# The Clansman (1905)/Book 2/Chapter 6

THE day of the first meeting of the National Congress after the war was one of intense excitement.
The galleries of the House were packed. Elsie was there with Ben in a fever of secret anxiety lest the stirring drama should cloud her own life. She watched her father limp to his seat with every eye fixed on him.
The President had pursued with persistence the plan of Lincoln for the immediate restoration of the Union. Would Congress follow the lead of the President or challenge him to mortal combat?
Civil governments had been restored in all the Southern states, with men of the highest ability chosen as governors and lawmakers. Their legislatures had unanimously voted for the Thirteenth Amendment to the Constitution abolishing slavery, and elected Senators and Representatives to Congress. Mr. Seward, the Secretary of State had declared the new amendment a part of the organic law of the Nation by the vote of these states.
General Grant went to the South to report its condition and boldly declared:
"I am satisfied that the mass of thinking people of the South accept the situation in good faith. Slavery and secession they regard as settled forever by the highest ​known tribunal, and consider this decision a fortunate one for the whole country."
Would the Southerners be allowed to enter?
Amid breathless silence the clerk rose to call the roll of members-elect. Every ear was bent to hear the name of the first Southern man. Not one was called! The master had spoken. His clerk knew how to play his part.
The next business of the House was to receive the message of the Chief Magistrate of the Nation.
The message came, but not from the White House. It came from the seat of the Great Commoner.
As the first thrill of excitement over the challenge to the President slowly subsided, Stoneman rose, planted his big club foot in the middle of the aisle, and delivered to Congress the word of its new master.
It was Ben's first view of the man of all the world just now of most interest. From his position he could see his full face and figure.
He began speaking in a careless, desultory way. His tone was loud yet not declamatory, at first in a grumbling, grandfatherly, half-humourous, querulous accent that riveted every ear instantly. A sort of drollery of a contagious kind haunted it. Here and there a member tittered in expectation of a flash of wit.
His figure was taller than the average, slightly bent with a dignity which suggested reserve power and contempt for his audience. One knew instinctively that back of the boldest word this man might say there was a bolder unspoken word he had chosen not to speak.
His limbs were long, and their movements slow, yet ​nervous as from some internal fiery force. His hands were big and ugly, and always in ungraceful fumbling motion as though a separate soul dwelt within them.
The heaped-up curly profusion of his brown wig gave a weird impression to the spread of his mobile features. His eagle-beaked nose had three distinct lines and angles. His chin was broad and bold, and his brows beetling and projecting. His mouth was wide, marked and grim; when opened, deep and cavernous; when closed, it seemed to snap so tightly that the lower lip protruded.
Of all his make-up, his eye was the most fascinating, and it held Ben spellbound. It could thrill to the deepest fibre of the soul that looked into it, yet it did not gleam. It could dominate, awe, and confound, yet it seemed to have no colour or fire. He could easily see it across the vast hall from the galleries, yet it was not large. Two bold, colourless dagger-points of light they seemed. As he grew excited, they darkened as if passing under a cloud.
A sudden sweep of his huge ape-like arm in an angular gesture, and the drollery and carelessness of his voice were driven from it as by a bolt of lightning.
He was driving home his message now in brutal frankness. Yet in the height of his fiercest invective he never seemed to strengthen himself or call on his resources. In its climax he was careless, conscious of power, and contemptuous of results, as though as a gambler he had staked and lost all and in the moment of losing suddenly become the master of those who had beaten him.
His speech never once bent to persuade or convince. He meant to brain the opposition with a single blow, and ​he did it. For he suddenly took the breath from his foes by shouting in their faces the hidden motive of which they were hoping to accuse him!
"Admit these Southern Representatives," he cried, "and with the Democrats elected from the North, within one term they will have a majority in Congress and the Electoral College. The supremacy of our party's life is at stake. The man who dares pelter with such a measure is a rebel, a traitor to his party and his people."
A cheer burst from his henchmen, and his foes sat in dazed stupor at his audacity. He moved the appointment of a "Committee on Reconstruction" to whom the entire government of the "conquered provinces of the South" should be committed, and to whom all credentials of their pretended representatives should be referred.
He sat down as the Speaker put his motion, declared it carried, and quickly announced the names of this Imperial Committee with the Hon. Austin Stoneman as its chairman.
He then permitted the message of the President of the United States to be read by his clerk.
"Well, upon my soul," said Ben, taking a deep breath and looking at Elsie, "he's the whole thing, isn't he?"
The girl smiled with pride.
"Yes; he is a genius. He was born to command and yet never could resist the cry of a child or the plea of a woman. He hates, but he hates ideas and systems. He makes threats, yet when he meets the man who stands for all he hates he falls in love with his enemy."
"Then there's hope for me?"
​"Yes, but I must be the judge of the time to speak."
"Well, if he looks at me as he did once to-day, you may have to do the speaking also."
"You will like him when you know him. He is one of the greatest men in America."
"At least he's the father of the greatest girl in the world, which is far more important."
"I wonder if you know how important?" she asked, seriously. "He is the apple of my eye. His bitter words, his cynicism and sarcasm, are all on the surface—masks that hide a great sensitive spirit. You can't know with what brooding tenderness I have always loved and worshipped him. I will never marry against his wishes."
"I hope he and I will always be good friends," said Ben, doubtfully.
"You must," she replied, eagerly pressing his hand.