Batavia (27 page)

For the company of the longboat, the whole thing is a wonderful interlude – fresh water and firm land! – with only one particular worry. That is, they are clearly in a spot where savages have recently been, for dotted among the rock pools are the ashes of several small fires, in which the shells of crabs are apparent. When the first sailors arrived at the rock pools, the ashes were still warm.

Pelsaert and Jacobsz thus mount a strong guard around the perimeter of their rough encampment, while also ensuring that a strong guard remains on the beached longboat.

16 June 1629, on the shore of
het Zuidland

The following morning, with water in their bellies and at least some food – for they have found some crunchy crabs and molluscs of their own – they begin to look around. This red country is absolutely flat, with neither trees nor vegetation, and not even grass. The only things that grow tall here are massive anthills, rising from the earth in a manner that reminds Pelsaert of Indian huts. They spread from the Dutch encampment right out to the distant horizon. And the only other things that live here in abundance are flies. Thousands of them.
Millions
of them. All over their food and the Dutch themselves, landing on their faces, crawling into their ears, their noses, their eyes and – anywhere for some precious moisture – their very mouths! It is infernal, intolerable, horrifying. The only way to keep them off is to continually wave your hands in front of your face, which means the damned insects all take off for as long as two seconds before instantly landing again.

The 40 or so Dutch are just so engaged when suddenly, at a distance of just beyond two musket shots, they look up to see eight savages, all of them naked men, each carrying in his hand a curious-looking curved piece of wood. The Dutch stop and watch. Slowly, the natives approach them and spread out – neither the blacks nor the whites certain of what is about to happen. Even at this distance, the Dutch are able to discern what appears to be terrible scarring upon the bodies and faces of these savages, yet their expressions are entirely unfathomable. They show neither fear nor aggression. They simply keep coming closer, until they are just short of a musket-shot away – about 100 yards – whereupon they stop.

At this point, encouraged by the savages’ lack of aggression, three sailors who have brought
musquetten
, muskets, with them begin to slowly walk towards the blacks. Still the sailors keep waving the infernal flies away, yet, strangely, these same flies appear to have no interest in the blacks, and the natives are able to stand there, stock still, propped up on their sticks as they balance on one leg, with the other curiously raised and resting on the other knee. Slowly, slowly, slowly, the sailors keep approaching.

When they are just 80 yards apart, suddenly, the blacks turn and move away again at a slow, loping run. The sailors cry out, hoping they will stop, but there is no stopping these men. Within no more than 30 seconds, they seem to have disappeared, almost melting back into the earth from whence they came.

16 June 1629, in the longboat, off the coast of
het Zuidland

The morning’s search for any more waterholes in the range proves futile. Led by Jacobsz and Pelsaert, all of the Dutch are back in the longboat by noon and making to sea again – Jacobsz estimates their latitude to be 22 degrees 17 minutes south. Continuing slowly north, they are not long in finding another opening in the reef and are soon once again in the open ocean. At this point, it is Pelsaert’s intention to continue up the coast until they reach the one river that is marked on the sketchy map they have: Jacop Remmessens, named for one of the Dutch mariners who discovered it in 1618.

But a problem soon arises. The wind is from the north-east, so it is pushing them away from their desired course. It is time for a firm decision to be made. At this point, there is still the nominal notion among them that they are searching for water and food to take back to those on Batavia’s Graveyard. However, having found no water and now, according to Pelsaert's reckoning, being more than 100 miles away from the islands, and with limited water for themselves, if they are going to strike out from the coast and head for Batavia, this is the moment. Otherwise, they should turn the boat around and take back to the survivors what water they have.

But what purpose would be served by their returning? To be right back where they started? It does not make sense. The obvious thing is to head out into the open sea and hope they can survive long enough to reach the southern coast of Java, around 2000 miles away. And yet it is such a momentous decision. From the moment they set that course, there would be no going back. To this point, Pelsaert has always been able to comfort himself that they have not really abandoned the others, they are simply searching for water to help them. But now is the time to make a tough decision, as the sun beats down ever harder.

After a muted consultation with Jacobsz in the stern, Pelsaert addresses everyone. Their intent is to head to the open sea and do their utmost in the name of God the Almighty to reach Batavia. If anyone wishes to speak against that and return to the wreck site, they are to say so. But if they agree with him and Jacobsz, then
he requires everyone to sign a document
to the effect that it has been a joint decision.

. . .

No one speaks. Everyone signs.

Jacobsz sets course for Java, and before long
het Zuidland
has disappeared behind them. The mood of those on the boat is both excited and a little fearful. The fact that they have thrown off that infernal coast somehow gives them the sense that their long-dreamed-of destination is just up ahead. And yet, whereas the coast of
het Zuidland
was forbidding, at least it was
land
, and that gave them some comfort. Now, alone on the vast ocean in a tiny boat, all feel that the whim of nature could overwhelm and kill them at any moment. All they can do is pray that God will smile upon them.

Pelsaert by this time has completely withdrawn from the rest of the people on the boat. This is partly due to his continued fevers and ongoing physical weakness after travelling so far on too little food, water and rest. Another factor is that on this flimsy boat, on this vast ocean, he is entirely in the domain of Jacobsz – something that still does not sit well with him. But also . . . every mile further north brings him closer to Batavia’s notorious governor, Jan Pieterszoon Coen, a man to whom he will have to explain just why it was that the Company’s finest ship came to grief on a reef, and why he – as commanding officer – has abandoned the vast majority of the survivors there to their fate. These are the things that keep churning through Pelsaert’s mind as their tiny boat ploughs north.

16 June 1629, and several days thereafter, Batavia’s Graveyard

It has taken a remarkably short time for Jeronimus to recover, and soon he is up and about, walking the island, warmly greeting his fellow survivors and being haled in turn, as he gets his bearings.

As he wanders, his feet crush shells with every step, making a curious crackling sound, while so fine is the sand beneath – it reminds Jeronimus of talc – that the going is slow. As he makes his way around the southern shoreline, the bountiful small crabs scurry madly away at his every step – something that he finds curiously pleasing to his spirit.

The major impression Jeronimus gains is of the sheer
desolation
of the place. Here, on the opposite side of the globe to the Dutch Republic, it is hard to imagine a place more tragically different to the world they have left behind. On this whole wretched island, there is nary a tree to break the terrible flatness of it all and only scattered stunted shrubs in their stead; no creeks or pools of fresh water to please the eye and the spirit – there is
nothing
. It is as if a knob of the seabed itself has hesitantly emerged from the depths of the ocean and simply frozen there, refusing to go higher or lower and just sitting there for all eternity. There are a few small sand dunes on the eastern side of the island, while on the southern side are a couple of small beaches from where the survivors could easily launch their rafts – had any rafts been built. Not surprisingly, they haven’t.

For it is equally obvious to Jeronimus that, since the day the survivors landed here and set up their first rudimentary shelters on the northern part of the island, little has been done to alleviate its very bleakness. Scattered over a small area in desultory groups defined by blood, common callings and friendships, the survivors have basically scratched together whatever protection they can from the near-constant westerly and southerly winds and made their homes on the lee side of them. Their squalid, tatty little shelters are composed essentially of small walls of rock and driftwood and are mostly right alongside the stunted shrubs, which give an added bit of protection. Thin wisps of smoke coming from several small fires dotted around the island complete the sad tableau.

The only group that appears to have any sense of organisation is the soldiers, who have positioned themselves a little away from the rest, on the eastern end of the island, between the dunes. As men whose calling has long seen them bivouacking in rough country as a matter of course, they have adapted better than anyone else to the situation in which they find themselves and are, as they were on the ship, something of a force apart.

For the moment, this suits Jeronimus perfectly. In the plans he is already forming, having the soldiers a little out of the way in the first instance is crucial. The important thing for now is that the continued absence of the
Commandeur
and the skipper on the longboat can only mean that they have not found water on the nearby island, nor on the continent, so in all likelihood have decided to try to reach the city of Batavia, around 2000 miles to the north, in an effort to get help. That leaves, in terms of authority,
him
, Jeronimus, as the highest-ranking officer on the island – a fact that is quickly acknowledged by the other survivors, with his strong if still tacit encouragement.

And here are Frans Jansz and the
Predikant
now. In the time after the wreck and before Jeronimus’s arrival on Batavia’s Graveyard, they explain, a
raad
has been set up to provide some organisational authority on the island. It consists principally of themselves, Pieter Jansz the provost, Salomon Deschamps the clerk, and Gabriel Jacobsz the highest-ranking soldier. And so to the point. ‘Onderkoopman,’ the
Predikant
addresses Jeronimus formally, ‘we would like you to join our
raad
. After all, in the absence of the
Commandeur
and captain,
you are the highest-ranking official
of the VOC among us.’

Graciously, Jeronimus thanks the
Predikant
for his politeness and kindness and replies that he would be delighted to join them. And, of course, Jeronimus expected nothing less, but there is form to be observed, just as there is at the first council meeting, where he warmly thanks the council, adding that he only hopes he will be of some use in their deliberations.

And so it begins. From the moment of Jeronimus taking his place in the council, it is noticed by all on Batavia’s Graveyard that, suddenly, the Company is back among them. Once again, there is authority, there is organisation, there is discipline. Before his arrival, no particular person emerged as a leader in the council, simply because none of them, with the possible exception of Frans Jansz, has any leadership qualities to speak of – and all Jansz has really been able to do is to impose some rough order on the even division of their food.

The generally appalling conditions now immediately change with the arrival of Jeronimus, as he imposes control by force of his silken tongue, power of personality and genuine leadership ability. No sooner has he taken his place than new edicts emerge, which are immediately followed through. Pit toilets are to be dug. Hunting parties are to be organised. All stores that have already been retrieved from the wreck of the
Batavia
– many continue to wash up on the shore, as the island is directly downwind and down-current from the shipwreck – are to be gathered in the one storage tent, situated right beside the rather grand tent that has been especially constructed for Jeronimus.

The most important edict from Jeronimus and the council, however, is that the driftwood daily gathered from the southern shores of their island must not simply be burned by whoever finds it but added to a central store so that the carpenters can take their pick of the best wood from which to build skiffs and sturdy yawls. As two of the most experienced carpenters, Jacob Hendricxsz and Stoffel Stoffelsz, set to with a will, the frame of the first yawl starts to take shape. Using some of the pine decking that has washed up on the shore, they first make up the flat bottom of the boat by nailing together a few planks, before heating and bending other pieces of timber to form the frame, onto which other planks are soon added.

Once the first yawl is finished, Jeronimus and the council decree that the wreck itself must be systematically searched for goods and supplies that can be brought back to shore. The simple vessel will be manned by the most capable sailors, soldiers and divers, who will use a pole to get the yawl out into the channel, pushing on the shallow sea floor, before switching over to paddles from there. In the distance, the stricken outline of the
Batavia
is still apparent. As Jeronimus knows better than anyone, it is no longer possible to live on the wreck, as there is no horizontal part of it safe from the crashing waves, but the skeleton of its basic structure is still intact, meaning that at low tide the divers have a fair chance of retrieving stores and getting them onto the raft. And so it proves.

One of the first things recovered, to the infinite delight of Jeronimus, is his apothecary’s bag from his cabin, full of his bronze scales, his phials, potions and powders. Beyond that, a steady supply now comes back to the island of barrels of wine and water, salted pork and ham. There are cooking pots, knives, crockery and glasses from the galley; shovels, tools, wire, tacks, saws, hammers and nails from the workshops; linen, boots, hats, brocades, sheets of velvet, gold braid, sails, tents and tarred ropes from the storerooms; and gunpowder and guns from the weapons store. Some items, true, have been half-ruined by immersion in seawater, but many are in pristine condition, having been preserved in specially constructed watertight containers.