Authors: Peter Fitzsimons
In light of what has occurred over the previous three weeks, it is obvious that, even if they have their qualms – and at least two of them, including Wouter Loos, do have a couple of threads of decency surviving, despite everything – it would be tantamount to announcing their own death sentences to express them. Such is the control that Jeronimus now exerts over his domain, just six weeks after landing on Batavia’s Graveyard, that his rule is entirely unchallenged by those who want to live.
The six men leave, allowing Jeronimus to engage in one of his special pleasures: choosing which of his finery he will wear for the evening’s engagement. Flitting over to the wardrobe the carpenters have built him from driftwood, filled with clothing he has ‘borrowed’ from Commandeur Pelsaert, he runs his hand jauntily among the many fabrics and outfits. After much consideration, he decides he will wear the doublet of embroidered glazed linen and a cape, given the clemency of the weather, and he will fasten his breeches to the doublet with rather fetching point ties whose
aiguillettes
are set with pearls. He is
positive
he will cut quite a dashing figure. Still, there is one more important decision that must be made. Should he follow convention and choose his cape to match the breeches, and the lining to match the doublet, or perhaps vice versa: cape to match doublet, lining to match breeches?
Upon much consideration, after delighting in the velvety touch of the cape as he runs his fingers over it, he decides to go with the cape to match the doublet. And to finish the whole effect he chooses his favourite silk stockings, complete with garters with gold laces, and tops the lot with an enormous red velvet hat, from which sprouts nothing less than his favourite accoutrement of all: the ostrich feather!
The
Predikant
is thrilled with the invitation to dine with the
Kapitein-Generaal
in his daughter Judick’s and van Huyssen’s quarters. At last, he tells his wife, Maria Schepens, the Good Lord has heard their prayers and things will improve on Batavia’s Graveyard. As their gaggle of offspring gathers round – apart from Judick, who is of course in her own tent, and their oldest boys, Bastiaen and Pieter, who are out hunting sea lions – he tells them all he is confident that if he can just have a strong conversation with Jeronimus, man to man, preacher to sinner, he will be able to convince him that the killings must stop. He will suggest to him – of course, with all due respect – that it is possible to protect the property of the Company and have them all survive without resorting to such violence. At last, he will be able to talk to the
Kapitein-Generaal
about this and other things. Now, he doesn’t want to give false hope that the
Kapitein-Generaal
will permit Judick to come back to them, but he at least has some hope he can improve things.
Maria, a generally sullen if notably dutiful woman, agrees that it is good news, as she stirs the pot of stewing seal meat over the fire. The children who are old enough to follow the conversation nod enthusiastically. If Pappie can just talk to the
Kapitein-Generaal
, then surely he will understand that he must follow the ways of the Lord.
Once apprised of the invitation, Judick is similarly pleased and comes to collect her father from their family’s tent just before sunset, as has been agreed. Embracing her mother and her brothers and sisters, she and her father then traipse off to the tent she now shares with van Huyssen, as happy as either of them have been since the shipwreck.
So happy in fact that, as they depart, they neglect to hear the curious sound of digging, disembodied from any visible diggers. In fact, within the bounds of a large and mysterious tent that has recently been erected just 50 yards away – around which many Mutineers appear to be insolently lolling, meaning that no unauthorised person goes remotely near it – two of Jeronimus’s men are digging a largish pit.
That evening, at about eight o’clock, just as the
Predikant
is downing his sixth wine and making merry conversation with Jeronimus – who is positively charming company this evening, even if he lightly parries all attempts to talk of serious issues – eight Mutineers gather around David Zevanck near the
Predikant’s
tent.
Stonecutter is there, together with Andries Jonas, the hulking Jan Hendricxsz, Cornelis Pietersz, wild-eyed Mattys Beer, Lenart van Os, Andries Liebent and a grumbling Wouter Loos. The men appear to have several lanterns, but, oddly, in the eyes of one who comes across them and instantly hurries off, they seem to be holding the lanterns on the inside of their rough circle to avoid being seen, as they lean in close to hear Zevanck’s final instructions.
None of them has a sword. All of them have daggers and hatchets. This is to be a very particular, close-quarters job. From the
Predikant’s
tent, they can hear the sound of light familial conversation, and they can smell the familiarly queasy waft of stewing sea-lion meat as the family prepares to have its evening meal.
As ever, it is David Zevanck who takes the lead.
Positioning himself at the entrance to the tent, the elegant if vicious young Dutchman calls for the
Predikant’s
servant girl, Wybrecht Claas, to come out and see him. Immediately, at the dreaded sound of Zevanck’s voice, the conversation in the tent ceases. Wherever that man has gone in the past three weeks, death has been quick to follow. But surely not this time? Surely, with Pappie dining with the
Kapitein-Generaal
and Judick being with his lieutenant, van Huyssen, they are safe?
Comforted by the thought, the brave young Wybrecht gathers her shawl about her and heads out to meet Zevanck.
She doesn’t even see it coming . . .
No sooner has she appeared outside the tent than Jan Hendricxsz has swung his dagger in a vicious upwards movement to stab it deep within her belly. Her scream is stifled by her fall into him, and, with the now familiar feeling of warm blood gushing all over his hand, he quickly removes the dagger. If she is not yet already dead, it certainly won’t be long. And he has too many other important things to do to tarry now. For the attack on Wybrecht is the signal for the others to act.
More wine,
Predikant
?
He doesn’t mind if he does – no, no, that is plenty,
dank u
. It has been a splendid meal, absolutely splendid, including such delicacies retrieved from the
Batavia
as
rookworst
,
zoute drop
,
stroopwafels
and
pepernoten
. Yes, the circumstances have been difficult, not least being present in what is effectively the bedroom his unmarried daughter must share with Coenraat. Despite himself, the father’s eyes keep being drawn back to the rough bed, where he knows she has been obliged to sin against the Lord. Still, drinking the fine wine eases his anguish a little.
For her part, Judick tries to make her father as comfortable as possible. She is aware of his flaws but loves him all the same, as, whatever else, he has been a good and faithful husband to her mother and a wonderfully loving father to them all. She, too, finds that having wine helps to . . .
what is that?
Far in the distance, what momentarily sounds like an agonised shriek rings out across the camp, but just as quickly it fades, and Judick decides she must be mistaken. Jeronimus is now in full flight about the importance of maintaining law and order and observing the regulations of the VOC, even if you must risk sometimes appearing harsh. Judick half-heartedly listens to Jeronimus as he beats the drum he has beaten so often from the day he arrived on Batavia’s Graveyard.
After Wybrecht falls down, the six Mutineers rush into the tent as one, with only Pietersz and Jonas left outside to make sure no one escapes. Zevanck holds his lantern high, and as the younger children and their mother cower before him, with only the two older boys, Bastiaen and Pieter, trying to get to their feet, Zevanck puts on his most authoritative voice, designed more for the ears of whoever might be listening in nearby tents than the occupants of this tent. ‘Here has been reported hidden goods of the Company that we will search for. And we will get them.’
Without making the slightest move to actually begin the search, he suddenly blows out the lantern, and each Mutineer in the tent, armed with axes and adzes, attacks his assigned target. Before she can even scream, Maria Schepens has been viciously stabbed by Lenart van Os. The German mercenary Mattys Beer goes after the second-easiest target of all, young Willemyntgien, just 14 years old, and puts a hatchet through her skull, the metal crashing through bone making a curious crackling noise. He then tries to kill the youngest of the lot, the screaming eight-year-old Roelant, who ducks between his legs . . . only to be felled by the swinging adze of Zevanck.
When, as the man of the tent, the 23-year-old Bastiaen tries to counter-attack, it is Wouter Loos who pushes him back down and works him over with his adze until he is dead. The others fall to similarly vicious attacks. Within 30 seconds, it is only mother Maria who is still alive, emitting a moan a good minute after it was thought she was dead. With three more blows from Mattys Beer, she is indeed. Dead.
Not wanting to waste the family meal so lovingly prepared by the dead woman now lying at his feet, Wouter Loos steals off with the seal-meat stew, to share it with his favourite woman for common service, Anneken Bosschieters. It is over – at least in this tent. Jeronimus will be pleased. Seven useless mouths eliminated in one go. The youngest children contributed nothing; the older two boys – who had continued to glower at Coenraat for sleeping with their sister – could never have been converted to their cause and were definite cacklers if a rescue yacht came. And neither Wybrecht nor the
Predikant’s
wife were attractive enough to bother putting up for common service. So good riddance to them. After dragging the bodies to the tent where the pit has been prepared for them, the Mutineers move onto their next assigned task for the night.
The man to execute it is Jan Hendricxsz, who, having only been responsible for the dispatch of Wybrecht, feels he has not had his fair share of the killings. So he goes to the tent of one Hendrick Denys, a minor VOC functionary with no skills that are valuable to Batavia’s Graveyard and who has shown no inclination to join the Mutineers.
‘Hendrick Denys, come out from your tent,’ Hendricxsz commands in his most official voice. It takes all of ten seconds, but finally Denys emerges, a once strong and handsome man now suffering the effects of malnutrition and dehydration, and a quivering mess from the terror of hearing Hendricxsz’s summons. He puts up no resistance, cowering uselessly as he sees the blow coming.
Crack!
With the entirely merciless sangfroid for which he is known, Hendricxsz stoves in the side of Denys’s head with his adze – brains exposed, blood gushing. Denys’s body, too, is promptly dragged towards the prepared burial pit.
Next!
David Zevanck crooks his finger at Andries Jonas. He has a job for him. Since Salomon Deschamps strangled Mayken Cardoes’s baby the day before, it is Mayken’s wails that have taken the place of her wretched infant’s, and Jeronimus has told Zevanck he can bear it no more and the problem must be fixed. Perhaps if Mayken had been prettier, it might have been worth sparing her to keep the lads content, but unfortunately
het lelijke ding
, the ugly thing, from the lower deck is far from easy on the eye and, like Wybrecht, none of the Mutineers is attracted to her. So she must die.
And Zevanck has decided that Andries Jonas must do the honours, to once more prove his manhood and his commitment to them, just as he did on Seals’ Island by killing one of the pregnant women. He proved himself good at that, and so can do it again.
‘Go and call Mayken Cardoes out of her tent and cut her throat,’ Zevanck says to him simply. Jonas immediately heads off to do as he is bid . . .
‘Mayken . . .’ Jonas says familiarly, outside her suddenly silent tent, for she has instantly stopped her sobbing at the sound of approaching footsteps. ‘Mayken . . . are you asleep? Come, let us go for a walk.’
There is a gasp from inside the tent, and then comes back her tremulous voice. ‘Andries,’ she replies hesitantly, for she recognises his voice,
‘will you do any evil to me?’
‘No, not at all,’ he replies. ‘Don’t be silly.
Kom maar, mijn lieveling
. Come on, my darling . . .’
Slowly, Mayken comes out from her refuge, trying to determine whether her last moments on earth have arrived or old Andries really does just want to go for a small walk and has perhaps come to comfort her after the tragic loss of her baby.
Andries resolves the question for her. For no sooner has she fully emerged than he attacks her. He throws her down to the ground, onto its cruel shards of coral, and immediately tries to get his razor-sharp dagger to her throat so he can finish her quickly.
But a strong woman of the lower deck is Mayken, and a desperate one at that. Somehow, all the agony of the last six weeks, culminating in the death of her beloved baby the day before, comes out of her as she fights back, managing to scratch and claw Andries’s face with her right hand, even as with her left forearm she fends off his continuous downward thrusts with his dagger. One of his flurried thrusts penetrates her hand so deeply that his dagger becomes jammed, and for the life of him he can’t get it out again! And, despite the blood now pouring out of her, her right hand is still attacking him, even drawing blood as she ravages his face and sticks her fingers in his eyes. The
bitch
!
In tents nearby, others of the Survivors can hear Mayken screaming for her life, together with the curses of Andries Jonas, but none of them emerges to save her. The only thing to do is to lie there, quietly, and hope that you will not be next.
It is at this point that Wouter Loos suddenly rushes to his fellow Mutineer’s aid. Just as Andries is reeling backwards with Mayken’s fingers in his eyes, rocking and about to lose his balance, Loos steps forward and with two savage blows of his adze ends the life of Mayken Cardoes, one of the
Batavia
’s bravest daughters. Without a second thought, Loos drags away the evidence by one foot to the
Predikant’s
family pit and tosses Mayken on top like
a bag of so many old spuds.