Chapter 4

The North River

10 Jun   MIJNHEER HENDRIKS

Luck was with me on the long trek back to Fort Oranje. The weather stayed pleasant and my nose seemed to find the way. Berries, nuts and nest eggs picked up along the way were not plentiful but were enough. Within many uncounted days, I topped a hill and saw in the distance some orange roofs. There were more of them now. Beyond the fort, I saw a blue, white, and orange banner flapping away on tall poles. What joy! A trading ship was already there.

I avoided going inside the village wall but instead went straight away to the waterfront. There I sought the “chief” of the ship, called a ship-skipper. His name was Geert Hendriks. He was a tall, stern‐faced man. He wore a reddish‐blue tunic, puffed up brown breeches, and knee‐length boots. A wide-brimmed black hat with a conical top put his face in shadow. Hands on hips, his attention was fixed on men carrying furs onto the ship.

“Mijnheer Hendriks,” (the proper way to address a ship-skipper) said I, trying to capture his ear. He simply ignored a young girl in ragged doeskins and long braids, looking wildly scruffy after a long journey.

I tried againe, speaking in Dutch, “Mijnheer Hendriks, I must ask of you a favor.”

His face lit up when he noticed my speaking Dutch. But the fire in it quickly went out when I asked him, ever so politely, if he would provide me with passage to Nieuw Amsterdam.

“Certainly not!” I pleaded a second tyme. “No. A ship is not a place for a woman,” he snapped. “No. There will be no woman on my ship.”

“But I will cause no trouble,” I pleaded.

“No! No! A woman on board a ship means trouble. ’Twill only tempt rude fortune.”

“But …,” I persisted, painfully to no advantage.

“Men of the sea are steeped in superstitions,” he replied with a tone of annoyance. “Stormes and a crew of untrustworthy men make sayling a ship gamble enough. Why risk more?”

“But… but… going to Nieuw Amsterdam is important to me,” I stammered.

11 Jun  NUMBER PROBLEMS

The air is crispy today but the sunne is warming. My eyes take joy in finding the blues and greenes of distant mountains.

As I remember, Mijnheer Hendriks turned and started to walk farther out on the wharf. Was there nothing more to say to plead my cause? Was there not a shred of charm left in this pockmarked, Wilde body? Could the skipper’s rejection soften my resolve? Just then, a strange thought popped into my head. The idea made no sense, but from behind I called it out anyway. Following in the ship-skipper’s footsteps, I said, “If you had eighteen sheep and one night the wolves ate six of them, how many would you have left?”

With this, the shipmaster whirled about. He looked at me as if I were a two-headed beast. Even so, he answered, “Twelve.”

Before he asked for an explanation, another example from Katrina’s rekenboek or arithmetic book came to my mind, “If a windmill grinds ninety‐six bags of flour in one day, and six bakers divide them equally, how many bags will each baker have?” Looking ever more puzzled and thoughtful, the master eventually responded, “Oh, you are a strange one. Suppose you went to Nieuw Amsterdam. Would you do exactly as you are told?”

“Oh, yes,” I responded with a newfound brightness in my voice.

“Well, then you need to find the right clothes, pass yourself off as a boy. Return here before nightfall. On the ship, stay out of sight as much as you can. Speak to no one else on the ship besides me. We will have to keep you out of sight. Do you agree?”

I agreed. “With all my heart,” were my exact words.

I went directly to the house of the Van Stroomers, noticing along the way that there were a few more houses and many more cows and more horses within the walls of tall tree trunks. It is not possible for me to describe the painful thoughts of going to that house.

12 Jun  CABIN BOY

In Fort Oranje I quickly learned that the Van Stroomer family had returned to Holland shortly after Katrina passed on. It was apparent from the stack of wrinkled clothes that the new family in the house had many children. After a brief explanation, the woman of the household, looking doubtful yet amused, was kind enough to spare some threadbare garments, and thankfully, a generous piece of bread.

I changed clothes there in the kitchen, putting on a loose flowing, if tattered, blouse, a long woolen jerkin and some well-worn, too-large breeches. My braids were carefully tucked under a wide-brimmed hat that came downe over my eyebrows. Thanking my benefactor with a Dank u, I ventured out onto the riverbank and hurried to the ship. In a small bundle I carried all my rolled‐up worldly possessions: my doeskin smock, moccasins, cornhusk doll, and shell necklace.

At the shoreline, the master againe warned me, “Remember, speak to no one. The men must not hear a woman’s voice. Do you understand?” I nodded. “I will give the saylors instructions,” he said, “on where to put you. You must stay there until I come for you.”

The ship-skipper led me to a small boat. “Cabin boy,” he told two men with paddles. “He does not speak. Take him to the hold below the quarterdeck hold.”

Wordlessly, the men dug the paddles into the water as we approached the largest object ever seen in my life. How to describe the ship? A body as long as the longest longhouse with a height three or four tall people, rising ever higher at each end. Its length: three poles along its length, each pole as tall as the tallest tree. From the poles hung immense bundles of cloth that spread out on many narrow wings. Up close to the side of the ship I saw the words Prins van Oranje.

Once inside that great ship, the men pointed to some steps made of rope that hung along the side. Climbing them warily, I assoon found myself standing on the deck. In another moment, the message about my situation was relayed to a man standing neereby. What next happened will be another day.

13 Jun  WAITING IN THE DARK

Once on the ship I saw a small door only a few steps away. This door opened into a dark place. Someone gestured for me to go into it, an instruction that I obeyed without hesitation. My feet dropped downe into the blackness until they touched what I surmised was a coil of rope. Standing on tiptoes, my eyes came to the bottom of the doorway.

Feeling buried alive in the bowels of a ship was not the worst part. There were the smells, the awful blending of tar, animal pelts, beer, and stale food. And there, alone in the darkness, I beganne to have doubts about my destiny. Still gloating over the success of my ruse to gain admission to this great ship, need I write of not being well‐pleased of my present situation?

Late in the day the furs stopped coming onto the ship. Through the partly opened hatch I saw some of the barefooted men pacing aimlessly on deck. Others sat along the sidewalls, staring with vacant expressions into space. A few slept at odd angles here and there on deck. No one talked.

And what a collection of men it was! Coarse in looks, gruff in manners. All looked to be in need of a good scrubbing and food. Every saylor was bearded and wore long hair. Some were missing an eye or a hand. One hobbled on a withered leg. Many were scarred. Something about them all told of young men who looked old.

14 Jun  MISERABLE CAVE

The mid‐river view from my tiny door aboard ship tooke in the orange rooftops of the village. I spotted the house, even the window, where Katrina and I shared our lives from one spring to another, the room where she tooke her last breath. I forced myself to remember the good moments we spent together. The word‐stock and the numbers that Katrina and I had learned together had already been useful. I was feeling pleased with myself. Even standing as I was on a stack of ropes in a smelly black hole, a more miserable situation than in Van Stroomer’s woodshed, it was exciting to think that I would assoon be on the way to Nieuw Amsterdam. Of course, once there, I had no idea of what awaited me.

The door of the hatch suddenly opened. A wooden bowl of greene, soggy gruel was handed to me. Squinting against the sunne, I saw a short man grinning. He was almost toothless. After many days of hard walking, with nothing but pickings in the forest, I gladly took his warm broth of peas, gristle and who knows what else, but ’twas hardly tasteful. The man offered not a word. He simply closed the hatchway cover, leaving only a sliver of daylight. Yet, I found I was not alone in that miserable cave. There were sounds of things scurrying around. I saw things darting through the narrow shaft of light.

15 Jun  WORDS OF THE SKIPPER

Well after nightfall, I heard the skipper’s low-spoken voice. “Are you in need of anything?” I mumbled some sort of cheerful answer that tried to cover up the mixed feelings of my present situation. “Tomorrow,” he went on, “we will sayle as the winde favors and the tide is suitable.” Of course, I had no idea what a “winde favors” or a “suitable tide” meant, but they sounded like good things for a ship. “Then,” he added, “you can come out of there.” That sounded like a good thing.

16 Jun  LIFT THE ANCHOR

As daylight came, the same man, the cook, appeared with his one‐tooth smile and with the same awful porridge. Againe, he spoke not a word. All day I stayed in that terrible pit, waiting and waiting. The cloth hanging from the ship trees hung limp. Through a crack, I saw the men lounging lazily, playing some tossing game or quarreling among themselves. As the morning wore on, the steaming heat added to the torment of neere darkness and the stench. When the sunne was about overhead, an orange banner high on the mast beganne to flutter. Suddenly, a voice bellowed across the ship, Licht het anker!

The command echoed across the ship, Licht het anker! The seamen lying about the deck sprang to life. Some scampered up the masts to release the sayle. Others strained round and round against spokes on a wheel that raised the anchor from the riverbed. The giant hook, the size of a man, burst out of the water with a tremendous splash. I saw it swing outward, then back in, striking the ship with a jarring thud.

17 Jun  DOWNRIVER

Presently, the floating canoe drifted away from Fort Oranje. The orange-topped village quickly faded in the distance. More sayles were let downe until the great ship appeared smothered under the canvas. The ship picked up speed. Yet imprisoned as I was, I was surely no longer in the woodshed. My chest thumped wildly as the adventure unfolded.

On the side of the ship and just where the pile of ropes ended, slits of light outlined a small, square shutter. One good yank opened it to fresh air. Lying face downe on the ropes, I had an ever‐changing view of the forested shore line in an ever-widening river.

I lay there watching the stands of firs, oak, and maple pass by, broken up now and then by great rises of bald‐faced rocks. Here and there, a streame poured into the river. Of course, herons, hawks, and meadowlarks, yes, birds of every kind, fluttered away on sight of the approaching flapping river monster.

18 Jun  HOUSES ALONG THE WAY

Along the way villages appeared along the hillsides. Some were small with perhaps ten longhouses. Others had countless longhouses or domed houses, spreading across a wide meadow. People along the shore rushed toward the river to look at the strange sight passing by. ’Twas the children—jumping, yelling, arm waving— who seemed to take most delight in their distraction from everyday chores. How I wished then that I might stand at the bow of the great ship to return their greetings.

At dusk the big hook plopped into the water, bringing the ship to a full stop. At nightfall the cook brought a chunk of moldy bread to garnish his greene porridge.

19 Jun  STORM AT NIGHT

Sleeping uneasily on the coils of rope, I was stirred by the rumble of distant thunder and then jolted awake by lightning, thunderclaps, and rain. The ship shuddered violently, rocking dizzily from side to side. Sounds of the slapping of ropes, creaking, cracking, and clanging were frightful. Above it all, I heard the clatter of hail stones that turned the ship into a water drum. No nightmare ever prepared me for this plight.

More about the river‐storme in the morrow.

20 Jun  HAILSTONES

Waves that battered the ship spewed foam through my little square window. The shutter that I had yanked open was now missing, and though I groped frantically in the darkness, I did not find it anywhere. Rain splashed in everywhere. Surely, the storme was tearing the ship apart. I was certain the cold river would rise above the coils of rope, soon to be my watery grave.

There was another storme swelling, this one within me. To retch, I thrust my head out of the opening. There, I felt the stings of a thousand hailstones. In tyme, the storme passed. My insides stayed mostly inside and I did not drown in the foul‐smelling darkness.

21 Jun  THE CAPTAIN’S CABIN

Morning came with a new set of sharp, echoed commands, along with another bowl of peas and gristle porridge. The ship was againe moving toward New Amsterdam. Overjoyed I was later when Mijnheer Hendriks came to the hatch door. I was to leave my dungeon and accompany him back to his cabin. It was a large room cluttered from floor to ceiling. A drawing spread out on a small desk caught my eye.

“You see,” said the shipmaster, there was no room for you here in the cabin.” He continued with a quizzical tone in his voice. “So, my strong-willed cabin boy, you want to go to New Amsterdam.”

“Yes,” I replied. “That is my desire.”

“And what is so important for you in Nieuw Amsterdam?”

My answer was hesitant, incomplete, as I had no idea of what I would do there.

“As suspected,” he chuckled, “The way a moth goes to a flame.” His answer puzzled me. Without hesitation, he added, “And so you are good with numbers.” I believed not my ears at what he next said. That for the morrow.

22 Jun  ACCOUNT OF TRADING

His voice quickened. “I have here an account of trading writ by the Opper Koopman. He is the agent from Hoorn, a city in our country. He keeps all our trade. I am sure there are no errors.” He handed me a stack of paper. “Yet, I want to see what you make of these figures. Here, you may sit at my big table.”

I was stunned. Nevertheless, I set out to look over all the numbers in the account step by step.

“At the end,” the master went on, “you will find a list of percentages that each man receives. You will see that the investors of the West Indies Company get half of the profits. I, as the skipper, receive the highest percentage of the crew, then the purser and then the rest of the officers. There is a percentage listed for each seaman who survives.” With this explanation, he set aside an instrument that sat on his table. After rolling up a large map, he left to go out onto the deck. I next heard his voice bellowing one order after another, each one followed by repetition from the sayling men.

23 Jun  SPLENDID CHAOS

Percentages? What are percentages? And what did the shipmaster mean by a surviving seaman? But at first, all I wanted to do was to look around at the splendid chaos inside his cabin. I was dazzled by the sight of stacks of barrels, boxes, lanterns, bottles, and instruments that clustered about the table. One lantern hung from the ceiling above it, and a small stool sat before it.

24 Jun  CHECKING THE NUMBERS

The list noted the number and kinds of pelts loaded aboard. I am remembering that the ship was carrying the skins of more than 6,127 beavers, 209 raccoons, and about twenty-four cougars. Each had a different worth. Cougar pelts were the most valuable; beaver pelts the least. Listed was every hoe, ax, kettle, string of ribbon, or glass bead that was traded with the Wilden. Alongside each was its cost when purchased in Holland. I added values of each of the pelts and subtracted the cost of the traded goods. Every tyme, my figures came out the same as those reckoned by the purser. For me, the effort was a lesson on the value of numbers, not just an exercise about sheep or shoes taken from a book. How admirable was this purser! If only Katrina had known of the usefulness of numbers!

Then there was the list of percentages. This was the most troublesome. First, I had to find out what percentages were. Working backwards from the figures, I found that it was simply done by multiplying. Fifty per cent was half of the profits for the investors. The rest was divided among the twenty‐one people on the ship. The higher the rank, the greater was the percentage of profit for each pelt. It was all written downe to the man.

I went over my reckonings over and over againe for each person, one by one, always coming up with the same answer. Here, my numbers did not agree with those of the purser. The difference tooke away a chunk of the profits from each of the ordinary men, and put it in favor of himself. I had to believe that in my reckoning there were mistakes. Of this, more shall be writ.

25 Jun  DISPLEASED AND PLEASED

I reviewed againe the account figures, and once more, my reckoning was the same. At high sunne, Mijnheer Hendriks returned to his cabin. He looked over my figures for a long tyme. His side to side nodding and his puckered lips showed that he was not pleased with the results. What had I done wrong? What would happen to me now? But to my surprise, he praised me for my trouble. Does luck have a way of favoring the uncertain on a quest for the unknowne?

Would Katrina have been proud? Oh, yes! “The purser is dishonest,” said he. What would happen to the purser if I were right? That he did not say. I still wonder about the punishment.

26 Jun  PLEASANT DAYS

Againe, the ship-skipper asked me about my intentions on arriving. My answer was the same as before. “Perhaps I can help.” Of this offer, he said no more but added, “The river for the rest of the voyage is more splendid than any in Europe. Go onto the quarterdeck for a better view. Remember, speak to no one except to me and then only inside my cabin.”

So encouraged, I climbed to that high deck, and looked out with a new sense of exhilaration. Oh, how my sisters would laugh at me now, standing high on a sayling longhouse, wearing a loose blouse of cloth, billowing Dutch breeches far too large and looking out under a floppy cap of felt. A sight extraordinary indeed must I have been!

I followed the curves and rises of the riverbanks as they appeared and faded. I ate as the Master did, fresh meat with some venison and fresh fish. With a pleased stomach at night, I returned to my dark world to sleep on a heap of ropes.

27 Jun  TOO HOT

A day of tormenting heat along Cloud‐Splitter. Most of this day I spend lazily under a shade tree. It is too hot to write more. I stop now.

28 Jun  ADVICE

To continue with my voyage: the ship proceeded downe river. The seamen were now up in the masts, adjusting the sayles, working together on the instance of a command. On coming to a narrow, curvy part of the river, the men seemed to work even harder. Oh, how they scampered high up on the masts, much like squirrels, and heaved the big cloths this way and that. Ignorant I was of their tasks, I did hear many commands given and repeated. These were the same men who, not long before, lay on the deck as lazy as sunning turtles.

Once through the twisting passageway of mountains and into a widened and calmer water, Mijnheer Hendriks turned his attention to me. “Do you have any guilders?”

“No.”

“Much as I thought.”

“Do you have any wampum?”

“No.”

“Well, then, what shall you do?” returned he. “I am obliged to tell you that Nieuw Amsterdam is a rude place. You must be wary. Always protect yourself. Saylors teeming along the waterfront make an unruly bunch. A young woman is faire game. You can expect them not to behave as gentlemen.”

The ship-skipper went on, “I know the keeper of a tavern in New Amsterdam. He is an honest man. Ask for the inn of Mijnheer Hoevenberg, a place called Herberg de Zeemeeuw. You may inform him that Zeekapitein Hendriks sent you. He will find you a bed until you have settled yourself.”