Walks about Washington

by Francis E. Leupp

This scene occurred in the old Hall of Representatives. The most dramatic scene ever witnessed in the present hall was one which attended the opening of the Fifty-first Congress, when the Republicans, who had only an infinitesimal majority, had organized the House with Thomas B. Reed as Speaker. Reed, who was a large, blond man with a Shakespearian head and a high-pitched drawl, signalized his entrance upon his new duties by announcing his purpose to preside over a lawmaking rather than a do-nothing body. For several successive Congresses the House had found itself crippled in its attempts to transact business by the dilatory tactics of whichever party happened to be in the minority. Day after day, even in a congested season, would be wasted in roll-calls necessitated by some one’s raising the point of “no quorum,” although everybody knew that a quorum was present, and that its apparent absence was deliberately caused by the refusal of members of the opposition to answer to their names. Reed had bent his mind to breaking up this practice.

Early in his Speakership a motion to take up a contested election case was put to vote, and a roll-call demanded as usual by the minority. As the House was then constituted, one hundred and sixty-six members were necessary to a quorum, and four Republicans were unavoidably absent. Following the old tactics, nearly all the Democrats abstained from voting; but, as the call proceeded, Reed was observed making notes on a sheet of paper which lay on his table. At the close, he rose and announced the vote: yeas 162, nays 3, not voting 163. Mr. Crisp of Georgia at once raised the point of no quorum. Reed ignored it, and, lifting his memorandum, began, in measured tones and with no trace of excitement or weakness:

“The Chair directs the Clerk to record the following names of members present and refusing to vote—”

And then Bedlam broke loose. The Republicans applauded, and howls and yells arose from the Democratic side. Above the din could be heard the voice of Crisp: “I appeal from the decision of the Chair!” But the Speaker, not having finished his statement, kept right on, oblivious of the turmoil:

“Mr. Blanchard, Mr. Bland, Mr. Blount, Mr. Breckinridge of Arkansas, Mr. Breckinridge of Kentucky—”

The Democrats generally had seemed stunned by the boldness of this move; but the Kentucky Breckinridge, at the mention of his name, rushed down the aisle, brandishing his fist and shaking his head so that its straight white hair stood out from it. His face was aflame with anger, and his voice quite beyond his control, as he shrieked: “I deny the power of the Speaker—this is revolutionary!” The other Democrats, inspired by his example and recovering from their stupefaction, poured into the center aisle. They bore down in a mass upon the Speaker’s dais, gesticulating wildly and all shouting at once, so that nothing could be understood from the babel of voices save their desire to express their scorn for the Speaker and their defiance of his authority. The Republicans sat quiet, making no demonstration, but obviously prepared to rush in if the trouble took on a more violent form. The Speaker stood apparently unruffled, not even changing color, and only those who were near enough to see every line in his face were aware of that slight twitching of the muscles of his mouth which always indicated that his outward composure was not due to insensibility.

So furious was the clamor that he was compelled to desist from his reading for a moment, while he pounded with his gavel to command order on the floor. Then, as the remonstrants fell back a little, his nasal tone was heard again, still reciting that momentous list:

“Mr. Brookshire, Mr. Bullock, Mr. Bynum, Mr. Carlisle—”

And so on down the roll, one member after another jumping up when he heard his name called, but subsiding as the Speaker went imperturbably ahead, much as might a schoolmaster with a roomful of refractory pupils. Presently came the opportunity he had been waiting for. Mr. McCreary of Kentucky, a very dignified, decorous-mannered gentleman on ordinary occasions, had shown by his change of countenance and color that he was repressing his emotions with difficulty; and, resolved not to be ridden over ruthlessly as the rest had been, he had risen in his place and stood there, holding before him an open book and waiting to hear his name. The instant it was read out, he raised his disengaged hand and shouted: “Mr. Speaker!”

To every one’s astonishment, the Speaker paused, turning a look of inquiry toward the interrupter, while the House held its breath.