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Stretching Out, Part Three: Maria's Mission

Written by Iver P. Cooper

Grantville, September 1633

"You've heard the news, Mevrouw Vorst?" David de Vries brandished a folded copy of the Grantville Times.

Maria Vorst turned to face him. "Who hasn't, Captain? Is it really as bad as the papers say?"

"Probably worse. Over sixty warships destroyed by French and English treachery. " To a Dutch captain, especially one with the fighting reputation of David Pieterszoon de Vries, this was the worst possible news. He had friends aboard that fleet, friends now dead or fled to parts unknown. The Republic had needed him, and he hadn't been there.

Belatedly, he added, "Haarlem has fallen to a coup de main. And the Voice of America just announced that the northern provinces are said to be in revolt against the prince of Orange."

"What about Leiden?" That was Maria's home town.

"Not yet under siege, so far as the Americans know, but it's only a matter of time. It's bracketed by Spanish forces at Haarlem to the north and Den Haag to the south."

"My brother . . . and his wife . . ." Maria's voice quavered.

"There was no massacre in Haarlem, or Rotterdam, at least. And Leiden is hardly likely to offer resistance. So there is no reason for the Spanish army to adopt . . . stern measures."

"And the prince, he will want to protect the university, surely."

"Probably. Although if your family was prudent, they probably fled to the countryside. They certainly had enough warning."

"I hope for the best." Maria paused. "And your wife?"

"She is in Hoorn. The Spanish will probably check to make sure that no warships are hiding in its harbor. Otherwise, I don't think it will be directly affected by the fighting. The Spanish will land more troops at Egmont, and move them south to complete the investment of Amsterdam. Once the siege line is drawn close to Amsterdam, Hoorn will be militarily irrelevant."

"That sounds promising . . . as much as anything can be promising in these evil times."

"But, Mevrouw Vorst, you realize that this means that we can't go to Suriname after all."

"Why not?"

"It is my duty to fight the invaders. My ship, the Walvis, is in Hamburg, and it is well armed; it was outfitted as a privateer. I can attack the Spanish supply ships; perhaps send small boats into Amsterdam."

"That is courageous of you."

David bowed.

"But Captain, is that really the best you can do against the Spanish?"

David bristled. "Surely you don't expect me to attack the Spanish fleet, singlehandedly."

"No, no, that's not what I meant at all. From what I hear, the only thing that can prevent the ultimate fall of Amsterdam is if the city is relieved by the Swedes and their American allies. Is that true?"

"Well." David dropped his eyes, then raised them again. "The city is well stocked against a siege . . ."

"Captain . . ."

"The fortifications are in excellent condition. . . ."

"Really, Captain. . . ."

"Well, of course, Amsterdam would fall, eventually. If disease, or a Swedish relief force, or some crisis elsewhere, didn't force the Spanish to pull back. But it could hold out for many months."

"It seems to me that your ships could be put to better purpose than sinking a Spanish supply ship here and there. Bringing tar from Trinidad, and rubber from Surinam or Nicaragua, to keep the American APCs running."

David took a deep breath, expelled it slowly. "I suppose there is something in what you say. I see it is not enough for you to be a science officer, you have aspirations to be a general, too."

"War is too important to be left to men," she quipped, smiling. "Logistics is not their forte."

"Okay, I'll think about it."

****

David's original plan had been to simply transfer his rights as a patroon of the Dutch West India Company from Delaware to Suriname. The Dutch defeat at Dunkirk, and the subsequent fall of most of the Republic, had changed all that.

Raising the Dutch flag over a new colony was now more likely to invite attack by English and French opportunists than to deter it. So after extensive negotiations, a "United Equatorial Company" had been formed, under the laws of the New United States. Those laws were based on the U.S. Constitution, and thus banned slavery. The up-time American backers insisted that the corporate charter also ban slavery, since the political fate of the NUS was somewhat uncertain.

There was the practical problem that the NUS flag might not be recognized. Hence, as a additional diplomatic fig leaf, David obtained the right to have his ships, and the colony, fly the Swedish flag, too. Not that David was getting any troops or money from Gustav Adolf. Still, it would be a warning that Sweden might officially take notice of any harm done the colony, and the better Sweden did in the wars, the more others would fear to give it an excuse to retaliate.

****

"Thanks, Philip," said Maria, balancing a stack of books. "This will really be helpful."

"You're welcome," he said with a smile. He blinked a few times. "Do you like Westerns? They're showing High Noon this Friday."

"That might be nice. I'll have to ask Prudentia what her plans are."

"She can come, sure."

"I'll ask Lolly. She'll appreciate the excuse to get out of the house." Maria was staying with Lolly, the middle school science teacher. Currently pregnant.

"Uh. . . . I was thinking that we could celebrate your completing the sugar report."

"That would be nice. So we should ask Irma and Edna. They told me so much about sweet sorghum and sugar beet. And Rahel should come, too."

Philip blinked again. "I suppose."

"And of course the Bartollis. Lewis and Marina, I mean." She gave him a wink. "Don't forget to invite your sister Laurel. Evan, too, perhaps?"

"Yeah. . . . I'll ask them. Well, uh, see you Friday." He turned toward the door.

"It's a date!" she called out after him.

****

It's a date, she said, Philip thought. Yahoo!

Philip needed something to cheer him up. It had only recently hit him that in just a few months, his gang, the "Happy Hills Six," would be split up; most would be going into the military, and who knows where they would be stationed. Or what would happen to them there.

His mother had been driving him nuts about it, too. It had been bad enough when Laurel went into the army—and jeesh, she was in Telephone and Telegraph, not exactly on the front lines—but Philip was the baby of the family and Momma was always bringing it up.

And then there were Grandpa Randolph's health problems. He was seventy-five years old, but until recently in great condition for his age. Thanks to all that hunting and fishing, Phil figured. But he was bed-ridden now, and Momma fretted over that, too.

Phil wished, really wished, he could just, like, move out. If it hadn't been for the Ring of Fire, he could have solved the problem by going to college some place far away. Like Cleveland.

****

"How's your report coming along, Maria?" It was Prudentia Gentileschi, the daughter of the famous Artemisia, and an up-and-coming artist in her own right.

Maria greeted her friend with a kiss on each cheek. "Almost done. It would help if the investors didn't keep changing their mind as to what they wanted to know." Maria, the daughter of the curator of the Leiden Botanical Gardens, had come to Grantville to study botany, and had gotten enmeshed in De Vries' plans to establish a new colony on the Wild Coast of South America. Somewhat grudgingly, he had accepted her as his "science officer," as one of the up-timer investors had titled her.

Prudentia smiled. "Believe me, painters working on commission have the same problem."

Maria showed Prudentia the report. "As you see, it covers pretty much everything the colony might grow, for itself or for export. Various kinds of rubber trees, sugarcane, cacao, coffee, cotton, dye plants, rice, pineapples, bananas, manioc, oranges, coconuts—you name it."

Prudentia gave it a once-over. "Impressive."

Maria shrugged. "I couldn't have done it without Philip Jenkins' help. He knows so much about trees, and of course he's actually seen, and eaten, pineapples and bananas."

Prudentia gave Maria a knowing look. "I bet he's been helpful."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Don't pretend to be obtuse. You know what I mean. I think he likes you."

"Yes, we're friends."

"That's not what I meant. I think he's courting you."

"That's ridiculous. I am in my mid-twenties, and he is what? Fifteen?"

"Sixteen. And a half."

"That's right. He did say that the first time we met."

"He has probably been saying it to someone every day since attaining that lofty age."

"Anyway, he's not the only lad who helped me. There's Lewis Bartolli, the chemistry 'whiz kid,' who did the write-up on aluminum, bauxite and cryolite. And his sister Marina has done a lot of typing for me." She paused. "You know, maybe Phil is interested in Marina, and is using his visits as an excuse to see her. She's pretty, in a dark sort of way, and just a little younger than Philip, so she's the right age for him. And she is the daughter of the Bartolli of Bartolli's Surplus and Outdoor Supplies, while Philip is a hunter and fisherman. Since Lewis Bartolli isn't going into the family business, perhaps Philip sees an opportunity there. That would be sensible."

"Yes, that would be sensible." Prudentia didn't sound convinced.

"By the way, who's that kid that's been making googly eyes at you at Dinner and a Movie?" asked Maria.

Prudentia blushed. "His name's Jabe, and he's not a kid. And he's not making googly eyes. In fact, he can hardly look at me."

****

Maria was walking down Buffalo Street, on her way to Hough Park. She stopped suddenly. Wasn't that Rahel's friend Greta in front of her? And the guy she was with was, what's his name, Karl? He was handsome, but Maria had heard bad things about him. Should she join them? No, that probably wouldn't work. She could follow them, but what could she do if there was trouble? She was no martial arts expert.

Then she saw Philip on a side street. The answer to her prayers. "Philip, come join me." Philip was brawny—he played American high school football—and knew how to fight.

She linked arms with him. "Walk with me," she commanded. "And talk."

"About what?"

"Umm. Coconuts. Pineapples. Tropical stuff."

"Okay." She let him drone on while she kept her eyes on Greta and Karl. At last, Greta and Karl parted—not without some squirming on Greta's part—and Maria breathed a sigh of relief.

"Did you say something?" asked Philip.

"Thank you, this was lovely. Sorry, but I have to run. Bye!"

****

If it wasn't one thing, it was another. The latest problem was a political one. The Company had been chartered under the laws of the New United States, which, at the time was a sovereign state. But now the NUS was merely a part of the United States of Europe. So was the charter still valid? And if the NUS prohibited slavery on its soil, but the USE had yet to speak on the issue, was slavery forbidden in the colony?

The lawyers whom David consulted gave him an extremely learned, expensive and authoritative "maybe."

****

When David arrived in Hamburg, where his ship was docked, he discovered a letter waiting for him. He opened it. It read, simply, "Bring back bauxite." The letter was unsigned.

But he recognized the handwriting. It was that of cousin Jan. Who, last David heard, was in the employ of Louis De Geer. Mister "I-am-sending-ships-to-the-Davis-Strait-to-hunt-whales-and-maybe-mine-a-little-gold-in-Greenland." Even though he was a metals magnate, with no previous interest in whales. And even though the up-time books said nothing about gold in Greenland.

But they sure said plenty about Greenland being the only source of cryolite. The critical flux for making aluminum from alumina. Which in turn was made from bauxite.

David decided to buy some more shovels and picks. Right away.

North Sea, December, 1633

David and his band of sailors and colonists left Hamburg on a blustery, rainy December day. It was an uncomfortable time of year to venture out on the North Sea. But that was an advantage, too; the Spanish war galleons weren't especially seaworthy and tended to spend the winters in port.

David was once again captain of the Walvis, a four hundred ton fluyt with eighteen guns. As its name implied, it was a whaler, but it was also a licensed privateer. And, just as on his last journey, the Walvis was accompanied by the Eikhoorn, a twenty ton yacht.

The Company had doubled his force by adding the Koninck David, a two hundred tonner with fourteen guns, and a second yacht, the Hoop.

It was the ideal combination of ship types for making the dangerous run south to Africa to pick up the trade winds for the Atlantic crossing. The Barbary corsairs ranged from the English Channel to Cape Verde, always hoping to capture an imprudent European ship. If they did, all aboard, crew and passengers, would be held for ransom, or simply sold as slaves at the marts of Sallee or Algiers.

The yachts could scout ahead, warning the flotilla of danger, and in turn they could shelter under the big guns of the fluyts if they encountered any formidable foe. They would come in handy in the New World, too, being ideal for inshore work.

Some investors in the Company had been more intrigued by David's descriptions of the profits to be made from privateering than in the more prosaic plans to tap rubber and mine bauxite. They had prevailed on their fellows to beef up the crews, so that David would have additional manpower for working the cannon, adjusting sail, and boarding enemy ships (or repelling boarders). That was good.

Unfortunately, David felt a bit betwist and between. He had more men than was truly economical for the operation of a fluyt, but not so many as would be on a true privateer on a short range hunting mission. And his ships were larger, and therefore less handy, than the piratical ideal.

David was well aware that this uncomfortable compromise was the natural result of decision making by committee.

"Captain, we have a stowaway."

David looked at his cousin, Heyndrick. "He must be very ingenious to escape detection this long."

"I suspect it was more that he was very generous to a sailor or two. He is a young American, and many of them are rich."

David started swearing. "And no doubt he is on board without parental permission, and his parents will be raising bloody hell with my investors. Bring him to my cabin."

A defiant young American teenager was brought in a moment later.

"What's your name, and age?"

"Phil Jenkins. I'm sixteen. And a half."

"Sixteen, huh?"

"And a half," Phil reminded him.

"That's young for an American to leave home. Do your parents know that you are here?"

"I mailed them a letter. From Hamburg. Anyway, I'm old enough to join the army, so why can't I go overseas?"

"So . . . you stowed away because you want to see the world? Or perhaps you have seen one of those romantic American movies about pirates, and fancy yourself with a black eye patch and a parrot on your shoulder?"

"I know a lot about trees, and stuff like that. I thought I could help Maria—"

"Maria, huh? Would you be as keen to look at trees in Suriname if Maria weren't on board?" Phil colored. "I knew having Maria on board was going to mean trouble," David muttered. "I don't suppose you have any nautical skills?"

"Well, Grantville was located about two hundred miles from Chesapeake Bay. But I know how to hunt and fish, and I can handle a small boat. . . ." Phil paused. David's stern expression was unchanged. Phil's voice trailed off. "On a river or lake."

David waved toward the porthole window. "Does that look like a lake to you?"

"No, sir."

David studied Philip, and decided that he was not entirely unpromising material for a colonist, or a mariner. Still. . . .

"All right. You're more trouble to me than you're worth. I can't afford to turn around—we waited a long time for a northeast wind—but as soon as we see a friendly ship heading toward Hamburg or Bremen, you're out of here. If you can't pay for the passage, you'll write me a promissory note, and I'll give you the money."

"But sir—"

"No buts. This is not your American legislature; there is no debate. Cousin, find a place for him to swing a hammock, and keep him out of my hair."

****

Maria couldn't believe it. Philip had snuck on board to be with her.

It made her feel like, like . . . reaching into his throat and pulling out his intestines. Not that his intestines were the root of the problem, anatomically speaking. Teenage boys, arggh!

She admitted to herself that it made her feel good that he was so interested in her. After all, she was ten years older than him.

But did he have any idea what sort of position it put her in? The crew and colonists would have had difficulty enough accepting an up-time woman in a position of authority. But the up-timers all acted as if they were nobles. Maria was educated, and of good family, but not of the nobility, nor someone whose past achievements would force them to overlook her gender. The captain had only grudgingly accepted her, after witnessing her kayaking stunt . . . not that the demonstration had the slightest bit to do with her competence as a botanist, a healer, an artist, or a geologist!

And now the captain would be wondering if this trip to the New World was just her excuse for eloping with Philip. And everyone else on board would be wondering the same thing.

Well, she was going to have to have a little talk with Philip. Once she had calmed down enough not to throw him overboard and make him swim back to Hamburg.

But it was nice to know that he thought she was attractive.

***

Carsten Claus sat on a capstan and watch the sailors going about their work. The other colonists had decided that the water was a bit too rough for their taste, and had retired to the zwischendeck. Carsten, however, had once been a sailor himself, and he had quickly recovered both his sea legs and his "sailor's stomach."

His fellow colonists were mostly Dutch and Germans, displaced by the war. Happy people don't pack their belongings and make a long and difficult journey to a wilderness reportedly populated by cannibals and savage beasts. Even if rumor also had it that there is gold to be found somewhere in that wilderness. The practical Dutch and Germans just didn't put much stock in stories of El Dorado. So the colonists were people with problems back home that they needed to escape, or with more than their fair share of wanderlust.

Of course, there was a third possibility. A few could be spies, or agents provocateurs. Carsten was an organizer for the Committees of Correspondence (CoC), the revolutionary organization which, with American encouragement, had spread across much of central Europe.

Andy Yost had briefed Carsten on how important it was to have a colony which could export rubber, bauxite and oil to the New United States. Oops, Carsten meant the United States of Europe. Just before the expedition left, the once-sovereign NUS had become a member state of the USE.

In Carsten's opinion, some of the CoC members greatly exaggerated the ubiquity of Richelieu's spies. In fact, at a CoC meeting, Carsten had once rapped on a closet door, and yelled, "Cardinal, come out right this minute." That had a gotten a laugh, albeit a somewhat nervous one.

Carsten had to admit that it was at least conceivable that the colonists had been infiltrated. So one of Carsten's jobs was to check their bona fides. By now, Carsten was sure that they were all okay. Well, reasonably sure.

He had also made some progress with respect to his long-term business, which was "education." Gently indoctrinating them in democratic principles, and forming a new CoC cell to make sure that the colony didn't venture onto dangerous ground. Like slaveholding.

When their ship entered the dangerous waters between Cape Finisterre and the Cape Verdes, he had reminded the colonists that these were the haunts of the Barbary Corsairs.

He acknowledged that they couldn't have a better captain than David de Vries, who was famed for having fought off the Turks when they outnumbered him two-to-one. But he asked them to pray for his fellow sailors who were less fortunate, who had been forced to surrender and whose families could not ransom them from slavery. They did so, and if they added a prayer or two for themselves, he couldn't blame them.

And then, as they prayed, he asked them to pray for the Africans who had been enslaved in the New World by the wicked Spanish and Portuguese.

When one of the colonists was bold enough to retort that the Africans couldn't expect better treatment, being pagans, and probably cannibals at that, Philip had hotly complained that putting chains on the blacks wasn't the best way to teach them about the benefits of Christianity.

***

The ship was running before the wind, which meant that the captain's cursing was carried down the length of the ship. The crew was practically tiptoeing.

Philip gave Heyndrick an anxious look. "What's got the captain upset? It isn't me, again, I hope."

"No, no, it's not you. The captain got all these newfangled navigation instruments in Grantville. Most of them work fine. The sextant, it beats a cross-staff any day. Maybe ten times as accurate, and you don't go blind trying to sight the sun."

"So what's the problem?"

"The clock. It's supposed to keep Nuremburg time, so we can calculate our longitude. It worked just fine . . . on land. And it's supposed to work at sea. Uses springs, not a pendulum."

"But. . . ."

"But whoever designed it never tested it at sea. Or at least, not on waters this rough. We know where we are, more or less, from soundings, and either the clock is wrong, or our computations are. And since the captain's figures and mine agree. . . ."

"How bad an error are you talking about?"

"Well, the old pendulum clocks, if you took them to sea, accumulated ten or fifteen minutes error a day. This one, oh, a minute or two. But an error of one minute clock time still throws off the longitude by"—he frowned for a moment— "seven and a half degrees. A few hundred miles. And after a month at sea, the clock won't even tell you which ocean you're in."

"Really. In that case, I have a proposition I want to put before the captain."

"Pardon me if I wait here. I have no desire to join you on the execution block."

****

"Captain, you don't want me to leave," Philip said.

David turned to face him. "Oh? Why the hell not?"

Philip took a deep breath. "Because of this." He pulled back his sleeve.

David didn't understand, at first. Then he did. Philip was wearing a wristwatch. A timepiece which worked at sea would let David accurately determine his longitude each day. If the timepiece kept the correct time for a place of known longitude, like Grantville, then it could be compared with the ship's local time, inferred from the position of the sun, to find the ship's longitude.

"How accurate is your watch?"

Philip hesitated. "I'm not sure. I guess it might lose or gain a few minutes a year."

"A year," repeated David dumbly.

"Yep," Phillip affirmed, this time more confidently.

David took a deep breath. "You are offering me your watch in return for the passage, and your maintenance in the colony?"

"Are you kidding? I bet this watch is worth more than your entire ship."

"Not this ship." David said. But he couldn't help thinking, But it is worth as much as one of the yachts. And it would be worth a lot more if only I could shoot the sun with equivalent accuracy.

Philip clarified his position. "What I meant was that I—and my watch—would be at your disposal for the duration of the voyage."

"Aren't you worried that I might just seize it from you? Or perhaps contrive your murder?"

Phil took a step back. "I . . . The things I heard about you . . . I didn't think you'd do something like that. You could have killed the Indians who wiped out the Swanandael settlement, and you didn't. At least, Joe Buckley said you didn't."

"You might bear in mind that Joe Buckley got the story from me. But you're right, I didn't. And I won't. But I would advise you to be very cautious who you show that watch to.

****

"Philip." She stared at him, eyes half-slitted, fists on hips.

He either didn't recognize the warning signs, or chose to ignore them. "Hi, Maria, I'm—"

"Why are you here?"

"Isn't it obvious? We've been seeing each other a while, and I couldn't stomach your being away for a year, maybe forever."

"Seeing me? You mean courting me? Dating, as you call it?"

"Well, yeah."

"But you never wrote to my brother, and asked his permission to court me. Or even asked Lolly, whose roof I live under."

"Jeesh, guys haven't done that for, I dunno—"

"Centuries? Almost four centuries? As in, the way it was done back in 1633? Oops, it is 1633, isn't it?"

"Well, you've lived in Grantville for two years, so it didn't occur to me—"

"Didn't occur to you to say anything to me, either."

"You mean, like saying, 'Will you be my girlfriend?' or 'Would you like to go steady?' That's so old fashioned, you know. Kids my age just hang out, and that's what we were doing."

"Philip. Listen to me. What do you think my age is?"

"I don't know. College age? Nineteen? Twenty?"

"I am twenty six, Philip. I am ten years older than you."

"Not quite. I am sixteen and a—"

"Yes, I know! Sixteen and a half!" Maria took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "I have been married once, and widowed, already."

"Sorry, I didn't know. Gee, you look terrific for someone your age."

"Thanks—I think." Maria felt herself losing control of the conversation. "Philip, yes, you came to visit me a lot, but I thought that was because we were friends, not boyfriend and girlfriend. And because you were interested in my work. And maybe because Marina was helping me."

"Marina? She's never said a word to me in school." Philip paused. "Do you have a boyfriend already? I mean, someone other than me."

"No, Philip." He looked relieved.

Maria decided to seize the bull by the horns. "So what did you hope to accomplish by coming on board?"

"I guess . . . I guess I really wanted to impress you. You know, make a really big romantic gesture." Philip's cheeks were as red as apples.

"Well, you impressed me, but not with your maturity. You didn't try to find out how I felt first, you left your parents worrying—"

"I left them a note."

"Believe me, that just gives them something new to worry about." Maria threw up her hands. "Really, Philip. This is like, like stalking me. Go think about it. In private."

****

Philip was not a happy camper. Everything had gone dreadfully wrong. Maria thought he was a stalker, for crying out loud. Philip thought he would die.

He lay in his hammock, listening to the creaking of the hull, and tried not to cry. Eventually, he fell asleep.

When he awoke, he resolved that he would ask the Captain to flag the next Hamburg-bound ship, after all. He went up to talk to David.

David didn't buy it. "We made an agreement, young man, and you need to stick to it. Unless you are willing to give up your watch."

"Well . . ."

"I thought not. You have skills which are useful to this expedition, and I expect you to apply them. Whether you love or hate Maria is of absolutely no interest to me. The two of you work it out."

****

"Heave-to!" The Walvis turned into the wind, and stalled. A few minutes later, the other ships followed suit. David sent more lookouts aloft, in case Barbary corsairs came sniffing around, and went to the poop deck.

Philip had no particular duties at this moment, and decided to see if David was in the mood to explain what was going on. He found David peering across an odd-looking compass. It had the usual compass needle and card, but mirrors and slotted vanes were mounted on an outer ring. "What's that?"

"An azimuth compass. One of your up-time ideas, but made in Nurnberg. It's for measuring the compass bearing of an object. A landmark, or, if you fiddle with the mirror, a heavenly body."

David turned the ring, and squinted through an opposing pair of slits. "There's the Pico de Fogo, the 'Fire Peak' of Ilha de Fogo." A plume of steam rose from it. Plainly, it was a volcano. He adjusted the azimuth circle, and took a second reading. "And Pico da Antonia, on Ilha de Santiago." The two islands lay near the southwestern end of the Cape Verdes island chain.

"With cross-bearings, I can find our exact position on both your up-time map—it had a little inset of the Cape Verdes—and on my old chart." David looked up at the sky. "It's getting close to noon, we'll take a sun-sight, and then see how good your timepiece is." David waited until the sun seemed to hang in the sky, and then measured its altitude. Philip called out the time. Grantville Standard Time, that is. GST had been proclaimed by the government after Greg Ferrara had determined Grantville's new longitude.

"Follow me." David walked across the gently tilting deck to his cabin, Philip following in his wake. Philip watched as David laboriously calculated the latitude and longitude.

"Hmm, pretty good. In fact, so good as to earn you an invitation to the captain's table for dinner tomorrow."

By then, Mount Fogo, the highest peak of the Cape Verdes, had disappeared below the horizon, to the north and behind the Walvis and its companions. Its plume was just a smudge, almost lost in the horizon haze. The great mass of Africa lay only four hundred miles to the east; the wide Atlantic separated them from the Americas to the west.

Over the meal, David explained just how Philip's wristwatch was going to help them on the next leg. He unrolled a map. "Most ships, if Caribbean-bound, would have turned west from Fogo, run down the fifteen degree line to Dominica."

Philip nodded politely. He could see the small speck marking the location of Dominica, on the near edge of the West Indies, but he knew nothing about it.

"But that's not the best sailing for us," David explained. "We'd have to fight our way southeast, against the current, to get to Suriname from Dominica."

"So why not go further south, and then turn west?"

"Spoken like a true landlubber," David said, smiling to take out the sting. If we went south to the latitude of your up-time town of Paramaribo, we would hit the doldrums. Do you understand that term?"

"No wind?"

"Often, nary a breath. Duppy Jonah's Flytrap. You can be stuck there for weeks, as your provisions spoil and your men's tempers do the same. The belt of doldrums moves north and south with the sun; that's one of the reasons we set sail in winter."

David paused for a bite. "With your fancy wristwatch to help us find our longitude, we can curve gradually south as we head west, hit South America here." He jabbed his forefinger against the spot marking the up-time town of Cayenne, French Guiana. "We don't have to sail down a latitude line anymore."

****

"Philip, congratulations. Heyndrick told me that we made a very difficult sailing, thanks to your navigational help."

"Thanks". Philip kept his back to her.

Maria waited. "Is that all you're going to say?"

"Yep."

"When you're tired of being a jerk, come and talk to me." Maria stalked off.

"Wait, Maria," called Philip, but his voice was lost in the wind, and he didn't want to follow her and endure the catcalls from the sailors.

The Wild Coast of South America, Early 1634

Their first view of Suriname was discouraging. As they cruised northwest along the Surinamese coast from Cayenne, they saw mile after unbroken mile of mangrove swamp. It didn't look like a place the colonists would want to visit, let alone live.

At last, David led his small flotilla into the mouth of the Suriname river. Here, it was really more than a river, being several miles in breadth. They headed south for what the maps had shown to be the location of the twentieth-century capital of Suriname, Paramaribo, twelve miles upriver. The "Great Encyclopedia" said that it had been settled in the old time line in 1640, and it seemed that the location couldn't be that bad if it had remained in use for over three centuries. And it added that the site was "on a plateau sixteen feet above low water level, well drained, clean, and in general healthy." Even here, the river was a mile wide, and eighteen feet deep.

They solemnly raised the flag, and David christened the town "Gustavus." Gustavus Adolphus was a hero to the Dutch and Germans, and the christening was a cheap price to pay for the Swedish support.

There were signs of a former Indian settlement on the plateau. Whether its abandonment was a heavenly blessing, or a warning, they couldn't say.

In the days following the landing, they explored the countryside. Despite appearances, the marshes were just a narrow strip on the coast. Behind them, lay an area of zwampen en ritsen: swamps and ridges. They weren't sure just how far that terrain extended, but the up-time encyclopedias had told them that if they went far enough south, they would find savannas and the great rain forests.

They had deliberately arrived at the beginning of what the encyclopedia called the short dry season. That, they knew, would be the best time to clear ground. And, once they found it, to mine bauxite. In March, when ...