Batavia (12 page)

3 December 1628, Batavia

For those hardy souls living in Batavia in the East Indies, the towering citadel in the north-eastern section of the settlement is a source of enormous comfort. No matter that they have now effectively been under siege for the last two months, just a look at the well-fortified castle makes them feel stronger for the fact that if they
are
overrun, here is their shelter of last resort.

In the daytime, the citadel is visible from ten miles away, a profound statement of strength to potential assailants that they are wasting their time, for such a battlement could never fall. After sunset, its brooding silhouette cuts out a vast swathe of the night sky and reiterates precisely the same statement, albeit in a somehow more forceful way.

On this particular night, the silhouette of the citadel is also notable for the fact that – unusually – lights are burning on high, in the quarters where the Governor-General resides.

Perhaps he is entertaining?

He is.

It is a night to farewell one of the VOC’s most faithful servants in the East Indies, Admiral Willem Jansz, who has decided to retire and return to the Netherlands. Jansz first ventured to the Indies some 30 years earlier with the second fleet, was the captain on the venture that first mapped
het Zuidland
, the Southland, which lay below New Guinea and roughly 40 days’ sail to the east of
Tafelbaai
, and was beside Coen when they stormed Jacatra. He advised Coen on how best to subsequently defend the nascent settlement of Batavia, was the governor of the Banda Islands for three and a half successful years and went on countless diplomatic missions throughout South East Asia on behalf of the VOC, where he always proved himself to be a singularly valuable servant of the Company.

It is appropriate, thus, that on this, his last night in this key part of the Dutch Empire that he has done so much to build, he sits in the place of honour, right beside Governor-General Coen at the head of the long table at which sit all the senior VOC officers in Batavia. Toast after toast is made to his health, his wealth and a safe journey home.

The following day, late in the afternoon, Jansz gives the orders for the admiral’s flag on his ship to be hoisted and for the anchor to be raised. Taking advantage of the wind that nearly always blows off the land at this time of day, he sails out of Batavia on his way towards the Sunda Strait, to thereafter pick up the south-east trade winds that blow at that time of the year all the way to the Cape.

As Batavia recedes into the distance, the lucky sailors selected to make the long-dreamed-of return voyage sing what has become an almost traditional song in the prior ten years:
‘Vaarwel, Batavia, zeilen wij nu thuis’
, farewell, Batavia, we’re now sailing home.

Tapping his foot to the tune, Jansz continues to gaze back on Batavia until it finally sinks below the horizon, at which point he sighs with both regret and relief. In some ways, he is sorry to be leaving, while he is still joyous to finally be heading home. Despite Batavia’s formidable defences, he wonders just how long the Dutch outpost will be able to hold on the next time the Sultan of Mataram attacks, for he has little doubt that another attack will be coming.

Early January 1629, aboard the
Batavia
, off the coast of Africa

They sail on.

By now, the
Batavia
has gone so far down the coast of Africa that they are very close to Sierra Leone, where they will briefly stop before heading sou’ by sou’-west, crossing the equator mid-Atlantic before entering Brazilian waters, enabling them to roar back across the Atlantic to the Cape of Good Hope. Working out their latitude on any given day – how far to the north or south of the equator they are – is a relatively easy matter, at least when both the sun and the horizon are visible during the day, or the Polaris star is visible at night. At noon, Jacobsz ‘shoots the sun’ – that is, while standing steady on the poop deck, he ensures that his marine astrolabe is absolutely level by pointing at the horizon and then measuring the angle of the sun above that horizon. Of course, the closer they get to the equator, the higher in the sky the sun is, and by consulting his carefully calibrated charts Jacobsz can work out precisely what latitude they are on.

In fact, highly experienced mariners such as Jacobsz and many of his crew can make a good estimate of their latitude even without using the astrolabe. At night, the closer the stars get to rising directly from the east and then moving up to straight overhead, the closer they are to the equator. Old hands know that, at the equator, the stars rise straight up, and the further they progress into the southern hemisphere the more the stars drift to the north as they rise in the sky.

As to longitude – how far to the east or west they are on the planet – that is far more difficult to assess, and the results a lot more approximate. Broadly, the only way it can be done is to estimate the average speed and therefore distance travelled during each watch and then chart their progress on the map. To do this, they use the time-honoured method of dropping a triangular piece of wood attached to a line overboard and having the sailor who dropped it count the knots that go through his fingers in the precisely measured minute.

Putting it all together, each day at noon, after the skipper has shot the sun, he then looks at the calculations of the previous six watches as to course and distance travelled to try to work out what their longitude is and therefore their actual position on the globe.

1 February 1629, heading south-west, Atlantic Ocean

Despite Jacobsz’s frustration at the way things have turned out with the belle of the
Batavia
, there is at least consolation to be found in the charms of her delightfully voluptuous maid, Zwaantje. For it takes just one raised eyebrow from the skipper when he and Zwaantje happen to meet one evening after dinner in the passageway near his quarters before, that very night, the ship is rocking a little more easily as she continues on her southwestward course across the Atlantic.

No ongoing relationship on a ship can remain secret for long, and, in the case of Jacobsz and Zwaantje, the skipper doesn’t even bother trying. Why should he? Pelsaert aside, Jacobsz is master of his domain, and he doesn’t mind the ship knowing that Zwaantje is his mistress.

Besides the many delights of Zwaantje’s body and her extraordinary dexterity, a bonus for Jacobsz is that his carry-on with her is clearly upsetting to Lucretia. Zwaantje being in the Great Cabin night after night further isolates the once high and mighty Dutchwoman on the ship . . . and as to Zwaantje herself, she is positively proud that she is the skipper’s conquest and doesn’t care who knows. She may have come aboard this vessel as a humble servant of a grand lady, but look at her now! As the skipper’s lover, in her eyes at least, she is second only to him in importance. She doesn’t care how furiously the fans of some of the fat wives aft of the mast are set a’flurry as she passes, what scandalised whispers they pass to each other, and she
particularly
doesn’t care what Lucretia thinks about it.

‘For shame,’ Tryntgien audibly comments as the skipper’s mistress flounces and bounces and makes her way inelegantly past.

‘Quite the lady then, aren’t we?’ Zussie mutters in agreement.

And yet, although the two sisters are caught between tut-tut and titter-titter, between being appalled and amused that Zwaantje is presuming a station so very far above her actual level, the truth is that just like her they are hugely enjoying Lucretia’s obvious discomfort at this development.

For the moment, Zwaantje still continues, nominally, as Lucretia’s ‘servant’, but she is done with bowing and scraping, and if Lucretia wants any primping she can do it herself.

Jacobsz – who has let it be known that if anyone even makes a sour face at Zwaantje he will not let it go unpunished – is further able to wreak revenge on both Pelsaert and Lucretia by putting it about the ship that this so-called ‘lady’ is herself doing a lot more in the
Commandeur’s
cabin than administering cold towels to his fevered brow. And this is not through love or even passion, he claims, but
because Pelsaert is
paying
her!

Yes, Lucretia, for all her fine clothes, her airs and graces and educated accent, is little more than a common whore. It is an intoxicating bit of gossip, and the fans of the wives beat ever faster to its timeless rhythm.

10 March 1629, off the coast of Brazil

At last, at
long last
, the
Batavia
reaches the first major turning point on this trip to the East Indies. That is, some 18 weeks after leaving Amsterdam – including eight or so weeks heading west across the Atlantic – they are now off the coast of Brazil, and it is time to turn the ship’s bows towards the south-east and head back across the Atlantic to the southern tip of Africa, borne along by the currents and prevailing winds.

As is traditional when reaching these tropical latitudes before making the turn, the
Commandeur
and skipper celebrate the occasion in a number of ways, from doubling the crew’s beer rations to allowing concerts with accompanying dancing to be performed on the deck and having the ship’s company play games.

On this sparkling day, just after lunch, when all have bellies full of beer, the crew decide to play their favourite: the horse-thief game! After much debate, Jacobsz is prevailed upon to be ‘judge’, with the cadet van Huyssen and assistant David Zevanck as his ‘council’, who will sit in judgement on the ‘thieves’ – young cabin servant Jan Pelgrom de Bye and soldier Mattys Beer.

Jacobsz, crowned with a mop head as a wig, is seated on a regal chair situated on the upper deck with his two councillors seated beside him, as the ‘horse owner’, none other than Jeronimus Cornelisz, gives evidence that his best horses have been stolen by these two thieves. Ah, how the ship’s company, gathered all around on the upper deck, laugh and thrill to this play-acting as Jeronimus gives his aggrieved testimony. Judge Jacobsz and his councillors nod gravely to hear it, the thieves quake in their boots as they near the punishment they know is coming, and several other ‘witnesses’ – all of whom are leading members of the crew – follow up on Jeronimus and corroborate his testimony.

And now they near the climax. Having conferred with Zevanck and van Huyssen, Jacobsz gravely pronounces both of the accused ‘guilty’, and the punishment for Mattys Beer is to be hanged, while Jan Pelgrom will have his head cut off.

And here is the truly fun part! As the crowd begins to chant ‘
Paardendief! Paardendief!
’, horse-thief, horse-thief, a particularly enormous sailor by the name of ‘Stonecutter’ Pietersz, who has been appointed hangman, grabs Beer, ties a line around his midriff, throws it over one of the spars off the mainmast and then pulls him up approximately four feet above the deck. Now to the other prisoner . . .

For his part, Pelgrom is blindfolded and walked back and forth along the deck, with Stonecutter all the while pressing him to repent or else, before the thief is obliged to kneel and present his neck to the swordsman.

The climax approaches – ‘
Paardendief! Paardendief!’
– as Stonecutter is gravely handed by his assistant, Allert Jansz, a ‘sword’, which is in fact a rolled piece of paper in which lies at one end, yes, a newly laid piece of human excrement.

‘PAARDENDIEF! PAARDENDIEF!’

Now, as the yelling and cheering rises to a crescendo, Jansz takes the excrement in his bare hands and whacks it all over Pelgrom’s callow neck. Pelgrom, too new to ship life to know this is what was coming, but still enjoying being the centre of attention, puts his hands to his neck, grabs a handful of excrement and then runs around smearing everyone within reach, as they all fall over each other trying to get out of his way!

How Mattys Beer, still hanging above the deck, cackles to see it all, yet the second-worst joke is on him. Once the fun with Pelgrom is over, Mattys is lowered, so the crew can pull his dungarees down around his ankles while a tar pot is produced – ‘
PAARDENDIEF! PAARDENDIEF!’
– and as the crowd howls with laughter to the point of tears, his genitals are smeared with thick tar, which will take him
weeks
of scrubbing to get off.

Oh, how they fall about laughing, all of the ‘judge’, the ‘council’, the ‘witnesses’, the ‘executioner’ and the ‘horse-thieves’ themselves, reliving the highlights, mocking Pelgrom at that moment he realises the nature of his anointment. It has been a wonderful break from the tedium of it all and will provide a
talking point for days to come
.

Late March 1629, South Atlantic Ocean

Soon enough, however, the excitement of the horse-thief game fades and the tedium returns as never before. It hits hardest those of the ship’s company not raised in the nautical culture, to whom it all seems so unchanging, so seemingly
endless
. Day after day, on and on and on, with each minute dragging its weary way forward until enough of them are assembled for another hour to slowly slip away . . . whereupon another desultory, uninterested group of minutes begins to reluctantly gather.

And yet, nearly unseen, things are in fact changing ever so slowly the further south-east in the Atlantic Ocean they proceed. For, just as the barnacles are growing on the hull, and the wood weevils are gradually burrowing their way through the outer layer of oak, so do the vermin that have long been flourishing on the lower decks begin to go forth and multiply, making their way ever higher into the individual cabins, through the sickbay, steering room, surgeon’s cabin and, their favourite, the galley and storerooms, where they are soon all through the food and water.

The ship itself is slowly deteriorating – the once supple sails now salt stiff, the previously sparkling decks now worn dull by a thousand footsteps. So, too, is the health of all those on board under the unnatural conditions, for man properly resides on the land and not the sea. This decline is, of course, particularly marked among the soldiers on the lower decks, who suffer the worst diet of all, with the least exercise. Nearly all fall foul of the seafarer’s disease: scurvy. On their thighs and legs, splotchy blotches of purple appear that often turn into suppurating sores. Teeth fall out and skin turns pale even as prolonged bleeding comes from the nostrils, lips, ears, genital area and anus. As joints swell, sufferers find it increasingly difficult to walk. Terrible cases of diarrhoea – never welcome at the best of times but a disaster in the confined spaces of a ship – run like a scourge through the ship’s company.