The Trojan Horse of the South
Human will sometimes far exceeds my imagination.
Good heavens, how on earth did they manage to get such a massive facility up and running in just a few months?
Of course, it wasn't as if they were digging deep into the earth or erecting skyscrapers like a modern industrial complex, but creating a space where hundreds, even thousands, could live without issue was no small feat.
It wasn't just about housing them; they had to farm, which meant setting up all the necessary infrastructure. The fact that this was all finished in a few months is simply astounding.
Above all, considering that the root of this determination is to defend the institution of slavery at all costs... what should I even call it?
As a fellow human being, I feel a heavy heart, a sense that I should be apologizing to someone.
"Master, are you saying the guard towers will be erected over here?"
"I suppose so, wouldn't you say?"
"Then the carts will be exiting from the grain warehouse over there."
"For the sake of security, we should probably..."
As I was wandering around here and there with Leo and Ben, the Southern politicians who had also come for an inspection approached me.
Beyond the bigwigs of Mississippi, there were figures like Senator Robert Toombs of Georgia and Congressman Lawrence Keitt of South Carolina.
Seeing such prominent figures from the Confederate Congress, whom I had met in Washington, travel all the way here made me realize anew just how much the entire South was focused on this project.
"Haha, James Sett! My, this is truly incredible! To think this wasteland has changed like this in just a few months!"
Senator Toombs slapped my shoulder with his characteristic boisterous voice.
"You are too kind, Senator. I haven't really done much. All of this is thanks to the generous support from the federal government and each of the states."
"So humble. But surely, the credit belongs most to you, who conceived all of this and supervised it personally. That said, you gave us a rough idea in Washington, but could you tell us more concretely how you intend to operate this rehabilitation center? Everyone is curious."
Of course, of course.
I had been hoping someone would ask, so I had a presentation ready. I was more than happy to oblige.
I proceeded to screen the trailer for a "Southern-pride" porn flick that would be perfectly tailored to their tastes, from start to finish.
"The operational policy is simple and clear. Thorough re-education and absolute obedience. That will be the motto of this rehabilitation center."
My firm declaration brought a look of satisfaction to the faces of the congressmen.
"We will root out the contaminated ideologies and habits of disobedience from the North and help them realize once again the sanctity of labor and the importance of order. To this end, we plan to introduce strict discipline and a supervisory system."
I pointed toward the massive grain warehouse under construction.
"Furthermore, those housed here will operate on the principle of self-sufficiency. They will cultivate corn, potatoes, and other food crops on these vast plains. As you know, cotton farming requires a high level of skill, so it is not suitable for the re-education period."
In the first place, if one cultivates a massive cash crop like cotton, there is bound to be a dispute over who gets the profits from selling it.
The congressmen, grasping my intention to preemptively block such controversy, nodded in agreement.
"A wise judgment. Then how do you intend to handle the surplus food produced?"
"Primarily, it will be used for the self-sufficiency of the personnel here. And any surplus will be stockpiled in that warehouse."
"Ah... stockpiling rather than consuming it elsewhere..."
Only a few congressmen might be thinking about the Civil War at this stage, but many felt a sense of crisis that the North could threaten the South with food shortages in an emergency.
Of course, the amount produced by a few hundred or thousand people here wouldn't make a dent, but still, it's always better to have insurance.
"That is correct. It is to be prepared, even if only slightly, for any unforeseen emergency. If the Northerners threaten our South with food again, or if a more dire situation arises, I only hope the food stockpiled here will be used as crops for our South."
"Oh...!"
"This young man has such a broad perspective!"
Exclamations of admiration erupted among the congressmen.
Of course, the food piled in that warehouse was scheduled to be moved to the underground cellar of my plantation first if war broke out, or "accidentally" looted by the Union Army, but they didn't need to know that now.
"By next week, the basic housing facilities and farmland zoning should be complete. I believe we will be ready to receive the first entrants."
The news of the opening being much faster than expected brightened Senator Toombs's face.
"Is that so? Haha, finally! The chances of those 'Arrow of Freedom' bastards, who have been tormenting the South so relentlessly, being dealt a blow are high now. Wouldn't you agree?"
His voice was mixed with desperate expectation and hope rather than a prediction.
The other congressmen were the same.
As representatives of the South, I could see clearly how much they must have been pestered by the planters in their districts.
It wasn't just any citizens, but the big shots who provided the vast majority of their political funds—they must have been making quite a racket.
The fact that these slow-moving gentlemen had traveled all the way here spoke volumes.
To comfort their desperation, I promised them with a confident smile.
"I guarantee it, gentlemen."
"Oh!"
"Once the first entrants arrive here, and I, James Sett, begin managing these 'Trojan Horses' personally in one place, the Arrow of Freedom won't be able to run wild like this anymore, even if internal traitors continue to leak information."
"That would be the case, wouldn't it?"
"Certainly. Their methods ultimately rely on linking up with spies inside the plantations, don't they? But the spies from the North who would be the core link will all be trapped here, in my grasp. If internal coordination becomes impossible, how could John Brown run wild like he does now?"
I held up one finger.
"I guarantee it once again: once the rehabilitation center is in full swing, the number of runaway slaves across the entire South will drop to less than one-tenth of what it is now."
"One-tenth!"
"Just hearing that makes me feel relieved!"
Of course, of course.
If they think their ardent supporters in their districts won't be hounding them anymore, their long-standing indigestion must be clearing right up.
"Truly the Slave Master of the South! We shall trust only in you!"
"Listen here, Sett. If that really comes to pass, our South will never forget your efforts. Tell us whatever it is you desire!"
"I need nothing else, gentlemen. Just remember that one fact: that a planter named James Sett is working this hard for our homeland in a moment of crisis."
Aren't I working this hard to lift the logs for you incompetent fools? Even if you all end up crushed to death under those logs later, that certainly won't be my intention.
"We shall remember, indeed."
"My... to think there is a young man like you devoting his body and soul to the South, while some godforsaken traitor is working in the shadows among us."
"That is exactly it. The more I think about it, the more furious and lamentable it is!"
"True, true. It may be shameless of us to ask, but... please, please do your best to resolve this crisis. The more young men like you exert yourselves, the better a future our South can face, can it not?"
Asking me to work even harder than now—it's tough, but I have no choice.
When elders like them are even grabbing my hands and asking me to work hard, what can I do?
I happen to have a very strong sense of respect for my elders.
* * *
Exactly one week after James finished his preliminary inspection, the doors of the "Sett Rehabilitation Center," which planters across the South had been eagerly awaiting, were opened.
The first entrants were, naturally, the runaway slaves recently repatriated from the North.
The original owners, relieved that they could spare themselves the trouble of re-educating them personally, signed the consignment education forms almost to a man.
It was practically free, and didn't Sett say he would compensate them tenfold if he failed? It was a no-lose situation.
Nick, a slave dragged off to the rehabilitation center in this manner, closed his eyes inside the swaying carriage.
"Ha... damn it all."
Is this how a pig feels when it's being dragged to the slaughterhouse?
Boston. While being dragged back here after being caught again in the place he believed was the land of freedom, he had thought hundreds of times about just dying.
He had risked his life so dearly to escape the South.
He had barely managed to settle down despite the hunger and the scorn.
And yet, to think the place he returned to was here.
It felt as if a terrible despair and helplessness were eating away at every cell in his body.
It wasn't that there had been no hope at all.
When he heard the rumors that an old man named John Brown, who made the entire South tremble with fear, was rescuing people like him, he had prayed desperately to God.
Please, let that opportunity come to him as well.
But cruelly, the rehabilitation center was completed before John Brown's reach could extend to him.
"Why me... why am I the only one who can't go back, why me..."
He was now fated to be educated in that notorious detention camp.
He wanted to scream like a madman and wail. But he gritted his teeth.
He would never show tears in front of those disgusting white bastards. Even if no one recognized it, he would at least not let his own heart be broken.
Nick firmly resolved, whipping himself inside the swaying carriage.
Finally, they arrived at the entrance of the rehabilitation center.
High walls and guard towers. And black faces standing guard at the entrance.
"Those idiots."
A hollow laugh burst from Nick's lips.
He felt bewildered, and at the same time, a sense of disgust welled up.
They had to be the henchmen of the notorious Slave Master, James Sett.
The worst of the worst, who became dogs for the white man despite being black themselves, perfectly obedient, and oppressing their own kin.
Nick gnashed his teeth in hatred and was assigned to a dormitory under their surveillance.
A cold bed and an empty room. How much time had passed in that desperate silence?
"Nick, are you in here?"
Clatter. The door opened, and a black man holding a gun stepped inside.
For some reason, the face was familiar.
"My name is Will."
Nick jumped to his feet without realizing it. No wonder the face looked familiar.
The man of the hour who had turned Boston upside down. He never expected to see the "50-cent man" here.
Seeing that face, something suppressed in Nick's heart welled up.
"You... weren't you the one who went all the way to Boston in search of freedom! No matter how hard life was there, how... how could you accept the life of a slave again! You traitorous bastard!"
He had done it. He had vented his emotions, so surely a punishment or a beating would follow immediately, right?
But unexpectedly, Will didn't even blink.
Instead, he smiled as if he understood everything and pulled something from his bosom.
It was bread that looked freshly baked, steaming, and warm soup.
"Betrayal? No. I learned how to trust."
He said something incomprehensible and handed the bread and soup to Nick.
"And you, too, will learn how to trust here."
"...Trust? In what?"
"Everything you will learn and experience here."
He didn't understand.
But at the savory smell of the bread piercing his nose and the hunger, Nick reached out and took the food without realizing it.
And he shoved the bread into his mouth ravenously.
"...!"
It was delicious. It was on a different level from the hard, coarse bread he had eaten on the plantation.
It was soft, savory, and warm. The soup was the same. It wasn't watery broth, but "food" properly filled with scraps of meat and vegetables.
"Ugh... ugh!"
"Eat slowly. You'll choke."
Sure enough, he had been eating so fast that he choked.
Will clicked his tongue and poured milk from a canteen, handing it to him.
Warm bread. Meat-filled soup. Cold milk. And a voice that was strangely warm, as if he were worried about him instead of scolding him.
In an instant, the cold, hungry nights in Boston came to mind.
The memory of sleeping curled up on the street.
The memory of working his bones to the marrow to earn even a little money. The memory of being kicked by white men for no reason.
And... even the memory of having that freedom stripped away and being dragged back as a slave.
"......"
Tears burst forth without him realizing it.
Hot tears dripped onto the bread. Yet he couldn't stop.
Nick sobbed as he devoured the bread and soup.
Will watched that sight without a word, then sat on a chair with a faint smile, his voice sounding as if he were reminiscing about the past.
"Damn good, isn't it? I was the same."
He waited quietly in that spot until Nick finished his tear-soaked meal.
Nick and the other first entrants of the Sett Rehabilitation Center thus began their first education.
To be reborn as a part of the black wave that would dominate the white cotton fields.