Chapter Sixteen

Moving forward

The American Anti-Slavery Society disbanded and its agents were withdrawn from the fields. The last number of theLiberatorcame out.

“The object for which theliberatorwas commenced thirty-five years ago having been gloriously consummated—” wrote the white-haired editor. He could now close his office. The slaves were free—his job was finished. Garrison sailed for England and the Continent.

Frederick Douglass, dragging himself through the weeks, hardly heeded what was being done. He caught some words of Wendell Phillips’ passionate plea: the Thirteenth Amendment had not yet become law; even after ratification it had to be carried out. But he had taken no part in the discussions. His occupation was gone and his salary—the Anti-Slavery Society had paid him about five hundred dollars a year—cut off. Lewis came home. Frederic was working with the Freedman’s Bureau in Mississippi. Douglass made sporadic attempts to think of how he would earn a living. The newspaper hung heavy on his hands. An idea occurred to him. With the few thousand dollars Anna had saved from the sales of his book,My Bondage and My Freedom, he had best buy a farm, settle down and earn an honest living by tilling the soil.

But nothing seemed of any real importance.

“John Brown and Abraham Lincoln!” He lay awake at night linking the two names. Time seemed endless.

Yet it was only the latter part of June when President Johnson made Benjamin F. Perry, former member of the Confederate legislature, the Provisional Governor of South Carolina. Perry promptly put things back the way they had been “before Lincoln.” He conferredsuffrage upon all citizens who had been legal voters prior to Secession. He called for an election by these people of delegates to a Constitutional Convention to be held in September. In his opening address as Provisional Governor, the Honorable Mr. Perry stated his platform very clearly. “This is a white man’s government, and intended for white men only.”

Horace Greeley reported the facts in theTribunetogether with a grim editorial.

Douglass shook with rage. His anger was directed not at the Southern Provisional Governor but at the man who now sat in Abraham Lincoln’s place. For a moment his hate for Andrew Johnson consumed every rational thought. Then his mind began to clear—to race, to leap forward. The moment broke his lethargy.

“John Brown and Lincoln—yes!” He spoke aloud. “But I’m living.Iam still here!” He struck the desk with his fist. “And by God we’ll fight!”

Then, seizing his pen, he swept aside the papers that had been gathering dust, and on a clean white page he began to write.

“The liberties of the American people are dependent upon the ballot-box, the jury box and the cartridge box.... Freedmen must have the ballot if they would retain their freedom!”

His words sounded across the country. In many instances they filled people, already worn out and war-weary, with dismay. The ballot was such a vast advance beyond the former objects proclaimed by the friends of the colored race that it struck men as preposterous and wholly inadmissible. Antislavery men were far from united as to the wisdom of Douglass’ stand. At first William Lloyd Garrison was not ready to join in the idea, but he was soon found on the right side. As Douglass said of him, “A man’s head will not long remain wrong, when his heart is right.”

But if at first Garrison thought it was too much to ask, Wendell Phillips saw not only the justice, but the wisdom and necessity, of the measure.

“I shall never leave the Negro until, so far as God gives me the power, I achieve [absolute equality before the law—absolute civil equality],” he thundered from his pulpit.

Enfranchisement of the freedmen was resisted on two main grounds: first, the tendency of the measure to bring the freedmen into conflict with the old master-class and the white people of the South generally; second, their unfitness, by reason of their ignorance,servility and degradation, to exercise over the destinies of the nation so great a power as the ballot.

“We’ve set them free! By Heaven, that’s enough! Let them go to work and prove themselves!” So spake the North, anxious to get back to “business as usual.”

But deep down in the land there was a mighty stirring. Words had been said that could not be recalled—henceforth, and forever free.

There were no stories of killings, massacre or rape by the freed blacks. Whitelaw Reid, touring the South, reported: “The Negroes everywhere are quiet, respectful and peaceful; they are the only group at work.” And the AlexandriaGazettesaid “the Negroes generally behave themselves respectfully toward the whites.”

At first there was much roaming about. Husbands set out to find wives; and wives, idle, sat on the flat ground, believing they would come. Mothers who had never set foot off the plantation, struck out across the country to find their children; and children—like dirty, scared, brown animals—swarmed aimlessly. There was sickness and death. Freedman’s Aid Societies floundered around in a vacuum, well-intentioned, doling out relief here and there; but what the black man needed was a place where he could stand—a tiny, little part of the great earth and a tool in his right hand.

William Freeland, master of Freelands, sat on his high-pillared porch staring at the unkempt, tangled yard. Weeds and briers choking everything—shrubbery, close-fisted, intricately branched, suffocating the rambler. In the fields beyond, nothing was growing save long grass, thistles and fierce suckers; and over the pond a scum had gathered, frothing and buoyed with its own gases.

Though past sixty when the war began, William Freeland, ashamed that Maryland was undecided, had gone to Richmond and volunteered. He had cut a fine figure riding away on his horse—his well-tailored gray uniform setting off the iron gray of his hair. The ladies of Richmond had leaned from their windows, fluttering lace handkerchiefs. They would not have recognized him when he came back to Freelands. His hair was thinned and white, his uniform a tattered, filthy rag; the bony nag he rode could scarcely make it to the old sycamore.

But the house still stood. It had not been pillaged or burned. His land had not been plowed with cannon; it was not soaked with blood. Suddenly the spring evening was cold, and he shuddered. Involuntarilyhis hand reached toward the bell. Then it fell back. No one would answer. Old Sue was in the kitchen, but she was too deaf to hear.

He would have to get some help on the place. The thought of paying wages to the ungrateful blacks filled him with rage. The cause of all the suffering and woe, they had turned on their masters, running after Yankees. Some of them had even shot white men! Gall bit into his soul as he remembered the strutting colored soldiers in Richmond.

The sound of a cart coming up the drive broke into his gloomy meditation. The master frowned. A side road led around to the back. Peddlers’ carts had no place on the drive. Then he remembered. This was probably the man he was expecting—impudent upstart! His hand shook, but he braced himself. He had promised to listen to him.

“He’s likely a damn Yankee, though he claims he’s from Georgia,” Freeland’s friend, the Colonel, had said. “But he’s got a scheme for getting the niggers back in their place. He says they’re dying like flies on the roads, they’ll be glad to get back to work. Just bide your time, old man, we’ll have all our niggers back. Where can they go?”

The master did not rise to greet his guest. He hated the sniveling oaf. But before the cart went rumbling back along the drive the owner of Freelands had parted with precious dollars.

Similar transactions were being carried on all over the South that spring.

“Were the planters willing to bestow the same amount of money upon the laborers as additional wages, as they pay to runners and waste in dishonest means of compulsion, they would have drawn as many voluntary and faithful laborers as they now obtain reluctant ones. But there are harpies, who, most of them, were in the slave trade, and who persuade planters to use them as brokers to supply the plantations with hands, at the same time using all means to deceive the simple and unsophisticated laborer.”[22]

But things were stirring in the land. Frederick Douglass in Rochester sending out his paper—sending it South! The handsome, popular Francis L. Cardoza, charming young Negro Presbyterian minister in New Haven, Connecticut, resigning his Church and saying, “I’m going South!”

“What!” his parishioners exclaimed.

“Going to Charleston,SouthCarolina.” And he grinned almost impishly while they stared at him, wondering if they had heard right. Francis Cardoza had been in school in Europe while the Anti-Slavery Societies were lighting their fires. Having finished his work at the University of Glasgow, he had accepted a call from New Haven. But now he heard another call—more urgent. He packed up his books. He would need them in South Carolina—land of his fathers.

Three colored refugees from Santo Domingo pooled their assets and started a paper in New Orleans. They called it theNew Orleans Tribune, and published it as a daily during 1865. After that year it continued as a weekly until sometime in 1869. It was published in French and English, and copies were sent to members of Congress. Its editor, Paul Trevigne, whose father had fought in the War of 1812, wanted to bring Louisiana “under a truly democratic system of labor.” He cited a new plan of credit for the people being tried in Europe. “We, too, need credit for the laborers,” he wrote. “We cannot expect complete and perfect freedom for the workingmen, as long as they remain the tools of capital and are deprived of the legitimate product of the sweat of their brow.”[23]

It was in September that a friend in South Carolina sent Douglass a clipping from theColumbia Daily Phoenix, certainlynotan Abolitionist sheet. It was dated September 23, 1865, and as Douglass read his face lighted up with joy. Here was the right and proper challenge to Provisional Governor Perry—a challenge from within his own state! “A large meeting of freedmen, held on St. Helena Island on the 4th instant” had adopted a set of resolutions—five clearly stated, well-written paragraphs. Douglass reprinted the entire account in his own paper, crediting its source. People read and could scarcely believe what they read—coming as it did from the “ignorant, servile blacks” in the lowlands.

1.Resolved, That we, the colored residents of St. Helena Island, do most respectfully petition the Convention about to be assembled at Columbia, on the 13th instant, to so alter and amend the present Constitution of this state as to give the right of suffrage to every man of twenty-one years, without other qualifications than that required for the white citizens of the states.2.Resolved, That, by the Declaration of Independence, we believe these are rights which cannot justly be denied us, andwe hope the Convention will do us full justice by recognizing them.3.Resolved, That we will never cease our efforts to obtain, by all just and legal means, a full recognition of our rights as citizens of the United States and this Commonwealth.4.Resolved, That, having heretofore shown our devotion to the Government, as well as our willingness to defend its Constitution and laws, therefore we trust that the members of the Convention will see the justice of allowing us a voice in the election of our rulers.5.Resolved, That we believe the future peace and welfare of this state depends very materially upon the protection of the interests of the colored men and can only be secured by the adoption of the sentiments embodied in the foregoing resolutions.

2.Resolved, That, by the Declaration of Independence, we believe these are rights which cannot justly be denied us, andwe hope the Convention will do us full justice by recognizing them.

3.Resolved, That we will never cease our efforts to obtain, by all just and legal means, a full recognition of our rights as citizens of the United States and this Commonwealth.

4.Resolved, That, having heretofore shown our devotion to the Government, as well as our willingness to defend its Constitution and laws, therefore we trust that the members of the Convention will see the justice of allowing us a voice in the election of our rulers.

5.Resolved, That we believe the future peace and welfare of this state depends very materially upon the protection of the interests of the colored men and can only be secured by the adoption of the sentiments embodied in the foregoing resolutions.

The week of the thirteenth came and went. Douglass scanned the papers in vain for any mention of the petition or of anything concerning the “new citizens” of South Carolina. In October came a letter from Francis Cardoza, whom Douglass had met but did not know very well. He said, “I wish to thank you for giving publicity to the petition sent in by our people on St. Helena. Your co-operation strengthened their hearts. As you know, as yet nothing has come of it, nor of the longer document drawn up and presented by 103 Negroes assembled in Charleston. I have a copy of the Charleston petition. Should you be in Washington any time soon I’ll gladly meet you there with it. These men are neither to be pitied nor scorned. They know that they are only at the beginning. With the ballot they will become useful, responsible, functioning citizens of the state. Without the ballot—sooner or later, there will be war.”

Douglass immediately got in touch with certain influential men. “I propose,” he said, “that a committee go to Washington and lay the matter of the freedmen’s enfranchisement squarely before President Johnson.” His face darkened for a moment. “Perhaps I misjudge the man,” he added. “He is faced with a gigantic task. It is our duty to give him every assistance.”

They rallied round, and a delegation of colored people from Illinois, Wisconsin, Alabama, Mississippi, Florida, South Carolina, North Carolina, Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New York, the New England states and the District of Columbia was called together. George Downing, of Rhode Island, and Frederick Douglass werenamed spokesmen. A letter was dispatched to the White House requesting an interview with the President.

After several weeks, the answer came. The President would receive the delegation February 7. Douglass sent off a note to Cardoza saying when he would be in Washington and suggesting the home of “my dear friend, Mrs. Amelia Kemp” as the place of meeting.

An account of Johnson’s interview with the “Negro delegation” has gone into the historical archives of Washington. It received nationwide publicity both because of what was said and because of Frederick Douglass’ gift for rebuttal.

“Until that interview,” Douglass wrote in hisLife and Times, “the country was not fully aware of the intentions and policy of President Johnson on the subject of reconstruction, especially in respect of the newly emancipated class of the South. After having heard the brief addresses made to him by Mr. Downing and myself, he occupied at least three-quarters of an hour in what seemed a set speech, and refused to listen to any reply on our part, although solicited to grant a few moments for that purpose. Seeing the advantage that Mr. Johnson would have over us in getting his speech paraded before the country in the morning papers, the members of the delegation met on the evening of that day, and instructed me to prepare a brief reply, which should go out to the country simultaneously with the President’s speech to us. Since this reply indicates the points of difference between the President and ourselves, I produce it here as a part of the history of the times, it being concurred in by all the members of the delegation.”

1. The first point to which we feel especially bound to take exception, is your attempt to found a policy opposed to our enfranchisement, upon the alleged ground of an existing hostility on the part of the former slaves toward the poor white people of the South. We admit the existence of this hostility, and hold that it is entirely reciprocal. But you obviously commit an error by drawing an argument from an incident of slavery, and making it a basis for a policy adapted to a state of freedom. The hostility between the whites and blacks of the South is easily explained. It has its root and sap in the relation of slavery, and was incited on both sides by the cunning of the slave masters. Those masters secured their ascendancy over both the poor whites and blacks by putting enmity between them.They divided both to conquer each. There was no earthly reason why the blacks should not hate and dread the poor whites when in a state of slavery, for it was from this class that their masters received their slave-catchers, slave-drivers, and overseers. They were the men called in upon all occasions by the masters whenever any fiendish outrage was to be committed upon the slave. Now, sir, you cannot but perceive that, the cause of this hatred removed, the effect must be removed also. Slavery is abolished.... You must see that it is altogether illogical to legislate from slaveholding premises for a people whom you have repeatedly declared it your purpose to maintain in freedom.2. Besides, even if it were true, as you allege, that the hostility of the blacks toward the poor whites must necessarily project itself into a state of freedom, and that this enmity between the two races is even more intense in a state of freedom than in a state of slavery, in the name of heaven, we ask how can you, in view of your professed desire to promote the welfare of the black man, deprive him of all means of defense, and clothe him whom you regard as his enemy in the panoply of political power? Can it be that you recommend a policy which would arm the strong and cast down the defenseless?... Peace between races is not to be secured by degrading one race and exalting another; by giving power to one race and withholding it from another; but by maintaining a state of equal justice between all classes.3. On the colonization theory you were pleased to broach, very much could be said. It is impossible to suppose, in view of the usefulness of the black man in time of peace as a laborer in the South, and in time of war as a soldier in the North ... that there can ever come a time when he can be removed from this country without a terrible shock to its prosperity and peace. Besides, the worst enemy of the nation could not cast upon its fair name a greater infamy than to admit that Negroes could be tolerated among them in a state of the most degrading slavery and oppression, and must be cast away, driven into exile, for no other cause than having been freed from their chains.[24]

They divided both to conquer each. There was no earthly reason why the blacks should not hate and dread the poor whites when in a state of slavery, for it was from this class that their masters received their slave-catchers, slave-drivers, and overseers. They were the men called in upon all occasions by the masters whenever any fiendish outrage was to be committed upon the slave. Now, sir, you cannot but perceive that, the cause of this hatred removed, the effect must be removed also. Slavery is abolished.... You must see that it is altogether illogical to legislate from slaveholding premises for a people whom you have repeatedly declared it your purpose to maintain in freedom.

2. Besides, even if it were true, as you allege, that the hostility of the blacks toward the poor whites must necessarily project itself into a state of freedom, and that this enmity between the two races is even more intense in a state of freedom than in a state of slavery, in the name of heaven, we ask how can you, in view of your professed desire to promote the welfare of the black man, deprive him of all means of defense, and clothe him whom you regard as his enemy in the panoply of political power? Can it be that you recommend a policy which would arm the strong and cast down the defenseless?... Peace between races is not to be secured by degrading one race and exalting another; by giving power to one race and withholding it from another; but by maintaining a state of equal justice between all classes.

3. On the colonization theory you were pleased to broach, very much could be said. It is impossible to suppose, in view of the usefulness of the black man in time of peace as a laborer in the South, and in time of war as a soldier in the North ... that there can ever come a time when he can be removed from this country without a terrible shock to its prosperity and peace. Besides, the worst enemy of the nation could not cast upon its fair name a greater infamy than to admit that Negroes could be tolerated among them in a state of the most degrading slavery and oppression, and must be cast away, driven into exile, for no other cause than having been freed from their chains.[24]

The open letter written, one of the delegation hurried away with it to the press. They had repaired to the home of John F. Cook, Washington member of the delegation. He invited Douglass toremain for the night, but Douglass explained that he had yet another appointment and that he was expected at the home of an old friend. Douglass now stood up and, shaking his shoulders, made ready to leave.

The weather outside was nasty. A wet, driving snow had turned the streets into muddy slush; the wooden sidewalks were slippery and the crossings were ditches of black water. Douglass fastened his boots securely and turned up the collar of his coat.

“Can you find your way, Douglass?” asked Dr. Cook. “The streets are so poorly lighted, and on a night like this a stranger could easily get lost. If you’ll wait a little I’ll be glad to—”

Douglass interrupted. “No, indeed, Doctor. I know the way very well. It’s not far.”

Meanwhile, “Miss Amelia” was finding Francis Cardoza good company. He was one of the handsomest men she had ever seen. The little lady’s eyes twinkled, and her cheeks were flushed.

Tom’s widow was not as spry as she once was. Days and nights of nursing in the Soldiers’ Home had brought weights heavier than years upon her valiant frame. Now she was old. But she could take things easy. Jack Haley was head of the house. The boarders could not be prevailed upon to move, and the dark woman in the kitchen would have served just as faithfully without wages. Frederick’s supper was being kept warm on the back of the stove and his room was ready. She lifted the shade and peered anxiously out into the dark night.

“I do hope he gets a cab. This is a bad night for him to be out on these streets alone.” Her guest smiled.

“Frederick Douglass can take care of himself, madam,” he said. “You should not worry about him.”

“Oh, but Ido!” And Amelia’s blue eyes opened wide. Francis Cardoza, his eyes on the white hands and pulsing, crinkled throat, marveled anew at the children of God.

When Douglass came he was deeply apologetic, but they waved aside his concern.

“It is nothing,” they said. “We knew you were busy.”

Amelia would not let them talk until he had eaten, and when he shook his head, saying he could not keep Mr. Cardoza waiting any longer, Cardoza laughed.

“Might as well give in, Mr. Douglass.”

So they all went to the dining room, and Amelia insisted that the young man join her Frederick in his late supper.

Here in the friendly room, beside the roaring fire, the happenings of the day no longer seemed so crushing. He told them everything, and they listened, feeling his disappointment. Then Amelia spoke their thought aloud.

“If only Mr. Lincoln had lived!”

She left them then after explaining to Douglass, “I invited Mr. Cardoza to spend the night, but he has relatives here in Washington.”

They were both on their feet, bowing as she left. Amelia smiled and thought, “Always such lovely manners.”

The two men settled down before the fire for serious talk. Francis Cardoza was well informed. He might easily be taken for a white man, and so had heard much not intended for his ears.

“I talked today with Thaddeus Stevens,” he told Douglass. “I told him what I had seen of the black codes, and he told me of Senator Sumner’s magnificent speech in the Senate two days ago. He swears they’ll get the Civil Rights Bill through in spite of Johnson.”

“And I believe they will!” Douglass agreed. He leaned forward eagerly. “You have brought the petition?”

“Yes, sir.” Cardoza was unfolding a manuscript. “Here is an exact copy of the document presented by us to the Convention assembled at Columbia. These words of the freedmen of South Carolina are our best argument. Read!” He handed the sheets to Douglass.

It was a long document and Douglass read slowly. This then came from “those savage blacks”!

... Our interests and affections are inseparably interwoven with the welfare and prosperity of the state.... We assure your honorable body that such recognition of our manhood as this petition asks for, is all that is needed to convince the colored people of this state that the white men of the state are prepared to do them justice.Let us also assure your honorable body that nothing short of this, our respectful demand, will satisfy our people. If our prayer is not granted, there will doubtless be the same quiet and seemingly patient submission to wrong that there has been in the past. The day for which we watched and prayed came as we expected it; the day of our complete enfranchisement will also come; and in that faith we will work and wait.[25]

Let us also assure your honorable body that nothing short of this, our respectful demand, will satisfy our people. If our prayer is not granted, there will doubtless be the same quiet and seemingly patient submission to wrong that there has been in the past. The day for which we watched and prayed came as we expected it; the day of our complete enfranchisement will also come; and in that faith we will work and wait.[25]

Douglass sat staring at the last sheet a long time. The simple majesty of the words rendered him speechless. His voice was husky.

“I wish I could have read this to President Johnson today. No words of mine can equal it.”

“President Johnson was already incensed by Senator Sumner’s words,” Cardoza reminded him.

Douglass was silent for a moment. Then he spoke slowly.

“I want to be fair to President Johnson. In criticizing our friend Charles Sumner he said, ‘I do not like to be arraigned by someone who can get up handsomely-rounded periods and deal in rhetoric and talk about abstract ideas of liberty, who never periled life, liberty, or property.’” Douglass tapped the closely written sheets. “Well, here are men who even now are imperiling life, liberty and property. Perhaps he would have listened.”

“When he spoke to the Negroes of Nashville before his election, Johnson expressed his eagerness to be another Moses who would lead the black peoples from bondage to freedom.” Cardoza had been in Nashville a short time before.

“Notice that even then he said he would do the leading.” There was bitterness in Douglass’ voice. “Apparently he’s not willing for the black man to stand up and walk to freedom on his two feet.”

Washington was emerging from the enveloping darkness when Francis Cardoza took his leave.

As he walked through the silent, gray street past the Representatives Office Building he saw a light faintly showing through one of the windows. He murmured his thought aloud.

“We’re beating a nation out upon the anvil of time. The fires must be kept hot!”

Inside the building a tired, thin man with deeply furrowed face pushed back his chair and for a moment covered his eyes with his hand. Then he glanced toward the window, and his mouth crooked into a smile. He’d have to explain at home. Again he had stayed out all night. His desk was covered with papers. He would go home now, drink some coffee. That morning he proposed to demand the floor. He had something to say. He paused a moment and re-read one scribbled paragraph:

“This is not a white man’s Government, in the exclusive sense in which it is said. To say so is political blasphemy, for it violates the fundamental principles of our gospel of liberty. This is Man’sGovernment, the Government of all men alike; not that all men will have equal power and sway within it. Accidental circumstances, natural and acquired endowment and ability, will vary their fortunes. But equal rights to all the privileges of the Government is innate in every immortal being, no matter what the shape or color of the tabernacle which it inhabits. Our fathers repudiated the whole doctrine of the legal superiority of families or races, and proclaimed the equality of men before the law. Upon that they created a revolution and built the Republic.”[26]

Thaddeus Stevens arranged the papers in a neat pile, straightened his wig and stood up. Then he took down his overcoat from the rack and put it on. His feet echoed in the dim, empty corridor. A Negro attendant in the lobby saw him coming. The dark face lit up with a smile and his greeting sang like a tiny hymn.

“Good mawnin’, Mistah Stevens—Goodmawnin’ to you, sah!”

And Thaddeus Stevens did not feel the chill in the air as he walked down the steps and out into the wet, gray dawn.

“The war is not over!” Douglass said grimly to his son Lewis. “The battle is far from won. Not yet can I unfurl John Brown’s flag in a land of the free!”

On the other hand, he knew the battle was not lost. But the Abolitionists’ fundamental tenet of “moral persuasion” would have to have a firm structure of legislation—or the house would come tumbling down.

Stout girders for this structure were being lifted all over the land, in the least expected places.

On January 1, 1867, the African Baptist Church of Richmond, Virginia, was packed for an Emancipation Celebration. In the midst of the singing and praying and shouting a young white man rose in the audience and, going forward, asked if he might say a word.

“My name’s James Hunnicut and I’m from South Carolina,” he said. A mother hushed her child with a sharp hiss. The dark faces were suddenly cautious. The young man went on.

“This is a happy birthday for you—a day to be remembered with great joy.” He waited until the fervent “Amens” and “Hallelujahs” had died away. He took a step forward and his voice grew taut.

“But now each time you come together I urge you to look into the future.”

Then in simple words that all could understand he talked to them of what it meant to be a citizen. He explained the machinery of government. He told them they must register and vote in the fall elections. Some of the men grew tense. They had discussed plans. To others it was new, and all leaned forward eagerly.

“When you are organized,” he said, “help to elect a loyal governor and loyal congressmen. Do not vote for men who opposed your liberty—no matter what they say now. Keep your eyes and ears open and your mouths shut. Educate yourselves—and go to the ballot boxes with your votes tight in your hands!”

The young folks cheered him with a kind of madness. But some of the older ones shook their heads.

A week after this happened, Frederick Douglass, on his way to Chicago, found that he could stop off at Galesburg, Illinois, in time for a local emancipation mass meeting. Galesburg was known as an Abolitionists’ town. In the town’s old Dunn Hall they had hauled up the biggest guns of the 1860 campaign. The county had gone almost solid for Abraham Lincoln, though the Hall had given its greatest ovation to one of the stoutest advocates of Stephen A. Douglas. The speaker had been Robert Ingersoll, a young man from Peoria. Now seven years later, when they planned to celebrate emancipation, the Negroes asked Robert Ingersoll to deliver the main address. Douglass had been wanting to hear Ingersoll for a year.

“On one of the frostiest and coldest nights I ever experienced,” Douglass wrote, “I delivered a lecture in the town of Elmwood, Illinois, twenty miles from Peoria. It was one of those bleak and flinty nights, when prairie winds pierce like needles, and a step on the snow sounds like a file on the steel teeth of a saw. My next appointment after Elmwood was on Monday night, and in order to reach it in time, it was necessary to go to Peoria the night previous, so as to take an early morning train. I could only accomplish this by leaving Elmwood after my lecture at midnight, for there was no Sunday train. So a little before the hour at which my train was expected at Elmwood, I started for the station with my friend Mr. Brown. On the way I said to him, ‘I’m going to Peoria with something like a real dread of the place. I expect to be compelled to walk the streets of that city all night to keep from freezing.’ I told him that the last time I was there I could obtain no shelter at any hotel and I knew no one in the city. Mr. Brown was visibly affected by the statement and for some time was silent. At last, as if suddenly discovering a way out ofa painful situation, he said, ‘I know a man in Peoria, should the hotels be closed against you there, who would gladly open his doors to you—a man who will receive you at any hour of the night, and in any weather, and that man is Robert G. Ingersoll.’ ‘Why,’ said I, ‘it would not do to disturb a family at such a time as I shall arrive there, on a night so cold as this.’ ‘No matter about the hour,’ he said; ‘neither he nor his family would be happy if they thought you were shelterless on such a night. I know Mr. Ingersoll, and that he will be glad to welcome you at midnight or at cockcrow.’ I became much interested by this description of Mr. Ingersoll. Fortunately I had no occasion for disturbing him or his family that night. I did find quarters for the night at the best hotel in the city.”[27]

He had left Peoria the next morning. But his desire to meet the Peoria lawyer had increased with the passing months—not the least because he usually heard him referred to as “the infidel.”

The train was late pulling into Galesburg. Douglass took a cab at the station and was driven directly to Dunn’s Hall. The place was jammed with people, and the meeting well under way. Douglass saw that the crowd was largely colored. That meant a lot of them had come a long distance. Among so many strangers he hoped to get in without attracting attention.

He succeeded, but it was because the attention of the throng was riveted on the speaker who faced them on the platform far up front. Only those persons whom he pushed against even saw the big man with the upturned coat collar.

Douglass later described Robert G. Ingersoll as a man “with real living human sunshine in his face.” It was this quality of dynamic light about the man up front which made him stare on that January night. He had come prepared to be impressed, but he was amazed at the almost childlike freshness of the fair, smooth face with its wide-set eyes. Ingersoll was of fine height and breadth, his mouth as gentle as a woman’s, but, as Douglass began taking in what the man was saying, his wonder grew.

“Slavery has destroyed every nation that has gone down to death. It caused the last vestige of Grecian civilization to disappear forever, and it caused Rome to fall with a crash that shook the world. After the disappearance of slavery in its grossest forms in Europe, Gonzales pointed out to his countrymen, the Portuguese, the immense profits that they could make by stealing Africans, and thus commenced themodern slave trade—that aggregation of all horror—infinite of all cruelty, prosecuted only by demons, and defended only by fiends.

“And yet the slave trade has been defended and sustained by every civilized nation, and by each and all has been baptized ‘legitimate commerce’ in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.”

Douglass felt a chill descend his spine.

He told them that every great movement must be led by heroic, self-sacrificing pioneers. Then his voice took on another quality.

“In Santo Domingo the pioneers were Oge and Chevannes; they headed a revolt, they were unsuccessful, but they roused the slaves to resistance. They were captured, tried, condemned and executed. They were made to ask forgiveness of God and of the King, for having attempted to give freedom to their own flesh and blood. They were broken alive on the wheel and left to die of hunger and pain. The blood of those martyrs became the seed of liberty; and afterward in the midnight assault, in the massacre and pillage, the infuriated slaves shouted their names as their battle cry, until Toussaint, the greatest of the blacks, gave freedom to them all.”

He quoted Thomas Paine:No man can be happy surrounded by those whose happiness he has destroyed. And Thomas Jefferson:When the measure of their tears shall be full—when their groans shall have involved heaven itself in darkness—doubtless a God of justice will awaken to their distress and, by diffusing light and liberality among the oppressors or at length by his exterminating thunder, manifest his attention to the things of this world and that they are not left to the guidance of a blind fatality.

He named Garrison, who was “for liberty as a principle and not from mere necessity.”

A cheer went up from the crowd. Douglass’ heart was glad as he heard it. Ingersoll then talked of Wendell Phillips, and of Charles Sumner, who at that moment was battling for the freedmen in Congress. His voice deepened, his great eyes became soft pools of light.

“But the real pioneer in America was old John Brown,” he said. There was no cheer this time. They bowed their head and the golden voice was like a prayer.

“He struck the sublimest blow of the age for freedom. It was said of him that he stepped from the gallows to the throne of God. It was said that he had made the scaffold to Liberty what Christ had made the cross to Christianity.”

They wept softly. Douglass, his hands clenched, lost himself in memories. When he heard the voice again it was ringing.

“In reconstructing the Southern states ... we prefer loyal blacks to disloyal whites.... Today I am in favor of giving the Negro every right that I claim for myself.

“We must be for freedom everywhere. Freedom is progress—slavery is desolation and want; freedom invents, slavery forgets. Freedom believes in education; the salvation of slavery is ignorance.

“The South has always dreaded the alphabet. They looked upon each letter as an Abolitionist, and well they might.” There was laughter.

“If, in the future, the wheel of fortune should take a turn, and you should in any country have white men in your power, I pray you not to execute the villainy we have taught you.” The old Hall was still. Ingersoll was drawing to a close. “... Stand for each other and above all stand for liberty the world over—for all men.”[28]

Douglass slipped out. He heard the thunder of applause. It filled the winter night as he hurried away. He walked for a long time down the unfamiliar streets, the snow crunching under his feet, but he did not feel the cold. His blood raced through his veins, his brain was on fire, his heart sang.

He had seen a shining angel brandishing his sword.

He had also found a friend. He would clasp Ingersoll’s hand in his maturity, as the young Douglass had clasped the hands of William Lloyd Garrison and John Brown.

Back to Index Next