The Flames of Chaos (3)
The fact that I had ambushed my personal guard in advance wasn't actually because I had predicted Peters's betrayal.
Whether those bastards betrayed me or not, I had intended to arrest them on the spot regardless.
I hadn't planned on wiping them out entirely, but since they were the ones who tried to kill me, it was just their own doing.
In any case, keeping just that guy Miles alive was more than enough to prove that Peters was the mastermind behind this whole affair.
But that bastard didn't know that.
He didn't even seem to suspect that Quitman, Parer, and I had joined hands to dig a trap to bury him.
I approached Miles, who was already half out of his mind, and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“You said you were too busy to talk earlier, but do you have some time now?”
“I, I…”
“I’m curious—what kind of business is so urgent that you had to shoot me and run? Can you tell me?”
Click.
As Ben, who was standing beside me, silently aimed his rifle, the last bit of color drained from Miles’s already pale face.
“I… even if I die…”
“Really? Think about it. You’re in this state—do you think your backer, Peters, will be safe? Whether he’s the Speaker of the Mississippi House or whatever, once he’s caught doing something like this, he’s never getting out. The bridge bombing might end in an attempted charge, but you can’t deny the fact that you made fake John Browns to rob plantations, can you?”
“W-what did you say?”
“If I were you, I’d spill everything I know right here and beg to be spared from the gallows. You aren't resting easy just because death sentences are rarely handed down to white men, are you? If the ‘Arrow of Freedom’ incident gets tied into this, you’re a first-degree murder suspect, no questions asked.”
Surprisingly, even in 19th-century America, a land overflowing with violence and savagery, death sentences were becoming increasingly rare.
In fact, some states had abolished the death penalty entirely.
Moreover, even when someone was killed, a death sentence wasn't always guaranteed.
To be precise, accidental homicides rarely resulted in a death sentence.
Of course, that was only for white men; for Black people, there were over 25 crimes that could result in the death penalty.
But in the case of first-degree murder, even for a white man, it was a straight ticket to the gallows unless the state had abolished the penalty.
“Intent, deliberation, planning—you’ve checked all the boxes. There’s no doubt you’re headed for a first-degree murder charge. But if all of this was under Peters’s orders, I don’t think you’d be the only one facing that charge.”
“……”
Had he not expected that I would even know about the Arrow of Freedom incident?
Perhaps he hadn't anticipated the death penalty, as Miles’s pupils shook as if he were experiencing an earthquake.
He’d claimed he would keep his loyalty even if he died, but it seemed he’d thought from the start, ‘Surely, I won’t be the one to die.’
“T-that… you’ll be in trouble too if I spill everything… using Black people as your own private army like this…”
“You want to have a ‘who can expose more’ contest? Fine by me. But do you think anyone in the North, let alone the South, would believe a word you say? Who in the world would trust a guy caught trying to commit murder and terrorism when he tries to frame the victim?”
Since it had already been revealed that he had disguised himself as Northerners to rob fellow Southern planters, no one would listen to a word he said.
Whatever he said would just be treated as barking.
“Actually, you gave me a hint, so I have a rough idea already. I’ll tell you my deduction to ease your conscience. I’ll know if I’m right or wrong just by looking at your expression.”
“What did I give…”
“Think about it. Making me a martyr is understandable. But if you were going to do it anyway, wouldn't it be better to make me a martyr and blow up the bridge? It’s strange to go through the trouble of plotting to make me a martyr while leaving the bridge intact.”
Leo, who was listening from the side, nodded.
“I thought it was strange as well. There is no reason for them to grant Master the honor of stopping the bridge bombing.”
“That was to incite more anger…”
“To incite an explosion of anger, it would have been better to cut the bridge. I wondered why, but thanks to you, you already confessed. You said you had urgent business, so you had to deal with me quickly and leave.”
In other words, he didn't fail to bomb the bridge; he just didn't have the time to do it.
Then, what could be the reason?
It was reasonable to assume that Peters, who was at the Jackson Capitol, was plotting something else.
“The railroad executives from the North are attending the event at the Jackson Capitol right now. And it was Peters who designated the bridge not far from Jackson as the target. Why? Isn't it because you, who were supposed to deal with me here, had to rush to Jackson and join Peters?”
Honestly, even I found it hard to believe he would pull something off at a place where Southern congressmen were invited, but seeing Miles’s chin tremble, it seemed I had hit the nail on the head.
The madman.
No matter how crazy he was, I hadn't expected him to go this far.
Then again, that’s why he created the fake John Brown to rob plantation owners.
It was absurd, but since he was that kind of person, it made sense that he’d try to bury me here under the guise of making me a martyr.
They say if you go far enough with your madness, it becomes art—this had to be the most legendary trolling in history.
Honestly, I didn't see it coming. To predict this, one would have to be a god or enter the realm of the same kind of idiot as him, and I wasn't either.
“Just tell me where you were supposed to meet Peters. If you tell me that, I’ll make sure you don’t get dragged to the gallows.”
“That’s…”
“Leo, contact the sheriff immediately and tell him to come here and clean up the scene. We need to prepare and head to Jackson right away.”
“But Master, can we… can we go to Jackson carrying firearms?”
“Normally, no. But this is an emergency. As a captain of the Natchez Militia—not your master—I will temporarily conscript local resources.”
A militia officer with the duty to protect Mississippi’s public order has the right to conscript local resources as needed when witnessing events that significantly affect the safety of the state.
And since Black people are technically a type of resource according to the legal code, I could sufficiently justify using them as tools to maintain order.
Black people armed with weapons storming the Capitol?
It was a catastrophic sentence, but what could I do in an emergency?
We were just going to catch a traitor.
* * *
“It’s about time.”
In Jackson, the capital of Mississippi, Peters was timing things at the heart of the Capitol, convinced that everything was going according to plan.
Soon, Miles would kill Sett and manipulate the scene.
He needed to pull the militia around the Capitol away just in time for Miles to join him.
How many times had he calculated and practiced for this very moment?
Peters took a deliberately crumpled telegram out of his pocket and ran to the captain of the guard, acting as if he had just received an urgent message.
“This is a disaster! An urgent telegram just arrived!”
“Mr. Speaker? What is it?”
“The Northerners! They’ve gone mad! Radical abolitionists are trying to blow up the Pearl River railroad bridge in Byram! James Sett is trying to stop them on the scene, so we must send reinforcements immediately!”
It was an urgent report from none other than the Speaker of the Mississippi House. The captain of the guard, who was protecting the Capitol, reacted immediately to the mention of ‘James Sett’ and ‘Northern radicals.’
“Those damn Northerners! Daring to do this near the capital!”
“Captain Sett is in danger! Everyone, turn your horses around! We’re heading to the bridge to provide support! Hurry!”
Curses toward the North erupted endlessly from the mouths of the militia members as they scrambled onto their horses.
Watching the main force around the Capitol disappear in an instant, Peters hid a satisfied smile.
Everything was going according to plan.
James Sett must be dead by Miles’s hand by now, a martyr.
All that remained was to stage ‘Northern atrocities’ befitting that martyrdom.
If ‘Northern radicals’ stormed this place where Northern railroad executives and Southern congressmen were gathered, this grand plan, the dawn of an empire, would be complete.
Abolish slavery! Free the Black people! As they shouted slogans like madmen and fired their guns, the Capitol, stripped of its guards, would descend into absolute chaos.
And in the midst of this immense confusion.
If one or two moderate congressmen who had been particularly opposed to Southern independence died in an ‘unfortunate accident,’ who could possibly suspect anything?
A group of Fire-Eaters disguised as rioters was already hiding near the Capitol. Once the rest of the group led by Miles finished off Sett and joined them, they would launch the operation immediately.
Peters returned to his gentle politician’s face, killing time by cursing and bad-mouthing the North with other congressmen.
However. Miles, whom he had been waiting for, did not come.
As time passed, the corners of Peters’s mouth stiffened slightly.
Did they run into the guards protecting the Capitol on their way?
No, he had told them to take a detour in advance to avoid that.
‘Damn it. If this continues, the guard that went to the bridge might realize they were tricked and come back.’
Peters bit his lip.
There was no choice. It wasn't the perfect picture, but if he delayed any further, the entire plan could fail.
He had to proceed with the operation, even with half the force.
He signaled his adjutant outside the window with a note.
To begin.
And a moment later.
“Waaaaah!”
“Abolish slavery! Free the Black people!”
With piercing shouts, a group of masked men shattered the glass of the Capitol’s main entrance and stormed in.
Bang! Bang! Bang-bang-bang!
Bullets were fired into the air, and the banquet hall was instantly filled with screams and terror.
“Congressmen! You must evacuate immediately! Rioters, presumed to be Northern radicals, have stormed the Capitol and…”
“What! What on earth are the guards doing!”
“T-there is no one left to stop them! You must evacuate regardless!”
“These crazy bastards! This time, we must root out these sons of bitches no matter what!”
Even if it didn't have the symbolism of the Federal Congress, an attack on a state Capitol by rioters was a disgrace not just for Mississippi, but for the entire South.
“Everyone, calm down! You must evacuate this way!”
Peters shouted as if he were helping others evacuate, and took advantage of the chaos to join his subordinates.
He pretended to be handling the situation while ordering them to locate Henderson, a moderate congressman who was a thorn in his side.
“Put a bullet in his back. I don’t care if he dies or not. The important thing is the fact itself that a Southern congressman was shot by Northern radicals.”
“Yes!”
Just as the true independence of the South, separated from the hypocrites of the North, was about to begin.
“Mr. Speaker! Urgent report! Dozens of armed troops are approaching!”
Peters’s face brightened.
It seemed Miles had arrived without being too late.
“You stupid bastard! Why are you so late!”
“N-no! It doesn't seem to be Miles’s troops!”
“What? What are you talking about!”
The subordinate who received the report shook his head with the most stupid expression in the world and muttered.
“Well… they say the ones swarming in… are darkies.”
“…What? Then aren't they just darkies looking for their masters?”
“N-no! They say they are carrying firearms!”
For a moment, Peters couldn't understand what he had just heard.
Black people,
Armed.
Swarming toward the Capitol?
What was this?
Was it possible that without his knowledge, Northerners had truly infiltrated and incited a slave rebellion?
“Congressman! The darkies are swarming this way!”
Dozens of Black people carrying firearms were advancing toward the pre-arranged meeting point.
Peters felt his mind go blank for a moment at this absurd situation.