With February came the first junks from China, carried by the northeast monsoon. The crew of a Malay tambang signalled the arrival of the junks, while they were still a few miles out in the roads. A multitude of small boats went out to meet them, like bees swarming round honey pots. Few could board the junks, since their decks were crowded with sinkeh,[1] but the Chinese merchants shouted up to the nakodahs for news of China, and offered to make arrangements for the sale of their goods. Indian lightermen offered their services to transport their goods to the merchants’ godowns along the river, and to replenish their supplies of food and water. The sinkeh were rowed ashore, their anxious faces scanning the shoreline, some to be met by family or friends, but most by agents holding their work-tickets. Meanwhile the crews erected makeshift rattan roofs over the junks to protect the goods that would be displayed for sale on the deck.
Sultan Hussein had one of the nakodahs arrested and placed in stocks on the beach for his failure to provide the customary present. Farquhar had the man released immediately, but the incident caused no end of trouble. First there was Captain Flint, who demanded that the sultan––and the temenggong––be flung in jail and heavily fined.
‘You’re the martial authority here, Farquhar!’ he barked. ‘You ought to uphold the law!’
‘Oh yes,’ Farquhar replied, ‘now pray tell me, Captain Flint, what law gives me the authority to arrest or fine His Highness Sultan Hussein Mohammed Shah of Johor, Riau and Lingga, which includes Singapore and a’ the islands and waters surrounding it. Technically he probably has every right to tribute, but I’ve persuaded him to be satisfied wi’ the allowance I pay him from the farm revenues, which I have agreed to increase, in return for his promise to make no further demands upon the nakodahs. But I’d thank you not to interfere, Captain Flint, and stick to your own business.’
‘Bah, you’re too easy on these people!’ Flint responded with contempt, thinking that Farquhar really was like one of them, waddling around in his old sarong, with his Malay wife and half-breed children. ‘Sir Stamford will hear of this,’ he said, storming out of the residency.
‘I dinna think even Sir Stamford would want me to imprison the sultan. Not the way to promote the emporium of the east. Not at a’!’ he said to no one in particular, since Flint had already left.
Damn the man, thought Farquhar to himself, and what a hypocrite. If anyone should be accused of fleecing the nakodahs, it was Captain Flint, with his anchorage and port clearing fees and monopoly control over lighterage and ship repairs. Flint just loved to keep the Chinese nakodahs waiting–––it gratified his inflated sense of his own authority and superiority. Farquhar thought he really ought to protest to Raffles about it, but knew it was a waste of time. Raffles was sure to take the side of his brother-in-law. The man could be as blind as a bat sometimes, despite his noble talk of free trade and commerce.
Farquhar also had a deal of sympathy for the rights of Sultan Hussein, who after all did own the land and had legal authority over the surrounding waters. For generations, the Malacca and the Johor, Riau and Lingga sultans who had made treaties with Portuguese, Dutch and British trading companies had profited through their lease of land and dues or presents paid to them in tribute, by both native and foreign craft. And it was more than a mere matter of economics––it was a matter of pride. Without some form of demonstrated respect for their rights over their own lands, they were nothing more than paid minions.
Yet it was hard to have much sympathy for the sultan himself, who was the epitome of idleness and debauchery. He had brought his family and his large harem from Riau, along with over two hundred retainers and followers, who lived in the outbuildings around the istana that he had built at Kampong Glam. He was already deep in debt to Tamil Chettiars, despite the Company’s allowance and the fees that Farquhar paid him. He had grown so fat that his body was a shapeless mass, almost as wide as it was tall. He had a small, square head that sank into his shoulders in layers of fat, which gave the disconcerting impression that he had no neck. The sultan had a huge potbelly that hung over his spindly legs in folds, which made walking very difficult for him; he usually had to be supported by one or more of his retainers. His skin was a sickly yellow, and he had a wide mouth that seemed to stretch the length of his face when he smiled; and when he smiled he revealed two rows of teeth stained dark red with betel-juice. He looked, thought Farquhar, like one of the monsters from the Arabian Nights. The sultan spoke with a low raspy voice, like stone being dragged over stone, which only accentuated the impression.
The temenggong was a different kettle of fish. He was lean and wiry, with sparkling black eyes, and always spoke with humour and intelligence. Farquhar liked him a lot, and had known the man for years. But he was a wily one, was Abdul Rahman, and he wouldn’t trust the man with a ha’penny. He could smile at you sweetly and then sell your course to the pirates.
A few minutes after Flint had left, Farquhar received a delegation from Messrs. Johnson, Guthrie, Queiros, Methven, Morgan and John and Ronnie Simpson, who presented him with a copy of a letter they had just delivered to Sultan Hussein, demanding an apology and his promise that such an incident would never occur again.
‘This is almost as bad as regular port charges, Colonel, and it undermines our reputation as a free port,’ Alexander Johnston, the leader of the delegation, remonstrated. ‘It may even stifle the China trade––a trade we will need to depend on in the long run.’
Farquhar liked Johnston, and considered him a friend, but could not abide any more interference.
‘I’ve already taken care of it, Mr Johnston,’ he replied. ‘But I must remind you that as resident I am solely in charge of relations with the sultan and the temenggong. You merchants should stick to your own business and leave me to mine. I consider this letter of yours improper, premature and quite unnecessary interference. I have already sorted out the situation with the sultan and the temenggong, and have their assurance that we will have no repetition of this unfortunate incident. But I’ll thank ye a’ to stay out of matters that dinna concern you in the future,’ he said, politely showing them the door.
The delegation left, but the merchants, including the Chinese and Arab merchants, continued to protest the sultan’s action. Farquhar wrote to Raffles asking him to rule on the question of whether the sultan and temenggong could levy fees on the profits made by Chinese merchants returning to their homeland, and asking him to approve his temporary expediency of paying them an extra allowance from the tax-farm revenues. He also advised Raffles once again about the severe impracticality of his original town plan. The European merchants simply refused to build on the east beach, and most of the Chinese refused to build on the west bank of the river. He could not blame them, as he pointed out to Ronnie one afternoon as they were out walking together. Farquhar pointed across the river with his stick.
‘Just how does he expect anybody to build on that,’ he said.
It was high tide, and the west bank of the river, which was about nine feet lower than the east bank, marked the edge of a huge inland lake that stretched back about half a mile to the hills beyond, and which both men knew became a marshy bog at low tide. There were only a few raft houses occupied by native traders and the few remaining orang laut; most were now dispersed to the other rivers and inlets around the island.
‘You’d need to fill all that in and build up a wharf,’ he complained, ‘but I canna do that.’ He though he might try to appeal to Ronnie, as he had tried to appeal to him before, in the hope that the other merchants would follow his lead if he agreed. ‘Do ye think you and the other merchants might club together and raise the money to do that?’
‘I doubt it,’ Ronnie replied, ‘and I dinna see why we should. Everybody’s happy where they are. The east bank is grand––a wide tidal basin, wi’ a firm sheltered bank for easy loading and unloading, and guid access to fresh water and timber. And it would be easy enough to put the government buildings further back, since––as we both know––nobody’s building godowns on the beach.’
Yet Farquhar was not so sure; Raffles could be very stubborn at times. Farquhar had only issued the merchants with temporary land grants, since the treaty with the sultan and temenggong did not give the Company the right to grant permanent title, but most had already built substantial brick godowns to protect their goods from fire. The merchant godowns, the bazaar, and the residency compound, which included the police station and the Company warehouse and commissariat, now occupied most of the east bank of the river between Bukit Larangan and Ferry Point.
The Company warehouse was a disaster. None of the merchant houses or free traders were interested in buying the rubbish that was sent down from Penang, and it was a waste of time and money. He would have to close the place down soon.
* * *
The merchants were not interested in contributing to the reclamation of the west bank, but after the robbery and murder at Methven’s godown, they did agree to contribute fifty-four dollars per month for the establishment of a night watch fund to augment the police force. The night watch was dedicated to the patrol and protection of the godowns, and comprised one jemadar and nine peons. On the recommendation of the police committee chaired by Mr Johnston, Colonel Farquhar suggested to the capitans of the Chinese, Malay, Indian and Bugis communities that they should institute a subscription for their own night watches.