The Covenant (28 page)

When Jack received the safe conduct, he remembered Java, and the way men of importance behaved. Donning his faded uniform and mounting his finest ox, he jammed his cockaded hat on his head and rode forth to meet the man whom some of his people were already calling the Exalted One.

The peace negotiations, as Van Riebeeck would grandiloquently call them in his report to the Lords XVII, were protracted.

“You’ve been taking too much of our land,” Jack said.

“There’s room for everyone.”

“As long as we can remember, this was our place. Now you take all the best.”

“We take only what we need.”

“If I went to your house in Holland, would I be allowed to do the same?”

Van Riebeeck ignored this rhetorical question. “Why don’t you bring back our slaves when they run away?”

“We tend cattle, not people.”

“Then why do you steal our cattle?”

Jack said, “We used to come to this valley for bitter almonds. We must have food.”

“You’ll find other almonds.”

“They’re far away.”

And so it went, until Van Riebeeck said wearily, “We will draw a paper that says we shall always live in peace.” And that night, when Jack had ridden off on his ox, Van Riebeeck sat alone with his diary. As he had done every day since arriving at the Cape he penned a careful entry, which would be read with reassurance in both Amsterdam and Java:

And then the Cape forgot both slaves and Hottentots, for one clear December morning the settlement awakened to a breathtaking sight. In the night hours the ships of a great merchant fleet had moved into the bay and six medium-sized vessels rode tidily near the
Groote Hoorn
, a magnificent East Indiaman bound for Java. Tall and proud, she displayed her fine woodwork and railings of polished brass as if she were boasting of the distinguished passenger who occupied her stateroom, the Honorable Commissioner, personal emissary of the Lords XVII. He came with powers to investigate conditions at the Cape before sailing on to Java, where he would become governorgeneral: the merchant Karel van Doorn.

When he stepped carefully ashore, he looked disdainfully at the slaves who held his pinnace. He was dressed in black, with broad white collar, ribbed hose and brightly buffed shoes. He wore a broadrimmed hat, carried a lace handkerchief, and guided himself gingerly with a silver-topped cane. He wore his hair in ringlets, which cascaded over his collar, and his beard in a trim point. He was tall and stiff and handsome, and when he was safely ashore, he turned to assist a lady even more carefully dressed than he. She reminded Willem of his mother, for she looked as if she had the same inborn sense of regal command, and he could visualize her occupying the big house in Batavia.

Karel, of course, did not see his brother; his attention was directed solely to Van Riebeeck as the senior Compagnie official, and even when these two had exchanged greetings, no attempt was made
to summon Willem, so he stood lost in the small crowd as cheers were given while the entourage marched to the fort. Even there Karel did not ask to see his brother, for as commissioner, he deemed it necessary to impose his authority upon the settlement as promptly as possible.

“What are your major problems?” he asked Van Riebeeck as soon as the door was closed on the watching subordinates.

“Four, Mijnheer.”

Karel was forty-three years old that year, a man burdened with importance, and since Van Riebeeck was only thirty-seven, smaller and less imposing, Karel would normally have been able to lord it over the resident agent, but he had in addition full and sole jurisdiction to look into every aspect of the Cape occupancy and to draft whatever new instructions he deemed prudent.

Placing a sheet of valuable paper before Van Riebeeck, he asked, “What are the four?”

“There has been no predikant here since the founding. We need marriages and baptisms.”

“Dr. Grotius is on his way to Batavia. He’ll come ashore tomorrow.”

“The slaves run away constantly.”

“You must guard them more carefully. Remember, they’re Compagnie property.”

“We guard them. We punish them if we recover them. We chain them. And still they seek their freedom.”

“This must be stopped, and harshly. The Compagnie does not purchase slaves to have them vanish.”

“But how do we stop them?”

“Every man, every woman must assume responsibility for keeping the slaves under control. Especially you. The third problem?”

“Desperately we need women. Mijnheer, the workmen cannot live here alone … forever.”

“They knew the terms when they signed with us. A place to sleep. Good food. And when they get back to Holland, enough money saved to take a wife.”

“I’ve begun to think that many of our men may never go back to Holland.”

“They must. There’s no future for a Compagnie man here.”

“And this is the fourth problem. I detect an innate restlessness among the free burghers.”

“Rebellion? Against the Compagnie?” Karel rose and stomped about the room. “That will not be tolerated. That you must knock down immediately.”

“Not rebellion!” Van Riebeeck said quickly, indicating that the commissioner should resume his seat and waiting until he had done so. “What I speak of, Mijnheer. The men complain of the prices we pay for their corn … their expenses …” He stopped at the look Van Doorn gave him. “They sometimes seem driven to probe eastward—on their own, not on Compagnie business at all. As if the dark heart of Africa were summoning them.”

Karel van Doorn leaned back. On three separate occasions the Lords XVII in Amsterdam had detected in Van Riebeeck’s voluminous reports hints that the free burghers at the Cape were beginning to look beyond the perimeters set for them at the time of their original grants. This burgher baker had wanted an additional plot for himself. That farmer had suggested moving out to where the lands were more spacious. Even Van Riebeeck himself had petitioned for a hundred acres more so that he might extend his personal garden. On this heresy Commissioner van Doorn knew the Compagnie attitude and his own inclinations; leaning forward so that his words would have more weight, he said, “Commander, you and your men must understand that you have been sent here not to settle a continent but to run a business establishment.”

“I understand!” Van Riebeeck assured him. “You’ve seen how I protect the smallest stuiver. We waste not a guilder at this post.”

“And you make not a guilder.” Van Doorn did not relax his stern gaze. “When the
Groote Hoorn
sails we would like to take aboard a large supply of vegetables, mutton, beef and casks of wine. And as of right now, I expect that we shall be disappointed in all four.”

“Wait till you see our cauliflower.”

“The wine?”

“The vines do poorly, Mijnheer. The winds, you know. But we’ve planted a protective hedge, and if the Lords could send us some stronger vines …”

“I bring them with me.”

Van Riebeeck, an ardent gardener, showed his joy at this unexpected bounty, but he was brought back to reality by Van Doorn’s insolent questioning: “The mutton and the beef I’m sure you won’t have?”

“The Hottentots trade very few beasts with us. Indeed, I sometimes
wonder at the ways of the Lord, that he should allow such unworthy people to own so many fine animals.”

Karel rocked back and forth in silence, then stabbed at the items in his dossier. “You have cauliflower, but nothing else.”

Van Riebeeck laughed nervously. “When I say cauliflower, I mean, of course, many other vegetables. Mijnheer will be astonished at what we’ve done.” Without allowing time for the commissioner to rebut this enthusiasm, the lively little man said, “And of course, Mijnheer, there’s a fifth problem, but this is personal.”

“In what way?” Karel asked.

“My letters. My three letters.”

“Concerning what?”

“My assignment to Java. When I accepted this task, and it’s not been an easy one I assure you, it was with the understanding that if I did good work here for one year, I would be promoted to Java. At the end of that year I applied for transfer, but the Lords said I was needed at the Cape. So I stayed a second and petitioned again. Same answer. I stayed a third, and now it’s in the seventh year.” He paused, stared directly at the commissioner, and said, “You know, Mijnheer, this is no place to leave a man for six years.” When Van Doorn said nothing, the commander added, “Not when a man has seen Java. Please, Mijnheer. Most desperately I long for Java.”

“On this the Lords gave me specific instructions.” From a leather box made in Italy he produced a sheaf of papers, riffled through them, and found what he wanted. Disdainfully he pushed it toward Van Riebeeck, then sat with his lips against his thumbs as the commander read it aloud: “ ‘Your strong efforts at the Cape have been noted, as has your repeated request for transfer to Java. For the time being, your skill is needed where you are.’ ” In a hollow voice Van Riebeeck asked, “How many years?”

“Until you produce enough meat and wine for our ships.” Van Doorn was quite harsh: “You must remember, Commander. You and your men are here not to build a village for your own pleasures, but to construct a farm that will feed our ships. Every sign I see about me testifies to the fact that you are wasting your energies on the former and scamping the latter.” With that he reached for a new paper and began reading off the vetoes and decisions of the Lords XVII, none of whom had ever seen South Africa, but all of whom had studied meticulously the detailed reports sent them by Van Riebeeck:

On and on went the instructions: the blacksmith could shoe the gardener’s horse only if the latter was to be used on Compagnie business; the sick-comforter is encouraged to conduct worship on Sundays, but he must never again preach from his own notes; he must restrict himself to reading sermons already delivered by properly ordained predikants in Holland; the wife, Sibilla van der Lex, must not wear sumptuary finery; there must be no loud singing after eight in the evening and none at all on Sunday; and the names of the four visiting sailors who were caught dancing with slaves last New Year’s, everyone naked, must be sent with Commissioner van Doorn to the authorities in Java, where they are to be punished for immorality, if they can be found.

“You must stamp out the frivolous,” Van Doorn said, and only then did he ask, “Is my brother working well?”

“We have him at the vineyard.”

“You said the vines were poor.”

“They are, Mijnheer, but through no fault of his. They reached us in poor condition. They were packed in Germany. Improperly.”

“The ones I bring are from France,” Van Doorn said sternly. “I can assure you they’ve been properly packed.” Then, actually smiling at Van Riebeeck, he said, “I should like to see my brother. Don’t say anything about it, but I bring a surprise.”

Willem had been waiting patiently outside the door, a man of thirty-three sitting with his hands folded like a refractory schoolboy. “Commander wants you,” a servant said, and Willem jumped from his bench, nodded as if the servant possessed great authority, and entered the office. His brother looked resplendent.

“How are you, Willem?”

“I’m very glad to be here. Very glad to see you, Karel.”

“I’m commissioner now. In Java, I’m to be the assistant.”

“Mother?”

“She’s fine, we understand. I want you to meet my wife,” he said, and as he spoke a look of either compassion or amusement crept across his countenance and he reached out to take his brother’s arm.

They went to a part of the fort which had been specially cleaned and provisioned for meetings during the visit. It was made of fine brick, recently kilned in the colony, with a floor pounded flat and polished with liquid cow manure that had hardened to a high and pleasing gloss. It contained five pieces of handsome dark mahogany furniture carved in Mauritius by a Malayan slave: a table, three chairs and an imposing clothes cupboard that covered much of one wall. Seated on one of the chairs was the noble lady Willem had seen coming ashore some hours before.

“This is your sister, Kornelia,” Karel said, and the woman nodded, refraining from extending her hand.

She did, however, smile in the cryptic way that Karel had smiled only a few moments earlier. “And this,” Karel continued, “is Dr. Grotius, who is to conduct the marriages and baptisms.” He was a fearsome man, fifty years old, angular and with a heavy touch of righteousness. He wore black except for a white collar of enormous dimension and greeted everyone who approached him with a bleak nod softened by no change of expression.

“Dr. Grotius has been sent to vitalize religious observances in Batavia,” Karel explained, whereupon the predikant looked directly at Willem and bowed again, as if including him among the persons to be vitalized.

The marriage which Dr. Grotius performed occasioned no difficulty, once he was satisfied that the slave girl who was marrying Leopold van Valck understood the Christian catechism and was willing to abjure the heathenism of Islam, but when it came to baptizing the children, a real confrontation arose, and Commissioner van Doorn was vouchsafed a new perspective on Van Riebeeck, who up to now had been so obsequious.

Baptism of the children who were clearly white presented no problem; their parents acknowledged Jesus Christ and the veracity of the Dutch Netherlands church, but when the slave girl Deborah, with no husband, offered her dark-skinned son Adam, Dr. Grotius sternly rebuked her, saying, “Children born out of wedlock can in no way be baptized. It insults the holiness of the Sacrament.”