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Edward owns five acres of land in the Seaside section of Etiwan Island.
It is a swampy tract not much good for anything. He could drain part of
his land, but this would mean going to court with a neighbor who Edward
fears, so he lets his field grow up in weeds and rents three acres from
a white man. Edward is no farmer now. He plants an acre of cotton to
pay his rent, and two acres of corn. The corn is for the ox. He says
that if he planted any more ground he would be tied to the land and he
wouldn't want this to happen, for the best fishing season comes when
the crops need the closest attention.
There was a time when Edward was a pretty good farmer. That was before
Pauline died. With his wife behind him, pushing him hard, burning up
with ambition to got ahead, Edward labored in the field unceasingly,
drinking a full quart of whiskey a day to keep up his courage, so he
said. The tide ebbed and flowed; other men came home with golden scaled
channel bass on their shoulders, and the shrimps swarmed the inlets
like mosquitoes, but Pauline would not let him out of her sight. ... continued
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