The Java Java was a medium ship, not small and swift like a flute, nor large and wallowing like an East Indiaman. It was a slow ship, requiring a hundred and thirty days for the tedious pa.s.sage, and it carried no lemons or pickled cabbage. For four long months the pa.s.sengers ate only salted meat, and scurvy rampaged through the lower decks. was a medium ship, not small and swift like a flute, nor large and wallowing like an East Indiaman. It was a slow ship, requiring a hundred and thirty days for the tedious pa.s.sage, and it carried no lemons or pickled cabbage. For four long months the pa.s.sengers ate only salted meat, and scurvy rampaged through the lower decks.

They were dreadful, these low-ceilinged hovels below the waterline. Fresh air was unknown, cleanliness impossible. Men emptied their bowels in corners and children lay white and gasping on filthy bunks. During the transit of the equator the temperatures were intolerable and dying people pleaded for a breath of air, but when the lower lat.i.tudes were reached, the next to die cried for blankets.

At the hundredth day Paul became aware that his wife, Marie, was not handling the long pa.s.sage at all well. Her life in the cold, damp shack close to the river IJ in Amsterdam had started a lung congestion which had never really mended, and now, with worsening conditions belowdecks, she began to cough blood. Frantically Paul sought a.s.sistance among the pa.s.sengers, but to no avail. There were scholars aboard the Java, Java, and a failed clergyman, and some excellent farmers, but no doctors or nurses, and Paul had to watch in despair as his wife declined. and a failed clergyman, and some excellent farmers, but no doctors or nurses, and Paul had to watch in despair as his wife declined.

'Marie,' he pleaded, 'we must walk on deck. To catch the breezes.'

'I cannot move,' she whispered, and when he forced her to her feet, he saw that her knees crumpled, so he returned her to the filthy bed.

He sought counsel among the women pa.s.sengers, and all they could do was look gloomily at the stricken Frenchwoman and shake their heads lugubriously. It was no use appealing to the crew, for they were a miserable lot. Dutch sailors of merit preferred to work the Baltic ships, from which they could return to their homes periodically; also, the pay was better. For the long pa.s.sages to Batavia, the Lords XVII had to rely princ.i.p.ally on those untrained Germans whom De Pre had seen outside the Compagnie offices. They were not sailors, nor were they disciplined. For twenty years they had been conducting religious warfare back and forth across Germany, and it was unreasonable to think that they would now settle down and obey orders. Uncertain of what their Dutch officers were saying, totally unable to comprehend the French emigrants, they barely kept the ship afloat, and it was probably they who had been responsible for the sinking of the Texel: Texel: the Dutch captain had surely shouted the right order at the moment of peril, but his sailors had not responded. the Dutch captain had surely shouted the right order at the moment of peril, but his sailors had not responded.

So the Java Java rolled and pitched through the South Atlantic, with all hands praying that the wind would steady so they might make land before everyone was dead. Under these circ.u.mstances it was not strange that Marie de Pre should sink closer and closer to unconsciousness; her husband watched in horror as her vital signs diminished. rolled and pitched through the South Atlantic, with all hands praying that the wind would steady so they might make land before everyone was dead. Under these circ.u.mstances it was not strange that Marie de Pre should sink closer and closer to unconsciousness; her husband watched in horror as her vital signs diminished.

'Marie!' he pleaded. 'We must go aloft. You must walk and regain your strength.' As he argued with her three sailors moved through the filthy quarters collecting bodies, and Paul ran to them begging for fresh water for his wife. The Germans looked at him and grunted. The Cape would soon be reached and then these troublesome pa.s.sengers would be gone, such of them as had survived.

Long before any sailor could win his silver schilling for crying, 'Table Mountain!' Marie de Pre fell into a coma, and since there was no proper clergyman aboard the rolling ship, the Dutch sick-comforter was summoned. He was a small, round fellow with rheumy eyes and the self-effacing manner of one who had tried to pa.s.s the courses at Leiden University and failed. Forbidden to preach like a real minister, he discharged his deep convictions by serving as general handyman to the Dutch church; especially he comforted those who were about to die.

As soon as he saw Marie he said, 'We'd better fetch her children,' and when Henri and Louis appeared he took their hands, drew them to him, and said softly in Dutch, 'Now's the time for courage, eh?'

'Could we pray in French?' Paul asked, hoping that his wife would be heartened by the language she had used as a child in Caix.

'Of course,' the sick-comforter said, but since he spoke not a word of French, he nodded to Paul, indicating that he must do the praying. 'It will ease her,' he said, even though he knew that she would never again hear human speech.

'Great G.o.d in heaven,' Paul prayed, 'we have come so far in obedience to Thy commands. Save Thy daughter Marie that she may see the new home to which Thou hast brought us.' When he finished, the sick-comforter clasped the two boys and prayed with them in his language, after which he said in a low voice, 'We can call the sailors now. She's dead.'

'No!' Paul shouted, and the fury with which he embraced his wife, who had accompanied him so far and with so gentle a compliance, made those about him weep.

'Call the sailors,' the sick-comforter said forcefully. 'Boys, you must kiss your mother goodbye,' and he edged them toward the pitiful bier.

In due time two German sailors shoved their way through the pa.s.sengers, took the corpse away, and holding it aloft, pitched it into the sea, after which the sick-comforter indicated that he would lead public prayers for those who were still ambulatory. A stout Dutch merchant who had once served as deacon at Old Church pushed him contemptuously aside as unworthy; he would do the praying, and all on deck bowed their heads.

When the Java Java finally anch.o.r.ed in the lee of Table Mountain, Paul de Pre, thirty pounds lighter than when he sailed, reported to the captain, asking for his final payment for acquiring the grapevines, but instead of handing over any money, the captain informed Paul that Mijnheer van Doorn had arranged for the delivery of some one hundred and twenty acres of land toward the eastern mountains, and he produced a doc.u.ment affirming this: 'The Compagnie Commander at De Kaap is directed to give the French emigrant Paul de Pre sixty morgen of the best land, contiguous to the farm of Willem van Doorn in the settlement of Stellenbosch, there to raise grapes and make wine.' finally anch.o.r.ed in the lee of Table Mountain, Paul de Pre, thirty pounds lighter than when he sailed, reported to the captain, asking for his final payment for acquiring the grapevines, but instead of handing over any money, the captain informed Paul that Mijnheer van Doorn had arranged for the delivery of some one hundred and twenty acres of land toward the eastern mountains, and he produced a doc.u.ment affirming this: 'The Compagnie Commander at De Kaap is directed to give the French emigrant Paul de Pre sixty morgen of the best land, contiguous to the farm of Willem van Doorn in the settlement of Stellenbosch, there to raise grapes and make wine.'

By paying De Pre in Compagnie land rather than his own money, Van Doorn had saved himself ninety florins.

Paulbrooding over the loss of his wifewas halfway across the desolate flats before the immensity of Africa struck him, and he was suddenly overcome with dread lest this enormous continent reject him, tossing him back into the sea. The land was so bleak, the vast emptiness so foreboding that he began to shiver, feeling himself rebuked for his insolence. Clasping his sons to protect them from the loneliness he felt, he muttered in French, 'Our grapes will never grow in this G.o.dforsaken soil.'

That night the Dutchman in whose wagon he was riding pitched camp on the loneliest stretch of the flatlands, and Paul stayed awake, listening to the howling wind and testing the harsh, sterile earth with his fingers. Driven with fear, he rose to inspect his grape cuttings, to see if they were still moist, and as he replaced their wrappings he thought: They are doomed.

But toward the end of the second day, when the laden wagon completed its traverse of the badlands, he was allowed a gentler view of Africa, for they now traveled along the bank of a lovely river edged by broad meadows and protected by encompa.s.sing hills. He thought: This is finer than anything I knew in France or Holland! A man could make his home here!

Begging the driver to halt, he lifted his sons down so that they could feel the good earth that was to be their home, and when he had filtered it through his fingers he looked up at the Dutchman and shouted in French, 'We shall build a vineyard so great . . .' When the driver looked at him in stolid unconcern, for he understood not a word De Pre was saying, Paul cried in Dutch, 'Good, eh?' and the driver pointed ahead with his whip: 'Ahead, even better.'

They camped that night beside the river, and by noon next morning they saw something that sealed Paul's love of his new home. It was a farmhouse, low and wide, built of mud bricks and wattles, and so set down against the hills rising behind it that it seemed always to have been there. He noticed that it stood north to south, so that the west face looked toward Table Mountain, still visible on the far horizon. From this secure house a lawn of gra.s.s reached out, with four small huts along each side for tools and chickens and the storage of hay; they were so placed, and at such an angle, that they seemed like arms stretching to invite strangers, and when Paul had seen the entire he whispered to himself, 'Mon Dieu! 'Mon Dieu! I should like to own this farm!' I should like to own this farm!'

'Has the master a daughter?' he asked the driver. 'He does.'

'How old?' he asked casually. 'Nine, I think.'

'Oh.' He said this in such a flat, disappointed voice that he added quickly, lest he betray himself, 'That's good. Someone for my boys to play with.'

'He has sons, too. Nine and eight.'

'Interesting.'

'But you understand, the farm really belongs to the old man.'

'Who?'

'Willem van Doorn. And his old wife Katje.'

'Three generations?'

'Working the fields, you live a long time.'

When they reached the farmhouse, walking down the lane between the eight huts, a tall Dutchman, broad of face and open in manner, came out to greet them: 'I'm Marthinus van Doorn. Are you the Frenchman?'

'Paul de Pre, and these are my sons Henri and Louis.'

'Annatjie!' the farmer cried. 'Come meet our neighbors!' And from the house came a tall, gaunt woman with broad shoulders and big hands. She was obviously quite a few years older than her husband, in her late thirties perhaps, and she bore the look of one who had worked extremely hard. She did not smile easily, as her husband had done when greeting the strangers, but she did extend a practical welcome: 'We've been waiting for your knowledge of grapes.'

'Is it true, you've made wine?' her husband asked.

'A great deal,' Paul said, and for the first time the woman smiled.

'The old man is out with the slaves,' Van Doorn said. 'Shall we go see him?'

But before they could depart, a high, complaining whine came from the back of the house: 'Who's out there, Annatjie?'

'The Frenchman.'

'What Frenchman?' It was a woman's voice, conveying irritation that things had not been explained.

'The one from Amsterdam. With new vines.'

'n.o.body tells me anything,' and after a bit of shuffling, the door creaked open and a white-haired woman, partially stooped, came protestingly into the sunlight. 'Is this the Frenchman?' she asked.

'Yes,' her daughter-in-law said patiently. 'We're taking him into the fields to meet the old man.'

'You won't find him,' the old woman muttered, retreating to the shadows of the house.

They did find him, a crippled old man in his mid-sixties, walking sideways as he supervised the slaves in pruning vines. 'Father, this is the Frenchman who knows how to make good wine.'

'After thirty years they send someone,' he joked. Since that first joyous pressing decades ago, hundreds of thousands of vines had been planted at the Cape, a.s.suring a local supply of wine, but even the best vintage remained far inferior to those of Europe.

The old man jammed his pruning knife into his belt, walked awkwardly to greet the newcomer, and said, 'Now let's figure out where your land's to be.'

'I have a map . . .'

'Well, let's fetch it, because it's important that you get started right.'

When the map was spread, the old man was delighted: 'Son, they've given you the very best land available. Sixty morgen! With water right from the river! Where will you build your house?'

'I haven't seen the land yet,' Paul said hesitantly.

'Let's see it!' the old man cried, almost as if the land were his and he was planning his first house. 'Annatjie, Katje! Get the boys and we'll go see the land.'

So the entire Van Doorn establishmentWillem and Katje; Marthinus and Annatjie; and the children Petronella, Hendrik and little Sarelset off to see the Frenchman's land, and after they had surveyed it and a.s.sessed its strengths, all agreed that he must build his house at the foot of a small mound that would protect it from eastern winds. De Pre, however, said with a certain stubbornness, 'I'll build it down here,' but his reasons for doing so he would not divulge. They were simple: when the Van Doorns indicated the spot they were recommending, he immediately noticed that it did not balance the house they had built, and he wanted his home to be in harmony with theirs, for he was convinced that one day these two farms must be merged, and when that time came he wanted the various buildings to be in balance.

'We'll put it here,' he said, and when several of the Van Doorns started to protest the obvious unwisdom of such a location, old Willem quieted them: 'Look! If the house is put here, it balances ours over there. The valley looks better.'

'Why, so it does,' Paul said, and soon the building commenced. The Van Doorns sent their slaves to work on the walls, as if the house were to be their own, while the three De Pres toiled alongside the swarthy Madagascar.

'De Pre's a Frenchman,' Willem said approvingly. 'He knows how to work for what he wants.' And as the house grew, its mud bricks neatly aligned, the Van Doorns had to concede that it was not only s.p.a.cious, but also solid and attractive.

'It's a house that needs a woman,' old Katje said, and on the next evening when the Frenchman ate at her house, she asked him bluntly, 'What are your plans for finding a wife?'

'I have none.'

'You better get some. Now, you take Marthinus'she pointed to her st.u.r.dy son'he was bomat the Cape when there were no women, none at all available for young men. So we moved out here to Stellenbosch, except it wasn't named that in those years, and here I wasthe only woman for miles around. So what to do?'

Paul looked at Marthinus and then at Annatjie, and asked, 'How did he find her?'

'Simple,' Katje continued. 'She was a King's Niece.'

This news was so startling that Paul stared in a most ungentlemanly manner at the tall, ungainly woman. 'Yes,' Katje said, 'this one was a King's Niece, and you'd better be sending for one of them, too.'

'What do you mean?'

'Orphans. Amsterdam's full of girl orphans. No one to give them in marriage, no dowry, so we call them the King's Nieces, and he gives them a small dowry and ships them out to Java and the Cape.'

'How did . . .'

'How did Marthinus know that Annatjie was his? When news of the ship reached out here, we supposed all the girls would be gone. But I told Marthinus, "Son, there's always a chance." So he rode at a gallop, and when he got to the wharf all the girls were gone.'

She placed her work-worn hands on the table, then smiled at her husband. 'I was what you might call a King's Niece also. My rich uncle shipped me out here to marry this one. Never saw him before I landed. Thirty years ago.'

'But if the girls were all gone, how did your son . . .'

Old Katje looked at Marthinus and laughed. 'Spirit, that's what he had. Like his father. You've heard that Willem chopped down four bitter almond so we could escape from the Cape. I predicted he would be hanged. I said, "Willem, you'll be hanged." '

'What did Marthinus do?'

'Got to the ship, all the girls gone. But before he rode back empty-handed he heard that one of the men at the fort didn't like the girl he got, so he shouted, "I'll take her!" And one of the other men said, "You haven't seen her!" But Marthinus shouted again, "I'll take her," and the girl was sent for, and there she is.'

Paul could not determine in what spirit the woman pointed to her daughter-in-law, whether in derision for being so much older than her son, or in disgust at her being so ungainly, or in pride for having had the strength to surmount such a poor beginning. 'Look at her fine children,' the old woman said, and Paul noticed that the three youngsters were looking at their mother with love. He would never have told his children such a story, but when he got his sons back into their house, he was startled to hear Henri say, 'Father, I hope that when you go to the ship, you get someone like Annatjie.'

The Huguenot boys were finding their new home even more exciting than the ca.n.a.ls of Amsterdam. The s.p.a.ciousness enchanted them; they loved the flashing sight of animals moving through the swards of long gra.s.s; and playing with the Van Doorn children was a joy. But the Dutchman they loved was old Willem. He moved slowly among his vines, his left leg out of harmony with his right, and he coughed a lot, but he was a reservoir of stories about Java and the Spice Islands and the siege of Malacca.

He took delight in arranging surprises for them: cloves to chew on so their breath would be sweet, and games with string. He let them watch the Van Doorn slaves, great blacks from Angola and Madagascar, and then one afternoon he told them, 'Boys, tomorrow night I have the real surprise. You can try to guess what it's to be, but I shan't tell you.'

At home they discussed with their father what it might be: perhaps a horse of their own, or a slave boy whom they could keep, or a hunting trip. They could not imagine what the old man had for them, and it was with trembling excitement that they crossed the fields at dusk to join the seven Van Doorns.

The old lady was complaining that too much fuss was being made, but even so, no one told the French boys what the surprise was to be, and with some anxiety they sat down for the evening meal, where the old ones talked endlessly as a slave woman and two Hottentots served them.

'Tell me in simple words,' Marthinus said, 'what a Huguenot is.'

'I'm a Huguenot,' Paul said. 'These two boys are Huguenots.'

'But what are you?'

'Frenchmen to begin with. Protestants next. Followers of John Calvin.'

'You believe as we do?'

'Of course. You in Dutch, we in French.'

'I hear you Huguenots were badly treated in France.'

'Tormented and thrown in jail and sometimes killed.'

'How did you escape?'

'Through the forests, at night.' No one spoke. 'And when we were safely in Holland, your brother, Karel . . . He's an important man, you know, in the Lords XVII. He sent me back to fetch the vines I've brought you. I took my son Henri with me to confuse the Catholic authorities. This boy crept through the forest with me to steal the grapevines, and if we'd been caught by the soldiers . . .'

'What would have happened?' young Hendrik asked.

'I'd have been chained to a ship for life. He'd have been put where they turn Huguenot boys into Catholic boys in a jail, and his brother here would never have seen him again.'

'Was it really so cruel?' Marthinus asked.

'It was death to be a Calvinist.'

'It was in our family, too,' Willem suddenly said. 'My great-grandfather was hanged.'

'He was?' Louis asked in awe, all thoughts of the surprise buried in this revelation of family courage.

'And my grandfather died in war, fighting for our religion. And as a little girl my mother used to gather with her family like this and do something that would have caused her execution . . .'

'What do you mean?' Louis de Pre asked.

'She would have been hanged if they had caught her.'

'What did she do?'

'Blow out the candles,' Willem said, and when only one flickered he produced from the next room the old Bible, which he opened at random, and when the children were quiet he read a few verses in Dutch. Then, with his hand spread out upon the pages, he told them, 'In those days your grandfathers died if they were caught reading like this.' Closing the heavy cover, he told the children, 'But because we persisted, G.o.d came to comfort us. He gave us this land. These good houses. These vines.'

Young Hendrik van Doorn had heard these tales before, but they had made no impression on him. Now, with the Frenchman telling comparable stories, he understood that tremendous things had happened in France and Holland, and that he was the recipient of a powerful tradition. From that night on, whenever the Dutch Reformed Church was mentioned, he would visualize a young boy creeping through the forest, a man chained to a galley bench, one of his ancestors hanged, and especially a group of people huddled over a Bible at night.