II. CALM BEFORE THE STORM

It’s been months now since they left the Port of Texel and nothing particular happened. Even though they went past South Africa safely, Jacob was still anxious. The crew, unaware of possible dangers, were as excited as children on Christmas day. They had heard of all the riches of the East and wanted nothing more than to get their hands on them. Their state of mind also worried Jacob. If his men were not prepared for the worse, would they make it safely? Or even make it at all?. He always told them what awaited ahead of a voyage. If they followed him, it was because they had chosen to and not because they were blinded by a lie. When they entered the Indian Ocean, Jacob felt a chill down his spine. The same kind of chill that he felt when he left the port.

“Something is off. The weather is calm, too calm,” he said to himself. And yet, despite his anxiousness, nothing happened. A gentle breeze blew every so often, but nothing alarming. It was not until nightfall that they felt a gushing wind. It was strong enough to make the ships roll from side to side. Jacob looked up where the moon was disappearing behind the clouds, and he frowned. "A storm" he whispered to himself. “It’s a storm!” he choked. “Men! All men on deck, all men on deck! A storm is coming! Crow's nest! Release the signal, warn the fleet! Warwijck! Warwijck!” His voice was cut off by the sounds of the thunder. The rain poured around them, blurring their vision. The rough sea moved the ship around with force. They no longer had control of their vessel, but one thing they knew, they had long left the path that led to Asia.

When the sea was calm again, only five of the eight ships could be seen. Jacob had safely reached the shores of Madagascar, but Warwijck was still at sea. He ordered his men to clear away all the mess and make an account of the provisions left. It was then that they discovered the corpse of the youngest member. His little head was cracked up like an egg, and he was bathing in a puddle of blood. The poor lad was probably trying to fix the sail and fell. The boy was thrown overboard, and the sailors went on with their work.

At first, the sailors were wide awake. The barrels were still full of food and rum. They had no interest in water, rum was what kept them going. They would spend their time trying their best to fix the damages and looking for land. For a month or so, they gave it their all, washed the deck, straightened the sails, tightened the ropes, and sang their voices out, but the days seemed to be getting longer. The vast sea never seemed to end, and they were slowly but surely losing their sanity.

When the lookout came to his senses, he was on his back, his head pounding. "Shiver me Tinkers!" he exclaimed. "Is it morning already?" So much for being the Night watch, the sun was rising already. His hand reached up to his side, seeking a surface to hoister himself up. He felt weak. Since the provision had done low, the captain ordered the whole crew to significantly reduce their portions. When he was finally on his feet, he peeked down. The captain was the only one up. Standing by the wheel, he held a compass in hand. They had been going in a downwards direction ever since the storm. The captain hoped to find something, anything... With the ship's current state they could not afford to risk it all and change course.