The Longest Night (3)
March 4, 1861.
The man bearing the heaviest responsibility in American history began his term. It was hardly a normal situation for the master of the White House to be someone who had ascended through a resignation, an impeachment, and a succession from the Senate President.
Once Lincoln took over the White House from Douglas, he began by cleaning up the organization, which had been in tatters. Following his agreement with Douglas, he decided to appoint Ulysses S. Grant as the General-in-Chief of the Union Army and William Sherman to Grant’s former position.
However, while both men were certainly racking up achievements, placing them in such high-ranking positions immediately might invite criticism. Therefore, Lincoln planned to create a justification for their appointments.
Grant and Sherman were puzzled as to why the new President had summoned them, but the moment they stepped into the Oval Office, the air felt far heavier than they had anticipated.
“The reason I have called you both is to entrust you with the heavy responsibility of ending this war.”
Lincoln looked directly at Grant.
“General Grant. I plan to appoint you as the General-in-Chief of the entire Union Army.”
“...Pardon?”
They had been suddenly summoned to Washington, and now this? Grant doubted his own ears for a moment. He heard Sherman, standing beside him, gasp sharply.
“Mr. President. If this is a joke...”
“It is no joke.”
Lincoln turned his gaze to Sherman.
“And General Sherman. You must take over as the commander of the Western Theater, succeeding General Grant.”
Shock. That was the only emotion that could possibly register on their faces. To bypass prominent figures like General Scott or McClellan and elevate them to the supreme command—while their achievements and practical abilities were beyond doubt, their standing was another matter entirely.
Grant, who knew this fact better than anyone, finally managed to open his mouth.
“Mr. President. I am truly grateful for your high opinion of us. However, I am still woefully inadequate to handle such a position. The politicians in Washington will never accept it. There will be tremendous backlash.”
“That, I am sure of.”
Lincoln nodded.
“That is why I intend to give you both the opportunity to create that ‘justification’.”
Lincoln spread out a map. It was the Mississippi River basin, a region they all knew well.
“If you can crush the symbol of the South’s hypocrisy and cold-heartedness, and shake their rear guard more decisively, no one will be able to oppose your appointments for political reasons. Therefore.”
Lincoln pointed precisely at one spot on the map. It was not a military facility or a strategic enemy stronghold...
“The Seuret Rehabilitation Center. You will strike this place.”
“Can that place... be considered a military target?”
“More than enough.”
Even in the midst of war, striking civilian facilities could invite diplomatic criticism. But Lincoln’s voice was firm.
“Watchtowers, armed guards, supply depots. It is a fortress in its own right. Above all...”
Sherman interjected.
“Mr. President. As you said, I understand it is already fortified. To attack such a place head-on would require a massive force. An approach from the Mississippi River is dangerous.”
“It is not.”
That was precisely why no one had dared to attack the facility that had held 4,000 slaves captive until now. If they could smash that place, it would carry immense symbolic weight, but the risks were equally great. However, Lincoln knew better than anyone that the moment they struck, the gates of the rehabilitation center would open automatically. All that remained was to package this reason convincingly and persuade the generals.
“According to intelligence, the core elite forces of the rehabilitation center are already scattered throughout the South under the pretext of ‘maintaining public order.’ Right now, it is nothing but a shell.”
Lincoln lowered his voice.
“And more decisively, there are ‘Arrows of Freedom’ agents planted inside the rehabilitation center by John Brown.”
“...Ah!”
“They will respond from within. They will open the gates and neutralize the guards.”
Grant and Sherman held their breath. John Brown. The name that had burned through the South and vanished like a ghost. Even they, who had commanded in the field, knew the fact that he had recently revealed himself in the Southern borderlands, striking terror into the region.
“My god... has he reached that far?”
Sherman muttered to himself.
“As expected of John Brown.”
Grant could not hide his admiration and shock. Lincoln pointed to the map again.
“Our mission is simple. We will approach rapidly via the Mississippi River, which we already control, open the gates of the rehabilitation center, and liberate them. Then, we will retreat immediately.”
The President looked at Grant with eyes filled with firm trust.
“With the success of this operation, General Grant, you will be inaugurated as the General-in-Chief of the Union Army. General Sherman, you shall execute the operation. General Grant, as the commander-in-chief, you need only approve this operation.”
Ulysses S. Grant pondered for a moment before silently nodding. However, he had a hunch—though it was just a feeling—that there was something more to this than just John Brown. The President was far too relaxed.
“Keep in mind that there must be no loss of life. Though, of course, there won’t even be a battle.”
Even the prophecy that followed, bordering on certainty. Grant felt that if he dug a little deeper, he might realize something he shouldn’t know, so he dismissed the thought. Conspiracies and schemes were not yet a realm he was ready to step into.
***
Since the start of the Civil War, Southerners had been forced to feel their hearts shrink at the daily barrage of incidents. When they confidently started the war by firing the first shot at Fort Sumter, they thought everything would go well, but the reality was that bad news had been relentless ever since, leaving people feeling increasingly anxious.
Objectively, the South had covered its lack of power with the brilliant abilities of its commanders and the morale of soldiers fighting for their homes. But Robert E. Lee, who should have been the central axis, had retreated to the rear, and the generals at the front were distracted by the rear, so nothing could possibly run properly.
According to the calculations of the Southern leadership, they just needed to maintain the front lines and wage a diplomatic war in Europe... but one had to wonder if that would actually work. Of course, even with the South being so sluggish, it was also true that the North was failing to capitalize on the opportunity. Even though I had spoken to Lincoln beforehand, the current level of the Union Army was such that they mistook themselves for Napoleon after merely beating up some Mexicans and natives.
However, that pathetic stalemate was now over. If bold generals who did not fear sacrifice, rather than passive incompetent officers, rose to the top, the flow of the war would change completely. Fortunately, Lincoln seemed to agree with my thoughts, as he secretly contacted me immediately upon his inauguration.
I had prepared to destroy the rehabilitation center through a staged incident if things really didn’t work out. I had been cautious about actually executing one because I had already staged too many, but the call came at the perfect time. Since the President had trusted me and made such a bold move, I, too, had to live up to his expectations.
“The time has come. The Northerners are going to attack this place.”
“......!”
“From now on, this rehabilitation center becomes a battlefield. Keep this in mind. We fought with all our might, but in the end, we were defeated.”
I handed out hammers and wooden clubs to everyone in the rehabilitation center.
“Our defeat must be desperate and intense. Everyone must know how destructive the Northerners’ attack was.”
One slave asked hesitantly.
“Master... but all these facilities...”
“A waste? Keep in mind that this was a prison that held you captive.”
These guys didn’t actually think they were on a retreat, did they? You fools, this was a reformatory meant to brainwash you. Seeing is believing, so I struck the pillar of the nearest watchtower with a sledgehammer.
CRASH!
“You are destroying the prison that held you with your own hands. It’s a good way to relieve stress, isn’t it? Smash it to your heart’s content!”
That was the catalyst. The eyes of those who had been hesitant at first instantly flared with madness.
“WAAAAAAH!”
“This damn fence!”
“The watchtower! Tear it down!”
BANG! BANG! CRASH!
As if a festival had broken out, hundreds of people began smashing the facilities that had held them captive. This wasn’t destruction for a staged incident. It was the liberation of suppressed rage. All of this was built with the money of the South they hated so much. The rehabilitation center began to be smashed to pieces like a real battlefield in an instant.
Watching that scene, I gave my final instructions to Leo and Ben.
“Good. While they are having fun smashing things, we need to secure the goods. The food and weapons in the warehouse, the original B-ledger. Take it all and move it to the Seuret Cotton base.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sigh... the Union Army is truly barbaric. To occupy a fortress and loot all the food. How are we supposed to eat and live?”
After finishing all my instructions, I sent an urgent telegram to Davis and Breckinridge in Montgomery under the name of the Deputy Commander of the Public Security Force.
[John Brown’s remnants spotted near the rehabilitation center. Signs of a Union regular army invasion detected. Defense is absolutely impossible with the current Public Security Force.]
I had already sent a significant number of agents who would operate outside the rehabilitation center across the South under the pretext of tracking John Brown. They would now be busy planting signals in the surrounding area that a Union invasion was imminent.
[The forces remaining at the rehabilitation center cannot block internal riots and external attacks simultaneously. Requesting immediate regular army reinforcements.]
Of course, the reply from the capital was as expected.
[We understand Colonel Seuret’s concerns, but the main force is currently concentrated on the Northern front. We ask that you hold out as long as possible with the local militia under General Lee’s command.]
They beat around the bush, but the conclusion was ‘hold out a little longer.’ Well, of course they would. If they had sent defensive forces here, that would have been truly chilling. With this, all the justification was in place.
Three days later, at dawn. My personal guard, disguised as a riverbank sentry, came running in.
“Colonel! The enemy! It’s the Union fleet coming up the river! The number is...!”
They’re finally here. I immediately sounded the emergency alarm at the rehabilitation center and ran up to the fortress wall.
“Ugh!”
Looking at the silhouettes of the fleet approaching through the darkness and fog with my binoculars, I shouted in the most sorrowful voice I could muster.
“To think such a massive army would come surging in...! I defended with all my might, but was it inevitable!”
The few remaining cannons I had left on purpose roared. Sherman’s fleet returned fire immediately. Of course, their shells precisely destroyed only the already half-broken fences and empty watchtowers.
“Master! The enemy’s momentum is too strong!”
Leo shouted in a voice that sounded like he was coughing up blood.
“From the inside...! A rebellion has broken out from the inside too! John Brown’s spies have opened the gates!”
“It can’t be helped! Everyone, retreat!”
Even in this chaos, I led hundreds of loyal slaves who had stepped forward to protect me, and carried out a heroic retreat to Seuret Cotton, piercing through the Union Army’s barrage. I had requested support, but we were defeated due to the indifference of the leadership who ignored my request. Nevertheless, the Seuret Rehabilitation Center resisted heroically, engaging in a massive battle, but the gates were opened by the machinations of John Brown’s spies who had infiltrated from within, and it was occupied by the Union Army.
How intense the battle must have been, with all the facilities of the rehabilitation center being miserably destroyed; those who witness this tragedy will be left speechless.
Ugh, how frustrating and resentful!