In 1868 I was elected to represent El Paso county in the State Constitutional Convention, which was to meet at Austin in May of that year, to frame a constitution under which Texas might be readmitted into the Union. At the start I was opposed for that office by Major Joseph Smith, a popular Democrat, who had been honorably discharged from the United States military service at El Paso, but early in the contest I badgered him into saying that if he found a single “Nigger” in the convention, he would resign.

I then suggested to the Mexican audience that if he had that much race prejudice, he would not do to represent them. Major Smith soon saw certain defeat before him, and withdrew, and I was unanimously elected.

During April of that year, I went in a buggy, with a single companion, Hon. W. P. Bacon, Judge of our district, to San Antonio, en route to Austin, seven hundred and forty miles, in seventeen days, without change of animals (two horses). We “camped out” and did our own cooking, and traveled much at night, because marauding Indians were then abundant on that route. I arrived at Austin a total stranger to every soul in that capital. The convention had ninety delegates, only ten of whom were Democrats. There were nine colored delegates, a large contingent of carpetbaggers, and several new recruits to the Republican party, who claimed from the day of their conversion to be more “loyal” to that party than any of us. But about one-half of the body were able, representative, old-time Texans, who had taken the Union side of the secession question and had become Republicans. These were led by Gov. A. J. (“Jack”) Hamilton, a man of Southern birth, once a slave-owner, who had been from the start the most prominent, boldest and most eloquent of the Union men of Texas, if not of the whole South. He was a member of Congress in 1861, and denounced secession both there and at home, and later was appointed a brigadier general and Provisional Governor of Texas by President Lincoln, and had gained a national reputation as an orator. And now the usual thing happened. “He who surpasses or subdues mankind must look down on the hate of those below.” The small men in the convention combined to down the greatest one.

A resolution was passed the first day of the convention, without opposition, requiring all delegates to take what was then known as the “Ironclad Oath.” This would have excluded several delegates who had, in one way or another, given aid and comfort to the rebellion.

The next day, Mills of El Paso, a Republican, moved to reconsider that resolution and to admit all who had been elected by the people. He urged that we were not officers of the United States, but of Texas, and scarcely that, because we could do nothing which would bind any one. Our work would have to be approved by the people, and then by Congress, etc., etc.

Governor Hamilton came to the rescue and Mills’ motion was passed and all elected delegates were admitted. (The published records of the convention bear out the above statement.) And now the first charge was heard against Governor Hamilton, both in Texas and at Washington, that he had “sold out to the rebels.”

The opponents of Governor Hamilton had the tact to put forward, as their leader, Col. E. J. Davis, a Texas Union man, who had done good service during the war, and against whom nothing can be said except that he was inordinately ambitious, vain, vindictive, and that he was then, and for years after, surrounded and influenced by as lordly a set of unscrupulous adventurers as ever tyrannized over or wronged the people of any Southern State. He and Morgan Hamilton, a brother of Jack Hamilton, were almost the only leaders of respectability in the whole “Davis party.”

The three questions upon which the Davis Republicans and the Hamilton Republicans wrangled so long in that convention were these:

1st. Davis contended that all who had participated in the Rebellion should be disfranchised. Hamilton opposed.

2d. Davis contended that all laws passed by the Legislature during the Rebellion were null and void, ab initio.

Hamilton contended that only such laws as contravened the Constitution and laws of the United States were void.

3d. Davis contended for a division of Texas into three States, and Hamilton opposed.

(The proposition to divide Texas was finally killed on motion of the writer of these chapters, and if any Texan thinks that the State was not then in danger of being divided, let him remember old Virginia.)

Hamilton won on all three of these propositions, and a constitution was framed in accordance with his views, and submitted to the people. I quote below a report of the last day’s stormy session of this memorable convention, by Whilden, the brilliant correspondent of the Galveston News:

“Special to the Galveston News.

“Precisely at what point to begin I am in doubt. This convention, which we thought was to give civil government to Texas and to which we necessarily attached some dignity, has in the end proved itself to be a farce on the civilization of the nineteenth century. Jack Hamilton and a few others did all that genius could do to turn its purposes to legitimate ends. Partially they failed; but in that failure they left the impress of brains upon the wild waste of passion which this convention has given to the world. * * * All mortal things shall ever have an ending, and this convention is as all other mortal things.

“Strategic movements on the part of Davis and Hamilton have filled up the time. Between these two men there can be no comparison. * * *

“On last Friday night the cloud burst, and for a few moments the curse of heaven seemed to hang as a pillar of flame over the convention hall.

“Stern as Davis is, he quivered when Mills of El Paso tore from his bosom the thin gauze with which he hoped to hide the dark, selfish and damning purposes of his heart. Yes, he quivered, but it was for a while only. The devil never deserts his own for a long time at once. Davis rallied and poured the long pent-up passion of his heart upon Mills. Confusion ensued. The issue was now made. Davis was right and Mills very wrong, or Davis was wrong and Mills the Nemesis of the night. A majority of the convention agreed with Mills. But Davis has his tools. The convention had one more than a quorum. This quorum must be broken or Davis meets a Waterloo defeat. Two of Davis’ tools resigned their seats then and there. Thus was a quorum, under the standing rules, broken, and fortune for a while declared for Davis.

“But Hamilton was not thus to be defeated. He brought all his forces up against the political traitors, raised a point of order as to whether a quorum consisted of a majority of ninety members, which the convention ought to have had, had every delegate been in his seat, or of a majority of those who, at that time, were entitled to seats. Plausibility and common sense were on Hamilton’s side. Davis’ wrath was terrible. Mills must be punished. The convention could not see it through his spectacles, and he ordered the sergeant-at-arms to take Mills in custody. It was a wordy order. Davis, seeing his inevitable defeat, on his own motion, declared that the convention, as no quorum was present, stood adjourned till next day at 10 o’clock, and, with the mien of a lieutenant of his satanic majesty, left the rostrum.

“Before he had gotten half way down the aisle, Armstrong of Lamar had been elected president. Davis ordered the doorkeeper to open the doors so that members could go out. The doorkeeper refused.

“Then ensued a scene which cannot be described. Hamilton arose and spoke under all the excitement of the evening—spoke as only those can speak who are orators born—spoke until, if I had been in Davis’ place, I would have prayed that the capitol might crush upon me and hide my awful shame.”

The constitution was then adopted as a whole and this revolutionary attempt to break up the convention and prevent the reconstruction of the State and her readmission into the Union met a humiliating defeat.

The good General Canby, being then in command of the Department, approved of our course of action and submitted the constitution to the people.

Three days later, February 8, 1869, at Austin, Texas, the writer married Mary, eldest daughter of Governor A. J. Hamilton, who in this year of Grace 1900, still abides with him; but that is “another story,” which he reserves for a later chapter.