William Quantrill - Still Hiding In Arkansas?

Within Augusta Memorial Park Cemetery, en enigma lies under a large marker bearing the name L.J. Crocker. Many believe the moniker is an alias and that the grave is actually the final resting place of William Clarke Quantrill, the infamous Confederate renegade.

Quantrill burned his name into American Civil War history during the border clashes between the states of Missouri and Kansas. On August 21, 1861, he led a group of 450 men into Lawrence, Kansas, where they executed 183 men and boys and then burned the town. Most historians think Quantrill was wounded and captured in 1865 and that he died in prison in Louisville, Kentucky.
A band of Yankee cavalry caught up with Quantrill on a farm, located 5 miles south of Taylorsville, Kentucky on May 10, 1865. Quantrill and about 21 of his men were camped inside the barn when the Yanks launched a surprise attack. He and his men fought desperately from the windows and doorways of the farm house until their ammunition was exhausted. Quantrill was shot while trying to escape. One bullet struck him in the hand and another hit his left shoulder blade, angled down and lodged against his spine. He was instantly paralyzed from the waist down. When questioned, Quantrill gave his name as Captain Clarke of the 4th MO Confederate Calvary and asked to be allowed to stay on the farm and die. His wish was granted and the northern  men rode off in pursuit of Quantrill. Mr. Wakefield, the owner of the farm, sent for a doctor who announced that Quantrill’s wound was fatal.

After learning the supposedly true identity of the man who was injured at the Wakefield farm, the Yankees returned with a wagon on Friday, May 12. They loaded Quantrill and took him to Louisville, arriving there on the 13th of May and a few days later, there he died.

According to one legend though, what really happened was that Quantrill, who was so badly injured that he lay quietly in his bed, pleaded with the authorities to let his wife visit him. Finally they agreed. Then one of the most bizarre escapes in all of America history took place.

When Mrs. Quantrill arrived in the hospital room, Quantrill's companion in the next bed had just died. They stripped the dead man and dressed the body in Quantrill's uniform and placed it in Quantrill's bed. Then Quantrill himself put on his wife's clothes. She in turn put on the dead man's clothes, was gagged and tied, and lay down in the dead man's bed. Quantrill, whose bruised spine had healed enough that he could move again, dressed as a woman and walked away a free man. Mrs. Quantrill was discovered bound and gagged, gasping she had found her husband dead in his bed and had been attacked by the other man n the room who made her exchange clothes with him and then tied her up.

The authorities believed her story and as a result of this dramatic escape plot no further search was ever conducted for Quantrill. Instead the Louisville hospital records reflect William Clarke Quantrill died of his wounds and that an unknown member of his gang managed to escape. Quantrill and his wife stayed in Kentucky for the next two years while Quantrill was fully recovering his health.

In 1867, a wealthy stranger calling himself Captain L.J. Crocker arrived in Gregory, a small town near Augusta, Arkansas. He bought a large farm with cash pulled from his saddlebags. It is said he had a military bearing and it was obvious he was an expert horseman. For several years, he and his wife worked their farm and kept mostly to themselves, but eventually Crocker made many friends, helped establish the local bank, and joined the local Freemason lodge. When the Crockers arrived, they had a young daughter named Laura Lee with them, but unfortunately, Laura died shortly before her 4th birthday. She was buried in Augusta Memorial Park cemetery.

Rumors circulated about Crocker’s true identity. Men familiar with Quantrill noted the stranger’s striking resemblance to the guerilla leader. Quantrill was known to have lost a finger in the fight on the farm when he was captured and Crocker always wore a glove in public. Crocker’s wife, Gabriella, was a relative of Cole Younger. Younger and Frank and Jessie James were former members of Quantrill’s Raiders and visited the Crocker home on several occasions.

Then one day when Captain Crocker was chatting with friends in the livery stable at Augusta, a newcomer by the name of Hutchison approached him and said, "You, Captain Crocker, are the man I knew as Quantrill. I was in the Federal Army and was captured by your men. It was you who finally let me escape." Captain Crocker looked at the man and smiled slowly. "You are mistaken, Sir. My name is L. J. Crocker, and furthermore I think that Quantrill would have shot any Yankee soldier that he captured."  Over the years, a number of former soldiers identified Captain Crocker as Quantrill, but he always denied it.

Could Captain Crocker really be the infamous William Clarke Quantrill, the feared guerrilla fighter, the leader of a large group of desperadoes who tried to aid the Confederacy by burning, pillaging, and murdering during raids in Missouri, Kansas, and even Kentucky? Could this stately gentlemen who had made so many friends in Gregory and Augusta, and who was adored by children when he visited in their homes, could he possibly be that same Quantrill who had been described in the newspapers as "The bloodiest man in the annals of American history, the father of American outlaws, a killer who had butchered women and children"?

Eventually, in 1910, after obtaining a secrecy oath from his fellow Masons, Crocker confirmed suspicions. He was, he said, William Clarke Quantrill and he asked that his true identity be kept secret until after his death.
Captain Crocker, or Quantrill, take your pick, lived on his farm near Gregory for 50 years, from 1867 until his death in 1917. He is buried in Augusta Memorial Park next to his daughter Laura Lee. No one seems to know for sure what happened to Mrs. Crocker after her husband's death, but it is assumed she rejoined her relatives in Missouri.
Augusta is a small, peaceful town 75 miles northeast of Little Rock. To visit the cemetery, turn south off US64 East onto Fifth Street at the armory and go about 1 block. The cemetery will be on your left.

Postcard From Ozark Folk Center, Arkansas

After a good night’s rest at the Mountain View Best Western, we decided to skip the skimpy free “breakfast” in the lobby and dine at a nice little coffee shop down the road a bit. If we’re going to spend some of our money, we prefer to let a local, individual-owned establishment earn our hard-earned. We arrived at the Coffee Bean at 9:03. The sign on the door said it opens at 8:00. It lied. We left at 9:05 with the lights in the store and the power to the coffee pots all off. A half a block away, McDonald's earned our hard earned. Coffee and a Sausage, Egg and Biscuit. Yummy.

Entrance area where you can buy tickets,
snacks, odds and ends.
After a quick little drive to the Folk Center and leaving our car in the free parking lot, we walked into the General Store to purchase tickets - $26 for the 3 of us. After browsing a couple of stores, including a music store which had mandolins, guitars, dulcimers, and other instruments and making small talk with several ladies in period costumes, we jumped on one of the small buses and rode to the top of the hill to the crafts village.

We picked up a brochure in the gift shop and found that the Ozark Folk Center State Park opened in 1973 with the purpose of preserving and promoting “the Ozark way of life.” The park is located on a wooded hill about 1 mile from the courthouse square of Mountain View, Arkansas and contains 24 buildings and outdoor areas housing craft stores and showcasing demonstrations and live mountain music from the 1820 – 1920 time period. The stores offer classes in crafts like pottery, knife-making, gunsmithing, jewelry making, weaving, woodcarving, broom tying, photography, crocheting, rug-making, quilting, cooking, painting, doll-making, corn shucking and more. http://www.ozarkfolkcenter.com/

Whoa Mule! An excellent, funny little 
Ozark folk band.
When we exited the gift shop, we heard live music so I followed my ears and my girls followed me until we found Whoa Mule!, a 3-man ensemble putting on a show to an audience of about 10 people. We sat down about 6 feet from them and listened as they played a selection of old folk music. I was totally enjoying it, but my girls were anxious to go shopping and seeing crafts so I bid them adios and kept my butt on the flattened log it was parked on. Their loss. With such a small audience sitting so close, the performers, all of whom were on the more experienced side of life, started interacting with us, telling stories, jokes, asking people questions and making funny comments which would somehow remind one of them of a song which they would then proceed to play. They were good musicians and really put on a great show.

The blacksmith turning an iron bar into a
hay bale hook.
When they took a break, I wandered over to the knife shop and talked to the proprietor (nice guy named Tom) for a while. From there to the blacksmith who was making a straight iron bar into a hay bale hook. I was the only visitor and he was talkative. He told me a lot about blacksmithing and the tensile strength of an iron rod and how many foot-pounds of pressure and how many strikes it took to pound flat the iron rod and how hot the fire was and how hot the rod would get – all of which I forgot within a few minutes of walking away, but it was interesting while he was talking and I enjoyed the fact that he so obviously enjoyed what he was doing.


From there I mostly just ambled around, watching a lady blowing a glass bead and then a marble; watched a lady making a quilt, learned a bit about early printing press work and moseyed around the herb garden. The most interesting store I wondered into was the broom making shop.  There were all kinds of hand-made brooms in a bunch of different colors. Most were functional, but a few were made just for show. Later in the day after reuniting with my girls, we bought one of the small “show” brooms and it is now hanging from a kitchen wall at home.

After making the rounds, I returned to catch another performance by Whoa Mule!. Different songs, different stories, different jokes so once again I really enjoyed it. After meeting up with Youngest-daughter and Mamma-woman, they informed me they were headed to the doll shop and then the sewing store so, being the sensitive totally secure in my manhood guy that I am, I said adios once again, found a place to get a coke, and sat under a shade tree by a pond with koi fish in it. In Japan, koi are considered symbols of good fortune or luck and are also associated with perseverance in adversity and strength of purpose. In Buddhism, koi represent courage. For a while I busied myself with rooting around in the flowers and bushes finding little bugs and a couple of caterpillars and fed them to the fish. I figured if I fed them, maybe some of that good fortune would come my way. They seemed about as grateful as a big goldfish can be I guess, but when I left I didn't really feel any luckier or more courageous.

I spotted a bumblebee on a flower close by so I unlimbered ye old camera and started trying to catch him in flight. Then I saw 2 bumblebees; then 3 and 4 and all of a sudden there were a BUNCH of bumblebees flying around these flowers. They didn’t seem to mind me taking pictures and never flew very close to me, but they didn’t exactly cooperate either.  I finally got tired of that pursuit and had a couple of pictures I was ok with so I walked on down the path to some more flowers and found a couple of really pretty butterflies. I took a couple of pictures then sat down on a rock and just watched them for a while. Whenever I see a butterfly, I think of “flutterby” and think that’s what they should have been named.

I finally spotted the Mamma-woman walking down a path without the girl child. She had gone to find a restroom. We walked around for a bit, but Youngest daughter didn't re-join us in what felt like the right amount of time. She didn't answer her phone when I called. I tried not to worry; she's a really good kid who almost always does the right thing. She knows about stranger danger and she's almost 13, old enough and big enough to put up enough of a fight or scream or something that good people would notice and hopefully come to her aid if an evil-doer grabbed her. We were in a fairly enclosed area with a number of people and park employees around so the rational part of me said don't be overly concerned just yet, but me the daddy was very concerned, radar on high alert, fight or flight was definitely in kill mode if some low-life has my baby. Mamma-woman and I split up to cover more ground. Within a couple of minutes, my heart beating like John Henry hammering a railroad spike, adrenaline pumping, confusion, anger, soul-crushing dread flooding every atom of my body, I headed back to the front of the park to the gift shop to alert the rangers that we have a child missing. I wanted everything locked down for 50 miles around; I wanted every Ranger here now scouring the park, I wanted helicopters, I wanted police, Highway Patrol, the FBI, SEAL Team 6, all of them here, now!
Pretty flutterby
What I got was Mamma-woman walking out of the building I was headed for telling me she had found her. The alarm bells in my head went mercifully silent; my fists unclenched; the adrenaline slowly calmed down, relief flooded in. The helicopters could go back to reporting on traffic, the police could go back to writing tickets and the SEALs could go back to killing those that need killing. Turned out when Youngest-daughter came out of the bathroom, she ran into a sweet older lady in period costume with a group of children and a few parents in tow who were headed to the auditorium to listen to stories and play a few old-timey games and the lady asked her if she wanted to come along. She tried to call us, but her phone battery was dead. She told herself we would come find her and it wouldn't be hard because the building was on the way out of the park.

When I saw her, she was perfectly safe, smiling and having a good time. I smiled at her and blew her a kiss. I took pictures. But once the activity was over, I made sure she came to realize the error of her choice. She doesn't know it, but if that's the worst choice she makes before making it out of her teenage years, I'll be one grateful and relieved Daddy.