President Hayes spoke calmly.
“You are excited, Douglass. You have fought a good fight—and your case is won. There is no cause for further alarm. Your people are free. Now we must work for the prosperity of all the South. How can the Negro be deprived of his political or civil rights? The Fourteenth and Fifteenth Amendments are part of the Constitution. Douglass, do you lose faith in your government?”
Douglass rose slowly to his feet. There was logic and reason in the President’s words.
“I covet the best for my country—the true grandeur of justice for all,” he said. “Humbly I do pray that this United States will not lose so great a prize.”
He bowed and took his leave.
All restrictions were lifted from the South. Little by little, on one pretext or another, blacks and poor whites were disfranchised; and the North covered the ugliness with gossamer robes of nostalgic romance. The Black Codes were invoked; homeless men and women were picked up for vagrancy, chain gangs formed, and the long, long night set in.
Not all at once, of course. And that afternoon as Douglass walked away through the White House grounds, he could not be sure. The air was clean and sweet after a cleansing shower, and he decided to walk.
He swung along, hardly heeding his direction. Then he saw that he was on I Street, N.W., and, as he approached a certain building, his steps slowed. The Haitians had opened their Legation with such pomp and pride! At last the valiant little Republic had been recognized, and President Lincoln had invited them to send their ambassador. He had come, a quiet, cultured gentleman who spoke English and French with equal charm and grace. But almost immediately the Haitian Legation on I Street had closed, and Ernest Roumain moved to New York City. He had said very little, but everybody knew that Washington would not tolerate the Legation of Haiti.
Douglass sighed. He hesitated a moment. Then his face brightened. He would go and see Miss Amelia. Yes, it would do him good to talk to Miss Amelia a little while.