One of the Indian boys was taken ill, and it became my
duty to take him to Washington, deliver him over to the Secretary
of the Interior, and get a receipt for him, in order that he
might be returned to his Western reservation. At that time I was
rather ignorant of the ways of the world. During my journey to
Washington, on a steamboat, when the bell rang for dinner, I was
careful to wait and not enter the dining room until after the
greater part of the passengers had finished their meal. Then,
with my charge, I went to the dining saloon. The man in charge
politely informed me that the Indian could be served, but that I
could not. I never could understand how he knew just where to
draw the colour line, since the Indian and I were of about the
same complexion. The steward, however, seemed to be an expert in
this manner. I had been directed by the authorities at Hampton to
stop at a certain hotel in Washington with my charge, but when I
went to this hotel the clerk stated that he would be glad to
receive the Indian into the house, but said that he could not
accommodate me.
An illustration of something of this same feeling came under my
observation afterward. I happened to find myself in a town in
which so much excitement and indignation were being expressed
that it seemed likely for a time that there would be a lynching.
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