The Black and Tan Convention: The “Midnight Constitution”

The Black and Tan Convention met December 3, 1867, in our venerable and historic Capitol to frame a new constitution for the Old Dominion. In this body were members from New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Maine, Vermont, Connecticut, Maryland, District of Columbia, Ireland, Scotland, Nova Scotia, Canada, England; scalawags, or turn-coats, by Southerners most hated of all; twenty-four negroes; and in the total of 105, thirty-five white Virginians, from counties of excess white population, who might be considered representative of the State’s culture and intelligence. It was officered by foreigners and negroes; John C. Underwood, of New York, being President.

Capitol Square was garlanded with tables and stands; and the season was one of joy to black and yellow vendors of ginger-cakes, goobers, lemonade, and cheap whiskey. Early ornaments of the Capitol steps were ebony law-makers sporting tall silk hats, gold-headed canes, broadcloth suits, the coat always Prince Albert. Throughout the South this was the uniform of sable dignitaries as soon as emoluments permitted. The funny sayings and doings of negroes, sitting for the first time in legislative halls, were rehearsed in conversation and reported in papers; visitors went to the Capitol as to a monkey or minstrel show. Most of these darkeys, fresh from tobacco lots and corn and cotton fields, were as innocent as babes of any knowledge of reading and writing.They were equally guileless in other directions. Before the body was organised, an enthusiastic delegate bounced up to say something, but the Chair nipped him untimely in the bud: “No motion is in order until roll is called. Gentlemen will please remember parliamentary usage.” The member sank limp into his seat, asking in awed whisper of his neighbour: “Whut in de worl’ is dat?” Perplexity was great when a member rose to “make an inquiry.” “Whut’s dat?” “Whut dat he gwi make?” was whispered round, the question being settled summarily: “Well, it don’ make no diffunce. We ain’ gwi let him do it nohow case he ain’ no Radicule.” White constituents soon tried to muzzle black orators. Word was passed that white “Radicules” would talk and black members keep silent and vote as they were bid. “Shew! She-ew!” “Set down!” “Shut the door!” were household words, the last ejaculation coming into request when scraps seemed imminent and members wanted the sergeant-at-arms to take each other, yet preferred that the public should not be witness to these little family jars.

Black, white, and yellow pages flew around, waiting on members; the blacker the dignitary, the whiter the page he summoned to bring pens, ink, paper, apples, ginger-cakes, goober-peas. And newspapers. No sooner did darkeys observe that whites sent out and got newspapers than they did likewise; and sat there reading them upside down.

The gallery of coloured men and women come to see the show were almost as diverting as the law-makers. Great were the flutterings over the seating of John Morrissey, the “Wild Irishman,” mistaken for his namesake, the New York pugilist. “Dat ain’t de man dat fit Tom Higher?” “I tell you it am!” “Sho got muscle!” “He come tuh fit dem Preservatives over dar.” According to the happy darkey knack of saying the wrong thing in the right place, a significant version of “Conservative” was thus applied to the little handful of representative white Virginians. Great, too, were the flutterings when Governor “Plowpint” (so darkeys pronounced Pierpont) paid his visit of ceremony; and when General Schofield and aide marched in in war-paint and feathers: the Chair waved the gavel and the convention rose to its feet to receive the distinguished guests. The war lord was to pay another and less welcome visit. The piety of neither gallery nor convention could be questioned if the fervor and frequency of “Amens!” interrupting the petitions of the Chaplain (from Illinois) were an indication; Dr. Bayne, of Norfolk, so raised his voice above the rest that his colleagues became concerned lest that seaport were claiming for herself more than just proportion of religious zeal.

Curiosity was on tip-toe when motion was made that a stenographer be appointed. “‘Snographer?’ What’s dat?” “Maybe it’s de pusson whut takes down de speeches befo’ dee’s spoken,” explains a wise one. The riddle was partly solved when a spruce, foreign individual of white complexion rose and walked to the desk, vacated in his favour by a gentleman of colour. “Dar he! dat’s him!” “War’s good close, anyhow!” was pronounced of the new official; then the retired claimed sympathy: “Whut he done?” “Whut dee tu’n him out fuh?” “Ain’t dee gwi give niggers nothin’?” “Muzzling” was not yet begun; this occasion for eloquence was not to be ignored by the Honourable Lewis Lindsay, representing Richmond: “Mistah Presidet, I hopes in dis late hour dat Ole Fuhginny am imperilated, dat no free-thinkin’ man kin suppose fuh one minute dat we ’sires tuh misrippersint de idee dat we ain’ qualify de sability uh de sternogphy uh dis convention. I hopes, suh, dat we kin den be able tuh superhen’ de principles uh de supposition.”

Lindsay would always rise to an occasion if his coat-tails were not pulled too hard. Fortunately, his matchless oration on the mixed school question was not among gems lost to the world: “Mistah Presidet, de real flatform, suh. I’ll sw’ar tuh high Heaven. Yes, I’ll sw’ar higher dan dat. I’ll go down an’ de uth shall crumble intuh dus’ befo’ dee shall amalgamise my rights. ’Bout dis question uh cyarpet-bags. Ef you cyarpet-baggers does go back on us, woes be unto you! You better take yo’ cyarpet-bags an’ quit, an’ de quicker you git up an’ git de better. I do not abdicate de supperstition tuh dese strange frien’s, lately so-called citizens uh Fuhginny. Ef dee don’ gimme my rights, I’ll suffer dis country tuh be lak Sarah. I’ll suffer desterlation fus! When I blows my horn dee’ll hear it! When de big cannons was thund’in, an’ de missions uh death was flyin’ thu de a’r, dee hollered: ‘Come, Mr. Nigguh, come!’ an’ he done come! I’se here tuh qualify my constituents. I’ll sing tuh Rome an’ tuh Englan’ an’ tuh de uttermos’ parts uh de uth—” “You must address yourself to the Chair,” said that functionary, ready to faint. “All right, suh. I’ll not ’sire tuh maintain de House any longer.”

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.

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