Nor had he quite liked the idee of their findin’ a new home in the far South or in South America.
They would be still in an alien land, alien races would press clost aginst ’em.
No, a home in Africa pleased him best—in that land the Lord had placed the black people—it wuz their home accordin’ to all the laws of God and man.
And if it hadn’t been the best place for ’em, if they hadn’t been fitted by nater for that climate, why he reasoned it out that they wouldn’t have been born there in the first place.
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.