The Covenant Part 10

'I believe he's a case of what we might call "belated rect.i.tude," ' the old man said, and it was Jan van Riebeeck who got the a.s.signment.

In effect, his instructions were simple: 'Establish a refreshment station which will feed our ships, but do so at no cost to this Compagnie!' That charter, in force for the next hundred and fifty years, would determine how this land would develop: it would always be a mercantile operation, never a free colony. The charter already accounted for what Willem was seeing on his brief walk to the fort with Van Riebeeck, but he had the good sense not to share his observations: This is much finer than Batavia, but where are the people? The land beyond those hills! It could house a million settlers, and I'll wager it's not even been explored.

'I often saw your brother Karel in Amsterdam,' Van Riebeeck said.

'How is he?'

'Married to a wonderful girl. Very wealthy.'

Willem, observing that the commander evaluated even marriage in terms of commerce, changed the subject. 'Will there soon be more people?' he asked.

Van Riebeeck stopped abruptly, then turned as if to settle once and for all this matter of population, and from the sharp manner in which he spoke, Willem suspected that he had made his speech before: 'You must understand one thing, Van Doorn.' Although only six years older than Willem he spoke patronizingly: 'This is a commercial holding, not a free state. We're here to aid the Compagnie, and we'll enlarge the colony only when it tells us to. As long as we allow you to stay ash.o.r.e, you work for the Compagnie. You do what the Compagnie says.'

Within the next few hours Willem learned his lesson. He was ordered where to put his bag, where to make his bed, where to eat, and where to work. He found that a farmer could till a plot of land but never own it, and that whatever he grew must produce profit for the Compagnie. Of course, as an old Java hand he was not alarmed by these rules, but he did recall that in Batavia there had been a l.u.s.ty freedom, epitomized by his mother, whereas here at the Cape there was somber restriction. Worst of all, the tiny settlement suffered under two sets of masters: from Amsterdam the Lords XVII laid down the big principles, but from Java came the effective rules. The governor-general in Batavia was an emperor; the commander at the Cape, a distant functionary. In Java, grand designs effloresced; at the Cape, they worried about 'radishes, lettuce and cress.'

Three days later, when Willem stood before the commander in the fort, Van Riebeeck thought him a poor replica of his brother: Karel was tall and slim, Willem shortish and plump; Karel had a quick, ingratiating manner, Willem a stubborn suspiciousness; and Karel was obviously ambitious for promotion within the Compagnie, whereas Willem was content to work at anything, so long as he was free to explore the Cape. In no comparison was the difference more startling than in their choice of women: Willem, if the ship captain could be trusted, had formed an alliance with a Muslim slave girl, while Karel had married the daughter of one of the richest merchants in Amsterdam.

'Wonderful match,' Van Riebeeck said. 'Daughter of Claes Danck-aerts.' And again he added, 'Very rich.'

'I'm happy for him,' Willem said. Actually, he could scarcely remember his brother and could not possibly have guessed how Karel had changed in the eight years since he had quit the wreck of the Haerlem Haerlem to sail homeward. From what the commander said, he must be prospering. to sail homeward. From what the commander said, he must be prospering.

'What we have in mind for you,' Van Riebeeck continued, 'is the vineyard. Have you ever grown grapes?'

'No.'

'You're like the others.' When Van Doorn looked bewildered, the energetic little commander took him by the arm, led him to a parapet from which the valleys lying at the foot of Table Mountain were visible, and said with great enthusiasm, 'This soil can grow anything. But sometimes we approach it the wrong way.' He winced, recalling one early disaster. 'From the start I wanted grapes. I brought with me the seeds, but our gardener planted them the way to plant wheat. Scattered them broadside, plowed them under, and six months later harvested weeds.'

'How do you grow them?'

'Rooted vines, each one separately. Then you make cuttings . . .'

'What are cuttings?'

Patiently Van Riebeeck explained the intricate proceedings whereby tiny plants imported from Europe turned eventually into casks of wine headed for Java. 'Why do we bother?' Willem asked, for he saw that fruit trees and vegetables would flourish.

'Java's demanding wine,' the commander said sharply. Hustling Willem back to his rude office, he pointed to a large map that showed the shipping route from Amsterdam to Batavia: 'Every vessel that plies these waters wants wine. But they can't fetch it from Holland, because that wine's so poor it sickens before the equator and reaches us as vinegar. Your task is to make wine here.'

So Willem van Doorn, now thirty years of age, was settled upon a plot of ground belonging to the Compagnie and given nine basketfuls of small rooted vines imported from the Rhineland. 'Make wine,' Van Riebeeck said peremptorily, 'because if you succeed, after twenty years you'll be free to head for Holland.'

'You also?' Willem asked.

'No, no! I'm here for only a brief time. Then I go back to Java.' His eyes brightened. 'That's where the real jobs are.'

Willem started to say that he preferred the Cape to either place, but since he had never seen Holland, he concluded that this might be presumptuous; still, the fact that Van Riebeeck thought well of Java made him more attractive.

For a man who had never done so, to make wine presented difficulties, but Van Riebeeck showed Willem how to plant the precious roots, then provide them with poles and strings to grow upon, and finally, prune them along the lines required. He learned how to use animal fertilizer and irrigation, but most of all, he learned to know the howling southeast winds that blew incessantly in some seasons, making the high ground near the mountain a grave for growing things.

'It didn't blow like this when we were here before,' he complained, but the Compagnie gardeners laughed at him, for they were weary of hearing his constant recollections.

'We were up there,' he said, pointing some nine miles to the north, where the winds had been gentler. The men ignored him, for in their opinion there could be no spot in this forlorn land where the winds did not howl. But they showed him how to plant trees to give protection, if they survived, and offered other encouragements, for they, too, needed wine.

Willem realized that he had been handed an unrewarding a.s.signment in which failure was probable, but it gave him one advantage which he prized: everyone else at the Cape lived within the fortress walls in cramped, unpleasant quarters, while he enjoyed the freedom of living in his own hut beside his vines. True, he had to walk some distance for food and companionship, but that was a trivial price to pay for the joy he found in living relatively free.

But his freedom accentuated the slavery in which Deborah lived, and often at night, when he would have wanted to be with her, he was in his hut and she in the fort, locked in the guardhouse. The Malayan slaves had been thoughtfully placed by Van Riebeeck: 'One man and woman will work for my wife. The strongest man will work the ships. The other woman can do general work for the Compagnie.'

Deborah was the latter, and as she moved about the fort, Van Riebeeck saw that she was pregnant. This did not trouble him, for like any prudent owner, he hoped for natural increase, and since Deborah was proving the cleverest of his slaves, he a.s.sumed that she would produce valuable children. But he was distressed that the father of the unborn child was Van Doorn.

'How did this happen?' he asked Willem. 'On the ship . . . from Malacca.'

'We need women. Badly we need them. But proper Dutch women, not slaves.'

'Deborah's a fine person . . .'

'I've already seen that. But she's Malay. She's Muslim. And the Bible says'

'I know. The captain read me the pa.s.sages. "Thou shalt not take a wife from the Canaanites. Thou shalt go to thine own country and find a wife." '

'Excellent advice.' Van Riebeeck rose from his desk and paced for several moments. Then threw his hands upward and asked, 'But what shall we do here at the Cape? At last count we had one hundred and fourteen men, nine women. White men and women, that is. What's a man to do?'

He wanted to bar Van Doorn from visiting with his slave girl, but he refrained because he knew that to exact such a promise in these close quarters would not be sensible. Instead he warned: 'Keep marriage out of your mind, Van Doorn. What happens in Batavia will not be encouraged here. The child will be a b.a.s.t.a.r.d and a Compagnie slave.' Van Doorn, suspecting that what was law now would be altered later, bowed and said nothing.

But when he saw how far with child Deborah had come, he felt a pressing desire to stay with her and make her his wife, even though his experience in Java should have taught him that these marriages often turned out poorly. Such memories were obliterated by his recollection of those exceptional marriages in which Javanese women had created homes of quiet joy, half-Christian, half-Muslim, in which the husbands relinquished all dreams of ever returning to a colder Holland and a more severe society.

Deborah, to his surprise, seemed unconcerned about her future, as if the problems of pregnancy were enough. Her beautiful, placid face showed no anxiety, and when he raised questions about her status, she smiled: 'I'm to be a slave. I'll never see my village again.' And he supposed that this was her honest reaction, that she did not prize freedom the way he did.

'I want to care for you,' he said.

'Someone will,' she said, and when his emotion flared, tempting him to steal her from the fort, she laughed again and said that when the time came, Commander van Riebeeck would find her a man.

'Will he?'

'Of course. In Malacca the Portuguese owners always found men for their slave women. They wanted children.'

'I'll be that man.'

'Maybe you, maybe someone else.'

As the time neared for the birth of their child, Willem endeavored to visit with Deborah as much as possible, and it became known to everyone that he was the father. She walked with him sometimes to the vineyard, thinking with amus.e.m.e.nt of how a Portuguese grandee at Malacca would have scorned any fellow countryman who dipped his hands into the earth. But she was acquainted with growing things and said, 'Willem, those vines are dying.'

'Why? Why do they die?'

'The rows run the wrong way. The wind hits them too strong.' And she showed him how, if he planted his vines along the direction from which the winds blew, and not broadside to it, only the lead plants would be affected, while the sun would be free to strike all the vines evenly.

She was at the vineyard one day, singing with that extraordinary voice, when Van Riebeeck came to inspect the German vines, and he, too, saw that they were dying: 'It's the wind.' And he added grimly, 'No wine from these plants,' but he a.s.sured Willem that replacement plants were on their way from France. He was determined to produce wine for the Compagnie, even if he had to import new plants constantly.

When the women of the fort led Deborah to her confinement, Willem was overwhelmed by the realization that he was about to become a father, and this had an unexpected effect: he wanted to recover his Bible so that he could record in it the fact of birth, as if by this action he could confirm the Van Doorn presence in Africa. Since he had a hut apart from the others, it would be safe to produce the book without being required to offer explanations as to how he had acquired it. So in the evening after his son was born he slipped along the beach till he came to that ancient cave, and when he was satisfied that no one was spying, he entered it to claim his Bible.

A few days later Commander van Riebeeck appeared at the vineyard, said nothing about the birth of the boy, but did ask for Willem's a.s.sistance on a knotty problem: 'It's this Hottentot Jack. They tell me you know him.'

'Jack!' Willem cried with obvious affection. 'Where is he?'

'Where indeed?' And the commander unraveled his version of duplicity, stolen cows, promises made but never kept, and suspected connivance with the dreadful Bushmen who had edged south, enticed by Compagnie sheep and cattle.

'That doesn't sound like my Jack,' Willem protested.

'The same. Nefarious.'

'I'm sure I could talk with him . . .'

The complaints continued: 'When we arrived in the bay, there he was, uniform of an English sailor, shoes and all.'

'That's Jack,' Willem said.

The commander ignored him. 'So we made arrangements with him. He to serve as our interpreter. We to give him metal tools and objects.'

'He spoke English rather well, didn't he?'

'But he was like a ghost at twilight. Now here. Now gone. And absolutely no sense of property. Whatever he saw, he took.'

'Surely he gave you cattle in return.'

'That's what I'm here about. He owes us many cattle and we cannot find him.'

'I could find him.'

At this confident offer the commander placed the tips of his fingers together and brought them carefully to his lips. 'Caution. We've had killings, you know.'

'Our men shot the Hottentots?' Willem asked in amazement.

'There were provocations. It was this sort of thing Jack was supposed to'

'I'll go to him,' Willem said abruptly. So Van Riebeeck arranged for three trusted gunners to accompany him in an exploration of those villages which Jack and his people had occupied when the Haerlem Haerlem wrecked, but Willem refused the gunners: 'I said I'd go. Not with an army.' wrecked, but Willem refused the gunners: 'I said I'd go. Not with an army.'

That was the beginning of his difficulties with the Compagnie. Those in authority refused to believe that an unprotected Dutchman would dare to move inland, or survive if he did, but Willem was so confident that he could reach Jack and settle differences with him that he persisted. In the end he was ordered to accept the three gunners, and after strong protest which irritated everyone, he complied.

He had been right. When the Hottentots spied the armed men coming after them, they retreated into the farther hills, driving their sheep and cattle before them. In nine days of wandering, Van Doorn spoke with not a single Hottentot, so perforce he started homeward, but as the four men marched, one of the gunners said, 'I think we're being followed,' and after extra precautions had been taken, it was agreed that some brown manor menwas keeping to the mounds and trees, marking their progress.

'It's got to be Jack,' Willem said, and when they came to those slight rises from which the Cape settlement could be seenthe point at which a prudent enemy would turn backhe told the three gunners, 'I know it's my friend. I'll go to meet him.'

This occasioned loud protest, but he was adamant: 'I'll go without a gun, so that he can see it's me, his friend.' And off he went, holding his hands wide from his body and walking directly toward the small mound behind which he knew the watcher waited. 'Jack!' he called in English. 'It's me. Van Doorn.'

Nothing moved. If the person or persons behind the rise were enemies, he would soon see the flight of deadly a.s.segais, but he was certain that if anyone had the courage to track four well-armed men, it must be Jack, so he called again, loudly enough for his voice to be heard at a far distance.

From behind the hill there came the soft sound of movement. Slowly, slowly, a human form emerged, that of a Hottentot, unarmed and wearing the uniform of an English sailor. For several moments the two men faced each other, saying nothing. Then Van Doorn dropped his empty hands and moved forward, and as he did so, little Jack began to run toward him, so that the old friends met in a forceful embrace.

They sat on a rock, and Willem asked, 'How did these wrongs come to happen?'

It was too difficult to explain. On each side there had been promises unkept, threats that should never have been uttered, and petty misunderstandings that escalated into skirmishes. There had been killings; there would be more, and any possibility of reconciliation seemed lost.

'I don't believe this,' Willem said. His affection for the slave girl Deborah had intensified his att.i.tudes, making it easier for him to look at this Hottentot as an ally.

'We talk too much,' Jack said.

'But we're going to stay here, Jack. Forever. A few now, many later. Must we live always as enemies?'

'Yes. You steal our cattle.'

'They tell me you steal our tools. Our European sheep.'

The Hottentot knew that this countercharge was true, but he did not know how to justify it. Enmity had been allowed to fester and could not be exorcised. But one charge was so grave that Willem had to explore it: 'Did you murder the white soldier?'

'Bushmen,' Jack said, and with his nimble fingers he indicated the three-part arrow.

'Won't you please come with me?' Willem begged.

'No.'

There was a painful farewell, the little brown man and the big white, and then the parting, but when the two men were well separated, with Van Doorn heading back to his gunners, one lifted his weapon and shot at Jack.

He had antic.i.p.ated such a probability, so as soon as he saw the gun raised, he jumped behind a mound and was not hit.

On a fine February morning in 1657 nine gunners and sailors a.s.sembled outside Van Riebeeck's office, and all in the fort stopped work and moved closer to hear an announcement that would alter the history of Africa: 'Their Honors in Amsterdam, the Lords XVII, wishing always to do what furthers the interests of the Compagnie, have graciously decided that you nine may take fields beyond Table Mountain and farm them under your own guidance, but you must not move farther than five miles from the fort.'

When the men cheered at this release from drudgery, Willem van Doorn heard the commotion and came in to listen with envy as Van Riebeeck spelled out the meticulous terms laid down by the Lords. The freedmen would work not individually but in two groups, one five, one four, and would receive in freehold as much land as they could plow, spade or otherwise prepare within three years. Their crops would be bought by the Compagnie at prices fixed by the Compagnie. They could fish the rivers, but only for their own tables. They were forbidden to buy cattle or sheep from the Hottentots; they must buy from the Compagnie, and one-tenth of their calves and lambs must be given back to the Compagnie. On and on the petty regulations wentand also the penalties: 'If you break one rule, everything you own will be confiscated.'

The men nodded, and Van Riebeeck concluded: 'Their Honors will allow you to sell any surplus vegetables to pa.s.sing ships, but you may go aboard to do so only after said ships have been in harbor three days, because the Compagnie must have a chance to sell its produce first. You are forbidden to buy liquor from ships. And you must always remember that the Lords XVII are giving you this land not for your indulgence but in the hope that you will turn a profit for the Compagnie.' Van Doorn, listening to the restrictions, muttered to himself, 'He says they're free, but the rules say they're not free.'

Van Riebeeck, wishing to solemnize this significant moment, and totally unaware that he had imposed any unreasonable restrictions, asked the men to bow their heads: 'Under the watchful eye of G.o.d, you are now free burghers,' and to sanctify this status he read from the Bible that glowing statement of G.o.d's covenant which had excited Willem: 'And I will give unto thee, and unto thy seed after thee, the land wherein thou art a stranger, all the land of Canaan, for an everlasting possession . . .'

With this benediction these nine became the first free white men in South Africa, the progenitors of whatever nation might subsequently develop. Suddenly the quiet was broken with cheers for the commander, after which the two groups set forth to line out their future farms.

One of the Hottentots had listened intently to this ceremony, and late that afternoon he crept off, taking a route past the fields the free burghers were surveying. At a small stream he stopped to watch as two antelope dipped toward the sparkling water; then he moved to break the news to his people: 'They are taking our land.'

The joy with which the nine free burghers had greeted their release was short-lived, for during the first year of backbreaking effort they came to know the Compagnie's interpretation of freedom. Two of the more adventurous, alarmed by their growing indebtedness to the Compagnie stores, began clandestine trading with the Hottentots for elephant tusks, rhino horns and ostrich feathers. For this they were severely disciplined, but Van Riebeeck did reluctantly agree that they might trade for cows, if they never paid more than the Compagnie did.

An argument arose over whether they might kill one of their own sheep for their personal use; the commander recognized this as a threat to the Compagnie's butchery, but he did compromise: 'You can slaughter one animal occasionally, but before you do so, you must pay a fee to the butchery.'

In the evenings, in their rude huts, the burghers grumbled, and sometimes Van Doorn would be present, for the things these men said he understood. No complaint was voiced more constantly than the one regarding labor.

'Is this what freedom means?' one farmer asked. 'We're peasants, working eight days a week.'

'The Hottentots are better off than us,' another said. 'They have their herds and all that free land out there. We're free ... to be slaves.'

Relations with the Hottentots had deteriorated: few brought animals to be traded, almost none wanted to work for the burghers. Most kept their herds at the edge of the settlement, watching sullenly as the Dutchmen's cattle encroached.

'In Java no man would work like this,' one stout burgher complained. 'I think I'll hide in the next ship and sail back to Holland.'

And that's precisely what several of the free men did, so guards were posted about any vessel that put into Table Bay, and then one morning in 1658 the lookout atop the fort awakened everyone by hammering on a length of metal suspended from a post and shouting, 'Warship coming!'