The Darkness of the United States
Europe, struck by the economic panic that originated in the United States, quickly moved to prepare countermeasures.
The Palmerston cabinet in Britain recognized the gravity of the situation and immediately convened a meeting to take special measures.
“The current problem is that bank liquidity has dried up. Unless we can print more currency, which we cannot do due to a lack of gold reserves, it is difficult to overcome this crisis no matter what we do.”
“Those barbaric Americans, anyway. What on earth were they thinking, inflating a bubble so thoughtlessly…”
“That’s just what second-rate powers that try to imitate Europe do.”
Perhaps because they were colonial in origin, the things Americans did always seemed clumsy. Until this point, the great powers of Europe, including Britain, had viewed the United States as nothing more than a bunch of lacking bumpkins, so their reactions to this event were mostly similar.
Those fools had once again acted beyond their means and caused trouble.
For Palmerston, who had risen from Foreign Secretary to the position of Prime Minister, this was an extremely unpleasant situation. He was already suffering from a headache due to the Sepoy Mutiny in India, and now he was annoyed that an unexpected economic turmoil was putting the brakes on everything.
It was never a good sign for banks to be wailing when he should have been beating the ignorant Qing Dynasty into submission and extracting as much profit as possible.
“Let us temporarily suspend the Bank Charter Act.”
“…Pardon?”
“Let us print money for now and get past this crisis. If we can just confirm that there is no risk of banks going bankrupt, the chaos will soon subside. In economics, what matters is credit.”
The chaos currently unfolding in Britain was due to the anxiety that banks might be at risk. Indeed, as soon as the Borough Bank of Liverpool went bankrupt, countless people rushed to the banks, demanding their money back, which in turn left the banks in a state of liquidity shortage.
Currently, Britain had been unable to print pounds beyond its gold reserves since 1844 due to the Bank Charter Act.
Palmerston intended to temporarily suspend this law and drastically increase liquidity supply to overcome the crisis. Although his policy was to believe in free trade, there were times when quick prescriptions were necessary in a crisis.
Britain was demonstrating the coping ability of the world’s greatest power, attempting to quickly quell the chaos. On the other hand, the government of the United States, which had caused this crisis, was literally:
“Doing nothing is the best prescription. All we need to do is reduce the federal government’s budget!”
Whether the economy was going to hell or not, they were doing absolutely nothing.
“Why should the government be held responsible for an economic crisis caused by the people living extravagant lives in the first place?”
“This is all just a smear campaign by the Republican Party!”
More than now, more intensely, they would do absolutely nothing.
Buchanan was showing with his entire being why he was the worst president in American history, further deepening the economic crisis.
It was only his first year in office.
The fact that there were more than three years left until Buchanan’s term ended was nothing short of shock and horror.
Around the time when companies were going bankrupt every day, banks were closing their doors one by one each week, and funerals were being held in succession across the North.
Conversely, Natchez, Mississippi, was in a festive mood everywhere.
The planters, who loved parties more than anyone else in America, were busy preparing congratulatory gifts and were excited at the prospect of enjoying the banquet. It was only natural, as James Sett’s birthday was approaching.
The planters, who aimed for a life like European aristocrats, placed a great deal of importance on honor in their own way. So, they were preparing a banquet with the conclusion of, “Let’s throw a magnificent party for Sett, who has devoted himself to us so far…”
“Oh! What day is it today? To think they would give us such scraps of meat!”
“They say it’s the birthday of James Sett of Natchez. I heard that all the planters of the horse racing club have joined forces to throw a grand birthday celebration.”
“Wow! So that’s why we get to enjoy such luxury.”
“They say the North is starving right now because of the economic crisis, but they should work hard and sweat like us. Tsk tsk.”
The club’s planters deliberately increased the scale of the party to show that they were on a different level from the North, which was in mourning due to the economic crisis. The streets were packed with people distributing scraps of meat and bread to ordinary white farmers, drinking alcohol, and singing songs from the middle of the day.
Since the harvest season was almost over, the slaves on the farms were also given extensive rest time. This was because a large-scale party was scheduled for the evening, where the core of Mississippi—the planters and politicians—would gather to enjoy themselves.
“Anyway, he really is an amazing person. How can his birthday be so coincidental?”
“That’s what I’m saying. Anyway, thanks to him, we get to eat meat and drink alcohol, so isn’t that good?”
As the entire Natchez area became a festive atmosphere, the heat of the birthday party continued to burn fiercely.
If the atmosphere on the streets, which had little to do with James, was like this, what would the atmosphere on the farm be like, where they prided themselves on respecting him more than anyone else?
Naturally, they had been secretly planning an event for days, waiting only for this day.
“Everyone, listen carefully. The Master plans to go to the party hosted by the horse racing club members in the evening. So, the only time we can have a surprise event is at lunchtime.”
“Then we don’t have much time.”
“Yeah, yeah. And since we have to practice only when the Master is away from the farm, it will be tighter than we thought.”
For more than half a month, under Leo’s leadership, a surprise celebration event to commemorate the Master’s birthday had been planned at the Sett farm.
The goal was one.
To prove their loyalty by showing a performance that would make the Master fall backward in surprise.
However, since they were trying to push the work forward without anyone’s help, there were one or two things that were difficult.
“I heard that when those soldiers march, they pass by with their lines perfectly aligned. I think it would be good if we did something like that too. We are the Master’s personal guard, after all.”
“Oh! That sounds good. Moving in perfect order is our specialty, so we should be able to adapt easily.”
“And what was it. Don’t white people make a loud noise and explode something to celebrate when a high-ranking person arrives? I think it would be good if we did something like that too?”
“Ah, what was that called? A salute?”
They wanted to do it in a cool and luxurious way in their own way, but in fact, you have to know what to do and how to do it to organize such things. But what could people who had only farmed cotton on a farm their whole lives know?
Naturally, everyone’s expectations were focused on Leo, who had traveled to many places with James, and Leo had no choice but to spill out everything he had seen and heard haphazardly.
“I think it’s a salute? I saw them bring some cannons or guns and fire them off…”
“They fire guns? No, that’s dangerous…”
“Wouldn’t they be firing into the air so no one gets hit?”
“Still, to waste those precious bullets just to celebrate… white people must have plenty of supplies.”
“Anyway, even if they fire into the air, someone could get hurt if they make a mistake… I guess that’s why grueling training is necessary.”
Some strange misunderstanding spread, but unfortunately, there was no one here who could correct this misconception.
“Good! Then we will fire a salute to celebrate the Master’s birthday too!”
“But even if we have permission to use firearms, is it okay to waste bullets like that?”
“We can just deduct that much from our supplies. We are all joining forces to celebrate the Master.”
They would have to go through grueling training, but it didn’t matter. They would create a stage that would remain in the Master’s memory forever.
The eyes of the Black men burned with passion and expectation.
[Congratulations on the birthday of James Sett, the genius born and raised in Mississippi, the pride of Natchez!]
The party atmosphere, which had been noisy since the morning, showed no signs of dying down even though the sun was high in the sky; it was burning even hotter.
I wondered if my stamina would hold up if it continued like this until the evening, but considering the current atmosphere in Mississippi, it was clear that things would go even crazier in the evening.
From the governor to senators, representatives, and the great planters.
My birthday was just an excuse, and they were desperate to show that they were not affected by this panic at all.
How should I put it?
Shouldn’t this be seen as a declaration of victory by the South, which was triumphant about having won the systemic competition?
I spent a hectic day walking around the farm from the morning, greeting nearby residents, and welcoming visitors while exchanging well-wishes.
Just as my stamina was on the verge of exhaustion, even though it was only lunchtime.
“Master, I think you should go to the baseball field for a moment.”
“What? Why?”
“I think you need to see it, Master. Something has gone wrong…”
“What is it? What on earth happened?”
Seeing Leo’s face, which was stiff unlike usual, it was clear that something had gone wrong. Did someone get seriously hurt? If that were the case, they would have taken them to the hospital rather than the baseball field… perhaps these guys had gotten into a fight while playing baseball.
I walked quickly to the baseball field deep in the farm, but there was nothing particularly suspicious.
No, the sight of the farm workers gathered in a line and taking strange poses was suspicious enough.
“…What? What are you trying to do here?”
Is this, by any chance, that? A surprise?
Sure enough, Leo, who had been behind me, ran over and stood at the very front of the workers who were lined up, raising his voice.
“Everyone, attention! Salute to celebrate the Master’s birthday!”
“Long live James Sett!”
“Glory to the Sett farm!”
Clack! Clack-clack!
Whose idea was it? The Black men clicked their heels together with a thud and raised their right hands high into the sky.
Fortunately, they didn’t stretch their fingers out but raised their clenched fists, so I could breathe a sigh of relief.
Yes, yes. Please never stretch your fingers out in the future.
Although I was briefly startled by the sudden unexpected action, seeing everyone move in perfect unison like one body, it was clear they had practiced quite a bit in advance.
Considering they planned this event voluntarily rather than being told to do so, it was quite admirable.
“Next, to celebrate the Master’s birthday! Fire the salute!”
“Execute!”
Hmm? A salute? Had I ever brought blank cartridges or ceremonial shells to the farm?
Before I could even voice that question, the muzzles of the self-proclaimed Sett personal guard, who had been granted permission to use firearms, all pointed toward the sky together.
And.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-bang!
“Aaaaaah! What are you crazy people doing!”
Smoke erupted from the muzzles, and sharp bullets tore through the air and disappeared far above.
I’ve lived a long life, but to receive a live-fire birthday salute… I’ve really lived a long time. It was absurd beyond words. But once I experienced it, my heart was pounding… and it was strangely exhilarating?
So this is why dictators love these kinds of events.
I looked at my crazy… no, my reliable slaves who had planned such a cute event with a newly excited heart.
“Hahaha! You guys. Yes, if you are the proud workers of this Sett farm, you should be able to do at least this much!”
The guys, who had been puzzled by my reaction which was initially flustered, let out cheers of joy.
“Happy birthday!”
“Please stay healthy!”
“You must live a long, long time!”
I don’t know if it’s because it’s my birthday or because I received such sincere congratulations and cheers. I launched into a return speech, possessed by the spirit of a principal rather than a farm owner, with a heart full of excitement.
“Yes, it is good to see your bright faces. It is my wish to spend my birthday happily with you for the next birthday and the one after that. So, don’t get sick, and I hope you will continue to contribute to the profits of my farm so that we can keep holding festivals like this! Do you understand?”
“Yes! We will work with all our might!”
“Who will earn money for me if you die, you stupid guys. Do your best without damaging your health!”
“Yes!”
“We will do our best without working with all our might!”
“Master! Then please continue to enjoy! The dance of the personal guard we have prepared!”
Afterward, Leo showed me the military parade they had prepared, completely stealing my mind and soul. While I was enjoying the most hectic birthday of my entire life, a guest I had never expected or anticipated visited the farm secretly.
“Mr. Sett, have you been well?”
“Look who it is. It’s our baseball supply manager, isn’t it? What brings you all the way here?”
My friend, the son of John Brown, who was carrying out the holy mission of spreading baseball across the United States to raise the human rights of Black people.
Owen Brown took off his hat, gasping for air.
Did he really come all the way down here from the North just to celebrate my birthday? If so, that’s quite touching.
“Mr. Sett, I heard it was your birthday. First of all, congratulations, and I am sorry to inform you of bad news on such a happy day.”
“…Bad news?”
“My father is in a difficult situation right now. He desperately needs Mr. Sett’s help. Please, help us.”
What kind of accident did that man cause again for his son to come down and beg for help? Did you kill another slave owner, John Brown?
“What on earth happened? Let’s hear it first.”
“There was a man named Will among the slaves who escaped from Cedar Grove. He was a friend who longed for freedom more than anyone else… but I heard he was caught in Boston?”
“…Huh?”
A slave involved in the overseer murder case escaped and was caught? I leaned back on the sofa and sighed without realizing it.
That’s a death sentence.