That clause against mixed schools was a rock upon which the Radical party split, white members with children voting for separate education of races; most darkeys “didn’ want no sech claw in de law”; yet one declared he didn’t want his “chillun tuh soshate wid rebels an’ traitors nohow”; they were “as high above rebels an’ traitors ez Heaven ’bove hell!” Lindsay took occasion to wither white “Radicules” with criticism on colour distribution in the gallery. “Whar is de white Radicule members’ wives an’ chillun?” he asked, waving his hand towards the white section. “When dee comes here dee mos’ly set dar se’ves on dat side de House, whilst I brings mine on dis side,” waving towards the black, “irregardless uh how white she is!”
Hodges, of Princess Anne, was an interesting member; wore large, iron-rimmed spectacles and had a solemn, owl-like way of staring through them. One day, he gave the convention the creeps: “Dar’s a boy in dis House,” he said with awful gravity, “whar better be outen do’s. He’s done seconded a motion.” The House, following his accusing spectacles and finger, fixed its eye upon a shrivelling mulatto youth who had slipped into a member’s chair. A coloured brother took the intruder’s part. Lindsay threw himself into the breach: “Mistah Presidet, I hears de correspondence dat have passed an’ de gemmun obsarves it have been spoken.” “I seen him open his mouf an’ I seen de words come outen it!” cried Hodges. The usurper, seizing the first instant Hodges turned his head another way, fled for his life, while somebody was making motion “to bring him before the bar.”
The convention’s thorn in the side was Eustace Gibson, white member from Giles and Pulaski, who had a knack for making the convention see how ridiculous it was. Negroes were famous for rising to “pints of order”; they laughed at themselves one day when two eloquent members became entangled and fell down in a heap in the aisle and Mr. Gibson, gravely rising to a point of order, moved that it was “not parliamentary for two persons to occupy the floor at one time.” When questions of per diem arose, sable eloquence flowed like a cataract and Gibson’s wit played like lightning over the torrents. Muzzling was difficult. “Mistah Churman, ef I may be allowed tuh state de perquisition—” a member would begin and get no further before a persuasive hand on his coat-tails would reduce him to silence. Dr. Bayne’s coat-tails resisted force and appeal.
“I wants $9, I does,” he said. “But den I ain’ gwi be dissatisfied wid $8.50. Cose, I kin live widout dat half a dollar ef I choose tuh. But ef I don’ choose tuh? Anybody got anything tuh say ’gins dat? Hey? Here we is sleepin’ ’way f’om home, leavin’ our wives an’ our expenses uh bode an’ washin’. Why, whut you gwi do wid de po’ delegate dat ain’ got no expenses uh bode an’ washin’? Tell me dat? Why, you fo’ce ’em tuh steal, an’ make dar constituen’s look upon ’em as po’ narrer-minded fellers.” One member murmured plaintively: “I ain’ had no money paid me sence ’lection—” “Shew! She-ew! Shew!” his coat-tails were almost jerked off. “You gwi tell suppin you ain’ got no business!” “Mr. Churman, I adject. De line whar’s his line, an’ dat’s de line I contain fuh—” “Shew! She-ew! Set down!” “What de Bible say ’bout it?” demanded a pious brother. “De Bible it say: ‘Pay de labour’ de higher.’ Who gwi ’spute de Book?” “This debate has already cost the State $400,” Mr. Gibson interposed wearily.
They finally agreed to worry along upon $8 a day—a lower per diem than was claimed, I believe, in any other State. When the per diem question bobbed up again, State funds were running low, but motion for adjournment died when it was learned that of the $100,000 in the treasury when the convention began to sit, $30,000 remained. Retrenchment was in order, however, and the “Snographer’s” head fell. He was impeached for charging $3.33 a page for spider-legs, which he was not translating into English. Mr. Gibson showed that he had been drawing $200 a day in advance for ten days; had drawn $2,000 for the month of February, yet had not submitted work for January. The convention began to negotiate a $90,000 loan on its own note to pay itself to sit longer, when our war lord came to the front and gave opinion that it had sat long enough to do what it had been called to do, and that after ten days per diems must cease. Another hurrying process was said to be at work. Reports were abroad that the Ku Klux, having reached conclusion that Richmond had been neglected, was on the way. Solid reason for adjournment was death of the per diem; but for which the convention might have been sitting yet.
The morning of the last day, the sergeant-at-arms flung wide the door, announcing General Schofield, who, entering with Colonels Campbell, Wherry and Mallory, of his Staff, was escorted to the Speaker’s stand. He came to protest against constitutional clauses disqualifying white Virginians. He said: “You cannot find in Virginia a full number of men capable of filling office who can take the oath you have prescribed. County offices pay limited salary; even a common labourer could not afford to come from abroad for the purpose of filling them. I have no hesitation in saying that I do not believe it possible to inaugurate a government upon that basis.” It was a business man’s argument, an appeal to patriotism and common sense. It failed. When he went out, they called him “King Schofield,” and retained those clauses in the instrument which they ratified that night when the hands on the clocks of the Capitol pointed to twelve and the Midnight Constitution came to birth.
When General Schofield left in 1868 to become Secretary of War, the leading paper said: “General Schofield has been the best of all the military commandants placed over the Southern States. He has saved Virginia from much humiliation and distress that other States have suffered.” What he did for Virginia, General Gillem, General Hancock and some other commanders tried to do for districts under their command. General Stoneman, who succeeded General Schofield, also fought the test-oath clauses.
When our Committee of Nine went to Washington to protest against those clauses, General Schofield appeared with them before President-elect Grant and one of General Grant’s first acts as President was to arrange with Congress that Virginia should have the privilege of voting upon those clauses and the constitution separately, and that other States should have like privileges in regard to similar clauses in their constitutions.
Every American should study the history in detail of each Southern State during the period of which I write. He should acquaint himself at first hand with the attitude of the South when the war closed, and in this connection I particularly refer my reader to the address Governor Allen delivered to the people of Louisiana before going to Mexico, where he died in exile; and to the addresses of Perry, of South Carolina, and Throckmorton, of Texas.[19] He should compare the character and costs of the first legislatures and conventions assembling and the character and costs of the mongrel bodies succeeding them. He will then take himself in hand and resolve never to follow blindly the leadership of any party, nor attempt to put in practice in another man’s home the abstract theories of speculative humanitarians.