1. THE RED RUBY
Chapter 1
A SAIL IN THE STORM
It is stormy at the Cape of Storms, and the waves of the southern Atlantic Ocean come rolling in from the west like green dunes, their manes pure white, and the foam flying before the dreaded south-westerly wind.
The eight men in the long skiff wrestle with the oars to keep the small vessel’s nose into the wind. This is their only protection against the danger of being swallowed by the raging sea, which one moment boils up into breakers that look like mountains and the next moment sinks back into deep, swirling eddies where the foam swirls and where it looks as if the bottom of the great water will be exposed. Their faces and clothes are soaking wet, their hair dripping, and their muscular arms are already numb from wrestling against the stormy sea.
“Keep her straight,” bellows the big, dark man who is rowing here near the bow. “Keep her nose into the wind,” shouts Simon Verbeeck, a large, rough, and powerful man with flowing black hair and an elegant black beard.
“I will keep her nose into the wind,” calls the man at the helm, Wilhelm Rieckert, a smaller but sturdy blond fisherman who has his hands full keeping the Red Ruby of Amsterdam straight in the sea. Occasionally, the tiller of the rudder swings so violently that Wilhelm Rieckert has his hands full just staying in the skiff.
The other men do not speak. They are gripped by fear, here in the raging sea that threatens to swallow them each time. At the command of Simon Verbeeck, they row as best they can, not to make progress, but simply to keep the Red Ruby of Amsterdam straight and true, with its nose straight into the raging waves, straight into the south-westerly wind, because they know that if their fragile vessel turns sideways, then it is all over for them.
They ride over the water hills, they sink into deep eddies, climb out again on the other side, and all the time they are heading downwind, further and further away from the hazy, almost invisible mass of Table Mountain. They know these waters, because they fish here every day, not far from Cape Point. But this is a storm of storms. In their eventful careers at sea, none of these men have ever encountered anything like this. Today they understand again why the Cape of Good Hope is often called the Cape of Storms. If the old Cape ever deserved that name, then it deserves it on this day.
“Where are you drifting us, Simon Verbeeck?” shouts Wilhelm Rieckert here from behind the helm, clamping the tiller with renewed strength. “Are you drifting us to the Arctic Sea?”
The big man in front wipes the salt spray from his eyes.
“I am not drifting you anywhere, I just want us to stay safe. Keep her straight, brother, keep her straight. She must not swing sideways.”
Here in the dark danger, there is even a strange exhilaration in the powerful Simon Verbeeck, because he likes storms. He grew up at sea. He began on one of the large vessels of the Dutch East India Company when he started sailing to the East as the captain’s servant. In those days, he learned everything that could be learned about a ship, on the long voyage from Amsterdam to the beautiful harbours of the East. Between Amsterdam and Java and between Amsterdam and Bombay, Simon Verbeeck learned what the sky looks like when the storms threaten. How you should let the large vessel ride when the wind catches you from behind. How you should hold her when a hurricane strikes you, and how you should, with great patience and courage, confront the danger when the wind suddenly dies down and the sea becomes as calm as a mirror.
Yes, he knows the dangers of the sea very well, this Simon Verbeeck who today is a well-known and prominen
