The Trojan Horse of the South
For Breckinridge, who had gained enlightenment through his dialogue with James Sett, there were no longer any blind spots.
The year 1859 would go down in the history of the United States as a truly great year.
Having blocked the Republican budget cuts by keeping them indefinitely pending, he immediately expanded the number of enforcement officers and significantly strengthened the regulations for marshals.
The power of the President is immense.
Breckinridge did not hesitate to wield this power.
"Federal Marshal Johnson! You received warrants for the pursuit of three fugitive slaves last month, yet you failed to arrest a single one! You are hereby sentenced to a three-month pay cut for dereliction of duty!"
"But, Director! The interference from the local residents was simply too severe...!"
"I will not hear excuses! If your performance remains sluggish next time, you should be prepared for suspension as well, so do your job properly!"
Wails of despair erupted from every Federal Marshal's office in the Northern states.
The record of returning fugitive slaves was no longer just a simple task; it had become the top priority that determined their very livelihood.
Since the disciplinary regulations for marshals who failed to fulfill their duties were clearly stated in the law, this was neither an abuse of power nor illegal.
The newly appointed enforcement officers, five times more numerous than before, were brimming with motivation and began to scour the Northern cities from top to bottom.
The Southern Democrats, riding this momentum, sought to drive a wedge into the matter entirely.
"We must also punish business owners who hide or employ fugitive slaves!"
"That's right! Let's pass a bill that pays a bounty to those who report them!"
"What kind of insane nonsense are you spouting! Who do you think is going to allow you to make such a law?"
However, the Republicans, who controlled the House of Representatives, stood firm in their desperate opposition to the creation of any such new legislation.
"You lunatics! Do you intend to turn the citizens of free states into slave hunters!"
"This bill will never be passed!"
No matter how much they controlled the Senate, it was impossible to create new laws if the House remained united in opposition.
Thanks to this, it did not reach the worst-case scenario, but Breckinridge's blade had already been drawn.
Boston, Philadelphia, Cincinnati.
The local communities where Black people lived were engulfed in terror.
BANG!
"Open up! Federal Marshals!"
The door was smashed in, and sturdy men stormed inside.
"You, you're George who ran away from Virginia three years ago, aren't you! You're under arrest!"
"No! You've got the wrong person! I'm a free man, I tell you!"
"Shut your trap!"
THUD!
"Is this what a free man's papers look like! I know damn well they're forged! It's because of bastards like you that my salary gets cut!"
"Argh! No! Please!"
"Daddy!"
Amidst the crying of children and the screams of wives, Black men were dragged out like beasts.
If they resisted, a hail of club strikes rained down on them, regardless of whether they were old or female.
"A trial! Please let me have a trial! I am a citizen who acquired legitimate rights in Cincinnati!"
"A trial? Fine, go ahead and have your trial. Let's see if the judge takes your side!"
They tried in every way to receive the protection of the state, but their cries were meaningless.
The trials proceeded swiftly and concisely.
"Verdict. The defendant is to be returned immediately to the original owner, in accordance with the Fugitive Slave Act!"
Gavel! Gavel! Gavel!
"Next!"
Gavel! Gavel! Gavel!
"This one is the same! Return to the South! Next!"
Gavel! Gavel! Gavel!
Judgments were churned out as fast and mechanically as if they were being copied and pasted.
The North was furious.
Newspapers poured out editorials every day condemning the "human hunt."
"This is barbarism! Breckinridge is trampling on freedom in the name of the law!"
Of course, the Democrats did not even blink.
Strictly speaking, it was because they had not committed a single illegal act from beginning to end.
"What is the problem when we are merely enforcing the law that already exists? Are there not sufficient court precedents?"
"Rather, it is the Republicans and their supporters who are ignoring the rule of law and making a scene by appealing to emotions! Just how long do you intend to keep insisting on that 'mob law' of yours!"
Even today, the endless Mississippi River flows majestically.
Every day, newspapers carried articles about dozens of Black people being shackled and loaded onto trains headed for the South.
Kansas, Osawatomie.
John Brown gritted his teeth and crumpled the newspaper, throwing it aside. It felt as if his vision were burning red.
"These... these damn bastards...!"
"Father, it seems the day when the North and South will go to war, just as Mr. Sett said, is drawing near."
As his son said, Sett's prophecy was becoming reality.
If things continue like this, a clash between the North and South seems to be an inescapable fate.
When that time comes, the South will head toward ruin, and the worst institution of all, slavery, will disappear.
In that sense, the South is essentially digging its own grave right now.
However, John Brown was not happy in the slightest.
Even if the moment he had been waiting for were to be achieved in a few years, who would wipe away the tears of blood flowing from them at this very moment?
No matter how he thought about it, he could not turn a blind eye to those being dragged away helplessly.
But unfortunately, no certain method came to mind.
Raiding the convoys returning them to the South was suicide, and even if he wanted to raid Southern plantations like at Cedar Grove, it was impossible with just his own men.
"Owen, contact Sett..."
"As a matter of fact, there are documents that Mr. Sett asked me to deliver to you. I don't know the contents myself, but wouldn't they be materials related to this matter?"
Owen pulled out a thick stack of documents, saying he had just arrived.
As expected, there was no way that guy would just sit still without a plan.
He calmly broke the wax seal and checked the documents, his eyes filling with admiration.
[...List of repatriated slaves: George (Virginia → 'Ashwood' Plantation), Tom (Kentucky → 'Oak Hill' Plantation), Charlotte (Maryland → 'Pine Ridge' Plantation)...]
It was not just a simple list.
The names and locations of the Southern plantations where the slaves had been sent, along with information about the owners, were written in detail. And behind that...
[Ashwood Plantation: Night patrol in pairs, there is a dilapidated section of the eastern fence. Supervisor absent every Wednesday...]
[Oak Hill Plantation: 3 guard dogs, easy access to the northern riverside. Location of warehouse keys...]
Militia patrol routes, plantation security levels, even vulnerable points.
These were top-secret pieces of information that no one but an insider could ever know.
The final sentence added to this was short and clear.
[If you have the will to set them free again, I will continue to provide the necessary information. However, this time, you must not inflict harm on the supervisors as you did at Cedar Grove.]
"Owen. Send a reply to Sett."
Now that the conditions are met, there is not a single second to hesitate.
Because he knows all too well that countless Black people are groaning in unjust pain at this very moment.
John Brown's voice was as firm as steel.
"Let's start right now."
The policies of Breckinridge, the pride of the great Southerners and the true president for the South, received tremendous support among slave owners.
In fact, scenes were witnessed here and there of crowds flocking to laugh and cheer at the sight of the stupid "n-words" being tied up like skewers and repatriated.
"They're back! Those ungrateful n-words are finally back!"
"Serves them right! How dare a n-word talk about freedom?"
"If you're born a slave, just live as a slave quietly and die!"
Southern residents pointed fingers and hurled mockery at the Black people being dragged out in shackles.
They clapped as if their own slaves had returned, offering congratulations to the planters who had regained their property.
The highly encouraged planters laughed triumphantly and praised President Breckinridge's decision.
"As expected of Mr. President! You've shown us that the law is alive!"
"Only now is the country running properly. Since I've recovered my lost property, I'll have to work those bastards twice as hard to make up for my losses!"
Planters cheering in joy.
As expected, the normalization of the Union is thanks to Breckinridge.
But sadly, that joy did not last long.
Ashwood Plantation.
It was a massive plantation with a staggering 132 slaves, and the place where George, who had been repatriated from Virginia not long ago, was assigned.
"Wh-what? You say George has disappeared? He was definitely there during the night patrol last night!"
"I apologize, sir. The eastern fence was old and had been cut. It seems he escaped through there."
"You, you crazy... Argh! You stupid bastards! Send a pursuit team immediately! Bring him back at all costs!"
At first, they just thought it was simple negligence in management.
But a few days later, even more absurd news was heard from Pine Ridge Plantation.
"What? Four? You say four disappeared in a single night?"
"Yes. A woman named Charlotte who came from Maryland seems to have coaxed three other bastards into running away together. We found footprints heading toward the northern riverside."
"This damn it! What were the guards doing! We even strengthened the militia patrols!"
Since they were brought from the North, he naturally thought they would be tainted by strange ideologies.
So he had been especially thorough with surveillance and tried to re-educate them as slaves, but they had vanished without a trace.
They had even coaxed other slaves into escaping together.
A sense of anxiety began to creep in.
At first, they considered it merely the deviation of slaves who had gone completely insane in the North, but what do you know.
The victims of the mass escape incidents were almost all planters who had received back the slaves they had previously sent to the North.
There is no doubt.
This is absolutely not a simple coincidence.
The only thing that couldn't be understood was the fact that escape incidents were continuing to occur, even though the plantation owners and the militia were clearly strengthening patrols.
They weren't just running away; they were coaxing other slaves into escaping, which was driving the planters out of their minds.
Others began to feel anxious that these mass escape incidents might have a negative impact on their own plantations.
The Mississippi state government was turned upside down.
"Every plantation must strengthen its guard to the highest level! Double the patrol personnel and release the guard dogs! I'm telling you not to let a single rat escape!"
A thorough surveillance network. But as if to mock that surveillance, the next incident erupted at Oak Hill Plantation.
"S-seven! Supervisor! Seven people, including Tom from Kentucky, have vanished without a trace!"
"What did you say?!"
As soon as they doubled the patrol forces, an escape incident occurred, as if to mock them.
Even this time, something had been left behind in the barn.
The very mark that had once plunged the entire South into terror, the one that first appeared during the Cedar Grove Plantation incident.
"'Arrow of Freedom'?"
"The real one has appeared! It's not those fakes from last time!"
A mysterious organization that entered Cedar Grove Plantation, murdered the supervisor, and escaped leisurely with ten slaves.
If they were involved, it was understandable why the guard units hadn't been able to catch them.
The South fell into a state of panic.
"This is not just a simple escape, but an organized attempt at rebellion! It must be a plot by that bastard John Brown to shake our South!"
All eyes of suspicion turned toward John Brown.
However, he merely toured various Northern cities, leaving Kansas as if he knew nothing, and continued his sermons with burning eyes.
And after the 'Arrow of Freedom' mark appeared, the subject of the sermon he preached to the public for the first time was strangely 'The Trojan Horse.'
"We must not all make the mistake of being obsessed with trivial profits and failing to notice the sin hidden within. The seed that will destroy us may already be inside us."
On the surface, it was an extremely principled sermon, but what could be the intention behind saying such things at a time like this?
Southern politicians heard the contents of John Brown's sermon and were finally able to understand the situation.
This was undoubtedly a warning he was sending to the South.
Among the fugitive slaves being repatriated from the North, reactionaries trained by John Brown were hiding.
-Go ahead and try to keep taking them back if you can.
The South, having received the challenge John Brown had thrown down, fell into a panic, but Breckinridge, the mastermind behind all this, was calm.
"Fine. So that's how you want to play it?"
He does not negotiate with terrorists.
In any case, he had the solution provided by the greatest strategist who had foreseen this situation.