But there was nothing in New York like any part of New Orleans. The celebrated visitor found himself in gardens where fountains played and tiny, golden birds sipped honeysuckle, where flowering oleanders grew in huge jars and lovely ladies with sparkling eyes trailed black lace.
Into the Governor’s courtyard, with its glistening flagstones, came men for a talk with the great Douglass: Antoine Dubuclet, State Treasurer, a quiet, dark man, who had lived many years in Paris; tall and cultured P. G. Deslone, Secretary of State; Paul Trevigne, who published the New Orleans Tribune.
Trevigne was not on the best of terms with the Lieutenant-Governor. He bowed stiffly from the waist and hoped that the host would leave him and Douglass alone together. But Pinchback ordered coffee served beside the fountain, and over the thin, painted cup his eyes laughed.
“M. Trevigne does not approve of me,” he explained, turning to Douglass. “He thinks I should take life more vigorously—by the throat. I use other methods.”
Douglass, observing them, realized that here were two men of very different caliber. He marveled anew that Pinchback had been able to gain the confidence of the black people of New Orleans.
“Undoubtedly, sir,” Trevigne was saying frankly, “I understand better the more direct methods of our first Lieutenant-Governor.” He turned to Douglass. “His name was Oscar Dunn, and he was the only one of the seven colored men in the Senate two years ago who had been a slave. He was by far the most able.”
Pinchback had been in the Senate then. He studied the tray beside him and finally chose a heart-shaped pastry. He did not look up, but he said, “Oscar J. Dunn died—very suddenly.” His smile flashed. “I prefer to live.”
Trevigne frowned. He continued almost as if the Governor had not spoken.
“Oscar Dunn was responsible for opening public schools to blacks and poor whites alike.”
Douglass roused himself with a start. He looked at his watch.