Stunned and frequently stung, they stumble forward the best they can, eager to get to grips with their unseen assailants. But the rain of stones continues without end, sometimes hitting and dropping them, other times landing in the water near them and splashing their muskets.
Just ten yards behind where Wiebbe Hayes and his sling-men remain secreted, the 20 men under the command of Otto Smit continue to hurl smaller rocks from over the head of Hayes et al. and onto the Mutineers. Taking their cue from Otto, who is discreetly positioned so he can monitor exactly where the fist-sized stones are landing, they make small adjustments – a little to the right, a little to the left – to ensure their projectiles stay on target. The air is satisfyingly filled with the sounds of the Mutineers’ cries and groans.
Still, they note, Wiebbe Hayes has not given them the next signal they are expecting, so they simply keep showering the rocks upon the invaders. Few do so with more enthusiasm and passion than Cornelis the slightly fatter trumpeter. Over the last week, much of his strength, both moral and physical, has returned, and he is now engaged in what he has long dreamed of – fighting back, in the company of good men.
Take that, you curs, you snakes, you dogs.
And right beside him, throwing all the while, is the former assistant surgeon Aris Jansz. Although he is still substantially wounded on his right shoulder, he is eager to give the Mutineers something back for their trouble and continues to throw with his left arm with all his might.
‘Voorwaarts!’ Zevanck cries, despite now bleeding from a glancing blow he has been struck by a flying stone just above his right ear. And forwards go those who still can, though the less brave have dropped back to look after those who have taken forceful hits on their heads and bodies, who simply cannot go on. Worse still, it now seems that these infernal Defenders are not simply content to throw rocks from afar but are coming down from their cliff tops into the shallows and charging towards them. To their amazement, they are brandishing what appear to be swords and long, vicious pikes! Even from a distance, it is obvious that, as poorly clothed as Wiebbe Hayes and his men are, they are strong, healthy and advancing rapidly.
Shocked by the turn of events – this is not at all like the fun they had on Seals’ Island – the Mutineers soon realise that their position is hopeless, and they beat a bloodied retreat, as hasty as it is humiliating, the cheers and jeers of the pursuing Defenders ringing in their ears.
Next time . . . send in the MEN!
27 July 1629, aboard the Sardam, Indian Ocean
Pelsaert sits forlornly staring at the horizon, again contemplating how it is that his once stellar reputation is now lying like the magnificent carved figurehead Lion of Holland that adorned the bow of the Batavia, sunk in the waters of the Abrolhos and in total ruins. Coen’s parting words play over and over in his mind, and he wears them like a hair shirt: ‘The Sardam shall therefore set sail as soon as possible in the name of God, and thou shalt hasten thy journey with all possible diligence in order to arrive most speedily at the place where thou hast lost the ship and left the people.’
Thou hast lost the ship and left the people . . .
Thou hast lost the ship and left the people . . .
Thou hast lost the ship and left the people . . .
Did he abandon them? What else could he have done? What would any other good man have done in the same situation?
Occasionally on this voyage south, he discusses it with the Sardam’s worthy skipper, Jacob Jacobsz, who has been pushing the yacht to its limits to get to Batavia’s Graveyard as quickly as possible.
Jacob Jacobsz has been very soothing in his remarks about Pelsaert’s actions and suitably scathing about Ariaen Jacobsz’s foolishness in having foundered on the Abrolhos in the first place. Every skipper worth his salt knows – just as the phrase ‘abri vossos olhos’ implies – that that is the very spot in this region of the sea where you have to keep your eyes open, in the likelihood that you are further to the east than you have estimated. For Jacob Jacobsz, the whole thing is clearly Ariaen Jacobsz’s fault, and the Batavia skipper is the one who must bear sole responsibility.
Another who gives some comfort is Claas Gerritsz, the former opperstuurman of the Batavia. He knew the situation back on those cursed isles as well as anyone and is constant in his affirmation to the troubled Pelsaert that they have both done the right thing, may the Lord be praised.
Mostly, though, Pelsaert talks to the skipper of the Sardam. For Jacob Jacobsz is an honest man, a Company man, and while he may not have Ariaen Jacobsz’s superior skills as an all-round mariner, or have skippered a retourschip quite as glorious as the Batavia, he does have something Pelsaert knows is far more valuable in a skipper: loyalty. Jacob is loyal to the Company, loyal to his superiors and loyal to his men. In return for this, he receives respect from all three parties.
Being around this skipper reminds Pelsaert of just how appalling Ariaen Jacobsz was to deal with for those long months, culminating in the devastating disaster they are now trying to clean up. Pelsaert knows only too well that the resurrection of his career now depends on the resurrection of those 12 chests of money and other VOC valuables that need recovering.
All he can do is wait patiently and watch the markings on the map as each day brings them closer to their destination, to the place where he ‘lost the ship and left the people’.
On this day at noon, the wind is east by south-east with lulls, and they are at a latitude of 18 degrees 55 minutes south, with some 600 nautical miles yet to travel, with the trusty Jacob Jacobsz holding the equally trusty Sardam due south. Broadly, they are making good time.
28 July 1629, Batavia’s Graveyard
‘Hendricxsz? Hendricxsz?’ Jan Pelgrom calls carefully before the tent of the man proved to be the most vicious Mutineer of all, for it is early morning. After hearing a rough grunt from within, Pelgrom continues in his most obsequious, eager-to-please tone, ‘The Kapitein-Generaal wishes to see you immediately.’
Hendricxsz, the 24-year-old German mercenary, ordinarily wouldn’t mind being thus summoned – after all, such a request usually indicates there is every possibility of a little blood sport to hand. However, on this occasion, he is otherwise engaged, atop the completely pinioned Zussie Fredericxs. Still, one does not keep the Kapitein-Generaal waiting. Hauling himself off the tragically unfortunate woman, he quickly hitches up his trousers and makes haste, with the diminutive Pelgrom tightly in behind his huge frame, like a yawl in tow behind a massive man-of-war.
Having reached the Kapitein-Generaal’s tent, the two Mutineers follow established form and announce themselves before being permitted to enter. It is always a treat to join Jeronimus in his own tent, notwithstanding the always cold Lucretia, who never fails to make them feel at least slightly uncomfortable with the relentless way she stares them down. They have learned to live with it. It has been easier in recent times, now that they know, courtesy of Zevanck, that Jeronimus is putting it through her. What right does she now have to look down on them, when she is clearly no more than a common whore herself?
As it happens, though, on this occasion Jeronimus has given Lucretia leave to walk outside – always a sign that he has some murderous commands to give, because the Mutineers have noticed that he is ever and always reluctant to speak too freely when she is around. Strange, how the Kapitein-Generaal is prepared to have anyone on the island killed for even an imagined slight or slight weakness, but with Lucretia he tolerates nearly anything, up to and including her always obvious and total sneering disdain for him – whatever she allows him to do to her at night.
But, to the issue at hand. As they have suspected, Jeronimus again has murder on his mind, but this time the target is surprising. It is none other than Anneken Hardens, the wife of Hans, mother of the late Hilletje and now concubine to many. Or so they thought.
Apparently, however, Anneken has been less than generous in recent days in dispensing her charms and has even outright refused. Though this is not neces
sarily a problem, as she can always be raped, Jeronimus has lost patience with her carry-on and would as soon be rid of her. Upon this news, Pelgrom snaps to with great speed and excitement, suggesting he be the anointed one who is given the honour of dealing the death blow. Jeronimus, this time, doesn’t care for details and simply says that it must be done.
The two Mutineers leave immediately, and, being joined on the way by another Mutineer in Gijsbert van Welderen, find Anneken alone in her tent when they enter unannounced. At their first sight, Anneken is not alarmed. It has been her lot in recent weeks to have one man or many barging into her tent at all times of the night and day, always unannounced, and always wanting the same thing. In recent days, she has had enough and tried to stop them – she is not a bitch in heat, happy to take on all comers. There has been no defence by her husband, Hans, who has been told to keep away from her on pain of both of their lives, and he has reluctantly complied, even to the point of nominally joining them as a fellow Mutineer. Her surprise, thus, is not that men have barged in but that it is these men, whom she has not serviced before.
And yet, it does not take long for her to realise that she is in mortal danger. Relishing the moment, Hendricxsz straight out enquires why she regards herself so high and mighty all of a sudden that they have heard complaints about her lack of cooperation. Are those on the island not good enough for her? Stammering, she desperately attempts reasoning with the men, attributing her recent lack of participation to her maandstonden, monthlies.
Meanwhile, van Welderen has been almost absent-mindedly making a strong braid from several hair ribbons he has espied upon the floor. Having finished his handiwork, he hands it across to Pelgrom, suggesting with a chortle that it may prove of some use . . . or another.
Instantly apprising his meaning, Pelgrom suddenly rushes the woman and throws her to the ground, as van Welderen and Hendricxsz also fall upon her. Once again, however, Pelgrom is denied the kill he so desperately wants, as Hendricxsz grabs the braid of hair ribbon from him, wraps it around Anneken’s neck and begins to pull the two ends with all his might, the knot tightening around her neck. Anneken makes a terrible gurgling sound. Her face turns crimson and her whole body begins to twitch, her eyes almost bursting from her face, until she, too, is dead.
The job has been done. On the way back to Jeronimus’s tent to submit their report, the mood between the three backslapping men is positively jubilant. It is always like this after a good killing, and this one has been particularly inventive. To strangle the bitch with her own hair ribbons!
That evening, Hans Hardens is seen simply sitting outside his tent, holding his wife’s shabby shawl to his cheek and silently rocking back and forth, not daring to make a sound but not able to stop himself. After first suffering the murder of his child and now his wife, he, like so many on the island, has become a mere shell of a man, a spectre. Justice has no name on these deserted shores, and certainly no presence.
4 August 1629, Batavia’s Graveyard
This night, Jeronimus’s handpicked raad sits in conference in his tent, with the Kapitein-Generaal sitting on the only chair – the very one that Pelsaert practically used as his throne in the Great Cabin – while the others sit on cushions in a rough circle at his feet. Lucretia has just boiled a pot of water to make a batch of negus – boiled water mixed with port and grated nutmeg – and the men are partaking of this delightful hot beverage, one of the many privileges exclusively reserved for Jeronimus and his closest cohorts.
On many occasions, such gatherings have turned into jolly evenings, as the Mutineers eat and drink their fill and discuss the events of the day. Jeronimus sometimes allows his fellow Mutineers to fondle the jewellery and the Great Cameo, created on the orders of Emperor Constantine the Great and now in the possession of Emperor Jeronimus. He then leads them in exploring the glorious potential of their future, once they capture the rescue yacht that surely must arrive soon and sail away with their treasure, living as rich men for the rest of their lives.
On this particular night, however, Jeronimus is white with rage that all of their plans remain threatened by Wiebbe Hayes and his men. The problem has been festering for over three weeks now, and given the Mutineers’ superior weaponry Jeronimus cannot comprehend how they failed to obliterate them nine days earlier.
Worse, it seems likely that Hayes is getting stronger, as various of the Survivors are disappearing overnight – usually, it seems, stealing large bits of wood for buoyancy and paddling towards the High Islands. This stealing and absconding must stop! They must finally fix the problem of Wiebbe Hayes and his men – by attacking once more on the morrow . . .
5 August 1629, Hayes’s Island
It is as before . . .
Down by the shore of Batavia’s Graveyard, the Kapitein-Generaal is delivering a particularly impassioned dawn speech to his entire gang, seated in the two bobbing skiffs marshalled by the Predikant. He stresses how crucial this mission is to their ultimate success, how vital the winning of the day, how their dreams must be realised not destroyed . . .
In fact, so motivated does Jeronimus become by his own words that, at the last minute, he leaps aboard the lead skiff, making his clumsy place between a somewhat startled Zevanck and van Huyssen.
Perhaps, given the circumstances of their last attack, it would be advisable to choose a different point to land on, but where? Who knows what lies on the other side of the island? Certainly, not one of their 25 has intimate knowledge of the entire island’s geography, despite some having scouted there for water what now seems like many moons ago. And, in this part of the world, filled with cruel, hidden reefs, mudflats and men, familiarity is always preferable to the unknown, even if the familiar is known to be dangerous.
So, they attack exactly as before, shoaling their two skiffs to a grinding halt just off Hayes’s Island. This time, they have the sense to spread out more across the mudflats, so as to diminish the chances of being wiped out by the rocks. Because of this simple strategy, they manage to make the shore of the actual island, and yet, as before, their muskets are completely wet and useless, as the splash of the hurled rocks once more scuppers them.
Manfully, they try to reach and scale the cliffs to stage a battle proper, but it is soon obvious that their situation is again hopeless. The closer they get to the cliffs, the easier it is for Hayes and his men to launch rocks at them, and, as before, the Mutineers are standing targets for Hayes’s men to pick off at will – sometimes with stones, sometimes with hurled pikes, which they effectively use as spears. When, again, Hayes orders his men to charge at them, Zevanck has no choice but to order another retreat, with the now familiar jeers of the Defenders ringing in their ears.
Shoulders slumped, they drag their battered and bleeding bodies back across the mudflats to reluctantly report to an impatient Kapitein-Generaal, waiting off at an extremely safe distance. The news is, Kapitein-Generaal, the defence mounted by Hayes and his traitors is even stronger than last time, and there are a lot more of them!
In the hurly-burly of the battle, they have lost yet more of their muskets beneath the waters, and there is plenty more bad news. The Mutineers recognise many of the Survivors who have disappeared in recent times, and thus have confirmation that this is where they have got to. Most disturbingly of all, far from covering themselves in glory, two of their own, Surgeon Frans Jansz and upper-cooper Jan Willems Selijns, acted like they might go over to the enemy.
Not happy, Jan! Appalled at their failure and the fact that traitors on their own island are going over to support Wiebbe Hayes, an incandescent Jeronimus demands the cowardly cooper Selijns be made an example of. Drawing his inner circle around him in brief consultation, he soon emerges to command Wouter Loos do him the simple honour of immediately, publicly killing the cooper. Blanching, Loos heads off to do exactly that, but, once he comes close, something stops him. He has always liked Jan. They are, if not friends, at least accomplices, and he realises that he simply cannot do it. Taking his own
life in his hands, Loos confesses to Jan what he has been sent to do and tells him that he will go back to Jeronimus to plead for his life.
While Jan waits patiently for news of his life or death – there is simply no point making for the mudflats, and there is nowhere to hide – Loos entreats Jeronimus to spare him. Before Loos even ceases pleading the cooper’s case and takes his leave, Jeronimus’s sights have already settled on a fresh target. Surgeon Frans Jansz may have sworn fealty to them three weeks earlier, yet shortly thereafter he has ceased to eat and drink with them, reverting to his former independent ways. What’s more, he has yet to kill anyone! Jeronimus simply does not trust anyone who has not killed. Yes, Jansz accompanied the other Mutineers to Seals’ Island, but it was noted he didn’t so much as raise a weapon, let alone stab anyone dead – not even a child, who are always the easiest to kill. The firm law of these islands, of being a true Mutineer, therefore applies: kill or be killed. This latest troubling report of his intended defection has done little to further Mr Jansz’s cause.
Conferring once again with the tried and true, Jeronimus is blunt about it: ‘Frans Jansz will not dance exactly to our pipes. I have little confidence in him.’ And, clearly, anyone who does not dance to their pipes is liable to soon be dancing to the pipes of Wiebbe Hayes.
‘Leave this one to me,’ assures Zevanck.
Once embarked on the return to Batavia’s Graveyard, it is Zevanck who now calls from the bow of the skiff he commands, in as friendly a voice as he can muster, that they intend taking a small side trip to hunt seals on the nearby higher of the two High Islands. As the skiff draws up on the beach on the southern side of the island, where what is left of the sea-lion colony is to be found, Zevanck admires the sheer beauty of his plan. What could be more normal than for them all to be carrying weaponry on a friendly seal hunt?
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