A Joyous Requiem (2)
1860 was, without a doubt, a year that deserved to be recorded as the most significant in the history of the United States.
If the Democratic Party were to secure the presidency, the division of the Union might be avoided, but the conflict surrounding slavery would become so tangled that no one could ever hope to unravel it.
Conversely, if the Republican Party produced a president, there was no telling what choices the Democratic Party—whose brains were currently governed by baseless overconfidence—might make.
Even in England, there was such profound interest in the current situation of the United States that my father-in-law in London sent letters almost once a month.
"He seems quite motivated, perhaps because he's returned to the ruling party."
"It can't be helped. It seems the analysis is that their failure to properly handle the economic panic when they lost power last time was one of the causes. Now that they've finally managed to regain power, it's only natural that the ruling party would feel uneasy if another major problem were to erupt in the Union."
"I suppose if I were in my father-in-law's shoes, I'd be worried, too."
In England, Prime Minister Palmerston had returned to power, having shed the "Whig" label and rebranded as the Liberal Party.
But no matter how cautiously they were watching the American situation, surely no one expected the South to hit the "independence" button and put on such a spectacular show of self-destruction.
If I could utilize this fact well, I might even be able to place the ruling party and the Prime Minister of England in my debt.
Then, Baron Eldery wouldn't be criticized for taking a Southern planter as a son-in-law; instead, he would be praised for his foresight, as one would expect from a man with noble blood.
I folded the letter from England with a satisfied smile.
The mere fact that such letters were coming from London, of all places, made me realize that the situation had reached its final phase.
"What about the compilation of the reports?"
"It is complete. The training at the rehabilitation center is proceeding smoothly through the 5th cohort, and the first reports from the 1st cohort graduates dispatched to each plantation have all been submitted."
Leo handed me a neatly organized file.
So far, there had been no variables.
And that information was being transported through the SS logistics network and delivered precisely to the graduates dispatched to those plantations for final verification.
Agents from the 1st cohort, including Nick and Jenny, had submitted excellent reports based on this, and all of it was being summarized into a single report that had reached my desk.
The plantation owner's weaknesses, the flaws in the armory, the possibility of recruiting disgruntled internal factions... hmm?
I, who had been scanning everything with satisfaction, paused at the report Nick had sent from the Cypress Hollow plantation.
"What's wrong? Is there a problem?"
Cecilia, who had been reviewing the accounting books across from me, looked up.
I lowered my hand, which had been rubbing my brow, and handed her the report with a strange expression.
"No. It's perfect. It's a perfect report, but..."
Cecilia scanned the report, and she, too, wore an expression similar to mine.
"... 'Confirmed that the darkness dwelling in the plantation owner's soul (gambling debt) is encroaching upon the shadows of the fence (security vulnerability)'... What is this...?"
"'When the hour of judgment arrives, the oppressed souls here will gladly follow the light (me)'..."
I swallowed a dry laugh.
What is this? Why does it sound like a black dragon is about to manifest in his right hand?
Why does he use such words?
Ah, perhaps he's using this bizarre code system on purpose, just in case it's discovered.
Then again, doesn't John Brown also pointlessly quote Bible verses in a solemn tone?
"Since we emphasize security above all else at the rehabilitation center, I suppose they must have developed their own linguistic system."
"...It's impressive. In many ways."
Once I grasped the reason, I nodded with satisfaction.
As expected, the education at the rehabilitation center is perfect. Teach them one thing, and they realize two.
At that moment, Leo entered again with a knock.
In his hand was a thick invitation stamped with the seal of the White House.
"Master. It is an official invitation sent by the President."
While I tore open the envelope to check the contents, Leo added an explanation.
"They say they will be holding a commemorative party in Charleston in a few days, inviting key figures from the South for the Democratic National Convention. They wish to celebrate the glorious moment when President Breckinridge is elected as the candidate."
They're really putting on a show. I tossed the invitation onto the table.
These guys are truly pickled in their own delusions of happiness.
Voting hasn't even started yet, and they're already holding a "candidate nomination commemorative party."
The Dixies are truly entertaining.
If the Civil War had been decided by the ability to count one's chickens before they hatch rather than by guns, the South would have won overwhelmingly. It's a pity.
"Since it's an invitation from the White House, not just anyone, I can't skip it."
I looked at Cecilia and picked up my coat.
"Leo, get ready. I have to go to Charleston with Cecilia."
Above all, they say one can witness a scene that will go down in history.
There's no reason to miss this fun festival.
The banquet hall in Charleston was nothing short of a riotous party.
The fact that they had set up the party venue right next to the Democratic National Convention hall was enough to tell you exactly what the mindset of the Southern elites was.
They, who didn't even consider the 0.1% possibility of defeat, planned to enjoy the banquet excitedly, using the real-time reports of the primary results as their side dish.
In the center of the banquet hall, Georgia Congressman Robert Toombs announced the start of the party with his signature booming voice.
"Hahaha! Stephen Douglas? He's certainly a capable candidate, but don't we have the achievements our President has accomplished? Honestly speaking, he's no match, no match at all! Unfortunately for him, Douglas has already dug his own grave in Kansas and Boston!"
"Hear, hear! Congressman Toombs!"
"That man is nothing but a traitor who has lost both the Northern vote and the South's trust!"
I let Toombs' passionate speech go in one ear and out the other, sharing a toast with Cecilia.
"I always feel this, but Southern people seem so optimistic."
Anyone with common sense would know that what Toombs is saying is nonsense.
Douglas has the firm support of the Northern Democrats, and the number of Northern Democrats is certainly greater than that of the South.
However, the Dixies gathered here seemed to genuinely believe that the Northern Democrats would support them as well.
"Seuret! The hero of Mississippi has arrived! Come, take this glass!"
South Carolina Congressman Lawrence Keitt approached with a flushed face and patted my shoulder.
"To our candidate—no, to our future President, Mr. Breckinridge! Do you know how stable the South has become thanks to your rehabilitation center? This victory is largely due to your efforts!"
"You are too kind, Congressman Keitt. I only did what I had to do."
"Haha, this man is so humble! Come, then, to the victory of the President and the glory of the South."
I gladly clinked glasses with him.
Have a drink. They want to enjoy themselves, after all.
I spent the time in a corner, mingling with people and enjoying this farce with Cecilia.
Leo stood silently behind me, pouring wine into my empty glass.
From a Black man's perspective, it must be a disgusting sight, but seeing the corners of his mouth twitching constantly, it seemed that even to Leo, this banquet looked like a comedy show.
Cecilia, who had been looking around, whispered low enough for only me to hear.
"Do those people really believe it will turn out that way?"
"They don't just believe it; they already think it's reality. That's why they can be so joyous."
Cecilia didn't seem to understand at all, but the more something is an incomprehensible mystery, the more fun it is to watch.
Both she and I watched the 'Southern Hope' banquet, where everyone was lost in their own worlds, as interestingly as an audience waiting for the climax of a well-made play.
Just as the atmosphere of the banquet was heating up, the doors to the banquet hall opened, and William Yancey of Alabama walked in.
Everyone cheered at the appearance of the Southern extremist, a figure who was the very symbol of a fire-eater.
"Yancey! The Lion of Alabama has arrived!"
Toombs welcomed him, and Yancey strode up to the podium, scanning the crowd with burning eyes.
"Brothers! The time has finally come! Today, at that convention hall, we will drive out opportunists like Douglas and enforce our sacred right, the 'Federal Slave Code'!"
"Woooooo!"
The banquet hall heated up once again at his speech, which bordered on incitement.
"If our demands are not met, we have no more attachment to this party! We will go our own way!"
Of course, they wouldn't truly believe they would lose, either.
It was likely nothing more than inflammatory rhetoric to show how strong their will was.
Quite coincidentally, as soon as his speech ended, the first breaking news arrived.
An aide ran up to the podium and whispered in Yancey's ear.
Click.
The music that had been playing stopped.
"...What?"
Yancey's face twisted in disbelief.
The noisy atmosphere of the banquet hall instantly turned cold.
The aide's voice was trembling with absurdity and anger.
"In the platform vote just now... the 'Federal Slave Code' we demanded was rejected, and the 'Popular Sovereignty' proposed by Douglas was adopted with a majority."
"..."
A moment of silence followed.
CRASH!
Then, Yancey slammed his fist onto the podium and shouted.
"Those goddamn traitors!"
But they say bad things always come in succession, don't they?
Before this shock could even fade, a second telegram arrived.
The results of the first delegate vote.
"Stephen Douglas, 183 votes!"
"Candidate Breckinridge has only 80 votes!"
Although it didn't reach the two-thirds required for nomination, which was 202 votes, this was a clear defeat.
Unlike Douglas, who had easily surpassed a majority, Breckinridge hadn't even managed to get 100 votes, despite all the Southern delegates casting their votes for him.
The sound of cracks forming in their world, where they had believed without a doubt that the Southern public sentiment was the public sentiment of the entire Democratic Party, could be heard.
However, those whose brains were already paralyzed by Southern pride quickly repaired their cracked worldview with the panacea of denial.
"It's a lie!"
"This election is fake! They rigged it!"
Toombs shouted with bloodshot eyes.
"The Democratic Party! It has been contaminated by the schemes of those Northern Republican bastards! This election is void! VOID!"
That one word was the trigger.
"Void! Void!"
"Douglas sold out the party!"
"We cannot recognize those who have become dogs for the Northern bastards!"
"That's right! This result is VOID!"
Everyone gathered in the banquet hall began to respond like madmen. The word 'void' spread like a plague.
"Withdraw our delegates immediately! There's no need to associate with that dirty collusion!"
Look at the amazing sight of everyone applauding as incumbent congressmen roared, calling for the election to be voided.
"Alabama cannot stay under the same roof as those traitors! Those who agree, follow us!"
As soon as someone gave the order, the Southern delegates who had been at the convention hall really began to storm out.
Alabama, Mississippi, South Carolina.
A short while later, the Southern delegates who had left the convention hall opened the doors to the banquet hall and walked in.
"Woooooo!"
"The delegates have returned!"
As if they were conquering heroes.
The Southern radicals gave a thunderous round of applause to the delegates who had abandoned the election and returned.
"Void! Void!"
"No need to associate with that fake Democratic Party, fake candidate, and fake election!"
"We! We are the real Democratic Party! Instead of a traitor like Douglas, let's choose a real candidate for the pure cause of the South with our own hands!"
The fake Democratic Party, fake candidate, and fake election are all considered void, and now the era of the real Democratic Party, real candidate, and real election begins.
"Void! Void! Void!"
A bitter smile spread across Leo's lips as he watched the planters singing in a chorus.
"It's a joyous sight. Is this a festival?"
I savored the aroma of the wine Leo had poured for me and took a sip.
"No, it's a funeral."
Using the endlessly echoing calls of 'void' as my side dish, I tilted my glass.
They say the one who laughs when things are tough is the true first-class.
Yes, I admit it.
Those who sing their own requiem so joyously truly seem to have the qualifications of a first-class.
Sending my praise to the courageous decision of the Dixies, cheers.