The Debut Stage
February 1857.
James Clinic, the talk of the town in Mississippi, finally opened its doors.
With certified doctors from the MSMA providing care and a separate wing exclusively for white patients, there was no need for them to share facilities with the Black population.
The response was nothing short of explosive.
"Wait, this is a hospital?"
"Why is it so clean? Then what on earth were the hospitals I've been going to all this time?"
"It’s even cheap, too!"
Since the primary purpose of James Clinic was to serve as a product designed for James's image laundering, it was a brave new world for the impoverished white population.
They had always endured their illnesses due to the exorbitant cost of medical care, but now, they could finally receive treatment in a place that actually looked the part.
Furthermore, following James's policy, the MSMA doctors wore clean white coats as a symbol of their profession.
The hospital facilities were always spotless, and the doctors themselves were the very definition of cleanliness; it was inevitable that they would be compared favorably to other hospitals.
This place is different.
It feels like just coming here is enough to cure you.
Because they had previously seen doctors walking around wearing blood-stained coats like badges of honor, the contrast made the impression even more intense.
It wasn't just an image; the patients' prognoses were genuinely improving.
"Is it just my imagination? It feels like patients recover much faster here than when we treat them elsewhere. Am I the only one who feels that way?"
"I feel the same. Could the secret really be maintaining such clean facilities?"
"Clean environment, clean air... it certainly makes sense."
Even though it hadn't been long since they started operations, the reputation of James Clinic and the MSMA was on an endless upward trajectory in Mississippi.
And naturally, among the slaves who were enjoying the greatest benefits of the hospital, James was becoming something more than a master—he was becoming something akin to a deity.
At the same time, Leo, who was practically James's secretary, was tasked with the heavy responsibility of auditing his security protocols.
"Sara, you understand, right? The safest place for Master is the mansion, but the hospital is unpredictable. Someone could disguise themselves as a patient and ambush Master when he makes his rounds."
"Yes, that’s why at least one nurse is always accompanying Master. If an unforeseen situation arises, I’ll throw myself in the way to stop it."
Protecting James Sett wasn't just for his own sake.
It was for every brother, sister, and compatriot on this plantation.
Sara had already resolved to give her life for James the moment he ensured she wouldn't be separated from her son, Toby.
In truth, this wasn't just Sara's private thought.
While all the slaves held immense loyalty toward James, the ones who harbored feelings bordering on fanatical faith were, unexpectedly, the women.
To be precise, the mothers.
Every parent shares the desire to leave a better life for their children.
To them, James and the existence of this plantation were the only means to provide a better life for their children.
It wasn't an exaggeration; because it was truly their only means, their loyalty was beyond imagination.
"And Leo, the nurses are already sharing information perfectly, and we are checking every single patient who seems even slightly suspicious."
"Then that’s a relief. Master puts so much effort into this hospital and visits so often, so we have to be even more diligent with our defenses."
"Yes. Master seems to truly sympathize with those suffering from serious illnesses. It’s as if he has experienced a great sickness himself in the past."
"...As far as I know, Master has been the picture of health since he was a child?"
"Then it must be his innate, kind nature. Ah... truly, our Master."
How could someone who doesn't even know the pain of illness have such a broad heart?
Of course, that must be why he empathizes with the suffering of the slaves and created such a wonderful system.
Having accumulated another stack of sweet delusions today, they held a revival meeting among themselves and cheered for the Master.
Nevertheless, having already become professionals, they did not forget their duties.
"Anyway, the security system for the hospital and the plantation is perfect, but there’s no guarantee that the Brown incident won't repeat itself. I think we need to share information more actively and refine our security protocols."
"I agree with you."
"So, I discussed it with Ben, and it doesn't look good for us to make it obvious that we are on guard. Even when we caught Owen Brown, it wasn't because we were actively looking for him beforehand."
John Brown had become Master's business partner, but who was to say a second Brown wouldn't appear?
It would be nice if there were a way to be more certain, but as slaves, there were limits.
After all, if it were discovered that the slaves were forming a vigilante group among themselves, the authorities would undoubtedly disband them immediately.
"Then how do we catch suspicious people without being on guard?"
"It’s surprisingly not difficult. Those who intend to harm Master are like Mr. Brown—they are fueled by the conviction that they are 'saving' Black people. They usually assume we are dominated by fear."
"Ah, that makes sense. Owen and John both assumed that we would naturally be that way."
"Exactly. So, if we don't show that we are tense, they won't suspect us much. If we pretend to be friendly to outsiders while probing them, it’ll work every time."
Judging by the behavior of the white men they had observed so far, this was beyond doubt.
Most of those who came to assassinate James would have heard of his 'infamy,' so they just needed to approach them by pretending to ask for help.
Surveillance must be tight, but the approach must be loose.
No one would be allowed to shake the foundations of this paradise.
The security system of the Sett plantation and the hospital was improving day by day.
"So, you just let John Brown go?"
"Of course I had to let him go. He’s a man who will play an important role in growing my assets in the future."
Kate, having heard of the previous John Brown raid, sighed and shook her head.
"I know you spread that infamy on purpose, but you still need to be careful. There’s no guarantee that someone like that won't crawl back, is there?"
"I’m well aware. Of course, I have countermeasures in place."
"That’s a relief, but... come to think of it, don't you have to go to the inauguration soon? Washington D.C. isn't exactly a short trip from here, so I'm worried."
"I told you, it’s fine. I’m a celebrity in Mississippi, but in the capital, I’m just a young guy with some money. If they’re going to assassinate someone, they’ll target people like Buchanan or Breckinridge."
"Hmm... I suppose you're right. The list of attendees is quite impressive."
Exactly one month before the inauguration.
Breckinridge had sent me the invitation to the presidential inauguration as promised.
The date was March 4th, and the location was, naturally, Washington D.C.
It was laughable to think that the future leaders of a rebellion would all be gathering in the capital of the United States, but since the invitation had arrived, I couldn't exactly refuse.
I discussed the upcoming schedule with Kate, asking her to handle the bare minimum of management while I was away.
"Most of the attendees are planning to stay at the National Hotel in Washington. Since slavery is legal in Washington, I’m planning to take Leo and Sam with me."
"Why don't you take one more sturdy guard, just in case? There will be so many high-profile people there that nothing should happen, but... wait? If it's the National Hotel, isn't that the place? The one where cases of dysentery have been exploding over the last few months."
"What? That happened at the hotel where the President and Vice President-elect are staying? Surely not..."
"I'm telling you, it’s true! I saw it in the newspaper. Wait a second."
Kate quickly stood up and brought a newspaper from the room.
"Look at this, it’s the National Hotel, isn't it?"
"...You're right."
The words 'Washington D.C.' and 'National Hotel' were printed very clearly in the paper.
My god, such a massive disaster is unfolding, and they’re still going to have the President and Vice President stay there?
I thought I had already seen the bottom of 19th-century America, but I realized once again that there was a basement beneath the bottom.
"I've been so busy lately that I must have missed checking this. Thank you."
"Don't mention it. You be careful too. If you happen to catch that disease there, your slaves might just burn the National Hotel to the ground. Seeing them lately, I really think they might."
It’s true; looking at them lately, I don't feel like the owner of the Sett plantation anymore—I feel like the founding cult leader of the Sett Church.
To prevent my followers from burning down the hotel in a fit of madness, I needed to clarify the nature of the strange rumors surrounding the National Hotel.
As soon as I returned to the mansion, I requested detailed data on the National Hotel from the authorities.
How many guests had fallen ill, and what were the exact symptoms?
After reviewing everything, I felt in my bones just how dreadfully incompetent the medical standards of the 19th century were.
- Total victims so far: over 200, with 14 deaths.
- Symptoms: acute diarrhea, abdominal pain, cramps, vomiting, dehydration, and weakness. Some cases progressed to severe complications after suffering from enteritis.
"Poison, my foot. This is just waterborne dysentery."
Considering the scale of the victims and the symptoms, even to someone who isn't a medical expert like me, the cause is obvious.
There is clearly a problem with the hotel's water and sewage system.
Either sewage has leaked into the old water pipes, or rats have defecated in the water tank. It has to be one of the two.
And this is the premier hotel in the capital, the place where the highest-ranking government officials are meant to stay?
My heart feels less like it’s shrinking and more like it’s being crushed.
However, aside from how pathetic it is, the fact that I can easily identify the cause of the strange illness is not a bad thing for me.
After all, why was I invited to the inauguration?
Because unlike the hypocrites of the North, I am a kind-hearted planter who provides medical care not only to Black people but to poor white people as well.
I was already planning to use the inauguration to grandly promote myself and my businesses, and now, the perfect bait has rolled right into my lap.
Where else in the world could you find a better promotional opportunity?
Besides, if Buchanan doesn't have to deliver his inauguration speech while suffering from diarrhea and looking pale, I’ll be doing the President himself a favor, effectively putting him in my debt.
James Clinic, time to push it, right?
"Leo, call Dr. Geddes. It seems I’ll need him to accompany me to the capital. And instruct them to boil the drinking water and store it in sealed wooden barrels for long-term use."
"Yes. I will take care of it immediately."
"Oh, and after the inauguration, I’m going straight to New York. Since I’m already going up there, I need to grease the wheels so my new businesses can grow rapidly."
"Yes! I will make sure every preparation is made for a comfortable and safe journey!"
"Oh, and one last thing, really. Make sure to pack plenty of salt and sugar."
Operation: Protect the President's Toilet.
The beginning may be humble, but the end shall be magnificent.
Among all the businesses I’m running, the hospital side was showing signs of being the first to hit the jackpot.