Cumberland Gold

By Frank Mottl

In this murderous, multi-generational tale, in small town Cumberland-Chinatown nestled beneath the Beaufort Mountains, old wounds re-appear in this rough and tumble coal mining town on Vancouver Island. From the Tong, Ming, and Qing dynasties of China, old revenges pierce through generations. These old wounds are unknown to the white society as many Chinese men and women sought to escape the perils of their chaotic homelands. But four young boys love the Chinatown that many white people avoid, because the smells, sounds, and sights of this town prove to be too strong a pull that Sy, Al, Percy, and Jack cannot remain too far from, for too long. Let the adventure begin. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Frank Mottl
• Release date: Oct 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223785231

Frank Mottl

Frank enjoys writing prose and poetry. He believes that a good base in poetry significantly improves the writing of prose. His debut novel, "The Cumberland Tales" is a collection of connected stories. He's recently published his second, “Mother’s Keep”, and has sent off his third, “Cumberland Gold” to his editor. Frank publishes all his work through Mythmoulder Publishing. There are two quotes which are important to Frank. The first, by John Keats, to paraphrase: "That which is creative, must itself create"; the second by William Blake, again, to paraphrase: "My job is not to reason and compare, my job is to create." Frank is interested in developing unreliable narrators. He also leans toward "stream-of-consciousness" narratives and is currently reading William Faulkner's "Abolsom, Absolom." "The writers we read," he says," influence what we write, read the good ones." Frank has been published by the Poetry Institute of Canada twice for his poetry, and twice for his prose. He has also been published by numerous publishers in the U.S. and Australia, and has been interviewed on radio shows in the U.K., and Canada. 

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Contents

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Prologue

Chinatown

Go Time

Requisition: Beautiful Language

The Pellet Gun

Acquisitions

The Puppeteer

The Weight Of A Man

Brokenback

Black Days

The Wilting

Good Medicine

Dicotomy In San Fransisco

The Booby Trap & Peacock Dance

Flaxen Soil

From Qing

Mannequin

The Swamp Never Gives Up Her Dead

Stratagem

The Killing Of Foon Sien

The Last Poem And Reckoning

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The first inclination to write comes from an idea. For this book, the seed came from sorting through Cumberland Museum’s archive of old newspaper clippings and finding a small article about an unsolved murder in Cumberland-Chinatown. From there arose the idea of political dynasties from old China, a country with which I am quite familiar having spent a year teaching English in that country. 

The idea percolated for a few years, but I wanted to pursue the writing project, and having already written about Cumberland, I included a few old Chinese gentlemen from that earlier work, many of which some old Cumberlanders will recognize. Like the previous book, this one is a work of fiction, and it is with the utmost respect I write about these characters who seem to thrive over and again in my mind.

I thank my wife Linda who painted the front cover, my friend Jim who read the scrappy first draft, and my editor Rachel whose meticulous and patient reading came up with two separate edits and over three thousands adjustments within the work. I thank them all.

The old Chinatown of Cumberland is long gone, but the memories are not. Within this book I have reflected on the turmoil that China has gone through over the years. Did these conflicts from old China reflect what happened in Cumberland-Chinatown? We will never know for old revenges cool with age, and for certain, the Chinese coal miners had enough to deal with without concerning themselves with old conflicts from years ago.

It is with a grain of salt readers may read in or read out what they may assume from my inclinations and imaginings. This book is for all those who have a sense of imagination.

Prologue

The five horses chortled and clicked with steel horseshoes that predated the western world by a thousand years, and the five horsemen, in their iron war-ware uttered guttural acknowledgment upon arriving at the highest tower. It was the end of a long night ride, yet they were thankful to be astride their beloved horses, for not all sections of the Great Wall were accessible by horse. But this section was built for five horsemen astride because of recent threats by the Manchurian hordes to the north. Tamped earth and small gravel had been added to the smooth stone, and the grade had been lowered, so extended the wall. 

They would tend to their respective steeds first, each aware of the fine idiosyncrasies of his horse. After they stowed the horses comfortably, removing light saddles, reins, and bits, each feeding them hay could the men get the fire going. They delegated one man to watch atop the tower before they cooked rice porridge.  And as the porridge bubbled, one rider played a soulful tune on his khuur, a two-string horse-headed fiddle, hand carved. The Mongols knew the music and the horses were spiritually connected. 

Added to the porridge were thin slices of dark green habanera peppers from Asian realms far to the south, for trade between Ming and other nations had been so well established that the first inklings of capitalistic society had begun. 

They were thankful to be the Great Wall Horsemen because their respective families were favoured by the Censorate who had direct access to the Chongzhen Emperor. Fortunate indeed, for other than these five Mongols and their magnificent animals, the great majority of the Ming dynasty military was considered little more than cannon fodder, their military designation pre-determined by social status and birth, unable to relinquish the yoke of military service from father to son, generation to generation.

The sun rose over the mountains hovered with early rays that did not define the majesty of the Great Wall. Nor did it detail the fine workmanship inherent in the tight stonework, work detailed by early convicts doing hard labour, or first sons mandated to pay their family’s diligence to the greatness of the Ming dynasty. Only when the mountain mist dissipated could the fortunate horsemen see the undulating snake that was the greatest engineering feat of the ancient world.

***

Years later, China crumbled under the brutal onslaught of the Qing dynasty. Indeed, many Chinese followed the conquering Manchurians, abandoning their allegiance to China, and the Ming dynasty. The old society fell apart. Hordes of criminal groups, loyal to no one, took advantage of the chaos as the warring dynasties fought for power.

After the Qing dynasty came the crushing British Empire, that thought itself superior, each empire being envious of its predecessor. 

In addition, constant flooding swept the lowlands with seawater, for no adequate dyke system had yet been built, so many Chinese vacated their homeland to work in deep veins of coal.

And the man named Wang Ling came, too, for he was a guardian of the old empire, and great-great-grandson of Black Crow who died at the base of the Qing Great Wall, forced to help build all those years ago. And with Black Crow’s great-great-grandson came many other Chinese to seek a favourable journey, some for wealth and some for peace. They travelled to Canada to work the coal mines.  Like his father White Crow, he would never forget and sought revenge against the Manchurian Royal Family. 

***

The coal was first, flora and fauna crushed, compressed and heated as the world turned. And the imprint of ancient plants and animals, the translucent purples, yellows, and greens more vibrant than northern lights became the power to drive society, colours that were imprints of the old world.

The cold killed everything, and the glaciers to come ground down the land that became the swamp, which was older than the first people, left alone to its slow, rotten, fibrous decay of things. Insipid, slimed, creepy-crawler things lived in the swamp were neither good nor bad, only were, so ate what was fed, a living thing, older than humans. And at the bottom of the swamp lay the inky loam that spawned layered green bulrushes, frogs, and brown toads that shared the land, and the sunny green gardens to come eons later. This was the land designated for the migrant Chinese miners.

And the Chinese migrants dug both: coal for power and heat, rich swamp loam for gardens.

Unlike the blind donkeys that pulled heavy loads of coal on rails or Chinese miners that crawled in those heavy tunnels, the gardeners, knowing the strength of black loam to feed the people, had work that made life easier.

Chinatown

The first group of Chinese arrived in Victoria on June 18, 1858, aboard the sailing ship Thermopylae, the legendary clipper that rivalled the speed in prime winds of even the great Cutty Sark. British Lord Dunsmuir, the coal baron, imported the workers from Canton, men willing to work and escape China’s desperate poverty and floods. 

Aboard the Thermopylae were two different Chinese factions, whom, though China was governed as a colony by the British Empire, held steadfast loyalties to bygone wars hidden from the British government: the Ming and Qing dynasties.

Thus, the internal politics of Cumberland-Chinatown was written long before coal was discovered in the valley at the foot of the Beaufort Mountains from which the town of Cumberland sprang forth.

There were two Chinese gentlemen, in particular, aboard the Thermopylae who worked together for mutual benefit after one blackmailed the other into acquiescence. The first was Foon Sien, a descendant of Foon Xian the traitor, the man who swiped the captain’s monocular from under his nose, and a man who believed in the greatness of the Qing dynasty. Foon Sien’s ancestry was not Manchurian, but he was one of those whose great-great-grandfather embraced the Manchurian forces, so was a supporter of Qing dynasty, and a traitor to Ming.   

At the railing, the captain, surveying the sea for breakers, with the sun setting on the horizon scanned the graveyard of the Pacific. Many ships had foundered in this southern portion of the west coast of Vancouver Island. Nervous, he listened intently for breakers aware that the sound of the ship as it churned through the sea disguised the sound of breakers on shore. Apprehension distracted him and absentmindedly set his monocular on the capstan, then left to triple check the charts.

Foon Sien, sly as a snake, deftly pilfered the monocular and slipped it into his inside pocket. He tore a piece of cotton from the bottom of his worn cotton shirt and wrapped the monocular, and while Foon Sien held watch, Wang Ling removed the top hoop (which was no easy feat) of a barrel of rice and pried the lid off, for he too had something to hide.

Wang Ling’s treasured bronze microscope, carefully wrapped first in fine linen, at least six hundred threads per inch the elderly Chinese seamstress had told him. With her delicate, impeccable hands, she had wrapped it again in fine burlap, fine enough to keep out the particulate dust from contaminating the fine bronze instrument, she had said, with an air of delicate efficiency.

The third barrel starboard, mid ship, scratched for identification. It was an easy ploy because both men were in charge of keeping an eye on the cargo.  

Foon Sien and Wang Ling, both immigrants from China, had worked together to hide their thievery, for the monocular Foon Sien had stolen aboard ship and the bronze microscope both shared the same rice barrel.

This raised ire between them.

Why the same barrel? Foon Sien asked.

Again, the same question, as I said, the hoop on a barrel is difficult to remove. It is only because this particular barrel was flawed that I only just managed to remove it. To try and remove another would be foolhardy, if the monocular is discovered, so is my microscope. It keeps our bargain intact.    

Shush, Foon Sien said, you, your academics, do not make you a better man. 

***

When the Manchurian army arrived at the gate of Shanhaiguan, aided by the traitor, General Wu Sangui, on May 25, 1644, there were eyes upon the traitor. And those eyes were passed from father to son, for the new Qing dynasty were loyal only to the Royal Manchurian Family and held no allegiance to any Chinese, whether ally or enemy. This downfall became indelibly written into the brains of many Chinese who at first accepted the new realm, but the years 1839 to 1912 became years of humiliation for Chinese people.

During that time, the Qing dynasty signed 1175 treaties, each of which meant a vital part of China being excoriated, layer by layer: the Manchus forced Chinese people to wear Manchu clothing, to shave half their heads, and they depressed the exploratory notions of the Chinese and focused on domestic affairs. The Manchus knew they were less educated than the Chinese, so they immediately banned all literature and murdered all scholars but most importantly, tried to ‘dumbify’ the Chinese people. The massacre of academics resulted in a genocide of