by Giles Milton
The ensuing negotiations fill page after page of East India Company records — a litany of complaints, grievances and hard bargaining. The English team were given considerable flexibility when it came to discussing reparations but the bottom line was that Run should be replanted with nutmeg trees and restored to England. In addition, the directors demanded a one-off payment of £200,000 for losses suffered, both human and financial. This sum dropped steadily over the months that followed but still the Dutch refused to pay a single guilder.
By unhappy coincidence it was during these long years of negotiations that the Banda Islands entered their most productive period, producing hitherto undreamed of quantities of nutmeg and mace. In the five years between 1633 and 1638, for which records are still extant, the combined weight of nutmeg and mace exported to Holland exceeded four million pounds. That, of course, was only the official quantity. Many Dutch settlers on the islands were amassing private fortunes by clandestinely selling nutmeg to native merchants and traders. Although this practice was strictly prohibited by the Dutch authorities, the ragged coastline of the Banda Islands proved impossible to police and the settlers had few difficulties in finding buyers for their spice.
The success of the nutmeg plantations was due, in no small part, to Coen s strategy of ridding the islands of their native inhabitants and replacing them with Dutchmen. Before leaving the East Indies, he had announced that the Dutch Company was inviting applications for grants of land in the Banda archipelago. In return for defence against foreign attack and slaves to work the plantations, applicants had to agree to settle permanently and produce spices only for the company. Many 'free burghers' living in Batavia - men who had completed their contracts but remained in the East — proved only too willing to take up Coen's offer and applications were soon flooding in. The Banda Islands were parcelled into small estates, sixty-eight men were chosen to farm them, and the surviving Bandanese were compelled to teach them how to cultivate the nutmeg tree.
Success and riches went to the heads of most settlers who, having procured the necessary slaves to work their land, sank into a life of dissolute drunkenness. Coen himself complained that most of the settlers were 'wholly unsuitable for the planting of colonies [and] some are worse than animals'. In this he was correct: they were generally lazy and unruly and needed harsh measures to keep them in check. A journal kept by one Company employee records that in the space of one five-year period he witnessed the following punishments: two persons burned alive, one broken on the wheel, nine hanged, nine decapitated, three garrotted, and one 'arquebussed' - a punishment which entailed being shot to pieces by the matchlock arquebus gun favoured by the Dutch.
The Dutch grasp over the Banda archipelago was now so complete that the English directors began to despair of ever recovering Run, especially when the outbreak of the English Civil War put paid to any immediate hopes of despatching a fleet to the East. 'Wee are fearfull how far wee shall be able to performe in this troublesome tymes,' they wrote, 'when all trade and commerce in this kingdome is fallen to the ground through our owne unhappie divisions at home.' Intermittent fighting, a breakdown of communications, heavy taxation and increased risks at sea caused a complete loss of trade and the directors bemoaned that 'as the badnesse of trade and scarsity of monyes are here, so is all Europe in little better condition, but in a turmoyle.'
By the winter of 1656 the East India Company was on its knees. For more than four decades its merchants had struggled to compete with the Dutch, despatching increasingly decrepit ships to the Spice Islands and clinging to the last threads of their trade. Now, even that had come to nothing: the grand fleets that had once sailed majestically down the Thames were little more than a distant memory. The Deptford shipyard had been sold, the warehouses lay empty and the employees were on the breadline, only drawing money on the rare occasions when a ship limped back from the Indies.
Overseas the Company's remaining assets were of little worth. The factors still living in Bantam had almost ceased trading and their sole success during this grim period — the acquisition of a modest cargo of pepper — was immediately scuppered when the Dutch captured the ship and gleefully towed her to Batavia. On India's north-west coastline the trading post at Surat had, for a while, reaped considerable profits for the Company. But it had been hit hard by pirates and its fortunes were dealt an even harsher blow when the great famine of 1630 wiped out the town's population. 'The land was allmost voyde of inhabitants,' wrote one of the factors living in Surat, 'the most part fledd, the rest dedd.' His vivid account of the crisis left the London directors in no doubt that it would be many years before their Surat trade would recover. 'Noe less lamentable was it to see the poor people scrapeing the dunghills for food, yea in the very excrement of beastes ... our noses were never free of the stinck of corpses [for] they dragg them out by the heels stark naked of all ages and sexes, till they are out of the gates, and there they are left so that the way is half barred up.' Surat had become a ghost town and when the factors at last strayed out of their compound 'we hardly could see any living persons where heretofore was thousands ... women were seen to roast their children [and] men travelling in the waie were laid hold of to be eaten.'
The other factories in India had also been brought to their knees by famine. For a brief moment the Company's fledgling settlement in Madras had offered a ray of hope: no sooner had the battlements of Fort St George risen above the shoreline than native artisans flocked here in their hundreds, lured by the promise of calico weaving and chintz painting. After fourteen years of relative prosperity the famine virtually eliminated the local population and decimated the small English garrison. Just ten soldiers and two factors were left alive, and even these proved too expensive for the Company to maintain. The directors publicly declared that three ships would shortly be sent to the East in order to wind up their affairs.
The crunch came on 14 January 1657.The governor of the East India Company, William Cockayne, summoned a general court of all the adventurers who still had money invested in the Company. To a grim-faced audience he explained that the coffers were empty and that there was no hope of a revival in fortunes. Every avenue had been explored, every hope extinguished. The Lord Protector, Oliver Cromwell, had been petitioned for help but had repeatedly refused to come to the Company's aid, pleading too many 'great affaires'. As Cockayne spelled out the enormity of the crisis it slowly dawned on the merchants that this really was the end. The Company was no longer viable, the balance sheet did not add up. As the sun set on that chill winter's evening the adventurers threw in the towel and declared for liquidation.
'It is resolved to appoint a sale of the island [Run], customs, houses and other rights in the Indies.' So read the minutes of that historic final meeting. The suggested value was a mere £14,000 - the low price explained by the fact that most of these were paper assets — for which the buyer would receive the titles to Run, the factories in Bantam, Surat and Madras, and a remote customs post in Persia. Their business at an end, the merchants ordered a beadle to post bills in the Exchange advertising the forthcoming sale.
As the door closed on that sombre evening there was a deep sense of shock among the merchant adventurers. This, then, was the end; the dying hours of a Company that had blazed such a glorious path to the East. In the early years there had been so much hope. The pioneering expeditions of Sir James Lancaster; the indomitable Middleton trio; the doughty William Hawkins — all had risked their lives in sailing to the Indies and some had returned with undreamed of quantities of spice. Once, the Thamesside
wharves had been filled with the scent of nutmeg and the estuary cluttered with ships from the Indies. The King himself had sent expeditions on their way and cheering crowds had welcomed them home.
Now, more than half a century later, it was time to count the price of failure. Numerous ships had been sunk in the great spice race and hundreds, possibly thousands, of men had lost their lives. For nothing had the victims of Amboyna met their gruesome
ends; in vain had Nathaniel Courthope laid down his life in the heroic defence of Run. That very island, lost after such a struggle, was now up for sale with an asking price lower than the cost of a small ship. It was an end of which no one could be proud.
This should have been the conclusion to the story; the final death throes of a Company and a dream. But unbeknown to the merchant adventurers of London, no one would be given the opportunity to make an offer for their few remaining assets in the East. For scarcely had news of the sale been announced than they found themselves summoned to a meeting with Cromwell's Council of State — a meeting to discuss the future of the East India Company.
Oliver Cromwell and his Council of State were genuinely alarmed by the news from the Exchange. For too long they had refused to listen to the arguments put forth by the Company — that trade with the East Indies was doomed to fail unless organised as a regulated, joint-stock system, a system that allowed no room for privateers to spoil the trade. Now, learning of the Company's plight, the Council of State invited the merchants to put their side of the argument, then withdrew to consider their verdict.
The Council reconvened the following morning and, without hesitation, pronounced itself swayed by the arguments. Twelve days later Cromwell agreed, thereby snatching the Company from the jaws of death. A new charter was drawn up, sanctioned by Parliament, and passed the Great Seal on 19 October 1657. With the stroke of a pen, the East India Company found itself reborn as a modern, permanent and united joint-stock corporation. The very same day a meeting was called by the jubilant directors and a new subscription posted in the Exchange. London's merchants responded with unbounded enthusiasm and within a matter of months a staggering £786,000 had been raised. Trade with the East could begin once again.
But it was not to the Spice Islands that the merchants despatched their ships. Throughout the lean and desperate years it was the Indian subcontinent that had kept the East India Company afloat, surviving off a modest trade between Surat and Persia and a much smaller trade between India and London. Although the Company continued to import 'long pepper, white pepper, white powdered sugar, preserved nutmegs and ginger myrabolums [a plum-like fruit], bezoar stones [and] drugs of all sorts', spices had ceased to be its mainstay. They had been replaced by silks and saltpetre, the latter an essential ingredient in gunpowder which was freely available in India.
As the factories in the Spice Islands fell into decay, new ones sprang up on the Indian coastline and when Surat officially replaced Bantam as the eastern headquarters of the East India Company it was clear to all that its horizons had changed forever. 'Behold then,' wrote Sir Thomas Mun in 1667, 'the true form and worth of foreign trade, which is the great revenue of the King, the honour of the Kingdom; the noble profession of the merchant; the school of our arts; the supply of our wants; the employment of our poor; the improvement of our lands; the nursery of our mariners; the walls of our Kingdom; the means of our treasure; the sinews of our wars; the terror of our enemies.'
His triumphalism was a far cry from the laments of old and it would grow ever louder as the Company's fortunes grew. Under King Charles II’s benevolent rule the directors were granted even more extensive rights: to acquire territory, declare war, command troops, and exercise civil and criminal jurisdiction. When the directors passed a 1689 resolution about local government in India, it was clear that the Company was irrevocably changing. Arguing that good government would lead to increased profits they concluded, "tis that must make us a nation in India.' With these words the story of the East India Company had, in effect, become the story of British India.
The Company's turn-around in fortunes was an astonishing and wholly unexpected event, yet there was to be an even more extraordinary twist in the tale. In the yellowing archives of the East India Company are a handful of documents that lie unnoticed and unread; documents which reveal that Run — defended with such courage by Nathaniel Courthope — was to yield a far greater dividend than anyone could ever have imagined.
London merchants had never abandoned their dream of recovering Run, their 'ancient and rightfull inheritance', and held regular meetings to discuss how this could be achieved. But it was not until the affairs of the Company were in the process of being wound down that they saw a glimmer of hope on the horizon.
In April 1654, the Anglo-Dutch war was terminated by a peace treaty, the Treaty of Westminster, in which it was decreed that all claims for damages — claims that stretched back decades — should at long last be settled. Each side was given three months to prepare its case. The English not surprisingly called for the immediate restoration of Run, but upped the stakes considerably by also demanding the island of Great Banda. In addition, they filed a staggering £2,695,990 claim for lost revenue as well as decades of accumulated interest. If they thought this would place them in a strong bargaining position they were in for a rude shock. The Dutch argued that their trade had been seriously damaged by the English and responded with a counter-claim of almost three million pounds.
The commissioners charged with dealing with the claims wisely chose to ignore them and instead spent their time sifting through the evidence. Their findings were straightforward and favoured the English: Run was to be immediately restored and £85,000 was to be paid in damages, plus a further £4,000 to the families of the victims of Amboyna. To the surprise of everyone both sides agreed the deal and the Treaty of Westminster was duly signed. Almost fifty years of hatred, bloodshed and mutual animosity were, on paper at least, 'obliterated and bury'd in oblivion.'
In London, news of the treaty was greeted with weary enthusiasm by the cash-strapped directors of the East India Company. The parlous state of their finances, together with continuing legal wrangles with the Dutch, delayed any hope of immediate action and it was not until Cromwell had unexpectedly rescued the Company — more than three years after the treaty was signed — that London's merchants were able to consider sending an expedition to Run.
The receipt of a letter from Jeremy Sambrooke, a servant of the Company, gave them cause for optimism. Sambrooke had recently sailed to Run and assured his superiors that once the English were 'setled upon Pollaroone they will find the Indians [and] inhabitants of the adjacent islands ready to come and inhabite, plant and trade with them'. He added that the natives were 'soe well affected to this nation that assuredly they will deal for the clothing etc. and returne spices untill this island shal be reestablished to its former condition, as in former times of peace'. Sambrooke also reported that the island's nutmeg groves were once again flourishing and that the Company could look forward to an annual yield of more than a third of a million pounds in weight of the spice. When they learned this, the directors immediately established a special Committee for Pulo Run which, at its inaugural meeting, 'resolved to send sixty men of several conditions to remain on the said island, they to be either English, Scotch, or Irish'. These men were to include 'seven house carpenters, seven bricklayers and masons, six gardeners, four smiths and armourers, four coopers, and two plumbers', as well as 'twenty youths from fourteen years upwards, and ten young husbandmen'. Run was to be England's glorious colony in the East. In the winter of 1658, Captain John Dutton was selected to be the first governor of Run, a job which was to earn him a generous £200 a year salary, a further £100 in expenses, and the right to travel with his beloved wife. His orders were to take possession of the island and 'with drum and trumpett proclaime the same,' and he was asked, en route, to stop at the Atlantic island of St Helena and claim it for the Company as well. Unfortunately it took so long to select the settlers for Run that by the time Dutton put to sea, England and Holland were once again on the brink of war. Concerned for the safety of his ship he decided to remain on St Helena until he received further orders. And so, in May 1659, this strategically placed island received its first inhabitants and a small settlement, Jamestown, was built on its northern coastline.
A whole year was to pass before the East India Company considered it safe enough to d
espatch another fleet to Run. This time they prepared four supply ships under the command of John Hunter and selected a further thirteen colonists for the island, all of whom were to be paid a salary of £12 a year except for the appropriately named George Smallwood who, 'by reason of smallnesse of stature,' was to receive only £10.
The aim of the voyage was clear: 'The King [has] given authority, under the great seal of England, to the Governor and Company or to such as they may appoint, to receive, possess, plant, and fortify the Island of Roone.' The island was to be permanently settled and it was the duty of the colonists 'to keep possession of the said island'.
The ships sailed first to St Helena where they picked up an impatient Captain and Mrs Dutton, then headed directly for Batavia where the couple requested an audience with the Dutch governor-general.The governor- general was initially most welcoming, volunteering the information that his superiors in Amsterdam 'doe order, command and advise' him to hand over the island in accordance with the Treaty of Westminster. But there was a small matter of bureaucracy to be settled before he could sanction their voyage. He required a letter from 'His majestie of Great Britain', written in the King's fair hand, stating that Dutton was a bona fide employee of the East India Company. This request caught the captain by surprise: he was not in possession of such a letter and when he explained this to the governor-general he was met with an icy stare. The governor-general began to rail at the Englishman, saying he was most displeased to hear that the King was once again creating troubles for the Dutch and 'doth renew and ripp open severall ould sores and debates formerly enacted which have bine long buried'. In short, he intended to refuse the English the necessary permission to sail to Run.
