The Kingdom
The next morning, John Brown set out for the Sett plantation, just as James Sett had instructed. Although he had told Kid that he was free to return to the North if he wished, Kid remained by John’s side, a loyal subordinate to the end.
As the two reached the entrance of the plantation, two Black slaves appeared as if on cue to greet them.
"I am Leo, a servant to Mr. James."
"I am Ben, the head field supervisor and security chief. Per Mr. James’s orders, I shall escort you inside."
Following the two men into the plantation, John stopped in his tracks, stunned by the sight that unfolded before him. The fields were in the midst of a thorough reorganization for the upcoming planting season. Dozens of slaves were plowing the earth, clearing away the remaining cotton stalks, and repairing old fences.
"Um... sir, look at that. Have Southern plantations ever worked like this before?"
As Kid whispered, the scene here was fundamentally different from any Southern plantation John had ever known. There were no shouts from overseers, no sound of whips cracking. In a serene silence, everything moved with mechanical precision. There was no wasted time, no unnecessary movement. It was a bizarre, surreal sight, as if a single, massive machine had come to life.
"There must have been immense exploitation to reach this point," John muttered.
What on earth did that devil believe in to challenge him to a wager? Did he not realize that showing off such a scene would only fuel his rage? 'Owen... my son, what hope did you see in this horrific spectacle that you fell for this devil's honeyed words?'
Chewing on his disgust, he arrived at the mansion to see a young man sitting on a chair on the veranda. He looked far too polished to be a devil, and gentlemanly enough to be a nobleman. But what caught John’s eye was the pitiful sight of his son, Owen, standing there like a condemned criminal with his head bowed low.
Prioritizing his son’s safety over James Sett, he rushed straight to him.
"Owen! Are you alright?"
Up close, his son’s face was a mess. His nose, in particular, was clearly broken.
"These barbarians dared to do this to my son's face!"
As John prepared to lash out, Owen hurriedly grabbed his father’s arm.
"N-no, Father! This injury happened when I was foolishly captured. Mr. Sett... he didn't lay a finger on me."
"W-what? Mr. Sett?"
Had he just used an honorific for this devil? Owen Brown, the son of John Brown and his most fervent comrade, of all people?
James, still seated in his chair, calmly tilted his glass and spoke.
"As you can see, I am a man of my word, Mr. Brown. If you wish, you may leave with your son right now. No one will stop you."
There was likely no lie in those words. But for John Brown, that fact only made him feel more irritated. He gripped his son’s shoulder and glared at James with burning eyes.
"Of course I will leave. But I won't go empty-handed. I will strip away your hypocritical mask for all the world to see, and I will tear your twisted convictions out by the roots before I depart."
"You sound much like your son."
"Debate, theological argument, whatever you like. I will crush you right here and now. Speak, what do you want!"
"It’s nothing much; I simply wish to know how strong your convictions truly are. But before that, I have a few questions. Shall we exchange them to better understand one another?"
Was he suggesting they fairly extract information from each other? Seeing no reason to refuse, John gave a slight nod.
"I have no curiosity about a wretch like you, but I will answer your questions."
"Then I shall begin. It is said you act with the noble purpose of liberating slaves—what will you do once you have liberated them?"
"What?"
"If you free them and release them into the North, is that the end of it? No, before that—if slavery were to disappear from this country, what do you think should become of the Black people?"
Was that all? It was the typical logic spewed by Southern planters. John had heard it so many times he was sick of it, so he scoffed and turned to his son.
"Owen, you fool! You fell for such pathetic logic!"
"F-Father... it’s not that..."
"Shut up, you idiot. James, your nonsense is nothing more than a typical red herring. Black people in the North are mostly poor and live hard lives. But! They are free. Compared to the slaves here who must work from dawn till dusk under the lash, they live lives far more human."
"Then, have you seen even one slave being whipped on your way here?"
"...You have treated them harshly with fear and violence to reach this state! The mere fact that they can live their lives by their own will makes the Black people of the North and South incomparable!"
Of course, his ultimate goal was to go further and build a new society without racial discrimination. But since that plan hadn't even taken its first steps, he didn't bother to mention it. In any case, a planter whose only thought was squeezing Black people dry could never understand the value of equality or freedom.
Contrary to John’s internal sneer, James nodded with a deadpan expression.
"Freedom—a fine word. But all humans are slaves to something. Just as you are a slave to your convictions, and as Leo and Ben here are my slaves. I, too, have yet to escape being a slave to something."
"What kind of wordplay is this..."
"But is the freedom enjoyed by Black people in the North truly freedom? The freedom to only work in specific job categories due to segregation? The freedom to be unable to go to a hospital even when sick? The freedom to be unable to enter a restaurant even if they have money? The freedom to be refused lodging at a hotel?"
"Even so! It means they are better off than those being overworked as slaves here."
Even if they live in abject poverty and suffer from discrimination, aren't they better off than slaves? Such discriminatory treatment would eventually improve if they just kept struggling, and struggling, and struggling until they died. Black people suffering from poverty and discrimination even after coming to the North? That was just a petty excuse clung to by Southern planters who didn't want to lose their privileges.
"Mr. Brown, I am not trying to persuade you; I simply wanted to hear your answer. In any case, you have no intention of having a 'conversation' with me. Now, I shall tell you the terms of our wager."
"...Fine. Say whatever you want."
"I will give you three days. Try persuading the slaves of my house yourself. If even five people come forward saying they want to follow you to the North, you win. If that happens, I will take responsibility and ensure those slaves can escape to the North. And I will acknowledge that your methods are superior to mine."
"You want me to personally persuade the slaves you dominate?"
"Lie if you wish. Of course, if you deceive the slaves with lies in such a wager, it would only mean that your convictions go no further than that."
Who would lie? Slaves would naturally cling to anyone and beg to be taken away if told they would be freed without having to do anything... which was why he couldn't understand this at all.
"What is your scheme? Have you already brainwashed all the slaves?"
"I will not interfere in the slightest. But if you fail to persuade even five people in three days despite all this, it would mean your wonderful convictions are not even understood by the slaves themselves, the very parties involved, wouldn't it?"
"I don't know what kind of confidence makes you propose such an absurd bet, but I accept. I will persuade as many slaves as possible and ruin you."
"I shall look forward to it. However, since they must work during the day, I will limit your time to persuade them to after-hours. Oh, and for the sake of fairness, you are forbidden from contacting my son for these three days. Please do the persuading alone."
James finished his drink with an insufferably relaxed attitude and left the room with Owen. Owen hesitated before bowing his head toward John before leaving.
John let out a deep sigh and decided to erase the pathetic image of his dim-witted son from his mind. Whatever the scheme, he had rarely seen a slave who refused true liberation. If he couldn't persuade even five out of the hundreds of slaves here, he should just give up on this work. He burned with the will to defeat James, staking all his convictions on it.
Thinking about it coldly, the very act of persuading slaves to leave a plantation was a ridiculous thing. John had initially expected James to have bound the slaves tightly with fear. Therefore, he had to approach them one by one after work and win the wager.
But the reality was different from his expectations.
"...Excuse me? You want us to go to the North together?"
"Yes. If you only wish it, you can come to the North with us and live the life of a free person. Not this life as a slave, but a person who can choose their own life..."
"But what would I do for a living if I go to the North?"
"That’s simple—you pick the job you want. Barber, dock worker, kitchen staff—there is an endless amount of work you can do!"
"Then, if I do that, will I have no trouble eating and living like I do now? Can I eat plenty of meat and drink plenty of alcohol once a month?"
What? Eat plenty of meat and drink alcohol?
Was this insane slave mocking him? Seeing the look of bewilderment on John’s face, the young slave sighed and shook his head.
"Sigh, forget it. Maybe in the past, but now, if I stay here, the master even pays for my treatment when I'm sick. If I go to the North, I'll probably just catch a disease and die."
"No, no, no. That is a far too narrow-minded way of thinking! Have you never thought that you want to be the master of your own life? Freedom! Live a free life and walk this land..."
"Look here, white teacher. That kind of freedom is something only you can enjoy. If we go to the North, can we live like you?"
He couldn't lie. He had the ambition to build a society where everyone was equal, but presenting a goal that hadn't even begun was a blatant lie.
This condition of 'persuasion' was trickier than expected. John couldn't answer, and the Black slave scoffed and walked into his quarters.
"So... James Sett, unlike the world's perception, you’ve bought the slaves' favor by treating them quite well. I see your aim. But it won't work."
He probably wanted to mock him, asking what right he had to free slaves who wanted to live like slaves themselves, right? But since he didn't know that fact now, they had just been slightly out of sync. If he persuaded them more meticulously, he could turn their hearts around.
However.
"N-no, I'm not going!"
Refusal.
"Leave this paradise and go to a Northern gutter? Do you think we're fools!"
Refusal again.
"Maybe half a year ago, but now, you couldn't drag me away even if you beat me to death."
A storm of consecutive refusals. Surprisingly, John Brown failed to persuade a single slave and was rejected 54 times in a row.
At first, he thought perhaps the Black people didn't properly understand the abstract value of freedom. He was a crank of his era who believed that Black and white people had no essential difference in intelligence, but he also knew well how ignorant an uneducated human could be.
So he tried changing his persuasion methods, offered incentives, and explained things as simply as possible. Yet, every result was a failure. On the second day, Tuesday, he couldn't even approach the slaves.
"Hey, you guys. Let's talk for a second..."
"Can't, can't. We have to practice for the JLB today."
"That's right, that's right. We have to do defensive training, so could you go somewhere else?"
"Defense? Why would you guys step up to do the defense that guards the plantation! That is clear evidence that you have been brainwashed! Wake up! Wake up and go to the North..."
"Ah, this guy is starting again. We have to do fungo, so get lost!"
Using incomprehensible terms like 'James Baseball,' the slaves split into teams as soon as work ended and began playing ball on the field. It was absurd that slaves were playing ball, but the most ridiculous thing was that James was watching their game from the mansion veranda, drinking beer and eating chicken. The female servants cheered for the players, everyone enjoying the game like a festival, and the matches only ended when the surroundings grew dark.
"Wow...! Did you see that? My walk-off hit! If it weren't for me, we would've gone into extra innings!"
"Are we in second place now? If we do well, the championship prize for the next dinner might be ours!"
"Hey, you guys. Come out and talk for a second. You guys want to come to the North..."
"Yeah, yeah, all good, but let's go wash up and sleep first. That way we can finish tomorrow's work on time."
The slaves who had enjoyed baseball to their hearts' content returned without a second thought, and surprisingly, no one paid any attention to John Brown.
"This can't be... to think he had enslaved their souls this thoroughly. A terrifying man..."
Feeling genuine crisis, John ran up to Ben, a sturdy Black man watching him from afar, and shouted.
"Why can't you understand! Become a free person! If you do not become a free person, you have no choice but to die as a slave!"
"Sigh... you really are a man who can't communicate. Don't you get it? There isn't a single slave here who will follow you, alright?"
"You dullard! Do you not have the heart to enjoy freedom? Do you not have the heart to walk and roam this vast land of the Union as you wish!"
"Is there anyone among the Black people in the North who can live as they wish like that? I heard there isn't?"
He was wrong. To persuade them, he had to give them assurance that the Black people in the North enjoyed significantly more than the slaves here. But that... couldn't possibly be true.
Coaxing them that if they left here and went to the North, they could eat, drink, laugh, and play as much as they did here—no matter how he thought about it, that was a lie.
"Was the condition to persuade them a trap itself?"
If persuasion wasn't the goal, he might have urged these slaves instead. You cowards, are you satisfied just living a comfortable life in a cozy place? Shouldn't you burn your lives to save even one more person, even if you die tomorrow?
No, to be honest, that was an excuse too. He had expected James to have something up his sleeve, but he had walked into the trap himself because he was certain he could refute it.
And now, crying that it was disadvantageous to fight on a battlefield favorable to the enemy was nothing but a pathetic excuse.
In the end, was he unable to tear down this fortress of hell built by that devil? Only then did John understand why his son had been broken. He had pledged to devote his entire life to slave liberation, but not a single one of these slaves would listen to his words. Even the great John Brown had felt a moment of doubt—a fleeting one—about whether a man who treated Black people so well could truly be an evil human being.
It must have been hard for his son Owen to endure this bizarre reality he had never experienced before.
Then why had James Sett proposed such a wager to him? To mock him for being an incompetent person who couldn't rescue even one soul from the slaves he had shackled? He had expected that at first, but as he continued to watch the atmosphere of the plantation, he began to think that might not be it.
Suddenly, James’s words, "In any case, you have no intention of having a 'conversation' with me," flashed through his mind.
"Well then, shall we hear the results?"
Exactly three days later.
"How many people want to leave with you?"
"One..."
"Oh, so you did persuade one person?"
"Not even one... was there."
172 proposals and 172 failures.
"I lost the wager."
It was a crushing defeat without even room for excuses.
"Before I leave... I want to have a talk."
On this day, for the first time in his life, John Brown requested a 'conversation' with a slave owner.