The Thousand Autumns of Jacob De Zoet: A Novel (78 page)

'Van Cleef,' says Hovell, 'passed an uncommunicative night in his cell.'

'Aside,' sneers Cutlip, 'from demanding to know why his supper was boiled rope.'

'News of the VOC's demise,' the Captain asks, 'makes him no less obdurate?'

Hovell shakes his head. 'Admission of weakness
is
a weakness, perhaps.'

'As for Fischer,' says Wren, 'the wretch spent all night in his cabin, despite our entreaties to join us in the wardroom.'

'How are relations between Fischer and his former chief, Snitker?'

'They act like perfect strangers,' replies Hovell. 'Snitker is nursing a head-cold this morning: he wants van Cleef court-martialled for the crime, if you please, of "Battery against a 'Friend of the Court of Saint James'." '

'I am sick,' says Penhaligon, 'heartily sick, of that conceited coxcomb.'

'I'd agree, Captain,' says Wren, 'that Snitker's usefulness has run its course.'

'We need a persuasive leader to win the Dutch,' says the Captain, 'and an -' above-deck, three bells are rung, '- and an envoy of gravitas and poise to persuade the Japanese.'

'Deputy Fischer wins my vote,' says Major Cutlip, 'as the more pliable man.'

'Chief van Cleef,' argues Hovell, 'would be the natural leader.'

'Let us interview,' Penhaligon brushes crumbs away, 'our two candidates.'

'Mr van Cleef.' Penhaligon stands, disguising his grimace of pain as an insincere smile. 'I hope you slept well?'

Van Cleef helps himself to burgoo, Seville preserve and a hailstorm of sugar before replying to Hovell's translation. 'He says you can threaten him all you please, sir, but Dejima still has not one nail of copper for you to rob.'

Penhaligon ignores this. 'Tell him I'm pleased his appetite is robust.'

Hovell translates and van Cleef speaks through a mouthful of food.

'He asks, sir, if we have decided what to do with our hostages yet.'

'Tell him that we don't consider him a hostage, but a guest.'

Van Cleef's response to the assertion is a burgoo-spattering 'Ha!'.

'Ask if he has digested the VOC's bankruptcy.'

Van Cleef pours himself a bowl of coffee as he listens to Hovell. He shrugs.

'Tell him that the British East India Company wishes to trade with Japan.'

Van Cleef sprinkles raisins on his burgoo as he gives his response.

'His reply, sir, is "Why else would you hire Snitker to bring you here?" '

He is no novice at this
, thinks Penhaligon,
but then neither am I
.

'Tell him we are seeking an old Japan hand to represent our interests.'

Van Cleef listens, nods, stirs sugar into his coffee, and says, '
Nee
.'

'Ask whether he ever heard of the Kew Memorandum, signed by his own monarch-in-exile, ordering Dutch overseas officers to hand their nations' assets to the safekeeping of the British?'

Van Cleef listens, nods, stands and lifts his shirt to show a deep, wide scar.

He sits down, tears a bread roll in two and gives Hovell a calm explanation.

'Mr van Cleef says he earned that wound at the hands of Scotch and Swiss mercenaries hired by that same monarch-in-exile. They poured boiling oil down his father's throat, he said. On behalf of the Batavian Republic, he begs us to keep both the "Chinless Tyrant" and "British safekeeping", and says that the Kew Memorandum is useful for the privy, but nothing else.'

'Plainly, sir,' declares Wren, 'we are dealing with an incurable Jacobin.'

'Tell him we'd
prefer
to achieve our goals diplomatically, but -'

Van Cleef sniffs the sauerkraut and recoils as at boiling sulphur.

'- failing that we shall seize the factory by force, and any loss of Japanese and Dutch life shall be on his account.'

Van Cleef drinks his coffee, turns to Penhaligon and insists on Hovell translating his reply line by line so that nothing is missed.

'He says, Captain, that whatever Daniel Snitker has told us, Dejima is sovereign Japanese territory, leased to the Company. It is not a Dutch possession.

'He says that if we try to storm it, the Japanese will defend it.

'He says our marines may fire off one round before being cut down.

'He urges us, sir, not to throw our lives away, for our families' sakes.'

'The man is trying to scare us away,' remarks Cutlip.

'More probably,' suspects Penhaligon, 'he is driving up the price of his help.'

But van Cleef issues a final statement and stands.

'He thanks you for breakfast, Captain, and says that Melchior van Cleef is not for sale to any monarch. Peter Fischer, however, shall be only too delighted to hammer out terms with you.'

'My esteem for Prussians,' says Penhaligon, 'began in my midshipman days . . .'

Hovell translates: Peter Fischer nods, not quite able to believe this wonderful twist of fortune.

'HMS
Audacious
had a Brunswick-born lieutenant named Plessner . . .'

Fischer corrects the pronunciation of 'Plessner' and adds a remark.

'Chief Fischer,' translates Hovell, 'is also a native son of Brunswick.'

'Is that so now?' Penhaligon feigns astonishment. 'From Brunswick?'

Peter Fischer nods, says '
Ja, ja
,' and drains his small beer.

With a glance, Penhaligon orders Chigwin to fill his tankard and keep it filled.

'Mr Plessner was firm and fair; a superb seaman; brave, resourceful . . .'

Fischer's thoughtful expression signifies,
As one would expect, of course . . .

'. . . and I am overjoyed,' the Captain continues, 'that the first British Consul of Nagasaki shall be a gentleman of Germanic stock and values.'

Fischer raises his tankard in salute, and puts a question to Hovell.

'He's asking, sir, what role Mr Snitker may have in our future plans.'

Penhaligon aspirates a tragic sigh, thinks,
I could have walked the boards at Drury Lane
, and says, 'To be truthful with you, Envoy Fischer . . .' Hovell translates the snatch, and Fischer leans in closer '. . . to be truthful, Daniel Snitker disappoints us as gravely as Mr van Cleef.'

The Prussian nods with co-conspirator's eyes.

'Dutchmen talk large, yet in action they are all piss and vinegar.'

Hovell struggles with the idioms but elicits a run of
ja-ja-ja
s.

'They are too rooted in their Golden Age to notice the changing world.'

'This is the . . .
waarheid
.' Fischer turns to Hovell. 'How to say,
waarheid
?'

' "Truth",' says Hovell, and Penhaligon tries to make his foot more comfortable as he expounds. 'This is why the VOC collapsed, and why their much-vaunted Dutch Republic looks set to join Poland in History's dustbin of extinct nations. The British Crown needs Fischers, not Snitkers: men of talent, of vision . . .'

Fischer's nostrils widen as he listens to Hovell's rendition, the better to smell his future of wealth and power.

'. . . and moral rectitude. In short, we need ambassadors, not whoring merchants.'

Fischer completes his metamorphosis from hostage to plenipotentiary with a laborious tale of Dutch lassitude, which Hovell shortens. 'Envoy Fischer says that a fire levelled the Sea-Gate quarter of Dejima last year. Whilst the two biggest Dutch warehouses were burning to the ground, van Cleef and Snitker were disporting themselves in a brothel at the Company's expense.'

'Disgraceful dereliction,' declares Wren, a connoisseur of bagnios.

'Gross abandonment,' agrees Cutlip, Wren's companion of choice.

Seven bells ring, and Envoy Fischer shares a new thought with Hovell.

'He says, Captain, that with van Cleef removed from Dejima, Mr Fischer is now the Acting-Chief - meaning that the men on Dejima are duty-bound to carry out his instructions. To disobey his orders is a corporal offence.'

May his powers of persuasion
, thinks the Captain,
match his confidence
. 'Snitker shall receive a pilot's fee for guiding us here and a gratis berth to Bengal, but in a hammock, not a cabin.'

Fischer's nod agrees,
That is quite sufficient
, and issues a pronouncement.

'He says,' translates Hovell, ' "the Almighty forged this morning's pact." '

The Prussian drinks from his tankard and finds it empty.

The Captain sends Chigwin a tiny shake of his head. 'The Almighty,' Penhaligon smiles, 'and His Majesty's Navy, for whom Envoy Fischer agrees to undertake the following . . .' Penhaligon takes up the Memorandum of Understanding. ' "Article One: Envoy Fischer is to gain the acquiescence of Dejima's men to British patronage." '

Hovell translates. Major Cutlip rolls a boiled egg on a saucer.

' "Article Two: Envoy Fischer is to broker negotiations with the Nagasaki Magistrate to secure a Treaty of Amity and Trade between the British Crown and the Shogun of Japan. Annual trading seasons are to commence from June of 1801." '

Hovell translates. Cutlip picks eggshell from the rubbery white.

' "Article Three: Envoy Fischer shall facilitate the transfer of all Dutch-owned copper to His Majesty's Frigate
Phoebus
and a limited trading season in Private Goods between crew and officers and Japanese merchants." '

Hovell translates. Cutlip bites into the truffle-soft yolk.

' "As remuneration for these services, Envoy Fischer is to receive a one-tenth share of all profits from the British Dejima factory for the first three years of his office, which may be renewed in 1802 subject to the consent of both parties." '

As Hovell translates the final clause, Penhaligon signs the Memorandum.

The Captain then passes the quill to Peter Fischer. Fischer pauses.

He senses the gaze
, the Captain guesses,
of his future self, watching him
.

'You shall return to Brunswick,' Wren assures him, 'as rich as its duke.'

Hovell translates, Fischer smiles and signs, and Cutlip sprinkles a little salt on to the remains of his egg.

Today being Sunday, Church is rigged and eight bells summons the ship's company. The officers and marines stand beneath an awning strung between the mizzen and mainmast. All the
Phoebus
's Christian sailors are expected to toe the line in their best clothes: Hebrews, Mussulmans, Asiatics and other heathens are excused prayers and the hymn, but often they watch from the margins. Van Cleef is locked in the sailcloth store for fear of mischief, Daniel Snitker is with the lesser warrant officers and Peter Fischer stands between Captain Penhaligon - conscious that his walking-stick will already be the subject of speculation amongst the ratings - and Lieutenant Hovell, from whom the newly appointed envoy has borrowed a fresh cotton shirt. Chaplain Wily, a gnarled oboe of a Kentishman, reads from his battered Bible standing on a makeshift pulpit set before the wheel. He reads line by slow line, allowing the unschooled men time to chew and digest every verse, and giving the Captain's thoughts some room to wander: ' "We being exceedingly tossed with a tempest . . ." '