Batavia (8 page)

Not that the
Batavia
will be alone for all that; she will be the flagship of a fleet of eight. There are three other
retourschips
– the
Dordrecht
,
Galiasse
and
Gravenhage
– smaller versions of the
Batavia
but all of them large enough to be able to make regular trips to the East Indies and back carrying heavy cargo. There are the
Assendelft
and the
Sardam
– a
fluyt
and a
jacht
respectively – small, very manoeuvrable trading ships designed for carrying smaller amounts of cargo between the Spice Islands. There is also a heavily armed man-of-war, the
Buren
, there to fend off any of the pirate ships frequently found off the coast around Dunkirk, and thereafter whatever enemy ships they might come across. And, finally, there is the fastest and most manoeuvrable vessel of all, the
jacht Kleine David
, whose purpose is to act as a messenger and transport between all the ships.

In Jacobsz’s possession are the VOC orders commanding him to guide his ship, and with it the fleet, down through the North Sea and the
Kanaal
, English Channel, before continuing down the French and Portuguese coasts, past the Strait of Gibraltar and all the way down Africa’s west coast to Sierra Leone before taking advantage of the north-east trade winds to head out into the Atlantic Ocean. He is to continue south-west until he is just off the coast of South America, where he is to do a turnabout to catch the winds and currents that will quickly propel the ships to the southern tip of Africa. At this point, they can take their first break to rest and revictual, before heading on to Batavia, following the Brouwer route.

The departure from Texel in late October has been designed to ensure that the small fleet will catch the Roaring Forties trade winds when they are at their strongest. If all goes according to schedule, the ships will be in Batavia by early July the following year, some nine months hence, propitiously at the very time the freshly harvested spice crop will be ready to load.

The only thing not to the liking of Jacobsz at this point is the presence of the slightly wan man standing just five yards from him on the upper-deck – far too close for the skipper’s liking, and, in his view, a serious intrusion. The man is Commandeur Francisco Pelsaert, who travelled back to the Netherlands from India on Jacobsz’s ship earlier in the year, and with whom the skipper had a time most turbulent,
pompous prig that he was
. . . It was the sincere hope of both men once they had parted on the docks at Texel that they would never see each other again, but now, by a malicious twist of fate, here they are.

While Skipper Jacobsz has nautical command of this ship, Commandeur Pelsaert has commercial control of both the entire fleet and the whole exercise on which they are embarked. Despite Pelsaert’s previous vow to himself to never return to tropical climes and the fact that he has not yet fully recovered his health, the VOC managed to tempt him once more with its offer of, first, being the
Commandeur
of this fleet, and then of great advancement within the VOC’s hierarchy in the Dutch East Indies. His brother-in-law, Hendrick Brouwer, even whispered to him that there was every chance he would be appointed to the immensely powerful and prestigious East Indies Council once he arrived in Batavia – an extraordinary honour for one so young.

In his own pocket, Pelsaert has a letter from the
Heeren XVII
, addressed to Governor-General Jan Pieterszoon Coen, recommending him for higher office once he arrives in Batavia:

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Pelsaert is a good officer, with a highly developed sense of loyalty to the Company, and yet he is not leaving the shores of the Dutch Republic with any sense of rising joy. One reason is that he is uncomfortable at being engaged in common project with one he detests as much as the skipper. Another is that the very thing that makes Jacobsz so joyous at the beginning of this voyage is the same thing that makes Pelsaert heavy of spirit. Jacobsz is an old sea dog who is only truly in his element when well out to sea, whereas Pelsaert is a commercial man whose natural element is terra firma, organising trade deals advantageous to the Company. And though the
Commandeur
has no loving family that he is agonised about leaving behind – he has never married, nor even engaged in long-term relationships, as that would have interfered with his work – still his glumness matches that of even the most devoted family man leaving his loved ones behind.

For the
Commandeur
, the long journey ahead is naught but something to be endured, so that he can get to his true work in the East Indies, where he first journeyed a decade earlier when very junior in the Company. One bit of solace, at least, is that if all goes well, this trip will make him a very rich man. Notwithstanding the fact that Pelsaert’s original falling out with Jacobsz was over the former’s discovery that the skipper was engaging in private trade, Pelsaert is travelling with a chest containing four bags of jewels, together with an extremely valuable foot-long agate cameo that is over 1000 years old.

The cameo comes from the Eastern Roman Empire and was created early in the fourth century to celebrate Constantine the Great’s coronation (it depicts his family in a classical scene). It is rumoured to be owned by the great Flemish painter Peter Paul Rubens, and the famed Amsterdam jeweller and agent Gaspar Boudaen has had it mounted within an enamelled frame of silver gilt encrusted with precious stones. Pelsaert thinks it will likely find favour at the Mogul court, where he will hopefully be able to sell it at a profit of 50 per cent.
That profit will have to be shared
with both Boudaen and the VOC itself – for Pelsaert has at least been careful to inform the Company of it, and it has allowed it. For all aboard the ship, the authority of the Company is like a palpable force, an unseen presence that extends from bow to stern.

It is not only the
Batavia
’s officers who are obliged to swear fealty to the VOC at the moment of taking up their commission; it is the crew too. Just a short time before departure, a high Company official with the post of
Monster-Commisaris
came aboard to ensure that every post on the ship was filled, to read to the crew the ship’s articles – the regulations they must obey and the severe penalties they face if they breach those regulations – and to hear each crew member
swear their own oath of allegiance
before him.

Now, when anyone high in the hierarchy of the Company gives an order to someone lower, he does so in the total confidence of having the full weight of the Company behind him. This applies to none more so than Pelsaert, who is the very embodiment of Company power. And if soldiers and sailors complain about anything at all to do with the VOC – their terms of employment, the ship, the skipper, Pelsaert himself,
anything
– the reason they whisper such complaints only to their closest confidants is that it is understood by everyone that the Company is among them at all times, that the walls, the decks, the very hatch doors themselves have eyes and ears, and any disloyalty to the Company risks severe punishment.

And yet, during these first glorious hours of the journey, there is no complaint from anyone. All aboard are aware that this is not just another trip to the East Indies, on just another ship. Apart from being one of the finest ships that the Dutch Republic has ever constructed, she also bears the richest cargo ever assembled. And they are on her!

For all of those new to life on the high seas, their education starts early. The first and most important rule, of course, is to always expect the unexpected . . .

At two o’clock on the afternoon of their first day at sea, the
Batavia
, with her fleet close in behind, is heading sou’ by sou’-west on course for the
Kanaal
, the Dutch coast still on her port quarter and a strongish breeze blowing from aft. The first clue Pelsaert has that they might be in for a spot of trouble comes when he is on the poop deck trying to get some fresh air to counter his rising nausea. Here, he sees Skipper Jacobsz gazing worriedly westwards at the thick black clouds that have suddenly appeared.

Whereas the instructions to the sailors were previously so obvious that the first mate could do them on his own, now Jacobsz takes over the entire operation and barks orders nineteen to the dozen: ‘Bear a hand, heave ’round! Boots, boots, get those men on deck, everybody up, sailors all, may lightning strike you, come up,
you cursed dogs
.’

While those sailors who are within earshot jump to it at these commands, most receive them via the bosun, Jan Evertsz, who relays them to the dozens all around the ship, who once again go shinnying up and down the masts and across the spars to reset the sails. And, to ensure that even those in the farthest reaches of the ship’s rigging can follow these instructions, the chief trumpeter, a man by the name of Claas Jansz, and another man known to the crew as
Cornelis de Dikke Trompetter
, Cornelis the Fat Trumpeter, hover close to Evertsz and listen carefully.

Following the nautical fashion of the day, for every command coming from the captain, Claas and Cornelis the Fat Trumpeter have a brief signal, which they instantly blare out, pointing their trumpets to all three masts so that all will hear. No sooner has the order
‘Alle hens aan dek!’
, all hands on deck, come than Claas and Cornelis emit a
toot toot toot-de-toot-toot toot
, resounding from one end of the ship to the other and down the hatches, as the 40 sailors who are on watch dance to their tune.

When the captain shouts, ‘Heave to,
heave to, I say
! Take down the top and the mainsails, you
schobbejakken
, bastards!’ they spot the relevant command, to haul in the mainsail, and a
toooooot-toot-toot, de toot-de-toot-toota
does the trick. And so it goes. All put together, each sailor is an integral part of a system that is as comprehensive as it is cohesive.

True, Jacobsz is not kind in his commands to those sailors who are nearby – ‘You there, you
slothouten
, piece of wood, get that cable-rope or
I will give you a beating
so you will shit your soul’ – but no one takes particular offence, because that is just the Dutch-mariner way of speaking.

In a similar fashion, Jan Evertsz, he with the heavily scarred and weathered visage of one who has spent equal amounts of time at sea and in tavern brawls, is rough in his manner but still respected by the sailors, who follow his orders without question. He has risen to the position of high bosun because of his ability to organise his sailors quickly in complex operations, and being rough is simply part of the way things are done.

‘Come,’ Jacobsz continues to cry, ‘move like one man, and to the health of all
zwartinnen
, black women, in the East Indies, and all Dutch girls.
Come, move like one man
!’

And move like one man they do. As if by magic, the sails suddenly diminish to just a quarter of what they were, which is as well, for only minutes after that the skies darken and the light swell develops into battering waves. Now the
Batavia
and her fleet are in the middle of a murderous maelstrom that old salts would later say was one of the worst experienced in that part of the world. (Pelsaert will have to take their word for it. Having retired to his cabin well before the worst of the storm hits, he spends most of its duration lying on his bunk groaning.) If the
Batavia
is somewhat steadier in the storm than the other ships, less prone to being bounced around by the waves and winds, this is due to both her size and the amount of heavy cargo she is carrying, as well as the expertise of Skipper Ariaen Jacobsz.

In such a ship, and under such captaincy, for many hours it seems probable that the
Batavia
will be able to weather the ferocity of even this storm without bad damage. This continues to be the case right up until the hour before the storm blows itself out, when, with one last mighty effort, a fiercely focused gale from the west suddenly propels the
Batavia
onto the Walcheren Banks, the sandbars just off the Dutch Republic’s Walcheren Island, which guards the approaches to the port of Antwerp.

With the ship stuck in the sand, the
Batavia
’s heavy load, which has been an asset to their safety, now becomes a major liability. The wind howls and the ocean roars – nearly, but not quite, as loudly as Jacobsz as he continues to yell orders to his sailors and imprecations to the nautical gods in equal measure. And, in the end, it is a close-run thing. A lesser captain would likely have foundered, but in a crisis like this Jacobsz is as good as it gets, and this time he also has fortune on his side. For what aids the skipper and his sailors greatly is that the
Batavia
has hit the banks near low tide, and when the high tide comes in the added buoyancy lifts them off.