In spite of the commission, however, Horace Greeley and Charles Sumner defeated the bill—a bitter disappointment to certain interests, but far from a knockout blow.
The “old settlers” of Rochester tendered a farewell reception to Frederick Douglass and his family when he took formal leave of the city which had been his home for thirty years. All the old-time Abolitionists who had weathered the long and bitter storm were invited. Gerrit Smith, shrunken and feeble, was there. Joy and sadness sat down together at that board. But everyone was proud of the dark man whom Rochester now acclaimed as her “most distinguished son.”
Gideon Pitts’s father, old Captain Peter Pitts, had been the first settler in the township of Richmond, so Gideon Pitts and his wife were among the sponsors of the affair.
“Those were trying days even in our quiet valley,” Pitts’s eyes twinkled. Douglass was trying to recall the grizzled face. “But we licked ’em!”
It was the chuckle that brought it all back—the house offering shelter from pursuers, his pounding on the door and the old man in his nightshirt and bare feet!
“Mr. Pitts!” He seized his hand. “Of course, it’s Mr. Pitts!” He turned to his wife, “My dear, these are the folks who took me in that night on Ridge Road. You remember?”
“Of course, I remember.” Anna smiled. “I’ve always intended to ride out some afternoon and thank you, but—” She made a little rueful gesture, and she and Mrs. Pitts began to chat. They spoke of their children, and Douglass remembered something else.
“You had a little girl—How is she?”
The father laughed proudly. “My little girl’s quite a young lady now. She’s one that knows her own mind, too—belongs to Miss Anthony’s voting society. She says that’s the next thing—votes for women!”