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Chapter 7

New Amsterdam Harbor
October 12, 1636


The Stormwing steamed into New Amsterdam harbor. The winds were unfavorable, and they had plenty of coal to bring up steam for the short haul. So it was a largish ship with its sails furled that pulled up to the docks.

“Grab that line!” a sailor shouted to a dock worker. “And tie it off. There’s a good fellow.”

The dock worker made a rude gesture, but grabbed the tossed mooring line and tied it off. More lines were tossed and soon the Stormwing was secured and the boarding ramp was pushed out. Adam Olearius went down the ramp first, and was followed by six men at arms in the brand new royal uniform of the Low Countries army. They wore blue trousers and gray tailcoats, with leather belts and a cross-draw holster for the pistol. The helmets were gray with the royal crest painted on the front, and bore a definite resemblance to American military helmets from the latter half of the twentieth century.

Once down, Adam, flanked by his guards, headed up the dock for the shore. The port facilities in this day and age were mostly located on the East River, not the Hudson.

* * *

Wolfert was again at the lumberyard. And he was again distracted, this time by a ship coming into dock with its sails furled, then by the flag of the king in the Low Countries, which was flying from the top of the mainmast.

If it was just another ship full of Gomarists, Wolfert would have stayed at his task, but this was looking like it might be important. He headed for the docks.

* * *

Adam stopped at the end of the dock and looked around, remembering the map and comparing it to the ground in front of him. They didn’t match very well. He thought of pulling the actual map out of his pocket, but that wouldn’t help. His memory was fine. It was the world that had changed almost completely out of recognition.

He looked around again. There was the beginning of a crowd. He saw a large man, reasonably well dressed, but healthy and looking right back at him, not with hostility or fear, but curiosity.

He gestured and the man came over.

“Afternoon,” Adam said. “I’m Adam Olearius. Would you mind directing me to the Director-General’s residence? My map is apparently a bit dated.”

The man nodded. “There’s been a lot of construction in the last couple of years,” he agreed. “And the Director-General no longer makes his residence in the Fort. I’m Wolfert Dijkstra, by the way. I’ll take you there.” He pointed to the northwest, and then started walking. Adam followed, and the guards moved up to flank them.

“What’s going on?” Wolfert asked.

“I’m the new royal governor of New Amsterdam and His Majesty isn’t overly impressed with the former Director-General’s loyalty or honesty.”

“Ha!” Wolfert laughed aloud. “The rats in the cellars of New Amsterdam aren’t impressed with Director-General van Twiller’s honesty.”

“Hence our unannounced arrival and my hurry to get there before van Twiller has time to respond.”

“Are these all the men-at-arms you brought?” Wolfert asked, sounding concerned.

“No, but again there is the matter of speed. We want to be in van Twiller’s residence before he has an opportunity to respond.”

“This way.” Wolfert pointed again, and they turned the corner moving at a brisk walk. From this vantage point, Adam could see the fort that dominated the southern tip of Manhattan Island. It was more or less a standard star fortress with thick, sloping packed-earth walls to absorb cannon fire, except it had only four sides with a bastion on each corner.

They were going to be passing by the fort on its eastern side, heading north toward the broad avenue—using the term loosely; it was a dirt road, nothing fancier—that Adam could see angling to the northeast. That matched the map, at least. It was the Heerenweg—the “Gentlemen’s Way”— which in another universe would become Broadway.

Passing by the fort confirmed what Adam had already suspected while still in Europe. However well built it might be as a fortress, it was not suitable for the sort of Government House that was needed now. If for no other reason, because Government House would also serve as his own residence, and there were some issues over which his up-time wife had firm American opinions.

Plumbing, first and foremost. They had brought with them the materials to provide a newly built edifice with the sort of facilities that Anne would insist upon—and which, being honest, Adam much preferred himself. Even with the skilled and experienced craftsmen they’d brought with them, trying to retrofit a star fortress with such facilities didn’t bear thinking about.

As they entered the Heerenweg, Adam asked his guide: “What do you do, Mister Dijkstra?”

“I’m an architect and builder.”

“And why did you happen to be there when we arrived?”

“Lumberyard,” Wolfert said, keeping most of his breath for the brisk walk.

A few minutes later they got to the Director-General’s residence, which was located on the eastern side of the Heerenweg. It was disappointing. First, because of shoddy construction. Second, because they were on the side of the Heerenweg that wasn’t too far removed from the commons known (for good reason) as the Sheep Pasture. Adam couldn’t see it, but he could certainly smell it.

He made a mental note to himself. Drainage and sewage. Top priority.

“Did you build that?” he asked, using his chin as a pointer. “No!”

Adam looked at the man. He sounded offended. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting here for a few minutes, Mister Dijkstra, I would like to speak to you some more after I have finished my business with van Twiller.”

“I’ll wait.”

* * *

Adam knocked and then without waiting opened the door to the Director-General’s residence. There were two gentlemen in the foyer of the building. They took one look at the soldiers who accompanied Adam, and decided they had business elsewhere. Adam proceeded to the most ornate door from the foyer, passed through it and found himself in a smaller room with a man at a desk. His guards followed.

“Who . . . who are you?” the man squeaked. “Who are you?”

“Egbert Wessels. I’m the Director-General’s secretary,” he said, apparently gaining confidence by the recitation of his name and title. “And you aren’t allowed in here carrying guns.”

“I have a dispensation,” Adam said. “Where is Director-General van Twiller?”

Wessels’ eyes flicked to the door to the side and back to Adam, and that was all Adam needed. He headed for the door.

“You can’t go—” Egbert Wessels’ voice cut off abruptly as one of Adam’s men stepped forward. He didn’t point his rifle at the man, but hefted it enough to make clear he easily could.

Adam strode through the door.

A short, fat man was standing, and the chair he’d been in a moment before was pushed back. “Do you know who I am?” he almost shouted.

“You are Wouter van Twiller, the nephew of Kiliaen van Rensselaer, and you were, until quite recently, the Director-General of the New Netherlands. However, the New Netherlands no longer have a Director-General. Instead, they now have a royal governor. That would be me—and you are now unemployed.”

“My uncle won’t stand for—”

Adam held up a hand. “A compromise of sorts has been reached. You’re not going to be arrested for taking bribes. In exchange, your uncle is not objecting to the crown taking direct control of the New Netherlands. You have two choices—and only two. You can take the ship I came on back to the Netherlands, or you can stay here as a private individual. A factor for your uncle, perhaps, but with no legal authority beyond that.”

It took a bit more discussion and the presenting of documents, all with the presence of Adam’s guards making clear that his orders weren’t simply legal, as the new government in Brussels saw things, but could be enforced.

Finally, it was done and the former Director-General was gone, muttering vague threats as he went.

Adam then had a chance to look about the place, and it was a dump. A fancy dump, but a dump nonetheless. The walls were painted, but not well made, and there wasn’t enough room for what he needed. Nor was this place nearly as defensible as Adam wanted.

He sent for the builder who’d showed him how to get here.

* * *

Wolfert watched the invasion of the Director-General’s residence with a mixture of pleasure and concern. Wolfert was Protestant, and he’d emigrated from the Netherlands when it was still fighting a war against rule by a Spanish king who was trying to force everyone to be Catholic. Now the Netherlands did have a Catholic monarch, but one who was apparently willing, at least so far, to let people decide for themselves what religion they were to follow.

Van Twiller was a fat toad, who insisted on a bribe to sign his name. But how could Wolfert be sure that this new royal governor was going to be any better?

Adam Olearius was Lutheran, not Catholic, so apparently the new king in the Low Countries really meant it about freedom of faith. Wolfert was tempted to leave, just to make sure he stayed out of trouble. But the new governor had asked him to wait, and starting off his relationship with the new authority in the city by running off after he’d been asked to wait seemed a bad idea.

Eventually, one of the soldiers came and got him.

* * *

In the office that until a few minutes before had been van Twiller’s, Wolfert and Adam discussed what the new royal governor and his entourage, including soldiers, were going to need. They were still discussing it when more soldiers arrived, escorting the governor’s wife, an actual up-timer named Anne Jefferson.

She seemed quite casual and friendly. “It’s not just us and a few soldiers. We also brought experts. Not nearly as many as we would have preferred, but a few. I’m going to need a clinic and that means beds, hot water, and distilled spirits. So we need a bigger place.”

“I can build it for you, but it will take time.”

“The question is: what do we do in the meantime?”

“You could stay at Mulder’s Tavern. Brechtje owns it now, and it’s not just a tavern, but also a boarding house. It’s pretty full at the moment. A bunch of Gomarists who left the Netherlands to . . . ” Wolfert trailed off.

“To get away from the King in the Netherlands,” Adam finished for him. “And his corrupt Catholic government, who are going to grab all the good Protestants by their coattails and drag them down to hell.”

“Yes, Governor, that’s the way they see it.”

“We can look for additional accommodations. If necessary we can quarter some of the men on the local residents,” Adam said, watching his wife.

“The Bill of Rights . . . ” she started.

“Which Bill of Rights is that, dear? The one that won’t be written for another hundred and fifty years, or the one that is the law of the State of Thuringia-Franconia? Not the USE even, just the SoTF. Which has no Third Amendment. So if we need to quarter troops on civilians, we will. We will do it with as much respect as we can manage but we will find quarters for our people. And it won’t be in tents, not with winter coming on.”

Anne Jefferson didn’t look happy, but she didn’t say anything further.

Wolfert didn’t know what they were talking about. Housing troops on the populace was standard practice when a fort was unavailable or inadequate. Everyone did it. Some more gently, some more harshly. Apparently Adam Olearius was a gentle sort, and that was good. “I suggest that we go talk with Brechtje and see what she has available. We can get a good meal at the same time.”

* * *

Brechtje listened to the raging argument between Dominie Brouwer and his cousin, Diederik Hendrix. The Dominie was arguing for wait-and-see and Diederik was dithering between direct and immediate attack, and running away to Indian country. They weren’t speaking loudly, but were speaking quite intently, and Brechtje had excellent hearing.

Then Aloysius, the stable boy, came running in. “Bunch of soldiers coming with Mister Dijkstra. Pa told me to tell you.”

The stable wasn’t owned by Brechtje, but she had an arrangement with the stable owner, who was Aloysius’ father. She fed and housed the people, and he did the same with the livestock.

There was silence in the tavern portion of the boarding house. Brechtje went to see, and opened the door just before a Dutch soldier in one of their new blue-and-gray uniforms could do so.

Aloysius’ report had been accurate, but not complete. Along with Wolfert and the soldiers came a woman wearing pants, and someone who, by his dress, was probably the new royal governor that Karl and Diederik were arguing about. For just the briefest moment, she was sure that Wolfert had informed the new governor who the leader of the Counter-Remonstrants in New Amsterdam was, and the soldiers were here to arrest everyone and burn her place down in the bargain. But it was a fleeting moment, caused by the infectious paranoia of Karl and Diederik who saw a cloudy day as a plot by the king in the Low Countries, along with his brother, the most Catholic Majesty of Spain.

And there weren’t that many soldiers. Just six, plus the governor, his lady, another man, and Wolfert.

“Hello, Brechtje,” Wolfert called as a tall blond soldier with three little roofs sewn onto the arm of his uniform coat stepped around her into the taproom and examined the crowd. The soldier wasn’t threatening.

Well, no. He was threatening, but he didn’t threaten by word or deed. It was his presence and the long gun strapped to his back. And, perhaps strangest of all, the fact that the uniform he wore was as clean as though it was brand new. The trousers that went all the way down to the black half boots were pressed.

It made Wolfert, who was a neat and tidy man, look positively slovenly, and everyone not in the governor’s party look a bit down on their heels. And Brechtje, even as she was intimidated by the man, wanted rather desperately to know how they did it. Especially how they did it after a month at sea with not enough water to spare any for washing.

But the soldier had washed. He was clean as a new babe, save where the mud of New Amsterdam streets had soiled his shiny black boots.

“This is Royal Governor Adam Olearius and his wife Anne Jefferson.” Then he added almost as an afterthought, “And this is Paulus van der Heide, who will be handling the bill.”

That was enough to snap Brechtje out of her nervous hesitance. “What bill?”

“We’re hoping you will have room to put us up while Wolfert here rebuilds the former DirectorGeneral’s residence,” the royal governor said with a friendly smile.

“Wolfert tells us your tavern has the best meals in New Amsterdam,” Anne Jefferson said. “We would like a meal for ten. Whatever you have on hand.”

There was a discreet cough from the blond soldier. And Anne Jefferson rolled her eyes. “A meal for four, and after that, a meal for three, and then three more.” She leaned over to Brechtje and added, “Personally, I think Sergeant van der Molen has read too many novels about the Secret Service.”

That comment made no sense at all to Brechtje. “This way, Governor.” She led them to a table and saw them seated, then grabbed Wolfert by his arm—she wanted to grab him by an ear, but discretion won over peevishness—and dragged him away for a few private words.

“What’s this all about?”

Wolfert explained while she set Lijsbeth to work on providing the best meal the kitchen could manage for their four guests.

“I don’t have room. Royal governor or not, I don’t want to throw out any of our present guests.” Brechtje wasn’t happy with Wolfert’s presumption.

“I understand, and I am sure Adam will too. They just got here and are still working things out. They may end up quartering some of the soldiers with residents. But if you have the governor and his wife here—” He paused and finished poorly. “—that will be good.”

And it would be, assuming that the royal governor paid his bills on time—which was not something that Brechtje was willing to take on faith. But whether Wolfert’s help was in fact a help or a hindrance, it was done now and she had to find room.

Brechtje’s tavern and boarding house was a large two-story building with a large root cellar. It had a room for her and one for Lijsbeth, plus three more downstairs rooms that were used for storage, not counting the kitchen and the taproom where her guests and others could have a beer and a meal. Upstairs, there were ten large rooms that could accommodate two to four people each in comfort, and up to eight if they were willing to be a bit crowded.

However, seven of those rooms were occupied. If she cleared out the storerooms on the ground floor, that was room for some more. But that part of the tavern was supposed to be family quarters— would be family quarters if the pox hadn’t taken Robert and little Hans—and Brechtje didn’t like the idea of soldiers, even nicely dressed soldiers, one door away from her or Lijsbeth. She had no objection to soldiers being quartered with civilians; she just didn’t want them quartered with her and Lijsbeth.

Then Sergeant Peter van der Molen explained why he wanted the meals staggered. This squad of the company that the royal governor brought with him were the elite of the elite. They were assigned to the personal protection of the governor and his wife. And, yes, they had been reading about the practices of royal guards and presidential guards of the future and they had learned a lot. So someone was always on duty when the governor was eating or whatever, and when some guards ate, others watched.

That was why the staggered meals. After he explained it, it did make sense. “But why are you telling me?” Brechtje asked.

“Because if the governor stays here, you need to know what we’re doing and why. So you can schedul—”

He turned as Karl Brouwer and Diederik Hendrix came up. “Is it true that papist lackey is going to be staying here? You must not allow it!!”

Up until that moment, Brechtje had been undecided about Adam Olearius and his party staying in her boarding house. Yes, assuming they paid, it was good money. But Brechtje’s only interest in politics was to avoid getting stepped on by them.

“This is my place, Dominie Brouwer. And you don’t tell me who can stay in my boarding house, or whom I may serve in my tavern!”

“Well, I can tell you this much. I will not be staying in your boarding house if you allow this, nor will any of my people!” He turned and stalked off.

Brechtje turned back to the sergeant. “Well, another room or two seems to have opened up. Dominie Brouwer and his wife and son have one room, and his cousin, Diederik Hendrix and his family another. And more may be moving out since he is one of the leaders of the recently arrived CounterRemonstrants.”

“Tell me how that’s been working?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, for instance, how long has Brouwer been here?”

“He moved in off the ship that brought him and his group. They arrived about two months ago and have been arranging other quarters.”

“Two months to arrange quarters?” asked the sergeant

“New Amsterdam has been growing fast since the Cardinal-Infante invested Old Amsterdam. They have been coming from all over the United Provinces and some from the Caribbean. Anyway, every time Dominie Brouwer would get a place ready to move into, there would be another shipload and he would put them up in the house he just had built, and stay here longer.”

“He’s using only Counter-Remonstrate builders,” Wolfert added. “Though not all of the CounterRemonstrates are quite so fussy. There is a great deal of new construction in New Amsterdam. But I think the real reason Brouwer’s been staying here has more to do with politics than preference. The boarding house is centrally located and the taproom is a good place to have a meal and talk.”

“But not so good if you’re talking sedition and the soldiers of the crown are one table over,” Sergeant van der Molen added with a smile.

“That might be why he decided to move out,” Brechtje agreed, “but why be so loud about it?”

“A mistake or a statement?” Sergeant van der Molen asked, but not as though he thought they would have an answer.

* * *

Over the course of the next three days, five of the seven rooms that Brechtje had rented were abandoned as the Dominie Brouwer’s actions were taken as a call to arms.

Not all of Brechtje’s rooms were rented by Counter-Remonstrants. She had a sea captain who rented one of her rooms so that he would have a quiet place on land when he was in port, and a fur trader who was also only in town part time.

By the end of the week, the new royal governor’s party was moved in—or, at least, the diplomatic and medical people were, along with the small unit of soldiers who guarded them. Most of the technical and other people who’d come across the ocean had been provided with lodgings elsewhere; about a dozen had been provided quarters in the fort.

There were two reasons to get it done as quickly as possible. One, if Wolfert was to begin construction on the new governor’s compound before the winter set in, he needed to do it sooner rather than later. Fresno scrapers were a good tool, but they didn’t work well on frozen ground. Two, they couldn’t stay on the ship because as soon as they got it unloaded and stocked with wood for the trip home, it was on its way back to the Netherlands, and no one knew where it would be sent next. It wasn’t particularly well armed, but it did have steam power to augment its sails, so it was, over the course of a long voyage, much faster than a straight sailing ship. That made it valuable and expensive to use.

Quite a bit of its cargo was shifted into a hastily rented warehouse just off the harbor. While the new royal governor had only brought twenty soldiers with him, New Amsterdam had already had a garrison of two dozen or so. The men of the garrison were not up to the standards of the troops brought over from the Netherlands, but they were quite willing to accept his authority and that of Captain de Kuiper. Olearius had another fifty people who were technical specialists of one sort or another. There were also several large chests of silver coinage, and even larger chests of paper banknotes from the Wisselbank, which now had branches in Amsterdam, Antwerp, Brussels, and at least three other cities in the Low Countries. As soon as Adam’s financial staff could set it up, the Wisselbank would have one in New Amsterdam as well.

The rest of the technical staff were medical, engineering, chemical, metallurgy, and surveying, plus everything that Adam, Frederik Hendrik, King Fernando and Queen Maria Anna, not to mention Fernando’s aunt, could think of.

The goods were mostly the “tools to build the tools” sort of equipment, and it was going to take a while for any of it to get into production. Their job was to use what they had brought and the local labor force to build enough of a solid infrastructure base to allow New Amsterdam to grow rapidly. And while they were doing that they were going to be a labor sink, pulling workers out of other jobs.


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