OF all the elections ever conducted by the English speaking race the
one held under the “Reconstruction” act of 1867 in the South was the
most unique.
Ezra Perkins the agent of the Freedman’s Bureau issued a windy
proclamation to the new citizens to come forward on a certain day to
register and receive their ‘elective franchise.’
The negroes poured into town from every direction from early dawn. Some
carried baskets, some carried jugs, and some were pushing wheelbarrows,
but most of them had an empty bag. They were packed around the Agency in
a solid black mass.
Nelse laughed until a crowd gathered around him.
“Lordy, look at dem bags!” he shouted. “En dars ole Ike wid er jug.
He’s gwine ter take hisen in licker. En bress God dars er fool wid er
wheel-barer!” Nelse lay down and rolled with laughter.
They failed to see the joke, and when the Agency was opened they made a
break for the door, trampling each other down in a mad fear that there
wouldn’t be enough ‘elective franchise’ to go round!
The first negro who emerged from the door came with a crestfallen face
and an empty bag on his arm.
He was surrounded by anxious inquirers. “What wuz hit?”
“Nuffin. Des stan up dar befo’ er man wid big whiskers en he make me
swar ter export de Constertution er de Nunited States er Nor’f Calliny.”
When Nelse appeared Perkins looked at him a moment and asked, “Are you a
member of the Union League?”
“Dat I hain’t.”
“Then stand aside and let these men register. If you want to vote you
had better join.”
Nelse made no reply, but in a short time he returned with the Rev. John
Durham by his side. He was allowed to register, but from that day he was
a marked man among his race.
When the registration closed Perkins was in high glee.
“We’ve got ’em, Timothy! It’s a dead sure thing!” he cried as he
slipped his arm around Tim’s shoulder.
“Will the majority be big?” asked Tim.
“If it ain’t big enough we’ll disfranchise more aristocrats and
enfranchise the dogs.” Tim wondered whether this proposition was
altogether flattering.
During the progress of the campaign, a committee from the organisation
of the “truly loyal,” Ezra Perkins and Dave Haley, called on Tom Camp.
“Mr. Camp, we want your help as a leader among the poor white people to
save the country from these rebel aristocrats who have ruined it,” said
Ezra.
“You’re barkin’ up the wrong tree!” answered Tom dryly.
“The poor men have got to stand together now and get their rights.”
“Well if I’ve got to stand with niggers, have ’em hug me and blow
their breath in my face, as you fellers are doin’, you can count me
out!--and if that’s all you want with me, you’ll find the door open.”
Haley tried his hand.
“Look here, Camp, we ain’t got no hard feelin’s agin you, but there’s
agoin’ to be trouble for every rebel in this county who don’t git on our
side and do it quick.”
“I’m used to trouble pardner,” replied Tom.
“You’ve got a nice little cabin home and ten acres of land. Fight us,
and we will give this house and lot to a nigger.”
“I don’t believe it,” cried Tom.
“Come, come,” said Perkins, “you’re not fool enough to fight us when
we’ve got a dead sure thing, a majority fixed before the voting begins,
Congress and the whole army back of us?”
“I ain’t er nigger!” said Tom, doggedly.
“What’s the use to be a fool Camp,” cried Haley. “We are just using the
nigger to stick the votes in the box. He thinks he’s goin’ to heaven,
but we’ll ride him all the way up to the gate and hitch him on the
outside. Will you come in with us?”
“Don’t like your complexion!” he answered rising and going toward the
door.
“Then we’ll turn you out into the road in less than two years,” said
Haley as they left.
“All right!” laughed the old soldier, “I slept on the ground four years,
boys.”
When he came back into the room he met his wife with tears in her eyes.
“Oh! Tom, I’m afraid they’ll do what they say.”
“To tell you the truth, ole woman, I’m afraid so too. But we’re in the
hands of the Lord. This is His house. If He wants to take it away from
me now when I’m crippled and helpless, He knows what’s best.”
“I wish you didn’t have to go agin ’em.”
“I ain’t er nigger, ole gal, and I don’t flock with niggers. If God
Almighty had meant me to be one He’d have made my skin black.”
On election day no publication of the polling places had been made.
Ezra Perkins had in charge the whole county. He consolidated the fifteen
voting precincts into three and located these in negro districts. He
notified only the members of the secret Leagues where these three voting
places were to be found, and other people were allowed to find them on
the day of the election as best they could.
Perkins made himself the poll holder at Hambright though he was a
candidate for member of the Constitutional Convention, and the poll
holders were allowed to keep the ballots in their possession for three
days before forwarding to the General in command at Charleston, South
Carolina.
Scores of negroes, under the instructions of their leaders voted three
times that day. Every negro boy fairly well grown was allowed to vote
and no questions asked as to his age.
Nelse approached the polls attempting to cast a vote against the Rev.
Ezra Perkins the poll holder. A crowd of infuriated negroes surrounded
him in a moment.
“Kill ’im! Knock ’im in the head! De black debbil, votin’ agin his
colour!”
Nelse threw his big fists right and left and soon had an open space in
the edge of which lay a half dozen negroes scrambling to get to their
feet.
The negroes formed a line in front of him and the foremost one said,
“You try ter put dat vote in de box we bust yo head open!”
Nelse knocked him down before he got the words well out of him mouth.
“Honey, I’se er bad nigger!” he shouted with a grin as he stepped back
and started to rush the line.
Perkins ordered the guard to arrest him.
As the guard carried Nelse away a crowd of angry negroes followed
grinning and cursing.
“We lay fur you yit, ole hoss!” was their parting word as he disappeared
through the jail door.
That night at the supper table in the hotel at Ham-bright an informal
census of the voters was taken. There were present at the table a
distinguished ex-judge, two lawyers, a General, two clergymen, a
merchant, a farmer, and two mechanics. The only man of all allowed to
vote that day was the negro who waited on the table.
Thus began the era of a corrupt and degraded ballot in the South that
was to bring forth sorrow for generations yet unborn. The intelligence,
culture, wealth, social prestige, brains, conscience and the historic
institutions of a great state had been thrust under the hoof of
ignorance and vice.
The votes were sent to the military commandant at Charleston and the
results announced. The negroes had elected no representatives and the
whites 10. It was gravely announced from Washington that a “republican
form of government” had at last been established in North Carolina.