for Texas economically was in getting the state back on its feet agriculturally.
Agents urged freedpeople to work for their former owners. On the one hand,
through the agent’s guidance, they would learn diligence, frugality, and indus-
try, capitalism’s holy trinity. On the other hand, the white landed elite was to be
reminded “of the golden rule,” a very diffi
cult task when many continued to
“peer over their shoulder at a by gone era.” SACs tried to convert Texans to a
new religion, one based on economic productivity and cooperation. “If this
crop fails,” one agent informed those under his responsibility, “the country is
bankrupt, and of necessity the Freedmen must become paupers. . . .”
Th
e fi rst step toward conversion was the contract. Simply put, Bureau men
had to affi
rm “the former slaves’ rights to liberty” and warn them “that freedom
barred dependence.” By doing so, they hoped to “transform” both masters and
slaves “into new people—employers and employees—whose relationship was
mediated by an impersonal market rather than personal sovereignty.” Th
rough
tours in late 1865 and early 1866, fi eld agents concluded that the freedpeople
neither respected the sanctity of the contract nor fully understood it. Th
ey
noted how laborers refused to perform tasks outlined in their contracts. Others
worked their own crops at the expense of their employer’s. One agent told labor-
ers they owed him their time “to plough, to hoe, to build gin houses, [and] to
split rails,” he added, “in fact any honest labor that you are called upon to do . . .
He [the employer] has the right to sound the horn or ring the bell anytime aft er
day break.” For those unmoved by speeches, offi
cials authorized more coercive
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40
“The Post of Greatest Peril”
measures such as fi nes and, if necessary, application of the state’s vagrancy
laws.
Although many freedpeople resisted contracting, agents had to instruct
them that free labor and contracting meant freedom. Wanting to make the
“best of a bad situation,” they eventually reconciled to contracting. SACs
believed proper management meant instilling confi dence in the free labor sys-
tem, something achieved only by protecting contractual rights and disabusing
the emancipated of verbal contracts with their former masters. Moreover, they
advised come to the agency for protection and guidance. “Of course, the
planter[s] think but little of the ‘Bureau,’ ” stated Isaac Johnson at La Grange,
“not so, however, with the Freedmen.” Such comments would later be fodder for
historians to indict the Bureau as “racist” and “paternalistic.”
Ensuring that the former slaves received their just compensation caused
great resistance. If white resistance gauged whether SACs pursued justice, then
some were very committed to their duties. For example, at Meridian in early
1866, Philip Howard forcibly settled one hundred cases between whites and
their black employees. Byron Porter, while “busily engaged in discharging” his
duties, encountered resistance from “the disloyal part of the citizens,” which
included “nearly the entire population” in his district. As with the freedpeople,
agents not only had to “educate” whites about the new labor system, but also
safeguard their rights as well. No matter how thoroughly it was explained,
many freedpeople simply did not fully understand their contractual responsi-
bilities. Th
is only made enforcement more diffi
cult. Bureau records off er a lit-
any of instances of fi nes for breaking contracts, with agents either consulting or
punishing (usually through fi nes) obstreperous, uncooperative, or ignorant
laborers. Cases concerning contract settlement, wages or money owed, or con-
tract violation or interference amounted to almost forty- fi ve hundred (n=4,439)—
more analysis of the cases will appear in later chapters. Th
at comes to more than
65 percent of all complaints brought before Bureau agents. Even accounting for
dealt with contracts per se, the overwhelming majority of complaints an agent
investigated concerned labor disputes. “Bureau agents are entrusted with very
sacred and responsible duties,” remarked one fi eld agent. “I understand the
object to be not only to protect the freedmen in their rights but also to do justice
to their employers.” Historian Joe M. Richardson concluded they “were as vig-
orous in forcing the Negroes to adhere to their terms . . . as they were in compel-
ling the planters to keep their part of the bargain.” Although correct in his
claim that they protected both parties to some extent, Richardson overestimated
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The E. M. Gregory Era, Sept. 1865–April 1866
41
the “vigor” and “compulsion” toward the weaker party at least regarding Texas.
Th
eir protection of the planter went only so far. Since many realized the workers
were the weaker party, most approached disputes with this in mind.
When enforcing contracts, SACs took a more lenient approach toward the
former slaves. Biased by their current status, both as the weaker party and their
primary responsibility, these men generally held them to a diff erent (lesser)
standard. “In setting the claims of Freedmen for services during the past year,”
stated Samuel C. Sloan from Richmond in early 1866, “I am governed as far as
possible by equity—paying little attention to the technical violations of con-
tracts, as I fi nd the employer has a decided advantage over the employee, and
can with little diffi
culty get an abundance of evidence to prove this point.”
According to Mortimer H. Goddin, a farmer from Virginia, when adjudicating
cases “my aim must be to be for the best [for] the freedmen as a general rule. . . .”
Stanton Weaver “got pretty well acquainted with the manner in which the busi-
ness between the freedmen and their employers was conducted.” “If left to
themselves entirely,” he noticed, “the planter would reduce the freedmen to a
worse state than slavery (if possible)—work them the whole year under a pretty
fair contract (perhaps), and then, generally, have a bill large enough to swallow
the wages, or scare the poor fellows off with threats. . . .” While holding the
freedpeople more accountable as time passed, fi eld agents extended greater
leeway to the fi eld hand compared to his white employer. Th
is approach was lost
on most white Texans. Th
us, a considerable portion of the planters, but by no
means all, resisted dealing with SACs, generally damning them at every
opportunity.
By making the freedpeople contract with their
former masters and holding
them accountable, Bureau agents did not return “the lamb to the wolf,” as some
later historians would claim. Nor were they responsible for (or even cognizant
of) the inherent inequities and dependency endemic within the labor contract
system during the nineteenth century. Th
e freed community realized the
agents’ honesty, with the magnitude and signifi cance of their work hardly mis-
understood. Simply because Bureau men were “reestablish[ing] discipline
toward labor” does not equate with the return of slavery in another form. Crit-
ics seem to overlook that they also “disciplined planters.” Field personnel real-
ized that in order for free labor to work in Texas, the interests of both parties
had to be secured. What was good for the worker was also good for the employer.
Albeit tempered, of course. Offi
cials at headquarters warned subordinates about
being too friendly to the freedpeople and overlooking the whites, wanting them
to be circumspect in their behavior. In other words, be “as wise as a serpent as
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42
“The Post of Greatest Peril”
well as harmless.” Commenting on how some employers had accepted the new
situation and what that meant for obtaining good workers, one Bureau offi
cer,
placing his hopes in the planters’ desire for profi ts, predicted “the plastic char-
acter of mind soon adapts itself to circumstances[,] as selfi shness was the
enslaver of the negro, it will now be one of the means of his elevation.” In Leon
County, for example, F. D. Inge observed planters in his district experiencing
“pleasant disappointment.” In its infancy during Gregory’s administration, the
policy of protecting the employees through the bottom line of the employer
became more important as time passed.
Overseeing the genesis of a new labor system, in and of itself, amounted to a
full time job. But when added to the many other responsibilities of the Bureau
man, the workload could prove too much for some. Such demands prompted
one inspector in 1867 to declare, in answer to charges to the contrary, the posi-
tion of SAC “is no sinecure nor are their duties of a pleasant and agreeable
character.” William H. Rock, one of the most respected and longest tenured of
all Bureau men in Texas, and described by one offi
cial as “an agent that could
not be easily replaced,” adopted a most rigorous policy while at Richmond.
Rather than conduct business in his offi
ce, he decided to “visit . . . every planta-
tion” within his district, and not surprisingly, he found it “very fatiguing for I
am in the saddle every day more or less.” But he also found this way to be the
most eff ective. Unlike Rock, some of the initial agents appointed by Gregory
sometimes complained about the “fatiguing” workload (in one form or another,
complaints persisted to the end, but were not nearly as frequent as fi eld person-
nel increased and headquarters showed little patience for such complaints).
From Crockett, Stanton Weaver, aft er only a couple of months on the job, found
“the work of my offi
ce is more than I can attend to properly myself,” admitting
“I do not pretend to attend to anything but the approving of contracts and try-
ing of cases when freedmen have been maltreated.” George C. Abbott likewise
groused about only “one or two nights sleep, and have oft en ridden forty miles
in 24 hours besides attending to my offi
ce duties.” He believed his duties beyond
what one man could eff ectively handle, but reaffi
rmed to superiors his “splendid
health.” In contrast to Rock, who remained with the organization for years and
thrived on the work, Abbott quickly tired of the workload, despite his claims of
a steeled resolve. His self- evaluation proved premature, for shortly aft er his
affi
rmation, he believed himself no longer “competent to the proper discharge
of the duties of this offi
ce” and asked for and received a discharge in early 1866.
Confusion about their purpose and authority made their already diffi
cult
task all the more diffi
cult. In his study of Bureau men, John A. Carpenter con-
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The E. M. Gregory Era, Sept. 1865–April 1866
43
cluded agents entered “upon his duties almost completely on his own.” He had
not “attended indoctrination school, had not in most cases been briefed by
[superiors] concerning his duties, and usually assured on the scene of his labors
with only a few verbal instructions or perhaps only some circulars from superi-
ors.” Offi
cials, nonetheless, wanted subordinates “to be thoroughly introduced
to their duties.” Consider some examples. Writing from Sutherland Springs in
January 1866, William Longworth wanted to know the “maximum of my juris-
diction [I already know] the minimum.” Unfortunately, this did not always
happen. Stanton Weaver and John T. Scott, the SACs at Crockett and Victoria,
respectively, seemed confused about writing contracts, what specifi cs to include
in them, and what fi nes to levy for breach of contract. Full of zeal, B. J. Arnold
desired “some further and more defi nite instructions than those which you
have given me.” Such need for clarifi cation existed throughout the agency’s
existence. In April 1866 Joseph Ferguson at San Antonio admitted the lack of
direction has left “me at a loss as to my duty” and desirous for “some general
information as to my duties and the authority vest in me.” Byron Porter likewise
admitted his “greatest diffi
culty” was “the want of defi nite instructions . . . [to]
my jurisdiction and powers.” John T. Raper at Columbus greatly desired direc-
tion dealing with apprenticing. “I have had no conversation with you upon this
subject,” he relayed. “I was simply told to do as was right and proper.” Th
at was
the answer to many an inquiry for direction or clarifi cation. As late as June
1868, Willis A. Bledsoe admitted “I am not Posted as regards my duties.”
In reply, superiors either deferred to subordinates (“use your best judgment”
or “you must be your own judge in each particular case”) or referred them to
various general or circular orders, congressional statutes, or military and
Freedmen’s Bureau manuals. It was obvious many were ignorant of their juris-
diction and policies. Th
e latter problem partly resulted from the fi rst: many
simply lacked the necessary instructional aids. In Colorado County, Eli W.
Green requested “copies of all recent orders . . . in regard to this ‘Bureau.’ ”
Pennsylvanian native Byron Porter informed superiors “Scarcely a day passes
in which I do not suff er annoyance and inconvenience from this want and this
offi
ce [is] doubtless not the only one destitute of proper records.” Th
is situation
remained a consistent problem, since SACs were never fully apprised of their
authority and constantly in need of direction.
On the surface, this disconnection looks like typical parsimonious, bureau-
cratic interplay. Yet it highlights a prevalent belief shared by many men in the
fi eld, a belief that persisted until the agency ceased operations in the state: supe-
riors never truly understood the extent of conditions on the ground. Many
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44
“The Post of Greatest Peril”
unanswered requests from superiors, along with other slights (actual and per-
ceived) only increased their frustration. Asked to carry out an unprecedented
task in a hostile environment, Bureau men expected, at minimum, the confi -
dence and support of their superiors. Too oft en, whether warranted or not, they
believed support lacking. Th
e responsibilities and being “a stranger amongst
strangers” weighed on even the most resolute men. More than a few of the men
appointed by Gregory severely underestimated the amount of time and eff ort
necessary for the position. What was needed was an increase in agents.
In late 1865 and early 1866 Bureau offi
cials in Texas faced a dilemma: at the
very time the organization was expanding its operations, it experienced a
manpower shortage. Gregory (as well as his successor J. B. Kiddoo) had to
turn to civilians as agents, regardless of his suspicions. When appointing
“scalawags,” all Bureau chiefs in Texas turned to the aid of reputable Union-
ists like future governors Edmund Jackson Davis and Elisha Marshall Pease,
and Henry Clay Pedigo, a prominent judge in Texas. On average, the tenure
for the men appointed by Gregory was 8.4 months, higher than the overall
average of the Bureau in Texas (7.8). (See Table 2- 1.) Civilians made up more
than 31 percent (11 of 35, or 31.4 percent) of the agents Gregory appointed. Th
ey
remained with the agency slightly less than their military counterparts. At
the time of Gregory’s removal in March 1866, ten remained in the fi eld with
the organization.
Th
eir effi