"Have you heard what the niggers did
at Hayti?"
"My God, John--no, I won't talk to you--and don't you think about
it! That's wrong--wrong as hell itself!" cried Ware.
"There's no such thing as right and wrong for me. That'll do for
those who have something to lose. I was born with empty hands
and I am going to fill them where and how I can. I believe the
time has come when the niggers can be of use to me--look what
Turner did back in Virginia three years ago! If he'd had any
real purpose he could have laid the country waste, but he hadn't
brains enough to engineer a general uprising."
Ware was probably as remote from any emotion that even vaguely
approximated right feeling as any man could well be, but
Murrell's words jarred his dull conscience, or his fear, into
giving signs of life.
"Don't you talk of that business, we want nothing of that sort
out here. You let the niggers alone!" he said, but he could
scarcely bring himself to believe that Murrell had spoken in
earnest. Yet even if he jested, this was a forbidden subject.
"White brains will have to think for them, if it's to be more
than a flash in the pan," said Murrell unheeding him.
"You let the niggers alone, don't you tamper with them," said
Ware. He possessed a profound belief in Murrell's capacity. He
knew how the latter had shaped the uneasy population that
foregathered on the edge of civilization to his own ends, and
that what he had christened the Clan had become an elaborate
organization, disciplined and flexible to his ruthless will.
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