This is perhaps the longest blog I have posted but once you read it, you’ll understand why I decided to include the article that accompanies the blog. It is a fascinating story.
It is probably without a doubt one of the strangest stories associated with a Jenkins’ Ferry soldier I have ever heard. While I was researching Confederate Brigadier Thomas Dockery, who commanded a brigade during the Battle of Jenkins’ Ferry, I came across the photograph that is in today’s blog. The caption indicated the person beneath the headstone was General Dockery’s daughter, Octavia. When I began researching the “Goat Castle,” it quickly turned into one of the most bizarre stories I have ever read about.
According to one biography of General Dockery, he died alone in a boarding house in New York City in 1898 and was transported by his daughters to Natchez, Mississippi for burial.
About his daughter, Octavia, one document I read indicated she was in the cream of society with President Ulysses Grant escorting her to her debutant ball, but it’s the murder mystery that she is wrapped around that is so incredibly strange it bears repeating here in detail.
THE GOAT CASTLE MURDERS -
There was blood, and the mistress of Glenburnie was nowhere to be found, that hot August night in 1932 - but there was no corpse. Bloodhounds were brought in to assist police and a large search party of prominent Natchez citizens. Finally, early in the morning, the bullet-ridden body of Jane Suget Merrill, Miss Jennie to locals, was found in a thicket about 100 yards from the house.
Miss Jennie was the town recluse and eccentric. Born in 1864 to a wealthy and prominent Natchez family, Miss Jennie spent her early years as a popular socialite in Natchez, New York, and France. In 1904, using a portion of the one-quarter-million-dollar estate left to her, by her father, Miss Jennie purchased the old estate of Glenburnie, and from then on became more and more of a recluse. She refused to update her house, never installing electricity. She did buy an old Model T, but while she could be seen puttering around town in the old car, she would not enter or shop in the local stores. Instead, she would tap the horn, and a saleslady would come out to the car.
Miss Jennie was 68 years old at the time of her murder. She had never married, and only allowed one person to enter Glenburnie during the 28 years she lived there. That one person was her cousin, the equally eccentric Duncan C. Minor, who visited Miss Jennie every evening. It was thought that Duncan was the mysterious caller who notified police of the blood, and disappearance of Miss Jennie, that fateful August night. It was also rumored that Miss Jennie and Duncan had been in love, perhaps lovers, for years. But no one knows, and the secret was buried with them.
Duncan was not much of a suspect, but Miss Jennie's neighbors were. Richard "Dick" Dana and his companion, friend, and caregiver, the spinster Octavia Dockery, were immediate suspects. Dick Dana, once a popular figure in Natchez, had suffered declining mental health, over the years, and depended upon Octavia to care for him. Octavia was herself, something of an eccentric. Neither had any source of income, so Octavia began raising farm animals on the grounds of their old house, Glenwood, which had been inherited by Dick, from his parents. Chickens, geese, and goats roamed about the yard, sometimes finding their way to the porch of the old structure that was badly in need of repair. And so it was that Glenburnie became known as The Goat Castle.
Sometimes the goats ventured next door, to the flower beds belonging to Miss Jennie. At one point, Miss Jennie purchased a rifle and a handgun, and it is thought she shot and killed several goats as they enjoyed lunch. Duncan tried to help. He made plans to purchase The Goat Castle, by paying the back taxes, so he could evict Octavia and Dick. However, Octavia had Dick declared insane, and as such, Dick could not be forced to leave his home. The couple remained, the goats remained, and the house continued to deteriorate, inside and out.
Another suspect was John Geiger, a tenant who lived in a shack, on the Dana property, called the Skunk's Nest, . His overcoat was found in The Goat Castle, supposedly left as collateral for back rent. However, when fingerprints belonging to both Octavia and Dick were found at Miss Jennie's home, the poverty-ridden couple was arrested.
Miss Jennie had left a will. Her entire estate, consisting of $250,000 in cash, Glenburnie, and two large plantations in Louisiana, was left to Duncan. Only one notation was made, in the will: "I am sure he [Duncan?] will carry out my wishes."
Octavia and Dick both loudly proclaimed their innocence. They reported hearing loud noises coming from the Glenburnie residence, on the night of the murder. Police were not convinced, and so Octavia and Dick were arrested, and taken to jail.
For the first time in years, outsiders entered The Goat Castle. Visitors were aghast at the filth and squalor. The once-beautiful mansion had become home to the hordes of chickens, ducks, geese, and goats that had been allowed to roam at will, making themselves comfortable among the magnificent furnishings. A leather-bound set of books, and several manuscripts, once belonging to the likes of Robert E. Lee and Jefferson Davis, had been chewed to pieces. Wallpaper had come loose, and was left to hang from the walls. Bedding and upholstered furniture had become moldy. Neither Octavia nor Dick slept in the fine four-poster beds, preferring filthy mats that had been placed on the floor in their respective bedrooms. The police thought sure they had the murderers.
Then, a twist to the story. Several miles away, in Arkansas, a man named George Pearls had been shot and killed by Pine Bluff police. Pearls had brandished a .32 caliber gun, the same type of gun that had been used to murder Miss Jennie. Natchez townspeople began to wonder, and their questions soon turned to sympathy for Octavia and Dick. A jury could not be formed, and with the help of Ed Ratcliff, a prominent Natchez attorney, Octavia and Dick were released from jail.
Finally there was a confession. Emily Burns, a Natchez resident who owned a rooming house, admitted that she and George Pearls had visited Miss Jennie in an attempt to obtain a loan. Miss Jennie, angry over the intrusion, had drawn her pistol. It was then than Pearls shot her. Other evidence collaborated the story, and Emily was convicted and sent to prison.
Emily Burns spent less than eight years, in prison, obtaining a pardon by Gov. Paul B. Johnson, Sr., in 1940.
Duncan Minor accepted his inheritance, bought a new car, and traveled. At his death, money remaining from the inheritance was left to Miss Jennie's family, presumably in accordance with her wishes.
And what about Octavia and Dick? Their lives took a definite turn for the better. For a fee of .25, visitors could tour the grounds; for another .25, visitors could actually enter The Goat Castle. Dick, who once held a promising musical career, took a bath, shaved, and entertained guests by playing a borrowed piano.
Dick Dana died in 1948, a few months before Octivia's death in April, 1949. The Goat Castle was left to out-of-town cousins who auctioned off most of the furnishings. The house was abandoned, and finally torn down in 1955.
Glenburnie, the home of Miss Jennie, was eventually restored and updated.
The Goat Castle Murders by Sim C. Callon and Carolyn Vance Smith, Plantation Publishing Company, Natchez, Mississippi, 1985 Natchez on the Mississippi by Harnett T. Kane, Bonanza Books, New York
There’s been some discussion on the Facebook page of my book about the burial of the soldiers at Jenkins’ Ferry following the battle. After the battle, the Confederates were left in command of the field, the Federals having escaped across the Saline River, unceremoniously abandoning their wounded on the battlefield.
The Confederates would have had their hands full, both caring for the wounded and burying the dead. After the hospital corps had combed the battlefield, the area was turned over to the burial crews, who had an absolutely dreadful task before them.
I know of at least three mass graves at Jenkins’ ferry. These were long pits where dozens of soldiers were interred.
The remainder? The hundreds of Confederate and Federal soldiers who died on the battlefield were mostly buried where they lay – both on the battlefield itself and the ridges alongside the river bottom. The graves were shallow, some only deep enough to cover the soldier before the army moved south, leaving Jenkins’ Ferry behind forever.
A former slave (Jane Osbrook) remembered visiting the Jenkins' Ferry battlefield with her father a few days after the battle:
"The next Sunday [after the battle of Jenkins' Ferry], my fathered carried all us children and some of the white folks to see the battlefield. I [re]member the dead were lyin' in graves, just row after another and hadn't even been covered up."
Other eyewitnesses recalled wild hogs were roaming the battlefield and rooting up and feasting on the remains of the soldiers. This might have been what the slave girl observed when she said they "hadn't even been covered up." Others remembered the warm early May days after the battle carrying the smell of rotting flesh throughout the river bottom.
One of the more gruesome stories to emerge over the years had to do with a family selling buttons. You know, shirt and trouser buttons that were in high demand in the late 1800’s. A family living on the high ground near the battlefield began selling bone buttons by the jar full (I spoke with an elderly resident a few years ago who recalled seeing a mason jar full of the buttons). Years after the family ceased the button business, they confided that the source of the bones were ones that were scattered in the wooded area behind their house. As one of the family members was heard to say – there were bones scattered all over that ridge.
You see where I’m going with this. Though there were some horses killed during the battle, those remains were down in the bottom, alongside Cox Creek, where they were shot when the Federals charged the Confederate battery, shooting down the horses initially to prevent the Confederates from moving the guns.
So all of those bones scattered across the ridge behind the button maker’s house? The elderly fellow I spoke with said no one who “knew better” would buy even a single button – they knew the remains of the soldiers were the source.
It sounds almost ghoulish.That’s because it was.
This is the face of war.
It is of a young man with no mother, and a father who was to soon choose duty over fatherhood. That is a tough statement to make, but it speaks volumes as to how the Civil War destroyed families.
Stephen Kearney Parsons died January 24, 1889. At his death, Stephen was buried next to his mother, Mary, in the city cemetery in Jefferson, Missouri. Stephen had survived his mother by almost forty years, his mother dying in 1853. Today, mother and son rest alongside one another forever – but what of Stephen’s father?
Mosby Monroe Parsons was a soldier, and war often took him far from home.
On April 30, 1864, the war had Mosby Parsons in the middle of the Saline River Bottoms, personally leading his division of Confederate troops across an open field that Saturday morning trying to break the Union’s line of defense during the Battle of Jenkins’ Ferry. Brigadier General Mosby Parsons didn’t lead from afar – soldiers would remember him at the head of his army moving across Groom’s field in that desperate struggle.
For his actions that day, General E. Kirby Smith promoted Parsons to Major General, a promotion that Confederate President Jefferson Davis did not approve. Some speculate that Davis did not approve the promotion due to his concerns over so many high-ranking officers within the Trans-Mississippi region. It didn’t matter. By September, correspondence with Parsons identified him as a Major General and when he surrendered his forces in Shreveport in May of 1865, he was referred to as a Major General.
At war’s end, Parson’s, like many other high ranking Confederate officers, feared retribution for their role in the war and, rather than return to Missouri, instead turned south and traveled into Mexico. In Mexico, Parsons, along with several others, including his brother-in-law Captain Austin Standish and former Confederate Congressman Aaron Conrow, sought to join the forces of Mexican Emperor Maxmilian.
Parson’s was no stranger to Mexico, having served during the Mexican War, fighting in the Battles of El Brazio and Sacramento attaining the rank of Captain. After returning back from Mexico, Parsons married Mary Wells September 18, 1850. They would have one child, a son, Stephen Kearney, born in 1851 – named for Mexican War General Stephen Watts Kearney. Mary would die when Stephen was three, leaving his father to raise him.
When Stephen was ten, his father was gone – this time to fight in a war much closer to home. This marked the end of the briefest of father and son relationships.
After the war, Stephen Parsons remained in Missouri as his father moved further south into Mexico. The facts become a bit grey here but many agree that Parsons and the others were captured near Camargo, Mexico in August 1865, where they were robbed and murdered with the bodies of Parsons and the others thrown into the San Juan River. Their remains were never recovered.
In 1875, the Mexican government settled a claim made by Stephen Parsons over the death of his father, paying young Stephen $50,000 for the loss of his father.
Stephen Kearney Parsons would die January 24, 1889 at the young age of 38, having never really gotten to know his father but no doubt, in reading of his father’s adventures, was well aware of a place called Jenkins’ Ferry.
Honor and duty were everything during the Civil War. That being said, it must have been mighty hard to ride away and leave this boy behind.
There are some things you never do.
Abandoning your wounded on the battlefield and leaving them behind is one of them.
One of the issues that followed Union General Frederick Steele for the remainder of the war (and perhaps the rest of his life) was his decision to abandon his wounded following the Battle of Jenkins' Ferry. The Federals had established a makeshift field hospital at a farmhouse on the battlefield during the battle, where scores of Union soldiers were being treated. The surgeon in charge of the hospital, Dr. William Nicholson, had shipped the vast majority of his medical supplies across the Saline River the night before, not expecting a battle to occur. As the battle raged, Nicholson was overwhelmed. At the conclusion of the battle, Steele was finally able to get his shattered army across the Saline River using their pontoon bridge. After the last of the soldiers had crossed the bridge, Steele ordered the bridge destroyed, preventing the Confederates from pursuing him. Some of his officers were aghast at the order. Colonel Samuel Crawford, commanding the Second Kansas Colored Infantry, was at the bank of the Saline River when he heard the news. Crawford wrote:
While we were waiting for the men, another staff officer from Steele’s headquarters came splashing back through the mud with his eyes a-glare and nostrils distended (having snuffed the battle from afar) and wanted to know why ‘in hell’ I didn’t hurry up. He further said: ‘if you keep fooling around this way, Price and Kirby Smith will hop on to you in less than fifteen minutes, and we shall lose our pontoon bridge.
Yes, that is exactly what I want. They hopped on me this morning, but didn’t get the bridge. If they come along now, I think I shall turn it over to them and stop this disgraceful retreat.
Hundreds of Union soldiers remained on the west side of the Saline River after the pontoon bridge was sunk. One of the problems was no one seemed to have told Dr. Nicholson he and the wounded soldiers were being left behind. Dr. Nicholson later wrote:
It never struck me even then that the wounded were going to be unceremoniously abandoned. I thought the [withdrawing] troops were merely falling back to some other position or were getting ready for some aggressive movement.
Nicholson, along with all of the Union soldiers left behind, were captured when the Confederates took the field. After some tense moments initially, the Confederates brought medical supplies and surgeons to the Federal field hospital to assist. Later the wounded and captured would travel with the Confederates when they began moving south.
What was General Frederick Steele’s justification for his actions that day? He later wrote:
This necessity I regretted, but thought it of more importance to secure the safe passage of my command across the Saline than to attempt to bring off wounded men for whom I did not have proper transportation. More were brought off than we could have carried away had they been as severely wounded as those who were left behind.
Steele was relieved of command in Arkansas shortly after he returned to Little Rock and transferred to Mobile, Alabama. Some historians have speculated that his abandoning his wounded caused such an outcry that it led to his being relieved.
I’m sure Dr. Nicholson might have had a thing or two to say to Frederick Steele – had he not been a prisoner of war.
One of most horrific moments in the Battle of Jenkins’ Ferry was when the 2nd Kansas Colored Infantry charged a Confederate artillery battery, executing many of the Confederates after they had attempted to surrender (slicing off ears, cutting throats; all while the soldiers were still alive, begging for mercy). The 2nd Kansas called what they did revenge for what the Confederates had done to members of the 1st Kansas Colored Infantry days earlier at the Battle of Poison Springs. If you’ve watched the opening scene from the Steven Spielberg movie “Lincoln,” then you’ll recognize the gruesome battle depicted in the film – this was supposed to represent the charge made by the 2nd Kansas Colored Infantry. But did it really happen the way history and Hollywood has described it?
Colonel Thomas Benton commanded the 29th Iowa US Infantry during the Battle of Jenkins’ Ferry. He was an eyewitness to the events that occurred in the Saline River bottoms that day. Following the battle, Colonel Benton wrote the following letter to the National Democrat newspaper in Little Rock:
[LITTLE ROCK] NATIONAL DEMOCRAT, May 21, 1864, p. 3, c. 1
We publish the following letter from the Unconditional Union, with a correction added by permission.
Little Rock, Ark., May 11, 1864.
Editor of Unconditional Union:
I observe a slight error in your account of the battle of Jenkins' Ferry, on the 30th of April, 1864, given in your paper of the 10th inst., which justice to my officers and men demands that I should correct. The paragraph to which I allude is as follows:
"The negroes particularly, deserve great credit for their gallantry. They repulsed charge after charge from the enemy and no sooner was a command received than obeyed. They charged a battery and captured three pieces of artillery and two battle flags, which inspired them with confidence, and urged them on to the bloody contest, pouring death and destruction before them."
Now the facts are these: On the right of our line of battle, which rested on the road from Princeton to the Ferry, my regiment was the first that engaged that enemy, and after a severe contest of an hour, was relieved by the 9th Wisconsin and the 9th Wisconsin was subsequently relieved by the 2d Kansas, (colored) infantry. The action had lasted some two hours before the 2d Kansas came up. After the 2d Kansas had been engaged about half an hour, Gen. Rice ordered me to relieve them and charge the batter; (which had taken position in the road about one hundred paces in front of our extreme right) but afterward so modified his order as to have the charge made jointly by the 29th Iowa and 2d Kansas. I ordered my command to advance with a shout, which was promptly done, until we arrived at the line of the 2d Kansas, when the two regiments were blended into one, my own, being the largest, extending beyond the 2d Kansas on either flank. companies "A" and "D," and part of "I" of my right wing, ("F" having been previously posted across the Bayou to our right,) extending across the road, immediately in front of the guns, with their left resting on the right of the 2d Kansas. In this order the two commands moved gallantly forward, and captured the battery; (two guns instead of three,) and eight prisoners, including one Lieutenant, but no battle flags. The prisoners were taken to the rear and across the river in charge of four of my men. There were two or three miniature flags taken from the guns by my men, one of which that I examined, was about five by nine inches, with blue field and three bars, and bearing the inscription, "God and our native land." My command advanced beyond the guns about sixty or seventy paces, and held the ground while the 2d Kansas, whose ammunition was exhausted, withdrew and aided a detail of my men in taking the guns to the rear. I then fell back slowly to our regular line of battle, and was again relieved by the 9th Wisconsin, Col. Salomon, who had held himself in readiness to support us.
In making this statement, I have not desire to detract in the slightest degree from the 2d Kansas, nor to claim any undue credit for my own regiment. My sole object is to do exact and equal justice to all, and hence I cannot silently permit my command to be totally excluded from an act of gallantry in which it suffered so severely, having lost some of my best men, and had two officers wounded: Capt. Mitchell severely, and Lieutenant Johnson slightly. It affords me the greatest pleasure to say that the 2d Kansas, under its gallant leader, fought bravely, and although my men were first at the battery and actually took the prisoners, we cheerfully concede to it an equal share of the glory of the charge. All the regiments engaged fought with a heroism unsurpassed in civilized warfare. It is also worthy of note that the 50th Indiana infantry, and named in your account, was in the thickest of the fight.
I am very resp't'y, your ob't, serv't,
Thomas H. Benton, Jr.
Col. 29th Iowa Inft.
Sometimes….in the heat of battle, facts may be skewed. Perhaps it takes cooler heads after the guns have fallen silent to provide a different perspective. Colonel Benton certainly thought so.
Thousands of soldiers fought during the 1864 Camden Expedition.
These men traveled far from home for two reasons; duty and responsibility.
My friend and retired pastor, Paul McClung, once wrote: “Never structure your life in such a way that if God chooses to change it, it will disturb you.”
By 1860, most families across the country, north and south, knew there was a vast storm approaching. Indeed, by this time, men were already realizing that the time was near where they would have to bid adieu to home and family and take up arms against someone who, months earlier, might have been their friend or neighbor, but they accepted the responsibility, because with maturity comes responsibility.
There are some who believe that we each hold the map that controls our journeys.
Some amongst us today live for the day – “YOLO” it’s called ("You Only Live Once"), where they flick their finger at responsibility and instead choose to live out of whatever suitcase or backpack that might be available, all in the interest in pursuing that “next grand adventure.”
In 1864, we saw boys as young as sixteen fighting at Jenkins’ Ferry. By marching into that swamp that April day in 1864, they knew the possibility was great that they would not emerge from the fight that was coming.
Yet they marched anyway.
Leaving their homes and their farms, they bid adieu to their white picket fences – their wives and their children – and instead did what honorable men do – they accepted the responsibilities of life and accepted their place in it.
Many of these boys never returned home. The weeds grew among the fence rails, the children lived without a father and an empty seat remained at the table forever.
There was no “YOLO” in 1860.
I’ve been fortunate that I’ve been blessed with that white picket fence and a wife and children who are my life – my everything. Heck, we even have the Labrador retriever who greets me when I come home from a hard day at work. It doesn’t get any more “American Dream” than the life I have – and I thank God every day for the life I have been gifted with. It hasn't come easy, and I've had my share of doubts and struggles, but I've emerged from the fire a better person knowing that with the gift comes responsibility – and maturity.
The Apostle Paul once wrote:
“When I was a child, I spoke like a child. I thought like a child. I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put aside childish things.” (1 Cor 13:11)
When it’s all said and done…when the sunset they’ve chased has finally set. Do they look back upon their many adventures with pride, all the while sitting alone in an empty apartment, their backpack lying next to them – the sunset gone and the loneliness of the night ready to consume them?
Those brave soldiers who watched the sunset on April 28, 1864 knew a battle was coming, but as they lay beside their backpack on the cold ground that night in the Saline River bottoms – their thoughts undoubtedly lingered back to their white picket feces and those smiling faces they left. Then they tightened their hand around their musket and drifted off to sleep – responsibility forever outweighing YOLO.