"It's a shame," asserted John Taylor with something like real feeling.
He was spending Sunday with his father-in-law, and both, over their
after-dinner cigars, were gazing thoughtfully at the swamp.
"What's a shame?" asked Colonel Cresswell.
"To see all that timber and prime cotton-land going to waste. 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. Such property
belonged of right to the master, if the master needed it; and since
ridiculous laws safeguarded the property, it was perfectly permissible
to circumvent such laws. No Negro starved on the Cresswell place,
neither did any accumulate property. Colonel Cresswell saw to both
matters.
As the Colonel and John Taylor were thus conferring, Zora appeared,
coming up the walk.
"Who's that?" asked the Colonel shading his eyes.
"It's Zora--the girl who went North with Mrs. Vanderpool," Taylor
enlightened him.
"Back, is she? Too trifling to stick to a job, and full of Northern
nonsense," growled the Colonel. "Even got a Northern walk--I thought for
a moment she was a lady."
Neither of the gentlemen ever dreamed how long, how hard, how
heart-wringing was that walk from the gate up the winding way beneath
their careless gaze. It was not the coming of the thoughtless, careless
girl of five years ago who had marched a dozen times unthinking before
the faces of white men. It was the approach of a woman who knew how the
world treated women whom it respected; who knew that no such treatment
would be thought of in her case: neither the bow, the lifted hat, nor
even the conventional title of decency. Yet she must go on naturally and
easily, boldly but circumspectly, and play a daring game with two
powerful men.
"Can I speak with you a moment, Colonel?" she asked.
The Colonel did not stir or remove his cigar; he even injected a little
gruffness into his tone.
"Well, what is it?"
Of course, she was not asked to sit, but she stood with her hands
clasped loosely before her and her eyes half veiled.
"Colonel, I've got a thousand dollars." She did not mention the other
nine.
The Colonel sat up.
"Where did you get it?" he asked.
"Mrs. Vanderpool gave it to me to use in helping the colored people."
"What are you going to do with it?"
"Well, that's just what I came to see you about. You see, I might give
it to the school, but I've been thinking that I'd like to buy some land
for some of the tenants."
"I've got no land to sell," said the Colonel.
"I was thinking you might sell a bit of the swamp."
Cresswell and Taylor glanced at each other and the Colonel re-lit his
cigar.
"How much of it?" he asked finally.
"I don't know; I thought perhaps two hundred acres."
"Two hundred acres? Do you expect to buy that land for five dollars an
acre?"
"Oh, no, sir. I thought it might cost as much as twenty-five dollars."
"But you've only got a thousand dollars."
"Yes, sir; I thought I might pay that down and then pay the rest from
the crops."
"Who's going to work on the place?"
Zora named a number of the steadiest tenants to whom she had spoken.
"They owe me a lot of money," said the Colonel.
"We'd try to pay that, too."
Colonel Cresswell considered. There was absolutely no risk. The cost of
the land, the back debts of the tenants--no possible crops could pay for
them. Then there was the chance of getting the swamp cleared for almost
nothing.
"How's the school getting on?" he asked suddenly.
"Very poorly," answered Zora sadly. "You know it's mortgaged, and Miss
Smith has had to use the mortgage money for yearly expenses."
The Colonel smiled grimly.
"It will cost you fifty dollars an acre," he said finally. Zora looked
disappointed and figured out the matter slowly.
"That would be one thousand down and nine thousand to pay--"
"With interest," said Cresswell.
Zora shook her head doubtfully.
"What would the interest be?" she asked.
"Ten per cent."
She stood silent a moment and Colonel Cresswell spoke up:
"It's the best land about here and about the only land you can buy--I
wouldn't sell it to anybody else."
She still hesitated.
"The trouble is, you see, Colonel Cresswell, the price is high and the
interest heavy. And after all I may not be able to get as many tenants
as I'd need. I think though, I'd try it if--if I could be sure you'd
treat me fairly, and that I'd get the land if I paid for it."
Colonel Cresswell reddened a little, and John Taylor looked away.
"Well, if you don't want to undertake it, all right."