Rough Passage to London(130)
“Aren’t you bothered by so flagrantly breaking your own country’s laws?” Morgan asked. “You, sir, are betraying England!”
“How dare you suggest such a thing, Morgan!” Nanvers replied explosively as he slammed the palm of his hand on his desk, then pointed a trembling forefinger at him. “How dare you suggest that I am betraying England! My forefathers endured hardship. They left England to build plantations in those pestilent islands well over a century ago. They sacrificed to give England what she needed. And now, look at how we have been repaid all these decades later. The compensation money we received was a pittance. We cared for our slaves, and look at how we have been repaid by an ungrateful Parliament in the hands of liberal reformers and those meddling missionaries and self-righteous women in the Anti-Slavery Society. They have banned slavery, but not the import of slave-grown sugar. When the duties on foreign sugar were repealed a few years ago, all in the name of free trade, I knew we planters in the English islands were doomed. Parliament ruined us, even as those sanctimonious fools have no scruples or qualms about allowing England to swallow slave-grown sugar from Cuba. As for the Africans, I would say that they are better off away from that indecent continent where they can be civilized properly. As a Christian nation, we in England should take care of these black heathen. We can give them religion. We need to teach them about the sanctity of marriage and the teachings of the Bible. That is what my family has done for well over a century. We cared for our African slaves. We did it all for the good of England.”
Nanvers paused for a second as he collected his thoughts. He walked over to Morgan and leaned toward him, pointing the head of his cane at his face.
“You listen to me, Morgan. I don’t think you should be so moralizing on the subject of slavery, particularly as you are American born. You American merchants have been shipping slave-grown cotton to us for years. It has been your lifeblood, so do not put on a morally righteous air with me. No, Captain Morgan. I have no regrets about my human trade. Simply put, I cannot run a sugar plantation with indentured laborers. I plan to move my investments and operations to Cuba. With nearly half a million slaves, and more arriving every week, Cuba is already becoming England’s new sugar provider. It is the future, a place where sugar can be produced affordably and profits made. Why don’t you be realistic and join my operation? I could use an experienced ship captain like you.”
“Now it’s my turn to be offended, Lord Nanvers,” Morgan exclaimed as he stood up abruptly, his face coming just inches away from Nanvers’s nose. He gestured at Landseer’s painting. “You had me fooled all these years. I thought you were a lover of the arts. I never suspected you to be the murderous scoundrel you are. No, I have no interest in trafficking in the human trade. Whips and manacles are not to my liking either.”
“I am sorry you feel that way. I have always liked you, Morgan,” Nanvers said in a more hospitable voice as he twirled his cane.
The captain’s eyes flashed with anger.
“Is that why your man Blackwood sent his opium-addicted lacky to drill holes into my ship?” Morgan asked tartly, making no effort to stifle his disgust. “In fact, you were there years ago during the mutiny on the Philadelphia. That vermin Blackwood and his fellow rodents wanted to sink us then too. What was your plan, Nanvers? Join the mutineers had they succeeded?”
The effort to keep his voice under control was causing Morgan to clench his fists. He stormed around the room to try to calm himself down. Nanvers opened a box on his desk and pulled out a cigar, slamming the lid shut with a bang. He didn’t offer one to Morgan. With a small silver knife he pulled from his vest pocket, he snipped off the tip, and then struck one of the new, highly flammable Euperion matches. He held the bright flame up to the tip of his cigar, and began puffing vigorously.
“Do not think of me as an evil creature, Captain. I regret Mr. Blackwood’s impulsivity. He has always been hard to control. He wanted to kill you from the beginning. He sent that pretty toffer in the East End to spy on you and find out why you were looking for him. He knew he could be hanged, so of course he wanted you dead. He kept telling me you were going to be trouble. I decided to find out for myself just how compromised our operation was so I booked a passage on your ship. A fine ship indeed, the Philadelphia. I greatly enjoyed the voyage. Blackwood was instructed to wait for a signal from me, but he was too impatient. We had our words after that. He was angry, but he agreed to leave you alone. I told him I would keep my eyes on you. We both wanted to make sure you didn’t find out anything about our operation. I became a loyal patron of the Sketching Club artists so I could find out if you knew anything about our operation. That was working well. You were left alone all those many years until we realized your old shipmate, Hiram Smith, was trying to fly out of his gilded cage. I learned with alarm from Stryker that he could possibly know every detail of our operation. He was to be disposed of, but when he escaped on your ship in Portsmouth. . . . Well, that complicated matters. I began to see you would eventually find out about our operation. Still, I held off.”