To Die a Dry Death: The True Story of the Batavia Shipwreck by Greta van Der Rol Page B
Authors: Greta van Der Rol
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we establish a proper society here. I’ve heard you’ve been subjected to… shall we say… unpleasantness?” He smiled at her blush. “Rest assured you’ll be protected. I’ve instructed that your tent will be close to mine, and that you’ll be guarded.”
“Quite right, sir,” said the predikant. “I’ve admonished the miscreants but they are Godless men.” He shook his head. “I must protect my own daughter from them, too.” He lifted a hand to indicate Judyck, who stood with her cup of wine held in two hands. “We are so pleased that you’ve come to us.”
“I hope that restricting access to weapons will make a difference,” said Cornelisz.
His voice was a purr, mellow and pleasant, yet authoritative. He certainly had a presence, this man, thought Lucretia. Maybe it needed an emergency like this one to bring out his personality.
11
“If we are all here, gentlemen, let’s get the meeting under way,” said Cornelisz. He shifted his shoulders in his chair. The men had collected furniture from the Great Cabin and as chairman of the council, he’d requisitioned Pelsaert’s padded chair as his own. No one had argued. Nor had anyone complained when he’d taken Pelsaert’s clothes for his own use. The long coat fitted well enough and at least he looked the part.
A murmur of agreement.
“I’m impressed with what we’ve achieved in five days. A number of tents built for families and the armoury has been established. Well done.” They had done well. He’d spent his time getting to know people, seeing who was content, who was not. Who might be useful, who would not.
“Hmm,” said the provost. “We had some dissent from the soldiers but we managed to persuade them—with some help from Gabriel, here.”
“Dissent has been a problem, hasn’t it?”
The corporal sighed. “It’s difficult. Some don’t speak any Dutch at all. They form cliques of their own—the French at one end of a tent, the Germans at the other. And everyone is so cramped.”
“I have a suggestion, gentlemen,” said Cornelisz. “Overcrowding is part of the problem, I think. If the people had a little more room, they could perhaps be a little happier.” He looked around from man to man.
“I expect you’re right,” said the barber. “But where can they go?”
“We could set up a group on Traitors’ Island,” said Cornelisz.
Pieter Jansz the provost pulled at his moustache. “There is no water on Traitors’ Island.”
“No, but we can supply water from here. Water and supplies. Easy enough to do. We have rafts now and a boat. It just means we all have more room.”
They exchanged glances. Cornelisz waited while the thought percolated into their brains. “We could send a small group over there,” he added. “Families with children. To separate them from the rougher sailors and soldiers.”
He watched the body language. Hands on chins, lips licked.
And then a nod from Frans Jansz. “Good idea.”
“They’d need a leader, of course,” said Cornelisz. “Can you suggest anyone?”
The provost cleared his throat. “I’d be happy to lead such a group,” he said. “I have a wife and child, as you know. I could pick a few others.”
“But then… who would take your place?” asked Cornelisz, making sure he sounded reluctant.
“Jacop Pietersz will be here. And I won’t be far away,” said the provost.
“Lance Corporal Pietersz.” Cornelisz said the words slowly, considering.
“And you have a number of cadets, too,” added the provost. “Plenty of people to select from.”
“True.” Cornelisz hesitated again. “All right. Do you agree?” he asked the other councillors. They all glanced at each other, eyes bright. No voices of dissent, no objections. “Yes? Well, then, if you will organise your group, Pieter, we’ll arrange for you to be taken to Traitors’ Island tomorrow.” He smiled.
“What about the other islands?” asked the barber. “We really should explore them,
“Quite right, sir,” said the predikant. “I’ve admonished the miscreants but they are Godless men.” He shook his head. “I must protect my own daughter from them, too.” He lifted a hand to indicate Judyck, who stood with her cup of wine held in two hands. “We are so pleased that you’ve come to us.”
“I hope that restricting access to weapons will make a difference,” said Cornelisz.
His voice was a purr, mellow and pleasant, yet authoritative. He certainly had a presence, this man, thought Lucretia. Maybe it needed an emergency like this one to bring out his personality.
11
“If we are all here, gentlemen, let’s get the meeting under way,” said Cornelisz. He shifted his shoulders in his chair. The men had collected furniture from the Great Cabin and as chairman of the council, he’d requisitioned Pelsaert’s padded chair as his own. No one had argued. Nor had anyone complained when he’d taken Pelsaert’s clothes for his own use. The long coat fitted well enough and at least he looked the part.
A murmur of agreement.
“I’m impressed with what we’ve achieved in five days. A number of tents built for families and the armoury has been established. Well done.” They had done well. He’d spent his time getting to know people, seeing who was content, who was not. Who might be useful, who would not.
“Hmm,” said the provost. “We had some dissent from the soldiers but we managed to persuade them—with some help from Gabriel, here.”
“Dissent has been a problem, hasn’t it?”
The corporal sighed. “It’s difficult. Some don’t speak any Dutch at all. They form cliques of their own—the French at one end of a tent, the Germans at the other. And everyone is so cramped.”
“I have a suggestion, gentlemen,” said Cornelisz. “Overcrowding is part of the problem, I think. If the people had a little more room, they could perhaps be a little happier.” He looked around from man to man.
“I expect you’re right,” said the barber. “But where can they go?”
“We could set up a group on Traitors’ Island,” said Cornelisz.
Pieter Jansz the provost pulled at his moustache. “There is no water on Traitors’ Island.”
“No, but we can supply water from here. Water and supplies. Easy enough to do. We have rafts now and a boat. It just means we all have more room.”
They exchanged glances. Cornelisz waited while the thought percolated into their brains. “We could send a small group over there,” he added. “Families with children. To separate them from the rougher sailors and soldiers.”
He watched the body language. Hands on chins, lips licked.
And then a nod from Frans Jansz. “Good idea.”
“They’d need a leader, of course,” said Cornelisz. “Can you suggest anyone?”
The provost cleared his throat. “I’d be happy to lead such a group,” he said. “I have a wife and child, as you know. I could pick a few others.”
“But then… who would take your place?” asked Cornelisz, making sure he sounded reluctant.
“Jacop Pietersz will be here. And I won’t be far away,” said the provost.
“Lance Corporal Pietersz.” Cornelisz said the words slowly, considering.
“And you have a number of cadets, too,” added the provost. “Plenty of people to select from.”
“True.” Cornelisz hesitated again. “All right. Do you agree?” he asked the other councillors. They all glanced at each other, eyes bright. No voices of dissent, no objections. “Yes? Well, then, if you will organise your group, Pieter, we’ll arrange for you to be taken to Traitors’ Island tomorrow.” He smiled.
“What about the other islands?” asked the barber. “We really should explore them,
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