Pistoleer: Pirates Page 11
As White and Weston had been talking, Daniel had been moving closer to Robert and now he whispered to him, "And for the same reason, my clan will not be allowed to settle in the Chesapeake."
"Do you travel further up the Chesapeake? To Kent Island perhaps?" White asked Robert. "If so, may I travel with you. I am too old and fat to be comfortable in a dugout, and I am due a visit to take confessions and give blessings."
"No,” Robert replied.
"Yes, of course,” Daniel spoke over Robert's reply while giving him a hard stare. He liked this Jesuit, and like all Jesuits this man was a wealth of information. It would be worth the trip to spend more time with him and pick his brain. The folk from the church were gathering round, and when they were closer Daniel realized that they were all small folk. Both the men and the women were petite, with pale skin and dark hair and eyes. They reminded him of the six young women they had rescued from the English slaver in Africa.
"I understood that Saint Mary's was mostly settled by Irish, so I am curious,” Daniel queried White. "I have met many Irish around Bristol, and they look nothing like these folk. They are more like you, big and brawny, with red or sandy hair, freckled skin, and bushy beards."
"Ahh," White lowered his voice and moved closer to Daniel's ear. "The red Irish are the descendants of the Norse and the Norman conquerors. They are townfolk mostly, especially in ports along the east coast. Those are not the Irish who have been so poorly used by every king since Henry the Eighth. It is the black Irish who are being killed and starved and cleared from their land. You know, the Gael Irish, the clansmen who have lived in Ireland since a time before history. The clans who are now constantly being pushed towards the west coast."
"Then you should know, good brother,” Daniel whispered back, "that twice on this journey we have met with slavers who have been told by the King's Deputy of Ireland, Strafford, to mate African bucks with the clans women who are being cleared from Ireland. They hope to create a new race of slaves, half-breed slaves for the plantations of Ireland, Barbados, and Virginia."
The words took the Jesuit's breath away and he murmoured a quick prayer before saying, "So it is true. I must think long on this news before I respond, for it could be that I am an unwilling pawn in this venture, this atrocity."
* * * * *
* * * * *
The Pistoleer - Pirates by Skye Smith Copyright 2013-14
Chapter 7 - Chesapeake and Rhode Island in July 1641
That night they feasted in the church with the villagers, or at least it would have been a feast if strong drink was not forbidden in this village. The Brownists refused to attend any feast held in a papist church, and so ate from the ship's store of smoked fish. They missed a good time, for once the food was sided away, and the benches pushed back, the church became a place of Irish minstrels and wild dancing.
The next morning the Swift made a pleasant sail back down the Potomac River and then north along Chesapeake Bay. There was just enough wind so that they never pulled on an oar, yet not so much as to create any waves larger than ripples. Weston went back to work marking the charts with the hills. The west bank of the long main bay had peninsulas formed by hills and ridges, whereas the east bank was low and marshy with many islands.
"I can see why Clairborne chose this island for his trading fort,” Daniel said after the Jesuit pointed Kent Island out to him. "It's much like the Fens around Lynn, his home town, except for the trees of course, for Lynn's forests were cleared long ago. Clairborne found a new Lynn-fen here and decided to settle. It's a shame he was forced out before he could send to Lynn for more Fensmen to help him settle the place."
"The Lords of the Plantations could never allow him to hold this island,” White pointed out. "Kent island controls the northern third of the Chesapeake where my sponsor, Lord Baltimore, wants me to start a larger settlement. The Lords who hold patents in Virginia want plantations not trading posts. They want to populate this land with the poor of Ireland, so the last thing they want is for someone to be trading tools and weapons and gunpowder to the native clans."
"And just who are these Lords of the Plantations?" Daniel asked.
"Why, members of the King's Privy Council of course."
"Like Robert Heath, I suppose? Who is your Lord Baltimore?"
"Baltimore is an Irish baron by the name of Cecil Calvert, but please don't call him mine. His vision of Saint Mary's Colony is very different from mine. His plans are for another Virginia style colony with profitable plantations run by slavers, whereas I want it to be a haven for the poor and the dispossessed." White pulled at Daniel's sleeve and told him, "Keep to the east of that point. There is a small harbour on the east side of the fort."
The 'fort' was simply a small village of wooden buildings surrounded by a stockade of posts with but one small gate. It was not so much a fort to resist the cannonades of ships, as a fort to keep the native clansmen out of the village when the gate was closed. As they sailed towards the harbour, they watched as the gate was closed. White went and stood on the bow and waved to the fort, and the gate was re-opened. Judging by the small number of dugouts in the harbour, business must be slow at the trading post.
The native clansmen were dressed very differently from the clansmen of the Pamlico, in that they were actually fully clothed. "These folk come here to trade furs from the Allegany mountains to the north of here,” White told Daniel and Robert. "It is worth you visiting the trading post to see the types of furs they trade, and the quality."
Daniel and Robert were the only men to step off the ship, and that was to walk the Jesuit towards and into the fort. Within an hour, which included a quick look at the fort, the trading post, and a splash of rum with the factor of the post, they had seen enough. The local clans came here in hopes of trading a fortune of furs for poor muskets and poor gunpowder. Each native was treated to a long drink of rot gut rum before any bargaining began. The tactic worked well with the single men for they all seemed to be satisfied to trade furs for more rum.
Those natives in family groups with women were more likely to settle on homespun cloth, woolen blankets, trading beads, metal pots and kettles, and simple tools such as bush knives, and hatchets. As Daniel sipped the factors rum behind the trading counter, a violent arguement broke out between one of the clerks and three of the native men. Or at least it seemed violent since one of the natives was pushing his musket into the face of the clerk. The factor did not move, and pressed down on the arms of his guests so they would not stand.
"That is a Swedish musket he is showing to my clerk,” the factor explained quietly. "There is a new Swedish fort over on the Delaware that they call Fort Christina, after their Girl-King, and they are trading fine guns to these people. I visited them last fall to ask them to limit the bore of the muskets they sell to one ounce balls, but they laughed at me. They want to increase the number of furs for trade by the Delaware clans, and the best way to do that is to offer them better muskets."
"I can't fault a hunter for wanting a better gun; one that kills an animal cleanly with one shot,” said Daniel as he tried glimpse the lock works of the musket that was being shown to the clerk.
"Aye, a clean death with one shot. That is exactly why the governors of the English colonies forbid the trade of muskets that could be used to slaughter us."
Daniel stood and walked over towards the native man showing off his Swedish musket. As he approached the man pulled it back into his chest as if to protect it from the tall stranger. It didn't matter, for Daniel had seen enough. The Swedish musket was better designed than those that the Scots and the English had used on each other at the battle of Newburn. After backing politely away from the gun, he spun on a foot and went back to finish his rum. "I foresee that your trading post will not do much business for the rest of this year."
"I foresee more than that,” replied the factor. "I foresee shooting raids between the native clans to steal each other's bales of furs before they can be traded to the Swedes. I foresee
shooting raids against our farms once the harvest is in, and against this fort after the next supply ship has unloaded. I suppose it could be worse. At least the Swedes have adopted our rule of not trading metal arrow points to the natives. Even they realize that none of our musketeers would stand a chance against native archers shooting metal points."
"All we must do is stay friendly with the natives,” White suggested. "If the native clans are wont to attack any settlers, they will attack the Virginians. They have good cause to hate them, for they have cheated, and enslaved, and slaughtered them for decades. Your point about the metal points is valid, though. You should tell your clerks to watch out for them, and send out warnings to every settlement if they spot any."
"If anyone sells metal points," the factor replied, "it will be Fort Christine, for they don't have much to fear from the natives. That fort is well manned with soldiers newly retired from the German wars. Swedes, Finns, Germans, and Dutch, and every one of them a dangerous man."
"Hmmph," Daniel snorted in derision. "The natives must think the muskets are magic to trade bales of fur for them. If I were them, I would find work in one of your smithy forges until I learned how to heat, cut, and shape metal into arrow points."
"Shhh," the factor hushed him harshly. "Do you want them to hear you? You and I both now that a squad of bowmen will slaughter a squad of musketeers every time, but nobody wants the native chiefs to know that."
"I don't understand,” the Jesuit interrupted. "I thought the reason that European armies rarely use bows any more is because the musket is so much better."
The factor shook his head, but it was Daniel who explained, "It takes years to train a bowman to be deadly, whereas it only takes a week to train a musketeer. In my village in England we have guns and we have bows, and if we were forced into a battle, each man would have a dragon pistol in his belt to use to save his own life, and a bow over his should for winning the battle, and perhaps a few grenades in case the enemy had field guns."
"Well thank heaven the natives don't have a European warlord,” the factor said. "And yet, if there is another rebellion here, I'll wager the rebels will be lead by one of the runaway Irish slaves from Virginia." He softened his voice to a whisper. "Like my clerk over there. Last year he did a runner from Virginia, and we gave him sanctuary.
Now he now speaks Powhatan and his new wife is the daughter of a Delaware clan werowance. He swears that some day he will rescue the rest of the Irish from the plantation he escaped from. If his wife's cousins join him in that rescue, then I doubt that any of the plantation managers will survive the attack."
White was nodding his head. "Virginia's greatest fear is another slave revolt. Why do you think the Virginia burgesses hate Saint Mary's Cittie so much? They think that we are encouraging a revolt by offering sanctuary to escaped slaves."
"Well aren't you?" Robert asked crisply as he swigged the last of his rum and nudged Daniel. It was time to make their way back to the Swift.
* * * * *
Kent Island was quite large, and Chesapeake Bay long and narrow, so the island physically separated the northern third of the bay from the rest. Sailing along the upper bay was more like sailing on a lake than on a tidal bay. That could explain why they saw so many dugouts in the upper bay, indeed, more dugouts than they had seen on the entire trip from the Floridas. The factor at the fort had warned them to expect this because of the new Swedish fort. The Elk River at the very head of the Chesapeake was navigable by dugouts almost all the way to Fort Christina.
The lands and rivers at the top of the Chesapeake would make a fine place to settle if it weren't for the threat of violence. After studying the chart of the area, a chart which White had allowed Weston to copy, it was easy to envision the Continental politics of Sweden and Germany spilling violence into this fair land. According to White, Fort Christina was manned by soldiers who were arming and riling the native clans. This could be the beginning of a Swedish plan to expand south and grab control of not just Delaware Bay but also the Chesapeake.
If that plan were to play out, then these northern shores of the Chesapeake would become a battleground. Robert was more interested in the charts of what lay to the north of the Chesapeake along the coast. It was an interesting looking coastline and since most of the villages were marked with newer ink than the rest of the chart, he assumed that these villages were recently settled.
At a break in their discussions about their route north, Daniel announced. "I don't think there is any reason for us to explore this coast any further. I have been told that from here north the winters are like those of southern England. If the winters are getting harder in England, then they will be getting harder here too. All these new settlers were fools not to settle further south, and I will not be party to such foolishness. I have a letter to deliver in Rhode Island, but other than that, I think we should sail quickly on to Plymouth."
There was immediate agreement. Every day now all three were harangued by the Pilgrim passengers, who were now bored with this journey, and were eager to see their new homes in Plymouth.
* * * * *
"The Plymouth Puritans now call it Rogue's Island," Edward sniffed down his nose as he stood on the rear castle of the Swift and looked out at the collection of small wooden buildings on the shore of Rhode Island. "It was settled two years ago by the Hutchinsons and others like them who do not accept our Brownist interpretation of scriptures."
It was difficult for Daniel not to groan out-loud. "It has always seemed to me that holy men spend more time arguing about the interpretations of ancient words, than in doing holy works."
"Exactly," Edward jumped on the opening. He rarely got the opportunity to discuss his religion with Daniel, who claimed he was an Anabaptist and yet never seemed to quote the bible. "We Puritans believe that you earn eternal life by the good works that you do while on this earth. The rebels of Rogue Island say that faith, and faith alone, gains you eternal life. Why that is a throwback to Papist thoughts. What next eh? Purchasing forgiveness from the church?"
A groan was Daniel's only answer to this. Every time a Christian holy man spoke religion to him, it was always at length, and always about things that were imaginary. At least with Freyja, the moon goddess, you could see her works in the tides and in the birth cycles of all things.
"Something is wrong on that island," Robert interrupted.
"That is what I have been trying to explain,” Edward began but was again interrupted by Robert, who was on the wheel.
"Aye, Danny," Robert pointed to a pillar of smoke on the island. "The charts show that the settlement of Portsmouth is at the other end of this island and much further from the sea, yet there are houses and huts on this southern point. Perhaps it is a native village. Whatever it is, that smoke is not from clearing land. Something is very wrong."
"Here, take back the wheel,” Robert told Daniel. "Change course and go around that point. Let's take a closer look." He then called to the riggers that the course was changing, and yelled at the oarsmen to run half the oars out. While the crew was busy, Robert loaded the swivel gun, just in case.
As the Swift came around the south point of the island, they came closer to the plumes of smoke. Just around the point there was a small harbour with some English style fishing skiffs in it, and there were men aboard them with throwing nets in hand. Robert fired a pistol as a warning to anyone within hearing that a ship had arrived and was dropping anchor.
The fishermen waved but otherwise ignored them, which was very strange because there were no other ships about and no reason to think that ships were common in this little port. Robert yelled out the names of the men he wanted in a shore party and told them to carry both a pistol and a dragon. Edward was to be part of the shore party, since supposedly this was a Puritan settlement. Meanwhile, the only man they had seen on the shore hailed them in English and pointed to a small dock, and then ran along the shore to meet them there.
"Are you being attacked?" Robert asked of the
man, but the man assured them that everything was peaceful. "So why the smoke?"
"We are burning the old Wampanoag village that was here, just so no one is tempted to use the buildings." The man told them. "This on the orders of our physician." He then led the shore party around the bay towards a stretch of beach closest to the fires where a short, dark, tanned man was yelling to the fishermen in the skiffs.
Once he was finished giving these orders, he turned towards the shore party and looked at their pistols, and called to them, "Good. You are here, and not before time. Are your pistols loaded? If not then get them ready."
"What are you talking about?" Edward replied. He noticed that the rest of the shore party had followed Robert's lead and had a pistol in their good hand and a dragon in their cack-hand..
"The rats. Didn't John Clark tell you what to expect? Well, keep a keen eye out for the rats while I explain. The original village here was infested with rats, sick rats, and the sickness has spread to the people. We are using the wind to burn the entire village at once in such a way that the rats will be herded towards this harbour. Your task is to shoot any that try to escape along the beach rather than into the water."
Had there been more time, Robert would have explained that they were not the rat killers, but at that very moment the most frightening thing he had ever seen, or heard, broke from the smoking grass and onto the beach. They were balls of crawling, clawing, screaming, screeching, gnashing rats. Just the fierceness of their hissing and shrieking was enough to make you want to run away from them.
As one, Robert and his pistoleers aimed their dragons, each choosing a different vicious ball of teeth and claws, and hurriedly cocked and fired. The sight had Edward frozen in place with his dragon pointed but unfired. The crewman next to him grabbed the dragon from him and fired it at a ball of rats that was closing on him..