Seas of Fortune(47)
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 three 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 sacking Maracaibo or Coro on the Venezuelan coast, 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 Bonaire 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.”
“Please leave the copy in my cabin.”
Providence Island, off coast of Nicaragua, 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.
“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. Or would have been in our old future, I should say. 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.