by Smith, Skye
"I've got them, aye, or at least I can get them. Trouble is, Danny, that my future is with making these locks, not in rowing around the canals collecting rusting barrels from the village caches. They will all need cleaning and oiling and testing. I don't have time. None of my men will have time. They'll be fully busy making my locks for the Swedes."
"Then hire more men."
"Every able-bodied man has been called up,” Jock told him. "I stay in business because I put war cripples like myself to work on my benches. You don't need to be whole to sit at a bench all day long. But you need to be whole to haul and carry muskets around the countryside. At ten pounds weight apiece, there's two hundred to the ton."
"I have sent for a ship and a crew. They could be here within the week if the weather holds."
"If your crew do the work, then you can have all the muskets you want at my village cost. An English shilling apiece for the ones the villagers have already picked through." The Dutch and Flemish villagers were always finding cast-off ordinance in their fields. If the finder didn't want it, and no one would buy it from him, then he would send it to the local village to be safely locked up, usually in the local gaol house.
The numbers rattled around in Daniel's head. A shilling, and some labour by his crew, and the cost of shipping to John Stewart in Scotland who was paying seventeen shillings. He smiled widely. "Done. Then I will go to the port and arrange for a room and when I return I will help you to make these locks of yours until the ship arrives.
* * * * *
What a difference a week had made to Jock's workshop beside the Company Chapel. For one thing, they had pushed through the brick curtain wall that separated the workshop from the chapel, installed a door, and were now using the chapel as a storeroom and bunkhouse. The chapel hadn't been used in years, and for that matter, neither had the Company of English Merchant Adventurers warehouse. Not since they had moved their operation to Hamburg.
As there were few 'whole' men, Daniel and Connell did much of the bashing and lifting. By the fifth day, they finally had ten men working at ten workbenches and two forges producing all the various bits and pieces to be assembled into a lock. By the time Ham visited again, this time grumbling about Dutch stinginess when it came to making good use of their idle cannons, there were twenty sample locks ready for him to take to the Swedish Army to be field tested.
Daniel walked with Ham towards the Hanseatic Quay where he would begin his long journey north to rejoin his regiment, which was somewhere along the Danish border with Saxony. Ham had three hours to kill before the turn of the tide would prompt his ship to cast off, so Daniel treated him to the latest Dutch invention. An East Indies social ceremony that was sweeping the Dutch cities ... afternoon tea.
The teahouse across the street from the quay was filled with passengers and folk seeing them off, and all of them putting on airs as they sipped a hot brew from delicate china. They found a table in the corner where they could watch the crowd, especially the ladies, and ordered just tea without all the cream buns that everyone else was gorging on. "Clotted cream before a sea journey is not a good idea,” Daniel told Ham. "You never know whose fingers have been in it."
Ham took a sip of the insipid brew and pulled a face. "They've forgotten to put the Aquavit in mine."
"No, really, that is the way the Dutch drink it. Personally, I think it all a plot by office managers to keep their clerks keen and awake during a long afternoon." He pulled a metal flask out from under his cloak and sloshed some Genever into each cup. The man at the next table motioned, wanting some too, but the woman he was sitting with pushed his hand down. "So Ham, I take it that you were not successful in your quest for the Navy's surplus cannons."
"I was too successful,” Ham replied. "They agreed to supply all the cannons I wanted, so long as I first explained to them how our new Swedish field guns work. How they can be loaded so quickly and fired with such accuracy." He shrugged. "Those were not secrets I was prepared to share without written permission from the Swedish generals. I expect they will agree, but getting it in writing will take me a month or more."
"Well then, I will look forward to sharing another afternoon tea with you on your return. Next time I will bring a larger flask."
"So you will still be here? It will take you that long for you to gather your cast off matchlocks?" A canny look crossed Ham's face. "You never did say who was paying for them, or where you were taking them to."
"I did tell you,” Daniel replied, equally canny, "Edinburgh." He hoped the simple answer would be enough to satisfy Ham's curiosity.
"It's a big place and home to many Lords. Which of the Lords is the paymaster?"
"The payment is made through London, probably to hide his identity." It was not a lie.
"Where in Edinburgh are they to be delivered? Not to the castle. Please don't say the castle."
"Not the castle,” Daniel answered. Alex Hamilton was company worth cultivating, perhaps an 'in' for selling to the Swedes. He had to give him an answer, an honest answer. "Dalkeith Palace. I am told it is out from Edinburgh near the fishing town of Musselburg, and up a narrow river called the Esk."
"I know it. Palace, it's no palace. It's a castle, a castle long entwined with the Stuarts through the Douglas clan. Did Jock Douglas set this up?"
"As I said, it was set up through London. Jock knows less than you."
"Through a King's agent in London?" Ham asked irritably.
"On the contrary, from a republican parliamentarian. A man I have no reason to distrust, although he is a trickster who delights in knavery."
"Well, let us hope his trick happens before your cargo is delivered. Muskets to Dalkeith, indeed. That is like opening a chicken coop and inviting the fox in."
Only once Alex Hamilton was onboard and the ship cast off, did Daniel stroll back to Jock's workshop, stopping on the way to buy a pin of Genever. The pin was tapped as soon as he showed it to the workers and shared out into the cups of the dozen of them. Jock finished assembling the lock he was working on and then joined them.
"Any word at the port of your own ship, Danny?" Jock asked as Daniel filled his cup.
"Nay, but they know where to find me."
"Thanks again fer all yer help."
"You do realize that if the Swedes order thousands of your locks, that you will never be able to fill the order. You just don't have the room or the benches or the men."
"Aye, but at least I will be well paid for every lock I do make,” Jock replied with a tired smile.
"Why not contract other smiths to do some of the work."
"And have them steal my design? No, thank yee."
"I didn't mean contract the assembly. For instance, your flint-dog. If you handed one of your dogs to another smith as a sample and had him copy it over and over, then he would never know the design of the full lock. Have different smiths produce one part and one part only. Here, with your own men, you make the plate, and do the assembly. None of the other smiths would ever see the fully assembled lock."
"That's a lot of bother,” Jock replied. "for eventually everyone will know my design because of the Swedes that use them."
"Ah, but the difference is how soon everyone will know it. After you have been paid for a few hundred, or after you have been paid for a few thousand."
A grin cracked Jock's face and he stood up on his one good leg and made a toast, "Let us drink to dry houses and warm wives, for I think that there are ten poor cripples drinking with me who will soon be able to afford them."
* * * * *
"Can you see the village?" Daniel called up to the lad Peter, who had now climbed to the top of the wreckage of the windmill. The mists rose eerily off the calm waters of the canal and swirled up and over the Freisburn and caused him to clutch his cloak tighter around his chest. Somewhere near here was a village which had been destroyed in a battle. Supposedly it was now peopled by battlefield gleaners. Gleaners were the root source of castoff Spanish muskets.
"Th
ere is the ruin of a church tower around the next bend in the canal."
"That'll be it. Come on down!" Daniel yelled to the lad. "Carefully." He turned to big Anso who had brought the Freisburn over from Wellenhay. "Is this what the Christians call divine justice? This village dug this canal and built this giant windmill to drain their fields, and for what? Because the fields were no longer marshy, the Spanish cavalry could cross them to raid the village."
Peter hung from a twisted length of sail duek hanging from the windmill's arms and then dropped lightly to the deck of the ship. "Did you see anything else, another village, horsemen, soldiers, any other ships?"
"It's foggy all around, foggy and empty,” the lad replied. "I only saw the church tower because it was close and high."
The canal was deep enough to float the Freisburn, but not wide enough to use the oars, so the men poled the small ship around a bend and tied up near the ruin of a church. Daniel used his hailing trumpet to cast Dutch greetings out into the fog. There was no answer. He tried again, this time saying that he had been sent by Jock the Scot.
"What did you bring us?" answered a weak voice, a woman's voice, through the fog.
Jock had warned him about this. It had been a long hard winter everywhere and these folk would be hungry for something other than kale and barley mash gruel. Usually you traded silver for guns, but not this spring. "I have cured hams, seed bread, butter, winter apples, oats, beans and turnips." Something moved in the corner of his eye, a shadow. This was nerve-wracking. Jock had warned him not to show weapons, and not to look threatening. Standing here in the fog, in this eerie empty place filled with the spirits of the violently dead, he was an easy target for any musket in the shadows.
A head popped up and looked over the gunnels. An old woman's face cracked a toothless smile at him and said, "You can have me for a slice of buttered bread." Daniel motioned to Peter to hand her a piece of bread. The poor lad warily stepped close enough to hand it to her, fully expecting to be raped as soon as she had it in her hand. "Show her a ham,” he told Anso.
The crone groaned at the sight of it. "We are in the house behind the church,” she said, and was gone. Disappeared in a puff of fog.
She had told the truth, but when Daniel stooped to enter the door of the half tumbled house, he had to draw back and take a deep breath of fresh outside air. The funk of the place was worse than an army privy after an all night drunk. Inside, the folk were young or old, children and elders, with a complete absence of young adults of either sex. An elderman was helped to his feet by some children and he stumbled outside to speak with him.
Their gleanings were kept in the vaults under the crumpled church. The elder did not follow him down through the hatch in the church floor, but sent a child with him as a guide. With the child's help he found the corner where the muskets were kept, and he grabbed three of them to take back up into what passed for daylight in this grey weather. He passed the muskets up to Anso, and then passed up the child. He weighed nothing. A mouse fart would have blown him over.
He praised the elder for having cleaned and oiled the guns before wrapping them in farm sacking for storage. The elder shrugged as if to say, 'do I look like a fool?'
"There's maybe two hundred down there,” he told Anso. "set the crew to work putting them on board."
"What do you want for all of them?" Anso asked of the elder. The elder was not a man of fine words, or any words for that matter. He just shrugged.
"Two hundred is more than we need. Besides, that is another ton on top of what we already carry,” Daniel said. "That puts us at our load limit if we want to float out of this canal system. Give them everything."
"Everything, but there is..."
"You heard me, give them everything. This effing winter has starved the flesh off them. We can buy more food in Rotown. And make sure they understand which of the sacks contains planting seeds, and which contain food." Anso stomped away to give the orders. Daniel handed the elder a small purse of silver. The man just stared at it as if it had appeared by magic.
Afterwards they poled the Freisburn backwards for three miles until an intersecting canal gave them enough width to turn. They would be in Rotown with this last load of muskets by tomorrow morning. It had taken a month to collect the eight hundred that were now stored in the chapel beside Jock's workshop.
The crew had taken over two of Jock's workbenches to fix everything that was wrong with the muskets. Out of every three muskets they had collected, they created two in useable condition. Sometimes they would help Jock assemble his snap-locks in payment for using his workshop and his tools. Payment went both ways, for a few samples of the ingenious locks were now hidden aboard the Freisburn.
Three weeks ago, Daniel had delivered the first lot of muskets to John Stewart's shipping agent, who opened each case and checked the quality and the count before having them stored in his bonded warehouse. There had been two other visits to the shipping agent since that first one, and on each occasion, Daniel's next chore was to visit John Stewart's banker to have funds paid out of Stewart's account.
Last week he had received a letter from Stewart by way of Henry, which confirmed that he had received notice of the latest musket counts from the shipping agent and the banker. The only other thing it said was to stop collecting muskets, and to ship them as soon as possible. Daniel counted out the days on his fingers. How many more days to clean up and fix this lot before he could deliver them to the shipping agent and collect the next payment.
The clan was already showing a goodly profit on the deal. The final payment would be made only after the cargo was set ashore at the quay at Musselburg and the purser of the cargo ship had his bill of lading signed by the agent from Dalkeith Palace. Perhaps a few weeks after that, for the ship and purser had to get back to Rotterdam to show the signed bill to the banker there. That final payment would be pure profit.
* * * * *
* * * * *
THE PISTOLEER - HellBurner by Skye Smith Copyright 2013-14
Chapter 11 - Running guns to Edinburgh in May 1639
"Listen to me,” Daniel told the captain of the cargo fluyt Kameel, named after some type of enormous hump-backed horse supposedly used in the deserts of the Holy Lands. "I won't be paid my final payment until my cargo is landed safely at Musselburg quay. That payment represents my entire profit on this deal,” he lied. "I trust you, of course I trust you. I don't trust the Dunkirker privateers, or the pirates who live along the Scottish coast pretending to be fishermen. My ship will escort you."
"And what would your ship do against Dunkirker cannons?" Kameel's master replied. "What if there is a storm? How seaworthy is it? Will it even keep up in heavy seas? Besides, your cargo is bonded. If it is lost then the bond will pay for it."
"I've read the bond. It has more fine print than a Lutheran Bible. Even if it does pay out, it will take years before I see any coin. And don't you be badmouthing the Freisburn. She's Frisian designed for seaworthiness, and she has both sail and oars. As for pirates, well perhaps I can't do much against Dunkirker ships, but I just bought two swivel guns for her that will scare any Scottish fishermen away."
The swivel guns had been a bargain because the Jewish traders who sold them had already been trying to get rid of them for a year. They were Malay guns, not European, so the Dutch were suspicious of them. All it took to convince Daniel was a demonstration. Swivel guns were like giant blunderbusses that were fitted to a ship's gunnels and were perfect for keeping pirates from climbing aboard. They fired nails, glass, birdshot, musket balls, anything that would spread out and do damage to a lot of men at the same time.
These swivel guns were unusual, however, because they were breach loaders. The powder chamber was an iron cup about the shape and size of an ale stein. Removing it opened the base of the barrel so you could load it with shot directly rather than pouring it down the muzzle. Measure the powder into the breach cup, lock it back into place in its iron cage, and fire. The merchants had only two
of them, but they were identical, took the same breach cups, and came with four spare cups so that you could pre-measure the powder ahead of time.
"Well, I can't stop you from trailing me, and I must admit that I prefer not to sail alone," the master told him. "So be it. Will you be ready to sail on the ebb?"
"We were ready a week ago. The shipping agent wouldn't consign the cargo to a ship until he had received confirmation back from London. I'll go and bring my ship around. Will you need a tow away from the quays?"
"Could you do that?" The master almost clapped his hands in his glee at being able to pocket a tow fee. "Wonderful. Already I am enjoying the company of your little ship."
Anso and Alex Hamilton were waiting for him at a small table in the back of the crowded Teahouse. As soon as Daniel was seated, Anso reached out for his flask, threw his tepid brew into the plant pot beside him, and refilled his cup with Genever. The frail china cup looked like a delicate thimble in his ham fists. "So, do we sail on the ebb?"
"We do,” Daniel thrust a hand out to stop Anso from jumping up. "There is no hurry. Finish your, umm, tea." He then turned to Ham and said, "Did you hear the news from London?"
"Aye, so King Charlie finally has enough of an army to cross the Tweed River into Scotland. Well, it's not like it wasn't expected." Ham tipped his tea into the same planter and lifted the flask. "General Leslie should be in Edinburgh by now with the three hundred Scots who have followed him from one side of Saxony to the other."
"What does that do to your Swedish cannon deal with the Dutch?"
"They've put it on hold indefinitely,” Ham replied, almost crushing his tea cup in his hand out of frustration. "Months of dickering for naught. The shame is that now Leslie needs the cannons more than ever. All the cannons in Scotland are with the Royal garrisons or aboard Royal ships."
"It's probably a treaty thing,” Anso added. "Charlie is supposed to be neutral, isn't he? Sending cannons to General Leslie, who has already committed to leading an army against him, may be enough to push Charlie into the arms of the Emperor."
