Chapter 12: Masters of the Union

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Who were these people? Before the Civil War, they had been the apex of American society—planters who dominated the South with a grip tighter than Northern industrialists ever achieved. Plantation economies thrived on consolidation; only the wealthy could afford enslaved labor. 

At the time their wealth rivaled even New York's financiers—though the latter paled in numbers. In per capita terms the South's elite outshone Northern factory owners clawing their way up the economic ladder. 

"Why cling to Brazil when supremacy lies *here*?" Sheffield unfurled a map, his finger tracing the Americas. "No Latin nation holds major coal reserves. Without coal, industry suffocates. Gold? Silver? Mere trinkets for plunderers." 

His words struck a nerve. A man slammed his wineglass down. "We had wealth once, no power to protect it. Now Brazil repeats the lesson." 

Sheffield nodded. Latin America, like the Confederacy was ripe for exploitation: rich in resources, weak in defense. "Twice we've been stripped bare—first by Yankees, now by Brazil. Flee to Haiti? You'll just hand Rockefeller a third victory." 

He circled the room, voice rising. "This nation was built on *our* backs. Who pushed westward? Who fueled Manifest Destiny? Democrats—*our* party—expanded borders while Yankees huddled in factories. Now those thieves call *us* traitors?" 

The crowd stirred. A woman hissed "Hypocrites!" 

"The Union's lands? *Our* doing. Its wealth? *Our* sweat." Sheffield's palm smacked the table. "Yet Yankees brand us villains while pocketing spoils. Well?" He spread his arms. "Shall we keep kneeling, or reclaim our birthright?" 

Chairs scraped as voices roared: "Masters of the Union!" 

Sheffield let the fervor peak before cutting in. "No more Black versus white. To rise, we must unite—all under *our* banner. Let Yankees preach 'freedom.' We'll show them true power: obedience." 

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