The Slave Exploiter (3)

August, which signaled the beginning of the harvest season, had passed, and it was just past the middle of September.

The state of the plantations under my jurisdiction was showing unprecedented prosperity.

My new techniques had been applied to the plantations I’d acquired from my relatives, and I had tightly sealed the mouths of the managers with performance bonuses and ironclad contracts.

When I told the workers that if this leaked, our plantation’s competitiveness would weaken and it wouldn't benefit them either, they began to keep their lips strictly sealed.

Who would want to work from sunrise to sunset under the lash as they did before?

Especially now, when they could go home early and rest as soon as they finished their work.

"Hehehe, Master. The results for the initial volume harvested so far are in."

"You're grinning from ear to ear, so I assume the results are good?"

"Yes. Isn't this all thanks to your amazing management policy, Master?"

As proven in the final preparation stages in July before the harvest, the new task system showed incredible prowess during the August harvest season.

Usually, cotton farming in Mississippi begins with planting in April and enters preparation for harvest by July.

The harvest typically continues from August through November, with a final late harvest in December, followed by a period ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of reorganization during the winter.

Because cotton doesn't bloom all at once, the harvest is divided into three or four sessions at two-to-three-week intervals, and it is common to work even on Sundays during this time.

"Look at this. Most of the first batch is of Middling grade or higher, and the proportion of Good Middling is also tremendous."

"Indeed. The harvest volume is bound to converge to a similar amount anyway, but the rise in grade is very significant."

At this time, harvested cotton was subdivided into many grades based on its cleanliness, ranging from the lowest Ordinary to Good Ordinary, Low Middling, Middling, Good Middling, and several stages above that.

The reason for such detailed grading is, of course, that this cleanliness is the factor that determines the quality of the cotton.

"What was the proportion of Middling or higher at our plantation last year?"

"The first harvest sold through September was exactly 53%."

"And that went up to 77%?"

"Yes. At this rate, rumors will inevitably spread among the brokers. That the quality of the Sett plantation this year is insane."

Typically, there is a difference of nearly 2 cents per pound between Ordinary grade and Middling or higher.

Considering that Middling grade cotton is around 11 cents per pound, this means that just by raising the grade, revenue increases by nearly 20% per pound.

"If they get the hang of it, we might even cross the 80% mark."

"Yes. Since they already know that keeping the work clean is the best way to achieve their goals, all teams are focusing on that."

From the beginning, most plantations encouraged their workers to harvest clean-quality cotton somehow.

However, unless they used a method of providing direct rewards like this, there were obviously clear limits.

"Soon, the neighbors will be pestering me. They'll be throwing a fit, asking what the secret to raising the quality is."

"Actually, someone already asked me. It wasn't so much trying to dig for information, but rather they were just amazed..."

"Tell them you signed a contract stating that the moment you spill even a word, you'll be sued by me and lose all your property, so you can't tell them. Then they'll all be convinced."

"Yes. But wouldn't that be practically admitting that you, Master, are hiding a great secret?"

Even if I hid it tightly, everyone would notice just by looking at the quality of the cotton shipped from the plantation, so what of it?

"Minor rumors will spread through the brokers, but digging out the specific policies will be impossible. The excuse is up to me to make up."

"Ah, that's true too."

If anything, it was surprising how quickly the efficiency had skyrocketed.

At this rate, the food provided to the slaves as rewards or the Switchel sprayed to prevent dehydration wouldn't even make a dent in the profits.

Should I hold a small company dinner after the busiest season ends?

As I sent John out and was thinking about ways to boost this productivity even further,

Knock, knock.

"Master, a letter has arrived."

This time, Leo came inside and politely held out a luxurious envelope.

"Right, good work. Is there anything uncomfortable while working?"

"No. Even the people in the field are saying this is the first harvest season they've been able to endure, and they are all grateful."

"Grateful, my foot. I'm doing this for my own benefit. If there are any who misunderstand, make it clear to them. Tell them this is absolutely not me showing you mercy."

"Yes, yes. Of course. Then please take your time checking it."

Leo bowed his head repeatedly, wearing a smile that would have been unimaginable just a few months ago.

Actually, there was no need to check it.

At this time of year, invitations to parties commemorating the harvest season always flew in like this.

Look at this. As expected, it's an invitation to a banquet.

They call it a banquet, but seeing as everyone from the Governor of Mississippi to the congressmen is coming, it's closer to a ritual to solidify their morale.

The North and South are in sharp conflict over slavery, but they are likely trying to show off their power by demonstrating how tightly knit our South is.

Even this McMullan, the host of this banquet, was a lawyer running the largest law firm in Mississippi and, at the same time, a Cotton King who owned over 300 slaves.

The Melrose estate was designed and built with banquets in mind from the start, so one can only imagine how magnificent it would be.

In any case, as long as the big shots of the political world are coming one after another, my not attending such a place would be too unnatural in itself.

"No choice. Leo, I have to go out this weekend."

"Yes! I will make sure to prepare everything."

I am in a position where I have to walk a tightrope of devotion so as ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠not to be marked by either side, but I wasn't particularly nervous.

After all, most of the planters attending this banquet would be dying to hear the secret to my quality improvement.

I immediately sent a reply that I would attend.

Saturday evening, the last week of September 1856.

Numerous carriages arrived in front of the Melrose estate, which was reputed to be the most magnificent in Natchez, Mississippi.

As I got off at the entrance of the estate, which reminded me of a Greek temple, the slaves of the McMullan family bowed politely.

Since the slaves I brought could not attend the banquet, I told Leo and Sam to eat the food brought from the estate and get some rest before I went inside.

"Welcome! Thank you for accepting the invitation. It is an honor to meet the young head of the Sett family in person like this."

A middle-aged man who looked to be in his 50s greeted me, politely offering a handshake.

John McMullan, the owner of the estate and the lawyer considered the best defender of slavery in Mississippi.

His eyes looking at me were clearly sparkling with affection for one of his own kind.

"The honor is mine for the invitation. My late father often spoke of your reputation, sir."

"Haha, this is truly humbling. Then, James, please go inside and enjoy today's banquet to your heart's content. There are many people who have been wanting to meet you in person anyway."

"Yes. Thank you for your consideration."

Well, a lucky young pup who came to own 700 slaves as soon as he turned twenty has attended, so it's only natural they'd be interested.

I'm even unmarried, aren't I?

For a family with a daughter, I'm the most desirable son-in-law, and for politicians, I'm the best prey to extract generous political donations from.

And as expected, as soon as I entered the banquet hall, a flood of requests for handshakes poured in.

As expected, most were Cotton Kings who owned over 100 slaves, and among them was a big shot who was called the King of Planters.

"I've heard a lot about you, but I'm finally meeting you. Nice to meet you, young man. I am Stephen Duncan."

A Cotton King who could be counted on one hand even across the entire South, and the greatest slave king in Mississippi.

Even though he was nearing 70, the old man, who still looked healthy, was watching me intently without hiding his interest.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"The honor is truly mine to meet you. I am James Sett!"

No matter how many slaves I inherited, I could never reach this old man, who is called the greatest tycoon in Mississippi.

To give you an idea, the number of slaves he keeps on his plantation in Issaquena County, Mississippi, alone exceeds 800, and if you combine all the slaves spread across the country, it exceeds 1,000.

He is truly a figure who would not be at all awkward to call one of the greatest slave kings in the South.

"Are you aware that your name has been appearing an awful lot among the brokers lately?"

"Yes. I couldn't possibly not know."

"They say the quality has improved strangely well... of course, you wouldn't tell me the secret even if I asked, would you?"

"What secret could there be? I just enforced more certain management and efficient labor."

In the South, certain management is synonymous with strict corporal punishment, and efficient labor is considered to have the same meaning as squeezing them dry.

Duncan let out a dry laugh and shook his head.

"You're a ruthless young man. But remember well what this old man says. Even if you think blacks are something on the verge of being human, you know they are living creatures, right? If you squeeze a living creature too hard, it's bound to wither away someday."

"I will keep that in mind."

"Yes, yes. You're still young, so don't be obsessed with immediate profit and commit the folly of calling for long-term loss. Of course, if that's not the case, then this old man has made a huge mistake."

As the conversation between Duncan and me continued, I could feel the surrounding planters focusing all their attention, trying to eavesdrop on our conversation.

It's a conversation between the greatest slave king in Mississippi and the rising new slave king, not just anyone else.

Especially since the achievements my plantation has made this time are secretly spreading everywhere, they must be tilting their ears, hoping to hear the secret.

So, now is the time to drive in the wedge.

"No. I couldn't possibly escape the discernment of an experienced elder like you. However, I am also squeezing them dry after calculating everything in my own way."

"Hoho... is that so?"

I deliberately laid out a part of the secret they wanted to know in a voice loud enough for everyone around to hear.

"Unlike machines, people recover if they rest a little. So, if you grasp the line where they won't break and work them right up to that precarious level, you can work them for a long time. If the desired quality doesn't come out, you just have to use the excellent tool of persuasion called the whip until it does."

"...Haa..."

"Of course, if you don't grasp that line well, they'll all be rendered useless, but I have a knack for finding that precarious line, so it'll be fine. Isn't the result proving it? Still, I will engrave your precious advice in my heart without forgetting it."

I bowed my head and slipped out of the group of planters to find some food.

"Wow... did you hear that just now?"

"Maybe it's because he's young, but he's really no joke."

"Kya~ ruthless, truly ruthless. Just how harshly did he squeeze them... didn't I tell you? That it would all be the result of insane whipping..."

"But then the slaves would be dying..."

"He said he found that precarious line. If it's true, it's impressive. Of course, I can roughly guess how many slaves he sent to the grave before it got to that point."

The murmurs reached my ears even as they moved away.

Yes, yes. Please spread the rumors as hard as you can.

The more you do, the less anyone will expect that this vicious slave exploiter, James Sett, is actually moving under the conviction that slavery will be abolished.

There might be criticism later that I was a base slave exploiter, but what is there to worry about when the very slaves who were supposedly exploited will all band together to defend me?

Even if such an attack comes, I can easily counterattack.

Having achieved my intended goal, I happily devoured the food and decided to find a suitable corner to kill time until the banquet ended.

Or should I just go back and rest since there's nothing more to see?

"James Sett? You were here!"

"I was worried about what I'd do if I couldn't see you today, but this is a relief."

But it seemed I couldn't escape this den of devils so easily.

"...You two, do you happen to know me?"

"Who wouldn't know you? There's still plenty of time left, so why are you trying to go back already? Hahaha!"

"Ah, that's because I have to work tomorrow..."

"Look at this guy. Even if it's the harvest season, does the master intend to go out himself from Sunday and drive the slaves? My, what great passion."

Two unfamiliar voices caught me as I was trying to sneak back to the carriage.

One had a strange hairstyle that looked like he'd been hit by a bomb, and the other was a middle-aged man who, in contrast, had his hair neatly groomed.

As I looked at the two with questionable eyes, they smirked and held out their hands.

"I'm sorry we were rude and didn't introduce ourselves. I am Jefferson Davis."

"I am John Quitman."

Jefferson Davis, John Quitman.

As soon as I heard those names, two memories within me reacted simultaneously.

The Jefferson Davis that the modern man Kim Hyunwoo recalled was clearly a figure recorded in history as the President of the Confederate States during the Civil War.

And the John Quitman engraved in James Sett's memory was one of the leaders of the extremists who cried out for Southern independence, the Fire-Eaters.

In short, to summarize simply, they could be called the ringleader of the rebellion and the head of a hopeless group.

No.

Isn't it a bug that the final boss and the mid-boss appear at the same time?