The chairman for the evening rose and introduced Mr. Garrison first. He spoke briefly, merely to open the meeting. Everybody knew that whatever happened would be aimed at Douglass. The dark speaker came forward, and someone in the back yelled, “Sit down, nigger!” It was the signal. Through the windows came hurtling stones, bricks and pieces of Harrisburg pottery. From the back of the hall people threw stones and rotten eggs, ripe tomatoes and other missiles. Several men armed with clubs leaped for the platform. The hall had become a bedlam: shrieks, shattering glass, and shouts of “Out with the damned nigger!” “Kill him!” “Break his head!” Douglass, recalling the mob in Indiana, seized a chair and laid about him with a will. A flying stone struck him just above the eye, and a brickbat grazed his head; but no one could get near him. It turned into a free-for-all. Garrison from his place on the platform thundered denunciations and rallied the people to their own defense. Gradually, they routed the disturbers and peace was restored. One might suppose that the exhausted audience would have called it quits. But not so with this crowd which had come out to hear Frederick Douglass. Scratches and wounds and broken heads were hurriedly tended; cold cloths were applied. And finally, holding a damp handkerchief to his head to stay the flow of blood, Douglass told his story. Far down the street the would-be “nigger killers” heard the cheers. Sunday morning and afternoon they spoke at Negro churches. White people attended both times, and the meetings were unmolested. The Sunday evening crowd at the Court House was doubled. There was no trouble. “Always heared tell them nigger-loving Abolitionists was chicken-hearted!” a man in a tavern complained morosely. “It’s a damn lie!” He rubbed his aching head thoughtfully. Monday morning they left for Pittsburgh, going by train as far as Chambersburg, where they had to change to the stage. Here they were told that there had been some mistake about the tickets. The one Douglass held enabled him to go directly through on the two o’clock stage, but Garrison would have to wait until eight in the evening. Garrison told Douglas they would be expected and he might as well go ahead. The route over the Alleghenies was beautiful, but slow and difficult. The stage was crowded, and it was a melting-hot day. When they drew up at the taverns for meals, Douglass was not allowed to eat in the dining room. He was told he might eat, if he stood outside. He preferred to go hungry--for the better part of two days. On arriving at Pittsburgh the stage was met by a committee of twenty white and colored friends, with a brass band of colored men playing for all they were worth! The stage was late. It pulled in at three o’clock in the morning, but both committee and band had waited.