And Victor wuz workin’ as hard as Felix; workin’ quietly and secretly as possible, deemin’ that the best way to avert danger from them and make success possible.
He wuz workin’ as a standard-bearer, a tryin’ to make his people hear his cry to move forward into the Promised Land, into their own land, from whence they had been torn with violence, but to which they should return with knowledge and wisdom learned in the hard school of martyrdom and slavery.
He knew that to preach this doctrine to all his people would be like tryin’ to stop the course of the wind by a shout.
The old, the feeble, and those who wuz attached by strong ties of love or gratitude to this Western land—and Heaven knows there wuz many such who had received such kind treatment from the dominant race (if kindness is possible in slavery) that their hearts wuz knit to the spot where their old masters and mistresses wuz—
These people he did not seek to disturb with dreams of new homes in a freer land—love makes labor light—they wuzn’t unhappy.
“THE OLD, THE FEEBLE.”
And then there wuz many who had got peaceful homes in settlements and cities who wuz contented and doin’ well—or, that is, what they thought well—these Victor did not seek to change.
But for the young, the educated, the resolute, the ambitious he tried to influence their eager, active minds with his own ideal of a New Republic.
Where his people, so long down-trodden, might have a chance to become a great nation, with a future glorious with a grandeur the colder white race never dreamed of.