not for HIS sake
alone, but for freedom's sake and OURS. To be plain: since I have taken
up this matter for the company, I have satisfied myself from personal
observation that the negro--even more than his master--cannot handle his
new condition. He is accustomed to his old traditional task-master, and
I doubt if he will work fairly for any other--particularly for those who
don't understand him. Don't mistake me: I don't propose to go back to
the whip; to that brutal institution, the irresponsible overseer; to
the buying and selling, and separation of the family, nor any of the
old wrongs; but I propose to make the old master OUR OVERSEER, and
responsible to US. He is not a fool, and has already learned that it
is more profitable to pay wages to his old slaves and have the power
of dismissal, like any other employer, than be obliged, under the old
system of enforced labor and life servitude, to undergo the cost of
maintaining incompetence and idleness. The old sentiment of slave-owning
has disappeared before natural common-sense and selfishness. I am
satisfied that by some such process as this utilizing of the old master
and the new freedom we will be better able to cultivate our lands than
by buying up their estates, and setting the old owners adrift, with a
little money in their pockets, as an idle, discontented class to
revive old political dogmas, and foment new issues, or perhaps set up a
dangerous opposition to us.

"You don't mean to say that those infernal niggers would give the
preference to their old oppressors?"

"Dollar for dollar in wages--yes! And why shouldn't they? Their old
masters understand them better--and treat them generally better. They
know our interest in them is only an abstract sentiment, not a real
liking. We show it at every turn. But we are nearing Redlands, and Major
Reed will, I have no doubt, corroborate my impressions. He insists upon
our staying at his house, although the poor old fellow, I imagine, can
ill afford to entertain company. But he will be offended if we refuse."

"He is a friend of yours, then?" asked Drummond.

"I fought against his division at Stony Creek," said Courtland grimly.
"He never tires of talking of it to me--so I suppose I am."

A few moments later the train glided beside the Redlands platform. As
the two travelers descended a hand was laid on Courtland's shoulder, and
a stout figure in the blackest and shiniest of alpaca jackets, and the
whitest and broad