Free Rich Man's Coffin by K Martin Gardner

“So, what’s the deal with slavery, mate?”
    Black Jack asked, “What do you mean?”
    Groggy replied, “Well, are you gonna be one forever, or what?   I mean we don’t have slaves.   Where we come from, a Black is a Black, for sure, but that don’t stop him from earning his own money and doing what he pleases.   How do you feel about that?”
    Black Jack said, “Right now, I am in service to the ship, and moreover, the Captain.   As far as I gather, he owns me the same as the Master owned me back on the plantation.   I thought that I was free as soon as I got to Philadelphia; but now it don’t seem like it.   I guess when the Captain says I can go, I can go.   Maybe next year, maybe the year after that.   I’ll see.”
    Groggy rebutted, “Now mate, who sold you that crock of shite?”   He looked at Happy for support. He looked back at Black Jack. “Mate, just from the little bit that you’ve told me, I think that I’ve got news for you. In case you did not know, you are now in one of the most remote parts of the world, getting in on the ground level of one of the most lucrative enterprises to come along since prospecting for gold!”   Groggy exclaimed.  
    More big talk from a dreamer , thought Black Jack.  
    Groggy continued, “Mate, in this business, no one owns you.   You own yourself.   Isn’t that right, Happy?”
    Happy spoke up.   “That’s correct, Groggy.”   He turned and looked squarely into Black Jack’s eyes and said,   “Shore-whaling is the opportunity of the future.   At present, there are close to a thousand vessels from various nations roaming the world’s seas in a vain search for the dwindling number of sperm whales.   Shore whaling is a little known, and hence underdeveloped profession, which has limitless potential.   It involves the hunting of an entirely different whale, which migrates closely along the coasts of areas of the world that are largely unsettled and free of competitors, both natural and manmade.   Therefore, once a station is established, we won’t have to go to the whales; they come to us, and in great numbers.   With the establishment of a successful shore-whaling station comes the associated territory, which can be hunted and harvested in cooperation with as many or as few select ships as fit the criteria for partnership within a season or several seasons; depending on their productivity and ongoing relations with the station owner.”  
    Black Jack’s jaw sagged as he stared into his mate’s suddenly overflowing mouth.   He continued to sip his drink.   Groggy remained silent, nodding in agreement with everything that Happy said.  
    Happy flowed on:   “This station is the first of its kind on the South Island of this burgeoning nation.   Australian companies pull the strings for most of these places in the South Pacific; however, Jackie, the station owner here, has been let loose to operate rather freely; partly due to his proven experience with harvesting seals, which are now mostly gone, and partly due to the trust which he has established in the minds of his benefactor company.   In its one year of operation, this station has produced a total monetary profit of approximately 200,000 British pounds.   That figure is expected to double next year.   Each of those whales you see out there produces about ten tons of oil.   At 28 British pounds per ton, that spells massive profits.   And the bones?   On average about 3500 dry-weight pounds at 125 monetary pounds each, so close to a half a million pounds, or what you Yanks call dollars, at market.   That is good money, no bones about it. “
    Happy paused following his stab at dry humor. Hearing no laughter from his dumbfounded audience, he continued, “In addition, each Right Whale is naturally much larger than the Sperm Whale:   Approximately 300 feet long as opposed to just 90 feet long, making the per-catch payoff higher as well, so then you are looking at higher