Don't you
remember those fine bales of cotton that came out of there several
seasons ago?"
The Colonel smoked placidly. "You can't get it cleared," he said.
"But couldn't you hire some good workers?"
"Niggers won't work. Now if we had Italians we might do it."
"Yes, and in a few years they'd own the country."
"That's right; so there we are. There's only one way to get that swamp
cleared."
"How?"
"Sell it to some fool darkey."
"Sell it? It's too valuable to sell."
"That's just it. You don't understand. The only way to get decent work
out of some niggers is to let them believe they're buying land. In nine
cases out of ten he works hard a while and then throws up the job. We
get back our land and he makes good wages for his work."
"But in the tenth case--suppose he should stick to it?"
"Oh,"--easily, "we could get rid of him when we want to. White people
rule here."
John Taylor frowned and looked a little puzzled. He was no moralist, but
he had his code and he did not understand Colonel Cresswell. As a matter
of fact, Colonel Cresswell was an honest man. In most matters of
commerce between men he was punctilious to a degree almost annoying to
Taylor. But there was one part of the world which his code of honor did
not cover, and he saw no incongruity in the omission. The uninitiated
cannot easily picture to himself the mental attitude of a former
slaveholder toward property in the hands of a Negro.
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