1673 The Dutch Return

In the early hours of the fourth of March, 1673, five Dutch man-o-wars appeared off the tiny Island of St Helena. Two of the ships patrolled the island’s perimeter; three including the flagship, anchored off Jamestown. From the flagship, a longboat was launched with a uniformed officer of rank seated in the stern. Amidships was a pole bearing at the top the Dutch flag and below it a white flag declaring the officer’s intention to talk terms. 

By the time the landing party was nearing the dock, Governor Anthony Beale was standing at the foot of the jetty, casually at attention. Next to him, an NCO held a standard at arm’s length upon which the union jack fluttered uncaring in the warm trade winds. On Beale’s left stood Lieutenant Davis, Commander of the 51st East India Company Regiment, St Helena. Behind them stood a platoon of soldiers, rifles shouldered. 

The Dutch officer and four crew tied off the longboat, climbed the ladder to the landing and strode in unison to where the governor was standing with what Governor Anthony Beale later described in his report as “smug purpose”. 

The officer in charge spoke in broken English. “I am Commander Hans De Clerke of the Dutch East India Company. I am here representing His Highness, King Leopold the Fourth of Holland, who demands your immediate surrender of the Island of Saint Helena, a rightful possession of Holland, and the departure forthwith of yourself and all military and East India Company personnel.”

De Clerke paused then, in part to allow Governor Beale the opportunity to respond as any gentleman would, and partly to collect himself for the last half of his fastidiously rehearsed speech. This was, after all, a historic moment. Any error on his part would spell the end of his burgeoning career.

Beale took the hint and spoke. “I am Governor Anthony Beale, chief representative of the English East India Company on the Island of St Helena and by the terms of the company charter, agent in turn for the British government. First, on behalf of the British government and the people of St Helena, I  wish to thank you commander, for your decent approach to this matter. If we can resolve this without bloodshed, why not? 

You have had a long voyage. No doubt you are parched. Might I suggest that you and I alone continue this conversation, as a dialogue between gentlemen, in the pub across the way.” Beale turned and pointed to the Pelican Pub, the island’s only watering hole, not 200 feet from where they stood. 

The Governor’s informality and affable nature caught De Clerke off guard. This man was not the boorish haughty Englishman he’d come to loathe. More likely he was an ineffectual puppy who, through flattery and platitudes, was promoted beyond his capabilities. When the company discovered their error, the commander mused, it ‘promoted’ Beale to the loneliest outpost in the British Empire where he could do no harm, to the rest of the British Empire, at least. 

For a brief moment, De Clerke said nothing. Should he ignore Beale and finish his speech or accept his invitation and learn more about this curious man. After what seemed like minutes to those present, yet in truth were seconds, De Clerke replied, his words were slow and measured, and edged with the tone of a man intent on being in charge, “I accept sir, but be forewarned. This is not a negotiation. My orders are explicit and unalterable.”

“Of course. I understand commander. Lieutenant, see that the pub is vacated immediately save for the cook and serving maid. Place four guards on the establishment, two front, two back, matched, with the commander’s permission, with four of his own men. Then kindly stand down.” With a smile and raising his arm in a gesture of welcome, Beale offered up a beguiling “Shall we?”

Governor Beale knew that St Helena was lost. Their troops were hopelessly outmanned and outgunned, their fortifications a mockery. Yet perhaps there was room to bargain for the well-being of St Helenians and reach agreement on an orderly departure for those who must go. Britain will settle this score soon enough, he thought. His job was to save lives.

The two men sat by a window in the pub, De Clerke ill at ease, Simpson relaxed. The Governor’s lively face and expressive hands could well have led the ill-informed to believe that the man sitting across from him was an old and valued friend. “Breakfast commander?”

“Thank you yes. I’ve had my fill of beetle-infested hard-tack.”

“I’m sure you have. Elizabeth, kindly drum up a hearty bacon and egg breakfast for Commander De Clerke and me, and tea forthwith if you please.”

“Righ’ away Your Grace.”

Beale shrewdly kept the conversation light. He told the commander his grandmother was Dutch and that as a boy during peacetime, he had visited her often in Holland and loved it. He tried out his smattering of Dutch on the commander who grimaced, laughed and corrected him. They found commonalities among their favourite authors and artists and both loved to tramp the high country when the rare occasion presented itself. 

Breakfast was a delight beyond the commander’s imaginings — yes, salted pork came his way on occasion, but never eggs and never fresh bread. And tea rarely reached his level in the social order. An hour and a half had passed by the time De Clerke wiped up the last of breakfast with a morsel of bread. As he did so, he spoke. “Governor Beale, my orders are to plant the Dutch flag and take formal possession of St Helena. How I do so is entirely up to me. With your active cooperation, we can make this process quick and painless and, I should say, bloodless. Are you willing to cooperate to that end?”

It was Beale’s turn to pause, his face, for the first time, creased with concern. “You and I, commander, are the servants of our nations. We find ourselves enemies in this time and place, yet in the midst of rubbing shoulders over breakfast, we discover we are much the same — fellow human beings with similar interests and desires. As I see it, my foremost duty is to serve and protect my people. You no doubt believe your duty to be the same. As for the territory of St Helena, that is for others to sort out. 

Yes commander. If you can offer those of us who must leave safe passage, and if you can provide assurance that those who stay will be fairly treated, and if you require no acknowledgements from me, verbal or written, which state or imply that Britain is forfeiting possession of St Helena, then you have my full and active cooperation.”

“We have a gentlemen’s agreement then, Governor. Let us set to the task. I thank you for this breakfast sir. It was exquisite. Perhaps, on another occasion during peace, we shall meet again. Breakfast will be on me.” 

 As agreed, the evacuation was quick and the turn-over without incident. Governor Beale and his entourage embarked on the HMS Defender and left for Brazil, the nearest friendly port. Military personnel departed on the HMS Rage with orders to head north on the lengthier voyage to London with all speed and report the incident. 

When the Admiralty back in London heard the news, a meeting of Who’s Who was quickly arranged:

8:30am September 14, 1673. Board Room, Admiralty office, London. Present: Chief of Staff, Admiralty, Sir Henry Clarendon. To his right, Chair of the Honourable East India Company, Sir Charles Jessop and continuing right Jessop’s department heads: for trade, Richard Atwell, for military Col George Friars, for Marine Transport, Mr Edward Gibbons, and for Public Works Mr Sethford Jones. 

Sir Henry chaired the meeting. “Gentlemen. I must tell you that this news of the loss of the Island of St Helena leaves me apoplectic. Suffice it to say I am stunned that this has been allowed to happen. How is it possible that this little island, which we took for ourselves when the Portuguese and the Dutch saw little use for it, is back in Dutch hands. Back in Dutch hands, gentlemen because, no doubt, they realized their error — the error being that their colony on the Cape is ill-positioned to serve as a re-provisioning stop for their far east trade. 

In other words, until this incident, they were hooped gentlemen, or at the very least, severely disadvantaged. Without St Helena, they have been obliged to re-provision on the African coast, adding foul winds and a full two weeks to their voyages. St Helena is the key to our getting the upper hand on the far east trade and squeezing the Dutch out. The stakes are incalculable.

On top of that gentlemen, I needn’t remind you of the critical importance of St Helena as a base for naval operations from which and by which we can achieve naval and trade supremacy in the Far East.

Please. Get this island back!”

Those events never happened. However, something much more remarkable did. The Governor of St Helena, Anthony Beale, escaped St Helena on an English ship headed for Rio. En route, the ship came upon a Royal Navy convoy under the command of Captain Munden. Once Beale had related the story of Dutch capture, Munden took it upon himself to turn the convoy around and head directly for St. Helena. With great effort under the stealth of night, they landed, climbed the steep cliffs to gain a position overlooking the fort and forced a bloodless Dutch surrender. Brilliant. Still, it’s comforting to imagine the other.