The Quest of the Silver Fleece by W. E. B. Du Bois

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Alwyn then undertook to explain the land scheme.

"It is the best land in the county--"

"When it's cl'ared," interrupted Johnson, and Simpson looked alarmed.

"It is partially cleared," continued Alwyn, "and our plan is to sell off
small twenty-acre farms--"

"You can't do nothing on twenty acres--" began Johnson, but Tylor laid
his huge hand right over his mouth and said briefly:

"Shut up!"

Alwyn started again: "We shall sell a few twenty-acre farms but keep one
central plantation of one hundred acres for the school. Here Miss Zora
will carry on her work and the school will run a model farm with your
help. We want to centre here agencies to make life better. We want all
sorts of industries; we want a little hospital with a resident physician
and two or three nurses; we want a cooperative store for buying
supplies; we want a cotton-gin and saw-mill, and in the future other
things. This land here, as I have said, is the richest around. We want
to keep this hundred acres for the public good, and not sell it. We are
going to deed it to a board of trustees, and those trustees are to be
chosen from the ones who buy the small farms."

"Who's going to get what's made on this land?" asked Sanders.

"All of us. It is going first to pay for the land, then to support the
Home and the School, and then to furnish capital for industries."

Johnson snickered. "You mean youse gwine to git yo' livin' off it?"

"Yes," answered Alwyn; "but I'm going to work for it."

"Who's gwine--" began Simpson, but stopped helplessly.

"Who's going to tend this land?" asked the practical Carter.

"All of us. Each man is going to promise us so many days' work a year,
and we're going to ask others to help--the women and girls and school
children--they will all help."

"Can you put trust in that sort of help?"

"We can when once the community learns that it pays."

"Does you own the land?" asked Johnson suddenly.

"No; we're buying it, and it's part paid for already."

The discussion became general. Zora moved about among the men whispering
and explaining; while Johnson moved, too, objecting and hinting. At last
he arose.

"Brethren," he began, "the plan's good enough for talkin' but you can't
work it; who ever heer'd tell of such a thing? First place, the land
ain't yours; second place, you can't get it worked; third place, white
folks won't 'low it. Who ever heer'd of such working land on shares?"

"You do it for white folks each day, why not for yourselves," Alwyn
pointed out.

"'Cause we ain't white, and we can't do nothin' like that."

Tylor was asleep and snoring and the others looked doubtfully at each
other. It was a proposal a little too daring for them, a bit too far
beyond their experience. One consideration alone kept them from
shrinking away and that was Zora's influence. Not a man was there whom
she had not helped and encouraged nor who had not perfect faith in her;
in her impetuous hope, her deep enthusiasm, and her strong will. Even
her defects--the hard-held temper, the deeply rooted dislikes--caught
their imagination.

Finally, after several other meetings five men took courage--three of
the best and two of the weakest. During the Spring long negotiations
were entered into by Miss Smith to "buy" the five men. Colonel Cresswell
and Mr. Tolliver had them all charged with large sums of indebtedness
and these sums had to be assumed by the school. As Colonel Cresswell
counted over two thousand dollars of school notes and deposited them
beside the mortgage he smiled grimly for he saw the end. Yet, even then
his hand trembled and that curious doubt came creeping back. He put it
aside angrily and glanced up.

"Nigger wants to talk with you," announced his clerk.

The Colonel sauntered out and found Bles Alwyn waiting.

"Colonel Cresswell," he said, "I have charge of the buying for the
school and our tenants this year and I naturally want to do the best
possible. I thought I'd come over and see about getting my supplies at
your store."

"That's all right; you can get anything you want," said Colonel
Cresswell cheerily, for this to his mind was evidence of sense on the
part of the Negroes. Bles showed his list of needed supplies--seeds,
meat, corn-meal, coffee, sugar, etc. The Colonel glanced over it
carelessly, then moved away.

"All right. Come and get what you want--any time," he called back.

"But about the prices," said Alwyn, following him.

"Oh, they'll be all right."

"Of course. But what I want is an estimate of your lowest cash prices."

"Cash?"

"Yes, sir."

Cresswell thought a while; such a business-like proposition from Negroes
surprised him.

"Well, I'll let you know," he said.

It was nearly a week later before Alwyn approached him again.

"Now, see here," said Colonel Cresswell, "there's practically no
difference between cash and time prices. We buy our stock on time and
you can just as well take advantage of this as not. I have figured out
about what these things will cost. The best thing for you to do is to
make a deposit here and get things when you want them. If you make a
good deposit I'll throw off ten per cent, which is all of my profit."

"Thank you," said Alwyn, but he looked over the account and found the
whole bill at least twice as large as he expected. Without further
parley, he made some excuse and started to town while Mr. Cresswell went
to the telephone.

In town Alwyn went to all the chief merchants one after another and
received to his great surprise practically the same estimate. He could
not understand it. He had estimated the current market prices according
to the Montgomery paper, yet the prices in Toomsville were fifty to a
hundred and fifty per cent higher. The merchant to whom he went last,
laughed.

"Don't you know we're not going to interfere with Colonel Cresswell's
tenants?" He stated the dealers' attitude, and Alwyn saw light. He went
home and told Zora, and she listened without surprise.

"Now to business," she said briskly. "Miss Smith," turning to the
teacher, "as I told you, they're combined against us in town and we must
buy in Montgomery. I was sure it was coming, but I wanted to give
Colonel Cresswell every chance. Bles starts for Montgomery--"

Alwyn looked up. "Does he?" he asked, smiling.

"Yes," said Zora, smiling in turn. "We must lose no further time."

"But there's no train from Toomsville tonight."

"But there's one from Barton in the morning and Barton is only twenty
miles away."

"It is a long walk." Alwyn thought a while, silently. Then he rose. "I'm
going," he said. "Good-bye."

In less than a week the storehouse was full, and tenants were at work.
The twenty acres of cleared swamp land, attended to by the voluntary
labor of all the tenants, was soon bearing a magnificent crop. Colonel
Cresswell inspected all the crops daily with a proprietary air that
would have been natural had these folk been simply tenants, and as such
he persisted in regarding them.

The cotton now growing was perhaps not so uniformly fine as the first
acre of Silver Fleece, but it was of unusual height and thickness.

"At least a bale to the acre," Alwyn estimated, and the Colonel mentally
determined to take two-thirds of the crop. After that he decided that he
would evict Zora immediately; since sufficient land was cleared already
for his purposes and moreover, he had seen with consternation a herd of
cattle grazing in one field on some early green stuff, and heard a drove
of hogs in the swamp. Such an example before the tenants of the Black
Belt would be fatal. He must wait a few weeks for them to pick the
cotton--then, the end. He was fighting the battle of his color and
caste.

The children sang merrily in the brown-white field. The wide baskets,
poised aloft, foamed on the erect and swaying bodies of the dark
carriers. The crop throughout the land was short that year, for prices
had ruled low last season in accordance with the policy of the Combine.
This year they started high again. Would they fall? Many thought so and
hastened to sell.

Zora and Alwyn gathered their tenants' crops, ginned them at the
Cresswells' gin, and carried their cotton to town, where it was
deposited in the warehouse of the Farmers' League.

"Now," said Alwyn, "we would best sell while prices are high."

Zora laughed at him frankly.

"We can't," she said. "Don't you know that Colonel Cresswell will attach
our cotton for rent as soon as it touches the warehouse?"

"But it's ours."

"Nothing is ours. No black man ordinarily can sell his crop without a
white creditor's consent."

Alwyn fumed.

"The best way," he declared, "is to go to Montgomery and get a
first-class lawyer and just fight the thing through. The land is legally
ours, and he has no right to our cotton."

"Yes, but you must remember that no man like Colonel Cresswell regards a
business bargain with a colored man as binding. No white man under
ordinary circumstances will help enforce such a bargain against
prevailing public opinion."

"But if we cannot trust to the justice of the case, and if you knew we
couldn't, why did you try?"

"Because I had to try; and moreover the circumstances are not altogether
ordinary: the men in power in Toomsville now are not the landlords of
this county; they are poor whites. The Judge and sheriff were both
elected by mill-hands who hate Cresswell and Taylor. Then there's a new
young lawyer who wants Harry Cresswell's seat in Congress; he don't know
much law, I'm afraid; but what he don't know of this case I think I do.
I'll get his advice and then--I mean to conduct the case myself," Zora
calmly concluded.

"Without a lawyer!" Bles Alwyn stared his amazement.

"Without a lawyer in court."

"Zora! That would be foolish!"

"Is it? Let's think. For over a year now I've been studying the law of
the case," and she pointed to her law books; "I know the law and most of
the decisions. Moreover, as a black woman fighting a hopeless battle
with landlords, I'll gain the one thing lacking."

"What's that?"

"The sympathy of the court and the bystanders."

"Pshaw! From these Southerners?"

"Yes, from them. They are very human, these men, especially the
laborers. Their prejudices are cruel enough, but there are joints in
their armor. They are used to seeing us either scared or blindly angry,
and they understand how to handle us then, but at other times it is hard
for them to do anything but meet us in a human way."

"But, Zora, think of the contact of the court, the humiliation, the
coarse talk--"

Zora put up her hand and lightly touched his arm. Looking at him, she
said:

"Mud doesn't hurt much. This is my duty. Let me do it."

His eyes fell before the shadow of a deeper rebuke. He arose heavily.

"Very well," he acquiesced as he passed slowly out.

The young lawyer started to refuse to touch the case until he saw--or
did Zora adroitly make him see?--a chance for eventual political
capital. They went over the matter carefully, and the lawyer acquired a
respect for the young woman's knowledge.

"First," he said, "get an injunction on the cotton--then go to court."
And to insure the matter he slipped over and saw the Judge.

Colonel Cresswell next day stalked angrily into his lawyers' office.

"See here," he thundered, handing the lawyer the notice of the
injunction.

"See the Judge," began the lawyer, and then remembered, as he was often
forced to do these days, who was Judge.

He inquired carefully into the case and examined the papers. Then he
said:

"Colonel Cresswell, who drew this contract of sale?"

"The black girl did."

"Impossible!"

"She certainly did--wrote it in my presence."

"Well, it's mighty well done."

"You mean it will stand in law?"

"It certainly will. There's but one way to break it, and that's to
allege misunderstanding on your part."

Cresswell winced. It was not pleasant to go into open court and
acknowledge himself over-reached by a Negro; but several thousand
dollars in cotton and land were at stake.

"Go ahead," he concurred.

"You can depend on Taylor, of course?" added the lawyer.

"Of course," answered Cresswell. "But why prolong the thing?"

"You see, she's got your cotton tied by injunction."

"I don't see how she did it."

"Easy enough: this Judge is the poor white you opposed in the last
primary."

Within a week the case was called, and they filed into the courtroom.
Cresswell's lawyer saw only this black woman--no other lawyer or sign of
one appeared to represent her. The place soon filled with a lazy,
tobacco-chewing throng of white men. A few blacks whispered in one
corner. The dirty stove was glowing with pine-wood and the Judge sat at
a desk.

"Where's your lawyer?" he asked sharply of Zora.

"I have none," returned Zora, rising.

There came a silence in the court. Her voice was low, and the men leaned
forward to listen. The Judge felt impelled to be over-gruff.

"Get a lawyer," he ordered.

"Your honor, my case is simple, and with your honor's permission I wish
to conduct it myself. I cannot afford a lawyer, and I do not think I
need one."

Cresswell's lawyer smiled and leaned back. It was going to be easier
than he supposed. Evidently the woman believed she had no case, and was
weakening.

The trial proceeded, and Zora stated her contention. She told how long
her mother and grandmother had served the Cresswells and showed her
receipt for rent paid.

"A friend sent me some money. I went to Mr. Cresswell and asked him to
sell me two hundred acres of land. He consented to do so and signed this
contract in the presence of his son-in-law."

Just then John Taylor came into the court, and Cresswell beckoned to
him.

"I want you to help me out, John."

"All right," whispered Taylor. "What can I do?"

"Swear that Cresswell didn't mean to sign this," said the lawyer
quickly, as he arose to address the court.

Taylor looked at the paper blankly and then at Cresswell and some
inkling of the irreconcilable difference in the two natures leapt in
both their hearts. Cresswell might gamble and drink and lie "like a
gentleman," but he would never willingly cheat or take advantage of a
white man's financial necessities. Taylor, on the other hand, had a
horror of a lie, never drank nor played games of chance, but his whole
life was speculation and in the business game he was utterly ruthless
and respected no one. Such men could never thoroughly understand each
other. To Cresswell a man who had cheated the whole South out of
millions by a series of misrepresentations ought to regard this little
falsehood as nothing.

Meantime Colonel Cresswell's lawyer was on his feet, and he adopted his
most irritating and contemptuous manner.

"This nigger wench wrote out some illegible stuff and Colonel Cresswell
signed it to get rid of her. We are not going to question the legality
of the form--that's neither here nor there. The point is, Mr. Cresswell
never intended--never dreamed of selling this wench land right in front
of his door. He meant to rent her the land and sign a receipt for rent
paid in advance. I will not worry your honor by a long argument to
prove this, but just call one of the witnesses well known to you--Mr.
John Taylor of the Toomsville mills."

Taylor looked toward the door and then slowly took the stand.

"Mr. Taylor," said the lawyer carelessly, "were you present at this
transaction?"

"Yes."

"Did you see Colonel Cresswell sign this paper?"

"Yes."

"Well, did he intend so far as you know to sign such a paper?"

"I do not know his intentions."

"Did he say he meant to sign such a contract?"

Taylor hesitated.

"Yes," he finally answered. Colonel Cresswell looked up in amazement and
the lawyer dropped his glasses.

"I--I don't think you perhaps understood me, Mr. Taylor," he gasped.
"I--er--meant to ask if Colonel Cresswell, in signing this paper, meant
to sign a contract to sell this wench two hundred acres of land?"

"He said he did," reiterated Taylor. "Although I ought to add that he
did not think the girl would ever be able to pay. If he had thought she
would pay, I don't think he would have signed the paper."

Colonel Cresswell went red, than pale, and leaning forward before the
whole court, he hurled:

"You damned scoundrel!"

The Judge rapped for order and fidgeted in his seat. There was some
confusion and snickering in the courtroom. Finally the Judge plucked up
courage:

"The defendant is ordered to deliver this cotton to Zora Cresswell," he
directed.

The raging of Colonel Cresswell's anger now turned against John Taylor
as well as the Negroes. Wind of the estrangement flew over town quickly.
The poor whites saw a chance to win Taylor's influence and the sheriff
approached him cautiously. Taylor paid him slight courtesy. He was
irritated with this devilish Negro problem; he was making money; his
wife and babies were enjoying life, and here was this fool trial to
upset matters. But the sheriff talked.

"The thing I'm afraid of," he said, "is that Cresswell and his gang will
swing in the niggers on us."

"How do you mean?"

"Let 'em vote."

"But they'd have to read and write."

"Sure!"

"Well, then," said Taylor, "it might be a good thing."

Colton eyed him suspiciously.

"You'd let a nigger vote?"

"Why, yes, if he had sense enough."

"There ain't no nigger got sense."

"Oh, pshaw!" Taylor ejaculated, walking away.

The sheriff was angry and mistrustful. He believed he had discovered a
deep-laid scheme of the aristocrats to cultivate friendliness between
whites and blacks, and then use black voters to crush the whites. Such a
course was, in Colton's mind, dangerous, monstrous, and unnatural; it
must be stopped at all hazards. He began to whisper among his friends.
One or two meetings were held, and the flame of racial prejudice was
studiously fanned.

The atmosphere of the town and country quickly began to change. Whatever
little beginnings of friendship and understanding had arisen now quickly
disappeared. The town of a Saturday no longer belonged to a happy,
careless crowd of black peasants, but the black folk found themselves
elbowed to the gutter, while ugly quarrels flashed here and there with a
quick arrest of the Negroes.

Colonel Cresswell made a sudden resolve. He sent for the sheriff and
received him at the Oaks, in his most respectable style, filling him
with good food, and warming him with good liquor.

"Colton," he asked, "are you sending any of your white children to the
nigger school yet?"

"What!" yelled Colton.

The Colonel laughed, frankly telling Colton John Taylor's philosophy on
the race problem,--his willingness to let Negroes vote; his threat to
let blacks and whites work together; his contempt for the officials
elected by the people.

"Candidly, Colton," he concluded, "I believe in aristocracy. I can't
think it right or wise to replace the old aristocracy by new and untried
blood." And in a sudden outburst--"But, by God, sir! I'm a white man,
and I place the lowest white man ever created above the highest darkey
ever thought of. This Yankee, Taylor, is a nigger-lover. He's secretly
encouraging and helping them. You saw what he did to me, and I'm warning
you in time."

Colton's glass dropped.

"I thought it was you that was corralling the niggers against us," he
exclaimed.

The Colonel reddened. "I don't count all white men my equals, I admit,"
he returned with dignity, "but I know the difference between a white man
and a nigger."

Colton stretched out his massive hand. "Put it there, sir," said he; "I
misjudged you, Colonel Cresswell. I'm a Southerner, and I honor the old
aristocracy you represent. I'm going to join with you to crush this
Yankee and put the niggers in their places. They are getting impudent
around here; they need a lesson and, by gad! they'll get one they'll
remember."

"Now, see here, Colton,--nothing rash," the Colonel charged him,
warningly. "Don't stir up needless trouble; but--well, things must
change."

Colton rose and shook his head.

"The niggers need a lesson," he muttered as he unsteadily bade his host
good-bye. Cresswell watched him uncomfortably as he rode away, and
again a feeling of doubt stirred within him. What new force was he
loosening against his black folk--his own black folk, who had lived
about him and his fathers nigh three hundred years? He saw the huge form
of the sheriff loom like an evil spirit a moment on the rise of the road
and sink into the night. He turned slowly to his cheerless house
shuddering as he entered the uninviting portals.

_Thirty-seven_

THE MOB

When Emma, Bertie's child, came home after a two years' course of study,
she had passed from girlhood to young womanhood. She was white, and
sandy-haired. She was not beautiful, and she appeared to be fragile; but
she also looked sweet and good, with that peculiar innocence which peers
out upon the world with calm, round eyes and sees no evil, but does
methodically its simple, everyday work. Zora mothered her, Miss Smith
found her plenty to do, and Bles thought her a good girl. But Mrs.
Cresswell found her perfect, and began to scheme to marry her off. For
Mary Cresswell, with the restlessness and unhappiness of an unemployed
woman, was trying to atone for her former blunders.

Her humiliation after the episode at Cresswell Oaks had been complete.
It seemed to her that the original cause of her whole life punishment
lay in her persistent misunderstanding of the black people and their
problem. Zora appeared to her in a new and glorified light--a vigorous,
self-sacrificing woman. She knew that Zora had refused to marry Bles,
and this again seemed fitting. Zora was not meant for marrying; she was
a born leader, wedded to a great cause; she had long outgrown the boy
and girl affection. She was the sort of woman she herself might have
been if she had not married.

Alwyn, on the other hand, needed a wife; he was a great, virile boy,
requiring a simple, affectionate mate. No sooner did she see Emma than
she was sure that this was the ideal wife. She compared herself with
Helen Cresswell. Helen was a contented wife and mother because she was
fitted for the position, and happy in it; while she who had aimed so
high had fallen piteously. From such a fate she would save Zora and
Bles.

Emma's course in nurse-training had been simple and short and there was
no resident physician; but Emma, in her unemotional way, was a born
nurse and did much good among the sick in the neighborhood. Zora had a
small log hospital erected with four white beds, a private room, and an
office which was also Emma's bedroom. The new white physician in town,
just fresh from school in Atlanta, became interested and helped with
advice and suggestions.

Meantime John Taylor's troubles began to increase. Under the old
political regime it had been an easy matter to avoid serious
damage-suits for the accidents in the mill. Much child labor and the
lack of protective devices made accidents painfully frequent. Taylor
insisted that the chief cause was carelessness, while the mill hands
alleged criminal neglect on his part. When the new labor officials took
charge of the court and the break occurred between Colonel Cresswell and
his son-in-law, Taylor found that several damage-suits were likely to
cost him a considerable sum.

He determined not to let the bad feelings go too far, and when a
particularly distressing accident to a little girl took place, he showed
more than his usual interest and offered to care for her. The new young
physician recommended Zora's infirmary as the only near place that
offered a chance for the child's recovery.

"Take her out," Taylor promptly directed.

Zora was troubled when the child came. She knew the suspicious temper of
the town whites. The very next day Taylor sent out a second case, a
child who had been hurt some time before and was not recovering as she
should. Under the care of the little hospital and the gentle nurse the
children improved rapidly, and in two weeks were outdoors, playing with
the little black children and even creeping into classrooms and
listening. The grateful mothers came out twice a week at least; at first
with suspicious aloofness, but gradually melting under Zora's tact until
they sat and talked with her and told their troubles and struggles. Zora
realized how human they were, and how like their problems were to hers.
They and their children grew to love this busy, thoughtful woman, and
Zora's fears were quieted.

The catastrophe came suddenly. The sheriff rode by, scowling and hunting
for some poor black runaway, when he saw white children in the Negro
school and white women, whom he knew were mill-hands, looking on. He was
black with anger; turning he galloped back to town. A few hours later
the young physician arrived hastily in a cab to take the women and
children to town. He said something in a low tone to Zora and drove
away, frowning.

Zora came quickly to the school and asked for Alwyn. He was in the barn
and she hurried there.

"Bles," she said quietly, "it is reported that a Toomsville mob will
burn the school tonight."

Bles stood motionless.

"I've been fearing it. The sheriff has been stirring up the worst
elements in the town lately and the mills pay off tonight."

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