A Cause Not Lost

Historians sometimes transform obscure events into oft-told stories almost overnight. Such is the case with the 1873 Colfax Massacre, which Eric Foner labeled the "bloodiest single instance of racial carnage in the Reconstruction era."¹ Nicholas Lemann used Colfax as a prologue to his Redemption (2006), and James Hogue carefully contextualized the massacre in his examination of counterrevolutionary vigilantism in Uncivil War (2007). Now, historian Lee-Anna Keith and journalist Charles Lane have contributed nearly simultaneous book-length accounts of a white posse's murder of black prisoners in Central Louisiana. Neither book aims to significantly revise scholarly understanding of Reconstruction or even the Colfax Massacre itself; instead, both Keith and Lane offer contextualized accounts of the gruesome story designed to reach a wide audience.

On that limited basis, Keith and Lane deliver compelling and largely congruent accounts of the massacre. In a state renowned for disputed elections, the contested 1872 Louisiana vote created two would-be governors, each of whom appointed a slate of local officials for Grant Parish. At first, exclusively white officials appointed by the Fusionist governor (supported both by white supremacist Democrats and disaffected Republicans) occupied a makeshift courthouse in Colfax, the parish seat. A group of Republicans, however, snuck into the building at night and installed officials—black and white—appointed by the Republican claimant to the governorship. Vigilantes, including members of the Knights of the White Camelia and the "Old Time Ku Klux Klan," began filtering into Grant Parish, preparing to attack the Republicans. Those vigilantes—a posse, mob, or army, depending on one's perspective—were loosely led by C. C. Nash, a Confederate veteran hardened by almost two years in a Union prison. Gradually, most white Republicans left Colfax, turning a political clash into a brewing race war. As if foreshadowing a scene from D. W. Griffith's Birth of a Nation, a few white Union veterans even fought with their former enemies against what they saw as a dangerous black mob.

Both Keith and Lane devote only a relatively small number of pages to the battle itself and the ensuing massacre. Although the black defenders dug trenches and prepared to defend their positions, the battle's outcome was a foregone conclusion. The white troops possessed far superior firearms, more ammunition, and even a small cannon. After a brief standoff, Nash's artillery detail blasted through the makeshift defenses, and the Republicans either fled or took shelter in the courthouse. The attackers forced a black captive to set the courthouse's roof on fire, which prompted the remaining defenders to wave a white flag of surrender.

At this point, Keith and Lane diverge on a critical detail. As the conquerors approached the courthouse, two whites, Sidney Harris and reputed Klan leader James Hadnot, were shot. Keith, who dubiously asserts that the defenders "lacked the taste for killing and its consequences," suggests that the black riflemen had chosen their targets carefully (p. 103). Lane, resting on the testimony of one of the defenders, believes that Harris and Hadnot were struck by friendly fire from their fellow attackers. In any event, after the two unexpected casualties, the attackers turned their rifles, pistols, and bowie knives on the surrendering African Americans, killing perhaps a dozen of their would-be prisoners. When the white attackers' rage temporarily subsided, they faced the question of what to do with the forty or so remaining captives.

Then Keith and Lane turn their attention to the massacre that followed the rout. Nash, considering the battle won and fearful of federal repercussions, wanted the prisoners released. Other whites feared future reprisals from their prisoners and were eager to release years of anger and frustration on the now unarmed black men in their custody. Lane links the "courageous...