The Slave Debate (2)
The atmosphere grew strangely heavy, and a thick silence settled over the room.
I took a sip of lukewarm water, and Lincoln didn't open his mouth for a long time.
To be precise, it would be more accurate to say he was gauging the intent behind my words.
“The Democratic Party wants Will executed, don't they? Are you saying you'll cover up the truth even while knowing that?”
“If you look at Duncan Skinner's track record, you'll see it's nothing more than a natural death. Even if it hadn't been Will, someone else would have inevitably done the same thing.”
“That may be true, but... you certainly seem to be cut from a different cloth than the mainstream of the Democratic Party.”
“Didn't I tell you when we first met? That slavery cannot persist and should not persist.”
After a moment of contemplation, Lincoln gave a wry smile and tilted his head.
“However, our party's principle is to ensure that cases like Anthony Burns do not happen again. Isn't returning Will to your plantation a defeat for us?”
“It is a far better outcome than being branded as defenders of a murderer. In the current climate, you might win the House election even if the Senate race is uncertain, and I trust you wouldn't want to squander this golden opportunity.”
“...That is true.”
“Besides, Will would be better off on my plantation than in Boston. You might not believe me, though.”
Lincoln sighed, perhaps understanding this as my sarcasm toward Northern racism, but he didn't offer a specific rebuttal.
“It is a shameful thing. But is it truly to your benefit? You would effectively be taking in a slave who led a rebellion onto your plantation. And that man, Will, surely wouldn't feel at ease thinking he's being dragged back...”
“That part has already been settled. If the Republican and Democratic parties agree, the prosecutor won't insist on pinning a murder charge on Will. If it's a summary indictment, the matter will be concluded within a few days.”
“...I don't know if the Democratic Party will agree, but for now, I have no objections.”
If Will had truly stabbed Duncan Skinner to death, the Democratic Party, currently on the defensive, might have turned to the offensive. This wasn't a backroom deal; from Lincoln's perspective, it was the best judgment he could make. It was also the only way to prevent this conflict from exploding into something extreme.
Even without me explaining further, Lincoln seemed to understand this immediately.
“Do you believe this will mend the conflict?”
“Hardly. It's just putting a lid on the pot so the stench doesn't rise any further.”
“As you know, I believe that a house divided cannot stand. Both the North and the South must ultimately remain under the single roof of the United States.”
“I think so, too. That is why I am doing my best in my own way, am I not?”
Although I am making various preparations under the conviction that war is difficult to avoid, I also believe it is better not to have a war if I can help it. It is a war recorded to have caused over one million deaths, including both civilians and soldiers. In modern terms, that's the equivalent of an entire metropolitan city disappearing; who would welcome such a war?
That is why I have been walking a tightrope, trying to ensure we can move past this without fighting, and making sure neither the North nor the South completely crushes the other.
However, there exists a flow in worldly affairs that, once a trigger is met, cannot be stopped no matter what you do. For instance, Xun Yu opening the lunchbox lid, or the "Fire Fist" pirate hearing his father insulted. Once events unfold like that, there inevitably comes a situation where no amount of effort can save it.
If, even after suppressing the conflict so it doesn't fully erupt, the final path is destined to converge into war, then I have no choice. Together with this man destined to be president, I will have no choice but to cross that sea of blood and mountain of corpses.
Two days later, in the basement interrogation room of the Boston Federal Court.
The court clerk and investigator resumed the interrogation in the presence of the suspect, Will, his master James, and a notary and lawyer.
Until now, he hadn't said a word, but today, for the first time, Will's mouth opened.
“I am... not a murderer.”
“...What?”
“I merely saw an outsider attack Duncan Skinner. And thinking it was the perfect opportunity to escape, I simply ran away.”
“Then why have you kept your mouth shut until now?”
“It seemed like you were determined to frame me as a murderer regardless, and I thought if I spoke clumsily, I would only be falsely accused even more.”
As Will recounted what he witnessed that day, the air in the interrogation room shifted subtly. The investigator, not letting go of his suspicion, pressed him tenaciously.
“An outsider, you say? Who was it? What is his name?”
“I don't know. It was someone I had never seen before.”
“You must have seen his appearance. Describe him as detailed as possible. Your life depends on this.”
Will bowed his head for a moment, muttering as if tracing his memory. It seemed as though he was struggling to piece together faint fragments of memory, but the description that came out of his mouth was unexpectedly vivid and concrete.
“He was a very tall man. He was a head taller than me... he had a gaunt frame and was wearing a worn-out, tattered coat. And even from a distance, those eyes—yes, his eyes looked as if they were burning.”
The investigator's eyebrows twitched. Among the radicals active in the North, there were more than one or two people with such an impression.
“Is that all? What about his beard? His way of speaking?”
“His bushy beard was visible even from afar, and his hair was swept back so far that his forehead was exposed. And stuck in his old leather belt at his waist was a knife...”
“A knife? If he's a radical who uses a knife...”
“Ah, and... he kept muttering something in a low voice. I couldn't understand it, but it sounded like he was reciting a prayer. It sounded like verses from the Bible...”
The Bible, a fanatic, a knife, a bushy gray beard, and hair swept back. It would be stranger not to know who this was given these hints.
A silence flowed in the interrogation room for a moment. No one spoke the name, but everyone must have been thinking of the same person.
The radical who dyed Kansas in blood, the abolitionist who shocked the nation by slicing up vicious slave owners and slave hunters with a knife.
John Brown.
The investigator cleared his throat to clear the air.
“Ahem! So, you're saying you just ran away?”
“Yes. That is correct.”
“What about the other slaves who ran away with you?”
“I don't know. Perhaps they went with that culprit? I just kept running north...”
Will continued with his head bowed and his voice completely broken. His voice was filled with deep fatigue and disillusionment.
“I... just wanted to be free. I came here because I wanted to earn money with my own strength and live without being anyone's property. But... life in Boston was so different from what I had imagined. It was so painful. I just... I just want to leave this place. Canada, the South, it doesn't matter where. I just want to go somewhere other than here.”
His final words were so wretched and pathetic that anyone would feel sympathy. It wasn't acting; it was the truth, pouring out the hell he had experienced over the past few months.
The investigator clicked his tongue softly, wrote up the report, and gave a light nod to James, thanking him for his cooperation in the investigation.
Thus, around 12:00 PM, Will's statement was finished, and the information was immediately sent to the higher-ups. Given the gravity of the matter, the court had strictly ordered no information leaks, but in this era, there was no way security would be maintained.
Just two hours later, at 2:00 PM, the contents of Will's testimony decorated the front page of the Boston Daily Advertiser, Boston's first daily newspaper.
MONTAGE OF THE CULPRIT RESEMBLES ‘KANSAS BUTCHER’ JOHN BROWN!
As soon as the newspapers carrying the breaking news were scattered on the streets, the city boiled over violently once again.
Douglas, who had already been dealt a blow by Lincoln in the debate, gritted his teeth and began to assess the situation as this unexpected bad news broke. Why on earth did this damn black man keep his mouth shut until now if he was going to do this? Or perhaps, was he just starting to blabber anything because he harbored hope that his current master, James, might save him?
In fact, some figures in the Democratic Party had openly suggested just sending Will to the gallows, but Douglas couldn't bring himself to do that. If he were truly guilty, he should naturally be hanged, but even if he was just a "blackie," didn't it make no sense to hang someone who was truly innocent?
However, now that things had become so tangled, he had to back out at a reasonable point, but the problem was whether the Republican Party would tolerate that.
But once again, Douglas's expectations were brilliantly off the mark. Lincoln, who had come under the pretext of discussing the next debate, offered a sly smile and proposed that they wrap things up.
“Are you suggesting we just finish it here?”
“Yes. Given the circumstances, the possibility that Will did not commit the murder is rising, so wouldn't dragging out the debate only be poison to the Democratic Party?”
“That's hard to say. That black man might just be spinning lies because he wants to live.”
“But the testimony is very consistent, and there is also no evidence that Will is the murderer. If you try to force him into being the murderer here, can you handle the public opinion?”
Indeed, just as Lincoln said, the Democratic Party was in a position where neither choice would leave a good aftertaste. This was because the aspect of the case had completely changed as Will suddenly and stubbornly denied the crime and specifically testified about the other culprit's appearance and means of committing the crime.
If the ruling party and the president pressured them, they might be able to extract a death sentence, but there was no real benefit in doing so while turning their backs on public opinion. Then, what if they accepted Will's claim and pointed to John Brown as the real culprit?
That was also a problem, because Will had only pointed to a person "presumed" to be John Brown; he hadn't definitively identified the culprit as John Brown. As someone said, who knows if the culprit had intentionally dressed up as John Brown to kill Duncan Skinner? Furthermore, because John Brown had appeared in Ohio a few days after the incident, it was extremely difficult to link him to the murder charge.
“So, what do you propose we do?”
“Since Will is not the murderer, let's stop at the level of applying the Fugitive Slave Act. If we say both parties have agreed to that, the prosecutor won't force an indictment.”
“That's unexpected. Weren't you in a position of opposing the repatriation of fugitive slaves?”
“Once a precedent has been set, there's nothing to be done in this case. I pride myself that our party has achieved enough results just by clearing an innocent black man of a murder charge.”
Look at that skill in spinning things—if you hang it on your nose, it's a nose ring; if you hang it on your ear, it's an earring. They were the ones shouting that slave repatriation itself was unjust, and now they call it a victory because they prevented a death sentence?
Douglas felt nauseous watching this absurd mental victory. But isn't that how everything in the world is? Sometimes, emotion and feeling are far more important than reason, and now was exactly one of those times.
“...I will discuss it and let you know.”
“Understood. But since we don't know when public opinion might explode, I hope you reach a conclusion as quickly as possible.”
With those words, Lincoln turned and left. I could now grasp their entire strategy. They had crushed the conspiracy of the shameless Democratic Party that had tried to frame an innocent slave for a capital crime. They couldn't stop the slave repatriation because of the judiciary's meddling, but they would frame it as a Republican victory just for stopping the Democratic conspiracy.
It seemed they were trying to frame it that way, but Douglas's experience wasn't so shallow that he would be easily defeated by such an obvious ploy.
“Mental victory isn't something only you can do. Let's see who can frame things better.”
Is returning a fugitive slave to Cedar Grove truly a victory for the Democratic Party, or a victory for the Republican Party? Douglas had no intention of admitting defeat so easily.
“I see, so in the end, the Republican and Democratic parties have decided to reach an agreement?”
Douglas, with his expression heavily twisted, told me the contents of what the Republican Party had proposed.
“The Republican Party seems to be focusing on the fact that the black man named Will was not executed.”
“I was also surprised. I thought Will would keep his mouth shut, but unexpectedly, when I went to see him, he spilled everything as if he had been waiting for me. Perhaps he was searching for the best method and timing to survive in his own way.”
“Even if he is a black man, it seems his survival instinct is thorough. And I underestimated that man Lincoln too much. He seems to be a more capable and dangerous man than I expected.”
Naturally. If Lincoln weren't capable, it would mean this place isn't the Earth I know.
“Then that means you have no choice but to do as Lincoln wishes this time.”
“No. The Republican Party will promote it as their victory by focusing on preventing the execution of the black man Will, but I intend to highlight a different point. That a fugitive slave was repatriated to the South and reborn under the guidance of the South's greatest slave trainer, James Sett.”
Douglas, who had devised a brilliant scheme to shatter the Republican Party and Lincoln's plot all at once, looked at me with eyes mixed with desperation and anticipation and asked.
“How is it? You can do it, can't you? You, the South's greatest slave trainer!”
Logically, cutting a slave's leash and then re-taming a slave who has run away is an impossible story. However, there is exactly one person who can make that impossible task possible.
“Hmm... let's give it a try.”
He exists right here.