The Buying of the Swamp
“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.”