1636: Seas of Fortune (8 page)

“Now what?” Jan asked. David was the squadron commander.

“Captain Schellinger, please fire one cannon. Just powder, no shot. I am returning to the
Walvis
for the night.”

“Yes, sir.”

Heyndrick looked at David quizzically.

“I am telling the Indians that I would like to negotiate,” David explained.

“Negotiate? With those savages? After they massacred our people?”

“We will hear what they have to say. After that, there will be time enough to take vengeance, if that is called for. Trouble is . . .” David bit his lip.

“Yes?”

“I knew Gilles Hosset, God rest his soul. I don’t like to speak ill of any man, but never was there a man less suited for command. Slow of thought and quick to anger.”

* * *

The next morning, David was awakened early.

“Captain, the lookout saw a column of smoke. From the pine woods outside Zwaanandael.”

“I’ll be right up.”

David checked his pistols and cutlass, and came out onto the main deck. He pulled out a spyglass, a Dutch invention. “I don’t see anyone in the open. Still, we accomplish nothing by sitting here. Mr. Vogel, on the double, please!” Vogel had been the interpreter on the
Walvis
’ last trip to Zwaanandael.

“First mate, detail seven men to join us in the longboat. All fully armed, muskets and cutlasses, if you please. Heyndrick, kindly bring your shotgun. Come along, Vogel.”

Some minutes later, they were past the breakers, in water they could wade in. David had decided not to land until he had seen the reception committee. They waited, sure that they were under observation, but saw nothing but the lapping of the waves on the beach, the wheeling of the birds in the sky, and the caress of the wind on the branches of the woods beyond.

The gulls cried overhead, like lost souls, and still the Dutchmen waited for the Indians to reveal themselves. David pointed out a particularly large bird to his cousin. “Heyndrick, bring that fowl down.” Heyndrick, readied his shotgun, and waited for the gull to fly near. He fired, and the hapless bird fell to the beach below. The crewmen cheered, and an answering cry came from some riverside weeds.

The Indians rose, with broken stalks littering their long hair. They waved their arms, and shouted something. The sailors gripped their weapons with white-knuckled hands.

“What are they saying?” David asked Vogel.

Vogel grinned. “They applaud our Heyndrick’s prowess as a hunter.” At this, the boat party gave its own cheer, and relaxed a bit.

David held up his hand to quiet them. “Tell the Indians to come down to the beach.”

Vogel cupped his hands, and shouted this invitation. The Indians conversed among themselves, and then answered. “They say to come ashore.”

“Hah! It will be a fine day in Hell before I do that. Tell them the tide is too low now, we will visit them at high tide tomorrow morning.”

* * *

At dawn, David transferred to the
Eikhoorn
, and had it sail close to the fort, into waters a fathom or two deep. He had Vogel urge the Indians to come to him. “Tell them we have a fine present for one who comes to us.”

One fidgeted, and then walked slowly toward them, hands open. He stood on the strand for a moment, watching them. Then he swam out, coming alongside. “I am Temakwei—the Beaver. Because I am a good swimmer. What do you have for me?”

The crew threw down a rope to him, and he climbed up. David handed him a blouse and breeches. Temakwei held each up, and compared it to what David and his shipmates were wearing. At last he laughed, and pulled them on.

David held up a bottle. “Perhaps you’d care for some schnapps?”

* * *

“So Temakwei, why did your people slay mine?”

“Your
sakima
Hosset put a metal shield on the gate of your village. It was small, but very beautiful. It showed a great golden panther with the sky behind it. It walked on two feet like a man, and carried a white knife in one paw, and seven white arrows in another.”

“He means a lion, not a panther. And a sword, not a knife,” said Heyndrick. David shushed him.

“One of our chiefs, Taminy, thought that it was a great waste that this pretty thing sit on a gate. So he borrowed it to make a tobacco pipe, so we could smoke it together and honor the peace between our people.”

Heyndrick reinterpreted this statement. “Stole it, he means.”

David sighed. “The Indians don’t have much of a property concept. Stealing isn’t a crime, so far as they’re concerned. It is a chance to demonstrate that they are cleverer than you. If you don’t like it, steal it back.”

“Your Hosset said many bad words to us. He told us we had taken a . . . I don’t know the words.”

“Coat of arms?”

“That sounds right. A ‘Koh-Tah-Ahms’ of the Dutch people. He told us that this was a terrible insult to your chief of chiefs, and to your Manitou, your great spirit. That the thief must be punished.

“That was when we realized that we had committed a great wrong. Clearly, the ‘Koh-Tah-Ahms’ was strong medicine. To take it away was to hurt the Dutch people, our friends.

“So, the next day, we brought the head of Taminy to your Hosset.”

Heyndrick’s eyes widened. He started to speak, but David raised a finger in admonition, and Heyndrick subsided.

“Your chief told us that he didn’t mean for us to kill Taminy, only to make him bring back the spirit-shield and apologize. Still, he was pleased that we had punished Taminy, and he sent us home with pleasant words. But the brothers and sons of Taminy were angry that Taminy was dead. And the sister-sons of Taminy were angry, too. They waited and waited, but Hosset did not send them any wampum to atone for the death of Taminy.

“It was an insult not only to Taminy’s kin, but to his entire clan.”

“And then what?”

Temakwei fidgeted. “They did what they must. They wiped out the dishonor in blood.”

* * *

David and Heyndrick watched Temakwei jump off the
Eikhoorn
, and swim back to shore. They couldn’t see any other Indians, but they knew there had to be some there.

“So much blood spilled, over a stupid piece of tin,” David said. “I hesitate to waste more.”

Heyndrick protested. “But surely you can’t let the Indians think that they can get away with pillaging our colonies.”

“That’s true. But we could go on playing tit-for-tat indefinitely. Like Italian families with a vendetta. And we aren’t going to make a profit that way.

“So we need to be conciliatory, but at the same time, show we are strong. Temakwei is carrying our message to the chiefs. When they come, we will give them a demonstration of the power of our cannon, it will seem pretty strong magic to them, I think. Then we will offer them presents, propose a peace pact, and pass around the pipe.”

Heyndrick looked skeptical. “You think that will solve everything?”

“No. We must forgive, but not forget. We must be friendly, but always on guard. They will trade with the strong, but prey upon the weak.

“In which regard, to be blunt, they aren’t very different from us.”

Grantville, Winter Break, 1632

Maria had actually welcomed the coming of winter. It gave her the chance to catch up on her pleasure reading. In particular, she was finally able to tackle Elva’s book on woman artists.

Her friend Prudentia’s mother, Artemisia, was in it, of course. And Maria was pleased to see that the book mentioned the work of Clara Peeters, a Flemish still-life specialist, and Judith Leyster, the portraitist and genre painter from Haarlem.

But what truly caught Maria’s attention was the description of two other artists. One was Rachel Ruysch of Amsterdam. Her father was Anthony Frederick Ruysch, a professor of anatomy and botany. Much like Maria’s father. And apparently, he passed on some of his scientific knowledge to her, because the book said, “Ruysch brought a thorough knowledge of botany and zoology to her work.”

Maria also thought much about Maria Sibylla Merian. She had come to art by the more usual path, being the daughter of an engraver and the step-daughter of a flower painter. Merian had published her first book, a collection of flower engravings, when she was only twenty-three—younger than Maria. But Merian’s great passion was to understand and depict the life cycles of insects, especially moths and butterflies.

In 1699, Merian actually traveled to fabulous Suriname, in South America, on what the Americans would call a “government grant.” The result was her masterpiece,
Metamorphosis Insectorum Surinamensium
.

“Lolly, about the Ring of Fire. I know that it has already changed history. Gustavus Adolphus doesn’t die at the battle of Lützen, and all that. What happens to the people who would have been born after the Ring of Fire? Are they still destined to come into the world?”

“It depends on when and where they were born,” Lolly replied. “The effect of the Ring of Fire diffuses out from Grantville. We think it would change the weather around the world in a matter of weeks, even though actual news would travel more slowly.

“And it doesn’t take much to change who is born. A soldier leaves his mistress a day earlier than in the old time line. A couple fails to meet, and the two marry other people. A person’s father or mother dies earlier than in the old time line, because an army takes a different path, or a plague ship comes to a different port.”

“The people I am thinking of, one was born in 1664, and the other in 1647.”

“Not a chance, then. Even if their parents were alive in 1631, and married to each other, they will have different children.”

After Lolly left, Maria thought further about the question she had raised. Neither Rachel Ruysch nor Maria Sibylla Merian would ever brighten the world. Their contributions would be limited to the fragments imported from the old time line.

The more Maria thought about it, the more it seemed that, though born in an earlier age, she was their intellectual heir, and that it was her duty to posterity to make a similar contribution. And, with her father and husband both dead, she had a degree of independence that was unusual for women her age.

Suriname. Also known as Guiana. The Wild Coast of South America, between the Maracaibo and the Amazon. There was a Dutch settlement there, she was sure. Her ex-husband, a merchant, had mentioned it more than once. And Catarina, Adolph’s wife, was from a commercial family; she and her kin might know more.

Perhaps it was worth consulting one of the Abrabanels, too. Maria could do more than just draw nature, she could collect it. Was there something in Suriname that the up-timers wanted badly enough that they might pay to send Maria there to look for it? The Abrabanels would know, she was sure. And, as the daughter of a Dutch doctor, she didn’t have the usual Christian prejudice against Jews. Well, some, she admitted, but after more than a year in Grantville, she had been forced to rethink a lot of what she had been taught.

And she mustn’t forget that the library might have books, or at least encyclopedia entries, that would reveal facts not naturally known to anyone of her time.

What would Adolph say if she announced that she was going to Suriname? Even if she were joining a Dutch household there? Oh, the conniptions he would have.

That was just the icing on the cake, as far as Maria was concerned.

Delaware River, near modern Philadelphia, January 1633

David took command of the shallow-drafted
Eikhoorn
, and left its former skipper, Jan, with the crew of the
Walvis
, to build and run a shore-based whaling operation. He also had the
Walvis
and its boats, should he need to take refuge from the Indians.

David, in the
Eikhoorn
, sailed up the Zuidt River, and, near Jacques Island, the going became rough. The temperature dropped sharply overnight, while they were at anchor, and, the next day, the nineteenth of January, they found the river to have almost entirely crusted over with ice. They had to pick their way, looking for open leads or, if those were absent, areas where the ice was thin enough for them to crash through. The ship shuddered at each attempt, making the crew more than a bit nervous. If the ship foundered, they wouldn’t survive long in the icy water.

“A whale (
walvis
) would be more at home here than a squirrel (
eikhoorn
),” David joked. The crew laughed, but their mood soon turned somber again. David tried heading back downriver, but the ice there seemed even thicker.

David pointed out a creek to the helmsman. “Turn in there.”

“You think our chances are better in that kill?” Heyndrick asked.

“Yes, the current’s stronger, that will tend to keep it from freezing solid. Unless it gets colder.” The
Eikhoorn
crept into this uncertain haven.

The Dutchmen needed to conserve food, if possible, so David sent out a hunting party, led by Heyndrick. He was whistling, slightly off-key, when he returned, and all of his followers had something in hand.

David thumped him on the back. “The hunting went well, I see.”

“Very well. We bagged several wild turkeys. Look at this one.” He held up a carcass. “Must be a good thirty-six pounds.

“And that’s not all. There are wild grapevines everywhere, so we did some picking.”

“Hopefully we won’t be here long enough for the grapes to ferment. But let’s call this creek ‘Wyngard Kill.’”

The weather worsened, and great chunks of ice came down the creek and battered their hull. David had the crew cut down some trees and construct a raft upstream of the
Eikhoorn
, to serve as a bumper.

On the third of February, the weather relented, and the
Eikhoorn
headed back toward the coast. But the respite was a short one. Ice reappeared, and once again the
Eikhoorn
took refuge in a swift-running kill. This cold spell was worse than the one before, and even the creek froze over.

They were trapped in the ice. But at least there were no signs of Indians nearby, hostile or otherwise.

Not until a week later. Fifty Indians, carrying their canoes, walked across the frozen river.