A strange thing was to happen. A black man
was to speak for his people, with none to interrupt him. As
Professor Washington strode to the edge of the stage, the low,
descending sun shot fiery rays through the windows into his
face. A great shout greeted him. He turned his head to avoid the
blinding light, and moved about the platform for relief. Then he
turned his wonderful countenance to the sun without a blink of
the eyelids, and began to talk.
There was a remarkable figure; tall, bony, straight as a Sioux
chief, high forehead, straight nose, heavy jaws, and strong,
determined mouth, with big white teeth, piercing eyes, and a
commanding manner. The sinews stood out on his bronzed neck, and
his muscular right arm swung high in the air, with a lead-pencil
grasped in the clinched brown fist. His big feet were planted
squarely, with the heels together and the toes turned out. His
voice range out clear and true, and he paused impressively as he
made each point. Within ten minutes the multitude was in an
uproar of enthusiasm--handkerchiefs were waved, canes were
flourished, hats were tossed in the air. The fairest women of
Georgia stood up and cheered. It was as if the orator had
bewitched them.
And when he held his dusky hand high above his head, with the
fingers stretched wide apart, and said to the white people of the
South on behalf of his race, "In all things that are purely
social we can be as separate as the fingers, yet one as the hand
in all things essential to mutual progress," the great wave of
sound
dashed itself against the walls, and the whole audience was on
its feet in a delirium of applause, and I thought at that moment
of the night when Henry Grady stood among the curling wreaths of
tobacco-smoke in Delmonico's banquet-hall and said, "I am a
Cavalier among Roundheads.
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