The Return
The last week of December 1857.
With the interests of the Democratic and Republican parties aligned, the trial proceeded at a truly astonishing speed.
Separation of powers? Judicial independence?
In the romantic 19th century, such claims were treated as nothing more than science fiction. It was the reality of the times.
Thanks to this, I gained a valuable realization.
If you get entangled in a political affair, expecting the law to protect your rights is a surefire way to get stabbed in the back.
Regardless, the result was a staggering three-hour turnaround from the prosecutor's summary indictment to the court's final ruling.
The trial of the fugitive slave, which had been burning with the intensity to set the entire nation ablaze, was concluded in the most political manner imaginable.
"This incident has laid bare the incompetence of the Democratic Party to the entire world! Who are the ones who tried to frame a slave who merely wanted freedom as a vicious murderer? They are the ones who call themselves the ruling party of this nation!"
"Will is a lawbreaker who not only violated the laws of the South but also committed acts of violence in the North. The Republican Party is trying to manipulate public opinion by packaging this violent criminal as if he were a saint! It is the Republican Party that is the schemer trying to shake the very foundations of the rule of law in this country!"
Both sides gathered their forces, literally pouring out statements that were effectively victory declarations and self-congratulations.
Even newspapers were actively participating, acting more like cheerleaders than analysts.
Republican-leaning newspapers in the North praised Lincoln as a defender of human rights who saved the life of a Black man from the heartless laws of the South.
The logic was that although they couldn't stop the repatriation, they had at least prevented the death penalty, making it a clear victory for the Republican Party.
Conversely, Southern and Democratic-leaning newspapers celebrated having crushed the Republican conspiracy to harbor a violent criminal, reaffirming the sanctity of the Fugitive Slave Act.
They argued that since the fugitive slave was ultimately returned to his Southern master, it was a victory for the Democratic Party, which had upheld law and order.
Everyone tried to tear the other side apart through this incident, but it only served to rally their respective supporters without significantly boosting approval ratings for either.
Of course, it was an objective fact that the Democratic Party, which had already lost trust due to the economic panic, had lost much more than the opposition Republican Party.
Because of this incident, the Democratic Party placed even higher expectations on me, and the abolitionists in the North couldn't help but pity Will, who was being dragged back to Cedar Grove despite having successfully escaped.
"James Sett! As a human being, do you feel no prick of conscience at all?"
"You are a man who builds hospitals and saves countless lives—why do you not save the lives of Black people?"
The abolitionists, furious over the incident, blocked the path of my carriage as I was leaving Boston, making a huge fuss.
"Come now, everyone! Please move aside! The Master is a busy man!"
"You there, Black gentleman! Do you not feel aggrieved living as Mr. Sett's slave?"
"Sett, release Will! Release him!"
I had expected it, but sure enough, the attacks were coming.
Even though the Republicans and Democrats were fighting like cats and dogs, now that the ruling for Will's return had been handed down, it was inevitable that some sparks would fly at me.
I spoke to the reporters blocking the road.
"I don't have much time, so I will speak with just one person. Who will represent you and ask a question?"
Countless hands shot up, and I pointed to the person at the very front.
"You there, reporter. What was your question?"
"James Sett, you are famous for building hospitals and saving the lives of many people. So, how do you feel about the lives of Black people?"
"I see. By the way, have you ever donated to our hospital?"
"I haven't, but that is irrelevant to the current question..."
"I see. Since you asked what I am doing about the lives of Black people, I will answer precisely. At my hospital in Mississippi, I treat dozens of Black patients every single day, and among them are people whose lives would be in danger if they didn't receive treatment immediately. So, I think it's fair to say that I am saving the lives of at least dozens of Black people every single day."
The reporter tried to say something more, but I continued before he could.
"However, hearing Will's story, I was told that here in Boston, they paid Will 50 cents a day. I calculated what one could buy with 50 cents, and it wouldn't even cover the level of food we provide daily on our plantation."
"But in the North, they do not treat Black people as slaves."
"I see. Then let's have another interview in Natchez next month. I ask that you ask Will that same question then. Good day."
When I gave the signal, Leo and Ben pushed aside the noisy reporters, and the carriage started moving.
I had intended to ask Douglas to promote my achievements, but it seems that won't be necessary.
It appears they are desperate to spread the news of my actions to every corner of the neighborhood themselves.
* * *
Since the deportation ruling in Boston, Will had been feeling a complex emotion that could not be expressed in words.
Freedom.
The word he had craved so much was synonymous with hell.
Except for the lack of whips and shackles, life in Boston was miserable in a different sense than the days he worked under Duncan Skinner.
Will felt deeply that human dignity could be crushed to dust in the face of hunger and contempt.
At the final moment, when he had given up on everything and swung his fist, he truly had no regrets about life.
He thought that keeping his mouth shut and heading to the gallows, so as not to cause trouble for his benefactor John Brown who had saved him, was the only way he could repay him.
To be honest, he never dreamed that James Sett would pull him back from the threshold of death.
What was even more incomprehensible was the fact that he, who thought he had already given up on life, felt a sense of relief at that moment.
He was returning to the status of a slave, yet he felt relieved that he had at least saved his life—he felt so ugly for that.
The only reason he didn't fall completely into self-loathing was entirely thanks to Leo and Ben, who had been his companions during the long journey back to Natchez.
The two of them were the same in Boston.
How much had they persuaded him, saying that if he didn't give up on life and just stayed alive, there would be a day when he would see the light?
Even though they knew the reality wasn't like that, and even though they were bound by the same miserable chains of slavery, that they would say such things to him—he was just grateful, so very grateful.
They even said:
"Will, did you know that at our plantation, we have a barbecue with whole roasted meat once a month?"
"Is that all? We have a baseball team, too. You heard about how we crushed those New York guys last time, right? If you work hard, you can enjoy that glory too!"
"And as far as I know, you've never even held a woman's hand, so you should ask for help from the marriage promotion office run directly by the Master."
"That's right, that's right. And we hold a singing contest during the company dinner, so if you're confident, you should participate. Oh, and he said he's planning to build a small school to teach us how to read and write soon!"
They didn't stop encouraging him, constantly telling him fantasies close to their own wishes, telling him not to lose hope.
Of course, Will wasn't naive enough to believe those stories.
At first, he was a little tempted, but what? Teach him how to read and write?
In the South, teaching a Black person to read and write is illegal in itself; honestly, isn't that wishful thinking a bit too much?
Even in the North, there would only be a tiny fraction of Black people who knew how to read and write.
In fact, Will also realized that James Sett was not as vicious a planter as the public perceived.
If he were truly human trash, John Brown wouldn't have obediently listened to Sett and come to Cedar Grove plantation.
It was just that it was a little sorry, and at the same time pitiful, that Leo and Ben were saying such impossible things to reassure him.
So what could he do? He just smiled faintly and nodded.
'You really didn't have to go this far.'
He was so grateful for their thoughtfulness that he couldn't bring himself to say those words out loud.
Hadn't he also dreamed of such absurd dreams before coming to the North?
"Wow, baseball? So do you play baseball every week at the plantation?"
"Of course! Do you know how active I am there..."
"Yeah, yeah. I get it. I hope such a day really comes."
"No, I'm telling you, it's real! Why don't you believe me!"
Ben sighed, thumping his chest as if frustrated, but Will just smiled as if he knew everything.
His eyes held a generosity that said, 'Keep going, I'll listen to as much as you want.'
Leo and Ben, frustrated by the stubbornness of this naive compatriot, eventually just shook their heads, repeating that he would know when he saw it with his own eyes.
When they finally arrived in Natchez after a journey of several days, James Sett, who had only been busily scribbling something in his notebook until then, threw out a surprising remark.
"I will return to the mansion first, so Leo and Ben, take Will to Cedar Grove plantation and then return. Will must be tired from the long journey, so let him rest well today and we'll talk tomorrow."
Will doubted his ears for a moment.
What is this person saying?
He is a fugitive slave, no one else.
And yet, he entrusts the task of escorting him to another slave, not even an overseer?
"U-um... Master...?"
"Why? Do you not want to go to Cedar Grove? Should I send you to another plantation?"
"N-no, that's not it..."
"Then just go and get some good rest. Even if it's not a place with good memories, it must have changed a lot by now, so the feeling will be quite different."
Will tried to say something, but James just waved his hand as if it were truly nothing and boarded the carriage heading to his mansion.
Leo and Ben, as if that appearance were only natural, boarded another carriage heading to Cedar Grove with Will.
What on earth is this? How does this plantation run?
Will tried to calm his confused head and headed to Cedar Grove.
And not long after, he couldn't hide his astonishment at the sight unfolding before his eyes.
The plantation... to put it simply, had become a fortress.
The flimsy wooden fence of the past had vanished without a trace, and a solid stone wall, well over a person's height, surrounded the entire plantation.
At the main gate, the only entrance, a heavy iron gate and even a watchtower had been erected.
"W-what. What is this, on earth..."
If such facilities had been in place before, wouldn't John Brown have been discovered and captured before he could even enter the plantation?
Before Will's question could even be resolved, an even more astonishing sight caught his eyes.
The person guarding the main gate was not a white overseer.
It was Black men with sturdy builds, rifles slung over their shoulders.
They were Black men he had never seen before, but at the unprecedented situation of Black men carrying guns, Will's legs trembled.
'This is crazy! Did the brothers of Cedar Grove finally start a rebellion? B-but why so sloppily... they were spotted by us! Or perhaps... were all the Black people conspiring for a rebellion from the start?'
Cold sweat ran down Will's spine.
He looked at the expressions of Leo and Ben sitting next to him in a panic.
Could these two also be accomplices? Does this mean that their pretense of such loyalty to James Sett was all just acting?
Or, did we just happen to be spotted by them just as they came out?
But,
"Hey! Leo, Ben! You're here now? You've had a hard time!"
The armed guard guarding the main gate was waving his hand and greeting them with such calmness.
"Yeah, was the trip okay? Is this Will, the one who's coming new? Ah, since he worked as a field foreman here before, calling him 'new' might be a bit of a misnomer."
"Sigh, don't even ask. He treated us like liars the whole way here."
Leo and Ben also exchanged jokes with them quite naturally.
No, is this the conversation of people conspiring for a rebellion?
Will just stared back and forth between the guard with the gun, Leo joking nonchalantly, and the plantation surrounded by stone walls, dumbfounded.
Did the world go crazy while he was away from the South for a moment?
Just as he was unable to figure out how to react, very fortunately, he saw a familiar face running toward them from the main gate.
The close friend who had to stay here because the garden was full, even though he had wanted to leave so much before.
It was Mark, his best friend, whom he had felt sorry for not being able to bring along even when he went to the North.
"Will! You rascal! You really came. When I heard you were caught in Boston, I was really worried!"
"Mark... I'm glad you seem to be doing well."
It was definitely the friend he knew, but strangely, his appearance was completely different from his memory.
He had muscles attached to the point where he wondered if he had always been this big, and his complexion was much better.
Moreover, he was so relaxed overall that he was almost under the illusion that he was looking at a completely different person.
"S-so... are you doing well? Mr. James Sett... no, the M-Master..."
"Will! You rascal, you have to speak properly. Repeat after me: Respected Master."
The shocking transformation of a close friend who had hated white people more than anyone and had wanted to leave this place together.
Ah... ahhh! It seems it wasn't the world that was crazy, but me.
Or perhaps he had already finished his life on the gallows in Boston, and this is a fantasy that he is seeing just before he dies.
Yes, that must be it.
The prison guards must be looking at his face, hanging dead, and talking to each other in disbelief, right?
"Brother, this guy is smiling?"
"Leave him be. He must be dreaming of being a free man."
Yes. It wouldn't be bad to go while having such a dream, even at the moment of death.
But...
"Come now, Will! Try this. This is the meat we saved for when you arrived. If you wrap this in bread and eat it with the vegetables we grew in the garden and the sauce provided by the kitchen..."
"This is called chicken; have you ever tried it in Boston?"
"Hey, Will. You were pretty good at singing, weren't you? Let's go out as a duet at the next company dinner."
Strangely, the fantasy didn't break and continued on.
It was the next morning, after receiving a warm, steaming soup, that Will seriously accepted the fact that this might be reality.