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."