The Great Uprising
The American Civil War, which began with a surprise preemptive strike by the South, was increasingly tilting in favor of the North as time wore on. Unlike the land forces, the South’s navy had been virtually annihilated at the outbreak of the war, effectively cutting off their means of importing food. Furthermore, with cotton exports blocked, their cash flow had dried up, leaving their supply lines completely strangled.
In times like these, one would normally compensate for a lack of military power with psychological elements like unity or fighting spirit, but that was far from the case here. Thanks to the rear-area disruption tactics employed by John Brown of the North, the outcry from the planters was growing more severe by the day, and the Southern generals were unable to fully exert their strength.
Robert E. Lee, who had been touted as a candidate for Commander-in-Chief of the Confederate Army, was currently stuck in the bizarre position of Commander of the Peacekeeping Forces, remaining firmly in the background. Even General Johnston, who should have been defending Georgia, was failing to display his usual competence. His problem was not Sherman on the front lines. The real enemy was at his back.
Johnston suppressed the urge to crumple his map. Cowards. He didn't deny the use of schemes or strategy, but to operate so pettily from the shadows was infuriating. To make matters worse, as soon as the enemy commander realized the South was in disarray, he pushed forward rapidly, setting his sights on Atlanta. Yet, the heart of the Confederate Army, which should have been defending that very city, was already rotting from within.
Meanwhile, across the Atlantic, Great Britain was also watching this strange turn of events. Prime Minister Palmerston tossed the "Cotton Alliance" proposal, submitted with tearful pleas by the Confederate envoy, into the very bottom of his filing cabinet.
"'King Cotton,' indeed. When the throne itself is currently burning..."
He was thoroughly ignoring the South’s desperate pleas for help. Of course, that didn't mean he was actively championing the North, either. In fact, public opinion within Britain was complex.
Similar sentiments were being echoed in Parliament and in the editorials of The Times: "The North has been gorging itself on that cotton for decades while turning a blind eye; now that they’re in trouble, what makes them so righteous?" The South, which openly defended slavery, were clearly the bad guys, but the North were merely hypocrites pretending to be clean. While a hypocrite might be slightly better than an open villain, there was no reason for Britain to go out of their way to help them.
Because most felt this way, Palmerston was doing nothing, focusing all his efforts on ensuring the sparks from across the Atlantic didn't fly over to their shores.
"Prime Minister, Baron Eldery is here to see you."
"I see. Show him in."
Soon, James Seuret’s father-in-law, Baron Eldery, entered. Palmerston smiled and offered him a cup of tea. Although there was criticism in society that he was a disgrace to the nobility for taking a planter as a son-in-law, Palmerston was letting all that nonsense go in one ear and out the other. And for good reason.
"The Baron’s warning was very timely. Although the textile mill owners in Lancashire are in tears, thanks to you, extra cotton secured from Bombay and Egypt has begun to trickle in, albeit in small quantities. We should be able to hold out for the time being."
It was thanks to the information Baron Eldery had brought in advance that they had avoided catastrophic damage. The Prime Minister set down his teacup and looked at the Baron with concern.
"However... won't this put you in a politically disadvantageous position, Baron? After all, your son-in-law is a key figure among those rebels. When the war ends in a Northern victory, your standing..."
"That boy seems to have his own plans for that side," Baron Eldery replied, drinking the tea offered by the Prime Minister as if he were completely unbothered. "Honestly, I don't even know everything those children are thinking."
He then set down his cup and got to the point. "Prime Minister. In fact, rather than staying ambiguously still as we are now, the time will soon come when we must issue a statement actively condemning the South."
"Condemning them?"
The Baron continued as Palmerston gestured for him to explain. "Of course, as everyone knows, the citizens don't particularly like the North. Knowing their hypocrisy, it will be difficult for us to step forward and criticize only the South."
"Then why should we draft a condemnation?"
"Because information has reached me that there will soon be an event that will change that public opinion."
Baron Eldery’s voice was filled with conviction. Since he had already accurately predicted the war long before it happened, it was highly likely that things would play out exactly as he said. Prime Minister Palmerston, after a moment of contemplation, let out a light sigh.
"Sending troops directly would be impossible, but if a situation arises where we must support the information war, it would be proof that the stakes have grown that much higher. If such a thing truly happens, I agree that it should be our British Empire representing Europe."
The Prime Minister deferred the Confederate ambassador who had come seeking help by saying he would "discuss it." However, he was still half-doubting. What kind of event could possibly move the tongue of Europe? 'He isn't saying it directly, but the one moving things from behind the scenes must be Baron Eldery’s son-in-law, right?' In any case, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that the Baron's son-in-law was, in a roundabout way, a member of the Liberal Party. He decided to watch and see what that young man was truly capable of.
After finishing my short tour, I returned to the mansion. Through this patrol, I had burned through most of the food I had stockpiled and smuggled, but thanks to that, I succeeded in securing tens of thousands of acres of land. And this wasn't just empty land. It was land that had already been verified through long years of cotton farming. Since I had selected land that could immediately generate profit by inputting laborers once the war ended, there were no hitches.
"But Master, since sharecroppers can be hired even after the war ends, couldn't they just use sharecroppers to farm the land?" Leo asked.
"If they were ordinary planters, yes, but most of the people I lent food to were humans terrified of slave uprisings."
"Ah, I see. I understand now."
The fact that they worried about a rebellion just because they went a little hungry was proof that their usual treatment of their slaves had been abysmal. Would slaves be crazy enough to work as sharecroppers under such masters? If they were worried about making a living, I could just personally arrange other jobs for them.
"The runaway slaves will offer their land in exchange for the food harvested by the slaves the Southerners caught. In a way, this is also reaping what one has sown."
"As you say, Master."
Leo retreated with a satisfied expression, saying he hoped the war would end soon. I, too, carefully placed the deeds for tens of thousands of acres of land, collateralized under the name of Seuret Cotton, into my safe and prepared for the next step.
That night, the secret warehouse on the outskirts of Natchez was bright with torches. The SS wagons were pouring out the goods they had brought from Mexico.
"Good work, John, Andy."
"Chairman, you look to be in good spirits," John D. Rockefeller said, handing over the ledger with his usual ascetic expression, while Andrew Carnegie couldn't hide his excitement, his face flushed red.
"Chairman! This smuggling route was truly perfect! The profits will be astronomical!"
"Chairman, for your information, this Carnegie fellow is again..."
"What? Want to start a smear campaign here again?"
As the two began to bicker, I pretended not to hear them and pointed to Ben’s elite guard moving military supplies and food into the underground warehouse.
"You've worked hard. Now, there is work to be done when you return to the North."
The gazes of the two, who had just stopped fighting, fixed back on me. "A massive uprising of unprecedented scale will soon occur in Georgia."
"Has that time already come?"
"John Brown’s name will cover the entire country in the North again this time, won't it?"
"I suppose so."
But this time, it wouldn't do to let public opinion end at "Oh, it's John Brown again." I could not allow the existence of the 4,000 noble agents who were carrying out their missions while willing to throw away their lives to be overshadowed by the shadow of John Brown.
"Your mission is to report that uprising to every newspaper in the North. Use every means necessary—bribe them, buy off the reporters."
"So... you mean to make sure the word 'Black'—not 'John Brown'—is included in the John Brown headlines!"
"Exactly."
It’s so comforting to have employees who understand you the moment you speak. I truly never have to say things twice.
"We must shift the focus... I understand the picture you are painting, Chairman."
"Of course, the North is prepared to be enthusiastic about the name John Brown, so it might not be easy. But even so, I believe the Black people who were active on the ground must be highlighted."
"Black people..."
"Yes. Package their struggle to the extreme as a 'heroic uprising resisting slavery.' Warriors who break their chains and seize their freedom."
The two fell silent, lost in thought, as if they had realized exactly what I wanted. Rockefeller quietly opened his mouth.
"Chairman. Are you concerned about their treatment after the war ends?"
"Doing this won't change things dramatically. But perhaps these small things will accumulate and become a great tide later."
Of course, there was also a practical reason. "Above all, if my laborers are getting beaten up outside every single day, how annoyed will our legal team be? Honestly, I can't stand to see my people being bullied and beaten anywhere."
Carnegie grinned and clenched his fist. "Don't worry about that, Chairman! If such a thing happens, I'll tell my friends at the Pinkerton agency to take care of them without a trace, so you don't need to worry about it, Chairman."
"Tsk, ignore such low-class opinions, Chairman," Rockefeller clicked his tongue openly.
"Ha! Looks like our gentleman’s holy faith is acting up again. So, are you planning to change their hearts with a sermon that even children wouldn't listen to, saying 'discrimination is bad'?"
"Enough. Now, who will take on this task?"
No sooner had I finished speaking than the two turned to me and shouted in unison, "I will do it!" "I must be the one to do it!"
Sigh, I knew it would be like this. As I was smiling bitterly, Rockefeller pushed Carnegie aside and stepped forward first.
"Chairman. Tasks like this must appear 'noble' and 'cool.' This is a sacred struggle. If this fellow, who uses hired thugs every day, manages it, the quality might drop."
"Ha!" Carnegie let out a scoff. "Have you forgotten what I do every day? It’s agitation and fabrication! Do you think a pedantic clergyman like you can handle this delicate work of dealing with the press?"
"If you call me that one more time..."
"Then, you two can just do it in your own ways."
In these situations, it’s best to just let them compete and praise whoever brings the better result. When you spend all day mediating their constant fighting, you inevitably pick up a few tricks. "Both of you, just do as you usually do. Don't interfere with each other, and compete with your results. You know without me saying it, but once the war ends, it’s our era, so don't waste your strength in the wrong places."
They wouldn't get along just because I said this, but at least they wouldn't be at each other's throats for a month. Sure enough, the two radiated not hostility toward each other, but passion and fighting spirit...
"Chairman, I will do my utmost so that all of the North knows of this noble struggle."
"Please leave it to me with peace of mind. I will show you the essence of agitation and fabrication."
Yes, both of you are very reliable. ...I have to admit, they do their jobs well.