Helen tried to applaud louder than anybody else. She would have liked to stand and tell them that her home was in Rochester, that she had been one of the youngest members of Susan B. Anthony’s own club. But the women did not spend their time exchanging compliments. Helen voted for or against resolution after resolution; she was placed on one committee.
Lincoln Hall was packed for the big open session on Saturday afternoon. Many came just to hear the big speakers, but the women were happy because they were creating a real stir in Washington. They devoutly hoped it would be felt throughout the country.
A shiver of anticipation went through the crowd at the appearance of Robert Ingersoll.
“He’s like a Greek god,” a woman seated beside Helen moaned. “Any man as handsome as that is bound to be wicked!”
An outstanding editor had written at great length on how laws in the United States favored women. Word by word and line by line Ingersoll, the lawyer, cut the ground from underneath the editor’s feet. Skilfully he analyzed the many laws upon the statute books which bound women and their children to the petty whims and humors of men.
“But these laws will not change until you change them,” he told them. “Justice and freedom do not rain like manna from heaven upon outstretched hands. We men will not give you the ballot. You must take it!”
The secretaries rustled papers nervously. The chairman glanced at her watch. There was a hitch in the program, but the audience did not mind a little breathing spell. The side door up front opened, and Frederick Douglass entered as quietly as possible. He looked like a huge bear. He was covered with snow which clung even to his beard and hair. With some assistance he hurriedly removed this overcoat and rubbers. After wiping his face and hair with his big handkerchief, he mounted the steps to the platform.
Instantly the crowd burst into applause which continued while Susan B. Anthony took his hand and Mr. Ingersoll, leaning forward in his seat, greeted him warmly. When Douglass sat down facing the audience his broad shoulders sagged a little, and Helen fancied he closed his eyes for a moment as he rested his hands on his knees. She had not heard him since the close of the war. The touch of gray in his hair heightened his air of distinction, but she had not before noticed how his cheekbones showed above the beard. Perhaps his face was thinner.
To this convention Douglass was the very symbol of their strivings. He was one of the first to see that woman’s suffrage and Negro citizenship were the same fight. He had appeared with Susan B. Anthony in her early meetings at Syracuse and Rochester. Now slavery was abolished and here he was still standing at her side.
Few in the big hall heard the effort in Frederick Douglass’ voice that afternoon. They heard his words. But behind him Robert Ingersoll’s mouth tightened and a little frown came on his face. What can I do to help? he wondered.