The Slave Master (4)
The Democratic Party will lose this election.
It was a future that 99 out of 100 people with common sense and a grasp of reality would agree upon. The only remaining 1 percent chance of a different outcome would require the Republican leadership to suddenly lose their minds and descend into internal strife.
John Peters, who had even served as the Speaker of the Mississippi House, was not unaware of this.
Why could he not see that if they simply allowed themselves to be dragged along, the South would inevitably end up isolated and shackled to the North?
Therefore.
Everyone in the South must raise the banner of struggle, prepared to lay down their lives.
Jefferson Davis was certainly a man with respectable qualities, but unfortunately, he was far too soft. The Fire-Eaters—only they could save the future of the South. In that regard, it was a good sign that James Sett, whose popularity in Mississippi had been skyrocketing recently, was showing a favorable attitude toward the Fire-Eaters.
However, one could not simply trust this man immediately.
"But aren't you quite close with Representative Quitman these days?"
"Yes. He keeps calling me his savior and treats me very well. Honestly, I am just grateful."
"Actually, since we are in such a setting, I will speak frankly: there are rumors circulating that since that incident, Representative Quitman has become... well, rather weak."
It was an indirect way of asking if this was all his fault. If he didn't receive a somewhat convincing answer here, he couldn't share the same boat with Sett, no matter how much of a pity it would be.
"Actually, Representative Quitman has been struggling with that very issue. But, um... I don't know if I should be saying this, as it concerns the Representative's honor..."
"...Honor?"
"You must never, ever spread this rumor anywhere. If you do, Representative Quitman might challenge both me and the Speaker to a duel."
What kind of trouble could he have confessed to cause such a fuss? Peters nodded indifferently, telling him to go ahead and speak.
"In fact, Representative Peters, after you suffered from dysentery last time, he was hovering near death. It was a situation where his life was truly in danger."
"I heard. They said everyone staying at the National Hotel that day nearly met their end."
"Yes. But ever since that day..."
Sett lowered his voice as much as possible, glanced around, and whispered so only Peters could hear.
"...He says he cannot get it up anymore."
"......What?"
It was such an unimaginable reason that even Peters stood there momentarily, mouth agape, staring at James.
No, wait. So.
The reason Quitman had been losing his drive lately and showing such unmanly behavior was...
"Yes. That is why his self-esteem has plummeted, and he often says he doesn't want to live anymore."
"No, no. Good heavens... oh my..."
He had thought Quitman lost his spirit while hanging around James, but that wasn't it. Had he been going to James, who saved his life, to pour out his grievances because he had completely lost his masculine vigor?
Realizing he had completely misunderstood the cause and effect, Peters let out a hollow laugh and stroked his beard.
Who could have ever imagined it?
That Quitman, the very symbol of Southern machismo... had reached a state where he could no longer stand tall.
It was understandable.
No, it was inevitable. How hard it must have been for him, unable to tell anyone around him.
In this moment, the misunderstanding and distrust Peters held toward Quitman melted away like snow.
"My word... and I didn't even know."
"No, please. This is a true secret, so you must never tell anyone."
"Ah, of course. I'm not a person of such poor character."
There was already a clear legal precedent that if you teased someone about something like this, you couldn't blame anyone but yourself if you ended up shot dead. Peters actually wanted to apologize to Quitman, but he couldn't, as that would reveal he knew the truth, which made the situation awkward.
"Anyway, Mr. Speaker, I have now perfectly come to agree with the logic of the Fire-Eaters. The only way for the South to survive is through self-reliance!"
"Hmm, indeed."
"Aren't those inferior blacks a race born to be slaves to us great white men? In fact, I can say this with certainty as someone who has worked slaves to the absolute limit. Blacks are a race born to be slaves."
"Oh..."
If the declaration came from the South's greatest slave master, it would certainly serve as excellent evidence to support the ideology of the Fire-Eaters. Peters, whose wall of suspicion had already half-collapsed at the news of Quitman's erectile dysfunction, now had no choice but to half-believe James's words.
"So, your proposal was to blow up railroads and trains and frame it as a Northern plot?"
"Yes. With the election approaching, it would be a very effective operation. If an incident of this magnitude occurs, President Buchanan won't be able to just sit on the fence like a coward anymore."
"It is certainly a good idea."
"But the problem is the execution personnel. I have loyal slaves under me, but I can't trust the job to blacks alone... you know how it is, right? Blacks only know how to follow simple orders; it would be impossible for them to carry out such delicate sabotage."
That made sense.
Of course, if Peters put his mind to it, he could mobilize all the Fire-Eaters and radical extremists he influenced to carry out the sabotage. Moreover, James's proposal was a plan that would certainly work to his advantage.
If such a major incident occurred before the election, wouldn't the Mississippi legislature, and even the federal congressmen, be filled with Fire-Eaters? Then he could become governor, command the Fire-Eaters at will, and elevate the South into a true slave empire.
Peters gave his firm confirmation that he would actively adopt Sett's opinion and find the personnel for the execution himself.
As he waved goodbye to James, who bowed politely and departed, Peters happily opened another bottle of wine.
He hadn't expected such an opportunity to roll into his lap.
This was nothing short of a revelation from God that He wished for the slave system to continue.
However.
"Destroying railroads alone is too weak. And I'm not sure how much I can trust that man, James Sett."
When you think about it, the reason the South was being cornered like this was because Buchanan was not actively exercising his presidential authority. He had been put in office to unconditionally protect the interests of the South, yet after the Dred Scott decision, he was just timidly watching both sides because of the North's backlash. What kind of representative of the South was that?
"Let's see if he can stay still even when blood is actually spilled."
Peters's madness was growing in size, heading in a direction no one could have anticipated.
* * *
The meeting with Peters went more than 90 percent according to plan.
At the same time, I was able to perfectly solidify the suspicion that this guy was indeed the mastermind behind the fake Free Arrow raids. The conclusion was already reached the moment he admitted he could find the people to carry out the railroad bombing.
"Say, Master. But will this be okay?"
"Hm? What do you mean?"
"Representative Quitman. He suddenly became... a eunuch?"
"It's fine, it's fine. I already got permission in advance. Besides, unless Peters really wants to get shot and killed by Quitman, he wouldn't spread such a rumor, would he?"
And Peters was scheduled to leave for hell, taking all the responsibility once this job was finished, so this fake news wouldn't have a chance to spread.
Leo shook his head, looking dumbfounded after hearing my explanation.
"Representative Quitman actually agreed to that? No matter how much you say it won't spread, how could you even think of such an excuse..."
"When your savior asks for a favor after saving your life, how could you refuse? And it's not like I actually turned him into a eunuch, right? I just asked him to pretend to be one for a few months."
"........."
To break down the defenses of a man armed with suspicion like Peters, I had no choice but to present an excuse he would never expect. Since Quitman's sacrifice would allow us all to be happy, wouldn't this be true utilitarianism?
"Then, Master, our plan is..."
"Once the one who took the bait starts crawling out, we activate the trap."
"But will he obediently trust you, Master?"
"That's the thing. Even if he's confused for a moment by Quitman's 'coming out,' his suspicion might return once his reason kicks in. I think I need to take out more insurance."
It would be too miserable to die after being stabbed in the back while thinking I had everything under control in the palm of my hand.
As I was racking my brain, I saw Leo staring at something through the carriage window as if possessed.
"What is it? Is there something fascinating?"
"Yes? Oh... no. It's just that it looks like they're having a wedding over there."
"Oh, really?"
I swapped seats with Leo and saw that a wedding was indeed being held at a large estate nearby. It was said that church weddings were becoming trendy in the North, but Southern planters still tended to hold traditional weddings that flaunted their wealth. The bride would wear a snow-white dress, adorn herself with various jewels and ornaments inherited from the family, and invite as many guests as possible to hold a grand banquet in the garden.
Of course, this was only the story for planters with great wealth; for ordinary laborers or farmers, it was common to just wear clean clothes, receive congratulations from those around them, and eat something delicious.
In the case of black slaves, it was even simpler; they often ended up with a modest ceremony like jumping over a broom with the master's permission, receiving congratulations from other slaves. Naturally, since blacks were not citizens, such marriages had no legal binding force.
"Marriage... come to think of it, didn't you say you were going to marry Sarah soon, Leo?"
"Yes? W-well, yes. Since you gave us permission, Master, we were planning to have a modest ceremony among ourselves..."
"Now that I think about it, it's a bit strange to arrange their dating but leave the marriage system as it is."
"Actually, the Mistress has also been paying special attention to our marriage culture."
"Cecilia? Well, I suppose she's at the age where she'd have fantasies about such things."
Above all, since she was my fiancée, she couldn't help but be interested in how brides and grooms held weddings here in the South. To protect her honor as a member of an English noble family and to widely announce my social prestige, holding a flashy wedding was not a bad option.
However, simply throwing money at a wedding wasn't noble, and it would only invite people's jealousy.
"I should try a modern experiment."
"Yes? What kind of experiment?"
"Leo, consider yourself a lucky man. I, James Sett, will personally lead the wedding of my precious personal slave from start to finish."
"...Y-yes?"
He seemed not to understand, but in a few days, he would be singing tear-soaked hymns while reciting the grace of Mr. Sett. Of course, it was absurd to show off a black slave's wedding to the outside world, but it could certainly be used as a dress rehearsal to improve the perfection of my wedding with Cecilia.
I might be sorry to the future brides and grooms of America, but I had to secure my reputation first, didn't I? I decided to unleash a forbidden secret technique that would spread not only through the South but also to the North and even the upper classes of Europe.
By any chance, have you heard of Sudeume?