“Then we shall see, we shall see.” He turned the knob and went in.
The men stood when Lincoln entered. The well-dressed Negroes took this meeting very seriously, and looked with great interest at the man who was having the most drastic effect upon their lives.
“I believe that I have met some of you before at an earlier conference.”
“You have, Mr. President,” their leader E. M. Thomas said. “We had a most interesting discussion with you in this very same room.”
“We did indeed. As I recall your group then was less than enthusiastic about Congressional approval for the plan for Negro settlements in South America.”
Lincoln spoke without rancor, although the formation of the settlements had been a favorite of his. Then he realized that there was a newcomer in the group whom he had never seen before. A burly man with a thick growth of hair, a pointed beards — and the most concentrated and intense scowl that he had ever seen on a human face. The man pushed by the others and put out a muscular hand.
“I am Frederick Douglass, Mr. President,” he said. Shaking the man’s hand was like seizing a slab of wood.
“I of course know of you by reputation, Mr. Douglass. It is time we met.”
“Time indeed. The Reconstruction Bill that you presented to the Congress is as important as the Constitution itself. It is the first step along the road that will lead to the freedom of my people. Your stature among the Negroes, both in the North and South has never been equaled by another human being. Uncle Linkum, as the slaves call you, places you upon a pinnacle in Zion. Every other boy baby is now named Abraham in your honor.”
“Indeed…” the President said, for once at a loss for words. The others in the group murmured in agreement to Douglass’s words.
“That is why you must do more,” Douglass said with grim intensity; the murmurs of approval turned to gasps of shock. “Once you have set your foot upon the road of freedom you must walk the entire length of it. To the very end where my people must have the same rights as your people. To be free in every way, free to own their own property and free to vote in free elections.”
There was shocked silence among the listening men at the strong words addressed to the leader of the country. One of them pulled at the sleeve of Douglass’s jacket; he shrugged the man off.
Lincoln tugged at his beard, his face expressionless. “You make your views quite clear,” he finally said. “Now I suggest that we take our seats and see where this frank discussion might lead. In some of your speeches that I have read I note that you have a pretty poor opinion of this country that you want to join.”
“I do now — but that could change.”
“I surely hope so. I don’t see how a person who hates the Fourth of July can be a true American.”
If possible, Douglass’s perpetual scowl deepened. “I said that this holiday has no meaning for black Americans. Nor does it. Slavery brands your republicanism as a sham, your humanity as a base pretense, your Christianity as a lie.”
“In the slave states what you say is true. But soon slavery will be at an end.”
“It is my strongest wish to see that day. But it is my fear that the deeply prejudiced slave owners and planters will not surrender their slaves that easily. That is why we have come to meet with you this day. To bring you our aid. You must enlist the help of the former slaves to assure their own freedom. The black churches are united in the South and you must seek their cooperation. Other black organizations are also offering hope.”
Lincoln nodded. “We shall. I am also organizing a committee to oversee the enforcement of emancipation.”
“I should indeed hope so. How many Negroes will be on that committee?”
“I hadn’t considered…”
“Then consider it now!” Douglass said, jumping to his feet. “If the committee for administrating equality does not have equality then you are lost before you begin. I thereby ask you to appoint me to that committee. What say you, sir?”
“I say,” Lincoln drawled slowly, “I say that you have a very positive personality, Mr. Douglass, and a very forceful one. Some might say that your temerity borders on effrontery, but I shall not be so bold as to say that. I do not know what your career ambitions are in life, but I do say that you would make a good railroad lawyer.”
The small jest released the tension in the air; some of the group even smiled. A slight nod of Douglass’s head was more of an acknowledgment of a worthy opponent than agreement. Before he could speak again the President went on.
“I shall take your words to the committee when it is formed and tell them of my agreement with your position.”
The meeting ended on this conciliatory note. Lincoln, ever the professional politician, had neither given ground nor made any promises that could not be kept. Although he did believe that Douglass’s suggestions were for the good. The cooperation of the freed slaves was a necessity.
The flat fields on the banks of the St. Lawrence River were ideal for an encampment. The last wheat had been cut and the stubble was crisp underfoot. The air was beginning to warm up under the pale sun, but there was still a scattering of snow in the furrows from the previous night’s flurries. Winter was drawing close. The tents were quickly set up and camp made.
Private Ducrocq was leading the colonel’s horse; he joined the horse handlers from the artillery on the track down to the water. It was nice here, except for the cold it reminded him very much of the Mississippi near Baton Rouge. Even the flatboat out there on the river was much like the ones he had poled through the muddy waters at home. He looked with interest as the oarsmen turned it toward the shore as it came closer, then grounded close by the drinking horses. The solid, gray-haired man standing in the bow stepped carefully ashore. He looked around at the horses and soldiers and nodded happily.
“C’est l’armee Americaine, n’est-ce pas?” he asked.
“Oui, certainment. Etes-vous Français?” Ducrocq replied.
“Certainment pas, mon vieux! Je suis Français Canadien. Je suis id pour parler à votre officier supérieur, le Général Johnston.”
Ducrocq pointed out the officers’ tents in the field above. Louis Joseph Papineau thanked him and went up the bank. The soldier looked after him and thought what a strange accident it was to meet someone speaking French up here in the cold north so far from home. Then he laughed aloud.
Even a simple garçon from the bayous knew that there were few coincidences like this in war. French Canada was just across the river — and two regiments of French-speaking American soldiers were on this shore. And then there were the gun batteries and the heavy-laden wagons. Something very interesting was in the wind.
“Rifles,” General Johnston said, pointing into the open box. “The very newest Spencer-breech loading, repeating rifles. They fire ten shots before they have to be reloaded. They are different, of course, from muzzle-loading rifles. But not difficult to master. Our soldiers have had recent experience with them and will be happy to show your men how to use them with the greatest efficiency.”
“That will take some time, General. Unhappily most of my loyal followers come from small towns and farms and speak only French.”
“I think that you will pleased to discover that will not be a problem. Canada is not the only part of North America where French is spoken.”
“Of course! The Louisiana Purchase. You have troops from that area, around New Orleans.”
“We do.”
“I should have realized when I was answered in French by one of your soldiers. I thank you for the guns — and for your willing instructors.”
“I have also been ordered to aid you in any way that I can. The battle plan and attack will be yours, of course. But you will be fighting regular troops and I can assure you that you will need cannon to assure victory.”