But even so, he continued throughout that day to stare towards Batavia, straining his eyes in the hope of catching sight of the Under Merchant in the water. He had never been one for prayers, but he found himself asking God to save the Under Merchant’s life. Again and again, he muttered, ‘Please God, save him. Let him live.’
The light faded and darkness fell, and at last Jan curled up on the sand. But he slept little that night and at first light he was down on the shore again, watching, waiting.
The sun had already climbed high in the sky when Jan spotted him. He was closer now, and Jan saw that he was sitting astride the bowsprit, using another piece of driftwood as a paddle. He was making progress, but it was very slow. Again Jan prayed that he would not drown, that he would have enough strength to cling on.
A few people gathered to watch with Jan and the news spread round the island. Soon there was a crowd on the shoreline, but Corneliez had disappeared. They waited silently and people began to disperse, thinking he had drowned. Then suddenly a sharp-eyed sailor called out, ‘God be praised, he’s alive!’ And the crowd followed the direction of his pointing finger.
There were cries of encouragement from the onlookers.
‘Keep going, man!’
‘Have strength. You are nearly there.’
Then Corneliez lost his grip on the bowsprit and the crowd watched in horror as his body was pulled forward by the waves, tumbled and tossed and battered against the coral. But at last he lay spread-eagled, face down in the shallows. Several men rushed down to him and dragged him up on to the beach.
At first he lay as if dead and the crowd went silent. Then, slowly, he reached out a hand and a roar went up.
‘God be praised, he is alive!’
‘Give him water.’
Someone found a little water and took it to him.
Corneliez looked up at him. ‘I need more than this, sailor,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve swallowed half the ocean. Where are the barrels?’
No one answered.
A sailor helped Corneliez to his feet but he swayed and his knees buckled under him. The crowd started to back away. Only the preacher came forward.
Jan watched the two men talking – the preacher gesticulating helplessly, Corneliez, kneeling on the ground, listening in stony silence.
‘Help me to my feet,’ said Corneliez at last, and the preacher hauled him upright.
‘Listen to me, people,’ said Corneliez, and, even though his voice was cracked, Jan’s neck tingled at the authority in that voice. ‘The Captain and the Commander have taken off in the long boat, so I am the senior representative of the Company. I am taking charge here.’
‘We have already appointed a Council,’ said the preacher quickly.
‘A Council? Good. That is good. When I am recovered, we shall meet.’
There were mutterings of assent from the passengers.
Now that Corneliez had arrived, even the unruly soldiers and sailors were silent. Jan looked across at them. Had they all been part of the Captain’s plot? Had they all said those words: ‘Aye, we’re with the Under Merchant’?
Chapter Four
It was some time before Corneliez recovered his strength, even after receiving more than his fair share of the remaining victuals. Once revived, he set about organising the shipwrecked people and when he was not conferring with the Council, he walked about the island. Although he acknowledged the passengers, it was to the soldiers and sailors that he paid most attention. Jan watched as he spoke to some of them who, Jan knew, had pledged their allegience to him. What was he saying to them? Whatever it was, Jan could see that they were nodding in agreement. They were his men.
The next few days were a frenzy of activity. After all the rioting and drunkenness, there was at last some order. Every able-bodied crewman was ordered to drag driftwood from the sea as it came hurtling towards the shore. All sorts of strange objects floated in with the tide: more and more timbers as the ship continued to break up, as well as barrels, ship’s furniture, chests, muskets and the personal possessions of both crew and passengers.
Corneliez ordered that everything except driftwood should be brought to him for inspection and that all the wood should be taken to the ship’s carpenters to make larger vessels which could be rowed back to the ship to salvage supplies. He also ordered that what water they still had should be saved and used sparingly, though the carpenters were given double rations both of water and of seal’s blood whenever a seal was captured. Tweis was kept busy from dawn to dusk. Supplies of nails and tools had been brought over earlier, before the Commander had left with the longboat and the yawl, so there was a constant noise of hammering and sawing and cursing as the carpenters put together a couple of makeshift boats.
As Jan was watching the carpenters at work, he noticed something metallic shining in the sand. It was the small bell used by the Commander to summon the cabin boys. Jan was surprised that it had not sunk. He picked it up, and saw that it was still attached by a chain to its wooden base.
He took it proudly to Corneliez.
‘I found this on the beach, sir,’ he said.
Corneliez turned from what he was doing and gave Jan his full attention. ‘Ah, Jan,’ he said, taking the bell from him and inspecting it carefully, ‘Good. We can use this.’ Then, as Jan turned to go, he continued, ‘You shall ring that bell every time I have an announcement to make.’
Jan blushed with pleasure and his spirits lifted. Corneliez remembered his name!
At last the first of the new boats was ready. It was cobbled together from driftwood that had broken away from Batavia and been washed ashore – wood of all shapes and sizes. The carpenters had done their best, but there were no long, even timbers from which to make a smooth hull, and the craft looked very strange, with odd lengths of wood – some of different widths – patched together and overlapping one another. The rowing paddles, too, were roughly hewn from more solid pieces of wood, and splinters still hung from them.
The boat looked bulky and misshapen, but when the sailors tested it on the water it proved seaworthy. And it was large – large enough to carry plenty of passengers and plenty of what could be salvaged from Batavia.
‘Jan!’ shouted Corneliez. Jan immediately scuttled to his side. ‘Fetch that bell, Jan. I want to make an announcement.’
Jan came back with the bell and stood beside Corneliez, ringing the bell for all he was worth.
Everyone gathered round.
‘We are to launch our new boat,’ announced Corneliez, indicating the rough vessel that was bobbing about in the waves. ‘But its first voyage will be to the two islands to the north.’
There was a muttering in the crowd. ‘To the north?’
Corneliez went on. ‘As you know, the Commander and the Captain, together with selected soldiers and sailors, took the two ship’s boats and a deal of supplies, and made camp on one of the other islands.’
Most people had already heard this and there had been rumours circulating about why the Commander had not landed here with the rest. There were some murmurings, but Corneliez held up his hand for silence.
‘I am sending our new boat to search the islands. The second boat should be ready to launch later today – that will go out to Batavia. The first priority is to bring back the remaining water barrels, then what food can be salvaged, then sailcloth to make shelter for us.’
Jan looked about him. At last they would have more water and some shelter. Not before time. They were all parched and rations were running out. Everyone was filthy and there was no privacy; often he would come across some poor soul trying to relieve themselves behind one of the low, scrubby bushes. Many were suffering from the runs and some had infected wounds after their rough journey from the ship.
But they managed a faint cheer as the boat was rowed away from the island and headed northwards.
Corneliez watched the new boat go with a set face. He turned to Jan. ‘Keep a lookout for its return, Jan,’ he said, ‘and come and fetch
me as soon as you see it.’
Two hours later, Jan spotted it. He ran to Corneliez, who was surrounded by members of the Council. They were making a list of supplies.
‘Good, Jan,’ he said, when he heard the news. ‘Take the bell and ring it as soon as the boat reaches shore.’
Not long after this, the strange-looking boat came in. Jan rang the bell again and again, as one of the sailors leapt out and pulled her up the sand.
‘What news?’ asked someone.
The sailor shook his head. ‘Both islands are deserted,’ he said.
At that moment, Corneliez arrived. ‘Deserted?’ he repeated.
‘Aye, sir. Nothing there but this note, left under a rock on the first island.’ He handed it to Corneliez.
All eyes were on Corneliez as he read it. When he had finished, he looked up.
‘It is just as I suspected,’ he said slowly, ‘Your Commander has gone off to save his own skin. He has taken both the ship’s boats, a selection of officers and sailors, and a great deal of the ship’s food and water.’
‘Perhaps he has gone to get help,’ said someone nervously.
Corneliez rounded on the speaker. ‘The Commander has deserted you!’ he shouted. ‘He has left us all and looks only to save his own skin. He has taken the ship’s boats, so now we have nothing but these two rough vessels.’
Jan bent his head, scared of the rage in the Under Merchant’s voice.
‘And the Captain, too?’ asked someone.
‘The Captain is with him,’ replied Corneliez. Then he added softly, ‘Though I doubt he went of his own free will.’
And Jan again remembered hearing the Captain’s harsh voice in the sailors’ quarters.
When we make landfall, that’s when we’ll act.
So we’re with the Under Merchant, then. We’re with Corneliez!
No, decided Jan, the Captain wouldn’t be with the Commander by choice. Jacobsz would have been forced to go with him.
Corneliez raised his voice. ‘The Commander has deserted us,’ he shouted. ‘The Commander is a traitor!’
‘Aye, a traitor,’ repeated some of the sailors and soldiers. Most of the passengers stayed silent.
‘So,’ continued Corneliez, ‘we now have a name for the island where the note was found.’ He waved the note in the air. ‘From now on, that island will be known as Traitor’s Island.’
Jan was puzzled. Was the Commander really a traitor? He remembered the conversation he’d overheard in the Commander’s cabin: ‘If the ship cannot be repaired here, we shall have to take the long boat and make for Java.’
He shrugged. He must have got it wrong. Corneliez was right. The Commander should have been here on the island with all the shipwrecked people. The Commander had deserted them. He was a traitor.
The next days were busy ones for Jan. He was ordered to ring the bell for one announcement after another.
Officers who had failed to command, sailors and soldiers who were previously without any discipline – they all came together under Corneliez as he ordered them back and forth to salvage what cargo they could from Batavia. The strange craft built from driftwood were put through their paces, ploughing to and fro, returning laden with barrels and chests, plates and goblets, bayonets, clothes and equipment, and being greeted by Corneliez and members of the Council, who checked the boats’ contents and ordered where they should be put.
Batavia’s sails were brought to the island, too, and the sailmakers set to work making them into rough tents. Before long, the flat, sparse island was covered with misshapen coverings which gave a little privacy to those who sheltered beneath them.
And all the time, Corneliez was planning with his Council. Sometimes Jan was told to stay close by in case he was needed, and one day he overheard snatches of a conversation between the members.
‘This island cannot sustain this great crowd of people, and that’s an end to it.’
‘But Corneliez, where else can they go?’
‘Use your eyes, man! There are plenty more islands.’
‘But we don’t know if the other islands have water or wildlife. Any people put ashore there might die.’
‘They will have as much chance to live there as here.’
There was an uneasy silence, then someone said, ‘They could take one of the boats, and then they could return if there was no water.’
‘No.’ This was Corneliez. ‘We keep the boats here. The sailors will row them to the islands and they can go back to check on them from time to time.’
‘Aye. Very well.’
Jan moved away out of earshot as the meeting broke up. One of the first to walk away was the preacher. Even though they’d only been shipwrecked for a couple of weeks, he had aged considerably during that time. Always gaunt and pale, now he was nothing but skin and bones, the shreds of his black garments hanging about him forlornly like the feathers of a bedraggled crow.
The preacher glanced up when he saw Jan, but his eyes were distant and he didn’t acknowledge him. He muttered to himself as he made his way back to where his family were camped.
‘Jan!’
Jan ran to Corneliez.
‘Come boy, we have work to do.’
The Under Merchant seemed almost jaunty, his inscrutable face lit, for once, by a smile.
‘Sir?’
‘Ring that bell and assemble the whole company. I want every man, woman and child to gather round.’
‘Aye, sir.’
Jan ran off ringing the bell, visiting each tent in turn.
‘Assemble at the shore. The Under Merchant wishes to make an announcement.’
He was only halfway through his duties when he started to feel faint and dizzy. Although he’d managed to pull out his rotten tooth at last, his mouth still stank with the infection and, like everyone else, he was on strict rations of food and water. He slowed down to get his breath and then, when he had recovered, continued to rouse the others. When he had finished, he made his way slowly to the shore.
Gradually, all who could still walk gathered together to listen.
Corneliez stood with his back to the sea. It was flat calm and the coral beneath the surface was clearly visible through the clear water. He wore a red and gold cloak over his shoulders that contrasted strangely with his stained, loose shirt and torn trousers, but it marked him out from everyone else, as did his intelligent face, his aquiline features and his ice-blue eyes.
Jan stood beside him and continued to ring the bell.
‘Enough, cabin boy!’ muttered someone from the crowd. ‘Stop that racket. We’re all here, aren’t we?’
Corneliez held up his hand for silence.
‘The Council and I have come to some decisions,’ he said, smiling down at the crowd. Jan looked up at him and for a moment their eyes met. Jan swallowed nervously.
Corneliez paused, relishing the attention. No one said a word. With a flourish, he took out a scroll. Jan recognised it as a list that Corneliez had been compiling for the last few days, written on paper that had somehow been salvaged from Batavia.
‘As you can see,’ he said, making a sweeping gesture with his hand, ‘We are too many for this small island.’
There was some murmuring and anxious glances were exchanged. Corneliez ignored these.
‘So,’ he continued. ‘We must divide ourselves up and some will be taken to the other islands.’
Mutterings broke out. Corneliez held up his hand again.
‘First,’ he said, ‘we are sending a group of soldiers over to High Island – that one over there in the distance’ – he gestured vaguely – ‘to search for food and water.’
He looked carefully at his list. ‘Then,’ he continued, ‘we shall divide up the remaining survivors between this island and the two nearby.’
He beckoned to Weibbe Hayes, the soldier who had given Jan water, and Weibbe came forward.
‘Hayes,’ said Corneliez, ‘choose two dozen men to take with you to High Island. You will leave in the
morning.’
Weibbe looked grim-faced, but he didn’t argue. Immediately he set about talking to some of the assembled soldiers.
Corneliez went on. ‘And you others – you passengers – you must decide which of you wish to go. You will be taken to Seals’ Island and the other nearby island as soon as possible.’
‘But what shall we do for victuals? How shall we survive?’ asked one of the crowd.
‘Those of you sent to other islands will have sufficient food and water to last a week. After that, I shall send someone to check how you fare.’ He went on. ‘But undoubtedly there is food and water to be had on the other islands, and you will flourish.’
‘Will you leave a boat there with us if we go?’ asked a tired-looking woman cradling a baby.
‘No,’ said Corneliez, smoothly. ‘The boats will stay here.’
Then, gesturing that no more questions would be answered, Corneliez strode off towards his tent.
The next morning, Weibbe Hayes and his group of some twenty soldiers set off for High Island, to be rowed there by some of the sailors. Jan was sad to see Weibbe leave the island and he went down to the shore to see him off.
Officers helped them load the boats. The sailors who were to escort the group took up their positions and those left behind shoved the vessels into the waves.
Weibbe gave Jan a mock salute. ‘When you see smoke rising from High Island, boy,’ he said, ‘then you’ll know we’ve found food and water.’
Jan nodded. But he couldn’t help noticing that they had hardly any provisions on board with them and no weapons. He stared after the boats until they rounded the point and were lost to sight.
The two boats came back to the island later that day, and the next day all the others left. They were mostly passengers – families with children – and a few sailors and servants. They had collected what little they possessed and Corneliez was standing between the two boats as they bobbed up and down in the waves.
Jan watched them crowding on to the boats, enfolding their children and protecting their possessions. The sailors heaved two barrels of water and one of pickled vegetables into each boat.
The Blue-Eyed Aborigine Page 4