Page's Tree

In the middle of Clarksville, Texas, a small town that nonetheless calls itself  "The Gateway To Texas" because of its location in the far northeast corner of the state, is the old Clarksville Cemetery.  The first burial in the cemetery took place in 1838, but in the northwest corner is a large, scarred, but still very alive and healthy post oak tree. This tree had already reached its prime when it was selected to help dispense frontier justice by the early settlers in the area almost 200 years ago.

In 1837, Captain Charles Burham and Levi Davis rode off together from their farms in search of several runaway slaves. After a few days when they had not returned, neighbors raised the alarm. A group of men went hunting for them and came upon a stranger riding Captain Burham's mule. Under questioning, the man proved to know nothing about either Burham or Davis and produced a scribbled bill of sale proving he had bought the mule from a man named Page.

One of the group knew Page to be a less than honorable man and also knew where he lived outside of Clarksville. The men rode to Page's place and took him, his son, his son-in-law and a Mexican hired-hand into custody and brought them to town for questioning. The Mexican confessed that Burham and Davis had been murdered during a robbery. Put on trial by the Clarksville Vigilance Committee, Page's son broke down and told how all four suspects, led by Page, had robbed and killed the two men. The four were declared guilty and promptly taken to the large post oak tree in the middle of town and hanged. The tree has since been known as "Page's tree."

Over the following years, numerous men who were found guilty of sins against their fellow man met their fate at the end of a rope tied to the sturdy branches of Page's tree. Sometimes, just the threat of being taken to "see Page's tree" was enough to straighten up a trouble maker or convince them to take their outlaw ways somewhere else.

In late 1839, the sheriff of Miller County in Arkansas was sent to Clarksville to collect taxes in an area which was in dispute between the territory of Arkansas and Texas. When the townspeople discovered what he had come to town for, a committee of men grabbed him, tied his hands behind his back and took him to Page's tree. They informed him what the tree was used for, showed him the scars in the tree's bark and kindly explained what would happen to him if he delayed his departure. In his haste to leave, the Arkansas sheriff is reputed to have forgotten his travel bag back in his hotel room. 

It's been more than 140 years since the last outlaw breathed his last when a rope tightened around his neck under Page's tree and most folks nowadays have no idea of the history and significance of the old post oak. In their haste to get from one place to another, they travel right past thinking it nothing more than just an old tree shading a few graves in the corner of the cemetery. It would probably shock them to know they just passed by a living relic of times gone by, a relic with many interesting tales to tell - of life, of death, of justice meted out, and the inexorable passing of time.
 

Odd Coincidence - Cannibalism on The High Seas

Poe

In 1838, the famous horror writer, Egdar Allan Poe, wrote his only novel, 'The narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym'. It was about four survivors of the shipwreck of the whaler Grampus who were in an open life boat for many days before they decided to kill and eat the cabin boy whose name was Richard Parker. Almost 50 years later, in 1884, the yawl, Mignonette, foundered with only four survivors, who were in an open boat for many days. Eventually, the three senior members of the crew killed and ate the 17-year old cabin boy. 24 days after killing and beginning to eat the boy, the 3 survivors were rescued by the sailing barque Montezuma, a ship named after the Aztec king noted for cannibalism. The name of the cabin boy they killed and ate? Richard Parker. 

Richard Parker

Richard Parker's grave

One Unlucky Fella

In 1883, Henry Ziegland of Honey Grove, Texas broke up with his girlfriend shortly before their announced wedding. She was so distressed she committed suicide. Her brother, who loved his little sister very much, felt the need to avenge her death. He went to Ziegland's ranch several days later where he found him in a field standing in front of a tree. The brother pulled his 6-shooter and fired, hitting Ziegland in the head. Thinking he had avenged his sister, but not wanting to swing from the gallows or spend his life on the run from the law, he turned the gun to his own head and fired, killing himself instantly.

What had actually happened though was the bullet had only skimmed Henry's head with just enough force to knock him down. The bullet continued on its way behind Ziegland, lodging itself in the tree he had been standing in front of. Ziegland was not seriously hurt and counted himself a very lucky fellow.

All was well until 20 years later in 1903 when Henry decided to clear the land where the tree still stood. He tied several sticks of dynamite to the tree and set it off.  The explosion caused the embedded bullet to fly into his head and killed him on the spot.

Sex, Murder, and Mystery on the Island of Floreana

How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude;

But grant me still a friend in my retreat,

To whom I may whisper - solitude is sweet.

William Cowper, "Retirement"

Dore Strauch was a teacher who was convinced she was meant for greater things than a life as the wife of a cruel man and working beneath a headmaster who was twice her age. Dr. Friedrich Ritter, a dentist, desired to map the human brain and felt civilization had nothing more to offer him. As fortune would have it, Dore met Friedrich when she came to him for some dental work and in 1929, they left their spouses and ran away to Floreana, a remote, lonely island in the Galapagos, a place where the authority of the state ended and the law of necessity reigned. When the pair came ashore, the island was deserted, having successfully resisted several attempts at colonization. There simply wasn't enough fresh water to support a colony of people.

Dore and Friedrich

Before leaving, to prevent dental problems, Friedrich pulled all his teeth and made a set of metal false teeth. Some reports state Dore also had her teeth removed and the two shared the one set of false teeth, but no proof of that has been found. Once they arrived on Floreana, they immediately removed all of their clothing and lived from then on as nudist, only putting clothes on when visitors sometimes came to their island. They soon built a hut of corrugated iron in the green crater of an extinct volcano and cultivated an acre of land, successfully raising a nice garden from which they harvested almost all of their food sustaining them as vegetarians.
 

Friedrich and Dore at home on Floreana

The press got word of this modern-day Adam and Eve, the rugged doctor and his lover, living naked and alone on a far off island. They became international celebrities, exactly the opposite of what they had wanted. For several years, people would come to visit them, arriving every few weeks. The couple complained bitterly about how often people would come and thus, how often they would have to wear clothes. Occasionally a few of the visitors came with the intention of staying on the island, but invariably, the harsh conditions of the island and the hard work it took to survive shattered their dreams of idyllic living on a tropical isle and they all left when the next boat stopped by.

Margret, Heinz and a pet cat at their home on Floreana

In 1932, Heinz Wittmer arrived on the island with his pregnant wife Margret and their teenage son. Heinz was seeking a place far away from post-war Germany which was in the midst of a severe depression with 30% unemployment, rioting in the streets, and the rise of the Nazi Party. Unlike the others though, the Wittmer family were knowledgable, independent, and determined and willing to endure the hardships. They stayed on the other side of the island away from Friedrich and Dore, making their home for a while in a cave. The families visited each other occasionally, but the women didn't like each other so they mostly stayed to themselves and that's the way they both preferred. When their son Rolf was born in the cave house, it was the first birth ever recorded on Floreana Island.

The Baroness, Philippson and Lorrenz

The next year brought unfortunate changes. A party of four people arrived and declared their intention to stay. They were led by "Baroness" Eloise Wehrborn de Wagner-Bosquet, an attractive young Austrian. The other 3 people were her two lovers, Robert Philippson and Rudolf Lorrenz, and Manuel Valdvieso, a handyman who had been hired to do all of the work. Manuel built a hut on the beach for them to live in which the Baroness called "Hacienda Paradise." She began to call herself the "Empress of Floreana" and announced plans to build a grand hotel which would be built and operated for her rich friends and other millionaires. She managed to get her plans announced by the international media and soon there were many more yachts anchoring in the little bay. The Baroness began inviting yacht captains and select male passengers into her bed and eventually seduced the Governor of Galapagos. Yachts began to go out of their way to visit the island of Floreana. With the Baroness' scandalous living arrangements and rumors of her seemingly insatiable sexual appetite, everyone sailing the Pacific wanted to be able to boast of an encounter with her.

Cover of a magazine story about the Baroness and her life on Floreana

The Wittmer family, who by now had managed to build a house and were actually doing rather well given the difficult conditions, lived on the other end of the island and didn't associate much with the Baroness and her entourage. Friedrich though made no effort to conceal his hatred of the Baroness and her friends and "visitors" and plans for a grand hotel. He blamed her for totally upsetting the lifestyle he and Dore had worked so hard to establish.

Eventually, Rudolf Lorrenz, one of the Baroness' original lovers, evidently grew tired of his lady's penchant to bed others and heated arguments began taking place in their camp. Lorrenz began visiting the Wittmer family, sometimes staying for days until the Baroness herself would come to fetch him back. A drought occurred making fresh water extremely scarce and the pressure apparently drove Friedrich and Dore into bitter arguments between themselves. The Wittmer family, Friedrich and Dore became even more upset with the Baroness and her friends when she started badmouthing them to the international press which published every word whether true or not. For some unknown reason, Philippson stole the Ritter's donkey one night and turned it lose in the Wittmer's garden where it proceeded to destroy a good portion of it. When Heinz found it the next morning, he thought it was a feral donkey and shot it.

The Baroness and Philippson on Floreana

On March 27, 1934, the Baroness and her lover Philippson disappeared, never to be seen again. When questioned later, Margret Wittmer said the Baroness had come to their home one morning and said some friends had arrived in their yacht and were going to take her and Philippson to Tahiti that very day. She also told Margret that whatever they were not taking with them was being left to Lorrenz. But neither the Baroness or Philippson ever appeared in Tahiti or anywhere else. Lorrenz claimed to know nothing about it and neither he, the handy-man Valdvieso, nor Friedrich or Dore saw any kind of boat in the harbor the whole week in question. Almost every possession of the Baroness and Philippson were left behind, including luggage and other items of a personal nature that the Baroness would have taken with her even for a short trip. Relations between the Wittmer's and Friedrich and Dore became even more strained when they told people of their belief that Lorrenz killed the Baroness and Philippson, burned their bodies and the Wittmer's helped him cover it up. The Wittmer's talked of Friedrich's dislike of the Baroness and claimed Lorrenz and he had suspiciously split the items left behind by the disappeared couple.

The handy-man Valdvieso convinced the very next boat that stopped to take him off the island. It is assumed he apparently escaped back to wherever the Baroness had found him.

The bodies of Lorrenz and Nuggerud

Soon thereafter, Lorrenz convinced a Norwegian fisherman named Nuggerud to take him to Santa Cruz and then to San Cristobal where he could catch the ferry to Guayaquil. They landed in Santa Cruz, bought supplies, set sail for San Cristobal and then vanished. A number of months later, the mummified, desiccated bodies of both men were found on Marchena Island, a parcel of land in the northern part of the Archipelago which is not on the route to or anywhere near Santa Cruz or San Cristobal.  There is still no clue as to how they got there.

In November of that same year, Friedrich Ritter died. The official reason was listed as food poisoning from eating a badly preserved chicken. What makes this interesting is the fact that Friedrich was an avowed vegetarian who had not been seen to eat meat of any kind for years. Plus, he was by then an experienced veteran of island living and perfectly capable of knowing when meat had gone bad. Margret Wittmer claimed that Dore had poisoned him as his treatment of her had become worse during the last year. Both women claimed to have been by his side when Friedrich died, but their accounts could not be any different.

Dore Strauch: “Suddenly he opened his great blue eyes and stretched his arms towards me. His glance was joyously tranquil. He seemed actually to say to me: “I go; but promise you will not forget what we have lived for.” It seemed to be as if he would draw me with him. Then he sank back, and I began to caress his forehead tenderly. He became quite still, and that was death.”

Margret Wittmer: “Whenever she came near him, he would make feeble movements as if to hit or kick her. He looked up at Dore, his eyes gleaming with hate. [He] wrote his last sentence: “I curse you with my dying breath.” His eyes filled with a wild feverish flame. Dore shrieked, and drew back in horror. Then he collapsed soundlessly, falling back on the pillows. He had gone.”

Three dead and two missing in the space of a few months on a barely populated island captured even more world-wide attention than the Baroness' antics. The "Galapagos Affair" as it became called, has confounded historians, police, and armchair detectives since 1934. The Baroness and Philippson have never been found. The mummified bodies of Lorrenz and Nuggerud ending up on Marchena Island is still a complete mystery. Friedrich's death is still officially listed as an accidental food poisoning despite all the raised eyebrows and questions. The Wittmers remained on Floreana and became wealthy years later when the Galapagos became a tourist destination. Until she died in 2000, still living on Floreana Island at the age of 96, Margret never changed her story that the Baroness and Philippson left for Tahiti on a yacht. She often hinted she knew more than she was telling, but no one knows whether she really did or was just having fun with the tourists and interviewers. Dore eventually put on clothes and returned to Germany where she wrote a book about the whole affair. It wasn't a big success and it didn't settle any of the mysteries, but it proved interesting due to the stories of the hardships she and Friedrich endured and for details of the sordid goings-on that took place after the Baroness took up residence on the island. In the book she was adamant that Lorrenz killed the Baroness and Philippson, but she offered no proof other than her "gut feelings." 

No one is alive today who actually have knowledge of all that happened. Some mysteries, it seems, are destined to never be solved. And isn't that what makes the world just a bit more interesting?

Postcard From Haunted New Orleans - Part 1

No building or office for Haunted History Tours - just this
sign and a card table set up on the sidewalk.

Ghosts and goblins all year 'round! New Orleans has a long history filled with pirates, battles, voodoo practitioners, evil people, deranged people, sinister people, bloodshed and natural disasters with much loss of life. Is it any wonder it is well deserving of its reputation as one of the most haunted places in America? And one of the more successful businesses in town is Haunted History Tour. For $25 per adult and $14 per child, it seemed like an OK deal, especially since I qualified for the senior discount of $7 off. We signed up and, as instructed, were at Reverend Zombie's Voodoo Shop 30 minutes ahead of the 6:00 pm tour start time.

Our tour guide and his dog.

Along with 19 other thrill seekers, the Mama-woman, Youngest-daughter and I eagerly waited across the street from the card table set up on the sidewalk in front of the Voodoo shop (which led to several concerns about this being a fly-by-night operation and the safety of our credit card number) for our tour guide. A rather strange-looking guy with long grey hair wearing a silk puffy shirt, black pants, derby hat and a small dog on a red leash finally made his way over to us at 6:10. He told us he was going to tell us stories that were profound and profane and if anybody was easily embarrassed then we should get our money back and go away. I found him to be cocky and very condescending, but we'd done paid our money so...

We walked a couple of blocks down the road to the back of the St. Louis Cathedral. We stopped and he began telling a story, but first, he informed us that he was "the real deal," born and raised in the swamps around New Orleans and a full-blooded Indian. He lives in the French Quarter and knows all the stories and all the people and there are stories told about him. He has plenty of women friends because they find him "interesting, a bit scary, a bit dangerous...and they like my dog." I didn't find him to be any of those things, but his dog was kinda cute.

St. Louis Cathedral

Most people are well aware of the St. Louis Cathedral as it is one of the iconic pictures of New Orleans. Chief Dunderhead (the honorary name I gave our guide in my head) finally got around to telling the interesting history that we didn't know. There have actually been 4 churches where the cathedral now stands. The first, built in 1718, was a small, wooden temporary structure. The building which replaced it was made of brick and timber and completed in 1727. This building completely burned in the great fire of 1788. The building which replaced it was completed in 1794. It contained the famous two round side steeples, but the central bell tower, designed by Ben Henry Latrobe, the architect who designed the White House, wasn't added until 1819. An even larger building was needed by the mid-1850's so a major renovation was undertaken. During this renovation to add more space, the middle bell tower collapsed which caused much more of the building to be rebuilt than was planned. This is the current building which is now over 160 years old.

In 1764, the King of France gave Louisiana to the Spanish in the Treaty of Fountainbleu. The people of New Orleans though, were not informed of this before a group of Spanish soldiers showed up, took down the French flag and replaced it with a Spanish flag. Thinking they were being invaded, the Creole people banded together with six men serving as their leaders and drove out the Spanish soldiers. Of course, the Spanish didn't appreciate this so in 1769, 24 war ships carrying hundreds of fully armed soldiers arrived to assert Spanish ownership. A new merciless governor arrived with the troops and ordered the 6 leaders of the Creole brought to him. They tried to tell him they didn't know about the treaty when they drove out the earlier Spanish, but he paid no heed to their pleas and order them to be hanged in the courtyard of the St. Louis Cathedral. He also issued a decree that nobody was allowed to touch the hanged men; they were to be left hanging until their bodies rotted as a warning to anyone else who dared question his authority. Anyone caught trying to remove the bodies would join them.

The priest of the cathedral, Pere Dagobert, pleaded with the governor, but was told to stop asking or the next time he would suffer the same fate. Soon, the bodies began to stink and birds began to eat the decaying flesh. Even the Spanish soldiers were repulsed and thought the governor had gone too far. Finally, during one stormy night, Father Dagobert gathered the families of the six men, cut down the bodies and placed them in pine boxes. He then loudly sang mass in his clear, distinctive voice and led a funeral procession to St. Peter's Cemetery where the men's remains were buried in unmarked graves. The sympathetic Spanish soldiers conveniently had to go inside for a bathroom break or for protection from the storm and were all temporarily away from their posts so nobody stopped the priest's activities. Word soon got to the governor, but even he figured out that if he hung the beloved priest, there would be such a backlash that he would not be able to trust his own soldiers with his safety. Father Dagobert was replaced by a Spanish monk as leader of the church, but he continued to oversee his flock until he died of natural causes and was honored by being buried under the altar.

For many years, personal sightings and experiences have been reported of Father Pere Dagobert and the 6 unfortunate executed men. Nothing strange seems to happen during the day, but once the cathedral is closed to the general public in the afternoon, witnesses tell of faintly hearing mass sang in a clear, beautiful voice at the altar. The singing then travels down the aisle toward the doors and a bright light moves from window to window until the voice fades as it seems to head out the doors and on toward where St. Peter's Cemetery was located. During stormy evenings, the ghostly image of Father Dagobert often materializes and can be seen by the living, kneeling in prayer. Perhaps he still prays for peace for the 6 executed men, or maybe he simply continues to pray for the safety and well being of the city and church he loved. And whenever he can be seen, visages of the 6 men can also be seen in the shadowy doorways and corners of the church, standing ready to assist him, forever grateful for giving them a proper funeral.

The Andrew Jackson Hotel

Walking to the Andrew Jackson Hotel, stopping along the way so Chief Dunderhead's little dog could leave a deposit on a little patch of grass, he kept up a continuous chatter (Chief Dunderhead, not the little dog who never barked or exhibited any signs of being possessed) of how he is an actor and how he knows all the alleyways and nooks and crannies where the underbelly of New Orleans can be seen. Arriving at the Andrew Jackson Hotel on Royal Street, we found out the structure had been built on the site of an old boarding school which had caught fire in the late 1700's and burned to the ground killing 5 children who were unable to escape. For over 200 years now, hotel guests have reported hearing children playing in the courtyard late at night, especially when the moon is full. Some have reported hearing children laughing and squealing like they are playing chase at 3:00 AM, but when the guest looks in the courtyard to see why children are up so late and making so much noise, even in the bright moonlight they can see there is nobody there, not anybody living anyway. And the noises abruptly stop.

Chief Dunderhead in front of Madame John's Legacy

On Dumaine Street is a house called Madame John's Legacy. It was built for Jean ("John") Paschal, a sailor who was killed in the Natchez Massacre of 1729. His widow remained in the home until 1777. The house served as a set in the movie "Interview With The Vampire" in 1994. The scene is of caskets being carried out of the house and placed in horse-drawn hearses and Lewis (Brad Pitt) reveals Lestat's (Tom Cruise) "mischievous" practice of feasting on French Quarter families. However, the spirits reported in the area are most probably due to the yellow fever epidemic which struck in 1853. In this city of 154,000 people, almost 8,000 died in a few short months. In the month of August that year, 1,186 died the first week, 1,526 died the second week, 1,534 the third week, and 1,628 the fourth week. The streets were deserted from fear as the cause of the disease was unknown at that time. So many people died that bodies in the French Quarter were simply piled up outside on the sidewalks of Dumaine Street to wait for the hospital's death carriages to come by and pick them up. It was not uncommon for there to be several dozen anonymous bodies piled up each day in front of the house now known as Madame John's Legacy. Carriages used as hearses would haul 8 - 10 coffins each to the cemeteries. Confusion and delays at the cemeteries were unavoidable so lines of hearses 2 to 3 miles long were often waiting at the gates. The hot August sun, high humidity, lack of time to embalm any of the bodies and the hastily built simple knot-holed pine coffins containing the quickly decaying bodies rendered the air putrid. It's no wonder the spirits of these poor departed are restless.

The elementary school Mr. Simmons attended.

Chief Dunderhead then led us, after stopping for his dog to squat and pee on the sidewalk, to what he called the scariest building in New Orleans. A frightening person once inhabited this building, a person so scary that grown men whimper just from the thought of him, hardened criminals cringe, Hell's Angels turn and run. It is the elementary school building where Milton T. Simmons went to grade school. Most of us know him as Richard Simmons. And before you leave nasty messages for me, those were Chief Dunderhead's words, not mine. Evidently he considers himself to be a comedian as well.

About 45 minutes of our 2-hour tour had expired with 10 minutes of that spent waiting on the tour to start. We now followed our intrepid guide to a spot which is supposed to be very haunted. Nothing happened while we were there so I can't say anything about the haunting, but the building certainly had some interesting history - Jean Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop on Bourbon Street. The structure was built in 1772 and remained untouched by the great fires of 1788 and 1794. Jean Lafitte and his brother Pierre ran a most profitable business from this building by outfitting and financing pirates who plundered goods from ships at sea and then brought the ill gotten booty back to the Lafitte's business to be sold. Since they avoided government fees and taxes, the goods could be sold far cheaper than the honest businessmen could sell their legal wares and soon, almost everyone else was out of business. Eventually, to speed up the process and to ensure all of the captured goods were brought back to their store, they purchased their own ships and became pirates themselves.

Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop

Jean was a good looking man as well as being rich and welding a lot of influence in the city so he had many mistresses and lovers, but he only had one true love in his life - the wife of the governor of Louisiana. When the governor found out about the affair, Jean had an enemy even more influential than he. The authorities became interested in the Lafitte brother's business and eventually closed it down and arrested not only the Lafittes, but their men as well. The war of 1812 was providential for the brothers. They offered themselves, their men and their ships in service against the British and after valiantly helping to win the Battle of New Orleans, were pardoned by President Madison.

The Lafittes moved their operations to the gulf coast of Texas and went back to being pirates after their pardon. After moving several more times when the heat from authorities became too great, the Lafitte brothers faded from the scene with Pierre dying from an illness in 1821 and Jean supposedly being killed in battle as a pirate while trying to capture several Spanish vessels. Some historians however, claim he survived the battle and returned to New Orleans where he changed his name and retired on his pirate riches.

Jean was known to hide a large stash of gold within the brick walls of the structure's fireplace. For many years now the building has been a neighborhood bar and patrons claim to have seen a pair of red eyes watching them from within the fireplace. There have also been reports of inexplicable cold spots near the fireplace even when there is a roaring fire. Several paranormal investigators have said they feel an aura of "unwholesomeness" near the fireplace. Bar patrons sitting near the fireplace have also reported being touched by a cold hand, but when they turn, nobody is there. Jean is known to have smoked cigars and there is often the distinct aroma of cigar smoke in the area. There have been a number of reports of Jean's ghost materializing in the women's restroom. Evidently, his penchant for women remains even in death. Most disturbing, however, are the reports of people seeing a ghostly Jean appearing in corners looking annoyed at the living and twirling his mustache in his fingers. When seen, the figure quickly disappears. There is a mirror upstairs where Jean lived which is reputed to often have the visage of a woman reflected in it. Perhaps it is Jean's true love, the wife of the Louisiana governor who no doubt enjoyed numerous afternoon trysts in the room. Perhaps it is simply some poor forgotten girl who fell hard for Jean, but was rejected by him after he was finished with her.

Chief Dunderhead then told us he needed a break to wet his whistle and we probably did too and since he is good friends with the owner of Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop, we should all try one of the establishment's famous drinks and then take advantage of the bar's bathrooms. And with that, he walked off and left us for the next 30 minutes. We waited for our guide to return and we waited for dusk to become full night. We still had sites to see and Chief Dunderhead told us ghosts come out after dark. Perhaps the best is yet to come.

3-Legged Willie

Robert McAlpin Williamson was born in Clark County, Georgia in 1804. His mother died shortly after his birth and his father left him to be raised by his grandparents. When he was 15, he came down with what was then called tubercular arthritis in his right leg. A bone infection disease, tubercular arthritis causes very painful swelling of weight-bearing joints and almost always results in deformation of lower legs. Robert was bed-ridden for months and when he recovered, his right leg was paralyzed and shrunken to uselessness below the knee.

During his illness and months of recovery, he studied math, Latin, literature and the law. He became a lawyer and was admitted to the bar when he was only 19 years old. After practicing law for a little over one year, Robert left Georgia and traveled to Alabama and New Orleans. Rumor has it he became involved with a married woman in New Orleans and fled to Austin, Texas in 1827 after severely wounding her husband in a duel.

After arriving in Texas, Robert became friends with Stephen F. Austin (the "Father of Texas") and William Barrett Travis, practiced law and founded a newspaper, The Cotton Plant. He also became good friends with strong drink and late nights in bars and saloons. It was about this time that Robert did something with his useless leg that would earn him an interesting nickname and assure his place in Texas lore. He hired a local woodworker to carve a peg leg for him which he attached to his right knee and folded the useless part of his leg behind him. He had his clothes tailored with three legs - one for his good leg, one for his peg leg, and one for his bad leg. With his good leg, bad leg, peg leg, and walking stick, he made a memorable site. Soon everyone started calling him "3-legged Willie." Nobody enjoyed the name more than Robert himself and he began to introduce himself as 3-Legged Willie.

Noah Smithwick, Austin's blacksmith, told the story of how 3-Legged Willie came pounding on his door very early one morning - very early for Noah, very late for 3-Legged Willie, who was returning home from an all-night carousing. When Noah opened his door, Williamson stood there teetering and said in a loud voice, "Look here, Smith! A man has fallen down and broken his leg. Would you be so kind as to lend a hand?" In his inebriated state, 3-Legged Willie had hung his peg leg in a gopher hole and snapped it in two.

One morning after another night of liberal imbibing in one of his favorite saloons, 3-Legged Willie happened to come upon an orphaned buffalo calf and decided on the spot to catch it and make it his pet. The calf was only about half-grown, but it was plenty big enough to handle himself. Willie made it home where he grabbed a rope, jumped on his horse, quickly rode back and roped his intended pet. Unfortunately, the young buffalo wanted nothing to do with Willie and he promptly head-butted him, knocking Willie to the ground about 6 feet backwards. Willie, not one to easily be denied, got up, dusted himself off, and approached the buffalo once more. Again Willie ended up on the ground several feet away from where he started. This happened twice more by which time Willie evidently sobered up enough to realize this particular buffalo wasn't going to be his pet anytime soon. He decided to remove his rope and let the animal go, but the buffalo wasn't about to let Willie get anywhere near him for any reason whatsoever and butted him several more times. By now, Willie was plenty fed up with this nonsense. He mounted his horse and removed one of the heavy iron stirrups before riding close up on the buffalo and jumped on his back. While the buffalo jumped about bawling and kicking and bucking all over the field, Willie hung on for dear life with one hand and beat the animal on the head with the stirrup in the other until the poor beast fell and was finally killed. Willie pulled out his knife, butchered it right where it fell and took the steaks home.

After Texas became a republic, Willie became one of the very first circuit-court judges. His was a large circuit which included Gonzales County, an area with little to no law. The rough citizens who lived there had even refused to have a courthouse built so what little court that got held was conducted in the shade of a large live oak tree.

Willie, or "Judge Williamson" as he was now called, decided to bring law to Gonzales county whether it wanted it or not. He rode into town one day to preside over a trial of several local cowboys who had been arrested by a Texas Ranger. He strolled over to the live oak tree, laid a plank of wood over several whiskey barrels and sat down on a nail keg. He leaned his walking stick and shotgun against the tree, placed his law-book and gavel on the plank and pronounced court to be in session. By now, a large number of spectators had gathered around and evidently decided to let Judge Williamson know how they felt about their regard for a court. They began shouting, whistling, and making a general loud ruckus. The louder the judge called for order, the louder the unruly crowd became.

Soon enough, Judge Willie had had enough of such nonsense. He reached beside him, picked up his shotgun, cocked the hammer and laid it on the plank of wood in front of him with his finger on the trigger. Things got real quiet real fast. In a scary calm voice, he said, "This court is coming to order. If it doesn't come to order right now, I am, by God, gonna kill somebody and I am not particular who I kill." Court came to order right then and every time thereafter when Judge Williamson held court in Gonzales County, it came promptly to order.

Judge Willie became even more of a Texas legal-system legend when he had a drunken lawyer arguing a civil case in his court. The defense lawyer didn't have much of a case and was hoping his eloquence would sway the judge to find in his client's favor. As he continued to argue his case during the afternoon, he kept refreshing his evidently dry mouth from a brown jug he kept at his table. The more he refreshed himself, the more rambling and twisted his reasoning became and the louder he got.

After listening patiently for most of the afternoon, Judge Willie became exasperated and asked, "Counselor, where is the law to support your contention in this matter?"

Perhaps due to the liquid in his brown jug, the lawyer forgot who he was standing in front of. He reached under his coat and pulled out a foot-long Bowie knife, waved it at the judge and said, "This, by God, is the law in this case!"

Judge Willie promptly reached under his coat, pulled out a horse-pistol with a bore big enough that a large man could stick his thumb into it and pointed it straight at the lawyer's head. The hammer was back and the judge's finger was on the trigger as he declared, "And this, by God, is the Constitution. You, sir, are overruled." It is said the front of the lawyer's pants suddenly became wet as he quickly sat down behind his table.

The legacy left by Judge Willie is as a fair and honest judge who possessed a good amount of common sense, but not someone to be messed with. Perhaps we could use a few modern-day Judge Willie's.

Philip Work - Civil War Hero Beat The Odds



Philip A. Work shortly after the
Civil War.

Philip Alexander Work, lawyer, Confederate soldier and arguably, the luckiest man to ever go to war, was born in Cloverport, Kentucky, on February 17, 1832. The son of John and Frances, Philip moved with his parents to Velasco, Texas, in 1838 and then to Town Bluff, Texas, where John established a plantation.

In 1853, Philip was admitted to the bar in Woodville. He then enlisted and served with the rank of first sergeant for four months in Capt. John George Walker's Company B, Mounted Battalion of Texas Volunteers protecting the Texas frontier from Indian attacks. After surviving several skirmishes, Philip and the rest of the surviving volunteers were mustered into the regular United States Army. After serving uneventfully for several years, he was honorably discharged and returned to Texas.

In 1861, Philip was one of the two delegates from Tyler County to the Secession Convention, but before the convention reconvened on March 2, he resigned to raise a company of Texas militia known as the Woodville Rifles. The company was mustered into the Confederate Army at New Orleans in May 1861 and became Company F of the First Texas Infantry Regiment, Hood's Texas Brigade. By the beginning of 1862, Philip and his men would be in Virginia and almost continuously right in the middle of the most intensive, bloodiest battles of the war.

During the year 1862 alone, Philip and the brigade would engage the enemy in 24 battles, sustaining a causality rate of over 60%. Due to his leadership abilities, the appalling number of casualties suffered by both the enlisted men and the officers and the fact that he miraculously came through each engagement with hardly a scratch, Philip rose steadily in rank, receiving battlefield promotions almost every month until he became the regimental commander on June 27 during the battle of Gaines' Mill after Col. Alexis T. Rainey was seriously wounded. Afterwards, Philip commanded the First Texas Infantry in the battles of Malvern Hill, Freeman's Ford, Thoroughfare Gap, Second Manassas, Boonesboro Gap, Sharpsburg, Fredericksburg, and Gettysburg. By the end of the war, of the approximately 4,400 men who served in Hood’s Texas Brigade, only 600 remained and the unit would go down in history as one of the hardest fighting and most well-known and respected units of the Civil War.

At Sharpsburg, Philip’s regiment suffered 81% casualties, the greatest percentage of losses sustained by any regiment, Union or Confederate, in a single day of fighting during the war. Of the 226 men he began with that morning, only 44 were still alive by nightfall. His post-battle report is considered one of the most poignant, yet straightforward accounts of the war. At least 8 men had been killed carrying the company’s flag during the fighting and it was lost as he and the handful of survivors retreated through a corn field. When they emerged from the field and he discovered the flag was not with them, he ran back desperately trying to locate it, but only made it into the rows of corn a few yards before encountering a wall of Yankees. He was forced to return without the flag, running through the field as corn stalks all around were cut down by the musket balls being fired at him. In his report, he wrote, “It is a source of mortification to state that, upon retiring from the engagement, our colors were not brought off. I can but feel that some degree of odium must be attached… the loss of our flag will always remain a matter of sore and deep regret.”

Philip was promoted to the command of Hood's Brigade on the third day of the battle of Gettysburg. Although having never been physically wounded during any battle, he became ill on September 18, 1863, the day before the battle of Chickamauga and had to be evacuated to a hospital. He resigned as lieutenant colonel of the First Texas Infantry on November 12, 1863. At that time, he was simply diagnosed with “fatigue.” Today, he would most probably be diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome (PTSD). After dozens of battles, a number of them requiring hand-to-hand fighting, witnessing hundreds of men die horrible deaths or sustaining disfiguring wounds following his orders, personally killing an unknown number of the enemy, seeing the effects of war every day for over a year, and the stress of almost constant battle, every day waking up never knowing if that day would be his last, nothing else could be expected.

He returned to Texas in late 1863, but just 8 months later, raised and commanded a company in Col. David Smith Terry's Texas Cavalry regiment. Returning to the war, Philip fought in battles in Kentucky and Tennessee under Lt. Gen. Nathan Bedford Forrest. His company of men fought in numerous skirmishes as part of the forces under Gen. Joe Johnston that attempted to slow Sherman’s "march to the sea" during the final months of the war. Philip and the remaining Terry’s Rangers delivered what was probably the last charge of the Army of Tennessee at the battle of Bentonville (March 19–20, 1865). Rather than surrender with the rest of Johnston's army at Durham Station, North Carolina, on April 26, 1865, Philip and 157 of the 248 survivors of the regiment slipped through Union lines to join other Confederates that were still in the field. At the actual end of the war, the few remaining Rangers, including Philip, drifted home as individuals and in small groups, having never officially surrendered. 

With the exception of Hood’s Texas Brigade, the Eighth Texas Cavalry was probably the best-known Texas unit to serve in the Civil War. It earned a reputation that ranked it among the most effective mounted regiments in the western theater of operations. Against all odds, against all reason, Philip Work not only survived, but remained virtually unharmed through dozens of battles while serving with two of the most infamous combat units in the Civil War.

Philip Work's simple grave marker.

Work returned to Texas and resumed his law practice in Woodville. After 1874, he lived in Hardin County, Texas, where he became well-known as a land lawyer and the owner of the steamboat Tom Parker, which navigated the Neches River. Late in his life, he wrote several accounts of his wartime experiences, but unfortunately, only fragments of these manuscripts have been preserved.

Philip A. Work died on March 17, 1911, and was buried in Hardin Cemetery in Kountz, Texas, a very rural, quiet graveyard. Rest in peace, Philip, rest in peace.

The Last Civil War Soldier Killed In Battle



The last known picture of 
John Jefferson Williams.

In the summer of 1863, the midpoint of the American Civil War, a surge of patriotic fervor swept the north. Robert E. Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia had been crushed during the three days of hell that ended on July 3 outside of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. The next day, Union control of the Mississippi was established when the city of Vicksburg surrendered to Ulysses S. Grant’s forces following a six-week siege. This effectively split the South and severed the Southern supply chain that brought critical food and material from the West to the theaters of war in the East. Many in the North believed these victories heralded a rapid Confederate collapse. Thousands of new recruits volunteered for duty that summer. Many were afraid they would miss an opportunity for great adventure and glory. Some wanted the monetary signing bonuses. However, pure and simple patriotism played a role also as more and more men sought to take part in the preservation of the Union.

One of those volunteers was a young man from Jay County, Indiana, by the name of John Jefferson Williams. He was 20 years old. He reported for duty in September, 1863, and trained at Indiana’s Camp Joe Holt, on the Ohio River just across from Kentucky. Later that autumn, Private Williams was assigned to the Indiana 34^th Regiment Infantry in Louisiana, where he briefly helped patrol Union-occupied New Orleans and the Mississippi Delta, with a short stint along the quiet Central Texas coast. He saw no action; his unit never fired a shot. In December, 1864, came orders to move the Indiana 34^th Regiment to the island of Brazos Santiago, near the mouth of the Rio Grande River. Here they joined with the 62^nd U.S. Colored Troop Regiment to maintain control of the South Texas coast.

Though far removed from the major battlegrounds in the east, far South Texas was not without danger. While the Union blockade had effectively closed most southern ports, a bustling boom town with the name of Bagdad had sprung up in Mexico just south of the mouth of the Rio Grande. At this time, Mexico was little more than a French puppet state ruled by Napoleon III’s cousin, Emperor Maximilian. Smugglers, often aided by Napoleon’s French forces, snuck cotton and other materials across the river to Bagdad’s docks to avoid the Union blockade. It was a dangerous business, both for the Confederate smugglers as well as the Union occupiers. It was not uncommon for Union patrols along the Rio Grande to come under fire from Confederate, Mexican, French, or even Native American snipers across the river. Williams' luck still held though as he and the rest of his unit came to no harm during the next four months.

In March of 1865, with the war drawing to a close, the commanders of both Union and Confederate forces along the Rio Grande reached a gentleman’s agreement to end hostilities. The southern forces knew that without a major change in fortunes, they were engaged in a losing effort and the northern forces knew it was just a matter of time before the war would be over. There was no need for more death and nobody wants to be the last to die. It seemed Private Williams was destined to survive the war without a scratch. The agreement did not sit well with some, however. One who resented this unofficial truce was the white commander of the 62^nd U.S. Colored Regiment, Col. Theodore Barrett.

No one knows why Col. Barrett decided to march on Brownsville, Texas. It was late spring, and Bartlett knew that Lee and Johnston had surrendered their Confederate forces the previous month. Surely, it was just a matter of a few days, before the remaining Confederate forces in remote places like South Texas would lay down their arms. Why did he decide to attack and occupy Brownsville? Having missed the opportunity to lead men in major combat operations, did Col. Barrett desire a last chance for glory before the war came to an end? Or were his motives monetarily driven? Perhaps he wished to seize for himself the large stores of cotton in Brownsville before they could be carried across the river to the wharves of Bagdad. His reasons will never be known, but regardless of his motives, the decision was poorly executed.

Leaving the 34^th Indiana Regiment behind at Brazos Santiago, Col. Barrett ordered 300 men of the 62^nd U.S. Colored Regiment to cross the rough waters that separated Brazos Santiago from the mainland. Once the crossing was complete, the regiment rested for the night to prepare for the next day’s march to Brownsville. Losing the element of surprise due to Confederate sentries on the south bank of the Rio Grande, Union forces engaged a small contingent of Texans at Palmito Ranch on the north side of the river. Although Barrett had the advantage of far superior numbers, the Texans put up a fierce fight and his troops were unable to push through to Brownsville. With daylight waning, they retreated from Palmito Ranch to safer shelter a few miles away. The Union forces had suffered 2 killed and 4 wounded and the Texans had suffered 1 killed and 2 wounded.

The next morning, Union forces once again marched toward Brownsville. The attack this time included 200 reinforcements from the 34^th Indiana Regiment. Once again, they engaged the Confederates at Palmito Ranch. The number of Union forces were overwhelming this time and the Confederates were forced to retreat. The 62^nd Colored Regiment formed a long defensive line to protect Union gains while the Indianans pushed on about a mile past the ranch to high ground within a bend of the Rio Grande. This position was well protected, but the Yankees were still several miles short of Brownsville. Even worse, by positioning themselves inside the bend with the rapid flowing waters of the river surrounding them on three sides and the Confederates now facing them on the fourth, the 34^th Indiana regiment was effectively surrounded.

The engagement went on for several hours with neither side making headway.The Rebels were too few in number to make an attack and the Yankees were well dug in. Remarkably, for all of the shooting going on, there had been no deaths and only a few men wounded on both sides. At about 3:00 however, 300 Confederate reinforcements arrived. There were now 490 Confederates confronting 500 Federals. The situation shifted in the Confederates’ favor as in addition to the 300 reinforcements, they had brought a six-gun battery of artillery.

Headstone of John Jefferson Williams

At 4:00 PM, Union forces came under heavy bombardment from the Confederate artillery. The 62^nd Colored Regiment quickly retreated back to Brazos Santiago leaving the Indiana 34^th skirmish line unsupported. The Confederate commander, an experienced Indian fighter and colonel with the Texas Rangers named John “Rip” Ford, ordered his cavalry to charge. The young Williams fired his rifle at the charging, yelling Rebels, but in his fear and haste, his aim was off and didn't hit anyone. He was standing, reloading his rifle, when one of the Confederate cavalrymen noticed him. As Williams raised his now loaded rifle to fire again, the Rebel quickly aimed his Colt revolver and pulled the trigger. The ball hit Williams just above the right eye and the young volunteer from Indiana fell back into the prairie grass and breathed his last breath.

The Battle of Palmito Ranch was very small in comparison to most of the battles of the Civil War. The number of soldiers who took part numbered in the hundreds, not thousands. The casualty count was also quite small. Confederate losses on the second day of battle were 6 wounded. Union casualties that day amounted to 1 killed, 9 wounded and 105 captured. The captives would not remain prisoners for long. Just a few days after the battle, Colonel “Rip” Ford ordered their release and he told his own men to go home. The Civil War was over.

With the disbandment of Confederate control in South Texas, the bodies of those killed at Palmito Ranch were turned over to Union authorities. Ironically, they were buried on the grounds of Fort Brown in Brownsville, Texas, the town Union forces had failed to take during the battle. In 1867, the bodies of all soldiers buried at Fort Brown were disinterred and reburied at Alexandria National Cemetery in Louisiana. Williams was laid to rest in Section B, Site 797.

At least 623,656 men died in that terrible war. Private John Jefferson Williams was the last.

Boy Hero of the Confederacy

The rope was new and therefore it stretched, the condemned was slight in stature, and the distance from the bed of the wagon to the ground wasn't far enough. Instead of breaking his neck and a quick, merciful death, the condemned's tiptoes touched the dirt and he slowly strangled, struggling and jerking for almost 5 minutes. Women observers and a few men became sick and at least one battle-hardened soldier fainted. Finally, two of the enemy soldiers took pity, or maybe they just couldn't stand to watch the spectacle any more themselves, and each grabbed one of the hanging legs and pulled down, adding weight to hasten his death. It was a freezing, overcast day on January 8, 1864 and David Owen Dodd had just been executed as a Southern spy. He was 17 years old.

David Dodd's grave in Mount Holly Cemetery

David was born in Lavaca County, Texas on November 10, 1846 to a well-to-do family who owned several business ventures. The Dodd family had moved to Little Rock, Arkansas a few years after David was born and were living there when the Civil War broke out. David's father became a sutler, selling provisions to the Southern army. David, being too young to be drafted into the war, became a cadet at St. John's College. In September, 1863, he took a break from his studies to accompany his father on a buying trip to Mississippi, but while they were gone, the Federals captured Little Rock.

David, due to his age, was obviously not a combatant so his father thought it was safer for him to return to Little Rock to escort his mother and 2 sisters to Mississippi where his father had found a place to live. With the proper passes in hand, he was able to find passage for them on a boat heading south, but it was crowded with Yankee soldiers who amused themselves with abusive language toward the ladies so they got off of the boat before it got underway and went back home.

The senior Dodd soon sent word that he was in the process of getting the proper paperwork which would allow him to fetch his family himself. While waiting for Dad to come get them, David earned money for the family by clerking in stores selling provisions to the Union soldiers. In one of the ironies of this war, for a short time, the father was selling provisions to the southern army while the son sold provisions to the northern army. Eventually, after a harrowing trip in a buckboard wagon, all members of the Dodd family made it to what they considered the safety of Mississippi.

Being ever the business man and looking for an opportunity to make a profit, the elder Dodd concocted a plan to buy a large amount of tobacco. With the northern troops burning the southern crops, tobacco was becoming a rare commodity so the plan was to buy as much tobacco as possible, store it for a while and then sell it at the higher price as it became ever more scarce. Mr. Dodds was a little short of the needed funds so he decided to call on his associates back in Little Rock to get them to join the venture and pool their money. David was once again dispatched to Union controlled Little Rock.

While getting a pass which would get David safely through the Southern territory, General Fagan, as he was signing his approval of the document, said, "I expect a full report when you return." Whether he said this in jest, as he professed for the rest of his life, or if it was a veiled order which David took seriously, has always been up for debate.

David made it back to the Union lines and with the business documents and Southern pass along with his birth certificate showing he was underage and therefore considered neutral, he acquired an approved pass through the Northern controlled territory. He arrived in Little Rock a few days before Christmas and by all accounts, concluded his business and also attended several holiday parties. He spent considerable time in the company of a very fetching young lady, 16-year-old Mary Dodge who was an ardent southern supporter. Her father, a native of Vermont, was a supporter of the north and had become friends with several of the high-ranking Yankee officers. These officers often spent time in Mr. Dodge's home where his daughter, no doubt, overheard their conversations as they sat in the home's parlor damaging the area's stock of alcoholic beverages.

On December 29th, David, riding a mule, reluctantly left the company of Mary for his journey back to Mississippi. As he crossed out of the Union-controlled territory, the last Yankee guard took his Union pass and tore it up since he would no longer be needing it. David took a road which led to Hot Springs to spend the night with an uncle. Early the next morning, he left his uncle and took a shortcut back to the road to Benton. Unknown to him, this shortcut curved back into Union occupied land for a short way. Just before making it around a curve which would have placed him back into what was considered Southern controlled territory, a small Yankee patrol seized him for questioning. Now without a Union pass, he was brought back to regimental headquarters to be interrogated. While there, David handed over a small leather book. Upon inspection, the book was found to contain a series of dots and dashes which were quickly identified as Morse code. The deciphered message pinpointed the precise location and strength of Union forces in the Little Rock area. David was immediately arrested.

With questioning, it was apparent David did not know Morse code very well. It also became apparent he was not able to compile so much detailed information in the short time he had been in Little Rock, plus, he was very naive about military jargon, much of which was contained within the message. The authorities knew they had captured the messenger, but the spy was still out there. Within days, he was tried and convicted of being a spy and, as was the custom, sentenced to death. The Union general in charge of Little Rock, Frederick Steele, offered Dodd his freedom in exchange for the names of those who supplied him with the dispositions of Union forces. David responded, “I can give my life for my country but I cannot betray a friend.”

A quick investigation led to the loose-tongued Union officers drinking at the Dodge home. David's affection for Mary was well known, as was her Southern support. It didn't take much to ascertain where David had gotten his information about the Union forces. General Steele, the Union Commander of the forces in Little Rock was reluctant to execute a boy of 17 much less a girl of 16 so the investigation closed almost as quickly as it had opened. Within 3 days, Mr. Dodge and young Mary had left Little Rock under an armed guard, boarded a Union gunboat on the Arkansas River and waited out the rest of the war in Vermont.

There was ice on the ground the morning of January 8th, just ten days after he had first been arrested. David put on the suit in which he was to be buried. He rode in an open wagon under close guard out of the gates of the military prison, straddling his own coffin, passing not far from his own grave. The wagon halted in front of St. John's Masonic College, where David had been a cadet not that long ago. Witnesses reported that he was a bit drawn and pale, but calm and resolute.

The tailgate of the wagon was propped horizontal. David stood on it under a yoke which had been built for the occasion. The hangman (a man with the unfortunate name, given his profession, of DeKay) took David's coat. DeKay noticed he had forgotten to bring a blindfold. David mentioned there was a handkerchief in his coat. The blindfold was fastened. David's hands and feet were tied. The rope was fixed around David's neck and the prop knocked from under the tailgate.

Buried in Little Rock's Mount Holly Cemetery not far from where he was so gruesomely hung, David Dodd is today considered a Southern hero and is referred to as “The Boy Martyr of the Confederacy.” The truth of the code in his little leather book has never been uncovered. Mary Dodge passed from history and nothing more is known of her. The talkative officers who frequented the Dodge house were transferred to distant posts and they too passed from history. That left David, the only other person who knew for sure, and he took it to his grave.