The Romance of the 19th Century
It was certainly a blessing to have acquired past knowledge through James’s memories, but there were still limitations.
For instance, the "common sense" in my head was still calibrated to the 21st century, so I couldn't help but be shocked whenever I encountered the averages of this era.
The America I envisioned was a nation densely packed with a nationwide railway network, but in reality, there was no such thing as a direct train from Natchez, Mississippi, to Bloomington.
Because of this, I first had to travel by steamboat to St. Louis for about four days, then transfer to a train and ride for another eight hours.
Just looking at this fragmented story, don't you get the general idea?
Compared to the North, the 19th-century South was incomparable not only in industry but even in its transportation infrastructure.
They were only thinking about expanding cotton fields, squeezing the slaves to increase production, and selling it all over the world.
The astonishing humanitarianism of 19th-century America didn't end there.
"Mr. James Sett, Mrs. Kate Minor. Your first-class tickets have been confirmed. We wish you a pleasant journey, and please leave your slaves by the cargo hold."
"...Oh."
They weren't even asking me to put them in the cargo hold; they were telling me to just drop them off there. They were truly trying hard to treat them thoroughly as objects, not humans.
The personal servants Kate and I brought along were Leo, who served me; Ann, Kate's maid; and Sam, who would manage our luggage—a total of three.
Since it was something they experienced all the time, the three of them calmly carried the luggage and headed below deck.
Watching that didn't make me feel very good.
It wasn't because I had some grand sense of human rights. Isn't it just ridiculous to see people desperately self-hypnotizing themselves into believing that beings who can clearly hear, see, and speak are just objects?
Of course, I wasn't such a fool as to show that and draw unwanted attention, so I politely gave the manager a heads-up.
"Our travel itinerary is a grueling march from St. Louis to Bloomington, and then all the way up to New York. If our slaves happen to get sick, it becomes our burden, so please secure a space where they can stay comfortably."
Along with those words, I slipped him a one-dollar silver coin.
In this era, one dollar was about the daily wage of an average laborer.
At the generous tip, the sailor’s mouth stretched into a wide grin, and he bowed his head respectfully.
"Don't worry, sir. I will certainly ensure a space where your slaves can stretch their legs and rest so that your schedule remains pleasant."
"Thank you. Thanks to your kindness, I feel great from the start of our trip."
This is the social survival skill of a "dirt spoon" who achieved a high-speed promotion in a major corporation's HR team.
In reality, if the slaves serving me personally fell into poor condition, it would be the master's loss, so my actions weren't logically wrong.
I said goodbye to Kate, telling her to get some rest, and went into my own room.
Even though it was the 19th century, the first-class cabins of this era were equipped with beds, glass windows, washbasins, and even basic heating facilities.
I lay on the bed and reviewed our future schedule once more.
No matter how much I racked my brain, the downfall of this barbaric neighborhood was simply a historical inevitability.
Then, how should I, who was at least a tribal chief-level figure in this neighborhood of barbarians, conduct myself to navigate the rest of my life well?
Should I talk my way into making the South reconcile with the North?
"Everyone! Slavery is a barbaric institution, and among the great white nations, only our America maintains it! We must stop slavery!"
"Oh... we were committing such wicked deeds. Let us all repent! From now on, the blacks are free!"
...There is no way such a thing would happen.
If it were that easy, one of the American politicians would have surely handled it already.
In the first place, slavery being maintained in the South wasn't simply because Southerners were rotten to the core.
Slavery was an essential condition for maintaining Southern society, which was engaged in large-scale plantation agriculture, including cotton.
It wasn't just about the economy.
To be blunt, how many people in the South actually owned slaves?
Judging by the knowledge stored in James’s memories, white people who owned slaves in the South were only about 20 to 25 percent.
And planters who owned 20 or more slaves were a mere 1 to 2 percent, and owners of large plantations with 100 or more slaves were at a level of barely 0.1 percent.
In other words, the vast majority of white people living in America didn't own slaves, yet they were shouting, "We can't lose slavery!" and "Defend slavery at all costs!"
The biggest reason for this was the atmosphere created to maintain the social order of the South.
The ruling class of the South constantly instilled pride in ordinary white laborers and farmers, telling them, "Even if you are poor, you are still far superior white people compared to those inferior slaves."
And because they were white, they could dream of the hope that even if they were poor now, they might one day live a wealthy life with slaves of their own.
But what if slavery were abolished here and those black people became free citizens equal to them?
It was natural for those who had nothing to show for themselves but their status as white people to tremble in fear that they might become inferior beings like the blacks.
It was something they couldn't tolerate, and shouldn't tolerate.
Therefore, if I stepped forward rashly, I might be branded a traitor and lynched by angry Southern brothers.
Five years until the Civil War breaks out.
Within those five years, I have to inflate my capital as much as possible and use the majority of that capital to purchase financial assets or factories in the North.
The point is that I must never reduce the number of farms and slaves in the South.
If I show any signs of clearing out the farms, it's obvious I'll be suspected of, "You bastard! You're trying to betray us and run to the North, aren't you?"
I'll have to appropriately build connections with politicians on both sides so I don't get on the bad side of either the North or the South.
I also need to secure a means to ensure the safety of myself and my family when the war breaks out.
To do that, what I need to do is...
"James, they say it's mealtime, so let's go out and eat."
"Yeah. I'll be right out."
Let's fill my stomach first and then think.
For me, who lived in the hospital without even being able to eat, surviving only on IV fluids, a proper meal was both a blessing and a cause for gratitude, so I had to treat it with reverence.
And, if you're hungry, your brain doesn't work either.
"Ohhh! The eldest son of the Sett family has grown up so wonderfully!"
"We've been wanting to see you so much, and now we can finally be together! Nice to meet you!"
"Nice to meet you, James Sett!"
About four days from Mississippi to St. Louis.
And about eight hours by rail from St. Louis to Bloomington.
After a journey that was long if you called it long and short if you called it short, we were greeted enthusiastically by our colleagues as soon as we arrived in Bloomington.
Naturally, the members of the gathering were radical pro-slavery advocates who had gathered in opposition to the founding of the Republican Party.
Therefore, owners of large plantations like me, who had hundreds of slaves, were very naturally pushed forward as the central figures of the gathering.
"Mr. Sett, did you see it on your way here? They say this damn state has a law where you have to pay a 50-dollar fine if you stay for more than 10 days with black slaves in tow, right?"
"Ah, yes, that was the case. So I wrote a pledge that I would only stay for two days and then leave."
"Tsk, that's how it is. Look. This is the wicked and horrific true heart of those Northern bastards. They are trying to make this entire territory a world without slaves."
I wanted to ask what part of that goal was horrific, but let's hold back.
Because I am currently in the position of having to wear the mask of James Sett, the slave king of Mississippi.
Who knew that the path of my past life, where I killed all private emotions and focused thoroughly on work, would be this helpful?
I gave a cynical smile and nodded appropriately at the noisy Dixies who were chirping away.
Ah, for reference, the title "Dixie" at this time was a title that was just beginning to spread little by little in the South; it wasn't a derogatory term, but a very proud and affectionate identity of the South itself.
So, let's call them that to our heart's content. Of course, I had no intention of calling them that.
Anyway, having arrived at the Pike House with these noisy people, I called the manager to check in.
The manager, holding a thick guest register, bowed politely and flipped through the names of Kate and me.
"James Sett and Kate Minor, yes. Confirmed. According to the Bloomington commercial ordinance, black people cannot stay at this hotel. So I will guide you to the storage room in the basement."
"No, can't we just book a separate room and have them stay there?"
"No. As I said, according to the ordinance, people of color cannot stay at this hotel."
What? They talk about how slavery is bad and call Southerners barbarians, but these bastards were no different.
"I have an important transaction in New York in a few days, so if my servants stay in a filthy place and pass some disease to me, will the hotel take responsibility?"
"Hmm... I will clean the basement as neatly as possible. Please understand with that."
It wasn't even a hotel rule, but an ordinance was stuck in there, so what more could I say?
I agreed to go down myself later to check the cleanliness of the basement before sending the servants down.
Up to this point, it was still bearable.
My dissatisfaction, which had been accumulating small annoyances, finally exploded in front of the high-end restaurant where we were scheduled to eat.
"I apologize, sir. People of color cannot enter our restaurant."
"...Why?"
"Because I don't particularly like the n-words. And our regular customers don't like it when people of color are present. Anyway, the restaurants around here will all be similar."
"No, then does that mean we can't even bring our servants into any restaurant in the vicinity?"
"Hmm... I suppose so? Since white gentlemen with economic power mainly come to this area. Black people, well..."
The restaurant owner looked at the black servants lined up behind me and the Dixies, and his brow furrowed slightly.
"Shouldn't you find another place where there are no customers who would protest?"
Southerners, I'm sorry for cursing only you too much.
Well, even if they fight amongst themselves, they're all Americans in the end, so how different could they be?
I knew through knowledge that the North didn't treat blacks well either, even if they had abolished slavery.
But experiencing it directly like this, doesn't it really hit home how deep the humanitarianism of our 19th-century American brothers is?
Of course, I, James Sett, the pride of the South and the leader of black oppression, should just let this pass... wait, hold on.
I remembered.
A brilliant move to relieve this subtle annoyance while simultaneously earning the praise of the Southern Dixies.
"Owner, what is the daily revenue of this restaurant usually?"
"Yes? Well, if we sell food and alcohol all day... in terms of revenue, it would be about 60 dollars."
As soon as he finished speaking, I took 150 dollars out of my pocket and held it out in front of the owner.
"I'll rent it until you close today. Any objections?"
The owner looked back and forth between us and the money in my hand, cleared his throat, and quickly took the money.
"Ahem, then I'll have to write outside that we can't take other customers today due to circumstances. Hehehe."
The owner, who until just a moment ago had been glaring with eyes asking where a black person dared to enter his restaurant, hummed a tune and went inside.
I turned back to Kate, who was watching this scene with curiosity, and the Dixies, who couldn't hide their absurdity.
"Did you see? The conviction of the Northerners is at a level that snaps like a reed if you just hand them a few dollars like this."
"Ahhh~! So that's what it was! They mocked us as barbarians for abolishing slavery, but they were actually hypocrites who didn't want to mingle with blacks themselves, and you poked at that properly."
"Of course, of course. Compared to humans who say they don't even want to eat with them in a restaurant, aren't we, who at least provide a seat, much more noble people? Hahaha!"
Yeah, no. They're happy just because I catered to their whims for a moment.
No matter what, compared to you guys, they are at least a tiny bit better.
It's just that my life is legendary, having to compare who is better between shit and diarrhea.
If I had only owned 10 or 20 slaves, I could have just quietly switched to the North, but in any society, only those who have to be symbols like me suffer.
But why is it?
Since the situation was this shitty, I felt a sense of stubbornness rising up.
Yeah. Five years until the war breaks out.
Screw it, can't I just change the environment surrounding me during that time? By any means necessary.