From a private in the Confederate Army he was promoted to the rank of Colonel of the 18th Texas Infantry, was assigned to duty in 1864 as Adjutant-General, with rank of Colonel.
Although a nationally known lawyer of shrewd and brilliant mind he remained always unassuming almost careless in his dress. In manner he was shy and retiring.
He spoke so seldom in Congress that he was known as “The Silent Member.”
His brilliant mind, sterling qualities of character won for him the title of “Honest Dave.” He was one of the lawyers in the famous Diomond Bessie-Rothchild case.
The Rev. D. B. Culberson, Sr., the father of Col. Culberson, was one of the early pastors of the First Baptist Church of Jefferson.
The 1881 Club was organized in Jefferson, Texas in October 1881 at the home of Mrs. W. B. Ward, where a room full of enthusiastic members organized a chautauqua circle. Among the charter members were: Mrs. J. H. Bemis, Mrs. J. P. Russell, Mrs. Sallie Dickson and Miss Sarah Terhune. The circle was composed of both men and women and met at night. Captain J. P. Russell was the first president with Ben Epperson as Secretary. At the end of four years diplomas and credits were given.
Without a break in the meetings the chautauqua circle was merged into a woman’s club, called the Review Club lessons being taken from current magazines, then known as the Shakespearean Club for several years.
Finally in 1882 when it became a member of the State and Third District Federation the name was changed to “The 1881 Club” in honor of the year of its organization. Many have been the courses of study by the enthusiastic members. In fifty-five years of its existence the club meetings have continued each week, only disbanding from second Saturday in May to the first Saturday in October. One of the charter members, Mrs. Sarah Terhune Taylor, is now an honorary member. One of the active members, Mrs. D. C. Wise dates her membership to 1896. This club has the distinction of being the oldest club in the State of Texas.
The Wednesday Music Club is one of the oldest music clubs in the state, having been organized in 1909 by the late Mrs. W. H. Mason, for the purpose of study and to assist the 1881 Club in putting on a program when the 1881 Club entertained the Third District Federation of Women’s Clubs in 1910.
The Music Club requested membership in the Federation at this meeting and was a member of the Federation of Woman’s Clubs until the Music Club began a separate organization.
The members of the club who are now living are:
The first choruses “Carmen” and “In Old Madrid” were presented at the District meeting of Federated Women’s Clubs.
The Wednesday Music Club was a member of the East Texas Music Festival during its seven years of existence and with the May Belle Hale Symphony Orchestra, as Co-Hostess, entertained the Festival in May 1924.
Mrs. H. A. Spellings was president of the East Texas Festival at this time also president of The Wednesday Music Club, serving the club in this capacity for fourteen years.
Mrs. G. T. Haggard was the Club president last year and she and Mrs. Murph Smith DeWare are the only members who have served the club, uninterruptedly from its beginning.
The Club had the honor and pleasure of taking part in the wedding of one of its members, Miss Ethel Leaf to Mr. J. M. DeWare by rendering “Lohengrin’s Wedding March.” This really was a “few” years back but a happy memory to those present on such a joyous occasion.
Possibly few counties have the distinction of having been a part of so many other counties as has Marion County, so no wonder she is so “tiny” in size after having been sliced and served to six different others.
The records at Austin, Texas, tell us that Marion County was first a part of Red River County, later a part of Shelby, Bowie, Titus, Cass and Harrison. Cass County was for ten years known as Davis County. Thus again taking the name of Cass, so really another “slice” may have been taken off Marion.
However it is up to Harrison for being the “big hearted” county. Years ago a negro representative was sent to the Legislature from Harrison County and during his term of office Marion County acquired anice acreage of Harrison County, and when the Negro Representative returned to Marshall he was asked “Why in the mischief did you allow anything like that to happen?”, he replied: “Well Sir, Senator Culberson just talked me right out of that little piece of land.’”
Marion County today has an abundant supply of high grade iron ore; saw mills, chair factory, an abundant supply of the purest and best artesian water to be found any where. The county is well adapted to the raising of hogs and cattle. The most delicious sweet potatoes, fruit and berries of all kinds. Mayhaws grow wild and from these is made a most palatable and beautiful jelly; in fact almost anything will do well in Marion County. There are many kinds of clover growing wild.
Stern Memorial Fountain was given to the City of Jefferson by the children (Eva, Leopold, Alfred and Fred) of Jacob and Ernestine Stern in 1913.
In the gift of this splendid piece of work lay the life time love of Jefferson, a devotion of a little immigrant girl grown to womanhood, and the gratitude of her children to a little city that had given Mother and Father happiness.
The fountain is entirely of purest bronze and is 13½ feet high, with bowls of 7½ feet broad, and has a statue six feet tall representing “L’ducation,” the total cost being $4,000.
Engraved on the fountain is: “Dedicated in honor of Jacob & Ernestine Stern, who lived in Jefferson for many years. Presented to the City of Jefferson by their children as an expression of affection for their native town”.
More than seventy-six years ago, Mr. and Mrs. Stern came to Jefferson from Houston, in a two horse wagon. Mr. Stern was buried in Jefferson in 1872 and later the family went to New York to live.
The fountain is still used, as was originally intended, for the good of man, stock and dogs, and the pure water that flows through it was given the ladies of Jefferson by the late W. B. Ward in appreciation for work done in the prohibition election many years ago.
As the people of Jefferson appreciated the noble qualities of the Stern family, they too appreciate the gift of love from the children.
In connection with the foregoing article a little book has been written by Mr. Stern’s sister-in-law, Mrs. Eva Stern, a most beautiful token of the noble lives of Mr. and Mrs. Stern.
In the book is printed a bill-of-sale for a negro woman slave. When Mr. Stern gave the bill-of-sale to his wife he said, “I felt like a mean creature when I paid the money for that girl, but I knew that we needed a nurse girl ... so what was to be done ... Where I was born, on theRhine, no one would believe for a moment that I would buy a human being. They would hate me, as I hate myself, for bartering in human flesh.”
The exact bill of sales for Sarah read as follows:
“Received from Jacob Stern two thousand dollars for a negro woman, by name Sarah, about thirty-four years of age, copper colored. Said woman I promise to deliver to Jacob Stern, in course of six days. I hereby guarantee the woman, Sarah, to be sound in body and mind. I also guarantee said woman, Sarah, to be a good house woman. If not, I promise to take her back and refund to said Jacob Stern $1000.”
Just before Mr. Stern’s death their old servant “Aunt Caroline” and he were talking and he told her that he thanked God he had set the colored people free, and she replied, “But thanks be to him mos’en fer giben me my good marsar and misses, who gib me my close, my vittles and my medicine.”
Five miles south of Linden there stands today an immense walnut grove. Planted on both sides of the old dirt road, one hundred or more of these trees are all that are left of the 320 planted by Mr. Jim Lockett, more than 60 years ago. The trees make a dense shade and a beautiful lane.
The story is, that Mr. Lockett in a reminiscent mood, thought, that the country some day would run out of split rails, with which to make fences. Realizing that wire would some day be used for making fences he knew that fence posts would be needed, so he ordered his farm hands to plant in every other corner of the rail fence a slim seedling walnut tree to be used for future fence posts.
They are standing today waiting for the wire and we are told that when the new highway was built that it was moved over 200 feet to keep from injuring the roots of Mr. Lockett’s trees.
Mr. Lockett passed away more than 20 years ago, but his Walnut line is still a joy to the many who pass that way and many people gather the Walnuts by the bushel each fall.
Another interesting thing that Mr. Lockett had on his farm was his water gin. One of the neighbors said, “that in its day it could really go after the cotton.”
The water was brought to the gin through a series of ditches and water troughs a mile and a quarter long.
From overhead and controlled by a gate, the water fell onto the top of a large wooden wheel 36 feet in diameter. Around the wheel were attached buckets holding 15 gallons of water each, and when enough buckets were filled with water the wheel began turning and the gin ran. “She would launch out five bales a day, if you got going by daylight.”
“Murder Alley” may be reached by taking the left where Line Street divides, going south to the river, leaving the Barbee home on the right.
The name “Murder Alley” was derived from the fact that one and often two dead bodies would be found each morning in this alley.
Col. Lowery is said to have edited a paper in the Barbee home during these much trying days.
It may be of interest to many Jeffersonians to know that the original courthouse was, according to the Allen Urquhart plan, located just in front of the P. C. Henderson home.
This sketch of a famous murder case in Jefferson is mostly from the pen of W. H. Ward who lived at that time and later moved to Texarkana where he was editor of “The Twentieth Century” and this sketch is taken from the December issue, along with a few other legends from other sources.
This sketch of a famous murder case in Jefferson is mostly from the pen of W. H. Ward who lived at that time and later moved to Texarkana where he was editor of “The Twentieth Century” and this sketch is taken from the December issue, along with a few other legends from other sources.
The recent mysterious murder of a woman in Jefferson, Texas, recalls the death of Bessie Moore or “Diamond Bessie,” who was believed to have been slain by her husband and erstwhile paramour, Abe Rothchild, within rifle shot of where the murder was committed more than twenty years ago.
The murder of Bessie Moore, properly Bessie Rothchild, a young and beautiful woman who had won the sobriquet of Diamond Bessie by the number and splendor of her jewels, was one of the most startling and sensational crimes in the criminal history of Texas. The scene of the crime was visited by thousands of curious spectators and the entire press of the Southwest teemed with gruesome incidents of the awful crime. Crowds came from afar to view the spot where the young mother had been hurled into eternity without warning, carrying with her the half formed life of an unborn infant.
On the shiny slope of a Southern hillside, almost within call of the then thriving populous city of Jefferson, Texas, in the calm of a Sabbath afternoon, the cruel and cowardly crime was committed, for which the husband was twice sentenced to hang but escaped justice by a technicality of the law. The murder of Bessie Rothchild, by the man who was first her betrayer and then her husband, was a crime so weird and terrible that the hand of a master might make it immortal, without for one instant diverging from the strict line of truth into the realm of romance.
Twenty-four years ago, Bessie Moore, the daughter of respectable parents of moderate circumstances, was decoyed from her home in the country by the son of a wealthy Cincinnati family. With the inexperience of youth, and that blind faith which makes a woman follow the manshe loves to the utmost ends of the earth, Bessie Moore followed Abe Rothchild to Cincinnati. There for one year the young girl was plunged into that maelstrom of sin which whirls and eddies about a great city. Her companions were those of the half-world, the submerged half. Rothchild was rich and he showered his wealth upon the girl from whom he had taken all that life holds dear, home, family and friends.
The motley population of Jefferson added color to the restless movement of the town. The streets were crowded with men of many kinds of dress, cowboys in chaps and spurs, gentlemen in morning coats with canes, farmers in dingy overalls, ladies in elaborate flowing gowns, old slavery negroes, self confident, northern negroes, carpet-baggers, and into the crowd came Bessie Moore, sparkling with diamonds, accompanied by dark and tall Abe Rothchild and did she create a sensation? She was part of this restless life the three short days that she was among them, diamonds sparkled in her ears as she shook her head and laughed, diamonds so large on her fingers that it seemed they must tire her small hands. This poor return for her sacrifice satisfied the girl only for a time, then the glittering jewels, silken raiment, which gave her the sobriquet of “Diamond Bessie” and which were purchased with a woman’s shame, began to pall upon her. Bessie Moore was to become a mother.
Amid all the dissipation into which her betrayer had thrust her, the woman had remained true and steadfast to the man she loved, for whom she had given up her innocence and home. Through all this time she had relied upon Rothchild’s promise to make her his wife and she prayed that the promise might be fulfilled.
Finding her prayers of no avail she demanded a fulfillment of the pledge. There was a scene, of course, and other scenes followed but Rothchild had now to deal, not with a silly trusting girl, but with a wronged, outraged and desperate woman, who battled not only for her rights but for her child, yet unborn. In a fit of desperation she threatened to lay the shameful story of her betrayal before Rothchild’s father, a wealthy and influential citizen of Cincinnati. Then Rothchild is alleged to have conceived and proceeded to carry out a crime so dark, so despicable and so diabolical that Satan himself must have blushed at its conception. He promised the young girl to make her his wife, told her that it would not do for them to be married in Cincinnati; where both themselves and their intimacy were so well known, but that he would take her on his western trips. Rothchild was a traveling salesman representing a jewelry house in which his father was financially interested and he himself being slated for partnership, and that they would be married in some out of the way place out west and that by changing one figure in the marriage certificate, it would make it appear that they had been married immediately upon the young girl leaving home, which would have given legitimate birth to the child, to which Bessie Moore was about to become a mother.
The girl believed him and blessed him and they left Cincinnati, together, traveling westward and passing through Texarkana. From the moment Rothchild promised to make Bessie Moore his wife he had been planning the woman’s murder. They left the Texas and Pacific railway at Kildare, Rothchild telling the woman that they would go through Linden, the County seat of Cass County, to be married, choosing that spot, he said, because it was so obscure that news of the marriage would not be heard outside the little town in which the ceremony was to be performed. His real intention was to murder the woman on the road. He was thwarted in this by being compelled to make the trip on a public coach, there being no such thing as private conveyances in Kildare.
Once at Linden, Rothchild was compelled to make good his promise and Bessie Moore, the wronged and betrayed girl became Bessie Rothchild, the wife of her betrayer. From Linden they came to Jefferson, Texas from which point it was agreed that Mrs. Rothchild should return to Cincinnati and have her marriage certificate recorded changing the date, as agreed upon, after which she was to return to her husband. The poor girl looked forward with eagerness and hunger to the day she would return to her home bearing the honored name of wife and be clasped once more in her mother’s arms. Alas! The poor girl lies in an obscure corner of the Jefferson Cemetery, her body long since dust and food for worms. They reached Jefferson and registered at the Brooks Home—(now the Foster home.)
From some cause she appeared unhappy and one of the maids of the hotel, who entered the room several times during the afternoon, declared she found Bessie weeping bitterly, but the next morning she seemed to have recovered her cheerfulness and gave the maid a handsome present, telling her that she and her husband had not been very happy for some time past but that they were entirely reconciled and were going out in the woods to spend the day. Lunch was prepared for them at the hotel. They were seen by twenty people to cross the public bridge over Cypress Bayou, within a hundred yards of the business portion of the city. The writer himself, returning from a ride, met them within a hundred yards of the bridge and noticed them only sufficiently to note that they were strangers, fashionably dressed and that the woman was very beautiful.
The couple strolled leisurely along for half a mile on the other side of the bridge, then taking a by path plunged into the forest, climbed a hill, almost within stone’s throw of the public thoroughfare, and within rifle shot of the city itself. They had their lunch and doubtless the man who planned one of the most cowardly murders ever perpetrated whispered words of love and loyalty into the ears of the poor woman, only too glad to receive them. Their lunch was spread on a large rock; it was almost an ideal spot, deep in the heart of the woodland, surrounded by the songs of birds and the musical ripple of the running water. In theshade of the giant oak and ironwood they whiled away the midday hours. Seated on the moss grown rock, the woman out the initials of her husband in the soft bark of a curly maple and with a fond woman’s foolish heart treasured the false vows of her brutal lord in whose inhuman breast lurked a purpose so dark, so deadly that the fiends of hell must have shuddered at its import. While the foolish heart of the woman fluttered with hope and thrilled with fond desires, the hand of the master murderer of modern times, pushed the rim of a deadly revolver within an inch of her white temple, where rippling masses of sunny hair fell in clustering curls, and without a tremor sent a bullet crashing through her brain. The sound of a shot rang out on the evening air, reverberated from the hillside and died away in distant woods. The birds stopped midway their gladsome song, a tiny serpent of smoke rose above the tree tops and drifted with the winds, a frightened squirrel darted into its den, the sluggish river flowed smoothly at the base of the hill, and a dead white face stared at the winter sky.
With fiendish deliberation the uxorcide removed the costly jewels from the dead form, with one hand the murderer of Bessie Rothchild hurled a hopeless woman’s soul into eternity and with the other stripped her lifeless body of the poor gaudy ornaments, which were badges of her shame, the price of a woman’s sin.
Rothchild returned to the city by a different route, employing a negro boatman to put him over the river. On his return to the hotel he explained that he left his wife with friends in the country. He left Jefferson the next day and it was not until a week or more that the body was discovered, within a hundred yards of what is known as the Shreveport road, a public highway traveled by hundreds of people daily. The corpse lay for all this time untouched by animals of the forest and unclean birds of the air.
Rothchild was traced to Cincinnati and only a few days intervened before the Sheriff of Jefferson, Mr. John Vines, located him in a saloon and brought him back to Texas. Finding himself surrounded by detectives, fearing every bush an officer, cowering ’neath the lash of an accusing conscience the murderer of Bessie Moore, with the same pistol, which had sent his helpless, hapless victim to her last account, attempted to end his own miserable existence.
Again the pistol was pointed at the temple of human life, but the hand of a suicide was not as steady as that of a murderer, Rothchild lost an eye while Bessie lost her life.
For seven years Abe Rothchild battled for his life with the help of the South’s best legal talent against the State’s attorneys who accused him of killing Bessie Moore.
After one of the most sensational murder trials in the history of Texas, after being twice convicted and sentenced to hang Rothchild escaped justice through a technicality of the law.
The story goes that when the verdict of the jury was given, the foreman of the jury drew a crude picture of a noose on the wall of the courthouse and said: “This is my verdict.” The lawyers who defended Abe Rothchild were Mabry, Pierce, McKay, and Culberson, Culberson and Armistad, Crawford and Crawford, Turner and Lipscomb and it is also said that their fees were princely.
W. T. Armistad of the firm of Culberson and Armistad cleared Rothchild.
People came from miles—resentment was strong and for days the battle raged—strangers recognized Rothchild as the same handsome stranger who had spent two days at the Capitol Hotel in Marshall, under the name of Abe Rothchild.
The courthouse where Abe Rothchild was twice tried for the murder of beautiful Bessie Moore, is now used for the negro school and the jail in which he attempted to take his life has long since been torn away.
Rothchild later served a twenty year sentence in a Southern penitentiary for a gigantic system of theft and forgery directed against the Pacific Express Company, with a sufficient number of charges pending against him, in other states to send him to his grave in stripes, though he lived three times the time alloted to man.
This ends the story and history of “Diamond Bessie” which startled the world a score of years ago, with details of which many people in this community are familiar.
Only a small stone marked the humble looking grave and it is told by the sexton that it was donated by a marble yard that formerly did business here. Her name was written in indelible ink and long since has faded away. After she had been buried many years a stranger came into the cemetery and asked to be shown her grave. His visit was an occasion of heart-breaking sobs and bitter tears. He left as he came in an unbroken silence as to who he was, or from whence he came.
The body of this beautiful girl was placed in a casket that was bought by the big hearted citizenship of Jefferson costing $150.
Just beyond the wagon bridge, on the road leading to Marshall and Shreveport her heart was pierced by a cruel bullet, from a hand she loved. His only defense was an “alibi”; a change of venue was tried, finally in Jefferson and at the verdict “not guilty” the most awful frown of displeasure was seen on the face of the Judge. The name of this girl was Bessie Moore.
There were three Citizens of Jefferson who were not so prominent but they were well known and will be remembered by the “Children” of forty and fifty years ago.
First we would remind you of “Aunt Viney.” Surely there was never another just like her. She was a real African, large of stature, black, kinky headed and had a style all her own. She modeled her robes of “tow sacks,” often making them many layers thick, according to the weather. Sometimes her robes were long and again they reached the shins. She “earned” her living by begging from house to house and when the weather was extremely cold she often sought shelter for the night, on the back porches that were not securely locked. She was never in a hurry to leave and was often aroused by the owner stumbling over her when he came out. She was never known to steal and rarely displayed her temper. She had little to say to anyone but she wielded her long heavy walking stick in a professional manner when the children tormented her and they were not long in retreating.
Another well known character was “Aunt Maria.” She was entirely different from Aunt Viney in appearance and manner. She was tall and slender and wore her dresses trailing in the dust. She would stand for hours, on the street shaking her skirts and speaking fluently to an imaginary audience. She was perfectly harmless unless tormented by the boys who thought it rare fun to tease her.
Sugar Boy was the son of an adopted daughter of Dr. and Mrs. Walker, a highly respected couple who lived in Jefferson more than fifty years ago.
Barry Benefield, the son of our own Mr. and Mrs. B. J. Benefield, who is a writer of great note has mentioned “Sugar Boy” in his books but he did not tell you that the real “Sugar Boy” was red-headed, freckled and always dirty. He had a better mind than many gave him credit for having. He was always ready to play but when he grew tired he made it hard for the smaller children while the older boys sent him home in a trot and weeping.
He thoroughly enjoyed snooping around at night to peep in and see what was going on in the neighborhood and to play “tick-tack.” He passed away many years ago leaving only one sister who is living in California.
Even though he had a home, he liked to take his plate and push it between the palings to the children in the neighborhood to be served a lunch. Everyone was most generous and kind to him.
Sixty years of service, with one idea: to upbuild Jefferson and Marion County.
The Jefferson Jimplecute was first issued as a weekly, then semi-weekly,daily, then again as a weekly. It never lost an opportunity to advocate every proposed plan that had in it anything that would put Jefferson or Marion County to the front.
The Jefferson Daily Jimplecute founded in 1865 by Col. Ward Taylor, is the only one of twenty-three newspapers, published at one time or another in Jefferson, to endure until the present.
Did you ever stop to think that the name Jimplecute carries with it more meaning than any other name now in use?
Ignorance of this fact has made many think that it meant nothing and was therefore without significance. This demonstrates the fact that nothing should be cast aside without a thorough investigation and we are publishing here, in its entirety, an article written by the late Judge W. T. Atkins of Jefferson, giving to you the various important words that mean much, that go to make up the one word JIMPLECUTE.
(The following is the last explanation of the word Jimplecute and it is reproduced for this issue.)
Since the compilation of the word JIMPLECUTE, the curious, the thoughtless, and thoughtful, the learned and the unlearned have been curious to know the significance of the word. The linguists of renown have failed to find any trace of the word in any of the live or dead languages. We have at last decided to place before our readers the origin of the word, and let those who have characterized the name as being meaningless see how far wrong they were. We doubt if there is a name carried in the entire newspaper fraternity that has more significance than the JIMPLECUTE. It is the friend of all the elements that builds up the country, it is absolutely free from politics. It is a friend of labor, likewise capital. It advocates industry, and greatest of all it advocates friendship and unity between every interest. When properly written out the JIMPLECUTE reads as follows:
JoinIndustryManufacturing,PlantingLaborEnergyCapital, (in)UnityTogetherEverlastingly
We leave with pride and satisfaction the explanation of the word which has so long been slandered as being meaningless, unpronounceable, and such complimentary econiums. To all such the JIMPLECUTE sends greetings, and in the kindest of spirits says “that he who laughs last, laughs best.” While perhaps, “a rose would smell as sweet by any other name,” yet there is no name that we are familiar with that carries with it so much promise, so much significance, such hope, as that grandest of words, The JIMPLECUTE.
The JIMPLECUTE was established in 1865 by Ward Taylor, Jr., who died in 1894 and his son, and daughter, M. I. Taylor, (known to her many friends as “Miss Birdie”) conducted the paper jointly until 1915, when Miss Taylor took entire control and conducted the paper until it was sold in 1926. Miss Taylor retained the job printing department, which she continues managing, and doing the entire work herself these ten years since.
“Miss Birdie” is loved by her friends, and many strangers, passing this way, drop in to see her. She is ever ready to lend a helping hand to anyone in need and to any project for the betterment of her home town. She recalls many of Jefferson’s earlier days when it was a real city and by her much of the past history of our little city has been preserved. She recalls the big fire of 1866 even though she was quite young, she says that she and her family were living at the Irvine Hotel (now the Excelsior) and had their clothes and articles that they especially desired to save tied in bundles, so that they might escape in case the hotel burned.
The same shaking up of the earth that made Reel Foot lake in Tennessee caused the sinking of the ground and formation of Caddo Lake with its connecting chain of lakes and Cypress Bayou in Marion County. A dam of logs, the accumulation of years, piled up in Red River, backing the water up into the lake and bayou so as to make them navigable by the largest steam boats.
The fine sandy land adjacent to these lakes produced excellent crops of cotton of the finest grade, and the planters of the Old South had long before the war thrown it into a series of plantations of 5000 acres or more.
Caddo Lake is said to be the most mysterious body of water in Texas. Tourists and campers always find something delightfully unique about the lake. The lake proper is 20 miles long and 16 miles wide. More than 400 oil derricks dot the surface of the lake with a network of pipelines underlying its surface. Mechanics and other employees go from well to well by motor boat.
The greater part of Caddo Lake lies in Marion County Texas with the remainder being in Harrison County, and Caddo Parish, La.
When the first white settlers came to this locality the Indians told them that the lake was formed overnight in 1812 by some kind of volcanic eruption. Many Indians were said to have lost their lives in the upheaval. The lake is fed by the waters of Cypress Bayou and in former times most of Eastern Texas transportation was carried on by way of the Mississippi, Red, and Cypress rivers and Caddo Lake.
The Federal Government has made several cuts, or ditches as they are known for the purpose of straightening the channel and in these cuts are found many fish as well as some alligators. Catfish weighing more than fifty pounds have been taken from this stream.
Many club houses have been built along the shores of the lake and its tributaries, among them the Dallas, the Caddo, Port Caddo, Greenville, Jefferson-Atlanta, Meyers, Terry, and many others, both private and commercial.
It has been truly written that the history of Jefferson—its struggles, its earlier fight, its romance—is written in this old cemetery.
From the two iron posts that stand a few feet apart, once joined by iron chains, which marks the resting place of two artists who killed each other and are buried together, chained together, and unnamed, to the tomb erected by the State of Texas over one of Jefferson’s leading citizens, and down to the tiny sunken, graves of innumerable infants who died in the middle of the last century, Jefferson’s age-old saga is told among the tombs of its ancestors.
The State of Texas has placed over this famous son a lovely red granite marker, and from this marker we learn that General Ochiltree was Judge of the Fifth District in 1842, Secretary of the Treasury in 1844, and Attorney General of the Republic of Texas in 1845; also that the County of Ochiltree was named for him.
Another monument that passersby regard with reverence is that of D. B. Culberson, long a Senator from this District and father of the Texas Governor, Chas. A. Culberson. The inscription on this monument is simple: “David B. Culberson, Sept. 29, 1830—May 7, 1900—Erected by his sons.”
OTHERS: Nancy Ann Waskom, Dated 1819-1852.
Lucy Eason, 1853.Talbot P. Amos, 1852.Sarah N. Owens, 1857.
Ross Hammett Spellings, father of S. A. Spellings, was buried in 1871.
While an overground iron vault is unique in the story of burials, ithouses the body of a two-year-old baby, George Hoffman, and is dated 1870.
Almost everyone in the state has heard the story of “Diamond Bessie” and her murder, but not every one knows that a few years ago the Cemetery Committee, Mrs. Arch McKay and Mrs. H. A. Spellings, working late on the grounds, returned early the next morning with their crew of men and found erected on the grave of “Diamond Bessie” a new monument with the simple inscription, “Bessie Moore—12-13-1876.” The monument that had marked the grave was entirely removed. The marking of this old monument, having been done in indelible ink, had faded away.
The first stone is said to have been placed over the grave by noble-hearted citizens of Jefferson, but no one, other than the person who placed it on the grave, knows just when the last stone was erected or by whom, though various reports have been circulated—all different. We only know that it was placed between the setting and rising of the sun.
There is humor too in the old cemetery. Placed prominently in the center of the headstone, under glass, where it has remained since 1855, is a photograph of a much bearded man. It is a photograph of W. W. Sloan, who was born in 1830 and buried in 1885, and his stern face still rebukes those inclined to take lightly the facts of death and the grave. Mr. Sloan was a photographer in Jefferson for many years.
On another stone there is this rhyme:
“Remember, friend, as you pass by,As you are now, so once was I,As I am now, so you must be,Prepare for death and eternity.”
“Remember, friend, as you pass by,
As you are now, so once was I,
As I am now, so you must be,
Prepare for death and eternity.”
The story is told that once, in charcoal, a wag wrote underneath this inscription:
“Be still, my friend, and rest content,Until I find out just where you went.”
“Be still, my friend, and rest content,
Until I find out just where you went.”
Over on one side of Oakwood Cemetery is the Jewish Cemetery. This plot of ground is said to have been purchased by Mr. Jacob Stern and another citizen, who presented it to the Jewish people of Jefferson for a burying ground. Many Jews have been brought back to the old home town, that their bodies may rest beside loved ones who have gone before.
This cemetery is kept as nicely as these “Chosen people” keep their homes. A low stone wall separates it from Oakwood Cemetery.
Then on the extreme south side of the Oakwood Cemetery is the Catholic Cemetery; this too, is well kept.
In Oakwood proper which burying ground dates from the time of Reconstruction, many bodies were removed from the Cemetery, in what is today known as “Sandtown.” Following the Civil War many Federal soldiers were buried there. This is one mass of shrubs, graves and trees, with few markers, and only a guess can tell one where the soldiers in blue, who died in this part of the world, found their resting place.
One street in the cemetery is known as “The Street of Graves,” and the legend goes that many unmarked graves are underneath the street. Should you let your imagination play, you can outline for yourself the dents in the earth that mean graves, as you drive down the street between the rows of modern lots.
Frank Schweers and his father, sextons for the Cemetery for two generations, have buried 9,000 citizens of Jefferson since 1870, when the older Schweers took charge. There are about 14,000 graves in the Cemetery, the oldest having for its inscription: “Rev. Benjamin Foscue—1798-1850” and which is still in a state of good preservation.
And so, through almost one hundred years, the history of old Jefferson and new Jefferson is written on the stones in the Cemetery, a valuable, beautiful, romantic history that we should keep intact—that we should value and preserve. ARE YOU DOING YOUR PART?
When “old timers” are in a reminiscent mood you can hear many interesting incidents of the early days of Jefferson, and one that few remember, and often wonder about, is the story of two men whose graves are in Oakwood Cemetery, unmarked other than by two iron posts that were chained together.
Mr. J. E. Hasty knew the men and gives this information: Rose and Robertson let their hatred of each other and their love for a woman, cause them to take the life of each other, a most unusual coincidence.
Rose owned and operated a blacksmith shop on Polk Street near where the Jay Fort home stands. As he was working one day, Robertson, a gambler, came across the street and entered the shop. When Rose saw him coming he turned and started out the rear door, but Robertson had gone there with the determination to kill Rose, so without warning he fired the bullet that killed Rose, who as he went down aimed well and sent a bullet into the heart of his enemy. Robertson walked across the street and sat down upon the sidewalk saying, “that —— rascal has killed me,” and he too passed away.
As a fitting finish they were buried side by side, chained together and only iron posts to mark their resting place.
A few Epitaphs found on some of the stones in Oakwood Cemetery:
“Old Pop”
“Daddy Come Here,I am Coming”
“Sweet Babe, now quiet”
“God loveth a cheerful giver”
“She hath done what she could”
“I have three little angels waiting for meon the beautiful banks of the crystal sea.Not impatiently wait my darlings there,for smiles light up their brows so fairand their little harps ring out so clear,so soothingly sweet to faithless listing ears.They live in the smile of the Savior’s love,who so early called my darlings above.”
“Weep not for me Carrie dear,I am not dead, but sleeping here.I was not yours, but Christ’s alone.He loved me best and took me home.”
“Just in the morning of this day he died,In the midst of life we are in death.”
“To know her was to love her.”
“She has crossed the rocks to rest in the shade.”
“On earth she was a dutiful daughter, a loving wife, an earnest Christian, in Heaven an angel”
“Papa’s little girl no longer suffers.”
“Gone but not lost”
“Budded on Earth, Blooming in Heaven”
“A loved one has crossed”
“We will not say farewell”
“An honest man is the noblest work of God”
“It is good to have lived, to have loved to have thought.”
“As a wife, devoted. As a friend, ever kind and true, in life she exhibited all the graces of a Christian.”
“Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal.”
“There is a world above where parting is unknown, Formed for the good alone.”
“Gone from our home but not from our hearts”
“It is enough, Come up higher”
“No pains, no griefs, no anxious fearcan reach our loved one sleeping here.”
This little story will not be complete without mention being made of some of the “Belles” of the early days of Jefferson, who are here today to tell Jefferson’s history.
It is a rare treat to have as our guests, Mrs. Ida Rogers Rainey, Mrs.Jessie Allen Wise, Mrs. Murph Smith Deware, Mrs. Jennie Lyon Jones and Mrs. Sue Jackson Hale.
It has been the privilege of the writers of this pamphlet to enjoy several “Get-Together Luncheons,” and to hear the “girls” tell of their beaux, and the early history of Jefferson, along with the good times they had at school.