Douglass spoke as one who loved and mourned a friend. And when the last word was said, men turned and walked away in silence.
“He is the noblest of them all!” Helen Pitts said to herself.
Douglass sat that night at home in his study, his head bowed in his hands. Lincoln had been struck down, his face turned toward the future; he had been struck down as he walked in the road. And they had not carried on. The nation had failed Lincoln and new chaos was upon them. “You are caught up in a rosy cloud, Douglass.”
He had been with the Senator from Massachusetts when he died. With his last breath Charles Sumner had pleaded for the Civil Rights Bill—his bill. He had died fighting for it.
Douglass had pinned his faith on the ballot. He shuddered. Armed men were now riding through the night, marking their course by whipping, shooting, maiming and mutilating men, women and children. They were entering houses by force, shooting the inmates as they fled, destroying lives and property. All because the blacks were trying to use their ballot.
The summer saw a hesitating, weak old man pleading with Congress for assistance. Congress refused, and so the soldier had no other recourse but to call out troops to enforce the Reconstruction laws. Three times the soldiers restored to power candidates who had been ousted from office by force and fraudulent elections. In retaliation, the planters in Louisiana killed Negroes and whites in cold blood. Pitched battles raged in the streets of New Orleans.
The lowest ebb of degradation was reached with the election of 1876. School histories touch that month lightly and move quickly on. The deal was made, and Rutherford B. Hayes became President of the United States.
The calm was ominous. From several sections of the dead-still South groups of grim-faced men journeyed to Washington and gathered at Frederick Douglass’ house.
“They say he will remove the soldiers. That means the end of everything for us. Only the Federal troops have held them back!”