Not a minute too soon either. The future was clear as day. The English settlers in the Caribbees were about to install what had to be the most absolute system of human slavery ever seen. Admittedly, finding sufficient men and women to work the fields had always been the biggest impediment to developing the virgin lands of the Americas, especially for settlements that wanted to grow money crops for export. But now Barbados had discovered Africans. What next? If slavery proved it could work for sugar in the Caribbees, then it probably would also be instituted for cotton and tobacco in Virginia. Agricultural slavery had started here, but soon it would doubtless be introduced wholesale into North America.
Christians, perpetrating the most unspeakable crime against humanity possible. Who knew what it would someday lead to?
He no longer asked himself why he detested slavery so much, but there was a reason, if he'd wanted to think about it. A man was a man. Seeing Briggs horsewhip his Yoruba was too similar to watching Ruyters flog his seamen. He had tasted the cat-o'-nine-tails himself more than once. In fact, whipping the Yoruba was almost worse, since a seaman could always jump ship at the next port. But a slave, especially on a small island like Barbados, had nowhere to go. No escape.
Not yet. But come the day Jamaica was his . . .
"Are you all right, love?" Joan had awakened and was watching him.
"I was listening to the drums. And thinking." He did not turn.
"Those damned drums. Every morning. Why don't the planters put a halt to it?" She raised up and swabbed her face with the rough cotton sheet. "God curse this heat."
"I'm tired of all of it. Particularly slavery."
"I fancy these Africans are not your worry. You'd best be rethinking this daft scheme of yours with the indentures."
"That's on schedule. The Council agreed to the terms, drew up a list of men, and I picked the ones I wanted."