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not have the luxury to be so choosy. “I have not much confi dence in him [the
current teacher],” admitted Th
omas Bayley at Marshall, “but he is the only
one I can get here.” Agents, whenever they could fi nd qualifi ed applicants,
recommended freedpersons as teachers. Locals believed them less “danger-
ous” than Northern white ones.
Some, no matter the drawbacks, preferred women. To them, they had a “ben-
efi cial eff ect” on students. “Some complaints [have] been made to me about the
teacher being a man,” wrote James Jay Emerson. “Th
ey seem to think a Lady
teacher would give more satisfaction.” Being “ladies” or “gentlemen” was para-
mount. Agents ultimately dealt with “indiscretions,” actual or perceived. Th
e
teacher in Columbus unnecessarily off ended white residents with all- night
buggy rides with an army offi
cer. When reported to agent J. Ernest Goodman,
he quickly relayed her conduct to superiors, resulting in her dismissal. Th
e
agent at Brenham had problems when students paraded down the streets sing-
ing songs their teacher had taught them that belittled Confederate icons. Head-
quarters advised to refrain from the more “sectional” songs.
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Such close contact between agents and teachers sometimes caused friction.
At San Antonio, John H. Morrison had a problem when the Bureau teacher
“abused” him by claiming he did not have to answer to him. Morrison requested
he be removed, for he “is not a good man[,] is very unpopular with the Freed-
men [, and] has not a friend in them and I do not think many any where.” In the
summer of 1867 Patrick F. Duggan had many questions about the school in his
district. A preacher affi
liated with the Methodist Episcopal Church wanted to
use the building for religious instead of educational purposes. He dismissed
Duggan’s advice during the building’s construction, greatly adding to its cost.
Duggan, desiring the building to be completed, approached the preacher to give
“me a lien deed upon the house for school purposes [so] I could fi nish it.”
Instead of “meeting me in the same spirit,” he reported, the preacher “held a
religious meeting and collected [money] with which to pay for covering the
house [and] determined it possible to defeat my plans.”
During Kiddoo’s administration, the Bureau became a true bureaucracy:
rigid chain of command, greater oversight, and, most important, an endless
amount of paperwork. Kiddoo mandated subordinates report monthly to head-
quarters, documenting everything from the labor situation to white violence,
from education to hardships experienced in the performance of their duty. Th
is
increased information into headquarters, and according to some, greatly altered
the role of those in the fi eld. Th
is prompted Bureau historian William L. Richter
to label agents “glorifi ed clerks”; while another historian, Robert Harrison, lik-
ened the agency to “a giant intelligence offi
ce.” A Bureau man in South Caro-
lina, commenting on the paperwork, was certain the “Romans conquered the
world because they had no paper.” Commissioner Howard prided himself on
such paperwork. Since military procedures governed the Bureau’s record
keeping, offi
cials at Galveston expected all forms to be completed correctly
and promptly. Such attention to detail created delays and general ineffi
ciency. A
perusal of the records shows nearly all, for one reason or another, had some
paperwork returned for corrections. Since superiors issued few guidelines,
some never mastered the art. Th
ey repeatedly had records returned or rejected,
despite being shown the proper way again and again by headquarters.
Headquarters’ attention to detail helped “circumscribe” any “opportunity
for offi
cial conduct contrary to directives.” For example, Alex B. Coggeshall at
Bastrop, at times, described his position as “a perfect sinecure.” Charges soon
surfaced that he and his brother- in- law, Julius Schultze, had provided workers
to planters in return for kickbacks. Although Coggeshall was never specifi -
cally identifi ed by name, his activities appeared in the Galveston Daily News,
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The Bureau’s Highwater Mark
claiming “unless a man can get in with them he cannot get any hands.”
Coggeshall was reassigned and replaced by Byron Porter, who investigated
the accusations. He “concluded” he had covered his tracks through shoddy
record keeping. “His papers appear to be in a state of great confusion,” Porter
reported. “I would suggest . . . contracts approved by him be carefully exam-
ined.” Coggeshall responded, saying he did nothing wrong, and apologized
that “I was not born a clerk.” By protecting the freed community, he noted,
the planters referred to him as that “Damned Dutchman.” Plus, Coggeshall’s
prominent brother- in- law was described as an “outspoken thoroughgoing
Radical Union man,” who, as chief justice of Bastrop County, had very “prom-
inent loyal [friends] in Western Texas.” Superiors exonerated him of the
charges, reminding him of the importance of proper record keeping. Cogge-
shall remained in service until relieved in early 1867, but returned as a civilian
agent in July 1868.
Since many, particularly civilians, were ignorant to the ins and outs of mili-
tary record keeping, problems persisted between those at headquarters and fi eld
personnel. William H. Sinclair, while on an inspection tour southwest of Hous-
ton, noticed the “records of the [agents’] offi
ces are very incomplete.” One
responded to superiors’ questions about his report: “All I could have done would
have been to forward a blank, stating therein that I had nothing to insert.” Aft er
succeeding J. Orville Shelby at Liberty, A. H. Mayer discovered his predecessor
had kept no records. Each time Mayer tried to contact Shelby about “such &
such case,” he “forgets” or “guess[es] at it.” Th
is aff ected Mayer’s ability to keep
accurate and orderly records. Superiors accused Fred W. Reinhard of disregard-
ing “every Circular order relating to his reports of Persons.” Th
ey lectured
Charles E. Culver on matters of more importance requiring their attention “than
the making out of retain copies of Reports for Sub Asst Commrs.” Culver was
condescendingly reminded SACs do not “dispatch business in a hurried and
careless manner.” In response to accounts dealing with crimes during the war,
superiors reminded John Dix those “have nothing to do with Freedpeople” and
“the expense of arresting criminals for off
enses committed either during, or
since the war, [was not] a proper charge against the Bureau.”
For others, the problem was not ignorance of military protocol. It was the
fact they were both subassistant commissioner and post commander. Th
is
increased their workload and hindered their ability to meet report deadlines.
For example, Walter B. Pease, the post commander and agent at Harris County,
informed headquarters he needed clerical assistance.
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Th
e pressure of business and lack of suffi
cient clerical force in some measure
prevents a prompt attention to the settlement of cases, and to the correspon-
dence from other Agents. Th
e duties of Commander of the Post, and of my
company, require a great deal of my time and owing to the want of a compe-
tent clerk at the Post (the last one I had, having been detailed away to Dist.
Hd. Qrs.) all reports and returns for the Post . . . have to be made by the
adjutant, who is also [quartermaster] and Asst S. A. C. thereby depriving me of
his assistance in the Bureau. I would therefore respectfully suggest the employ-
ment of an additional clerk in my offi
ce.
Field agents generally accepted responsibility for blank, missing, wrong, or
late reports. Hardin Hart, a “scalawag” agent at Greenville and attorney, spoke
for many when he reminded superiors to be patient, since he was a “civilian
[and] unaccustomed to the routine of doing business with military precision.”
At one time or another, every Bureau man drew the attention of superiors
about paperwork. William G. Kirkman, in particular, routinely drew atten-
tion. “When I tendered you the advice not to make a property return, on the
ground that the trouble of doing so, would be more trouble than the property
purchased was worth,” informed Assistant Acting Quartermaster Charles
Garretson, “I wrote as an experienced Quartermaster and I was aware from
some of the documents transmitted by you, that you knew nothing whatever
about property or other papers.” He was further lectured about the “hurried
and careless manner” of his communications, which “should be carefully and
concisely written [and] so arraigned that the gist of them can be readily per-
ceived.” Most agents quickly corrected the error, providing whatever record or
correction superiors wanted. A proud lot, they were very sensitive to each
inquiry or even censure, fearful superiors might think them negligent or dila-
tory in their duties.
Although a few agents never learned the proper way, Bureau and military
offi
cials bear part of the responsibility. Aft er receiving communications about
“gross neglect on my part that my papers are incorrect,” A. H. Mayer at Lib-
erty reminded superiors he was not an “automaton.” Mayer blamed some at
headquarters for his returned reports. “You are mistaken. I have been harassed
by [your] subordinates unnecessarily,” he wrote, about “papers returned for
correction that could have received the correction without being returned.
Communications of importance from me not answered, seemingly pigeon
holed without being read, either great neglect, apathy, or inattention shown
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The Bureau’s Highwater Mark
by subordinates at Hdquarters.” A few months later, his frustration boiled
over. “No man tries harder than I do,” the frustrated man declared.
No man has more pride in his position and desire that all things eminating
[sic] from his offi
ce shall be a little better than any one else than I am [but] I
cannot perform impossibilities. I notice that a refl ection is implied in your
communication . . . I have never purchased a single item without fi rst mak-
ing application in writing or verbally and receiving permission without one
exception . . . I suppose I’ve used thirty pound[s] of candles the past month,
now must I perform all the labor of [my] pay for the candles to do it by. For
God Sake, send an Inspecting Offi
cer here then I do know, that the a/c for oil
and candles will be allowed.
Mayer exemplifi ed what many agents believed: fi rst, that personnel at head-
quarters did not fully understand their day- to- day operations; and second, they
were unnecessarily (and off ensively) suspicious, highlighted by Mayer’s request
for an inspecting offi
cer to visit his district.
Th
e increased workload and frustration proved too much for some, who
asked for short leaves or to be relieved from service altogether. When head-
quarters refused such requests, it was partly because of the time of year: the
most demanding time was at the end and beginning of each year. As harvest-
ing and contracting neared in late summer and fall of 1866, Bureau authorities
could hardly be satisfi ed with the current labor situation in Texas as white
violence, planter and worker ignorance, fi eld personnel’s confusion, and the
overall inconsistency in the agency’s labor policy all adversely aff ected free
labor’s success. Completely overhauling the South’s economic system would
also take time. Time the Bureau lacked, since during Reconstruction, patience
was not a virtue. With a less- than- rigid system, SACs were free to experiment.
Some encouraged profi ts to convince the planters to accept the free market
philosophy. Th
ey hoped increased revenue would prevent violence and mis-
treatment against the emancipated. If the planters fi nancially succeeded, so
too might the freedpeople. “Human nature is much the same under given
conditions—the plastic character of the mind soon adapts itself to circum-
stances [and] fortunately the high prices of Southern products will be the
incentive for action,” observed one Bureau offi
cial. “[A]s selfi shness was the
enslaver of the negro, it will now be one of the means of his elevation.” Some
planters had discovered free labor superior to slave labor, not from any philo-
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sophical change, but rather from the “pecuniary point of view.” Bureau men
hoped now to “enlighten” the rest.
Hardly novel to Reconstruction, free labor proponents had descended on the
antebellum slaveholding South in a “friendly invasion” to demonstrate its ben-
efi ts. Aft er the war, Bureau agents also wanted to demonstrate its benefi ts. In
other words, increased profi ts came with “the Yankee way of doing business.”
Th
ey soon made a concerted eff ort to remind both planters and freedpeople of
similar interests. Superiors infor
med William Longworth to educate the former
slaves “it is as much to their interest as to [the planter’s] that a good crop be
raised.” Alex B. Coggeshall saw “a very great change in public opinion [toward]
the freedmen.” A few months later, he reported how planters now realized they
will “have much [more] money . . . at the end of the year [and if they] have
treated their freedmen badly during the past year have found that it will not
pay.” From San Augustine County, Albert A. Metzner noted “the scarcity of
laborers is the principal reason of this kindness.” According to Arthur B.
Homer, “the demand for labor compels the white people to treat [the freedmen]
justly.” As a result, he informed superiors he had no troops and none were
required.
Competition for labor aided their course for protection. Planters were never
as cohesive a group as generally portrayed. Edward Miller in Victoria reported
“very good terms” between the freedpeople and planters, “obviously for the
purpose of securing their services.” He gladly accepted the situation, because
“the rights of the freedmen would be secured by the civil authorities [even] if all
the troops were removed.” Samuel A. Craig noticed improved race relations as
the number of workers dwindled. Th
ose who want workers for the next year, he
added, had to treat the emancipated fairly. “Th
ere are some planters who are not
only willing but anxious to secure the freedmen’s share of the crop,” Jacob C.
DeGress witnessed, “and get the offi
cers of the Bureau to procure for them the
highest market price. I am doing all I can to assist them and encourage their
feeling, for the planters so disposed, will be the gainer, by being enabled to
secure his hands for next year without diffi
culty.” DeGress advised “freedmen
not to labor next year” for any planters of bad character.
Some generally believed the freedpeople could be protected through the
encouragement of shares (i.e., sharecropping), rather than wages, believing it
easier to ensure their payments. James F. Hutchison at Columbus witnessed
more diligent laborers “when they are interested in part of the crop,” while
Albert A. Metzner desired shares, since they “caused me little trouble.” A month
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