constitutional convention to draft a new constitution and also supervise the
election of a new governor and state government, which had to meet certain
requirements before being readmitted to their seats in Congress. Texas and
Louisiana constituted the Fift h Military District, with Philip H. Sheridan as its
commander. With his appointment, Congressional Reconstruction had begun.
Empowered with new political functions, Griffi
n’s “new order” would come
about through the ballot and the jury box. In a series of orders throughout the
spring of 1867, Griffi
n implemented guidelines for agents to “coordinate the
registration process.” Th
e Reconstruction Act of 1867, which made the Th
rock-
morton government provisional, called for voter registration of all males, who
were to elect delegates to create a new state constitution. Anyone disqualifi ed by
the Fourteenth Amendment (anyone who swore an oath to the U.S. then
engaged in rebellion) could not vote for delegates. Th
ere was much room for
interpretation in the Act. It allowed Sheridan and Griffi
n to interpret the
restrictions for voting quite narrowly, ordering subordinates to “exclude from
registration every person about whose right to vote there may be doubt.” Griffi
n
created fi ft een registration districts (which comprised 11–15 counties each)
throughout the state. Within these districts, he appointed white Unionists,
freedmen, and some SACs to three- man boards of registrars. Located in every
county, these boards were to make a list of those registered and disqualifi ed
(using their best judgment) in each county. Th
ey had broad authority to disfran-
chise anyone who they believed dishonest about past loyalty. Registration was
to be completed by September 1, 1867.
Field agents had authority to oversee the registration process to begin in
early summer of 1867. Th
ey were to lend assistance and make out monthly
reports to superiors on the progress of registration. Beyond protection, agents
were not to “interfere in any way with the Registrars in [their] subdstricts.” To
aid in the process and fearing trouble from “unreconstructed” whites, Griffi
n
ordered all boards to operate out of county courthouses. If need be, agents
could recommend more suitable sites. Boards were ordered to create a list of
men to replace those deemed as “impediments to Reconstruction.” Griffi
n, bid-
ing his time before he sprung his trap, believed former Confederates incapable
of rendering impartial justice. Only Unionists could be trusted to protect the
freedpeople’s “rights of person and property” and protect against “insurrection,
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Bureau Agents, Politics, New Order
disorder, and violence.” “I should just as soon look to the English Crown to
leave the establishment of peace in Ireland to the Fenians,” he declared, “as to
see our nation leave the reconstruction of the southern states to those that tried
to destroy the government.”
With voter registration, the Bureau entered the “maelstrom of politics.” Its
agents were now the foot soldiers for a Republican political machine, despite
Howard’s attempts to resist being an “overt” political organization. But the very
work it performed and the relationship its agents had with the freed community
naturally brought it into politics. In their political role, they were to explain
voter registration to the freedpeople and to protect them in their suff rage rights.
No evidence exists that SACs in Texas publicly made partisan speeches against
Democrats as in other states. Rather they preferred actions “under the noses” of
white Texans. Nor did they advise, campaign, or help the Democratic party.
Nor would agents in Texas consider themselves Radical Republicans. Th
ey sus-
pected the president’s policies, and Democrats by default, made their job more
diffi
cult. Since opposing the president’s policies were the Radicals, agents at
times sympathized with the Radicals and worked for their ascension to power
in the state.
One of the main duties of agents during the registration process was to pro-
tect registrars, who whites saw as tools to disfranchise the white community
and enfranchise the emancipated. Since many registrars in Texas were black,
that made the protection aff orded all the more a necessity. William A. A. “Big
Foot” Wallace, the famed former Texas Ranger, for example, attempted to reg-
ister to vote, but was disqualifi ed. He recalled the incident many years later:
I don’t think I ever felt less like giving quarter in my life but once, and that
was when a big buck nigger, with a nose like [a] dormant window, and a pair
of lips that looked like he had been sucking a bee gum and got badly stung in
the operation, objected to my registering as a voter. He was one of the board
of registrars at Clarksville, but he was not in a condition to object to any one
else registering that day, and probably the next, for I took him a club over the
head that would have stunned a beef, but he never winked; I changed my
tactics and gave him twelve inches of solid shoe leather on the shins that
brought him to his milk in short order. Th
e buro fi ned me fi fty dollars and
costs, but the amount is not paid yet, and probably won’t be until they can get
a crowd that is good at traveling and fi ghting Indians to pilot the sheriff to
my ranch.
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The Charles Griffin Era, Early 1867
117
Besides recommending possible registrars (on a few occasions appointing
them), Bureau agents had to compile lists of “undoubted” Union men capable of
taking the ironclad oath in order to develop “national principles” in the state.
Th
is list would aid in fi nding replacements for those county offi
cials deemed
“impediments to Reconstruction.” Although military offi
cials removed some
high- level state offi
ceholders, most notably Governor Th
rockmorton, in the
summer of 1867, they were hesitant to “wipe the slate clean.” Th
ey still wanted
subordinates to fi nd men to replace local offi
cials for possible future removals.
With few qualifi ed men who could take the oath, compiling a list at times
proved diffi
cult. With their removal now possible, some civil authorities have
“show[ed] a disposition to do justice to all parties.” A few agents need not worry
about such judges, because they themselves were judges.
Including those who served concurrently as judges (Albert Latimer, Hardin
Hart, Th
omas H. Baker, and F. P. Wood), 35 men out of the 239 (or 14.6 percent)
&nbs
p; held public offi
ce at one time or another. No man held political offi
ce and served
as Bureau agent simultaneously. Th
ey either left Bureau service for public offi
ce
or entered politics shortly aft er the organization ceased operations. Of those who
held public offi
ce, 20 were civilian agents, having no military experience during
the war. Tables 6- 3 and 6- 4 show, respectively, the military experience and birth-
place of agents who entered politics. Th
ey were slightly older than thirty- four years
Table 6- 3 Military Experience of Bureau Men Who Entered Politics
Military Experience
No Military Experience
n= n=
. percent
. percent
Note: Th
e information in this table came from various sources, but much of it came from the
U.S. Census, biographical entries, and the agent’s application to the Freedmen’s Bureau.
Table 6- 4: Origin of Birth of Bureau Men Who Entered Politics
(Place of Birth)
Slaveholding
Confederate South
North
North
Foreign
No Data
. percent
.
.
.
Note: Th
e information in this table came from various sources, but much of it came from the
U.S. Census, biographical entries, and the agent’s application to the Freedmen’s Bureau.
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Bureau Agents, Politics, New Order
old (34.4 years of age). Th
ey were nearly two years younger than their fellow
agents as a whole (36.3). On average, they far exceeded the average wealth, nearly
doubling their fellow agents in Texas: $7,032.4 to $3,967. Bureau service certainly
helped with their future political careers, but it would be easy to overestimate its
importance. Th
e small number is surprising, considering there were so many
opportunities and political vacancies during Reconstruction and there were
thousands of newly enfranchised supporters, who had unquestioned faith and
confi dence in Bureau agents. To be sure, an agent would be elected if he chose to
run. Th
at so few did shows how committed to Bureau service they were.
Who were these men who entered politics? Aft er a very eventful and indis-
pensable Bureau career, William H. Sinclair received an appointment as clerk
and county treasurer for Galveston County. In 1870 he won election to the state
legislature from Galveston. A Republican, he soon became Speaker of the House
during an intraparty feud that involved then Speaker and former Bureau agent
Ira H. Evans. Sinclair later returned to Galveston as collector of internal revenue
for the city and postmaster general as well as greatly contributed to the indus-
trialization of the city. He died in Galveston in 1897. Prussian- born Jacob C.
DeGress was the fi rst Texas state superintendent of schools, an appointment he
received from Radical Republican Governor Edmund Jackson Davis. He held it
until 1873, when a Democratic governor removed him. To prevent the Demo-
cratic governor who had removed him from taking offi
ce, DeGress and others
tried to load the cannon displayed on the capitol grounds but found it spiked.
Despised as a “carpetbagger,” DeGress remained active in the state’s Republican
party. He served as mayor and postmaster of Austin and a delegate to several
state Republican conventions until his death in 1894.
Some who left for political offi
ce were not missed. For every George T. Ruby,
who from all accounts acquitted himself very ably, there was another like P. B.
Johnson, who was derelict in his duties, or William Garretson, who fell to con-
stantly complaining. Or, for instance, consider the case of Mortimer H. God-
din. Born in Virginia, Goddin immigrated to Texas in the 1850s. Although a
slave owner, he opposed secession and resisted the Confederacy. Despite being
a “scalawag,” Griffi
n trusted him. On several occasions, he off ered him a posi-
tion in the agency (ironically, Goddin oft en warned offi
cials against appointing
“scalawags” because they could not be trusted). He initially refused the off er,
but eventually accepted. He reminded headquarters he never saw the day where
“I would have taken the oath to support Jeff Davis’ Wheelbarrow concern.” He
considered himself a “white livered, sand gizzard, Dirt eating Unionists.” Such
a stance won an appointment as justice of the peace during the Andrew Jackson
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The Charles Griffin Era, Early 1867
119
Hamilton administration. When appointed to Livingston, Polk County, God-
din looked forward to giving the Rebels some of their own medicine: “How I do
want a chance at them.” His opportunity lasted but a few months and would end
with him fl eeing Livingston for his life.
Upon assuming the position, Goddin performed zealously. His zeal, how-
ever, transitioned into belligerency. He described whites in his district as so
disloyal as to make the “Devil blush.” He was certain “[t]he Devil is in some of
them as big as Hell itself.” He unnecessarily clashed with locals, even with a
fellow agent, and his abrasive tone and demeanor led to one assassination
attempt. In late summer of 1867, Goddin informed the post commander at
Woodville that his subdistrict was in “insurrection.” Having sent soldiers to
help Goddin three previous times, L. H. Sanger, the post commander, having
personally investigated conditions in Livingston, informed superiors that the
agent might be a little paranoid. Appreciating when Goddin “acts vigorously,”
Sanger nonetheless believed he had acted “too” vigorously, even bordering on
recklessness. Sanger observed no rebellion, but for the “result of his [Goddin’s]
own fears and the tales of idle freedmen.” If “any disturbance does take place it
will be caused by [Goddin’s] own injudicious course and lack of judgement
[sic].” According to Sanger, the agent oft en had decided cases by his political
leanings, without an investigation or “good reason. ”
Sanger did not doubt Goddin had received threats to his life. “[B]ut these he
magnifi es,” he surmised, since they arose from “his want of discretion.” Goddin
so irritated the white people several of them convinced a couple of U.S. soldiers
to try to kill him. Sanger recommended his removal “at once” before he was
murdered or caused any further damage. As Sanger wrote those words, Goddin
was fl eeing to Huntsville for his life. Aft er resigning, Goddin was a delegate at
the state’s Constitutional Convention of 1868–1869, district clerk and justice of
paper. His troubles, however, were not over. In addition to a brief dispute with
William H. Howard, the agent at Huntsville, Goddin was confronted by four
men, perhaps individuals angered by his tenure in Livingston, who forced him
“to beg for his life.”
Goddin’s case showed how a man no longer with the organization could still
face the possibility of violence for “past transgressions.” For the white commu-
nity during Reconstruction, memories rarely faded and debts were always out-
standing. Several men learned that their Bureau service, although distant in
their own minds, still burned fresh in white Texans’ minds. Consider the case
of Charles Haughn. Aft er serving as agent in various spots around the state, he
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Bureau Agents, Politics, New Order
entered politics as justice of the peace in Marion County. Considered a Repub-
lican leader in northeastern Texas, he continued defense of the emancipated. As
a result, he faced the same persecution. “[F]or the last ten years of his life,”
reported one U.S. attorney, “Haughn, solely on account of his political convic-
tions, was at no time safe from personal damage, so far from ‘persecuting’
people he was ‘persecuted’ to death himself, his faults consisted of his devotion
to the principles of the Republican party which he sealed with his blood.” Aft er
a day’s work at his offi
ce in 1883, the former Bureau man left for home. While en
route, he was ambushed by 50–75 men. Haughn immediately surmised their
purpose. “Are you going to kill me?” he asked. “Yes I am going to kill you,” the
ringleader answered, “you God damned son of a bitch.” Shots rang out and
Haughn lay dead. Th
e investigation into his death found his involvement as a
witness in a pending election fraud case as the immediate motivating factor in
his death. But it was not the only reason. “For years,” reported the federal inves-
tigator, “Haughn has been surrounded by men who earnestly wished him in his
grave, and they but awaited the opportune time.”
Although there are a few exceptions, most notably John A. Carpenter and
Paul A. Cimbala, most historians agree the Bureau was active in politics. Th
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