The Qing Dynasty is about to end

Chapter 668: The fuse of the American Civil War, is it Luzon's turn? (Please subscribe, please vote)

In Washington, D.C., the wooden door of Republican Senator Benjamin Wade's home creaked, and the smell of roast beef and cigar smoke wafted into the hallway. Lincoln took off his top hat and glimpsed a double-barreled shotgun hanging on the coat rack in the entrance hall, with the words "Free Land" engraved on the butt. He handed the top hat and coat to the black servant of the Wade family - a free black man, of course. Then he heard the roar of his old acquaintance, former California Governor Bigler.

"Those yellow monkeys are trying to steal our West with this state constitution!"

Senator O'Connor's old enemy, the Catholic Irish miner leader Carney, sat on Senator Wade's velvet sofa. This Irishman who survived six assassination attempts in California was very sturdy. He clenched his fists and said viciously: "They set up small farms everywhere in California, Oregon, Washington Territory and the British Vancouver Colony, and established so-called unity farms. Dozens or hundreds of Chinese families gathered in farms comparable to bastions, controlling thousands of acres of fertile land around them. Those Chinese are very hardworking and all of them are masters of farming. Just over a thousand unity farms have completely monopolized the food supply on the West Coast. Flour, rice, fruits, vegetables, beef, eggs, even fish in the sea and salt are all controlled by these yellow monkeys!

In addition, the various other commodities sold in the West Coast market are either produced by small Chinese workshops or smuggled from across the Pacific Ocean!"

Thaddeus Stevens, the leader of the Republican House of Representatives, tapped the mantelpiece with his sandalwood cane, the tip of which was tipped with iron, and the sound was as muffled as a death knell. "How many Chinese are there on the West Coast now?" he asked in a hoarse voice. "How many black slaves are there?"

"There are at least 300,000 Chinese!" Carney counted on his fingers, "Including the Japanese women and mixed-blood kids, there must be no less than 500,000! As for black slaves, I've never seen one!"

"No. Black slaves?"

John Brown looked confused, and the radical abolitionist asked again: "Not one?"

"Not even one!" Carney spat. "The Chinese don't keep black slaves. They themselves are slaves—slaves who are more capable than black slaves!"

Republican Senate leader Wade picked up the Washington State Constitution and asked: "What's going on with this state constitution?"

"You're kidding!" Bigler pulled out a yellowed photo - Chinese laborers were unloading cargo at the Port of San Francisco, with their small bodies carrying several large packages. "Look, these are Chinese laborers at work! I've been in California for five years, and I've never seen a Chinese farmer buy black slaves. They work harder than mules!"

Lincoln stroked the stubble on his chin. He had seen the irrigation canals at the Unity Farm in California. The wooden water pipes were like blood vessels that covered the entire field, turning the arid land into a lush green vegetable garden. What frightened him most was the wooden signs on the ridges of the fields - they usually had the four Chinese characters "天道買勤" written on them, which roughly meant "God loves the hardworking Chinese."
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Lincoln said suddenly, in a low voice, “the issue we are facing is not slavery, but a clash of civilizations.”

The room suddenly became quiet.

All eyes were on Lincoln.

"Reject the state constitution proposed by Washington Territory and promote the Chinese Exclusion Act." Lincoln said, "Also promote the Homestead Act to encourage white farmers to settle in the West." He paused, "But most importantly - avoid armed conflict."

"What?" Carney jumped up. "Those yellow monkeys even used cannons when they fought us! Last year they..."

"Five months ago in the election in Washington Territory," Lincoln took out a newspaper from his briefcase and shook it open, "the candidates supported by the True Covenanters won a landslide victory." In the front-page photo, Governor McMullen was shaking hands with a Chinese priest, with the True Covenant Cathedral in the background hanging a wheat cross flag.

"I think you all understand how violent the elections on the West Coast are?" Lincoln said in a deep voice.

Republican Senator Seward, who is interested in running for the next US president, suddenly laughed out loud: "Abel, you are not afraid that our people can't beat those with braids, right?"

Lincoln glanced at his rival who was destined to lose to him. "The key issue now is not the war with the Chinese, but the election of 1860. Otherwise, the state constitution of Washington State, the Chinese Exclusion Act and the Homestead Act can please white workers. With their votes, we can get the electoral votes of the northern states! As for going to war with the Chinese on the West Coast, who will fight? The federal army? The current president is Buchanan of the Democratic Party. Will he agree to use the federal army to attack a state that has proposed a 'slavery constitution'? If the federal army does not go out, can we use the militia of the Republican-controlled state to attack the territory where the Democratic governor is the governor? Wouldn't this be provoking a civil war?"

New York State Senator Seward said coldly: "Abel, you have to understand that there will be a war between the North and the South! If the yellow monkeys in the West want to try our Yankee rifles, I don't mind showing them how powerful we are!"

The whistle of the "Queen of the Orient" sounded continuously.

Moore held onto the rusty railing, and the outline of the dock of North King City on Java Island gradually appeared in his sight. This was no longer the Batavia he remembered - the Dutch rule here had completely collapsed, and the Chinese had replaced them as the new colonists, and they also changed the name of Batavia to "North King City", a city named after Wei Changhui's king title!

"The registration office is on the left, and the military camp is on the right... Anyone who wants to join the army can go there!"

On the dock, a True Jesuit priest in a black robe waved a wheat cross flag and shouted.

Behind him was a long line of Chinese immigrants, most of whom had families with them and looked a bit skinny.
When Shi Dakai's military boots stepped over the gangplank, his personal soldiers shouted, "The 5,000-year-old King Yi has arrived!" The soldiers on the dock knelt down in unison. Their uniforms were all old-style, with the words "Holy Soldiers" on their chests and backs, and red scarves on their heads.

The golden bells of the Queen of Jhansi tinkled on the deck, attracting several laborers in bamboo hats to look at them furtively.
"Look at the military camp over there." Friedrich pointed to the distance. In the bamboo fence, Taiping soldiers in new blue-gray uniforms were loading ammunition onto an oxcart. A dark-skinned aboriginal youth was tied to the shaft of the cart, his ankles rubbed bloody by the iron chain. In the distance, there was a faint rise of black smoke from somewhere!
Bai Siwen suddenly pulled Moore's sleeve and said, "Isn't that Archbishop Liu?"

The hem of Liu Lichuan's red robe was stained with mud, and on his chest hung a pure gold cross, tied to his neck with a large gold chain. Behind him followed a young man holding a telegraph box, with the four Chinese characters "Wu Wang Dian Ling" pasted on the lid.

"Greetings to the Thousand-Year-Old King Yi! Greetings to the Heavenly Master Karl." Liu Lichuan saluted to Shi Dakai and Moore.

"Where is Lord Wei?" Shi Dakai asked about Wei Jun's whereabouts.

Liu Lichuan said: "Lord Wei set out for Tianjing three days ago to ask for the title."

"Please confer the title?" Shi Dakai asked, "Please confer the title of King of Java?"

"That's right." Liu Lichuan smiled, "The Javanese Chinese-Ethnic Nobles Conference has elected Lord Wei as the king. Now all that's left is for the Heavenly Kingdom Kings Conference to approve it."

"Oh," Shi Dakai nodded and said with a smile, "Then I will definitely vote for him."

"I would like to thank Prince Yi on behalf of Lord Wei." Liu Lichuan bowed again, and then took out the telegram from Luo Yaoguo from the "telegram box". "Prince Yi, this is the telegram from His Royal Highness Prince Wu. It arrived yesterday and is sent to you."

Shi Dakai took the telegram and unfolded it, the mulberry paper rustling in the morning breeze. Queen Jhansi leaned in to take a closer look, but before she could see anything clearly, Shi Dakai had already shouted: "Tell the captain of the Oriental Queen to change the route to the Makassar Channel and dock at Manila Port on Luzon Island!"

Moore looked at Friedrich beside him, who took out a notebook and wrote on it: "Manila - the second Batavia!"

Fort Santiago, Manila.

Fernando Noriega Escayera was stirring a cup of chocolate with a silver spoon. The Spanish governor's fingertips were still stained with cocoa powder. On the table was the front page of the Manila Daily News, which reported that the Javanese nobles had elected Wei Jun as the king of Java.

"Report!" The adjutant pushed the door open hastily, "Another underground printing house has been found in the Parian District!"

Escayera's silver spoon suddenly hit the edge of the porcelain cup with a crisp sound. He stood up, walked to the window, looked at the densely packed Chinese houses in the city outside the Spanish fortress, gritted his teeth and ordered: "Catch! Catch again!"

"Yes, sir!"

In the evening, the bell of Santa Cruz Church struck six times. A team of Spanish soldiers armed with rifles rushed into Chinatown. A True Jesuit priest in a black robe climbed out of the back window of a small church. The corner of his robe caught the clothesline and tore a whole row of coarse shirts into the mud and water, making a rustling sound.

"Catch that heretic!" A Spanish lieutenant shouted, mixed with curses in Minnan dialect. Suona suddenly sounded at the end of the alley, and a funeral procession in mourning blocked the road, with paper money flying like snowflakes at the soldiers' guns. When they pushed through the mourning crowd, the priest had already disappeared deep into the maze-like arcade.

Chen Afu, president of the Chinese Chamber of Commerce, squatted in the cellar of the rice shop, the kerosene lamp illuminating the map of Manila on the wall. He drew a circle on the Balian Market with a red pen: "The Spaniards are going to search the granary tonight." Several shop assistants silently moved the rice stacks away, revealing boxes of Tianli Year 3 rifles in the secret passage.

"Father and King of Heaven, bless Luzon!" Chen Afu stroked the bronze cross on his chest, his eyes flashing with anger for revenge.

On the balcony of the Governor's Palace, Escayera looked at the fishing lights gradually lighting up in the bay. Chinese sampans were shuttling back and forth, and each boat light was like a prying eye. He clutched the telegram he had just received - the instructions from Madrid were cold: "As a lesson from the Java experience, a scorched earth policy can be used if necessary."

"Report!" The adjutant's voice trembled, "A large British steamship, escorted by a Chinese Shanghai-class cruiser, entered Manila Bay and docked at the Cavite Shipyard."

(End of this chapter)