Since Columbus first landed there December 6, 1492, the history of the island had been written in blood. On one side had been born the second republic in the Western Hemisphere, called Haiti. When U. S. Grant became President of the United States, Haiti had stood for sixty-six years—in spite of the fact that it was looked upon as an anomaly among nations. On the other side of the island was the weaker Santo Domingo. After declaring its independence in 1845, it had been annexed by Spain while the Civil War was keeping the United States busy. When this happened, the “Black Republic” of Haiti sought with more zeal than power to take the place of the United States as defender against aggression by a European power. Santo Domingo did manage to wrench herself from Spain in 1865, but she was far from secure. The need for military bases and coaling stations in the Caribbean was obvious to a President skilled in military tactics. Admirals and generals of many nations had looked with longing eyes on Haiti’s Môle St. Nicolas, finest harbor in the Western world. But the Haitians were in a position to hold their harbor, and meanwhile Santo Domingo’s Samoná Bay was not bad. So President Grant offered the “protection” of the powerful United States to a “weak and defenseless people, torn and rent by internal feuds and unable to maintain order at home or command respect abroad.”
But the ever-watchful Charles Sumner rose in the Senate, and for six hours his voice resounded through the chamber like the wrath of God. He set off a series of repercussions against this annexation which reverberated across the country.
Douglass, in the midst of his own perplexities, heard the echoes and defended President Grant. Men working with him, particularly labor men, stared at him in amazement.
“How can you, Douglass!” they exclaimed. “Don’t you see what this means? And how can you side against Sumner? He’s the most courageous friend the black man has in Congress!”
“I’m not against Charles Sumner. Our Senator sees this proposed annexation as a measure to extinguish a colored nation and therefore bitterly opposes it. But even a great and good man can be wrong.”
George Downing, his eyes on Douglass’ earnest, troubled face, thought to himself, How right you are!
Charles Sumner, lying on a couch in the library of his big house facing Lafayette Square, listened with closed eyes while Douglass gently remonstrated. His strength was ebbing. Every one of these supreme efforts drained him of life. Sumner was one of the few men of his day who saw that the Union could yet lose the war. He had been very close to Lincoln in the last days. He was trying to carry out the wishes of his beloved Commander in Chief. He listened to Douglass, who he knew also loved Lincoln, with a frown. He sat up impatiently, tossing aside the light shawl with a snort.
“You’re caught up in a rosy cloud, Douglass. The lovely song of emancipation still rings in your ears drowning all other sounds. You’re due for a rude awakening.” His large eyes darkened. “And I’m afraid it won’t be long in coming!”
It was several days later when Douglass, responding to an invitation from the White House, felt a chill of apprehension. The President greeted him with a blunt question.
“Now, what do you think of your friend, Sumner?” he asked bitterly.