Chapter 776 – The Slave Trade

The slaves, half-dead from the voyage, were driven two and three at a time onto the foredeck under the crew's whips. Several sailors mixed a large bucket of strange liquid. As each slave reached the barrel, a sailor with a broad soft brush scrubbed it over their filthy, reeking bodies. After the treatment, their skin—dull and grimy before—became shiny and taut. They looked noticeably healthier.

Next, Captain Higgins ordered the sailors to open a cask of rum. One sailor shook gunpowder from a cattle-horn flask into it and stirred. Two sailors grabbed a slave, one pinching his jaw open, the other ladling a big mouthful down the man's throat.

"This'll have them jumping around," Higgins boasted. "Even those about to die will look perky." He had worked on slavers before and knew every trick of the trade. Quark had hired him precisely to tap that experience.

"The goods look reasonably healthy!" Quark could already see countless ducats and pesos dancing before his eyes. Whether sugar, silk, tea, rhubarb, or Chinese sundries—all were in demand. Shipping them to Bantam would net 40 to 100 percent profit.

"Are you really going to sell this cargo?" the captain asked.

"Of course. I have the patent." Quark said with some regret, "I didn't expect so many to die. I thought maybe a dozen at most."

"Without the storm and the Portuguese attack, we wouldn't have lost so many," Higgins said. "Ship repairs will be charged to your account."

"No problem." Quark, enveloped in visions of wealth, agreed readily.

Captain Higgins produced a bottle and took a long swig, blinking as though pondering something.

Under the supervision of quarantine staff from the Sanya Sanitation Station, the slaves were ferried in batches by small boats to a quarantine camp near the mouth of the Tiandu River—a facility prepared specifically to receive slaves. Following standard procedure, their heads were shaved, and they underwent bathing, delousing, and other cleansing protocols.

He Fanghui ordered a two-week rest and quarantine period before they would be assigned to the front-line work site. The mining face was waiting for labor to start digging.

Rations followed quarantine-camp standards—enough to ensure they regained strength as quickly as possible.

After the arrangements were in place, he summoned Hu Xun. This former overlord of Anyouwei—the swaggering local tyrant who once killed without blinking—had been living an idle life since being allowed to return home. Hu Xun was sensible enough to know his and his family's lives were in the Australians' hands. Behaving himself was the path to survival. Besides, his son was still a hostage in Lingao.

"Chief He" had given him the title of "Civilian Affairs Advisor." Each day he reported punctually to the "Sanya Civilian Affairs Office" and helped handle various administrative matters. Hu Xun was, after all, a local who knew the surrounding environment and people well—making good use of him made sense.

"There's a proper job for you," He Fanghui said, his thick lips twitching. "Old Hu, are you willing?"

"Willing, willing." Hu Xun could only say yes.

"Good." He Fanghui immediately gave him the position of Sanya Slave Camp Supervisor. From local-conditions surveys, he knew Hu Xun was ruthless and violent—unsuited for civil administration, but perfect for running a slave camp.

"This position is official cadre rank," He Fanghui said "warmly," clapping his shoulder. "Now you're a real 'cadre.'"

"Thank you, Chief, for the promotion!" Hu Xun bowed repeatedly. He felt no great joy—only a certain bewildered confusion. What exactly is my situation now?

"When working, they'll be strictly guarded by militia. No contact with other people is permitted," He Fanghui instructed. "Every person must complete a daily work quota. Whether they meet it or not depends on your methods."

Hu Xun nodded. "I understand."

The slave-camp overseers would all be selected from Sanya's Disciplinary Squad. The squad had been formed after the uprising to hold workers who had participated in the revolt or committed certain crimes in Sanya—ranging from assault to theft. They were assigned to the harshest, most dangerous work, earning points until they could return to normal status. Overseers chosen from this squad would undoubtedly be zealous and ruthless.

After briefing Hu Xun, He Fanghui went to the Commercial Hall—the facility prepared to receive foreign traders, which doubled as a quarantine station. Johnquark had already been made to bathe and change clothes. Now he was calculating how much he would profit from this slave shipment.

As merchandise for trading with the English, the Colonial Trade Division had shipped in a stock of goods beforehand. Besides paying for Quark's slaves, this port was to be one of their future trade terminals, as well as the trading base for the Southeast Asia Company now under formation. Trade goods had to be stockpiled. The Colonial Trade Division had shipped in large quantities of Leizhou sugar and rum, plus large lots of silk, raw silk, and sundries from Guangzhou.

He Fanghui and Quark haggled at length, finally agreeing on a price. Both parties settled on sugar and silk as payment, with immediate delivery.

Because Quark enjoyed duty-free privileges, his expenses in Sanya port were minimal. Rough calculations put this voyage's profit at 70 percent. Not astronomical, but Batavia was fairly close to Sanya. He could make multiple round trips a year, and the loss ratio wouldn't always be this high—he couldn't possibly run into Portuguese and a storm every time.

With such returns, Quark's ambitions swelled further. He planned to persuade shareholders to invest more—this voyage's results were compelling enough to make even tight-fisted investors open their purses.

With capital, he would buy or charter more slavers. He would find a piece of land in Bantam or somewhere in the East Indies and build a "slave island." Having to buy from the Dutch before every voyage was too cumbersome and would inevitably drive up prices. Besides, the Dutch were unfriendly to the English; that channel could close at any time.

He needed a "stockpile" location—a place to cover shortages and to let the "goods" go through a quarantine period before boarding, avoiding shipboard epidemics and heavy losses. The Australians' price was "landed." He had to ensure enough live bodies reached Sanya. The local "Australian Elder" had made it clear: the number of slaves he'd brought was too few. Not enough.

Finally, his ambitions led him to fantasize about inciting the Dutch to clash with East Indies natives, or goading the various native kingdoms and empires to attack each other. War would produce masses of captives—and he would be there to solve the rulers' prisoner problem. Inciting inter-native wars didn't seem difficult; small-scale conflicts were already constant. Just arm them sufficiently, and they would escalate. Then he could get as many captives as he wanted...

After the deal closed, He Fanghui hosted a banquet for Quark's party at the Commercial Hall. Both sides toasted each other. He Fanghui toasted "the directors of the East India Company" and "His Majesty the King of England"; Quark toasted "the Elders of the House of Elders." "Good health" was uttered countless times, glasses refilled endlessly. Watching Quark chug rum like water, He Fanghui was secretly astounded.

Quark's excitement was palpable. He had been trading in East Asia for some ten years. Though he had made money, he had always been a petty sea-trader, scavenging scraps under the East India Company's system. Now, with such a gushing money-stream before him, he dreamed of returning to his homeland a millionaire.

The little merchant was utterly intoxicated. His head was full of schemes to expand his business.

He didn't even want to linger a few days in Sanya; he was itching to sail back to Bantam immediately and ship the next batch of slaves. However, Higgins pointed out that if they wanted to load premium cargo like sugar and silk, they should scrub out the lower hold to prevent contamination.

Captain Higgins's suggestion wasn't purely "professional responsibility." He understood the lucrative profits of slaving better than Quark. So he went through official channels and requested an audience with "the local chieftain."

Hearing that an English captain wished to see him, He Fanghui found it odd—but out of duty, he received him.

Captain Higgins was self-recommending. He pointed out that since they needed slaves so badly, why not purchase black slaves? Black slaves were sturdier, more hardworking, and more resilient than East Indies natives. The purchase price was higher, of course, but since they had sugar and rum, payment was no problem.

"If the gentlemen have such a need, I am willing to serve," Higgins bowed and proceeded to trumpet his "achievements" in the black-slave trade.

"No, we don't need that," He Fanghui shook his head. "Let the Africans stay in Africa."

"I don't understand—" Higgins said, disappointed.

"We don't need them." He Fanghui refused his "kind offer" a second time.

Seeing his hopes of obtaining an African-slave import patent from the Australians dashed, Higgins returned to the Commercial Hall and began lobbying Quark, expressing willingness to invest in the slaving venture. Quark, considering that he needed a dedicated ship and a knowledgeable captain, welcomed him as a shareholder on the spot—though the specific share allocation would wait until the second fundraising round back in Bantam.

(End of Chapter)