They were in the crowd on Boston Common the morning the Fifty-fourth Massachusetts marched away—a father and a mother come to see their two sons off to war. Douglass was not thinking of the credit due him for the formation of the first Negro regiment. He was remembering how Lewis had always wanted a pony and the way Charlie always left his shoes in the middle of the floor, to be stumbled over. He tried to stay the trembling in Anna’s arm by pressing it close to his side. He wished he had somehow managed to get that pony.
The soldiers were standing at ease in the street when Charlie saw her. He waved his hand, and though he did not yell, she saw his lips form the words, “Hi, Mom!” She saw him nudge his brother and then—
They were marching, holding their colors high, the sun glinting on polished bayonets and reflected in their eyes. They marched away behind their gallant Captain Shaw, and as they went they sang a song:
“John Brown’s body lies a-moldering in the grave
But his soul goes marching on.”
Chapter Fourteen
Came January 1, 1863
The tall man’s footsteps made no sound upon the thick rug. Muffled and hushed, his weary pacing left no mark upon the warp and woof underneath his feet. No sign at all of all the hours he had been walking back and forth, no sound.
To save the Union—this was the aim and purpose of everything he did. He had offered concession after concession—he had sent men out to die to hold the Union together and he had seen the horror of their dying. And yet no end in sight. Could it be that God had turned his face away? Was He revolted by the stench of slavery? Was this the measure He required?
The President had sought to reason with them. In his last annual message to Congress he had proposed a constitutional amendment by which any state abolishing slavery by or before the year 1900 should be entitled to full compensation from the Federal government. So far he had postponed the day when a slave owner must take a loss. Nothing had come of the proposal—nothing.