Rough Passage to London: A Sea Captain's Tale (35 page)

Morgan had been watching the English lord in thoughtful silence, but when Leslie stated Nanvers’s name followed by Ophion, the serpent, he saw him flinch, his mouth twisting to one side as if he had a toothache. Nanvers turned toward the captain and stared at him, his hardened face lingering. Instead of answering Leslie, he got up and paced around the library. After several minutes, which seemed like hours to Morgan, their host finally spoke.

“Leslie, I am not thinking clearly. I have a great many business obligations to catch up with. Would you excuse me? Don’t rush off. Please finish your sherry and make yourself at home here in the library.”

He turned to leave, but then, as if he had abruptly changed his mind, he walked back toward Leslie and Morgan, his eyes now cold and businesslike.

“Oh, Captain Morgan, I wondered if you wouldn’t mind giving me just a few minutes of your time before you leave. I would greatly value your advice. I need to consult with you on a business matter. Leslie, would you mind terribly if I take Morgan away for just a short time.”

“Not at all, your Lordship.”

“Good man!” said Lord Nanvers, patting the artist on his back.

Nanvers led Morgan into a small room across the hallway from the library, which he clearly used as an office. A large mahogany desk occupied most of the room with just a few straight-backed wooden chairs. On the walls, hung a painting of a sugar windmill on a hilltop with bare-breasted slave women walking alongside a donkey cart amidst some palm trees, an old map of Africa and the West Indies, and an oil painting, presumably by Landseer, of a pack of hunting dogs surrounding the carcass of a recently killed elk. Nanvers closed the door behind them and turned to Morgan with that same cold stare.

His menacing eyes bore into Morgan’s face.

“Enough pleasantries! What is your game, Captain?” Nanvers hissed fiercely, his eyebrows rising.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Lord Nanvers,” replied Morgan defensively.

“We have always understood each other well, Captain. It appears we both share something. Why don’t you tell me what you think you know about Ophion.”

Steeling himself for a confrontation, Morgan answered in a calm tone with a sharp edge to it.

“I have only suspicions and questions, Lord Nanvers. That is all.”

“I like questions,” exclaimed Nanvers with a dry, haughty laugh. “But as for suspicions, Captain . . .”

Nanvers paused as he walked around the room. Morgan thought about what he should do. He wondered about excusing himself and backing away from this confrontation. He considered staying silent, refusing to reveal what he knew. But his curiosity, anger, and a certain mindless courage combined in convincing him to take a risk. He cleared his throat.

“Do you deny, Lord Nanvers, that you have been pursuing certain illegal opportunities right under the nose of the Royal Navy’s admirals?”

“What kind of opportunities are you referring to?” Nanvers replied, his mouth twisting to one side. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

The chilly, arrogant tone in the man’s voice was too much for Morgan. He felt an unknown force boil up inside of him. He threw all caution aside. Despite his emotional state, he spoke evenly and clearly, as if he had been rehearsing this moment for most of his life. His eyes never wavered as they locked on to Lord Nanvers’s face.

“What I have surmised is that you are the head of a well-established slaving syndicate called Ophion Trading Partners, and you have used at least one of Her Majesty’s warships stationed off of Africa to promote your illegal business dealings in the slave trade. Your associates are responsible for murdering hundreds of Africans and no doubt countless numbers of sailors, including Abraham Morgan. That would be my brother, who as you well know, I have been looking for . . .”

Nanvers cut him off. His face had grown red. “Slaving syndicate,” he snorted. “What utter nonsense, Morgan. You are such an innocent, like some of these Wilberforce reformers here in London. Why do you object, Captain, to something the world needs? Cheaper sugar. Cheaper clothing. You should know that is what everyone wants in today’s world. To do that you need cheap labor, and there is no more efficient way to provide that largesse than with slavery. Who else will do that work but the Africans? At least America is doing that right. Your country is indeed the land of the free, Morgan . . . free labor, that is.”

Nanvers laughed and resumed his walk around the room, his jowly face more serious. He stopped to pick up his walking cane and began slapping his palm with the gilded handle. Morgan noticed it was a serpent’s head. Nanvers suddenly whirled around and turned to Morgan, speaking in a subdued, hushed tone.

“What if I am running a slave syndicate, Morgan? Isn’t that what the hypocritical world wants? Even some of these navy admirals you speak of, they know it is useless to stop slaving. They can try, but it can’t be done. It is as simple as the laws of supply and demand, Morgan. As a ship captain, you should know those laws.”

Morgan hardly dared to breathe as he listened to this startling confession from a man he thought he knew.

“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.”

Morgan listened to this confession with silent, rapt attention. He allowed the silence to fill the room. Nanvers blew out a cloud of smoke that billowed around his head as he fondled the snake’s head on his cane.

“Let me be candid, Captain Morgan,” he exclaimed in a weary but autocratic tone. “You are either with us or against us.”

“That sounds more like a threat than a proposal to me.”

“Interpret it as you will, Captain. We are in the process of silencing those that can harm us. I have received word that your friend Hiram Smith has been captured. He will face the stern hand of English justice shortly, I have no doubt. Now you, Morgan! What shall we do with you? Blackwood and Stryker are due here shortly. Unlike Smith, you have a choice. I need a good captain.”

Morgan breathed in sharply. He quickly averted his gaze down to the floor to try to conceal his surprise that Nanvers had not yet heard about the shipwreck. He then smiled calmly, and looked up engagingly at the man.

“How did you meet, Blackwood, Edgars, and Stryker?”

The English lord seemed surprised at this question at first, but then responded.

“William Blackwood,” he said with a huge sigh. “He was trouble for me from the beginning, ever since he was a boy. I should tell you the story, Captain, as I know it would interest you. Blackwood is more than just an employee or business associate. He is my son. Yes, my son, an illegitimate son, but still my son. His mother was a Creole whom I had intimate relations with when I was just sixteen years old. Not black, mind you. She was a mulatto, a shapely one I might add, who worked as my mother’s house slave at the plantation in Jamaica. I gave her some money each year, of course, to keep her from telling my mother, and I also persuaded my father to free the boy. Later, when William was nearly grown, she begged me to do something with him. It was about that time that the second war with America broke out. William looked white, so I found him a position on one of the Royal Navy ships patrolling Long Island Sound as part of the blockade. That’s where he met James Stryker and Tom Edgars. They were all navy sailors.”

Morgan’s face twitched in sudden surprise. For a brief moment he was that frightened boy again hiding in the tree watching the British raiding party pull in to shore. He could see their faces. He suddenly remembered the name, Stryker. He was the one. The two men under the tree. Blackwood was there. Edgars too. They had fired on him and Abraham. They had all tried to kill them. Nanvers smiled sardonically and then continued to ramble on as Morgan’s thoughts spun.

“During the war, I was based in Bermuda as a naval supplies administrator serving under Admiral Cochrane. You see, I was the younger son and was expected to have an occupation, but then my older brother, Richard, died unexpectedly, falling off a horse while jumping over a fence. As the only remaining son, I was now in line to inherit the Wilberton fortune and the title. When my father died shortly after my brother’s fatal accident, I became the third Earl of Nanvers. Among my landholdings were the family’s remaining plantations in Jamaica. Like many of the sugar estates on the island, they were in financial trouble, and I knew I would need money to keep them going. Because of my job, I was able to acquire one of the captured American privateers, and we renamed it the
Charon
. You see, I have always had a passion for Greek mythology. I met my son and his two friends in Hamilton after the war ended and I persuaded them to join a slaving operation. I could see William’s two friends were looking for opportunities. We had a challenge as Mother England was strengthening her effort to stop slave trafficking, setting up a blockade. I devised a plan where Stryker stayed in the Royal Navy, rising to captain because he was ruthless and knew no fear. He was in dire need of money at the time so he was receptive to my proposal. He became the key to our success, helping us to get across with our shipments of human cargo on the speedy
Charon
and giving us information, which helped us elude Royal Navy ships. When the old
Charon
sank, we simply had another one built in Baltimore, and we gave the new ship the same name.”