. . . on native women: female slaves; girls sold by fathers for iron nails . . .

' "Paul said, Except these abide in in the ship, ye cannot be saved." ' the ship, ye cannot be saved." '

Penhaligon locates Hartlepool the half-breed, and remembers his own youthful fornications, and wonders whether any resulted in a coffee-skinned or almond-eyed son who also obeyed the voice of the sea, who thinks the thoughts of the fatherless. The Captain remembers this morning's dream, and he hopes so.

' "Then the soldiers cut off the ropes of the boat, and let her fall off." '

The men gasp at the recklessness. One exclaims, 'Madness!'

'Stops deserters,' answers another, and Wren calls out: 'Hear the Chaplain!'

But Wily closes his Bible. 'Aye, with the tempest howling, with Death a near-certainty, Paul says, "Abandon ship and you'll drown: stay aboard with me and you'll survive." Would you believe him? Would I?' The chaplain shrugs and puffs. 'This wasn't Paul the Apostle speaking with a halo round his head. This was a prisoner in chains, a heretic from a backward ditch of Rome's Empire. Yet he persuaded the guards to cut away the boats, and the Book of Acts tells that two hundred and seventy-six were saved by God's mercy. Why did that raggle-taggle crew of Cypriots, Lebanese and Palestinians heed Paul? Was it his voice, or his face, or . . . something else? Ah, with that secret, I'd be Archbishop Wily by now! Instead, I'm stuck here, with you.' Some of the men laugh. 'I shan't claim, men, that Faith always saves a man from drowning - enough devout Christians have died at sea to make a liar of me. But this I do swear: Faith shall shall save your save your Soul Soul from Death. Without Faith, Death from Death. Without Faith, Death is is a drowning, the end of ends, and what sane man wouldn't fear that? But with Faith, Death is nothing worse than the end of this voyage we call life, and the beginning of an eternal voyage in a company of our Loved Ones, with griefs and woes smoothed out, and under the captaincy of our Creator . . .' a drowning, the end of ends, and what sane man wouldn't fear that? But with Faith, Death is nothing worse than the end of this voyage we call life, and the beginning of an eternal voyage in a company of our Loved Ones, with griefs and woes smoothed out, and under the captaincy of our Creator . . .'

The cordage creaks as the climbing sun warms the morning dew.

'That's all I have to say this Sunday, men. Our own captain has a few words.'

Penhaligon steps up, relying on his stick more than he would like. 'So, men, there's no fat Dutch goose waiting to be plucked in Nagasaki. You are disappointed, your officers are disappointed, and I am disappointed.' The Captain speaks slowly, to allow his words to trickle into other languages. 'Console yourselves with the thought of all the unsuspecting French prizes to be netted on our long, long voyage back to Plymouth.' Gannets call. The oars of the guard-boats drag and splash. 'Our mission here, men, is to bring the Nineteenth Century to these benighted shores. By the "Nineteenth Century" I mean the British Nineteenth Century: not the French, nor Russian nor Dutch. Shall doing so make rich men of us all? In and of itself, No. Shall it make our Phoebus Phoebus the most famous ship in Japan, and the toast of the Service at home? The answer shall be a resounding the most famous ship in Japan, and the toast of the Service at home? The answer shall be a resounding Yes Yes. This is not a legacy you can spend in port. It is is a legacy that can never, ever be squandered, stolen or lost.' a legacy that can never, ever be squandered, stolen or lost.' The men prefer cash to posterity The men prefer cash to posterity, Penhaligon thinks, but they listen, at least but they listen, at least. 'A last word, before - and about - the hymn. The last time a song of praise was heard in Nagasaki was as native Christians were slung off the cliff we passed yesterday for their belief in the True Faith. I desire you send a message to the Magistrate of Nagasaki, on this historic day, that Britons, unlike the Dutch, shall never trample on Our Saviour for the sake of profit. So sing not like shy schoolboys, men. Sing like warriors. One, and two, and three, and--'

XXXV.

The Sea Room in the Chief's Residence on Dejima

Morning on the 19th October, 1800 'Who so beset him round, with dismal stories . . .'

Jacob de Zoet, studying the stock inventory by the viewing window, at first doubts his ears . . .

'Do but themselves confound, His strength the more is.'

. . . but, however improbable, a hymn is being sung in Nagasaki Bay.

'No foes shall stay his might; tho' he with giants fight . . .'

Jacob steps out on to the veranda and stares at the frigate.

'He will make good his right to be a pilgrim.'

The hymn's odd-numbered lines breathe in: its even-numbered, out.

'Since, Lord, thou dost defend us with thy Spirit,'

Jacob closes his eyes, the better to catch the floating English phrases . . .

'We know we at the end shall life inherit.'

. . . and lift away each new line from its predecessor's echo.

'Then fancies, flee away! I'll fear not what men say,'

The hymn is water and sunlight, and Jacob wishes he had married Anna.

'I'll labour night and day to be a pilgrim.'

The pastor's nephew waits for the next verse, but it never comes.

'A pleasing ditty,' remarks Marinus, from the doorway of the Sea Room.

Jacob turns. 'You called hymns "songs for children afraid of the dark".'

'Did I? Well, one grows less judgemental in one's dotage.'

'This was less than a month ago, Marinus.'

'Oh. Well, as my friend the Dean observes,' Marinus leans on the rail, 'we have just enough religion to make us hate, but not enough to make us love. Your new habitus suits you very well, if I may say so.'

'It's Chief van Cleef's habitus, and I pray he'll be back in it by tonight. I mean it. In my less charitable minutes, I might consider paying the English a ransom to keep Fischer, but Melchior van Cleef is a fair-minded man, by the Company's standards - and a Dejima of only four officers is less undermanned than unmanned.'

Marinus squints at the sky. 'Come and eat. Eelattu and I brought you some poached fish from the Kitchen . . .'

They walk through to the Dining Room where Jacob makes a point of occupying his usual chair. He asks whether Marinus has had dealings with British naval officers in the past.

'Fewer than you may imagine. I've corresponded with Joseph Banks and some of the English and Scottish philosophers, but I've yet to master their language. Their nation is rather young. You must have met some officers during your London sojourn. Two or three years, was it not?'

'Four years, in total. My employer's principal warehouse was a short walk downriver from the East India Docks, so I watched hundreds of ships-of-the-line come and go: the finest ships in the Royal Navy - that is, in the world. But my circle of English acquaintances was confined to warehouse-men, scriveners and bookkeepers. To the Grand and the Uniformed, a junior clerk from Zeeland with a thick Dutch accent would have been invisible.'

The servant d'Orsaiy appears at the door. 'Interpreter Goto here, Chief.'

Jacob looks around for van Cleef and remembers. 'Show him in, d'Orsaiy.'

Goto enters, looking as grave as the situation warrants. 'Good morning, Acting-Chief,' the interpreter bows, 'and Dr Marinus. I disturb breakfast, sorry. But inspector at Guild send me urgently to discover about war song from English ship. Do English sing such song previous to attack?'

'An attack?' Jacob hurries back to the Sea Room. He looks at the frigate through his telescope, but its position is the same, and belatedly he sees the misunderstanding. 'No, it wasn't a war song that the English were singing, Mr Goto, it was a hymn.'

Goto is puzzled: 'What is "hymn" or who is "hymn"?'

'A hymn is a song sung by Christians to our God. It is an act of worship.'

The Acting-Chief continues to watch the frigate: there is activity at the bow.

'Within hailing distance of the Papenburg Rock,' observes Marinus. 'Whoever claimed that History has no sense of humour died too soon.'

Goto does not catch everything, but he understands the Shogun's sacrosanct edict against Christianity has been violated. 'Very serious and bad,' he mutters. 'Very . . .' he searches for another word '. . . very very serious and bad.' serious and bad.'

'Unless I'm mistaken . . .' Jacob is still watching '. . . something is is afoot.' afoot.'

The congregation has disbanded and the church awning lowered.

'Someone in an oat-coloured jacket is climbing down the rope-ladder . . .'

He is helped into the frigate's boat, moored at her starboard bow.

One of the Japanese guard-boats circling the vessel is being called over.

'It appears that Deputy Fischer is being given back his freedom . . .'

Jacob has not set foot on the Sea-Ramp in the fifteen months since his arrival. Soon the sampan shall be in hailing distance. Jacob recognises Interpreter Sagara next to Peter Fischer in the prow of the boat. Ponke Ouwehand breaks off the tune he is humming. 'Being out here whets your appetite for the day when we'll put this gaol behind us, doesn't it?'

Jacob thinks about Orito, flinches, and says, 'Yes.'

Marinus is filling a sack with slimy handfuls of seaweed. 'Porphyra umbilicalis. The pumpkins shall be delighted.'

Twenty yards away, Peter Fischer cups his hands and calls out to his welcoming party: 'So I turn my back for twenty-four hours, and "Acting-Chief de Zoet" stages a coup d'etat coup d'etat!' His levity is stiff and prickly. 'Will you be as quick into my coffin, I wonder?'

'We had no notion,' Ouwehand calls back, 'how long we might be left headless.'

'The head is back, "Acting-Deputy Ouwehand"! What a flurry of promotions! Is the monkey now the cook?'

'Good to see you back, Peter,' Jacob says, 'whatever our titles.'

'Fine to be back, Head Clerk!' The boat scrapes the ramp and Fischer leaps ashore like a conquering hero. He lands awkwardly and slips on the stones.

Jacob tries to help him up. 'How is Chief van Cleef?'

Fischer stands. 'Van Cleef is well, yes. Very well indeed. He sends his warm regards.'

'Mr de Zoet.' Interpreter Sagara is helped out by his servant and a guard. 'We have letter from English Captain to Magistrate. I take now, so no delay. Magistrate summon you later, I think, and he want speak to Mr Fischer also.'

'Oh yes, indeed,' declares Fischer. 'Tell Shiroyama I shall be available after luncheon.'

Sagara bows vaguely to Fischer, firmly to de Zoet, and turns away.

'Interpreter,' calls Fischer after him. 'Interpreter Sagara!'

Sagara turns around at the Sea-Gate, a mild Yes? Yes? on his face. on his face.

'Remember who is the highest-ranking officer on Dejima.'

Sagara's humble bow is not quite sincere. He goes.

'I don't trust that one,' says Fischer. 'He lacks manners.'

'We hope the English treated yourself and the Chief well,' says Jacob.

' "Well"? Better than well, Head Clerk. I have extraordinary news.'

'I am touched by your concern,' Fischer tells the company assembled in the State Room, 'and you will be eager to learn about my sojourn aboard the Phoebus Phoebus. However, protocol must be respected. Therefore: Grote, Gerritszoon, Baert and Oost - and you too, Twomey - you are excused, and may return to work for this morning. I have matters of state to discuss with Dr Marinus, Mr Ouwehand and Mr de Zoet, and decisions to make with careful thought and clear heads. When these matters are settled, you shall be informed.'

'Yer wrong,' states Gerritszoon. 'We're stayin', see.'

The grandfather clock calibrates time. Piet Baert scratches his crotch.

'So while the cat's away,' Fischer pretends to be charmed, 'the mice will set up a National Convention of the People. Very well, then, I shall keep things as easy to understand as possible. Mr van Cleef and I spent the night aboard the HMS Phoebus Phoebus as guests of the English Captain. His name is John Penhaligon. He is here on the orders of the British Governor-General at Fort William in Bengal. Fort William is the principal base of the English East India Company, which--' as guests of the English Captain. His name is John Penhaligon. He is here on the orders of the British Governor-General at Fort William in Bengal. Fort William is the principal base of the English East India Company, which--'

'We all know what Fort William is,' interjects Marinus.

Fischer smiles for a long second. 'Captain Penhaligon's orders are to negotiate a trade treaty with the Japanese.'

'Jan Compagnie trades in Japan,' says Ouwehand. 'Not John Company.'

Fischer picks his teeth. 'Ah, yes, some more news. Jan Compagnie is dead as a doornail. Yes. At midnight on the last day of the eighteenth century, whilst some of you you -' he happens to glance at Gerritszoon and Baert '- were singing rude songs about your Germanic ancestors on Long Street, the Ancient Honourable Company ceased to exist. Our employer and paymaster is bankrupt.' -' he happens to glance at Gerritszoon and Baert '- were singing rude songs about your Germanic ancestors on Long Street, the Ancient Honourable Company ceased to exist. Our employer and paymaster is bankrupt.'

The men are dumbstruck. 'Similar rumours,' says Jacob, 'have--'

'I read it in the Amsterdamsche Courant Amsterdamsche Courant in Captain Penhaligon's cabin. There: in black and white and plain Dutch. Since January the first we've been working for a phantom.' in Captain Penhaligon's cabin. There: in black and white and plain Dutch. Since January the first we've been working for a phantom.'

'Our back-wages?' Baert, horrified, bites his hand. 'My seven years' wages?'

'It was clever of you,' nods Fischer, 'to piss, whore and gamble most of it away, with hindsight. At least you enjoyed it.'

'But our pay's our pay,' insists Oost. 'Our pay's safe, isn't it, Mr de Zoet?'

'Legally, yes. But "legally" implies courts, compensation, lawyers and time. Mr Fischer--'

'I believe the Chief Resident's books record my promotion to "Deputy"?'

'Deputy Fischer, did the Courant Courant article mention compensation and debt?' article mention compensation and debt?'

'For the dear Dutch Motherland's shareholders, yes, but about the pawns out in the Asian factories, there was not one peep. On the subject of the dear Dutch Motherland, I have more news. A Corsican general, Bonaparte, has made himself First Consul of the French Republic. This Bonaparte doen't lack ambition! He conquered Italy, mastered Austria, looted Venice, subdued Egypt, and intends to turn the Low Countries into a departement departement of France. I am sorry to report, gentlemen, that your Motherland is to be married off and shall lose her name.' of France. I am sorry to report, gentlemen, that your Motherland is to be married off and shall lose her name.'

'The English are lying!' exclaims Ouwehand. 'That's impossible!'

'Yes, the Poles said much the same words before their country vanished.'

Jacob imagines a garrison of French troops in Domburg.

'My brother Joris,' says Baert, 'served under that Frenchman, that Bonaparte. They said he'd done a deal with the Devil at the Bridge of Arcole, an' that's how he crushes whole armies. The deal din't cover Boney's men, mind. Joris was last seen on a spike at the Battle o' the Pirrymids, minus his body.'

'My sincere condolences, Baert,' says Peter Fischer, 'but Bonaparte is now your Head of State and cares not a tinker's fart about your back-wages. So. We have two surprises so far. No more Company and no more independent Netherlands. Here is a third surprise, especially interesting for Head Clerk de Zoet, I think. The pilot and adviser who guided the Phoebus Phoebus to Nagasaki Bay is Daniel Snitker.' to Nagasaki Bay is Daniel Snitker.'

'But he's in Java,' Ouwehand finds his tongue first, 'on trial.'