The Man Was Good
1858. With the general election approaching, the United States political scene, deep in the throes of candidate primaries, was caught in a cycle of debates over a multitude of issues.
Among them, the biggest topic of conversation was, without a doubt, the economic panic.
No matter what the politics or the ideologies were, for most people, the most pressing matter was, as always, the struggle to put food on the table.
With Buchanan showcasing a level of incompetence that could only be described as legendary—offering absolutely no response to the worst economic crisis in history—the Northern Democratic Party was already backed into a corner.
Even so, political ideologies do not shift overnight.
There were still those who thought, "The Republicans are a bit too..." or those who had supported the Democratic Party their entire lives and hadn't quite lost the will to cast their votes for them just yet.
Northern Democratic candidates sought to capture the hearts of these citizens by employing a "party within the party" strategy, thoroughly distancing themselves from Buchanan.
However.
The explosion of the "John Peters" bomb had swept away all existing trivial topics.
"Candidate William, what are your thoughts on the Peters treason case?"
"That was an act of deviation committed by John Peters as an individual, and it has absolutely nothing to do with our Democratic Party..."
"Isn't it true that it happened in an attempt to protect slavery? John Peters was a more fervent supporter of slavery than anyone else."
"Candidate Sanders, do you believe that slavery must be protected even if it means resorting to extremist actions like John Peters?"
"Absolutely not."
"And yet, such people are swarming in the South right now. This is clearly an act that threatens the safety of the United States."
"......"
In the debates taking place across the North, the Democratic Party was, to put it bluntly, getting absolutely decimated.
How could they possibly debate when every single statement was countered with a "Treason!" trap?
Whenever they tried to say anything, the moment they were asked, "Are you suggesting you support Peters's treasonous acts?", the only thing a Democratic candidate could do was shake their head and insist that was absolutely not the case.
And finally, the trial of John Peters, the man who held the collective hatred of the Northern Democratic Party in his hands, began.
The Jackson Circuit Court was absolutely packed.
The heat, the smell of sweat, and the boiling hostility filled the courtroom.
In the front row of the gallery, Jefferson Davis, Governor Macrae, Congressman Quitman, and I sat in a row with stiff expressions.
Naturally, we weren't there to defend Peters; we were there to witness the end of a traitor with our own eyes and to ensure this situation was brought to a definitive close.
Even the reporters who had come from the North were glaring at the defendant's seat with burning eyes, pens gripped tightly in their hands.
Was it only the Northerners sending hostility?
On the contrary, the Southern planters were cursing Peters even more violently than the Northern figures, who couldn't openly express their hatred due to the perception that they were in enemy territory.
"Because of that one bastard, the Democratic Party is about to go under!"
"He is the shame of the South!"
"Just execute him right now! That traitorous son of a bitch!"
As soon as Peters appeared, the gallery was instantly covered in boos and jeers.
"Order! Order!"
Even though the judge's gavel rang out into the void several times, the commotion did not cease for a long time.
Judging that dragging people out for not being quiet might actually trigger a riot, the judges sighed and began the trial.
"Death! Death! Death!"
Every time Peters said something, the calls for death erupted like a spinal reflex, but he did not shrink back in the slightest.
Instead, his hollow eyes gleamed as he spoke with a rather dignified air.
"I have done nothing wrong. All of this was patriotism to save a sinking South!"
At his words, snickers erupted here and there in the gallery.
"The only way for the South to survive is to secede right now! We must annex Mexico and Cuba, and build a true empire on that vast land with the labor of slaves!"
"He's completely lost his mind."
"To think such a man was the Speaker..."
The murmurs turned into blatant contempt.
Yet, Peters didn't care and went a step further.
"My plan was perfect! My only defeat... was one thing: I was trapped by stereotypes. I failed to conceive the idea that slaves could be used as weapons! And that is a sentiment that all the bureaucrats and planters here share!"
Peters's eyes naturally met mine as I sat in the front row.
This man still hasn't come to his senses.
Even after I told him so clearly last time, the emotion in his gaze was still not hatred.
It was closer to awe and madness.
"Why couldn't the South arm its slaves? Because they were afraid those weapons would gain a will of their own and be pointed at us! But, James Sett's slaves were different!"
Peters pointed a finger at me, spit flying from his mouth.
"They! Those blacks! They risked their lives to capture me alive! Because I didn't anticipate that fact, I was eventually caught and ended up standing here in this place!"
It's unlikely, but if there were people here swayed by his words, the problem would become quite serious.
The dangerous idea of mobilizing blacks as troops.
In the original history, it was a method the South didn't choose until the very last moment when they were cornered, so surely no one would fall for the ramblings of such a traitor.
But still, if blacks were truly sent out to the battlefield, there's no telling how many of my precious people would die.
So, I have to draw a clear line here and turn that man's delusions into a laughingstock.
While I was organizing my thoughts, Peters continued to speak passionately.
"Everyone! Break free from your stereotypes! You must put a brilliant commander like James Sett at the front and raise those blacks into killing machines! If you do that, our South will surely be able to defeat the North!"
However.
The response to his near-screaming argument was nothing but a massive wave of mockery and ridicule that covered the entire courtroom.
"Pfft! That idiot has really gone crazy!"
"Use blacks as an army? Hahaha!"
Even Jefferson Davis, sitting in the front row, shook his head.
"To speak such nonsense so seriously."
Their mockery wasn't just because of the danger of rebellion.
It was because of the contempt, ingrained to the bone, that blacks couldn't possibly perform the duties of a soldier.
As expected of my Dixie brothers, I knew I could count on you!
"What? Blacks as soldiers?"
"Would they even understand an order properly?"
"They're the type to run away in fear the moment they fire a gun."
Yet, even amidst this outpouring of ridicule, Peters did not bend his opinion.
"If you don't believe me, call James Sett as a witness! If you ask him, he will give you a definitive answer!"
All eyes turned toward me.
If I refuse to testify here, it would be doing that man a favor, so naturally, I had to comply.
I slowly rose from my seat and headed to the witness stand.
"Very well. I will answer as a witness."
The judge asked.
"Witness. Do you... believe Peters's words are true? Do you believe blacks can be used as an army?"
If no one else, my statement, revered as the greatest slave master in the South, carries significant credibility.
That sign is exactly what Peters is aiming for.
Even if I don't agree with his opinion, the sheer weight of my words could attract enough attention to make the mere act of debating it a problem.
So, I have no intention of debating here and falling into Peters's trap.
Because the easiest way to bury a politician or an ideology in this world isn't to bury them with logic.
It's to turn them into a laughingstock.
"Blacks are useful as security personnel. Like loyal dogs guarding their master's property."
I am a Dixie man. A cold-blooded, 19th-century old-fashioned slave owner.
"Honestly, I was a bit worried too. Even stupid blacks can easily perform tasks like setting an ambush and pulling a trigger, but war is different, isn't it? But surprisingly... the troops led by Chairman Peters here were beginners who hadn't even properly fired a gun, weren't they? That was truly a stroke of incredible luck."
"What? He staged a riot with people who couldn't even fire a gun properly?"
Ridicule of disbelief flowed from the gallery.
"I... I am truly sorry, but the reason Chairman Peters failed is partly because I trained my blacks well, but more than that, it's because the band of thieves the Chairman brought along was too weak. No matter how embarrassing it is, trying to elevate blacks to cover up your own mistakes is a bit..."
"Kwahahaha!"
"Furthermore, war is different from a general battle."
I continued, using exaggerated tones and gestures so that everyone could see.
"War is not a simple fight where unit clashes with unit. It is like a comprehensive art form where intricate strategies and tactics unfold."
And I turned my body toward the gallery, not Peters.
"Everyone, do you think those blacks could understand Napoleon's strategies and tactics?"
Snorts were heard here and there.
"If Alexander or Caesar had gone on an expedition with blacks... oh my, Alexander the Great would have fallen without even crossing Persia. In my opinion, blacks are just perfect for security. Blacks are perfect for security!"
"Hear, hear! Blacks are perfect for security!"
"Blacks-are-perfect-for-security! Blacks-are-perfect-for-security!"
As the chant of "Blacks are perfect for security" covered the courtroom, the judge sighed and shook his head.
"You... you traitor! James Sett! You bastard! You are doing this to destroy the South! You are a planter, yet you truly wish for the abolition of slavery!"
Peters, whose debate itself had been blocked, jumped around in the defendant's seat and screamed at the top of his lungs.
I looked at him and let out a scoff.
"To be called a traitor by a traitor. That is the same as being called a patriot, so I will take it to heart with gratitude. Everyone, I, James Sett, the traitor to traitors, will continue to be with you all in the future."
"Waaaaah!"
The courtroom was instantly covered in applause and cheers.
The judge struck his gavel several times, but Peters's mad shouting was perfectly buried in those cheers.
With this, Peters's argument that blacks should be used as weapons was not taken seriously by anyone and ended up as nothing more than a laughingstock.
Leaving behind the enthusiastic praise of everyone, I left the courtroom, savoring the beating of my pounding heart.
* * *
Around the time John Peters's trial was ending amidst a mix of ridicule and condemnation.
Even in the midst of this unprecedented commotion, the Buchanan administration was still constantly evading responsibility, saying they didn't want to get involved in the controversy.
-This terror incident is a problem for the state of Mississippi and should be handled by the state of Mississippi itself...
"Screw that! These incompetent bastards!"
"The economic panic, the staged terror plot—it all happened because the incompetent administration isn't taking any measures!"
"That's right! If we leave that man in the presidency, the United States is really going to be destroyed!"
The Republican heavyweights, gathered to discuss general election strategies, were already united in bashing Buchanan.
It wasn't just simple political logic; the fear that the United States might truly collapse if that man continued to be president was pushing them forward.
"If nothing else, as long as they are turning a blind eye to this situation, the administration must be held accountable."
"But no matter how hard we try, the general election isn't over yet..."
"That's all the more reason to push them. The Southerners will oppose us no matter what, but can the Northern Democrats really take the administration's side? If they do, their own seats will all be wiped out!"
The faces of the heavyweights in the room brightened.
"Lincoln, what do you think? Are there any clauses that could force the Buchanan administration out?"
"The federal government has the Guarantee Clause, the duty to protect each state from violence. The Buchanan administration has essentially abandoned this. Even if impeachment is a stretch, I think we could pressure them to resign."
"That's good. First, we throw out impeachment, and then we extract a resignation by receiving concessions from the Northern Democrats."
The current Buchanan is truly a golden goblin that spits out approval ratings when you hit him.
As long as you keep catching and beating this guy, you can't lose the election even if you wanted to.
And at the exact same time, at the National Hotel in Washington.
"Buchanan, you son of a bitch! Who on earth was the one who said we had to push this bastard for president!"
"It was... our Northern Democratic organization."
"I wish someone would go back in time and put a bullet in each of our heads."
"......"
"The Republicans will definitely grab onto us and drag us down. If nothing else, we must never take the president's side. Do you understand?"
Thinking that a president like this was better off not existing, the Northern Democratic Party was also pouring out their anger, just like the Republicans.