The Mutineers on the Sardam are being brought ashore onto Batavia’s Graveyard for formal interrogations to begin.
‘Mordenaars! Mordenaars! Murderers! Murderers!’ The cries continue, as months of repressed loathing are now vented at the very men who have been the authors of their misery.
The prisoners’ progress on the island they once strutted over is now replaced by the irregular plod, stumble and shuffle of the vanquished. The irons restraining their arms behind their backs and the chains linking their ankles do not chafe for blood half as hard as the steely crowd gathered around them.
Most of the crowd’s anger is reserved for the first prisoner, a tall, dishevelled figure in the midst of the throng, none other than Jeronimus, still sporting his own tattered red uniform with the inordinate amount of gold trimming. Some of the angry even start throwing stones at him as they continue the cry. Pelsaert approaches to quell the crowd, and, as if by instinct, they part like the Red Sea.
Unable to freely move any limb, the apothecary pauses for a brief moment, casting an eye over the mob and the approaching Commandeur, one eyebrow raised as though seeing them all for the first time. Instinctively, a silence falls over the crowd. None dare answer that kiss of death – his gaze – as all stare down at their feet, lost in bitter memory. ‘How wonderful to see you all,’ he says blithely.
Wary by now of Jeronimus’s ability to turn to evil the hearts and minds of his fellow men, Pelsaert quickly nods to Wiebbe Hayes. The prisoner is hurried on to the interrogation tent, while the Commandeur turns away and walks off, without addressing a single word to Jeronimus.
The councils aboard all VOC vessels have the same power as a Dutch court on land – a system set up to ensure that all mutineers, murderers and so forth can be dealt with quickly on board, without having to run the risk of keeping them as prisoners for weeks on end.
The key to it is that no one can be executed without freely and fully confessing to his or her crime . . . Of course, rigorous application of torture to obtain the draft of said statement is more than permissible; it is common practice.
That very afternoon, Pelsaert convenes his council, composed of senior personnel from the Sardam and Batavia, and prepares to employ the prescribed method of securing the prisoners’ open confessions. It is time to begin.
The one-time macabre ruler of these islands approaches slowly, his leg chains clanking, his arms manacled tightly behind his back. A burly soldier from the Sardam holds him by one arm and brings him to stand before the Broad Council, as their judiciary is formally titled.
For a moment, no one speaks. The council gazes solemnly at Jeronimus, wondering that it is possible for just one man to be the author of so many evil actions, while Jeronimus merely stares balefully back at them.
It is Jeronimus who gathers himself first to address them. ‘Mijn heeren,’ he begins, in a voice that, despite his ragged and bloody appearance, is still as silky and smooth as ever . . .
The Commandeur, however, immediately lifts his right hand, insisting that Jeronimus cease speaking immediately. It is not proper that he addresses them without being first invited to do so, and he is insistent that it will . . . not . . . happen in this council. Instead, it is the Commandeur who speaks, and he addresses Jeronimus directly.
‘Prisoner Cornelisz,’ he begins, ‘our preliminary investigations indicate that you are at the root of all of the terrible things that have happened both on the voyage of the Batavia and on these islands since the wreck; that it is you who first began to organise the mutiny; you who ordered the attack on Lucretia Jans; you who ordered the first murders on these islands; you who not only stole Company goods but encouraged others to do the same; you who is ultimately responsible for over a hundred people being sent to their grisly deaths; you who planned to even seize this very yacht that we have come to rescue the people on and have us all killed to fulfil your evil desires.’
In response, Jeronimus is nothing less than stunned. ‘Mijn Commandeur,’ he protests, the hurt in his eyes enough to break a man’s heart. ‘How can you believe these things of me, me, who worked side by side with you on the Batavia for all those months? You know me, mijn Commandeur. You know me to be a hard-working, good and honest man, always loyal to the Company. How could you believe such things of me? You must not blame me for these things, for like so many others I was forced to do it for fear of losing my life and . . .’
‘And who,’ Pelsaert bursts in scathingly, ‘forced you to do it?’
‘Well . . . David Zevanck and Coenraat van Huyssen really were the worst of them,’ Jeronimus replies, almost reluctantly, as if he has no choice but to confirm his previous testimony.
He goes on to swear on his soul – for all the world as if he actually has one – that these two men came to his tent, armed, and pointed out that the island could only support 40 people. Their intent was to kill all the others in their tents at once, but he, Jeronimus, persuaded them not to do that and suggested they send the people to different islands first. That way, he thought, they would have some chance of surviving. Far from being the murderer of so many people, Jeronimus was nothing less than the saviour of those who survived! But it was hard, oh yes.
‘Each man threatened to either slit my throat or see to it that it was slit if I did not cooperate with them in every particular. Each day and night, I prayed to the Good Lord that they would let me go, or that you, good sir, would return and rescue us, but the days turned into weeks, the weeks into months, and you did not come, sir, you did not come . . .’
Somehow, the last words are said with such gentle and delicate reproach that it is all Pelsaert can do not to defend himself. The fact that he left these isles for the relative safety of Batavia only to return to find them thus is indeed a delicate point with him, and though he remains confident that he did the right thing, there can equally be little doubt that, had he stayed, and stayed alive, Jeronimus would never have been allowed to claim the power of the Company in this way.
Jeronimus goes on. He again outright denies ever having any intention of seizing the Batavia. It is true, he allows, he heard vague talk of it from one Ryckert Woutersz, saying that Skipper Ariaen Jacobsz intended to seize the vessel and throw the Commandeur overboard, which made him wonder if they were ever going to reach Batavia, but in the end he did not take it seriously, something that he is now very sorry for.
Certain that he is lying, the Commandeur nods to the guards, who instantly step forward and oblige Jeronimus to kneel, whereupon a large, specially designed canvas collar is secured around his neck so that his head is effectively at the bottom of a bucket. And now fresh water is poured into it above the level of his nose, so the only way he can survive is to drink the water. Does he want to confess now? No, so more water is poured in.
Gurgling and gasping, he soon realises that the only way for the air to come in is if the truth begins to come out. As it does so, all of it is carefully noted down by none other than Salomon Deschamps, though his own name appears on the oaths and he remains unexamined. After a long and agonised conversation where the notary in some way explained himself, Pelsaert decided he needs him on the raad, at least as a signatory to the declarations of truth if not the actual sentencing. Jeronimus acknowledges that he was part of the mutiny and also ordered many of the murders on the island. For the moment, the raad leaves it there. They need to know more from the others and will come back to him.
One by one, the Mutineers are led in to have the canvas attached around their necks before being invited to confess their crimes. Most of them immediately comply, and for those who do resist, water is poured into the canvas until, inevitably, their bellies swell, their eyes water, they near drown and decide that they do want to tell what they know after all.
Another inquiry might have focused only on who was guilty of organising and committing all the murders, but this is a Company inquiry, and while there is due examination as to who has killed the Company’s personnel and paying passengers, there is al
so a great focus on who is guilty of the all but equally appalling use and abuse of Company goods.
Late September 1629, Batavia’s Graveyard and aboard the Sardam
Through repeated interrogation and torture of the Mutineers over the ensuing days, a comprehensive picture of the godlessness of their actions emerges: the oaths, the women for common service, the murder of the provost’s party and the Predikant’s family, the murders on Seals’ Island, the acts of treachery and deception, the slaying of women and children, and on and on, a litany of sins testament to the existence of the Devil himself.
Few of the murders have been committed without the assistance of at least one other Mutineer, and each man, eager to save himself, is desperate to report on the others. Those who deny participation in particular murders are contradicted by the corroborated accusations of others.
All, however, are united in one thing: the common dominator, the man wallowing in the middle of every filthy action like a pig in his own excrement – right from the first – is Jeronimus. More and more details of the mutiny aboard the Batavia emerge, confirmed by multiple testimonies: how it was conceived shortly after they left Tafelbaai; how it spread from Mutineer to Mutineer; how each of them was manipulated by Jeronimus.
Soon enough, it is time to interrogate him once more. It goes as before. At first, he denies it. As to the plan to seize the rescue yacht, for example, that, too, was all Zevanck’s idea and though he, Jeronimus, pretended to go along with it, for fear of his life, still he did not mean it. It was merely a way of placating the murderous Zevanck, and it did not matter because they were left so long on these islands that it was obvious to everyone that no rescue yacht was coming. Had he, Jeronimus, been free once the yacht finally arrived, of course he would have sounded a warning to Pelsaert and the skipper of the Sardam, but unfortunately, because of this whole dreadful misunderstanding, that was not possible.
The Commandeur has heard enough in the last few days, seen enough horror in the eyes of the Survivors to know beyond any shadow of a doubt that here before him stands evil incarnate, the man who bears the most responsibility, head and shoulders above all the others, for the murderous carnage that the island has witnessed since the shipwreck, even if he did not personally wield the knife. But, listening to Jeronimus speak like this, spinning plausible lie after plausible lie in the most soft and eloquent of voices, it is almost possible – almost – to believe him.
And the charismatic Jeronimus is not even done. He continues to explain his side of the story, all the way through to the terrible day when he finally negotiated a peace settlement between the two islands only to be betrayed: ‘For despite all my best efforts, still I was blamed for what had occurred, and they fell upon us, taking me prisoner, killing Zevanck and van Huyssen and two others, with only Wouter Loos able to escape. This, this after all I had done! Oh, the infamy!’
Those last words of Jeronimus hang there loosely. If it were not for the testimony of all the others – universally pointing the finger of guilt at this most debased of men – it really would be possible to believe that he was the innocent party. It is time once more to stop all of these lies, all of this blame being laid at the feet of conveniently dead men, and get Jeronimus to admit his guilt. It is time to give him the water treatment once more.
Before a drop of water can be added to his canvas collar, however, Jeronimus shouts that he is ready to confess to all if they will just stop immediately. An unspoken shiver of regret sweeps the room, as most present actually want to see Jeronimus suffer another tiny portion of the agony he has meted out, but he has promised to confess, and that is the main thing.
The examination shortly resumes. The Commandeur begins by asking Jeronimus in what manner exactly he intended to seize the rescue yacht.
‘Our plan,’ Jeronimus replies frankly, ‘was to greet such a yacht with open arms and invite the whole crew to come ashore, where we would have proposed great celebrations and made them drunk on our wine, in order to kill them the more easily.’
The yacht would undoubtedly have been captured, and Jeronimus and his men would have been free to leave these cursed islands with their treasure and roam the world. After they made the plan, Jeronimus showed his co-conspirators the Company’s jewels, in order for them all to evaluate their share.
Even as the interrogation of the prisoners continues, so, too, are preparations being made to attempt to retrieve the Company’s goods from the wreck site. The broad plan is to fully embark on this retrieval program after the inquiry is completed, but on the evening of 25 September, after that day’s interrogations are over, the weather is so extraordinarily calm that Pelsaert asks both the skipper and the bosun not to waste the opportunity, and to take one of the divers out to the wreck to see how they go.
Wonder of wonders, only a short time later Pelsaert sees that they are indeed pulling something up from the water! Quickly, he sends another boat to their assistance, while he himself follows in the smallest boat. As he approaches, his heart soars to see that they already have one chest of silverware and one of the money chests up on deck!
By the time he arrives, a further chest has been brought to the surface, and the divers from Gujarat joyously report that they have found six more money chests on the sea floor at a quite reasonable depth and that it looks like it will be relatively easy to retrieve them. Two more money chests are brought to the surface that afternoon, before, with little warning, the bad weather returns with a fury, and they must leave quickly.
The next day, another three chests are retrieved, making seven in total, while one more is spied, weighed down by a cannon on which an anchor is resting, which will need considerable force to move. That leaves four money chests still to recover. The twelfth has clearly been lost due to Jean Thiriou’s foul destruction of it and subsequent hurling around of the coins like seed. Soon, three more money chests are brought to the surface, giving a total now of ten chests; and although the eleventh still remains trapped fast, Pelsaert’s heart soars with every successful retrieval.
In the meantime, the Broad Council continues its interrogations. Over succeeding days, the testimonies of the Mutineers are tested not only against each other but also against those of the Survivors. The latter need no encouragement to come forth with their own blood-curdling accounts of the past months, keen as they are to wreak revenge on any and all of the surviving murderers. Though, of course, there are few left alive who have seen the full scope of the carnage, those who remain fight tooth and nail to refute false testimony whensoever afforded the opportunity. Their desire for justice is so great that, if left to their own devices, they would surely tear Jeronimus Cornelisz and his cronies limb from limb.
Among these Survivors, the calm, independent testimony of Aris Jansz, the under-surgeon and barber, is particularly devastating to the Onderkoopman, as he describes in great detail what happened on Batavia’s Graveyard from the first day that Jeronimus arrived and how from late June onwards, after Wiebbe Hayes and his men left, everything so very quickly descended into a hell from which he, personally, only narrowly escaped.
Much of the testimony of Aris is directly contradictory to the points of account that Jeronimus has put up in his own defence, and so, yet one more time, the evil one is dragged before the Broad Council in order that a full confession be flushed from him with water.
Slowly but surely, Jeronimus Cornelisz’s defences break down and he acknowledges his role in the murders of no fewer than three dozen or so people. However, to Pelsaert’s ever-building fury, he continues to refuse to accept responsibility for the murders carried out by Zevanck, van Huyssen or van Welderen, maintaining they are at least as guilty as he is, and probably more so.
Wouter Loos, on the other hand, makes some brief initial denials but then frankly admits with regret two direct murders. The raad is at least impressed that once Loos became leader there were no more indiscriminate killings. Also to his credit, by his own orders, Lucretia and Judick were not molested by anyone,
including the new leader, even though Jeronimus and Coenraat were no longer there.
Further, Jan Willems Selijns gives evidence that, though Jeronimus gave orders for Wouter to kill him, Wouter interceded and managed to save him. It is possible, just possible, the raad concludes, that even through all the blackness of Wouter Loos’s soul there remains a glimmer of light.
One man who signed the Mutineers’ oath but who is nevertheless quickly deemed innocent after questioning is Hans Hardens. Though the soldier had some minor involvement with some of their acts, it is obvious that this shattered man only nominally joined under the most severe circumstances. For Pelsaert, it is nigh on inconceivable that a man could swear loyalty to a band that first killed his child and then whored his wife before killing her, yet it is clear this is precisely what Hardens has done on the simple grounds that the alternative was his own certain death. In the face of it all, Pelsaert feels that in terms of punishment there is nothing they can visit upon this man that would approach what he has already been through and what his conscience will do to him every day for the rest of his life.
28 September 1629, Batavia’s Graveyard and aboard the Sardam
After ten days of such examination, the guilt of Jeronimus and his closest remaining cohorts – Lenart van Os, Mattys Beer, Jan Hendricxsz, Allert Jansz, Rutger Fredricxsz, Jan Pelgrom and Andries Jonas – has been so firmly established that it is beyond all doubt. Jeronimus, to begin with, has confessed to nearly all of it. The Broad Council is all but ready to wind up its inquiry and deliberate on the appropriate sentences for them when Jeronimus – who else but? – suddenly recants all of his previous confessions and swears he is innocent after all.
Pelsaert is stupefied, and addresses him directly. ‘Why, pray tell, do you mock us in this manner? Have you not, on previous occasions, without torture, confessed everything from your plan to foment mutiny and seize the vessel to the murders you ordered?’
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