And now from the garrison came shouts and the sound of bugle—a general call to arms. The town, already in a turmoil, fell into a panic of fear and disorder. A renewal of the attack was expected at any moment. It was believed that a general massacre would take place. Men armed themselves with whatever they could lay hands on; women and children hid themselves and waited in terror and trembling.
Morning came without further assault. Daylight showed the shattered glass, the bullet holes in the weather-boards and window casings, and, on the street, empty shells, cartridges and clips—of government rifles. At one place in the mud lay a soldier cap. The night had been too dark and the town too poorly lighted to identify the individuals of the mob, but the evidence as to its origin seemed unmistakable.
A citizen committee to deal with the situation was quickly formed. Telegraphic reports of the outbreak, with urgent demands for immediate action and for the removal of the negro troops, were sent to Governor Lanham, General Hulen, Senators Bailey and Culberson and to the President of the United States. No immediate relief seemed forthcoming from any source. Governor Lanham waited for Washington, Washington waited for an investigation. The public at large took but a small interest in the whole affair—the metropolitan dailies according it but the barest mention in obscure corners. It would be a big matter to them some day. It was a big matter to Brownsville already.
"We cannot convince our women and children that another outbreak may not occur at any time. Their condition is deplorable. They will scarcely venture out of their homes and only feel secure there by our maintaining a heavy guard and patrol of armed citizens every night. We know the accidental discharge of a fire-arm, any overt act of an excited citizen—and our citizens are fearfully excited—would precipitate upon us the whole negro force at Fort Brown." ... This from a telegram sent to President Roosevelt on August 18, five days after the raid. Brownsville was in a sad plight indeed.
Three days more brought no relief from any source. At the fort, the soldiers were kept under arms, perhaps fearing a general attack from the citizens, while on their part the citizens expected a general outbreak of the troops, at any moment. The officers in command were supposed to be conducting an investigation, and when it was given out that the midnight attack could not have come from the garrison, but had probably been made by a gang of Mexicans from across the river; when it was further stated that the garrison had been attacked, and the shots said to have been fired from there during the raid, had been fired in defense; such statements only meant, to the citizens of Brownsville, that Major Penrose and his officers were going to protect their troops, or had been intimidated by them. Rumors of another outbreak continued. Women barely slept. Men began to move their families away. Two rangers of Captain McDonald's command—Blaze Delling and Sam McKenzie—came over from a subordinate ranger camp at Harlingen, twenty-five miles distant, and these undertook to collect evidence, and aided in patrolling the town. Other appeals for help had brought no result. Telegrams for relief were answered non-committally, or not at all. When Captain McDonald himself, with the other two members of his little company—Sergeant W.J. McCauley and C.T. Ryan—arrived on the evening of the twenty-first, Brownsville, resentful and despairing, hailed the veteran regulator with open arms.
Captain Bill on the Scene