1633

by Eric Flint

  Captain de Groot strained to make some sense out of the lights from shore. Ever since the decision to try and reach New Amsterdam after the defeat at Dunkirk, he’d worried that they might not reach the colony before their enemies. It appeared that the worst had happened. After a hurried discussion with Captain van den Broecke, he used the fog and darkness as cover to send his last remaining boat ashore with his first officer to scout the situation. The boat was now overdue and he was worried.

  Visibility was down to ten yards. Every swirl of the fog brought visions of a French or English ship bearing down with guns run out. Finally, he could wait no longer. He picked up a speaking trumpet, and stepped to the railing. He made sure the trumpet was directed at the Rotterdam's aftercastle, away from shore and possible foes, and hailed the ship. "Joris, my boat is overdue and I have no others left to send. Can you send one? We must know what's happening." He placed the trumpet to his ear to catch the reply. Instead of the expected answer, a laugh could be heard close by on the water. He reversed the trumpet and hailed the Rotterdam again. "Hold off, we've heard something." Slowly a lantern became visible through the fog. It came roughly from the direction the ship's boat had taken earlier when it headed toward shore.

  "Ahoy, the Friesland! Where the hell are you?" The shout was loud enough to carry across the harbor. It was the first officer, Pieter de Beers, and he was obviously drunk.

  De Groot raced to the opposite rail, fear for his ship making a cold knot in his gut. A drunken sailor revealing their presence to possible enemies was the last thing he needed. If the French or English had somehow beaten them to New Amsterdam, they could be facing serious opposition. Surprise would be their only hope if they were outnumbered. The boat bumped alongside and he hissed down at it, "Quiet you fool! You'll give us away. Come aboard and make your report." Oars creaked loudly as they were shipped and stored. Tjaert silently gnashed his teeth in frustration at the commotion.

  De Beers boarded slowly, holding onto a rum bottle. When he reached the deck, he swayed more than the wave motion would account for and there was a broad smile on his face. Tjaert could smell the rum half way across the deck. De Beers gave an exaggerated salute, still holding the bottle. "Everything is fine, sir. The town is just celebrating a successful harvest. The director general extends his greetings . . . " He raised the rum bottle. " . . . and an invitation to both crews to join the celebration." He extended the bottle to his captain.

  "Very well, Mr. de Beers." In his relief at the news, Tjaert reflexively accepted the bottle and took a small taste, and then a longer swallow. The rum sent a warmth to his stomach that drove away the chills of the night fog and his fears. "It seems you've already received your share of the invitation. You'll be staying on board." He turned to the watch officer by the companionway. "Have the men secure from quarters and pass the word over to the Rotterdam that everything's fine. Then tell off some men for an anchor watch. Everyone else can go ashore. After what we've gone through the past months, they deserve it. We’ll see about fresh provisions and water in the morning."

  Word of the invitation spread quickly and sailors appeared on the deck ready to disembark, as if by magic. They ended up milling about for some time. The battle damage from Dunkirk had left the Friesland with only one usable boat. The captain went ashore in the first trip. It took nearly an hour after he left to finish rowing the remainder of his crew ashore.

  De Groot intended to seek out the Director General, Wouter van Twiller, to learn the latest local news and pass on what had happened at Dunkirk. The director general apparently had the same intention and was waiting for him on the dock. Van Twiller was short, stout, and very well off, judging by the cut of his clothing. "Captain de Groot, to what do we owe this pleasure? It isn't often that two ships of our fleet come to call. I want to assure you our fullest cooperation to make your stay enjoyable. Your men are welcome to join our harvest celebration." He gestured toward the crowd around the fires. "Your first officer mentioned that you have news, but he said I had best talk to you."

  Other well wishers started to drift toward the dock. Tjaert took van Twiller aside. "Is there someplace I could speak to you and your other leaders in private?"

  The look on Tjaert's face sobered up von Twiller quickly. "The church is just up the street. I'm sure no one's there at this time of night." He grabbed a young man who had been hanging back. "Go and fetch Krol, my uncle, Schuyler, and de Vries. Tell them I said for you to fetch them and don't take no for an answer. Bring them to the church! Do you understand?"

  "Yes, Uncle." The youth ran off to the partiers by the bonfire.

  Wouter asked de Groot quietly, "How bad is the news?"

  All voyage-long Tjaert and Joris had debated this very question. The fleet had undoubtedly been defeated at Dunkirk. What remained of it was unknown. They had been in the best position to carry a warning home and had been driven off. Most likely, any survivors had gathered at Batavia or Recife. In any case, what remained of the fleet would need an extensive refit before it go do anything to hinder the Spanish. Tjaert answered, "It's long and involved and I'd rather go through it just once. Suffice it to say that there won't be many Dutch ships calling here for some time.” His face took on a nasty scowl. “I can’t say the same about others."

  Van Twiller pulled on his moustache as the words sank in. The colony was in danger of attack! By the time they reached the church, his stomach was twisted up in knots. The company’s money meant for the city's defenses had gone to other, more profitable, personal ventures. When he had spent those funds, he never dreamed that someday the defenses would actually be necessary.

  It took nearly half an hour to locate and bring the leaders to the meeting. Others had also drifted in and Van Twiller had agreed they might be needed, so they too had stayed. As soon as Captain van den Broecke arrived in the company of the last two members, Tjaert started in with his news. "There's no way to make this easier to hear. Our fleet has suffered a major defeat."

  The New Amsterdam leaders all started to ask questions at once, but Tjaert cut them off with a wave of his hand. "Let me finish first. We met the Spaniards off Dunkirk in September. The action initially began very well for us. "When the French and English fleets arrived, I watched as they passed through our fleet to attack the Spaniards. Without warning, they fired into our fleet instead. It was a slaughter.”

  He paused to let that fact sink in, and then continued. "That’s when I noticed that three Englishmen were definitely heading to engage us. I intended to try and head to port and warn our countrymen of the defeat, but the English had the weather gauge and kept forcing us to the north. They kept coming, but their pursuit seemed halfhearted at best. Eventually we were able to lose them in a fog bank, but by then our only choice was to head here."

  Joris van den Broecke stood up with a beer in hand and slapped Tjaert on the back. "He's too modest. The ploy he used to make our escape was brilliant. As we approached a fog bank, he had a brazier set up in a hatchway and lit off some old, damp gunpowder and rags to smoke like there was a fire below decks. Then he started his men pumping water like they were fighting the fire. As soon as we reached the fog bank, he doused his running lights and launched his long boat with a spar holding decoy lights. The long boat held four casks of old spoiled gunpowder and a slow fuse. When the powder went off, the English must have thought he'd blown up. They broke off the pursuit. I guess they didn't think my Rotterdam was worth any further effort."

  Tjaert was blushing from the praise but added, "I'm not sure their hearts were in it from the beginning. Their fleet seemed more than willing to let the French have the lead from the brief observation we had before the chase. I just gave them an honorable excuse to break off.” The scowl reappeared on his face as he growled, “We may have escaped, but they kept us from carrying a warning home!"

  "But what of our fleet? What happened to it?" Kiliaen van Rensselaer, von Twiller’s uncle, had cut straight to the crux of the matter.

  "I don't know.
" Tjaert answered and Joris just shrugged his shoulders in agreement. "The French treachery destroyed or heavily damaged most of the ships not already closely engaged with the Spaniards. We’d been pounding the Spanish, but had gotten almost as much damage in return. I'd guess only a dozen, at best, were still fit enough to try to escape. In any case, the fleet has ceased to exist as a force to hold off the Spanish and their new allies. What advantage the Spanish take from their victory depends on their leadership. The best we can hope for is that they only close off our ports. Or we may have lost the war. In any case, we’re on our own here."

  "But what do we do here in the colony?" Van Twiller had started as a West Indies Company clerk years before and realized the implications from the loss of the fleet. The Spanish were a long-time enemy, but were more concerned with retaking Holland. The English were fierce trade rivals at sea and the French, rivals in the fur trade. Trade and money were powerful motivators. "Without the fleet, we're at the mercy of any fleet that arrives here. The French and English both have reasons to wish us gone and the means to hurt us here."

  Tjaert paused to ponder his answer. If he phrased it properly, they might follow his lead and he had a vow he wanted to keep. Van Twiller appeared to be a weak leader and might be easily manipulated. "You probably have some time before you have to worry about an attack. We didn't go down without inflicting heavy losses. They'll need to refit before anyone can show up here. We need to ourselves. We both suffered damage to our masts and rigging in the fight and on our voyage. Our bottoms need to be careened and shot holes repaired. Do you have a yard that can handle those types of repairs?"

  "Only if we do it one ship at a time." A slender, elderly man in the back answered. From his weathered appearance, he had once served at sea. De Vries owned the local shipyard and understood the tasks involved. "It doesn't sound like you've suffered any damage we can't handle. Your size may complicate matters. How fast we have to finish will be the biggest concern."

  Tjaert’s spirits rose. "I'd hoped you'd say that. In that case, I'll keep one ship on patrol. We may have been badly hurt at Dunkirk, but we can still take the fight to our enemies. We plan on trolling the Grand Banks for prizes. I intend to hurt the French and English as much as I can. It may be only a pinprick now, but who knows what the future will bring." All of the heads seemed to nod in unison. They hadn’t the faintest idea what they were agreeing to, but at least someone was offering a plan they could follow. Tjaert felt a warm glow inside. I can keep my vow! France and England will pay!

  Tjaert sat quietly, off to the side, as the meeting slowly wound down. He tried to size up who the real leaders were in the colony. Van Twiller might be the Director General, but his earlier impression was confirmed. He certainly was no leader in a crisis. As long as they didn’t seem to be drifting from where he wanted them to end up, he kept quiet.

  During the discussion, De Vries added an extra two weeks to his estimate for repairs when he realized that both ships were fregätten . He announced he would have to extend the slipway to handle the larger size of the ships. In the end, the consensus was that repairs on both ships would last about two months after the slips in the yard were extended.

  By the time the meeting had broken up, Tjaert was relieved that at least the local leaders seemed to grasp the severity of the situation. They would do what needed to be done to get his ships battle worthy again. If only the French and English would cooperate. As they left the church, everyone wanted to get them aside for a private talk. Van Rensselaer’s prestige won out.

  Chapter 4

  November 1633, Copenhagen

  The Chancellor was waiting to greet him as the carriage arrived. Sir Thomas was mildly amused. A successful mission has its advantages! Suddenly, everyone’s your friend. I hope it carries over to this meeting with the King. It was only two days since their return from England with the signed treaty. He instinctively reached down to insure the seals were still intact on the pouch. It was in a lot better condition than he was. The return voyage had been swift, due to an autumn storm. Throughout the voyage, he and the Chancellor had both remained below decks, suffering from seasickness. His stomach still refused to keep down anything with even a hint of grease. Scheel, on the other hand, looked disgustingly cheerful. Maybe the good news has put his master in a good mood too. For our sakes, I hope so. The message summoning him had included a pointed request that his partners also come along. His two passengers were in answer to that request.

  Saul and Reuben Abrabanel had contacted him shortly after he first started putting out feelers to various investors about a planned expedition to the New World. They were younger members of the far flung Abrabanel banking family. They represented a number of interested parties from Germany that were interested in developing resources in the New World. Besides money, they had brought an even more valuable resources, information and access, to the partnership. They had eased the way for his explorer, Captain Luke Foxe, to investigate the records in Grantville. Most people were still not aware of the vast treasure trove of information that had been brought back through the Ring of Fire when Grantville was transported from the future. Where most looked to technology and politics, Sir Thomas recognized that the mining and sailing information available was by far more valuable. But it still took money to develop the opportunities presented by that information.

  Now, if he could just get them to keep their mouths shut and let him make the presentation to King Christian, they might have a chance to get the financing they needed. Their family had money, but not enough, and definitely not the power that would be needed to protect the new settlements. They were young, and brimming over with schemes to make more. Just the combination that would not endear them to royalty. On the carriage ride to the palace, he’d already had to shoot down two hare brained schemes by Reuben. He couldn’t imagine getting Christian to give them money to transport settlers! Simply getting him to invest would be difficult. Their schemes would just scare the King off.

  As they exited the carriage, he made introductions all around. Scheel’s attitude was immediately apparent, two Jews. Even with all their hair brained schemes, Sir Thomas had taken a liking to the Abrabanels and Scheel’s attitude stuck in his craw. Maybe the King should pay for the settlers. It would definitely be a thorn to Scheel, who seemed to feel that all the King’s money was really his. Their host motioned for them to follow him into the castle.

  The Chancellor appeared in a hurry and spoke over his shoulder as they walked. “His Majesty will see you right away. He is short for time today but insisted that your business be included on his schedule. He’s having to deal with some issues on the navy yard in Bremerholm that have arisen.” They followed Scheel, who maintained a brisk pace, until they arrived at the audience chamber. The guards came to port arms, but Scheel stepped around them and opened the door. Inside, King Christian was seated next to a fireplace that was struggling mightily to keep the large room a few degrees above the outside temperature. He waved them in, to sit in the chairs around the walls. Two of his sons were also in attendance, standing near the fire, warming their backsides. By the look of the servants bustling around the room, it had only been opened and a fire laid in the hearth a few minutes before their arrival.

  The King motioned impatiently for the presentation to begin. “Well Christen, You know I’m expected in the main audience chamber in an hour. You insisted that I squeeze that meeting in. We’ll have to be quick about this!”

  “Yes, your Majesty!” Chancellor Scheel nodded for Sir Thomas to start. The two Abrabanels stood quietly in the background.

  Sir Thomas broke the seal on the pouch and presented the signed treaty to the King. “As you suspected your Majesty, the scent of gold convinced Charles to ratify the treaty. He objected to the lack of interest, but finally acquiesced when I pointed out the income he’d received in the meantime. Your analysis of his temperament was brilliant.” It never hurt to acknowledge royalty’s brilliance, especially on the rare occasion it was tru
e. “ As you can see, it’s signed and sealed with the royal seal. Shetland and the Orkneys are again Danish lands.” Sir Thomas stepped back with the bearing of someone who had successfully accomplished a difficult task.

  King Christian contemplated the treaty for a moment, with a slight smile, and then got down to business. “You’ve done all I asked Sir Thomas. Indeed, from what I understand from Christen, at some risk to yourself. Your efforts will be rewarded. I remember our previous discussion on your enterprise and that’s why I asked you to bring your associates. I have some plans for that area, but I would like to hear what you have to propose before I proceed further.”

  Sir Thomas took a deep breath before starting. He was an Englishman to his very soul, and King Charles had made it clear that any attempt to explore the Americas would be viewed as treason. On the other hand, the chance to open up new lands would secure his place in history, not to mention the profits that would result He’d left no hostages for Charles to threaten him with. In a way, he was like Charles; greed had won out.

  “Your Majesty, when I learned of the Ring of Fire and the knowledge that had come from the future, I took a chance. I realized that a man who took advantage of the lessons written in those books and the information they contained could change the world. I sent someone I trusted to research the trade that evolved from the settling of the new lands. I believe you mentioned you knew of Captain Foxe the last time we spoke. He returned with a treasure trove of information. He has already undertaken one successful voyage of discovery and learned the hard lessons that exploiting these new resources will involve. What I propose is an expedition to settle the lands in and around Hudson’s Bay and places between here and there. The wealth of gold, steel, furs and fish that these lands hold is beyond comprehension. My associates,” he pointed to Saul and Reuben, “represent the House of Abrabanel and are the main investors so far in this endeavor. What we intend to do is avoid the mistakes so many others made and insure the settlers are well supplied and numerous enough to survive their first two years. We are seeking support to insure that success.” He paused to let the King ask questions.