The Thousand Autumns of Jacob De Zoet: A Novel (84 page)

'We are pleased to learn it - "British Dejima" is a fine phrase.'

Jones the servant brings in a brass lamp. Chigwin provides beer and tankards.

'Begin with the Dutch: do they, in principle, agree to co-operate?'

Hovell translates Fischer's reply as, ' "Dejima is as good as ours." '

This 'as good as'
, thinks the Captain,
is the first sour note
.

'Do they recognise the legitimacy of the Kew Memorandum?'

The long reply makes Penhaligon wonder about Fischer's 'foundation stones'. Hovell makes further notes as Fischer speaks. 'Envoy Fischer reports that news of the VOC's collapse caused dismay amongst Dutch and Japanese alike, and without the edition of the
Courant
, the Dutch would not have believed it. He used this dismay to present the
Phoebus
as the Dutchmen's only hope of a profitable homecoming, but one dissenter, a clerk by the name of -' Hovell checks the name with Fischer, who repeats it with distaste '- Jacob de Zoet, dubbed the British Race to be "the cockroaches of Europe" and swore to cut down any "vermin collaborators". Objecting to this language, Mr Fischer challenged him to a duel. De Zoet retreated to his rat-hole.'

Fischer wipes his mouth and adds a coda for Hovell to translate.

'De Zoet was a lackey of both Chief Vorstenbosch and ex-Chief van Cleef, whose murder he accuses you of, sir. Envoy Fischer recommends his removal, in chains.'

Some settling of old scores
, Penhaligon nods,
is to be expected
. 'Very well.'

The Prussian next produces a sealed envelope and a chequered box. These he slides across the table with a lengthy explanation. 'Mr Fischer says, sir,' explains Hovell, 'that thoroughness demanded he tell you of de Zoet's opposition, but assures us that the clerk is "neutered". Whilst on Dejima, Mr Fischer was visited by Dr Marinus, the physician. Marinus had been deputised by all ashore, saving the blackguard de Zoet, to tell Mr Fischer that the merits of the British olive-branch were plain as day, and to entrust him with this sealed letter addressed to you. It contains "the unified will of Dejima's Europeans." '

'Please congratulate our envoy, Lieutenant. We are pleased.'

Peter Fischer's slight smile replies,
Of course you are pleased . . .

'Now ask Mr Fischer about his tete-a-tete with the Magistrate?'

Fischer and Hovell exchange several sentences.

'The Dutch tongue,' Cutlip tells Wren, 'is the noise of mating pigs.'

Insects encrust the cabin's window, drawn by the bright lamp.

Hovell is ready. 'Before his return to the
Phoebus
this evening, Envoy Fischer enjoyed a long audience with Magistrate Shiroyama's highest adviser, one Chamberlain Tomine.'

'What about his warm relationship with Magistrate Shiroyama?' asks Wren.

Hovell explains, 'Envoy Fischer says that Shiroyama is, in fact, a "lofty castrato" - a figurehead - and that real power lies with this chamberlain.'

I prefer a fibbing underling
, Penhaligon worries,
to fib consistently
.

'According to Envoy Fischer,' Hovell continues, 'this powerful chamberlain viewed our proposal for a commercial treaty with great sympathy. Edo is frustrated by Batavia's unreliability as a trading partner. Chamberlain Tomine was astonished at the dismemberment of the Dutch Empire, and Envoy Fischer sowed many seeds of doubt in his mind.'

Penhaligon touches the chequered box. 'This is the chamberlain's message?'

Fischer understands and speaks to Hovell. He says, sir, that this historic letter was dictated by Chamberlain Tomine, approved by Magistrate Shiroyama, and translated into Dutch by an Interpreter of the First Rank. He was not shown its contents, but has every confidence that it shall please.'

Penhaligon examines the box. 'Fine workmanship, but how to get inside?'

'There'll be a hidden spring, sir,' says Wren. 'May I?' The Second Lieutenant wastes a minute failing. 'How damnably Asiatic.'

'It would be no match,' Cutlip snorts snuff, 'for a good English hammer.'

Wren passes it to Hovell. 'Picking Oriental locks is your forte, Lieutenant.'

Hovell slides one end panel and a lid slips off. Inside is a sheet of parchment, folded twice and sealed at the front.

A man's life is made
, Penhaligon thinks,
by such letters . . . or unmade
.

The Captain slices the seal with his paper-knife and unfolds the page.

The script inside is Dutch. 'I impose once again, Lieutenant Hovell.'

'Not at all, sir.' Hovell uses a taper to light a second lamp.

' "To the Captain of the English vessel,
Phoebus
. Magistrate Shiroyama informs the 'Englanders' that changes . . ." ' Hovell pauses, frowning '. . . pardon, sir, the grammar is home-spun ". . . changes to the rules governing trade with foreigners lie not within the remit of the Magistrate of Nagasaki. These matters are the preserve of the Shogun's Council of Elders in Edo. The English Captain is therefore -" the word is "commanded" "- commanded to remain at anchor for sixty days whilst the possibility of a treaty with Great Britain is discussed by the proper authorities in Edo." '

Hostile silence settles over the table.

'The jaundiced pygmies,' declares Wren, 'take us for a gaggle of heyducks!'

Fischer, sensing something badly amiss, asks to see the chamberlain's letter.

Hovell's palm tells him,
Wait
. 'There is worse, sir. "The English Captain is commanded to send ashore all gunpowder -" '

'They'll have our
lives
, by all that's Holy,' swears Cutlip, 'before our powder!'

I was a fool
, thinks Penhaligon,
to forget that diplomacy is never simple
.

Hovell continues: ' "- all gunpowder
and
admit inspectors on to his ship to ensure compliancy. The English must not attempt a landing." That was underlined, sir. "Doing so without the Magistrate's written permission shall be an act of war. Finally, the English Captain is warned that the Shogun's laws punish smugglers with crucifixion." The letter is signed by Magistrate Shiroyama.'

Penhaligon rubs his eyes. His gout hurts. 'Show our "Envoy" the fruits of his cleverness.'

Peter Fischer reads the letter with rising incredulity, and stammers high-pitched protests at Hovell. 'Fischer denies, Captain, that the chamberlain mentioned these sixty days, or the gunpowder.'

'One doesn't doubt,' says the Captain, 'Fischer was told what was expedient.' Penhaligon slits open the envelope containing the letter from the doctor. He is expecting Dutch, but finds neatly written English. 'There is a capable linguist ashore. "To Captain Penhaligon of the Royal Navy: Sir, I, Jacob de Zoet, elected on this day President of the Provisional Dejima Republic -" '

'A "Republic"!' Wren snorts. 'That walled-in hamlet of warehouses?'

' "- beg to inform you that we, the undersigned, reject the Kew Memorandum; oppose your goal of illegitimately seizing Dutch trading interests in Nagasaki; reject your bait of gain under the English East India Company; demand the return of Chief Resident van Cleef; and inform Mr Peter Fischer of Brunswick that he is henceforth exiled from our territory." '

The four officers look at ex-Envoy Fischer, who swallows and asks for a translation.

'To continue: "Howsoever Messrs Snitker, Fischer
et al
assure you otherwise, yesterday's kidnappings are seen by Japan's authorities as a breach of sovereignty. Swift retaliation is to be expected, which I am powerless to prevent. Consider not only your ship's company, innocents in these machinations of states, but also their wives, parents and children. One appreciates that a captain of the Royal Navy has orders to follow, but
a l'impossible nul n'est tenu
. Your respectful servant, Jacob de Zoet." It is signed by all the Dutchmen.'

Laughter, rakish and rookish, fills the wardroom below.

'Pray share the bones of the matter with Fischer, Mr Hovell.'

As Hovell translates the letter into Dutch, Major Cutlip lights his pipe. 'Why did this Marinus feed our Prussian all that donkey manure?'

'To cast him,' sighs Penhaligon, 'in the role of a prize jackass.'

'What was that frog-croak,' asks Wren, 'at the end of the letter, sir?'

Talbot clears his throat. ' "No one is bound to do the impossible." '

'How I hate a man,' says Wren, 'who farts in French and expects applause.'

'And what
is
this -' Cutlip snorts '- "Republic" buffoonery about?'

'Morale. Fellow-citizens make braver fighters than jumpy underlings. This de Zoet is not the fool that Fischer would have us believe.'

The Prussian is subjecting Hovell to a volley of outraged denials. 'He claims, Captain, that de Zoet and Marinus cooked up the mischief between them - that the signatures must be forged. He says that Gerritszoon and Baert can't even write.'

'Hence they inked in their thumbprints!' Penhaligon resists an urge to hurl his whale's-tooth paperweight at Fischer's pasty, sweaty, desperate face. 'Show him, Hovell! Show him the thumbprints!
Thumb
prints, Fischer!
Thumbprints!
'

* * *

Timbers creak, men snore, rats chew, lamps hiss. Sitting at the fold-down desk in the lamp-lit wooden womb of his sleeping cabin, Penhaligon scratches an itch between the knuckles of his left hand and listens to the twelve sentries relaying the message 'Three bells, all well,' around the bulwarks.
No, it is not, by damn
, thinks the Captain. Two blank sheets of paper are waiting to be turned into letters: one to Mr -
never
, he thinks, '
President
' - Jacob de Zoet of Dejima, and the other to His August Personage, Magistrate Shiroyama of Nagasaki. The uninspired correspondent scratches his scalp, but dandruff and lice, not words, fall on to the blotter.

A wait of sixty days
, he tips the detritus into the lamp,
may be justifiable . . .

Crossing the China Sea in December, Wetz worried, would be a battering voyage.

. . .
but to surrender our gunpowder would see me court-martialled
.

A cockchafer twitches its twin whiskers in the shadow of his inkwell.

He looks at the old man in his shaving mirror and reads an imaginary article buried deep in the next year's
The Times of London
.

'John Penhaligon, former captain of HM Frigate
Phoebus
, returned from the first British mission to Japan since the reign of James I. He was relieved of his post and retired without pension, having achieved no military, commercial or diplomatic success.'

'It'll be the Impressment Service for you,' warns his reflection, 'braving outraged mobs in Bristol and Liverpool. There are too many Hovells and Wrens waiting in the wings . . .'

Damn the Dutch eyes
, thinks the Englishman,
of Jacob de Zoet . . .