Chapter 19: Who Is the Savior? (2)
TL: Hanguk
Even a mangy mutt struts around like it owns the place in its own front yard. That's just common sense.
But common sense or not, the sight of Leo and Ben hauling in a young white man like some kind of war trophy left me momentarily at a loss for words.
"Hey now, you two. I told you to hear the man out and send him packing, not beat him into a pulp and drag him in here. What happens if he goes and reports us to the sheriff?"
Of course, Ben I wasn't so sure about, but Leo wouldn't have done something like this without a reason, so I didn't actually raise my voice.
As expected, Leo, his tone brimming with triumph, all but threw the limp man down at my feet.
"The ones who ought to be reporting to the sheriff are us, Master. This one isn't a Southerner. Nine times out of ten he's some Northern stooge sent down here to do harm to you or to our plantation."
"What?"
"We've got the evidence right here."
Ben had gone through everything hidden on the man's person and inside his carriage, and he laid it all out on my desk.
One Derringer pistol.
A single note that read: Isaac Smith / Light of the World.
Up to that point I was thinking, so what, but the next piece of evidence was the clincher.
A notebook with my name and a rough description of my appearance, along with a crude sketch marking the plantation's access roads and the positions of the slaves on guard duty, all dotted out point by point.
And when I heard on top of that how he'd walked straight into Leo's leading questions, well, it was pretty much an open-and-shut case.
Huh. Assassin or spy, I can't say which, but either way, somebody's already come down from the North gunning for me?
I've already gotten to be that big a deal?
A dry laugh slipped out of me, even as a faint chill crept up my spine.
I guess it's because I've still got some twenty-first-century sensibilities left in me, but I can't shake the habit of badly underestimating just how proactive these nineteenth-century fellows are.
Never forget it.
This is a place where, if things get heated enough, even congressmen will fight a duel and put a bullet in each other.
"Anyway, you two, well done. Truly, you've rendered a great service."
"Not at all. We only did what had to be done."
"Leo's right. It's only natural to exterminate the vermin that come crawling to harm you, Master."
Loyalty this fierce was a happy thing, sure, but a service was a service and a reward was a reward. Rewards and punishments had to be administered without fail, so warriors who'd accomplished a feat like this deserved a fitting reward.
Tacking something extra onto the next group meal felt a bit much, and I was mulling over what I could do that would have a good effect on the whole plantation when,
"Ugh."
The man sprawled on the floor let out a groan and slowly pulled himself upright.
Ben adjusted his grip on the cudgel again, but I raised a hand to tell him to stop and instead ordered someone to bring some cool water.
Then I dragged over a chair and sat down in front of the man.
"You understand the position you're in now, don't you? I'm asking just in case, but seeing as you've been caught like this, are you willing to give up everything, your real name, who sent you, all of it?"
If he'd come all the way down to far-off Mississippi from the North to try something against me, the odds were good this one was a true believer, filled with conviction down to the marrow.
Sure enough, the man glared at me with eyes full of contempt and spat blood-flecked saliva onto the floor.
Leo, as though making sure the man could hear it, proposed a strategy.
"Master, he doesn't look like the sort who'd talk even under torture. This one's bound to have accomplices. How about we use him as bait to draw out the rest of the vermin, catch them all at once, and hand them over to the authorities? It would do wonders for your reputation, Master."
At those words, the man's eyes trembled with agitation for the first time.
Looked like his concern for his comrades was rather admirable. Ideology aside, maybe this fellow's basic character wasn't entirely rotten.
"You foolish, pitiful wretches! Fear has burrowed into your very bones and made you the master's dogs! We came to deliver you from the clutches of that devil, and instead of helping us, you turn your blades on us? You've been brainwashed! Open your eyes!"
"Save us?"
At the man's outcry, Leo and Ben wore blank expressions for a moment and looked at each other.
Then, like men who'd just heard the most ridiculous joke in the world, they burst into derisive laughter.
"Pffft! Save us? You? Us?"
"M-Master. Forgive me. Might I be permitted to laugh a little? Khhhh-ha!"
"Wh-what's so funny? Damn it, to think we've been bleeding and fighting to save the likes of you!"
Oh boy, what a magnificent crusader we've got here.
That's about the average for a white American man of the present day. No, honestly, a character like that might even put him in the top one percent.
After all, the man at least believed slavery was wrong and was personally taking action to bring down the slaveholders who committed such evils.
From what I'd heard, he had let the slur slip and called them niggers at one point, but honestly, you come all this way to free the slaves and then get blindsided and hauled in by those very slaves, how are you supposed to keep your composure?
Maybe because he understood that shitty reality, every trace of emotion vanished from Leo's laughing face in an instant.
When he opened his mouth, there wasn't a hint of disgust or anger in his voice.
"Let me ask you just one thing. When did us niggers ever beg you to come save us?"
"That... yes, I admit it. Calling you by that slur was a slip of the tongue in the heat of the moment. But you, servility has already become a part of your very—"
"You're not here to save us. You're nothing but invaders come to destroy this paradise we built with our blood and sweat. And that's exactly why you're lying there on the ground right now."
"Paradise? Paradise, you say? Don't be deceived! You've been brainwashed by fear! Wake up, even now, and strike down that devil with your own hands! Then go north and live the proud life of free men! You black folk have every right to your free—"
Thwack!
"Guhk!"
Before the man could spit out the rest of his words, Ben mercilessly drove a kick into his gut.
As the man writhed in pain, retching up spit, Leo seized him by the collar and hauled him up.
"Look at the way you're talking right now. A man who claims he's here to save Black folk, taking it for granted that we're stupider than you. That's exactly why you fell so easily for a sorry little leading question of mine, isn't it?"
"Wh-what did you say? That can't be. I only meant that you haven't had the chance to be educated—"
"If the one questioning you had been a fellow white man, would you have been fooled so easily then?"
"Of course n—"
The man started to fire back on reflex, then clamped his mouth shut.
He muttered something to himself, and then his face flushed a furious red.
"I... damn it, my father told me again and again that there's no intellectual difference between Black and white... haaah... I knew it in my head, I did."
I think I get it now. The reason this man had been caught and dragged in by Leo so feebly.
Somewhere deep down, he'd assumed it was simply unthinkable that a Black man with no proper education could wage psychological warfare against him.
Or maybe, even though he rationally knew there was no difference between Black and white, the situation had been so urgent that the prejudices of the age came bursting up out of him.
Perhaps because he'd fully realized the contradiction still lingering inside him, the one he hadn't managed to shake off, the man's face was stained with shame and humiliation.
But conversely, the very fact that he could feel that kind of shame meant this man was a rare conscience in this country.
And if his father had taught him that there was no intellectual difference between Black and white, then he'd have a character belonging to the top 0.01 percent, the kind you could scarcely find in this day and age.
Since Leo and Ben had already poured out everything I'd wanted to say, I cut into the conversation while pretending to restrain the two of them.
"All right, all right, our guest seems to have taken quite a shock, so let's call off the verbal sparring right about here."
I was half-tempted to hand the man straight over to the authorities, but on reflection, it wasn't such a good plan.
Even if I used him as bait to round up his comrades in one fell swoop, there was no guarantee that would be the end of it.
There was nothing stopping someone from coming along and unloading a gun into my carriage to avenge a fallen comrade, was there?
"It's a bit much to keep calling you 'you', so, hey there, still got no intention of telling me your name?"
"......"
"Then how about a little wager? The term is exactly three days. If you accept these conditions and your mind is unchanged three days from now, I'll simply let you go. But if you find yourself wanting to hear what I have to say, then reveal your real name and let's pit our convictions against each other in earnest."
"Pit our convictions?"
"Naturally. We compare whose way is the more righteous one."
"Hahahaha! A slaveholder, debating whose way is righteous with us, the ones trying to free the slaves!"
The man looked genuinely incredulous, but there was one crucial fact I couldn't help pointing out.
"The problem is, you got thrashed within an inch of your life by those very slaves and hauled in here. And on top of that, even at this very moment, not a single soul is taking your side."
"That's..."
"Want to console yourself by saying it's because they've been brainwashed? Or is it that you can't take the wager because you're afraid your own heart might waver in the end? If that's the case, then I'll make a special—"
"Don't make me laugh! I was only worried that you wouldn't keep your word. As if I'd ever fall as low as a wicked slaveholder like you!"
"Good, good. In that case there's nothing standing in the way of our wager. I'll make every slave on the plantation my witness. Even you wouldn't believe I'd openly tell a lie in front of several hundred slaves, would you?"
With this kind of man, it wasn't his life that had to be broken, but his hostility toward me.
Only then would he go back to his organization, or to his comrades, and make a declaration of conscience: leave James Sergent alone.
"No matter what honeyed words you use to tempt me, I will not be swayed!"
And exactly three days later,
I got him to confess that this man's name was Owen Brown, and that he was the son of the famous John Brown.
Yeah... fell from grace pretty easily, didn't he?
Little bastard... well, at least he keeps his word.
*
When the son who had gone out saying only that he'd go feel the man out simply vanished without a trace, even the great John Brown found his composure violently shaken.
Among the many children John had fathered, Owen was the comrade who supported the abolitionist cause most passionately of all.
"Sir, even so, you have to get away for now. If Owen's been captured, there's a chance your identity or this location has been exposed."
"No. My son would sooner die than sell out his father. That's exactly why I'm so worried. Damn it... I should have been the one to go."
"Still, you, perhaps not, but if Owen's been turned over to the authorities, it'll likely end with him just being indicted and standing trial. There's an arrest warrant out for him, so he won't be released right away, but if you get caught, sir, it could mean real trouble."
If he'd been taken by the authorities, sure, that would be the case. But the man they were up against was that devil, James Sergent.
Would he really keep a man who'd come after him alive?
It was a foregone conclusion that he'd kill him and then bury him somewhere on the plantation, and the state of Mississippi would just look the other way.
They'd be glad of it, if anything, saying John Brown's boy had overstepped his bounds, gotten reckless, and gone missing.
"Damn it... how in the world did he get found out? If only I knew the details..."
Knock knock knock.
"Mr. Isaac Smith? A letter's arrived for you."
"What?"
"I'll leave it outside the door, so open it whenever you like."
He wondered for a moment if it was a trap, but the person who'd brought the letter really did wedge it into the doorframe and headed downstairs with heavy, thudding footsteps.
After confirming through the window that the man who'd brought the letter really had disappeared into the distance, John Brown gripped the gun in his coat so he could draw it at any moment and flung the door open.
Thud!
"What's this. It really is a letter?"
"Could it be from Owen?"
If so, then maybe Owen hadn't been caught but had simply fled in a hurry due to some unforeseen accident.
Clutching at that one strand of hope, John Brown hurriedly tore the letter open. The corners of his eyes quivered, and then he let out a lion's roar of disappointment, bewilderment, and rage.
"Th-this, this devil dares lay a hand on whose son!"
"Sir... d-don't tell me it's from James Sergent?"
To suppress his emotions, John Brown took a deep breath and silently held the letter out to the side.
Kid snatched the paper away in a flash and read through its contents.
[To the esteemed John Brown.
Allow me first to apologize for trampling on your hope that this might be a letter from your son. I am James Sergent, the man you tried to kill. Even so, your son Owen is safe and well here at my side, so there's no need to worry too much.]
After that, the letter was mostly taken up with how Owen had been hurt a bit but was nothing to worry about and was eating well too, and up to this point there wasn't much of an issue.
But right after that.
[You must be wondering how I came to know your name and your lodgings? Naturally, your son Owen told me. He made a wager with me and lost. You've raised a son with the integrity to keep his word once he's given it.
Through his wager with me, your son has come to harbor serious doubts about everything he has done up to now. If you have no intention of fleeing, then for the sake of your doubt-stricken son, why not have a contest with me?]
At the utterly unimaginable proposal, Kid's mouth fell open as he looked back and forth between the letter and John.
Owen had spilled everything?
No, wait, the man knew their identities and their location, and yet instead of sending armed militia or the sheriff, he'd sent a letter like this?
There was no telling how things were unfolding, but for better or worse, the answer to that was written in the letter too.
[I trust that sending this letter alone proves I have no ulterior motive. Had that not been the case, you would already have been bound by armed men and dragged before me. That is not what I want.
I only wish to inform you that you, who style yourself a savior acting on behalf of Black folk, are running wild in the wrong manner. I have no desire to denounce you as a hypocrite. From speaking with your son, I gather you hold a most wholesome and admirable philosophy.
But if the method is wrong, that philosophy can never bring a single flower to bloom. If, even so, you're afraid of seeing the convictions you've believed in until now shattered, then you may simply leave. I promise I will not report you to the authorities or send a pursuit party after you. I'll release your son Owen unharmed as well. Though whether your son will respect you the way he once did, after you fled without answering this challenge, is another question.]
At the very bottom, he had even kindly drawn a small map, telling them to come to the Sergent plantation if they still didn't want to run.
"S-sir... you're not going... are you?"
"And if I don't? Are you telling me to run?"
"N-no... it's a trap... it's a trap. Anyone can see that."
"If he wanted to set a trap, he'd have crammed this place full of armed men from the start, just like he said. He could have surrounded the boarding house and gunned me down from outside the door, and I'd be a dead man."
That much was true.
The fact was, if they truly wanted to capture them, there was no need to go to such convoluted, roundabout lengths.
"And I have to hear for myself just which of that man's words bewitched Owen. At the very least, it means my son trusted his words enough to be certain I'd be safe even if he gave up this location."
"But it's far too dangerous."
"Dangerous? If I'd ever stopped to think about that, would I have charged at the slave catchers myself with a blade in hand? If I'd been afraid of getting caught, would I have come all the way down here to the South with just you two? Besides."
John Brown snatched the letter from Kid's hand and crumpled it in his fist.
"A slaveholder, of all people, has sent me a challenge like this. If I run away now, I'll never be able to hold my head high and carry on my work again."
"But... surely the other side wouldn't be pulling something like this unless they had something to fall back on?"
"No. Even so, I'll win."
Did he think there had never been men who tried to bend him with the tongue rather than the gun or the blade?
It was precisely because he had broken through every one of those arguments that John Brown stood where he stood today.
Even if all of this were a trap, a road leading to his death, he would not turn away.
He had lived his whole life that way, and he was a man who would go on living that way.
"James Sergent, I'll tear that devil's mask off with my own two hands."
A declaration of victory before the thing had even begun.
John Brown felt his fighting spirit blazing up hotter than ever before.
*****
If you like this novel, please leave a review or rating at NovelUpdates.
Link: https://www.novelupdates.com/series/i-became-a-wicked-landowner-in-the-american-south/
Join our Discord for announcements or to report any mistakes.