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Dixon, Thomas, 1864-1946

"The Victim A romance of the Real Jefferson Davis"

The burden of
life was on his shoulders, not on theirs. Their working days were over.
He must feed and clothe, house and care for their worthless bodies unto
the end. And the number of these helpless ones were constantly
increased.
He marveled at the folly that imagined such a system of labor possible
in a real world where the iron laws of economic survival were allowed
free play. He ceased to wonder why it still flourished in the South. The
South was yet an unsettled jungle of bewildering tropical beauty. One
might travel for miles and hundreds of miles without the sight of a
single important town. Vast reaches of untouched forests stretched away
in all directions. Apparently the foot of man had never pressed them.
Rich plantations of thousands of acres were only scratched in spots to
yield their marvelous harvests of cotton and cane, of rice and corn.
The idea of defending such a territory, extending over thousands of
miles, from the invading hosts of the rich and densely populated North
was preposterous. His heart leaped with the certainty of swift and sure
triumph for the Union should the question be submitted to the test of
the sword.
As the boat touched her landing at Baton Rouge, Jennie waved her welcome
from the shore.


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