The Graduate of Rehabilitation (3)
Robert Edward Lee is, much like all figures of the 19th century, a man difficult to evaluate with a single, sharp definition.
Personally, he is widely praised as a virtuous commander who cherished his subordinates, and there are many testimonies from soldiers—even those in the Union Army—who respected him as the enemy's commander-in-chief.
It is known that even Lincoln originally intended to appoint him as the commander-in-chief of the Union Army, but Lee reportedly turned to the Confederate side, stating that before he was an American, he was a man of his home state, Virginia.
He was a moral man who personally stated several times that he believed slavery was wrong, yet there is clear, documented evidence that he treated the slaves on the plantation he inherited with harsh cruelty.
Looking at the records, it seems he did so to clear his debts; consequently, the intensity of the corporal punishment and labor was undeniably more severe than on neighboring plantations.
Even if he was a man of good character personally, one could say he was a figure who, due to the limitations of his era, did not actively step forward to change anything.
In fact, considering that he was a soldier who had to obey the orders of his superiors, one might argue that it was an unavoidable situation.
"Actually, I have been very interested in Mr. Sett for some time. Perhaps because I, too, am a man who inherited a plantation, I could not take my eyes off Mr. Sett's progress."
"You are too kind. I, for one, have been admiring your reputation, Colonel. I also hold the rank of Major in the militia, after all. Hahaha!"
"I heard you brilliantly led the black men to block the State Legislature when the Speaker tried to terrorize it? I thought then that you were no ordinary man, but I truly never imagined a rehabilitation center."
I never imagined you would come here, either, for that matter.
"If you had told me you were coming in advance, I would have made arrangements..."
"Actually, I was originally planning to meet the planters of Mississippi to seek their advice. So, thinking I had nothing to lose, I came to see Mr. Sett. If I had known you held me in such high regard, I would have sent a letter from the start instead of beating around the bush."
I agree.
If I had known Robert Lee had such personal circumstances, I could have used the excuse of seeking advice to get close to him from the beginning.
"I have heard that Mr. Sett does not accept solicitations. Therefore, I will not unreasonably ask you to put me on the list of educators. Instead, would you mind lending me a little of your wisdom so that I might improve my current situation? Of course, I will pay the price."
"Naturally, I must help you. As I mentioned earlier, I have a deep respect for soldiers who have dedicated themselves to their country."
I have no intention of playing the fool and kicking away an opportunity where such a big whale has flown into my net of his own volition.
However, Robert Lee was a man overflowing with love for his home, to the point where he even kicked away the position of Union commander-in-chief to go South for his native Virginia.
"First, shall we have a cup of coffee and talk?"
Rather than trying to rush and bind him, it would be better to calmly contemplate how to make the most of this opportunity.
If I mix the dying wish of his father-in-law—that he must free the slaves within five years—with his personal history of facing operational difficulties due to treating his slaves too harshly, a breakthrough might just appear.
There is no need to force him to take the North's side.
The longer he spends agonizing, the later he joins the South, and the higher the probability that the war situation will tilt uncontrollably.
I began to share small talk while enjoying coffee and refreshments, first to get to know the man named Robert Lee in detail.
To weave the net that would catch this giant whale.
The masterpieces produced by the Sett Rehabilitation Center, the perfect slaves containing the hopes of all planters.
Contrary to what was known, the first batch of graduates did not return to their original masters' plantations immediately.
This was to undergo the final verification, the official justification put forward by James Sett.
"Even if training is finished at the rehabilitation center, before returning them to the original owner, a flawless confirmation is necessary to see if they obey perfectly on other plantations as well."
It must have been a plausible-sounding excuse, but the planter from South Carolina, who had been swelling with the expectation of getting his slaves back immediately, expressed his dissatisfaction.
"No, I can verify my own slaves myself! Why send them to someone else's plantation!"
However, there was no need for James to even refute such words.
Congressman Robert Toombs of Georgia, who was attending the demonstration, scolded him as if he had been waiting for it.
"Look here. Do you not trust Sett's methods? If they can perform their work perfectly even on the plantation of a strange planter, it goes without saying they will do so on the plantation of a familiar master, would it not? He is offering to verify them this thoroughly, so you should just be grateful and accept it."
When not just anyone, but federal congressmen were shielding him like this, what more needed to be said?
Of course, because James's words also made sense, the planters raised no further complaints.
Thinking about it, if they could perform perfectly on a plantation they were visiting for the first time, there would be nothing left to see if they returned to their own.
The planters marveled at this extremely rational and thorough verification procedure and decided to just trust Sett and leave everything to him.
However, Nick, who had been 'dispatched' to the Cypress Hollow plantation near Tuscaloosa, Alabama, was realizing the true meaning contained in this cumbersome procedure and could not help but be moved.
Think about it.
What if Jenny had returned to her original master without this final verification?
Where was the guarantee that the master wouldn't have dragged Jenny into his bedroom from the very first night?
And it was the same for him.
Hatred and murderous intent toward his old master were still boiling in his heart; what if he had been taken directly in front of that bastard's face?
This was not verification. It was protection.
It was a cooling-off period and a breakwater to protect everyone from the greed of the masters, and from their own uncontrollable hatred.
Nick inhaled the cold night air. A loyalty that chilled him to the bone took hold of his entire body.
Now I understand.
Why Will did not call him 'Master,' but 'Savior.'
We are not mere slaves.
The hope to purify this rotten South.
The first sword carrying the wishes and future of all black people.
He was no longer a mere runaway slave, but a being carrying this heavy destiny.
Nick engraved their mission into his heart once again.
His peers at the rehabilitation center had told him not to overdo it, but in Nick's view, it was they who were incomprehensible.
One who carries a grave mission must possess a spirit to match.
The era of despair is over. Now is the time to fulfill our fate.
"Huu... that fellow, he really is something else."
Vance, the owner of the Cypress Hollow plantation, clicked his tongue.
He had had expectations at the mention of him being from the rehabilitation center, but Nick's work capacity was beyond imagination.
He picked two people's worth of cotton alone, and his plowing was as precise as a machine.
Above all, even while doing such grueling labor, he had no expression.
He truly is a magnificent slave.
Thinking that the slaves he sent to the rehabilitation center would return transformed like that, he felt like shouting 'Long live His Majesty Sett.'
So... it was right to overlook such trivial discomforts, but he couldn't help but keep being bothered by it.
"Overseer. That fellow, does he always mutter to himself like that?"
"Yes? Ah... well, he says things like 'This body is but a vessel for the earth'... or 'I cut the light in the darkness'... he does say some strange things. But his work is incredible. There's no need to even swing a whip."
The day before yesterday, when he gave him a hammer to repair the fence, he heard he held the hammer for a long time and talked about some 'tool of correction' or other.
Vance swallowed dry saliva.
"Right. He must have gone a bit crazy from receiving such intense education at the rehabilitation center. If I obtained such labor power in exchange for such a strange personality... I suppose I have to see it as an unavoidable equivalent exchange."
Couldn't I just understand it as Sett's slave alchemy?
Anyway, as long as there is profit, it doesn't matter if the slave puts on a play by himself or worships the devil.
Of course, even while muttering strange things, Nick did not forget his duty.
His perfect obedience was merely an act; all the while he worked, he was mapping this entire plantation into his mind.
> Security structure: Vulnerable.
> South fence: Base of the posts is rotten. Overseer is unaware of this fact.
> Armory: Shed behind the main house. Lock is rusted and weak to impact.
> Overseers: Two. Night patrol is only one.
He worked faster and more efficiently than anyone, yet never stopped the simulation to turn the plantation upside down.
And a few days later.
A wagon from Standard Supply, which is rapidly expanding its influence in the South recently, came carrying farm tools.
Nick unloaded the cargo along with the other slaves.
The SS driver didn't even make eye contact with Nick and 'accidentally' dropped an old sickle on the ground.
"Ah, oops!"
Before the overseer could notice, Nick picked up the tool first and loaded it onto the wagon.
In that brief moment, Nick obtained a small paper scroll tightly rolled and tucked into the gap of the handle.
After it became night and everyone was asleep, he unfolded the paper in the corner of the shed.
It was a much more detailed internal map of the plantation than the one he had grasped himself.
It was the 'customer data' that the plantation owner Vance had submitted directly as educational material for the [There Are No Bad Slaves in the World] course.
On the corner of the paper, a short order was written in Hangul, which only they could recognize.
[Vance's weakness: Gambling debt. Scout for internal collaborators. Identify core grievances. Report.]
I knew there would be a flaw in his character.
Nick laughed without a sound.
He couldn't help but enjoy this situation where the master himself provided the kindling to burn down his own plantation.
Anyway, to identify internal collaborators, it was time to take the next step.
Nick naturally blended into the group of the plantation's existing slaves.
At dinner time, everyone glanced at the rehabilitation center graduate with eyes half-wary and half-curious.
"Hey. You there... rehabilitation center graduate?"
An old slave called Old Sam approached him cautiously.
"Is that place really that scary? They say if you resist, they peel off your skin and burn you with fire..."
Nick slowly chewed and swallowed his cornbread, then looked at them.
His eyes were filled with something other than pity.
"Fear belongs to the weak. We did not learn how to overcome fear."
He whispered in a low, flat voice.
"We learned how to become the masters of fear."
"...What are you saying?"
"Haa... it must be a truly terrifying place."
The slaves whispered to each other, saying how terrifying it must be for a person to end up like that.
Old Sam cleared his throat and changed the subject.
"Who do you respect most in your life? For me, it's my father. He broke a white bastard's arm and ran away."
"For me, it's Sam from the neighboring plantation, not our own. He was incredible with a sickle."
Various names came up one by one.
When it was his turn, Nick said quietly, but loud enough for everyone to hear.
"James Sett."
In an instant, the inside of the barracks turned cold.
"Tsk tsk... he's completely lost his mind."
"Look at that. Sett must have pulled out his brain."
"He really must have received intense education. Respecting the master?"
Nick shook his head as if he had expected their reaction.
Ah, they don't know.
Pity flashed in his eyes.
Even here, they are all just unfinished things.
"You wouldn't know. His deep intent. True justice."
The slaves looked at each other with faces that didn't understand what he meant.
Nick burst into a smirk.
They must have found it hard to understand.
An abstract concept like justice.
However, amidst that confusion, he accurately captured one person.
A man with a strange name, Titus, who was only scraping his plate in the corner.
He was the one who hadn't let out a single scream even after being whipped during the day.
The eyes reflected in Nick's eyes were not dead.
He knew those eyes.
They were the same as his own eyes, which had been burning with revenge and rage before entering the rehabilitation center.
That night.
Nick carved a secret Hangul mark with a piece of charcoal on the inside of the wagon wheel spokes, according to the set code.
[Cypress Hollow. Overseers 2. Armory vulnerable. Internal collaborators secured. Full-scale uprising possible.]
Tomorrow he would have to roll in the cotton fields again, but he wasn't tired in the slightest.
Who would complain about being tired when it's this much fun?