That afternoon a procession had been planned to start from Independence Hall. Flags and banners lined the way and crowds filled the streets. Douglass reached the starting point in good time. “Almost everybody on the ground whom I met seemed to be ashamed or afraid of me. I had been warned that I should not be allowed to walk through the city in the procession; fears had been expressed that my presence in it would so shock the prejudices of the people of Philadelphia as to cause the procession to be mobbed.”
The delegates were to walk two abreast. Douglass stood waiting, grimly determined to march alone. But shortly before the signal to start Theodore Tilton, young poet-editor of the New York Independent and the Brooklyn Worker, came hurrying in his direction. His straw-colored hair was rumpled and his face flushed.
“This way, Mr. Douglass! I’ve been looking for you.”
He grinned as he seized Douglass’ arm and with him pushed well up toward the head of the procession. There they took a place in the line. Tilton gayly ignored the sour faces around them.
“All set, captain, we’re ready to march!” he called.
Douglass tried to murmur something to express his appreciation, but the writer winked at him.
“Watch and see what happens!” he chuckled.
The band struck up and the line began to move. Someone on the sidewalk pointed to the sweeping mane of Douglass’ head and shouted, “Douglass! There’s Frederick Douglass!”
They began to cheer. The cheering was heard by those farther down the street, and heads craned forward. People leaned out of windows overhead to see. They waved their flags and shouted, hailing the delegates of the convention.
And Douglass was the most conspicuous figure in the line. The shout most often heard all along the way was: