The End of 1485 AD, So-Called Redemption

Late November, 1485, the mouth of the Congo River, the land ruled by the native chief Soyo, a fishing village near the coast.

Here, the surging Congo River rushed into the Atlantic, forming no common estuary delta, but instead scouring a deep drowned valley along the coast. Relying on the rich fishery resources at the river mouth, the tribespeople had settled here, forming a quiet fishing village. On ordinary days, children ran through the village, women busied themselves, and it was full of life.

Now the setting sun was sinking in the west, and three Caravels were moored by the riverbank. The native fishing village was deathly still, the smell of blood thick everywhere. The carnival of slaughter had just ended, and the beastly lust they had vented was temporarily sated. One or two hundred fresh corpses, men and women, old and young alike, had been piled on the altar at the center of the village, with great heaps of thatch covering them.

"Haha! Killing heathens is saving their souls! Haha! And taking their wealth is the Lord's gift to us!"

Boatswain Diego laughed loudly and shouted with delight, personally setting the thatch on the altar alight with the torch in his hand. The more than twenty sailors around him looked equally satisfied as they set fire to the natives' huts. Behind the sailors were great sacks of plundered goods. Seven or eight young dark-skinned women, barely clothed, had been strung together with hemp rope and were kneeling before the burning village, weeping in despair.

A raging fire quickly rose, destroying all evidence of their crimes. Afterward, the sailors divided up the plundered property, shouldered sacks of grain, then dragged the staggering women toward the small boats by the river.

The exploration fleet was already short on food. Using the