“It’s manipulation and speculation in New York,” said Colonel Cresswell, “and the Farmers’ League must begin operations.”
The local paper soon had an editorial on “our distinguished fellow citizen, Colonel Cresswell,” and his efforts to revive the Farmers’ League. It was understood that Colonel Cresswell was risking his whole private fortune to hold the price of cotton, and some effort seemed to be needed, for cotton dropped to nine cents within a week. Swift negotiations ensued, and a meeting of the executive committee of the Farmers’ League was held in Montgomery. A system of warehouses and warehouse certificates was proposed.
“But that will cost money,” responded each of the dozen big landlords who composed the committee; whereupon Harry Cresswell introduced John Taylor, who represented thirty millions of Southern bank stock.
‚ÄúI promise you credit to any reasonable amount,‚Äù said Mr. ¬ÝTaylor, ‚ÄúI believe in cotton‚ÅÝ‚Äîthe present price is abnormal.‚Äù And Mr. ¬ÝTaylor knew whereof he spoke, for when he sent a cipher despatch North, cotton dropped to eight and a half. The Farmers‚Äô League leased three warehouses at Savannah, Montgomery, and New Orleans.
Then silently the South gripped itself and prepared for battle. Men stopped spending, business grew dull, and millions of eyes were glued to the blackboards of the cotton-exchange. Tighter and tighter the reins grew on the backs of the black tenants.
‚ÄúMiss Smith, is yo‚Äô got just a drap of coffee to lend me? Mr. ¬ÝCresswell won‚Äôt give me none at the store and I‚Äôse just starving for some,‚Äù said Aunt Rachel from over the hill. ‚ÄúWe won‚Äôt git free this year, Miss Smith, not this year,‚Äù she concluded plaintively.