Batavia Epub

by Pete Fitzsimons

  Once the first yawl is finished, Jeronimus and the council decree that the wreck itself must be systematically searched for goods and supplies that can be brought back to shore. The simple vessel will be manned by the most capable sailors, soldiers and divers, who will use a pole to get the yawl out into the channel, pushing on the shallow sea floor, before switching over to paddles from there. In the distance, the stricken outline of the Batavia is still apparent. As Jeronimus knows better than anyone, it is no longer possible to live on the wreck, as there is no horizontal part of it safe from the crashing waves, but the skeleton of its basic structure is still intact, meaning that at low tide the divers have a fair chance of retrieving stores and getting them onto the raft. And so it proves.

  One of the first things recovered, to the infinite delight of Jeronimus, is his apothecary’s bag from his cabin, full of his bronze scales, his phials, potions and powders. Beyond that, a steady supply now comes back to the island of barrels of wine and water, salted pork and ham. There are cooking pots, knives, crockery and glasses from the galley; shovels, tools, wire, tacks, saws, hammers and nails from the workshops; linen, boots, hats, brocades, sheets of velvet, gold braid, sails, tents and tarred ropes from the storerooms; and gunpowder and guns from the weapons store. Some items, true, have been half-ruined by immersion in seawater, but many are in pristine condition, having been preserved in specially constructed watertight containers.

  When Pelsaert’s familiar bandoleer with the decorated sword of the Kapitein-Generaal, Captain-General, is salvaged, Jeronimus asserts his right to it, and even wears it as, with his hands neatly clasped behind his back, he pays visits to his people, all the while dictating notes to Pelsaert’s clerk, Salomon Deschamps, just as the Commandeur might have done had he been there. (Though Jeronimus used to be supremely irritated by Salomon’s cringing obsequiousness around Pelsaert, he now quite enjoys it when it is applied to him.)

  The people welcome the return of real authority to their daily life. They even doff their hats as he passes. He has the respect of nearly all, from the least to the most powerful people on the island. The one notable exception is still Lucretia, who has stayed entirely aloof from him, no matter that he has gone out of his way to greet her. Well, he has a growing confidence that he will get to her in the end. For now, there is plenty to occupy his attention.

  At Jeronimus’s command, and with the blessing of the council, of course, the bulk of those things retrieved from the wreck, particularly the valuable ones, are put in a tent right beside his own. As for the best of the finery – the velvet, brocade and silk – that is all put squarely in one corner of Jeronimus’s own tent, his reckoning being that, as the VOC’s highest-ranking official, he is the only one who can be trusted with the Company’s most precious property. As a matter of fact, not only has Jeronimus cloaked himself in the authority of the Company but also he emphasises the point by actually wearing ‘a scarlet tunic brightly trimmed with galloon, gold braid, great silver buckles on his shoes and a hat with an ostrich feather’. He tops it all off by donning an expensive red cloak with gold trim that he has gathered from one of the cases that have washed ashore and begins to strut around the island, a veritable promenading peacock among mere men.

  There is no complaint from the people. Jeronimus is the Onderkoopman. He has started to improve things. It is uplifting to see him in his finery walking around, organising things, smiling, always smiling beneath his lightly hooded eyes . . . even as he supervises more and more precious goods being brought to his tent. This includes Pelsaert’s personal chest, retrieved from the smaller island, which contains the extraordinary cameo with the gold frame. Now that Jeronimus is here, he insists that it is his right, nay, his duty, to have it in his own keeping.

  And what of security for such valuable things? Jeronimus has thought of that, too. He makes it clear – and the council quickly agrees – that a guard must be formed to protect the Company’s goods. Jeronimus even personally undertakes to recruit the men who will form up this guard.

  And wouldn’t you know it? As it turns out, the newly formed guard happens to be composed of the likes of Coenraat van Huyssen, Lenart van Os and others of the Mutineers who gravitated back to the Onderkoopman’s side as soon as he reappeared on the island. True, the planned mutiny has been thwarted by circumstance, but now that Jeronimus is again among them he takes his rightful place at their head, brothers in harms. Granted, there is no longer a Commandeur among them to mutiny against, and at this point it is not yet clear precisely what their course of action will be, but it is as well for them all to renew their previous alliance.

  In fact, so keen is Jeronimus to nurture and refashion the Mutineers as a fighting force, it won’t be long before he will be able to arrange, with the cajoled backing of the council, to have this newly formed guard quartered in two large tents right next to his own two (one containing himself and the other containing the supplies), and they, of course, are allowed to keep their weaponry. They are even given some of the red velvet in which to attire themselves.

  Jeronimus also organises for these same men to take the roughly made yawls and begin to explore the nearby islands, including the High Islands to the north-west, to find out what kind of resources there might be there.

  And, sure enough, as each edict is carried out and the flow of supplies onto the island continues, life on Batavia’s Graveyard continues to get better. With improved organisation of the water and food – with the supplies of the latter having increased as resources are put towards systematic fishing and the subsequent sharing of the catch – the threat of death by starvation in the short term eases just a little, as does, to a certain extent, the possibility of dying of thirst, though fresh water remains extremely precious. Again and again, the people are thankful that Jeronimus has come among them, with the Predikant frequently and loudly attributing it to the fact that, ‘the Lord is smiling upon us, his children, to have sent us the Onderkoopman’. The people agree that it is the working of God and thank providence that the Lord Jesus Christ has sent them Jeronimus. In hearing of his own presence being attributed to a generous Lord, Jeronimus can do little but bow graciously and smile inwardly.

  In the general celebration and veneration of the Onderkoopman, there is only one group that stands a little back from it: the soldiers. In no way do they challenge Jeronimus’s authority – for, as soldiers, obeying orders is paramount – but nor do they embrace it. The soldiers, it is true, are made up of several nationalities, but, loyal to their martial creed and placed in a real battle just to survive, they have suddenly become the most united group on the island, with the exception, perhaps, of the Mutineers, though the latter are yet to declare themselves openly.

  In the way the soldiers live, the way they organise themselves, share whatever fish and other seafood they catch, and distribute tasks according to their respective strengths, they are proof that it is possible to prosper without being formally in Jeronimus’s thrall . . . and Jeronimus himself is not long in deciding that he wants their independence stopped. For, upon consideration, he has come to the conclusion that little has changed. Once, he and his Mutineers planned to take over the ship. Now, he decides, it is best for them to take over the island. It is just that the plan needs to be modified. The soldiers can no longer be battened down in the lower deck, of course, but they can be banished to another island.

  The natural leader of the soldiers, it emerges, is none other than Wiebbe Hayes, a man with no authority over the group before the shipwreck but who has emerged after it as the one with the coolest head and the best ideas, the one who makes the others feel more confident simply by his presence. Although the highest-ranking soldier on the island is Corporal Gabriel Jacobsz, such is Hayes’s talent for leadership that the younger man has assumed responsibility for the group unopposed and without question. He is quietly spoken, has not asserted his own rule and has accepted the informal mantle of being the soldiers’ leader without going through any process of pacts, com
mittees or the like.

  Around and about the soldiers’ camp, for example, there are piles of dirt beside large holes. They have been digging wells, so far without success, but Jeronimus is amazed to find that it is under the insistence of this soldier, Wiebbe Hayes, that the digging goes on. For Jeronimus, this fealty to someone who is not him, and a fealty based on respect rather than formal authority, is an obvious threat.

  Jeronimus starts to give considerable thought as to exactly how he is going to be rid of the problem of Hayes and his men. Although Hayes is not the only one he wishes to be rid of . . .

  Despite the quick improvement in conditions on the island, it is obvious to him that the survival of all in the long term will simply not be possible. There are over 200 people on the island, since more have arrived from the shipwreck, quickly eating and drinking their way through much of the supplies that have been assembled. The colonies of sea lions and birds help to keep them going, but even after only a fortnight those colonies have been severely depleted and the once teeming sea lions, particularly, are now far fewer. As to the birds, the great crested tern – grey on top, white beneath, with a yellow bill and shaggy black crest atop its head – is the one most pursued because it has slightly more flesh than the other birds and also because its distinctive loud cries of kerrak and korrkorrkorr make its nesting places marginally less difficult to discover than those of the other birds. Also particularly sought after are the mutton birds, who are found to land on the island at night to make a nest for themselves by burrowing into the sand. If you know the signs to look for, it is possible to determine where to capture them – and the rich and oily taste of their meat is a delight. It remains, however, a skilled operation to catch any birds at all, and not nearly enough can be caught to feed everyone.

  The problem for Jeronimus is a very simple one: there are too many mouths for the amount of food and water available. With just over 200 people eating and drinking daily on this island, famine or death by dehydration stalks them close in the not-too-distant future, unless a lot of those mouths can be . . . taken care of.

  There is no solution to be found within the realms of the raad. When Jeronimus points to the certainty of their forthcoming deaths, no one else on the council will hear of anything other than simply sharing out whatever supplies they have. For the Onderkoopman, this is insane, even though for the moment he must remain circumspect in the way he expresses that view. What he does know is that it will take a strong man to ensure that at least some of them survive, and he is precisely that man. If he gets it right, moreover, they will not only survive but also be very, very rich.

  So he starts to put in place his own plan. Guided by his strong will to survive, as well as his cult’s teaching that the only purpose on earth is to indulge one’s own pleasures, Jeronimus is never troubled by such an unwieldy and unworldly thing as a conscience. Clearly, for the plan he has in mind, he is going to need more manpower than the dozen or so Mutineers he currently has at his disposal, and something that encourages him greatly is the potential to expand this group.

  While it was difficult to do that aboard the Batavia for fear of the possible consequences, here he is the authority, the law and the judiciary all in one. And a man who comes into his orbit early, who recognises both that Jeronimus is the power and that radical measures must be taken to ensure the survival of a few rather than the slow death of the many, is none other than David Zevanck, whom Jeronimus has personally come to know well over the previous months.

  A wayward reprobate from an aristocratic family, fallen on hard times, Zevanck is a man of similar swagger to Jeronimus, with equally thin reasons for it, and Jeronimus has come to deeply admire his superb insouciance when contemplating evil, his apparent lack of a soul. Jeronimus has had to learn these things by embracing a philosophy, but Zevanck, well, Zevanck is an absolute natural. Even in repose, there is always at least a hint of violent menace about him, an indication that the young Dutchman is just waiting for the opportunity to bring harm to another – and this is precisely the quality that Jeronimus wishes to nurture in him, for the plans he is fomenting. So much does he like Zevanck, in fact, that he now brings him into the inner circle of Mutineers and asks if he would like to join them, an offer that the young aristocrat quickly takes up.

  One of the first things that Jeronimus discusses extensively with Zevanck is the Ryckert Woutersz problem. Jeronimus was outraged shortly after arriving to hear that Woutersz was mouthing off about the planned mutiny and that a rumour of it was beginning to spread around the other survivors. The stupidity! Clearly, the risk Woutersz poses to them all is entirely unacceptable. If, perchance, they are rescued from this infernal piece of coral and it gets abroad that they were hatching a mutiny, their lives would be worse than forfeit – they would inevitably go through terrible torture before they were lucky enough to get to death. The Woutersz problem will have to be solved.

  In the meantime, the most crucial thing, Jeronimus tells all the Mutineers, is to find out exactly what resources there are on nearby islands, in terms of water and possible food. The gang quickly set to exploring the Abrolhos. A trip to Traitors’ Island to check for what might have washed up upon it confirms an enormous amount of driftwood from the shipwreck, and they also find Pelsaert’s note of explanation for his departure under a biscuit barrel. This, however, is no sooner given to Jeronimus than the Onderkoopman secretes it. It suits his purposes for the people to remain angry at Pelsaert, and such a note might alleviate that anger.

  Then, at the command of Jeronimus, David Zevanck and a few sailors take the small skiff that one of the carpenters has recently fashioned out of driftwood and explore the two High Islands some five miles to their north-west, to determine if there is water on them. On their way back, they also explore the long strip of land that lies just to their west across the deepwater channel, a streak of white misery which from the distance of Batavia’s Graveyard appears to be entirely arid, though it does have a lot of sea lions cavorting on its beaches. Zevanck is not long in presenting his full report . . .

  ‘No water on any of them, you say?’ Jeronimus queries, with a gleam in his eye. ‘Are you sure?’

  At Zevanck’s solid assurance, Jeronimus responds with glee, clapping his hands together spontaneously in the manner of a small child who has just realised that the largest of the family presents is for him.

  ‘Wonderbaarlijk.’

  Despite his joy, he insists that Zevanck tells no one. Instead, he must put it about that, on those islands, there is not just water but plenty of water! And all of it is just a little below the surface, only requiring strong men with barrels and shovels to dig down and secure it. ‘And I’ll tell you why . . .’

  On Batavia’s Graveyard at this time, there are those who are already close to the rising power that is Jeronimus, and then there are those who clearly wish to be close, and so hang around him, offering their services in any manner that the Onderkoopman sees fit. One, in particular, is almost like a puppy dog, and that is young Jan Pelgrom de Bye of Bemmel, the slight lad who was a general cabin servant aboard the Batavia but has worked assiduously since Jeronimus arrived to look after him – running errands, emptying his chamber pot, bringing him his meals, washing his clothes. In doing so, he has entirely supplanted the role previously filled by young Rogier Decker. Still, that is not enough for Pelgrom, and, aware that something of a cabal has formed around Jeronimus in terms of the Mutineers, he does his best to wheedle his way into the group, the sanctum sanctorum of hard men.

  By now, while not known by any name, the Mutineers have become a distinctly recognisable group on the island, not simply because of their red attire but also because, with their polished swords or swinging cutlasses by their thighs, they are constantly swaggering either with each other or on the shoulder of Jeronimus, and – surely there must be some mistake? – they even seem to have a slight hint of menace about them.

  The Mutineers tolerate young Pelgrom, allowing him to run errands on thei
r own account, catch fish for their table, prepare their meals, but it is as yet unsure if he is worthy of becoming one of them. Another of roughly similar age who is far more easily accepted by the older men is the young German soldier Mattys Beer. He has been close to both Stonecutter Pietersz and Jan Hendricxsz from the first – the two notably hard men of the Mutineers – and he also has the prestige about him of having been one of the first recruited to the mutiny. The VOC cadets Coenraat van Huyssen and Gijsbert van Welderen take their cues from Stonecutter and Hendricxsz, and accept young Mattys easily – something that drives the puppy, Pelgrom, wild with jealousy.

  Beyond the constant cry of the seabirds, a new sound has come to the Abrolhos Islands for the first time in their history. Now that the immediate crisis has passed and things have improved under Jeronimus, this wonderful sound comes from Cornelis the Fat Trumpeter.

  There are days when the elements are so calm that the ocean is as flat as a bolt of raw silk, there is nary a cloud in the sky and, of course, nothing, absolutely nothing, on the horizon in any direction, apart from the High Islands. On such days, as the sun begins to fall into the western seas, as the light turns to an exquisite mauve and the last heat of the day has given way to a turquoise cool, Cornelis takes his trumpet – of all his possessions on the Batavia, this was his first to salvage – sits upon on a rock on the southern shore and plays. His fat cheeks work like the bellows in a blacksmith’s forge as he plays happy tunes, mournful tunes, tunes beloved of those who frequent Amsterdam’s beer halls, and tunes long loved by Dutch children.

  Those who have the strength sometimes gather around him, begging him to keep playing, asking him does he know this tune or that tune, and can he play again the one he played the other evening? If in the mood, which he mostly is, Cornelis obliges, playing his trumpet until it falls all but completely dark, whereupon everyone makes their careful way back to their shelters, with their upheld lanterns throwing the soft light before them. At such times as these, particularly if the day has brought them both food and water, it is even possible to feel momentarily uplifted, to have optimism that they will survive on this atoll, and that a rescue ship must eventually come for them. And then the darkness falls completely and they sleep deeply, dreaming of their lives back in the Dutch Republic, the times they used to have and would hopefully one day have again.