Providence Island had started importing slaves the year before. Rishworth’s views on the matter had gotten him in trouble with the local authorities. At first, he merely 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 wasn’t something more interesting to do. If they got bored, they would go 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 give it adequate artillery and troops, and the rubber trees would 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.”