Ooh, cakes, yes please, Charlotte, let's meet the Sarawak ladies.” Isabel spoke from behind a mouthful of papaya. Her appetite had returned with a vengeance.

Charlotte nodded, the time was fixed, the curry and rice arrived and Talip departed to his tasks.

The afternoon went remarkably quickly. A cool bath and a sleep restored both the women, and when Charlotte went down to the hall, she found it had been prepared for the tea party. Gold brocade cushions had been spread about the polished floor, with, against a wall, two sets of two cushions, evidently for herself and Isabel. A long low table stood to one side, covered by a white cloth on which lay bowls of pineapples, mangoes and mangosteens. Two large red lacquer boxes divided the fruit bowls; they were filled with exquisite, sweet Malay colourful cakes, made from rice flour and a vast array of different spices and ingredients. China cups and saucers were awaiting the teapot. Charlotte was impressed by Talip's silent efficiency.