The True Planter (3)

"Incredible. Truly impressive."

Nathan Forrest, the proud Grand Wizard of the KKK, sat lost in thought, replaying the speech he had just witnessed. James Seuret’s address was a collection of such raw sincerity that no Southerner—especially one who had once owned slaves—could remain unmoved.

Others might not understand, but having had the experience of managing hundreds of slaves, he could empathize.

"That is how a Planter should be. Even if the laws and systems don't support it, being ahead of one's time is the mindset a true planter and aristocrat must possess."

That man was a true cotton aristocrat. He possessed a magical ability to command obedience from the darkies without needing to crush them with institutional force. Forrest did not believe the drivel in the low-class rags claiming that Seuret had attacked his fellow white men for the sake of the blacks. He knew better—because he was one of them.

How could those who had only ever managed a handful of slaves in their entire lives hope to form such a consensus? Forrest had been a man with assets worth a staggering $1.5 million when the war broke out. Because the vast majority of that wealth had been in slaves, he had suffered immense losses after the war ended.

The slave auction house. That place, which had been one of his primary sources of income, had become nothing more than a scrap of paper. Only the empty building remained, and the pleasant sounds of buying and selling slaves were heard no more.

'$1.5 million.'

He thought of the fortune that had slipped through his fingers. But no, that wasn't it. Forrest shook his head. Wealth? He could earn that back. There were plenty of business opportunities after the war. What he had truly lost was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠something else.

'That sensation.'

The life of handling slaves who were absolutely obedient to him. The sense of superiority he felt when dominating others. It was a feeling difficult to express in words, and one that was awkward to speak of openly in front of others. But clearly, what he had truly craved was that sensation, which had been a part of his life back then.

"Master," they would say, bowing their heads and looking up at him with reverence. "I will do as you wish, Master." "Just give the order."

Absolute obedience. The pleasure that came from the very fact that he was perfectly dominating someone. 'If only I could feel that again...'

But everything had changed when the slaves were emancipated. Ungratefully, the moment they gained their freedom, they turned their backs on him, and some even cast looks of contempt. "We are no longer your slaves!" "Goodbye, Mr. Forrest." Forrest would likely never forget the humiliation he felt when he heard those words.

Those gathered here who were particularly enthusiastic about Seuret must surely be feeling the same way he did. He envied the situation where Seuret was still respected even by the freed blacks. How could he continue to rule over them and reign supreme even after the laws had changed and the system had vanished? Had he truly become a real aristocrat after marrying into British nobility?

He was dying to know the driving force that allowed one to dominate people even without laws or institutions. And Seuret had even pledged to take the lead so that more such people could emerge in the future. His blood was boiling. This was no time to sit still. Forrest jumped to his feet.

"Let us go to the meeting at once."

"Pardon? Right now?"

"Yes. Right this instant."

The shocking speech took place that very night. The Grand Wizard of the KKK and the six Dragons gathered in one place.

"Brothers, I trust you were all deeply moved ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠by James Seuret’s speech today."

He tried to speak in the calmest tone possible, but his excitement was impossible to hide. It was no different for the others. "James Seuret... he seems to be exactly the man we heard he was," John Lester said, nodding fervently. Richard Reed closed his eyes solemnly and offered a prayer of repentance, as if giving a testimony of faith. "I felt like I’d been struck on the head. To say that one must be able to manage blacks to be a true planter even after slavery is abolished... it’s correct. It is truly correct."

"Isn't that exactly what we pursue? Putting the darkies back in their place!"

Crush the darkies who don't know their place, and dominate those who do. As the organization's policy began to solidify, the topic naturally drifted toward the recruitment of a new executive.

"In that case... as we discussed before, shall we bring him into our organization?"

"Of course! Who else could it be?"

There were no dissenting opinions. The status of the organization would depend on whether or not they could bring in James Seuret, who could be called the last remaining planter in the South. "James Seuret must become a member of our KKK!" "Indeed. It is not a choice, but a necessity." "Since it has been confirmed that suing the white men was not for the sake of the darkies, there is no need to hesitate." "Correct. He still considers the darkies his own property."

Someone might be disgusted by it, but at least in the eyes of the seven men present, Seuret’s path was so dazzling they could hardly open their eyes. "I must hear the secret of how he manages to do that." "Then, assuming everyone is in agreement, I will proceed with the plan to recruit James Seuret."

"Agreed!"

With a round of applause, everyone in the room cheered in unison. However—

"Wait, brothers," Frank McCord said, opening his mouth cautiously. "There is one problem."

"A problem?"

"If James Seuret joins our organization, what title should we give him?"

"..."

A moment of silence fell. Ah. How could they have overlooked such an important issue? "The Chief is the Grand Wizard, and the six of us are Grand Dragons." "Then can't we just accept him as the seventh Grand Dragon?" "No. That’s a bit weak."

True, a big shot like James Seuret might not be satisfied with such a title. The wealthiest man in Mississippi, a planter whose name rang throughout the South, and a true cotton aristocrat married to British nobility. "We need to create a special, exclusive title for him." "Still, for the sake of uniformity, I think it would be good to include 'Dragon'..." "A Dragon that looks cooler than a Grand Dragon... that’s difficult." "But it is a major issue that must be resolved."

A title that would fit alongside Grand Wizard and Grand Dragon while revealing the uniqueness of James Seuret... It was not easy. The KKK’s dilemma over welcoming their new comrade only deepened.

The plan by Albert’s group to tear James Seuret apart and shift the focus of the public seemed fine at the very beginning. But as soon as Seuret’s speech ended, sounds of things going wrong could be heard everywhere. "There are many voices defending Seuret. Articles are even appearing suggesting he has presented the direction a true planter should take."

"Pathetic fools... logically, that shouldn't be possible, should it?"

James Seuret’s speech had ruthlessly stimulated the fantasies of the planters, but in reality, how many people could actually live like that? Albert Brown himself had no confidence that he could live by managing blacks like James Seuret. In this vast South, there wouldn't even be ten people. Those chosen few who could live such a life.

"...But facts aren't what’s important, are they? The public is inherently weak to agitation."

Since it was Albert’s group that had tried to bury Seuret and Parrow through that agitation to secure their own survival, what could they deny? The public was vulnerable to agitation, and their agitation had simply been weaker than Seuret’s. However, if they just stood by, the price they would have to pay was too great. Already, there was talk in the new Congress that those who had actively supported the previous war should step aside.

"Barksdale, can’t we attack Seuret and Parrow more aggressively through newspaper articles?"

"We are trying, but... they are also determined and are mobilizing various newspaper companies to write articles defending him. It would likely be faster for you, Congressman, to gain the support of Congress."

"It’s not that there aren't people who will take our side, but..."

In fact, if you looked at it coldly, at least 20% of the people in Mississippi had actively supported the last war. Even if most had buried themselves in passive approval, there were plenty of people like them who had raised their voices, saying the North should be completely crushed. Such congressmen would inevitably feel anxious about Seuret and Parrow’s current path.

Now that they could no longer bury them with public opinion alone, they had no choice but to wage an all-out war in Congress. Albert was still confident that he was not in a completely disadvantageous position. A significant number of those currently in Congress were people who shared their fate.

The real fight started now. Mississippi was still craving blood.

One of the most powerful forces in this world is sheer numbers. If you can lead the majority, you can gain the upper hand in public opinion, elections, and even in most wars. Thanks to actively agitating—no, persuading—the public, the first attempt to tear me ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠down had returned to nothing.

Stupid fools. Trying to fight with mere facts, how pathetic. If you really want to bury someone, you have to sprinkle in agitation and fabrication.

Naturally, I wasn't satisfied with just the speech; I was mobilizing all the friendly newspaper companies to diligently create public opinion that Seuret was the true planter. Having confirmed that the public’s reaction was sufficiently favorable, I decided to proceed with the next step of the plan with Parrow.

"How is the atmosphere in Congress?"

"It’s quite a sharp situation. Your opinion has merit, but there are many who express concern that if you coddle the blacks too much, they will continue to climb over us."

"Most of those people must be from the 'Fire-Eaters,' right?"

"Correct. According to Congressman Quitman, they were the most extreme of the hardliners."

Hmm. So they threw the first punch out of a desire not to be pushed out of power. Power really makes people look ugly.

"There must be some among them who criticize you, Mr. Speaker."

"In the current atmosphere, they aren't doing it openly, but there are definitely those who mutter that in times like these, people who can represent the South against the North should step to the forefront."

"They must be burning with anxiety. I looked into it, and the editor-in-chief of the newspaper company that was happily tearing me apart was Ethelbert Barksdale. They say he is also a close friend of the famous Southern independence activist, Congressman Albert Brown."

"To point guns at those who were once allies, so soon after the war ended..."

Parrow, who had wanted to enjoy horse racing and live peacefully in his later years, seemed to have truly reached a state of disillusionment, his eyes filled with nothing but despair. But what could he do? From the moment Lincoln decided to grant a full pardon to the South, this was an unavoidable flow.

And this wasn't so bad from my perspective. Since my current policy was bound to be challenged anyway, wouldn't it be good to pin all of this on the Fire-Eaters, who no longer had any reason to exist? However, no matter how much arguing or public opinion warfare we engaged in, there was no clear angle to wipe them out in one fell swoop.

If I left them alive, they would endlessly badmouth me from behind and frame me as a black-lover. So, if I had decided to pull out the weeds, I had to overturn the ground and grind them down to the very roots. So that this land could become a comfortable nest for me and my company.

"Mr. Speaker. Since the people to be culled have been roughly identified, I ask for your help."

"Are you sure there won't be any repercussions? Even so, if it’s too extreme, there’s a high possibility the federal ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠government will intervene."

"Don't worry. They will have no choice but to take our side."

A massive event was being prepared that would cause public opinion to explode, confirming that it was right to tighten the screws on the Dixies so they couldn't even breathe. Lincoln might not, but his aides would never leave the South alone. We would act in accordance with that timing.

Operation Mississippi Spring.

Building the justification was now Parrow’s job. I emphasize again, this was a name coined by Quitman and Parrow, not me. Not a coup, not a vendetta... yes, let’s call it self-defense.