The Slave Master
As expected, every newspaper in the South was busy reporting on the suppression operation, falling over themselves to praise me.
Not a single line mentioned that it was Black men who had annihilated the white bandits with such astonishing combat prowess.
To be precise, the word "Black" didn't even appear in the articles.
If someone didn't know better, they might mistake the events for a story where a man named James Sett rallied white overseers and personally wiped out the bandits with incredible force.
They even glossed over the detailed identity of the fake Arrow of Freedom.
How could they say it out loud?
The fact that most of these men were radical separatists shouting for Southern independence, who merely wanted to use John Brown's name to justify their banditry.
Most media outlets used the phrase "presumed to be led by John Brown" like a holy grail.
Everyone knew the fake John Brown was the one leading the fake Arrow of Freedom, but their logic was that it was "presumed" nonetheless.
Of course, Northern newspapers tried to report the facts as objectively as possible, but unfortunately, the information was so contaminated that it was nearly impossible to report with any certainty.
This was all because the federal government, which should have been coordinating things in the middle, had effectively abandoned its responsibilities.
"The issue of maintaining local public order is the jurisdiction of each state and its local officials. The government condemns illegal violence and supports the lawful measures taken by each state to suppress it."
Surprisingly, this was the content of the official communiqué released by our Buchanan administration after the incident ended.
In short, it meant they didn't want to get involved in local conflicts, so we should handle it ourselves.
Mr. Buchanan, aren't you the president of this country?
If you're too afraid to direct traffic, why are you sitting in that chair if you're just going to tell the locals to deal with the car accidents themselves?
Furthermore, our Southern friends were interpreting this communiqué from Buchanan as a sign that they could do whatever they wanted, and they were busy showing exactly what "doing whatever they wanted" looked like.
Click. Click. Click.
Standing at perfect attention, not a single one of them making a sound, the Sett Personal Guard watched as their master received commendations and plaques of appreciation from the governors and legislatures of Texas, Louisiana, and Mississippi.
Generous applause rained down toward us, and the Master bowed his head slightly, politely acknowledging the support.
They had been brought here as tools used by the Master, but what of it?
Even if the cheers weren't directed at them, it didn't feel half bad to think that they were receiving applause from white people for the act of shooting and killing other white people.
One might say nothing had practically changed, but if you looked closely, that wasn't the case.
"We hereby appoint Mr. James Sett, who demonstrated unparalleled response capabilities in this incident, as a Captain in the Mississippi Militia!"
"Woooooo!"
I wasn't exactly sure what a Militia Captain was, but according to the Master, it meant we could now work on the farm without having to worry about oversight from the militia at all.
A plaque of appreciation from Mississippi? Honestly, I couldn't care less.
The higher the Master climbed, the higher the quality of life we actually enjoyed, and this time was no exception.
From the day the majestically named Sett Personal Guard defeated the weak white bandits and proudly returned in triumph, the slaves of the Sett plantation were able to welcome yet another new modern innovation.
"...Excuse me? We get the right to take time off if we perform meritorious service?"
"Ah, you don't know? This is what we call a vacation."
Leo, James's right-hand man, delivered the word of God to them triumphantly, like Moses receiving the Ten Commandments.
"A vacation means the right to take a break without working."
"Hey, if we don't work, we don't get paid for the day!"
"Pay? Of course you get paid. We've decided to define this as paid leave from now on."
"Paid... leave?"
They give you food while you're not working?
Could such a thing exist in this world?
"Isn't it incredible? That's why it's given to those who have performed meritorious service. Of course, since the farm's system is now fully established, the Master said that once the number of slaves exceeds one thousand, he will grant basic vacation days to all slaves."
"To, to everyone? Really?"
"Yes. The Master is calculating it carefully right now, so we will announce the appropriate number of days later."
Just hearing about it didn't quite make sense, but a few days later, they were able to realize the power of that vacation.
Because they saw the Sett Personal Guard, who had performed meritorious service in the shootout, sleeping soundly even though it was clearly work time.
"Hey, hey! Are you crazy? If you don't get ready now, you'll be late!"
"...Huh? Hey, I used my vacation day today. I'm going to sleep a bit more and then meet Ann at the Love House, so I don't have to go out today."
"What... did you say?"
You can sleep in on a weekday?
Is that the life of those who take vacations?
All attention in the farm was focused on Ben and Henry, who had actually slept in all morning and only showed their faces in the afternoon.
"Ben, Henry! Come over here quickly and tell us all about it!"
"How does it feel to use a vacation day and wake up late in the morning?"
"Need you ask? It's heaven. Anyway, the Master said that once the number of slaves exceeds a thousand, you'll all be able to use them too, so just wait with anticipation."
"Ugh... how good must it feel to take a nap alone on a weekday afternoon? Oh, and I heard you killed four of those bastards by yourself during the raid? Tell us about that too!"
The serious Ben let out a slight bitter smile, but the still-spirited Henry vividly explained what he had experienced to the pouring interest.
"Those bastards were nothing. It's obvious they'd just drop dead if they got shot, and they were so weak in hand-to-hand combat that they weren't even a match for us."
"Oh, really?"
"Of course. What could those white guys, who only trust in their white skin, do in front of these muscles hardened by real combat like ours?"
"Well, it's true that not all white people are like our Master."
If they could make a wise person like the Master into a governor or president, this country would be much better off, so why don't those stupid white guys know that fact?
Seeing them fail to notice a simple truth that even Black people like themselves know, those guys must be total fools.
"Come to think of it, Will. You were in Boston. Could the workers in Boston use vacations too?"
"Vacation? Where would you find something like that? I worked for 50 cents a day. Of course, other Black people besides runaway slaves like me... no, even white people probably couldn't use vacations? At least as far as I know, there was no one who could take a day off whenever they wanted and still get paid. If there was someone like that, people would have asked if they were a relative of the boss."
"What, then are the white workers working in Boston treated worse than us? Hahaha, who's the slave now?"
Ding! Ding! Ding!
Hearing the bell signaling the end of lunch, Will and his colleagues quickly got up from their seats.
They looked at Ben and Henry, who were still sitting there drinking cool water, with eyes full of envy, and headed back to the fields to work.
Still, even if they were envious, they weren't jealous.
Because it was a right they would eventually enjoy anyway, sooner or later.
"Wait. Then if you use your vacation on a Saturday, can't you attach it to Sunday and rest?"
"...You're right. My goodness, is it possible to rest for two days in a row? Are you a genius?"
They were just exchanging expectations and curiosity about the newly introduced innovation, enjoying the reality of the present.
* * *
"Hahaha! Come on in. I suppose I should call you Captain Sett now."
"It's the militia, not the federal army. It's not an official rank."
"What's the difference between that and an official rank? The militia is effectively the real military power of Mississippi."
Senator Parer laughed heartily, as if he had no idea why I had visited, and continued to shower me with kind words.
In fact, as he said, the current size of the U.S. federal regular army was only around 20,000, so it couldn't function as a real public security force.
Moreover, since a significant portion of those 20,000 were confronting indigenous people on the western border, the reality was that public security in each state had to be left to the militias operating in those states.
In other words, the rank I received, Captain of the Natchez Volunteer Militia, was not just a business card, but a position effectively close to a company commander.
Since it was effectively impossible for sheriffs to carry out their duties without the cooperation of the local volunteer militia, I had effectively become someone who could share in the border situation of most of Mississippi.
Needless to say, this information sharing was practically much more valuable than the authority to mobilize nearly 100 militia members.
Of course, since I didn't visit Senator Parer just to receive congratulations, I naturally sat down in front of him and handed him a stack of documents.
"Senator, could you take a look at this?"
"Hmm? What is this? Is it the farm fortification document you asked me to submit on your behalf last time? Why this again?"
"Actually, as a result of confirming through this raid, it has become certain that the data I gave you was leaked, so I came to tell you this."
The guys who carried out the raid this time had set their route based precisely on the farm's blueprints I had given to Senator Parer.
And I had also confirmed with Gary, who impersonated John Brown, whether he had come after seeing this map, and received an answer that he had.
Senator Parer's complexion turned pale when he heard that I had given out subtly different maps under the conviction that information was being leaked.
"My, my goodness... Sett! I... I didn't. I was just trying to help. I didn't know it would turn out like this..."
"Of course I know. If I had suspected you from the beginning, I would have run straight to the Governor or Senator Quitman."
The reason I entrusted the map to Parer was because I had judged from the beginning that this man himself was not someone who would actively leak information.
After all, this man's biggest current interest was the horse racing competition to be held in Mississippi this year.
Senator Parer was the very person who had been genuinely worried and angry, asking what they would do if the bandits running wild interfered with hosting the horse racing competition.
If the passion he showed, shouting that America should also have a Triple Crown winner, was all a build-up planned in advance to hook me?
If they had prepared that thoroughly, I would just have to be hooked.
I would have to admit that the opponent was several moves ahead of me and humbly accept defeat.
However, as expected, Parer showed a reaction that couldn't possibly be acting, as if he had nothing to do with the leaker.
"Senator, the wicked mastermind who shook our South is hiding in the legislature. If they extracted information this quickly, wouldn't it be highly likely that it's not just a simple employee, but a legislator with considerable power?"
"Of course... if you think about it logically, that would be the case."
"I believe that if we let such a traitor continue to operate in the legislature, second and third copycat crimes will occur endlessly. So I would be grateful if you could lend me your strength to catch that guy."
"We uncover the mastermind..."
How much of a stir could we cause if we caught the mastermind who was moving such a major incident from behind the scenes?
Since he was a gentleman who was even a legislator in Mississippi, he would have understood enough without me explaining it, but I nailed it down once more to be sure.
"If we catch the guy who planned this and reveal his identity, you and I could become heroes of the South. If that happens, Senator Parer, you could choose and take either the position of Speaker of the Mississippi House or the next Governor."
"Hmm..."
"And I, too, would be able to take a position or authority commensurate with my contribution."
Since he was in a situation where he could have been accused of being the information leaker if things had gone wrong, Senator Parer would never be able to forgive that mastermind.
Parer didn't worry for very long and nodded on the spot.
"Thinking about how the horse racing competition almost couldn't be held because of that sinister guy, I absolutely cannot forgive him. If it's a matter of clearing away someone who is an obstacle to the birth of America's Triple Crown winner, I will gladly cooperate with you."
"Thank you."
"Then let's go together! For the birth of America's true Triple Crown winner!"
Since you want it so desperately, I'll have to make sure the horse racing competition is held no matter what.
I don't know if it will continue during the Civil War, but anyway, if Senator Parer helps, it will definitely be much easier to find the information leak route.
I don't know who is hiding in those shadows, but I will make them take off their mask and reveal their identity.
And if I induce Parer to take that position, how much honor will it be for me... no, for Parer?
"For the eradication of the parasites eating away at Mississippi!"
I am such a patriot who loves the South this much.