They were, he was
sure, as dissolute and weak as their parents, but they were shrewder and
more aspiring. They must be crushed, and crushed quickly. To this end he
had recourse to two sources of help--Johnson and the whites in town.
Johnson was what Colonel Cresswell repeatedly called "a faithful
nigger." He was one of those constitutionally timid creatures into whom
the servility of his fathers had sunk so deep that it had become
second-nature. To him a white man was an archangel, while the
Cresswells, his father's masters, stood for God. He served them with
dog-like faith, asking no reward, and for what he gave in reverence to
them, he took back in contempt for his fellows--"niggers!" He applied
the epithet with more contempt than the Colonel himself could express.
To the Negroes he was a "white folk's nigger," to be despised and
feared.
To him Colonel Cresswell gave a few pregnant directions. Then he rode to
town, and told Taylor again of his fears of a labor movement which would
include whites and blacks. Taylor could not see any great danger.
"Of course," he conceded, "they'll eventually get together; their
interests are identical. I'll admit it's our game to delay this as long
possible."
"It must be delayed forever, sir."
"Can't be," was the terse response. "But even if they do ally
themselves, our way is easy: separate the leaders, the talented, the
pushers, of both races from their masses, and through them rule the rest
by money.
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