He began by exhibiting his knowledge of Douglass’ history and of his works, and said that he entertained toward him a very high respect. He assured the delegate from Rochester that the gentlemen who sent him, as well as those who accompanied him, regarded the Honorable Mr. Douglass with admiration and that there was not among them the remotest objection to sitting in convention with so distinguished a gentleman. Then he paused, daintily wiping his hands on a spotless handkerchief. Having tucked the linen back into his pocket, he spread his hands expressively and leaned forward. Was it, he asked, not necessary to set aside personal wishes for the common cause? Before Douglass could answer, he shrugged his shoulders and went on. After all, it was purely a question of party expediency. He must know that there was strong and bitter prejudice against his race in the North as well as in the South. They would raise the cry of social as well as political equality against the Republicans, if the famous Douglass attended this loyal national convention.
There were tears in the gentleman’s voice as he deplored the sacrifices which one must make for the good of the Republican cause. But, he pointed out, there were a couple of districts in the state of Indiana so evenly balanced that a little thing was likely to turn the scale against them, defeat their candidates, and thus leave Congress without the necessary two-thirds vote for carrying through the so-badly needed legislation.
“It is,” he ended, lifting his eyes piously, “only the good God who gives us strength for such sacrifice.”
Douglass had listened attentively to this address, uttering no word during its delivery. The spokesman leaned back in his seat. The three delegates who had accompanied him and who had remained standing in the aisle, turned to leave. They stopped in their tracks, however, at the sound of Douglass’ voice. It was a resonant voice, with rich overtones, and his words were heard distinctly by everyone in the car.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “with all due respect, you might as well ask me to put a loaded pistol to my head and blow my brains out as to ask me to keep out of this convention, to which I have been duly elected!”
The Louisianian’s face froze. One of the men in the aisle swore—none too swiftly. Douglass reasoned with them.
“What, gentlemen, would you gain by this exclusion? Would not the charge of cowardice, certain to be brought against you, prove more damaging than that of amalgamation? Would you not be branded all over the land as dastardly hypocrites, professing principles which you have no wish or intention of carrying out? As a matter of policy or expediency, you will be wise to let me in. Everybody knows that I have been fairly elected by the city of Rochester as a delegate. The fact has been broadly announced and commented upon all over the country. If I am not admitted, the public will ask, ‘Where is Douglass? Why is he not seen in the convention?’ And you would find that enquiry more difficult to answer than any charge brought against you for favoring political or social equality.” He paused. No one moved. Their faces remained hard and unconvinced. Douglass sighed. Then his face also hardened. He stood up.
“Well, ignoring the question of policy altogether, I am bound to go into that convention. Not to do so would contradict the principle and practice of my life.”
They left then. The charming gentleman from New Orleans did not bother to bow.
No more was said about the matter. Frederick Douglass was not excluded, but throughout the first morning session it was evident that he was to be ignored.