WHEN THE SUN ROSE OVER THE HOUTMAN ABROLHOS archipelago eighty kilometers off the west coast of Australia on Friday, 12 June 1629, it revealed a man clinging to a bowsprit spar of a wrecked ship. Cornelisz had spent two days alone on the Batavia as the waves and the coral joined forces to rip apart the hull. Eight days previously, the Dutch East India Company retourschip had struck the Morning Reef with all her canvas set and, in the words of the Cambridge historian Mike Dash, had impaled herself on the half-hidden reef that had been lying in her path (5). On the day of the wreck, around 280 crew, passengers, and Company employees had been ferried to a small, stark island, which they would name Batavia's Graveyard (now Beacon Island). Forty belligerent men remained on the ship, raiding the grog stores and becoming drunk and disorderly. In a carnivalesque turn, characteristic of sailors' behavior after shipwreck, they donned officers' uniforms taken from the Great Cabin and broke open the chests of Company coin. Only when the ship beneath them began to give way did they finally head for the safety of the islands.Cornelisz alone remained on board. Like most sailors and passengers on seventeenth-century ships, he could not swim. He gazed with horror at the churning blue waters beneath him and at the treacherous reef into which the ship had ploughed a deep, ragged trench. He could not get up the courage to let go. Eventually, the choice was taken from him. The bowsprit broke apart and Cornelisz fell into the shallows amidst swirling driftwood and other debris from the wreck. He arrived on Batavia's Graveyard to the relief of the assembled castaways. Commendeur Francisco Pelsaert and Ariaen Jacobsz, the Batavia's skipper, along with 38 others, had set off for Batavia (Jakarta) in the ship's longboat shortly after the wreck. Their departure had been clandestine for they knew that the desperate survivors, fearing for their future on these stark, weather-beaten islands, might swamp the small vessel. Traitor's Island to the south was named by those who remained to mark this betrayal. As Under-Merchant on the voyage, Cornelisz was the most senior Company representative remaining, and he seemed a godsend.Three and a half months later, Cornelisz was executed, along with several young men he had gathered about him to do his bidding. First his hands were hacked off with a hammer and chisel; then he was hanged from the rudimentary gallows erected on Seal Island at the orders of Pelsaert, who had returned from Batavia in a VOC jacht, the Sardam, to rescue the survivors.Under torture, Cornelisz confessed to ordering his henchmen to murder 96 men and boys in the employ of the Company, 12 women and 7 children. When victims were drowned, their remains were left to drift away with the currents. Those who were strangled, stabbed to death, or hacked with cutlasses or axes were buried in shallow graves. The sentence passed on the self-styled Captain-General of the castaways by the VOC tribunal was the most severe that it could impose. In his summary of Cornelisz's crimes, read out just prior to the hanging, Pelsaert struggled to come to terms with the Under-Merchant's depravity. Jeronimus Cornelisz of Haarlem, aged about 30 years, apothecary, and late under Merchant of the ship Batavia, has misbehaved himself so gruesomely and has gone beyond himself, yea has even been denuded of all humanity and has been changed as to a tiger (qtd. in Drake-Brockman 172). In 2010, I traveled to the Abrolhos archipelago in the obscure hope that the place would guide my reflections on scholars' accounts of Cornelisz's transformation, if such it was. I also found myself enmeshed in more personal reflections on the recalcitrance of the past.Our flight out of Geraldton Airport to the landing strip on East Wallabi is delayed for much of the morning. A series of squalls are sweeping in from the south-west and the pilot is loath to confront the crosswinds. …
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