Morgan nodded.
“Where can I find him?”
“What business do ye ’av with ’im?”
“Personal business.”
“I see.”
The man smiled as he unbuttoned the midsection of his black coat.
“No, I haven’t seen William Blackwood for some time now. Let me introduce meself, Captain. My name is Fleming, William Fleming. I am a stockjobber in sugar, spices, and tea, and a shipping agent handling all types of cargo.”
Morgan knew the type. The London coffeehouses in Change Alley were full of these fast-talking traders selling their quick-rich schemes, some of them honorable, many of them not.
“Captain, ye and me are experienced men of the world, am I right? Whatever your business dealings are with William Blackwood, I can offer ye some fine trading opportunities. I know a few well-dressed gentlemen with several trading firms right ’ere in this room who may be looking for a fast Yankee ship.”
The man had sharp and penetrating black eyes, which Morgan thought reminded him of a hungry crow. Mr. Fleming placed his shiny top hat on a table nearby and smiled at him in an insinuating manner that revealed a row of brown-stained teeth. Morgan was repulsed by this man, but in the interest of promoting his ship, he forced himself to inquire more about his proposal.
“What, then, are your well-dressed gentlemen looking for?” Morgan asked as he lit his cigar.
“They need to move some human cargo,” was the terse reply. “And they’re looking for a fast Yankee ship.”
“That so,” Morgan replied, thinking that the man might be posturing to try to charter his ship for the Atlantic voyage. “Well, we could carry as many as one hundred, maybe two hundred in steerage on the Philadelphia. Up to twenty-four passengers in the first-class cabin. We can make the westward passage to New York in twenty days or less.”
“Indeed, then yer ship should be perfectly suited for the kind of work my clients are seeking.”
“And what might that be?” Morgan asked, his suspicions rising.
Mr. Fleming rubbed his hand over his fleshy double chin and then looked at Morgan with a slanting, restless glance. He leaned closer and in a husky whisper said, “It is what we call ’ere in England the ebony trade. You Americans call it black ivory.” He paused for a second before continuing. “Most British shipmasters won’t risk eboneering anymore because of the penalties handed out by the Admiralty of one hundred pounds per slave. Think about it, Captain.”
“Blackbirding?” Morgan asked in disbelief, repulsed by this proposal.
The man held his stubby index finger up to his lips and nodded.
“These men would pay well, Captain, one-eighth interest in the profits.”
Still reeling in surprise by this loathsome offer, Morgan now went on the offensive after he took a step backward from Mr. Fleming.
“I thought you English had banned slave trafficking. And if I’m not mistaken, a new law goes into effect just weeks from now that will end all slavery in most of the English colonies?”
“Yer well-informed, Captain. England is close to abolishing slavery. This place is filled with talk of sugarcane rotting in the fields of Jamaica, the fear of guinea slaves rising up in anger, killing their masters and raping their wives and daughters. Remember the rebellion in Jamaica couple of years back? Twenty thousand of those blackies rose up and set fire to plantations and estates.”
The man pressed his oily face and bulbous nose closer to Morgan’s ear.
“For those who are clever, like ye and me, there is opportunity here.”
“I don’t follow your line of thinking,” Morgan responded while pondering whether to abruptly walk away.
“Let me explain, Captain. The English planters in the West Indies quite rightly are fearful of the future. Many of them are of high social standing here in London. They have their landed fortunes to protect. Under the Emancipation Act, Parliament will compensate them. That much is certain. There is some talk of each planter getting twenty pounds per slave. My point, Captain, is there is money to be had. In Jamaica alone, there are over three hundred thousand slaves. Those slaveholders will be getting millions of pounds of compensation money, all thanks to Parliament. Why, there are a few notable lords, even a venerable bishop, quite respected I might add, who own slaves. Hundreds of them. Then there are some of the merchant class in Bristol, even a minister of parliament or two. No names, of course. Yes indeed, there are many people of high social standing who stand to earn a lot from the Emancipation Act. Those are just a few examples of the high price of freedom.”
Morgan stepped back in disgust.
He put his hat back on, irritated that he had wasted so much time talking to this wretch. Sensing failure, Mr. Fleming straightened his back and thrust his large stomach forward. “Evidently ye have failed to comprehend my meaning, Captain,” the man replied with a note of arrogance and hurt indignation in his voice.