Chapter 70

One look at the current situation and the answer is obvious. Just think about what prompted the development of the automatic water pump in the first place. The pump ‘itself’ isn’t a particularly complicated machine to replicate. It’s a device that just has to suck water in and spit it out. A 21st-century water pump isn’t all that different from the ones I have now. The problem was the… engine that ran it.

There were swamps aplenty that needed draining and I could replicate as many pumps as I wanted, but I lacked the power source to run them, forcing me to use people or horses. The efficiency? It was nonexistent, of course. After the Porter truck appeared, I tried connecting it to the pump using its PTO, but we still faced an absolute power shortage. Windmills and waterwheels were an option, but their locations are limited to places with consistently strong winds or river currents. They’re also difficult to build.

That’s why I made the automatic water pump. And that’s why I made the power source to run it. The steam engine.

Yes. Of course. If you get transported to the past, you’ve got to at least build a steam engine. Mechanical engineering problems? Not an issue, since the basic structure was laid out in my educational comics. Material science problems? My house produces 21st-century steel and copper pipes. With the materials on hand, I could fabricate any critical, high-reliability components right here on the farm.

That’s how I solved the problem just a short while ago. Now, a dozen or so water pumps are chugging away in various locations, and the power shortage we once faced is almost gone. And now, another problem has arisen. We’re short on food. In other words, our agricultural productivity is too low.

To be honest… farming in this place is unbelievably easy.

“…Sir Nemo? Are you crying?”

“I’m crying because there are no floods… in the summer, Mr. Hewitt…”

“I see… As always, you can think of nothing but your settlers.”

That’s not it. It’s because all my past years farming in Korea feel so utterly futile in comparison. Here, there’s no annual monsoon season, no other seasons where the ground dries to a crisp, no sudden downpours that cause weeds to grow like mad. What does it mean to have so much less to worry about when it comes to water and weeds? It means that, unlike in Korea, the periods of intensive labor are limited. I’m not suffering all day long with weeding and water management. The busiest times are planting and harvesting; the rest is leisurely.

And in those leisurely periods, we clear land… which is the hardest part. The reason for our current lack of productivity is, first and foremost, an absolute shortage of land. I can clear forests and level hills in an instant with the excavator and other equipment. But what about the work of turning land that has been wild for decades, or even centuries, into permanent farmland? Well… I actually have plenty of farming implements to do that… and they’re easy to replicate… but I only have one rototiller to power them.

We also use horses to plow the fields, but the productivity is still low. When a person pulls the plow, it’s even more pathetic. With so few pieces of equipment we can run simultaneously, we naturally have few skilled operators to run them.

Therefore… there is only one conclusion. I have to do what I did with the water pumps. I have to use the steam engine for land reclamation.

In other words. “…A tractor.” I have to build a steam tractor.

Flip. Flip.

…First, I devoured every educational comic, biography of a great person, and high school textbook in the house. After my parents’ attempt at farming failed, this house became a warehouse for our family’s old belongings. Since being transported here, I’ve pulled out and read every dusty book I could find. *Eomji and Kkomji[1],* and all sorts of ‘Doctors’ (who apparently have so much free time they can travel all over the place with children) became my guides.

—‘Doctor! What’s that?’ 

—‘Ah, that’s the so-and-so, the first external combustion engine! If you look at its internal structure…’ 

—‘Doctor! What about that one?’ 

—‘After the external combustion engine, steam locomotives and tractors appeared. Their structure is…’

… 

… 

…

Thank you, Mother, Father…! For not buying me Comic MapleStory and getting me all these weird educational comics instead! They are my strength…!

After mastering a dozen or so of these scholarly tomes(?), I came to a conclusion. ‘The structure of the steam engine used in a tractor is, surprisingly, simple!’ Early steam engines were, intuitively speaking, all about boiling water to move a piston, making their structure far simpler and clearer than later internal combustion engines. Therefore, as long as the material and fabrication problems were solved, it could be built. And I could solve both. I have steel and copper pipes that regenerate every 24 hours, and I have all sorts of 21st-century machinery. With these, the two most critical problems were solved.

Of course, I can’t do much with just the steel pipes I have. To work with steel, you have to hammer it, cut it, and stretch it, but I can’t make a large boiler or other components by treating my pipes that way. It’s not done that way even in modern times. But this is where the grace of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth of England shines.

Vroooooom!

“Hey! The scrap iron is here! Get ready!”

You’re working hard, blacksmiths of Roanoke…! Once a week, I load about four tons of scrap iron onto the Porter and head to Roanoke Island. Hmm, wasn’t the original loading capacity of this Porter about one ton? Who cares. It’s not like it’s going to break.

The scrap iron comes back transformed into various large components. Then, the ironworkers on my island immediately get to work, grinding their surfaces smooth with a power grinder and attempting to fabricate precision parts to match their dimensions. Precision parts, with 16th-century technology? It’s difficult, of course. But there was a reason we were able to free ourselves from the problem of fabrication.

Wheeeee!

We had a grinder. By modifying the spinning grinder here and there, we were able to create a makeshift lathe. With this bootleg lathe, we shaved down the pipes to create various precision parts, then connected them to the large components that had been cast in molds. After assembling them with rivets, just as the artisans suggested from the blueprints, we applied lubricant to the joints, and finally, after praying with the mindset that the entire universe would help if we just wished for it hard enough…

Kuh, kuhkuhkuhkuh-kung! Kigeek! Kigeekigeek!

It’s moving. It’s moving…! As the steam engine activated, the wheels connected to it began to advance slowly with a creaking sound. It’s still just a prototype, so it can’t turn or do anything else, but this is only the beginning.

“Wh-what can we do with that now?”

Someone whispered into the air in amazement. I wanted to answer him. We can do anything. Literally, anything.

After giving the artisans various materials and encouragement to continue developing the prototype, I returned to my usual work.

“Sir Nemo, will that really solve the problem of the land shortage?”

“Yes. It will, without a doubt,” I said, nodding at Hewitt’s question. “For now… we’ll have to pay attention to the Florida problem intermittently, but this issue is more important.”

The external enemy is far away, but an internal danger can collapse our community in a single moment. Of course, I’d still have to keep an eye on external affairs from time to time. I’d been so preoccupied with the refugee problem that I had almost forgotten, but we were in the middle of a war. A war to drive out the Florida colony, a war to drive out slavery. It wasn’t a problem directly tied to our community’s immediate survival, nor was it something that needed to be dealt with urgently right now, but it was still important.

“Walter, are we still in contact with the various organizations inside?” With that thought, I casually asked for an interim report.

“Hmm… Yes. We are.”

‘Hmm’? I tilted my head at Raleigh’s strange response. “Is something wrong?”

“Ah, it’s nothing major. It’s just that a rather strange rumor has been coming through our organizations in Florida. Thanks to it, it seems more and more people are joining our cause…”

A strange rumor…? I leaned in, listening to Raleigh. “A bizarre ‘legend’ is making the rounds.”

***

January 1598. The northern edge of the Florida colony.

The colonies that had been abandoned and neglected since Francis Drake’s invasion a decade earlier were being rebuilt, one by one. Mission headquarters and military bases were re-established, and plantations were built by the hands of Black slaves and at the tips of the whips of their Spanish masters. Spanish colonists, who had come from Spain or from other colonies like Mexico, planted tobacco, sugarcane, and cotton in this land. They were all lucrative cash crops for export.

Labor was needed for the vast, reclaimed lands. The Spanish colonists, brimming with the expectation of becoming lords of the New World, naturally did not engage in such rough labor. The ones who cultivated those wide fields were the slaves, who made up over eighty percent of the colony’s population. They were the ones who defended the colony from the hundreds, even thousands of Indians who launched attacks. They were the ones who shouldered the work of cultivating this colony’s cash crops.

CRACK!

And they were not allowed to lick even the crumbs of the wealth produced in this colony.

The master swung a rawhide whip, and it struck the ground with a sickening sound. A few of the slaves who heard it trembled and looked down at the ground. The master, as if finding this pathetic, lashed his whip toward a fence post.

To be precise.

“Huk… keuhuk… kuk…”

“I simply… cannot understand your angry hearts.”

…Toward a slave who was tied there, bleeding and dying.

CRACK!

“I have sacrificed so much for you all.”

CRRAACK!

“Did I not read the Bible to you every day? Unlike other masters, did I not let you sleep on proper beds instead of straw?”

CRAAAACK!

“…So why? Why did you do it?”

The slave tied to the post could barely breathe as he collapsed to the ground. His nearly naked body was covered in crimson wounds.

“Slaves, in reverent fear of God submit yourselves to your masters, not only to those who are good and considerate, but also to those who are harsh. I read this passage to you often, did I not?”

***

“I can be… a bit harsh. You might think it’s too much, to whip a slave like this just for holding a little gathering. But what can I do?” The master swung the whip, and the slaves it struck cowered in fear. “…I am your master.”

There were twenty-three slaves gathered here. There were only five or six masters. At a glance, it might seem the slaves could overpower them, but the soldiers of the Spanish colonial authorities were just a short walk away. There had already been many incidents where slaves killed their masters, only for those slaves to be massacred in turn. After a few such repetitions, no one even dreamed of rebellion.

CRACK! CRAAAACK!

And so, no one could throw themselves forward for their dying comrade. His crime was organizing a ‘prayer meeting.’

“Satan worship… Satan worship… It seems you infidels will not listen without the pain of the flesh.” The master’s seemingly benevolent eyes were shot through with red veins. He licked his dry lips, and his mouth seemed to shine red, as if stained with blood. “Oh, Lord! Lord! Why have you given me this difficult task of civilization!”

“I-I-I have never, w-worshipped Satan…”

“…”

“I-it was just, just a prayer meeting. We just recited a few Bible verses…”

“Then recite them.”

“…”

“I said, recite the Bible verses you have memorized.”

“D-do not seek a reason to save a person, for he is the Lord’s sorrow!”

The master’s hand paused. …That’s an unfamiliar passage. Could it be that this thing just made it up? Just as he was about to continue the whipping, the slave cried out again.

“Th-then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free!⁵“

Ah, this was a familiar passage. Just as a satisfied arc was about to form on the master’s lips, the bloodied slave, half out of his mind, spoke again. “D-do not be hindered in your quest for faith! For in the eyes of the Lord, the differences between sects are so very trivial…”

The master’s face contorted again. What nonsense was this. Then did that mean the English, and the French Huguenots, would all be saved? That’s ridiculous—

CRUNCH!

While the master was distracted, the slave who had been lying in a bloody heap trembled and pulled the fence post out of the ground. As his bound arms were freed, he began to flee. Of course.

CRACK!

“Kuk, keuhup…”

There was no way an exhausted slave could escape.

“A prayer meeting, you say. You even made a strange idol… incited the other slaves…! And now… you even recite strange verses!” The master remembered when he had come across their ‘prayer meeting.’ It was disgusting. They had carved something that looked like an Indian wooden statue and were clinging to it, weeping and muttering. They looked like a squirming mass of insects.

“L-Lord! A-angel! Angel!”

“…Hah.” Still not in his right mind, spouting nonsense. The master raised his whip again. And…

WHOOSH!

“…Wh-what?”

“Th-the Lord hates slave masters. His, a-angel, hates slavery!”

Suddenly, someone grabbed him from behind. Startled by the stench, he shoved the person off and saw a man of bizarre appearance staring at him, his eyes vacant as if looking at empty space. A man with a dirty, overgrown beard and hair, clad only in rags.

“T-to whip a slave… is to whip the Lord… The Lord’s angel… forbids it…”

“…”

“Th-the angel, the angel hates slavery…!”

“…Are you that madman from the rumors?”

Furious, the master looked around, but the bloodied slave was nowhere to be seen. The thought that a nearly dead man had suddenly escaped sent blood rushing to his head. “Do you know that the man who just ran is a Satanist? What Lord, what are you possessed by some demon to be doing this—”

“T-the Lord’s angel, h-hates slavery…”

“…”

It was impossible to communicate. For some reason, the master felt his energy drain away and he lowered his whip. The other slaves, who had been tense, trembled and returned to their own quarters.

“…Is that so? The angel hates slave masters, you say?”

“Y-yes… that’s right. The angel exists. H-he, he instilled fear… in me…”

“…”

“Fear, f-fear of Hell, he, he instilled…”

A hollow laugh escaped him. He’d lost a slave and his authority in front of the others because of some strange madman. But this one… it seemed useless to beat him or do anything else; he had already lost his mind. His energy drained, the master just laughed weakly and asked the madman, “You… what is your name?”

“N-name… Asue…ro…”

“What was that? I can’t hear you.”

“…”

“My, fine. Don’t say it. Then this angel you’re crying out for, who in the world—”

“…Angel!” Cutting the master off, the madman’s eyes flashed wildly. The vision of that day was still playing vividly before his eyes. Deep in the madman’s soul, the ‘angel’s’ words were deeply engraved.

—“You deceived your own soul.” 

—“If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us.” 

—“You cast out the Lord from within your own heart.”

“M-must repent…”

“What?”

“Must repent… Eternal Hell is still chasing me from behind…! The angel, he is watching me…!”

“…No, who is this angel you’re crying out for?”

When the slave owner asked persistently, the madman screamed with a voice so loud it seemed he would vomit up his very soul. Believing firmly that this name would one day make the world tremble in fear. Believing that this name would one day conquer the world.

“…Nemo!”

Nemo! He is coming! He will soon come to this land! The angel’s wrath will soon descend upon this land!

The madman ran off again, wailing like a lunatic. He ran and ran, endlessly, shouting. The slave owner didn’t even dare to think of chasing him. Because the moment he heard that name, a fear had begun to creep up his spine. Surely… the name those slaves had been crying out in their ‘prayer meeting’ was…

Nemo.

And so, the rumor spread once more. The rumor of a madman who wanders somewhere between the north of Florida and the savage lands beyond. He wandered, trembling endlessly in fear. He shouted of the angel’s advent until his throat was raw.

‘He will come someday.’ ‘He will strike this land like a lightning bolt.’ ‘His voice will deafen the people.’ ‘His appearance will blind the people.’

So he shouted. He was, you might say… the ‘Wandering Spaniard.’