Sheffield strolled away nonchalantly. A bodyguard muttered "Why mingle with these *jungle-blooded* folk?"
"Jungle-blooded"—a pre-war slur for Black people, evoking Africa's rainforests and Europe's obsession with lineage.
"Times have changed" Sheffield replied calmly. "They're wage laborers now. Same soil, different chains." Plantation economics might've turned America into a supercharged Canada-Australia hybrid, but the Confederacy's collapse proved wealth without power was a death sentence. The North's industrial might and moral crusade had crushed them.
*Rich but weak—begging to be plundered.*
---
New Orleans still pulsed with potential. Though overshadowed by Atlantic ports, its proximity to Latin America offered opportunities. Under the Gulf sun, Sheffield mused on "Latin traps"—nations strangled by debt, inequality and Uncle Sam's shadow. * America for Americans really meant "America for us" .*
A messenger interrupted his thoughts: "The *Colombia* has docked. Our guests are aboard."
"Homecoming birds at last!" Sheffield sprang up, smoothing his hair.
---
Post-Civil War, defeated planters had fled to Brazil's fertile lands—a tropical mirror of the Old South. But history repeated: abolitionist decrees stripped their "property" without compensation. Backed by the Sheffields, these exiles had rebelled refusing to be robbed twice.
Now, battered by Brazil's forces they crawled back.
On the docks, a group of well-dressed youths disembarked. A man with a faded Southern drawl eyed Sheffield: "Sheffield?"
"Welcome home" William extended his hand.
These were the true prodigals—exiles returning to a land they'd never truly left.
---