Nathaniel's nutmeg

by Giles Milton

  With his men restored to good health it was time to set sail once more. No sooner was the Red Dragon clear of the land than Keeling and his men were rehearsing Shakespeare's King Richard II. By the end of September the captain thought them sufficiently good to send a boat across to the Hector and once again invite Captain Hawkins aboard to watch the play. Keeling was in his element and ordered an elaborate fish dinner to be cooked in honour of the event. Mindful that such entertainments were discouraged by the Company's directors, he justified his actions by explaining that amateur dramatics 'keeps my people from idleness and unlawfull games or sleep'. After almost nine months at sea the Red Dragon and Hector at last neared the Cape of Good Hope. They had still received no word from Middleton, but putting into Table Bay to revictual Keeling stumbled across a rock carved with the words:'24 July, 1607: David Middleton in the Consent.' Since then, half a year had passed yet still Keeling was in no hurry. After allowing his crew a leisurely few weeks ashore, he reluctantly put to sea, only to drop anchor again as soon as they reached Madagascar. This time Keeling paused to give his men a chance to wash their clothes, an attention to cleanliness that cost one man dear. Stepping ashore, a certain George Evans was 'sore hurt with a crocodile, or alligator, which had siezed upon the man's leg [as] he had been washing a shirt by the boats side'. This unfortunate man had been tugged into shallow water where he managed to kick the crocodile so hard that it momentarily released its jaws. Even so, Evans was 'sorely wounded, and recovered the boat, making no other account but that his foot was gone, till he saw that the hind part of the small of his leg was bitten clean asunder both flesh and sinews to the bone; and had the alligator got him into deep water, assuredly he had been carried clean away'.

  Another stop, another Shakespeare play, and the ships made their stately progress towards Socotra, a parched island off the Horn of Africa. Even the unhurried Keeling could find little to detain him here and after buying a huge supply of aloes, noted for their efficacy against constipation, he again set sail, this time for Bantam.

  Bantam held good news and bad. Keeling was less than happy to be greeted by six Dutch ships in the harbour but overjoyed when the king told him that he was desperate to 'have commerce with so great a king as his Majesty of England with whom, he understood, the King of Holland was not comparable'. True to his word, he allowed the Red Dragon to be loaded immediately and, two days before Christmas 1608, she set sail for England. Keeling was not on her: just a few days earlier, he transferred all his goods onto the Hector which he now intended to sail to the Banda Islands.

  The first of these islands that came into sight was the tiny outpost of Run. Instead of stopping here Keeling sailed east for another ten miles until he reached the larger islands of Great Banda and Neira where there was 'a very fair and spacious harbour' and a safe anchorage was assured. Scarcely had he entered this huge natural harbour than a party of Dutchmen rowed out to his vessel, intrigued by the unexpected arrival of these Englishmen. At first they were cordial in their greetings; they blasted their cannon in Keeling's honour and even invited him to a feast. But their friendship soon turned sour when they discovered that Keeling had presented the local headman with a letter from King James I, along with a gilded beaker, an ornamental helmet and a first-class musket. Resorting to underhand tactics, they sent a message over to the Hector informing Keeling that there were plots against his life and that he should set sail immediately.

  The English captain was unmoved and, after paying some four hundred pieces-of-eight to the headman of Great Banda, his men began buying large quantities of nutmeg from the local growers. He was unhurried in his trade for he knew that the winds which had carried him to the Banda Islands were on the brink of shifting direction and, with the imminent arrival of the monsoon, was confident that no more Dutch ships would be able to sail east from Bantam. It was with considerable surprise, therefore, that he opened the curtains of his cabin on the morning of 16 March 1609, and saw three Dutch vessels sail into view. The crew of these new ships came to visit the Hector and were outwardly friendly, but 'an Englishman [serving on one of the ships] reporteth that they mean to surprise us ere a month expire'. They were, in fact, already hampering Keeling's business and within days of their arrival the price of nutmeg had rocketed. Abandoning trade with Great Banda, the English captain 'made a secret accord with the chief of Ai Island' and prepared to send a factor there. But less than a week had passed before there was further bad news. Not only had the Dutch learned about this secret deal and vowed to undermine it, they had also received reinforce­ments in the shape of six more vessels. This was an entirely unexpected development and left Keeling with very few options. 'Sixty-two men against a thousand or more could not perform much,' he wrote. Outnumbered and outgunned, he realised that friendship was his only option and as the Dutch ships approached he lamely ordered his men to welcome them with a burst of cannon fire. Keeling also discovered that he was fast developing an allergy to nutmeg and that far from curing sickness it was actually making him ill. 'I went aboard,' he writes irritably, 'to cure mine eyes which, by the heat of the nuts, were very sore.'

  He was by now thoroughly dispirited. The Dutch were treating him 'most unkindlye, searching his boate disgracefullye ... and not suffering him to have any further trade, not to gather in his debts, but with a peremptory comaund, to be gone'. Keeling held a secret meeting with the ruler of Neira and tentatively suggested that he surrender his authority to King James I in return for trade and protection. He was pleased to learn that the headman was interested in the proposal but, 'doubted their inconstancies'. He continued to play his game of bluff with the Dutch, warning them that 'his majesty of England, our sovereign, would not permit his subjects to sustain any damage by their means without special and sound satisfaction.' The Dutch simply ignored him for they were getting a perverse enjoyment in goading Keeling. When they filched some sacks of rice from under his nose, the English commander lost his temper. Grabbing the Dutch admiral's messenger, 'I requested [him] to tell his admiral ... that if he were a gentleman, he would not permit his base people to abuse me as I walked among them.' The messenger sniggered when he heard this and replied that his admiral was not a gentleman but a weaver.

  Keeling was in a hopeless position. Denied spices and spied upon day and night, he could have been forgiven for abandoning the Company's orders and setting sail for England. But no sooner had he considered such an option than the entire situation changed. Yet another Dutch fleet arrived in the Banda Islands, and it was carrying new and wholly unwelcome orders.

  The commander of this latest fleet, Peter Verhoef, was a spirited fighter who had first acquitted himself at the Battle of Gibraltar two years previously when he masterminded the annihilation of the Spanish fleet. Now, he was despatched on a mission which, although ostensibly to buy spices, had an unambiguously military objective. 'We draw your special attention to the islands in which grow cloves and nutmeg,' wrote the Seventeen in their instructions, 'and we instruct you to strive to win them for the Company either by treaty or by force.'

  Following their instructions to the letter, Verhoef sailed directly to the Banda Isles with his impressive fleet which carried at least a thousand Dutch fighting men, as well as a contingent of Japanese mercenaries. On his arrival at Great Banda he ceremoniously presented the headman with his credentials and summoned all the local chieftains to a meeting 'under a greate tree'. Reading from a prepared script, first in Portuguese and then in Malayan, he admonished them for breaking their promise 'to have trade only with them, who had now traded there sixe yeares ... and were often much abused'. He went on to explain that he intended to construct a castle on Neira Island 'to defend themselves and the whole countrey from Portugals'. This news was greeted with 'uprore' by the natives who, 'but for feare of their shipping would have slaine the Hollanders'.

  Verhoef found it impossible to negotiate with the chieftains who seemed to lack any overall authority. Although numerous documents refer to a 'King of Ban
da' there was no such person. Instead, every island and every village had its own headman whose authority extended over a few hundred people at most. In informing more than two hundred headmen of his intentions, Verhoef had at a stroke made himself a common enemy. Ignoring their threats, he promptly landed 750 soldiers on Neira and instructed them to start digging the foundations. The building, whose massive walls are still visible beneath a curtain of creepers, was constructed on the site of a Portuguese fort which had been abandoned almost a century previously. The headmen watched with alarm as the fort's outer walls grew in height and on 22 May 1609, they asked for a meeting with the Dutch commander. Verhoef immediately agreed, hoping that they would at last consent to his plans.

  After the passing of almost four centuries it is hard to piece together exactly what happened next. The Dutch records suggest that William Keeling helped instigate the ensuing massacre, but this accusation contradicts his own diaries. Although he had certainly struck a number of secret deals with the natives, there is nothing to suggest he was actively inciting them to violence. Indeed, he was busy buying nutmeg at Ai Island, a day's sailing from Neira, when rumours of a plot began to circulate.

  The first hint of trouble was conveyed to Keeling by the chief of the island. He was told that on no account should he set sail for Neira unless he wanted to be henceforth regarded as an enemy. Keeling was intrigued and took to his bed in order to puzzle over this cryptic message. The following night things became clearer. 'As I was going to bed, there came a command upon our lives that we should not stir out of doors. And presently I heard that the Dutch were upon their knees to the people.' Throwing on his clothes, 'I armed myself and went out among them, where I found the Dutch overcome with fear.' One of their colleagues had been shot in the leg while the others had been threatened with their lives. If the situation on Ai was unsettled, on Neira it had turned murderous. Verhoef had sailed to the island's eastern coastline in order to meet the native headmen, but when he stepped ashore he discovered that the headmen were nowhere to be found. This was strange. He had certainly got the right day and he knew for certain that this was the village where the two sides had agreed to meet. As he pondered what to do next, a lone native appeared from the woods and 'told the admiral that the orang-kayas, and other chiefs of the isles, were nearby in the woods but were so frightened by the soldiers that the admiral had with him that they feared to come unto him'. The native messenger asked Verhoef and his advisors if they would leave the soldiers and weapons on the beach and step into the woods for the meeting. Amazingly, Verhoef agreed and led the cream of the Dutch command into a deadly trap. 'And being entered among them he found the woods replenished with armed blackamoores, Bandanese, and orang-kayas who instantly encircled them and without much conference between them passed, were by them treacherously and villainously massacred.'

  The last words Verhoef heard were those of his subordinate, Jan de Bruin, who cried in panic, 'Admiral, we are betrayed!' Defenceless and unarmed, there was nothing the men could do. All forty-two Dutchmen who entered the grove were butchered and their heads severed from their bodies. The Bandanese then attacked the soldiers on the beach before inciting a general uprising. The Dutch now found themselves in a perilous position. An emergency council was summoned and elected a new leader, Simon Hoen, who hurried back to the half-built castle and urged his men to work even harder to complete the construction. Hoen did not waste any time in taking his revenge; the blood-flag was hoisted from his flagship and the Dutch made a formal declaration of war against Neira Island and began to 'execute and practise all revenge possible'. Villages were burned, vessels destroyed and natives butchered.

  On 10 August 1609, a peace treaty was at last signed on board Hoen s flagship. This pact, agreed by only a handful of orang-kaya, stated that henceforth Neira Island was to be placed under Dutch dominion and 'to be kept by us forever' — the first territorial acquisition by the Dutch in the East Indies — while the rest of the islands were to suffer similar losses to their freedom. Furthermore, the headman was forced to 'sweare that they would thereafter have trade with none other nation whatsoever it were but sell all their nuts and mace to the Hollanders only'. Hoen sent a letter to Captain Keeling informing him of this fact and commanding him to sail from the Banda Isles within five days and never to return — the beginning of 'the warres betwixt the English and Dutch'.

  Keeling, having suffered so many indignities at the hands of the Dutch, now felt he was in a position to act defiantly. He sent a reply stating that there was no question of him leaving the Banda Islands since he had just managed to procure a large batch of spices which would take a full twenty-five days to load on board. He also informed Hoen that he intended to leave a permanent English factory on Ai Island.

  Keeling's bluff worked. He was well aware that 'oftentimes rash men threaten to kill which they durst not for life perform': so it was on this occasion. He loaded his spices in peace and, happy to bid farewell to the Banda Islands, set sail for England. At last, after months of hardship, he had time to perform some Shakespeare again.

  Chapter Six

  A Rebel at Sea

  In the summer of 1558, almost five years after Sir Hugh Willoughby's fateful expedition to the Arctic, a piece of disconcerting news filtered into London. It was rumoured that a resourceful young explorer from Brussels called Oliver Brunei had travelled a considerable distance along the northern shores of Russia and claimed he was on the verge of discovering the North-East Passage. Confident of success, he was now planning to board a Russian ship and continue sailing until he reached the Spice Islands — a route that would slash two thousand miles and more than a year's sailing time off the long journey east.

  This news was a cause of great anxiety to London's merchants for Brunei's sympathies lay with the Dutch and any discovery would be to their benefit. It was imperative that Brunei's exploration should be stopped in its tracks and, to this end, the merchants of the newly formed Muscovy Company promptly denounced him to the Russians as a spy and the unfortunate Brunei spent the next twelve years in prison.

  Lesser men might have found their enthusiasm for foreign travel dampened by this experience. Not Brunei: no sooner had he been released from jail than he set off eastwards again, this time in the employ of the Strogonov family. Exploring the ice-shattered coastline of Arctic

  Russia, he compiled endless notes and charts and eventually returned to Holland to find a string of geographers waiting to meet him, including the distinguished Gerardus Mercator. Mercator was overjoyed to discover that Brunei brought the news he had been waiting so long to hear; for years a constant trickle of hearsay and rumour had reached both Amsterdam and London suggesting that there was indeed a navigable North-East Passage that led to the Spice Islands. Many of these stories were decades old, and even more were complete fiction, but each new finding saw geographers redrawing their charts of the Arctic, much of which remained a vast white blank known only as Terra Incognita.

  What was particularly interesting about Brunei's findings was that he claimed to have reached the fabled River Ob which, it was believed, wound a golden route in the direction of the Indies. 'It is,' wrote one trader, 'a common received speech of the Russes that are great travellers, that beyond the Ob to the south-east there is a warm sea, which they express in these words in the Russe tongue:"Za Oby reca moriaTempla;" that is to say,"beyond the River Ob is a warm sea." '

  No one could be sure whether or not this was true and even Brunei had not managed to sail down the River Ob, but a persistent stream of rumours suggested that the Ob did indeed lead to the tropics. Certainly the dependable merchants of the newly formed Muscovy Company believed the stories and often added their own tales to the increasing dossier of evidence. Chief merchant Francis Cherry told his London bosses that he had eaten a sturgeon from the Ob; others, more tantalisingly, declared that they had seen 'great vessels, laden with rich and precious merchandise, brought down that great river by black or swart people'.

  Th
is caused great excitement among London's spice merchants; the more so when they learned that the people living on the shores of the Ob appeared to be of Chinese descent for 'whenever they make mention of the people named Carrah Colmak (this country is Cathay) they fetch deep sighs and, holding up their hands look to heaven signifying, as it were, and declaring the notable glory and magnificence of that nation.'

  Despite all the evidence, the English were wary about furnishing a new expedition in search of the northern route to the 'spiceries'. A handful of bold adventurers continued to try their hand at sailing into the Arctic and an expedition despatched in 1580 managed to sail a considerable distance across the Kara Sea before finding its path blocked by pack-ice. But the mission was not a complete failure for the crew returned to England with a strange horn, some six feet long and decorated with a spiral twirl. Ignorant of the existence of the narwhal — that strange member of the whale family that has a single tusk protruding from its head — the rough English mariners confidently declared that this odd piece of flotsam had once belonged to a unicorn, a highly significant find, for 'knowing that unicorns are bred in the lands of Cathay, China and other Oriental Regions, [the sailors] fell into consideration that the same head was brought thither by the course of the sea, and that there must of necessity be a passage out of the said Oriental Ocean into our Septentrionall seas.'