tion so prevalent during Kiddoo’s administration. Where some agents reported
problems with local offi
cials due to confusion and misunderstanding, others
reported they were cooperative and willing to protect the emancipated. For
some, conditions had improved to a point that made troops unnecessary. Th
is
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131
“quiet,” however, did not fool most agents. Th
ey likened it to the calm before the
storm. Rather than permanent, some simply saw this as one round in a long
fi ght. Th
e orders from superiors, the admittance of freedmen to the jury box,
and the passage of the Reconstruction Act had simply temporarily abated white
resistance. “Th
e disposition and feeling of the white people . . . towards the
Freedpeople,” DeWitt C. Brown wrote, “and in fact towards all that pertains to
the Government of the United States, is vicious and vindictive,” and “their
apparently good acts are prompted by selfi sh motives . . . Hypocrisy is as preva-
lent among these people as it certainly could have been in the day of Charles II.
Ignorance and the late war of the Rebellion . . . have unduly stimulated among
them the baser passion of human nature.” DeWitt as well as many of his fellow
agents braced for a Rebel counterstrike.
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Violence, Frustration,
7
and Yellow Fever
Th
e Charles Griffi
n Era,
Summer–Fall 1867
The latter half of 1867 would be a very violent and diffi cult time for many
agents in Texas. General Griffi
n would institute a new labor policy. One
he hoped would better protect the emancipated. While the agency
developed the labor situation, its agents dealt with increased white resistance.
Th
e brief calm that followed the Reconstruction Act of 1867 and Griffi
n’s “new
order” would come to an end. Th
ese concerns steeled the agents’ commitment
to the freedpeople. Other obstacles also had to be overcome. Voter registration,
the onset of a deadly epidemic of yellow fever, and the daily trials of service all
weighed heavily on the agency’s personnel. Th
is would be a deadly year; nine of
the fourteen agents who died while in service did so in 1867. Th
at year really
became the “year of crucifi xion.”
As voter registration progressed, violence intensifi ed throughout portions of
the state. In certain areas, agents had little trouble. As if the problems with
registration were not enough, now there was a more familiar problem: President
Andrew Johnson. By mid- 1867, Johnson and the Republican- held Congress
were at irreconcilable odds. As the president and Congress wrangled over
Reconstruction, SACs experienced the rippling eff ects. “Intense excitement
exists at this place,” wrote Jasper agent James Lowrie. “A rumor has reached
here that Andrew Johnson has called in the army of the United States as
commander- in- chief and annuls the registration law and all partisan measures
of Congress.” A few months later, he reported the white citizens believed the
president had enfranchised every man North and South and “dispensed with
Military Districts, Bureaus, and all other partisan measures of congress.”
According to Mortimer H. Goddin, the president’s “course has ruined every
thing.” John Dix at Corpus Christi grappled with both white anger about regis-
tration and resistance inspired by the president’s policies and actions. “Th
e late
Amnesty and Pardon proclamation has inspired the rebels with new hopes of
being admitted to the ballot box,” he wrote. Th
ese people “are lost to all honor,”
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133
A. H. Mayer likewise declared about whites in Liberty in July 1867; “they cannot
be trusted in any way. If they can beat the ‘damned Bureau or the damned
nigger’ that is a feather in their [cap].”
Whites turned their anger especially on what they believed was the force
behind registration: the subassistant commissioners. From threats to physical
assaults to murders, they personally experienced the aft ershocks of freedmen’s
enfranchisement. Th
e latter part of 1867 proved a diffi
cult time. Albert Evans at
Sherman was “fully satisfi ed” bushwhackers “plotted against” him, with opera-
tions paralyzed since he could hardly leave his offi
ce. Th
is was also a problem
for his successor, Th
omas Murray Tolman. H. S. Johnson, who admitted he
could only give “a good scare,” worried aft er ordering the arrest of one suspect.
“I think they will put him [the victim] through,” he believed, “and perhaps
when I return [from a tour] he will attempt to do me the same favor.” Albert A.
Metzner at San Augustine, describing chaotic conditions in Shelby County,
“received three or four messages that I would be hung whenever I showed myself
there, [and] I shall leave for Shelby tomorrow to try it. ”
Ira H. Evans, future House Speaker in the Texas State Legislature, was con-
fronted by George Quinan, a lawyer in Wharton County and local tough. As
the two conversed, Quinan soon accused Evans of wanting to “injure him.” He
angrily berated the agent with “very off ensive language.” Evans stated he would
not tolerate such talk, and “not wanting to become engaged in a quarrel I left
him and proceeded to my offi
ce.” Still agitated, Quinan and a companion
arrived at the agent’s offi
ce a short time later. He wanted some papers relating
to a particular case. Evans told him he had no such papers, but agreed to look
and give “him all the information I was able.” At that moment, Evans noticed
Quinan winking and “moving his lips in a very signifi cant manner” to his
companion. When confronted, Quinan launched into another verbal tirade.
Evans had him escorted out of his offi
ce. Th
roughout the next day Quinan
continually baited Evans, but the agent demurred. Frustrated, Quinan verbally
lashed out, calling Evans a scoundrel within earshot of many pedestrians. For
this slight, Evans asked Quinan to follow him to his offi
ce and, aft er disarming
him, fi ned and jailed him. “I know of no other course which I could pursue
without subjecting myself to constant abuse and insult from those infamous
rebels,” he argued. “It is unnecessary for me to say that if I am not allowed to
protect myself from insults and abuse by summarily punishing the guilty par-
ties, I shall be subject to
insults and abuse every day and shall only be able to
protect myself by shooting those who insult me.” In the end, superiors approved
of his course.
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Violence, Frustration, Yellow Fever
Joshua L. Randall, unfortunately, stepped into the mess created by his prede-
cessors in Sterling, Robertson County. E. H. Mitchell, a very prominent woman
and local planter, was accused of nonpayment and abuse. As Randall investi-
gated, several citizens warned him about her. “[I]f I had any actions against her,”
they said, “I should get more than I bargained for.” Hoping to avoid “any diffi
-
culty with a woman of Mrs. Mitchell’s antecedents and character,” Randall was
steeled by the sheer volume of complaints for justice. He called upon her at her
plantation. Mrs. Mitchell denied accusations of nonpayment. But when he
asked for her account books, she could not fi nd them. In fact, while Randall
talked with Mrs. Mitchell in one room waiting for the books, her husband was
“franticly” doing something in a back room. Aft er almost an hour, her husband
“found” them, handing them over with the ink still wet.
He informed she owed hundreds of dollars to her workers. She refused to
pay and accused him “of wanting to be bribed.” Randall further stated “she had
no doubt I intended to divide the money with the nigger[s],” since she consid-
ered him “some great ‘abolition[ist] nigger worshipper.’ ” Mrs. Mitchell con-
tacted Bureau offi
cials, wanting Randall “ousted from offi
ce, if it cost $1000.”
Her husband was willing to pay as much as “$10000.” Recognized by one his-
torian for doing “a magnifi cent job,” Randall was unmoved in his determina-
tion for justice, despite numerous bribery off ers, threats, and slights. All the
same, Randall admitted that he feared for his life. Military offi
cials dispatched
soldiers for protection, and Bureau offi
cials in Galveston ordered no further
action in the Mitchell case until instructed. Aft er the Mitchell case, Randall
surprisingly reported a transformation in his subdistrict throughout 1868. For
most of that year, even aft er the troops left , he performed his duties without the
need for them.
In Harris County, Byron Porter, a friend of William H. Sinclair and a man
considered one of the “most effi
cient offi
cers on duty in the Bureau in this state,”
fi ned a man for threatening the life of the president. Th
e county sheriff thought
the fi ne illegal and tried to arrest Porter, who sought protection with the post
commander. Porter was soon reassigned to Austin, where he remained until
being reassigned to Bastrop. Where the state capital was rather uneventful, in
Bastrop he ran afoul of the Bell family. William J. A. Bell and his son were
accused of shooting a freedman more than a year earlier. While Porter inter-
rogated a witness to the shooting, the elder Bell burst into the proceeding, call-
ing the witness a “God d- m liar.” A few days later, Porter ordered Bell’s arrest for
the assault on the freedman. Aft er a local court exonerated Bell, the Bureau agent
believed the trial a farce and rearrested him. According to the SAC, Bell “said
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135
. . . that I ‘must’ pay him back that fi ft y dollars, ‘or one of us must die.’ ” Since his
(Bell’s) arrest and fi ne, Porter told superiors he was “perfectly furious with me
and has endeavored in all possible ways to annoy me.” Moreover, he reported
Bell was capable of murder, attributing this to an anonymous letter “warning
me that I had better leave.” In the late summer of 1867, Porter also ordered the
arrest of Bell’s son; with aid from his father, he evaded capture. One day on the
streets of Bastrop, Porter was approached by the elder Bell. He wanted to talk,
but Porter brushed him off , and continued down the street. Feeling slighted, the
elder Bell confronted Porter and “pointed a six- shooter at me and said, ‘God
d- m[,] you wouldn’t stop to talk with me but by God you’ve got to now.’ ” Porter
stood there and took it. “[If] I had made the slightest demonstration or had
turned to leave him,” he admitted, “he would have shot me down.” Tiring of the
standoff , Bell “moderated his tone,” holstered his pistol, and rode off , warning
the agent he would “call [him] to account” for his actions.
Th
roughout the next week, a prostrated Porter endured Bell’s death threats.
“While I was lying very ill with the fever, and it was reported that I was dying,”
he informed, he “drove his carriage past my house several times making all the
noise he could making faces and yelling.” For this, Porter had Bell arrested and
placed him under the military’s protection to prevent any attempts at escape.
Many Bastrop citizens, including former agent Alex B. Coggeshall, came to
Bell’s defense (Coggeshall might have wanted to even the score against his suc-
cessor for his [Porter’s] critical inspection report about his performance earlier
in the year). At his trial, aft er Porter had testifi ed about the initial confronta-
tion, Bell had his lawyer change his plea to guilty of aggravated assault, but only
if the case could go straight to the jury with no further evidence. Th
e jury let
him off . An infuriated Porter called the proceeding a farce. To make matters
worse, Bell continued his threats and was sworn in as a deputy sheriff . Fearful
their act might result in removal by military offi
cials, Bastrop civil offi
cials
rescinded the appointment. Less fearful was Bell, who continued to harass Por-
ter. For the rest of his time as an agent, Porter had to countenance his shenani-
gans. In fact, the local man sued Porter in civil court. “[Th
is is a] series of
annoyances,” he noted, “which I shall have to undergo on account of my offi
cial
acts.” Although shielded by the military from the suit, Porter soon resigned and
returned home.
Some suff ered physical assaults as well as verbal threats. Unknown whites
in Jasper, who James Lowrie believed part of a serenading party, shot him in
the thigh as he slept in his room. As he lay wounded, Lowrie dispatched his
roommate, a freedmen’s teacher, to get help. Th
e post commander and agent at
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Violence, Frustration, Yellow Fever
Livingston, Louis Sanger, arrived with his men but found the attacking party
had dispersed. With a few troops to protect him, things remained quiet for
Lowrie. Yet he still feared another attempt on his life. Th
; e quiet ended when
Lowrie arrested the sheriff for murder. According to Lowrie, he had to release
him “owing to excitement and armed people threatening to rescue him.”
Although he promised to remain in the county, the sheriff quickly fl ed the
area. Superiors ordered the SAC in Beaumont, John H. Archer, to Jasper to
investigate the shooting of Lowrie. Archer suspected many had participated in
the shooting, concluding the “only way to prove who are the guilty parties is to
arrest the whole town. . . .”
Th
e attempt on his life greatly aff ected Lowrie. For the rest of his tenure at
Jasper, he spent much time away from his post at Woodville in the company of
the detachment of soldiers there. While accompanying them to the state capital
(they had been ordered there to be reassigned), Lowrie received word that
Inspector William H. Sinclair was due to arrive at Jasper, whereupon Lowrie
quickly returned to his post. Confronted by Sinclair about his whereabouts,
Lowrie said that he considered it too dangerous to remain in Jasper. Th
e reason
he did not go to Austin, he claimed, was his conscience had gotten to him. Sin-
clair doubted this since “he has transacted no business” since early 1868. Sinclair
suspected Lowrie was en route because he thought the Bureau “would play out”
soon, and he wanted to “get to Austin . . . and settle up and go home.” On Sin-
clair’s report, superiors relieved Lowrie in July 1868.
Th
roughout the summer and fall of 1867, Charles E. Culver complained not
about the actions of white citizens (not yet anyway) but those of the soldiers in
Cotton Gin. A few months later in October, aft er problems with black soldiers
threatening public safety, Culver again had troubles with troops. Considering
the troops worthless, he recalled an incident when they were disarmed and
“completely cowed down” by civilians. He worried “they have too much gas &
not enough fi ght.” Culver was informed that while attending a meeting the
other day “a half dozen Revolvers were pointed at [him],” and all the perpetra-
tors wanted was “an unguarded moment to put a bullet in me.” Culver, describ-
ing his district’s conditions, expressed an opinion held by more than a few
agents. “You who are so far away from this scene,” he reminded superiors, “can-
not see the picture as it is, nor can I write so as to give you an adequate idea.”
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