University of Virginia Library

45. CHAPTER XLV.

THE galleries of the House were packed, on the momentous
day, not because the reporting of an important bill back
by a committee was a thing to be excited about, if the bill
were going to take the ordinary course afterward; it would
be like getting excited over the empaneling of a coroner's
jury in a murder case, instead of saving up one's emotions
for the grander occasion of the hanging of the accused, two
years later, after all the tedious forms of law had been gone
through with.

But suppose you understand that this coroner's jury
is going to turn out to be a vigilance committee in disguise,
who will hear testimony for an hour and then hang the murderer
on the spot? That puts a different aspect upon the
matter. Now it was whispered that the legitimate forms of
procedure usual in the House, and which keep a bill hanging
along for days and even weeks, before it is finally passed
upon, were going to be overruled, in this case, and short work
made of the measure; and so, what was beginning as a mere
inquest might turn out to be something very different.

In the course of the day's business the Order of “Reports
of Committees” was finally reached and when the weary
crowds heard that glad announcement issue from the Speaker's
lips they ceased to fret at the dragging delay, and plucked up
spirit. The Chairman of the Committee on Benevolent

Appropriations rose and made his report, and just then a blue-uniformed
brass-mounted little page put a note into his hand.
It was from Senator Dilworthy, who had appeared upon the
floor of the House for a moment and flitted away again:

“Dilworthy.

Mr. Buckstone had reported the bills from his committee,
one by one, leaving the bill to the last. When the House
had voted upon the acceptance or rejection of the report
upon all but it, and the question now being upon its disposal—

Mr. Buckstone begged that the House would give its attention
to a few remarks which he desired to make. His committee
had instructed him to report the bill favorably; he

wished to explain the nature of the measure, and thus justify
the committee's action; the hostility roused by the press
would then disappear, and the bill would shine forth in its
true and noble character. He said that its provisions were
simple. It incorporated the Knobs Industrial University,
locating it in East Tennessee, declaring it open to all persons
without distinction of sex, color or religion, and committing
its management to a board of perpetual trustees, with power
to fill vacancies in their own number. It provided for the
erection of certain buildings for the University, dormitories,
lecture-halls, museums, libraries, labratories, work-shops, furnaces,
and mills. It provided also for the purchase of sixty-five
thousand acres of land, (fully described) for the purposes
of the University, in the Knobs of East Tennessee. And it
appropriated [blank] dollars for the purchase of the Land,
which should be the property of the national trustees in trust
for the uses named.

Every effort had been made to secure the refusal of the
whole amount of the property of the Hawkins heirs in the
Knobs, some seventy-five thousand acres Mr. Buckstone said.
But Mr. Washington Hawkins (one of the heirs) objected.
He was, indeed, very reluctant to sell any part of the land at
any price; and indeed this reluctance was justifiable when
one considers how constantly and how greatly the property
is rising in value.

What the South needed, continued Mr. Buckstone, was
skilled labor. Without that it would be unable to develop
its mines, build its roads, work to advantage and without
great waste its fruitful land, establish manufactures or enter
upon a prosperous industrial career. Its laborers were
almost altogether unskilled. Change them into intelligent,
trained workmen, and you increased at once the capital, the
resources of the entire south, which would enter upon a
prosperity hitherto unknown. In five years the increase in
local wealth would not only reimburse the government for the
outlay in this appropriation, but pour untold wealth into the
treasury

This was the material view, and the least important in the
honorable gentleman's opinion. [Here he referred to some
notes furnished him by Senator Dilworthy, and then continued.]
God had given us the care of these colored millions.
What account should we render to Him of our stewardship?
We had made them free. Should we leave them ignorant?
We had cast them upon their own resources. Should we
leave them without tools? We could not tell what the intentions
of Providence are in regard to these peculiar people, but
our duty was plain. The Knobs Industrial University would
be a vast school of modern science and practice, worthy of a
great nation. It would combine the advantages of Zurich,
Freiburg, Creuzot and the Sheffield Scientific. Providence
had apparently reserved and set apart the Knobs of East
Tennessee for this purpose. What else were they for? Was
it not wonderful that for more than thirty years, over a generation,
the choicest portion of them had remained in one
family, untouched, as if consecrated for some great use!

It might be asked why the government should buy this
land, when it had millions of acres, more than the railroad
companies desired, which it might devote to this purpose?
He answered, that the government had no such tract of land
as this. It had nothing comparable to it for the purposes of
the University. This was to be a school of mining, of engineering,
of the working of metals, of chemistry, zoology,
botany, manufactures, agriculture, in short of all the complicated
industries that make a state great. There was no
place for the location of such a school like the Knobs of East
Tennessee. The hills abounded in metals of all sorts, iron in
all its combinations, copper, bismuth, gold and silver in small
quantities, platinum he believed, tin, aluminium; it was covered
with forests and strange plants; in the woods were found the
coon, the opossum, the fox, the deer and many other animals
who roamed in the domain of natural history; coal existed in
enormous quantity and no doubt oil; it was such a place for
the practice of agricultural experiments that any student who

had been successful there would have an easy task in any
other portion of the country.

No place offered equal facilities for experiments in mining,
metallurgy, engineering. He expected to live to see the
day when the youth of the south would resort to its mines,
its workshops, its labratories, its furnaces and factories for
practical instruction in all the great industrial pursuits.

A noisy and rather ill-natured debate followed, now, and
lasted hour after hour. The friends of the bill were instructed
by the leaders to make no effort to check this; it was
deemed better strategy to tire out the opposition; it was decided
to vote down every proposition to adjourn, and so continue
the sitting into the night; opponents might desert, then,
one by one and weaken their party, for they had no personal
stake in the bill.

Sunset came, and still the fight went on; the gas was lit,
the crowd in the galleries began to thin, but the contest continued;
the crowd returned, by and by, with hunger and
thirst appeased, and aggravated the hungry and thirsty House
by looking contented and comfortable; but still the wrangle
lost nothing of its bitterness. Recesses were moved plaintively
by the opposition, and invariably voted down by the
University army.

At midnight the House presented a spectacle calculated to
interest a stranger. The great galleries were still thronged
—though only with men, now; the bright colors that had
made them look like hanging gardens were gone, with the
ladies. The reporters' gallery was merely occupied by one or
two watchful sentinels of the quill-driving guild; the main
body cared nothing for a debate that had dwindled to a mere
vaporing of dull speakers and now and then a brief quarrel
over a point of order; but there was an unusually large
attendance of journalists in the reporters' waiting-room, chatting,
smoking, and keeping on the qui vive for the general
irruption of the Congressional volcano that must come when
the time was ripe for it. Senator Dilworthy and Philip were
in the Diplomatic Gallery; Washington sat in the public gallery,
and Col. Sellers was not far away. The Colonel had
been flying about the corridors and button-holing Congressmen
all the evening, and believed that he had accomplished a
world of valuable service; but fatigue was telling upon him,
now, and he was quiet and speechless—for once. Below, a
few Senators lounged upon the sofas set apart for visitors,
and talked with idle Congressmen. A dreary member was
speaking; the presiding officer was nodding; here and there
little knots of members stood in the aisles, whispering together;
all about the House others sat in all the various attitudes
that express weariness; some, tilted back, had one or
more legs disposed upon their desks; some sharpened pencils
indolently; some scribbled aimlessly; some yawned and
stretched; a great many lay upon their breasts upon the
desks, sound asleep and gently snoring. The flooding gaslight
from the fancifully wrought roof poured down upon
the tranquil scene. Hardly a sound disturbed the stillness,
save the monotonous eloquence of the gentleman who occupied
the floor. Now and then a warrior of the opposition
broke down under the pressure, gave it up and went home.

Mr. Buckstone began to think it might be safe, now, to
“proceed to business.” He consulted with Trollop and one
or two others. Senator Dilworthy descended to the floor of

the House and they went to meet him. After a brief comparison
of notes, the Congressmen sought their seats and sent
pages about the House with messages to friends. These latter
instantly roused up, yawned, and began to look alert.
The moment the floor was unoccupied, Mr. Buckstone rose,
with an injured look, and said it was evident that the opponents
of the bill were merely talking against time, hoping in
this unbecoming way to tire out the friends of the measure
and so defeat it. Such conduct might be respectable enough
in a village debating society, but it was trivial among statesmen,
it was out of place in so august an assemblage as the
House of Representatives of the United States. The friends
of the bill had been not only willing that its opponents should
express their opinions, but had strongly desired it. They
courted the fullest and freest discussion; but it seemed to
him that this fairness was but illy appreciated, since gentlemen
were capable of taking advantage of it for selfish and
unworthy ends. This trifling had gone far enough. He
called for the question.

The instant Mr. Buckstone sat down, the storm burst forth.
A dozen gentlemen sprang to their feet.

“Mr. Speaker!”

“Mr. Speaker!”

“Mr. Speaker!”

“Order! Order! Order! Question! Question!”

The sharp blows of the Speaker's gavel rose above the din.

The “previous question,” that hated gag, was moved and
carried. All debate came to a sudden end, of course.
Triumph No. 1.

Then the vote was taken on the adoption of the report and
it carried by a surprising majority.

Mr. Buckstone got the floor again and moved that the rules
be suspended and the bill read a first time.

Mr. Trollop—“Second the motion!”

The Speaker—“It is moved and—”

Clamor of Voices. “Move we adjourn! Second the
motion! Adjourn! Adjourn! Order! Order!”

The Speaker, (after using his gavel vigorously)—“It is
moved and seconded that the House do now adjourn. All
those in favor—”

Voices—“Division! Division! Ayes and nays! Ayes
and nays!”

It was decided to vote upon the adjournment by ayes and
nays. This was war in earnest. The excitement was furious.
The galleries were in commotion in an instant, the reporters
swarmed to their places, idling members of the House flocked
to their seats, nervous gentlemen sprang to their feet, pages
flew hither and thiether, life and animation were visible everywhere,
all the long ranks of faces in the building were
kindled.

“This thing decides it!” thought Mr. Buckstone; “but
let the fight proceed.”

The voting began, and every sound ceased but the calling
of the names and the “Aye!” “No!” “No!” “Aye!”
of the responses. There was not a movement in the House;
the people seemed to hold their breath.

The voting ceased, and then there was an interval of dead
silence while the clerk made up his count. There was a two-thirds
vote on the University side—and two over!

The Speaker—“The rules are suspended, the motion is
carried—first reading of the bill!”

By one impulse the galleries broke forth into stormy
applause, and even some of the members of the House were
not wholly able to restrain their feelings. The Speaker's
gavel came to the rescue and his clear voice followed:

“Order, gentlemen! The House will come to order! If
spectators offend again, the Sergeant-at-arms will clear the
galleries!”

Then he cast his eyes aloft and gazed at some object attentively
for a moment. All eyes followed the direction of the
Speaker's, and then there was a general titter. The Speaker
said:

“Let the Sergeant-at Arms inform the gentleman that his
conduct is an infringement of the dignity of the House—and

one which is not warranted by the state of the weather.”

Poor Sellers was the culprit. He sat in the front seat of
the gallery, with his arms and his tired body overflowing the
balustrade—sound asleep, dead to all excitements, all disturbances.
The fluctuations of the Washington weather had
influenced his dreams, perhaps, for during the recent tempest
of applause he had hoisted his gingham umbrella and calmly
gone on with his slumbers. Washington Hawkins had seen
the act, but was not near enough at hand to save his friend,
and no one who was near enough desired to spoil the effect.
But a neighbor stirred up the Colonel, now that the House
had its eye upon him, and the great speculator furled his tent
like the Arab. He said:

“Bless my soul, I'm so absent-minded when I get to thinking!
I never wear an umbrella in the house—did anybody
notice it? What—asleep? Indeed? And did you wake
me sir? Thank you—thank you very much indeed. It
might have fallen out of my hands and been injured. Admirble
article, sir—present from a friend in Hong Kong; one
doesn't come across silk like that in this country—it's the real
Young Hyson, I'm told.”

By this time the incident was forgotten, for the House was
at war again. Victory was almost in sight, now, and the
friends of the bill threw themselves into their work with
enthusiasm. They soon moved and carried its second reading,
and after a strong, sharp fight, carried a motion to go
into Committee of the whole. The Speaker left his place,
of course, and a chairman was appointed.

Now the contest raged hotter than ever—for the authority
that comples order when the House sits as a House, is greatly
diminished when it sits as a Committee. The main fight
came upon the filling of the blanks with the sum to be appropriated
for the purchase of the land, of course.

Mr. Buckstone—“Mr. Chairman, I move you, sir, that the
words three millions of be inserted.”

Mr. Hadley—“Mr. Chairman, I move that the words two
and a half dollars be inserted.”

Mr. Clawson—“Mr. Chairman, I move the insertion of
the words five and twenty cents, as representing the true
value of this barren and isolated tract of desolation.”

The question, according to rule, was taken upon the smallest
sum first. It was lost.

Then upon the next smallest sum. Lost, also.

And then upon the three millions. After a vigorons battle
that lasted a considerable time, this motion was carried.

Then, clause by clause the bill was read, discussed, and
amended in trifling particulars, and now the Committee rose
and reported.

The moment the House had resumed its functions and received
the report, Mr. Buckstone moved and carried the third
reading of the bill.

The same bitter war over the sum to be paid was fought
over again, and now that the ayes and nays could be called
and placed on record, every man was compelled to vote by
name on the three millions, and indeed on every paragraph
of the bill from the enacting clause straight through. But as
before, the friends of the measure stood firm and voted in a
solid body every time, and so did its enemies.

The supreme moment was come, now, but so sure was the
result that not even a voice was raised to interpose an adjournment.
The enemy were totally demoralized. The bill
was put upon its final passage almost without dissent, and
the calling of the ayes and nays began. When it was ended
the triumph was complete—the two-thirds vote held good,
and a veto was impossible, as far as the House was concerned!

Mr. Buckstone resolved that now that the nail was driven
home, he would clinch it on the other side and make it stay
forever. He moved a reconsideration of the vote by which
the bill had passed. The motion was lost, of course, and the
great Industrial University act was an accomplished fact as
far as it was in the power of the House of Representatives to
make it so.

There was no need to move an adjournment. The instant

the last motion was decided, the enemies of the University
rose and flocked out of the Hall, talking angrily, and its
friends flocked after them jubilant and congratulatory. The
galleries disgorged their burden, and presently the House
was silent and deserted.

When Col. Sellers and Washington stepped out of the
building they were surprised to find that the daylight was
old and the sun well up. Said the Colonel:

“Give me your hand, my boy! You're all right at last!
You're a millionaire! At least you're going to be. The
thing is dead sure. Don't you bother about the Senate.
Leave me and Dilworthy to take care of that. Run along
home, now, and tell Laura. Lord, it's magnificent news—
perfectly magnificent! Run, now. I'll telegraph my wife.
She must come here and help me build a house. Everything's
all right now!”

Washington was so dazed by his good fortune and so bewildered
by the gaudy pageant of dreams that was already

trailing its long ranks through his brain, that he wandered
he knew not where, and so loitered by the way that when at
last he reached home he woke to a sudden annoyance in the
fact that his news must be old to Laura, now, for of course
Senator Dilworthy must have already been home and told
her an hour before. He knocked at her door, but there was
no answer.

“That is like the Duchess,” said he. “Always cool. A
body can't excite her—can't keep her excited, anyway. Now
she has gone off to sleep again, as comfortably as if she were
used to picking up a million dollars every day or two.”

Then he went to bed. But he could not sleep; so he got
up and wrote a long, rapturous letter to Louise, and another
to his mother. And he closed both to much the same effect: