Watchandi Man. Robert Hallsworth
until the madman Cornelisz assumed control with a solution of callous inhumanity. The problem, as he saw it, was too many people, the answer, simple, reduce the numbers. They could not all survive, only a select few; it was survival of the fittest. Someone had to decide who would survive and that someone was Jeronimus Cornelisz.
When Pelsaert and Jacobsz had turned and sailed away north, the survivors believed they were being abandoned and cursed them as traitors. Cornelisz, as the sole remaining VOC official was looked to as a leader and so began his systematic ‘final solution’.
Loos, although not a part of the original gang of mutineers, was drawn into the plot, seeing it as the lesser of two evils and the only hope of survival, albeit for a small minority. He had not enjoyed the subsequent slaughter, but a soldier’s job was to kill, and this was just another job.
When the group of soldiers under Webbie Hayes, who had previously been tricked into being marooned on another island without their weapons, managed to capture Cornelizs, Loos had found himself in charge of the mutineers, and the killings had stopped immediately.
Later, when Pelsaert had returned unexpectedly, in the Sardam, Loos had wanted no part in the abortive attempt to seize the ship and dispose of its crew. Perhaps these things had influenced Pelsaert when he had decided to commute their death sentences to marooning.
With Pelgrom, it had been his age, how could he hang an eighteen-year-old boy, there had been enough killing. Pelsaert was sickened by it, and to maroon the boy alone was just as bad. So, he had chosen the one man from this bunch of cutthroats who had shown any form of humanity and ability, Wouter Loos, to be the boy’s companion in this vast unknown land. Pelsaert had even provided them with generous supplies, and instructions to try to get on with the natives.
“I have ordered the two sentenced delinquents to sail to the land in a champan, provided with all supplies, God grant that it may stretch to the service of the Company and may God grant them a good outcome in order to know, once and for certain, what happens in this land”. Francisco Pelsaert. 16th November 1629.
Thus, were they consigned, with neither knowledge nor intent, to become the first Europeans to live in the Great South Land.
All these things churned through the mind of Wouter Loos as he sat in the warm sand on that fateful day, contemplating his fate.
‘How had it come to this’ he thought. Life had not exactly been easy fighting the Spanish, he had hoped that the VOC might offer something better, but the sea voyage had been terrible, and things only got worse, shipwreck, mutiny, his part in the murders, the reprisals and finally this, castaway on the edge of the world with a crazy kid for a companion.
As the afternoon wore on into the evening and neither could find a word for the other, he grabbed a blanket from the boat and wrapping it around him, curled up in the meager shelter of the boat’s side.
Pelsaert had been generous with the supplies he had provided, backing up his plea,
‘and may God provide them with a good outcome.’
It was almost as if he wanted them to survive. His words came back again to Loos through the clamor of all that had happened as he watched the Sun’s golden orb sink slowly into the sea, bringing to an end a day of far-reaching significance.
The heavy rollers that had tossed them up on to this beach earlier in the day had quieted, and he lay back and let the gentle crunch and hiss of their progress soothe his troubled mind and lull him to sleep.
When he awoke the next morning, the sun had just risen again above the low hills behind him. He sat up and watched its early morning light casting long shadows along the beach; the sea was a metallic blue/grey which blended into the still dark blue of sea and sky on the western horizon, while in the East it was ascending into a cloudless blue.
It was springtime on this unknown shore, and despite his unenviable position Wouter Loos grudgingly had to admit, it was the start of a beautiful morning.
Perhaps it was this, a good night’s sleep or a combination of both, but he slowly came to realize a sense of calm and peace such as he hadn’t felt for months, years, perhaps even, never before.
Despite the hopelessness of his situation, a tiny spark flickered deep inside him, the flame fanned by the beauty of his surroundings and fed by the confidence he had in his ability. He was young, active, pragmatic, the horrors he had endured and survived had given him the strength and courage to face this new challenge, the challenge to survive and he realized now that Pelsaerts intent was clear.
The case against him in the trials on the island had been inconclusive, his part in the death of the Cardoes woman could almost be seen as a mercy killing, Andries Jonas had made such a botch of it.
Pelsaerts instructions to them had been to try to establish contact with the natives,
‘man finds his fortune in strange places,’
And,
‘may God grant them a good outcome.’
Clearly, these words were not, a death sentence.
In the event, Pelsaert would never know the outcome of his decision; he himself would be dead before another year had passed.
Wouter Loos stood and stretched, breathing in deeply, the crisp, clear air.
He knew that acceptance of his fate was the first step, this beautiful morning seemed to be inviting him to take it.
As he stood gazing at the empty horizon, a tousled redhead appeared with a grunt on the other side of the boat and looked at him with a scowl.
‘So’ Loos said, a simple word, yet it held a wealth of expression which seemed to sum up their situation.
‘Is that all you can say’ retorted Pelgrom sourly.
‘Well I could offer you a prayer of thanks for being alive’ said Loos, ‘that is if I were religious, which I am not, particularly, but then we are going to need all the help we can get if we are going to survive here for long’.
‘We only have to survive long enough for them to get back’ muttered Pelgrom, shifting his gaze towards the sea.
‘What’ said Loos, ‘you must be crazy if you think that, you will never see them again’?
‘We will see about that’ said Pelgrom.
Loos jumped to his feet and grabbing the younger man by the arm, swung him round to face him,
‘ Look at me ‘, he shouted, ‘look at my face, this is the last white face you will ever see, Jan Pelgrom, so you had better get used to it’.
Pelgrom glowered back at him and shook his arm free.
‘Bullshit to that, Loos, you can die here for all I care, but I won’t, I will get away from this God-forsaken place, and I will have my revenge on those bastards’.
Loos took a step backwards, momentarily shocked by the ferocity of the response.
‘And just how do you propose doing that then’ he retorted.
‘You’ll see’ he said ‘You will see’. And the look in his cold, grey, green eyes made Loos stop and think where he had seen it before and then he remembered the madman, Cornelizs and a shiver went up his spine.
Unlike Loos, Pelgrom had reveled in the blood lust on the islands; he had become a devotee of Cornelizs, displaying the same destructive tendencies; indeed he had thrown a violent tantrum when Cornelizs had decided he was too young to take a critical role in one of the murders. Ironically it was the same reasoning, he was too young, that had influenced Pelsaert to spare him the corporal punishment meted out to the rest of Cornelizs’s gang.
As a child, growing up in the back streets of Amsterdam, Jan Pelgrom had learnt to survive at the expense of others in a dog eat dog world. Hanging around taverns, he had listened to the talk of