Chapter 62
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Translator: volt
Chapter: 62
Chapter Title: What We Can Do
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Spanish Florida.
Scattered along the coast were numerous missionary outposts and military forts, alongside Spanish settlements of several hundred souls and their allied tribes dotted here and there.
"...So, will that do the trick? Uprooting everything?"
"Uprooting what, exactly?"
"Florida sits at the gateway from that so-called 'Virginia' up north down to the Caribbean. Fortify its defenses and station a fleet there, and it'll be far easier to keep the enemy at bay."
But that alone wouldn't suffice.
If they pulled back rashly from Florida out of fear of another English assault like before, it would only embolden the English pirates centered around Virginia even more.
Instead, they needed to bolster Florida's colonial defenses on a grand scale to monitor the English pirates' southward movements—and ultimately stifle Virginia's growth.
Above all...
"S-So, you're saying this 'Native Emperor' actually exists?"
"Without a doubt! I saw it with my own two eyes—a towering native butchering our soldiers like a madman!"
Now that the 'Native Emperor'—dismissed as mere propaganda—had revealed himself through that crushing defeat, Florida had become the front line not just against the English, but against this enigmatic emperor as well.
Abandoning Florida would mean forfeiting control over the southeastern North American coast, effectively allowing the English to infiltrate the Caribbean unchecked.
And so.
"We'll report to His Majesty that we're reinforcing the Florida colony."
"How do you know it'll get approved once the report goes up?"
"...In this situation, even His Majesty won't be able to refuse."
A royal decree bearing Philip II's seal soon descended upon the colonial government's council.
Thus began the thorough development of Spanish Florida.
Pouring in massive slave labor to develop it.
Flooding it with immigrants from Spain and the Mexican colonies.
Turning Florida into a solid Spanish territory to check the enemy.
Such plans were drawn up and set in motion, but...
"First, prepare friendly gifts for the local powerful tribes!"
"There's no volunteers right now! How are we supposed to..."
"What about the mainland?"
"S-Same there."
The plans hit a wall after just a few steps.
Send out masses of immigrants?
Who would go?
Who in their right mind would emigrate to a land teeming with savages, not to mention under constant threat of English invasion from who-knows-where?
"...Aren't there already plenty of black slaves? Plus, we can bring in hundreds or even thousands a year!"
"Well... true."
"So what are you suggesting?"
"Give out free slaves to volunteers heading to Florida. Ten slaves per immigrant—that way, anyone can become a plantation owner there!"
"Ten slaves? Th-That's financially..."
"Two thousand immigrants. No more, no less—just two thousand, and we can hold Florida no problem. Release twenty thousand slaves for free, and in return, we secure maritime dominance in the Caribbean, don't we?"
The answer came swiftly.
Those aspiring to be 'landowners.'
Commoners dreaming of New World nobility poured in from Spain proper and Mexico, heading straight for Florida.
They ended up cutting the slave handouts by thirty or even fifty percent, but the immigration fever didn't cool.
Anyone could become a plantation owner.
Anyone could become a slave master.
Anyone could get rich.
Bloated with such dreams, countless people flocked to Florida.
And so the colony was rapidly pioneered.
"Hoo... I-Is this Florida? More swamps than I expected..."
"Don't worry. You're not the one clearing it—the slaves are. But we'll fortify the area into a stronghold first before any pioneering."
The Spanish authorities needed quick results. Slaves were driven mercilessly to fortify Florida.
"M-Move it! I poured my life savings into the ship fare to get here!"
Likewise, the suddenly minted 'masters' among the commoners burned with dreams of building mansions and running vast plantations.
The slaves endured the whips of the colonial authorities and their new 'masters'...
"...and are pioneering the Florida colony."
"..."
"So what about our missionary work? Even if we try preaching to the dark-skinned Moorish slaves, their owners won't let them come to church."
"..."
"B-Bishop Las Casas himself said in his later years that slavery is a sin.
That's why His Holiness the Pope freed the natives from enslavement, right? Sooner or later, those Moors should be liberated too..."
"Hush."
"..."
"Alonso Garcia, quiet. Slavery as a sin? For your sake, since I value you... I'll let that slide."
Sebastian, bishop of the newly established Diocese of San Agustín, scolded his young disciple, whose head had been inflamed by radical writings.
"That's not your role. Didn't the Apostle Peter, the rock of the Holy Catholic Church, say the chief virtue of a slave is to serve their master as they would the Lord?
If slaves serve their masters well and stray not into wickedness, they'll naturally enter heaven. What worries you so?"
"They don't even know the Lord—how can they reach heaven?"
"Then make them know Him."
"Th-Then... let them come to church on Sundays..."
"No. Forcing rest on Florida's slaves would rile their owners."
"..."
Alonso felt profound regret in Sebastian's words.
"...Right. We can't force rest on those slaves. Maybe someday, but not now. His Majesty and his ministers are zealous about Florida's development.
To chase ideals, first grasp reality. See? What can you do?"
"...Nothing. I can't do a thing."
"Wrong. Guide those slave owners well. If masters follow the Lord, slaves will naturally learn of Him and reach heaven.
Your task isn't washing weary slaves' feet or feeding them—it's washing and feeding their souls.
Grasp that difference. Forget Las Casas and the others for now. Do what you can."
"..."
He shot to his feet.
"...Alonso, where are you going?"
"Just... feeling stifled. I'll take a short walk."
Sebastian's utterly kind gaze and thoughtful voice struck Alonso...
with sorrow.
Alonso left the cathedral and walked some distance until vast fields stretched before him.
He spotted a scarecrow jutting from the fields and suddenly collapsed, legs giving way.
The Spanish authorities hailed these 'immigrants' as true crusaders battling English Protestants, providing every convenience.
For instance, if a slave was injured or died in an accident, they'd supply two to four replacements.
"..."
Thus, slave lives were cheaper in Florida than elsewhere—less precious labor, more expendable tools.
For example.
They even used escaped slaves' corpses as scarecrows.
The bodies, gnawed by rats and crows, were gruesome to behold.
Yet Alonso couldn't look away.
"C-Crusade... Crusaders..."
The world had gone mad.
And there was nothing he could do.
"Most new slaves are coming through Florida now... but their defenses there have ramped up lately."
"Yeah, we've known they were working on that for a while."
Rolly shook his head firmly at my words.
"It's different now. Pass near their waters carelessly, and we get hit instead."
"..."
Rolly circled spots on the printed map before me.
"Especially here. They've clustered immigrants in one spot and fortified the surroundings perfectly—tough to attack, and it's getting dicey.
Sir Drake keeps pushing for Cuba, but this racket won't last long, I fear."
In short, Florida was now the hottest spot for the slave trade in Spanish America.
But with defenses tight, Drake targeted Cuba and other colonies.
No big issue so far. Fewer and rarer slave liberations stung, but they weren't stopping entirely.
The problem? Florida straddled the path between Virginia and the Caribbean.
At this rate...
"We'll struggle to even enter the Caribbean someday."
"Spot on. And Florida's just the start. The Spanish resolve is fiercer than usual. Soon, defenses across their colonies will tighten beyond compare."
"..."
"..."
I'm just a farmer; Rolly's a pirate boss (fact). He'd know better.
Anyway, if he's right... trouble.
Above all, Florida's fortification explicitly declared they'd check us on North America's east coast.
This settlement was in danger.
Inevitable clash with Spain someday.
And Florida's slaves...? No, slaves anywhere.
How to free them? Could we even?
We pondered such questions long and hard.
Clunk.
As we did, someone entered the church we used as a meeting hall. We turned...
"...Ah, Vicente?"
"Still on that topic? Should I step out?"
"No, it's fine. Sit."
"..."
"..."
"..."
Vicente knew the basics as a captain, so adding him was easy. We three racked our brains on the issues.
Tch... what now?
Spanish colonies were hardening defenses. Looked like a signal they'd endure short-term losses to hold America.
Frankly.
If Spain focused its might, we had no real plays.
Far future: England, Britain grabs world hegemony. Glorifies Elizabeth I era with propaganda.
Falsely claims victory here toppled Spain, seized Atlantic dominance.
Bullshit. Spain thrives on.
Until they can't extract more New World gold and silver.
Yes. Spain's the hegemonic empire shaking the world; England's a mere obstacle.
And Spain's greatness? Exploiting native and black slaves for luxuries.
So even without full Caribbean effort, Spain had reason for a 'sincere' strike.
This was it.
...Can't stop. Can't lose here.
For the settlement's safety and prosperity, sure—but another worry nagged me.
"For now, follow Sir Drake: gain tactical edges elsewhere while we figure this out..."
"No. Backing off now voids all our fights."
"..."
"..."
"Walter, didn't you say Spanish slave exploitation's worsening?"
"...Yes."
"Then our battles just made their cruelty fiercer?"
Cold view.
Spain can't quit slave trade.
Empire's wealth from exploiting them.
Nor can we miraculously expel them from all America. From Mexico to distant Peru, Argentina? Absurd.
Never thought that far. Know Atlantic triangle trade lasts centuries.
My actions? Moral self-satisfaction, not grand strategy.
Never thought I'd fix it all alone.
But... if some lives grew crueler as cost, shouldn't I take responsibility?
Do what I can?
I drummed the desk, wishing for a way... Some decent plan to hit Florida...
"Ideally, appeal to Spanish conscience. Walter, can you reach cultured Spaniards?"
"Hmmm. As if Spaniards have consciences..."
"Bartolomé de las Casas was Spanish."
"...True."
Sudden conscience talk? Sounds crazy, but viable.
Half-century back: conscience-struck Spaniards fed up with native violence, king checking native-slave micro-kingdoms, church missionizing—all conspired for native emancipation.
Las Casas I mentioned? Led that.
Of course, not pure conscience—per the above.
So, to stir Spanish internals, need intel on factions, interests.
"And people versed in Spain and colonies' internals. No clue how it ticks, no plays."
"...Hm?"
"Plus, aiding slave escapes directly would help..."
"..."
"..."
"Anyway, mull it. I'll think separately."
But solo brooding yielded zilch.
I sighed deeply and stepped out.
Neck stiff, head throbbing.
...No grasp on what to do.
"Heard?"
"Yes. Even Lord Nemo seems stumped..."
"No."
Rolly cut Vicente off, shaking his head.
"He sees clearer than anyone."
"Pardon? What do you mean?"
"Didn't he seek ways to collaborate with Spain's 'potential allies' inside?"
Cultured folk would envy free Virginia, unshackled from slavery and Catholic barbarism—so Rolly equated 'cultured Spaniards = internal allies'.
"Plus... hoped for insiders versed in Spanish affairs?"
Rolly had synced with Europe's first spy network. Meaning clear.
He wants an 'intelligence network'.
Finally, aid Moorish slaves to escape themselves?
I.e., organization to incite and mobilize slaves systematically?
Standard spy craft, no?
"Round up Spaniards and freed Moorish slaves now, take volunteers. Then..."
Crash!
"..."
"..."
"C-Can I join?"
Rolly had unconsciously aimed his pistol at a terrified Moorish man sprawled by the wide-open door. Eavesdropping with ear to wood, caught.
"S-Sorry for eavesdropping, but my wife's not freed yet! She's... across the sea! Send me to Spanish colonies and..."
"..."
"..."
Desperate plea.
Rolly stroked his chin, then spoke.
"...You're good at staying quiet."
"Yes. Confident there..."
"Spanish too."
"Born in the colonies."
"Ah, got it. Name?"
"Teyan... Oh, Spanish name too. Martin."
Rolly snapped his fingers.
"You're in."