Commander Cantrell in the West Indies(91)
When it was clear that Tromp had finished, Gerritsz jumped to his feet. “‘Pending events?’” he almost shouted. “What kind of oblique nonsense is that?”
Simonszoon cut a sharp glance at his colleague. “The kind of oblique nonsense that remains nonsense when heard by the wrong ears, Gerritsz. Ears that must not learn the secret intents and actions of our Provinces.” Looking back at the map, Dirck put his hand beneath his chin. “And so, both Hendrik’s ‘interests’ and this mysterious French ship lead Jakob Schooneman of the Koninck David to tell us that we must go to Trinidad?”
“Yes.”
“But Schooneman won’t offer any further explanation or speculation?”
Tromp shrugged. “When I asked him that very question, he simply responded, ‘You know I was on Trinidad last year, don’t you?’ I replied in the affirmative. He explained that he had touched the coast at Pitch Lake to take on some of the tar, and that there had been no Spanish in sight. Not a single Spanish sail was spied in those waters, in fact. And then he mentioned that he had been made aware of an up-time book that indicated that beneath the tar, there were vast quantities of oil.”
Simonszoon almost smiled, turned, and collapsed back into the bench, half supine again. The other captains stared around. “Oil?” asked Oversteegen at last.
“Oil,” affirmed van Walbeeck. “Which is of interest to the up-timers, and to any nation that hopes to adopt their technology. It is the best source of energy for their engines, if I remember correctly.”
“You do,” nodded Tromp.
Kees matched the nod. “Well, that explains the French presence then. They clearly have ambitions to adopt up-time technology.”
“Yes, it explains the French, but whose ship are they following?” van Holst asked. “Up-timers?”
“That’s unknowable at this point,” said van Galen with a dismissive wave of his hand. “But we may be sure of one thing: it means that our presence here could be discovered soon. Within weeks, even.”
Van Walbeeck perched his chin on his fist. “And how does the presence of the French ship return us to that concern?”
“Is it not obvious?” van Galen asked, either oblivious to or uncaring of the impatient glares his impolitic tone was earning. “This is the first French ship to even approach these waters since we arrived from Recife—or at least, since our arrival was known to the colonists on St. Christopher’s.”
“So?” asked Gerritsz testily.
“So what other friendly port does this Frenchman have in these waters? The French on Association Island are, from all accounts, lawless buccaneers. The so-called privateers who operate out of the tent-towns in the Bahamas and the Florida Keys are far away and would be more likely to seize the ship than help it.” He thumped the table for emphasis. “No. When the French have concluded whatever skulduggery they are about, they will have to make landfall on St. Christopher’s before departing the Caribbees. And from that moment, the candle that measures our remaining days of safety will begin burning down.”
Simonszoon folded his arms. “Tell me, van Galen: have you received credible word that the French would send a fleet to expel us from St. Eustatia?”
“No,” said van Galen, unperturbed by his senior’s droll, facetious tone, “but why should the French not tell the Spanish that we are here? Or, better yet, use the threat of doing so to extort our cooperation?”
“Extortion to do what?” Van Walbeeck queried.
“Why, to help them drive Warner and his people from St. Christopher’s. Knowing the French, I suspect they’d garnish the deal by offering to share the island with us. But I suspect they would only concede a tiny fraction of the lands they gained from displacing their hereditary English foes.”
“Who, on St. Christopher’s, no longer represent that hereditary foe.”
“That’s a mere detail. Hereditary foe or not, the French want St. Christopher’s. And if this ship returns to Europe unable to effect that conquest now, they might be followed by a flotilla which can. Which would mean we’d have very large, and very dangerous, neighbors.”
“So what do you recommend?” asked van Walbeeck.
“That we should be prepared to ‘entertain’ an offer to cooperate with the French in the matter of Warner and his people. If the French can take St. Christopher’s without need of reinforcements, they might not summon a fleet. Not for a very long time.”
Tromp simply kept staring at the map, and thought: Van Galen is truly piratical. Not on the superficial level of operations like Jol. No, he is too comfortable with what makes a man a genuine sea wolf: a ready embrace of duplicity and stratagems based on guile and deceit. I wish I could leave him back here, but I’ve got to bring him along. He’s just the type who, unwatched, might go looking for trouble, find it, and bring it right back to our doorstep. I just wish he didn’t also have a very good point about the French ship.