To Die a Dry Death: The True Story of the Batavia Shipwreck (41 page)

Specx’s eyebrows shot up. “He wasn’t there.”

“No. But I think without the captain, Jeronimus would not have fallen so low. I have included a summary of my findings in the journal.” He waited. Specx would read his words, of course. But so much better if he would listen first.

The governor general steepled his hands. “If you would explain?”

“Jeronimus and Adriaen were friends who complemented each other. The captain is an arrogant, ambitious man who cannot endure authority. He is mocking and contemptuous of people and is inept at getting on with others unless it has to do with sea-faring.” Pelsaert stopped and sipped at his wine. The very thought of the man was enough to infuriate him.

Calmer now, he continued, “Jeronimus, on the other hand, was well-spoken and knew how to give the polish of truth to his lying words. I discovered he was a follower of Torrentius and did not profess to any religion. Indeed, he insisted there is no Hell.”

Specx’s fingers jerked at the heresy, causing his head to bob up and down.

“By his own free will confession, Jeronimus admitted that he first had the idea for stealing the ship
Batavia
from the captain. It happened after I had admonished Jacobsz for his drunken behaviour at Table Bay.” Pelsaert’s lips twisted in remembered contempt. “So typical of the man. He went to the other ships without my knowledge, got drunk and into fights… and then he failed to understand why I should take him to task.

“Well, Jeronimus said that after I had disciplined the captain, Jacobsz said to him that if he were younger, he would take steps to make himself master of the ship. That was all he would say at this stage but Jeronimus went after him, insisting that friends should reveal their plans. And then at last Jacobsz admitted that he planned to steal the ship. He said he would get most of the officers on his side and the principal sailors. He would nail up the hatch to the soldiers’ deck and kill me and many others so that only about one hundred and twenty remained on the ship. Then he would make his fortune over two or three years.

“After we left the Cape, the
Batavia
separated from the rest of fleet, as Jacobsz had planned. I became very ill and was forced to keep to my bunk for weeks. They hoped, of course, that I would die. But I did not. And so then they needed an excuse to start their mutiny. That was when they concocted the plan to attack the Lady Lucretia. The intention was that I would seek those who committed this offence and punish the offenders. Jeronimus in fact proposed to cut her cheeks with a knife so that I would know who had done this…”

“Why? Why would they want to mar a lady’s face?” asked Specx.

Pelsaert took the chance to gulp a little more wine.

“I did not explain. The captain lusted after the lady, but she spurned him. So then the captain turned to Lucretia’s maid, a slut of a girl named Zwaantie who denied him nothing. He promised this girl that she would see the destruction of her mistress and herself elevated to the position of a great lady. So they conspired to bring debasement to Lucretia.”

Pelsaert hesitated. This wasn’t going well. Specx was frowning.

“So you say the captain wanted to hurt the lady for the maid’s sake?”

“Yes. That and to give an excuse to start their mutiny. You see, they expected that I would seek to punish whoever carried out the assault. But they would say that I wanted to punish men on behalf of women and whores. Your Excellency would know that many of the common sailors believe it is bad luck to have a woman on board.”

The man opposite him nodded. “Yes. It is well known.”

“Well then. The captain would refuse to allow the punishment and take advantage of the unrest to seize control of the vessel and do away with those who had the Company’s interests at heart.”

“How have you learnt all this?”

“From the examinations. It’s all there, in the journal.” He pointed at the document already lying on Specx’s desk. “The very first man I examined told me of a conspiracy on the ship. And one fellow admitted to sleeping with a sword under his head, waiting for the call to arms.”

Specx gestured to a slave standing in the corner. “More wine. So did Jeronimus tell you why they did not seize the ship before it was wrecked?”

“Ah. I could see that to punish those who assaulted Lucretia before we reached Batavia would cause unrest. So I decided to do nothing until we reached the city. That put their plans into disarray. But they resolved to act before the ship reached the Indies.”

Specx sipped at his wine. “But they did not.”

“No, and then the ship was wrecked. As the under merchant Jeronimus was the most senior Company official there, and he took charge. He gathered those of the people he knew from the ship had been part of the conspiracy—Coenraat van Huyssen, Davidt Zevanck, Jan Hendricxsz, Lenert van Os, Gijsbert van Welderen and others—and they started to kill the people, at first in secret and then quite openly.”

“Such wickedness. Such immoral wickedness,” said Specx, staring out through the window.

“Their plan was to seize the rescue ship when it arrived,” said Pelsaert. “If Jacobsz had been the captain, so much the better. But if he was not, they intended to lure the senior officers from the ship and make them drunk. Then they could decide if the new men were with them, or against them. And act accordingly.”

“But they did not succeed.”

“No, because some of the people Jeronimus sent away to die found water and food. They were soldiers, led by a man called Wiebbe Hayes. I have promoted him to officer on account of his exemplary conduct.”

Specx nodded approval.

Pelsaert explained how Hayes had prepared his growing group of men and described the assault where Cornelisz was captured and his lieutenants killed.

“How did this finally end?” Specx said.

“At the very moment when the soldiers were under a final attack, where one man died and three were seriously wounded, God in His mercy saw fit that the Sardam should arrive. Wiebbe Hayes came himself to warn me. And so it ended.”

Specx scratched at the corner of his mouth. “A pity you could not deliver the leader, this man Jeronimus, and these others.”

“It was too dangerous. Jeronimus never lost his gift with words and with Sardam so laden with treasures to tempt men, he may yet have succeeded in his aims. But I have delivered to you the man who was second in charge to Jeronimus.” He smiled. “On the
Batavia
, Pietersz was the lance-corporal. On Batavia’s Graveyard, he had the title of lieutenant-general.”

Specx grunted. “The matter must be resolved by the council. In the meanwhile, these scoundrels can wait in the dungeons.”

“What of Adriaen Jacobsz?” asked Pelsaert. God willing, they’d executed him.

“As far as I know he is still incarcerated.” A speculative glint appeared in Specx’s eyes. “It would seem we will have to ask him some further questions.”

Pelsaert concealed his satisfaction with difficulty.

Epilogue

Embers settled in the fireplace. The man rose and threw on another log.

“What an amazing story,” said the traveller. “No wonder the city’s full of it.”

His companion slid back into his seat. He reached for the bottle of
Genever,
slopped some more into his mug and sipped.

“Do you know what happened to them? The rest of the scoundrels they brought back to Batavia?”

“Pelsaert punished them on the way. Several were keelhauled and flogged.”

“Keelhauled?”

“Mm. Ships have a special cage. They put the man inside, then drag the cage from one side of the ship underneath the keel and up the other side.”

“Oooh,” gasped the traveller, eyes wide. “Don’t they drown?”

“Some do. But if they don’t panic and hold their breath, they’ll survive.”

“That and flogging as well.” A tremor went through the traveller’s body.

“Well, some of them were murderers. Maybe forced to kill, but nonetheless. I think Pelsaert was kinder to some of them than he should have been.”

The man gazed into the depths of his liquor. “But that wasn’t enough for the Company. Specx threw all of them into the dungeons as soon as the
Sardam
made port. And then, in January, the Company carried out its version of justice. Four of them were hanged. A few were severely flogged and sent away from Batavia in chains. And one…” his voice trailed away and he shook his head. “They couldn’t decide what to do with two lads, one seventeen, the other fifteen. So they made them draw lots to see which would die, while the other looked on with a noose around his neck.”

The man moved on his bench. The timber creaked, loud in the silence.

“Pietersz was broken on the wheel. Have you seen that done?”

The traveller shook his head.

“They stretched him out, out there in the plaza for all to see, chained down to a table. Then the executioner got an iron bar and smashed his bones, starting with his fingers and toes and then up his legs and his arms and his backbone. And then, when his bones were pulp, they tied him to a wheel. A cart wheel with the axle stuck in the ground. They wrapped his legs up to the back of his head and left him there for the people to have their say.”

“Good God.”

“Indeed. He was a big, powerful man. It would have taken some time for him to die.”

“You seem to know a lot about all this,” said the traveller.

The man shrugged. “My cousin was an under steersman on the
Batavia
. And I was there not so long ago, in the city. Men talk. And it is a fascinating story.”

“The men here talked of devils and demons.”

“It’s possible. There have been tales before of men who sold their souls for gain. And for a while, Jeronimus was master of all his realm. He had wealth; they found Pelsaert’s treasures from the ship in his tent. And he had the most beautiful woman as his own to do with as he wished. But Satan is a trickster; more devious even than Jeronimus.”

“What of the others? Pelsaert?”

The new log on the fire burst into flame, sending flickering shadows across the man’s face. His lips curved in a smile. “Ah, now Pelsaert was a smooth talker, a clever merchant and he did his best to blame everybody else but himself. The trouble was, Antonio van Diemen didn’t believe him. Before you ask, van Diemen is a Councillor of India, one of the more influential of the people on the Governor General’s Council. And he had a lot to do with the business of the
Batavia
. He didn’t like Pelsaert. So despite all his deviousness and deception, Pelsaert lost his status with the VOC. They sent him somewhere else and the word is he died less than a year after he returned to Batavia in the
Sardam
.”

“And Lucretia, Wiebbe Hayes?”

“I can’t be sure. But Wiebbe was a soldier. He would have gone off to fight a war against the natives.”

“Did he marry Judyck?”

The man chuckled. “Who knows? I don’t. But I did hear that Lucretia returned to Amsterdam.”

“You haven’t mentioned the captain. Adriaen Jacobsz.”

“Jacobsz?” The man smiled, filled his pipe and bent to light it using a coal from the fire.

“Yes. What happened to all that talk of mutiny?”

“I expect he died there, in that poisonous pit underneath the fort of Batavia. Specx never released him.”

“They charged him with negligence, though…”

“Because he misjudged longitude? If that is negligence then every captain, every skipper of every yacht, or
fluyt
or
retourschip
can be accused of negligence. It’s not just a captain that makes the decision; he discusses with all the steersmen, trying to get it right.”

“But what about the mutiny?”

The man sucked on his pipe and blew out a plume of smoke.

“He was never executed. Can you imagine the VOC would tolerate a mutinous captain? For a moment?”

The traveller sat back on the bench. “It seems unfair.”

“Since when was life fair?”

“True.” The traveller yawned and stretched. “It’s late. I must get to my bed. Thank you indeed for the tale, sir. I doubt I shall have to buy beer for some time at home.” He hesitated. “My name is Joop Kuhne. May I know yours?”

The man took his pipe out of his mouth. “Jacob Gerritsz. I wish you goodnight.”

*

The traveller took his leave. Jacob Gerritsz poured the rest of the
Genever
into his mug as Kuhne’s footsteps thudded up the stairs.

He was drunk, but maybe not drunk enough.

Memories clamoured.

Jacobsz forced himself to eat. The bread was better than the shipboard stuff, fresher, softer. A bowl of beans and rice was more than he’d had in all those days on the longboat. No sense in killing himself after all he’d been through. And there was still Zwaantie, who made sure at least that he was fed.

The rat in the corner waited for left-overs, its presence betrayed by the glow of its eyes. They’d formed a relationship, he and the rat.

“Do you know where Zwaantie is?” he asked it. The thought of her brought back memories. Her laughing eyes, her smooth skin, her lips, her breasts. He remembered the last time they’d made love, in his room in the Captain’s Guild an eternity ago. Huh. Much good he’d do her now. Even with his mind full of sex, his cock hung flaccid. Jacobsz threw the rat a crust. “Tell her I love her.”

The door rattled.

What now? The jailer wouldn’t want the bowl back yet, surely? The key rasped in the lock and the massive door creaked open. Dim light from the passage silhouetted the figure. “Come on, on your feet. You’re wanted.”

Wanted for what? More questions? What else was left to say? A tendril of fear curled in his stomach. They’d killed Evertsz and for what? But he stood, happy to at least be out of the horrible cell for a time. He walked to the door, aware of curious eyes watching him from the corners.

The soldier stood aside to let him pass, where a second trooper waited, sweating in his leather coat. Even here, behind the thick walls, the sluggish air was warm and damp. Blinking in even this unaccustomed light, Jacobsz let himself be guided to another arched doorway that led outside. By now used to dimness, the sunlight pierced his skull and he closed his eyes.