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Authors: Peter Fitzsimons
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unexpected . . .
At two o’clock on the afternoon of their first day at sea, the Batavia , with her fleet close in behind, is heading sou’ by sou’-west on course for the Kanaal , the Dutch coast still on her port quarter and a strongish breeze blowing from aft. The first clue Pelsaert has that they might be in for a spot of trouble comes when he is on the poop deck trying to get some fresh air to counter his rising nausea. Here, he sees Skipper Jacobsz gazing worriedly westwards at the thick black clouds that have suddenly appeared.
Whereas the instructions to the sailors were previously so obvious that the first mate could do them on his own, now Jacobsz takes over the entire operation and barks orders nineteen to the dozen: ‘Bear a hand, heave ’round! Boots, boots, get those men on deck, everybody up, sailors all, may lightning strike you, come up, you cursed dogs .’
While those sailors who are within earshot jump to it at these commands, most receive them via the bosun, Jan Evertsz, who relays them to the dozens all around the ship, who once again go shinnying up and down the masts and across the spars to reset the sails. And, to ensure that even those in the farthest reaches of the ship’s rigging can follow these instructions, the chief trumpeter, a man by the name of Claas Jansz, and another man known to the crew as Cornelis de Dikke Trompetter , Cornelis the Fat Trumpeter, hover close to Evertsz and listen carefully.
Following the nautical fashion of the day, for every command coming from the captain, Claas and Cornelis the Fat Trumpeter have a brief signal, which they instantly blare out, pointing their trumpets to all three masts so that all will hear. No sooner has the order ‘Alle hens aan dek!’ , all hands on deck, come than Claas and Cornelis emit a toot toot toot-de-toot-toot toot , resounding from one end of the ship to the other and down the hatches, as the 40 sailors who are on watch dance to their tune.
When the captain shouts, ‘Heave to, heave to, I say ! Take down the top and the mainsails, you schobbejakken , bastards!’ they spot the relevant command, to haul in the mainsail, and a toooooot-toot-toot, de toot-de-toot-toota does the trick. And so it goes. All put together, each sailor is an integral part of a system that is as comprehensive as it is cohesive.
True, Jacobsz is not kind in his commands to those sailors who are nearby – ‘You there, you slothouten , piece of wood, get that cable-rope or I will give you a beating so you will shit your soul’ – but no one takes particular offence, because that is just the Dutch-mariner way of speaking.
In a similar fashion, Jan Evertsz, he with the heavily scarred and weathered visage of one who has spent equal amounts of time at sea and in tavern brawls, is rough in his manner but still respected by the sailors, who follow his orders without question. He has risen to the position of high bosun because of his ability to organise his sailors quickly in complex operations, and being rough is simply part of the way things are done.
‘Come,’ Jacobsz continues to cry, ‘move like one man, and to the health of all zwartinnen , black women, in the East Indies, and all Dutch girls. Come, move like one man !’
And move like one man they do. As if by magic, the sails suddenly diminish to just a quarter of what they were, which is as well, for only minutes after that the skies darken and the light swell develops into battering waves. Now the Batavia and her fleet are in the middle of a murderous maelstrom that old salts would later say was one of the worst experienced in that part of the world. (Pelsaert will have to take their word for it. Having retired to his cabin well before the worst of the storm hits, he spends most of its duration lying on his bunk groaning.) If the Batavia is somewhat steadier in the storm than the other ships, less prone to being bounced around by the waves and winds, this is due to both her size and the
At two o’clock on the afternoon of their first day at sea, the Batavia , with her fleet close in behind, is heading sou’ by sou’-west on course for the Kanaal , the Dutch coast still on her port quarter and a strongish breeze blowing from aft. The first clue Pelsaert has that they might be in for a spot of trouble comes when he is on the poop deck trying to get some fresh air to counter his rising nausea. Here, he sees Skipper Jacobsz gazing worriedly westwards at the thick black clouds that have suddenly appeared.
Whereas the instructions to the sailors were previously so obvious that the first mate could do them on his own, now Jacobsz takes over the entire operation and barks orders nineteen to the dozen: ‘Bear a hand, heave ’round! Boots, boots, get those men on deck, everybody up, sailors all, may lightning strike you, come up, you cursed dogs .’
While those sailors who are within earshot jump to it at these commands, most receive them via the bosun, Jan Evertsz, who relays them to the dozens all around the ship, who once again go shinnying up and down the masts and across the spars to reset the sails. And, to ensure that even those in the farthest reaches of the ship’s rigging can follow these instructions, the chief trumpeter, a man by the name of Claas Jansz, and another man known to the crew as Cornelis de Dikke Trompetter , Cornelis the Fat Trumpeter, hover close to Evertsz and listen carefully.
Following the nautical fashion of the day, for every command coming from the captain, Claas and Cornelis the Fat Trumpeter have a brief signal, which they instantly blare out, pointing their trumpets to all three masts so that all will hear. No sooner has the order ‘Alle hens aan dek!’ , all hands on deck, come than Claas and Cornelis emit a toot toot toot-de-toot-toot toot , resounding from one end of the ship to the other and down the hatches, as the 40 sailors who are on watch dance to their tune.
When the captain shouts, ‘Heave to, heave to, I say ! Take down the top and the mainsails, you schobbejakken , bastards!’ they spot the relevant command, to haul in the mainsail, and a toooooot-toot-toot, de toot-de-toot-toota does the trick. And so it goes. All put together, each sailor is an integral part of a system that is as comprehensive as it is cohesive.
True, Jacobsz is not kind in his commands to those sailors who are nearby – ‘You there, you slothouten , piece of wood, get that cable-rope or I will give you a beating so you will shit your soul’ – but no one takes particular offence, because that is just the Dutch-mariner way of speaking.
In a similar fashion, Jan Evertsz, he with the heavily scarred and weathered visage of one who has spent equal amounts of time at sea and in tavern brawls, is rough in his manner but still respected by the sailors, who follow his orders without question. He has risen to the position of high bosun because of his ability to organise his sailors quickly in complex operations, and being rough is simply part of the way things are done.
‘Come,’ Jacobsz continues to cry, ‘move like one man, and to the health of all zwartinnen , black women, in the East Indies, and all Dutch girls. Come, move like one man !’
And move like one man they do. As if by magic, the sails suddenly diminish to just a quarter of what they were, which is as well, for only minutes after that the skies darken and the light swell develops into battering waves. Now the Batavia and her fleet are in the middle of a murderous maelstrom that old salts would later say was one of the worst experienced in that part of the world. (Pelsaert will have to take their word for it. Having retired to his cabin well before the worst of the storm hits, he spends most of its duration lying on his bunk groaning.) If the Batavia is somewhat steadier in the storm than the other ships, less prone to being bounced around by the waves and winds, this is due to both her size and the
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