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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