The calculation of each man’s share of the profits from the delivery of the slaver became the sole diversion—perhaps the compulsion—of the Themis’ people. Debts were both paid and entered into on the basis of this, as yet, unearned capital. The estimates of the monies coming to the Themis varied—in the majority of cases, according to the character of those doing the valuing. The older and more cynical tended to talk in terms of a few pounds and cautioned others not to squander monies that were not yet in their purse. The optimists, the young and the generally feckless, however, reckoned themselves as wealthy as lords—and not all of these were uneducated hands. This rule, however, did not hold in all cases. A few who by experience or years should have known better began to see, if not mountains, at least hills of gold. Mr Barthe, to Hayden’s utter surprise, was one of these. His appraisal of the slaves’ value increased several times each day and his plans for these monies became more grandiose each hour. This had become an object of general amusement among the other officers—that is, among those who were not daydreaming of coaches and manor houses of their own.
Hayden thought there was much to be learned from observing the manner in which each man, sometimes in opposition to his humour, responded to this impending wealth. Barthe, commonly the most bitter and cynical of his officers, was now revealing himself to be the most prone to wishfulness.
Others, however, were deeply unsettled by the whole business and found the dark shadow of the slaver trailing behind as distressing as the discovery of a lump growing in the guts, its existence half denied and utterly dismaying. Smosh spoke openly of the evil in their wake and he had a good number of followers, these not always the most devout among his flock. Wickham had informed Hayden that he did not wish to receive any profit from the sale of slaves, and Griffiths, who could much less afford such nobility, had joined this same camp. Lieutenant Ransome, who, like Hayden, was perennially in need of money, was tortured by this matter for several days but finally decided that his hopes for a match with one of Wickham’s unmarried sisters were more critical to his future (or so Hayden assumed), for he reluctantly informed his captain that his share could be divided among those wishing to profit from such a foul enterprise. Hayden thought the young man might break down and weep when he made this pronouncement, but the young lieutenant mastered his feelings.
There was yet another faction among his crew, and it was, in Hayden’s view, the most fascinating of all. The ideas of this group were being expounded on the quarterdeck within Hayden’s hearing as he worked at his table.
“Well, let me ask you, Doctor,” Mr Barthe’s voice came down the skylight, “if we had not discovered this slaver, would not many—perhaps hundreds—of her unfortunate Africans have died for want of food and water?”
“Most assuredly they would, Mr Barthe,” the doctor replied.
“And would you not agree that it is better to be a live slave working some plantation than to die at sea?”
“I suppose I must agree that slavery is a small improvement over that particular alternative, but—”
But Barthe was not finished. “Then more good has come of our efforts than evil, one must admit . . . ?”
“Mr Barthe,” the doctor argued, “all this rationalization and extenuation does not excuse an institution that takes free men from their homes, reduces them to the state of property, and forces them to labour for the good and profit of others.”
“I agree, Doctor. You could not be more right, but, as we have saved their poor lives, and by the traditions and laws of the sea we are entitled to an agreed-upon share of the profits, there is but one thing any man of conscience might do . . . I, and many others, intend to give a portion of our legal earnings—legal, mind you—to an anti-slaving society.”
“Let me see if I comprehend what you have proposed, Mr Barthe,” the doctor answered. “Though you disagree vehemently with the institution of slavery, you are about to profit from the sale of slaves? To somehow purify this profit, and to absolve yourself of your involvement, you intend to give a portion of your money to men who are fighting to make slavery illegal in Britain and her colonies?”
“You miss my point, Doctor. I am about to profit from the preservation of hundreds of lives.”
“But you preserve those lives so that they might be sold into slavery—and your profits will come from that sale, Mr Barthe. You are, in effect, no different from an investor in a slaving expedition. Do you not see a contradiction, Mr Barthe, in making profit from selling free men into slavery and then taking some part of that profit and giving it to those who fight that terrible practise?”
“But if I do not take my rightful share, Doctor, it will be divided up among others who do not share my beliefs. No part of it will then go to the cause of abolition. How is slavery to be abolished if the anti-slavers are not supported? Printing pamphlets and renting halls for speakers costs money, sir, money that comes to the societies by donation.”
“Mr Barthe, I doubt that the abolitionists would accept money from the sale of slaves. Their principles are not so . . . pliant as yours.”
“Well, then I shall keep all the profits from salvaging this ship and give the anti-slaving society monies earned from my profession, Dr Griffiths. Will that satisfy them, do you think?”
“A society with the purpose of combatting prostitution will not, Mr Barthe, accept money from the owner of a brothel, no matter how it is earned!”
“You misconstrue my point, Doctor . . . Ah, here is Mr Hawthorne. Let us present our cases before him.”
“Abolitionists should not be frequenting brothels,” Hawthorne immediately offered, forcing Hayden to suppress a laugh.
“Mr Barthe is just explaining,” the doctor informed the marine, “how he will give a portion of the monies he earns from the selling of free men into slavery to the anti-slaving societies.”
“Very kind of him,” Hawthorne could be heard replying, “but I regret to inform you, Mr Barthe, that to profit from stealing away men’s freedom and allowing them to be bought and sold like cattle is, well . . . reprehensible.”
“Then I should do as you both have done and refuse my share of the profits?” There was no audible reply to this, and Mr Barthe went on. “If I do this, the anti-slaving societies will receive no advantage, and I can assure you that such a decision will not aid these poor unfortunates” —(Hayden could only assume Barthe waved a hand towards the slave ship)—“in the least. I shall, by donating some of my profits, be doing more to abolish slavery than either of you. Good day to you, sirs.”
Hayden heard the sailing master stomp off.
“Is it possible he is right?” Hawthorne wondered aloud.
“Mr Hawthorne!” the surgeon chastised.
“But you do comprehend his position, Dr Griffiths?”
“Mr Hawthorne, if we were to accept Mr Barthe’s argument, then why should we not finance expeditions to Africa to buy slaves, sell them across the Atlantic, and give all the profits to the anti-slaving societies? That would do much to further the cause of abolition, would it not?”
“But there is a great difference, Doctor. These slaves have already been taken from their homes and are destined for the slave markets. Unless we act to free them, which would make us all criminals and mutineers, then these poor souls will soon be plantation slaves. Their destiny cannot be changed. We could, however, do something that is within our power—give all the profit we are to make to the abolitionists. Or perhaps we could do something more substantive and buy some men—or some families—from this very ship with our profits. Buy these people and grant them their freedom?”
“Buy slaves with the profits from the sale of slaves?”
“Buy them and free them.”
“Leave it to you, Mr Hawthorne, to take a clear moral issue and find some way to cloud it.”
The discussion came to an end at that moment, as Dr Griffiths was called away.
The ink had dried upon Hayden’s quill as he listened, so he swirled it in his inkwell. He had not realised that finding this stricken ship would have such an effect. Men who had never thought much—and cared less—about the institution of slavery were suddenly forced to make decisions about it. Hayden glanced out the gallery window at the slaver bobbing in their wake, dragged bodily along as she reached the trough of each wave . . . as though the two ships were shackled together and their fates somehow commingled.