Chapter 9 I am Hu Hansan

"Send a telegram to a few Texas senators, asking them to come to the manor for a private chat." Annabelle gestured to the woman, "You receive a few gentlemen. Although there won't be any unexpected events in the Texas election, it's always a good idea to talk more. Let William handle the situation back home. Our partners in Brazil haven't been back for many years, so they're not as important as this."

Before the Civil War, New Orleans was the center of the South. Fleets from both sides of the Atlantic brought people here continuously, and then sold the captured people to plantation owners. At that time, Sheffield was just one of the many plantation owners in Louisiana. As for Annabelle's family, they produced and sold their own products. They were both plantation owners and transport teams, organizing manpower to go deep into Africa for hunting.

"I am a good young man in the 21st century, but I was born into such a family. I feel deeply ashamed..." Sheffield pouted, as if he was thinking of the glorious future world. Compared with his current living environment, it was simply too politically incorrect.

Sheffield always felt that his grandfather, who traveled through time, was obviously a gigolo. I wonder if he brought water for washing feet at night? Or maybe he had some unknown special skills.

"You are the current manager of Oak Manor!" Sheffield crossed his legs, looked at the operator who had just come over, and nodded as a greeting. The operator seemed to be in his fifties, wearing overalls and a sun-shading hat. His face was a little red, and it was obvious that he had been exposed to wind and sun.

Who was the richest group of Americans before the Civil War? That depends on how big the group is defined. If we are talking about the super-rich, it would still be the people who deal in finance in New York. The factory owners in the North did not live as well as the plantation owners in New Orleans.

There are many plantations in the suburbs of New Orleans. They were the richest group of Americans before the Civil War. They were farmers who made a living by growing cotton and sugarcane. Most of their estates were located along the Mississippi River, especially around New Orleans, Louisiana. These plantations are very beautiful and have different styles from different eras.

Plantation owners in various states have manors in New Orleans, but most of these manors are now deserted. Some are left to be managed by special entrustors, and some have even been resold. Of course, many families entrusted the Sheffield family to manage them before going to Brazil. The Oak Manor where he is now is not one of them. This manor is his own.

Seeing these estates connected together, Sheffield began to understand why the Confederate States in the South felt like they were being robbed. If this was the life of the plantation owners before the Civil War, it would not be surprising for them to have the mentality that the Yankees were going to rob them. It would be strange if they didn't have this idea.

Sheffield checked the accounts, mainly to see who the original owners of these manors were. Although Sheffield didn't know how many industries his family had run, what he saw at present were farms, arms, transportation and smuggling. But they shouldn't even do things like robbery. If the original owner came back, these temporarily operated manors would have to be returned.

Of course, the operating costs of the past 30 years are still required. Although the Sheffield family has reaped a huge amount of wealth in the past 30 years, the brothers still have to settle accounts clearly. No matter how much money is earned, it is earned, and the operating fees still need to be paid.

From this estate all the way north, all the land along the river was divided up by the original plantation owners. Sheffield estimated that the blacks, who now make up the majority of the population in New Orleans, did not have much land at all, because the good land here had been divided up long before them.

There is a huge class gap. Even if the original owners left, their plantations are still running. They just changed from free labor to hired labor, and the only difference is that they changed from a one-time buyout to a mortgage.

"It's a pity to give up this port. It could be used in a much greater way." Sheffield thought to himself. After all, it was the base camp where his family started. It would be a pity to give it up. Fortunately, Mr. Lafayette did not give up.

After wandering around the estates for half a day, Sheffield felt a little bored and decided to go out for a walk in the city. Now that blacks make up the majority of New Orleans, he naturally went to the black city.

Sheffield, with his hands in his trouser pockets, followed by a dozen burly men in overalls, walked through the streets as if he was at home. This was nonsense, because this was his home.

Sheffield, who was extremely bored, waited in New Orleans for several days. It was not his fault that he came early. After all, airplanes had not appeared in that era. He came from Brazil by boat. It was understandable that he was late due to abnormal weather. After all, the waves of the Bohai Sea are not more than two meters high everywhere.

After finishing a table full of oysters in a restaurant at the risk of diarrhea, Sheffield paid the bill reluctantly and went out for a stroll with a group of big men. Now all he lacked was a vicious dog and a blind bastard, which were the passages in the novel where the villains set off the greatness of the protagonist.

"Hear? What's that sound?" Sheffield, who had just left the restaurant and was about to return to the manor, heard a beautiful piece of music. The sound came from a small shabby house, and Sheffield walked over without hesitation.

There was a brass band in front of the house, and Sheffield suddenly realized that he had almost forgotten that jazz originated in New Orleans. It seemed that it was already very popular. Among the black audience, Sheffield and his dozen people seemed a little out of place, but they were also ignored. Good music is not only for black audiences.

The performance had a cheerful rhythm, the humorous black uncles made jokes from time to time, and everyone seemed to have a low sense of humor, laughing heartily from time to time, and the atmosphere was very good.

"Young man, would you like to come up and interact with us?" The black man on top pointed at Sheffield, still twisting his body, and the audience below did the same, expressing cautious goodwill.

"Young Master!" The bodyguard next to him whispered and tried to stop him, but Sheffield stretched out his hand and said, "It's okay, nothing will happen." After saying this, Sheffield walked onto the stage and made some harmless jokes with the performers with a smile.

"Few people accept our invitation! You are different from ordinary white people." The black musician showed his white teeth and extended his hand to express his goodwill. "I don't know your name."

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"William Sheffield!" Sheffield grabbed the black hand that was extended to him and answered with a smile in a voice that was neither loud nor soft but could be heard by everyone.

The music stopped abruptly, and even the smiles of the audience below became a little stiff. The atmosphere was indeed a little awkward. The black uncle smiled awkwardly, "It sounds like the name of a rich man in the past."

"You're welcome, he's my grandfather!" Sheffield smiled very brightly, not at all embarrassed by the silence here, and felt like Hu Hansan was back again. He was now sure that his grandfather was not a gigolo.

(End of this chapter)