The Return (2)
We must drive out that demonic institution.
If the seeds of evil spread, they will infect even the good-hearted, and soon that monster will swallow this entire land, turning America into a Sodom and Gomorrah descended upon the mortal world.
The "demon" here, of course, refers to slavery.
Once caught in the grip of slavery, even decent people find their morality fractured, eventually devolving into monsters no better than beasts.
This was no exaggeration; the intellectuals of the North truly believed that slavery was evil itself, a rot that consumed the human soul.
In truth, from a moral standpoint, they were not wrong.
Of course, even among them, there was a divide: the eccentrics like John Brown who insisted that white and Black people were perfectly equal, versus the mainstream Northern opinion that still held, "Isn't it a fact that Black people are inferior to whites?"
However, because the priority was to defeat the South—the manifest evil—they did not commit the folly of fighting among themselves despite their differing views.
"Let's think about the treatment of Black people after we abolish slavery."
Having reached that tentative agreement, they pooled their strength to form a party of heroes to defeat the wicked Great Demon of the South.
But unfortunately, their best piece of ammunition, the fugitive slave Will, had been repatriated to Mississippi.
The Boston Advertiser, which had defended Will more passionately than anyone and insisted he be set free, found itself in a difficult position.
It was because of the final words James Sett had uttered while taking Will away:
Even those who had been foaming at the mouth in opposition to Will's repatriation could not refute this statement.
The devastating phrase, "50 cents a day," graced the front pages of newspapers, and the South launched a massive counterattack, claiming all of this was Boston's own doing.
"You cry about morality all the time, but hasn't it been revealed that you're all hypocrites?"
"You should have paid him better. If Will had received even one dollar a day, he wouldn't have resorted to violence, and he wouldn't have been caught by the authorities."
"How could you think of fleecing a fugitive slave? We in the South acknowledge our defeat to your incredible creativity."
When tracing the cause of the incident back to its origin, one could not refute the argument that it was ultimately due to Boston's absurd discriminatory policy against fugitive slaves.
As the full story became known, other Northern newspapers published articles arguing that certain unscrupulous business owners in Boston could not escape responsibility.
To avoid being criticized along with them, the North chose the easy and convenient path of simply cutting ties with Boston.
As a result, the position of the media outlets in Boston that were building anti-Southern sentiment became ambiguous.
No matter how much they criticized the South, the criticism would inevitably return to them: "Look at yourselves first."
"To overcome this situation, we must show that we are still better than the South."
The editorial meetings of the Boston Advertiser were filled with endless debates.
"We must clearly draw a line, stating that this is a problem of a few business owners in Boston's ports, and that Boston's conscience remains unshaken. Otherwise, there is a risk that many abolitionists will be swayed by public opinion."
"But wouldn't that be admitting that our city is the cause of this incident?"
"That is why we must emphasize that it is, at most, a moral hazard of a few individuals, and show that we acknowledge the need to be careful ourselves. However, separate from that, we must endlessly continue the work of highlighting the plight of poor Will."
Harris, the editor-in-chief of the Boston Advertiser, rubbed his throbbing temples and waved his hand.
His desk was littered with mocking articles sent by Southern newspapers.
"So, you're saying we should focus on his tragic situation, now that he's back in the shackles of slavery, and the inhumane slave system of the South that will treat him like a beast? To emphasize the fact that no matter how much we are criticized, we are still better than them?"
At Editor-in-Chief Harris's summary, most of the reporters nodded.
Attacking the South's weakest link—the inhumanity of slavery—was the strategy they enjoyed using the most.
But even if the starting point is good, if there is no way to execute it, it is nothing more than a meaningless delusion.
Thompson, a veteran reporter who had remained silent throughout the meeting, opened his mouth with a skeptical voice.
"The intent is good, Editor-in-Chief. But is that realistically possible?"
Everyone's gaze turned to him.
"How are we supposed to highlight the South's inhumane slave system? Are we going to send a letter to James Sett's plantation and ask, 'Is your slave Will doing well?' They won't even let our newspaper's reporters within 100 miles of the plantation. We have no way to approach it, so how can we cover it? In the end, we'll have no choice but to write another criticism piece based on imagination, and the Southern bastards will just laugh at it, calling it the fabrication of Yankee bastards."
At his cold assessment, the heated air in the conference room instantly cooled.
As he said, even if they wanted to highlight Will's situation, there was no way to approach him.
What crazy planter would give entry passes to Northern media outlets, saying, "Come and watch how much our slaves are being abused"?
Even rumors had it that since the Cedar Grove incident, James Sett's plantations had been guarding themselves almost like fortresses.
No matter how hard the reporters tried, it was obvious they wouldn't even be able to enter the plantation before being caught.
Just as everyone was plunged into silence, unable to suggest a proper solution—
A young reporter, who had been silently listening to his seniors in the corner of the room, cautiously raised his hand.
"Um, I don't know if I'm remembering this correctly, but... wasn't there something James Sett said to the reporters when he left Boston?"
The young reporter continued, recalling the scene that day.
Whether Sett, surrounded by the crowd, had been unable to suppress his annoyance or was making a lame excuse to escape the situation, he had definitely said it with his own mouth.
"He clearly said it himself: 'Come to Natchez next month and let's have an interview again. I ask that you please ask Will that same question then.'"
A few reporters who had been there at the time let out exclamations, and the atmosphere in the conference room changed drastically.
Editor-in-Chief Harris asked with his eyes flashing.
"Did James Sett really say that?"
"Yes. Not just us, but other newspapers must have heard it too. We weren't the only ones there."
A smile of triumph spread across Editor-in-Chief Harris's lips as he discovered a brilliant escape route to break through this situation.
"In other words, our covering Will is not an intrusion, but responding to James Sett's own 'official invitation'? If he refuses our request for coverage, he becomes a hypocrite and a liar who doesn't keep his word in front of the entire United States."
"That's right."
"The reason he told such a lie is obvious. It's because he has something to hide regarding his actions and beliefs."
"If that happens, the reputation of that self-proclaimed noble gentleman will crack."
Would a man who is even building hospitals across the Union to manage his own image really be able to accept that?
"Genius! That's it!"
A godsend of a move that instantly overturned the chess game where they were cornered.
Feeling the thrill running from his head down his spine, Harris felt the passion of his younger days awakening once again.
"This is not just coverage! This is a challenge to a duel that we are throwing at James Sett! We will accept his invitation! Form a special coverage team immediately! I will go myself, so assign the best team members and hire an artist to sketch the scenery of the South! This will be a massive special report that stakes the fate of the Boston Advertiser!"
At the editor-in-chief's declaration, all the reporters cheered.
Like knights heading to the battlefield, they steeled their resolve and held a departure ceremony.
"We are going to Natchez, the heart of the South! We will enter that fortress-like plantation, capture the image of poor Will, who has lost his freedom and lives without hope, with our own eyes and pens, and report it to the entire nation! This will be our answer to this verdict!"
James Sett could not have known.
That a word he had simply thrown out to escape a situation would come back to bite him like this.
It is too late to regret it now, so pay the price for wagging your tongue lightly.
Now, it was our turn to bite back.
The Sett plantation, surrounded by stone walls and half-fortified, was now slowly becoming a world cut off from the outside.
The security system was perfect, and neither vigilantes nor sheriffs bothered to patrol this far.
Even if they did patrol, they had to pass through the watchtower first, so there was plenty of time to deal with surprise inspections.
So, I was able to comfortably educate the slaves on the plantation and commit all sorts of illegal acts.
One of them was literacy education.
"Now, everyone read after me. Grown! Gro-own."
"Gro-own."
"Then what about this? Brown."
"Bro-own."
"No, no. You're wrong, you idiots. It's 'Brown'."
"Yes? Why is that?"
"That's because... this is Brown. If you don't understand, just feel it! That is the process of you becoming intellectuals."
Don't understand, just feel it.
Thanks to my intensive education, the plantation workers' knowledge grew day by day, and just in case, I had even taught them Hangul, not just the alphabet.
If they left records using the alphabet, they wouldn't be able to avoid punishment if they were caught, but if they scribbled in Hangul, I could just brush it off as these guys drawing pictures or symbols.
What? You think Black people might have created their own unique writing system to share secrets?
You bastard! Are you saying Black people have high enough intelligence to create a writing system? Seeing you say things even Northern abolitionists wouldn't say, you must be John Brown's colleague!
If I just brush it off like that, teaching them Hangul is unconditionally more beneficial than harmful.
Come to think of it, in this era, even Joseon wouldn't be using 21st-century Hangul, so this script would become a perfectly customized writing system used only by the Sett plantation in the world.
"I like baseball!"
"Me too!"
Good, good. Now that they're equipped with the weapon of literacy, there are no blind spots in the Sett plantation.
In particular, I liked the fact that because everyone was struggling to survive due to the economic panic, they had no room to care about what others were doing.
By the time the panic ends and America returns to normal, my plantation and workers will have been reborn into something completely different...
"Master, a letter has arrived for you."
As I was briefly intoxicated by the excitement, Leo, who had entered the office, placed a few letters on the desk.
"What are these?"
"One is from Congressman Quitman. It says the Fire-Eaters have made a plaque of appreciation for you, so please accept it."
"Plaque of appreciation, my ass. Just shove it in the warehouse where it won't be seen."
"And another is from the Governor. It says British Department of Commerce officials are coming next month, and they will likely visit the South as well, so please show your face."
"British Department of Commerce? Must be because of the economic panic."
Due to this American-originated panic, banks even in Liverpool went bankrupt, and countless British financiers who had invested in American railroad stocks were ruined.
Since there are many prominent nobles among the victims, it's inevitable that they would dispatch people to discuss countermeasures in Britain as well.
"And the last one is a letter from Boston. It says the Boston Advertiser wants you to keep the promise you made."
"Promise? What promise?"
"Last time in Boston, you told the reporters that if they had any questions, they should ask Will directly, and it seems they are clinging to those words."
I wondered what it was, but now I remember.
I definitely said that.
"They have a good memory. Remembering something like that and telling me to keep the promise."
"It also says they expect the Cotton King of Mississippi, who is famous even in the North, would surely not say one thing and do another. They are cheeky bastards."
"What's the harm? They're going to write a special feature on James Sett for me. However, make sure to write down the condition that coverage of the plantation's internal life is impossible and only an interview with Will is possible."
"Understood. I will send a dignified reply."
Let them come. The Sett plantation is hungry.