Grantville Gazette.Volume XVI Read online

  But David knew that some of the Granadans had fled the town. An unwalled place was easier to capture, but harder to then bottle up. David had to assume that word of the sack of Granada would reach Leon ahead of his force, even if they commandeered every nag in Granada. And as a practical matter, they were going to be hard-pressed to get all the Granadan treasure safely across the lake, and over or around the three rapids of the Rio San Juan.

  Regretfully, they decided to save Leon for another day.

  ***

  The Miskitos hadn't gotten much of the treasure, but were happy enough with all the ironmongery they had collected. In general, the Miskitos had an extraordinary desire for European goods. David had told Philip that most Indians work to earn a handful of beads, or a knife, and that accomplished, disappear into the forest, never to be seen again.

  The Miskitos, in contrast, had an insatiable demand for everything European. Weapons, clothes, tools. But the holy of holies, so far as they were concerned, was a firearm. Philip could just imagine them back home in Grantville, discussing the relative merits of a bolt-action Remington Model 700 versus a lever-action Marlin Model 336. For hours.

  A few were so fascinated by the really big guns-the cannon-that they joined the crew of the Walvis. Considering their skills as small boat handlers and fishermen, David was happy to have them aboard. He promised that they would have passage when the Walvis went back to Suriname, to bring the colonists more European manufactures.

  ***

  "The Puritans aren't going to be happy, you know," said Blauveldt.

  David raised his eyebrows. "Why not? They don't like the Spanish anymore than we do."

  "While they befriend the Miskitos in almost any way they can, there is one important exception-they never, ever, give them firearms. As a matter of policy."

  "Well, then, maybe the Miskitos will decide that we are better friends than the English. Isn't that just too bad."

  Mouth of the Rio San Juan

  David was sorry when Blauveldt sailed off, but Rishworth and his charges were delighted. Rishworth had kept them hidden on the Walvis when the sailors and Miskitos were assembling for the ascent of the Rio San Juan, fearing that Blauveldt might recognize them as fugitive slaves and insist on returning them to Providence Island. Life had been a bit more relaxed for them while Blauveldt was off on the expedition to Granada, but they had to keep looking over their shoulder, so to speak, so that they wouldn't be surprised by his return. Of course, there were some Miskitos that hadn't gone off a-plundering, and they were recruited to serve as Rishworth's early warning system.

  When the Indians came in with the news that the returning warriors and sailors were only a day's journey away, Rishworth hurried his people back onto the Walvis.

  Once Blauveldt's ship had disappeared over the horizon, the ex-slaves broke into an impromptu dance, much to the bemusement of the Walvis ' crew. David let it go on for a few minutes, then had a quiet word with Rishworth. Rishworth told them that their choices were to disembark and stay with the Miskitos, or join the crew of the Walvis. About half decided on the latter.

  Rishworth was pleased. He would have more time to teach them the Gospel.

  August, 1634

  At Sea

  David led his little squadron through the Yucatan channel. The wind freshened, and David ordered the sails reefed. That is, part of the sail gathered up, and tied to the yard by a small cord attached to the sail. Reefing was, for lack of a better term, a "new-old" idea. It was something his great-grandfather had done, but in David's time it was out of favor. Instead, early seventeenth century ships normally carried small courses of sail, and added additional pieces if the air was light. The nautically minded up-timers thought it was crazy to fool around with adding these "bonnets" and "drabblers." The more "progressive" down-timers, like David, had switched over to large courses with "reef points." But David predicted that in his own great-grandchild's generation, there would still be old salts who insisted on bonneting.

  As they emerged from the strait, they sighted a ship, hull-down. It disappeared from view without revealing its identity. While it was probably Spanish, given that it was heading west, David saw no reason to risk a fight when his ships were already chock-full of treasure, and the stranger couldn't possibly reach port in time to give a timely alarm. Anyway, David figured it was a straggler from the New Spain flota, bound for Veracruz. If so, it was carrying immigrants and manufactured goods, not treasure.

  As they bore eastward into the Straits of Florida, David kept his ships as far from Havana as practicable. The Spanish intermittently posted a garda costa there, and he wasn't looking for trouble. He cleared the Straits without sighting anything more ominous than a pod of dolphins, who rode in the Walvis ' wake for a while.

  David was feeling quite pleased with himself.

  ***

  The three ships threaded their way between Florida and the Bahamas. They had to claw their way northward, close-hauled, fighting against the northeast trades. But at least they had the Gulf Stream to help them along. As they struggled to wring what progress they could against the unfavorable wind, the captains and crews could take comfort in the knowledge that they would eventually escape the zone in which the trade winds, which barred a direct course to Europe, prevailed. Once they reached the forties, they could pick up the westerlies and head for home.

  The wind became very light and variable, further reducing their headway. That was common when one passed between the two wind zones, but at this time of year, the area of transition usually lay further north.

  Fortunately, the skies were mostly clear, and the barometer had risen slightly since the last watch. The barometer had once hung on the roof post of a Grantville porch, and David had been very pleased to have it loaned to him.

  Soon after they passed the latitude of the northern fringe of the Bahamas, the northeast wind resumed. David didn't like the look of the sea, however. The swells seemed a bit heavier and longer than usual. He took out a one minute sand clock and counted the swells. Four a minute. Eight was norm.

  "Go check the barometer again!" David ordered.

  "It's level," Philip reported. "But it seems… jittery."

  ***

  The next day, at sunrise, there were white wisps of cirrus clouds, low in the sky. The "mare's tails" seemed to point southeast, and the swells were stronger. The barometer had slowly fallen during the night watches. It usually dipped a bit twice a day, but this seemed to be something more than the usual variation.

  "Well, Philip, I am afraid that I think we have a hurricane approaching. The winds are from the north-northeast, and since they spiral counter-clockwise about the center, the center should be nine to twelve points off the wind direction. Probably southeast."

  "So what do we do? Run to the west?"

  "How sure are you of the accuracy of the cross-fix you took earlier today?"

  "Pretty sure. Two star fixes and a sun fix, perhaps an hour apart. Why?"

  "If I trust the last position fix you took-and I do-we don't have enough sea room between us and the American coast. Only about a hundred miles. Believe me, you don't want to be near a lee shore in a hurricane. So running west, toward land, really doesn't appeal to me."

  "Then should we stay put? Throw out an anchor or something?"

  "It's not so simple. According to the Bowditch, the paths of Atlantic hurricanes are quite idiosyncratic, but they usually move northwest in the Greater Antilles. Sometimes they'll make landfall and disintegrate, but they can also curve north. And they can then recurve and head northeast.

  "If I knew that the hurricane was marching northwest, I would head south, and go back the way we came, into the Gulf. And if I thought it was curving north, or recurving northwest, I would head north. Or just heave to.

  "What about heading east, or northeast, to get more searoom?"

  David shook his head. "That's likely to bring us into what Bowditch calls the 'dangerous semicircle,' the area to the right of the hurric
ane track. Assuming that we're not in it already, of course."

  "Why is it dangerous?"

  "The wind strength is the sum of the revolving wind, and the forward movement of the storm. And in the forward quadrant, the winds try to push you right into the path of the hurricane."

  "Ouch. So there's a 'safe semicircle'?"

  " Bowditch prefers the term, 'less dangerous semicircle.' Nothing about a hurricane at sea is "safe." Anyway, I am going to keep heading north for a little while. Or as close to north as the wind will let us. We're square-rigged, so we can't point close to the wind. No closer than six points of the compass."

  Philip scrunched his face momentarily. "Six points from north-northeast, that's northwest. So we're heading toward the coast?"

  "Edging toward it," David admitted. "Remember, the coast is curving away from us as we go north.

  "We won't outrun the storm, but that course will still buy time for us to figure out which way the hurricane is moving. Right now, we're playing a chess game with the hurricane, but one in which we can't see its moves.

  "Anyway, I want get away from the shallow waters between Florida and the Bahamas. Those are more prone to breaking if the wind picks up. And the Walvis won't like it much when some breaker drops tons of water on its deck.

  ***

  David and his mates started giving orders to prepare the ship for the hard blows to come. The crew cleared the scuppers, and checked that the pumps were working. They battened down the hatches, and set up life lines on both sides of the deck.

  ***

  They cautiously continued north, or more precisely northwest by north, making slow progress against the wind. The winds backed to north by east, so they had to angle even more to the west in order to make headway.

  Still, the wind change was good news; it meant that they were in the less dangerous semicircle. If they were in the middle of the ocean, their best bet would have been to put the wind broad on their starboard quarter, and edge out. Unfortunately, if they did that here, they would soon be enjoying an unplanned American vacation. So they left the wind further aft, angling just enough to counter the inward spiral. The Koninck David and the Hoop did their best to follow the Walvis ' lead. The chop of the water increased as the new swell fought with the old one.

  ***

  The sun looked down on them through a white gauze. Despite their plight, Philip couldn't help but admire the halo it had acquired. The ring proper was bright white, with an red fringe on the inside. The sky was darkened for some distance further inward, and a vaguely defined corona played outside the halo.

  Gradually, the sun faded from view. Then a new layer of clouds slid under the old one, darkening the overcast. The sky was a virtually uniform grey. The main topsail split, fabric streaming out like ribbons from a running lass' hair, and the topmen bent in a replacement, and close-reefed it.

  It started to rain, tiny droplets which seemed to hang suspended in the air. All at once, there was a downpour, as though someone had suddenly emptied a bucket on Philip's head. It ended within minutes, and the misty not-quite-rain returned. Then came another rain shower.

  The wind strengthened. There were many "white horses"-foaming wave crests. The sailors took down the normal sails and raised the storm sails, which were made of a heavier, tougher fabric.

  Soon, on the eastern horizon, Philip could see a dark mass of clouds, looking like a sorcerer's fortress, with a parapet of black cotton. If, that is, any fortress had pieces of itself break off and fly away from time to time. That was the "bar," the main cloud mass, where the winds would be strongest.

  Not that they were gentle where the Walvis and its comrades struggled. The winds were now gale force, and the sea was heavy. The timbers moaned like lost souls. There were flashes of lightning to the east. The only good news was that the barometer was low, but steady. That implied that they were succeeding in keeping their distance from the eye of the hurricane. Philip was sent to join the group who were straining at the whipstaff, keeping the ship on its course.

  The stays hummed like a swarm of angry hornets, but they all held.

  ***

  "Winds come around to the northwest, Captain," said Cornelis. "Slackened some, too."

  David thought this over. Being an old Asia hand had its disadvantages when you were north of the equator; he had to keep reminding himself that almost everything about typhoons was reversed up here. Northwest, yes, that meant that the storm center was now ahead of them. In effect, the hurricane had swept them up, like an unwilling partner at a dance, and swung them a quarter circle around itself as it continued its journey northward.

  "How's the barometer, Philip?"

  "Rising, sir." The relief in Philip's voice was evident. And that was fair enough, the pressure change confirmed that they were now in the rear half of the storm.

  David sent Cornelis to take a sounding; he didn't want to shoal after surviving this much. And he detailed a half dozen men to act as lookouts, both to watch for danger, and to determine whether the Koninck David and the Hoop had also weathered the storm.

  They soon caught sight of the Konick David, so it, at least, was safe. However, it signaled that some of its precious water casks had been swept off the main deck, and it would need to detour to the American coast to make amends.

  There was no sign of the Hoop. Whether it had sunk, or merely been driven far away by the tempest, David had no idea.

  But there was work to be done. A lot of it. The storm sails, especially the fore staysail, were now somewhat the worse for wear. The fore staysail had so many eyes that Philip likened it to what he called "Swiss cheese." One by one, the crew unbent the storm sails, and set reefed ordinary sails. They found that a stay had stranded, and replaced it, and generally put the ship back into order.

  The wind abated further, and they were able to shake out the reefs. But while the ship now looked much as it had before the hurricane, the storm had exacted a toll.

  "All hands, bury the dead," David ordered. Here was a sailor who, weakened by some tropical disease, had died of exposure. There was one who had fallen from a spar while trying to put another reef into a sail. A third had been picked up by a rogue wave, and had his skull dashed against a mast. Their bodies were sown up in their hammocks, and double shotted. The Reverend Rishworth conducted a memorial service. Then, three times, David said the words, "We commit his body to the deep." Three times, a corpse was slid into the waters. There, according to the minister, "to be turned into corruption, looking for the resurrection of the body when the sea shall give up her dead."

  After a short but uncomfortable silence, the crew was sent back to work. "Hands to braces," David ordered.

  The next day, they found the Hoop. It had lost a mast, and was traveling under a jury rig. The flotilla headed for the Georgia coast, to take on fresh water and make those repairs best carried out at anchor. The local Indians didn't attempt to trade, but at least they didn't attack, either.

  ***

  It was a beautiful day, the hurricane had moved on or fallen apart, the ships had resumed a northward course and were now happily ensconced in the Europe-seeking westerlies, and David was once again at peace with the world.

  Philip's navigation had been spot-on, and David invited him to dinner as a reward.

  "You know, Philip, it would be bad for discipline for a captain to apologize for an error."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Like delaying a return trip until the hurricane season was upon him."

  "Yes, sir."

  "How's the schnapps?"

  "Fine, sir."

  Late 1634

  David and Philip stood in line, waiting for their turn to send radio messages to Grantville. They were at the USE military's radio post in Hamburg. While most of the radio traffic was of an official nature, the post did send private messages on a "time available" basis.

  "Philip, I know you expected to go into the army after you finished high school, but I think you'd make a fine navigator, if you
'd like the job on a more permanent basis."

  "Thank you, Captain. Do you believe in reincarnation?"

  "Like the Hindoos? Certainly not, I am a good Christian."

  "Well, then it's a moot point. Because when I get back to Grantville, my parents are gonna kill me."

  ***

  Sonata, Part Two

  David Carrico

  Movement II-Andante espressivo

  Grantville – Monday, January 9, 1634

  Franz looked at his traveling companions, and MaestroCarissimi. They were standing outside the office of Lady Beth Haygood, talking and waiting for Hermann. As Marla turned to ask il maestro a question, Franz smiled to himself. He remembered Marcus Wendell's reaction last Friday when he mentioned that he found it odd that an English noblewoman was serving as Frau Simpson's aide.

  "Who are you talking about?" Marcus' brow had furrowed, indicating his perplexity.

  "This Lady Beth Haygood," Franz had replied. His brow furrowed in turn, as Marcus had burst into laughter.

  "Lady," Marcus had finally said, after his hilarity had died down, "is her name, not a title." Franz had looked very confused, he was sure. "Oh, yes, it really is. Americans sometimes name their kids the strangest things. I had a friend in college, a boy from Alabama, whose name was Colonel A. Johnson. He caught a lot of flack from the ROTC guys. Go slip Tom Stone a few beers some night, and see if he'll tell you what his sons' given names originally were." Marcus chuckled again. "Just say her name-ladybeth-really fast like it's one word."

  Just as Franz was remembering his friends' reaction when Marla had shared the story of his confusion, Hermann arrived. Shaking off his reverie, Franz said, "Hermann is here, and he was the last. Let us discover what Frau Haygood has in store for us." Opening the door, he led the way into the small room. The woman at the desk, presumably Lady Beth herself, looked up as they trooped in. She was an older woman-older than Marla, anyway. Franz refused to try and guess at her actual age; most of the Grantville women wore their ages well, and he had embarrassed himself more than once when age had entered into conversations.