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—
“THE OLD, THE FEEBLE.”
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.
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.
When Victor heard scoffin’ prophecies of the negro’s incapacity to govern himself or others, he thought of the example of that hero saint, Toussaint L’Ouverture. How he, a pure negro, with no white blood in his veins, carved out the freedom of his race.
How, brave as a lion, this untaught man fought aginst overwhelmin’ odds, and won battles that the best-trained soldier would almost have despaired of; surmounted difficulties and won victories that would have proved well-nigh impossible to a Washington or a Napoleon. How, untaught in diplomacy, he reconciled conflictin’ interests that would have baffled our wisest statesmen.
Clement and merciful, for he always shrank from causin’ bloodshed till war or ruin wuz inevitable.