Chapter 54
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Translator: volt
Chapter: 54
Chapter Title: Slave Trade
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Slave trade.
From what I'd seen in the Immortal Order catalog, the slave trade in this 16th-century era was dominated by Spain and Portugal.
That was only natural. The only colonies that brought in slaves to work were those two.
In the 17th century or later, when England, France, the Netherlands, and others began seriously expanding overseas, things might be different—but right now, the colonial empires were just those two.
The Spanish and Portuguese rapidly expanded their new territories and squeezed out profits by exploiting large numbers of slaves.
However, the native population plummeted due to diseases like smallpox, and eventually, enslaving natives was outright banned. So they turned to slaves from elsewhere—people who were relatively hardy against disease and whose supply was closer at hand.
Slaves from West Africa.
Various kingdoms and tribes raided others, kidnapped people, and sold them to the American colonies.
Then, using slave labor to produce gold, silver, and cash crops, they'd ship those back to the homeland and pay with luxury goods from there to the African "suppliers" and "slave producers" for more slaves.
This was the infamous Atlantic Triangle Trade.
And Drake had plundered the ships and colonies involved in that trade.
He slaughtered people left and right, burned houses and fences, and looted every last bit of treasure and wealth.
"But... think about it. What are we supposed to do with the slaves we captured?"
Amid all that, we'd ended up with these black slaves in our hands.
"...I've heard you've dabbled in the slave trade yourself before."
"Sure, but that was before the war with Spain, wasn't it? What do we do with these ones?"
Am I supposed to keep them? These people with no real place to use them—just to strut around a bit while feeding, housing, and clothing them? That'd cost more than it's worth.
So sell them? To whom? The English would refuse for exactly the same reasons I would, and the only ones left are the Spanish...
But these were taken from the Spanish.
And we're right in the middle of a war, so selling to them is out of the question.
"I'm not running a charity here. I can't just take them back to West Africa and set them free. I'd go bankrupt."
Saracil didn't seem like the type to turn pirate out of some sudden moral awakening.
One minute he's happily massacring Spaniards, the next he's like, "Oh! Slaves! Gotta free them!" That sounds less saintly and more deranged.
"But! Who would've thought! That England’s ally and colony would pop up right near my 'business site' like this!"
...Did he just call the seas he pirates his "business site"?
"Anyway, isn't this working out great? If Your Majesty buys them, no matter how many..."
I held back a sigh and said,
"All of them."
"Uh... pardon?"
"I'll buy all of them."
"..."
Drake's jaw dropped, his eyes blinking rapidly in stunned silence... then his face lit up with a grin.
"Ah, hahaha! Looks like you need even more hands than I thought! Impressive! But the price is a bit steep..."
"Will paying in aluminum for all of them suffice?"
"..."
"Sir Drake?"
Drake, who'd frozen for a moment, now beamed ear to ear.
"Of course! Lads! Jackpot! Chain up the slaves quick and..."
"Unchain them."
"Uh... pardon? What if they run?"
"..."
As I said nothing, Francis Drake started glancing at me nervously.
Realizing I'd noticed, he shifted to eyeing his crew.
Then he closed his eyes, thinking for a moment.
"...Aha."
He opened them again, giving me a subtle smile.
"...I, Francis Drake, can't honestly say I've lived strictly by the Lord's word my whole life... but I think I grasp Your Majesty's intent.
Your Majesty is a true Christian. And I've long harbored a deep disgust for the institution of slavery myself..."
I haven't said a word yet. And weren't you a slave trader?
Still, his instincts were sharp as hell.
"...What the heck! I'll give them to you for half my original price! How could I haggle over profit when it's righteous work? Hahaha!"
...Wow, I almost thanked him without thinking.
Coming from someone who'd been fretting over what to do with them, it sounded so genuine I nearly bought it.
Whatever. It didn't matter.
"Th-this much? I said I'd take half..."
"Why so surprised? You're doing a good deed; of course I'd help."
It's just some crumpled aluminum foil and clips; he'd be thrilled anyway.
Drake's grin stretched impossibly wide as he bowed to me.
"Your Majesty! Long may you reign! May the friendship between England and Your Majesty endure forever! Then, if you'll excuse me..."
"Hold on."
"...Yes?"
"What are your plans now?"
"Well... I was heading back to England originally. Pirating... er, resource redistribution has gone splendidly, so now it's time to return home and share the joy with Her Majesty the Queen, right?"
"And after that?"
"Hm? Don't you know? I'm a pirate."
Drake clapped once, his eyes gleaming as he told me,
"Time for more pirating. Heh heh heh, I love this work."
No murder, no theft.
Already declaring he'd break two of the Ten Commandments, after that Christian spiel seconds ago.
"Well... while you're at it, remember one thing."
"Of course. As long as it doesn't conflict with my oath of loyalty to my sovereign, Queen Elizabeth, I'll grant any request."
"It's not a request. It's a proposal that benefits you."
"What is it, Your Majesty? You've piqued my interest."
"..."
Can I trust this guy? He looks like a textbook con artist.
...No. He's already the guy who leads armed robber bands rampaging everywhere. Asking if I can trust him is the real joke.
This guy's... the Queen's right-hand man?
What kind of country is England?
Anyway.
Now that I'd confirmed the slaves were secured, there was something I had to do.
"...In the future, while plundering the Spanish..."
"While 'battling' the Spanish..."
"...While battling them, if you find enslaved people in custody, bring them here. I'll compensate you like this time."
Drake's eyes widened again at my words.
He pondered briefly... then nodded vigorously.
Of course, Your Majesty. For you—and for the cause of our Lord who abhors slavery—I will. "
Our Lord probably despises piracy too.
...Not my problem.
Francis Drake.
He was known as the close friend and partner of John Hawkins, England's first slave trader.
Following his cousin John, he'd crisscrossed the West Indies and West Africa in his early twenties, capturing slaves himself or seizing Portuguese ships laden with them.
This successful career continued, making him Queen Elizabeth's reliable moneybags after 1569, earning him immense honors.
That's what set him apart from lesser pirates.
With his innate thug instincts, he knew whose "turf" he was on. His nose sniffed out power, identifying the absolute "boss" of the district.
So instead of blowing the national budget's worth of profits, he funneled most to the Queen.
He had street smarts.
His keen survival instincts whispered constantly in his eyes and ears.
This was a proposal from a vital ally who'd dramatically boosted England's trade balance.
The major client who filled England's royal coffers with luxuries and bought up sugar, spices, woolens, and essentials from England in return.
He'd offered a deal: free the slaves, get paid.
And moreover...
He knew exactly what had befallen his cousin and famed slave trader Sir John Hawkins lately.
Threw a tantrum at the "Saint's" clinic demanding medicine and got struck down by heaven.
Probably died from some poison or infection, but with rumors flying, better to accept it as truth.
In short.
Time to cut losses.
'How long has it been since I was directly in the slave trade...?'
Not just incidental slaves from Spanish battles like this time, but actively buying and exporting? Over ten, no, twenty years.
John Hawkins, who'd emblazoned a chained Moorish slave on his family crest while trading slaves, had met divine retribution.
And now.
A benefactor appeared, offering cash for freeing slaves.
'...What is this? A sea spirit?'
Not just any benefactor.
One who spoke fluent Spanish, Portuguese, English, and Latin all at once. He'd been shocked enough to blurt it out, but it'd be unforgettable.
A miracle-worker... magician? Mystery of the sea?
'The sea is amazing! What a wondrous experience!'
Of course, Drake accepted it easily. He'd witnessed countless sea miracles before.
Talking seagulls (hallucinations from vitamin deficiency on long voyages), mermaids (dugongs), and such.
Thanks to those, Drake was superstitious like any proper sailor, folding this bizarre encounter with Native Emperor Nemo into another page of his wild adventures!
Right now, though, none of that mattered to the great captain Drake.
Long encounters with "sea mysteries" never ended well. (Naturally—hard to thrive in vitamin and nutrient deficiency.)
What mattered was the deal.
The deal.
Yes.
From now on, he was no longer John Hawkins's close friend and partner, England's first slave trader...
"Men."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"What does this look like?"
"You didn't even let us rest on land, and now this?"
"...There were reasons. Shut up and answer."
"Ah, aluminum, right?"
"No.
This is the fruit of great liberty, the just reward of morality and ethics."
Now he was the liberator of slaves, champion of freedom and justice.
"One more run. Target the waters off Cuba."
"Aye, sir!"
"If you see anyone who looks enslaved, invite them politely! They're our new cash cow!"
"Woooaaah!"
He was the friend of aluminum.
And so Drake set off again on his journey toward the Lord's light and justice.
Casualties along the way...
Counted as natural causes.
We wrapped up our... highly peculiar meeting with Drake and returned to Chesapeake Bay. Everyone was dumbfounded by the experience, but there was work to do.
"What's your name?"
"...How do you know our language...? My, my, my God!"
"No. It was our tribe's tongue... Our tribesmen are all dead. How...?"
"Everyone, calm down. You're safe now."
As I unchained them, the slaves stirred, awkwardly bowing to me. They seemed to think I'd bought them as their new owner.
"A-are you... our new master?"
Someone asked in Spanish, and I replied immediately.
"You have no master anymore."
Horror and awe from hearing multiple languages in their ears mixed with joy at my words, flooding his face.
"H-how...?"
"Can you tell me where your homeland is?"
"...#$@#."
Unintelligible words I couldn't pronounce. My built-in Korean patch translated it as "Sierra Leone."
Pulling up a world map on my phone, I confirmed Sierra Leone's location—about 7,000 kilometers away.
"Are all of you from the same place?"
Most nodded. I turned to Vicente beside me.
"How much longer until the Voyager is complete?"
Voyager, the name of our second clipper ship under construction.
"Just one or two months left."
"Good. We'll use the Voyager to take them back to Africa."
I'd read in ANNO DOMINI 1800 that clippers carried "perishable cargo," which in context was 100% slaves.
Whatever the case, with Spain scouring the Atlantic for English ships, it was perfect—fast.
Now repurposed for repatriating freed slaves.
"So scouting this coastline with the Voyager is still too much for now."
"Yes. We'd need the Nautilus to survey properly. Care to join?"
I nodded to Vicente. English and Spanish fleets had just clashed massively nearby. There could be fallout—wreckage or survivors.
"Let's go."
With everything settled, we boarded the Nautilus and surveyed the southern coast post-battle.
And.
"...There should be villages around here."
Several lay abandoned and empty.
Tribes who'd fled into the woods, terrified by last night's thunderous booms.
Countless corpses washed ashore amid battle debris.
Rotting limbs of Spaniards, Englishmen, natives, and black slaves.
"..."
Drake was jovial, but he commanded dozens of warships and thousands of troops.
Our community was barely 20,000 strong; they had tens of thousands of soldiers and millions of subjects.
Each clash of giants killed thousands and uprooted tens of thousands.
"Sir Drake mentioned the Spanish... expanding their Florida colony?"
"Yes. Seems like they're checking us."
"The fallout won't reach us, right?"
"Probably... not."
We could only pray for safety in between.
In the Spanish Empire's Council of the Indies, Vicente Gonzalez's "disappearance" was gravely considered.
"Plague hit locally, natives attacked, wiped out 200 troops..."
"In hindsight, that savage 'emperor's' doing? Probably just a strong local chief."
"So a powerful, skilled local group smashed four warships and 200 men—and allied with England?"
"Virginia colony's down to thousands. Crushing them now takes 2,000—no, 5,000 troops minimum."
"Meaning we can't."
"..."
"..."
"..."
A perfect midway stop for the English, clinging like mosquitoes.
No, not just a stop. A booming new territory filling England's strained coffers, self-sufficient and exporting food. And with "angel" propaganda, the political weight was huge.
A nerve-wracking threat for Spanish colonial authorities.
"First, secure our Florida colony? Feels too vulnerable since abandoning Santa Elena and others."
"Yes. Bolster defenses around Santa Elena, expand Florida settlements. No more retreats—just strategic peril."
Thus, the Spanish colonial government decided.
"Expand the colonies."
Spanish West Indies launched a colonial expansion drive.
They armed San Agustín and allied tribes, inciting conquests of new lands.
The results were clear.
Spanish allies, the Apalachee, drove out the northern Guale.
Displaced Guale raided the Muskogee.
Muskogee declared war on the Catawba.
Catawba pushed north, threatening the Tuscarora.
Spain's moves toppled native societies like dominoes in future Florida, Georgia, South and North Carolina.
Unprecedented drought worsened it. Spain's "light preparations" herded them north to harsher, colder lands instead of warmer south.
Thousands, tens of thousands lost homes, wandering armed and aimless. Their eyes filled with chaos, rage, grief.
"My God, why are they surging north...?"
"Where do we go now?"
Chiefs recalled the rumors.
"Far north... a mighty, wealthy great chief."
"He never lets guests starve, never turns away supplicants."
"We can't beat him, but we can seek refuge."
"So, we head there."
To Croatoan.
And Chesapeake.