For a few days he visited with Gerrit Smith on his estate at Peterboro. Only then did he realize how tired he was. The high-ceilinged, paneled rooms of the fine old manor offered the perfect refuge from the rush and noise and turmoil of the past weeks. Douglass stretched out in an easy chair before an open fire and rested.
Something was bothering Douglass. Now that the cheering crowds were far away he frowned. Gerrit Smith fingered a long-stemmed glass of sherry and waited.
“They listened eagerly,” Douglass said at last, “they filled the halls and afterward they cheered.” He stopped and Gerrit Smith nodded his head.
“And what then?” Smith’s voice had asked the question in Douglass’ mind.
Douglass was silent a long moment. He spoke slowly.
“They did not need convincing. The people know that slavery is wrong.” Again Smith nodded his head. Douglass frowned. “Is it that convictions are not enough?”
Then Gerrit Smith leaned forward.
“Convictions are the final end we seek,” he said. “But even you dare not pit your convictions against the slaveholder’s property. Slaveholders are not concerned or bothered about cheering crowds north of the Ohio river. They can laugh at them! But they will not laugh long if the cheering crowds go marching to the ballot box. Convictions need votes to back them up!”
The shadows in the room deepened. For a long time there was only silence.
“There’s a man in Springfield you ought to know,” Gerrit Smith spoke quietly. “His name is John Brown.”