Chapter 13
Antenna Rig
December 20, 1636
The antenna was up and the post amp was installed. Lidewij van der Kieij made the connection to the bank of lead acid batteries and watched as the large, thick glass tube glowed as the elements heated. This wasn’t one of the little tubes that little radios used. This tube was a foot tall and six inches across. It allowed an alternating current to be amplified into the kilowatt range, and it was necessary both for transatlantic communications and the broadcast station for New Netherlands Radio, which would send music, educational and entertainment programs to crystal radio sets within a range of fifty miles from Manhattan Island.
Lidewij had studied in Grantville for almost a year, and had been involved in the design of this tube. They only had ten of them, and Lidewij hoped that would be enough to last until the next ship arrived from the Low Countries.
The output went out to a heavy copper cable, and from there to the antenna. This was the final signal booster. Once it was warmed and ready, she left, having more sense than to be anywhere near an alternating current in the kilowatt range.
“All right. Let’s power it up.” The radio station, except for this part of it, was located in New Amsterdam. The antenna farm was located just outside the city, connected to the radio station by heavy steel cables with a copper coating. The steel was for strength, and the copper for transmission.
There was a lot of snow on the ground now, enough to make walking much slower than usual. By the time Lidewij got back to the station, they were up and running, putting out the first broadcast.
“How’s the aqualator?” Lidewij asked.
The keyboard was a standard electric keyboard, but it activated valves that affected the flow into and through the aqualator. The screen was a combination of lights and liquid flow, affecting the position of tiny mirrors. It was three feet tall and four wide, and could display ten forty-character lines. And, as much as the tubes were Lidewij’s babies, the aqualators were Giel Rolloos’.
“The Fifth interpreter is installed now.” That was a reference to the computer language they were using. He looked at the screen as a series of numbers flowed across it. “We have encryption.” Giel was a geek of the sort that worked in the early days of computers in the world that the up-timers came from. He worked and almost thought in machine language, in NANDs and NORs, and bit patterns.
“Loading the signal bounce routine now.” That was the program that adjusted the precise frequency of the radio transmission within a range to let them get signal bounce even in this time of Maunder Minimum. He looked up at Lidewij. “Your end ready?”
“Radio is up and transmitting.”
“Initiating handshake.”
Again the electro-aqua-mechanical screen lit with numbers as the aqualator sent test signals to the radio in Amsterdam and waited for a return signal to send the checksum numbers to determine if the digital signal was getting through. It was, but with an unacceptable error rate. The frequency was adjusted slightly. Things got worse, not better. Adjusted again. Things got better. Gradually, the checksums started to indicate that they were getting a strong signal and weren’t having to retransmit too often.
“Ready to send the mail,” Giel said. “Send it,” Lidewij confirmed.
Giel hit a button and a queue of messages were sent to Amsterdam. First were messages to the government in Brussels, then came financial messages to the Wisselbank, and, finally, personal messages from anyone who had the money to send a telegram.
It took almost half an hour for the aqualator to get through all the messages, and then they started getting the messages that the Amsterdam station had in the queue for them. That took another hour. Not because they had more messages, but because there was greater atmospheric signal degradation, so more repetition was necessary. That was what the checksum was about. It let them know that the signal was corrupted and they needed to resend. It was all handled by the aqualators, and the aqualators were, in turn, watched on both ends by nervous techs like Giel.
Brechtje’s boarding house
The stack of printouts was considerable. And these were just Adam’s. Anne had her own stack. So did Lady Maria Amilia Alaveres, Captain Johan de Kuiper, Bastien Dauvet, and the rest of the group that came with the royal governor.
Adam’s were essentially news from home, royal proclamations, acts of the States General, combined proclamations and acts, plus instructions on anything that the king or the States General thought he needed instructing on. There were a lot fewer from the king than from the States General. On the other hand, one of the king’s was that, absent His Majesty’s endorsement, the instructions from the States General were to be taken as advice, not orders. He still had to read through them all, though.
Near the bottom, the king informed Adam that he was a bit concerned about the continued silence, and had sent Admiral Tromp a request to check on him.
A “request,” not a command, although the distinction was mostly a matter of diplomatic etiquette. In practice, Admiral Tromp served King Fernando as the commander of the Netherlands’ naval forces in the western hemisphere. But formally he commanded an independent force, never having publicly given his allegiance to the new ruler of the Low Countries.
It was a complicated situation. In Europe, the King in the Netherlands maintained relations with his older brother the king of Spain which were cordial enough on the surface. Both of them wished to avoid any open conflict, for various reasons. But in the New World—no peace beyond the line, was the saying—the forces of the Netherlands were allied with those of the USE, and both were at war with Spain.
When Adam passed along the news to Captain de Kuiper after returning to the boardinghouse that still served as his informal headquarters, the man’s response was swift and military.
“Let’s hope Tromp comes through. With some reinforcements, we can round up the lot of them.
Hang the leaders and exile the rest.”
Adam didn’t wince. There were times he viewed the matter not too differently from the captain. Although the rebellion had been suppressed, it would be going too far to say that the underlying conflict had been resolved. The population of New Amsterdam was still at least half made up of Counter-Remonstrants—and some were now migrating up the Hudson River to New Orange. To be sure, not all of them were adherents of Brouwer and his coterie, and the failure of the rebellion had made it easier for the more temperate-minded Gomarists to keep their distance from the fanatics.
That was the main reason, being honest about it, that Adam hadn’t inflicted any punishment or penalties on the rebels, not even the ringleaders. The balance of forces favored him, certainly, but not by so much that he wanted to risk igniting another uprising.
Work site of the governor’s compound
Wolfert looked at the roof. In spite of the weather, they had done it. Double brick walls with two feet of packed earth between them surrounded the building, which was two and a half stories tall. Besides the basements, the half story was an attic with a peaked roof to slough off the snow. Of course, the interior was just posts and supports at this point, but the shell was in place, so they would be able to do the rest of the work out of the weather. Wolfert figured he would have the governor and his party moved in by spring. Meanwhile the arrival of Tromp’s ships had finally cowed the Gomarists. And now that they were cowed, the rest of the people were starting to stand up.
Wolfert hadn’t realized how many of the people of New Amsterdam liked the idea of a king in the Low Countries who would let them worship as they chose and not let someone, whether they be Catholic or Counter-Remonstrant, tell them how they must pray.
Or, as with Wolfert, not pray. It wasn’t that Wolfert doubted the existence of God. How could anyone know about the Ring of Fire and doubt the existence of God? But God hadn’t saved his wife, so he would leave God to God’s business and Wolfert would stick to his own.
His own. His own was his children and Brechtje. He continued his inspection and, in the back of his mind, he kept mulling over the situation. By now, several of the governor’s party were moving out, buying or renting spaces in New Amsterdam. There was room for him, the kids, and Nailah to move into the ground floor of the boarding house, even for his office. He and Brechtje should set a date. And a date not that far off.
New Amsterdam
January 2, 1637
Tromp’s ships arrived the day after the New Year. There were three of them, almost a flotilla. The first of the ships, which reached the harbor a few hours before the other two, was a Dutch jacht. By the time it docked, Adam Olearius and Captain de Kuiper were there to greet the new arrivals.
De Kuiper was disgruntled. “A jacht!” he grunted, frowning at the swift but rather small vessel. “Just what we don’t need.”
Adam shared his displeasure, but kept his face impassive. Jachts were fine ships for many naval purposes, but they weren’t troop carriers—and that was what he’d been hoping for. A warship in the harbor able only to fire a broadside—not a big one, either—was of no real use to him.
But both he and the captain cheered up when the officer in command of the jacht came ashore. “Oh, we’ve more coming,” explained Lieutenant Gysbert Wessels. “A galleon and a nao. Between them, we have close to three hundred soldiers.”
De Kuiper’s near-scowl was replaced by a smiling face. “Three hundred!” He looked at Adam. “That should do the trick nicely, Governor. What we ought to do—”
Adam held up a hand, forestalling whatever advice the captain had been about to provide, which would most likely have begun with round up all the bastards and ended with either firing squads or gallows. De Kuiper was an excellent military commander, but as a diplomat and statesman he ranked somewhere between badgers and bears.
“Yes, that will serve our needs very well.” He looked up at the banners flying from the ship’s masts. He didn’t recognize the insignia but presumed they were ones chosen by Admiral Tromp to identify his naval force. But they weren’t anything that indicated a connection with the King in the Netherlands. Someone, at least, was being a diplomat and a statesman.
Seeing the direction of his gaze, Lieutenant Wessels smiled. “This is officially just a visit from the independent naval forces of the Dutch Caribbean, you understand. Admiral Tromp asked me to convey his respects and see if our fellow Dutchmen might need any assistance of some kind.”
Adam returned the smile. “I can think of something. Or two.”
* * *
The first “something,” when the galleon and the nao arrived, was to disembark most of the troops and stage a military parade to the boarding house. That took several hours, given the number of men involved, the limited width of the streets, and—best of all—the large number of onlookers who crowded alongside the route to watch. Fortunately, most of the snowfall that had taken place during the last week in December had already been cleared away, or the parade would have been all but impossible.
Once the parade was over, most of the soldiers returned to the ships in the harbor. Some remained at the boardinghouse but not more than a dozen or so. Officially, they were there to guard the small civilian delegation sent by Tromp. But their real purpose was just to keep reminding everyone that the royal governor now had a lot of troops at his beck and call.
The civilian delegation consisted of three men, led by Pieter Corselles, the Lieutenant Governor of St. Eustatia. That was the island in the Lesser Antilles that was the center of Tromp’s naval power.
“How do you want to handle the situation?” he asked Adam, once they’d retired to a small chamber that Brechtje had set aside for the governor’s use. Other than Adam himself, there was only room for Corselles, one of his aides and Captain de Kuiper. Even to clear aside that much space, they’d had to have the table Adam used for a desk shoved against a wall.
De Kuiper cleared his throat, but before he could say anything Adam spoke.
“I’ve got three factors I need to balance against each other,” he said. He raised his hands to start counting off his fingers, starting with his left thumb.
“First, Brouwer and his diehard followers need to be eliminated. From the city,” he added hurriedly, just to make clear that the savage grin now on de Kuiper’s face didn’t indicate any bloodthirst on Adam’s own part. “Actually, it would be better to get them out of the New Netherlands altogether. They’d be an even greater problem if we moved them to New Orange.”
He brought up his forefinger. “Second, I want to split away as many of the Counter-Remonstrants as possible from Brouwer. At least half of them, by my estimate, would accept the situation even if they dislike it.”
Corselles nodded. “I’m sure you’re right. We have a fair number of Gomarists on St. Eustatia. Some of the hardcore may decide to resettle somewhere on the mainland, but the truth is they’re driven more by economic grievances than religious ones. Most of them will stay in the islands.” He smiled. “Of course, officially the Catholic King in the Netherlands does not rule there.”
Adam smiled back. Then, counted off his middle finger. “And finally, as the royal governor I need to establish a reputation for being merciful as well as decisive. You can’t govern effectively by fear alone. Not even mainly by fear, in fact.”
Corselles leaned back in his chair, planted his hands on his thighs, and contemplated the wall across from him. Which had nothing on it but a small portrait of Anne Jefferson. He’d seen the portrait before, as it happened—that one and several others of the woman. The famous postage stamps that Anne Jefferson had modeled for had started making their appearance in Oranjestad.
Adam glanced back over his shoulder. “Yes, I suppose that’s a fourth consideration. I need to stay on good terms with my wife, who is in some respects very up-time in her attitudes. She disapproves of headsmen.”
Corselles chuckled. “I understand. What you are left with, it seems to me, is the option of resettlement. But where?”
Adam shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t care—as long as it’s several hundred miles from the New Netherlands.”
The lieutenant governor pursed his lips. “That ‘Charleston’ place—whatever they wind up naming it—is perhaps five hundred miles away.”
“Splendid.”
“Too far to go by land, though, even if we weren’t in midwinter.”
Adam shook his head. “I wouldn’t drive them out in midwinter anyway. They’ll need at least a couple of months to put their affairs in order and make adequate preparations for such a relocation.” He paused and cocked his head a little.
Understanding the unspoken question, Corselles said: “I shall raise the issue with the admiral. It shouldn’t be a problem, though. We captured a number of naos from the Spanish when we seized La Flota. They’re not particularly good warships, so we should be able to free up enough to transport Brouwer and his malcontents come the spring.”
“Done, then.” Adam rose to his feet. Then, looked at de Kuiper. “I think it would perhaps work best if you were the one to impart our decision to Dominie Brouwer, Captain.”
De Kuiper was on his feet by the time Adam finished. The savage grin was back in place. “Oh, yes. I can explain the various alternatives to him, should he protest. Explain them in considerable and precise detail.”