To Die a Dry Death: The True Story of the Batavia Shipwreck

by Greta van Der Rol

  At last only Pelgrom remained, sobbing and gasping with fear. Thin, narrow-chested, hardly more than a boy, with a shock of tangled hair and a scrappy beard, he trembled in unconcealed terror.

  But Lucretia remembered the ridiculous peacock, parading around in his red coat, brandishing a sword and shouting oaths. “Who wants their ears boxed? Who wants to be killed? I can do that very beautifully. I wish I saw devils now. Come, all you devils.” Eighteen he may be but Cornelis Aldersz the net-maker had been ten or twelve.

  “Please, please, Commandeur. Please,” Pelgrom begged as the soldiers dragged him past two still-twitching bodies to the steps under the last noose. “Please, I don’t want to die. Please let me live just a little longer. Leave me somewhere, sail away, only don’t take my life, I beg you.” He’d wet his pants. The urine left a trail in the dust on his bare legs.

  ‘As ye sow, so shall ye reap’ thought Lucretia. Easy now to beg forgiveness. Not so long ago he begged Cornelisz to be allowed to kill someone. Anyone. Not so long ago he wept when the sword was snatched from his hand.

  Pelsaert raised a hand. “Wait.” He walked over to where the members of the Council stood together in a group.

  Surely not. Surely the commandeur would not listen to the blandishments of this evil Devil’s pup.

  Pelsaert turned to the gathered audience. “We of the Council have conferred and have decided, on account of his youth, to listen to Jan Pelgrom’s pleas and grant him his life. He will be marooned on an island or the South Land, according to the best opportunity.”

  Pelgrom collapsed, weeping and blabbering incoherent thanks.

  “Put him with the others on Sardam,” said Pelsaert.

  It was over.

  Lucretia walked back to the boats with Judyck and her father. No word was spoken. What more was there to say?

  Pelsaert came and sat beside her. He seemed tired and bent, much older than his years. “What now?” she asked him.

  “Now, we recover as much of the Company’s assets and we sail for Batavia as soon as may be.”

  “When will that be?”

  Pelsaert gazed up at the clouds that marched across the sky and at the waves, their tops now frothing in a freshening breeze. “As soon as the weather allows.”

  40

  Pelsaert raised his quill and waited for the deck to settle. Really, he should have written his journal on the island, where the wind might howl through the tent canvas but at least the ground stayed still. In the lull before the next wave hit he scribbled his notes. Day after day had been the same. Fair weather on the fifth, so they’d raised a brass cannon and then nothing again for days. Even without the infernal wind, the waves on the reef were hollow and dangerous. And all this while, the rest of the scoundrels sat below decks and the survivors of this horrible catastrophe waited, no doubt reminded every day of the dreadful things they had witnessed. What Jan Pieterszoon Coen would have to say, he could not imagine.

  The ship heaved again, creaking and groaning.

  A pity he could not have brought them all to justice in Batavia. But even now, his ship would bulge with valuables; a sore temptation to Godless men. Heaven only knows what Cornelisz might have achieved, had he still been here to enchant men with his words. If he closed his eyes he could still see Cornelisz’s strange hazel eyes staring at him as the man spoke his final words. Revenge, he’d said. Pelsaert shivered. The fever; only the fever. God, he longed to go home, to Antwerp. But first he must placate the Company, or he would go home a beggar.

  Ten money chests they had recovered and in Pelsaert’s own sea chest were stored the Great Cameo and the treasures left behind on Traitors’ Island. Pity about the other money chest, thought Pelsaert as he checked the inventory. But the divers had done well, given the weather and the dangerous conditions. They hadn’t yet found the eleventh chest. The twelfth; oh well. The men had collected those of the coins they could see.

  What else? The remaining trade goods—cloth, clothing, mercury, cochineal and so on, and a few boxes of tinsel. Kegs of wine and vinegar. Brass cannon, iron cannon, wood, soiled linen, lead. But would it be enough? He’d sent the boats out to scour all the nearby islets but the incessant inclement weather had impeded the work so often.

  He looked up at the sound of steps. Captain Jacopsz stood at the door. “Come in, Captain. Anything more to report?”

  “The wind has not abated. Not one jot. But even so, we’ve been to the Cats’ Island and filled our water barrels. We’ve scoured the islands round about. I don’t think there is much more to salvage.” He poured himself a measure of wine. “Some of the men fishing say they saw a small vinegar barrel drifting on the reef. They couldn’t reach it because of the surf. But what’s a barrel of vinegar worth?”

  “It must be fetched,” said Pelsaert. “The Company expects us to recover everything we possibly can,” he said in response to Jacopsz’s surprised glance. Coen’s orders rang in his ears: ‘Salvage and save everything you can lay hands on…’

  Jacopsz swallowed his wine. “I’ll go myself, sir, in the morning.”

  “Do that. And then search along as far as you can on the small islands along the reef. In these waters goods can be scattered far and wide. So prepare yourself to stay out overnight if necessary.”

  A shadow passed across Jacopsz’s face. “It’s dangerous weather for a small boat.”

  Pelsaert’s jaw tightened. Must these infernal sailors always wish to contradict his orders? “See to it, Captain.”

  *

  “Has the commandeur said anything to you about when we might leave this awful place?” asked Judyck. “It is so full of memories and sadness. Everywhere we go.”

  Lucretia gazed down at the plot where Judyck’s mother and her brothers and sisters lay. Already the endless wind had smoothed the ground, etching away traces of disturbance. Soon, no one would ever guess what lay beneath the parched dirt.

  “When I ask he tells me ‘when the job is done’. He means to collect every piece of driftwood and nail that he can find, it seems. Come, let us walk.” Lucretia turned towards the sea. “At least the wind has abated a little.”

  “Do you like the captain?” asked Judyck.

  Lucretia smiled. “Oh, he’s nice enough. Polite, attentive. But I have had my fill of sailors, I think. And you; what do your think of Wiebbe Hayes, the Company’s latest officer?”

  Judyck flushed and a twinkle appeared in her dark eyes. “He is nice.”

  “And a hero. Does your father approve?”

  “Father is preoccupied with other things.” Judyck chewed at her lip, deep in her own thoughts. “His faith is strong but God has tested him.”

  “God has tested us all.”

  They walking along the shoreline between Batavia’s Graveyard and the Seals’ Island. Lucretia’s steps faltered. She stared across the choppy waters to the white sand. Not so easy to see the scaffolds now. For the first days they were obvious because of the birds. The majestic eagles gathered for a time but later only the gulls came to feed. A few birds still circled, marking the spot. It seemed some of the bodies had fallen. Or parts of them had.

  “Lucretia?”

  Judyck’s voice jolted her out her reverie. The girl was frowning, mashing her lips. “Do you think Jeronimus was a demon?” she repeated. “That he enchanted all the others?” She plucked at her skirt. “It’s just… Coenraat was so nice on the ship. And then he became…”

  A demon. Lucretia remembered the shadow that passed across the island when Cornelisz died, as if something had left him. His spirit, or something else.

  “I don’t know. I confess that sometimes it was as though two people inhabited his body. The one polite, well-spoken, refined and…” she took a breath. Passionate, sensual, a man able to rouse feelings in her she had never experienced before. “And the other…”

  They stood together on the wind-blown shore, watching the endless procession of white-crested waves chase each other down the channel.

  “I was g
oing to say evil,” said Lucretia. “But Jeronimus was not evil. The Devil is evil. He harms for amusement. He likes to cause pain, watch suffering. I don’t think Jeronimus was like that. He always said that God worked through him; that he did what he did for the good of all.”

  Judyck’s jaw dropped. “Good of all? He killed my family for the good of all? How can you say that?”

  “It’s not what I believe. It is what he said.”

  “He laughed when Matthijs Beer cut off Cornelis’s head. He laughed. And then he stood and looked at the poor boy’s body as he would a dog’s.” Judyck stood with hands on hips, face flushed, furious.

  “I do not excuse him, Judyck,” said Lucretia. Cornelisz had looked at the corpse as he would a strange beast, something unusual. Matthijs Beer had been gleeful, full of the joy of killing. Cornelisz had seemed merely… curious. But Judyck would never listen to such words.

  “He was evil,” said Judyck. “Now he is with the Devil in the pits of Hell. If he was not a demon, I hope he burns for all eternity, feeling the pain he visited on us. And if a demon inhabited his body, that the demon laughs at him.”

  “I’m sure that was his fate,” replied Lucretia.

  They walked together back to the tents, while Lucretia dwelt on Cornelisz’s last remarks. She almost heard him argue his case in her mind. We had not enough supplies for all. Is it best that all must suffer and die? Should we not try to ensure that some will survive? Those strongest, fittest?

  Well, God would be his judge.

  *

  “Still no sign?” asked Pelsaert.

  “No, Commandeur. We should search for them. It’s been four days now. Yesterday’s storm could have finished them.” Claas Gerritsz’s tone was neutral but Pelsaert sensed disapproval.

  “Captain Jacopsz is an experienced seaman and there are only five in the boat. We withstood as bad with forty-eight.”

  “Captain Adriaen Jacobsz is one of the best,” said Gerritsz. “And we had an excellent crew. Five may not be enough to handle a boat in a storm such as that.”

  “Then he should have taken more men,” snapped Pelsaert. Not fair, he knew. Five was all they could spare for that duty. “Well, prepare the yawl with provisions and send the under steersman to search.” He flapped a hand at the upper steersman. “Immediately.”

  If it wasn’t enough that the divers couldn’t work on the wreck, now this. The men had found the eleventh chest but a cannon lay across it. With the larger, sturdier longboat, they might have been able to move the cannon aside. But the captain had taken the longboat on his errand. Ah, well. God grant that the boat returned soon.

  “It has been ten days since Captain Jacopsz set out, six since we sighted the longboat. Truth be told, it was a dangerous venture from the outset.”

  The upper steersman stood in front of Pelsaert, his hat in his hands, outwardly respectful yet Pelsaert saw his anger in the set of his brows. Let him be angry. He would not have to face the Lord Governor in Batavia.

  “It is our duty as servants of the Company to recover as much of the assets as we can. Lost, may I remind you, because of the negligence of Captain Adriaen Jacobsz,” said Pelsaert.

  “It’s as if the wind and the sea are against us,” said Gerritsz.

  Yes, Pelsaert had felt that, too. Three weeks since Cornelisz had breathed his last and yet the winds blew, the sea raged and now five more men would have to be considered dead. Revenge, he had said. He would have revenge. A finger of ice slid down Pelsaert’s spine. It had been so rough that for a few days the ship hadn’t even been able to land victuals for those still on the islands.

  “I think we must assume the captain and his comrades are lost,” said Pelsaert, his heart heavy. “I will ask the predikant to conduct a memorial service so that we might pray for their souls.”

  41

  “That’s it?” Pelsaert gazed down at the carpenters’ chest and the two silver dishes on the deck in front of the diver’s feet.

  “On my honour, good sir. There is nothing more to be found.”

  Pelsaert waved the man away. Two months, near on, they had spent here, battling the waves and the weather. And now the water in the wells of the Cats’ Island had failed. Excuse enough to leave here at last. And he should also address the matter of the remaining delinquents, still awaiting punishment. That, at least, could be considered as they sailed.

  “Prepare to sail, Captain,” said Pelsaert to Joopszoon, Sardam’s high boatswain. “Send the boats out to collect the people on the islands and the last of the Company’s goods.”

  “Aye, sir,” said Joopszoon. He hesitated. “Do you intend we should search for the smoke we saw a few weeks ago?”

  “Oh, yes. We must go to the South Land to pass sentence on Loos and Pelgrom. We can but hope the captain and his crew have survived.”

  Joopszoon stepped away to give his orders, Pelsaert’s eyes on his back. He’d almost detected relief; as if he’d thought Pelsaert would not have looked for the missing men. Foolishness. But surely he understood that as commandeur, Pelsaert’s first loyalty must always be to the Company?

  He smiled as Lucretia, sad and distant but lovely as ever, stepped onto the deck, Judyck and her father close behind. “We sail for Batavia soon, my lady,” he said, bowing over her hand.

  “I shall be glad to leave, Commandeur,” she said.

  “Please, let me show you your quarters. You will understand that conditions are crowded, but I have done my best for you.” He led her to a curtained alcove. “The predikant and his daughter will stay here,” he indicated another section of the same cabin. Bastiaensz, who had followed with his daughter, nodded approval.

  “I’m sure it will be comfortable enough. I thank you,” said Lucretia.

  She smiled another frosty smile and Pelsaert sensed the invisible barrier between them, as he had since he arrived at the island. He wondered, not for the first time, if she thought he had abandoned the people when he left in the longboat. And yet again berated himself for lacking the courage to ask.

  *

  Lucretia stood at the stern, the wind on her right cheek as the Sardam sailed east. The High Islands lay behind, their hills mounds. The ship rolled a little as it sailed past the long spit that marked the end of the Seals’ Island and into the more turbulent water of the channel. Lucretia narrowed her eyes, striving for a last view of the scaffolds and thought perhaps she could see sticks in the distance. An eagle soared, wings spread. Surely now there would be little left, even for a bird.

  And there, little more than a white line in the endless ocean, Batavia’s Graveyard, empty now but for bits and pieces—very few—not considered worthy of a place in Sardam’s hold. A graveyard indeed. Last resting place for how many souls? Ten? Twelve? Twenty? Would their ghosts rise on a moonlit night and perhaps cross the channel to the scaffolds? Or would they float to the distant reef where the Batavia’s corpse lay, protected by the surf?

  Judyck leaned against the stern rail, Wiebbe Hayes beside her. Lucretia wished them joy.

  *

  “An inlet, Commandeur, I’m sure of it,” said Gerritsz. He shaded his eyes with his hand and pointed at the shore, where a cannon-shot away, the surf dashed against the fringing reef. “I reckon that’s the inlet we sought to enter when the storm hit us on the eighth of June. And see? Smoke.”

  The smoke, a thin spiral, rose into a bright sky. Hope rose. Perhaps now at last, away from the cursed islands, they might have some good fortune.

  “Take a boat. See if you can find our people.”

  So long ago, thought Pelsaert, as the longboat pulled towards the coast. More than four months. He didn’t recognise the place himself—but then, he was no sailor.

  He paced the deck, anxious and expectant as a new father, until the boat appeared. But no extra people sat inside.

  Gerritsz’s face betrayed his disappointment. “No sign of our missing sailors, sir. I had such hope.” He shrugged. “The fires disappeared so I think it must have been black
s. We saw many footprints and paths going up into the hills, but no people.”

  Pelsaert sighed. He had hoped, too.

  “We found water, though,” added Gerritsz. “The river crosses a bar. On the sea side the water is brackish but we found it fresh on the other side. We can at least fill our barrels.”

  “That we can do,” said Pelsaert. “And this will also be a good time to carry out sentence on Wouter Loos and Jan Pelgrom. You fetch the water barrels, Claas. I will have the quartermaster prepare a boat for the miscreants.”

  *

  “Bring the prisoners,” ordered Pelsaert.

  Hayes jerked his head and two soldiers went down the forward companionway to the hold where the scoundrels were kept. To the east the South Land loomed, protected by its fringe of reef and cliff.

  The rest of the ship’s company and the survivors lined the decks, solemn and expectant, as Pelgrom and Loos were pushed forward. The last leader of Cornelisz’s followers stood grim-faced and upright, looking neither left nor right. Pelgrom, thin and pale, stood beside him, eyes downcast, rubbing his wrist where the irons had left their mark. Both men wore shoes and coats.

  “He killed my brother,” muttered Judyck, gaze fixed on Loos. “With an adze. I hope the savages kill him and eat him. And then he burns in Hell with Jeronimus.”

  “Judyck!” her father admonished.

  Her feelings were understandable, thought Lucretia. But whatever else Loos had done, the killings stopped when he took command. And he had protected both her and Judyck from any assault. A murderer he was, but not like Jan Hendricxsz or Matthijs Beer.

  Pelgrom, now. That was another matter. He seemed a little more composed than he had been when he faced the noose but still he snivelled. She wondered how much help he would be to Loos.

  Pelsaert finished reading the charges and the sentence.

  “I have a letter here for you,” he said, handing the document to Loos. “These are your orders. In summary, we have prepared a boat for you which contains some basic supplies for a few days as well as gifts, toys, beads and small mirrors which you can use as trade goods. There are Blacks here on this land. Man’s luck is found in strange places. If God guards you, you will suffer no harm from them. They have never seen white men and may offer you friendship.