1821 - The Battle for Palembang

1: Rivers of Babylon (East Indies, Summer 1821)

Mouth of the Musi River, Sumatra

East Indian Archipelago

1821

The rain had stopped that morning, though it had been raining for the last several days. Hard and fast, it had come to disastrous effect to General Henrik Merkus de Kock's Expedition. A week's trip from Batavia had been extended to almost two; the skies shouted and cried as if the spirits of these very islands did not allow the expedition to reach its destination. Aboard the HMNLS Mercurij, sailors began spreading untimely rumours of the fury of the ancient gods of the Nusantara, of games of magick and trickery, and that the expedition was damned, just like last time.

The soldiers embarked on the Mercurij, dressed in their dark blue jackets, unbuttoned to accommodate the heat of the Java Sea, had elected to sit around an elderly sailor. Jon was what they called him. He was an older man, though, despite his age, no neckerchief hung about his neck. He remained an able seaman, not a mate or a petty officer like a good many of his friends. Regardless, he continued telling his tales.

"These waters..." he said in a low voice. "There is no use in praying; too, hope. If it comes for you, then it comes. The natives pray to their ancestors, to their ancient gods, and to their Mohamadean God. They ask them to damn us, and so we shall be damned. This rain... this rain... You feel their voices, the vile spells being cast upon us to curse this voyage..."

The next morning, the officers discovered Jon's 'insubordinate rumour-spreading' which had 'damaged the morale of the men' and thus was punished with double watches for the following week. Perhaps, just perhaps, the reason why the gales and bad weather stopped was because they ceased to talk about it. Regardless, some still retained the opinion that the spirits were real, and the expedition was indeed, damned. Such thoughts faded when later that noon, the Eastern coast of Sumatra came into sight. They all rejoiced at the sight of land. Though not Jon, not Jon; the old sailor simply looked ahead at the land, and he remembered what had happened last time. The smell of fire and smoke remained about his nostrils, and the screams of dying men asking for their mothers too much of a weight to bear.

The soldiers were especially thrilled, excited by the stories they were told. Palembang was an old city. Perhaps as old as Amsterdam, Rotterdam, and London itself. Tales of gold, of the El Dorado of the East, had spread about the ranks. They dreamt of golden chalices and ancient purebred coins. They were told of the immense reserves of riches, of the beauty Palembangese women were known for, of the name they would make for themselves, of becoming heroes for Holland against an ancient and savage enemy.

Though for the higher-ups, Palembang formed the stepping stone for a firm entry into the Sumatran political game.

As the lush and green hedges appeared in the distance, Captain Jean-Luc Raimbaud, Royal Netherlands East Indies Army (NOIL), looked upon the horizon; his eyes did not, however, shimmer with hope, something that was apparent in many of his fresh-faced subordinates. Lieutenant James R.C. Simpson, NOIL, who stood next to him, shared a similar expression. They were both in the great plumed shakoes of the officers' corps, their uniforms of a rich dark blue fresher and fitted much better than their enlisted counterparts. Laces, epaulettes, and shining buttons were the order of the day. Their swords hung over their left thigh, a symbol of rank and gentlemanly status.

"The men seem excited, captain." Said Simpson. "You do not share their sentiments?" He took a roll of tobacco and lit it with a match.

"No, no, James." Said he. For all purposes, they spoke in the French tongue. "You and I know better. So do some of the men. But one thing I am sure," He looked away from the sprawling greeneries. "They do not show signs of fear. These men fear nothing for they have nothing to lose."