Reconstruction Part 5: Federal Intervention and the Straight-outs' Response in 1876
On the morning of August 16, 1876, the convention reconvened and was confronted with troubling news: an official directive from J. D. Cameron, Secretary of War, instructed General Sherman, commanding the army, to keep all troops not engaged in Western Indian campaigns prepared to support state authorities in defending citizens’ rights. It was widely understood that this order specifically targeted South Carolina. This development, combined with earlier correspondence between President Grant and Governor Chamberlain, made it clear that further federal military presence was imminent. The expectation was that additional troops would bolster the black Radical majority, which already surpassed 30,000, and reinforce federal and state influence, patronage, and control over the electoral machinery—factors stacked against the white population.
That same day, further evidence of unrest surfaced. The Union Herald published a letter from Abbeville, predicting a decisive Radical victory in the county. Additionally, in Newberry, a shipment sent by Adjutant General Purvis, a black official, was intercepted and found to contain sixteen government rifles and 500 rounds of ammunition, destined for Laurens County. A black man from Laurens awaited the delivery with a wagon, but the town council of Newberry seized the arms, though the justification for their actions remained unclear.
The most alarming aspect of Cameron’s letter was its origin: it resulted from a special congressional resolution introduced by a Democratic member from New York and adopted despite a Democratic majority, with only two opposing votes and 130 abstentions. This indicated that Democratic leadership, possibly influenced by Governor Tilden or party headquarters, had instructed members not to challenge President Grant’s actions to suppress the South Carolina Straight-outs and support Chamberlain. Even Southern Democrats in the House, who opposed coercive measures, refrained from voting against them. Mr. Tilden’s cautious approach had permeated the party, discouraging any active resistance to the proposed confrontation.
Outwardly, the Democrats of South Carolina in 1876 were in a dire situation, even more so than the Whigs of 1776. The state, labeled as the “Prostrate State,” was ostracized—treated as a criminal by its adversaries and abandoned by its allies. Despite this bleak appearance, the Straight-outs remained resolute. Bound by strict instructions from their constituents, they were determined to act decisively.
Contrary to initial fears, the presence of federal troops in the counties had proven beneficial to Democrats and white residents and was even welcomed. Most United States soldiers, except for a few prejudiced officers, quickly became sympathetic to the white population after witnessing local conditions. Non-commissioned officers and privates often expressed their support to civilians, particularly in informal settings.
The Straight-outs argued that increased federal troop presence actually aided their cause, as the soldiers protected and befriended the whites while demoralizing the Radicals through open indifference or opposition. They believed that President Grant and Governor Chamberlain misunderstood the situation and were committing a significant error. The “Mississippi plan,” adapted for South Carolina, called for avoiding violence that could justify federal intervention. Instead, it promoted a quiet boycott of prominent Radicals—refusing them land, credit, and favors—while exerting organized, steady pressure on black voters. This pressure included persuasion, special treatment for those inclined to support the Democrats, and a continual display of armed force to reassure allies and demonstrate authority. The plan also involved joint discussions to highlight to black voters the failures of Radical governments and the dangers of their continuation, aiming to erode confidence in Radical leaders.
On August 16, the convention entered a secret session, strictly excluding all reporters, and conducted seven hours of intense deliberation from 11:30 a.m. to 6:30 p.m. This confidential meeting provided a forum for two principal factions: the “watch and wait” proponents along with moderates and advocates of compromise, and those in favor of immediate, decisive action. General Conner, Mr. Moise of Sumter, and others spoke in favor of postponing any decisions, urging caution and patience. Conversely, Generals Butler and Gary, Mr. DePass, T. J. Lipscomb of Newberry, and their allies called for prompt action.
Ultimately, the debate centered on two critical issues. First, there was no assurance that Governor Chamberlain, even if reelected with significant white support, would fulfill his promises of reform and fair treatment for the white population. Second, should the Straight-out approach fail, South Carolina might be subjected to actual or virtual martial law and military governance. Nonetheless, many considered this prospect preferable to the corrupt governments that had plagued the state for the previous eight years, as it could offer whites greater safety and respect.
History later suggested that Chamberlain was sincere in his intentions and likely would have acted honorably had the white population supported him. However, whether he possessed the influence to reform his own party remains an open question.
Nomination of Wade Hampton
General Butler nominated Wade Hampton for governor, with Mr. Aldrich of Barnwell seconding the proposal. General Hampton delivered a carefully prepared speech of approximately seven hundred words. His candidacy had already been widely discussed and anticipated in the press for weeks prior. In his address, Hampton candidly expressed doubts about the wisdom of placing him at the head of the ticket, citing his record as a Confederate officer. Nevertheless, he pledged his full support to the campaign, offering to withdraw if another candidate seemed more likely to secure victory for the party and state.
Mr. Rion of Winnsboro suggested General John Bratton of Fairfield, probably honoring instructions from his county, and Colonel T. W. Woodward, also of Fairfield, seconded the nomination. This gesture appeared to be largely ceremonial. Shortly thereafter, both General Bratton and Governor Manning withdrew their names from consideration. The convention renewed Hampton’s nomination, which was then unanimously affirmed, and proceeded to finalize the remainder of the state and other party tickets.
There was no preliminary maneuvering or competition for positions; most nominees were effectively drafted, some only accepting after others declined. These individuals faced a situation reminiscent of the signers of the Declaration of Independence—accepting a dubious and costly honor that could bring either great personal and collective success or disappointment and hardship.
The finalized ticket included Wade Hampton of Richland for governor; W. D. Simpson of Laurens for lieutenant governor (later governor); Johnson Hagood of Barnwell for comptroller general (later governor); E. W. Moise of Sumter for adjutant general; James Connor of Charleston for attorney general; R. M. Sims of York for secretary of state; H. H. DeLeon of Charleston for treasurer (absent); and Hugh S. Thompson for superintendent of education (later governor and United States comptroller of the currency).
General Hampton’s acceptance speech was measured and brief, focusing little on prior events and actions. Instead, he emphasized the importance of peace, goodwill among the people, and the establishment of a just, efficient, and economical government. He pledged to serve as governor for all citizens if elected, promising a fair and faithful administration of the laws. Hampton’s remarks were crafted with his characteristic clear judgment, seeking to encourage resolute Democrats, reassure and appeal to black voters, and offer Northern Democrats a strong rebuttal to Republican claims that South Carolina’s white population aimed to persecute or harm black citizens.
The response of South Carolina’s white population to Wade Hampton’s nomination was immediate and overwhelming. Historical accounts confirm that every man in the state who had previously aligned himself with the Conservative or Democratic factions readily joined the campaign, demonstrating remarkable solidarity and enthusiasm.
The News and Courier played a pivotal role by quickly championing the cause. The morning after Hampton’s nomination, the newspaper boldly proclaimed, “Hampton and Victory!” in its headline, accompanied by an editorial that wholeheartedly endorsed the ticket. The editorial pledged unwavering support and advocated for a vigorous program of joint political discussions—an unexpected reversal of position that drew laughter yet unanimous approval throughout the community.
Notably, Captain Dawson, who had fiercely criticized Edgefield just a month earlier, enthusiastically backed the effort. He joined forces with General Gary, whom he had challenged to a duel merely twenty days before. This remarkable reconciliation symbolized the widespread unity that emerged statewide, as former adversaries set aside their differences in the interest of a common cause.
The prediction made by the Straight-outs—that a state ticket led by Hampton would unify South Carolina’s white citizens—proved to be entirely accurate. In the months following August 16, 1876, white South Carolinians were more united in determination and sentiment than at any other time before or since. Their collective resolve was unprecedented, marking a unique moment of political cohesion in the state’s history. Columbia held its first major demonstration, intended to ratify Tilden and Hendricks’s nominations, but the event was defined by overwhelming enthusiasm for Wade Hampton. The torchlight procession, over a mile long with strong military presence, captivated the city. Afterward, the community prioritized Hampton’s election above all else.
The sweeping demonstration in Columbia, which Republicans had anticipated would be tepid, and the enthusiastic endorsement of the Democratic ticket in Charleston, left the Republican Party unsettled and deeply concerned. The Columbia Union-Herald responded to these developments by cautioning Republicans that they faced a formidable opponent, referring to the Democrats as a “foe-man worthy of their steel.” The publication also criticized the Republicans for their internal discord and lack of coordinated effort, urging swift unity within the party.
In response to the Democratic convention, the Republican State executive committee convened in Columbia on August 17—the day after the Democratic nominations were finalized. The committee promptly called for a State convention to be held on September 12, signaling an urgent need to organize and rally their supporters.
Governor Chamberlain, speaking at Winnsboro immediately following the Democratic convention, delivered his remarks without interruption. Recognizing the urgency of the situation, he accelerated his campaign activities, traveling rapidly across the state. His efforts were aimed both at preventing the white population from anticipating his movements and at addressing areas within the party considered politically vulnerable.
Within the Republican ranks, opposition to Chamberlain began to diminish, likely aided by support from national Republican leadership. The party, however, was hurt by widespread scandals associated with Southern Reconstruction governments, which damaged their reputation nationwide. In response to Democratic accusations—often framed as the “bloody shirt” narrative and warnings of “rebel brigadiers” seeking to restore slavery—Democrats cited the controversial elections of Whipper and Moses as judges, as well as Chamberlain’s own statements regarding these individuals.
Both major parties faced challenges: Hayes was wary of the divisive influence of South Carolina Republicans opposed to Chamberlain, while Tilden feared the potential aggression and unrest that could arise from Democratic actions. Chamberlain’s campaign speeches grew increasingly bitter and defiant, reflecting his disappointment at the lack of Democratic endorsement and his frustration with waiting for his party’s response.
During the six weeks following the Hamburg incident, Democrats united around a determined and combative strategy. Meanwhile, Republicans, galvanized by the shifting political landscape, began to consolidate and mobilize. By mid-August, the major confrontation to determine the fate of South Carolina—and the future direction of national administration—was clearly underway.
The day after the Straight-out uprising and the disturbance at Hamburg fundamentally shifted the political landscape in South Carolina. The forced nomination of Wade Hampton for governor, along with the Straight State ticket, brought a sense of comparative safety to the state. However, at that moment, few recognized this security, nor did anyone foresee the events that would follow the actions of the Democratic State convention. Everything appeared natural and inevitable, but the consequences were far-reaching and unanticipated.
As subsequent developments revealed, Governor Chamberlain’s commitment to clean government was genuine. Once Hampton was nominated, any opposition to Chamberlain within the Republican Party quickly disappeared. The Republicans, recognizing the formidable adversary they faced, rallied around Chamberlain, much like sheep uniting in the presence of a powerful and deadly foe. The urgency of the situation was underscored by orders from Republican national headquarters, which sent every Federal officeholder in the state to support Chamberlain.
Even United States Senator John Patterson—often called “Honest John”—who had previously led a revolt against the governor and had exchanged public accusations of dishonesty and corruption with him, now swiftly aligned himself with Chamberlain. Chamberlain stood out as the only member of his party in South Carolina with a national reputation for decency, an asset desperately needed by the Republican Party, which was in a state of disarray nationwide. The party could not afford to be represented by another figure with a tarnished reputation, especially in a state that had become politically uncertain within just a month.
The widespread commentary in newspapers across the country made it clear that Wade Hampton’s name was synonymous with integrity, tenacity, and practical wisdom. Zachariah Chandler of Michigan, a leading Republican figure destined to help make Hayes President, recognized the seriousness of the situation. Chandler, himself a seasoned and uncompromising political fighter, understood that the white population of South Carolina was now electrified, united, and inspired under Hampton’s leadership. This was not a contest for the faint-hearted or corrupt; it demanded strength and character.
By August 18, immediately following Hampton’s nomination but even before the convention had adjourned, it was apparent that Chamberlain would be the Republican candidate for governor.
Conservative white men who had previously advocated for patience, negotiation, and compromise with Chamberlain and the more respectable Republicans found themselves unexpectedly outmaneuvered. Rather than facing uncertain prospects with Chamberlain against Whipper, Elliot, or other notorious figures, South Carolina now had a clear choice between Chamberlain—considered the best among the Republicans—and Wade Hampton. This created, by mid-August, a political situation far better than anyone could have predicted at the beginning of July. The passionate and unified response of the people had, in just six weeks, brought about outcomes that even the most experienced and prudent leaders could have neither foreseen nor orchestrated.
Contradictions and Unity within the Democratic Party
Within the Democratic Party of South Carolina, a series of contradictions, conflicts, and apparent accidents created conditions for success that even the most meticulous planning could not have achieved. General Wade Hampton, a man who had owned many slaves and had interacted with black individuals of high character since his youth, placed significant faith in the power of persuasion and gentle reasoning when dealing with blacks. He tended to overlook the detrimental influence of the Union League, the cunning leadership among both races, as well as the deceitful tactics of Carpetbaggers who claimed to champion the oppressed and seek justice for past wrongs. Hampton did not fully grasp that the positive seeds planted through thoughtful engagement could be quickly uprooted by impassioned rhetoric, threats, the influence of the League and churches, or the scorn of angered women.
In stark contrast stood a considerable group of white men, most notably General Martin W. Gary of Edgefield, who dismissed the idea of appealing to black individuals through reason, conscience, or sentiment. Instead, they advocated for the unrestrained application of force—referred to as the “Mississippi plan.” Thus, the Democratic Party was composed of Conservatives, who likely represented at least half the party, and the Straight-outs, themselves divided between proponents of gentle and harsh approaches toward blacks. Ultimately, all three perspectives were flawed, yet circumstances compelled each to contribute, resulting in an extraordinary unity and efficiency unmatched in the state’s history.
The Conservatives were compelled to yield and soon found themselves celebrating the outcome of their own defeat. Across the state, outside of Edgefield, people became increasingly restless and determined, moving beyond Hampton’s philosophy of persuasion, promises, and sentiment. However, Hampton’s influence, combined with persistent calls from Democratic headquarters to avoid violence, prevented the movement from fully adopting Gary’s forceful approach. The outcome was a balanced strategy—combining conciliatory rhetoric with a show of strength—that would later be described by Theodore Roosevelt, in a different context, as “speaking softly and carrying a big stick.” In 1876 South Carolina, this approach became the hallmark of the Democratic campaign.
At his core, General Hampton may have been the most resolutely determined man in South Carolina—not against blacks, but against federal authorities in Washington and the political party intent on subjugating his people, an outcome he believed would spell their destruction. Hampton kept his deepest intentions private until such time that revealing them posed no risk, and even then, he did not make them public.
Historical study reveals that few, if any, political campaigns have matched the precision and effectiveness of the Democrats’ 1876 effort in South Carolina. The people were skillfully guided through a multitude of challenges and apparent obstacles. Those who believe in the benevolent guidance of Providence might find evidence for their faith in the intricate story of the state’s deliverance. Throughout the campaign, there appears to have been no major misstep by the leaders as they sought an opportunity for their people to survive and hope. Hampton’s greatness was evident in his unwavering command and sound judgment. Once he had established his course, he maintained supreme control, directing events with clarity, decisiveness, and an absence of doubt or fear.
From the adjournment of the Democratic State convention on August 18 through the following spring, A. C. Haskell, as chairman, wielded authority over South Carolina as absolutely as any czar of Russia. His orders were obeyed without hesitation because he acted as the voice of Wade Hampton, the recognized leader. The white citizens of the state exhibited discipline and unity during those eight tumultuous and dangerous months, responding to their leaders as an army would to a commanding general.
While the convention was in session, external events signaled a shift in the political atmosphere. On August 16, a Republican gathering at Port Royal was overtaken by local Democrats, and Aaron Alpeoria Bradley—a powerful black orator known for his theatrical and passionate speeches—was subdued through a barrage of questions regarding his party’s record. This marked the first visible resurgence of white Democratic assertiveness in the low country outside Charleston.
The parade in Columbia, presented as a ratification of the Tilden and Hendricks nomination, was in reality a direct challenge to the city’s black and Republican communities, where much of their leadership and energy were concentrated. Following the forced sharing of time at Edgefield, threats of retaliation emerged in the capital if white citizens attempted to hold a meeting. Nevertheless, the procession and gathering were organized. Virtually every white participant, as well as the few black Democrats present, were heavily armed, prepared for any contingency. Some black political figures, who had previously been outspoken, watched the march in silence, but no incident occurred. Most black residents chose to stay indoors.
In hindsight, unrest might have developed had a Republican leader been willing to incite action. However, the white Democrats consistently signaled their readiness to hold leaders accountable should violence erupt. This stance instilled a sense of caution among the most vocal opposition, discouraging them from taking a prominent role.
The initial concrete reaction to the decisions made at the Democratic State convention was seen in Newberry on August 18. In anticipation, the white residents of the region had received three days’ notice that a significant Republican gathering was to occur in town on that date, attracting the governor and other prominent party speakers. There was no need to reference stories of excitement and patriotic zeal from Massachusetts and Paul Revere’s legendary ride; indeed, the fathers and grandfathers of the current generation, as well as men still living, had themselves undertaken equally dangerous, patriotic, and, for South Carolina, momentous rides. These journeys spanned the up country, low country, and Piedmont region—echoing the spirit of Longfellow’s famous lines: “Listen, children, and you shall hear, from a granddad you may have, or even a dad, of mature years, or just such rides in up country, low country, Piedmont Carolina.”
At that time in Newberry, the task of spreading the word fell to men and boys who mounted horses and rode at full speed, regardless of the weather, enduring the heat of midday or the darkness of night. They crossed dust, mud, swamps, hills, and woods, all to notify others of the need for men and to relay the time and place of assembly. Upon receiving the message, a farmer would immediately fetch his horse to carry the news to more distant locations, while family members—sons, daughters, or wives—would rally the nearby neighbors, calling upon every available man or boy who could ride and fasten a gun. This pattern was repeated across every county, countless times.
By eleven o’clock that Friday morning, every shop in Newberry had closed. Democratic flags and banners decorated windows and the main street, while the town itself was crowded with mounted and armed men, some of whom had traveled more than fifty miles. This was the scene that greeted arriving black attendees, Governor Chamberlain, and his party—J. K. Jillson and L. Cass Carpenter (both labeled as Carpetbaggers), along with Lieutenant Governor Swails and Adjutant General Purvis (both of mixed race). As these Republican campaigners made their way to the platform for speeches, the mounted Democrats formed a long, noisy line, cheering, jeering, and at times circling the governor and his party, raising dust as they rode. Every detail of humiliation was meticulously executed yet always stayed within the bounds of the law.
Colonel D. Wyatt Aiken of Abbeville and Colonel B. W. Ball of Laurens, both just arrived from the Columbia convention, were greeted upon disembarking at Newberry by a jubilant crowd on spirited horses. The Democrats then proceeded triumphantly and noisily to the meeting location, with their speakers riding in carriages. In contrast, the governor and his party walked ahead on foot, enduring the heat and dust, followed by their silent and disheartened supporters. Considering that black citizens had spent the previous eight years believing themselves to be political masters, consistently supported by both Federal and State authorities, and that rural blacks had little knowledge outside their immediate surroundings, the disappointment and demoralization brought by this display are easily understood.
There was no resistance or open resentment from the Republican side. Y. J. Pope, who would later become a distinguished justice of the Supreme Court and was then the Democratic county chairman, presided over the meeting. He greeted the mixed crowd with a broad and friendly smile, announcing that, as an equal division of speaking time had been arranged, he would outline the terms. Republicans later contended that they had not been consulted regarding this arrangement, but Chairman Pope maintained that H. C. Corwin, the Republican State senator, had agreed, and he assumed everyone present favored free, fair, and open debate of the pressing issues.
Governor Chamberlain, determined not to appear fearful before his constituents, maintained his composure. Nonetheless, he and his Republican allies, sensing their precarious position, conducted themselves with caution, hesitation, and awkward conciliation. In contrast, the Democrats presented Colonel Ball, Colonel Aiken, Colonel J. N. Lipscomb, and Sampson Pope as speakers—each an impassioned orator, quick to boast and denounce, stirring the crowd to frequent outbursts of enthusiastic cheers.
One of the most shrewdly planned moves by the convention and the Democratic State committee was the adoption of a formal, unassailable, and seemingly reasonable resolution advocating for friendly and peaceful joint discussions. The declared objective was to educate the public on the issues at stake and to scrutinize the character and qualifications of those seeking office. This was paired with an open invitation for all Republicans to attend Democratic meetings and request a division of speaking time. Yet, throughout the entire twelve-week campaign, this invitation was never accepted. It was widely recognized in South Carolina that no Republican—despite the existence of some who were courageous or reckless—would propose such an arrangement. Most importantly, the party’s record was indefensible before a well-informed audience. Still, lacking direct experience or evidence, Republicans could not claim that personal harm would befall them. Consequently, these resolutions provided a strategic advantage for Democrats, particularly in the North, where they could present the contest as fair and elevated to those unfamiliar with the local situation.
Whenever a Republican voiced complaints through Northern newspapers about the rude and intimidating interruptions of their meetings, Democrats responded swiftly: “You’ve been invited to attend and divide the time at our meetings. What’s the matter with you, anyhow?”
Thank you. Wonderful article.
Prayers continuing for your health! That said...Great article. Thanks