In one of my anti-slavery campaigns in New York, five and thirty years ago, I had an appointment at Victor, a town in Ontario County. I was compelled to stop at the hotel. It was the custom at that time, to seat the guests at a long table running the length of the dining room. When I entered I was shown a little table off in a corner. I knew what it meant, but took my dinner all the same. When I went to the desk to pay my bill, I said, “Now, Landlord, be good enough to tell me just why you gave me my dinner at the little table in the corner by myself?” He was equal to the occasion, and quickly replied: “Because you see, I wished to give you something better than the others.” The cool reply staggered me, and I gathered up my change, muttering only that I did not want to be treated better than other people, and bade him good morning.
On an anti-slavery tour through the West, in company with H. Ford Douglas, a young colored man of fine intellect and much promise, and my old friend John Jones, (both now deceased,) we stopped at a Hotel in Janesville, and were seated by ourselves to take our meals, where all the bar-room loafers of the town could stare us. Thus seated I took occasion to say, loud enough for the crowd to hear me, that I had just been out to the stable and had made a great discovery. Asked by Mr. Jones what my discovery was, I said that I saw there, black horses and white horses eating together from the same trough in peace, from which I inferred that the horses of Janesville were more civilized than its people. The crowd saw the hit, and broke out into a good-natured laugh. We were afterwards entertained at the same table with other guests.
Many years ago, on my way from Cleveland to Buffalo, on one of the Lake Steamers, the gong sounded for supper. There was a rough element on board, such as at that time might be found anywhere between Buffalo and Chicago. It was not to be trifled with especially when hungry. At the first sound of the gong there was a furious rush for the table. From prudence, more than from lack of appetite, I waited for the second table, as did several others. At this second table I took a seat far apart from the few gentlemen scattered along its side, but directly opposite a well dressed, finely-featured man, of the fairest complexion, high forehead, golden hair and light beard. His whole appearance told me he was somebody. I had been seated but a minute or two, when the steward came to me, and roughly ordered me away. I paid no attention to him, but proceeded to take my supper, determined not to leave, unless compelled to do so by superior force, and being young and strong I was not entirely unwilling to risk the consequences of such a contest. A few moments passed, when on each side of my chair, there appeared a stalwart of my own race. I glanced at the gentleman opposite. His brow was knit, his color changed from white to scarlet, and his eyes were full of fire. I saw the lightning flash, but I could not tell where it would strike. Before my sable brethren could execute their captain’s order, and just as they were about to lay violent hands upon me, a voice from that man of golden hair and fiery eyes resounded like a clap of summer thunder. “Let the gentleman alone! I am not ashamed to take my tea with Mr. Douglass.” His was a voice to be obeyed, and my right to my seat and my supper was no more disputed.
I bowed my acknowledgments to the gentleman, and thanked him for his chivalrous interference; and as modestly as I could, asked him his name. “I am Edward Marshall of Kentucky, now of California,” he said. “Sir, I am very glad to know you, I have just been reading your speech in Congress,” I said. Supper over, we passed several hours in conversation with each other, during which he told me of his political career in California, of his election to Congress, and that he was a Democrat, but had no prejudice against color. He was then just coming from Kentucky where he had been in part to see his black mammy, for, said he, “I nursed at the breasts of a colored mother.”
I asked him if he knew my old friend John A. Collins in California. “Oh, yes,” he replied, “he is a smart fellow; he ran against me for Congress. I charged him with being an abolitionist, but he denied it, so I sent off and got the evidence of his having been general agent of the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society, and that settled him.”
During the passage, Mr. Marshall invited me into the bar-room to take a drink. I excused myself from drinking, but went down with him. There were a number of thirsty looking individuals standing around, to whom Mr. Marshall said, “Come, boys, take a drink.” When the drinking was over, he threw down upon the counter a twenty dollar gold piece, at which the bar-keeper made large eyes, and said he could not change it. “Well, keep it,” said the gallant Marshall, “it will all be gone before morning.” After this, we naturally fell apart, and he was monopolized by other company; but I shall never fail to bear willing testimony to the generous and manly qualities of this brother of the gifted and eloquent Thomas Marshall of Kentucky.
In 1842 I was sent by the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society to hold a Sunday meeting in Pittsfield, N. H., and was given the name of Mr. Hilles, a subscriber to the Liberator. It was supposed that any man who had the courage to take and read the Liberator, edited by Wm. Lloyd Garrison, or the Herald of Freedom, edited by Nathaniel P. Rodgers, would gladly receive and give food and shelter to any colored brother laboring in the cause of the slave. As a general rule this was very true.
There were no railroads in New Hampshire in those days, so I reached Pittsfield by stage, glad to be permitted to ride upon the top thereof, for no colored person could be allowed inside. This was many years before the days of civil rights bills, black Congressmen, colored United States Marshals, and such like.
Arriving at Pittsfield, I was asked by the driver where I would stop. I gave him the name of my subscriber to the Liberator. “That is two miles beyond,” he said. So after landing his other passengers, he took me on to the house of Mr. Hilles.
I confess I did not seem a very desirable visitor. The day had been warm, and the road dusty. I was covered with dust, and then I was not of the color fashionable in that neighborhood, for colored people were scarce in that part of the old Granite State. I saw in an instant, that though the weather was warm, I was to have a cool reception; but cool or warm, there was no alternative left me but to stay and take what I could get.