1633:The Danish Scheme (20 page)

Gunther was ecstatic about some unusual metals that had shown up in the samples, but as far as Luke could tell, they were of little commercial value. So far, all that the 
valuable
 information he’d found in Grantville had done was cost him time. If it weren't for the iron deposits at Christianburg, the expedition would have little to show for itself at this point. He stared at the map. It showed coal deposits on the west side of the island, but they were some distance inland. The iron deposits would be much more valuable if they could locate a ready source of coal to smelt the ore into finished ingots. His eyes wandered across the map. Too bad he couldn't get to Cape Breton. The coal deposits there were substantial and closer to the coast for hauling. But without a contact, the possible trouble with French officials was more than he cared to risk.

Their next stop in the morning would be the English settlement, Ferryland, on the east coast of the island. Rumor had it that the Lord Baltimore had abandoned the settlers after building a good port and defenses. Maybe they might have some knowledge of the interior of the island and the Boethuck natives that no one had seen yet. Or maybe they had news on the Dutch ship that was raiding in the area. In either case, worrying about "maybes" wasn't going to make tomorrow come any faster. It was getting late. He reached up, extinguished the flame of the lantern, and headed for his cot. His dreams that night weren't of coal.

Ferryland, Harbor, Newfoundland, May, 1634

A fog had risen during the night, but the morning sun was rapidly burning it off. Captain Foxe waited by the wheel, trying to sight the settlement he knew lay just to the west. The long boat was already swung out to send a party ashore. He handed his telescope to Svend and motioned aloft. "Go see if the shore is visible. I think we may just be in an isolated fogbank."

Svend hurried aloft. As he faded from sight in the fog, he paused and called down. "You were right, Captain; the fogbank ends less than a cable west of us. It's clear from there to the shore. We're about two miles from the dock."

Luke passed the order to the first mate, "Take her in Mr. Barrow, just like we discussed. We'll anchor offshore and send the boat in. Oh, and have a signal gun ready. The map I have shows they're spread out a bit and may not have a watch set."

"Aye, aye sir!"

The sun and the westerly heading soon had the 
Köbenhavn 
clear of the fog. Svend kept the deck posted from aloft on the situation ashore. "The dock seems to be intact, but two boats pulled up on the beach appeared to have burned. It looks like someone has tried to start repairing the least damaged of the pair. I can't make out any activity in the few houses in view." The 
Köbenhavn
 continued to sail toward the dock. It was barely making way. The cutwater off the bow was not much more than a child would raise in a puddle after a rainstorm. "Still nothing moving."

"Fire the signal gun, Mr. Barrow. Maybe these farmers are still asleep!" Luke's expression suddenly changed, "Or maybe something has happened."

The discharge of the gun on the forecastle banged out and then reechoed from the nearest hillside. "Do you see anything yet, Svend?"

"There's some movement behind the wall back from the beach. I'm not sure . . . "

The rest of Svend's answer was drowned out in an answering blast from behind the wall. Two clouds of smoke rose from the concealed cannons there. Seconds later, there was the sound of ripping linen and two holes appeared in the mainsail.

"Come about, Mr. Barrow, and get us out of range. These folks don't seem to want visitors." As the ship came about, it seemed to slow down and then stayed heeled over a degree or two. The tide was at ebb and the 
Köbenhavn
 had slid up on a small sand bar. As the crew tried to sort out what had happened, another volley sounded from shore. This time, one ball hit the foretop yard and it split in two. The pieces flopped but their supporting chains held them aloft.

Luke gave a quick glance to where the guns were hidden. His cannon could not bear on the battery. "Mr. Barrow, get two more boats lowered. We'll shift the forecastle guns back and try to tow her off." As the crews lowered the boats, another volley slammed home. Both shots hit the hull but bounced.

"They're only using a pair of four pounders Captain." The bosun who had called out had served in the Danish navy before joining the 
Köbenhavn.
 

Luke snapped, "I don't care what they're using. If we stay here much longer, even a rat could nibble us down." He turned to Svend, who had nearly run down the ratlines when the first shots had been fired. "Raise a white flag. Maybe we can parley and find out why they're so belligerent."

Svend raced below and returned with a bed sheet from his cot. Another two shots rang out, but this time they were clean misses. The sheet was tied on to a line and quickly raised. After ten minutes without another volley, Luke relaxed a little.

"John, you're in charge. I'm going ashore to find out what this is all about. Keep trying to get us free from the bar. And keep sounding the well, in case we sprung something. Svend, grab your notebook. I want you along as my aide." Luke stepped to the ladder and headed down to the main deck and the entry port. Svend ran back to his cabin and packed the paper, ink, and quill into a pack. He reached the boat just as a seaman passed a small white flag to one of the rowers. Svend took it after he settled in. Hopefully the people on shore would honor the flag.

As the boat approached the dock, an armed party of about fifteen men came out to meet them. Even at a distance, angry shouts in English and French could be heard. The seaman in the front of the longboat tied the line to a piling and Luke stepped up to the dock. He was met by an old, weathered man, who probably had been the captain of one of the burned boats. "Who are you and where are you from?" he demanded before Luke could say a word. The question had been accentuated with a wheelock pistol in his hand.

"I'm Captain Luke Foxe, of the Danish ship 
Köbenhavn.
 We're here on an exploring mission." Any comments on settlements and other ships could wait until the situation was less tense.

"Then why did you shoot at us? Are you in league with that damned Dutchman?" All the guns were pointed at Luke and his sailors. The rage was evident on all the faces in the crowd. Unless something was done quickly to defuse the situation, a single tense finger on a trigger could cause a massacre.

Luke laughed. "That was our signal gun! From the water, it was evident something had happened here. Since no one showed themselves, we fired to attract your attention. We heard from a passing ship that a Dutchman was raiding these waters. If there were desperate survivors, we wanted to let them know succor was at hand. Now put down that pistol before you shoot a fellow Englishman."

"But I thought you said you were Danish?" Uncertainty was starting to replace the rage.

"We're chartered to a Danish company that's partly owned by Sir Thomas Roe." Luke noticed that everyone in the crowd looked gaunt, so he added, "We're provisioned for a two year voyage. If you need supplies we'd be glad to share. How many are you?" The instant smiles told Luke he had hit the right note.

"We've forty-three English settlers and twelve French sailors that were marooned here by the Dutchman, with no supplies. We tried to rebuild one of the boats they burned but we didn't have anything for cordage or sails. It's been over a year since our last supply ship arrived from England. Our food is almost gone."

Luke called to Svend, "Return to the ship and ask Mr. Barrow to hoist out a barrel of flour and some cabbages as soon as he has the ship off the bar." Even as he said it, he heard a cheer from the ship and could see that the 
Köbenhavn
 had refloated with the returning tide. "Come back to me as soon as you've delivered the message." Luke was now surrounded by well wishers pounding him on the back, grateful that the specter of starvation had been lifted.

Later that evening at a modest feast laid out in celebration of their rescue, Luke sat down with Captain Willem Holmes, the leader of the group in the morning and Captain Rene Chaumont, the leader of the French sailors. As Luke poured them all mugs of wine he asked, "So, what's the story on this Dutchman? All we heard was from a passing ship that a Dutch ship was raiding off the Banks."

Rene raised his mug and pointed at the crews in the room, "We were all fishing off the Banks, minding our own business. Next thing we know the Dutch comes sailing into view and fires a shot across our bow. He sends a boat over and tells us we're his prisoner. We ask why and he says that France stabbed Holland in the back and that we're at war. They gave us five minutes to gather our personal belongings and then they whisked us into the boat and set fire to my 
Berthe
 ! Two more times that day they do this. The entire fishing fleet from Baie de Mordienne he sinks! Even if we get back, our village is ruined!" He slammed the mug down to emphasize the loss. "He tells me he wants to hurt the English too, since they helped the French. Since there were few Englishmen working the Banks at that time, he decides to kill two birds with one stone and sails here, to Forillon and sets us off without supplies and burns the English boats."

Willem nodded agreement and added; "It was already a rough winter for us, with no supplies from England. We knew nothing about any war. We were just trying to hold on." Tears started to roll down his check. "We've already lost six this season from sickness and the start of scurvy. One was my youngest daughter."

Luke's mind was racing. These people were facing the same problems he had worked so hard for his expedition to avoid. He couldn’t undo the harm they had suffered, but he might be able to give them a better future. The problems facing the village presented an opportunity for all of them.

He recalled the charts from the previous evening. Baie de Mordienne would become Port Mordien in another future. The Port Mordien that would also become the site of the first coal mine in Cape Breton. He just had to present the solution the right way. "From what we heard before we left Copenhagen, it sounds like Lord Baltimore may have decided to cut his losses here and go elsewhere. Our major backer was Sir Thomas Roe, an English diplomat to King Christian's court. He has friends in England that know Lord Baltimore and they had told him that Newfoundland was being abandoned. That's why we're here. We're setting up a mining settlement near Bell Island. From there, we plan on expanding into the Hudson's Bay area. This harbor would make an idea second site for the fishing boats we plan on supplying the settlements."

Willem interrupted, "I don't know what the others here will say, but good riddance to the Calverts if they want to treat us that way. We don't owe them nothing! We'll talk it over, but I think you have your port."

Rene sat there with a long face. "But what about us Bretons? What do we do?"

"Patience, my friend. First I have a question for you." Luke tried not to let his eagerness show. "As I understand, you are under the French, 
non
 ?"

"
Oui
, the 
Compagnie
 holds a charter for our territory."

"But do they have any administrator living there?" This was the key.

"
Non
 . They only show up about once a year to collect taxes and sell us shoddy trade goods. They keep us in servitude by forcing us to sell our fish cheap, back in French markets, and control the prices we pay for goods. If there was some way to change that, we would. With no fishing boats now, they'll let us starve and start over with new victims."

"We'll make sure you get home. When we get there I'll need to contact your leaders. There may be a way for you to break your chains to the 
Compagnie
 and we'll all be rich men. Just how badly do you want to stay a fisherman?" Rene and Willem both smiled broadly and leaned forward to listen to Luke's proposals.

Mid May, 1634, off the coast of Newfoundland
 

Captain Luke Foxe again sat at the desk in his cabin, staring at the maps and data graphs spread out in apparent, random confusion on the desk and pinned on the bulkhead. A closer examination revealed a method to the madness. This time he may have found an answer.

The maps contained handwritten notes and symbols on mineral deposits throughout the country that would have someday become known as Canada. He’d gathered up the maps for the Newfoundland and Cape Breton regions and added a chart that was titled "Characteristics of the Ingredients for Steel and Iron." He stood up and held the chart so the candle lamp overhead gave enough light to read it easily. His eyes weren't getting any younger. For a long time, he went back and forth between the charts and maps trying to reach a decision. The Grantville researchers he'd paid to scour the library, offices and private papers for any hints of minerals in Canada had hand written a wealth of information on the maps. What they hadn't done was tell him where he should search. He finally set the papers down and closed his eyes in exhaustion.

"Do I dare try it? The gamble has so many risks." When he opened his eyes, a paper on the corner of the desk caught his attention. It had been part of the package he acquired in Grantville. It was a short copy from an encyclopedia on the "Life and Death of Captain Luke Foxe." He’d forgotten that he’d made a copy of it. Supposedly, he would die in the very near future. He smiled at the implied contradiction. "Well, for a dying man, I seem to be doing quite well. I've beaten the odds so far."

Many things had happened since he originally read that article. He was now the de facto Hudson's Bay Company's leader and had to make the decisions since Sir Thomas Roe appeared to have been lost at sea with the 
Hamburg.
 He thought back to his conversations with the Abrabanels on how to conduct the exploration operations once they got to the New World. Reuben had said something that had brought a chuckle at the time but now seemed very apropos. "How did that saying go?" Luke concentrated on the memory, "Ah yes, playing with the house's money!" The iron ore discoveries around Christianburg already promised to pay for their efforts. Anything else, from this point, was found money. If a way to easily convert that ore to pig iron or steel could be developed, the profits would more than double. They could ship refined metals back to Europe, instead of ore. For roughly the same weight, they could triple the value of each load. The only catch was that the French nominally controlled the coal deposits around Cape Breton, even if they didn't know they were there. The sailors he had rescued at Ferryland and was returning to Baie de Mordienne would provide an opportunity if he could just find the right way to use their influence. They had already agreed that they wanted to improve their lot, but the specifics were what needed to be resolved.