“Is there nothing? Nothing you can cling to?” Douglass sought for one hope.
“There might have been had we cemented ties with Northern labor. They are just as intent on crushing the white worker.” The black man’s eyes on Douglass’ face accused him. He had been a delegate to the Louisiana convention. And that was where the Negro labor union died!
“How bitter knowledge is that comes too late!” Douglass acknowledged his mistake with these words. The man from South Carolina spoke.
“They’ll say we lost the ballot because we did not know how to use it.”
“It is a lie—we could not do the things we knew to do!”
“The measures you have passed? Reforms?” Douglass searched the drawn faces.
“They’ll all be swept away—”
“Like so much trash!”
“Go to the new President,” they urged. “You cannot be accused of seeking favors. Go and tell him the truth. Plead with him to leave us this protection a little longer.”
“A little longer, they ask a little more time, Mr. Hayes.” Douglass was in the White House, begging understanding for his people’s need. He leaned forward, trying to read the face of the man who held so much of their destiny in his hands.