Chapter 30: Forgiving You All

In such a vast country as the Union, it was perfectly normal to encounter different accents. As soon as Sheffield opened his mouth, he delivered a sweeping generalization, ignoring many people's angry stares. The words were already out, and in his mind, there was no need to distinguish between residents of the Northern states—they were all Yankees.

"Is it just because you whistled at this gentleman's companion?" Sheffield scrutinized John Connor for a while, then shifted his gaze to the source behind him—a young Black Gold Company employee. He appeared to be in his early twenties, around the same age when one might think they are invincible. Years of living abroad could make someone quite casual.

This wasn't a big deal. The Haitian base was close to Cuba, and over time, it was inevitable to absorb the vibrant Latin atmosphere. However, another group clearly didn't adapt well to this.

This should be considered a cultural conflict, but the Yankees and Dixie folk had no real cultural conflicts; both sides genuinely disliked each other, which was very true.

"I demand an apology!" The man with his arm around his companion slightly raised his head. However, this statement wasn't directed at the employee who whistled but at Sheffield, who had just appeared and fired off a broad insult that included many passengers.

Difficult to defy public anger? Raising the brim of his top hat with one finger, Sheffield locked eyes with the man demanding an apology, then scanned the various expressions of the passengers. With an indifferent shake of his head, he said, "I personally don't have this habit. Please calm down; it will only cause unnecessary conflict."

Sheffield's demeanor remained calm, but this calmness was obviously perceived by many as disdain. Who was this precocious kid dressed so maturely? Did he think he was born into nobility?

For a moment, many men and women expressed their dissatisfaction, outnumbering and condemning Sheffield. This didn't force Sheffield to retreat a step to avoid being overwhelmed by spittle. He lightly remarked, "Yankees are still so barbaric. You're always like this—without enough people, you behave like kittens."

"You've gone too far. I don't know whose nouveau riche child you are, but your words are truly offensive."

"Exactly! The Dixie people were defeated in the Civil War. Why act so superior?"

"You'd better not escalate the conflict! Sigh." Just after sighing, Sheffield felt a weight on his shoulders—two revolvers and the hands holding them rested on his shoulders. More than a dozen employees around him simultaneously drew their guns, indiscriminately pointing at everyone. After the sigh, seeing the now silent crowd, he nonchalantly said, "I warned you not to escalate the conflict."

It seemed that maintaining a cheerful attitude every day was more effective. When looking at these people, each one became much more gentlemanly, avoiding direct eye contact.

"Don't do anything rash. This is the Union's top passenger liner; many guests have influential connections." The man's companion finally spoke, forgetting her earlier admiration for her companion's bravery and the crowd's sense of justice.

"Connections?" Sheffield rolled his eyes. Connections? Isn't that just a network? In the Republic, connections are called networks; in the Union, networks are called connections—it's essentially the same thing.

However, when this woman spoke, she no longer exuded the aura of defying public anger. Sheffield sized up the source of the conflict from head to toe. She was decent-looking, though not stunning. Could these employees have been in Haiti for too long, automatically giving points to any woman? Considering Haiti's racial composition, it wasn't impossible.

"In fact, showing off bravery in front of a woman, I can somewhat understand, but this time you picked the wrong person. Your companion didn't need to create a conflict to appear brave in front of you." Only now did Sheffield shift his gaze from the woman's prominent chest, smacking his lips and starting to reason, "As long as he is wealthy and treats others kindly, confidently, and sincerely towards you, why resort to such means? Look how long I stared at your chest, and he didn't do anything, did he?"

"I apologize for being so direct, but these are the most straightforward words. Maybe you don't understand." Sheffield's apology sounded insincere.

"Perhaps your family is wealthy, but human dignity is priceless." Even under the threat of numerous guns, there were always those willing to stand up for justice, albeit hiding behind others.

Sheffield glanced sideways, chuckling without hesitation, "Everything has a price, including intangible things like dignity. In 1860, the price of an adult African in New Orleans was $900. Based on your physique, you're probably worth about a third of that—an African's price. That's all you're worth. Thinking you're priceless is laughable."

Such a question would stump others, but asking him was like walking into a trap. He knew exactly what a person's price was.

"Master, shall I pry open his mouth and check his teeth to estimate his price?" John Connor, the savior, grinned, his gun-free hand full of subtle movements, seemingly eager to act.

"Do you take me for a black slave?" The man who clashed with the Black Gold employees was furious, his face red with anger.

"Look, Yankees are so hypocritical. I merely stated a historical fact, and this person is still discriminating against blacks. Aren't you supposed to love blacks as part of your family? Let me do the math for you. Initially, the Southern states had four million blacks. With one decree, considering minors and the elderly, even if we calculate $500 per laborer, you caused the South a loss of twenty billion dollars."

"Compared to this financial loss, calling you Yankee thieves isn't excessive." Sheffield stood with his hands on his hips, righteous and justified, but quickly softened his bitter resentment, "But that's all in the past. We're all citizens of the Union now. This time, I'll forgive your rudeness and let it go."

"Madam, the journey is quite boring. I see you're also a literature lover!" Sheffield glanced and spotted two books peeking out of the culprit's bag. Pointing at them, he said, "Let me borrow them first. I'll return them after reading."

"Thank you!" Sheffield successfully obtained something to pass the time and turned to leave, saying, "Put away your guns. This is the Union's top passenger liner; let's all be gentlemen."

"In a different setting, I would have thrown you into the sea to feed the sharks long ago." John Connor lowered his voice to the couple, "As the master said, this time I'll forgive you."

(End of Chapter)