The Qing Dynasty is about to end

Chapter 700 Lincoln, ten thousand taxes, ten thousand taxes!
The chimney of the 2000-ton old cruiser Dingyuan spewed coal smoke as it slowly sailed into Nagasaki Bay. Maria stood on the deck, the sea breeze blowing up her black woolen cloak. In the distance, there were a few shabby whaling ships parked sparsely in the harbor, with the red, white, yellow and blue flags drooping on the masts - that was the "Four Equality Flags" of the Nagasaki Republic.

Yoshida Shoin, wrapped in a faded haori, bowed to greet them at the dock. He looked very bad, as if he hadn't eaten a full meal for a long time.

"To be honest with you, Maria, Nagasaki's rice warehouse only has half a month's worth of food left." When Maria asked about the situation in Nagasaki, the foreign policy director of the Republic of Nagasaki did not hide anything. "Fishermen were driven away by the Korean gunboats 20 miles out to sea, and Nagasaki's trade has long been cut off... But our samurai can still maintain their morale by eating kelp soup and a little rice balls."

Maria's eyes swept across the dock. Ragged porters lined up in a long line, carrying baskets of dried kelp onto carts, and each basket had a number of samurai with short swords registered. In the distance came the sound of orderly footsteps - Takasugi Shinsaku was leading the special forces to run along the beach. The soldiers' straw sandals sank into the mud, but their slogans shook the waves to pieces.

Yoshida pointed to the military magistrate of the Republic of Nagasaki and said to Maria: "That is our special forces. Half of them are civilians and half are samurai. They fight together and have repelled several waves of expeditionary forces sent by the shogunate!"

"Take me to see President Sakuma." Maria withdrew her gaze from the soldiers of the Special Forces who were in training.

"Please!" Yoshida made a gesture to ward off the guests, and then led Maria to the outside of Nagasaki Port, explaining as he walked, "All the horses have been slaughtered. The Republic of Nagasaki advocates equality for all people, so there are no sedan chairs to ride in. We can only walk."

"No problem," Maria said, "I can see the Republic of Nagasaki with my own eyes."

"Then please."

Nagasaki seemed like a dead city. Most of the shops on both sides of the street were nailed with wooden boards. Only the rice shop managed by the Ministry of Finance had a long queue. Katsura Kogoro stood behind the counter and measured the rice with a wooden scale. Each household was only given half a liter of brown rice. Yoshida told Maria that the rationing system had been implemented in Nagasaki for a long time, and all food was controlled by the Ministry of Finance. The Ministry of Finance would give different amounts of rations according to the work undertaken by the residents. However, due to the blockade of the shogunate, the food supply in Nagasaki was very difficult, and the rations were reduced again and again.

At this time, Maria saw a skinny peasant woman kneeling down and begging with a crying baby in her arms. Katsura Kogoro closed his eyes and shook his head, took out a piece of wheat cake from his arms and stuffed it into the swaddling clothes.

The Presidential Palace was originally a warehouse of the Dutch trading house, and the peeling of the wall revealed the charred beams. When Maria arrived, Sakuma Shozan was preparing to have lunch. He was sitting cross-legged on a straw mat, with a coastal defense map spread out in front of him and a few pieces of kelp floating in a ceramic bowl beside him. "I'm sorry to have embarrassed you." He pulled at his patched cuffs, "I, the president, am a bad leader, and I can't even eat."

Maria tapped the cracked beams with her fingers. "The gunboats of the Kingdom of Korea will soon bombard Nagasaki, and the 8000 samurai of Kusunoki Inako will launch a fierce attack within ten days. They are not the useless shogunate and feudal armies."

"The samurai of the Republic of Nagasaki will never surrender!" Sakuma Shozan's face turned pale, "We only ask that the concubine can let the people of Nagasaki go. They are all innocent!"

At this time, the sound of children's songs came from outside the window. Several primary school students wearing straw hats walked hand in hand, and a teacher carried a broken shamisen on his back and taught them to sing "The Equality Song of the Four Classes" as they walked.

Sakuma said: "Although we have failed, the concept of equality among the four classes will definitely be passed down in Japan!"

Maria pulled out a telegram from her purse: "Kusunoki Inako is now holding high the 'Brocade Flag', and her True Contract Samurai are also enemies of the shogunate! Bring your core cadres aboard the Dingyuan. I order the Dingyuan to send you to Yokohama, and you can join the shogunate. As for the civilians... I can protect them!"

Sakuma stared at the deputy leader of the Shinyoku sect in front of him and said in Chinese word by word: "You want us to be dogs of the Tokugawa family?"

"Chess pieces must have the awareness of chess pieces," Maria said, "The game in Nagasaki is over, you have to go to a new chessboard!"

The Dingyuan's steam whistle suddenly shrieked. Black smoke rose outside the harbor, and the watchtower sounded the alarm - the steamship of the Korean Heavenly Kingdom was coming!
January 1860, 9, New York Harbor.

The French cruise ship "Bonaparte" slowly sailed into the mouth of the Hudson River, the roar of the steam engine intertwined with the cry of seagulls. On the deck, Rinko wrapped herself tightly in her mink cloak and looked at the Manhattan skyline that gradually became clear in the distance. It was already chilly in early autumn in New York, but the dock was bustling.

Louis de Montebello, the French Consul in New York, was already waiting at the dock. He was wearing a sophisticated black tuxedo with the Legion of Honor pinned on his chest. When he saw Rinko get off the boat, he immediately took off his top hat and bowed deeply.

"Your Excellency, welcome to the United States of America." His French was filled with the elegant accent of Parisian high society. "His Royal Highness has specifically instructed that all your stay in New York be comfortable and respectable."

Rinko nodded slightly: "Thank you for your trouble, Mr. Consul."

Montebello took her luggage attentively and whispered, "The situation in New York is not good recently. Republican supporters have occupied almost every street. But don't worry, I have arranged the safest route for you."

As soon as they walked out of the dock, they ran into a parade holding banners. The men were wearing rough work clothes, waving the Stars and Stripes, and shouting slogans: "Americans use American products!"

"High tariffs! High wages!"

"We want Lincoln! Get the British out of here!"

Rinko frowned slightly, but Montebello was used to it and said softly, "These are die-hard supporters of the Republican Party—factory owners, workers, bankers, all of whom believe that Lincoln's high tariffs can make them rich."

A gorgeously decorated carriage was ready, with the French Consulate emblem painted on the door. As soon as Rinko stepped into the carriage, a ragged Irish newsboy rushed over, waving a newspaper and shouting:

"New York Tribune! Breaking news! Lincoln promises to gradually raise tariffs to 46%!"

Rinko threw him a coin and took the newspaper. The front page had a few bold headlines:

"Mr. Lincoln's high tariffs will make America great!" "To hell with low tariffs and free trade!" "America doesn't need imports!"

Montebello closed the car door and said with a wry smile: "You see, the Yankees, at least the residents of the northern industrial cities have gone crazy."

The carriage slowly drove along Broadway. The shop windows on both sides of the street were filled with "Made in the USA" labels, and some shops even hung banners directly:
“We never sell British goods in this store!”

Rinko put down the newspaper and asked, "Mr. Consul, do you think Lincoln's policies can really revitalize American industry?"

Montebello groaned for a moment. "There is no doubt that high tariffs can make northern factory owners rich. But what is the price? Will southern plantation owners be willing to be exploited? Will farmers in the Midwest tolerate soaring industrial product prices and falling agricultural product prices?" He lowered his voice and said, "My Lady, please forgive me for being blunt - Lincoln's radical tariff policy will tear this country apart."

At the same time, in the study of the O'Hara family in Charleston, Emperor Xianfeng was writing furiously. The quill pen rustled on the paper, the ink splashed, and his brows were furrowed, as if he wanted to pour out all his anger on the paper.

Lincoln, Ten Thousand Taxes (Author: A cotton grower who doesn't want to starve to death)
"When the steel furnaces in Pennsylvania swallowed another ton of high-priced iron ore, and when the textile machines in Massachusetts shredded another bag of cheap southern cotton, Mr. Lincoln might practice his inaugural speech in front of the mirror. But please look at the poor white people in the southern agricultural states who are about to go bankrupt! Look at the land mortgaged to the bank by farmers in the Midwest! High tariffs are a double-edged sword inserted in the chest of America - the northern factory owners smiled and grasped the handle of the knife, but let us southerners bear the pain of the blade piercing through. They keep saying "protect American workers", but who will protect the 30 million people who raised the United States? Farmers? As we all know, American workers have the highest wages in the world, and American farmers provide them with the cheapest agricultural products in the world! But now, they want to protect workers and factory owners at the expense of our American farmers! Gentlemen, this is not protection, it is robbery and slaughter! Feed the vultures of Wall Street with our flesh and blood, and use our bankruptcy to fill their coffers. When Lincoln's votes are piled high on the shores of the Great Lakes, please remember: every vote is soaked with the tears of Southern mothers and the blood and sweat of Midwestern farmers! "

He had just put down his pen when the door to his study opened. Scarlett O'Hara rushed in, her red skirt fluttering and her green eyes sparkling.

"Bishop Zhao! Have you finished writing? Let me see it!"

Without waiting for Xianfeng to answer, she grabbed the manuscript, cleared her throat, and began to read aloud. Her voice was clear and powerful, with the unique enthusiasm of a southern girl, and every word was like a whip lashing in the air.

When she read that "high tariffs are a double-edged sword stabbing America's chest", Gerald O'Hara, who was sitting on the sofa, slapped his thigh and shouted with his big beard shaking: "Well said! Lincoln and his gang of Northerners just want to suck our blood!"

Zeng Ke, a black slave standing by, also laughed and clapped his hands: "Mr. Zhao wrote well, Mr. Zhao is a good man!"

Scarlett read the last sentence, raised her chin, and proudly announced: "This article will be on the front page of the Charleston Courier tomorrow! Let the whole South know - we will never be bullied!"

Gerald jumped up and raised his glass: "For cotton! For the South!"

Xianfeng and Scarlett smiled at each other, raised their glasses, and shouted, "Long live cotton!"

Outside the window, the sunset glow in Charleston Harbor was blood-red, reflecting the cotton bales piled up in the harbor. On the distant horizon, a merchant ship flying the British flag was slowly sailing away - the cotton on board might be the last season to enjoy low tariffs.

(End of this chapter)