The Blue-Eyed Aborigine

by Rosemary Hayes

  ‘Only fighting men this time,’ said Corneliz curtly, when Jan begged to go too.

  All day Jan paced up and down the shoreline waiting for the boats to return but when, at last, they came into view and those left on the island shouted at the sailors and soldiers for news, there were no answering shouts. The men simply rowed on in grim silence.

  The silence made Jan nervous. He stared at the boats looking for Corneliez, but there was no sign of him.

  He waded out into the water as far as he dared. ‘Where is the Under Merchant?’ he yelled, as the boats came in closer. But his words were snatched away by the wind.

  The people on the shore crowded round the returning sailors and soldiers, and Jan found himself shoved out of the way.

  ‘What news? Is Weibbe defeated?’

  Jan didn’t hear the answer, but he did hear a shout of disbelief from the man standing next to him.

  ‘Captured! Captured, you say? Who is captured?’

  ‘Corneliez.’

  Everyone spoke at once, and the crowd surged forward to hear more.

  ‘Quiet!’ It was one of the Council members. ‘Let us hear what happened.’ He pointed to one of the sailors. ‘You, man. Tell us.’

  The sailor had a gruff voice. ‘We were fools,’ he said. ‘We should have known Wiebbe for the slippery eel he is.’

  ‘What happened?’

  The sailor cleared his throat. ‘Weibbe must have suspected something,’ he said. ‘As soon as Corneliez and his party landed, Wiebbe’s men rushed at them.’

  ‘Didn’t you fire from the boat?’ asked someone.

  The sailor nodded. ‘Our covering fire caught some of Weibbe’s men, but not before Corneliez was overpowered and taken prisoner.’

  Another soldier continued, ‘As soon as we saw what was happening, we went ashore, but we were driven back. Wiebbe’s men were too strong for us.’

  Jan felt as though a knife had been turned in his innards. The Under Merchant captured! What would happen to them now? Without the Under Merchant they were nothing.

  Now there was no one to cook for, wash and clean for, and strike the ship’s bell for.

  He wandered around in a daze.

  A little way off he saw a group of soldiers talking urgently outside one of the tents. After a while, they went their separate ways. Wouter Looes headed towards Jan.

  ‘What are you going to do, Wouter?’ asked Jan.

  Wouter looked at Jan. ‘We must attack Hayes again and rescue the Under Merchant,’ he said. ‘The others have put me in charge.’ Then, as he was walking away, he stopped briefly and turned back. ‘We can do nothing without Corneliez,’ he said. ‘We must have leadership.’

  Later that night there was a commotion in one of the womens’ tents. It seemed that, as soon as Lucretia had heard of Corneliez’s capture, she had left his tent and gone to sleep with some of the other women who had not been selected by members of the Council. Now some of the soldiers had come looking for her, intent on forcing themselves on her.

  But they had reckoned without Wouter. Jan heard his voice raised in anger. ‘I am your leader now!’ he yelled. ‘You have elected me, and I give the orders. Leave the lady alone! That is my order, and anyone who disobeys it will feel my dagger in their heart.’

  There was a sullenness now among the mutineers, and the atmosphere was worse than ever. There was not much left of the food salvaged from Batavia, but they had all learnt to gather what little the island afforded and to preserve the rainwater. Even so, many had sores and infections, and blisters from exposure to sun and wind.

  The soldiers talked of having seen leaping, furry creatures on High Island with huge back legs, tiny front legs and doe-like eyes. These, and the big birds that nested nearby, had clearly provided Hayes and his men with a good supply of meat – and Hayes had sunk wells on the island so water was plentiful too. It was no wonder that they were stronger.

  These were compelling reasons for defeating Weibbe and his men. Everyone was desperate, not only for vengeance, but also for good food and fresh water.

  Two weeks after Corneliez’s capture by Wiebbe, Wouter was ready to attack, and once again, the boats set off for High Island. This time, Jan was pressed into action.

  ‘Make yourself useful, Jan,’ Wouter said. ‘You say you enjoy killing. Let’s see what you are made of.’

  Reluctantly, Jan climbed into one of the boats. His lust for blood wasn’t as strong now and he didn’t feel brave at all without the Under Merchant’s protection. The soldiers with him were working themselves into a frenzy – boasting of what they would do to those they captured.

  Jan joined in their talk, but he knew he was no match for a fighting man. He might have killed a half-dead cabin boy and he had helped kill a couple of other passengers, but he was a weakling. Wiebbe Hayes’s men were sure to be well-disciplined, and Jan would be cut down in an instant. The soldiers in the boat had muskets and sharpened bayonets, but Jan was only given a dagger with which to defend himself.

  ‘No good wasting good weapons on you, boy,’ joked one of the soldiers, drawing a horny hand across the sharp blade of his bayonet.

  As they drew closer to High Island, Jan could hear his heart pounding and feel the blood singing in his ears.

  At last they rounded the point, the island came into view and the sailors guided the home-made craft through the breaking waves and on to the shore.

  Wouter went round each group in turn.

  ‘You have your orders,’ he said quietly. ‘See that you carry them out. If you kill traitors, so much the better, but we must rescue Corneliez.’

  ‘Look behind you, Wouter,’ said one of the soldiers, pointing. They all looked – and Jan tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. On the dunes above them, Wiebbe’s men had appeared and were lined up, ready. There were no muskets or bayonets to be seen, but they were armed with homemade clubs and slings and pikes.

  ‘We knew they’d be expecting us,’ said Wouter fiercely. ‘Just remember what we agreed.’

  ‘Aye’, said the men with one voice. Then Wouter shouted orders and Corneliez’s followers swarmed up the beach, some swinging bayonets round their heads and others firing muskets.

  Jan ran with them, but all at once he stumbled and tripped, and by the time he had righted himself he was behind the rest. Weibbe’s men might be stronger, but Wouter and the others were desperate. This was their last chance. Without Corneliez they would not survive. Without food and water they would not survive.

  Jan tried to run forward to join the others. He must not be branded a coward! But when he put weight on his ankle, he realised that he could hardly walk, let alone fight.

  Desperately he looked about him. The fighting above and beyond him was fierce. There were screams and shouts and gunfire. As he listened, the noise grew more distant. What did that mean? Had Wouter and the others gained ground?

  Miserably, he limped a little way towards the sound of the battle, but every step was agony. Furious with himself, he retraced his steps, hoping to huddle out of sight beside one of the boats. But no – the sailors with the boats had rowed a little way out to keep them safe from Wiebbe’s men.

  Jan sat in the shade of a rock at the water’s edge trembling with fear. What would Wouter and his men do to him when they returned? He would be branded a coward.

  He sat there for what seemed like hours, straining his ears. Occasionally he heard the sound of fighting, but it was far away now.

  And then he heard a noise much nearer. Clasping his dagger, he tried to flatten himself against the rock.

  Two men were running down the shore, keeping low and dodging between the dunes. They were running straight for him. They couldn’t avoid seeing him and he could do nothing to defend himself.

  He closed his eyes, waiting for the blow. Then they were upon him.

  ‘Ye gods,’ said one. ‘Who’s this?’

  Fearfully, Jan opened his eyes and looked up.

  It was Weibbe! Wiebbe with one of his
soldiers.

  The soldier raised the club in his hand, but Wiebbe stopped him.

  ‘No. Not yet, soldier. I know this lad.’

  Wiebbe crouched down beside him. ‘Oh, Jan,’ he said. ‘What have they made you do, boy? What has Corneliez turned you into?’

  Slowly, still trembling, Jan raised his eyes and looked up at Wiebbe’s grizzled face. As he stared at him he remembered all the small kindnesses Wiebbe had shown him on board, speaking to him when others ignored him, offering him the last of his water when Jan was desperate with thirst.

  Jan felt a sob rising in his throat. As he looked into Weibbe’s eyes, he began to realise the horror of what he had done. The terror and confusion of the last weeks welled up in him and he clung to Wiebbe, choking and heaving.

  ‘Jan, Jan,’ sighed Weibbe again, shaking his head.

  Then he turned to the soldier. ‘Give me your club and leave us for a moment.’

  ‘But Wiebbe, the ship! We must warn them!’

  ‘Only a moment, I promise you.’

  Then Wiebbe said to Jan. ‘Ask God to forgive you your sins, Jan.’

  ‘Are you going to kill me?’ sobbed Jan.

  Wiebbe shook his head. ‘No, I’m going to tell you something, Jan. We have sighted the Company’s rescue ship, the Sardam, and we’re going to row out to warn those on board what is happening on these islands.’

  He pulled Jan to his feet and pointed. ‘Look, boy. Look over there.’

  Jan rubbed the tears from his eyes and stared at the ship clearly visible a little way off.

  ‘Wiebbe, we must go!’ said his companion. ‘The ship has been sighted by others, too. The Under Merchant’s followers will row out to the Sardam. We must get there first and warn Pelsaert.’

  ‘Aye. I’m coming.’ Then Wiebbe turned to Jan. ‘This is the last favour I shall do for you, boy.’

  And saying that, he swung the club down on to Jan’s head. It was not hard enough to crush his skull, but strong enough to render him senseless. He fell to the ground.

  For a moment Wiebbe stood over him. ‘When they find him, they’ll think he was in the fight. At least those barbarians won’t brand him a coward.’

  Then he and his companion ran on, round the next point to where their homemade boat was hidden.

  Chapter Seven

  Jan remembered little of what happened next. He drifted in and out of consciousness, unaware of the drama unfolding around him.

  Someone lifted him into a boat. Later, he woke up lying under canvas. His befuddled mind couldn’t understand where he was. Feebly, he tried to sit up, but his head was hammering with pain and he closed his eyes again.

  The next time he awoke some hours later, his mind was clearer, though his head still throbbed.

  He sat up and looked around him. It was then he noticed that his legs were shackled and that he was not alone. He was surrounded by faces he knew only too well – the faces of Corneliez’s supporters.

  He leaned over, clutching his head between his hands.

  ‘Where are we?’ he muttered.

  One of the soldiers spat. ‘We’re under guard on Seals’ Island. We’re done for, Jan. That damned Commander has returned.’

  ‘Pelsaert?’

  ‘Aye, Pelsaert. He reached Java and has returned on a Company ship manned with soldiers and Company officials.’

  Another voice drifted to Jan through his pain. ‘Hayes sighted the ship and rowed out to warn him. Then Pelsaert sent his troops to round us up. We didn’t stand a chance. The Company soldiers were armed to the teeth.’

  Vaguely now, Jan remembered Weibbe’s face in front of his own, his arms underneath Jan’s shoulders, forcing him up to look out at the Sardam.

  ‘Where is Corneliez?’ he asked. ‘Is he alive? And has the Captain been brought back here with Pelsaert?’

  ‘The Under Merchant’s alive, all right. He’s being questioned by the Commander. But as for the Captain, no one knows his fate. Pelsaert left him in Java. He won’t be working for the Company again, that’s for certain.’

  ‘And the preacher – and the lady – what of them?’

  ‘They are on board the Sardam.”

  Jan felt dizzy and sick. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry.

  ‘What will happen to us?’ he whispered.

  There was a heavy silence, then a voice he recognised. It was Wouter.

  ‘Expect no mercy, Jan. We are mutineers – and you know what happens to mutineers.’

  Jan lay down again. He turned his face away and sobbed silently into his filthy shirt. Yes – he knew only too well what happened to mutineers.

  Pelsaert was a thorough man. Every one of the mutineers was questioned and tried. Day after day the soldiers and sailors were taken, one by one, to be tried at a makeshift court on Seals’ Island. Corneliez, still arrogant, had boasted of his loyal band of pirates and named them all, so there was little point in denying their guilt – though some did, and only confessed to their crimes under torture.

  Corneliez was the first to be sentenced: to be hanged on Seals’ Island.

  Day after day the verdicts were read out:

  ‘To be hanged on Seals’ Island.’

  ‘To be taken back to Java and his guilt investigated further.’

  ‘To be hanged on Seals’ Island.’

  ‘To be whipped.’

  ‘To be keel-hauled.’

  ‘To be hanged on Seals’ Island.’

  One by one the mutineers were sentenced. Jan waited his turn with the others. Wouter returned just before Jan was taken to see Pelsaert.

  ‘What news, Wouter?’ he asked.

  Wouter shook his head. ‘The Commander hasn’t given me a sentence. He said he would give it more consideration.’

  ‘Why?’

  Wouter shrugged. ‘He heard that I tried to protect Lucretia van der Meylen.’

  ‘Perhaps you will be pardoned.’

  Wouter gave a mirthless laugh. ‘No, Jan. That will never happen.’

  Jan he knew he could expect no mercy. He had been the Under Merchant’s right hand man, he had killed a cabin boy, he had assisted at the killing of women passengers, and he had forced himself on married women.

  When it was his turn he shuffled forward, his head lowered. His crimes were read out and, trying to hold back the tears, he confessed to them.

  ‘How old are you, Jan Pelgrom?’ asked Pelsaert.

  ‘Eighteen, sir.’

  Pelsaert looked up. ‘Only a boy,’ he muttered.

  Then he wrote something down.

  ‘Dismissed,’ he said. ‘To be hanged on Seals’ Island on October the second.’

  October the second. Pelsaert had been thorough but quick. The date for the hangings was fixed only two weeks after the last battle between Weibbe Hayes and the mutineers.

  Jan heard the ship’s carpenters at work making the scaffolds.

  Only a few days left on this earth. He tried to pray, to ask for forgiveness for his crimes, for he feared hell even more than he feared the noose of the hangman. But how could God forgive him for what he had done? He had killed innocent people and forced himself on women. It had seemed right when he had been under the protection of the Under Merchant, when he had revelled in his reflected power, when the killing had been some sort of gruesome game. But Corneliez could protect no one now. He was gone, chained in the bowels of the Sardam.

  And then the fateful day dawned.

  The whole ship’s company of the Sardam and all the mutineers were assembled on Seals’ Island. The preacher was there, too, to say prayers with those who were to die. But all the remaining passengers, including Lucretia, stayed on board the Sardam. They had seen too much death already.

  Jan looked up at the gibbets, ready for their human loads, and at first he was numb. But then, when the names were read out, he started to tremble. He wanted to be brave, but his body let him down and he felt warm liquid spreading in his trousers.

  Corneliez went first. Jan forced him
self to look at the man whom he had followed without question, the man who had made him feel important and who had made him think that to realise their dream of wealth and comfort, they had to kill everyone in their way.

  The preacher started to pray, but the Under Merchant cut him short. He fought to the last, screaming and protesting, but finally he was silenced, and Jan shuddered as he watched Corneliez’s body twitching beneath the rope and heard him choking.

  He didn’t look at the others. He waited his turn, shaking, with his head bowed.

  ‘Jan Pelgrom de Bye!’

  As his name was called, he was pushed forward by one of the soldiers from the Sardam.

  He looked up then – and caught the eye of Pelsaert, who had been watching impassively as each mutineer was hanged.

  All at once, Jan struggled from the grip of the soldier who held him and flung himself at Pelsaert’s feet.

  ‘Please sir, I am too young. Please don’t let me die. I had to do what I did. The Under Merchant forced me and I had to obey him. Please!’

  By now, the soldier had caught hold of him again. ‘Come on, boy,’ he said gruffly.

  But Pelsaert held up his hand. He looked steadily at Jan and then said to the soldier, ‘Take him to the ship. I will give his case further thought.’

  There was a long silence. Jan couldn’t breathe. The soldier pushed him back, muttering, ‘Should be made an example of… a mutineer is a mutineer.’ Dragging Jan along roughly, he threw him in a boat which rowed him out to the Sardam.

  As Jan climbed on board, he saw the preacher’s daughter Judith on deck, talking to Lucretia. They looked at him, amazed.

  ‘Reprieved at the last moment,’ said the soldier. ‘The Commander went all soft on him.’

  Judith looked at Jan. ‘You were kind once to my baby brother, Jan Pelgrom,’ she said. ‘May God have mercy on you.’

  Jan was taken below and shackled. He huddled in a corner, shaking.

  For days Jan was kept there, not knowing his fate. A soldier brought him food and water and emptied his piss bucket, but he was a surly man and Jan could get little information from him.