Put on some sea shanties and prepare to lose faith in humanity, because this is the first part of this year's multi-parter, and it's based on a true story!
I would like to ask anyone who knows what happened to Batavia and therefore how this ends to please not tell anyone, so as not to spoil it for anyone else.
Review replies;
Cartoonatic55: It's a favorite of mine as well, so what can I do, eh? :P Thanks for reading!
TweenisodeOrange: We shall see, we shall see... Thanks for reviewing!
Zim'sMostLoyalServant: The stupid ones are fun to write, too! :D Thanks for the review.
Autobot-Outcast: Yeah, as would I. :] Thanks very much!
07/10/12: Batavia
By the 17th Century, the race to discover and control the world was truly on.
The Spaniards controlled the majority of Central and South America, with the Portuguese taking the rest. These were empires of gold and silver, forged on the blood of slaves. These trades had vastly enriched Spain in the 1500s, but most of that wealth had been squandered in the Phillip II's conflicts with England. Portugal, joined in personal union with Spain, was slowly having her colonies eaten away by rival powers.
The English and the French were beginning the slow process of colonising North America and conquering the stupendously wealthy states of the Indian subcontinent. Their stars were rising in the New World, but it would be a long time before they were truly colonial powers.
The Dutch, however, were a very different story. The Dutch East India Company (the VOC) had established itself as the prominent power in South East Asia. It controlled the East Indies, and through that it controlled one of the most lucrative trades in history – the spice trade. In Europe, spices meant wealth, and lots of it – the VOC became a popular career choice. This wealth also benefited the Dutch government – they constructed a powerful navy, capable of defending her shores against all threats. This was the zenith of Dutch power.
There was a catch to this wealth, however. In the days before the Suez Canal, the only routes to the Indies were via the Cape of Good Hope at the bottom of Africa or through 'Drake's Passage', south of the tip of South America. The later meant sailing right through the heart of the Spanish Empire and its mighty galleons, so naturally the African route was preferred.
In taking this route, ships could take the 'trade winds' that blow east from the Cape to Western Australia, before changing course and heading to Batavia (modern-day Jakarta), which was the capital of the VOC. This greatly increased a ship's speed, but it could be dangerous – the Australian coast was mostly unmapped at this point, and many ships only discovered its dangers when they sailed into a reef and sank.
This is one such story.
In 1628, the Batavia, a brand new 'East Indiaman' (a large and reasonably well-defended trade ship) sailed with a Company fleet from Texel in Northern Holland, headed for the port of Batavia. She was commanded by a VOC official named Francisco Pelsaert – her captain, subordinate to Pelsaert, was Ariaen Jacobsz. One of her officers was a man named Jeronimus Cornelisz, a pharmacist fleeing the country due to what society considered to be heretic beliefs.
Batavia would never arrive at her destination.
The following story has been fictionalized. The names have been changed for the benefit of the fiction. In spite of this, the gist of this story is absolutely true.
Be warned – this story is not a happy one. It tells one of the terrible tales in maritime history. It is a glimpse at what happens to people trapped on the other side of the world with no law or consequences. It is a story of fear, desperation and cold-blooded murder.
This is the story of Batavia's Graveyard.
"Captain! Front and centre!"
Vlad Masters, a high ranking VOC official, was pacing the bridge of the ship, looking utterly livid. Tapping his foot, he waited for Captain Moe Syzlack to make his way up to him, the unkempt sailor seeming to deliberately take his time. At last, he arrived.
"Yes, Mr. Masters?" he asked, saluting sloppily.
"Where is the fleet?" demanded Vlad, pointing to the open sea around them.
Moe looked around, before shrugging.
"We're on course," he replied, "Musta turned north early."
Vlad clenched his fists.
"Captain," he sneered, "Throughout this entire voyage, you have given me nothing but trouble. Instead of helping us resupply the ship at the Cape, you went and got drunk for six weeks. You have been uncooperative with my orders. Please forgive me if I don't believe that statement."
Moe frowned.
"Masters, I done this before, alright?" he snarled, "Just lay off and let me sail my ship..."
"This is my ship," growled Vlad, "Don't forget that – or I'll have you flogged."
He and Moe stared each other in the eyes for several seconds.
"No sir," hissed Moe, walking away.
"We gotta get rid a' him."
Moe had gathered a few of the officers in his cabin, and was now pacing back and forth in the dark, candle-lit room. The second highest ranking VOC agent, a Mr. Phantom, was rapping his fingers on the desk, with the other officers skulking in the shadows. These men had been meeting for some time, some since before the Batavia had reached the Cape of Good Hope. Fed up with Masters' command, they had begun to plan a mutiny.
"We don't have the crew's loyalty yet," reminded Phantom, "If Masters' can rally them, we're as good as beaten...and if we're beaten, we'll hang."
"But the crew hate that no-good piece o'..." began Moe, clenching his fists.
"...and you expect them to just abandon their lives and go pirate?" demanded Phantom, "You can't rush this; we need to convince them we're worth following."
Moe shook his head.
"Alright, but if he pushes me one more time, I'm gonna rip out his spine and keelhaul him with it!"
"Calm down," ordered Phantom, "It'll only be a few more days. What could happen?"
Several hours later, Moe was standing on the forecastle, fighting off exhaustion.
It was three in the morning – Batavia was sailing under the stars at full sail. There were 340 souls aboard – sailors, soldiers, VOC merchants and civilians. They were 3200 kilometres from their destination.
"Captain."
Moe snorted and shook off some drowsiness as a lookout walked over to him, looking concerned.
"Wha? Yeah, what is it?"
"We've got white water ahead," replied the lookout, "Might be hazardous. Orders?"
"Ain't no reef here," shrugged Moe, "Full sail, straight on."
"But sir..."
"Hey, who's the captain here?" demanded Moe, "Full sail!"
The lookout nodded, and went back to his post.
Private Tommy Pickles was in his hammock, trying to get some sleep. It had been a long, boring voyage, standing around guarding the cargo, and he was looking forward to its end.
Join the East India Company, they said, he thought, a life of adventure awaits, they said.
He rolled over into a more comfortable position and began to nod off.
Then there was a thunderous crash and he was thrown from his hammock.
Moe was laying face-first on the deck, knocked off his feet by the crash. He cursed loudly and climbed to his feet as some sailors ran to consult him.
"Jesus, what the hell happened?" he demanded.
There was a brief silence, before a seaman stepped forward. His face was pale as a ghost.
"We've hit a reef, sir," he explained, hoarsely, "The hull's torn right through."
Moe's face turned white.
Batavia had run into a reef in then-mostly unexplored Houtman's Abrolhos, an archipelago 80 kilometres off the coast of Western Australia. She was five hundred kilometres off-course.
The damage was catastrophic. Although Batavia's hull had three layers to protect her, the reef had torn right through them. Jacobsz responded immediately, ordering the ship's cannons to be tossed overboard, hoping to lighten the ship enough to float off the reef.
It was a fruitless endeavour. Stuck fast, the ship was now being slowly broken up by the elements. The Batavia was doomed...
Two or three parts left. :)
