“By no means. Work straight ahead, and do the best you can, as long as you can get such wages.”
“Well, den, sah, I’ll do as you say. I was afeared of dese men cheatin’ me, because I knowed dey would if dey could. But I’ll do jus as you say, sah. If you say wuck on, I’ll do it.” And three or four of the servants who had gathered about, nodded and grinned their approval of the old man’s conclusions.
“That’s just the trouble,” exclaimed a young Alabamian, to whom, a few hours later, I was narrating the incident. “These fellows have all got to believe in the Yankees, and to think that we, who have always been their best friends, want to cheat them. It’s going to ruin the South. Five years hence, I firmly believe, the cotton-growing regions will be an utter waste, unless you Yankees, who don’t know anything about cotton growing, come in, learn it, and get the niggers to work for you. They won’t half work for us.”
“Won’t a fair day’s wages, in the long run, be sure to bring a fair day’s work?”
“No. I tell you, the nigger never works except when he is compelled to. It isn’t in his nature, and you can’t put it in. He’ll work a day for you for good wages, and then will go off and spend it; and you’ll not get another lick out of him till he’s hungry, and has got nothing to eat.”
“Possibly, at first. But remember, these people are intoxicated with their first draught of freedom. Wait a little while, and as they get settled, and see something of the rewards of steady industry, they’ll be as eager to accumulate and save, as any other class of laborers.”
“Not a bit of it. I tell you, niggers are niggers. You’re talking about a different class of laborers altogether. That’s always the way. You know, and every Northern man knows, that we have been the best friends the nigger ever had. Yet this is the way they treat us. They’ll work for you a little while, and then they’ll serve you in the same style.”
An old negro on the platform, at the very moment, was droning out a curious commentary on the Alabamian’s complaints: “One-half of dese niggers,” said he to the brakeman, “one-half of dese niggers ought to be killed, any how. Dey don’t do nuffin but hang roun’ and steal from dem dat work.” His old brass watch, it seems, had been stolen, and he was scowling through his brass-mounted goggles in the direction in which he supposed the thief had gone.
I told the Alabamian of the persistent labors of the Sea Island negroes. He utterly refused to believe that I had not been deceived. Finally, the crucial test was mentioned—the balances to their credit in the National Bank.[[53]] “Well, I don’t understand it. There were never any such niggers around in our country.” And with that he suddenly ended the talk.