A Convention Supplements Ku Klux
Throughout the reconstruction period there was perhaps more turbulence in Choctaw than in any other county of the district, but, after all, the climax in the struggle for restoration of white supremacy was in an orderly and regularly-organized meeting of citizens, without any attempt at secrecy of proceedings.
Judge J. Q. Smith, as substitute for Judge Luther R. Smith, as previously chronicled, undertook to hold the regular term of the circuit court at Butler. The sheriff attempted to arrest a boisterous man outside the court-house and met defiance and resistance; consequently, in alarm he resigned, and the judge, after some deliberation, concluded he could not proceed without a sheriff and returned to his own proper jurisdiction. The people in attendance and the residents of Butler held a meeting and adopted a resolution requesting resignations from all public officials. More cautious men dissuaded the leaders from promulgating the resolution, anda movement started to have meetings in all the precincts and delegates to a county meeting chosen. This project was successfully accomplished, and the county meeting adopted a resolution which had been adopted at a meeting in Sumter county. But in the interval between the impromptu gathering and the regularly-organized county meeting most of the officials had taken time by the forelock and anticipated the request that they vacate the offices. The resolution adopted declared devotion to law and order and opposition to any violation thereof, but recited the fact that the objectionable officials held office, not by choice of the people, but contrary to their will; that the officers had demonstrated their incapacity to enforce the laws, and, therefore, in the interest of the public they should resign.
Foiled the Ku Klux
Throughout the reconstruction period there was less lawlessness in Hale than in the counties adjoining, and overthrow of the radical administration was effected without bloodshed.
January 19, 1871, in the wee sma’ hours, a cyclops and his retinue of seventy unceremoniously called at Judge Blackford’s apartments to pay their respects. The call was intended as a sort of “surprise party”; but coming events had cast their shadows before, and those shadows were as premonitions of an early nocturnal visit, and the judge was “not at home.” He was cautiously domiciled in a room adjoining his office, in another part of town. Here, in the embrace of Morpheus, perhaps reveling in dreams of a blessed land beyond the jurisdiction of the Grand Wizard, he was aroused with the cry of “Ku Klux!” by an alert negro, who had hastened from the judge’s home to apprise him of the presence there of the unwelcome visitors. The alarm was not premature, for the horsemen were hotfooting in thewake of the negro and reached the office almost as soon as he. The judge needed no repetition of the dreadful tidings. His transition from Dreamland to earth was instantaneous, and his plunge in dishabille through an open window was a disappearing act worthy of reproduction on a dramatic stage. The weird sound of a whistle close at hand broke discordantly into the sweet concert of frogs, katydids and other melodists of the nights and accelerated the speed of him who sought asylum and ghostly solitude in the boneyard in the depths of the forest.
Recounting the thrilling incidents of that awful night, and his sojourn of three nights in the gruesome refuge, Dr. Blackford, expressed bitter resentment of the rude treatment to which his glossy tile, which he abandoned in vanishing through the window, was subjected by the klansmen; they placed it on the end of a staff and bore it as a sort of mock pennant at the head of the cavalcade. Often trivial incidents, if ridiculous or amusing, eclipse those that are grave. It was so in the Eutaw riot, when a “plug hat” diverted dangerous men from an unlawful purpose,—but that is another story, and will be told in due time.
For the next few days, Dr. Blackford camped at night and returned to his office in the morning. According to his own statement, a prominentConfederate general took him to his quarters in a hotel and promised him protection temporarily. One evening, in general conversation, the subject of the Ku Klux was broached, and the host imparted to his very receptive guest much information thereon. The klans pervaded the country, and were better organized than the Confederate army had ever been. There was no escape for a proscribed man if he should tarry when ordered to be on the move; when they dealt with a man, a klan from some other county or state did the work, and all residents could be seen pursuing their accustomed walks. “You are watched,” he said, “day and night, and your whereabouts cannot long be concealed. On that night when the Ku Klux were after you, not more than one or two persons in the vicinity had knowledge of their coming.”
[There were at that time in Greensboro two distinguished Confederate generals, Forrest and Rucker, engaged in building the Selma and Memphis Railroad.]
Judge Blackford conferred with some prominent citizens, and at his request they consented to purchase his property on condition that he resign and betake himself to other parts. After prolonged negotiations, the arrangement was effected. Governor Lindsay appointed as Blackford’s successor tothe probate judgeship Mr. James M. Hobson, father of Congressman Richmond P. Hobson. Dr. Blackford, with his grievances, repaired to Washington, where an emollient in the form of a special agency of the Postoffice Department diverted his thoughts from the enemies he had left behind.
The details of Dr. Blackford’s statement of information derived from the Confederate general should be taken with a grain of salt, because his memory was not accurate. In Washington he testified in regard to another occurrence in Greensboro, and General Blair’s inquisitiveness exposed the infirmity referred to.
He said the citizens regarded the soldiers “as a set of niggers and offscourings of creation” whom they could “buy with two dollars and a drink of whisky,” and make them do their will. Then he related that “while probate judge” there was an election in Greensboro, and soldiers in charge at the polls got drunk and changed negroes’ votes. He interfered, and one of them asked: “What the devil have you got to do with it?” The doctor replied: “I have simply this much, I am the presiding officer here of this county; I propose to keep the peace and enforce my rights as the presiding officer of the county, and I will deal with you myself if you do not leave.” The valiant doctor then drew a pistoland said, “If you do not leave here now, I will shoot you.” Comrades of the obstreperous soldier interposed and bore him away, leaving the doctor in serene enjoyment of his rights as “presiding officer of the county.” After he had testified further at considerable length, Senator Blair suddenly projected himself into the inquiry with the question:
“On what occasion was it you drew your pistol upon a United States soldier and told him you would shoot him if he would not desist?”
“It was on the day of the election.”
“What election?”
“For the constitution; the day we voted on the constitution, I think that was the day.”
“What office did you hold then?”
“No, sir; it was not the day of the constitutional election; it was the day on which the election, I think, of officers took place, and I know that I was—or at least my impression is that I was probate judge at the time; that is my impression, that I was probate judge at the time.”
“The officers were elected on the same day the constitution was voted on. So you could not have been a probate judge until you were elected and commissioned.”
“No, sir; my impression is, that it was after I was probate judge that that occurred. I think I toldhim that by virtue of the office that I held, if he did not desist from this—I know that was my assertion to the soldier.”
“Was that a proper act for an officer, a conservator of the peace?”
“I do not know that it was, but the acts of violence going on, I thought, demanded it, and the sheriff of the county had left,—and left these soldiers there to do just what they pleased, and they were drunk; and when I asked them several times to desist from this thing, and this fellow clapped his hand on his pistol,—and I had a large derringer in my pocket, and I told him he should do it.”
“You drew your pistol on him?”
“Yes, sir; I drew my pistol.”
“Was it your duty to arrest him?”
“Perhaps it might have been, sir. I did not think so; in the midst of that excitement, I did not think so, sir.”
“If a peace officer set such examples, they cannot complain that they are followed by others.”
“Yes, sir; that may be all true, but the peace officers had all forsaken me and I was there, either to let the election go by default or else to pursue that course,—and I resolved on that to get him away from there.”
“Would not the course have been just as effectual if you had arrested him in the name of the law?”
“I think the parties around him would have resisted arrest.”
“Would not they have equally resisted your firing upon him?”
In Tuscaloosa
Two young men belonging in the hills of Tuscaloosa county, were journeying in a wagon, bound homeward from a trading trip to Northport (across the river from Tuscaloosa). Passing a negro lad, they jestingly pretended that they would kidnap him. In alarm, the boy fled to his home and informed his father that he had been mistreated; and the man armed himself with a gun and pursued the unconscious young men. Overtaking them, he leveled his gun menacingly and cursed the unarmed and defenseless white men. That night they, with some friends, repaired to the negro’s house to chastise him. He had assembled a number of armed friends in anticipation of an attack. He had loosened some of the flooring, and through the opening thus provided crawled to the edge of the house, and, emerging from this position, crept unperceived to the near-by bushes. While the whites were parleying with the inmates of the house, he discharged both barrels of his gun, and young Finley fell dead.Shots from the house succeeded. Attacked front and rear, the whites withdrew in disorder. News of the occurrence quickly spread far and wide.
Next day one of the negroes implicated was caught and killed. Later, another, who had been captured and incarcerated in jail at Tuscaloosa, was taken therefrom by a band of men and executed. The ringleader escaped temporarily. Twice in pursuit of him steamboats were stopped and searched. The fugitive had been on one of them, but debarked at one of the landings. About twelve months after the unsuccessful chase, the fugitive was traced to a plantation in Hale county, where the habit of wearing a heavy revolver even while at field work rendered him an object of suspicion, and caused an investigation which revealed his identity. His dead body, weapon in hand, was found one day on the roadside, and his taking off was associated in the minds of the people with the brief visit to that neighborhood of two white men, who departed in the direction of Tuscaloosa county. Consequences of this affair were a change in the office of sheriff, recall of troops, and other tragedies, but the ultimate effect was a better understanding between the races.
A Series of Tragedies
In Sumter county affairs were approaching a climax when Enoch Townsend, a negro, about dark one evening waylaid and repeatedly stabbed Mr. Bryant Richardson, a planter, and fled after Mr. Richardson, despite his wounds, bravely struggled to overcome his assailant. A warrant for the arrest of the assailant issued, and officers sought him on the plantation of Dr. Choutteau.
Choutteau was of French descent and migrated to Sumter from Louisiana, where, it was rumored, he had been involved in serious trouble. He is described as a swaggerer. During his early residence in Sumter he expressed intense dislike of freedmen and lost caste with the whites by seriously advocating wholesale poisoning as a means of relieving the county of the surplus of its negro population. Later he yielded to the temptation of office, and identified himself with the league and gained odious notoriety by his radicalism. He had constantly about him athis plantation armed negro guards; the league met there and picketed the roads thereabout. At length he became intolerable.
To this plantation officers with the warrant of arrest repaired and searched the cabins in the negro quarters. After the search was nearly completed, a negro scrambled from the chimney of a cabin to the roof, sprang thence to the ground and fled. Disobeying the summons to halt, he was fired upon by the posse and killed. Poor fellow! he was the wrong man, and no one ever learned why he acted so like a criminal. The dead man proved to be Yankee Ben, president of the Loyal League at Sumterville. (The fugitive Townsend was arrested by two law-abiding freedmen and lodged in jail at Livingston.)
The killing of Yankee Ben excited the negroes, and a meeting was called at Choutteau’s place for the purpose of formulating plans to avenge it. Sixty armed negroes assembled accordingly on Saturday, but were dispersed. On Monday one hundred and fifty met at Choutteau’s. Simultaneously, twelve white men went there to hold an inquest on the remains of Yankee Ben, which had previously been interrupted by the proceedings narrated. On the latter occasion Choutteau refused to permit an inquest unless by a jury composed of negroes. In thishis dusky adherents supported him, and were insulting in demeanor. One hundred whites reinforced the jury and scattered the negroes. Thereupon Choutteau withdrew his objection. Moreover, he promised that if permitted to remain on his place undisturbed for a few days, he would leave the neighborhood, adding that he had for some time contemplated the move. He was told that what he purposed to do was unnecessary, and that he was required only to cease his turbulent practices.
Choutteau moved to Livingston, and shortly afterward his plantation house was destroyed by fire. He then posed as a victim of Ku Klux incendiarism, magnified his losses, memorialized the legislature for reimbursement, published exaggerated stories of the occurrence, and vociferously threatened revenge. He was regarded as a menace to the safety of the community in which he had taken up his residence.
Shortly after midnight August 13, 1869, his house was attacked by a small band of men, who forced an entrance into the hall. Doors on each side gave entrance to sleeping quarters, and an invader broke out a panel of one of them, struck a match and thrust his face into the opening. A gun was fired from within the room and the man fell to the floor. The weapon was discharged by a German namedCoblentz, whom Choutteau had hired as a guard. The intruder’s head was blown to pieces, and the entire brain, with one hemisphere intact, together with the mask the unfortunate had worn, was found on the floor next morning. When the victim fell back from the door, a comrade sprang to the vacated place and fired several shots at Coblentz, inflicting wounds from which he died an hour or so later. Believing they had killed Choutteau, the band departed, taking the fallen comrade. Blood drippings marked for some miles, to the river, the trail of the retiring invaders. The negro ferryman testified that they ferried themselves over the stream.
The dead man’s identity was never disclosed to the public, but there was a rumor that he was a young doctor, and that his remains were interred by companions, who sent to his home his watch and other valuables which he had about his person, with information regarding the place of burial. In some unhappy home, a mother, wife or other loved ones long mourned the fate of him who had died so tragically. Choutteau did not tarry. He was given employment in Washington, and disappeared from view.
The party which visited Livingston that fateful night divided and a detachment went to the house of George Houston, one of the negro legislators.When the firing began at Houston’s home, someone sprang from a window and fled to the brush. Thinking it was Houston and that he had escaped, this band reunited itself with the others and all departed. It was Houston’s son who escaped. Houston himself was wounded, but recovered, and left for Montgomery, returning no more. Houston was accused of having repeatedly uttered the threat that if the whites did not cease their regulating activities he would have Livingston laid in ashes.
On August 8, of the same year leading citizens of Livingston received telegrams advising them that one hundred armed negroes, en route to Livingston, had stopped at Gainesville, in the same county, and purchased quantities of ammunition. Very soon thereafter Captain Johnson, commander of a steamer on the Tombigbee river, telegraphed to Livingston that in steaming up the stream he had seen groups of negroes on the banks,—all with guns,—who said they were going to Livingston to attend a nominating meeting, to be held next day; that they had been ordered to attend with arms. Another dispatch was received from Eutaw saying that Congressman Hays had engaged transportation next day for one hundred negroes.
The white people of Livingston, on receipt ofthese dispatches, bestirred themselves and summoned reinforcements from other points.
The night preceding the day set for the meeting the negroes camped outside of town. Next day, when they entered Livingston, they were confronted by a body of white men, who told them they would not be permitted to retain their guns while in town and must take them back to the camp. The negroes, after some disputation, on learning that the congressman would not be present, retired. Burke, the negro legislator and president of the league, went to the camp and harangued them. He urged them to return to town with their guns and resist any interference that might be offered. He wrought them into a state of excitement.
One negro, Hayne Richardson, refused to lay down his gun, and was shot on the road some distance out of town. The report of the gun attracted attention both in town and camp, and suddenly a party of horsemen dashed toward the latter, firing their weapons. The sudden attack abruptly terminated Burke’s fervid oratory and his audience fled. Some were shot. Richardson was badly hurt, but escaped and left the county. The following night twenty horsemen surrounded Burke’s dwelling. He escaped from it and fled, under fire. Early in themorning his body was found stretched in a path leading to the dwelling of his former master.
Price, the man of multifarious official employment, called the meeting, and the negroes who testified in the investigation said that his runners told them he directed that they attend with guns. Price took final leave of Sumter before the shooting commenced.
Congressman Hays said he was prevented from attending by sickness of a member of his family. He disavowed any responsibility for the negroes going armed. “I only want to state this,” he said, while testifying in Livingston, “in connection with that matter—I do not know that it is worth stating: that I understood from friends of mine here that there was a regular mob down there to assassinate me the very moment I got off the train. I heard that afterward,—that if I had come here, I would have been killed instantly. If I had been, I would have been killed innocently.”
Congressman Hays was unfortunate in being placed in alleged false situations. There was another memorable occasion when appearances were against him, however innocent of evil designs he may have been:
There was to be a meeting at Boligee, in Greene county, and Colonel J. J. Jolly, of Eutaw, wasinvited to address the gathering. The Boligee Democratic Club sent a committee to Major Charles Hays with an invitation to discuss jointly with Colonel Jolly the issues of the campaign. The invitation was accepted. When Major Hays arrived there was gathered a party of armed negroes. According to his own statement under oath, Hays, in relating the incidents of the abortive meeting, said that a half-hour after his arrival “there came some fifteen young men riding up, with double-barreled guns and a few hounds following them. I saw this demonstration at once and I came to the conclusion that it was gotten up for a row.” He had been present for a half-hour and was all the time aware that a crowd of armed negroes was gathered, but said nothing in remonstrance, but as soon as the party of young white men rode up he immediately stepped to the door of the building in which he was waiting, and said to the negroes: “You have come here with guns in your hands, and you know that I have expressly said to you that I would never speak to you on any occasion whatever when you brought arms to a political meeting at any place, and I shall decline to have anything to do with this matter in any way whatever.” Then, turning to the white men, “I hope, gentlemen, you will excuse me; I’m going home.”
Disappearance of Price
Price was the most turbulent and desperate character among the radicals. One of his own ilk declared that Price had not brought with him even so much as a carpetbag, but was soon grasping everything in sight. After the trouble in Livingston, just described, he fled to Meridian, and continued there to be a disturbing element.
Lauderdale county, Mississippi, of which Meridian is the capital, and Sumter county, Alabama, adjoin. A negro of Livingston went to Meridian to obtain some farm laborers. On his return he reported that he had been assaulted by disguised negroes, in whose leader he recognized Price. An officer went from Livingston to investigate, and was assaulted by Price and others. Price was arrested by the Meridian authorities, and when the trial was due a number of Alabamians were gathered in that town. The trial was to be before the mayor. Some of the county and city officials requested the mayor not to permit the trial to proceed, because if he did there would certainly be an outbreak. In compliance with the request, the trialwas postponed and Price permitted to escape. He never reappeared and nothing is known of his subsequent career. But he entailed trouble on the people, and there was a bloody sequel to his arrest and release. Negroes held a meeting and resolved that they would repel with force any future “raids” by Alabamians. After the meeting adjourned an incendiary fire started, and leading negroes at the scene discharged revolvers recklessly. This caused much excitement, and some colored men were arrested and held under guard. Monday morning at eleven o’clock white citizens met and adopted a resolution asking the mayor to resign and leave the city. At three o’clock the trial of the negro prisoners began. Many Alabamians were in town, among them, according to statements, the noted Steve Renfroe, of Sumter, and Joe Reynolds, of Eutaw (“Captain Jenks”). The trial or investigation was before a justice named Bramlette. A white witness concluded his testimony and was about to retire, when one of the accused negroes, Tyler, insultingly asked him to continue on the stand a few minutes, as he wished to impeach his testimony with that of some negro witnesses whom he would introduce. The witness picked up a cane which was lying on the table and moved toward Tyler. A pistol was fired from the direction of thatpart of the room in which Tyler and a number of others were grouped. Bramlette sank back in his chair, dead. Firing of pistols became general and there was great disorder and confusion. Clopton, one of the negroes under arrest and charged with incendiary utterances, was wounded and thrown from a window of the room, which was in the second story. He was taken into the sheriff’s office, and in the uproar there killed. Tyler escaped from the building and hid in a shop some distance away. Pursuers found and killed him. Few doubted that he fired the shot which killed the justice.
Excitement continued through the afternoon. Three other negro leaders were arrested and placed under a guard for protection. Two nights afterward they were taken from the guards and executed.
The mayor abandoned his office and left the state. An obnoxious member of the legislature was sought, but fled and did not return.
One of the utterances of Tyler at the negro meeting recalled a remarkable incident in the history of Meridian. In a drunken brawl an Indian belonging to the Mississippi Choctaw tribe was killed there. A band of his tribesmen, in a spirit of retaliation, visited Meridian and killed the slayer. Tyler referred to this action of the Choctaws as an example worthy of emulation by his people.
Riots in Marengo
In the campaign of 1870, a former slave owner was one of the Republican candidates for office in Marengo county, and made what was regarded as an inflammatory speech to negroes gathered at Shiloh, a hamlet, situated in a section of Marengo county largely populated by negroes. A few white men were present, and between them and the candidate an angry controversy arose. The immediate result was cessation of the speechmaking and dissolution of the meeting. The orator was escorted by white men to a buggy and departed in safety. He was a pugnacious man and had a record of at least one victim to attest his prowess in rencontre. Some days later he repaired to Linden, the county seat, accompanied by two negro men, ostentatiously bearing a United States flag. There had assembled a great crowd of negroes, who were, as usual, armed. With him on the platform was Captain C. L. Drake, the man of many offices, and above them floatedOld Glory. An offensive reference to the disturbance at Shiloh provoked a quick retort from one of a small group of white men who were listening to the speech. The orator paused, dramatically removed from his pockets his watch and purse, and from its fastening a diamond pin, handed them to the sheriff, with the request that he convey them to the candidate’s wife, in the event of a fatality, drew a pistol, and, remarking that he had been mistreated and would “fight it out,” descended from the platform. Negroes with guns sprang into double ranks, enclosing him on two sides. The group of whites promptly seized and disarmed him, and meanwhile white men with arms were rushing to the scene from all quarters. Somewhere on the outskirts of the throng a pistol was fired which caused a stampede in that quarter. The negroes about the platform, confronted by a line of determined whites, yielded and retired from the scene. Drake fled to his office and thence to tall timber. The candidate, forsaken by his followers, asked for protection, and was hurried into a room of the court-house and locked in with two or three citizens. The angry crowd outside was clamorous and the beleaguered man, rejecting all suggestions of plans for flight, himself finally proposed as a means of quieting the uproar to sign a paper relinquishing his candidacy for sheriff andwithdrawing from politics. Duplicate copies of the paper were drawn up and signed; he retained one of them, and the other was taken outside and read to the people. It produced the desired effect. The candidate was placed in a buggy and, accompanied by an escort, proceeded to his home. And thus ended “the Linden riot.” But the candidate was irrepressible and speedily repudiated his act of self-abnegation as having been done under intimidation.
He spoke at Belmont, a small settlement, and became involved in an affray with a resident. This created a general disturbance, in which the meeting was broken up and the negroes sullenly retired from the scene. They threatened to burn the place, and a white man was shot at from ambush. So unusually hostile and aggressive were the negroes that warrants issued for the arrest of certain of their leaders, among them Zeke High. There were posted notices of a meeting of negroes at Belmont on July 5, 1870. White men in considerable numbers assembled there on that date, and the meeting was prudently postponed. A negro was whipped that night, and next night he assembled at his house, in a dense swamp near the river, a number of armed friends. A scouting party of whites, seeking information respecting the purposes of the negroes,approached their stronghold in the darkness of night; one of them (Melton) entered the yard and was fired at. Melton dropped to the ground and feigned death to escape another volley. Both sides, thinking he was dead, ceased firing, and the whites withdrew to give the alarm. A warrant of arrest was placed in the hands of an officer, but he was unwilling to attempt to serve it at night. A young man named Collins, bold and fond of excitement and adventure, volunteered to serve the warrant and was duly commissioned. Collins, with three companions, approached the house, but before he had time to summon the inmates to capitulate, a volley was fired by the latter and Collins sank from his horse in death. Two of his companions were slightly injured, and the party, after returning the fire, retired. This occurrence created intense excitement and indignation. Whites gathered from the surrounding country. The negroes were greatly reinforced and fortified a position in an almost impenetrable part of the swamp. Some of the whites favored an immediate assault, but other counsels prevailed, and the sheriff, with a small posse, proceeded to the scene and demanded Collins’ body. The demand was refused. Next day the sheriff rode into the midst of the mob and again demanded the body, and got it. A few hours laterthe white forces made a quick and determined forward movement to dislodge the negroes from their almost impregnable position, and found it abandoned,—the negroes had disbanded and fled in terror. This terminated “the Belmont riot”; but it had a sequel in the retributive death of the negro leader, Zeke High, who boasted that his shot killed Collins. On his own boastful confession High was arrested and lodged in the Sumter county jail at Livingston. September 29 a party of mounted and disguised men from the direction of Marengo forced the sheriff to surrender the jail keys, entered the prison and took High from his cell, conveyed him a short distance away and hung and shot him to death. This High was a desperate and dangerous character, and even when seized by his executioners fought ferociously. When the leader entered the dark cell in which High and three other prisoners were incarcerated, he was assaulted and struck in the face with a heavy piece of furniture, the blow dislodging several front teeth.
Killings and Rioting in Greene
In 1870 Eutaw, the seat of government of the rich county of Greene, contained a population of 1,800 or 2,000, and prospered greatly in trade with farmers in the surrounding country. It was a typical Southern court-house town,—busy in fall and winter, almost dormant in late spring and summer. Its men were among the earliest to volunteer for service in the Confederate armies and latest to retire from that service; they were also amongst the earliest to organize resistance to carpetbag rule and to throw off the yoke.
On the morning of April 1, 1870, the people of Eutaw were shocked when informed of a tragedy which had been enacted during the night—Alexander Boyd, county solicitor and register in chancery, had been shot to death by Ku Klux! At first most persons discredited the gruesome story as an “April fool” hoax, but incredulity gave place to amazement when the scene of the awful tragedy was visited.
Of all the acts attributed to the klan, perhaps none was bolder than the slaying of Boyd. A bachelor, he had for a long time occupied sleeping quarters in a detached office building situated in a corner of the court-house yard; but having received a warning note, he became alarmed and abandoned these quarters and obtained an apartment on the second floor of the Cleveland Hotel only a few nights previous to his death. This hotel was situated on a corner diagonally opposite the court-house, and was the principal rendezvous of townsmen with a taste for gossip.
Witnesses at the investigation into the circumstances testified that at half-past eleven o’clock forty or fifty horsemen, in the regulation garb and armed with revolvers, their horses robed and hooded, approached to within a short distance of the hotel, where all except the customary horse-holders dismounted and quickly and unhesitatingly entered the hotel office, posted guards at all entrances, and then commanded the clerk to take up a candle and show them to Mr. Boyd’s apartment. Obediently the clerk led the way until he reached the corridor upon which opened the room they sought. Pausing here, in his speechlessness he indicated the door by pointing, and then fled the scene. Within a brief space an agonized scream, heard blocks away, issued fromthe room of the doomed man, and was almost instantly succeeded by a heavy volley of pistol shots. The panic-stricken clerk had hardly resumed his seat upon the office stool, with hands to ears and head bowed upon his ledger, when the dread invaders reappeared in the office. Signaling with whistles the recall of sentinels, they quietly withdrew, remounted and rode around the square, in military order, and then departed in the direction from which they first appeared. [They were traced to the Mississippi border line.]
After their departure, officials and others repaired to the corridor and discovered the dead body, robed in night dress, perforated with many bullets and almost completely drained of blood. Not a shot had missed the mark. Inside the room a table, bearing a lighted lamp, his revolver and watch, stood close to the head of the bed. He had not attempted to use the weapon. Evidently the purpose of his slayers was to remove him from the building, for one of them carried a suggestive coil of rope, but his outcry and struggles settled his fate.
Boyd was a nephew of William Miller, probate judge. Some years before the war he was convicted of killing a young man named Charner Brown, and sentenced to a term in the penitentiary.A petition in his behalf was presented to Governor Winston, and in response thereto the sentence was commuted to one year’s imprisonment in the county jail. Having served the sentence, Boyd departed for another state. At the close of the war he reappeared, and, following the example of his uncle, sought office in 1868 at the hands of the negroes, and was made county solicitor and register in chancery. He was not distinguished as a prosecutor, but regarded as indifferent.
December 9, 1869, Dr. Samuel Snoddy left the village of Union, in the northern part of Greene county, to return to his farm. Night overtook him en route, and he became confused. Reaching the cabin of some negroes with whom he was acquainted, he engaged one of them to pilot him. Early next morning Dr. Snoddy’s badly mutilated remains were discovered on the roadside. The unfortunate man had been murdered and robbed of a considerable sum which he had on his person. Sam Caldwell, Henry Miller and Sam Colvin, negroes, were arrested, accused of the crime, and lodged in jail at Eutaw. The scene of the murder had become notorious on account of being a centre of league activities and disorders, and the murder of Snoddy aggravated the sense of wrong under which the whites had long been restive; and when, a few dayslater, the prisoners were released, one of them on bond, they were seized and executed summarily. Solicitor Boyd, it was alleged, manifested no zeal in the investigation of the Snoddy murder, but became exceedingly active in the inquisition in connection with the subsequent and consequent affair, and exultantly declared that he had ascertained the names of all the men engaged in it, would send for soldiers to effect their arrest, and vigorously prosecute them, and if necessary hold the jury for six months.
All of these facts were related in explanation of popular displeasure with Boyd, which revealed itself first in the note of warning and finally in the taking of his life. Mr. Boyd’s tombstone in the Messopotamia cemetery, Eutaw, erected by Judge Miller, is inscribed: “Murdered by Ku Klux.”
Greene county continued in a state of disorder, which grew worse as the election approached.
The Republican state executive committee advertised that on October 25, 1870, Senator Warner, Congressman Hays, Governor Smith and Ex-Governor Parsons would deliver addresses at the court-house in Eutaw. On that day the party of visitors, accompanied by General Crawford, military commander of the department, and others, arrived in town. They were informed that the Democraticcounty committee had invited the voters to hear an address by the Democratic candidate for the legislature, and had chosen the same time and place. Thereupon the Republican leaders held a conference and decided to invite the Democratic committee to hold with them a joint meeting. Accordingly, Judge Miller, Congressman Hays and Mr. Cockrell were commissioned to convey to the Democratic committee the following note:
“We propose to appoint a committee of two to meet a committee of two from your party, to arrange the terms of a discussion for the day, to meet immediately at the circuit clerk’s office.”
To this note the following reply was sent:
“Gentlemen,—In answer to your note of this date, we, the committee appointed by the president of the Democratic and Conservative Council of Greene county, are instructed to say, that we do not consider the questions in the present political canvass debatable, either as to men or measures; and we therefore, in behalf of the Democratic and Conservative party of Greene county, decline any discussion whatever.
“J. J. Jolly,“J. G. Pierce,“Committee.”
This reply was ominous. So apprehensive were the leaders that Congressman Hays, who was exceedingly unpopular, decided, with the concurrence of the others, that it would be safer if he should refrain from speaking. The garrison troops were quartered a half-mile away from the court-house, and Governor Smith requested General Crawford to have the entire body brought to the court-house; but after conference with the sheriff, the general concluded that a detachment posted two blocks distant would be a sufficient safeguard.
Immediately after the note of reply was sent, the Democrats called their meeting to order on the north side of the court-house, and soon thereafter the Republicans assembled on the south side. The Democratic meeting lasted only a short time, and at its conclusion the auditors repaired to points where they could listen to the Republican orators.
Corridors run through the court-house, crossing each other in the centre of the building. These spaces were thronged by white men.
For the accommodation of the Republican speakers, an improvised platform, formed of a table, was placed against a window opening from the clerk’s office. All of the Republican visitors and local officials occupied chairs in this office. By request of Senator Warner, the office door waslocked from the inside, in order, as said, that “whatever danger there might be would be in front.”
Senator Warner spoke without unusual interference. Ex-Governor Parsons followed and was listened to attentively. When he retired through the window, the negroes called for Congressman Hays. A Democrat, Major Pierce, approached Governor Parsons, who was seated inside near the window, and advised him to restrain Hays. Parsons, in response, endeavored to attract the attention of Hays, who had mounted the platform with the intention, as he subsequently testified, not to deliver an address, but merely to dismiss the audience. If this was true, his purpose was misunderstood, for the table was suddenly tilted and Hays precipitated. As he fell a pistol was fired, and the ball passed through Major Pierce’s clothing. Some witnesses testified that Hays fired it, and Parsons afterward admitted that Hayes was armed with a derringer; others, that the shot came from the direction in which the negroes were massed. However this may be, there was an impulsive forward rush by the negroes, and, as Warner admitted, they had weapons in their hands.
The first shot was instantly succeeded by a volley from the corridors, and the onrush was halted. Suddenly, in a resonant voice, someone in a corridorshouted: “Go in, boys, now is your time!” Continuous firing followed, and the negroes fled in great disorder, leveling the stout fence which enclosed the yard, a few discharging pistols as they fled.
Even in this grave situation there was an amusing incident. In his testimony before an investigating commission Senator Warner, describing the riot, related it accurately. Beaver hats were not worn in Eutaw at that period. Mr. Parsons’ attire was similar to that of Quakers and included a light-colored beaver hat. Senator Warner’s tile was conventional, black and glossy. “I caught up the papers in my hands,” he said, “and walked very deliberately to the right, in order to get out of the way of the firing. There came from the right-hand side of the court-house a pretty good line of men, thirty or forty, I should think. They came around all together, and formed a tolerable line across from the corner of the court-house to the fence, and commenced firing on the negroes, who had broken down the court-house fence and were fleeing as fast as they could. These men cocked their revolvers and fired upon them as rapidly as they could. I looked at them for a moment, and then walked up to them as they were firing. I saw some colored men falling on the grass and then scrambling up and moving off. I walked up to these men and held up my handin a deprecating manner, and said, ‘For God’s sake, stop this!’ One of them who was nearest to me turned around and cast a kind of defiant but yet somewhat surprised look at me. One of them leveled his pistol upon us, Governor Parsons, Mr. Brown and myself; he was standing about the length of this table distant from us. He leveled his pistol at Governor Parsons. The governor said: ‘For God’s sake, don’t shoot at me; I have done you no harm.’ The crowd stopped firing and turned their attention to us. Just at that instant the sheriff came around with his arms spread out, and said: ‘Stop this! stop this!’ The man stopped for a moment and seemed to be deliberating whether he should shoot Parsons. He then saw Mr. Hays on my right; turning a little to one side to avoid me, he threw his pistol down upon Hays and Mr. Brown, who were both together, and tried to shoot them. They both sprang behind me; I saw them getting behind me and squatting on the ground to avoid his fire. By that time the negroes had been driven out of the court-house yard and across the street, where they had stopped and turned, and began to fire back. A few were firing back. Just at that moment I heard somebody call out, ‘Boys, hold your fire!’ The firing then ceased. I started and walked through the crowd, right among them. Isuppose there were forty or fifty of them, all standing there with their revolvers in their hands, smoking, as they had been firing. Just as I was getting out of the crowd somebody from behind struck at me and knocked my hat off; I just felt the blow on my head, but I could not tell who it was, for when I turned around his hands were dropped, whoever it was. I guess it was pretty lucky I did not know, for the blow aroused me a great deal, and I am afraid I should have lost my self-possession. I turned around to pick up my hat, when another man kicked it; then another kicked it; and then the whole crowd, one after another, played football with it and kicked it across the yard. I started back to get it, when a man by the name of Dunlap, a Democrat, who seemed to be in accord with the party there, walked up to me and took me by the arm in a friendly sort of way, and said, ‘General, you had better get away from here or you will get hurt!’”
The senator’s hat furnished diversion at a critical moment, and in all probability was the means of saving his life and the lives of his friends. There had been firing from the clerk’s office, and Mr. Cowan (one of the actors in the Greensboro tragedy mentioned in an earlier chapter), was slightly grazed on the left thigh. He was brandishing a pistol and calling to the white men to rally about him, andstanding near a window of the clerk’s office. He believed that he was made a target by a prominent Republican who was in the office. Two other white men, near Mr. Cowan, were struck by missiles from the negro ranks just before they fled from the yard. Some of the party with or about Senator Warner had, a moment before the scene described by him, emerged from the office and were retreating to the Cleveland hotel, and a determined group of men, including Reynolds, with a shotgun, were pursuing them when the fun with the hat commenced. While it was yet in progress, the soldiers wheeled around the nearest corner and rescued the imperilled Republican leaders.
Meanwhile the negroes, having fled in two directions to points where they had guns concealed in wagons, secured these arms and resolutely moved back toward the scene of their rout. They were aware of their preponderating numbers, and counted on the sympathy of the soldiers. Those on Prairie street had not proceeded far when they encountered a squad of mounted men commanded by the marshal and a few sharpshooters posted behind trees in private yards, who speedily checked their advance. At the intersection of the two streets which were scenes of reviving combat a line of white men, armed with guns, all men of tested courage, wasformed to prevent a junction of the two bodies of negroes. Just then the soldiers, at double-quick, made their appearance and were halted opposite the line of armed citizens. After a brief hesitation, the officer gave the command to move and the soldiers proceeded down Prairie street. The negroes quickly lost courage and retreated, and before long none could be seen within miles of the town. And so ended the Eutaw riot, in which, according to the local newspaper, theWhig and Observer, and the testimony of witnesses, 54 men were shot, and from 250 to 300 white men and from 1,800 to 2,000 negroes were engaged. The number of wounded was probably exaggerated.
The pistol shot which followed so quickly the rude interruption of Hays’ remarks was not the real cause of the riot; it was but the signal for the opening of a conflict which had been impending for some time, and it gave vent to indignation which had been suppressed with difficulty. The explanation is found in earlier occurrences.
In October the white people of Greene county were much disturbed by rumors that a number of bands of negroes had been drilling with arms in parts of the county where plantations were largest and the negro population densest. A country store was burned by incendiaries, and threats were madethat the several bands would be consolidated and Eutaw attacked by the combined force.
Lieutenant Charles Harkins, commanding the detachment of troops garrisoning the town, reported to his superior officer at Huntsville as follows:
“I have the honor to report that on the evening of the 19th instant, reports were brought to this town, by both colored and white men, to the effect that a band of armed colored men intended burning the town that night. The rumor seemed to be generally credited by the citizens, which caused great alarm and excitement. Armed parties of citizens were immediately formed, under the direction of the sheriff, and patrols and pickets sent to the suburbs of the town, where they remained all night. No demonstration was made by the colored men, if they had any such intention, which I am inclined to doubt. The excitement has abated, but there is still a feeling of distrust and anxiety among all classes.
“The real facts of the case, and cause of the present alarm, I believe to be as follows: The colored men and Republicans generally of this county, feeling aggrieved at the many murders and outrages perpetrated on men of their party by the Ku Klux organization, have determined to protect themselves in future and have banded together for that purpose only, not to assume the offensive, or interferewith the peaceful, law-abiding portion of the community.”
The relation of cause and effect in this thwarted conspiracy to destroy Eutaw and the riot which followed so soon is indisputable. The trend of Lieutenant Harkins’ sympathies is equally plain. He was inclined to doubt that the banded negroes intended to burn the town, but readily intimated that they had provocation in “the many murders and outrages perpetrated on men of their party by the Ku Klux organization.” Not a word is there in the report concerning the burning of the store, nor of the fact that refugee white families from the widely-separated plantations were moving into Eutaw for protection against the menacing bands of negroes, nor that the “patrols and pickets” were necessary precautions not of one night only, but of three nights, and served to deter the negroes from prosecuting their design.
The prompt action of the whites in driving the negroes out of town on October 25 would seem precipitate and unjustifiable if not considered in connection with the facts just recited. Nearly two thousand negroes attended that meeting, and they took with them guns, which were secreted in wagons at the foot of Prairie street. They were aware that the commanding officer of the garrison was insympathy with them, and that they would encounter only a small body of white men should there be a collision. No doubt they counted much on the presence of the radical governor of the state, the military commander of the department, a senator and a congressional representative, all in sympathy with them, and all smarting under indignities received only a few days before at a meeting in an adjoining county.
The white men remembered the nights of anxiety for the safety of the women and children and property of the town, and realized the danger of the situation in which they were placed by the group of official Republicans who heedlessly and recklessly assembled thousands of negroes who had so recently been frustrated in a design to obtain revenge for punishment administered to evildoers of their race. Those white men had courage and resolution to meet the emergency, and they met it promptly and terribly. And they taught a lesson for which there has never since been occasion for repetition.
Restoration of White Supremacy
The state election in 1870 resulted in a victory for the Democratic and Conservative party, but there was a persistent effort to deprive that party of the fruits of victory. There was instituted on behalf of the incumbent governor and treasurer a proceeding in the chancery court to enjoin the presiding officer of the senate from counting the votes for candidates for those two offices. The legislature met November 20, and the law required that the vote be counted, with the two houses assembled jointly, within the first week. In the proceedings instituted, Governor Smith alleged irregularity in the election. The judge of the circuit court refused to grant an injunction, on the ground that the legislature could not be enjoined by a court. It was then filed with a supreme court judge. It prayed that the presiding officer of the senate be restrained from counting the vote until the legislature could provide rules by which the proposed contest should be tried. Judge Saffold, as chancellor, granted the injunction.Lieutenant-Governor Applegate was dead, and Barr, an Ohio man, was presiding. The injunction was served on Barr, and he very cheerfully obeyed it.
There are some interesting facts in relation to this senate. The radical constitution gerrymandered the senatorial districts, in some instances apportioning a senator to a single county; in others, a senator to a group of three or four counties, with nearly threefold greater population.
The constitution provided that representatives in the legislature should be elected for two years, and senators for four years; that one-half of the seats of senators first elected (in 1868) should be declared vacant at the end of two years, thus providing for continuation of a certain number. In accordance with this provision, at the session in November the question whether the senators should draw for the long and short terms was discussed; nobody wished to vacate his seat, and by hocus-pocus they reached the conclusion that all should hold over. Consequently, one-half of them sat four years and the others for six. This procedure contributed much to the complication of affairs. This senate connived at the attempt to prevent the count of returns.
At noon on the last day of the week the two houses assembled and Barr proceeded to count the returns for other officers, declaring that forLieutenant-governor E. H. Moren had received a majority of the votes cast at the election; that for secretary of state J. J. Parker had defeated J. T. Rapier; that W. A. Sanford had defeated Joshua Morse in the race for attorney-general; that Joseph Hodgson succeeded N. B. Cloud as superintendent of public instruction. These winners were all Democrats. As soon as he had declared these results. Barr and the radical senators withdrew. Lieutenant-Governor Moren then appeared, took the oath of office, assumed the chair of the presiding officer, and directed that the returns for governor and treasurer be brought in. This being done, he proceeded forthwith to count them and declared that Robert B. Lindsay, for governor, and James F. Grant, for treasurer, had received majorities, and to proclaim them duly elected. These officers were sent for and sworn in. Consternation seized the Republican leaders. They were caught in their own trap, for the injunction had been served on Barr and he had qualified his own successor in the person of Dr. Moren, who as lieutenant-governor was unaffected by the injunction. Lindsay lost no time in demanding possession of the office, but Smith refused to yield and had federal soldiers guarding all entrances to the offices of governor and treasurer.
Judge J. Q. Smith went from Selma toMontgomery, and before him Lindsay and Grant instituted proceedings, demanding that the seal and all books and papers and other property pertaining to the offices of governor and treasurer be delivered to them, respectively. The proceedings lasted several days. Meanwhile, Montgomery was fast filling up with young men, strangers in the community, and there were rumors that bodies of men in near-by towns were awaiting summons to the capital, and that locomotives with steam up and cars attached, ready for service, were side-tracked at a number of stations. Judge Smith’s court-room was daily crowded with strange men. Excitement was intense.
Lindsay in his complaint alleged that he was the qualified successor of Governor Smith; that he had made a demand upon him for the books, papers and paraphernalia of the office of governor, and that Smith refused to deliver them. The trial was set for three o’clock in the afternoon, and Governor Smith was ordered to appear in person in court and show cause why he should not be compelled to deliver the property demanded. Governor Smith did not like the appearance which Montgomery had assumed, nor did he relish the necessity of appearing in that court-room and before that audience contesting the right of the people’s representativesto assume the offices to which they had elected them, nor the certainty that as soon as judgment should be given against him an order for commitment to custody would issue. Accordingly, he had a conference with General Pettus, and soon thereafter announced that he “would yield, upon the ground that, although he was satisfied he was fairly and lawfully re-elected, his continuance of the litigation and the contest in the palpable excitement that surrounded the whole matter would tend to disturb the public peace; and the detriment to the material interests of the people of the state would be infinitely greater than the possession of the office itself by any particular man could possibly compensate.”
Thus negro domination in Alabama was overcome.
And the Ku Klux rode no more.