In the distance, the cry of the birds is unending, one wailing particularly loudly.
Yet was that cry a bird? It sounded strange, almost human. But after that one strange shriek . . . nothing. Stirring restlessly only a little, those on Batavia’s Graveyard settle down for the night.
19 June 1629, Batavia’s Graveyard
Ryckert Woutersz has disappeared. His tent-mate, confused and worried, reports to Jeronimus that, the previous evening, Woutersz was drinking with David Zevanck and simply did not return drunkenly to the tent, the way he had on previous evenings. And now the mate can’t find him anywhere. He has searched the whole island and gone from group to group, yet there is not the slightest sign of him. Strangely, Jeronimus does not seem at all concerned and simply says he is sure Ryckert will turn up.
Which, oddly enough, he does.
That very afternoon, the six-year-old Hilletje Hardens is playing down at the water’s edge under the watchful eye of her mother, Anneken. She has found a small sliver of driftwood from the broken-up Batavia washed ashore and is amusing herself, as she watches her ‘ship’ floating in and out on the gentle shore break.
Her ship invariably comes all the way to the shore – always in a much happier fashion than the actual Batavia did – and then she throws it back out again, giggling delightedly as she watches it twist and turn.
And then, suddenly, little Hilletje screams in a manner that alarms not only her mother but also another 20 or so people within earshot, who all come running. On the shore, shaking, the little girl is pointing at something else the incoming tide has washed in.
It is Ryckert Woutersz.
His throat has been slashed from one ear to the other, his face is purple, his body bloated. Obviously, he has been murdered. The news spreads around the island within minutes, and most of the ship’s company is soon gathered on the shore. As two burly soldiers wade in to drag his body onto land, his flaccid, blubber-lipped mouth drops open to allow the exit of a soft-shell crab from its temporary home, revealing the blackened, stumpy vestige of what was once Ryckert’s tongue. The crowd reels back in horror. Ryckert’s tongue has been cut out – a clear indication to anyone of what happens to those who talk too much.
Seizing on the death of Woutersz, the Onderkoopman immediately calls everyone to a meeting in the makeshift square – composed of a cleared space, delineated by rows of rocks – outside his tent.
‘I regret to inform you,’ he gravely tells the gathering, for all the world as if they don’t already know and haven’t been discussing Ryckert’s fate for the last three hours, ‘that Ryckert Woutersz has been found washed up on the shore, most brutally murdered, with his tongue cut out as though he were a beast in the fields.
‘I promise you on behalf of both the VOC and the raad – which has just met on this subject – to do everything necessary to both find the perpetrators of this hideous act and protect you from such heinous crimes as these against Woutersz, such a good man. It is as if we do not have enough to worry about through lack of water and food that we have a murderer in our very midst.’
Jeronimus goes on to affirm that the raad commands any man or woman who has in their possession any weapon, be it sword, morgensterre, morning star (lethal lumps of lead on the end of a rope or stick, studded with iron nails at all angles), dagger or the like, to go back to their tents, collect such and return it to this place. It will all be held in Jeronimus’s safekeeping until such time as they are rescued from this living hell. Any person found to be harbouring any weapon from this moment forth will be subjecting themselves to the wrath of the council and the severest of all penalties.
In one fell swoop, the apothecary has concocted a plan to not only disarm the island but also provide his Mutineers with an array of killing tools. One final measure is to put a very tight guard on the boats that have been built and strictly limit access to Mutineers only. For what he has in mind, this is going to be extremely important.
20 June 1629, Batavia’s Graveyard
As a young lad growing up in Friesland, Jeronimus studied Latin, and one famous phrase of that language, or at least its concept, is well known to him: divide et impera, divide and conquer. The notion is that when a small force faces a larger and more powerful force, the way to triumph is to manoeuvre so that the larger force can be broken up and thereafter beaten in successive parts.
‘And so,’ Jeronimus announces to all of the gathered survivors on Batavia’s Graveyard, ‘it is the decision of the council that in order to maximise our chances of survival, we must spread ourselves around nearby islands. This will allow each group to live better off such sea lions and water as there are on each island, and not strain the sea lions and water we have here.’
It makes a certain amount of sense – at least enough sense that when Jeronimus first presented the idea to the council the previous afternoon, it only took a small amount of forceful argument before they agreed to it.
Not that all of the survivors are delighted at the prospect of leaving Batavia’s Graveyard, as miserable a place as it is. For at least there seems some strength in community, in all helping each other to survive. Is it really wise to split up like this?
And yet, it is unthinkable to argue. When Jeronimus speaks, he does so not merely as a man among others but as a man among men, the man who has the full weight and authority of the Company behind him, as confirmed by the diktats of the council. So if he says they must shortly split up and go to different islands – even designating which people should go where, and which should stay on the main island with him (of whom, though he does not declare it, Lucretia is foremost) – then that is what they must do.
The first group to go is commanded by the nominal leader of the soldiers, Corporal Gabriel Jacobsz. Jeronimus insists it is nothing less than Councillor Jacobsz’s duty to take his wife, Laurentia, together with another 47 survivors over to the long strip of land across the channel to the place he has named Robbeneiland. (The Dutch word robben is used for all seal-like mammals, thus he has called it ‘Seals’ Island’, for the bountiful food supply that he says is there.) This group comprises a dozen or so men, the balance made up of women, children and nearly 20 of the Batavia’s cabin boys. It seems rum to some that if Seals’ Island is so plentifully supplied they are not all going there, but no one likes to say anything.
Since the murder of Woutersz, a rather chilling atmosphere has taken hold on Batavia’s Graveyard, an undefined sense of menace. The wind seems to blow colder, the nights are darker and the cry of the birds more strident. To be off this island and making a fresh start on another can be no bad thing.
So Jacobsz reluctantly agrees. It takes several trips on the yawls to ferry his large group with their immediate effects and supplies of water the half-mile distance across the channel to the long, desolate, sandy strip of land to be found there, but after a full morning of it the job is done. Jacobsz is told not to worry that they don’t have a great deal of water or food with them, for, apart from the sea lions they can easily kill, they will be regularly visited, so that any supplies they do need can be brought to them. Among those who settle now on Seals’ Island are Cornelis the Fat Trumpeter, Jacob de Vos the tailor and young Abraham Gerritsz, a deserter from another Dutch ship whom they had picked up during their brief stopover in Sierra Leone.
The next large group to go are the soldiers. The very afternoon that Seals’ Island has been effectively colonised, Wiebbe Hayes stands before Jeronimus, in the latter’s tent. It is the first time that Hayes has been so invited, and he is impressed. While other tents on the island are little more than hovels, with bits of canvas and cloth strung up against leaning bits of wood, this is a real room, one that has been constructed by the ship’s sail-makers at the Onderkoopman’s direction, with canvas walls stretched tightly between upright posts, and a peaked roof. The carpet on the floor is Persian and has come directly from the Great Cabin, as have the desk and the chair. In the corner, lying casually open, is Pelsaert’s valuables che
st, with more jewels in it than Wiebbe Hayes has ever seen in his life, together with the most exquisite-looking agate cameo he has ever seen.
For this meeting, Jeronimus adopts the slightly bored drone that a high Company official uses when communicating to an underling a mundane chore that he must execute. ‘And so,’ Jeronimus tells the soldier, ‘by order of the council, who on these islands represents the authority of the VOC, you are required to gather to you a group of 20 of your best men, including the six French soldiers . . .’
Jeronimus doesn’t give a reason why he particularly wants the French soldiers gone and doesn’t care what Hayes thinks about it. The truth is, while the soldiers in general have been a little aloof, the French soldiers have been the most aloof of all. He wants rid of them. He goes on, ‘You will all be transported by rafts to the High Islands, where you will use your best endeavours to find and tank the fresh water that we believe will be relatively easy to find there. When this is done, you will light three fires separated by a distance of 100 yards and put green leaves upon them to create three long columns of smoke, which will indicate you are ready to again be picked up by raft, so we can bring the water back here.’
As Jeronimus speaks, Hayes gazes at him steadily. While many have found the eyes of Jeronimus unnerving, on this occasion Jeronimus finds it more than a little uncomfortable to look into Hayes’s eyes. There is something about the look that the soldier gives him that is different . . .
Others on this island look at Jeronimus with anything from trepidation to expectation to adoration, but Hayes looks at his boss with no more than frank assessment. The soldier is outwardly polite, even formally deferential as they discuss the forthcoming trip. But, as Jeronimus has learned from long experience, the eyes do not lie. Hayes is observing the form, but his eyes are saying clearly, ‘I am not in your thrall. I will do as you ask for the moment, but we will see.’
Jeronimus does Hayes the honour of holding his gaze, with eyes that seem to say, ‘Let us cut to the chase. The truth of it is, as we both know, you will be going to the High Islands because it is my request, and I assure you there is water there.’
After a few more minutes of discussion, Jeronimus nods to him that their meeting is over. Hayes rises to go and turns to the tent flap that serves as a door.
‘Two other things,’ Jeronimus tosses after him.
Wiebbe Hayes turns back. ‘Ja, Onderkoopman?’
‘It is extremely important that you return with as much water as possible, so you must travel with the absolute bare necessities. We will not be able to issue you with any muskets.’
This does not sit well with Hayes. He is a soldier, his men are soldiers, and a soldier without a musket is effectively no soldier at all. But what can he do? Jeronimus is his superior, and, with the authority of the council behind him, the Onderkoopman is commanding him to leave behind their arms for the very good reason that they will be able to bring back more water to their comrades, who are in desperate need of it. ‘Ja, natuurlijk, Onderkoopman,’ he replies. ‘And the other thing?’
‘Be sure to take Jan Carstenz with you. He is a good man, and I think he will be a great help to you on the island.’
Again, it is an odd request. While Jan Carstenz is a good man, he is also extremely protective of his beautiful wife, Anneken Bosschieters – the only woman close to Lucretia in terms of natural loveliness – and Jan would not be happy to be leaving her behind, even for a few days. But the same logic applies. If Jeronimus has made a special request for Jan Carstenz to go, then that is the end of it. And even Jan would have to understand that. For the sake of all, Jan must sacrifice personal interests and go and collect the much-needed water.
It is done. The upside for Hayes is that he can be fully independent on the High Islands and not even pretend to answer to anyone. And the soldiers, who like to be a law unto themselves, can be exactly that.
21 June 1629, High Islands
On the following morning, they leave in a flurry of farewells and pole-pushing from the shore, with Anneken weeping as she waves her husband, Jan Carstenz, goodbye. At least it should only be for a few days.
Twenty soldiers and several sailors fill the rafts under the command of David Zevanck, all of them volunteers, many of them there simply from the feeling that in the midst of this dreadful maelstrom it can be no bad thing to stick close to Wiebbe Hayes. He seems to know what he is doing and continues to radiate a calm confidence.
It is odd, thinks Hayes, as they head towards the High Islands, that no one, least of all Zevanck, has been specific about exactly which of the two High Islands the water is to be found on, but maybe that will be apparent once they get there. Maybe they are simply dotted with freshwater creeks and all you have to do is sink the barrels into one and they will be full.
But if that is the case, Hayes thinks, why is the raft dropping them and then leaving, instead of staying right there and waiting while they load it up again? It is with this in mind that he turns to Zevanck and asks for more specific directions as to where the water is to be found.
Zevanck does not like Hayes and does not bother to pretend otherwise. He growls in reply that Hayes and his men will see soon enough once they get there, and he makes it absolutely clear that he does not care to discuss it further. Hayes has to let the matter rest as they approach to within a mile of the High Islands. From this distance, it looks good, at least in comparison with what they have left.
While Batavia’s Graveyard is really naught but a strip of coral that just happens to be a couple of yards higher than the sea around it – and is not really an ‘island’ worthy of the name – this place they are approaching is obviously the genuine thing. The highest and more north-easterly of the two islands, which is the one they are landing on, springs out of the water to the height of at least 50 feet at its peak. Covered in vegetation of an indeterminate species – though it looks to be low, singularly disappointed shrubs, together with equally sad little trees that have been obliged to bow to the constant wind – East High Island looks to be about two miles long and is perhaps nearly as wide.
Offloaded, and after waving the quickly departing rafts goodbye, Hayes’s men immediately begin their search for water, not least because after their journey on the sea they are all especially thirsty. In the first instance, what they find is . . . not much. True, there are some brackish pools of water surrounded by dark moss up on the cliffs where they can sate their immediate needs, but there is no sign whatsoever of the clear and obvious supply of water that has been promised.
Disappointed, but not panicked, Hayes organises his men to continue a methodical search of the island, scouring it square yard by square yard, and marking off the places they have already searched as they go. It is thirsty work, but it simply has to be done.
They have only been at it a short time when Hayes and his men are suddenly stunned.
There!
What strange manner of creature is this? Just up ahead in a small hollow of ground, the people sight something the likes of which they have never seen before – some very odd-looking animals. They look to be cats, albeit with big ears pointing skywards, huge hind legs and tiny front legs, standing upright and . . . and . . . and now they are jumping! Jumping like no cat has ever jumped. Bounding, bouncing all over the place. And then the bouncing cats stop, the whole lot at once, looking back at the people . . . their whiskers quivering.
One of the men, Otto Smit – who as a cadet is nominally the superior of Wiebbe Hayes but is happily filling in as his number two, such is his respect for Hayes’s acumen and leadership – gives a joyous shout and runs towards them, and suddenly the cats take off all together, bounding away. Now all the men shout, running happily after the jumping cats, some of the soldiers with their swords drawn, and others hurling any stone they can find. One well-aimed stone hits one of the cats behind the ear and brings it down. A flash of a cutlass later and there will be some precious fresh meat to share tonight, cut into strictly divided portions that H
ayes insists on.
When they cut up the animal, they are stunned to find that some of these strange creatures, the females, have openings in their chests, almost like little pouches. Inside are tiny, perfectly formed baby cats. Then the men chase some more cats and they even see some of the larger baby cats climb right inside their mothers, who then bound away! It is completely extraordinary – the most unheard of animal they’ve never heard of. And the most important thing, as the men quickly discover, is that their meat is more than merely palatable. An old Dutch dictum has it that honger maakt rauwe bonen proeven zoet, hunger makes raw beans taste sweet, and so it proves on this occasion. Perhaps when they were well fed in Amsterdam the gamey meat would not have appealed to them, but here it tastes like a precious delicacy.
Still, there is no water to be found by the end of the day, beyond some more brackish pools, but the fact they now have plenty of meat is a major breakthrough.
22 June 1629, Batavia’s Graveyard
The morning after Hayes and his men have been dropped off, Jeronimus informs the provost, Pieter Jansz, that he, with his wife and their child, plus soldier Claas Harmansz of Maagdenburgh with his wife, Claudine Patoys, and her child, along with another eight people are to be immediately taken back to Traitors’ Island, the tiny islet on which most of the ship’s company spent their first terribly uncomfortable night after the shipwreck. Jansz, too, is a councillor and must set the example, as Jacobsz has done. Though the provost is uncertain that this is a good idea, because he knows how bleak that island is from the day and night he spent there immediately after the shipwreck, Jeronimus informs him that he needs him to do it because he has a specific and very important task for him. The southern shore of Traitors’ Island, he informs Jansz, now has a great deal of wood on it, and he desires the provost and his people to spend their energies building some rafts. They will be given all the materials and tools they need, and once those rafts are completed they will be able to join Wiebbe Hayes and his men on the High Islands, where water is plentiful. Though still doubtful, the provost agrees.
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