We took a room at the only (and rather primitive) lodgings in town, where the manager, Mr. Suvann Chea, spoke some French, a language that Holmes and I spoke tolerably well. Mr. Chea was most hospitable and insisted on serving us some tea and surprisingly fresh—and unexpected—croissants as light refreshment.
We understood that the city was the gateway to a much larger complex that was the foundation of Cambodian culture. The manager recommended that we visit the ruins of the local temples about three miles away, collectively called Angkor Wat, the next morning, while he arranged for our onward journey. Holmes readily accepted the suggestion.
‘Is this wise, Holmes?’ I remonstrated. ‘Speed is of the essence! Is this the time to set out on an expedition to admire the local architecture?’
Holmes raised an eyebrow. ‘I appreciate your spirit and dedication to the pursuit, Watson, but I would like you to consider several facts. One: We are sorely in need of rest and mental distraction. A jaded mind and tired body are unequal to the challenges that lie ahead. Two: We are in a place of extreme historical significance that we may never visit again. And three: We have no choice since transport will be available only in the afternoon.’
I was not entirely convinced, but I withheld comment. Holmes proceeded to make a rather sharp and hurtful remark. ‘You seem to resemble, in certain ways, precisely the same kind of reader whose flippant attitude you have deplored on countless occasions. I can see that you hope to chronicle this adventure someday, in the event we survive and you wish to entertain and provide a sense of restless action, desiring perhaps that the average citizen in Birmingham, Glasgow, or Norwich has a jolly time. We do not live in a book, Watson! This is real life where practical considerations must prevail over petty excitement!’
‘You do me a grave injustice with your cruel taunt, Holmes!’ I cried, my face flushed. ‘My literary efforts may be modest, but will one day be regarded as a tribute to you and your intellect. I was merely anxious about the possible loss of time and its effect on your mission.’
‘Indeed, Watson? In that case, I withdraw my unnecessary remarks. In the meanwhile, have some of this excellent Darjeeling tea and this fine croissant.’
We slept well and after an early breakfast left for Angkor Wat on fresh and sturdy horses. We settled our accounts with Mr. Chea and asked him to keep a couple of carriages ready for us to travel (‘back to Bangkok,’ said Holmes smoothly). Mr. Chea assured us that arrangements would be made and we should not worry.
A guide, assigned by Mr. Chea, explained that the complexes were presumably the world’s largest, spread over hundreds of acres, cutting through thick tropical jungle; indeed, many of the temples had been reclaimed by the flora. They seemed an amalgam of Hindoo and Buddhist cultural influences with representatives of the immense Hindoo pantheon and the Buddha in various esoteric forms. We walked around the rather spectacular ruins. We saw some friezes of the ancient Indian myth, the Ramayana, which Holmes—who said he had once written a well-received monograph on the esoteric aspects of the worship of the monkey-god Hanuman, prominent in that story10—observed were subtly different than the original myth prevalent in India.
Holmes also commented on the mathematical precision of the architects. “These were people short in stature, Watson, but tall in intellect and mathematical enquiry, clearly conversant with the subtleties of trigonometry. Note the extraordinary angles of the rise of the sides of the temples, and the precise width of the stairs.”
‘Trigonometry is not my forte, Holmes,’ I said.
‘Quite so, my dear fellow, quite so, I had forgotten,’ said Holmes, his face expressionless.
We also visited the Terrace of the Leper Kings, the charming temple of Bantey Siri and a number of other fascinating buildings, all in states of disrepair and neglect. As we walked through the buildings, finding our steps gingerly, snakes of various kinds slithered away. We saw at least a couple of huge pythons and many others; none were interested in us, to our relief.
‘I find the significance of these temples equals the accomplishments of the Greeks and the Egyptians, Watson. I pity our ignorance of such rich cultures of the past. I wager that these temples, once formally made known to the world, will be counted as some of the greatest ever constructed by man.’
I agreed, ‘An extraordinary experience indeed, Holmes.’ I had started becoming a bit restless.
‘And you see the marked influence of the culture of India extending into this country. The temples have inscriptions in Pali, in which I have had some interest in the past, as you may recall. One inscription said that the temple had been consecrated with the waters of the Ganges, India’s holiest river. What do you think of that, eh, Watson?’
‘Admirable, Holmes, but I would rather keep moving on toward Japan, if I had the choice!’ I said, quite agitated now.
‘Tut, Watson! You typify the restless, anxious Englishman far removed from his bowler hat, his club, cricket at Lords, and The Times, unable to appreciate the beauty of the moment of heathen cultures. I frown upon your attitude!’
‘And I frown on yours, Holmes! Perhaps the heat of this place has reduced our perceptual acuity. I am uneasy and wish we were elsewhere instead of commenting on Pali inscriptions and the Ganges!’
We reached the remote and magnificent Ta Prohm temple, which was in the process of being reclaimed by the unforgiving jungle, then the temple of Bayon with the multiple faces of Avalokiteshvara, and then the main and truly breathtaking temple at Angkor Vat. The structure was easily some two hundred feet high with an angle of about sixty degrees. It was not an easy climb—a good two hundred feet perhaps—and inadvisable for anyone with a fear of extreme heights and lacking physical fitness. The steps themselves were very narrow and we had to climb sideways. One misstep would have meant instant death. At the top were various large statues of the Buddha made of granite and some representations of the Gods of the Hindoo religion as idols or in friezes. Holmes sketched the reliefs and the view and took a few notes. We also took in the spectacular view from the top of the surrounding lush jungles.
After another tortuous climb up the main temple at Angkor Wat and then a frightening, almost-vertical descent, I sat down on one of the granite slabs at the base with my back to the temple to remove my hat, wipe the sweat off my brow, and catch my breath. The agile and sure-footed Sherlock Holmes had already reached the bottom several minutes ahead of me. I felt quite pleased by this little digression and felt relieved that I had descended without incident. Holmes was a few feet in front of me looking at the surrounding flora while our guide was a hundred feet beyond him readying our horses for our journey back to Siem Reap.
The air was thick with history and mystery; I could not have asked for a more pleasing experience. A brilliant blue, yellow, and red butterfly flitted by slowly and rested on my elbow. Everything seemed quite perfect.
Holmes sensed my arrival and turned toward me and the temple, looking up at the remarkable structure.
His face froze with a look of absolute horror.
‘Watson!’ he cried and sprang toward me, grabbing my shoulders and pushing me away. As he did so, a massive boulder thundered past, passing straight through where I had been sitting and smashing against the steps and pulverizing a few smaller rocks lying at the base.
Holmes pointed upwards and shouted, ‘Watson, there! There! Do you see him?’
I got a second’s glimpse of a dark face peering down from the very top. Then it disappeared.
‘Not a moment to lose, Watson! That was no accident! You were right to be so agitated. We have been discovered! We must leave immediately!’ Holmes was in his element—every protective and aggressive instinct at its height, nostrils flaring, every sinew of his body taut, in an absolute state of readiness for any eventuality.
Climbing quickly onto our horses, we galloped away at top speed from Angkor Wat. From behind, we could hear shouts and the pops o
f revolvers being discharged. The distance was too great however, so we were never in any real danger. We rushed back to Siem Reap.
‘We have at best a twenty-minute advantage—the time they need to descend and give chase. Speed is of the essence!’ shouted Holmes as we galloped.
At our lodgings, Mr. Chea came out to greet us as we rushed in.
‘Ah, messieurs, vos amis de Bangkok vous cherchaient! Vous ont-ils trouvés?’
‘Je crains que non, Monsieur Chea, pourriez-vous les décrire?’
‘Deux messieurs—des Anglais, je dirais. D’une trentaine d’années, environ. Ils étaient accompagnés par un jeune garçon Cambodgien. Ce n’était pas plus de trente minutes après que vous soyez partis. Ils ont dit qu’ils arrivaient de Bangkok et avaient hâte de vous voir.’
‘Nous ne nous sommes pas rencontrés, malheureusement. Nous partons immédiatement pour Bangkok, Monsieur Chea. Merci de le leur faire savoir.’11
Our carriages were ready, just as Mr. Chea had promised they would be. Sherlock Holmes paid the coachmen the fare to Bangkok. He asked one to proceed without passengers as quickly as possible, saying that a friend would be waiting by the road some fifty miles ahead. Within minutes, we followed the first carriage. About a mile outside Siem Reap, we arrived at a fork where one road led to Bangkok and the other to Phnom Penh, the capital of Cambodia. Holmes directed our coachman to take the Phnom Penh road and turn our carriage into a wooded area where we jumped off, returned to the road, and hid behind some bushes.
‘Let us lie low now, Watson, and check to see if our simple stratagem has worked.’
We crouched behind the thick vegetation and watched the road with bated breath. The trail cloud of dust made by the earlier carriage on the way to Bangkok was still visible. Within fifteen minutes, we heard the sound of galloping horses and a rushing carriage. They rushed past, taking the road to Bangkok and we heard someone shouting loudly, ‘Faster! Faster! The dust beyond! We can’t let him get away this time or he’ll have our heads!’
The reference was, obviously, to Professor Moriarty, our malefactor in Paris. As the dust settled down and the sound of the thundering coach became distant, we re-entered the road and proceeded toward Phnom Penh.
‘We have bought time, Watson, but not much. That was an exceedingly close encounter and confirms once again that it is possible for a man sitting in a study in Paris to watch our movements as though he were hovering invisibly just above us. We now head south toward Phnom Penh and then move sharply east into Vietnam, to the port of Saigon. There we take a Chinese junk, if one is available, to Macau.’ Sherlock Holmes had clearly done his homework.
The coach was comfortable and the road passable, and except for a change of horses every few hours or so, the four-day journey was swift and uneventful. The splendour of the Cambodian countryside made no difference to Sherlock Holmes, but I looked at the green fields and ancient temples along the way with considerable appreciation. Some shops by the wayside offered fried and roasted crickets, the local delicacy, which we politely declined to sample. By and by, sometime early on the fourth day, the coachman announced that we were about to reach a crossroads. To the right would be the road to Phnom Penh and to the left would be a smaller road heading to Saigon. We turned left and after several hours, neared the old and charming city of Saigon.
We changed our disguises at a wayside guesthouse where we ate, as well. And now, with some help from our friendly coachman, we were transformed into two Chinese merchants. Holmes’ abilities in the art of disguise were extraordinary; the elaborate robes, the pigtail, the eyes and the complexion—everything was exact. He had picked up a smattering of Mandarin while working on a case at the London dockyards and he used it now confidently. We reached Saigon and, wasting no time, went to the port and made enquiries about a ship proceeding to Macau. It was a busy port with plenty of traffic, and within a couple of hours we were on the Tek Hwa Seng, a modest Chinese junk plying to Hong Kong via Macau. We had dismissed our Cambodian coachman after paying him a handsome amount for his trouble; this must have been the longest and strangest journey he had ever undertaken, with an Indian native and an Englishman transforming into Chinese merchants before his eyes. We were now the Chinese timber merchants Wang Tao (Holmes) and Li Hongzhang (I, as Wang Tao’s mute friend), returning to Macau.
While we waited, I wrote and then posted a brief letter to my wife, not giving her any hint of my whereabouts, merely saying that all was well and I would communicate with her again very shortly. I thought a telegram would be dangerous. Yes, the letter would take longer, but it would perhaps bring comfort when it arrived.
We walked about the city for an hour. The French influence in Saigon was very evident; the relatively new Notre-Dame Basilica stood out conspicuously over the city. For a moment, we felt we were in Lyons. The Quan m Pagoda, on the other hand, was quite different and distinctly Vietnamese and Chinese in its design and colours. Holmes insisted on us sitting in a corner and meditating briefly, following the example set by other Chinese; it would have been inappropriate for us to not do so, given that we were now masquerading as Chinese. We then boarded our ship.
The Tek Hwa Seng was well furnished and not very crowded and had about fifty passengers with only three first-class cabins. The journey was not expected to take long and the conditions were favourable. We breathed a sigh of relief as the junk slipped out of the port and headed straight for Macau with a possible halt at the Paracel Islands in the South China Sea, a water body known for its deadly typhoons.
‘You see once again, Watson, the extraordinary reach and ability of Professor Moriarty. Nowhere are we safe. The analogy to chess that I had made earlier—quite accurate, would you not say?’ mused Holmes as he smoked his pipe, an accessory quite incongruous with his ornate Chinese changshan attire and pigtail. We avoided any unnecessary contact as our linguistic difficulties would become obvious and arouse suspicion.
‘In my opinion, we have actually gained at least seven days by getting off at Myeik and cutting across to Saigon by land. Yes, it has not been comfortable, but I believe we have learned several things. First, that Professor Moriarty will never give up. As we speak, he is possibly poring over a map of this area and making arrangements to head us off. His resources are incalculable and things may possibly become worse now as we head toward China, where we shall fall into the operating region of the Opium Triad. But we simply must press on—there is too much at stake.
‘And, of course, we have learned a lot about the flora of this area and passed through the remarkable lost world of Angkor Wat. If this regrettable matter is brought to a close, I hope to spend time writing monographs12 for private circulation on the botany of the area and the architectural insights of the early Cambodians. But now, let us rest and regain our energies.’
The Tek Hwa Seng made excellent progress over a couple of days and, other than a minor squall past the Paracel Islands, we experienced no discomfort. Holmes and I avoided stepping out as far as possible. He spent time organizing his notes and leaf specimens. Occasionally he would take out his violin and check the tuning, but avoided playing with the bow since there was the distinct possibility of exciting comment. He also looked at the many pages of a musical opera, the score of which he said had been written by a promising young composer in Prague with whom he was acquainted. I admired Sherlock Holmes for the ability to so easily distract himself. I was, of course, secretly pleased that he had no recourse to cocaine.
‘The maritime expertise of the Chinese is quite remarkable, Watson,’ said Holmes, puffing at his pipe. ‘They were seafarers and brilliant naval architects. Many hundred of years ago, they built ships with five masts, weighing in excess of two thousand tons. To our eyes, the square sails and design seem strange, but they were effective for long journeys. Their Admiral, Zheng He, if I recall from my enquiries at the Library of the British Museum some years ago, was a gifted sailor with an open mind, who combin
ed scholarship, ambition, and action, the traits of all successful leaders. We have much to learn from the Chinese, Watson. Paper and gunpowder are only two examples of their ingenuity. Their literature must be singular.’
‘I was unaware that you were making enquiries about Admiral Zheng He and the Chinese at the Library of the British Museum, Holmes,’ I said, slightly weary.
‘You are unaware of many things, Watson,’ remarked Holmes cruelly, adjusting his pigtail.
‘Now, as far as this matter is concerned, while I believe we shall be safer once in Japan, danger certainly awaits us at Yokohama, which would be the natural port of call for most ships. If we are thwarted there and detained by Professor Moriarty’s men, we are lost. We should therefore attempt to enter Japan in an unexpected manner. While I cannot say that we have shaken off Moriarty’s men just yet, it is likely he is somewhat chagrined by his lack of success. Macau offers a more interesting possibility for us, being an enclave of Portugal. From there I propose that we find a way to enter Nagasaki, a small town in the southwest of Japan, which also has a strong link to Portugal.’
After the initial good weather, we did run into a few trying squalls along the way, but the ship was sturdy and the captain experienced. We covered the distance from Macau to Nagasaki in good time, continuing in our disguise as Chinese merchants. The ship stopped at Shanghai for two hours; we stayed on board, not interested in tempting fate. The ship moved on, without incident. Finally, at dawn on the 29th of July, 1893, we eased into the charming Nagasaki Bay.
Nagasaki is a prosperous trading city in a picturesque setting. It was once the gateway for Europeans who wished to trade in Japan. The Portuguese and the Dutch, in particular, left a lasting impression, particularly with their architecture. The hills surrounding the city were verdant and I looked at them with pleasure as we moved into the harbour.
Holmes stood at the railing with me, watching the dawn break. He was in a philosophical mood. ‘Do not be deluded by the apparent tranquillity of this scene. We shall now confront the matter that has consumed me since I fell off the cliff at Reichenbach Falls. And that which has received your complete attention for the past two months.
Sherlock Holmes, The Missing Years, Japan Page 17
