“It’s just as I said,” growled Colonel Cresswell, “if you don’t watch out our whole plantation system will be ruined and we’ll be governed by this white trash from the hills.”
“There’s only one way,” sighed Caldwell, the merchant; “we’ve got to vote the niggers.”
John Taylor laughed. “Nonsense!” he spurned the suggestion. “You’re old-fashioned. Let the mill-hands have the offices. What good will it do?”
“What good! Why, they’ll do as they please with us.”
“Bosh! Don’t we own the mill? Can’t we keep wages where we like by threatening to bring in nigger labor?”
“No, you can’t, permanently,” Maxwell disputed, “for they sometime will call your bluff.”
“Let ’em call,” said Taylor, “and we’ll put niggers in the mills.”
“What!” ejaculated the landlords in chorus. Only Maxwell was silent. “And kill the plantation system?”
“Oh, maybe some time, of course. But not for years; not until you’ve made your pile. You don’t really expect to keep the darkies down forever, do you?”
‚ÄúNo, I don‚Äôt,‚Äù Maxwell slowly admitted. ‚ÄúThis system can‚Äôt last always‚ÅÝ‚Äîsometimes I think it can‚Äôt last long. It‚Äôs wrong, through and through. It‚Äôs built on ignorance, theft, and force, and I wish to God we had courage enough to overthrow it and take the consequences. I wish it was possible to be a Southerner and a Christian and an honest man, to treat niggers and dagoes and white trash like men, and be big enough to say, ‚ÄòTo Hell with consequences!‚Äô‚Ää‚Äù