The Slave Exploiter
Lincoln and Buchanan.
Meeting two future presidents and significantly increasing my wealth made this business trip quite meaningful. However, as my worries deepened, the political landscape of 1856 America was sinking into a bottomless swamp.
Senator Charles Sumner, an abolitionist, was beaten over the head by a pro-slavery congressman after a fiery speech and was rushed to the hospital. Pro-slavery forces attacked Lawrence, the stronghold of the abolitionists. In retaliation, the famous abolitionist John Brown awakened as a Sword Master, drew a broadsword, and sliced through five pro-slavery advocates.
Surprisingly, all of this happened in less than a month.
"It's the end of the world. What is the world coming to?"
On the way back to Mississippi, Kate sighed while reading the newspaper on the boat.
"Well, at this rate, the country might actually split in two."
"James, don't say things like that, even as a joke. You might be mistaken for a Fire-Eater."
Kate laughed and shook her head, seemingly thinking I was making a tasteless joke. I’m sorry, but it’s not a joke—it’s the truth. But seeing even my sister react that way, I suppose many people still believe this conflict can be resolved.
Even in the South, the only people openly saying the South should secede from the Union were the Fire-Eaters Kate mentioned. Though they were a minority, they were an organization that exuded presence, with former governors and incumbent congressmen among their ranks. But isn't it obvious? Just like the Death Eaters from that British magic novel, their name itself would become taboo, so I must never get involved with them.
"Sister, if you ever get an offer to sponsor the Fire-Eaters, refuse it immediately... No, just tell them you'll discuss it with me and cut the conversation short. Understand?"
"Of course. Besides, if I said I was going to sponsor them, my husband would go absolutely ballistic."
"Don't treat them too coldly, though. In my opinion, their influence is going to grow for a while."
"Really? Did you hear something from candidate Buchanan?"
Kate seemed very disappointed when she heard I had met the Democratic presidential candidate. It made sense; it’s not often one gets the chance to build a connection with a powerful politician who has a high chance of becoming president.
"It's better not to get too involved with that man. If you have even the slightest expectation of him, sister, just let it go now. You'll only feel a deep sense of betrayal."
"...Was he really that bad? My husband said that even though Buchanan is a Democrat, he's from the North, so he's the most suitable person to handle the current situation."
Most of the people pushing for Buchanan as president probably had that intention. And since he failed spectacularly at it, he would eventually be ranked as one of the worst presidents in American history. I fabricated a plausible reason for why Buchanan seemed incompetent and warned Kate.
As we talked and returned to Mississippi, the endless cotton fields stretched out before us. The smoke rising from the chimneys of the steam houses that ginned the cotton, the numerous slave cabins gathered on one side, and the slaves at the landing busy loading cotton bales onto boats.
In a few years, this industry—which is currently a cheat code for printing money—will collapse, and the great landowners living on the high hills will lose most of their power. Of course, that doesn't mean they will go bankrupt or die just because they lose their slaves. As long as they still own vast tracts of land, they can employ their former slaves as tenant farmers. However, their economic power will certainly shrink, and their social prestige will become incomparable to what it is now.
It is truly unfortunate, but it is the cruel reality that the future me must face. Of course, I can invest my current overflowing wealth and assets elsewhere, so I might benefit financially, but the important thing is for me and my family to start a second life with our limbs intact.
It might not be a common occurrence, but there will certainly be slave owners who die in slave uprisings while the war is in full swing. What guarantee is there that I or Kate won't be one of those unlucky cases?
That is why the conclusion I reached on the way here was that I must build a fence to absolutely guarantee the safety of my family and myself before the war ends. In fact, even if the plan sounds grand, it isn't very difficult. If the 700 slaves under me offer me absolute loyalty, no one will be able to threaten me.
However, if I cosplay as a warm and gentle master to gain the trust of the slaves, it’s obvious that the surrounding planters will rain down denunciations, telling me to crush that traitor. One might ask if it’s an unsolvable problem, but it wasn't.
The practical skills and knowledge I acquired in my previous life, while grinding away my health, raised the question of whether the current cotton labor system was incredibly inefficient. If I dig into this, it might not be a dream to increase my plantation's profits while gaining the absolute loyalty of the slaves.
"Sister, it seems I'll be busy for a while once we return to the mansion, so spend some time with your husband for now."
"Yeah, that's fine, but what are you planning to do?"
"I'm going to fix the plantation system a bit."
This isn't about showing kindness to the slaves; it's just about improving inefficiency. After all, I am James Sett, the cold-blooded Cotton King of the South.
* * *
A few days passed since returning to Mississippi.
It’s fortunate that I’m a new master who recently inherited the estate. No one finds it strange if I snoop around with the excuse that I want to see how the work is going. No matter how much I intend to overhaul the plantation system, I have to know exactly how the work flows.
"Master, as you can see, the slaves on our plantation are the most diligent in the South. They come out to the fields at sunrise and work without a single moment of rest until sunset."
John, the white overseer who manages the plantation, pointed to the people sweating profusely as if he were proud. Like every other cotton plantation, my farm is operating in a way called the Gang System. To explain simply, it is a system where slaves are divided into two or three groups according to their work ability and work from sunrise to sunset under the supervision of an overseer. Even now, the Black slave Drivers, acting on the overseer's instructions, were cracking whips to control the speed of the gangs.
The sight of everyone lined up, bending their waists in the same motion to pick cotton, looked like a single giant machine part from a distance. Of course, the problem was that it wasn't a sophisticated precision machine, but a flawed one with countless places needing repair.
'They say they're dividing labor, but efficiency drops if they do it that way.'
The problem with this forced labor is that it cannot provide any motivation to the slaves. That is why the overseer must always carry a whip and punish slaves who slow down. There is no reward for finishing quickly, and no option to leave work early. They just endure, maintaining the minimum speed to avoid the whip until the sun sets.
'Absence of motivation. Unnecessary waste of movement. Depreciation of labor. I only see flaws.'
When the harvested cotton basket is full, each person has to walk to the collection point, empty it, and return. Isn't that travel time a pure loss? In the midday heat, their stamina drops rapidly, and the afternoon work efficiency is bound to be halved compared to the morning. Sure enough, when I checked, the speed of the people slowed down significantly when the sun was high in the sky.
"That's enough. This is enough to overhaul."
I was worried that the system might be so perfect that I wouldn't dare to touch it, but as expected, it was a low-level, rule-of-thumb system. Thankfully.
* * *
I roughly understood. The level of 19th-century slave labor.
I felt like dying of boredom. Having estimated the situation, I began to organize the framework of the new system I had conceived for several days in the mansion's study onto paper. If I had read a wide range of alternate history novels during my breaks, I could have broken through the current situation more easily, but fortunately, the studies I devoted my life to weren't entirely in vain.
Quality control, dynamic goal setting, process division... How should I package all this in the language of this era so it doesn't arouse suspicion? While I was busy with my pen, Leo entered with a knock.
"Master, did you call?"
"Yes. Come here and sit for a moment."
My personal valet, Leo, who entered the room, hesitated for a moment before cautiously sitting on the edge of the chair.
"My uncle passed away and I became the new master, how is the atmosphere?"
"Everyone is happy and honored to serve the new master."
Damn, as if. I chuckled and took my eyes off the documents at his textbook-like answer that wouldn't even fool an elementary school student.
"Leo. Why are you trying to hide things between us? It's a fact everyone knows anyway. They must be desperately hoping I'm not a bigger jerk than my uncle."
For a moment, Leo's pupils shook as if there were an earthquake. I guess I really hit the nail on the head. Looking back on my memories, I was quite a jerk myself.
"No, Master! The late master was also a great person, and you are..."
"Enough. That's not the flattery I want to hear."
Hearing insincere, cringeworthy flattery inevitably brings back memories of my previous life, only increasing my unpleasantness.
"The other slaves will definitely want to ask you about me. If they want to know, you can tell them. Instead, don't add a single word of your own opinion."
"......"
"You saw, heard, and felt enough of what kind of person I am while going back and forth to New York, right? That's all there is to it. From now on, I will always treat everyone with that attitude, so just convey exactly what you saw."
Everything is rational, there is no unnecessary abuse, and if it aligns with my interests, I provide sufficient treatment to the slaves. Leo watched me for a while before bowing his head.
"...I understand, Master."
Watching him retreat, I turned my eyes back to the documents. If I suddenly say I'm going to tear down and fix the system, the slaves will be suspicious, so I'm laying the groundwork in advance like this. Next, I have to convince the middle manager. It wouldn't be that difficult to persuade him considering the treatment of overseers in this era, but the important thing was to keep his mouth shut. If that man talks, the secrets of my plantation will leak elsewhere, and I might be met with unnecessary suspicion.
"I'm thinking of applying a new system to the plantation from now on."
The next day, I handed him the new operation plan I had completed over several days.
"First, let's observe the trend of work achievement closely with an adaptation period of about a month. If this method is judged to be superior, our plantation will operate in this way from now on."
The overseer, John, scanned the documents and immediately expressed concern.
"Master, this kind of Task System is suitable for places like food farming in South Carolina. If we apply it to a large-scale cotton plantation like ours, production will inevitably decrease. Slaves will slack off once they meet their quotas. In the first place, it's hard to set daily tasks for cotton like farming."
"That's the old-fashioned way you know. This is a latest advanced technique popular among European nobles, improved to fit our plantation. There are already countless empirical cases, so you don't have to worry."
"Is that... really true?"
It's a lie, so of course it's not true. Naturally, such an effective task system doesn't exist in this era. But since it's a method that has established itself as the correct answer after countless studies and social experiments in the distant future, I'm not exactly lying, am I? Because I was so confident, John took a step back, but he still grumbled with a face that said he couldn't be convinced.
"Even so, it's obvious it won't work..."
My, what a suspicious fellow. I cut off his words and cast a death spell to finish off this complainer.
"Triple the bonus."
"...Excuse me?"
"If this system is successfully established and production increases by more than 10% compared to before, I will triple your bonus. If it increases by 15%, it will be quadruple."
"R-really?"
"And, in that case, I will highly evaluate your contribution and guarantee your employment for the next 5 years, not the existing one-year contract."
Overseers are usually resented by slaves, and since supply exceeds demand, one-year contracts are the standard. In this industry, 5 years is practically a permanent government position.
"I was going to give you a down payment because you're anxious about introducing a new method, but if you think it will fail anyway, I can't help..."
"Maaaaster! I was foolish! I will dedicate everything I have to prove the excellence of your advanced system!"
Financial corruption, completed immediately.
"Then let's make the necessary preparations tomorrow and apply the new system starting the day after tomorrow."
"Yes!"
A dictator who never rests to increase production and ignores the opinions of subordinates. I am such a vicious master.