Authors: Jane Toombs
She and Margitte joined the small group watching the ship. Off to the right, Skipper Hardens packed back and forth, muttering imprecations. Romell looked to where the yawl had been drawn up on the shore last night, well above the waterline. There was no sign of it.
"I'll get the dirty bastards that stole the yawl!" the skipper roared. "I'll have their hides—see if I don't."
Romell looked back at the wreck. The men still aboard had succeeded in getting their boat into the water, but as Romell watched, it swamped and went under almost immediately, and the sailors disappeared beneath the waves. Another splintering crash and a section amidships broke away from the wreck. Debris littered the shore.
The skipper began to organize a salvage crew. "Get the barrels first," he shouted. "We'll need fresh water."
All morning the waves battered the wrecked ship until there were only a few wooden ribs visible on the reef. Casks and kegs washed ashore, along with the mainmast with its canvas sails. Of the men left aboard the ship at the end, only fifteen reached the island alive, clinging to broken timbers from the ship. The women tended to these half-drowned survivors. Romell gave up the blanket to one of them and passed among them with bread and wine.
"It's you . . . it's you," a man whispered hoarsely as she knelt down beside him. She stared into the stubbled face and recognized Pieter. Though she immediately left him to tend another survivor, she couldn't find it in her to wish that he had drowned.
Later that day the survivors of the
Zuiderwind
gathered together for prayers led by
Predikant
Deeters. The skipper had the water barrels and other supplies under guard by two soldiers armed with muskets and pikes. A thorough search of the island had revealed no fresh-water supply and he was taking no chances.
"If those sons of dogs hadn't stolen the yawl in the night," Jan Hardens said when the minister finished, "we could send a party to search for water on the Southland coast." He pointed to the dark line to the east.
"Might there be water on the smaller island across the channel?" Adrien asked.
"That channel's a good ten miles or so across. Even if a man could swim that far, it's full of sharks. I counted four fins when the sloop sailed around there. Anyway, we landed two men from the sloop and they reported they found no fresh water."
"How come the commandeur sailed off like he done?" one of the soldiers, a hard-bitten older man, demanded. "There weren't no straws drawn to see who went with him to Java, neither. I don't grudge the women and babes, but there was able-bodied men on that boat—and they wasn't sailors. Why should the likes of the Junior Merchant be better than other men, I ask you?"
"You see he didn't take me," Skipper Hardens retorted. "Trusted to the first mate to navigate, that's what he did. Ordered me off the boat. I think the
predikant
should do some extra praying that the sloop doesn't miss Java altogether."
The group moved closer together, looking furtively at one another. Would they ever be rescued? How long would the supplies last? And what about the water?
Romell glanced about her at the other eight women: the minister's wife, Catarina, his thirteen-year-old daughter; Margitte, Loulie, and four wives of men passengers here on the island. Had the sloop taken male passengers in place of some of these women? And what about the five children here? Certainly, Willem Van Buren was not on the island. Neither were two older men, friends of
Commandeur
Zwaan.
"How long will the water last?" Romell asked Adrien softly.
He motioned her away from the group. "I think we'd best pray for rain," he said. "Only two of the barrels hold water. The rest hold wine."
The water gave out in three days and then everyone, children included, drank wine. Food proved easy to come by, since the brilliantly-colored fish in the shallows took baited lines eagerly and the seabirds not only laid their eggs on the ground, but burrowed holes in the sand for themselves at night and so were easy to catch. No one despaired, perhaps partly because of the wine, and when a large seal was clubbed to death in the shallows on the sixth day, they roasted it and celebrated. Clouds gathered every evening, but no rain fell.
Pieter, completely recovered, consulted with some of the soldiers, and they began building a raft from wreckage on the shore. Jan Hardens viewed the undertaking with scorn, wondering aloud how far anyone would get trying to sail the ocean on a raft. Still, Pieter persisted.
Living conditions improved after tents were fashioned from canvas salvaged from the mainmast sails. The survivors formed two distinct camps, with the crew and most of the soldiers in one large group and the passengers in a smaller one, which also included three of the soldiers. One by one, the wine barrels emptied.
Late in the second week after the shipwreck, Pieter approached the passengers. "We have tested the raft and she floats well," he said. "She'll make it across the channel, so now we must explore the little island for water."
Adrien, who'd become unofficial leader of the passenger group, nodded. "We need water," he agreed.
"I come to you because we need to be together," Pieter went on. "We're all castaways and we need to trust in one another. So, if some of you and some of us sail over, then what we find will be shared by everyone. Those sailors from the sloop didn't have time for a thorough search. I believe we may find water where they didn't." His eyes fastened on Adrien.
"Let the strongest stand forth to go, for we don't need sick men," Pieter suggested.
Adrien, the three soldiers, and two of the men whose wives had sailed off in the sloop volunteered to go with Pieter and two of his group on the raft, to sail the following morning.
Romell took Adrien aside as Pieter left the group. "I don't think Pieter's to be trusted," she said. "You must watch him."
He eyed her narrowly. "This plan seems reasonable enough."
She bit her lip. "He's a strange man. I wish you weren't going with him."
"What could be his purpose if not what he says? It's true our two groups should be closer," Adrien told her. "And we need water badly."
"Is the raft safe?"
"Safe enough to travel across the channel and back, I'd say."
"What about the sharks?"
"I’ve no intention of falling off. What’s the matter with you, Romell? It’s not like you." I’m not afraid for myself, she wanted to tell him. But I couldn’t bear to have anything happen to you. But she kept silent.
The next morning, she and Margritte stood silently by while Adrien, Pieter and the others pushed the raft into the water, Adrien waved as the makeshift sail caught the wind and the raft started across the channel with eight men aboard.
Rommel waved back, still disturbed about the venture. Why were there six men from the passenger group and only two from Pieter’s?
As if her thought had caught his attention, Pieter, who was standing besides the raft’s sail, looked at her, the first time that morning that she knew of. He didn’t wave but he smiled at her, a smile so chilling she choked back a cry.
Chapter 10
Adrian looked back once more at the dwindling figures of the two women he left behind, then turned toward their goal, the small island across the channel. The strong current hampered the lone sailor's efforts to tack the clumsy craft, but it looked certain that they'd make land at the tip of the island. As Adrien watched, a triangular fin broke water near the raft, circled several times, then moved off. Adrien didn't comment on the shark, not wishing to alarm anyone, but catching Pieter's eye he saw that the cadet had also seen the thing.
Pieter smiled one-sidedly and looked away.
Adrien shook his head. He didn't like the man, didn't trust him. Why Romell had never owned up to Pieter's attack on her aboard the Zuiderwind, he couldn't fathom. Did the man have some kind of a hold over her?
For a moment, Adrien remembered how Romell had clung to him in Margitte's cabin, just before the ship ran aground. There was no doubt that she stirred him more than any other woman ever had—including the voluptuous Margitte. If things were different . . .
But things were as they were. He had no money. Fortunes were to be made in the spice trade, but so far he hadn't even managed to get to the East Indies. Time enough to think of marriage when he'd made his fortune.
By then, Romell would have wed the Dutchman who'd paid her passage. Why had she agreed to such a marriage? Like as not, because Hendrik van der Pol was a wealthy man. Say what you will, all women are attracted to money. Look how quickly Romell had turned her back on him once she learned he was penniless.
Enough of this. Ridiculous, anyway, since both were castaways in need of water. Adrien turned his attention back to the raft, noting that they'd made good headway and were nearing shore. When they reached shallow water, he jumped off and helped push the raft onto the sand.
"If we divide into two-man parties, we can quickly traverse the island," Pieter said. He pointed to Adrien, then to the soldier next to him. "You and you." In similar fashion, he paired everyone off, he and the sailor becoming the last pair.
"About an hour's search should cover the island," Pieter went on. "We'll meet back here at the raft and see what we've discovered. I feel sure we will find water."
Adrien resented Pieter's calm assumption of authority and wondered that the older soldiers allowed it. But none of the three was an officer and apparently they were used to taking orders. In any case the raft and the trip had been Pieter’s idea, and his plan for the search was a sound one. No reason to get into a dispute over nothing. Adrien nodded to his partner, and they started off to their assigned section of the island.
The small island was much like the other, except that it had a natural rise at the west end where Adrien and his partner, a tough-bitten Swedish mercenary named Olav, were to search. They split up, each working his way around the rise to meet on the far side. Adrien finished first and stepped onto muddy ground.
"Sergeant!" he shouted, in Dutch, and Olav came hurrying around to him.
They dug into the mud and found a tiny trickle of water. They tasted it and grinned at one another.
As they started back to the raft, Adrien saw the other two soldiers searching and shouted that water had been found. The men left off looking and started toward them. A few minutes later, Adrien and the Swede topped the rise.
Adrien stared in disbelief. The raft was gone. He stared out into the channel and saw the raft, two men aboard, almost to the other island. With a sickening lurch of certainty, he realized what Pieter's motive had been.
Pieter had never expected to find water here. The three soldiers from the passenger group had brought their muskets and pikes, and although Adrien had no sword, he did have his dagger and could be counted on to fight. The remaining two men stranded with them on the small island were large and lusty Dutchmen. Obviously, Pieter had deliberately stranded the six men he considered most dangerous to himself.
Through his fury, Adrien found himself agreeing with Pieter's judgment: he and the five men with him were the ones most likely to rally the others to resist Pieter's group. His stomach twisted when he considered what might now happen. Racing to the beach, he stared across the channel. The sail of the raft was nowhere in sight and he knew it had landed. He was a good swimmer—he could make the ten miles—but the sharks made the attempt foolhardy.
"What does Pieter mean to do?" he said aloud.
"If we was still aboard the ship, I might could tell you," Olav said.
Adrien whirled to look at the big Swede.
"He and some of them young asses they was going to make officers, they was talking mutiny. I told him he better shut up, don't talk to me about nothing like that and no more he did. But they was asking the men. Plenty of fools in the army, like everywhere else. Some listened." Olav spat into the water.
"He can't plan mutiny without a ship!"
"No more he can. There won't be a ship, neither, does the commandeur get lost looking for Batavia."
Adrien stared at Olav. "That's it!" he exclaimed. "The rescue ship. If Pieter and the others take over now, they'll be able to control the ship sent from Batavia. Those aboard would never suspect."
"If there be a ship," Olav said.
"We've got to get back to the other island." Adrien looked about, seeing nothing but the rest of their party hurrying along the beach toward them. No trees, only a few ship's planks from the wreck—nowhere near enough to build a raft.
"Don't see how," Olav said. "At least we got water."
They killed a few seabirds that night and roasted them for supper over a small driftwood fire. "We can last some time here," one of the young Dutchman said. "It may be we're better off than those over there." He jerked his head toward the large island. "One thing sure, we can't get to them."
Adrien stared into the dying flames without answering. Romell, he said to himself, sick at the thought of what might happen to her.
After the raft was out of sight, Margitte wandered off, but Romell made herself comfortable on the sand, sitting with her back against a rock, waiting. The warmth of the sun made her drowsy and she dozed. When she woke and stared out at the channel, she saw the white sail of the raft heading back. Breathing a long sigh of relief, Romell stood and shaded her eyes against the blinding sparkle of the sun on the water.
A man came up to stand beside her and other men joined him. Glancing at them, Romell frowned when she noticed that they were all from what she'd come to think of as Pieter's group. She heard Skipper Hardens' voice from somewhere behind her.
"There's but the two of them, all right. He's managed it. Now's the time. You know what to do."
Romell whirled to look at him. What did Jan Hardens mean?
"What about her?" the man next to Romell said.
"Bring her. I promised Pieter, so see she's not hurt—you know what I mean."
Before Romell could gather her wits, two men had her arms fast and a gag in her mouth so she couldn't call out. She was bundled off to the four tents used by Pieter's group, pushed into one of the tents, tied hand and foot with thick ropes and left.
Romell lay on the ground, frantically trying to make sense of what had happened. Pieter. It all came back to Pieter. The two of them, Skipper Hardens had said. Two men on the raft. That would be Pieter and the sailor. Where was Adrien? What did Pieter's group mean to do? She heard a confused shouting outside, then shrieks of terror.
Someone came into the tent and turned her over roughly. She stared up at Loulie.
Loulie made a face. "It's you," she said, her voice heavy with disappointment. "I was hoping it was her, so I could get back some of what she done to me." Loulie prodded Romell with her foot. "I don't like you much, but I ain't got no quarrel with you. You're lucky I ain't." She cocked her head, listening, and Romell heard more screaming, cut off by gunshots.
"Hear that? We're taking over, that's what we're doing. Too bad we didn't do it on the ship like we planned. Easy to toss them to the fish." She laughed.
"You want to see what's happening?" Loulie took a knife from a sheath she wore on a belt about her waist and cut the rope binding Romell’s feet. "Come on, get up," she ordered. "You don't want to miss a sight like this."
Seeing she had no choice, Romell struggled to her feet, her hands still bound behind her back. Loulie took the gag off, "You can yell all you want now," she said. "Won't do you no good."
Romell said nothing, watching the knife in Loulie's hand.
Loulie followed her gaze, laughed again and put the knife away. "Don't worry. I'm saving my knife for that other bitch." She grasped the rope that bound Romell’s hands and thrust her forward.
Romell stumbled out of the tent and into a scene of horror. A woman she recognized as one of the wives ran past not ten feet from her, a small boy caught up in her arms. Behind her a half-naked sailor swung a sword back and forth, coming closer and closer until the edge of the sword struck the woman's neck and she toppled forward, moaning. The child tumbled from her grasp and sat crying on the ground. The sailor grabbed the boy and dashed his head against a rock. Romell gave a strangled cry of protest as she heard the child's skull shatter.
"No, oh no," Romell breathed, turning her head away.
"See how lucky you are Pieter picked you?" Loulie said. "Next to the skipper, he's top man."
Romell gagged, bringing up bile. To her left a man staggered by, holding his hands to his stomach. Before her terrified eyes, he fell to his knees, his hands dropping away so that his innards spilled out onto the ground. As he slowly slid forward atop them, Romell recognized the young tutor.
She closed her eyes, shaking with dry sobs.
"Don't you like what you see?" Loulie jeered. "All you high and mighty ones, you're all the same. Show you a bit of blood and you—"
"They're killing everyone!" Romell shrieked, opening her eyes. "Stop them! Oh God, make them stop."
"God don't care," Loulie said. "You ought to know by now, He don't care what happens. I learned that afore I was three. Pieter's got the right of it, what he says. God made good and bad, and He don't care which happens to you."
A young soldier, a cadet, came by, dragging a naked woman by her long plaits. No, not a woman, it was the minister's thirteen-year-old daughter Catarina, a girl just beginning to develop. The soldier grinned cockily at Loulie and flung the girl onto her back by one of the tents. Undoing his clothes, he straddled her. Unable to look away, Romell saw the girl writhe, heard her wail as he raped her. Even after he finished, leaving her there on the ground, the girl continued keening
Another soldier ran by and, seeing the girl, stopped and began to fumble with his breeches.
Romell wrenched herself around, away from the sight. "Please," she said to Loulie, not knowing what she begged for.
"Had enough?" Loulie asked.
"Please," Romell repeated.
Loulie thrust her back inside the tent, coming in with her. Romell eased herself onto the ground and huddled there, unable to weep. She'd never dreamed men could behave like this, turning on their own kind, raping, killing helpless children. The horrible sights she had seen were repeated over and over in her head. She heard someone moaning and didn't realize who it was until Loulie ordered her to shut up.
"You got nothing to whine about. You and me, we're going to be taken care of, that's what," Loulie told her.
Men strode into the tent. Romell stared at them with dazed eyes. Jan Hardens, skipper of the wrecked Zuiderwind. How could he be a party to this carnage? The sailor with him she vaguely remembered as one of the steersmen. Between them they carried a woman, and Loulie cried out in delight.
"You brought her to me!"
Romell then saw that the face under the dirt and smeared blood was Margitte's.
Jan Hardens shoved Loulie aside roughly. "I didn't bring her for you," he snarled. "She's mine. You lay a finger on her and I'll see you lose your damn ugly fingers, one by one."
Loulie's jaw dropped and she stared at Jan.
He turned to the steersman, a great hulking brute. "Joost, you want Loulie?"
Joost grinned and nodded vigorously.
"She's yours. Only, keep her out of my sight. That's an order!"
"Aye, Skipper, I do that." Joost took hold of Loulie's arm. When she went for her knife, he slammed her across the face so hard she fell. He jerked the knife from her belt, yanked her to her feet and pulled her with him from the tent.
"Damn you, Jan Hardens!" Loulie yelled from outside. "I'll be the death of you—you and that bitch!"
Margitte straightened and, lifting her skirt, wiped her face as best she could.
"Margitte, are you hurt?" Romell asked.
"No." Margitte didn't look at her as she spoke but kept her eyes fastened on the skipper.
"Will you be reasonable?" Jan asked her.
Margitte shrugged gracefully, as if she weren't standing dirty-faced and barefoot in the tent of her captor. "I have little choice," she said.