Sahibs of the Sea

Prologue

Western Australia (2008)

Come on; come on, thought Peter, willing the lift to move a little faster. Descending from the twentieth floor of his office on Adelaide Terrace, the lift seemed to take an indeterminable time; stopping either to drop off or to take on new passengers was an eternity. When he finally reached the basement where his Monaro was parked he broke into a run, clicking the remote to unlock the car. He needed to hurry because he didn’t want to be late for the funeral of his best friend’s grandfather.

Peter van der Wat’s friendship with Richard Stirling had sparked and matured throughout primary school and continued at Morley Senior High. Even though they pursued different careers and attended different classes through secondary and tertiary education, the bond of friendship between them was resolute and unwavering.

Reflecting on the reason for this bond, Peter concluded it was their common heritage. Both were children of Anglo-Indian parents who migrated to Australia in the twenty to thirty year period after India shook off the shackles of the British Raj and became an independent country in 1947.

From an early age, Peter could recall his father telling him that immediately after independence there was an exodus of Anglo-Indians to England. These people feared the Indianisation of the subcontinent immediately after its liberation. What started as a trickle soon assumed flood-like proportions. Thousands left to go back to what they considered the motherland – England – only to realise they were not welcome, and certainly not with open arms.

The early migratory flood slowed momentarily because many felt a certain loyalty to the country in which they were born and raised, while others remained in India due to the jobs they held.

When the Anglo-Indians who stayed behind realised India was indeed just for the Indians, a fact which was made clear by the anti-English sentiment prevalent particularly in northern India in the mid-1960s, there was another exodus: to Australia, Canada, New Zealand and, to a lesser extent, the United States of America.

Peter was just two years old when his family migrated to Australia in the late 1970s after Australia abandoned its white Australian policy and opened its doors to immigration from Asia.

Driving along the foreshore of the River Swan, Peter marvelled at the beautiful spring day in Perth. The bright October sun shone out of a cloudless blue sky, heralding the approach of summer. The river was at its most beautiful, like a pond, at this time of the morning, with an occasional wave breaking the surface. A number of yachts and other boats were out on the water, and those on board were enjoying the start of another season of water sports. Others walked or cycled along the shore. It was one of those magical days when everything seemed to be coming to life after what had been a long, dreary, wet winter. The wild flowers in Kings Park on the other side of the road were at their glorious best. The native wattle bushes lit up the side of the hill in a blaze of bright yellow flowers, while the jacaranda trees with their vast panoply of deep purple flowers painted a picture that, unfortunately, was too short. Seagulls darted along the river’s edge looking for any morsels thrown by picnickers enjoying an early lunch.

How ironic that the world was awakening to a new spring morning filled with promise, yet Peter was on his way to a funeral to mark the end of a life – a life which had witnessed events that changed his community in more ways than he could recall.

Speeding past the University of Western Australia and the Charles Gairdner Hospital, where Richard’s grandfather had spent his last days, Peter approached Karrakata Cemetery and made it with but a few minutes to spare. Parking his car opposite the cemetery, he walked across the road to mingle with others gathering to farewell the old man.

The hearse arrived a short time later, followed by the limousine carrying the grieving family. The cars stopped to allow the gathered people to fill out attendance cards handed out by the funeral directors.

Peter followed the cortege to the graveside; the family had decided on a burial rather than a cremation.

My brothers and sisters… the priest commenced the ceremony. As the words of the funeral service came to him from across the grave, Peter reflected on his heritage and the Anglo-Indian community born some four hundred years previously with the coming of the first Europeans to the Indian subcontinent. The community, like the old man they were burying, was now in its death throes. The community was dying despite the efforts of people around the world to breathe life into it. Peter admired and even supported their efforts but knew it was futile.

In spite of living in India for more than three hundred years and having fought in its armed forces in many conflicts and wars both within India and around the world, Anglo-Indians did not feel themselves a part of the Indian community. A false sense of loyalty had made the Anglo-Indians cling tenuously to the English heritage while discarding any hint of the Indian within them.

It was common knowledge among the community that their allegiance was divided. They loved the country that had given them birth and a secure environment in which to live and to practise their faith, but allied themselves to the English, who for their part did not see Anglo-Indians as part of their empire. The English saw them as a people they could use to further their colonial ambitions, but abandon upon a whim.

Peter scanned the crowd gathered around the grave. Of the Anglo-Indians he recognised and knew, and there were many he did not know, Peter identified those who had married into other nationalities. The spouses were Australian, English, French, Dutch, German, Scottish, Greek, Italian, Slav, South African, and Brazilian. The offspring, some of whom were with their parents, were a curious mixture of the two races, but the one identifying feature was the olive complexion that immediately set them apart. This, Peter knew, was only fleeting. The next generation would completely identify with Australia and there would be no olive complexion or accent to set them apart. In fact, it was curious that a number of offspring of these mixed marriages spoke with an Anglo-Indian accent at home or with the extended family, but changed to a very Australian accent when at work, attending social gatherings, or when their friends visited.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust… The priest was concluding the ceremony, and Peter snapped back to the present. Mourners started drifting away as he made his way to Richard’s side.

Please accept my condolences, Peter said, clasping Richard’s outstretched hand. I know how much the old man meant to you.

Thanks for coming, Peter. Yes, it is sad but grandad had a good and full life and did not suffer too much towards the end. It was obvious Richard would need time to come to terms with his loss.

Others were waiting to offer their condolences, and as Peter made to move on Richard said, I’ll see you at the wake. It’s back at my place.

I’ll see you there, said Peter as he walked back to his car, leaving other friends and relatives to condole with Richard.

Peter seemed unable to lift himself out of the sense of sadness that had gripped him the whole morning; a feeling of utter hopelessness. He wanted to do something to get recognition for the contribution Anglo-Indians made to the history of India, but as a realist he knew there was little he could do other than pass on a small part of the knowledge and stories of his heritage to his children. Even that would be lost with time.

Perhaps history will place on record the Anglo-Indian contribution to India’s development. But, as Peter reflected, there was no history of the Anglo-Indians. Their history was wound up and mostly buried with the history of English conquest and rule of the Indian subcontinent. In some cultures, stories of their history are passed down by elders, as in the Aboriginal culture of Australia. But with the Anglo-Indians spread around the globe, the chance of stories being passed down from generation to generation was slim and fleeting at best. Even when stories were told, the children, though interested, had nothing onto which to hold. There was no land they could call their own. There was no historical figurehead that embodied their identity.

The wake was not as sombre as the funeral and people were a little more relaxed, realising death was but a normal part of life and acknowledging Richard’s grandfather had lived a long and fulfilling life spanning two centuries.

Friends, Richard’s father attempted to attract everyone’s attention, thank you for coming today. It is a sad day for everyone in the family, but we are grateful Dad went peacefully after a relatively short stay in hospital. My father was born in 1919 in Dehra Dun and was a boarder at Oak Grove School from a very young age. This, I believe, made him a fiercely independent person who was self-reliant in both his personal and professional life. This characteristic made him volunteer for the armed forces at a young age and he fought in the Middle East during the Second World War. In fact, Dad saw action in the North African desert. After India’s independence, Dad volunteered to stay with the Indian Army and even saw action in the Indo-China war and in conflicts with Pakistan. We will miss him immensely, but we give thanks for his life and the legacy he leaves behind. Raising the glass of wine in his hand he said, Here’s to Dad.

To Mr Stirling, echoed the others at the wake.

The afternoon spent, the guests slowly dwindled, some to go back to work, others to pick up their children from school. Peter decided it was too late to go back to work. Even if he did he would be unable to work because of the thoughts going through his mind. Peter stayed to try to take Richard’s mind off his loss and his own mind off his thoughts. Eventually, Richard, his wife Maggie, and Peter sat down for a cup of afternoon tea.

That’s the end of an era, Rick, said Peter.

Yes, said Richard, with a tinge of sadness in his voice. Grandad spent a lot of time with us youngsters and kept us captivated with his stories of India, but he seldom spoke about the wars he fought. He argued that war did not solve anything.

That’s ironic, said Richard’s wife, Maggie. His whole life was devoted to the army and everything it represented, including fighting wars.

I guess he saw the army more as a vocation, as did many Anglo-Indians of his era, offered Richard as an explanation.

In a way, I agree with Maggie. The Anglo-Indian community was spawned by war and flourished because of it, suggested Peter. If you look back at history, there have been very few years when our forefathers were not involved in a war somewhere in the world or in some conflict or the other on the subcontinent.

You are, of course, right and the facts speak for themselves, but in spite of all that, Grandad did not like war.

Maggie nodded her acknowledgement of the explanation, and picking up the empty mugs, went inside to do the dishes and restore some semblance of order in the house.

Rick, asked Peter, unable to let go of the mood the day had set. Did your ancestors come out to India with the English East India Company?

I’m not absolutely sure because I’ve never quite researched my family’s history even though I have an interest in it. But I must assume that was probably the case. When the English gained supremacy on the subcontinent they decided to stay. Or, perhaps my first ancestor to the subcontinent married an Indian lady and decided to put down his roots in a country far richer in many aspects than the one he left. Richard looked at Peter. What about your ancestors, Peter? Where did they come from?

Like Richard, Peter had never bothered to trace his ancestors. It was not something Anglo-Indians did in India because of their allegiance to the English and because of their reluctance to discover that one of their ancestors was Indian. That was something best left buried in the past. As far as I know, because like you, I haven’t tried to trace our ancestry, they came out to the Spice Islands with the Dutch East India Company. I believe they came from Holland and were involved in wars and skirmishes with the British in the East Indies and in India. They were military people, and I guess when the company got into financial difficulties in Holland, they decided to seek their fortune in India. Perhaps, having lived the majority of their adult lives in the east, they decided it was home to them and never went back.

Wouldn’t it be ironic if our ancestors fought on opposing sides in those early wars and skirmishes for supremacy in the Far East, ventured Richard.

Yes, those were the days of high adventure, suggested Peter. Countries went out looking for the spice trade while the men who joined went looking to make a fortune. Many of them never returned home, but because of them, here we are sitting in yet another country, never having been involved in any kind of conflict, and talking about our ancestors and the community they spawned without realising it.

Richard raised his hand even though he did not have a drink. Here’s to all our brave ancestors, including Grandad, who gave birth to us. May they live in our memories for ever.

I agree, said Peter. May they live in our memories for ever. The despondent mood that had gripped him for most of the day started to lift.

Driving home, Peter’s thoughts returned to the conversation about his ancestors and his origins. Suddenly the urge to find out more was overwhelming. Entering his home, he walked straight to the telephone and phoned Richard. Hi. Richard. Peter. I’ve made a decision. I’m going to start researching my family history.

What’s brought this on, Pete?

All today I’ve been thinking of our community and the contribution our ancestors made to life in India. I need to find out more about me and my ancestors.

Funnily, the same thoughts went through my mind when you left. Why don’t we do it together, suggested Richard.

Done. I’ll do some spadework over the next few days and we’ll meet next week.

OK. See you then.

Peter put down the phone and for the first time that day he felt a weight lift off his shoulders.

* * *

Chapter One

Holland, Amsterdam (1605)

We’ve defeated the Spanish. We have captured Grave! the tavern owner shouted as he struggled to be heard above the noise of men intent on downing as much grog as they could before the tavern closed for the evening. Gradually, as the news penetrated their addled minds, there was silence.

In case someone hadn’t heard the news, the tavern owner jumped onto the long wooden bar stretching across one end of the large, sparse room and repeated, We have defeated the Spanish and captured Grave!

There was a thunderous roar of approval from everyone in the tavern. Now those Spanish pigs will know that we won’t sit back, shouted a drinker at the tavern. We’ll fight them until victory is ours.

Grave belonged to Stadholder William the Silent since 1578, and the Spanish only captured it a few months ago, explained the tavern owner.

Long live the Dutch Republic, interrupted another.

Yes, long live the Republic, continued the tavern owner. And long live Prince Maurits of Orange, who recaptured Grave from those bloodthirsty Spanish.

We will drive those rapists out of our country, slurred yet another drinker who had already consumed too much liquor.

With excitement at the news, the drinkers banged their tankards on the roughly hewn wooden tables. Everyone wanted to learn more about this great victory, but to no avail. The tavern owner could not give them any more information. Nonetheless, buoyed by the news, everyone ordered another round of drinks. The tavern owner also handed out a round of drinks to all who were prepared to guzzle – and that was everyone. Why pass up a free drink from someone who charged an arm and a leg for his grog?

The war with Spain had lasted forty-odd years, with each side jostling for power and trying to secure treaties with other European countries and England. The Spanish and Dutch had won decisive victories during this prolonged war, but the status quo remained the same, with towns and fortresses being captured and then recaptured. It was a never-ending war that drained the financial resources of both countries.

Johannes van der Wat eased his six-foot frame onto a bench alongside his friend Henrikus, who already had a pint in front of him. They sat in one corner of the overcrowded dark tavern, discussing the difficult winter they had endured on their farms some miles outside the city of Amsterdam. They’d come to the city on business and, as they always did before heading back, decided a tankard or two of ale would be a just reward for their efforts and provide the opportunity to meet other farmers and discuss matters of mutual concern. That day there were just the two of them.

This war will be the ruination of us, said Henrikus.

"Ja, it is a great drain on the country’s resources, but we have to exorcise the Spanish from our lands," responded Johannes.

While I sympathise with our cause, we have to remember the Spanish and Portuguese have pioneered many sea routes around the world. They are thriving on the trade they’ve established with those countries and have the financial resources. I somehow doubt we do.

But, Henrikus, said Johannes, I understand many of our seamen have sailed with the Portuguese and have learnt the sea routes to these faraway lands. Our seamen are now returning to Holland seeking business people to sponsor and provide capital for a Dutch undertaking. Maybe Holland can acquire greater wealth if we can find our way to the East and establish a base.

Johannes, it’s going to be difficult to shift those Spanish pigs from our lands, said Henrikus. He leaned back in his chair as he took in the scene in the tavern. Everyone was reaching for the free drinks the tavern owner was handing out. Henrikus wondered if he should accept the tavern owner’s largesse, but decided against it. As for the Portuguese, they have established an empire in the East. They’re the masters of the sea. What chance do we have against them?

Yes, Henrikus, said Johannes, feeling a little exasperated at his friend’s negativity, but we must double our endeavours to rid ourselves of the accursed invaders and set up trade with the East. It is the only way.

Who do you think will finance an expedition to the East? asked Henrikus, keeping an eye on the men jostling at the bar for a free drink. The government cannot do it. They have spent enough just fighting the Spanish. The treasury is practically empty.

Johannes rubbed his chin in contemplation. It will have to be our business people, Henrikus, he said, looking out of the tavern window at the ships lying at anchor in the harbour. Men were unloading cargo from the holds of two ships that had docked that morning after returning from successful voyages to Mediterranean ports. They are the only ones with the finance to undertake such a venture.

"Ja, you are perhaps right, Johannes. They are the only ones, agreed Henrikus reluctantly. But will they have the foresight to put together such an undertaking? Whichever way you look at it, competition for the spice trade is both dangerous and competitive. I will believe it only when I see it."

I agree, said Johannes. But, Holland will be left behind if we don’t do something.

Swallowing the remainder of his pint, Johannes stood up and clapped Henrikus on the shoulder. I have farther to go than you, Henrikus my friend. It was good meeting you and sharing a pint together, but I must leave if I am to get back in time for dinner.

"Ja, said Henrikus, slipping on his overcoat. I think I will leave with you. The news of our victory over the enemy will augur well for the tavern owner and he is going to make a killing tonight. No doubt there will be many heavy heads by the end of this night."

They elbowed their way through the throng of drinkers, who had entered the tavern now that free grog was being handed out. As he stepped outside, Johannes buttoned up the woollen coat he was wearing, pulling the collar up around his neck. The sun, although still shining over the western horizon, had lost its warmth, and Johannes knew it would be very cold by the time he got home.

On the way home Johannes gave the horse free rein, allowing it to take him back to the farm. As he bumped along the rough track of a road strewn with potholes, his thoughts went to his five children – three boys and two girls. In particular, he was concerned about his second son, who always seemed to have his head in the clouds. His eldest knew he wanted to continue in his father’s footsteps and perhaps take over the farm some time in the future. He must now concentrate on helping his second son focus on his future.

* * *

Chapter Two

The late February cold invaded the multilayered woollen clothes that Johannes van der Wat was wearing. A watery sun punctuated the lifting mist, and even though spring was just around the corner, winter kept reminding people it had not lost its grip on the country.

White, powdery snow covered the landscape as Johannes left the family home to trudge towards the barn. He looked up at the grey sky and knew it was going to be a long day, even with the help of his sons.

Despite having done this for more years than he wished to remember, Johannes’s fifty-year-old body struggled to load the fodder for the farm animals he raised on his farm just outside Amsterdam. Inheriting the farm in his early thirties, Johannes had worked it ever since, and in that time married his wife Brechtje and raised five children. The eldest son, now twenty and also named Johannes because of tradition, was like his father. Slightly shorter than his father – a half-inch under six foot – he was broader across the chest and shoulders. Built like an ox, he worked like one, without showing any signs of fatigue. He showed an interest in farming and on most days would be at his father’s side tending the animals and doing other farm chores. He knew he would take over the farm one day and continue the tradition of his family.

Wilhelm, the eighteen-year-old second son, was slightly shorter than his elder brother but was still growing. Thinner, he had not reached full maturity. Wilhelm was as different from his brother as the cows were different from the sheep they raised on the farm. He did not like farming and showed it in his attempts to avoid any work on the farm. Doing the bare minimum, he did not have his heart in it and often his father would remind him of his responsibilities and that he had to work to earn his keep. When he was younger, his father would resort to a sharp clip behind the ear to help him along. He inhabited a world of his own and would often wander off by himself, lost in his thoughts. His parents discussed what Wilhelm could do in life but were at a loss because he did not show an interest in anything.

After Wilhelm, two girls named Evelien and Antje – aged fourteen and twelve – were being raised by their mother to sew, cook, and attend to the household chores. At this point in their lives they seemed to be content to follow in the footsteps of their mother: to marry, to have children, and to be there for their family.

The fifth, young Patrick was five years old and was something of an afterthought. It was also something of a shock to Brechtje that she had become pregnant when they already had enough mouths to feed. Nevertheless, being good Christians, Johannes and Brechtje decided that God had blessed them with this child and they welcomed the infant into their family.

* * *

After completing most of the day’s chores on the farm, Johannes and his eldest son returned to the homestead in the early evening. Where is Wilhelm? Johannes asked his wife on entering the door and taking off his boots caked with mud, dirt and snow.

I thought he was helping the two of you, said Brechtje, looking at her husband.

No. He hasn’t been with us since after lunch, said Johannes, hanging up the thick coat he had worn for most of the day.

Just then, the front door burst open and in ran Wilhelm, who had learnt that to be late for the evening meal meant he would have to go without food, and that would not do for a growing boy with a hearty appetite. Take your boots off, Wilhelm, shouted Brechtje before he could enter the house. Often, Wilhelm would run into the house without removing his dirty boots, creating more work for his mother.

Let’s clean up, said the elder Johannes. Mother will have dinner on the table in fifteen minutes.

Johannes and his eldest son walked towards the washroom. Wilhelm followed, even though he did not have much washing to do. Brechtje, Evelien, and Antje set about getting food on the table for the evening meal and young Patrick was already at the table waiting for the food to be served.

Johannes, said the father, sitting at the head of the table with Brechtje on his right and the rest of the children arranged around the rough wooden table, will you lead the prayers and give thanks?

Yes, Father, said young Johannes, and he bowed his head, as did the rest of the family. Let us give thanks for this food the Lord has provided and the good health he has given each one of us. Lord, we give thanks for helping us through the winter and ask you for a spring and summer suitable for an abundant harvest. We ask this in the name of your Son, Jesus Christ.

Amen, muttered the rest of the family.

Brechtje had prepared a thick broth and some hot, freshly baked bread everyone enjoyed. There was little conversation as everyone was hungry and relished the food Brechtje had prepared. They were finishing their meal and mopping up the last remnants of the broth with the bread, when Johannes the elder addressed the family. But, it was aimed at young Johannes and Wilhelm.

The winter has been cold and hard, and we have managed to survive, but only just. Another bad summer like the one we had last year and we will find it very difficult to survive. A good spring and summer will get us back on our feet again. He stopped to take a breath and to let the information sink in. As you know, young Johannes has been helping me with most of the work on the farm and I have managed to teach him almost everything there is to know about running it. He will take over the farm when I am no longer with you. Turning his attention to Wilhelm, Johannes asked him the question he felt he must in order to give his second son some direction in life.

Wilhelm, your mother and I notice you show no interest in farming or even in learning anything about farming. Have you given any thought to what you would like to do with your life? He watched surprise register on Wilhelm’s face at being asked such a question. It was obvious Wilhelm had given little or no thought to his future.

For his part, Wilhelm hadn’t expected such a question and certainly hadn’t given any thought to what he would do in life but, being a quick thinker, he said, I thought I might go into Amsterdam and become a blacksmith or a carpenter.

That is indeed a good choice, said Johannes, knowing full well his son had named the two professions only to extricate himself from an awkward situation. But either profession requires long hours and a lot of hard work. Are you prepared to put in the time?

Papa, said Wilhelm, with an engaging smile, I think I would be able to do a good job of anything I put my mind to.

That is all very good, Wilhelm, and I agree you can do a good job of anything you put your hand to, said Johannes, trying to be encouraging, but, so far, you haven’t put your mind to anything.

But, Papa, I haven’t come across anything that interests me, protested Wilhelm.

That is my point, Wilhelm; your mind seems to be everywhere but where it should be. You have to get your hands dirty if you want to succeed in life. Look at your brother. He decided what he wishes to do and is working hard to succeed. You must think seriously about life, Wilhelm, or it will pass you by.

Wilhelm was stung by the criticism from his father. He glanced at his mother, looking for, but not getting, any support from that quarter. His other brothers and sisters stared at their food in order to avoid being questioned by their father. Even at their young age they were acutely aware of tension in the air. The rest of dinner was a very quiet affair; even the little ones, who did not really know the importance of the conversation, could feel that this was not a good time to talk or to ask for more food.

Wilhelm retired early to the bedroom he shared with young Johannes and Patrick. His mind was racing about all the options before him, but none gave him the feel of adventure he so dearly craved. He certainly did not want to work on a farm and even though he had spoken about becoming a blacksmith or a carpenter, he was not sure he really wanted to be either. He had merely used those two professions as a means of diverting his father’s attention. In the end, his restless mind gave way to sleep and he did not even hear young Johannes come to bed an hour later.

Wilhelm’s sleep was fitful. He dreamt he was being held captive in a dark dungeon and could not get out. He dreamt of being chased by natives, who seemed to be gaining on him, but as hard as he tried, he could not get away from them. He woke with a start and felt perspiration running down his back. He tried to get back to sleep but, once again, sleep was fitful. He did not want the same dream returning to haunt him. He did not want to feel trapped.

* * *

The next morning, Wilhelm woke, determined to find something he wanted to do in life. The day passed, but try as he might, he could think of nothing that interested him. In the end he gave up, hoping his father would also forget about the previous night’s conversation.

It was a forlorn hope as his father had not forgotten. That night at the dinner table, once again, in front of the rest of the family, his father continued,

Wilhelm, have you given any thought to our conversation of last night?

Yes, Father, I have, he said, heaving a sigh of despair. But I failed to think of anything that interests me, Wilhelm mumbled, without raising his eyes to meet his father’s. Don’t worry, Father, I will find something.

But I am worried, Wilhelm, cut in his father. You are a young man and need to shoulder responsibility – something you have avoided till now. You have to make your way in life and not depend on anyone to look after and provide for you. Look at your brother Johannes; he has decided to continue working this farm and has learnt everything there is in order to take it over and run it by himself.

Why do I have to be compared to Johannes, or, for that matter, to anyone else? thought Wilhelm.

There was a long silence, broken by young Patrick slurping his broth. Wilhelm tried diverting the conversation by asking his mother if she had darned his favourite shirt, but his father had other ideas.

Wilhelm, have you thought of going to sea?

The question brought Wilhelm back from his ramblings. Going where, Father?

To sea, Wilhelm, his father replied impatiently, because he knew Wilhelm’s mind was wandering to other things. Our merchants have been very successful trading in Europe and have acquired large sums of money and wealth. They are now looking further afield, to Asia and the spice trade.

For once this sparked Wilhelm’s interest, and he paid attention to his father. His only objection was he would be away from his family and friends, particularly Erika, for long periods. However, he felt he could put up with this as long as it provided some adventure and excitement and allowed him to return and visit from time to time.

I am advised that a year ago one of our great sea commanders, Cornelius de Houtman, led a four ship expedition to Asia in search of new trade in spice. Even though he experienced stout opposition from both the Portuguese and local rulers, even losing some crew, he returned with enough spices to make a very handsome profit. More importantly, he has challenged the Portuguese, who have dominated the Asian spice trade for over a hundred years.

All eyes were on Wilhelm and he could feel their scrutiny. His interest was aroused, and for the first time he felt a shiver of excitement. He could remember going into Amsterdam with his father and elder brother two months earlier. He had met Ulrick, a friend from school, with his elder brother, who had just returned from a voyage to the Mediterranean. Ulrick’s brother was resplendent in his uniform and Wilhelm could not take his eyes off him. In fact, Wilhelm envied Ulrick’s brother and wondered what he had done to get to where he was. What wouldn’t he give to be in his position, in that uniform!

Still, Wilhelm felt he could not give in without an argument or at least a token objection. Papa, he replied, using a term that endeared him to his father, Asia is many months away, perhaps even years by sea. I could be gone for years and I will not see any of you.

That is true, Wilhelm, agreed his father, but, that is what life is about. As I said earlier, you have to make your own way in life and what better way of doing that than by doing something that you like and are interested in? You will also be doing something for your country and serving it in a way not everyone does or gets the opportunity of doing. Johannes noted Wilhelm was looking at him with what seemed to be some interest. Perhaps he had struck a chord. Even though you will be away for many months, we can keep in touch by writing and you will be able to tell us about the new and exciting lands that you visit and the new people you will surely meet.

Wilhelm felt his fate being slowly sealed, not that he objected to it. In fact, he was looking forward to doing something other than farm chores. He suddenly realised his father had been considering this for some time and he had once wondered why his father, on a trip to Amsterdam with Johannes his brother and himself, had dropped in on an old seafarer friend who lived near the port. He wondered if the stories they swapped had been for his benefit.

Wilhelm sat very still, not wanting to raise any further objection and not knowing what else his father had in mind for him.

Wilhelm, a close friend in Amsterdam told me that a number of companies are planning to send a large number of ships to Asia and are looking for young men who are willing to work hard and learn. They have no doubt the expedition will be successful and each sailor will be well rewarded with good wages and a small percentage of the profits. That should set you up very well indeed. If you then decided you didn’t want to return to sea, you can use the money to set yourself up in any trade you like.

Oh, Wilhelm, said his mother, your father is only trying to help you establish yourself. I will miss you very much if you decide to go, but you have my blessings and I know you will do well.

Thank you, Mother, said Wilhelm, knowing full well he couldn’t, and neither did he want to, get out of the trap his father had so expertly laid and executed.

I shall be going into Amsterdam early next week, said his father. You can come along and speak with people in the know who are looking for young people, like yourself, wishing to join the expedition.

* * *

That night, Wilhelm could not sleep. Johannes, his brother, was breathing heavily after a tiring day on the farm while Wilhelm’s mind was racing, with his imagination getting the better of him. It was like the game he and Johannes used to play when they were young. Fighting side by side, they would defeat an imaginary foe lurking behind the hay barn. Always the victors, they returned with the spoils of war.

Having voiced concern for his family, in truth Wilhelm’s main concern was that he would have to leave Erika behind. Erika was the seventeen year-old daughter of Mr and Mrs Schomann, who owned the adjoining farm. Although the two families had known one another since they were young children, Wilhelm only began to really notice Erika when he was in his seventeenth year. He had blushed and got hot under the collar when Erika smiled at him in a knowing sort of way one day when the two families were returning from a day at the village.

After that first smile, Wilhelm found it hard to concentrate on his work and kept wondering when he would next see Erika.

It was another month before the two families met, at the local fair. As soon as they saw each other, Erika flashed Wilhelm a smile that melted his heart. He knew immediately that he was in love. Wilhelm decided Erika smop of blonde curls and a cute, turned up nose. He also noticed her budding breasts as they strained against the fabric of the dress she was wearing. He knew he had to do something if he wanted to continue to be the centre of Erika’s attention.

At one of the farm stalls, he made sure he was standing as close to Erika as possible. He could smell her and wanted to get even closer, but his limbs could not move with fright. Knowing he had to do something or the moment would be lost, he leaned a little closer to her. He felt the faint touch of her sleeve against his arm. Erika felt the pressure of his arm and leaned a little closer to him. They stood still, with their arms touching, not daring to look at one another. Both Wilhelm and Erika could barely breathe with excitement, hoping this would last for ever. Then it was time to move on with their families to the next display.

Before the night was out, Wilhelm had overcome his nervousness. He made sure they were standing behind everyone else, and reached for Erika’s hand. She responded by gripping his hand and smiling up at him. Before the evening was over, Wilhelm asked Erika if she would meet him at her family’s deserted homestead, which had been burnt down before either of them had been born. Erika did not have to think. She agreed immediately and, with some reluctance, they parted later that night.

Thinking of their tryst, Wilhelm tried to concentrate on his work, but could not. That afternoon, he managed to sneak away from the farm, reaching the deserted homestead half an hour early. He wondered if Erika would come. Time seemed to drag. He thought perhaps something had happened to prevent her coming. Maybe she had even changed her mind.

The half-hour felt like two hours. He was about to give up when he saw her in the distance. Wilhelm watched as she drew closer and noticed she wore a dress accentuating the curves of her body. He noticed the formation of her breasts, her narrow waist, and visualised the long legs propelling her towards the burnt out homestead.

Wilhelm felt a stirring in his loins, but was extremely nervous and, in spite of the cold, was perspiring. Erika stepped into the deserted homestead and saw Wilhelm standing just inside. Before Wilhelm could say a word, she was standing in front of him. Reaching up, she kissed him on the lips. Wilhelm was taken aback, not having expected things to progress so fast. But he was not one to let the moment slip by; he reacted by pulling her close to him and kissing her. Wilhelm could feel her breasts against his chest and wanted the moment to continue for ever. Erika could also feel him against her abdomen. She felt she should pull away, but did not because of the intense feeling of love flowing through her.

Wilhelm and Erika kept their love a secret from their parents even though Johannes junior knew what was happening and why Wilhelm disappeared when it was time for the farm chores. Erika’s sister also knew of their love, but was sworn to secrecy.

Wilhelm recalled them meeting one hot summer’s day the previous year. Erika wore a dress revealing her developing figure, and when she bent over he saw the tops of her white breasts straining at the bodice of the dress. Wilhelm could hardly contain himself. He kissed her passionately and, with all the courage he could muster, he moved his hands to her breasts. Erika placed her hand on Wilhelm’s and for a moment he thought she would object. But Wilhelm realised it was not a hand of restraint. Erika did not stop him and soon he put his hand inside the top of her blouse. Erika stiffened a little, as if she would stop him, but did not. Wilhelm cupped her breast and felt her nipple go hard under his palm.

After that fateful day, they continued to explore each other’s bodies until one summer evening they felt it was the right time to give themselves to one another.Wilhelm slowly undressed Erika and as she lay naked on his coat he had spread for her, Wilhelm could not take his eyes off the thick bush of golden hair between her legs. He lay down beside her, kissing her passionately. He fondled her breasts and then moved his hand slowly across her belly and into the mass of golden curls. Lying very rigid to start with, Erika started to relax and opened her legs for Wilhelm, at the same time reaching down and holding his hardness. After a while Erika could wait no longer and pulled Wilhelm on top of her, guiding him inside her. She gave a little cry as he entered her for the first time and felt him force himself slowly into her. As Wilhelm moved on top of her, Erika raised her hips to meet him. Wilhelm had not felt anything like this before and he wanted this moment to last for ever, but it was his first time and very soon could feel himself coming. He could not stop himself and drove as far as he could into Erika. She, too, felt something welling up inside her and, without warning, the two of them came together. They clung together for many minutes, prolonging their mutual love for as long as possible. They lay spent and breathless, caught up in the intensity of the moment. Very slowly they untangled themselves, but could not take their eyes off each other on this, their first time.

After that first encounter, they made love many times and each knew there would never be anyone else, and they would love each other for ever.

When Wilhelm told Erika he was going to sea, she was distraught and cried, her body heaving, and she turned away to hide her swollen eyes. She felt it would be the end of their love. She had given herself to this man and now he was going to abandon her. What if you don’t come back, Wilhelm? You may meet someone else in that faraway land. Wilhelm comforted her, explaining he was going to sea for them and he would be back before she knew it. He would then have enough money to approach her father. She felt a little better, but there was a lingering doubt in her mind about Wilhelm’s grand plan.

It was well past midnight when sleep eventually caught up with Wilhelm.

* * *

Chapter Three

Wilhelm had to leave the family farm and go to Amsterdam in order to learn all about the sea. From now on, he would be living on a ship and given hands-on training.

Wilhelm was excited at the prospect, but when it came time to say goodbye to his family he nearly broke down. His mother reassured him it was the best thing for him and that he would be back within a few months. He kissed all of them and hopped into the cart beside his father, who would be driving him into town. He kept looking back at his family as they grew smaller and finally disappeared when the cart crested the top of the hill near their farm.

Farewelling his father was not as hard for Wilhelm because he was agog with excitement at what lay ahead. He looked up at the ship with its towering masts. This was to be his home for the next few months.

The training, most of which was conducted abroad a ship anchored on one side of the harbour, was hard. Up before dawn, they did not finish work until after the sun went down. Wilhelm immersed himself fully, not just because he enjoyed the work but also because he was determined to show his father he was capable of holding down a job and doing it well. He also wanted to succeed because of the undertaking he had given Erika, and was determined to make good on his promise.

Wilhelm and the other young men who joined with him were trained in all aspects of sea life including sail making, carpentry and all aspects of loading and firing cannons and muskets. They were trained in the art of fighting because, as they were told by their trainers, You will be facing the might of Portuguese shipping on the high seas and in the Spice Islands. They were told the Portuguese were great seafarers and had opened up the sea routes to the Far East. The Portuguese were ruthless in their dealings with any potential rivals and would look on the Dutch as their main ones.

The English were also seen as potential enemies, but not having the sea power to be much of a threat to the Dutch

Wilhelm excelled at most of his tasks, but showed a fanatical interest in swordsmanship and musketry. He out-fenced and out-shot other trainees and could load and fire a cannon much faster and with greater accuracy than most. This caught the eye of a captain in the military, who ordered that he be worked harder and given additional training in the art of swordsmanship and in all types of firearms.

Although Wilhelm enjoyed this attention and the additional training he was getting, he felt he was being segregated from the rest of the trainees. Some with whom he had built up a friendship began to avoid him. Others overtly resented the attention he was getting.

One evening, Wilhelm returned to the very sparse barracks that served as their living quarters. It was no more than a big warehouse with beds along both walls, and alongside each bed a locker, where trainees kept their clothes and other personal belongings. Although it was cold in the barracks, they did not feel the cold because they fell asleep the moment their heads hit the pillows.

After having completed the extra training and drills allocated to him and a few of the others, he entered his dormitory, but sensed something was amiss. For the very first time, the normally noisy dormitory was quiet. Some of his friends looked at him oddly and even tried to avoid speaking to him when he approached them. As he turned towards his bed, his path was blocked by two fellow trainees. Though he did not dislike the pair, he avoided them, sensing they were troublemakers.

So, Wilhelm, what have you done to deserve this special treatment? asked Jacobus Hine, the ringleader and spokesman.

Wilhelm eyed him for a moment. The hair on the back of his neck rose and the adrenalin started to pump. Get out of my way, Jacobus. I do not have to answer to you, or any of your friends, or for that matter, anyone else in this dormitory, he said, raising his voice for all to hear.

Wilhelm tried to move around Jacobus. Again, his path was blocked. Ja. We were wondering how nice you are being to the good captain and the others who are giving you such special attention, said Jacobus with a knowing smile and wagging his finger in Wilhelm’s face. But I think I know the special attention you’re getting. There was a roar of knowing laughter from the others blocking his path.

Jacobus, your mind is a cesspool. I do not wish to talk further with you.

Pushing past Jacobus, Wilhelm felt a fist grab his shirt from behind.

He knew it was Jacobus and concluded this confrontation would only end one way. He turned quickly and with the momentum, hit Jacobus square in the face. He felt Jacobus’s nose collapse under his fist and Jacobus went down with blood streaming down his face. Immediately, the rest of the pack converged on Wilhelm and he was besieged by three of Jacobus’s offsiders. Wilhelm felt someone grab his arms, while another hit him in the ribs and a third kicked him in the shins. He felt his left shin take the full brunt of a kick and he nearly crumpled to the floor. Wilhelm was outnumbered and taking a beating. He knew he had to fight back or be brutally beaten. Wilhelm tore himself away from the one who pinned his arms, and hit another in the mouth. He heard a tooth crack and a cry of anguish go up from the boy. Wilhelm also felt a sharp pain go up his finger and his wrist, and thought he may had broken his knuckle. But he had no time to think about the pain as two attackers jumped on him and he went down under their weight. He tried to rise, but they were kicking him and one boot got through his defences and hit him in the ribs. Wilhelm thought they had broken because of the excruciating pain that ripped through his chest. He knew he was outnumbered and could not fight off all his attackers. He had to protect himself. Grabbing one of his attackers, Wilhelm pulled him down on top of him and held him there so that further kicks would not reach their target. The tactic succeeded for a short time, but almost immediately he felt a searing pain in his neck and realised the attacker he held on top of him was sinking his teeth into his shoulder. Needing to do something fast, Wilhelm took hold of a handful of his attacker’s hair and pulled as hard as he could. The boy let out a shriek and Wilhelm felt the bite loosen. Wilhelm kept on pulling and soon the teeth released.

At that moment, the door to the dormitory burst open. What is happening here? bellowed the head trainer, who had heard the commotion as he walked past. Get up, every one of you. The head trainer’s eyes popped out of his head and his moustache bristled with anger. I want everyone to stand at the foot of his bed, he shouted.

Rising slowly, Wilhelm felt a sharp twinge in his ribs. Walking past his assailants, he stood at the foot of his bed. Some of the others helped Jacobus and the other attacker up from the ground where they had fallen. Each of them now stood at the foot of their beds. Some had blood-soaked shirts while others held injured limbs and stomachs. Wilhelm stood doubled over, nursing a pain in his ribs.

Who started this? bellowed the head trainer, staring at each one yet at no one in particular. Everyone was too afraid to answer, and avoided the head trainer’s stare. I will ask once again. Who started this? he bellowed loud enough for everyone in the barrack to hear him.

An assailant pointed to Wilhelm.

The head trainer pounced on him. Haven’t you got a tongue? he asked, staring him down. Who started this fight?

It was Wilhelm, Sir. He hit Jacobus first.

Wilhelm, bellowed the head trainer striding up to him, did you start the fight?

No, Sir. I did not.

Then why are you being accused of starting the fight?

Wilhelm stared straight ahead and did not answer. He knew to try and explain his side of the fracas at this time would be pointless. The head trainer stared at him and the other two wounded assailants. No one dared to speak and there was a pin-drop silence. The only noise that could be heard was the heavy breathing of the trainer as he looked from one combatant to the other.

I see I will not get to the bottom of this tonight but, be assured, I will get to the bottom of it. He stopped for a while to let them know his intentions and that this was not the end of it. I will not tolerate such behaviour on my watch. Do you understand? he bellowed again, slamming his baton against one of the wooden cupboards. It sounded like a pistol shot and everyone stood very still; avoiding the head trainer’s probing eyes. The five of you will clean up. There will be no dinner for you, and all five of you will come to my office first thing in the morning. Further, if there is any more fighting tonight, I will personally flog each one of you. Is that understood?

There was a prolonged silence as the head trainer walked down the aisle between the rows of beds, glaring at each trainee as he passed. All the boys looked straight ahead, remaining silent. No one wanted to draw attention to himself.

Is that understood? bellowed the head trainer as he once again slammed his cane down on the table near him.

Yes, Sir, they mumbled. The five protagonists knew they were in serious trouble.

One more thing, gentlemen, said the head trainer in a calm, controlled but very obviously angry voice. I have changed my mind with regard to your food, he said, looking around the dormitory. Since no one saw who started the fight and is not prepared to provide me any information, no one will eat tonight.

Turning on his heel, the head trainer marched out of the dormitory Those who had not been remotely involved with the fight began to grumble and Wilhelm realised how the head trainer would get his information.

The next morning the five culprits stood sheepishly outside the head trainer’s office. Wilhelm stood apart from the other four. While his body felt sore all over, he took a certain satisfaction from the damage he had inflicted on Jacobus and his friend. Both nursed swollen faces.

The head trainer made them wait, and the five knew they were in trouble the minute they walked into his office. His temper was no better than it was the previous night. They stood at attention, and for a few minutes he glared at them across his desk without speaking. Each trainee shifted uneasily, not knowing what to expect.

The matter has been discussed at the highest level, said the head trainer at last. They have decided that all of you shall be relieved of your traineeships and sent home immediately.

None of them had expected this ultimate punishment. Wilhelm was devastated; filled with anguish. His whole world suddenly collapsed. He could see the disapproving look on his father’s face. He had failed yet again and would be returning home in disgrace. What would Erika think of him? He had found a profession that interested him and as soon as he had discovered it, it was to be taken from him. Wilhelm did not hear the head trainer’s next words he was so lost in his despair.

The head trainer concluded the verdict and waited for the impact of his words to sink in. He continued to glare at them for a minute longer. He then rose from his chair and walked around his desk to stand in front of them. Wilhelm could not bear to look at him. He felt tears of anger and frustration welling up in his eyes and fought to control them. The fight was not of his making. He was drawn into it and was now paying a heavy price. However, I have persuaded the authorities to give you a second chance. He paused again, and noticed all eyes fixed on him. Wilhelm held his breath. Be very aware: this is your last chance. The sort of loutish behaviour you displayed last night will not be tolerated. You will be representing the Republic of Holland and this type of behaviour will result in immediate court martial. Do I make myself clear, gentlemen?

Yes, Sir. Wilhelm