Marooned on Australia

BY ERNEST FAVENC Author of “Tales of the Austral Tropics” “The Secret of the Australian Desert” “The History of Australian Exploration” &c. BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY

Dedicated to the Memory of my Friend

Edmond Marin de la Meslee”

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PREFACE.

IN the following romance I have endeavoured to associate the tradition of De Gonneville’s visit to Australia with the historical fact of the wreck of the Batavia, and the marooning of two of the mutineers. The wreck of the Batavia is perhaps one of the most murderous tragedies that ever happened in any part of the world. One of the ruffians confessed, before being hanged, to having killed and assisted to kill, twenty-five defenceless people. A full account of the wreck and the massacre will be found in Pinkerton’s Early Voyages.

I have taken a liberty with history in introducing Captain Sharpe, the buccaneer, as in reality he never visited the Australian coast, although some of his crew did. I must also confess to having taken some freedom with chronology as, under the name of Hoogstraaten, I have introduced Abel Janz Tasman many years before{6} his actual advent on the western coast of Australia; and De Witt’s voyage of discovery really took place before the wreck of the Batavia. I trust, however, that in a romance these inaccuracies will be pardoned.

In the appendix the reader will find an account of the setting up of the great Cross by De Gonneville, and the record of Sir George Grey regarding the head carved on the Rock.

ERNEST FAVENC. {7}

ILLUSTRATIONS

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CHAPTER I The Wreck of the Batavia—The Mutiny—Return of Pelsart—Marooned.

JEROM CORNELIS! Even now after all the suffering and danger I have gone through, that man’s face, the face of the tempter, comes back to me as vividly as ever.

My father was a substantial merchant of Harlem, and in that town I was born, being the second son. That was the age of discovery, and the thirst for it was inherent in nearly every youth. The wonderful success of the Dutch East India Company had fired all men with enthusiasm, and as I grew towards manhood, I longed to make one of the many bands of adventurers who often{12} left for the East. So persistent did I become that my father at last consented to my going, thinking that a voyage would probably cure me. Having some influence with several of the directors of the great company, he obtained for me a subordinate position as clerk to the supercargo on board of the Batavia, one of a fleet of eleven ships about to sail from the Texel to Java.

Jerom Cornelis was the supercargo. He had been an apothecary in Harlem, and as such I had known him for some time. He was a man of ability and education, and I had a boyish admiration for him. Now I know him to have been a man whose talents were marred by an intense, almost childish vanity, and a disposition, cruel and relentless as the tiger’s. As a lad of eighteen, I saw nothing but the wonderful fascination he exercised, and listened entranced when he dazzled my imagination with pictures of future greatness in the rich islands of the eastern seas.

Our voyage was a stormy one, and as the Batavia had over two hundred souls on board, the discomfort was great. I shared a cabin with Cornelis, and in every way that{13} singular man strove to win my affection. Why he did so I cannot say even to this day.

We had been nearly two months at sea, when Cornelis confided to me a plan he had formed, in conjunction with the pilot and some other mutinous spirits, to seize the ship and turn pirate. I endeavoured to dissuade him, but without avail; he bound me over to secrecy and assured me that my life was safe whatever happened, as he would not allow me to take an active part in it, which I certainly had no intention of doing. The plot, however, was frustrated by the weather and other causes, and although I am certain it came to the ears of our commander, Captain Pelsart, he did not, unfortunately, hang the mutineers out of hand as one would have expected from a man of his determination.

Now one would have thought that this would have revealed to me the true character of Cornelis, but such an infatuated fool was I, and so beguiled by his specious tongue, that I still remained his friend and admirer.

We had now doubled the great southern cape, and storm after storm burst upon us with relentless fury. One by one we lost sight of our consorts and at last found ourselves{14} alone; driven out of our course into an unknown sea.

To add to our distress, Captain Pelsart was confined to his berth with sickness and the vessel was in charge of the pilot, who apparently lost all reckoning. It was on the morning of the 4th June, 1629, for the date is indelibly engraven on my memory, that our voyage was brought to a fatal termination by the vessel striking on a reef of rocks. When I got on deck there was nothing visible but white surf and foam everywhere, and we had to wait until daylight, the ship bumping heavily meanwhile.

Daybreak showed us to be in the neighbourhood of a group of rocky islands, one of which was close to us. Finding that the ship was irretrievably damaged Captain Pelsart proceeded to land the passengers and crew on the nearest island. Great confusion ensued and many of the sailors broached some casks of wine in the cargo and got drunk. Provisions were landed, but very little water, and as none could be found on the island, our captain, after two days, started with a boat’s crew to the mainland, which we could see in the distance and{15} which was supposed to be the mysterious continent known as Terra Australis.

I had been separated from Cornelis in the turmoil of the wreck, and indeed it was not until the Batavia was utterly broken up that he came ashore almost dead. He had been floating for two days on the topmast of the ship, carried backwards and forwards by the current, until at last he drifted near enough to gain the land.

On regaining strength he assumed command, in the absence of the captain, and in spite of all the bloody deeds of that guilty man I will say that he restored some sort of order amongst the demoralized crew and passengers. One of the petty officers named Weberhayes was despatched with some thirty men or more, including some French soldiers in the pay of the Company, to a large island visible to the eastward. If successful in finding water he was to light two fires. The water supply consisting only of rain in the holes in the rock, another smaller party were conveyed to a neighbouring islet.

All this was done in furtherance of a plan maturing in the mind of Cornelis. He retained about him all the ruffians on whom{16} he could rely when the time came to act. This soon arrived. For Pelsart not returning Cornelis threw off the mask. He assembled all his followers at a meeting at which I was forced to attend, and here they all swore a solemn oath to stand by each other, and if Pelsart had gone on to Java and returned with a ship they would endeavour to capture it, if not they would build one out of the remains of the Batavia, and start north on a piratical cruise. But first, the mouths of those who could not be trusted had to be silenced for ever.

That night I was awakened by shrieks, groans, and cries for mercy. Cornelis and his myrmidons were butchering in cold blood the helpless people whom they had not admitted to the conspiracy.

I could do nothing during that night of horror, but try and close my ears to the piteous cries of the victims. Nest morning, with their lust for murder still unsated, they went over to the small island and recommenced their fiendish work on the defenceless people. Unfortunately for Cornelis, however, some few escaped and during the night succeeded in making a raft and cross{17}ing to the large island, where Weberhayes and his party were. They informed him of the butchery that had taken place and put him on his guard.

The vanity of Cornelis now got the ascendency of him. He had himself proclaimed Governor-general of the barren, rocky islet we were on, which was christened “Batavia’s Grave”. He had the merchants’ chests broken open, and from the stuffs contained therein uniforms were made for a chosen body-guard. This being done, it was determined to exterminate Weberhayes and his men.

Not knowing of the escape of some of the victims, they rowed up confidently, expecting to take the party by surprise, but were surprised themselves. Weberhayes and his followers, armed only with such rude weapons as clubs and stones, fell upon them suddenly, killed some, and forced the others to make a hasty retreat.

Incensed at this repulse, Cornelis led a fresh assault in person and I was ordered into the boat. I had no stomach for the fight, and did not feel particularly sorry when we got more soundly beaten than before.{18}

Weberhayes’ party now had arms, taken from the dead mutineers, and Cornelis resorted to treachery. He sent the chaplain, whose life had been spared, to negotiate; and meanwhile he tried to bribe the French soldiers with some of the treasure of the Batavia, but they were loyal and at once reported the matter to Weberhayes. A truce was then agreed on. Cornelis was to send over some provisions and receive water in return, of which there was a permanent supply on the island. Weberhayes, however, rightly mistrusted Cornelis and was on his guard; so when a sudden attack was made he was prepared, and not only beat them off with loss, but captured Cornelis.

This was the end of the rebel Governor-general. I never saw Cornelis again until the rope was round his neck.

Now commenced on the island I was on, called “Batavia’s Grave”, a wild pandemonium. There were still some casks of wine left, and the ruffians drank and quarrelled, and fought with knives over useless pieces of silver. With the capture of Cornelis every semblance of a plan seemed to have vanished. Never shall I forget the{19} horror of that time, although I have seen blood flow like water since. Five wretched women who had been spared from the massacre, two of them being the daughters of the chaplain, were stabbed to death by these devils, and how I escaped a knife through my heart I know not.

At last one morning a sail was in sight, and aided by a fair wind a large ship came swiftly on and soon dropped anchor half-way between the island of Weberhayes and “Batavia’s Grave”. Hastily arming themselves a large boat’s crew from our island started to board the ship. Weberhayes was, however, before them. As Pelsart—for it was he with the Sardam frigate—left the ship, intending to land, he was intercepted by Weberhayes who told him the true state of the case. They returned on board and awaited the coming of the other boat. The mutineers, in their gaudy uniforms, were allowed to come well within range. They were then hailed and ordered to drop their weapons overboard and come on board; which they did, and were at once put in irons. Pelsart then landed, but the rest made no resistance and were secured, I being amongst them.{20}

We were kept close prisoners on the island for many days whilst the sailors of the Sardam tried to recover the treasure lost in the Batavia. Then one day we were taken on board. Some of us were interrogated, some not. I had to confess that I had accompanied one of the armed boats which attacked Weberhayes. There was a short consultation in the cabin, then the deadly work of retribution commenced. One after another the murderers were run up to the yard-arm, and then their bodies were thrown into the sea. Cornelis was hung from a higher yard than the others, in acknowledgment of his leadership. They all died sullenly and defiantly.

As I expected a like death, and had now become used to scenes of bloodshed, I looked on in apathetic despair. At last when it seemed that my turn had come, for there was nobody but myself and a sailor named Paul left, the executions ended; for the ropes were unreeved from the blocks, the anchor raised, some sails set, and the ship stood in for the mainland. Not a word was said to either of us. Paul was an old sailor, and one who had kept his hands as free from bloodshed as{21} possible. He looked inquiringly at me, but I could only do the same to him. Neither of us knew what this meant.

When within a short distance of the land the ship hove to, and a boat was lowered. Our irons were struck off, and we were ordered to get in. A short row took us to a spot where there was easy landing on a beach, sheltered by a rocky reef which broke the surf. When the boat grounded we were ordered out; a couple of bags of biscuit, a breaker of fresh water, a tomahawk, and a cutlass were passed on to the beach. As the sailor who placed these things down stooped near me he whispered something that gave me a clue to our fate. He was one of Pelsart’s men and came from my native town of Harlem. The boat’s crew shipped their oars and pulled rapidly back to the Sardam.

Paul muttered a terrible curse and looked at me. There was no longer any doubt. We were marooned on the coast of the great unknown South Land. To die at the hands of the giant savages said to inhabit it, or the more dreadful strange beasts. What the friendly sailor had whispered to{22} me was, “Keep your heart up. Ships may be round here soon.”[A]

So far as I know they never came; when the Sardam’s masts sank beneath the horizon, both Paul and I had looked our last upon an European sail for many long years.

CHAPTER II.

A lonely Night—We make acquaintance with the Natives—Waiting for a Ship—We start for the North—A long hard Journey.

The loneliness of the night that soon closed around us was such as I had never experienced before. Every strange sound or cry of a night-bird startled us from our uneasy sleep on the sand: both of us were heartily glad when daylight banished some of the unknown terrors that had haunted us through the hours of darkness.

After our meagre meal of biscuit and water, I proposed that we should make an{23} excursion a short distance inland, and find out what sort of a place it was where we were abandoned. Paul agreed; and this I must confess here, that, although in after adventures we took opposite sides, and to avenge a great wrong I had to consent to his death, yet during the first years of our miserable exile Paul was the best companion a man could have had.

We hid our water and provisions in a secure place, as we only intended to make a short excursion; then we climbed the low rocks at the back of the beach and found ourselves on a sandy flat, covered with coarse wiry grass. Beyond was a thicket or close forest of low trees and towards this we made our way, Paul armed with the hatchet and I with the cutlass.

We found the thicket barren and grassless, and beyond again was an opening in which we saw, as we thought, a large village of white huts. We listened, but hearing no sound we advanced cautiously towards it. We soon found out our mistake. What we supposed were huts were big mounds of earth built up, as I now know, by a large light-coloured ant. Paul climbed up on the{24} highest of one of these, which was nearly ten feet, and from the top called to me that he could see a low range of hills in the distance, then he came down hastily and whispered that he saw smoke rising a short distance away.

After talking the matter over we agreed that, as we were bound to come in contact with the inhabitants at some time or other, it would be just as well to have it over at once, so we advanced with outward boldness in the direction of the smoke. I confess that my heart sank at the thought of meeting these savage and formidable giants, who were reported to have killed and eaten many of the Company’s sailors, but I kept a good face and we were soon close to the place. We came upon them unexpectedly, for they were squatting round two or three fires cooking shell-fish. They raised a great hubbub when they saw us, and most of them ran away, but some raised their lances in a threatening manner.

Both Paul and I gained courage when we saw these Indians, for they were not giants at all, being rather undersized, with thin legs and arms. They were black and quite{25} naked. We shouted to them, and, having read of such things, I broke off a green bough and held it up. This appeared to please them for they lowered their lances, and after some delay allowed us to approach. One of them then gave a peculiar cry, and the rest of the tribe, including the women and children, approached timidly from their hiding-places.

Conversation was of course impossible, but we made them understand at last that we wanted to find out where they obtained their fresh water. They led us to a sandy patch of ground where there was an old tree with white bark. Here a hole had been dug and covered with boughs. On tasting the water it proved to have a somewhat sweet flavour but was quite fit to drink.

Thus relieved of one of our chief causes of anxiety, we determined to make friends with these wretched Indians and, if possible, live with them until another discovery-ship visited the coast; for I believed in the warning whisper of the sailor. I can never understand why my life was spared. Not on account of my youth, for a poor shi{26}p’s boy, younger than I, was hanged. However, it matters little now.

I pass over the time we spent on this portion of the coast, vainly waiting for the ship that never came. We accustomed ourselves to go without clothes, like the Indians, and they taught us to hunt and what roots and berries were fit to eat. On the other hand our cutlass and tomahawk were very useful, as they had only tools of blunt stone. We kept our clothes carefully, in case of being rescued, but in the course of nearly two years this hope grew faint, and then a bold project entered my head. I began to think that to the north this great Terra Australis must run up very close to Java, and that, if we could make our way there, we might be able to cross by the aid of a raft or canoe to some of the islands and get in the track of the Company’s ships. Moreover, the blacks, pointing to the north, had told us that up there lived people who wore clothes. Not like ours, but still they did not go naked. Inquiring still further I found that these people lived on the same land that we were on, the natives being confident that there was no

big water to cross. They had never{27} seen these people themselves, as they were a long way off, but they had heard of them from other Indians.

Paul was quite ready to go, when I confided my plan to him, for life amongst these poor Indians was of the most sordid kind, and we could not stand the torment of the swarms of flesh-flies, as could the Indians. They had, however, been very kind to us; for, after all, they could have murdered us at any time and secured the cutlass and hatchet, which they much coveted.

I consulted with Paul how we could reward them, and we finally smashed up the old water-keg, which was now almost useless, and breaking the iron hoops into convenient lengths for knives, distributed them amongst the men of the tribe, who were more delighted with this than if we had given them wallets full of gold.

We had vessels chopped out of soft wood for carrying water, we had learnt how to make fire with two sticks, one old man was coming with us as far as he knew the country, and they gave us a stick with notches cut on it which would ensure our friendly reception by the neighbouring tribe, of whom we had{28} met some members when on our hunting excursions. So we left these poor Indians, who had succoured us in our misery and helplessness, and but for whom we would have died of starvation on that barren coast. They wept and wailed when we turned our faces to the north and left them, for these Indians are like children, easily moved to show emotion, either of anger or grief.