Chapter 4: The Indische Bank – 1710–1720
In Amsterdam, Cornelius Van der Berg had grown old but not idle. His counting house on the Herengracht had become the unofficial embassy of a distant colony. Letters arrived from Stadthaven, carried by ships that now made the journey in six weeks instead of five months. He read every word, and he wrote back with advice, warnings, and encouragement.
One evening in 1710, Cornelius received an unexpected visitor. The man was tall, elegantly dressed, with a Scottish burr that marked him as an outsider in the Dutch Republic. He introduced himself as John Law, the financier who had charmed the French regent and was now promoting a bold new system of paper money.
"I have heard of your island, Monsieur Van der Berg," Law said, bowing. "And your bank."
Cornelius gestured to a chair. "You are the man who wants to replace gold with paper."
Law smiled. "I want to create credit, not merely hoard metal. Your colony has silver. It has land. It has a future. Why not issue notes against that land? You could fund a hundred new settlers for every one that sails."
"And when the notes are presented for redemption?" Cornelius asked. "When a bad harvest or a war sends panic through the markets?"
"Confidence," Law said, "is the only true currency. If men believe in the paper, the paper becomes as good as gold."
Cornelius shook his head. "I have seen too many bubbles in this city. The Mississippi scheme, the South Sea—they are built on sand. My bank will hold silver in its vaults, forty percent of every guilder we issue. It is less profitable, but it is honest."
Law rose, a flicker of irritation in his eyes. "You are a cautious man, Van der Berg. Caution builds fortunes, but it does not build empires."
"Then I will build my empire slowly," Cornelius replied. "And when your paper schemes collapse, my silver will still be here."
They parted without warmth. Years later, when Law's Mississippi Bubble burst and the South Sea Bubble followed, Cornelius wrote a letter to his son: The Scottish prophet came to me with dreams of paper empires. He is now in exile, his name a curse. Our silver vaults have never been fuller. Let that be a lesson to us all.
In Stadthaven, the Indische Bank opened its doors in a modest brick building on the main square. Johan appointed Pieter de Vries, a master shipbuilder from Hoorn, as the bank's first commercial agent. De Vries was a short, barrel‑chested man with hands calloused from years of hauling timber. He knew the value of a guilder better than any banker.
"Pieter," Johan said one morning, "you are to approve loans for shipbuilding. My father's bank in Amsterdam will back you, but you must be strict. No speculation."
De Vries grunted. "I have been building ships since I was a boy. I know which men are honest and which are not. Leave the lending to me."
Within a decade, the Indische Bank had financed a merchant fleet of thirty vessels, all built in Zeelandia. The Guilder Zeelandia, backed by silver and the bank's conservative reserves, became the preferred currency for trade in the eastern Indian Ocean. Merchants from the Persian Gulf to the Mughal Empire deposited their silver in Stadthaven, trusting the bank's reputation.
When Isaac de Pinto, a Portuguese‑Dutch banker of great reputation, visited the counting house in 1720, he examined the ledgers and the silver reserves. Then he looked at Cornelius with admiration. "You have done something no one thought possible. You have created a currency that even the English trust."
Cornelius gestured to the chests of silver behind him. "It is not trust, Monsieur de Pinto. It is metal. Men may lie, but silver does not."