To Die A Dry Death: The True Story Of The Batavia Shipwreck - Plot & Excerpts
said Cornelisz. He shifted his shoulders in his chair. The men had collected furniture from the Great Cabin and as chairman of the council, he’d requisitioned Pelsaert’s padded chair as his own. No one had argued. Nor had anyone complained when he’d taken Pelsaert’s clothes for his own use. The long coat fitted well enough and at least he looked the part. A murmur of agreement. “I’m impressed with what we’ve achieved in five days. A number of tents built for families and the armoury has been established. Well done.” They had done well. He’d spent his time getting to know people, seeing who was content, who was not. Who might be useful, who would not. “Hmm,” said the provost. “We had some dissent from the soldiers but we managed to persuade them—with some help from Gabriel, here.” “Dissent has been a problem, hasn’t it?” The corporal sighed. “It’s difficult. Some don’t speak any Dutch at all. They form cliques of their own—the French at one end of a tent, the Germans at the other.
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