Nathaniel's nutmeg

by Giles Milton

  else all is gone, and not to be expected hereafter any more trade this way

  This year I have withheld it from them with much difficulty, without any relief or aid ... not so much as one letter from you to advise me what course you intend to take in this business, I having but 38 men to withstand their force and tyranny, which is a very weak strength to withstand their unruly odds of forces. Our wants are extreme; neither have we any victuals or drink, but only rice and water, which had not God sent in four or five junks to have relieved us with rice I must have been fain to have given up ourKing's and Company's right for want of relief, which relief is weak. Therefore I pray you consider well of these affairs, and suffer us not to be forced to yield ourselves into such tyrants hands ... I am determined to hold it out until the next westerly monsoon, in despite of them, or else we are determined all to die in defence of it. At present they have eight ships here, and two gallies, and to my knowledge all fitted and ready to come against us; so I look daily and hourly, and if they win it, by God's help I make no doubt but they shall pay full dearly for it with effusion of much blood.

  Courthope's position had never been weaker. His small force had been decimated by sickness and his supplies were almost non-existent. With just a couple of sacks of rice left in their storehouse, his beleaguered garrison was now forced to subsist on the revolting sago porridge, supplementing their diet with the occasional fish caught in the waters surrounding Nailaka. 'Had not foure of five Javafnese] junkes come in,' he wrote in his diary, 'for want of victuals we must have given up; and still [we] live on rice only, with a little fish, which in foule weather is not to be found.' Worse still, they were 'daily expecting an assault from the Hollanders' and had to keep a constant watch from the battlements. Such threatened attacks rarely materialised, but the fear of assault wearied the men who were already suffering the effects of prolonged hardship and starvation. Yet Courthope continued to exert a powerful influence over both his own men and the local islanders and when the Dutch attempted a landing on Run some weeks after the Solomon's capture, the invading force was crushed by a group of Bandanese warriors.

  Courthope managed to stay in close contact with the English prisoners; both those from the Swan and the Defence, and also the survivors from the Solomon. Under the cover of darkness, his Bandanese troops repeatedly put to sea and smuggled letters to and from the English held on Ai Island and Neira. One of the first replies he received was from Cassarian David whose decision to surrender the Solomon had earned him good treatment at the hands of the Dutch. Ignorant of Courthope s anger about the manner in which he submitted, he wrote to the English commander gleefully explaining that 'my selfe with one English boy to attend me remayne on Pooloway, where the Generall and his Councill doe abide, at whose hands I doe daily find much favour and kind usage.'

  The same could not be said of the other English prisoners. Most had been incarcerated in Fort Revenge on Ai Island from whose dungeons there was no hope of escape. Chained together by the neck and with nowhere to relieve themselves, conditions soon became intolerable. The Dutch made life even less bearable by their routine humiliation of their captives. 'They pissed and **** upon our heads,' wrote Bartholomew Churchman, 'and in this manner we lay, untill such time as we were broken out from top to toe like lepers, having nothing to eat but durtie rice, and stinking rainewater.' That they were still alive at all, he writes, is thanks to a Dutch woman 'named Mistris Cane, and some poore blackes, that brought us a little fruit'.

  Others had similar complaints. 'We were very hardly and inhumanely used,' wrote one, 'being fettered and shackelled in the day time, and close locked up at nights.' 'They keep many of us fast bound and fettered in irons,' recorded another, 'in most loathsome and darke stinking dungeons, and give us no sustenance, but a little durtie rice to eat ... many have dyed, who were fetcht out of the dungeons and so basely buried, more like dogges than Christians.' Those that dared to complain were given an even harsher regime. Churchman found himself 'clapt in irons and [placed] in the raine and the cold stormes of the night, and in the day time where the hot sunne shone upon him, and scorched him, without any shelter at all'. All this was because he berated a Dutchman for insulting King James Is wife. Others would be set in the sun until they were blistered with sunburn, then chained below the sewers 'where their ordures and pisse fell upon them in the night'.

  Courthope was even more horrified to learn that the English prisoners were being used as pawns in a nasty game of propaganda played out by the Dutch governor- general. 'Lawrence Reael ... caused grates and cages to be made in their ship, and did put us therein, and carryed us in them bound in irons from port to port amongst the Indians, and thus in scornfull and deriding manner and sort spake unto the Indians as followeth: "Behold and see, heere is the people of that Nation, whose King you care so much for." '

  After many months of such treatment the English prisoners could endure no more and wrote to the Dutch governor-general pleading for mercy. But to their dismay they found that Reael had been replaced by an even less compromising individual, a man they knew as John Peter Sacone but whose real name was Jan Pieterzoon Coen. They begged him to 'consider of our extreame wants and miseries, and help us to some better sustenance'. Unfortunately they could not have picked a worse man to ask for clemency for Coen 'most wickedly replied with base speeches, and bade us be gone, and trouble him no more; for if we did, he would cause us all to be hanged speedily'. Courthope wrote frequent letters to the prisoners urging them to bear their trials with fortitude: 'For make no question but this year to be all set free ... [and] what extremity the Dutch useth unto you,' he told them, 'they shall have their measure full and abounding either in gentleness or rigour; and whereas they have heretofore protested fire and sword, fire and sword they shall have repaid unto their bosoms. 'The English prisoners never forgot their grievances, reserving particular hatred for Coen, and long after the Run saga had drawn to a conclusion the survivors continued to complain of their hardships and demand compensation from the Dutch government.

  Courthope's had ceased to count the passing weeks and months. Each new day brought boredom and fear, punctuated by lengthy watch duties from the battlements and an endless battle against hunger. The little pinnace that Courthope had managed to acquire from a passing junk proved to be of little use. After a single journey to the island of Ceram, from which she returned laden with yet more sago, she was 'so full of leakes ... that we haled her on shoare and found her so rotten that we saved what we could and set fire on the rest'. When the rains failed to materialise in the autumn of 1618, the island's water reserves became precariously low and were soon so teeming with tropical parasites and worms that the men had to drink through clenched teeth to sieve out the fauna. At one point a group of them could stand their hardships no longer and threatened Courthope with mutiny. For a while the situation looked desperate but Courthope's 'mild carriage and earnest protestations' won them back and the men eventually repented.

  It was not until January 1619, more than two years after they had arrived on Run, that the English had an inkling of good news. A local junk which managed to sail undetected into the harbour brought a letter arrived from Bantam, a letter written by Sir Thomas Dale who had sailed from England with a huge armada. 'Master Courthope,' began Sir Thomas's letter, 'as unknown I remember my love, which I will always be ready to express in respect of your worthy service for the honour of our country and the benefit of our honourable employers.' His mission was to expel the Dutch from Java and when that had been accomplished he intended to race eastwards to relieve Courthope's brave band of men. Attached to his letter was a note from John Jourdain who had returned to the Indies with Dale's fleet to take up his new position as 'President of the English' living in the East. Jourdain promised that as soon as the Dutch had been defeated, 'we determine to proceed for Banda ... hoping in God that we shall be able to lay some part of their insolent pride.'

  Courthope was most pleased to learn that the English fleet was und
er the command of Sir Thomas Dale. Dale was a man of great experience, a 'heroike Hon', who had excelled in a number of different capacities. Previous to his employment with the East India Company he had been selected by the Virginia Company in London to serve as governor of their fledgling colony in America, 'the hardest task he ever undertook,' but one he carried out with such aplomb that he left the colony 'in great prosperity and peace'. When he arrived back in England in 1616, he did so in style, bringing with him the celebrated Indian princess Pocahontas. Soon after his return, Dale was called to a meeting with the East India Company and was offered the job of chief commander of a critical expedition to the

  East. He accepted and was given the command of five ships and an annual salary of £480.

  The outward journey was not without its incidents. At the Cape both Dale and Jourdain almost drowned when a little skiff capsized, whilst a few weeks later the aged and corpulent Captain Parker, vice admiral of the fleet, dropped dead. Far more serious was an accident at Java when Dale's magnificent flagship, the Sun, was wrecked on the island of Engano. The heavy loss of life troubled Dale less than the fact that he had lost his possessions and he bemoaned in a letter to London that 'the Sun was cast away, wherein I lost all that I had in that ship to my shirt.' He later returned to the site of the wreck to see if he could recover his goods but was disappointed to find nothing of value. Although a number of his crew had managed to swim ashore, not a single one was left alive and the only trace of their existence was a pile of eighteen skulls lying on the beach. As revenge for this apparent act of cannibalism Dale shot two natives, burned their houses and cut down all their trees. Such a response was typical of this pugnacious commander who was ruthless in his revenge. Punctilious in official matters and slow to give praise, he was feared rather than loved by his men. 'It was always "I will and require" wrote one of his juniors,' "this must be done," and "this shall be done," and yet in the end we must signe what he says.' All too often he allowed his temper to overrule his judgement, a fault which would prove dangerous when pitched against the calm detachment of Jan Coen.

  The loss of the Sun sharpened Dale's resolve and he determined to revenge himself on the Dutch. As he sailed towards the Javanese coast he spied a richly laden Dutch ship called the Black Lion sailing through the straits. He promptly set upon her and the ship was soon captured.

  Continuing towards Bantam he was delighted to see a large number of other English vessels at anchor, bringing his total fleet to no less than fifteen ships — 'the bay was not large enough to harbour them all.'

  The Dutch were now seriously alarmed and Coen immediately sent a letter of protest to Dale demanding the release of the Black Lion. When Dale was handed this letter he 'only scolded, stamped on the ground, swore, cursed [and asked] why the letter was written in Dutch and not in French, Spanish or any other language'. He finally sent the messenger on his way, 'swearing and cursing that he would take all he could get.'

  Dale was driven by revenge, as he admitted in his letter to Courthope: 'My stay [in Bantam] is to revenge the abuses received from them [the Dutch], having now an opportunity by a difference between them and the King of Jakarta.' Jakarta, a small port that lay fifty miles to the east of Bantam, had become increasingly important to the Dutch: Coen found life in Bantam intolerable and petitioned the King of Jakarta for permission to build a fort in his town, intending to make it the future centre of Dutch activities. A few weeks later he learned that the English were also in the process of erecting a fortified factory, presumably to stop the Dutch from gaining the upper hand. In the ensuing game of cat and mouse the Dutch retaliated for the capture of the Black Lion by burning this factory to the ground.

  Dale toyed with the idea of destroying the Dutch factory in Bantam but was soon struck by an altogether more destructive plan. With a large fleet at his disposal and the Hollanders in the middle of moving to Jakarta, he made a pact with the native ruler and vowed to wipe them out altogether. Coen panicked: 'I am sitting here in a cage,' he wrote, 'surrounded by various bulwarks and batteries, the river closed with piles, and a very strong battery at the place of the English.' Realising that an attack was imminent and defeat a certainty, he convened an emergency council and, after much deliberation, it was decided to withdraw most of the men to the ships and contest the issue at sea.

  On the morning of 30 December 1618, the English fleet gathered within sight ofjakarta. Dale had eleven ships at his disposal, with four more left to protect Bantam, while Coen had just seven ships, many of them in a deplorable state. He was outnumbered and outgunned and had a total fighting force of just seventy men. Yet Dale seemed in no hurry to press the attack and spent the day sailing to and fro, hoping that the sight of his vastly superior fleet would weaken the Dutch resolve. In the afternoon he sent a messenger to Coen demanding that his entire fleet surrender. Coen refused, only to be informed that the English admiral intended to sink each and every ship.When Coen shrugged off this threat a battle became a certainty and the two sides spent that night, New Year's Eve, in a state of nervous excitement. Yet it was not until 2 January, after another day's stand-off, that the battle finally began. The two fleets fought all day, 'a cruel bloody fight,' according to Sir Thomas,'with 3,000 great shot between both the fleets, many men maimed and slain on both sides, but they had (as we are given to understand) four times as many men slain and maimed as we'. The English should have trounced the Dutch; as it was, they appeared hesitant and defensive, the unfortunate consequence of Dale's armada consisting of three separate ventures, each with its own commander who refused to risk his own ships for the common good. As night closed the battle still hung in the balance.

  Coen called a council of war to decide what to do. The

  Dutch were now in a perilous position for their ammunition had run low, they had numerous wounded and their vessels were scarcely seaworthy. Some argued in favour of retreat, others wanted to continue the fight, but 'all glumly looked at each other, not being able to come up with the answer.'

  It was the English who made up their minds. As dawn broke, Dale's fleet was joined by another three ships (those from Bantam) and he prepared to renew the battle. Coen immediately ordered his men to hoist the sails and head for the Banda Islands.The indomitable Dutch were in retreat.

  It was now that Dale made his greatest mistake. He should have chased after Coen with his overwhelmingly superior force and pressed the battle to its inevitable conclusion. Instead, he chose to remain where he was, arguing that Coen's flight would enable him to capture their Dutch headquarters .Yet a letter to London reveals that he was doubtful about his strategy and wondered if he had made the wrong decision: 'Their fleet [sailed] away eastward for Banda,' he wrote,'... and so by this means we lost them which troubled me very much.'

  Coen also wrote home, castigating the Seventeen for their lack of support and for not listening to his warnings. 'And now see what has happened,' he said, informing them that the Company is faced with 'a thousand perils ... even if the Almighty wills us his best'. He ended the letter with a stark warning: 'If your Lordships have no intention to send me yearly large numbers of ships, people, and other necessities, I pray once more that you release me at the soonest, because without such means I cannot execute your wishes.'

  In the event, the Dutch were saved by Dale's hesitancy. Had he defeated Coen at sea he would have been able to return to Jakarta, seize their headquarters, then sail to the Banda Islands and relieve Courthope and his men. Instead, he allowed the Dutch fleet to escape intact and even bungled the storming of their fort, snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. Dale now lost heart completely. Rankled by the feeling that he failed where he should have been victorious, he ordered his fleet to sail for India's Coromandel Coast. The voyage was a tiresome one for his officers were close to mutiny and more than eighty of his crew died at sea. Soon after arriving at Masulipatam, Dale became grievously ill and, for the next twenty days, he fought his illness, talking contemptuously of death and testifying to hi
s good Christianity. On 19 July 1619, he 'departed this life in peace' and his body was 'enclosed and housed in form of a tomb, which is almost finished'.

  Coen was oveijoyed when he heard of Dale's death but was soon to learn of even better news. His old adversary, John Jourdain, had taken charge of two ships and, concerned about his friend Nathaniel Courthope, set sail for the East. But no sooner had he reached a sheltered harbour on the Malay Peninsula than he realised he was being tailed by three Dutch vessels. These blocked the harbour's entrance and attacked the English while they were at anchor. Jourdain fought fiercely but when almost fifty men had been killed he raised the flag of truce and prepared to negotiate. 'He showed himself aboard the Sampson before the main mast ... where the Flemings espying him, most treacherously shot at him with a musket, and shot him into the body near the heart, of which wound he died within half an hour after.' His death caused a scandal, particularly when everyone questioned confirmed that he was in the midst of negotiating a surrender. 'Our noble minded President was slain in parley with Henrie Johnson [the Dutch commander],' wrote one crew member. 'The President had sounded a parley and in talking with Hendrike Johnson received his death wound with a musket,' recorded another. Others claimed that Coen himself had ordered Jourdain's death. 'General John Peter Sacone [Coen] gave Hendrike Jansen a gold chain worth 1,400 guilders, putting it himself about his neck. He also gave 100 reals to the man who actually shot the President.'