The Qing Dynasty is about to end

Chapter 664: Do Black Lives Matter? (Please subscribe and vote)
The carriage rolled over the dirt road in Virginia, raising a cloud of dust. Xianfeng leaned out of the window, and the hot June wind from Virginia blew in his face. Xu Jishe sat opposite him, with the book "Travels in America" ​​that he had been writing for three or four months spread out on his knees, and was using a British fountain pen bought in San Francisco to make corrections. His gesture of holding the fountain pen looked strange, just like when he was writing with a brush, and the words he wrote were still very beautiful.

"The James River is just ahead." Washington Territorial Governor McMullan patted his knees, revealing his joy at returning home. The American slave owner's estate was located 3000 miles southwest of Richmond, along a tributary of the Appomattox River, covering an area of ​​ acres.

Chiyoko sat in the corner, holding a small folding fan in her hand. She was now Feng Yunshan's goddaughter, and she had changed into a silk embroidered jacket and skirt to match her new identity.

When the carriage entered the McMullen family's territory, Xianfeng did not even see the roof of the manor. He only saw two rows of poplar trees standing on both sides of the road. Many of the trees were covered with dense bullet holes, which should be the targets for daily shooting practice.

Xianfeng thought to himself: "The martial virtues of the American Southerners are really abundant. They will definitely be the winners of the future Civil War!"

Dozens of black people in the cotton fields straightened up and saluted, their worn wide-brimmed hats rising and falling in the scorching sun.

"That's Tom," McMullen pointed to the tall figure at the end of the field, "he is responsible for protecting Mary, my darling." Before he finished speaking, the sound of crisp horse hooves came from afar, and a tall red horse carrying a girl in green riding clothes galloped over.

The girl pulled the reins in front of the carriage, the horse's front hooves raised more than a foot high, but she sat firmly on the saddle. "Father!" The girl took off her hat, revealing her golden hair, "You are back! Is this the 'little prince' who can do magic you mentioned?" She looked at Xianfeng curiously, "Does he really know magic?"

McMullen laughed so hard that his scar was shaking: "Mary, this is Bishop Zhao of the True Covenant sect. Bishop Zhao, this is our daughter Mary."

Mary turned over and dismounted, bowing to Emperor Xianfeng in an awkward manner, and Chiyoko burst out laughing. Emperor Xianfeng noticed that she had a dagger stuck in her boot and a Colt revolver on her waist - the girls in the American South were also full of martial virtues!

"Tom!" Mary called out toward the cotton field. The black man came running up, six feet three inches tall, his linen shirt stretched across his granite chest.

"A black bear broke into the woods last month," Mary patted Tom's arm, "and he beat the beast away with a stick." Tom just smiled innocently, revealing his white teeth.

Xu Jishe stared at Sam for a while, muttering to himself: "Such a strong man is willing to be a slave?"

Tom noticed the gaze, grinned at Xu Jishe, revealing his white teeth, bowed respectfully, and then followed Miss Mary.

The carriage continued to move forward accompanied by Miss Mary and Tom. After about half an hour, they saw the McMullen family's mansion, which was located next to a clear stream. Next to the owner's house was the legendary "slave cabin."

Xu Jishe had read many books about the lives of black slaves, all written by Northerners, such as Uncle Tom's Cabin, Uncle Mike's Cabin, and Uncle Jack's Cabin.
This time he really saw the slave cabin. He caught a glimpse of several black women who were too fat to look like slaves. They were stirring around an iron pot. The pot seemed to be boiling broth, which gave off a rich aroma.

Xu Jishe thought to himself, "We're having meat soup for lunch today? It smells delicious, like it's made from pork."

Tom then walked away from Miss Mary and ran to the fat Negro woman, who immediately handed him a "basin." Tom ladled a large basin of soup himself, scooped out a whole hock, and then sat down at a greasy table and devoured it.

Xu Jishe was stunned. What was going on? The master hadn't eaten yet, but the servant had already eaten? He picked such a good pork knuckle and ate the whole thing! Even the "big landlords" in Shanxi who had hundreds of acres of land didn't dare to do this!

Miss Mary seemed to see Xu Jiye's doubts and giggled: "Tom loves meat. He can eat a whole 'pig's trotter' for every meal!"

I love to eat meat
Xu Jishe's English has improved rapidly these days, but he still asked Xianfeng uncertainly: "Does 'paoke' mean pork?"

"Yes!" Xianfeng nodded, "It's pork! Black slaves rarely eat beef."

"Rarely eat it means I can eat it sometimes?" Xu Jiye couldn't believe his ears.

In Shanxi, ordinary landlords dare not even think about eating beef. It’s not that they rarely eat it, but that they simply cannot eat it!

Although McMullen couldn't understand Chinese, he guessed what Xu Jishe and Zhao Si were talking about. This was not the first time he had dealt with Chinese people. These Chinese people were very stingy when it came to meat! "My slaves," McMullen proudly pointed to the female slave who was cooking, "can eat 150 pounds of pork every year. As for beef, if they don't want to eat what we leave behind, they can only eat some at Christmas, Thanksgiving, and my and Mary's birthdays."

"That 'Biff' is" Xu Jishe still finds it difficult to distinguish the various types of meat in English.

"It's beef!" said Xianfeng.

You can actually eat beef.
"That one hundred and fifty pounds is."

"About a hundred jin." Xianfeng said, "A pound is a little smaller than our jin.

More than 100 pounds of meat? Is this a slave of the Ministry of Internal Affairs?
Xu Jiye looked at Xianfeng meaningfully: Look at them. Your sword-bearing guards don’t eat as well as they do!

At the long table in the restaurant, Xu Jiye was once again shocked by the American attitude towards meat. In his opinion, Mary, who was in charge of cutting the meat, should be dragged out and beaten with a stick - the roasted beef was cut left and right by her, and after cutting it, half of it was missing!
What's even more outrageous is that the leftovers are just thrown into the trash can - you can at least use them to make fried rice with eggs! Just throw them away like that.
After trying to look away from the trash can full of discarded beef, Xu Jishe asked McMullen with a smile: "Excuse me, when do these black slaves usually work?"

"Sunrise to sunset," McMullen forked a baked apple, "but after the picking season, they're free. They fix fences, make moonshine, and go fishing on the river on Sundays." He suddenly lowered his voice, "Last year, an abolitionist group came to the north to stir up trouble, and guess what? Old Jim and his men tied him up and took him to the lawman!"

After dinner, as if to prove that he was a good slave owner, McMullen took Xu Jishe and Xianfeng to visit his "Uncle Mac's Hut". Although the wooden hut was short, it was neatly painted with white lime, and coarse cloth clothes were hung in front of the door. An elderly man was weaving wicker baskets with great skill.

"Jim is seventy-three years old," McMullen patted the old man on the back, "his father died in this cotton field." The old man smiled with his missing front teeth like a black hole, "The master is kind and let me take care of the vegetable garden."

At night, Xu Jishe was staring at his travel notebook. Xianfeng walked in and looked at his "teacher". "Can't figure it out?" He dipped the remaining water in the tea bowl and drew a formula on the table: "Three thousand acres equals 18,000 Chinese acres, and 500 black slaves have 36 acres per person. Six acres to support people, and 30 acres to generate profits."

Xu Jishe's goat beard trembled: "How much can six acres produce?"

"The climate in the southern United States is warm, and it's no problem to produce more than 100 kilograms of cotton per mu. Even if you grow crops, six mu is enough to raise a few pigs, brew a few jars of wine, and add a few hundred kilograms of wheat." Xianfeng sighed, "Tenants in the suburbs of Beijing rent ten mu of land, and after paying the rent, there are only a few bushels of grain left per mu. Tell me, which life is more valuable?"

The deck of the "Queen of the Orient" was so hot that it could be used to make pancakes. Moore covered his face with a copy of the Daily Tribune, which was published at an unknown time, but sweat still flowed down his beard. Friedrich suddenly pulled him up: "Moore, we're at the shore, we've arrived in Calcutta!"

Dozens of dark "human figures" lay beside the pier at the Kolkata Port. Bai Siwen squinted and saw that one of them was scratching its belly, which was so bulging that it looked like a woman who was ten months pregnant.

"Hunger and intestinal tract sha," Bai Siwen spat, "I've seen it in many places. People will dig out their own intestines before they die." As he said this, a team of Indian coolies carrying sacks stepped over the "human-shaped" figures. White rice leaked out from the seams of the sacks and fell into the dirty water with green foam and was immediately eaten by the "human-shaped" figures.

Moore's hands were shaking as he grabbed the telescope. In the lens, a mother was breastfeeding, her shriveled breasts hanging down to her waist, but the baby in her arms was no longer moving. Further away, the blue-gray troops of the Taiping Army were boarding a ship, someone's bag was scattered, and a gold bracelet rolled onto the deck and was stepped on by a one-eyed soldier.

"Those are the soldiers under King Yi's command," Bai Siwen licked his lips, "They must have robbed all of Delhi."

Mr. Black, the senior secretary of the Calcutta Governor's Office, drove his carriage over the pier flagstones. The driver whipped the hungry people like he was sweeping a pile of rotten mangoes. Several light-skinned Indian followers trotted after him, and the youngest suddenly stumbled - his patent leather shoes got stuck in the cracks of the flagstones.

"Are you Mr. Moore?" Blake stepped onto the gangway, holding onto the gilded railing with his white gloves, and bowed to the bearded Moore. "Welcome to the jewel in the Queen's crown!"

While the British colonial official was talking, Friedrich was writing rapidly in his notebook. Bai Siwen looked closer and saw the Chinese characters written by Friedrich: "The rich are feasting and drinking, while the poor are freezing on the streets."

Moore murmured, "If I'm not mistaken, we have come to another living hell that seems to be even more terrible than Japan!"

(End of this chapter)