Watchandi Man. Robert Hallsworth
witnessed the horrors of war first hand on several occasions, fighting for the Republic against the Spanish oppressors.
It had been a brutal, dog eat dog affair, where civilians also got dragged into the slaughter. But it had prepared him, better than most for what transpired on the Abrolhos.
He had been involved in the killings, believing that Cornelizs strategy of survival of the fittest was the only way any of them could survive, especially after it appeared that Pelsaert had abandoned them to their fate, taking with him the only seagoing boat.
It had seemed like treachery at the time and no one had expected Pelsaert to return as he did.
Wouter thought now of the terrible killings, to him it had been a necessary part of the plan, and he had taken no pleasure from it, unlike many of the others who seemed to relish in the bloodletting, even the boy, Pelgrom, his companion, had pleaded to be allowed to take part.
Wouter looked at him now, across the fire with ill-concealed contempt, Jan sensed the look and returned it, retorting,
‘What are you staring at’,
‘I am not sure’ replied Wouter, ‘just a stupid boy, I am thinking, lucky to be alive too’.
‘What’s that supposed to mean’ said Jan, sulkily.
Ignoring the question, Wouter asked,
‘Why did you ever get involved with Cornelizs and all the killings?’
‘You were no different’ Jan retorted ‘ask yourself that question’.
Wouter slowly shook his head,
‘No’ he said ‘it was different for me, I am a soldier, and a soldier’s job is to kill or be killed. You were just a cabin boy; you didn’t have to get involved with the killings, you could have got away with just being Cornelizs servant, his lapdog. When Pelsaert returned, you might have even escaped punishment altogether!’
Jan dropped his head and looked away, into the fire. ‘I wanted more than that’ he said in a lowered voice,
‘I believed in Cornelizs, he had a vision, not like the rest of the mob in Amsterdam, money-grabbing merchants, religious cranks, the rest in the gutter like me’.
‘Or madmen like Torrentius and Cornelizs’ added Wouter.
‘Maybe, but at least he had a plan’ retorted Jan ‘You know as well as I do we could never have all survived with the food and water we had, and no one believed Pelsaert would come back.’
‘Well’ said Wouter ‘if he had followed up on Webbie Hayes signal to say he had found water on the long island, it may have been possible’.
‘It was already too late by then’ retorted Jan ‘the killings had already started, the cull, Cornelizs called it, and Hayes knew it, there was no going back’.
There was silence for a while, until Wouter finally spoke,
‘What would your parents think of you now, if they knew?’ he asked slowly.
‘Ha’ snorted Jan ‘what parents? they both got sick and died, I was a child of about eight, I think, I hardly knew them’.
‘In Amsterdam?’ asked Wouter,
‘No, Bemmel’ he replied.
‘What happened then’ asked Wouter. Jan glanced up at him and then back at the fire,
‘My older sister looked after me, she decided there was nothing for us in Bemmel, and so she took me down to Amsterdam, but there was nothing for us there either, we lived like rats in the streets eating scraps, until she went to work in a brothel. She was a good looker and had no shortage of customers, at least it was a roof over our heads and a regular meal.
I had to earn my keep though, odd jobs, fetching wood and coal for the fires, emptying piss pots, running messages, and I learned to pick up people’s clothes and hang them up, checking through the pockets at the same time.
Got caught a couple of times and copped a hiding’, Jan fingered the scar on his cheek, ruefully.
‘Then the old Madam would chase me with a poker, making out to the client that she had nothing to do with it. But after they had all gone she would grab me by the ear and stick her toothless old face into mine her breath reeking of gin; she’d demand to know how much I’d got that day,
‘Cos half of its mine, and don’t you forget it’.
‘But then she’d stick a bowl of watery soup and a lump of black bread under my nose, before bundling me off to a corner of the coal shed with a moth-eaten blanket. I’d go to sleep and dream of becoming a pirate and steal from all these rich bastards who seemed to own the world, while the likes of me had nothing’.
Wouter watched him through narrowed eyes and listened without comment.
He had never heard him talk so much. Maybe it was the mug of Genever he had given him to go with the meagre dinner, but whatever it was he was beginning to understand a bit more about this crazy kid’s character.
‘So, what happened’ he said ‘how come you joined the VOC.’
‘Why, what do you want to know for?’ Jan was back on the defensive, glaring at Wouter from the corners of his eyes, suspiciously.
Wouter didn’t want to reveal this new-found interest in his companion, so he blustered,
‘Suit yourself. I don’t care really, just passing the time’.
He sat back and took another puff from his pipe, blowing a long stream of white smoke that mingled with that of the campfires and drifted lazily into the still night sky.
Jan watched him for a moment or two; then, his gaze followed the smoke upwards.
‘My sister died’ he said flatly, dispassionately, as if it were a commonplace occurrence, which it probably was.
‘Syphilis’ again flatly, as if he were describing a flower garden that had died from want of attention.
‘What did you do then’ asked Wouter, his voice had a softer edge to it now,
‘They kicked me out of the brothel to fend for myself, but I had learned a few tricks by then, and I managed to survive, with an eye for an unlatched door or window. The markets were always good pickings if you were sharp. I used to like to hang around the taverns too, doing odd jobs for the landlords, supping the dregs of ale in leftover pots, chewing on scraps. There were plenty of stories to be heard too if you kept your ears open.
That’s where I first heard about Torrentius and his ideas.
Some called it heresy and the Church authorities would bring him down, but I had no time for the Church, any of them, what had they done for me, Cornelizs shared his views as well, that’s what drew me to him.’
‘Yes, and Torrentius views almost did cost him his life, he should have stuck to painting, he was good at that, at least’ replied Wouter who had a rough idea of Cornelizs radical views, had even heard him utter the words,
‘All I do, God gave unto my heart’, implying that he could do no wrong.
He had denied the existence of heaven or hell, choosing instead to follow the Epicurean philosophy of,
‘true happiness is only to be found in the pursuit of pleasure’.
And no debt is to be incurred by its prosecution, even the misuse of others, to the extent of rape and murder, survival of the fittest was all that mattered.
Wouter could see how someone with such a brutal upbringing as Jan Pelgrom, could be drawn to these philosophies, in search of a better life.
Jan stared into the fire for a few more minutes and then, without another word, crawled into his bedroll, turning his back on Wouter, who sat for a while longer gazing across its dying embers at the huddled body of his young companion.
He