“What, gentlemen, would you gain by this exclusion? Would not the charge of cowardice, certain to be brought against you, prove more damaging than that of amalgamation? Would you not be branded all over the land as dastardly hypocrites, professing principles which you have no wish or intention of carrying out? As a matter of policy or expediency, you will be wise to let me in. Everybody knows that I have been fairly elected by the city of Rochester as a delegate. The fact has been broadly announced and commented upon all over the country. If I am not admitted, the public will ask, ‘Where is Douglass? Why is he not seen in the convention?’ And you would find that enquiry more difficult to answer than any charge brought against you for favoring political or social equality.” He paused. No one moved. Their faces remained hard and unconvinced. Douglass sighed. Then his face also hardened. He stood up. “Well, ignoring the question of policy altogether, I am bound to go into that convention. Not to do so would contradict the principle and practice of my life.” They left then. The charming gentleman from New Orleans did not bother to bow. No more was said about the matter. Frederick Douglass was not excluded, but throughout the first morning session it was evident that he was to be ignored. That afternoon a procession had been planned to start from Independence Hall. Flags and banners lined the way and crowds filled the streets. Douglass reached the starting point in good time. “Almost everybody on the ground whom I met seemed to be ashamed or afraid of me. I had been warned that I should not be allowed to walk through the city in the procession; fears had been expressed that my presence in it would so shock the prejudices of the people of Philadelphia as to cause the procession to be mobbed.” The delegates were to walk two abreast. Douglass stood waiting, grimly determined to march alone. But shortly before the signal to start Theodore Tilton, young poet-editor of the _New York Independent_ and the _Brooklyn Worker_, came hurrying in his direction. His straw-colored hair was rumpled and his face flushed. “This way, Mr. Douglass! I’ve been looking for you.” He grinned as he seized Douglass’ arm and with him pushed well up toward the head of the procession. There they took a place in the line. Tilton gayly ignored the sour faces around them. “All set, captain, we’re ready to march!” he called. Douglass tried to murmur something to express his appreciation, but the writer winked at him. “Watch and see what happens!” he chuckled. The band struck up and the line began to move. Someone on the sidewalk pointed to the sweeping mane of Douglass’ head and shouted, “Douglass! There’s Frederick Douglass!” They began to cheer. The cheering was heard by those farther down the street, and heads craned forward. People leaned out of windows overhead to see. They waved their flags and shouted, hailing the delegates of the convention.