Author #4
“My father was a fisherman, you see,” he said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and setting the tankard carefully on the table-top. Beer at the Roaring Lion wasn’t that strong – I could testify to that, worse luck – and he was a big man, but he’d been drinking long before I arrived and I suspected he was tipsy if not drunk.
Petersen wasn’t a bad sort. We’d made a few voyages together, him as sailing master and me as mate, bumming a cog around the old Hansa ports with one trip over to England every season. Magda was a good enough ship, old but seaworthy, and Captain Renner kept her in good enough repair and he paid on time, which made up for him being a little rough of tongue. Petersen knew the Baltic like the back of his hand, knew every sounding and every sign of weather, or so it seemed to me, for I was young in those days and he was ancient in my eyes as Noah.
I’d told him that I dreamed of a ship of my own, of sailing away to the colonies of Gross Karls Land, or down into the hot waters of Spanish silver, tobacco and sugar. He’d laughed, not a pretty sight in a man with naught but the black scraggling stumps of teeth left in his mouth. He’d laughed and allowed that I’d do right fair as a captain and he thought the time not far away when some merchant prince might make me an offer. He didn’t think I should take on with the Hamburg men, and said so – cheap, he said, and went on at some length with such coarse descriptions that I forbear to relate them here.
And I asked him why he was a sailing master and not a captain himself, I asked him because I was young and stupid and proud to be talking to him as an equal. I knew as the words tumbled out that it was a mistake and I sat there in misery for a moment while he went somewhere far, far away. Then he drained his beer, said, “My father was a fisherman,” and set his tankard down as carefully as if it were an eggshell – as if he were afraid he would smash it down, break the trestle down if he let his control slip an inch.
He motioned for another beer, thanked the serving wench kindly – old as he was, she was old enough to be his mother – and slipped her a copper for to put more wood on the fire. I thought our previous line of talk was ended, though I couldn’t imagine what I’d said wrong. I knew plenty of merchant captains who had begun as ship’s boys and sons of fishermen. I was fumbling around to find something to restore the previous cheer to our conversation, but he had that long-away look in his eyes and I didn’t think he would hear me if I did speak.
And then he told me this story, just as I’ll tell it to you now. Old Petersen must be dead and gone these dozen years ago, and if not he’s so far away from here that my telling his tale won’t matter. So this is what he said.
My father was a fisherman, and I grew up on boats and had no fear of any storm or water. Respect, yes, for any little puddle can drown you if you’re careless, but no fear. I was handling hooks and lines from the time I could walk and hauling nets as soon as I had the strength. It was a hard life, but it was steady work and paid somewhat, and my pa was a prudent man, so he went from working for others to owning his own boat to employing others to work for him on his boats.
That was before the war, of course. Not a real war with armies and the like, but a war among the members of the Hanse. Ships went out and came back with no catch, or didn’t come back at all, and my father’s business suffered. Once that was over, the catches never seemed as good and the boats were going farther and farther out…
Anyhow, my father invested in a syndicate with some other Germans and a Swede, and they set about finding better fishing grounds. There were rumors, you see, of these great big fish that someone was finding out in the west, and so they sent some ships out there and I went on a trip or two. We found a lot of cold salt water, storms like none of us had ever seen, and islands made all of ice, but no fish to pay the freight for the trip.
I didn’t make the trip the next year as my father was ill and I was taking one of his boats up Bothnia way, when they found land. The Swede was a literary man and named it ‘Placentia’, and they busted up a ship and built a little town, because they did find fish. Shoals of fish, more fish than anyone had ever seen, fish like Sweden has needles on evergreens. They set up a little town and started drying and salting cod and sent that home, and our fortunes were made, or so we thought.
My father died then and we lost his boats and business to debts, mostly debts from those voyages that founded Placentia and brought in that golden harvest of cod. The syndicate men wanted money right then – him not even cold in his grave! – and no hearing of waiting a bit for us to earn it. My mother died soon after, my sister was already married and I was left with a little money and a lot of time on my hands. I couldn’t bear to work for any member of the syndicate, not after they took away everything my father had ever worked for. So I talked to some of my father’s old friends and they suggested I talk to Captain Halle.
Halle had served the archbishop in the last war when his ship was hired to fight the Danes, fought in that battle at Visby if you’ve heard of it. So he knew people at the palace and in the harbor, and those people approached him about making a voyage out of Placentia. See, the Spaniards had been shipping home fortunes in sugar, tobacco, chocolate, coffee… not to mention whole shiploads of gold and silver! And the French had those colonies down south somewhere, and the Portuguese were bringing in spices. So anyway, they thought we should sail west of Placentia and see if we could find some gold mines of our own, or the Spice Islands or some such.
I signed on with Captain Halle as a mate and we set about victualling and crewing for the voyage. None of us knew what we might find or how long we might be gone, but Greif was a fine seaworthy ship, tight as a drum, and we had some of the Archbishop’s gold to spend. And we didn’t know if we could buy any supplies in Placentia – except cod! – so we thought we should take as much with us as we could.
We left the Baltic in late spring. Denmark wasn’t collecting ship money for passing the Sound in those days, but we weren’t supposed to attract attention to ourselves so we didn’t stop. The voyage west was easy enough. There was rough weather north of Scotland, such big rollers that even the most experienced seamen took afright, but Greif took them like the sweet duck she was and with a little careful ship-handling we didn’t even lose a sail.
Then there was nothing but water, black at night and ever-green in the weak daylight we had. Captain Halle could not take a position without seeing the sun, but as long as we kept on westward we thought we’d fetch Placentia without much trouble, and we did. Had a brush with one of the ice mountains – big things, big as real mountains! – but we came to Placentia all right.
Halle had been right about the supplies, too. We were the first ship to come in after the winter, and the snow was still thick on the ground and skim ice was in the harbor The few survivors were freezing and starving, sick and scurvied. They had little food for themselves – nor firewood, much – and they were plenty angry when Captain Halle refused to hand over our supplies! If they’d been healthier I think we might have had trouble getting back to the boats, but we did, and we sailed away from that wretched port that same day, not even daring to stop to take on water.
West we went around the bulk of the island, and west we went until we reached land. Thick as the snow was on the land we decided not to put in for wood and water, and given that winter still lay upon the land the Captain decided to turn south instead of north.
Ah, that was a time. We sailed along shores thick with trees, mountains in the distance, and mapped what we could. In little inlets we filled our barrels from streams so pure… water clear and clean as any I’ve ever seen. Trees too thick for three men to join hands around them, meadows of sweet grass… plenty of game for fresh meat, too. We saw signs of men but not the men themselves, and we wondered.
Still we went south until we found that great bay, where Karlstadt stands now on the spit between the Asche and Bottcher Rivers. Our supplies were running low and poor Greif was worn in her cordage, so we put into that quiet anchorage – big enough to hold every ship in Christendom! – and put the men ashore.
I led a party that went foraging for food, and so I was the first to see them. Strange men they were – dark as Aegyptians, wearing precious little clothes at all and the women less than proper! Greif had the usual odds-and-sods crew from all over, but the savages spoke some uncouth language none of us had ever heard. Between us we tried German and Dutch, French and Italian, one man even had a few words of Turk. And if the savages had understood those we might have had a row, ha! But they didn’t. Still we managed to make ourselves understood well enough. They had seen the ship, you see, and didn’t know what to think of it at all! I think they believed some monster had come to eat them up, and I’m not sure that they were pleased to find that we were its masters!
It was a happy time. Oh, we worked like dogs, yes! Captain Halle wasn’t sure we could count on any food or stores in Placentia and he meant for Greif to sail all the way home if she had to! So we worked about the ship, and hunted and bought food from the natives. They had a little tobacco too and it was badly cured, but we smoked it right up, or chewed it like they did. It was a happy time, I say. Some of the men took fancy to the savage women – even some of the married men, as sailors will you know. I did, myself… she was the sweetest little brown thing, no bigger than a midge and happy all the time, couldn’t do enough to please me. I didn’t mean to get a child by her, but I did…
Oh, I meant well, you see. I meant to do right by her! No need to turn away and pretend you’re not shocked. I loved her, and I knew I’d come back with the next ship, turn by back to the sea and found a town. There was lots of land there, good land, and fish in the rivers and the bay. I’d hold land fir for a count if I got in at the start, and no-one would dare say anything about my little bride!
They died, you know. They all took sick and died, blistered all over with the pox. Towards the end they were cursing us in what few words they had, they blamed it all on us. We abandoned the camp and pulled the men back aboard ship, not a one of us sick at all – at least then - and when we went back later they were all dead or fled. My girl was dead, and the baby too. There wasn’t nothing I could do, I tell you! Nothing I could do!
Sometimes trouble comes along in a man’s life, you know? And you ride over it like a ship in a storm, bows to the wave and you struggle but you come through. But if a wave catches you just right… if it catches you just right, well over you go and down you go and there’s no help for you! And that was what happened to me. After we buried their poor bodies, some of the men took sick with agues and fevers. They call it malaria now, and Lord knows there was enough bad air in the swampy ground around the rivers, but we didn’t know what it was. The men began to say it was a judgement from God, and that set old Halle off right proper! At the end he wore pistols in his belt day and night, but he kept them at their work and got the ship away.
I was one that took sick, and I was one of the few that lived. I still get a touch of it from time to time, just to torment me with the memory of that poor girl… but I was never the same, even when I was home and well. I drank too much and remembered too much, I wanted too little, and the little girl I wanted I could never have.
It was Paradise, I tell you. As green and lovely… people like Adam’s tribe, savage in their ways and Pagan to be sure but a good and gentle people, pure in heart. And my little girl! Ah! Yes, it was Paradise… and none of us poor fallen men were ever meant for Paradise! That’s my great discovery, boy, that’s what I brought home from Halle’s great voyage. She haunted me then and haunts me still! Happiness will always pass, for none of us were meant for Paradise!
He never drank with me after that. Old Petersen was civil enough on ship, but guarded his tongue ever after, and I can’t say I blame him. He left the ship the next year and I don’t know where he went. And I took the ship Herr Krueger offered me and sailed away, and I never saw old Petersen again.
I’ve been to Karlstadt many times, and it’s a pretty town, but it isn’t Paradise. Not for me.