Grantville Gazette, Volume VIII Read online

  "What's the problem?" asked Denys Zager. "Make them pay through the nose for the privilege, and send them on their way. It's all profit and no risk."

  "If you are worried about risk, why did you come to the New World?' complained Michael Krueger. "You're Dutch, aren't you? Here you have a heaven-sent opportunity to combine patriotism with profit. Capture the ship, and then sail it to a neutral port—St. Kitt's perhaps—to ransom off the crew and sell the slaves."

  "Do you remember our journey here?" said Bender. " How, as we passed the Canaries, we feared that every ship on the horizon was a Turkish slaver? If it be wrong for them to make you a slave, though you be their enemy, how can it be right for you to take as a slave an African who has done you no harm? Who has not consented to serve you? Can that be Christian?"

  "Of course it is Christian," said Krueger. "Did not Abraham own slaves?"

  "In the time of the up-timers, all of the great nations made slavery unlawful," Maria added. "Every religion condemned it as sinful. History judged us, and found us wanting. Now, through God's grace, we have the opportunity to choose a more righteous path."

  "Have any of you brave souls considered that these slavers are heavily armed, in order to keep the slaves in line, and stand off pirates?

  "I have," said Heinrich. "What of it? Captain Adrienszoon says there probably aren't more than twenty to thirty of them. We outnumber them perhaps ten to one. And we have more and bigger cannon than they do."

  "Wearing a militia badge on your hat doesn't make you an experienced fighter," Zager warned. "They may be more trouble than you think."

  Krueger was unimpressed. "They have been dying of thirst for days, maybe weeks. I doubt they'll put up much of a fight. And we have our own "sea beggars," the crew of the Eikhoorn, and the men the other ships left behind. As well as the town militia. The profit from capturing the ship, and the cargo, is worth the risk."

  "I agree that we should capture the ship, if we can," said Carsten. "But it is wrong to keep slaves. And anyway, slaves aren't very productive. Give them farmland and tools, and we and they will both profit more in the long run."

  "I agree," said Johann Mueller, the glassmaker. He had been doing well enough trading beads with the Indians.

  "Give them farmland," said Zager, "and they will steal the tools and disappear into jungle. Probably after cutting our throats." Zager, their sawyer, had a tendency to see the worst in human nature. Probably thanks to the years he had spent, as an apprentice, as the low man on the saw. The one in the saw pit.

  Maria held up her hand. "They will see us tie up the slavers and strike off their chains. Surely they will understand, 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend.' Freeing the slaves would double the size of the colony. And we have Mauricio to interpret for us. Make sure there are no misunderstandings."

  Carsten nodded. "They can be settled on the other side of the river. Less friction that way." And so it was agreed. Although not without some lingering dissent. Mostly with respect to freeing the slaves. The Tritón was no mere jacht like the Eikhoorn; it would come in very handy even if they didn't sell it off.

  * * *

  There was still the practical issue of how to assault the ship. The Eikhoorn just had six swivel guns. Fort Lincoln and Gustavus both had cannon, brought over when the colony was established, but the Tritón was out of their range.

  Consequently, the following morning, the Gustavans invited the Tritón to go up the Suriname River and dock at Gustavus pier. The pier was brand new, with pilings made of the greenheart brought back by the Eikhoorn.

  "You can't stay anchored out here, the bottom won't hold the anchor if a storm comes in. As often happens this time of year. Just tie up at our dock."

  And once they docked. . . . "Ordinarily we would sell you our water, but it is the dry season now. There is a very reliable spring, upriver. You go up the river until the river turns sharply through twenty-four points of the compass. It then enters a long straightaway, and then veers to port. Just there, you will see a hill in front of you, on the right bank. There is a tree which was split by lightning just below the spring, you can't miss it. If you leave before the tide goes out, you can probably make it back tomorrow." Carsten paused for effect.

  "Only, the natives there give us trouble from time to time, so be sure to bring plenty of men, well-armed."

  "Can you give us a guide?"

  "Certainly, if you can wait until the day after tomorrow. That's when we expect the fellow back."

  The first mate of the Tritón looked at his captain, and said softly, "I don't know if we can last that long."

  Carsten had thought that would be the reaction. And if it hadn't been, Carsten could have stalled a bit more, without fearing that the Tritón would try to seize a guide. The Tritón was under the guns of Gustavus, after all.

  "Go at once," ordered the Captain. The first officer of the Tritón crammed the longboat full of empty water casks, and sailors armed to the teeth, and headed upriver.

  "So, Captain," said Carsten, "perhaps you would care to join me for dinner. I am sure you will be surprised at the hospitality which our rude young colony can afford you."

  * * *

  He was surprised all right. He had just recovered from bowing to Maria when he was quite conclusively coshed from behind. The burly Heinrich Bender, their blacksmith, smiled with satisfaction.

  * * *

  A plank connected the Tritón to the dock. It was guarded on the ship's part by two sailors, armed with pistols and cutlasses. And the town in turn guarded itself from an unwanted incursion from the ship by posting watchmen at the shore end of the dock.

  The townspeople thoughtfully hung a lantern on the dock, so the Tritón's guards could see what was happening there. If, incidentally, it destroyed their night vision, so they couldn't see anything moving in the water on the far side of the ship, well, so be it.

  The town watchmen were far enough from the lantern so they couldn't be seen too clearly by the deck guards. However, they were clearly enjoying their night out under the stars, laughing and drinking.

  The Tritón's deck guards could watch this in silence only so long. One looked at the other, received an affirmative nod, and stepped onto the plank. It creaked, and the town watchmen immediately stopped celebrating and looked up. Very slowly, the approaching Tritón sailor set his pistol and cutlass down on the dock, and then walked toward them.

  "I couldn't help but notice . . . that you seen to be drinking something. Perhaps you have something to spare?"

  "I don't know," said the head watchman doubtfully. "Do you have coin?"

  "I wish," the slaver responded dolefully. "We don't get paid until we get to Hispaniola."

  The head watchman sighed. "Well, in the interest of international amity, we can share."

  He handed over a skin. This is our little local specialty. It's made from a fruit which grows here, ananas. Some people call it pineapple." He declined to mention that the little beverage was then distilled—it was handy having a glassmaker in the colony—to ninety proof.

  So far, so good. Carsten had told him, "Don't just go up and offer them a drink, let it be their idea. And feign reluctance."

  The mood of the erstwhile ship defenders passed from celebratory to somnolent. The head watchman gestured to the waiting assault team. The two Tritón crew members were quickly gagged, bound and dragged off.

  From a point out of view of the deck of the Tritón, a colonist used a hooded lantern to signal to the Eikhoorn, which was waiting quietly downstream. It slowly approached the other side of the Tritón, moving on muffled sweeps.

  With the Eikhoorn's swivel guns commanding the deck of the Tritón, there was no reason for further delay. One of Coqui's arrows, six feet long, took down a man who came up on deck as the assault team, lead by Heyndrick, snuck onto the dock. It was the wrong time to use the head.

  The assault team came across the plank, and spread out quickly. The most experienced fighters opened the hatches and jumped down.
The second mate was surprised in his hammock. The most resistance came from the cook, who was obviously both a light sleeper, and a man who liked to keep the tools of his trade close at hand. The cook managed to grab one of his knives and threaten to carve Henrique into little pieces. Henrique maneuvered him so his back was to the entranceway, and another Gustavan put the cook back to sleep.

  The rising sun reddened the waters of the Paramaribo.

  "The slavers' longboat just came around the bend." said one of the Gustavans, crouching beside the readied cannon. There were perhaps a score on board.

  "Good," said the gunner. "The angle is set. When it comes even with that rock—the one whose top looks like a parrot's beak—light the fuse and blow the sucker out of the water."

  The longboat crew couldn't possibly have seen the lit fuse. But they may have caught a glimpse of the men hiding by the cannon. For whatever reason, at the last moment, they backed water, and the ball missed them. Just barely, they were still sprayed.

  With surprise lost, the Gustavans brought other cannon into action. A second shot was fired, then a third, bracketing the longboat.

  The longboat might nonetheless have tried to reach the Tritón—figuring, with some justice, that a colonial militia probably weren't skilled artillerists—but at that point the Eikhoorn, which had been downstream, swept past the prow of the Tritón, her swivel guns all manned. They were formidable anti-personnel weapons.

  The longboat swung around, trying to claw its way back upriver, and out of the range, at least, of the fort's cannon. The first officer of the Tritón might well have intended to beach the longboat as soon as he was safe from cannonshot, and lead his men inland, to neutralize the Eikhoorn's swivel guns, too.

  However, in changing direction, it lost speed, and that made it a better target. A cannonball holed it, and the longboat sank quickly.

  * * *

  The Tritón—newly dubbed Der Vrijdom—was now anchored in two fathoms of water, off the east bank of the Suriname River. The slaves were brought up from the hold as gently as possible, still shackled.

  They stood blinking in the sun, knowing that there were strangers on board, but knowing the significance. Then the former crew of the Tritón were brought before them, in shackles. Even the captain, his mouth gagged because he had demonstrated an amazing gift for continuous invective.

  The slaves' eyes widened as they took in this sight.

  Then Mauricio, the only black among the Gustavans, came aboard. Heyndrick had loaned him a military uniform. Maria had put a harpy eagle feather in Mauricio's hat, and hung one of her iridescent CD quarter-slices around his neck. The inner circle—Carsten, Maria, Heyndrick, Dirck and, to Heyndrick's annoyance, Henrique—had decided that Mauricio would be their most convincing spokesman, and that he should be "dressed to impress."

  Mauricio knew several of the African languages. He gave the slaves the same message in each of them. They were about to be set free. Their captors were now captives, but were not to be harmed. The Africans were now among people who wanted to be their friends. Their new friends couldn't take them back across the sea, but could give them a new place to call home, so long as they behaved as good neighbors. They would help each other.

  Mauricio made a grand gesture. Heinrich Bender produced the key—taken from the second mate—and unlocked the shackles on the nearest slave. The poor fellow virtually collapsed, but Heinrich caught him. Henrique gave him water to drink, and another colonist led him down to a waiting dinghy for transfer to the shore.

  Mauricio motioned the next African forward.

  * * *

  "We are riding the tiger, Maria," said Heyndrick softly. "We don't know if these ex-slaves are warlike or peaceful, thievish or law-abiding. They are in a strange land, and they will have a hard time surviving. They will be tempted to prey upon us. Even if they don't, their gratitude may ebb quickly, and we may find that they refuse to trade with us, and occupy lands which we could put to better use ourselves."

  It is safe to ride a tiger if you have friends to help you dismount," said Maria.

  * * *

  To be continued in Grantville Gazette 20

  Author's Note

  In the old time line, David Pieterszoon De Vries founded a colony at modern Cayenne, in French Guyana, in September, 1634. He went off privateering, and in December, 1634, while he was away, his colonists decided to seize a Spanish slave ship which had come in search of drinkable water. They didn't free the slaves; they sold the ship, the slaves, and the crew in Jamaica, and abandoned the colony. Most of them did not profit from this from this act of piracy and betrayal. The two ringleaders, English ex-pirates, had persuaded the other colonists (who didn't speak English) to sign an English contract of indenture, each signer thinking it a credential that helped prove that he was a legitimate sailor and not a pirate. The ex-pirates sold the indentures in Jamaica, too. The other colonists thus all passed into bondage themselves. Which proves that truth is stranger than fiction.

  Sonata, Part Four

  Written by David Carrico

  Movement IV—Presto Furioso

  Grantville - April, 1634

  Thomas Schwarzberg plopped a pile of manuscript pages down on the table in front of Amber Higham. "Done. That is the last of the pieces Franz desired for the concert—the full score and all the instrument parts as well." He rubbed at weary eyes. "I believe I shall sleep for a week." He pushed a smaller package over to Marcus Wendell. "And here is the second copy of the full score. Your student Dane was copying it as quickly as I finished the first copy, sometimes picking up pages even before the ink had dried."

  "Good." Marcus smiled. "He's a good kid. I was glad to see him volunteer for this. From a music standpoint, too bad he's got to do the army thing. He could train up into a pretty fair musician, especially since he plays tuba." He looked to Thomas. "So, Franz is well into rehearsals now, I hear?

  Thomas nodded. "Already Franz has adjusted his program. He has dropped the Albinoni Adagio, partly because the transcription for orchestra only instead of the original organ and orchestra did not work as well as he thought it would, but also in no small part because it is taking more time to rehearse the pieces than he thought it would." He grinned. "I think that our Franz feels the time running like sand through a glass."

  "Forget Franz," Amber said. "What will Mary think?"

  Marcus shrugged. "Nobody's tried to do what we're doing so quickly. We're making this up as we go along. Mary will have to accept what can be done for this year. We'll build on it for next year. Frankly, I'm surprised as all get out at what's been accomplished."

  "So." Amber looked up from her notepad. "Is that the last of the music to be sent to Magdeburg?"

  "No, please," Giacomo spoke up. He pushed his own pile of pages forward. "This is the work that Franz Sylwester asked of me. It should have been ready before now, but when Father Kirchner asked me for the Passion, this was put on the back burner. But here it is at last, the Variations and Etude on Geminiani's Concerto Grosso in E minor. It is not difficult. The players, they will find it easy."

  Heinrich Schütz reached out and picked up the full score of the piece to leaf through it. "Nicely done. Arranging the concerto from a handful of instruments to the full orchestra, good work that is. It will sound well."

  Giacomo felt a flush of pleasure at the praise from his peer. He nodded his thanks.

  Amber reached out and made the two stacks of music in front of her into one. "Is that all of it?" Receiving nods from around the table, she continued, "Have Dane give me his timesheet, Thomas, so I can cut him a check. I'll cut yours and Master Giacomo's at the same time. Now, is there any other news that I should send to Magdeburg along with this?"

  "Tell Franz that the wind instrument students are making good progress," Marcus said. "Especially the brass players. He may have some of them earlier than I guessed, maybe even by the end of the year."

  The down-timer musicians—Master Schütz, Thomas, and Master Giacomo himself�
�all took notice. "That is very good news," Master Schütz said. "Good news, indeed."

  "Even the woodwind players are starting to make progress, once they got over having to learn from Errol Mercer and some teenagers in the band." Marcus shook his head. "Bunch of prima donnas. Worse than horn players . . . and I can say that—I are one." Amber laughed, but nobody else got the joke. "I had to read the riot act to the players learning clarinet and saxophone about working with Errol. He was about to walk on me because they were complaining so much about being taught by someone they felt was not at their level." Marcus nodded at Master Schütz. "Once I invoked your name, sir, they quit talking and started practicing. They still may not be happy about the situation, but at least they're working at it now and not complaining."

  There were smiles around the room as Master Schütz's mouth quirked. "I am glad to have been of service in your new world of music, Master Marcus."

  * * *

  Giacomo fell into step with Heinrich as they left the meeting room. "So, my friend. How are you faring?"

  Heinrich looked at him soberly. "I believe I am well. Pastor Johann Rothmaler from Rudolstadt has spent much time with me, several conversations. His wisdom and compassion have led me through darkness, and I have found a means of accepting Grantville and everything it brings."

  "It is not easy to confront the future." Giacomo nodded. "I know this as well as anyone. It is good to hear that you are at peace with it."

  "I am not sure if I am at peace with it or in spite of it." Heinrich gave a slight smile. "But yes, my mind is settled now, and I am ready to move forward."