Flash for Freedom!. George Fraser MacDonald

…’ growls Spring, quieting down. ‘We’ll see. What’s he got for us. Sombas?’

      ‘Sombas, Fulani, Adja, Aiza, Yoruba, Egbo – whatever the captain requires.’

      ‘Is that so? Well, I’ll have six hundred, then, ’stead of five. And no sickly niggers, see? They’re not going to be auctioned off with their arses stuffed with tar, mind that! I want sound stock.’¹⁶

      Sanchez took his leave, full of good wishes, and the Balliol College was made fast, as close to the bank as she could be warped. Men were sent aloft to hang her topmasts with leaves and creepers, so that no patrol vessel out at sea might spot us, and Sanchez sent men aboard to unload the cargo. This meant work for me, making sure they pinched nothing, and by the time the last bale was out and under the guard of Sanchez’s native soldiers, I was running with sweat. It was a hellish place; green jungle all around, and steam coming off the brown oily surface of the water as though it were a bath; clouds of midges descended as soon as the sun dropped, and the heat pressed in on you like a blanket, so that all you could do was lie stifling, with your chest heaving and the perspiration pouring off you. Three days, Spring had said; it was a wonder to me that we had survived three hours.

      That night Spring called a council in his cabin, of all his officers; I was there, as supercargo, but you can be sure I was well out of the running. I don’t suppose I’ve listened to a more interesting discussion in my life, though, unless it was Grant and Lee meeting in the farmhouse, or Lucan and my old pal Cardigan clawing at each other like female cousins at Balaclava. Certainly, for technical knowledge, Spring’s little circle was an eye-opener.

      ‘Six hundred,’ says Spring. ‘More than I’d bargained for; it’ll mean fifteen inches for the bucks, and I want two bucks for every female, and no d----d calves.’

      ‘That’s an inch under the old measure, cap’n,’ says Kinnie. ‘Might do for your Guineas, but it’s tight for Dahomeys. Why, they’re near as big as Mandingos, some of ’em, an’ Mandingos take your sixteen inches, easy.’

      ‘I’ve seen the Portugoosers carry Mande’s in less than that,’ says Sullivan.

      ‘An’ had twenty in the hundred die on ’em, likely.’

      ‘No fear. They put bucks in with wenches – reckon they spend all their time on top of each other, an’ save space that way.’

      Spring didn’t join in their laughter. ‘I’ll have no mixing of male and female,’ he growled. ‘That’s the surest way to trouble I know. I’m surprised at you, Mr Sullivan.’

      ‘Just a joke, sir. But I reckon sixteen inches, if we dance ’em regular.’

      ‘I’m obliged to you for your opinion. Dance or not, they get fifteen inches, and the women twelve.’¹⁷

      Kinnie shook his head. ‘That won’t do, sir. These Dahomey b-----s takes as much as the men, any day. Sideways packin’s no use either, the way they’re shaped.’

      ‘Put ’em head to toe, they’ll fit,’ says Sullivan.

      ‘You’ll lose ten, mebbe more, in the hundred,’ says Kinnie. ‘That’s a ten-thousand-dollar loss, easy, these days.’

      ‘I’ll have no loss!’ cries Spring. ‘I’ll not, by G-d! We’ll ship nothing that’s not A1, and the b-----s will have fresh fruit with their pulse each day, and be danced night and morning, d’ye hear?’

      ‘Even so, sir,’ insisted Kinnie. ‘Twelve inches won’t …’

      Comber spoke up for the first time. He was pale, and sweating heavily – mind you, we all were – but he looked seedier than the others. ‘Perhaps Mr Kinnie is right, sir. Another inch for the women …’

      ‘When I want your advice, Mr Comber, I’ll seek it,’ snaps Spring. ‘Given your way, you’d give ’em two feet, or fill the b----y ship with pygmies.’

      ‘I was thinking of the possible cost, sir …’

      ‘Mr Comber, you lie.’ Spring’s scar was going pink. ‘I know you, sir – you’re tender of black sheep.’

      ‘I don’t like unnecessary suffering, and death, sir, it’s true …’

      ‘Then, by G-d, you shouldn’t have shipped on a slaver!’ roars Spring. ‘D--nation, d’you want to give ’em a berth apiece? You think I’m cruising ’em round the b----y lighthouse for a lark? Forty pieces a pound, Mr Comber – that’s what an ordinary buck will fetch in Havana these days – perhaps more. A thousand dollars a head! Now, take note, Mr Comber, of what your extra inch can mean – a forty-thousand-dollar loss for your owner! Have you thought of that, sir?’

      ‘I know, sir,’ says Comber, sticking to his guns nervously. ‘But forty dead gives you the same loss, and …’

      ‘D--nation take you, will you dispute with me?’ Spring’s eyes were blazing. ‘I was shipping black pigs while you were hanging at your mother’s teat – where you ought to be this minute! D’ye think I don’t take as much thought to have ’em hale and happy as you, you impudent pup! And for a better reason – I don’t get paid for flinging corpses overboard. It’s dollars I’m saving, not souls, Mr Comber! Heaven help me, I don’t know why you’re in this business – you ought to be in the b----y Board of Trade!’ He sat glaring at Comber, who was silent, and then turned to the others. ‘Fifteen and twelve, gentlemen, is that clear?’

      Kinnie sighed. ‘Very good, cap’n. You know my views, and …’

      ‘I do, Mr Kinnie, and I respect them. They are grounded in experience and commercial sense, not in humanitarian claptrap picked up from scoundrels like Tappan and Garrison. The Genius of Universal Emancipation, eh, Mr Comber?¹⁸ You’ll be quoting to me in a moment. Genius of Ill-digested Crap! Don’t contradict me, sir; I know your views – which is why I’m at a loss to understand your following this calling, you d---d hypocrite, you!’

      Comber sat silent, and Spring went on: ‘You will take personal responsibility for the welfare of the females, Mr Comber. And they won’t die, sir! We shall see to that. No, they won’t die, because like you – and Mr Flashman yonder – they haven’t read Seneca, so they don’t know that qui mori didicit servire dedidicit.^fn1 If they did, we’d be out of business in a week.’

      I must say it sounded good sense to me, and Comber sat mumchance. He was obviously thankful when the discussion turned to more immediate matters, like the arrival of King Gezo the next day at Apokoto, which lay some miles upriver; Spring wanted to meet him for a palaver, and said that Kinnie and Comber and I should come along, with a dozen of the hands, while Sullivan began packing the first slaves who would be arriving at the barracoons.

      I was all in favour of getting off the Balliol College for a few hours, but when we boarded the Kroos’ big canoe at the bank next day, I wasn’t so sure. Kinnie was distributing arms to the hands, a carbine and cutlass for each man, and Spring himself took me aside and presented me with a very long-barrelled pistol.

      ‘You know these?’ says he, and I told him I did – it was one of the early Colt revolvers, the type you loaded with powder and ball down the muzzle. Very crude they’d look today, but they were the wonder of the world then.

      ‘I picked up a dozen of these last winter in Baltimore,’ says he. ‘American army guns – Gezo would give his very throne for ’em, and I intend to use them in driving a very special bargain with him. Are you a good shot? Well, then, you can demonstrate them for him. Get Kinnie to give you a needle gun and cutlass as well.’¹⁹

      ‘D’you think … we’ll need them?’ says I.

      He turned the pale eyes on me. ‘Would you rather go unarmed – into the presence of the most bloodthirsty savage in West Africa?’ says he. ‘No, Mr Flashman – I don’t expect we shall need to use our weapons; not for a moment. But I fear the Greeks