The Longest Night (2)
I was plagued by all sorts of lies and slander.
[He has struck again, John Brown!]
[Following the mass slave escape, now he incites rebellion? Where does John Brown's madness end!]
[Is the Republican Party behind John Brown? Evidence of a secret meeting between Lincoln and Brown secured!]
[John Brown is the messenger sent by God for the Black people. Let us examine his genius strategy.]
John Brown, the man who drove the North into a frenzy and made the South grind its teeth in rage, was arguably the biggest superstar in America, commanding the most fervent supporters and the most vicious detractors.
Honestly, though, it was absurd to see them carry on like this when it wasn't even my doing. Well, not entirely.
Take this current situation, for example. I had known about the impending large-scale slave rebellion in the South because I had heard it from Seuret. It was true that I had helped conceive the plan, but even I hadn't imagined he would go to such insane, wide-ranging lengths.
In other words, the whole world was looking at me as if I were that madman.
It was ridiculous, but I agreed with the sentiment that James Seuret was a man who should never be exposed. I was more than willing to shoulder the aftermath of the chaos he had caused.
That was why, as soon as the massive riots broke out, I crossed into Mexico as planned, traveled up the Rio Grande, and reached Mississippi in a carriage Seuret had prepared.
Thus began the strange "Southern Tour" of James and John Brown.
Disguised under the absurd identity of a detective invited from the North named Bloodlock Shomes, I sat in the carriage of Colonel James Seuret, the Deputy Commander of the Security Forces.
Amidst the ashes of Cypress Hollow, Alabama, Brown watched as that devilish planter acted with such nonchalant ease.
"My, this is horrific. To think that Farmer Vance was murdered here."
Seuret clicked his tongue while inspecting the burnt-out bedroom.
"Hey, Detective Shomes. Why don't you sift through those ashes over there? Surely you'll find something?"
"Hmm..."
"I brought you here because I needed an expert's help. Don't be lazy; do the work you're being paid for."
Of course, I was in disguise, but because we were acting with such brazen confidence, no one even suspected that the person beside James could be anyone suspicious.
John Brown pretended to sift through the ashes, and following Seuret's signal, he "accidentally" dropped an old leather Bible from his pocket.
"Wait! Colonel Seuret, come over here, please."
Responding to his natural-sounding shout, James and the local militia members approached.
"This is... what is this? Good heavens. On the inside cover... 'J.B.'?"
"How could we have missed such evidence? We must secure it immediately."
"Unbelievable... to think he actually came this far."
As expected of a detective brought in for a massive sum of money, Bloodlock Shomes' ability to secure evidence was extraordinary.
At General Beauregard's farm, following Seuret's instructions, Brown discovered an old pipe with the exact same design as the one he used. At the farm of Longstreet's relative, he had John Brown personally carve 'JB' into a broken fence in his own handwriting.
The militia, who had failed to find any proper evidence despite their own investigations, naturally couldn't lift their heads in shame.
"I, I apologize! We really didn't investigate carelessly..."
"No, that can happen. If you fellows handled everything, what would detectives live on? I won't make an issue of it, so don't worry."
Colonel James Seuret magnanimously forgave those who had found nothing, like the freeloaders they were.
Having successfully completed the investigation, as we headed back toward the North, the two of us silently passed a bottle of whiskey back and forth. John Brown, staring blankly at the burnt-out farm landscape outside the window, opened his mouth.
"...Will this be a better society when this war ends?"
If Black people are freed from slavery and their struggle is recognized, wouldn't they be treated a little better?
Seuret took the bottle he handed over and chuckled.
"Don't have any expectations, Mr. Brown. Black people will gain freedom, but that freedom will be another shackle. The whip will simply be replaced by shallow legal codes, and the chains by grinding poverty. They might even find their hearts more troubled when faced with this godforsaken reality where everything has collapsed. You know this, don't you?"
"......"
Of course he did. John Brown did not deny Seuret's words. He downed the remaining whiskey in one gulp.
"You truly are... even if our inclinations might differ, you are certainly a man who looks far ahead. I acknowledge that. But if you know that things won't change, why are you putting in this effort?"
Seuret looked into his eyes and replied in a voice devoid of its usual playfulness.
"Because it's a job only I can do."
It was a tone so calm, devoid of any conviction or resolution, yet that was precisely why the sincerity felt all the more profound.
John Brown gazed steadily into Seuret's eyes. No further conversation was needed. There was no need to say he acknowledged him, nor was there a need for encouragement. That was the kind of relationship they had from the start.
After emptying a couple more glasses of whiskey, we reached the border of Virginia and Maryland. It was the final point where I would smuggle myself out.
"Well, once you cross that river, it's your world. Be quiet..."
"No."
John Brown stepped out of the carriage. But he didn't head for the river; he walked out into the middle of the road on the hill. Dawn was breaking, and in about 30 minutes, a patrol would pass through this area.
"What are you doing! Are you insane?"
Seuret whispered from inside the carriage, but Brown didn't even pretend to hear him.
"You've done this much, so shouldn't I give you a gift as well?"
He threw off his old hat, revealing his white hair and burning eyes in the dawn light.
Seuret had tried to make him a shadow, minimizing the actual risk, but that wouldn't instill true terror. Realizing Brown's will, Seuret gave a silent nod, turned the carriage, and disappeared.
Yes, from today, the formless terror would become reality and crush the South.
"Th-there! That man!"
A soldier from the patrol, appearing right on time, recognized him and froze on his horse.
"It's John Brown! My God, John Brown is right there!"
Bang!
John Brown fired one shot from his revolver into the sky as if to show off, then leisurely disappeared into the darkness, heading North.
The confirmation of the John Brown intervention theory, which had only circulated as suspicion and conspiracy. The South was turned upside down.
The South was certainly a nation with potential. Even if one laughed at them as stupid, selfish Dixies, they could not have fought the North for four years despite an absolute disadvantage if they were truly incompetent.
If left to unleash their potential to the fullest, there was a fear that the Civil War would drag on, plunging America into an endless quagmire just like in the original history.
However, while it sounded good to talk about a war of speed, the Northern commanders had not yet fully blossomed. Even Ulysses S. Grant or General Sherman, whose names I had heard, were only at the stage of building their reputations while engaging the South.
Of course, since they were already racking up military achievements at a fierce pace, Lincoln was reportedly planning to discuss with Douglas and appoint Grant as the supreme commander altogether.
It was an appointment so unconventional that some even asked if he had lost his mind, but if it were an appointment made by the agreement of the Republican Party and the Northern Democratic Party, no one would be able to raise an objection.
If so, the work I had to do was naturally decided.
Those generals would devastate the Southern rear upon taking office, shattering the South's very ability to wage war.
Deep in the night at the Seuret Rehabilitation Center, torches lit the plaza like broad daylight, and over 4,000 prospective graduates stood in perfect formation.
Fifty times the 85 people I had previously spread throughout the South. It was my "real army" that would sever the carotid artery of the South—a scale literally on a different dimension.
I stood on the podium with Will and Leo.
"There are two paths."
The plaza fell silent. They waited for my next words without even breathing.
"The first path is the path leading outward. Just as your predecessors did, it is the path of spreading throughout the South and pouring out your rage."
One might think that anyone who had silently received training here would want revenge, but there might still be those who didn't want to fight. I had no intention of driving such people to the battlefield.
"The second path is to go with me."
As expected, I saw hesitation in the eyes of a few.
"Soon, this place will be attacked by the enemies of the North. I will be defeated, and the rehabilitation center will be closed. If there are those who want to follow me as loyal slaves and flee to my main base, you may do so."
Of course, it was all a play, but didn't I need actors to complete my alibi? After all, the excuse that I had lost all my slaves despite claiming to train them so well would be too pathetic if I were attacked by Northern troops.
After giving them time to think carefully and taking a vote, hundreds of slaves chose the path to Seuret Cotton with me. Nevertheless, the number of those who decided to go outside and pour out all this rage was still close to 4,000.
"Your mission is different from your predecessors'. If they plowed the fields, you must sow the seeds and set the fires. Do not reveal yourselves. But with the education you have received, gather others. Make them rise up on their own."
"Yes!"
"Make the tens, the hundreds of thousands of Black people in the South burn down the mansions and raid the armories with you. The scale will not be limited to a single Southern state. This vast land will become the foundation for you to pour out your hatred and rage."
A graduate raised his hand.
"Sir. Even though we have been suppressed until now, will other Black people follow us?"
"Do not fear. Your predecessors have already paved the way. Every slave in the South has seen it. The Dixies collapsing. The awl called John Brown piercing their hearts."
They were already prepared. All they had to do was place a burning torch in their hands.
Just as everyone was steeling their resolve, a question erupted from another side.
"When everything ends! What will happen to us? Will the North, will this country recognize our contributions?"
The plaza fell silent again. Perhaps it was the question they all wanted to ask the most.
I looked into their eyes and gave them the same answer I had given John Brown.
"No."
Disappointment flashed across their faces, but I continued calmly.
"I cannot promise you anything like honor. But I will promise you this. When everything is over, and you have gained perfect freedom, live the life you want. Whether you go North, West, or stay here and become a farmer."
A utopia-like life wouldn't come regardless of which path they chose, but I believed that those who had been trained here would be able to fend for themselves.
"But even then, if you feel that this godforsaken life hasn't improved at all, then come back. The rehabilitation center will close its doors, but the gates of Seuret Cotton will always be open to you."
Finally, I gave a light nod to those who had endured all this hell and were now heading toward another.
"I thank all of you for enduring this training until now."
There were no shouts or cheers. Instead—
Thud!
The sound of 4,000 pairs of shoes striking the ground simultaneously. Moving as one, they offered me a salute more perfect and precise than any other. It was the most certain proof of gratitude.
The small sparks the South had struggled to collect had gathered to grow into a black sun that would burn this land. The time had come for the longest night of the Confederate States, which would lead to the March to the Sea.
These were the questions I was throwing at the South.
You had such a hard time with just 85 graduates; how will you stop 4,000?
Answer me.