A Lucky Young Man

1865, spring.

The excitement surrounding the President’s poetry and the founding of America’s first commercial professional sports league had only just begun to settle when news of the Alaska purchase sent public opinion into another frenzy.

New York’s newspapers wasted no time in heaping praise on William Seward’s wise decision.

[State Department Triumph! Russia Expelled from the Continent Without ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Wasting a Single Cent!]

[Buying Northern Security with Southern Capital. This Is True Politics of Reconciliation.]

Northern citizens responded with even more colorful and gleeful reactions. Many had already been quietly irritated by a Southern-born entrepreneur strutting through the heart of New York, so when the government reached into his pockets to purchase the vast territory of Alaska, the sense of satisfaction was immense.

In contrast, reactions across Dixie Land burned with outrage.

[Northern Greed—Where Does It End? This Time It’s Corporate Extortion!]

[Dumping a Useless Frozen Wasteland for Six Million Dollars. Is This Reconciliation?]

Southern papers uniformly portrayed the purchase as the result of Republican blackmail, painting me as an unfortunate victim and stirring up sympathy.

This sharply divided wave of public opinion soon crashed against my doorstep. Ostensibly, the visitors came to congratulate my wife Cecilia on her pregnancy, but the true purpose of every Southern magnate who wore out my threshold was obvious.

“This is outrageous! No matter that we lost the war, to seize private property in such a manner!”

The first to vent his fury the moment he sat on the drawing-room sofa was Herschel Johnson, a heavyweight of the Southern Democrats. A lifelong federalist, he had suffered greatly during the war, which only made the Republicans’ current behavior feel like an even deeper betrayal.

Next to him, fanning the flames, was James Lawrence Orr, the rising star of the Southern Democrats.

“Senator Johnson is absolutely right. Six million dollars! With that sum we could rebuild the South’s ruined railroads several times over. Secretary Seward must be senile to treat not only Chairman Serget but the entire South as fools!”

The master of political chameleonism—federalist, then secessionist, then federalist again—Orr ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had now seamlessly repositioned himself as a fervent supporter of both Farrar and myself. Every line he delivered seemed crafted to flatter.

Chairman Farrar and Congressman Williams also clicked their tongues with grave expressions.

“We will formally raise this matter in Congress. This is blatant corporate intimidation.”

As the atmosphere grew heated, I set down my coffee cup and raised a hand.

“Everyone, please calm yourselves. There is no need to get so worked up.”

“Chairman, how can we not be angry? It’s six million dollars—six million!”

“I know. It is a painful expenditure.”

In truth, it was not. Once the New Bedford textile mills began generating full profits this year, six million dollars would be little more than pocket change. Still, there was no reason to reveal our coffers to these men.

I adopted a solemn expression and continued.

“But gentlemen, we must look further ahead. Have you seen Northern opinion? The moment I opened my wallet, their hostility visibly diminished. Consider it a fee for legitimacy.”

“A fee for legitimacy…?”

“The price of planting roots in Northern industry and ensuring that Southern capital can speak with authority in Washington.”

The North already believed I had surrendered every cent of profit earned from Boston back to the government. It was only proper to live up to that expectation.

“The administration and the Republicans now owe me a great debt. Because I shouldered this burden to protect their prestige, they will find it difficult to ignore our demands—mine and the South’s—when the time comes.”

A brief silence fell. This was no longer merely about money being taken. It was the story of James Serget, who loved the South so deeply that he willingly bore a six-million-dollar cross to elevate its voice.

Chairman Farrar, who knew me too well, twitched the corner of his mouth but did not break the narrative. Orr, ever the quickest to read the room, immediately changed tack.

“Oh…! We had no idea of such profound intent. To sacrifice so much for the South!”

“You flatter me. This is simply the extent of patriotism a businessman can manage.”

“No, this inspiring tale must be spread throughout the South. Our people deserve to know of Chairman Serget’s noble ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠decision and find hope!”

Yes. Spread it far and wide.

“Besides, it is not entirely a losing proposition. Secretary Seward has promised that Alaska holds abundant resources and profitable ventures, and that he will direct as many of those rights to me as possible.”

“Rights… you say?”

“Indeed. As a merchant, I must at least trust that promise and make the most of it.”

Herschel Johnson tilted his head.

“Well… Your abilities are known across the Union, but what could possibly exist in that frozen land? At best, a few seal pelts.”

“Precisely. If it were truly profitable, would Russia have sold it? The Tsar is no fool.”

Their reactions were cynical. From their perspective, no amount of calculation could make the territory viable. That very blind spot was what prevented Americans from grasping Alaska’s true value—and why Seward had been able to shower me with extravagant promises.

Logically, Russia would only have parted with the land after squeezing every last drop of profit from it. Therefore, I had merely pretended to be persuaded by Seward’s honeyed words, all in the name of serving the South and the future of the Union.

Certainly not for any personal gain.

Serget Cotton valued coexistence and shared prosperity above all else.

Most twenty-first-century people think of Alaska as a treasure trove of oil. Consequently, they assume nineteenth-century technology simply could not recognize its true worth. But that is not entirely accurate.

Even without oil or gold, Alaska was already a land where dollars rolled across the ground.

The profitable industries in Alaska were fur, coal, gold, and salmon—four sectors in total. Gold would remain at the placer-mining stage for now, useful mainly for improving public perception rather than immediate revenue. The mere rumor that gold was pouring out of the supposedly worthless Alaska would send prospectors flooding in and drive Serget Cotton’s stock price skyward.

With canning technology rapidly maturing, surplus Alaskan salmon could also generate respectable income, though that would be a medium- to long-term venture.

The immediate cash—the “real money”—lay elsewhere.

Leo, who had stayed up several nights analyzing the data at my instruction, could barely contain his excitement as he thrust a report at me.

“Chairman, you were right. We weren’t extorted at all!”

“Stop the theatrics and get to the point. What about furs and coal?”

“It’s not merely ‘promising.’ It’s like acquiring a printing press that mints dollars!”

Leo spread a map with slightly trembling hands.

In the nineteenth century, logistics were one of the keys to extracting wealth. Without them, Alaska had been a burden to the Russian Empire. To sell furs, they had to ship them all the way to St. Petersburg on the other side of the globe or traverse the trackless wastes of Siberia. Even the most valuable pelts could not offset such absurd transportation costs; eight-tenths of the margin vanished in shipping and provisions alone.

We, however, were different.

“It takes only two weeks to skin seals on the Pribilof Islands and deliver the pelts to San Francisco. From there, rail or ship to the London auction houses costs less than one-tenth of the Russian route.”

Top-grade seal pelts currently fetched ten to fifteen dollars each in London. After paying forty cents to the local natives and subtracting transport, each pelt still yielded over ten dollars in pure profit. At a conservative annual quota of one hundred thousand seals, that alone meant one million dollars—every year, for simply breathing.

“And as you predicted, Chairman, coal is also quite lucrative.”

Alaskan coal had lower calorific value and poor marketability. Shipped to San Francisco, it could not compete with British coal at twenty dollars per ton—the very reason Russia had abandoned mining there.

“But what if we don’t sell it? What if we use it ourselves?”

“Exactly. If our Pacific fleet refuels with essentially free coal from Alaska, our annual fuel costs will plummet. Based on current San Francisco coal prices, we stand to save at least 1.2 million dollars per year.”

Cost reduction was profit. One million from furs plus 1.2 million from self-consumed coal totaled 2.2 million dollars annually. Adding ice exports and minor revenues brought the figure close to three million.

An investment of 6.2 million dollars? The principal would be recovered in two years—three at most—after which millions in cash would flow in every year. Even these figures were conservative; Leo’s eyes were understandably wide.

“And… there is one more thing.”

“What is it?”

“According to the latest telegram from the survey team, significant placer gold has been found along the rivers near Juneau. They haven’t located a major vein yet, but even skimming the riverbeds more than covers labor costs.”

Gold.

The word carried power beyond mere revenue. The rumor that “gold is pouring out of Alaska” could now be deployed as a genuine catalyst to drive up stock prices.

I feigned surprise and reached for a pen. Such joyous news could not remain mine alone.

“Leo, would you bring me some writing paper?”

“To whom are you writing?”

“Who else? I must express my gratitude to the Secretary of State who so generously gifted us this splendid opportunity.”

Every letter would serve as evidence, so it deserved careful craftsmanship. I dipped the pen in ink and began writing to William Seward.

Later, should anyone question how I came to monopolize these rights, I would have a ready answer. Who proposed buying Alaska? Secretary Seward. Who promised massive concessions in exchange for purchasing the bonds? Secretary Seward.

Ah, truly, no one thought like a business partner the way Secretary Seward did. I decided to graciously attribute all this glory to the man who would soon become the next President of the United States.