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Stretching Out, Part Four: Beyond the Line

Written by Iver P. Cooper

Trinidad, April, 1634

It was a lake, but one unlike any other they had seen. This was the famous Pitch Lake of Trinidad. A hundred acres of tar.

David Pieterszoon de Vries, captain of the fluyt Walvis, studied it for a few moments. The lake was nearly circular, perhaps two thousand feet across, nestled in a shallow bowl at the top of a hill. The surface wasn't flat and still, like a mountain lake protected by hills from the wind. Instead, there were broad, dark folds, with clear rainwater lying in the hollows between them. David, in his youth, had worked for a bookseller, to learn English, and their haphazard arrangement reminded him of marbled paper. Here and there, the folds were festooned with a patch of grass, a few yards in width, with a shrub or small tree rising above it like the mast of a ship.

For Philip Jenkins, born in twentieth century West Virginia, it awoke other memories. "This is a humongous parking lot."

"Sir Walter was right," said David. "Enough pitch here for all the ships of the world." Sir Walter Raleigh had come here in 1595; his sailors used its tar to protect their ships' hulls from the teredos, the wood borers of the tropical waters.

"We have a lot more uses for it than for caulking ships," Philip replied.

"Wait here." Using a boarding pike as a probe, David tested the surface. It seemed firm enough. He took a step forward. The tar sank slightly, but held his weight. He took a second step. No problem.

David turned his head. "Follow me. Test the ground before you trust yourself to it, there may be softer areas at the center of the lake." After a moment's hesitation, the landing party followed him.

****

Philip was surprised to discover that the tar didn't seem to stick to his shoes or clothing, as he would have expected. Inspected closely, the tar was finely wrinkled, like the skin of an elephant.

David and his landing party walked around a bit, then he called them to a halt. "One spot seems as good as another, so let's start here." The sailors broke up the tar with picks, then drove their shovels into the bitumen, lifting out masses of dark goo. They dumped them into the waiting wheelbarrows. Philip wrinkled his nose; the disturbance of the lake surface, had brought forth a sulphurous smell. Nor was the lake quiet; it made burping sounds, now and then.

"The lake is farting," one of the sailors joked.

Philip saw a tree limb sticking out of the tar, and tried pulling it out. It resisted at first, then emerged, a ribbon of black taffy connecting it to the lake, like a baby's umbilical cord. Philip studied it for a moment, then threw down the stick. He walked over to David.

"You know what this place reminds me of?" asked Philip. "The Welt-Tier."

David puzzled over the word for a moment. "German? World-animal?"

"Yes, that's right. It was in a science fiction story by Philip Jose Farmer. The ground was springy, like this lake. When someone walked across it, it rose up, like a wave, and tried to swallow him. The land was really the skin of the Beast."

The sailors within hearing stirred uneasily. "Philip," commanded David, "you should be shoveling." Philip nodded, and took the shovel that was handed to him.

****

By the day's end, they had excavated a rectangular pit, some tens of feet long, and several feet deep. David decided against camping on land, it being Spanish territory, and everyone returned to the ship.

When they came back to the lake to continue their labors, they discovered that the pit had partially filled in. Moreover, some of the nearby "islands" of vegetation had moved during the night.

"The lake does act like a living thing," David whispered to Philip, "but an exceedingly sluggish one. Not like your Welt-Tier."

Philip didn't respond at first. "According to Maria's research notes, tar is usually what's left behind when oil escapes to the surface, and dries out." But for those islands to move, there must be some liquid circulating beneath the surface. Perhaps it's just water, but I think it might well be oil."

"So?"

"We might want to drill for oil nearby. Tar is fine for waterproofing, and roadbuilding, and making organic chemicals, but oil—the liquid form—contains the fuel we need for our APVs. Or for power plants."

"I think my patrons are planning an expedition for that purpose. But it would have to be much larger and better-armed than this one."

"Why is that?"

"We can spend a few days mining tar. Even if the garrison here on Trinidad finds out about us before we leave, their numbers are comparable to ours. We would be gone well before the Spanish can call in reinforcements from the mainland. Or rouse their Indian allies. But drilling for oil might take months, and then, as I understand it, you have to pump the oil into storage tanks. That calls for a permanent settlement. I don't see the Spanish letting any foreigners, least of all a pack of Protestants, live here without a fight."

As if David's words were a signal, they heard a whistling sound, and a moment later, an arrow seemed to sprout out of the tar some distance in front of them. The sailors dropped into their trench, which was the only nearby cover.

"Keep your heads low, see if you can spot them." As he spoke, a second arrow plunged into the lake to their left, and was quickly swallowed up. Some seconds later, it was followed by a third arrow, better aimed, which nonetheless fell short of their position.

David mentally retraced their trajectories. He realized that they had most likely come from the vicinity of one of the grassy patches he had noticed earlier. He looked for one, along the estimated path, with bushes or trees for cover. Yes, that one, he was sure of it. It was much too far away for the attacker to have expected to hit anything. They were being warned off, he concluded. Probably, given the rate and direction of fire, by a single Indian. But it was possible that a second Indian was already running for help.

"Joris," he said, "I want only you to fire." Joris nodded, he was the best shot in the party. David pointed out the shooter's putative refuge. "Our target is there, I believe. Give him something to think about.

"The rest of you, let's gather up our tar and head for the ship. Where there's one Indian, there are probably more close by, and they probably have sent a messenger to the garrison at Puerto de los Hispanioles by now."

The men collected their tools and put them in the empty wheelbarrows. They headed slowly back to the ship, with the rear guard, led by Joris, making sure that the Indian, or Indians, didn't get close enough to be a real threat.

"Arwaca Indians," he told Philip. "When I was in the Caribbean last year, I was told that the Trinidados brought them in some years ago. The native Indians had allied themselves with Sir Walter Raleigh, so, after he left. . . ." David drew his finger across his throat. "Snick."

****

David, an experienced explorer, had come to Grantville to raise money and to recruit followers for a colony in Suriname. He had started up the United Equatorial Company, and found investors to put money into the venture. They had insisted that he take along a Dutch down-timer, Maria Vorst, as the expedition's science officer. Maria, whose family ran the Leiden Botanical Garden, had received training in Grantville in botany and geology.

Philip's presence had not been planned. He knew Maria through their common interest in plants. Infatuated, and beset by family problems, he had refused to be left behind and had stowed away on the Walvis. Much to Maria's surprise, because she had not realized that he considered himself more than a good friend.

While they had reached a modus vivendi after a few months together on the Walvis and in Suriname, it was just as well for her peace of mind that David had asked Philip to come with him on the second phase of his venture. Which was to collect tar in Trinidad, and rubber in Nicaragua, and, if the occasion presented itself, prey on Spanish shipping. The Walvis, with eighteen guns, was accompanied by another fluyt, the fourteen gun Koninck David, and a yacht, the Hoop.

****

They passed through the sometimes treacherous Dragon's Mouth, between Trinidad and the peninsula of Paria, without incident. Another days' sailing brought them amidst the islands which the up-time maps called "Los Testigos." Dunes several hundred feet high towered over aquamarine waters, and marine iguanas left footprints and tail tracks as they scurried to and fro.

Some didn't scurry quickly enough.

"Tastes like chicken," David pronounced, and his fellow captains, who had joined him for dinner, agreed.

"Anything to report?" he asked.

"My crew is grumbling," said Jakob Schooneman, the skipper of the Koninck David . "It's been more than six months since the Battle of Dunkirk, and we've done nothing to hurt the Spanish. Or to punish the English and French for their treachery."

"It's not as though we haven't been looking for prizes."

"I know, Captain De Vries. But the mood is turning fouler and fouler. We should have sacked Puerto de los Hispanioles, or San Jose de Orunã, back on Trinidad ."

"And where would the profit have been in that? All they have is tobacco, and we had plenty of that from Marshall." Marshall was the leader of a small English Puritan colony on the Suriname River, some miles upstream of David's new colony.

David continued. "So why take the risk? Especially since it would spoil the Company's long term plans to take Trinidad for keeps, by putting the Spanish on notice that they need to strengthen its defenses."

Captain Marinus Vijch of the yacht Hoop, cleared his throat. "The men weren't that keen on your letting the English stay upriver, either."

"I know. But we're weakened by Dunkirk and we can't afford to fight everyone. The Spanish are the real enemy and we have to focus on them."

"So let's find a Spanish town to raid," said Jakob.

Marinus nodded. "Portobello," he suggested.

Schooneman protested. "Too tough a nut to crack, for a force our size."

"We could probably find some more Dutch ships by one of the salt flats along the way, recruit them."

"Rely, for an operation like that, on captains and crews you don't know?"

"Perhaps, Trujillo," mused David. "We have to go to Nicaragua for rubber, and then from there, the currents carry us up the coast anyway."

Schooneman smiled. "The gold and silver of Tegucigalpa is shipped down to Trujillo." He turned his head to look at Marinus. "Might that satisfy you, Captain Vijch?

****

David brought up the sextant, bringing the skyline into view on the clear side of the horizon glass. Smoothly, he edged up the index arm until the early morning sun's reflection could be seen on the half-silvered side. He gently rocked the sextant, causing the sun's image to swing to and fro above the horizon. He delicately twisted the fine adjustment until the yellow-white disk, bright even through smoked glass, seemed to just barely graze the edge of the sea. "Mark!'

Philip had been staring at his wristwatch. He announced the time—his watch was set to Grantville Standard Time, which took into account the relocation of the town by the Ring of Fire—to the nearest minute. In return for not being unceremoniously off-loaded shortly after being discovered, Philip had offered the use of his timepiece for determining longitude.

"Write it in the logbook. Solar altitude is—" David squinted at the vernier, and read off the altitude. "Record that, too. Take that and the star shot we did half an hour ago, and calculate our position."

Philip stifled a groan. He had made the mistake of admitting that he had taken half a year of trigonometry before embarking on his present escapade. The captain had happily decided that Philip could help with the navigational mathematics.

"Boat, ho!" cried the lookout.

David grabbed his spyglass and took a look. Sure enough, a longboat with a makeshift sail bobbed in the waves, several miles ahead of them.

"That's odd," he muttered.

"What's odd?" asked Philip. Since David's cousin, Heyndrick, had been left behind at the new colony in Suriname, Philip had gradually become David's confidante on the ship. In retrospect, it wasn't surprising; since Philip wasn't a sailor, talking to him didn't create discipline problems. The fact that Philip was one of the mysterious up-timers also gave him a cachet.

"No one would willingly cross the open sea in a longboat. They are used for in-shore work by ship's crews.

"Still . . . we mustn't get careless. Many a pirate has gotten his first ship by stealing a fishing boat and then coming alongside an imprudent merchant vessel." David gave orders; the crew prepared to repel boarders. The flotilla altered course to bring itself closer to the mysterious small craft.

David hailed them. In English, since it wasn't prudent to do so in Dutch.

They responded in kind. "Help us, please, we're the last of the White Swan." David sent his own longboat over to inspect, and his crew reported back that they did indeed seem to be mariners in distress. Not just English, but Dutch as well. David allowed most of his crew to stand down, and the strangers were taken aboard. If David had a few men, still armed and ready, well, that was only prudent in Caribbean waters.

The longboat's crew were brought some food and liquor, and encouraged to tell their tale. Not that they needed much encouragement.

The first spokesman was the carpenter of the White Swan. "There were three of us, ships that is, peacefully gathering salt from the Araya flats." This was the Punta de Araya, the end of the long peninsula pointing west, away from Trinidad. "We were sent in the longboat to a little cove near Cumana, where in the past we had traded with the Indians. And sometimes with the Spanish.

"We were making our way back when we saw the attack. A squadron of six Spanish warships came through, and immediately attacked the two Hollanders.

"The White Swan kept its distance. I suppose the Captain, God rest his soul, must have figured the Spanish were just after the Dutch. We should've known better. Once both Dutch ships were safely in Duppy Jonah's Locker, the Spaniards came after the White Swan. And sent her down as well."

"So much for peace," said another English sailor.

"'No peace beyond the line,'" David quoted. "And the Spanish think they and the Portuguese own all of the New World."

The carpenter nodded. "We stayed hidden among the mangroves—what else could we do?—until the Spanish moved west, and the sun went down. There was a moon, so we went looking for survivors, and hauled in these Dutchmen, poor wretches. They had found something to cling to, but they were still pretty waterlogged when we took them on." The Dutch survivors were still too weak to make conversation, but they nodded weakly.

"And a good thing for you that you did," David said. "Since I am Dutch, and we are under Swedish colors. Otherwise, we might be less charitable, considering how the English treated the Dutch at the Battle of Dunkirk."

David stood up, started walking back to the poop deck, stopped. Looking back, he beckoned to Philip, who had approached the carpenter. "Philip, Bowditch is whispering your name. You must come when he calls you." The USE's Bowditch was based on a couple of old editions of Nathaniel Bowditch's famous American Practical Navigator. The post-RoF editors left out the chapters on satellite and radar navigation and LORAN, revised the chapter on instruments to reflect what was actually available, and threw in how to calculate lunars and other useful material.

"Bowditch can kiss my ass," muttered Philip, but he waited until David was out of earshot. He didn't want to find out whether the captain would flog an up-timer for insolence.

****

According to Philip's calculations, the Company flotilla was near Isla Blanquilla, north of modern Venezuela. David's plan had been to go far enough northwest to be sure to clear Aruba and Punta Gallinus, then run down the line of latitude to the Nicaraguan coast. Finding the mouth of the Rio San Juan would then have been straightforward.

The English wanted to be taken to Saint Kitts, but that was to windward, and thus out of the question even if David were sure of a friendly reception. And the American colonies were English no longer. David told his unexpected guests that he could drop them off on Providence Island, off the coast of Nicaragua. There was a Puritan colony there. They would work as crew, in the meantime, of course.

Providence Island was only a few miles north of the route that David had planned originally. However, there was a very good chance that, on that path, they would overtake the punitive Spanish squadron, which was probably en route to Cartagena or Portobello, and more or less hugging the coast. David decided to head deeper into the Caribbean Sea before turning southwest toward Providence. Thanks to the sextant and the wristwatch, he didn't have to limit himself to latitude and coastal sailing. Wind permitting, of course.

Once the Dutchmen recovered enough to speak, they told a grim tale. Not only had the Spanish not made any effort to rescue the sailors thrown into the sea, they had taken potshots at them, for sport. The two Dutchmen had survived by swimming under an upturned chest; it trapped air and hid them from sight.

David knew that if he had reached the area a few days earlier, his three ships, together with the two fluyts already there, might well have staved off the Spanish assault. He also knew that it was foolish to blame himself, because there was no way he could have predicted the tragedy.

That didn't stop him from fretting about it, anyway.

The crew likewise became agitated. There was talk of turning about and sacking Cumana, on the Venezuelan coast, or perhaps the Isla da Margarita behind them, but the more experienced men pointed out the dangers of being trapped against the Spanish coast if the squadron returned.

****

Philip was uneasy, and it wasn't only because of the Spanish galleons said to be on the prowl. David's temper had changed for the worse. Clearly, his ire had been raised by the report from the survivors of the Araya incident.

Not that David was that fond of the Spanish at the best of times. But Philip had always been impressed by David's coolheadedness. Now he was afraid that David might set aside the long-term company goals, in order to take revenge.

His musings were interrupted by Cornelis, the second mate of the Walvis. "Captain wants you."

Philip found David on the quarterdeck. "Sir?"

"What do you know about Nicaragua?"

"Just what Maria collected. About the San Juan river being a good place to look for rubber. She gave me a copy of the 1911 encyclopedia article. Why do you ask?"

"No particular reason. But do leave the copy in my cabin."

Providence Island, May 1634

The three peaks of Providence Island slowly rose out of the haze. David's ships picked their way cautiously through the reefs and shoals that surrounded the island, with the shallow draft Hoop as their advance guard. The leadsman of the Walvis was hoarse by the time they entered the harbor.

The English gave them a guarded welcome. They were Puritans, suspicious of royal intentions, and hostile to the Catholic powers, Spain in particular. The news of the Battle of Dunkirk, and the Treaty of Ostend, had not been well received. Still, Charles had not yet made any announcement of an intent to hand Providence Island over to the Spanish, and the islanders were determined to keep their heads down and hope the king would recognize the dangers of a Spanish alliance.

That said, they felt no need to engage in outright hostilities with the Dutch, let alone a Dutch-crewed ship flying the Swedish flag. At least until a specific royal command forced them into war.

Several Dutchmen, Abraham and William Blauveldt in particular, had been intimately involved in the founding and maintenance of the colony, and Abraham was on hand to greet David.

David mentioned the roving Spanish squadron to Abraham Blauveldt, and he and David agreed that they should sail out together for mutual protection. "You collect your rubber," said Abraham, "and I will pick up some tortoiseshell from the Miskitos. It sells pretty well."

The coast of Nicaragua was 150 miles west of Providence Island, and the coastal region was dominated by the Miskito Indians. The Blauveldts, and the English of Providence Island, had quickly made friends with them. It helped that they had a common enemy. In the Miskito-English pidgin, the worst thing one could possibly say about someone was that he is a "Spanish Spaniard."

"By the way, Abraham, I almost forgot to show you. Look here." David pointed at Bluefields, perhaps eighty miles north of the mouth of the San Juan River. "This town was named after you. Really."

Abraham Blauveldt smiled. "That's worth celebrating. Where's the schnapps?"

****

The English ship's carpenter decided to stay with the Walvis. "I'd like to see those rubber trees of yours. And I would even more like to have a chance to pay back the Spanish for what they did to the White Swan. You're gunning for the Dagoes, aren't ye?"

"Yes, indeed. And of course, they're gunning for us."

****

The final addition to their crew was the least likely: a preacher, Samuel Rishworth. He had approached Philip to find out the up-timers' views on the issue of slavery. What he heard pleased him, and he explained why.

Providence Island had started importing slaves the year before. Rishworth's views on the matter had gotten him in trouble with the local authorities. First, he preached against slave-owning. But the company insisted that slavery was lawful for those who were "strangers to Christianity."

Rishworth shrugged. "So God's will was clear to me; I needed to preach the Gospel to the slaves. And tell them that if they became Christian, they could insist on their freedom."

"I bet that went over well."

"I was warned that I was 'indiscreet,' that I should not have made 'any overture touching their liberty' to the slaves, without the permission of their masters."

"Right," said Philip. "So what happened next?"

"Oh, the number of slaves who escaped into the woods increased. Not that I had any idea of how they managed it. No idea at all."

"No idea at all," Philip echoed.

"Of course, getting them off the island is a more difficult matter."

"Can they swim?"

Rio San Juan, and the Miskito Coast, Nicaragua

"Rubber collecting going well, Philip?"

"Well enough." The fugitive slaves from Old Providence Island were willing to work, at least after Rishworth had a word with them, but they were few in number. While the Miskito were willing to cut trees—the fact that it involved using an axe made it a warrior activity—that was only if there weren't something more interesting to do. If they got bored, they would go off hunting or fishing, or just doze off in hammocks, and there was nothing Philip could do about it. And that wasn't the only problem.

"I am worried about the waste," Philip admitted. "Cutting down these Castilla trees, I mean. Yes, we get a lot of latex out of them all at once, but if we could just tap them, we could keep coming back each year for more."

"It's not practical, Philip. This is too close to Spanish-controlled territory. All they need to do is put a real fort at the mouth of the Rio San Juan, and the rubber trees will be as inaccessible to us as if they were on the Moon. And I really can't shed a tear over depriving the Spanish of their Castilla trees."

"Well, if they don't build that fort, it means that next time we visit, we're going to have to go deeper into the rainforest to find more trees."

"We'll deal with that if we must."

****

Philip brooded about the problem. He wasn't worried about the yet-to-be-built fort—he figured that in a few years, the USE would have battleships in the Caribbean, and that would solve that problem. But battleships couldn't grow back trees that had already been cut down.

He decided to experiment. He had one of the Miskitos cut V's into the bark, not just near the ground, but all the way up the trunk. The "milk", as the Miskitos dubbed the latex, came running out. A tree with a five foot diameter might yield twenty gallons of milk. Which was about as much latex as they collected the original way. Whether the tree would in fact survive the heavy cutting, he couldn't be sure. What he was sure was that it wouldn't survive being felled. So this had to be an improvement.

It had the unexpected effect of increasing his labor force. His original guinea pig was one of the topmen from the Walvis. Accustomed to climbing a seventy five foot mast, he wasn't exactly afraid of heights. The novelty of Philip's experiment attracted observers, both Dutch and Miskito, and Philip overheard what they were saying. And decided to stage a race. The Walvis beat the Koninck David.

Then the Miskitos wanted in. They had their own climbing tricks. There was a risk of falling, of course. A mature Castilla was many feet high. But so far as the Miskito were concerned, the risk was what made the new rubber tapping a desirable activity for a warrior.

****

Rather than draw on the ships' provisions, David preferred to pay the Miskitos to hunt for them. The Indians ranged along the coast, and up the river, bringing back turtle meat, fish, fowl and other dainties. Blauveldt had told David that in their home territory, two Miskitos could feed a hundred Europeans. It wasn't much of an exaggeration.

****

"One of the hunters is back, seems anxious to speak to you, Captain," Cornelis reported.

"Bring him by, let's find out what he has to say." David was sitting on the stump of a rubber tree, munching on some fruit.

The report brought him to his feet. "Cornelis, pick the steadiest men. Have them go around, tell the other captains to have their men to quiet down, collect weapons, and assemble by the canoes. There're Spanish upriver."

David pulled a ring off his finger, and handed it to the hunter. "For you, good work!"

He then turned to Philip. "Go with him, get the Miskito chiefs together."

Some minutes later, there was a quick Dutch-Miskito council of war on the bank of the Rio San Juan. The Dutch, with swivel guns brought over from the ships, blocked the path downriver. The Miskitos fanned out in small groups, heading into the rainforest. They would cut off the Spanish escape route.

The ambush was completely successful. It was also completely anticlimactic. The two mestizos the Indians had spotted weren't scouts for a Spanish expedition. They were the expedition. In a manner of speaking.

More precisely, they were stragglers from a canoe convoy that had come down the river some months earlier, at the end of the last rainy season. The two had gone hunting one day, gotten lost, and discovered, when they made it back to the river, that they had been left behind. They had built a raft and tried paddling upriver, but decided eventually that it was too difficult and headed back downstream.

The mestizos were from the town of Granada in the interior of Nicaragua. Their convoy's cargo was their region's annual export of cochineal, sugar, indigo, hides and silver; it had been headed for Portobello, 300 miles to southeast. There, it would have been transferred to the great flota, which sailed in January or February to Cartagena, Havana, and finally home.

There was much moaning and wailing among the Dutch when they realized that they had missed an easily captured treasure by just a few months.

The Miskitos were disappointed, too. While the Miskitos did cultivate crops, their general altitude was that it is easier to let someone else do the farming and then rob them. In this regard, they were not very different from their English and Dutch allies.

****

David thought about the treasures of Granada, and its sister city, Leon. He couldn't afford to hang around the mouth of the San Juan until next December or January, waiting for the 1635 convoy. His investors would be unhappy about the delay in the delivery of the oil, rubber and bauxite, and a wait would increase the danger that a roving Spanish squadron would spot his ships.

But . . . If the convoy left the town half a year ago, that meant that the town's warehouses were half-full again. Right?

Could he ascend the San Juan and assault the two cities? He had started the voyage with perhaps one hundred sixty men. Some of those had been left behind in Suriname, to help the colonists; others had died, through accident or disease. If he were to be away from the ships for a month or more, he would have to leave a strong guard behind, or he could return with much loot, only to find that he had no ships to sail home in. So that meant oh, perhaps, a hundred effectives. That was the bare minimum.

But if Blauveldt joined in . . . and the Miskitos . . . he might reasonably lead two hundred men into action. That made the idea . . . quite practical.

****

"Captain?" Philip was anxious to report on his successes.

The captain stared into the forest, without a word.

"Captain?"

David grimaced. "I have rethought the situation. We have done enough rubber collecting. It ...