On February 28, 1890, an argument that had been brewing for years turned deadly on the eastern marble stairs of the U.S. Capitol. William Preston Taulbee, a former Kentucky congressman known for his imposing presence and fiery speeches, was gunned down by Charles Euston Kincaid, a frail but determined journalist. Their feud, a tangle of political betrayal, public humiliation, and journalistic revenge, would end in blood—and, some say, a haunting.
William Preston Taulbee was a man made for the political arena. Born in Morgan County, Kentucky, in 1851, he worked as a schoolteacher before becoming a Methodist minister and later a lawyer. His booming voice and charismatic speeches earned him the nickname The Mountain Orator, and in 1884, he was elected to the U.S. House of Representatives as a Democrat. He was reelected in 1886, but after just two terms, he declined to run again and instead stayed in Washington, practicing law and wielding political influence behind the scenes.
Tall, muscular, and confident, Taulbee was a force to be reckoned with. He was frequently on his feet in the House chamber, arguing his points with passion and conviction. But he also had a reputation for being combative and, at times, intimidating—traits that would come to define his interactions with a certain reporter.
Charles Euston Kincaid was nearly Taulbee’s opposite in every way. Born in Boyle County, Kentucky, in 1855, he was well-educated, holding degrees from Centre College and a background in law. Though he had served as a Louisville judge and worked in government positions, Kincaid was best known as a journalist, writing for the Louisville Courier-Journal. He was intelligent but physically frail, standing barely over five feet tall and suffering from poor health, worsened by a bout of typhoid fever.
Despite his small stature, Kincaid was not one to be underestimated. He had a sharp pen and was willing to expose corruption or scandal—even when it made powerful enemies. And in 1888, he wrote a story that would set in motion a deadly chain of events.
The feud between Taulbee and Kincaid stemmed from a scathing article published by Kincaid. He accused the congressman of engaging in an affair with a woman employed at the U.S. Patent Office. In an era when political scandals could destroy reputations, the allegations were deeply damaging. Taulbee, a married man with four sons, was enraged.
But Kincaid’s story may not have been the only source of hostility. According to Taulbee’s brother, the real dispute had begun when the congressman opposed Kincaid receiving a political appointment. Kincaid had allegedly turned around and given the position to someone else at half the pay and pocketed the rest. When Taulbee sought a congressional resolution to prevent such corruption, Kincaid vowed revenge.
Whatever the true cause, their hatred for each other was well known in Washington. Over the next two years, Taulbee took every opportunity to mock and belittle Kincaid. He taunted him in the Capitol’s hallways, pulled his ear in front of colleagues, and once shoved him against a door. Kincaid, powerless to fight back physically, seethed.
Then came February 28, 1890.
Around noon, Kincaid arrived at the Capitol to conduct an interview. As he walked through the building, he crossed paths with Taulbee. Witnesses reported that Taulbee, towering over Kincaid, grabbed him by the coat lapel and sneered, “Kincaid, come out into the corridor with me.” Kincaid, visibly shaken, tried to defuse the situation. “I am in no condition for a physical contest with you,” he said. “I am unarmed.” Taulbee scoffed. “I am unarmed too,” he replied, but then leaned in closer and hissed, You had better go armed if you know what’s good for you.
The two men were separated, but the damage was done. Kincaid stormed off, reportedly looking for a pistol.
About an hour later, at 1:30 p.m., Taulbee emerged from the House chamber and began descending the grand marble staircase leading to the Capitol restaurant. He was accompanied by Samuel Donaldson, a former House doorkeeper. As they talked, Kincaid appeared at the landing just above them.
“Mr. Taulbee, you can see me now,” Kincaid said.
Before Taulbee could react, Kincaid raised his pistol and fired.
The bullet struck just outside Taulbee’s left eye, sending a spray of blood onto the marble steps. Staggering, he cried out in shock and pain before collapsing. Donaldson rushed to his side.
Kincaid, rather than flee, calmly declared, “I am the man who did it.”
At first, doctors believed Taulbee would survive, but over the next eleven days, his condition worsened. He died at 4:45 a.m. on March 11, 1890.
Kincaid was arrested, but his defense was already forming. He claimed that Taulbee had tormented him for years, physically attacking him on multiple occasions. He insisted that the shooting was an act of self-defense, though there was no evidence Taulbee was armed.
During the trial, several congressmen testified in Kincaid’s favor, painting Taulbee as a bully and Kincaid as a desperate man who had been pushed to the edge. In the end, Kincaid was acquitted of all charges.
He returned to Kentucky and resumed his work in government and journalism. But he would not live long—he died in 1906 at the age of 51.
Taulbee may be gone, but according to legend, his presence has never left the Capitol.
The bloodstains from the shooting were never completely erased. Capitol janitors scrubbed the marble steps repeatedly, but the stains seemed to seep into the stone itself, refusing to fade. Even today, visitors claim they can still see traces of that violent moment.
And then there is the ghost.
Over the years, reporters and staff have reported an eerie sensation on those stairs. Some say they have stumbled unexpectedly while climbing the steps, as if some unseen force had tripped them. The theory? Taulbee’s vengeful spirit still lingers, ensuring that journalists—especially those who dare to walk in Kincaid’s footsteps—never forget his wrath.
