Good — now explain: why do you want to build an industry? With the land the viceroy gave us we can make more than enough to maintain the family and have a good profit," Carlos asked, a little confused. With eight hundred hectares they made forty-five thousand pesos a year; even counting costs, the profit would be between ten and fifteen thousand pesos a year—enough for a high family to live comfortably—so he didn’t understand why his son wanted to push for more.
"Father, don’t you feel the viceroyalty is tense lately? Two years ago there was a rebellion in the Viceroyalty of the Río de la Plata, and nine years earlier the Comunero rebellion. After all that, the empire hasn’t softened—if anything it’s reinforced control. People are upset, and as representatives of the Crown we’re not exactly in a safe position," Francisco said, worried.
"Are you saying you want to rebel?" Carlos exclaid, surprised. He looked at his son as if seeing him for the first ti.
"Of course not. But that doesn’t an nobody will rebel. Given our situation, if we don’t have at least our own force, the rebels will execute us first for what we represent. I want to train so servants in arms, and for that we need money. If a rebellion never happens, fine; but in the worst case, an ard force would give us at least so deterrence," Francisco said seriously. He knew those words sounded risky, but he believed there was no other safe path for his family.
"Also, father, don’t forget what happened to you for rely giving advice. The viceroy is a military man who likes rules—he has no experience governing. I don’t understand why they can’t send soone with real administrative knowledge," Francisco added. (In 1790 the viceroy was José de Ezpeleta y Galdeano—a soldier with European campaign experience; a fine general, perhaps, but a harsh and rigid governor.)
"Sigh. I understand, but our status depends on the royal family. If we betray them, we lose everything," Carlos said, his face weathered.
"I know. That’s why my objective is to train n in secret, develop so industries, and beco an indispensable family for the region—at least for Antioquia. That way, whether the viceroyalty, the bishop, or a rebel governnt cos, they’ll have to think twice before acting against us. If we beco necessary, we can choose our future instead of having it chosen for us," Francisco explained.
"Fine, fine. I’ll listen, but you must be extrely discreet. I can provide funds, but for alcohol you know we need a royal permit and to pay taxes, right? I might secure the permit, but earnings won’t be as huge as you imagine," Carlos warned.
"I know. That’s why I’ll upgrade equipnt. I want to buy blacksmiths and skilled slaves in other trades, so we have an advantage for a few years. Once we earn enough and raise so soldiers, even the Crown will have to ask us politely for favors—and maybe your voice will return to Bogotá," Francisco said, excited about his plan.
"Do you really think I could go back to Bogotá?" Carlos asked, excited at the idea. He still hoped that if he could convince the authorities to change course, South Arica might return to stability and the Crown might even grant him a noble title.
"Maybe, if we gain enough strength not to be ignored," Francisco said, unwilling to crush his father’s dreams. People in those tis longed for ennoblent; even in Spain titles had beco common, but the dream remained powerful.
"Fine — let’s go. I’ll accompany you. This is your first ti dealing with these slave rchants, so it’s better soone experienced cos along," Carlos said. He called his servants to watch Isabella and summoned five n to go with them.
They walked a few minutes and reached the church. In front of it stood a big red house with its shutters closed. It looked wealthy—but too quiet.
"I’ve been here before. The viceroyalty sotis needs slaves, so I know the owner. I’ve never co as a client; it seems they require a password. Maybe he’ll bend the rules for ," Carlos said.
"Don’t worry, father. I already have the password. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to spoil the surprise," Francisco answered with a teasing tone.
They knocked. A voice asked for the password; Francisco gave it, and the door opened.
The place wasn’t what Francisco had expected—no dirty cells or dozens of chained Africans. It was elegant, with a couple of well-dressed porters.
"Please, follow , sir," the porter said, guiding them to a reception. A man with facial scars waited there; he appraised them and stopped at Carlos.
"I seem to know you. You work for the Cádiz company, right? Why co here? Your company can usually buy slaves cheaper—no need to deal with ," the man asked suspiciously.
At the ti, the Spanish Crown held a monopoly on the slave trade in its colonies. The monarchy itself did not capture enslaved Africans; instead, it purchased them from Portuguese traders on the African coast at prices between forty and sixty pesos. Once shipped to the Aricas, however, the Crown resold them through official contractors at ten tis the price, making a vast profit. In practice, local elites could only access that system through royal connections or licenses, which is why independent rchants like this one existed—offering "specialized" or surplus slaves outside the official quotas
"That’s right, but my son needs specialized slaves," Carlos began—but the large man interrupted.
"Oh—special tastes. Don’t worry; we have exactly what you need..." he said, about to finish.
"Not that kind of specialization," Francisco cut in, serious. "I need blacksmiths, carpenters, and slaves skilled in particular trades."
"I see. Those are the ones you want," the man replied awkwardly. "Well... we have so. But they’re expensive—training skilled people isn’t easy."
"Money’s not a problem, Antonio," Carlos said, backing his son.
"I understand. Usually we take a commission, train them for three to six months, and then sell. But there are so leftovers from the Monserrate expansion I’ve been deciding what to do with. If you take them from my house, I’d be happy," the rchant said with a predator’s smile.
Reviews
All reviews (0)