Sebald de Weert (d. 1603) was a Dutch Vice-Admiral whose visits to Atjeh bookend a remarkable and ultimately fatal attempt at alliance with the King of Kandy (Ceylon). He is a connecting figure between two of Godee Molsbergen’s Atjeh-related chapters: his fleet called at Atjeh on its outward voyage, his ship touched there on its return, and Atjeh envoys were aboard his vessels as witnesses when he was murdered at the Kandyan court in April 1603.
The fleet of fifteen ships under Wybrand van Waerwyck
In late 1602 three Zeeland ships under De Weert — belonging to a fleet of fifteen ships under Wybrand van Waerwyck destined for the Archipelago and China — arrived at Batticaloa on Ceylon’s east coast. Soon afterwards two ships left for Atjeh, while the third waited for De Weert, who — having heard that Spilbergh had been well received at the Kandyan court — wanted to go himself to do business, since there was no cargo to be had at Batticaloa. De Weert covered the 225 km from Batticaloa to Kandi on six elephants.
The Kandyan alliance
The Maharaja of Kandi — Don Joao d’Áustria, so named after a deceased brother of the Portuguese King — received De Weert with honours and great ceremony. In the audience hall hung the equestrian portrait of Prince Maurits at the Battle of Nieuwpoort, painted by Spilbergh’s gift. De Weert set out his purpose: friendship with all the Princes of India and free trade with their subjects; the Portuguese would be opposed. The King interrupted to say that no better beginning could be made than just in Ceylon.
After four months’ preparation, De Weert promised to fetch help; the King promised to gather pepper and cinnamon. The Vice-Admiral was visited at his lodging by the great officers and showered with gifts; in the evening there was another reception at the Palace, and the Maharaja embraced his guest so heartily “dat den stoelen zevenentiende-eeuwer verklaarde, dat hij veel liever van een fraaye vrijster ware omhelsd geweest” — that the stout seventeenth-century man declared he would much rather have been embraced by a pretty girl.
The oath with the sword
The Kandyan court cultivated De Weert’s one weak point — an over-sensitive love of approbation — by sending the King’s children to play with him and to offer gifts. De Weert, deeply moved, offered his own sword — so dear to him — to the crown prince. That was the great moment. Don Joao swore an eternal covenant with the Dutch and declared himself weapon-brother of “Zijne Princelyke Excellentie Graaf Maurits van Nassau.” Had the fleet of fifteen ships lain off Batticaloa instead of one, “hoe anders was dan misschien onze koloniale geschiedenis geworden” — how differently perhaps our colonial history would have turned out.
Return via Atjeh
De Weert, however, had only one ship. He hobbled back on his elephant to Batticaloa, sailed to Atjeh — “waar niets bijzonders voorviel” (where nothing particular happened) — and returned to Ceylon with seven ships. Atjeh envoys were aboard, who would be able to tell of Dutch power at the Kandyan court. By the end of April 1603 the fleet lay again off Batticaloa, where the local Radja was very friendly.
The fatal banquet at Batticaloa
An incident born of ignorance — “all evil arises from ignorance,” Socrates had already said — destroyed the good mood. The Dutch, supplied with no cattle because Hindu doctrine forbids their slaughter, went themselves to provision and shot some cattle in the woods. The offered payment the Sinhalese naturally refused. Letters came from Kandi requesting a meeting inland with the King. De Weert, considering this a waste of time, chose to sail for Galle. Four Portuguese ships that appeared were made prize; De Weert had promised them their lives and sent two vessels with the prisoners to Negapatnam. Had he known that the Maharaja wanted exactly those prisoners for an exchange with a son in enemy hands, the promise would not have been made. As it was, he kept his word like a man.
The King’s trust was shaken — the news of the cattle-killing had already angered him. He came to the palace at Batticaloa and invited De Weert and his entourage to a meal, all the while preserving the appearance of great friendship. The Atjeh ambassador, “die meende aan boord niet eerbiedig genoeg te zijn behandeld” (who thought he had not been treated with sufficient respect on board), egged him on. At the meal, when De Weert had sent away all but 25 of his men, the King’s refusal to come aboard the ships made the Vice-Admiral irritable. When the King said he must return to Kandi because his wife was so alone there, De Weert made a joke in poor taste, insulting to the Queen. The tone at table had become looser with toasts, “want de Vice-Admiraal was vrijmoedig tegen den Koning met te spreken” — for the Vice-Admiral was free-spoken with the King.
After De Weert’s words the King rose in anger and said as he left: “Bringt me dien hond!” — Bring me that dog! The Vice-Admiral sprang up, called his men, but a Sinhalese nobleman standing behind him cleft his skull, against the King’s order. When the King learned what had happened he said: “doodt dan het gevolg ook maar!” — then kill the retinue too. The Sinhalese also attacked the soldiers on shore, so that the Dutch losses were 47 dead and 6 wounded.
Significance for Atjeh
For Atjeh’s history, De Weert’s role is chiefly that of the Vice-Admiral whose fleet called at Atjeh twice during the great outward voyage and the Ceylonese interlude — and who carried Atjeh envoys as far as the Kandyan court, where they witnessed his murder. The episode is also a reminder of how densely interconnected the early Dutch Asian network was: a single Vice-Admiral could touch Atjeh, Batticaloa, Kandi and the Portuguese prize-courts in a single voyage, and the fatal banquet at Batticaloa had an Atjeh ambassador at the King’s ear.
See Also
Source
Tijdens de O.I. Compagnie, by Dr. E. C. Godee Molsbergen, Oud-Hoogleeraar, Landsarchivaris te Batavia (Amsterdam: N.V. Swets & Zeitlinger Boekhandel en Uitgevers Mij., 1932), chapters XXXIX (“Ceylon en de Portugeezen. Sebald de Weert. Marcellus de Boschhouwer”) and XL, pp. 142–146 of the numbered-letter sequence.