THE INSURGENCE of
CHAN SANTA CRUZ
BOOK FIVE:
THE BOOK of STONE
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
"As
you must know," Perez began, "the seventeenth decree of the
Constitution of Yucatan, approved on the thirteenth of September, 1823,
prohibited the traffic in slaves. But, as we also know, the sale of indians, has never ceased,
particularly in those two states furthest from the capital, Sonora and Yucatan.
The Governors of these states have always been silent partners in the
enterprise, and some of them have been less than silent. They provided
passports for the captives, so if one is offended by slavery, he may say that
it was and is the tourist trade that has been and will be practiced
here."
Baltazar chuckled at his own little joke and took another
swallow of the warm beer. "Not only was the government, itself, engaged in
the transport of slaves, there were those who made contracts with the National
Guard of consenting states. In Yucatan, the commission was five pesos for every
indian. Besides ridding the
peninsula of the hostile Maya in that dangerous period during and shortly after
the Caste War, the contractors and government conspired to blame any incidents
which should come to the attention of the outside world as the work of
"Pirates".
"Foremost
among these was Francisco Marti, whose theater of operations was the northeast
coast, between Sisal and Cozumel. Marti was not Mexican,
he was a Spaniard whose liaison to the Governor... one Juan Anduce...
protected him from official intervention. And his methods... ah!" said
Perez, raising his bottle, "... what my grandfather told me! Sometimes he
would merely linger offshore as a merchant trader, inviting the Maya aboard
ship to inspect the cloth and jewelry he claimed to offer. The next time these
foolish shoppers set foot on dry land, they were in Cuba! Marti kidnapped
soldiers, women, laborers, even a sublevado General.
The Maya captured a number of pirates in their camps along the northeast coast,
but never Francisco Marti. It was the stupidity of his protectors that brought
about his retirement."
"How
was that?" José asked, and the pirate coughed before continuing what was
clearly a distasteful portion of his history.
"The
fault was with the Captain of a vessel called the "Cetro",
under the orders of the Governor of Yucatan himself. This sceptre,
as Fortune would have it, lay in the hand of a fool and not a king, for the
insolent captain unloaded its cargo in Havana directly under the nose of
Buenaventura Vivo, perhaps the only honest Mexican consul of the late century.
Vivo reported this sale to the capital and, thereafter, pressure was placed
upon the Governor to end the trade. Marti, no foolish man, found another sea in
which to practice his trade. Others, less skillful, less ambitious, worked this
coast in little boats while Maximilian came to power but, twelve years
following Buenaventura Vivo, Juarez again prohibited the trade, using the Navy
to enforce it. Only in the last twenty years have we, the buyers and sellers
and takers of souls, restored this Caribe
del Bravo to its position as a sea of opportunity for the few and terror
for the many. So let's drink to the General!"
"To Bravo!" José raised his bottle, but the slaver
tossed the empty glass over his shoulder, picked up another from the case on
the floor and merely regarded it.
"Well,"
he declared, "I am a slaver and a pirate, a good one. I make no apology
but to God, even the priest here grants me absolution, for I am the last of my
kind." José waved a hand to object, but Baltazar
Perez cut him down with a single glance as if separating his eyes from his
throat.
"This
century will see piracy's end, for the life we know is coming to its end with
President Diaz, and that end approaches sooner than we think. I have one son in
Veracruz, another in Havana, still another in New Orleans, daughters, too,
besides who knows how many bastards flung about. Slavery will always be with
us... but the slavers of this century, they'll change their tune. My
sons are growing up with education, they will be
tradesmen or perhaps doctors, lawyers, officers. Practitioners
of the subtle art, slavers perhaps, but never an honest pirate. Our age
is nears its end. I've seen a man in Havana, Merida too, one man with a
fountain pen and a document steal as much in a minute as I've earned in twenty
years - at considerable risk, I might add. So down with slavery, I say. And
now," he added, rising unsteadily to his feet, "let us have a look at
these wretched fellows."
Perez
steadied himself by La Siria's table, placed one hand
over his stomach and let his belly release a great loud gaseous burp, after
which he shook his shaggy head and smiled. "Maybe it will console them
that they have the honor of being among the last of their kind to be sold in
Cuba. Do you think so?"
"Why not?" the Major allowed.
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– “THE INSURGENCE of CHAN SANTA CRUZ”
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