Batavia (14 page)

17 April 1629,
Tafelbaai

In the morning, Jacobsz can barely remember any of it, but that is okay because, once he has returned, Commandeur Pelsaert, armed with strongly worded notes from the scandalised skippers of the
Sardam
and
Buren
, is not long in bringing his attention to it. For the genuinely outraged ships’ skippers have not been long in making a full report of it, and Pelsaert, angered beyond measure that this drunken idiot has once again disgraced himself, cannot contain his fury.

While he is not remotely surprised that Jacobsz has been drunk, he is truly appalled by the progressively more aggressive manner in which the skipper conducted himself while paying visits to the other VOC ships in the bay. It is all the worse for the fact that Jacobsz is of the
Commandeur’s
own flagship, so this behaviour reflects dimly on his
own
leadership of the fleet.

It is an outrage that must be addressed, and it must be done immediately – the more so because, while the
Batavia
is in port, Pelsaert’s authority is paramount, while that of Jacobsz is at its lowest ebb.

Within earshot of those hovering outside the Great Cabin, and in the presence of Jeronimus, who has sadly been led astray by this buffoon of a skipper, Pelsaert unburdens himself of his considered view that Jacobsz is a complete disgrace to himself and the VOC. In fact, Pelsaert says, he has never
heard
of such behaviour from a VOC skipper, and Jacobsz must understand that he, Pelsaert, will be writing a full report on his ignominy, which he will submit when they get to Batavia, and the skipper will have to answer for it to higher authorities still.

Jacobsz listens the best he can but wishes to be anywhere but here right now, hoping only that the infernal Pelsaert will sometime soon shut his prissy mouth. Jacobsz’s own mouth tastes as if several rats have laid turds in it overnight, his eyes are blurred from the pain and somewhere inside his skull a large African man is pounding on a drum. In his own defence to Pelsaert, he can offer only that he was so drunk he did not know what he was doing, and that he had no idea that Pelsaert would take it all so seriously.

But the
Commandeur is
serious, as serious as syphilis. He is so serious that he now puts Jacobsz on his last warning. He either entirely behaves himself for the rest of the journey or
severe measures will be taken against him.
Those measures are not specifically spelled out by Pelsaert, but, as other VOC measures for ill-discipline start at flogging and work their way towards keel-hauling and then being broken on the wheel, Jacobsz is left in little doubt as to the extent of Pelsaert’s fury. In fact, these punishments are as nothing to the humiliation and fury the skipper feels at being so upbraided by a lowly cur for whom he has no respect, a cur who wouldn’t know a mizzen mast from a bowsprit. Without a word, he storms off to the ship’s interior, and is some time in emerging.

It is an hour or so before sundown when Jacobsz appears once more on the poop deck, and it is not long before Jeronimus, who has been waiting for him, is once again by his side. ‘All well, Skipper?’ Jeronimus breathes lightly.

No, all is not well, and the skipper does not bother to dissemble with Jeronimus, who, after all, was with him in the boat when they visited the other ships and can be expected to be on his side. ‘By God!’ Jacobsz finally explodes. ‘If those other ships were not lying close I would treat that miserly dog so that he could not come out of his cabin for a fortnight . . . and were I a bit younger I would very quickly make myself master of the ship.’

Whereupon, after his own due consideration of the skipper’s powerful words, Jeronimus asks softly, ‘
And how would you do that
?’

. . .

This time, it is Jacobsz who pauses, as the small swell of
Tafelbaai
continues to gently rock the masts of the
Batavia
in small arcs, back and forth, as if it is a giant cradle. How far can Jacobsz go, how much can he trust Jeronimus? In the end, he decides to pull back, to mull over what he has already said, rather than going any further.

In the meantime, after the initial lull in activity since mercifully arriving in this blessed shelter, it is time for the serious business to begin. The first thing is to gently take the ship into shallow waters at high tide, so that as the tide falls away much of the exterior of the hull can be exposed. And then to work! It is time to rid the ship of the weeds and algae that have grown over the preceding months, in parts forming a layer of mush nearly half a yard thick.

Once that is removed, the crew attack the barnacles that have also grown on the hull. Topside, meanwhile, other sailors scrub the decks with vinegar and sand them with ‘bibles’ – flat stones the size of the good book – to clean the wood. The lower decks are then smoked with gunpowder and juniper berries in an effort to kill the vermin, while all the bedding is dragged up into the strong sunshine to be aired, even as the artisans get to work caulking the leaks.

In this manner, the days at
Tafelbaai
pass relatively pleasantly for nearly all, bar Jacobsz, who continues to fester in fury. For most of them, it is simply a great pleasure to be away from the open sea and in the shelter of a bay.

As to those lucky few involved in the commerce ashore or tending the sick, they feel blessed to be able to spend a little bit of time on solid land. For them, the Hottentots are a source of endless wonder and even great amusement. One thing is to have the natives ‘dance’ – jumping up and down with their legs pressed tightly together while they rhythmically chant ‘
Hottentot brukwa . . . Hottentot brukwa
’,
Hottentot dance
. . . Hottentot dance, over and over again – and this they readily do for the simple price of a pipe filled with tobacco. Another amusement is to have the males show off the length of their genitals by saying to them
‘ karos naar de zijde’
, sheepskin to the side. And, though the female Hottentots are a little more reluctant, they, too, can be persuaded. It is a great delight for the sailors to say to them ‘
kutkijken
’, c—t looking, with which the women would generally say
‘tabakum’
, at which point if you handed over a small piece of tobacco they would lift their own piece of sheepskin and allow you a good long look. As to taking it further with the women, that is out of the question. Not only are they generally unwilling, but even if they weren’t, you risked having their husbands, fathers or brothers wearing your balls for earrings. No, the best you could do was hand over your tobacco in return for a quick look. It is
something
, anyway.

18 April 1629,
Tafelbaai

Dusk is beginning to fall after this stunning African day and Skipper Jacobsz is just taking pause on the poop deck, surveying the ongoing scrubbing of the decks by the sailors, when he looks up with something of a start to see that a lightly smiling Jeronimus has suddenly materialised beside him. Strange, this man’s ability to do that, almost as if he is a spirit . . .

‘And so . . .’ Jeronimus begins, resuming immediately their conversation of a few days earlier, ‘you were going to tell me precisely how you could best and most easily make yourself master of the ship.’

Jacobsz is not surprised at the prompting. The way they left it last time, it was understood they would come back to the subject, and he has indeed been thinking it all over and has decided to trust the
Onderkoopman
. So he tells him . . .

To seize control of the ship, he explains to Jeronimus, it would need only a small number of committed men in the right positions. Once control was established, enough of the others would join the mutiny to ensure success.

Jeronimus, without himself saying anything that could be incriminating or binding, starts to press the skipper for details of his plan. It is true that in the entire history of the VOC there has never been a mutiny on any ship bound for the East Indies, but on the other hand there has never been a prize as rich as the one they are travelling on now. But, Jeronimus wonders, could Jacobsz really pull it off ?

The first key, Jacobsz explains, would be to separate the
Batavia
from the accompanying fleet, so Pelsaert and whatever loyalists he could muster would get none of its support. Then he and the mutineers would have only the ship’s company to worry about. The interest of Jeronimus quickens. It makes sense. Without the attendant fleet, the
Batavia
, carrying the richest cargo ever to leave Amsterdam, would be without any external protection and really would be defended only by the fealty of the crew and the loyalty of the soldiers berthed far beneath them on the orlop deck. But who, precisely, would help to seize the ship herself?

‘Let me have my way,’ Jacobsz replies grimly. ‘I am sure most of the officers will follow me and the principal sailors.’ He has particular faith in his bosun, Jan Evertsz, a maritime man after his own heart – fond of drinking and whoring – who may even be a skipper himself some day in the future. Evertsz is to those before the mast every bit as powerful a man as Jacobsz is to those aft of the mast.

Jacobsz continues to quietly sketch out a rough plan, as Jeronimus listens intently. Apart from Jacobsz’s enduring fury at Pelsaert, and the promise of the riches they will all share if the mutiny can be brought off, there is another factor inclining the skipper to see it through. Given his severe falling out with the powerful Pelsaert, and the fact that the
Commandeur
has promised to make a report once they get to Batavia, there are sure to be consequences. ‘
I am still for the Devil anyhow
’ is the way the skipper puts it. ‘If I reach Batavia, I shall get into trouble whether or not.’ Jeronimus gravely agrees that the skipper has nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Little by little, over succeeding conversations in the next couple of days, what has started as a bit of whimsy between the skipper and Jeronimus turns serious, as once vague and wafty sentiments begin to crystallise into a serious, hard-edged plan.

Though all knowledge of sailing a ship is well beyond the ken of Jeronimus, the more he talks to the skipper the more convinced he becomes that it really could be accomplished with very few. When he started out with Jacobsz on the subject of mutiny, he had just been testing him, seeing how far he could take him down that evil track, more by instinct than intent, more to pass the time than time an uprising . . . but now,
now
it is different.

Jeronimus first boarded the
Batavia
principally to get away from the Amsterdam authorities and to look for opportunities. He is now away from those authorities and this, he suddenly realises, is the opportunity of a lifetime. When he, a bankrupted man, looks at it – being on a ship with such a rich cargo, led by a disaffected captain who is promising to take all the risks and manage the mutiny – it seems to affirm that there is a God, and God is good, no, God is
great
! If God had not wanted him to engage in such a thing, He would not have set the circumstances exactly as they are – which is absolutely perfect for a mutiny to take place and for Jeronimus to suddenly be rich beyond his wildest dreams.

As one who spends an enormous amount of time in the Great Cabin, Jeronimus knows all too well exactly where the money chests are and just how full to the brim they are with astronomical wealth. Now, he and Jacobsz agree that if they can pull it off, they will both be richer than Claas Compaen, the
most famous pirate of their time
.

20 April 1629,
Tafelbaai

The ship’s company has been notably happy at
Tafelbaai
, but, as is so often the way with those involved in maritime life, it is not long before the siren of the sea calls once more, when the crew of the
Batavia
must prepare to leave behind the safety of the harbour, the pleasures of the land, the delights of
kutkijken
and head once more to the open ocean.

As April is just starting to wane, thus, the
Batavia
becomes a hive of activity as all is made ready. The focus in the last day or so has been bringing aboard the supplies, including the freshly slaughtered meat, most of it now tightly stored in barrels. While it is the sailors who sweat and strain, hauling on pulleys to lift those barrels from the ship’s longboat and yawl up, over and down into the hold, the high VOC officials are also working hard, ensuring that all is properly documented. As this process of revictualling the ship is a commercial operation, it must all be carefully accounted for.

While Commandeur Pelsaert watches from the poop deck, it is Jeronimus and the
Commandeur’s
favourite bookkeeper, Salomon Deschamps, who are busy recording the net number of barrels, their contents, their cost and their position in the hold. With his decidedly elongated quill and his steady hand, Deschamps is a study in efficiency as he carefully writes it all down, constantly cross-checking against all the other documentation before him.

For his part, Jeronimus is supremely bored, but for form’s sake he knows that he must be seen to take some sort of interest. Personally, he finds both Pelsaert’s favouritism towards Deschamps and Deschamps’s extreme obsequiousness to Pelsaert as loathsome as they are laughable, but he must bite his tongue. Pelsaert had all too recently expressed his great disappointment to Jeronimus that he was present with Jacobsz when the skipper had so disgraced himself, and there is something of a strain between the two. It would not be wise to add to that now.

Nevertheless, as the hold continues to fill with fresh supplies, Jeronimus contrives to spend less and less time with Deschamps and more with the young VOC assistant also involved in the whole process, David Zevanck, who, it becomes clear, shares a view similar to his own. There is a sneering, cynical quality to Zevanck that Jeronimus greatly enjoys. Whereas Rogier Decker has been a blank canvas on which he can work, with Zevanck the drawing is already half-complete, with large streaks of blackness throughout, and he likes what he sees . . .