The men of the Second Chance Bird remained stoically silent as the sailors noisily gesticulated at them. It was agreed that Gerbald would do all the talking and that time hadn't come yet. Completely disregarding the protests of the lowly dock crew, Gerbald waved his hand lazily, signaling the disguised Swedes to throw lines at the surprised sailors, who now found themselves tying the junk up to the dock despite themselves. Now, Gerbald regally motioned that he was ready to disembark. Two of their strongest men climbed over the rail and waited on the dock, ignoring the confused and increasingly nervous sailors gesturing frantically at them to stay on-board their vessel. The palanquin was lowered gently into their care, passed down by two more men stationed on the junk's narrow step-ledge halfway between the rail and the rough-hewn, uneven planks below.
Watching the scene unfold as scheduled, Pam fingered her pistol in the leather holster Gerbald had made for it, hidden under a sash at her hip, awaiting the worst. She had tried to make Gerbald give it to one of the men going onto the dock, but he had insisted, saying that she was a better shot than most of them and it was best she have it just in case things went badly. She prayed fervently that it would not prove necessary. That new and rather disturbing part of her that had appeared in recent days was darn glad to have it. Pam rolled her eyes to the heavens, thinking that it was bad enough to be going into a conflict without being conflicted about it to boot.
Now, the disguised Swedes had begun passing the various prepared offerings down to the dock. This caused the sailors to cease their frantic fussing and become very interested in the arriving packages accompanying their bizarre visitors. They whispered amongst themselves loudly, pointing at the brightly-colored wooden boxes. They were especially interested in the barrels and casks, perhaps they had run out of whatever rotgut a sea-dog prefers?
Once the entire shore party was assembled on the dock, Gerbald harrumphed loudly for attention. He pointed at the sailors and commanded in a deep, resonant voice, "Sous Capitan!" The sailors just stood there staring at him, wondering what they should do, and not even quite sure that they had just heard the leader of these strange folk say something in French. Gerbald repeated the order forcefully and added a jabbing pointing finger. "SOUS CAPITAN!" Then, with a sweep of his arms to their "gifts" he said "Sous Capitan!" in a cordial tone, while smiling graciously. Acting as if everyone had understood him perfectly he clapped his hands twice and folded them across his chest, waiting expectantly for the men to get moving.
A brief discussion followed, after which the fellow who was apparently the highest-ranking of the group shook his head in resignation, and sent one of his men to go find their captain. Seeing this, Gerbald let out a loud grunt and the palanquin began following the messenger, the rest of the men gathering up packages and following. This caused a fresh hail of protests from the sailors, but they didn't reach for their guns, and now found themselves reluctantly escorting the determined strangers toward their own ship.
Pam started to laugh at their consternation, a kind of giddy, hysterical laugh, but forced herself to stop.
"Thank God, it's working so far. Please let us pull this off, please!" she prayed under her breath, joined by Dore doing the same in German. Pam looked over to see the bosun standing by the men assigned to man the gun on the foredeck. If that kind of shooting started, Gerbald's group had orders to hit the deck and hope the cannon shot sailed safely over them. The fancifully high decks of the junk looked tall enough, but Pam really didn't want to put that to the test. She hunkered down behind the rail, and used her scope to see what was going on ashore.
Up on the hillside she could see women working in the fields, while their men were busy constructing the town and fortress walls growing along the beach. Apparently, the renegades and their allies intended to make this a long term base, and why not? They had free labor and plenty of supplies from the captured colonists. This would be a golden opportunity for an enterprising corsair to create a little kingdom here. During her research for the journey Pam had read about pirate havens sprouting up on Madagascar and Isle St. Marie off to their west in the century to come. She wondered now if rather than being a plot of the hostile French government, perhaps up-time tales of lucrative piracy in the 1700s had inspired this bunch to start the game on their own a century early. "Well, here comes a little wrench in that plan, mes amis," she hissed, scowling coldly.
The palanquin was now a few yards away from the Effrayant's long, steep gangplank. The procession came to a stop at The Great Khan Gerbald's raised hand. They wanted to be close enough to storm the enemy ship if they must, but still have some room to duck if it came to cannon fire. Gerbald waited with an impatient expression as several officer types emerged from a shady spot on the ship's main deck and began yelling at the men on the dock below. These yelled back, again with much gesturing, recounting the story so far. After a minute, the yelling stopped and the original welcoming committee stepped quietly back, relieved that their superiors were coming to deal with the problem. Gerbald took this opportunity to announce his intentions to the officers. "Sous Capitan!" he bellowed in a voice full of generosity and good cheer, sweeping his arm extravagantly toward the enticing boxes his servants bore.
After another long moment of consternation, one of the officers nudged another, likely sending that one off to fetch the captain. The man had a decidedly unenthusiastic expression on his face, which Pam thought probably spoke volumes about the personality of the captain. After a few minutes, and a bit of angry shouting emanating from the captain's cabin, a grouchy looking fellow came swaggering out to the rail with an expensive looking sword at his belt and a many-plumed fancy hat on his roundish head. He looked annoyed, but couldn't hide some interest as he squinted at the odd-looking envoy assembled below. The officer who had stayed at the rail announced with proper respect, if little love, "Capitan Leonce Toulon de Aquitane!" while the sour-faced man paused in what he must think was a heroic pose. Pam thought he bore more than a slight resemblance to your average Hollywood Captain Hook, and fought back a snicker. Sometimes it all just seemed unreal to her, and she had to remember that their lives were very much in danger, even from such an unlikely looking character as this.
"Capitan! Gerbald exclaimed with glee "Por vous, pour vous! Mon ami! allez, allez."
Pam silently thanked whatever accident of the cosmos had ensured that a citizen of Grantville was in possession of the complete Hogan's Heroes on VHS when they got sucked through the Ring of Fire, thus allowing the voice of Corporal Louis LeBeau to emanate from another universe. Gerbald's fractured Francais was outrageously funny to hear, plus it was working.