“We should have taken one of the French boats—even if they are slower!” Mrs. Hutchinson regarded the apologetic purser scornfully.
“I’ll see the Captain at once.” And James Buffum stalked away in search of him.
No cabin had been assigned to Frederick Douglass. Though the tickets had been purchased together, the party was being separated—the Hutchinsons and Mr. Buffum sent to cabins, Frederick Douglass to the steerage.
Douglass took no part in the angry discussion that ensued. It was an old story to him. Negroes who had the temerity to travel about the United States were subject to insults and indignities. On the Sound between New York and Stonington no colored man was allowed abaft the wheel. In all seasons of the year, hot or cold, wet or dry, the deck was his only place. Douglass had been in many fights—had been beaten by conductors and brakemen. He smiled now remembering the time six men ejected him from a car on the Eastern Line between Boston and Portland. He had managed to tear away several seats and break a couple of windows.
But this morning, as the Cambria nosed her way out of the bay and started back to the Old Country which so many had left in their search for freedom, Douglass shrugged his shoulders.
“Let it go!” he said. “We’ll all reach England together. If I cannot go to the cabins, you can come to me in the steerage.”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Douglass,” Captain Judkins quickly intervened. “There is only the formality of an invitation. You can visit your friends at any time.”
“Thank you, sir!” Douglass bowed gravely.
But Mrs. Hutchinson would not be quieted. “It’s ridiculous!”
Her husband sighed and slipped his arm through Frederick’s.