Stonecutter soon reports, in turn, that two of his soldiers, two German mercenaries, Jan Hendricxsz and Mattys Beer – both in their early 20s – have pledged to him that if there is an uprising they will follow him. The hulking Hendricxsz, the biggest man on the ship by a good two inches, is a particularly worthy recruit, as he is intimidating just to look at, let alone to have to fight. Jeronimus counts him as the equivalent of having recruited two men.
Jeronimus, meanwhile, is able to recruit the gunner Allert Jansz, whom he has come to know in the course of the journey and has come to believe there is an extremely promising streak of evil in – and so it proves! No sooner has Jeronimus asked than Allert Jansz commits to the planned mutiny.
For the skipper and the Onderkoopman to continue to expand their list, it is now paramount that only those who are all but certain to join the plot are approached. They are acutely aware that if just one person is approached who refuses and then turns informant, all their lives will be forfeit. Another three men whom they would love to approach but do not, for there is such little chance of success, are the provost, Pieter Jansz, the opperstuurman, Claas Gerritsz, and his deputy, Gillis Fransz. Jansz, who is accompanied on the voyage by his wife, is a good, decent man whose prime job in life is keeping discipline on the ship and preventing the very thing they are planning, and he is second only to Pelsaert in terms of whom they want to keep their plans well away from. As for Claas Gerritsz and Gillis Fransz, they too would be prize catches but so profoundly do they pray at every grace, such devoted attendees are they at all of the daily services held by the Predikant, that Jacobsz and Jeronimus take the view that it is not worth trying. The rule is ‘If in doubt, leave them out’ – secrecy has to be everything, and there are to be very few approached directly by the skipper and the Onderkoopman.
Their one chance of survival, should rumours start to run, will be to deny all knowledge of it. And yet, given how many mutineers they have in powerful positions, it would take a brave man indeed to denounce them. And what could the Commandeur do if they are so denounced? With the skipper, the bosun and the Onderkoopman firmly against him, not to mention some of the most violent men on the ship, it is unlikely their accuser would live to make old bones.
Against that, it is important not to move before they are ready. And that is why the Onderkoopman and the skipper only meet in strictest secrecy, late at night, and only sometimes with those in the innermost circle of the plot – Evertsz, Stonecutter and van Huyssen being foremost among them.
On the afternoon of the fifth day out of Tafelbaai, the very thing that Jacobsz has been hoping for occurs. On the eastern horizon, an enormous black cloud appears, complete with flashes of lightning, and they are heading straight towards it.
Perfect.
Jacobsz is on the watch from midnight, right when the storm is at its most powerful – raging and cursing and hurling its worst – and just below where he is situated stands the helmsman in the steerage cabin, with his hand on the whip-staff. Just in front of the helmsman is a small compartment called the binnacle, in which the compass is housed. Now, though the helmsman can see the compass clearly, and some of the sails for’ard, he has no vision of the sea ahead and is entirely dependent on Jacobsz, or whoever commands the watch, for his direction. As Jacobsz tells him ‘starboard the helm’, the order is obeyed without question. Far below, the rudder slowly makes an angle to the stern of just on 19 degrees, and the mighty Batavia gradually alters course.
With that new course now set, Jacobsz moves to his next task. After assigning those on watch with him to various tasks that will take them below decks for a short while, he ensures that he is alone. That accomplished, he climbs the stairs to the poop deck, bends over the hakkebord, the carved top of the decorated stern, opens the canopy of the stern lantern and, reaching in with the rag he has with him for the occasion, snuffs out the light. In an instant, the poop deck is in near-total darkness.
On the trailing jacht, the skipper of the Sardam is suddenly apprehensive. One minute, he has the great stern lantern of the Batavia in his sights, and she is about two miles east by southeast off his starboard quarter. Then, he has lifted his head after lighting a pipe with his hands cupped against the wind and she has simply vanished! How can that have happened? For all of the fleet, the stern lantern of the Batavia ahead has been almost a talisman of the voyage, a sign that all is well. And now that it has disappeared in the storm, it is anyone’s guess what has happened. It is far from unprecedented for ships like the Batavia just to disappear in the middle of storms and sink within minutes. One huge wave, hitting at the wrong angle and flowing into the gun ports, and it can be over in seconds. Is that what has just happened?
A similar apprehension grips all those on watch on the other ships. On this, yes, dark and stormy night, there is no hope of discerning the shape of the Batavia in the moonlight, for there is none – it is completely dark. Straining to see ahead, wondering if they might soon perhaps come across the flotsam and jetsam of a vanished ship, and survivors clinging to wreckage or secure in one of the ship’s longboats or yawls, the rest of the fleet continues on its course, but there proves to be no sign. The Batavia seems simply to have vanished.
On the Batavia herself, spray from the storm-tossed waves keeps whipping over the deck, and the thunder of tons of water crashing into the hull is constant, but she holds her way, heavy enough to knock the top off some of the waves and streamlined enough to careen down the other side while remaining relatively stable. At her bow, the ship’s thrusting figurehead of the proud red Lion of Holland continues to leap into the storm, confident it can take whatever the elements can throw at it.
The same cannot necessarily be said for the other ships in the fleet, which soon fall far behind in the heavy weather, even allowing for the fact that they are now on an entirely different course to their flagship.
And, sure enough, come the dawn, Jacobsz is delighted to see that all other sails have disappeared from the horizon. Pelsaert is a lot less thrilled, but the skipper shrugs off his concerns.
‘Commandeur,’ Jacobsz says softly in his raspy voice, somehow managing to sound patronising despite the use of Pelsaert’s formal title, ‘you must understand that these things happen in stormen, storms. It is simply not possible for a fleet to stay close together when the wind is blowing. In any case, they follow the same course as us, and we will likely soon pick each other up.’
Pelsaert turns away without a word. Ja, Jacobsz is a good seaman and navigator, and he is no doubt the best captain the Company possesses – which is why he’s been given command of the flagship – but as a man he leaves a lot to be desired. Based on long experience, Pelsaert simply does not trust him.
He returns to his cabin, feeling ill. Will this cursed fever never leave him? It is, of course, the return once more of the sickness he picked up in India and has never properly shaken. Its regular reappearance comes at times when he is physically run down, and, having spent most of the last six months at sea, with poor food and little settled sleep, the Commandeur is not surprised that it has come back now. Not that it makes it any easier to bear for all that. All he can do is retire to his cabin, get as much rest as he possibly can and hope that this dreadful sickness will leave him.
Attending him are three people: the ship’s surgeons and Lucretia. Frans Jansz, the surgeon and upper-barber, who is in overall charge, confesses he is somewhat baffled as to how to cure the Commandeur. As a qualified medical practitioner, he knows that the body is composed of four basic ‘humours’, as in body fluids: blood, black bile, yellow bile and phlegm. Sickness occurs when those fluids are out of balance, and steps must therefore be taken to restore that balance.
And, of course, because this is the Commandeur, the surgeon is more than usually attentive to his ills and tries every cure he knows of. First, he doses up Pelsaert with an array of drugs and herbs, including a mix of some of the spices – cloves and nutmeg – that have come from the very part of the world they ar
e journeying to. When this treatment fails to have any effect, alas, Frans tries ‘bleeding’ – taking a razor, cutting a vein in Pelsaert’s arm and collecting his blood in a bowl. It is his hope that this will let out some of the toxins in him that are clearly making him so ill. Alas again, there appears to be little improvement, so after a couple of days Frans moves on to ‘cupping’, which means, with Aris Jansz’s and Lucretia’s help, carefully heating small glass jars that they then place upside down on various parts of Pelsaert’s body. As the jars cool, the Commandeur’s skin is sucked up into them to the point that, when the surgeon takes them off, Pelsaert is left with many perfect round bruises that show the spots where the poison has hopefully been sucked out . . . But still he appears to be just as ill. Frans then tries purging – giving Pelsaert drugs to empty his bowel and his entire body of all the evil vapours and miasmas. All it does is double Pelsaert over with pain for hours at a time as his body tries to rid itself of what is effectively a low-level poison. Finally, it is time to try the last remedy in his repertoire. Yes, for the ailing Commandeur, the most powerful man of the entire fleet, it is time to blow smoke up his arse.
Frans uses a klisteerspuit, a big pewter needle, one end of which is carefully inserted into Pelsaert’s anus, while the under-surgeon, Aris Jansz – who has himself been heavily involved in trying to find a cure for the Commandeur from the beginning – takes a deep draught on a lit pipe of tobacco. Then, via a tube, Aris blows smoke to fill the instrument, before Frans Jansz presses the plunger down. Pelsaert groans, and his rectum is filled with smoke.
The idea is that the smoke, applied like this to the internal organs of the body, will have a cleansing effect, and the surgeons can only hope it will work. But not even this extreme method seems to make any difference, and, though Frans continues to closely monitor the Commandeur’s health and do what he can, in the end he decides that on the slim chance Pelsaert is going to recover it will have to come from within, as there is little more he can do for him.
As for Lucretia, she does not have anything like the surgeons’ huge amount of medical knowledge but believes that by attending the Commandeur, mopping his brow when he is feverish, bringing him water when he is thirsty, even cutting his meals into small pieces and feeding them to him as if he were a baby, she can help him immeasurably, and she is very happy to do it. Not only does she enjoy his company, as always, but it keeps her far removed from the hateful atmosphere she finds wherever she goes on the rest of the ship. If it is not the leers from much of the crew or the furious fanning of the officers’ wives whenever she passes, it is the sniggers from Zwaantje and Jacobsz as they talk behind their hands about her at mealtimes.
By this time, Jacobsz has entirely removed from Zwaantje the yoke of ‘servant’ and declared that, as his mistress, she is no longer to serve her own mistress. Zwaantje has joyously complied, and – most particularly without Pelsaert being able to assert his authority to protect her – Lucretia is powerless to do anything. And yes, of course Lucretia knows that the more time she spends with Pelsaert, the more she fans the rumours running around the ship that she is to the Commandeur what Zwaantje is to Skipper Jacobsz. But so be it. The kind Commandeur desperately needs her help, she is happy to provide it, so let them say what they will . . . for they surely will anyway.
Consequently, between Lucretia and the two surgeons, Pelsaert is never alone, and every time he emerges from his coma-like state there is someone there to mop his brow, dribble some water into his parched mouth and gently feed him spoonfuls of hot broth and small solids.
Early May 1629, Indian Ocean
In the meantime, in the absence of Pelsaert, the seed that Jeronimus helped to germinate in Jacobsz’s soul continues to flower. The skipper likes being the unchallenged master of his ship once more. There is something of the natural order about it. He likes sitting at the head of the table at mealtimes in the Great Cabin and not having to defer all the time to the Commandeur. Yes, he has given up on Lucretia, surly slut that she is, but now he likes lording it over her and inviting her former servant Zwaantje to sit at his side at the top of the table – something that Pelsaert strictly forbade when he was in the Great Cabin.
Jacobsz loves the discomfort this clearly causes Lucretia on the rare occasions she joins them from the long hours spent with the Commandeur. And when Jacobsz does humiliate Lucretia, he loves the particular reward that Zwaantje generally offers him straight after the dinner is over. For Zwaantje, he has come to feel more affection than for any other woman he has ever been with, and, entrusting her with the skeleton of their plans for the mutiny, he has promised that not only will her former mistress be brought well down – should they allow Lucretia to live, that is – but that Zwaantje herself will live as a great lady, with more jewels than she knew existed in heaven or on earth. Again, whenever he talks to her of it, Zwaantje is wonderfully expressive in the manner she chooses to show her deepest appreciation. And so dexterous . . .
Over the coming days and then weeks, the plan for the mutiny continues to slowly take shape, as the number of confirmed mutineers grows, first to a dozen and then a handful more. While that is not remotely enough to sail the Batavia, Jacobsz is confident that once they have secured and demonstrated their control of the ship, many of the sailors, in particular, will immediately join them. The most important thing is that they already have many of the key people. Jeronimus is second only to Pelsaert in terms of seniority within the VOC on the Batavia, Jacobsz is the skipper and Evertsz his high bosun. Stonecutter is the second in command of the soldiers. Whatever they lack in manpower to run the ship, they certainly have the requisite ability to manage it, and to navigate it once the takeover is complete.
The chief problem identified with seizing control is the soldiers on the lowest deck, whose job is to defend the Company’s interests at all times. The soldiers are not only a force to be reckoned with but also a force unto themselves. And whereas Jacobsz knows many of his own crew well enough to predict which of them might be prone to joining the mutiny, the soldiers he carries on the ship change with every trip and he really doesn’t know any of them. And while Stonecutter, as their second in command, at least knows them better, it is not by much. The soldiers have come together for this trip only, and he has never truly commanded any of them in a battle, or done much to form a bond with them, let alone know which ones would risk their lives in the course of a mutiny.
The way to counter them, then?
‘Why not,’ High Bosun Jan Evertsz suggests in hushed tones late one night on the quarterdeck, ‘simply nail the hatches shut?’
And the problem is solved. For there are only two hatches leading up from the soldiers’ orlop deck to the decks above. In the middle of the night, all the soldiers are asleep on that bottom deck, and well away from the armoury, where all the muskets are secured. So, by simply nailing the hatches shut, the soldiers will be trapped and unable to prevent the mutiny from taking place. Once the ship is secure and the other sailors have joined them, the soldiers can be dealt with – and again, Jacobsz is confident that once the soldiers are presented with a fait accompli, most of them will join as well. When presented with a choice of death or a share in the Batavia’s bountiful treasures – which they would add to by becoming a pirate ship devoted to robbing other ships of the Company – what else could they choose?
As to what to do with the passengers and Pelsaert, this also is the subject of heated, if hushed, discussion. Most of the passengers, it is felt, can be spared and, if they behave, dropped off on the first island or settlement they come to. But Pelsaert, of course, will have to be killed. If he is alive, he will always be dangerous, as he will present a rallying point for those who might not want to join the mutiny.
For his part, Coenraat van Huyssen is most insistent that once the mutiny is launched, he personally wishes to be the first to rush into the cabin with a sword, kill the Commandeur by slicing him wide open and then throw his body overboard. Another who is most eager to use
blades of any description on whoever might get in their way is Ryckert Woutersz, who takes to sleeping with a sword beside him in his hammock so his weapon is readily available should he be given the word in the middle of the night that the time for attack is now.
The Predikant is troubled. Something has changed in Jeronimus during their conversations at mealtimes, and this is never more apparent than now, when Pelsaert is not at the table. In his whole life, the Predikant has never met a man so cavalier in his attitude to God, who does not speak of Him with reverence, who does not acknowledge the existence of heaven and hell, nor the primacy of the ten commandments as given by the Lord – at least when not engaged in trade on behalf of the VOC. And though he can’t quite say that Jeronimus holds such blasphemous views, there is no doubt that he runs them close. Time and again, whenever the subject turns to religion, which is nearly always the Predikant’s topic of choice, Jeronimus says something to the contrary, lifts an eyebrow, challenges a particular point and gives all to understand that it is not simply because the Predikant, or even the Bible, says something is so that it is.
As the Predikant would later describe it, ‘He often showed his wrong-headedness by Godless proposals . . . but I did not know he was Godless to such an extent . . .’
For nearly a fortnight now, Pelsaert has been laid up in his cabin, and so lacking is any restraining influence that Jacobsz has even taken to appearing arm-in-arm with Zwaantje Hendrix on the quarterdeck whenever the weather is fine – sneering in belated response to those who once sneered at their nascent relationship. Fast may the fans of the wives flurry as they pass, but neither Jacobsz nor Zwaantje cares.
Batavia Epub Page 11
