A Joyful Requiem

If you saw someone rushing at full speed toward the edge of a thousand-foot cliff, common sense would dictate that you try to stop them. But if that someone is an inhumane institution itself—one that deserves to be shattered at the bottom of that very precipice—then perhaps the most virtuous thing to do is to pretend you didn't see it and close your eyes for a moment.

Actually, to be honest, I’d even be willing to pave the road smoothly for them, just to make sure they don’t cause any collateral damage on their way out.

However, no matter how much of a human disaster someone might be, if they are family, there are undoubtedly people who cannot bring themselves to cast them aside, even if they are on the wrong path. It isn't for nothing that modern legal systems do not punish perjury committed for the sake of family. No matter how clearly one tries to distinguish right from wrong, humans are, in the end, creatures incapable of being perfectly rational.

Colonel Robert E. Lee, when you get down to it, is quite close to this case. No matter how far gone the South is, or how much the Dixies have lost their minds, why wouldn't there be people among them who are sensible and possess good character? Therefore, a man of integrity like Robert E. Lee must be agonizing to the point of a headache over the conflict between the North and the South.

Personally, I don't like slavery, but he inherited a significant number of slaves from his father-in-law, and he was in a position where he had to work them hard to extract profit just to free them. Yet, even so, Robert E. Lee’s ultimate choice was to join the Confederate Army ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and take up arms for his homeland.

Then, what choice must I make, knowing this future?

If I were to quietly dispose of Robert E. Lee without anyone knowing, the Union Army’s easy victory would be all but guaranteed. Honestly, when I first saw the name Robert E. Lee, such a thought did cross my mind for a brief moment, but it soon vanished without a trace.

I’m not a psychopath. If Robert E. Lee were a maniac like Peters, I might have pushed him over with a truck—no, a carriage—but unfortunately, Robert E. Lee was just too good a person.

The more I talked to him, the more I felt that Robert ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠E. Lee could be called a good person even by 21st-century standards. Rather than the greed typical of a planter or the rigidity of a soldier, I could catch glimpses of a man of conscience agonizing between principle and conviction.

“You are truly remarkable, Mr. Sett. I am merely scrambling to pay off debts and fulfill a will, yet you are conceiving a new system for the entire South amidst this chaos.”

He expressed pure respect, without a shred of jealousy.

Sigh, look at that. There’s no way I could push a man like this with a carriage.

“‘System’ is too grand a word. I’m just doing what I can. Since you’ve come all this way, Colonel, would you like to take a look around my plantation?”

“Oh, would that be alright? I would be honored.”

Since I couldn't show him the headquarters of Sett Cotton, I took him for a walk around Cedar Grove. Robert E. Lee’s expression stiffened subtly from the moment we entered the plantation. It must have been because it was so different from the landscape of a Southern plantation he had imagined.

Of course, the slaves were working hard in the fields. But nowhere could the sound of an overseer’s whip be heard. Instead, Jonathan, the white overseer, was earnestly discussing something with a Black foreman while spreading out a map. As we approached, they stopped what they were doing and removed their hats in unison to show respect.

“Master, we were just checking the afternoon work zones.”

“Good work, Jonathan, Will. This is Colonel Robert E. Lee.”

The white overseer and the Black foreman bowed lightly toward Lee together. It was a gaze filled with clear respect, not fear or hatred. Lee could not hide his bewilderment and awkwardly returned the greeting.

“This is incredible, Mr. Sett. How... how can the slaves look at you with eyes like that?”

“As you may have already heard, my method is to elicit their respect, Colonel.”

“Haha...”

I omitted the intermediate processes—like the 21st-century HR system and humane treatment—and presented only the perfectly packaged results.

“Respect, you say...”

Lee muttered bitterly. His Arlington plantation must be a living hell right now. For the purpose of paying off debts and freeing his slaves, he had chosen the path of harsh exploitation. Naturally, the resentment of the slaves must have reached its peak, and he must have become accustomed to gazes of resentment and curses, not respect.

The scenery here, which is the exact opposite of his own desolate plantation, must be stabbing at his conscience even more sharply. As we were strolling leisurely through the plantation, a few young Black girls playing by the barracks spotted me, smiled brightly, and ran over.

“Master!”

“Master, hello!”

They greeted ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me, but hesitated for a moment when they saw the strange soldier standing next to me. I smiled softly and introduced Lee.

“He is a precious guest of mine. Go on, greet him.”

Then, the oldest-looking girl shyly approached and abruptly held out a wildflower wreath she had been making to Lee.

“......?”

“Soldier mister, take this. It’s pretty.”

Lee received it and froze in place. With trembling hands, he accepted the small wreath held in the child’s dirt-stained hands. The very existence he is exploiting at this very moment. This child, who is no different from those he exploits, is showing him pure goodwill. I clearly saw the corners of Lee’s eyes turn slightly red.

I knew it, he really is a good person.

There is no need to lecture him on why he shouldn't side with the South, or that he knows slavery is wrong. I am certain that the best strategy is to continue to, and mercilessly, stimulate this man’s morality. How contradictory the ‘South’ he is trying to protect is, and how much of a pile of trash the people he is siding with are. I contrasted them in the most understandable and cruel way possible.

While he was bowing his head, holding the wreath, I looked at the children playing peacefully and opened my mouth quietly.

“It is truly peaceful. I do not know how long this peace will last.”

“But if the entire South were to accept Mr. Sett’s methods... and improve, wouldn't the treatment of the slaves also get better?”

“I hope so too, but well. I do not know if there is enough time for that.”

I glanced at Lee. His shoulders flinched.

“Soon, the candidates who will decide the fate of this country will be chosen in Charleston and Chicago.”

“......”

A deep sigh escaped Lee’s lips. His gaze wandered precariously between the small wildflower wreath in his hand and the young Black children playing peacefully in the distance. The agony settled on his face was becoming much heavier than before. The fact that the presidential candidates were being chosen meant that the time for a choice had arrived.

No matter how much he wanted to look away or avoid it, reality was approaching with cruel speed.

May 1860.

The national convention was held to select the candidate who would represent the Republican Party and fight against the Democratic Party in the upcoming presidential election.

“This should be enough.”

Lincoln muttered with satisfaction after seeing the results of the first ballot.

As expected, Seward was in first place, but to be confirmed as the candidate, he had to receive a majority of 234 votes. No matter how much Seward was in first place, he was far short of a majority, and Chase, the leading second-place candidate, failed to even get 50 votes and remained in third place.

Everyone’s attention was focused on Lincoln, who had suddenly risen to a strong second place, and Lincoln, riding this momentum, entered into fierce behind-the-scenes negotiations with the delegates of swing states like Pennsylvania and Indiana. Their fierce behind-the-scenes negotiations were immediately reflected in the results of the second ballot.

“...Lincoln got over 170 votes?”

“Pennsylvania is on Lincoln’s side?”

Seward’s supporters, who filled Chicago, fell silent for a moment. He had kept first place, but he was still far short of a majority. No, that wasn't the problem. Seward’s votes had only increased by a mere 8, but Lincoln had pulled in a whopping 71 votes. The votes of Chase and other minor candidates had collapsed, and those votes had headed straight to Lincoln.

That Lincoln, who had been mocked as a ‘defeat specialist,’ had caught up to the New York giant right under his nose. Seward’s campaign manager, Weed, muttered with a pale face.

“How... how could Pennsylvania...”

With this, no one could predict the results of the third ballot, but this was not the end of Lincoln’s winning move. Before the final third ballot, his campaign managers distributed a shocking telegram to the delegates of the swing states who were still hesitating. It was real-time breaking news from the Democratic National Convention being held at the same time.

“My god...”

“What? It’s not Breckinridge? Douglas... Douglas is winning?”

The delegates’ faces turned white. Until now, they had supported Seward, the North’s strongest blade, to defeat the South’s madman, Breckinridge. But what if the opponent was Stephen Douglas? If Douglas, a moderate supported by the Northern Democrats, emerged, Seward’s hardline stance risked sounding like nothing more than warmongering to moderate voters. If their votes were absorbed by Douglas, the worst-case scenario of the Democratic Party succeeding in re-election would occur.

Lincoln precisely pierced their concerns.

“Everyone, the honorable Senator Seward is clearly the Republican Party’s strongest candidate. If he becomes the candidate, he might crush the Democratic Party by a huge margin. But if he faces Douglas, there is a risk that he will lose the Northern vote ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and be defeated.”

“...Certainly...”

“I, Abraham Lincoln, may not be as strong a candidate as Seward. But everyone. I am a candidate who will absolutely not lose.”

The most important thing in an election is winning. It’s not like they extend your term if you win by a double score; you have to win first. As Lincoln said, Seward might crush his opponent, but if by any chance moderate votes were to shift, he could suffer an unexpected defeat. But if it were Lincoln—if it were Lincoln, who could reassure the moderates—he could at least create a battlefield where he wouldn't lose. It was the most likely option to bring the Republican Party the presidential seat they so desperately wanted.

Finally, the third ballot began, and the result was overwhelming. Chase’s remaining votes poured into Lincoln, and even the votes supporting Seward began to collapse.

“...Abraham Lincoln! 245 votes! Majority secured!”

In an instant, a roar erupted as if to pierce the roof of the Wigwam.

“Lincoln! Lincoln! Lincoln!”

The unbelievable drama of a country lawyer who had overcome numerous defeats finally being elected as the Republican presidential candidate became reality. Lincoln stepped onto the platform and raised his hand toward the crowd cheering his name. And when the hall finally quieted down, his deep voice rang out once again.

“We must do our best to reunite this divided Union!”

“Waaaaah!”

“To achieve that heavy task, our Republican Party must first become perfectly one!”

How could a party that couldn't even keep its own house in order make the entire Union one? He looked at Seward and Chase, who had competed with him until the end.

“Therefore, I will not offer William Seward the position of Vice President!”

The hall stirred again. To say they would make the party one, only to say he wouldn't give the Vice Presidency? Was it an insult to the defeated first-place candidate?

“Not a position with only a title! I offer him the position of Secretary of State, who will be responsible for this country’s diplomacy!”

“...Ooooooh!”

“Also, I offer Salmon P. Chase the position of Secretary of the Treasury, who will be responsible for this country’s budget!”

“Lincoln! Lincoln!”

“Seward! Seward!”

Enthusiastic chanting. As Seward and Chase climbed onto the platform, the roar in the hall was now almost a scream. “We will unite as one and definitely win the presidential election!”

Seward looked at Lincoln, who was skillfully managing the hall. ‘That country lawyer...’ He felt his insides twisting at the unimaginable defeat, but soon a faint smile appeared on his lips. Lincoln had precisely pierced Seward’s psychology. Even if he lost this presidential election, if he were Secretary of State, not a mere figurehead Vice President, he must be calculating that he could reign as the power behind the White House. Knowing that, Lincoln willingly offered him that position.

It didn't matter. He wouldn't be able to do it anyway. As expected, Seward walked onto the platform with a wide smile and grasped Lincoln’s hand. Lincoln stood in the middle and raised Seward’s and Chase’s hands high.

“The new future of the Union! We will open it!”

It was time for slavery, the shame of the United States and the symbol of the old order, to receive its death sentence.