The Civil War ended almost two years before a dust-up about it blew into the Idaho Territorial Legislature. This battle-come-lately started out over money. Idaho’s finances in 1867 were in poor shape thanks to mismanagement and malfeasance by a string of federal officials appointed to oversee the territory. So the Legislature decided to cut the salaries of Territorial Governor David Ballard and Territorial Secretary Solomon R. Howlett.
Governor Ballard thought the salary cuts were fair but insisted that the legislators also take a pay cut. They were unhappy with that quid pro quo. Their displeasure grew to the boiling point when the US Secretary of the Treasury Hugh McCulloch insisted that Idaho legislators sign an oath of allegiance to the country to get paid at all. They were to attest that they had never countenanced, nor encouraged, the South during the Civil War.
Most of the legislators were Democrats, many of whom had favored the Confederacy. Secretary Howlett tried to explain things to a joint session of the Legislature on a Friday afternoon. As the Idaho Statesman at the time termed it, “both houses were well described to be a paroxysm of rage.”
The threats of personal violence against the man were so fierce he felt the need for an Army officer to escort him to breakfast on Saturday. That afternoon about 25 of the Legislators dropped by the Secretary’s office to have a chat. Threats flew once again. The more level-headed of the crowd agreed to give Howlett until half-past two to consult with his attorneys before hearing his final answer on the matter.
In—let’s say “discussions”—carried on between lawmakers before the appointed hour, one lawmaker beat another over the head with a revolver to make a point, the essence of which is lost to history.
“Mr. Abbott” jumped on top of a table and shouted for order, saying, “Are we a riotous mob? Or are we sensible men met here peaceably to consult together?”
One could reasonably look at their behavior for a possible answer. During the Friday and Saturday sessions, much of the furniture in the meeting hall was destroyed or carried away. Lamps were thrown out of windows.
When Secretary Howlett returned to his office after consulting with his attorneys, he did not return alone. A squad of infantry lined up in front of the hall. This set off even more protest inside.
Still refusing to pay the men, Howlett heard shouts of “skin him!” and “shake it out of him!” He was now determined not to pay those who had not signed the oath in the days before, even if they reluctantly agreed to sign it now. The crowd lunged for the Secretary with murder in the men’s eyes at one point.
Perhaps that negotiating tactic worked. Howlett agreed to let the men sign the oath and get their pay when the temperature cooled a degree or two.
Had the men held out a couple more days, they could have avoided signing the hated oath. The United States Supreme Court declared it unconstitutional two days after they signed it.
Governor Ballard thought the salary cuts were fair but insisted that the legislators also take a pay cut. They were unhappy with that quid pro quo. Their displeasure grew to the boiling point when the US Secretary of the Treasury Hugh McCulloch insisted that Idaho legislators sign an oath of allegiance to the country to get paid at all. They were to attest that they had never countenanced, nor encouraged, the South during the Civil War.
Most of the legislators were Democrats, many of whom had favored the Confederacy. Secretary Howlett tried to explain things to a joint session of the Legislature on a Friday afternoon. As the Idaho Statesman at the time termed it, “both houses were well described to be a paroxysm of rage.”
The threats of personal violence against the man were so fierce he felt the need for an Army officer to escort him to breakfast on Saturday. That afternoon about 25 of the Legislators dropped by the Secretary’s office to have a chat. Threats flew once again. The more level-headed of the crowd agreed to give Howlett until half-past two to consult with his attorneys before hearing his final answer on the matter.
In—let’s say “discussions”—carried on between lawmakers before the appointed hour, one lawmaker beat another over the head with a revolver to make a point, the essence of which is lost to history.
“Mr. Abbott” jumped on top of a table and shouted for order, saying, “Are we a riotous mob? Or are we sensible men met here peaceably to consult together?”
One could reasonably look at their behavior for a possible answer. During the Friday and Saturday sessions, much of the furniture in the meeting hall was destroyed or carried away. Lamps were thrown out of windows.
When Secretary Howlett returned to his office after consulting with his attorneys, he did not return alone. A squad of infantry lined up in front of the hall. This set off even more protest inside.
Still refusing to pay the men, Howlett heard shouts of “skin him!” and “shake it out of him!” He was now determined not to pay those who had not signed the oath in the days before, even if they reluctantly agreed to sign it now. The crowd lunged for the Secretary with murder in the men’s eyes at one point.
Perhaps that negotiating tactic worked. Howlett agreed to let the men sign the oath and get their pay when the temperature cooled a degree or two.
Had the men held out a couple more days, they could have avoided signing the hated oath. The United States Supreme Court declared it unconstitutional two days after they signed it.
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