1633:The Danish Scheme (18 page)

“Sergeant, what the hell is happening?” Captain Bouchard’s hat had been blown off by the blast and he was looking around trying to spot it in the snow. He found it alongside a wheelbarrow in a snow bank and jammed it back on his head. “Who is firing on us? The English?”

“No sir. It’s a Dutchman. It appears to be only one ship, but it looks like a frigate.” Bascom pointed toward the harbor. “It’s anchored just off shore. I don’t know why that idiot le Brey didn’t sound a warning. If he’s still alive, I’ll make him wish he were dead!”

The settlement’s leader, Sir Isaac de Razilly, arrived, dressed in his buff coat, with his nightshirt hanging out of his trousers. A servant was trying to catch up to him, clutching a loaded wheelock pistol and a scabbard. Men were crowded around, trying to ask questions. De Razilly pushed them roughly away and demanded attention from the sergeant. “Never mind him right now! Have they landed anyone?”

Bouchard deftly pulled de Razilly aside. “Sir Isaac, I don’t know. As soon as I can sort out this mob, I’ll send parties down to the beach in each direction to check.” He turned and yelled at the men that had arrived, “Line up and shut up! I’ll tell you something as soon as I find out.” Looking at the damage the ship’s fire had already done to the fort, Bouchard didn’t have much hope for the near future. The straggling mob of settlers would have a hard time stopping a bunch of old women with brooms, much less a determined attack.

In the woods, Lieutenant de Beers watched the assembling militia with interest. The 
Friesland 
had anchored a mile up the coast and sent a large raiding party ashore. The 
Rotterdam
 had timed its broadside perfectly. De Beers muttered under his breath, “So, what’s going to go wrong now?” He surveyed the crowd of sailors trying to imitate marines. “Form a line just inside the trees here and prepare to fire a volley!’ He drew a line in the snow so that no one would step past the trees and spoil their surprise. Amazingly, all twenty men with guns managed to get into line without one gun discharging. Another twenty with boarding pikes bunched up in a group behind them. Pointing toward the forming line of militia he announced, “Ready, fire!”

The Captain’s fears were confirmed by a ragged volley from the woods that stretched down the hill to the shore. A cloud of powder smoke showed that at least some men had landed from the ship and intended to attack the disorganized mob near the fort. Three settlers were down, thrashing on the snow covered ground. One look at the red pools staining the snow and the rest took to their heels, leaving the Captain, Sergeant, and de Razilly alone on the parade ground.

Sir Isaac started screaming at the militia to return to ranks, but Bouchard laid a hand on his shoulder to calm him. “They won’t stop running until they reach their homes. I suppose I might as well see what terms they’re offering.”

De Razilly turned purple and turned his rage on Bouchard. “You will fight to the last man! I will not see New France surrendered to the enemy again. The King personally gave me command here! You will follow my orders or I will have you hanged for treason!”

Bouchard spun around and clipped de Razilly with the basket of his sword. He fell backwards into a snow drift before Bascom could catch him. Bouchard stared for a moment, pondering his shrinking options. A line of sailors with muskets and boarding pikes were approaching slowly through the knee deep snow. “Sergeant, see that Sir Isaac is taken somewhere warm until he calms down.” He unbuckled his sword and held the hilt out for the onrushing Dutchmen to see.

* * *

The settlers stood around in sullen silence as the landing party emptied their homes of valuables onto three makeshift sleds. Lieutenant de Beers stood off to the side with the militia captain who had surrendered the fort. “For the last time Captain, I do not care what happens to your settlement. The fort will be burned. If you have so mistreated your Indian neighbors that they choose to attack you, that’s your problem. Your King chose to stab Holland treacherously in the back, without warning. Count your blessings that we aren’t burning your houses too! If you choose to stay here and not return to France, we will return and the next visit won’t be as pleasant. We do not make war on women and children, unless they choose to remain in danger.” Smoke from the fires lit along the fort’s remaining walls sections started to blow back across the village. De Razilly was nearly frothing at the mouth in rage and was barely being held back by three settlers.

Bouchard looked back and then asked de Beers, “Can you at least do us one favor and take him with you for ransom? It would make my job of convincing the settlers to leave at lot easier.”

De Beers was taken aback by the unusual request. After watching de Razilly a moment he laughed, “Done. No man should have to endure that much spite. I think a sea voyage would do him a world of good! It’s the least we can do for the inconvenience we’ve caused. Now, how soon do you expect before your supply ship comes? I need to insure we leave you enough provisions.”

Without thinking Bouchard answered, “We thought you might be them. That’s why we weren’t prepared when you fired.” De Beers’ smile made him realize his error. He’d just doomed the ship to be taken by these marauders!

“I think we may leave a few more weeks than that. It may be a longer period before you see another ship.” De Beers walked back to the guards. “Take that one along.” He said, pointing at de Razilly. “He should be good for some ransom. Then finish loading the sleds and we’ll push off. I don’t like the look of those clouds. I want to be back at sea as soon as possible. Their supply ship will be the real prize!”

* * *

The storm arrived much quicker than expected. Luckily, the 
Friesland 
and 
Rotterdam
 were able to anchor in a sheltered cove and rode out the storm in relative safety. They split up in order to cover more sea, in case the supply ship had been blown off course. On the third day, a brig was sighted just before the midday meal. The lookout shouted down, “She’s a galleon Captain, and sitting low in the water. She’s heading straight for us.”

De Groot waved his hat in acknowledgement and then turned to de Beers. “We’ll let her come to us. Break out that old French flag and run it up. We’ll greet our fellow countryman just as he expects!”

Two hours later, a sputtering Frenchman was brought before de Groot. ‘Monsieur, what is the meaning of this? You flew a French flag!”

“But you are mistaken 
Mynheer. 
As you can see, we hoisted our Dutch flag before firing.” Tjaert pointed aloft to the small Dutch flag now flying from the aft rigging. “You are my prize. We will ransom you and your crew once we return to port.” He turned and left the Frenchman to contemplate his fate. “Pieter, see to your prize crew and secure the prisoners onboard in our hold. No sense giving them an opportunity to seize their ship back from a small prize crew. Then we’ll find the 
Rotterdam
and plot our next move. The weather looks like it might be worsening again!’ Later that evening, the lookout spotted the 
Rotterdam,
 towing a prize of her own. Before they could rendezvous, a new storm broke.

Newfoundland April, 1634

The anchorage for the new village of Christianburg bustled with activity. The sound of axes chopping trees echoed across the water. The crew of the fishing boat, 
Bridget, 
was busy transferring cod to the drying racks a quarter mile from the main landing. Small boats from the larger ships were shuttling settlers and their belongings ashore to waiting tents. The 
Kristina
 was the centerpiece of the activity, just offshore, offloading sheep. Three seamen stood laughing at her entry port. As they joked, another sheep rose from the hold on the end of a rope and belly band. The protesting animal was quickly set down by the port and the band removed by one of the seamen. Before the sheep could realize what was happening, the other two sailors grabbed it by its wool and shoved it through the port. It hit the water with an indignant "baaah!" The sight of land and new grass just fifty yards away drew it like a magnet and it swam quickly to shore. When its feet hit bottom, it let out another 'baaah' and started to run. Every other step it tried to shake its wool dry. A small rainbow followed it ashore.

Captain Luke Foxe stood nearby watching as Taggert MacDonald supervised the growing flock's unloading from shore. When the flock began to crowd the landing, Luke pointed toward the gap in the bluff where the stream flowed down the hillside. "Mr. MacDonald, as soon as you're finished, move your flock inland. We'll need this area to unload the equipment next."

The beach was ideal for unloading. Boats could anchor close-in, while the hills started right behind the dunes and protected the beach from winds. The seamen who had been helping the sheep over the side waved to signal they were done. Luke raised his speaking trumpet toward the 
Köbenhavn
 . "Mr. Barrow, you may start unloading the sawmill." Luke had decided the sawmill was the most urgent need. The foresters were already clearing a larger area on the nearby hills and logs were available for sawing. Sawn lumber would speed the housing construction and let him clear his ships of the settlers that would be staying. He was already three days behind his planned departure for the exploration expedition around the island. Luke turned, once he was certain John had heard him, and headed for the hill where Captain Andersen was overseeing construction of the fort's palisades.

Back on the 
Köbenhavn
, John Barrow ordered the sailors to lower the cargo sling into the hold after checking it quickly. The sling showed signs of wear, but appeared adequate for the day's needs. He decided to continue. Time and tide were their enemies today. He yelled down to the men in the hold, "Lash that crate securely. That's worth more than all your scrawny carcasses. I don't want it coming loose when we hoist." John was more concerned about the barge waiting below than the sling. The crude barge that had been built with green lumber to unload cargo leaked like a sieve. It looked like a gentle tap would sink it. They would have to be extra careful lowering the crates. The first crate was quickly tied off and the sailors on deck heaved on the line to raise the load. As it cleared the hatch, they swung the spar with its block and line and positioned the load over the barge. As they started to lower away, John spotted a strand of rope part on a sharp crate edge. Then the remainder started to unravel. He shouted at the bosun guiding the line. "Lower away 
now
 , or we'll lose it!" The bosun tried to obey but the crate still dropped with a crash onto the barge. The sound of wood breaking was very clear. John grabbed four sailors and they dropped down to the barge. He tossed them oars and roared, "Row like your lives depend on it! I'll not lose this cargo!"

With water rising in the barge, they made slow progress toward the shore. Just before the water reached the low side rail, the barge grounded. John heaved a sigh and jumped into the waist deep water, yelling for the idlers on the beach to help unload the crated sawmill. The sawmill crate was cleared quickly and then the barge was hoisted up and carried beyond the high water mark. A bottom board had been sprung with the crate's impact. John yelled to the ship for the carpenter to fetch his tools. He had planned to finish unloading the rest of the cargo before the tide changed but now he would have to wait until the repairs were done.

Luke had heard the commotion and started to turn back to the beach, but stopped when he realized John was handling the problem. He had to delegate or he would be swamped. As he turned back and continued his trudge up the hill, he remembered why he preferred the deck of a ship. It was flat and level. Climbing hills was agony on his calves. "I'm getting too old for this foolishness." He paused and sat down on a rock to massage his legs. Captain Andersen came down to greet him. Luke took the proffered hand to stand up. Back on his feet, he pointed up the hill. The stockade was going up quickly. "It looks like you've made excellent progress. Do you have enough men?"

"The extra sailors have been a big help. It freed up some of my men for the scouting work you 'suggested.' The Indian boy, Joseph, went along as well. They returned this morning. They explored the entire island and found only one abandoned village. It appeared to have been wiped out by illness quite some time ago. They found graves, but no evidence of violence. Otherwise, all they found were some older campsites. Right now, we're the only ones here. We should have the palisades finished by the day after tomorrow. The well is fresh and has a plentiful water supply. Captain Nielsen chose the site well. If someone should attack, we'll have a strong place of safety to retreat to." He motioned toward a work party digging a trench outside the wall and piling the spoil inside the seaside bastion. "I'm still going to mount the two cannon where we discussed. With the added height, we can cover the settlement from both land and sea attacks. The guns aren't large, but they don't need to be with a plunging shot like they'll have. Natives aren't my only concern. If that Dutch ship we heard about shows up, we'll be able to give it something to think about!"

The site looked good, even to Luke's unmilitary eye. He was pleased with the choice for military leader. He pointed toward the boats, "Unless something happens to delay the unloading, I plan to finish landing the settlers tomorrow. They can continue to live in tents while the cabins are built. The good weather seems to be holding. I'll leave with the 
Köbenhavn
 Saturday and explore the coast. If all goes well, I'll return in four weeks. That will leave an extra week before the rest of us head to Hudson's Bay. You'll be in charge until then. I don’t want to run any longer or we may have problems trying to get established at the Hudson’s bay site. Captain James will be responsible for the rest of the ships' unloading." Luke gave a wry smile. "I expect the bulk of his time, though, will be spent leading the convention for the new laws." Thomas had put up a vehement protest when he found out he would have to replace the missing Sir Thomas Roe as the leader of the convention. He detested politics but had grudgingly agreed he was the best one remaining to do the job.