_Thirty-five_
THE COTTON MILL
The people of Toomsville started in their beds and listened. A new songwas rising on the air: a harsh, low, murmuring croon that shook thevillage ranged around its old square of dilapadated stores. It was not asong of joy; it was not a song of sorrow; it was not a song at all,perhaps, but a confused whizzing and murmuring, as of a thousandill-tuned, busy voices. Some of the listeners wondered; but most of thetown cried joyfully, "It's the new cotton-mill!"
John Taylor's head teemed with new schemes. The mill trust of the Northwas at last a fact. The small mills had not been able to buy cotton whenit was low because Cresswell was cornering it in the name of theFarmers' League; now that it was high they could not afford to, and manysurrendered to the trust.
"Next thing," wrote Taylor to Easterly, "is to reduce cost ofproduction. Too much goes in wages. Gradually transfer mills South."
Easterly argued that the labor was too unskilled in the South and thatto send Northern spinners down would spread labor troubles. Taylorreplied briefly: "Never fear; we'll scare them with a vision of niggersin the mills!"
Colonel Cresswell was not so easily won over to the new scheme. In thefirst place he was angry because the school, which he had come to regardas on its last legs, somehow still continued to flourish. Theten-thousand-dollar mortgage had but three more years, and that wouldend all; but he had hoped for a crash even earlier. Instead of this,Miss Smith was cheerfully expanding the work, hiring new teachers, andespecially she had brought to help her two young Negroes whom hesuspected. Colonel Cresswell had prevented the Tolliver land sale, onlyto be inveigled himself into Zora's scheme which now began to worry him.He must evict Zora's tenants as soon as the crops were planted andharvested. There was nothing unjust about such a course, he argued, forNegroes anyway were too lazy and shiftless to buy the land. They wouldnot, they could not, work without driving. All this he imparted to JohnTaylor, to which that gentleman listened carefully.
"H'm, I see," he owned. "And I know the way out."
"How?"
"A cotton mill in Toomsville."
"What's that got to do with it?"
"Bring in whites."
"But I don't want poor white trash; I'd sooner have niggers."
"Now, see here," argued Taylor, "you can't have everything youwant--day's gone by for aristocracy of old kind. You must haveneighbors: choose, then, white or black. I say white."
"But they'll rule us--out-vote us--marry our daughters," warmly objectedthe Colonel.
"Some of them may--most of them won't. A few of them with brains willhelp us rule the rest with money. We'll plant cotton mills beside thecotton fields, use whites to keep niggers in their place, and the fearof niggers to keep the poorer whites in theirs."
The Colonel looked thoughtful.
"There's something in that," he confessed after a while; "but it's amighty big experiment, and it may go awry."
"Not with brains and money to guide it. And at any rate, we've got totry it; it's the next logical step, and we must take it."
"But in the meantime, I'm not going to give up good old methods; I'mgoing to set the sheriff behind these lazy niggers," said the Colonel;"and I'm going to stop that school putting notions into their heads."
In three short months the mill at Toomsville was open and its wheelswhizzing to the boundless pride of the citizens.
"Our enterprise, sir!" they said to the strangers on the strength of thefive thousand dollars locally invested.
Once it had vigor to sing, the song of the mill knew no resting; morningand evening, day and night it crooned its rhythmic tune; only during thedaylight Sundays did its murmur die to a sibilant hiss. All the week itsdoors were filled with the coming and going of men and women andchildren: many men, more women, and greater and greater throngs ofchildren. It seemed to devour children, sitting with its myriad eyesgleaming and its black maw open, drawing in the pale white mites,sucking their blood and spewing them out paler and ever paler. The faceof the town began to change, showing a ragged tuberculous looking sidewith dingy homes in short and homely rows.
There came gradually a new consciousness to the town. Hitherto town andcountry had been ruled by a few great landlords but at the very firstelection, Colton, an unknown outsider, had beaten the regular candidatefor sheriff by such a majority that the big property owners dared notcount him out. They had, however, an earnest consultation with JohnTaylor.
"It's just as I said," growled Colonel Cresswell, "if you don't watchout our whole plantation system will be ruined and we'll be governed bythis white trash from the hills."
"There's only one way," sighed Caldwell, the merchant; "we've got tovote the niggers."
John Taylor laughed. "Nonsense!" he spurned the suggestion. "You'reold-fashioned. Let the mill-hands have the offices. What good will itdo?"
"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 bythreatening to bring in nigger labor?"
"No, you can't, permanently," Maxwell disputed, "for they sometime willcall 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'vemade your pile. You don't really expect to keep the darkies downforever, do you?"
"No, I don't," Maxwell slowly admitted. "This system can't lastalways--sometimes I think it can't last long. It's wrong, through andthrough. It's built on ignorance, theft, and force, and I wish to God wehad courage enough to overthrow it and take the consequences. I wish itwas possible to be a Southerner and a Christian and an honest man, totreat niggers and dagoes and white trash like men, and be big enough tosay, 'To Hell with consequences!'"
Colonel Cresswell stared at his neighbor, speechless with bewildermentand outraged traditions. Such unbelievable heresy from a Northerner or aNegro would have been natural; but from a Southerner whose father hadowned five hundred slaves--it was incredible! The other landlordsscarcely listened; they were dogged and impatient and they could suggestno remedy. They could only blame the mill for their troubles.
John Taylor left the conference blithely. "No," he said to thecommittee from the new mill-workers' union. "Can't raise wages,gentlemen, and can't lessen hours. Mill is just started and not yetpaying expenses. You're getting better wages than you ever got. If youdon't want to work, quit. There are plenty of others, white and black,who want your jobs."
The mention of black people as competitors for wages was like a red ragto a bull. The laborers got together and at the next election they madea clean sweep, judge, sheriff, two members of the legislature, and theregistrars of votes. Undoubtedly the following year they would captureHarry Cresswell's seat in Congress.
The result was curious. From two sides, from landlord and white laborer,came renewed oppression of black men. The laborers found that theirpolitical power gave them little economic advantage as long as thethreatening cloud of Negro competition loomed ahead. There was some talkof a strike, but Colton, the new sheriff, discouraged it.
"I tell you, boys, where the trouble lies: it's the niggers. They liveon nothing and take any kind of treatment, and they keep wages down. Ifyou strike, they'll get your jobs, sure. We'll just have to grin andbear it a while, but get back at the darkies whenever you can. I'llstick 'em into the chain-gang every chance I get."
On the other hand, inspired by fright, the grip of the landlords on theblack serfs closed with steadily increasing firmness. They saw one classrising from beneath them to power, and they tightened the chains on theother. Matters simmered on in this way, and the only party whollysatisfied with conditions was John Taylor and the few young Southernerswho saw through his eyes. He was making money. The landlords, on thecontrary, were losing power and prestige, and their farm labor, despitestrenuous efforts, was drifting to town attrac
ted by new and incidentalwork and higher wages. The mill-hands were more and more overworked andunderpaid, and hated the Negroes for it in accordance with theirleaders' directions.
At the same time the oppressed blacks and scowling mill-hands could nothelp recurring again and again to the same inarticulate thought which noone was brave enough to voice. Once, however, it came out flatly. It waswhen Zora, crowding into the village courthouse to see if she could nothelp Aunt Rachel's accused boy, found herself beside a gaunt, overworkedwhite woman. The woman was struggling with a crippled child and Zora,turning, lifted him carefully for the weak mother, who thanked her halftimidly. "That mill's about killed him," she said.
At this juncture the manacled boy was led into court, and the womansuddenly turned again to Zora.
"Durned if I don't think these white slaves and black slaves had oughtter git together," she declared.
"I think so, too," Zora agreed.
Colonel Cresswell himself caught the conversation and it struck him witha certain dismay. Suppose such a conjunction should come to pass? Heedged over to John Taylor and spoke to him; but Taylor, who had justsuccessfully stopped a suit for damages to the injured boy, merelyshrugged his shoulders.
"What's this nigger charged with?" demanded the Judge when the firstblack boy was brought up before him.
"Breaking his labor contract."
"Any witnesses?"
"I have the contract here," announced the sheriff. "He refuses to work."
"A year, or one hundred dollars."
Colonel Cresswell paid his fine, and took him in charge.
"What's the charge here?" said the Judge, pointing to Aunt Rachel's boy.
"Attempt to kill a white man."
"Any witnesses?"
"None except the victim."
"And I," said Zora, coming forward.
Both the sheriff and Colonel Cresswell stared at her. Of course, she wassimply a black girl but she was an educated woman, who knew things aboutthe Cresswell plantations that it was unnecessary to air in court. Thenewly elected Judge had not yet taken his seat, and Cresswell's word wasstill law in the court. He whispered to the Judge.
"Case postponed," said the Court.
The sheriff scowled.
"Wait till Jim gets on the bench," he growled.
The white bystanders, however, did not seem enthusiastic and one man--hewas a Northern spinner--spoke out plainly.
"It's none o' my business, of course. I've been fired and I'm damnedglad of it. But see here: if you mutts think you're going to beat thesebig blokes at their own game of cheating niggers you're daffy. You takethis from me: get together with the niggers and hold up this wholecapitalist gang. If you don't get the niggers first, they'll use 'em asa club to throw you down. You hear me," and he departed for the train.
Colton was suspicious. The sentiment of joining with the Negroes did notseem to arouse the bitter resentment he expected. There even camewhispers to his ears that he had sold out to the landlords, and therewas enough truth in the report to scare him. Thus to both parties camethe uncomfortable spectre of the black men, and both sides went to workto lay the ghost.
Particularly was Colonel Cresswell stirred to action. He realized thatin Bles and Zora he was dealing with a younger class of educated blackfolk, who were learning to fight with new weapons. They were, he wassure, as dissolute and weak as their parents, but they were shrewder andmore aspiring. They must be crushed, and crushed quickly. To this end hehad recourse to two sources of help--Johnson and the whites in town.
Johnson was what Colonel Cresswell repeatedly called "a faithfulnigger." He was one of those constitutionally timid creatures into whomthe servility of his fathers had sunk so deep that it had becomesecond-nature. To him a white man was an archangel, while theCresswells, his father's masters, stood for God. He served them withdog-like faith, asking no reward, and for what he gave in reverence tothem, he took back in contempt for his fellows--"niggers!" He appliedthe epithet with more contempt than the Colonel himself could express.To the Negroes he was a "white folk's nigger," to be despised andfeared.
To him Colonel Cresswell gave a few pregnant directions. Then he rode totown, and told Taylor again of his fears of a labor movement which wouldinclude whites and blacks. Taylor could not see any great danger.
"Of course," he conceded, "they'll eventually get together; theirinterests are identical. I'll admit it's our game to delay this as longpossible."
"It must be delayed forever, sir."
"Can't be," was the terse response. "But even if they do allythemselves, our way is easy: separate the leaders, the talented, thepushers, of both races from their masses, and through them rule the restby money."
But Colonel Cresswell shook his head. "It's precisely these leaders ofthe Negroes that we mush crush," he insisted. Taylor looked puzzled.
"I thought it was the lazy, shiftless, and criminal Negroes, youfeared?"
"Hang it, no! We can deal with them; we've got whips, chain-gangs,and--mobs, if need be--no, it's the Negro who wants to climb up thatwe've got to beat to his knees."
Taylor could not follow this reasoning. He believed in an aristocracy oftalent alone, and secretly despised Colonel Cresswell's pretensions ofbirth. If a man had ability and push Taylor was willing and anxious toopen the way for him, even though he were black. The caste way ofthinking in the South, both as applied to poor whites and to Negroes,he simply could not understand. The weak and the ignorant of all raceshe despised and had no patience with them. "But others--a man's a man,isn't he?" he persisted. But Colonel Cresswell replied:
"No, never, if he's black, and not always when he's white," and hestalked away.
Zora sensed fully the situation. She did not anticipate any immediateunderstanding with the laboring whites, but she knew that eventually itwould be inevitable. Meantime the Negro must strengthen himself andbring to the alliance as much independent economic strength as possible.For the development of her plans she needed Bles Alwyn's constantcooperation. He was business manager of the school and was doing well,but she wanted to point out to him the larger field. So long as she wasuncertain of his attitude toward her, it was difficult to act; but now,since the flash of the imminent tragedy at Cresswell Oaks had clearedthe air, with all its hurt a frank understanding had been made possible.The very next day Zora chose to show Bles over her new home and grounds,and to speak frankly to him. They looked at the land, examined theproposed farm sites, and viewed the living-room and dormitory in thehouse.
"You haven't seen my den," said Zora.
"No."
"Miss Smith is in there now; she often hides there. Come."
He went into the large central house and into the living-room, then outon the porch, beyond which lay the kitchen. But to the left, and at theend of the porch, was a small building. It was ceiled in dark yellowpine, with figured denim on the walls. A straight desk of rough hewnwood stood in the corner by the white-curtained window, and a couch andtwo large easy-chairs faced a tall narrow fireplace of uneven stone. Athick green rag-carpet covered the floor; a few pictures were on thewalls--a Madonna, a scene of mad careering horses, and some sad babyfaces. The room was a unity; things fitted together as if they belongedtogether. It was restful and beautiful, from the cheerful pine blazebefore which Miss Smith was sitting, to the square-paned window that letin the crimson rays of gathering night. All round the room, stoppingonly at the fireplace, ran low shelves of the same yellow pine, filledwith books and magazines. He scanned curiously Plato's Republic, Gorky's"Comrades," a Cyclopaedia of Agriculture, Balzac's novels, Spencer's"First Principles," Tennyson's Poems.
"This is my university," Zora explained, smiling at his interestedsurvey. They went out again and wandered down near the old lagoon.
"Now, Bles," she began, "since we understand each other, can we not worktogether as good friends?" She spoke simply and frankly, withoutapparent effort, and talked on at length of her work and vision.
Somehow he could not understand. His me
ntal attitude toward Zora hadalways been one of guidance, guardianship, and instruction. He had beenjudging and weighing her from on high, looking down upon her withthoughts of uplift and development. Always he had been holding her darklittle hands to lead her out of the swamp of life, and always, when insenseless anger he had half forgotten and deserted her, this vision ofelder brotherhood had still remained. Now this attitude was beingrevolutionized. She was proposing to him a plan of wide scope--a boldregeneration of the land. It was a plan carefully studied out, longthought of and read about. He was asked to be co-worker--nay, in a senseto be a follower, for he was ignorant of much.
He hesitated. Then all at once a sense of his utter unworthinessoverwhelmed him. Who was he to stand and judge this unselfish woman? Whowas he to falter when she called? A sense of his smallness andnarrowness, of his priggish blindness, rose like a mockery in his soul.One thing alone held him back: he was not unwilling to be simply human,a learner and a follower; but would he as such ever command the love andrespect of this new and inexplicable woman? Would not comradeship on thebasis of the new friendship which she insisted on, be the death of loveand thoughts of love?
Thus he hesitated, knowing that his duty lay clear. In her direst needhe had deserted her. He had left her to go to destruction and expectedthat she would. By a superhuman miracle she had risen and seated herselfabove him. She was working; here was work to be done. He was asked tohelp; he would help. If it killed his old and new-born dream of love,well and good; it was his punishment.
Yet the sacrifice, the readjustment was hard; he grew to it gradually,inwardly revolting, feeling always a great longing to take this womanand make her nestle in his arms as she used to; catching himself againand again on the point of speaking to her and urging, yet ever againholding himself back and bowing in silent respect to the dignity of herlife. Only now and then, when their eyes met suddenly or unthinkingly, agreat kindling flash of flame seemed struggling behind showers of tears,until in a moment she smiled or spoke, and then the dropping veil leftonly the frank open glance, unwavering, soft, kind, but nothing more.Then Alwyn would go wearily away, vexed or disappointed, or merely sad,and both would turn to their work again.
The Quest of the Silver Fleece: A Novel Page 36