Batavia (16 page)

And, of course, because this is the
Commandeur
, the surgeon is more than usually attentive to his ills and tries every cure he knows of. First, he doses up Pelsaert with an array of drugs and herbs, including a mix of some of the spices – cloves and nutmeg – that have come from the very part of the world they are journeying to. When this treatment fails to have any effect, alas, Frans tries ‘bleeding’ – taking a razor, cutting a vein in Pelsaert’s arm and collecting his blood in a bowl. It is his hope that this will let out some of the toxins in him that are clearly making him so ill. Alas again, there appears to be little improvement, so after a couple of days Frans moves on to ‘cupping’, which means, with Aris Jansz’s and Lucretia’s help, carefully heating small glass jars that they then place upside down on various parts of Pelsaert’s body. As the jars cool, the
Commandeur’s
skin is sucked up into them to the point that, when the surgeon takes them off, Pelsaert is left with many perfect round bruises that show the spots where the poison has hopefully been sucked out . . . But still he appears to be just as ill. Frans then tries purging – giving Pelsaert drugs to empty his bowel and his entire body of all the evil vapours and miasmas. All it does is double Pelsaert over with pain for hours at a time as his body tries to rid itself of what is effectively a low-level poison. Finally, it is time to try the last remedy in his repertoire. Yes, for the ailing
Commandeur
, the most powerful man of the entire fleet, it is time to blow smoke up his arse.

Frans uses a
klisteerspuit
, a big pewter needle, one end of which is carefully inserted into Pelsaert’s anus, while the under-surgeon, Aris Jansz – who has himself been heavily involved in trying to find a cure for the
Commandeur
from the beginning – takes a deep draught on a lit pipe of tobacco. Then, via a tube, Aris blows smoke to fill the instrument, before Frans Jansz presses the plunger down. Pelsaert groans, and his rectum is filled with smoke.

The idea is that the smoke, applied like this to the internal organs of the body, will have a cleansing effect, and the surgeons can only hope it will work. But not even this extreme method seems to make any difference, and, though Frans continues to closely monitor the
Commandeur’s
health and do what he can, in the end he decides that on the slim chance Pelsaert is going to recover it will have to come from within, as there is little more he can do for him.

As for Lucretia, she does not have anything like the surgeons’ huge amount of medical knowledge but believes that by attending the
Commandeur
, mopping his brow when he is feverish, bringing him water when he is thirsty, even cutting his meals into small pieces and feeding them to him as if he were a baby, she can help him immeasurably, and she is very happy to do it. Not only does she enjoy his company, as always, but it keeps her far removed from the hateful atmosphere she finds wherever she goes on the rest of the ship. If it is not the leers from much of the crew or the furious fanning of the officers’ wives whenever she passes, it is the sniggers from Zwaantje and Jacobsz as they talk behind their hands about her at mealtimes.

By this time, Jacobsz has entirely removed from Zwaantje the yoke of ‘servant’ and declared that, as
his
mistress, she is no longer to serve her
own
mistress. Zwaantje has joyously complied, and – most particularly without Pelsaert being able to assert his authority to protect her – Lucretia is powerless to do anything. And yes, of course Lucretia knows that the more time she spends with Pelsaert, the more she fans the rumours running around the ship that she is to the
Commandeur
what Zwaantje is to Skipper Jacobsz. But so be it. The kind
Commandeur
desperately needs her help, she is happy to provide it, so let them say what they will . . . for they surely will anyway.

Consequently, between Lucretia and the two surgeons, Pelsaert is never alone, and every time he emerges from his coma-like state there is someone there to mop his brow, dribble some water into his parched mouth and gently feed him spoonfuls of hot broth and small solids.

Early May 1629, Indian Ocean

In the meantime, in the absence of Pelsaert, the seed that Jeronimus helped to germinate in Jacobsz’s soul continues to flower. The skipper likes being the unchallenged master of his ship once more. There is something of the natural order about it. He likes sitting at the head of the table at mealtimes in the Great Cabin and not having to defer all the time to the
Commandeur
. Yes, he has given up on Lucretia, surly slut that she is, but now he likes lording it over her and inviting her former servant Zwaantje to sit at his side at the top of the table – something that Pelsaert strictly forbade when he was in the Great Cabin.

Jacobsz loves the discomfort this clearly causes Lucretia on the rare occasions she joins them from the long hours spent with the
Commandeur
. And when Jacobsz does humiliate Lucretia, he loves the particular reward that Zwaantje generally offers him straight after the dinner is over. For Zwaantje, he has come to feel more affection than for any other woman he has ever been with, and, entrusting her with the skeleton of their plans for the mutiny, he has promised that not only will her former mistress be brought well down – should they allow Lucretia to live, that is – but that Zwaantje herself will live as a great lady, with more jewels than she knew existed in heaven or on earth. Again, whenever he talks to her of it, Zwaantje is wonderfully expressive in the manner she chooses to show her deepest appreciation. And so dexterous . . .

Over the coming days and then weeks, the plan for the mutiny continues to slowly take shape, as the number of confirmed mutineers grows, first to a dozen and then a handful more. While that is not remotely enough to sail the
Batavia
, Jacobsz is confident that once they have secured and demonstrated their control of the ship, many of the sailors, in particular, will immediately join them. The most important thing is that they already have many of the key people. Jeronimus is second only to Pelsaert in terms of seniority within the VOC on the
Batavia
, Jacobsz is the skipper and Evertsz his high bosun. Stonecutter is the second in command of the soldiers. Whatever they lack in manpower to run the ship, they certainly have the requisite ability to manage it, and to navigate it once the takeover is complete.

The chief problem identified with seizing control is the soldiers on the lowest deck, whose job is to defend the Company’s interests at all times. The soldiers are not only a force to be reckoned with but also a force unto themselves. And whereas Jacobsz knows many of his own crew well enough to predict which of them might be prone to joining the mutiny, the soldiers he carries on the ship change with every trip and he really doesn’t know any of them. And while Stonecutter, as their second in command, at least knows them better, it is not by much. The soldiers have come together for this trip only, and he has never truly commanded any of them in a battle, or done much to form a bond with them, let alone know which ones would risk their lives in the course of a mutiny.

The way to counter them, then?

‘Why not,’ High Bosun Jan Evertsz suggests in hushed tones late one night on the quarterdeck, ‘simply nail the hatches shut?’

And the problem is solved. For there are only two hatches leading up from the soldiers’ orlop deck to the decks above. In the middle of the night, all the soldiers are asleep on that bottom deck, and well away from the armoury, where all the muskets are secured. So, by simply nailing the hatches shut, the soldiers will be trapped and unable to prevent the mutiny from taking place. Once the ship is secure and the other sailors have joined them, the soldiers can be dealt with – and again, Jacobsz is confident that once the soldiers are presented with a fait accompli, most of them will join as well. When presented with a choice of death or a share in the
Batavia
’s bountiful treasures – which they would add to by becoming a pirate ship devoted to robbing other ships of the Company – what else
could
they choose?

As to what to do with the passengers and Pelsaert, this also is the subject of heated, if hushed, discussion. Most of the passengers, it is felt, can be spared and, if they behave, dropped off on the first island or settlement they come to. But Pelsaert, of course, will have to be killed. If he is alive, he will always be dangerous, as he will present a rallying point for those who might not want to join the mutiny.

For his part, Coenraat van Huyssen is most insistent that once the mutiny is launched, he personally wishes to be the first to rush into the cabin with a sword, kill the
Commandeur
by slicing him wide open and then throw his body overboard. Another who is most eager to use blades of any description on whoever might get in their way is Ryckert Woutersz, who takes to sleeping with a sword beside him in his hammock so his weapon is readily available should he be given the word in the middle of the night that the time for attack is
now
.

The
Predikant
is troubled. Something has changed in Jeronimus during their conversations at mealtimes, and this is never more apparent than now, when Pelsaert is not at the table. In his whole life, the
Predikant
has never met a man so cavalier in his attitude to God, who does not speak of Him with reverence, who does not acknowledge the existence of heaven and hell, nor the primacy of the ten commandments as given by the Lord – at least when not engaged in trade on behalf of the VOC. And though he can’t quite say that Jeronimus holds such blasphemous views, there is no doubt that he runs them close. Time and again, whenever the subject turns to religion, which is nearly always the
Predikant’s
topic of choice, Jeronimus says something to the contrary, lifts an eyebrow, challenges a particular point and gives all to understand that it is not simply because the
Predikant
, or even the Bible, says something is so that it is.

As the
Predikant
would later describe it, ‘He often showed his wrong-headedness by Godless proposals . . . but I did not know he was
Godless to such an extent
. . .’

For nearly a fortnight now, Pelsaert has been laid up in his cabin, and so lacking is any restraining influence that Jacobsz has even taken to appearing arm-in-arm with Zwaantje Hendrix on the quarterdeck whenever the weather is fine – sneering in belated response to those who once sneered at their nascent relationship. Fast may the fans of the wives flurry as they pass, but neither Jacobsz nor Zwaantje cares.

And yet, for every pleasure does there not come a price? Just over two weeks after leaving
Tafelbaai
, Zwaantje has that paramour’s conversation with Jacobsz that is as anathema to him as it has been to many generations of men before him. Alas, the young lass believes she is with child.
Verdoemenis!
Damnation! Despite such events being considered the sole responsibility of women, this is not what Jacobsz wants or, somehow, expects. What to do, what to do?

Ever a practical man, Jacobsz is not long in deciding on the appropriate course of action. That very evening, he invites Zwaantje to one of the few truly private places on the ship, a place that only he and a very few others have the authority to enter, so sensitive is it: the
constapelskamer
, gun room.

Jacobsz and Zwaantje have just entered when, hello, who else should be there but Jacobsz’s long-time friend and fellow mariner, the gunner Allert Jansz. Hail fellow well met, and Jacobsz brings from under his coat three bottles of the
Commandeur’s
finest wine for them all to share, almost as if he was expecting Allert to be there. The skipper now proceeds to ply the two with generous amounts of alcohol before announcing with regret that he has to leave to check on the watch upstairs and he might be away for as long as half an hour. With a meaningful glance to Allert Jansz – all yours, my worthy – he takes his leave. A generous woman, Zwaantje is as liberal with her favours as Allert Jansz is to avail himself of them, and, just as Jacobsz knew would be the case, it is not long before the two drunken souls are engaged in time’s enduring act.

‘Pregnant, did she say?’ muses the skipper staring far out to sea. ‘And whose child do you suppose it might be, then?’ He smiles without mirth, drawing deep on his golden brown meerschaum pipe.

13 May 1629, Indian Ocean

‘And then, of course, once we have control . . .’ Jacobsz is saying to Jeronimus, before stopping mid-sentence and staring open-mouthed over Jeronimus’s shoulder, almost as if he is seeing a ghost.

And in many ways he is.

For there, wavering on the quarterdeck, suddenly back from the dead, is Pelsaert, closely attended on one side by Lucretia and on the other by his only real friend on the ship, Salomon Deschamps. The
Commandeur
has a drawn look about him. It is clearly an effort for him to stay upright, let alone move his body at all – he can only do so by leaning heavily on his elegant wooden cane – and his previously fleshy face is now so haggard that his rather bulging eyes have begun to take on the aspect of a dead fish. He looks, in short, nothing less than cadaverous, as if he has just arisen from his coffin, with his pale white face getting its first bit of sun in four weeks.

But he is upright, and walking, and even talking to Lucretia and Deschamps, and the very fact that he is here is a clear indication that he is stronger today than yesterday, and will very likely be stronger again on the morrow. His crisis is past. (Even if he does turn rather green around the gills when Jacobsz lights up his pipe and starts puffing smoke.)

Jeronimus and Jacobsz once again have Pelsaert to contend with when it comes to getting control of the ship. They are running out of time, and Pelsaert’s return among them changes the entire dynamic of the operation. Had he died, as they were expecting, Jeronimus would have been the highest VOC official on board and Jacobsz entirely unchallenged in his authority over the ship. With that joint authority, taking control and plundering it would have been a far easier matter. But now that Pelsaert is on deck, the
Commandeur
once again has all the authority invested in him, and it will now have to be wrenched from him by force.