Batavia Epub

by Pete Fitzsimons

  Most meals begin with the Predikant saying something that is meant to be merely grace but often turns into something close to a full-blown sermon, as the religious man meticulously ticks off all those parts of their voyage that the Lord might help them with, pausing only to regularly mop his brow as the perspiration simply pours from his jowly face, like water from Moses’s struck stone . . .

  Of course, as the Predikant intones, his two hands lift high towards the heavens, as if to funnel his voice to the very ear of the Lord. In response, nearly all those gathered around the table – the likes of Commandeur Pelsaert, with his favourite notary beside him, Salomon Deschamps, the particularly pious opperstuurman Claas Gerritsz, and so on – have their own hands clasped as tightly together as their eyes are shut, with their heads bowed, their yawns stifled. But there are always two exceptions to this demonstration of piety.

  Jeronimus has long ago come to believe that all such invocations to the God above are a complete waste of time. Though, under the circumstances, he feels obliged to follow form well enough to clasp his hands and roughly bow his head, it is sometimes beyond him to resist slyly glancing around with amused contempt at all this holiness gathered so tightly together. Frequently, thus, his eyes lock with those of Skipper Jacobsz, who has himself not a scrap of religion left in him. The little religious instruction in his upbringing has been knocked out of him in his travels through bars and bordellos across the seven seas in the company of sailors more familiar with filth than faith.

  It is a rare grace from the Predikant in which a shared glance and smirk do not pass between Jeronimus and Skipper Jacobsz . . . and when their eyes move off each other, they always settle on a common point.

  Lucretia.

  For it is at such meals that both men are able to gain precious close-up looks at Lucretia Jans. She is a beauty, and, no doubt about it, a lady. Superbly coiffed, fine-featured, with stylish clothes that nevertheless don’t quite succeed in hiding the bountiful curves beneath, Lucretia is no less than breathtaking in her beauty – an opinion shared by every man aboard who has been blessed enough to get close to her.

  A different kind of skipper than Jacobsz, a more proper gentleman, would keep a very respectful distance from this very virtuous Dutchwoman, who is married, to boot. But not Jacobsz. For, however much puritanical rectitude is a trademark of the VOC, it is not one immediately apparent in the captain of its leading ship, the Batavia.

  Notwithstanding the fact that he has a wife back in the Dutch Republic, Skipper Jacobsz has long been in the practice of trying his luck with any attractive female who comes his way, and – given that he is not without either a roguish charm or rank – he has met with at least his fair share of success in this regard. And while Jacobsz is fully aware of Lucretia’s marital status and elevated position in society, he sees no reason why that should be an impediment to their enjoying each other’s charms to the full. With that in mind, he continues to insinuate himself into her company and engage her in conversation, trying to warm her up a little.

  He gets no further than a gnarled old turkey might in trying to mate with a gorgeous young swan – it is certainly good for lots of laughs for everyone watching but that is the only tangible result.

  While Lucretia remains formally polite, she is still able to make it quite clear that she has no interest in having anything other than crisply proper conversations with him, and even that is a stretch. There is about her a bearing of ‘I am a beautiful lady of high breeding, while you are an old sea dog of an indeterminate father and an all-too-familiar mother’. Or something like that . . .

  A different man than Jacobsz would have tempered his attentions at this point. And yet still he tries, meal after meal, striving to impress the beauty with tales of his voyages across the globe, the places he has seen, the storms he has survived, using seduction techniques he has employed to great and unsurprising effect in dozens of brothels across the globe, from Bremen to Batavia itself. In response, Lucretia doesn’t so much listen as sit there stony-faced, as if she is silently willing him to stop, while certainly not uttering a single word that might encourage him. When even this position can no longer be sustained, she asks him to desist forthwith . . . before outright insisting that Skipper Jacobsz not address one more word to her. Not one more word! And she means it, too.

  For his part, Jeronimus Cornelisz watches the daily interaction between Lucretia and Jacobsz with acid amusement, sometimes dabbing his lips with his still scented handkerchief to hide the smile he simply cannot repress. At one point, when a twinkling Jeronimus playfully chides Jacobsz for pursuing a lady so far above his rank, the skipper replies that he cares not; this particular lady is so fine he desires to tempt her to his will, and if she will not be tempted by himself alone, then he will tempt her with gold!

  Jeronimus likes Jacobsz but is under no illusions as to where the skipper’s talents lie. For all his great abilities as a mariner, he is clearly a buffoon in matters of seduction, and in the person of Lucretia he is continually crashing upon a shore that bears him no welcoming harbour between two friendly outreaching peninsulas, and never will.

  Personally, meanwhile, Jeronimus puts himself not only at the top of the list of those who want Lucretia but, more importantly, of those who deserve her. Is he not a sensualist almost by profession, who knows better than any man not so much how to please a woman – for who cares about that? – but how to please himself with a woman? And no matter that, to this point, he has himself fared no better than Jacobsz in his own careful advances towards her – she is as cold as a frozen Amsterdam canal to him, too – it is still only early days.

  Jeronimus has long ago learned in his amorous career that, when pursuing a woman, even a seemingly unattainable one, it is amazing how opportunities sometimes present themselves, once circumstances have changed. Quite how the circumstances might change on this journey, he knows not, but there remains a good six months until they are due to arrive in Batavia, and anything could happen . . .

  In the meantime, however, there is something that galls both Jacobsz and Jeronimus about Lucretia. While she has been fully resistant to their own charms, she soon becomes quite taken with those of that endlessly irritating cur, Pelsaert!

  Oh, how gaily she laughs at the Commandeur’s stories, how deferential she is to his views, how interested she is in everything that being a long-time official of the VOC entails, as Pelsaert expounds at great length a broad range of subjects: his dealings with the Moguls at court in Surat; his rapid rise within the VOC while previously in the Indies; the intricacies of the indigo industry; the seductive properties of certain spices and scents; what they can expect when they arrive in Batavia; and so forth. And even helping him in his wretched spiels is his infernal notary, Salomon Deschamps, who was with him in India for nigh on eight years. He is sitting to his right now, knows all the best stories by heart and is constantly steering the Commandeur to his advantage, to make him look and sound even more impressive.

  Glowering, Jacobsz tries to disguise his irritation the best he can, yet he only partially succeeds. He simply cannot believe that it has come to this, that this delectable Dutchwoman can see anything in Pelsaert. And yet it is true.

  Either by way of refuge or out of simple compassion, Lucretia is progressively more drawn to Commandeur Pelsaert as the journey continues. He is a refuge to her because he is one of the few men on the ship who does not overtly leer at her, and she feels compassion for him because his illness has now developed to the point that he frequently has to retreat to his cabin for days at a time, and Lucretia has adopted the role of a quasi-nurse.

  Just as Pelsaert is isolated from the men on the ship by his ill health, and also by his exalted rank, Lucretia is rather isolated from the women, and not nearly as isolated from the men as she would wish . . . so, like Jeronimus and Jacobsz, she and Pelsaert fit well together.

  3 December 1628, Batavia

  For those hardy souls living in Batavia in the East Indies, the towering
citadel in the north-eastern section of the settlement is a source of enormous comfort. No matter that they have now effectively been under siege for the last two months, just a look at the well-fortified castle makes them feel stronger for the fact that if they are overrun, here is their shelter of last resort.

  In the daytime, the citadel is visible from ten miles away, a profound statement of strength to potential assailants that they are wasting their time, for such a battlement could never fall. After sunset, its brooding silhouette cuts out a vast swathe of the night sky and reiterates precisely the same statement, albeit in a somehow more forceful way.

  On this particular night, the silhouette of the citadel is also notable for the fact that – unusually – lights are burning on high, in the quarters where the Governor-General resides.

  Perhaps he is entertaining?

  He is.

  It is a night to farewell one of the VOC’s most faithful servants in the East Indies, Admiral Willem Jansz, who has decided to retire and return to the Netherlands. Jansz first ventured to the Indies some 30 years earlier with the second fleet, was the captain on the venture that first mapped het Zuidland, the Southland, which lay below New Guinea and roughly 40 days’ sail to the east of Tafelbaai, and was beside Coen when they stormed Jacatra. He advised Coen on how best to subsequently defend the nascent settlement of Batavia, was the governor of the Banda Islands for three and a half successful years and went on countless diplomatic missions throughout South East Asia on behalf of the VOC, where he always proved himself to be a singularly valuable servant of the Company.

  It is appropriate, thus, that on this, his last night in this key part of the Dutch Empire that he has done so much to build, he sits in the place of honour, right beside Governor-General Coen at the head of the long table at which sit all the senior VOC officers in Batavia. Toast after toast is made to his health, his wealth and a safe journey home.

  The following day, late in the afternoon, Jansz gives the orders for the admiral’s flag on his ship to be hoisted and for the anchor to be raised. Taking advantage of the wind that nearly always blows off the land at this time of day, he sails out of Batavia on his way towards the Sunda Strait, to thereafter pick up the south-east trade winds that blow at that time of the year all the way to the Cape.

  As Batavia recedes into the distance, the lucky sailors selected to make the long-dreamed-of return voyage sing what has become an almost traditional song in the prior ten years: ‘Vaarwel, Batavia, zeilen wij nu thuis’, farewell, Batavia, we’re now sailing home.

  Tapping his foot to the tune, Jansz continues to gaze back on Batavia until it finally sinks below the horizon, at which point he sighs with both regret and relief. In some ways, he is sorry to be leaving, while he is still joyous to finally be heading home. Despite Batavia’s formidable defences, he wonders just how long the Dutch outpost will be able to hold on the next time the Sultan of Mataram attacks, for he has little doubt that another attack will be coming.

  Early January 1629, aboard the Batavia, off the coast of Africa

  They sail on.

  By now, the Batavia has gone so far down the coast of Africa that they are very close to Sierra Leone, where they will briefly stop before heading sou’ by sou’-west, crossing the equator mid-Atlantic before entering Brazilian waters, enabling them to roar back across the Atlantic to the Cape of Good Hope. Working out their latitude on any given day – how far to the north or south of the equator they are – is a relatively easy matter, at least when both the sun and the horizon are visible during the day, or the Polaris star is visible at night. At noon, Jacobsz ‘shoots the sun’ – that is, while standing steady on the poop deck, he ensures that his marine astrolabe is absolutely level by pointing at the horizon and then measuring the angle of the sun above that horizon. Of course, the closer they get to the equator, the higher in the sky the sun is, and by consulting his carefully calibrated charts Jacobsz can work out precisely what latitude they are on.

  In fact, highly experienced mariners such as Jacobsz and many of his crew can make a good estimate of their latitude even without using the astrolabe. At night, the closer the stars get to rising directly from the east and then moving up to straight overhead, the closer they are to the equator. Old hands know that, at the equator, the stars rise straight up, and the further they progress into the southern hemisphere the more the stars drift to the north as they rise in the sky.

  As to longitude – how far to the east or west they are on the planet – that is far more difficult to assess, and the results a lot more approximate. Broadly, the only way it can be done is to estimate the average speed and therefore distance travelled during each watch and then chart their progress on the map. To do this, they use the time-honoured method of dropping a triangular piece of wood attached to a line overboard and having the sailor who dropped it count the knots that go through his fingers in the precisely measured minute.

  Putting it all together, each day at noon, after the skipper has shot the sun, he then looks at the calculations of the previous six watches as to course and distance travelled to try to work out what their longitude is and therefore their actual position on the globe.

  1 February 1629, heading south-west, Atlantic Ocean

  Despite Jacobsz’s frustration at the way things have turned out with the belle of the Batavia, there is at least consolation to be found in the charms of her delightfully voluptuous maid, Zwaantje. For it takes just one raised eyebrow from the skipper when he and Zwaantje happen to meet one evening after dinner in the passageway near his quarters before, that very night, the ship is rocking a little more easily as she continues on her southwestward course across the Atlantic.

  No ongoing relationship on a ship can remain secret for long, and, in the case of Jacobsz and Zwaantje, the skipper doesn’t even bother trying. Why should he? Pelsaert aside, Jacobsz is master of his domain, and he doesn’t mind the ship knowing that Zwaantje is his mistress.

  Besides the many delights of Zwaantje’s body and her extraordinary dexterity, a bonus for Jacobsz is that his carry-on with her is clearly upsetting to Lucretia. Zwaantje being in the Great Cabin night after night further isolates the once high and mighty Dutchwoman on the ship . . . and as to Zwaantje herself, she is positively proud that she is the skipper’s conquest and doesn’t care who knows. She may have come aboard this vessel as a humble servant of a grand lady, but look at her now! As the skipper’s lover, in her eyes at least, she is second only to him in importance. She doesn’t care how furiously the fans of some of the fat wives aft of the mast are set a’flurry as she passes, what scandalised whispers they pass to each other, and she particularly doesn’t care what Lucretia thinks about it.

  ‘For shame,’ Tryntgien audibly comments as the skipper’s mistress flounces and bounces and makes her way inelegantly past.

  ‘Quite the lady then, aren’t we?’ Zussie mutters in agreement.

  And yet, although the two sisters are caught between tut-tut and titter-titter, between being appalled and amused that Zwaantje is presuming a station so very far above her actual level, the truth is that just like her they are hugely enjoying Lucretia’s obvious discomfort at this development.

  For the moment, Zwaantje still continues, nominally, as Lucretia’s ‘servant’, but she is done with bowing and scraping, and if Lucretia wants any primping she can do it herself.

  Jacobsz – who has let it be known that if anyone even makes a sour face at Zwaantje he will not let it go unpunished – is further able to wreak revenge on both Pelsaert and Lucretia by putting it about the ship that this so-called ‘lady’ is herself doing a lot more in the Commandeur’s cabin than administering cold towels to his fevered brow. And this is not through love or even passion, he claims, but because Pelsaert is paying her!

  Yes, Lucretia, for all her fine clothes, her airs and graces and educated accent, is little more than a common whore. It is an intoxicating bit of gossip, and the fans of the wives beat ever faster to its timeless rhythm
.

  10 March 1629, off the coast of Brazil

  At last, at long last, the Batavia reaches the first major turning point on this trip to the East Indies. That is, some 18 weeks after leaving Amsterdam – including eight or so weeks heading west across the Atlantic – they are now off the coast of Brazil, and it is time to turn the ship’s bows towards the south-east and head back across the Atlantic to the southern tip of Africa, borne along by the currents and prevailing winds.

  As is traditional when reaching these tropical latitudes before making the turn, the Commandeur and skipper celebrate the occasion in a number of ways, from doubling the crew’s beer rations to allowing concerts with accompanying dancing to be performed on the deck and having the ship’s company play games.

  On this sparkling day, just after lunch, when all have bellies full of beer, the crew decide to play their favourite: the horse-thief game! After much debate, Jacobsz is prevailed upon to be ‘judge’, with the cadet van Huyssen and assistant David Zevanck as his ‘council’, who will sit in judgement on the ‘thieves’ – young cabin servant Jan Pelgrom de Bye and soldier Mattys Beer.

  Jacobsz, crowned with a mop head as a wig, is seated on a regal chair situated on the upper deck with his two councillors seated beside him, as the ‘horse owner’, none other than Jeronimus Cornelisz, gives evidence that his best horses have been stolen by these two thieves. Ah, how the ship’s company, gathered all around on the upper deck, laugh and thrill to this play-acting as Jeronimus gives his aggrieved testimony. Judge Jacobsz and his councillors nod gravely to hear it, the thieves quake in their boots as they near the punishment they know is coming, and several other ‘witnesses’ – all of whom are leading members of the crew – follow up on Jeronimus and corroborate his testimony.