"But it's no great matter to ship these Africans. The truth is we don't
really even have to keep them fettered once we pass sight of land,
since they're too terrified to revolt. We feed them twice a day with
meal boiled up into a mush, and every other day or so we give them some
English horsebeans, which they seem to favor. Sometimes we even bring
them up topside to feed, whilst we splash down the decks below." He
smiled and swept the assembled bodies with his eyes. "That's why we
have so little wastage. Not like the Spaniards or Portugals, who can
easily lose a quarter or more to shark feed through overpacking and
giving them seawater to drink. But I'll warrant the English'll try to
squeeze all the profit they can one day, when your ships take up the
trade, and then you'll doubtless see wastage high as the Papists have."
"English merchants'll never take up the slave trade."
Ruyters gave a chuckle. "Aye but that they will, as I'm a Christian,
and soon enough too." He glanced in the direction of Anthony Walrond.
"Your London shippers'll take up anything we do that shows a florin's
profit. But we'll give you a run for it." He turned back to Briggs.
"What say you, sir? Are they to your liking?"
"I take it they're a mix? Like we ordered?"
"Wouldn't load them any other way. There's a goodly batch of Yoruba,
granted, but the rest are everything from Ibo and Ashanti to Mandingo.
There's little chance they'll be plotting any revolts. Half of them are
likely blood enemies of the other half."
The first mate lashed the line forward with a cat-o'-nine-tails,
positioning them along the scuppers. At the head was a tall man whose
alert eyes were already studying the forested center of the island.
Winston examined him for a moment, recalling the haughty Yoruba slaves
he had seen in Brazil.
"Is that the chief you spoke of?"
Ruyters glanced at the man a moment. "They mostly look the same to me,
but aye, I think that's the one. Prince Atiba, I believe they called
him. A Niger and pure Yoruba."
"He'll never be made a slave."
"Won't he now? You'll find the cat can work wonders." Ruyters turned
and took the cat-o'-nine-tails from the mate. "He'll jump just like the
rest." With a quick flick he lashed it against the African's back. The
man stood unmoving, without even a blink. He drew back and struck him a
second time, now harder. The Yoruba's jaw tightened visibly but he
still did not flinch. As Ruyters drew back for a third blow, Winston
reached to stay his arm.
"Enough. Take care or he may prove a better man than you'd wish to
show."
Before Ruyters could respond, Briggs moved to begin the negotiations.
"What terms are you offering, sir?"
"Like we agreed." Ruyters turned back. "A quarter now, with sight bills
for another quarter in six months and the balance on terms in a year."
"Paid in bales of tobacco at standing rates? Or sugar, assuming we've
got it then?"
"I've yet to see two gold pieces keeping company together on the whole
of the island." He snorted. "I suppose it'll have to be. What do you
say to the usual exchange rate?"
"I say we can begin. Let's start with the best, and not trouble with
the bidding candle yet. I'll offer you a full twenty pounds for the
first one there." Briggs pointed at the Yoruba.
The Dutch captain examined him in disbelief. "This is not some
indentured Irishman, sir. This is a robust field hand you'll own for
life. And he has all the looks of a good breeder. My conscience
wouldn't let me entertain a farthing under forty."
"Would you take some of my acres too? Is there no profit to be had in
him?"
"These Africans'll pay themselves out for you in one good year, two at
the most. Just like they do in Brazil." Ruyters smiled. "And this is
the very one that cost me a fortune in muskets. It's only because I
know you for a gentleman that I'd even think of offering him on such
easy terms. He's plainly the pick of the string."