Learning about the past through James's memories was helpful, but there were still some limitations.
For instance, my common sense still operated on 21st century standards, so I kept getting shocked when I encountered the average conditions of this era.
The America I knew had a dense railway network covering the entire country, but in reality, there was no direct rail line from Natchez, Mississippi to Bloomington.
So first we had to take a steamboat to St. Louis for about four days, then transfer to a train for another eight hours.
Just this snippet gives you a pretty good idea, right?
In the 19th century, the South couldn't even compare to the North in terms of industry or transportation infrastructure.
They just wanted to expand cotton fields like crazy, squeeze the slaves for increased production, and sell it all worldwide.
The amazing humanitarian spirit of 19th century America didn't stop there.
"Mr. James Sargent, Mrs. Kate Minor. Your first-class tickets are confirmed. We hope you have a comfortable journey, and you can leave the slaves by the cargo hold."
"...Oh."
Not even in the cargo hold—just leave them by it.
They're really trying their hardest to treat them as objects, not humans.
The personal servants Kate and I brought along were three total: Leo who served me, Kate's maid Ann, and Sam who would manage our luggage.
The three of them calmly took the luggage and went below deck—this was just routine for them.
Watching it didn't exactly make me feel great.
It's not like I've got some amazing sense of human rights sensitivity.
But isn't it ridiculous to see people desperately hypnotizing themselves into believing that beings who can obviously hear, see, and speak are just objects?
Of course, I wasn't stupid enough to show that sentiment and make people frown, so I politely instructed the manager.
"Our travel schedule is a forced march from St. Louis to Bloomington and then all the way up to New York. If the slaves get sick, we're the ones who'll suffer, so please secure some space where they can stay comfortably."
Not just words, but a casual slip of a one-dollar silver coin.
In this era, a dollar was about a day's wage for an ordinary laborer.
At the generous tip, the crewman broke into a broad smile and bowed politely.
"Don't worry, sir. I'll make sure there's definitely space for the slaves to stretch out and rest so your schedule stays pleasant."
"Thank you. Your kindness has put me in a great mood right from the start of our journey."
This is the survival skill of a dirt-poor guy who climbed the corporate ladder at lightning speed.
After all, if the personal servants get run down, it's the master who suffers, so my actions weren't logically wrong.
I bid Kate good rest and we each entered our rooms.
Even in the 19th century, first-class accommodations had not just beds and glass windows but washbasins and basic heating facilities too.
I lay on the bed and reviewed the upcoming schedule again.
No matter how much I thought about it, the downfall of this barbaric place was just historical inevitability.
So how should I, someone who's at least a tribal chief in this community of barbarians, conduct myself to navigate the future well?
Smooth-talk my way into making the South reconcile with the North?
'Ladies and gentlemen! Slavery is a barbaric institution, and among the great white nations, only our America maintains this system! We must abolish slavery!'
'Oh... we've been committing such vile acts? Everyone repent! From now on, Black people are free!'
...Like that's gonna happen.
If it were that easy, some American politician would've definitely worked it out already.
To begin with, the South maintaining slavery wasn't simply because Southerners were rotten.
Slavery was an essential condition for maintaining Southern society, which engaged in large-scale plantation agriculture including cotton.
I'm not just talking about economics.
Let's be real—how many people in the South actually owned slaves?
Based on the knowledge stored in James's memories, only about 20 to 25% of white people in the South owned slaves.
And planters who owned more than 20 slaves were just 1-2%, while large plantation owners with over 100 slaves were only about 0.1%.
In other words, the vast majority of white people living in America didn't own slaves but were still shouting "can't lose slavery, must absolutely defend slavery."
This was mostly due to atmosphere manipulation to maintain the South's social order.
The South's ruling class constantly instilled in ordinary white workers and farmers a sense of pride that even if they were poor, weren't they still white and far superior to those inferior slaves?
And because they were white, even if they were poor now, they could dream of maybe one day living a wealthy life with slaves of their own.
But if slavery was abolished here and those Black people became free citizens equal to them?
Naturally, those who had nothing to show for themselves but being white would tremble in fear that they might become as inferior as Black people.
An unacceptable, intolerable situation.
So if I acted rashly, I'd immediately be branded a traitor and might get lynched by angry Southern brothers.
Five years until the Civil War breaks out.
Within those five years, I need to maximize my capital and use most of it to purchase financial assets or Northern factories.
The key point is I absolutely cannot reduce the number of Southern plantations and slaves.
If I show signs of liquidating plantations, I'll obviously get suspected: 'You bastard! You're betraying us to run to the North, aren't you?'
I need to properly network with politicians on both sides so I don't get too much hate from either North or South.
When war breaks out, I also need to secure means to ensure my family's safety.
To do that, what I need to do is...
"James, they're saying it's mealtime, so come out and let's eat."
"Yeah. I'll be right out."
Let me fill my stomach first and think later.
For someone who couldn't even eat meals in the hospital and just lived on IV fluids, a proper meal was a blessing and something to be grateful for—I should appreciate it reverently.
Besides, you can't think straight when you're hungry.
******
"Ohhh! The eldest son of the Sargent family has grown up so splendidly!"
"We've been wanting to meet you so badly, and we can finally be together. It's a pleasure to meet you!"
"Nice to meet you, James Sargent!"
About four days from Mississippi to St. Louis.
And about eight hours by rail from St. Louis to Bloomington.
After a journey that was long if you call it long, short if you call it short, we received a warm welcome from our colleagues as soon as we arrived in Bloomington.
Naturally, the gathering's members were fierce slavery advocates who'd come together to oppose the Republican Party's founding.
So people like me who owned hundreds of slaves on large plantations were quite naturally elevated to central figures of the group.
"Mr. Sargent, did you see on your way here? Damn, this stupid state fines you 50 dollars if you stay more than 10 days with a Black slave in tow, right?"
"Ah, yes. That's why I wrote an affidavit saying I'd only stay two days and leave."
"Tsk, see that? Look at this. This is the wicked and terrible true nature of those Northern bastards. They're trying to make this entire land a world without slaves."
I want to ask what's so wicked and terrible about that goal, but hold on.
Right now I have to wear the mask of Mississippi's slave king James Sargent.
Who knew my previous life's behavior of completely killing personal feelings and focusing thoroughly on work would be so helpful.
I sneered and nodded appropriately at the loudly jabbering Dixies.
Oh, by the way, the title "Dixie" at this time was just starting to spread through the South and wasn't a derogatory term but a very proud and affectionate Southern identity itself.
So let's call them that freely. Though naturally I have no intention of calling myself that.
Anyway, after arriving at the Pike House with these noisy people, I called the manager to check in.
The manager holding a thick guest register politely bowed his head and flipped through to find mine and Kate's names.
"James Sargent and Kate Minor, yes. Confirmed. According to Bloomington commercial ordinances, Black people cannot stay at this hotel. So I'll guide them to the warehouse in the basement."
"Wait, isn't it possible to book a separate room for them to stay in?"
"No. As I mentioned, according to the ordinance, colored people cannot stay at this hotel."
What? You go on about how slavery is bad and Southern barbarians this and that, but these guys are no different.
"I have an important transaction in New York in a few days. If the servants stay somewhere filthy and transmit disease to me, will the hotel take responsibility?"
"Hmm... we'll clean up the basement as much as possible. Please understand with that."
It's not even a hotel rule but an actual ordinance, so what more could I say?
I agreed to go down and check the basement's cleanliness myself before sending the servants down.
Up to this point, it was still tolerable.
My continuously accumulating minor irritation finally exploded in front of the upscale restaurant where we were scheduled to have dinner.
"I'm sorry, sir. Colored people cannot enter our restaurant."
"...Why?"
"Because I don't really like darkies. Regular customers don't like it when colored people are around either. Probably all the restaurants around here are similar anyway."
"So you're saying I can't enter any restaurant in this area with my servants?"
"Well... I suppose so? This area is mainly frequented by white gentlemen with economic means. Black people are just..."
The restaurant owner looked at the Black servants lined up behind me and the Dixies and frowned slightly.
"Shouldn't you find somewhere else where there won't be customers to complain?"
Southerners, I'm sorry for only criticizing you so much.
Well, when they fight each other they're still Americans in the end, so how different could they really be?
They just abolished slavery, but the North doesn't treat Black people well either—I knew this as knowledge.
But experiencing it directly really makes you feel just how deep our 19th century American brothers' humanitarian spirit runs.
Of course, as the South's pride and frontrunner of Black oppression, I, James Sargent, should just brush this off... wait, hold on.
I remember now.
A clever move that could relieve this subtle irritation while earning praise from the Southern Dixies all at once.
"Owner, what's your daily sales usually like here?"
"Huh? Well, if we sell food and drinks all day... just in sales, about 60 dollars."
As soon as he finished speaking, I pulled out 150 dollars from my pocket and held it out to the owner.
"Let me rent it until closing time today. Any objections?"
The owner looked back and forth between us and the money in my hand, then cleared his throat and quickly pocketed the cash.
"Ahem, well then I'll have to post outside that we can't accept other customers today due to circumstances. Hehehe."
The owner who'd just been glaring at us asking how dare Black people enter his restaurant now hummed a tune as he went inside.
I turned to look at Kate watching this scene with curiosity from behind, and the Dixies who couldn't hide their bewilderment.
"Did you see that? The convictions of Northerners are, at this level, so easily bent like reeds with a bit of cash."
"Ahh~! So that's what it was. They mock us as barbaric for abolishing slavery, but you've properly exposed the hypocrisy of those who themselves dislike associating with Black people."
"Exactly, exactly. Compared to people who don't even want to eat with them at a restaurant, aren't we who at least provide a space much more noble? Hahaha!"
Yeah, no. They're pleased after I butter them up a little.
Even so, compared to you guys, they're at least a tiny bit better.
It's just legendary that my life requires me to compare which is better between shit and diarrhea.
If I'd only controlled 10 or 20 slaves, I could've quietly switched to the North, but in any society, people like me who have to exist as symbols are the ones who suffer.
But somehow.
With the situation this shitty, I was even feeling a strange sense of defiance.
Right. Five years until war breaks out.
Can't I just change my entire surrounding environment in that time? By any means necessary.