“What have you done to be pardoned for?” I asked.
“I am worth over twenty thousand dollars; that’s my difficulty.”
“And you aided the Rebellion?”
“Of course,”—laughing. “Look here!”—his manner changed, and his bright dark eye looked at me keenly,—“what do you Northerners, you Massachusetts men particularly, expect to do now with the niggers?”
“We intend to make useful and industrious citizens of them.”
“You can’t!” “You never can do that!” “That’s an absurdity!” exclaimed three or four voices; and immediately I found myself surrounded by a group eager to discuss that question.
“The nigger, once he’s free, won’t work!”
“No,” said another; “he’ll steal, but he won’t work.”
“I pity the poor niggers, after what you’ve done for him,” said a third. “They can’t take care of themselves; they’ll starve before they’ll work, unless driven to it; and in a little while they’ll be exterminated, just like the Indians.”
“I don’t think so,” said I. “The negro is very much like the rest of us, in many respects. He won’t work unless he is obliged to. Neither will you. So don’t blame him. But when he finds work a necessity, that will drive him to it more surely than any master.”