Before long, Kumoyev and Leblya's small boat successfully reached the Freedom. Climbing the rope ladder lowered from the ship, they boarded the Freedom.
The Freedom was already packed with people, and the East African personnel aboard began assigning them to different areas.
Hilda, captain of the Freedom, watched the Russian refugees surge like a sea of heads and could not help sighing. "I never thought that in my sixties, I'd still be sailing this kind of old-fashioned vessel, carrying a group of immigrants across the seas."
"It feels as though time has been pushed back more than thirty years, to when I first led a voyage to Haiti as captain. Only this time, the destination is the Nanyang region, and the cargo isn't Black people, but white people—Slavs, at that."
When he was young, Hilda had taken part in the "Black slave trade" organized by the East African government. Back then, he had sailed wooden-hulled vessels under canvas.
First mate Wilknitz said, "You can't compare them to Black slaves. They have East African nationality now, after all, and their living conditions are far better than those of Black slaves back then. They even have room to move freely aboard ship, and their food is a little better too."
"Besides, other than the poorer conditions, the Nanyang region is still far better than Russia. Perhaps one day, they'll thank fate for this favor."
Wilknitz was also a seasoned old sailor who had spent many years on trade and immigration routes between East Africa and the Far East.
Hilda said, "In any case, it's better than staying in Russia. Russia has had more than its share of bad luck these past years. I heard there was a coup recently, and even Nicholas II was forced from office."
Wilknitz chuckled. "With Russia in