Chapter 12
The lot Anne’s hospital stood on
November 20, 1636
The hospital was all ash and ruin. Well, mostly. All that was left were a few boards, quite a few bricks, and—best of all—the boiler and steam engine had been burned, but not destroyed. With some cleaning, they would work. The autoclave might or might not be repairable. All in all, aside from the building itself, they’d lost a couple of thousand guilders worth of equipment.
The owner of the building wasn’t happy, and Anne didn’t blame him. He was demanding that Anne make good the loss. “Those fanatics never would have touched my building if I hadn’t rented it to you. And you know that. I know it’s not your fault, but it’s not my fault, and the government is responsible for this.”
“I will talk to my husband, Mister Rynsburger, Perhaps something can be worked out.”
As it happened, Mister Rynsburger wasn’t a Gomarist. He was a Counter-Remonstrant, but rather like Wolfert, mostly because he didn’t much care about the topic. Especially since the Ring of Fire, which he figured was God telling all the priests and dominies and reverends for the last thousand years or so that He could do whatever He wanted, save whoever He wanted, and would do so as He chose without consulting them.
He was also a member of Dominie Bogardus’ church, and while he wasn’t with them in the boarding house, his brother-in-law was.
“Right now,” Anne said, “my husband is at the site of the Governor’s Residence, seeing what damage was done. Once we get the radio up, we should be able to contact Brussels and the Wisselbank, and get some more credit, and perhaps another shipment of goods.
“For the moment, though, we’re in something of a tight spot. Only about fifteen percent of the population of New Amsterdam is solidly on our side. The revolutionaries have perhaps thirty percent, and the rest just want to be left alone.”
“It’s not that bad, Mrs. Jefferson. A lot of the people here like what you’re doing. I know some objected to your freeing the slaves, but not all of us. And, well, in all truth, the patroons needed to be taken down a peg or two. I think most folks here are willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.”
Which, Anne guessed, was about all they could hope for.
* * *
Adam and Wolfert were having similar discussions at the considerably less than half-built Governor’s Residence. “The tarps are going to be hard to replace, Governor, at least out of our own stocks. I know you brought automatic carders and spinning machines, but there aren’t that many sheep. Not in the New Netherlands. We are going to need to ship in the cloth or the raw wool. And if we’re going to ship anything from the Low Countries or anywhere in Europe, it might as well be finished cloth.”
“His Majesty knows that, but sheep are self-replicating.” When Wolfert blinked he added, “They make more sheep.”
The look Wolfert gave him then wasn’t respectful of his august rank.
“It’s the up-timers,” Adam said. “They have a habit of dressing up the most common of things in fancy words. But after you get used to it, it turns out it can be pretty useful.”
“How’s that?”
“It affects the way you think about things. Lets you see utility where you wouldn’t automatically see it if you used the more common words.”
“I’ll take your word for it, Governor. I know the cheat sheets have been useful.” Wolfert pointed at a set of troughs that were running along the bottom of the basement. “The new Governor’s Residence is going to have indoor plumbing, and when we get that far, we’ll be building tracks for electric lines and gas pipes into the building too. And the Governor’s Residence isn’t going to be the first building in New Amsterdam to have indoor plumbing.”
They went on, Wolfert reaching up to scratch his face and being blocked by the eyepatch over his right eye. It had gotten the worst of the black powder and Anne had prescribed an eye patch to let the eye rest as it recovered. Whether Wolfert would get his full eyesight back or not was still an open question. The cornea over his right eye was scratched pretty badly, but that should heal given time and rest, but it might not.
“Do what you can about the Residence, but the urgent thing is to get the antenna tower rebuilt. There are a couple of reasons for that. First, and most important, is that it will let us talk to Brussels and Amsterdam, and order cloth and tarps. But it will also let us tell His Majesty about what’s going on in the New Netherlands and about the weather.”
“Why would His Majesty care about the weather here?” Wolfert looked confused.
“Because the weather here affects the weather there. And knowing the weather here can help the meteorologists in Brussels figure out what the weather there is going to be in a few days or weeks,” Adam said. “Anne tells me that up-time the weather predictions were so good that people complained if they only had an eighty percent accuracy rate a week out.”
“And we’re lucky to guess for a day in advance,” Wolfert agreed. “What about Admiral Tromp down south? He has a radio, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, one of the Ferguson alternators,” Adam said. “Ours will be better, once we get the thing working.”
They still hadn’t found the right tubes.
* * *
At the boarding house, Eduart was cleaning his Infante, while Nailah was watching not just Wolfert’s two children, but three more who were from Everardus Bogardus’ congregation. Setting one young scamp in the gaol for the crime of pulling hair, Nailah came over and sat next to Eduart. “Are you going to stay in the army?”
“I don’t have much choice. I signed up for a three-year hitch.”
“They’d let you out if you asked.”
“Maybe. Do you want me to ask?”
Nailah considered. “Not unless you want to. I know it was hard for you, the killing.”
“That’s what scares me, Nailah. It wasn’t hard, not really.” Eduart took her hand and looked into her eyes. “Yes, I closed my eyes the first time I shot, and I threw up after. But on the second shot, my eyes were opened and I knew who I was shooting at. And I shot him as easy as I’d butcher a hog.”
“Did you like it?”
“No. I was scared half to death.”
“That’s not what I meant. I mean the killing.”
“No. Like I said, it was like butchering a hog or mucking out a stable. Just something that needed doing.”
She leaned in then and kissed him, to the oos and giggles of the children. “You will be fine, my Eduart. As long as you don’t take pleasure in the killing, you will still be you.”
After giving the children a severe look, which only caused more giggles, she turned back to Eduart. “What about Wolfert? Is he going to ask her?”
Eduart rolled his eyes. Wolfert Dijkstra was a good man and a decent boss, but Eduart figured his first wife probably had to hit him over the head with a brick to get him to propose. Or would have, if the whole thing hadn’t been arranged by their families. “He’s still afraid that he and the children might be a burden on Brechtje.”
“Well, talk to him, will you?”
“I have. You know I have.”
“Find better words.”
“I’m not a dominie, nor a matchmaker.”
“That’s it! We’ll get Bogardus to do it.”
What was it about women, Eduart wondered, that made them want to arrange everyone else’s life?
Brechtje’s boarding house,
temporary Government House
November 23, 1636
There was a line around the block. The first snowfall of the year had started, but it looked to be a very light one. The weather didn’t have any effect on the mood of the people in the line, though, one way or another. That was a line of very unhappy slave owners and of very happy slaves, and would have been in bright sunshine.
They weren’t just there from New Amsterdam. Some were from settlements as far inland as West Point. The Emancipation Proclamation had made it very clear to whoever owned a slave that, as of dawn on December 1, the slaves were free. If the slave owners wanted to get any money at all out of the deal, they had to bring their slaves in before that day and time was running out. After the arrest, flogging and branding of the patroon Gijsbert van den Heuvel, followed by the quick suppression of the rebellion, nobody doubted that the operative part of Adam Olearius’ title was governor.
The rich of the New Netherlands weren’t happy, but it wasn’t just the former slaves who were pleased by the new dispensation. So were quite a few of the middle people, the craftsmen and shopkeepers. Having to compete with slaves drove wages and profits down.
* * *
Brechtje Mulder had had enough. She knew perfectly well why Wolfert was hesitant about asking her to marry him, but his concern was, in her opinion, at best overblown. Wolfert had several contracts that would prove quite lucrative, and she had the boarding house. The logical thing was for them to get married and for him to sell the house on Cooper Street to one of the many people who were looking to buy a house. In fact, she knew just who he should sell it to. Bastien Dauvet had met a girl, a native who was familiar with the local plant life and they were interested in each other, but not ready to commit. To facilitate that interest, he needed his own home, and a place to make and store the drugs and other chemicals that he would be making. Dyes and priming powder, mostly, but other things as well.
* * *
Wolfert was feeling harassed, and everyone thought they knew the trouble. He’d just survived a half-hour lecture on the sin of pride, which, according to Dominie Everardus Bogardus, was why he was unwilling to move into Brechtje’s boarding house and be her husband.
But all of them had it wrong. The truth was that Wolfert had never really believed that anyone would actually want him in that way. And he didn’t want to push himself on someone unwilling. The rest of it was an excuse. But the truth was that Brechtje didn’t need his income. She had her own. The governor’s party filled her boarding house to overflowing, and, unlike Wouter van Twiller, he paid well and on time. By the time the Governor’s Residence was finished, she would have a nice nest egg and an excellent reputation.
His income wouldn’t hurt, but it was hardly necessary. And that was the thing that bothered Wolfert most. He couldn’t figure out what he brought to the table that anyone in their right mind would want.
In spite of which, everyone around him seemed convinced that Brechtje did want him.
He was sitting in the dining room, playing with his bread pudding, as he thought about it all, when Brechtje came up. She was looking miffed, and he didn’t know what he’d done.
And then he did.
They, all the people he knew, were correct. She wanted him to ask.
Even now he didn’t really believe it, but . . . “Brechtje, will you marry me?” he asked.
* * *
Brechtje was done waiting. She was coming over here to take Wolfert back to her rooms and ask him to marry her. And was feeling quite annoyed that she was the one who would have to do the asking.
When right here, in front of the packed dining room, he blurted it out. She was so surprised that she didn’t know what to say.
Briefly. “Yes, you idiot. Of course I’ll marry you.”
There was a moment of silence, then most of the soldiers started cheering. Then a lot of the slaves joined in, and a few of the masters.
It took a few minutes for the people to get back around to the business at hand. But, shortly, they were back to going up to the governor’s table, selling him their slaves, having the governor manumit them. Some of them hired their slaves to work for them. Some tried to hire their slaves to work for them and were refused.
One large black man looked at his former master and said, “You? No!” Then he turned and walked over to Wolfert. “I’m a cook, and if you’re going to own this place, you’re going to need one.”
Wolfert shook his head. “Even after we’re married, this will still be Brechtje’s tavern and boarding house. If you want a job, apply to her.”
The man turned to Brechtje. She looked him up and down, and considered. He was fat. He was also clean and he looked her straight in the eye. “Are you a good cook?”
“I am. That’s why the master wanted to hire me when he doesn’t like me any more than I like him.”
“Lijsbeth!” Brechtje shouted, and a moment later Lijsbeth came out, along with a soldier who was a decent cook and had been acting as Lijsbeth’s backup almost since the governor arrived. “This man—What’s your name?”
“Jacob.”
“Jacob says he’s a cook. Try him out. Jacob, I’ll pay you for the day, and we’ll see how it goes. Is that all right with you?”
He nodded. “You won’t be sorry.”
* * *
The Governor’s Guard, too, was getting a lot of recruits from among the former slaves. That also didn’t please a lot of the slave owners. Frankly, it didn’t please a lot of the Dutch, in general. According to Anne, the level of prejudice against blacks in New Amsterdam didn’t compare at all to the prejudice that was common up-time. But the Africans were still people who looked different and had strange accents and odd beliefs, so they weren’t as trusted as other Dutch. And here Adam was, hiring a bunch of them for the Governor’s Guard.
Adam was a bit ambivalent about that, but he knew that Captain de Kuiper wasn’t. Johan liked the idea of a bunch of soldiers whose primary allegiance was to the governor, not to any of the locals, and former slaves fit the bill quite well. Not, perhaps, as well as a Spanish tercio or the Irish Wild Geese, but quite a bit better than hiring soldiers from, say, Karl Brouwer’s church.
Adam, however, was a diplomat, not a soldier, and he didn’t want the Guards looking like foreign oppressors. Well, at least he had Eduart as his token Counter-Remonstrant. But he would need to look into recruiting more of the local Dutch now that the resistance had been beaten down.
And that brought to mind what he was going to do with Dominie Karl Brouwer, Wouter van Twiller, and their cronies, religious and secular. A part of him really liked the decapitation idea. Those idiotic bastards had put Anne at risk. But, no. If he had a guillotine built, which was tempting, Anne would start talking about Robespierre and who knows what other up-time mass murderer. The up-timers seemed to have had a lot of them.
She wasn’t all wrong, either. One of the points she made was that if he inflicted further punishment on the Counter-Remonstrants, now that they’d been defeated, they’d be filled with bitterness. That would make any relaxation of sectarian tensions even more difficult than it already was.
No. He needed a different solution. He had room for one, since the recognized ringleader of the assault on the hospital and the boarding house, Brouwer’s cousin Diederik Hendrix, had been killed in the fighting. Although Brouwer certainly bore responsibility for it, he himself had not participated directly in the uprising. That allowed Adam to look the other way and did not require him to execute the man—which would have repercussions, given Brouwer’s religious standing among the CounterRemonstrants. Adam wanted to squelch a civil war, not cause it to burst into flames again.
So . . .
His thoughts were interrupted as a slave woman, on receiving her freedom, asked to join the Governor’s Guard. Adam didn’t immediately dismiss the idea. Anne had mentioned the lack of female guards. There were some wives of guards. Captain Johan de Kuiper was married to a bookkeeper who knew how to use the new aqualators they’d brought. She’d worked at the Brussels branch of the Wisselbank and was in charge of the New Amsterdam branch. But there were no female Guardsmen . . . Guardswomen? Guards.
He called Captain de Kuiper over. “Johan, what do you think? Don’t reject the idea out of hand.”
“I won’t, Governor. The truth is she wouldn’t be the first female soldier I’ve served with. They aren’t common, but there are some. Usually dressed in men’s clothes, and treated as men by their mates. It’s not something that’s talked about much, but it happens. Just not usually in elite units.”
“In that case, run her through the same drill we used with Eduart, Oringo, and the other new recruits and see how she does.”
“And the uniform?”
The ship that brought them had room for quite a few more guns and uniforms than troops, especially since they’d brought more experts and specialists than soldiers. Recruiting locally was always part of the plan. So there were Infantes in the arms room here at the boarding house and uniforms in the warehouse next to the docks. However, there were no women’s uniforms.
“I’ll talk to Anne, and you talk to her. One thing I want to avoid is a fight over women wearing men’s clothing.” Anne wore a split skirt most of the time. It was a Grantville-developed garment that looked like a skirt, but had legs like pants, so it could be moved in. However, they didn’t have any uniform split skirts. “If she works out, we’ll think of something.”
Captain de Kuiper took the freed slave woman to stand with the other recruits, and Adam went back to mulling over what to do with the prisoners.
Blast it! We need the big antenna for the radio. Their radio was powerful enough to cross the Atlantic and be picked up in the Low Countries, but to do that it needed a large specialized antenna, and it needed aqualators on both ends for encryption and decryption, as well as something his techs called checksum data checking.
They had the aqualators and had almost finished the big specialized antenna when Brouwer and his bunch had burned the thing to the ground. It was wire held in place by a wooden framework, and had proved quite flammable. Now they were going to have to start over, so it would be weeks before the antenna was rebuilt.
Dominie Everardus Bogardus’ church
December 2, 1636
Everardus Bogardus spoke in a strong carrying voice to a packed house. The mix was predominantly European, but almost a third were African and there were some natives from nearby tribes as well. “Christ has moved the king in the Low Countries and showered His grace on that monarch, for he moved King Fernando to free all the slaves in the New Netherlands. And, like Moses of old, took his people, our people, out of bondage, for they are our people. It matters not which tribe they come from or even which continent, for we are all God’s children and all of God’s flock. So today we celebrate Our Savior for saving not just the African or natives who have been held in bondage, but even more for saving their masters from the mortal sin of slavery.
“And I assure you, it is a mortal sin. It partakes of greed, lust, and is an affront to God, in that it degrades His image, for we are all made in His image, whatever the color of our skin.”
He went on in that vein for some time. It wasn’t a ringing endorsement of King Fernando, more along the lines of a grudging acknowledgement that even a Catholic monarch could be moved to do the will of God when God puts out the effort.
Bogardus also threw in a prayer that God would save King Fernando and his queen from their Catholicism and bring them to the true faith. Calvinism, that was, since Bogardus was very much a Calvinist.
It was a sermon that Adam would have liked better if he was a Calvinist. The religious tensions between the Catholic king and the overwhelmingly Calvinist New Netherlands hadn’t gone away just because he’d freed the slaves—most of whom were also Calvinists.
But it was better than nothing. It was a start, as his up-time wife liked to say.