“Let’s go now and see that our friend is properly settled,” he said.
So they all went first to the steerage. And here, to the edification of the steerage passengers, they spent most of their time. But, as always happens within a small world, word got around, and during the long afternoons and evenings other first-class passengers began visiting the steerage.
The Hutchinsons, celebrated vocalists, sang their sweetest songs, and groups gathered on the rude forecastle-deck in spirited conversation with Frederick Douglass.
“Always thought Abolitionists were crackpots!” The man from Indiana frowned.
“Wouldn’t think any—er—a black could talk like that!” The speaker, who came from Delaware, certainly had never heard such talk before.
“This man—he is not black.” The tinge of foreign accent in the words caused the Americans to glance up sharply. Perhaps the immaculate swarthy passenger was from Quebec. A Washingtonian eyed him coolly and rose to his feet.
“He’s a nigger just the same!” he said, and walked away from the group.
They fell silent after that. But some time afterward several of the passengers approached the Captain with the request that he invite this unusual character to deliver a lecture in the salon. Captain Judkins, who had been unhappy about the matter, gladly complied. He himself went to the steerage and sat chatting with the ex-slave. The dark man’s manners captivated him.
Announcement was made of the scheduled lecture. News of the Captain’s visit to the steerage got around. In one of the most expensive suites on the ship three young men faced each other. They were trembling with rage.
“By God, suh,” said one, thumping the table with his fist, “we won’t stand for it!”