He didn’t believe God had made a mistake; he didn’t believe He could.
Why, way down in the dark earth there never wuz known to be any mistake made, a wheat seed never sprung up into a cowcumber, a lily seed never blowed out into a daffodil.
No, there seemed to be a eternal law that prevented all mistakes and blunders.
And havin’ sot down the black man in Africa, Victor felt that it wuz pretty sure to be the right and best place for him.
Stanley said that there wuz room enough in one section of the Upper Congo basin to locate double the number of negroes in the United States, without disturbin’ a single tribe that now inhabits it; that every one of these seven million negroes might become owner of nearly a quarter square mile of land. Five acres of this planted with bananas and plantains would furnish every soul with sufficient food and drink.
The remainder of the twenty-seven acres of his estate would furnish him with timber, rubber, gums, dye stuffs, etc., for sale.
There is a clear stream every few hundred yards, the climate is healthy and agreeable.
Eight navigable rivers course through it. Hills and ridges diversify the scenery and give magnificent prospects.
To the negroes of the South it would be a reminder of their own plantations without the swamps and depressin’ influence of cypress forests.
Anything and everything might be grown in it, from the oranges, guavas, sugar-cane and cotton of sub-tropical lands, to the wheat of California and the rice of South Carolina.