Author Archives: Paul

Blood of the Innocent

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Blood of the Innocent coverA little SETX fiction on this Halloween 🙂

Katy ran swiftly through the brush near the river. Her heart pounding with fear hearing the barking of the bloodhounds as they drew closer. She surely felt her world coming to an end. Katy could probably outrun the two men on horseback but not the dogs. She might wade into the river but her demise would be evenly shared perhaps among the alligators and the snakes.

Katy ran faster and faster through the darkness finally reaching a patch of oak trees near a shallow inlet. She ran through the water splashing her way to the other side. Just then, only seconds behind her, the dogs appeared through the brush barking fanatically. All three dogs had her in their sights but stopped at the edge of the water. Katy, now on the other side, raced through more oak and cypress trees. There, now seemed to be a path that she could maneuver better.

The two men on horseback caught up with the dogs near the inlet. They noticed the dogs barking at the edge of the water. One of the men trotted up to the water’s edge to see why the dogs did not follow the girl. As he lowered his torch to the water a sudden splash and a hissing sound came from the bank. This spooked the horse and made it buck. The man fell backwards off the horse into the mud. Meanwhile the dogs, still barking fanatically, began snapping at something in the water. The man hurriedly grabbed the torch from the ground to see what spooked the horse.

“It’s a twelve footer!” the other man on the horse yelled. “Hell there’s another one over there.”

The man on the ground jumped up and staggered nervously away from the water’s edge. The dogs seemed to keep the twelve foot gator in the water, but he didn’t want to push his luck.

“Shoot the damn thing Ben!” the man said still backing up.

“Ain’t no point in it. It’ll jest pick out the bullet and spit it back at ya.” Ben said with a grin.

“Well do something dang it,” the man said now grabbing the reins of his horse.

Ben pulled out his revolver and fired two shots in the air while shouting for the dogs to get back. He figured it would be better to cross at another point then to lose three good hunting dogs.

“Mount up Wes. We’ll cross a ways down from here. Dang girl must be in league with the devil to get through them.” He said, “Don’t matter though. She’s headin’ south. I reckon them Creol’s gonna enjoy that little lassie if you know what I mean. Hell, if she makes it that far?”

Wes mounted his horse. Raising his torch he noticed the inlet was full of alligators. He counted around seven sets of eyes peering at him from the water. Being from east Texas, he never dealt with these nasty creatures before. Maybe the odd bear, or hog but not these foul monsters, surely spawned from the devil himself.

Katy, still running as fast as she could, noticed the barking dogs sounding farther and farther away from her. Then she heard the two shots in the distance. For some reason, unaware to her, she had been given a chance to escape. She knew this was a gift and she had better make good with it.

Her heart pounded and exhaustion began to set in. Katy stumbled and fell to the ground. Clamoring to get up her legs began to cramp, but she knew she couldn’t stay there or they would eventually catch up with her. Finally getting to her feet she began to limp toward a thicker patch of trees. Katy’s eyes peered through the darkness in search of where she could hide from the dogs, but there was nowhere that she would be safe. Exhaustion or not she had to move on to stay alive.

At that moment she heard a ruffling on the other side of the trees near another inlet. It sounded like as if someone was near. Told by the locals that there were possibly Indians in the area, and knowing those men chasing her, she crept silently to find out who or what was making the noise.

Katy, hidden with the trees and brush, could make out the silhouette of a person on a flat bottom boat. With the moon now peeking through the clouds she could tell it was a woman although her face was hidden mostly behind a hood.  Katy knew this was her last hope. She raced out of the brush and fell to the ground near the water’s edge.

Coming 2013

Out now! http://amzn.com/B00CA9IOIE

 

Legend of Bragg Road (Saratoga Light)

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Bragg Road

My last venture into the spooky realm might have been eerie, but Bragg Road has always been much more so, mainly because I have seen the light, so to speak. In the late 80s, a few friends and I frequented the sandy eight-mile road, which runs between Highways FM 787 and FM 1293 near the town of Saratoga.

Located in the heart of the Big Thicket, one could definitely lose oneself in the pitch blackness of the forest. Except for the single light that mysteriously shines on occasion. But what is this all about? Let’s delve into the history of this lonely road.

In 1902 the Santa Fe railroad cut a line through the dense thicket between Saratoga and Bragg. These tracks were needed for hauling oil from the Saratoga oilfields, along with logs and cattle. For a long time, just one trip per day to Beaumont and back seemed to be enough to progress this wilderness into civilization. However, perhaps inevitably, the wilderness won and the city of Bragg is all but forgotten.

In 1934, the tracks were removed leaving behind a sandy road, which was used mostly by hunters who inadvertently kept the thicket from reclaiming it. It was around this time that some began seeing a strange light. (Note: In the book Tales from the Big Thicket by Francis E. Abernethy, there was one sighting of the light even before the tracks were removed.)

So what is behind this strange light that has been seen for nearly 80-plus years? The foremost story is that a railroad man was decapitated in a train wreck, so now he holds a lantern high while he looks for his head.

Other explanations include the Mexican cemetery where a foreman, rather than pay his road crew, killed them and kept the money. They were swiftly buried. Now their restless spirits haunt the road.

Whatever the source, there is a light on that darkened stretch. Skeptics will tell you that it is a reflection from car lights, but that would not explain the earlier sightings when there were few cars traveling down or near the road. Furthermore the old Model T’s headlights wouldn’t have shined brightly enough.

Another possibility is swamp gas. I could entertain this theory because of an investigation I was a part of 25 years ago.

In the late 80s, I made numerous trips to Bragg Road. The first was a day trip, and my friends Bryan and Hector tagged along. I only mention this because, after unsuccessfully identifying the road, we stopped at a store in Saratoga where Hector asked a lady where Bragg Road was. She explained to him how to get there and asked why we were looking for it. Without pause Hector explained we were going to a friend’s house that was located on the road. The woman grinned and wished us well. We did find the road and traveled down all eight miles never seeing a house or any sign of life. We had a good laugh over this.

My second trip down Bragg Road was a night-time journey done solo, but I saw nothing, only the blackness of the thicket. Fortunately my next jaunt into the forest did pay off. A few friends and I did see the light. It looked like an oncoming train if you were standing on the tracks. Try as we may, we could never get close to it. The light would flicker and then disappear.

On one occasion Paul Newman and I (Note: Not the actor turned racecar driver turned salad-dressing king) did an investigation to find out just what the light was. We started by removing all evidence of tire tracks at the entrance to the sandy road, followed by all three turnarounds. We figured that if we saw a light then we would have some idea if it was from a vehicle traveling down the road or something else.

As the night progressed, we saw the light several times, but only one vehicle, other than ours, passed down the road. We checked each turnaround and found only one set of tracks. Our investigation ended without a clear answer as to the cause of the light, or if it was indeed paranormal. We did conclude however that the light, at the very least, was not from a vehicle.

Usually when I go down that road, I see the light, except on full moonlit nights. Although the light seems to be far off, I have talked to people who know people who have seen the light close up, but sadly I have never personally met anyone who has done so, nor have I been privileged to witness it in close proximity. So please take the last statement as is.

So if you’re ever along FM 787 or FM 1293 and want a thrill, just turn onto that dark sandy road. You may just see that ghostly train headlight coming toward you. And what a sight it will be.

Legend of Sarah Jane Road

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Most people who have grown up in the mid and south Jefferson County have heard at least one version of the legend of Sarah Jane and the lowly road that it’s attached to. I remember riding the darkened road myself many times in the 1980s. I even fished from the bridge during a dark and foggy night. So, what did I see? (He paused to entice the reader before modestly stating that the author saw nothing of substance.) We will however delve into that a bit later.
So who was Sarah Jane, and what are the legends surrounding this ghost road? In one version, on a moonlit night, you may see her ghostly apparition searching the marsh and thicket for her baby who drowned in the murky waters of the Neches River.
Other versions include Sarah Jane as a lady pirate (or Lafitte’s girlfriend). In a further account, she was attacked by a group of bandits, so she placed her child in some weeds near the bridge. When it was safe, she returned for the child—but it was gone. It somehow got into the canal and disappeared.
The story I know is as follows: Sarah Jane was crossing the bridge of the canal when she accidently dropped her baby in the water. Try as she did, she could not save her child, and it drowned. Distraught about losing her child, Sarah Jane hung herself from a huge oak tree further up the road from the bridge.
There are many renditions of this story, but whichever version I read, I inevitably uncover a big problem with the historical accuracy. I am not saying that something isn’t afoot along the Neches—I just don’t think it was with Sarah Jane. Union soldiers were never in Grigsby’s Bluff (Port Neches), which another version implies. In this report, Sarah Jane hears there are Union soldiers making their way toward her cabin, so she puts her baby in a wicker basket under a wooden bridge before fleeing the area. Later, when she returns, the basket and the baby are gone. (Please note that this area, in the past, present, and future has been, is, and will be known to have alligators frequenting its waterways. To put anything remotely fleshy in a waterway is therefore not advisable.)
In an article by Carl Cunningham Jr. in the Mid County Chronicle dated October 28, 1998, the author asserts in an interview with W. T. Block (whose family owned a lot of the land in this area) that a reporter from the Port Arthur News made the connection to his mother’s name (Sarah Jane Block) and the dark spooky road, and so the legend began.
As I said, I spent many a night on both the road and the bridge but never saw anything of substance—except for one night. Three friends and I had decided to drive down Sarah Jane Road to see what we could see, or at least scare the hell out of the couple making out on the parked motorcycle we encountered while driving with the headlights off. (Thank you, Bryan, for warning them of our impending appearance with your rendition and re-enactment of the laugh from the movie “Gremlins.”)
Just before our encounter with the Harley lovebirds, I looked into the trees and noticed a faint ball of light shooting across the tree line. I immediately asked another friend Hector if he’d seen it.
“Uh yeah,” he had said nervously.
Replaying the scene in my mind, I do not think the light in question was of a paranormal nature. But I cannot figure out what it actually was. Possibly a type of swamp gas that most hauntings are blamed on. It could have been, but we did not investigate further. I will also add that there was no alcohol involved on this day on my part or any of the others.
In the following weeks, a few friends (including Hector) also took a ride to the bridge. This time, my friend Hector decided to be belligerent toward whatever could be lurking in the darkness. At about this same moment, the fog began to roll in swiftly. Disheartened and a touch spooked by the sudden appearance of the fog, Hector returned to the safety of the car, and they quickly retreated. As they drove away, the storyteller told me that the fog seemed to keep up with them. (Note: The storyteller had not partaken of any alcohol, but I can neither confirm nor deny Hector’s involvement with the beverage that night. I will say however that this was the last time Hector was aggressive toward a ghostly legend.)
For me, the question of whether or not Sarah Jane haunts the lowly road between Groves and Port Neches is still unanswered, but with this area’s history, there are other possible players in the saga. North of the road, there were six Indian burial mounds, all standing 20 ft high, 60 ft wide, and 100 yards long. (Note: All the mounds were destroyed by the year 1900 for various reasons.) Indians have a rich history in this area and their set of own legends to boot.

(See Legend of Kisselpoo.)
Therefore, in closing, if one ever finds oneself traveling down the dark and winding Sarah Jane Road, I would refrain from yelling out profanities because you never know who or what might be listening.

Chambers House

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It was a festive mood at the Chambers House last Friday evening. In celebration of what would have been Florence Chambers’ 100th birthday, we partied like it was 1929! And what fun we had going back in time.

As the guests made their way up the porch toward the front door, one could not help but notice the black, orange, and gold streamers hanging from the porch lights, along with an array of flowers in planter boxes.

Upon entering, we were immediately greeted by the delightful Homer Chambers who welcomed us to his daughter’s 17th birthday celebration. In the background, the Charleston could be heard along with the numerous dancing partygoers who were already in full swing.

This re-enactment of Florence’s 1929 birthday party could not have been better. Not only were the guests given a tour by the docents, but a live peek at history as well. All the actors portraying the Chambers family did a wonderful job! Most of the cast were from the Beaumont Community Players, with the exception of two who were the Beaumont Heritage Society’s own.

After the tour, guests were treated to refreshments of cake and punch. (Note: I still dream of that cake.)

The Chambers House, built in 1906, provides my favorite tour in Southeast Texas. There is a story here worth telling, and I would urge all to take the tour of this fantastic house and its even more fascinating occupants.

I had a great night and hope that Ruth, Papa, Mama, and Florence looked on with the same vigor. I believe their spirits were present at this celebration. Life was good in 1929.

The House is open for tours Tuesday through Friday from 10:00 a.m. until 3:00 p.m. Saturday tour hours are from 10:00 a.m. until 2:00 p.m.

 

The admission fee is $3.00 for adults, $2.00 for senior citizens, and $1.00 for students. For groups of 10 or more, please call (409) 832-4010 to make a reservation.

 

Florence Stratton

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Dear Della:

I know it’s been ages since your friend Susie has written to you, and I know she is deeply missed. I never met Susie personally, but I do know of her fondness for you and her knack for always knowing what you and your neighbors were up to. She shared many things with you each Sunday morning, something which I have only recently come to learn.

Della, I have read some of the open letters that Susie wrote to you over a period of 11 years on the pages of the Beaumont Enterprise. It’s obvious that Susie cared for everyone. But of course she did. You know she created “The Journal Empty Stocking Fund” to help poor people around the time of Christmas each year and “The Journal Milk and Ice Fund” because, as she put it, “even in the summer poor people are still poor.”

Thinking back, I can only imagine how hard it was for people during that time. Poverty was certainly color blind, and “Great” was a word used in sorrow. But you survived. You always will.

Yes I know that the Beaumont Journal is long gone, but the Beaumont Enterprise is still hanging on and its Empty Stocking Fund is still helping out citizens of this fine town, even today. It’s thanks to Susie that the poor are still being helped.

————–

Della, I did find out something about Susie. Did you know she wrote books? Susie published them under the name Florence Stratton. One of her books, The Story of Beaumont, published in 1925, has found a home in my office.

————–

After reading her column and books, I can see why you and your neighbors liked her so. Susie was one of a kind. My only regret in this scenario is that I wasn’t around in 1920s and 1930s Beaumont to talk with her. But I get that way when thinking about all my favorite people of Southeast Texas history. Although I must confess Susie is at the top of my list.

————-

Guess what Della, I passed by Susie’s beloved house today. I couldn’t help but think that ol’ Susie is still watching out for her little house. And you know what, it’s still secluded behind those tall hedges. Just the way she wanted it.

Paul

 

 

Note: This article has been edited with updated information as of 08/10/2013

Florence Stratton was born in Brazoria, Texas, in 1881. Her parents moved to Montgomery, Alabama, when she was a child. She attended Troy Formal College in Troy, Alabama, and even became valedictorian. (Note: In W. T. Block’s article about Florence, he wrote that she had graduated from Gray Normal College. I found out that Troy Formal College is now Troy University. I did not find any mention of Gray Normal College.)

In 1903, Florence moved to Beaumont, where she lived with her sister, and subsequently became a member of the faculty at Miss Austin’s private school.

In 1907 Florence had begun her journalism career at the Beaumont Journal as society editor. Thirteen years later, she would join the Beaumont Enterprise in the same capacity.

Earlier I mentioned that Florence had published a few books. There were five to be exact. The first was a compilation of O. Henry’s writings when he worked as a news scribe in Houston. She compiled them and wrote the foreword. It was called O. Henry’s Postscripts and was published in 1923.

In 1925, she would publish another compilation book entitled Recipes of Famous Women. The Story of Beaumont would also be published that same year. This book was written from her interviews with early Beaumonters.

Two more books would follow, The White Plume, O. Henry’s own short story, published in 1931, and When the Storm God Rides, published in 1936, compiled by Bessie M. Reid and retold by Florence Stratton.

Florence started her popular column called “Susie Spindletop’s Weekly Letter” in 1926 in which she would write to her fictional friend Della about the happenings in and around Beaumont society.

Note #1: Just as Susie was Florence’s alter ego, Della was a fictitious character representing the people of Beaumont. Susie/Florence always had a way of enticing her readers.

Note #2: After spending a rainy Saturday morning at the Tyrrell Historical Library looking through the archives at Susie/Florence’s writing, I was amazed just how much you can learn about early SETX history through a gossip column.

In 1930, Florence built her home out of the bricks from the old Jefferson County Courthouse at 1929 McFaddin (located across the street from the McFaddin-Ward house). Even today, the hedges are still present just as she had them oh-so-many years ago.

Sadly, on January 28th 1938, Florence died following surgery at a New Orleans hospital. The deat certificate states the cause of death as “Arterio Sclerotic heart disease.”

Florence Stratton was the first real published historian of our area. Her ceaseless energy and desire to bring the news of the day to Beaumonters was always her top priority. Through her work we can see just how life was in the early days. I’m sure Della would agree.

 

Note: I wish to thank the Tyrrell Historical Library and the Beaumont Enterprise for making available their wealth of information about this fine lady. I also wish to thank Ginny from the Chambers House Museum (http://www.chambershouse.org/) for introducing me to the life and times of the wonderful Florence Stratton.

 

 

Neches River Adventures Tour

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Not all history comes from a mill or is constructed with bricks and mortar. Southeast Texas is known for many things, and its wildlife, waterways, and plant life is high on the tourism list. Whether it’s the hunting, fishing, birding, or camping, many are drawn to this area by its beauty and recreational perks.

One activity, which has eluded me since hearing about it in April, is the Neches River Adventure Tour, conducted by Cardinal Tours. (No fault to these fine folk. I just couldn’t get away from work to take this fantastic tour until now.) The tour leaves Riverfront Park every Saturday morning at 10 (except holiday weekends), and finally this week, I was able to climb aboard.

The two-hour tour on the Neches River first takes you under the train bridge—to take a peek at the port of Beaumont—before heading up the river, under the Purple Heart Memorial Bridge, and through a bayou filled with cypress trees, wildlife, Spanish moss, jumping mullets, and the like.

 On this day, there were no alligators, but there were wasps (note the photo), jumping mullets, turtles, and an elusive heron that was determined not to have his photo taken.

When taking a tour like this, things change from day to day or week to week. It is a different adventure each time you board this vessel, but what doesn’t change is the wisdom and knowledge of its crew. I cannot stress enough the value of having two guides so well-versed and knowledgeable about the river. Their passion for the preservation of this area’s natural wonders shows, and I too think it must be protected.

Whether you are a year old or 100, there is plenty to enjoy on this tour. The comfort factor is also a plus: you will not be sitting in the sun. The open boat is fully covered, and yes, they even have a restroom. The boat is equipped with life vests and meets all the safety requirements of the Coast Guard.

It is best to make reservations well in advance. This tour has become very popular, and the company is getting out-of-town groups as well as tourists from around the world. The cost of this tour is $15 per person, or $10 if you’re a senior or a child under 12. Children aged three and under ride free.

 

Neches River Adventures also is available for charters, professional development workshops, and student outdoor labs. For additional information, call (409) 651-5326 or visit their website:

http://nechesriveradventures.org/

 

 

 

Jefferson County Courthouse Jail

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There are times when you think your day couldn’t get any better, but then it does—even if it means you end up in jail!

After the Jefferson County Historical Commission’s meeting, I was fortunate to be able to take a tour of the upper realm of the Jefferson County Courthouse. Excited about having the chance to photograph the landscape of Beaumont, I hadn’t a clue what would I would find once I got there. My historical knowledge about the Courthouse was  little-to-none, and I was amazed to find out that the upper floors were once Beaumont’s jail. So armed with a guide, who was very knowledgeable about the building’s history and its many secrets, I proceeded up the stairs of history.

 

Built in 1931 at a cost of one million dollars, the Jefferson County Courthouse is one of the tallest courthouses  in the state (13 stories high). The top five floors were used as the county’s jail from 1931 right up until the early 80s. Nowadays, the upper floors are used for storage, but the past is still very much present. The original graffiti and murals are still visible alongside the rusting iron bars, peeling paint, and 80-year-old cells.

I found the experience of exploring the upper floors of the Courthouse both exciting and surreal. This place wasn’t for the meek: it was a prison. The stories of what the prisoners threw out the windows at times would match those from any zoo. (Let’s just say that the canopy, which was in front of the Courthouse for all those years, was there for a reason.)

 

There are no set tours but, if you ever have a chance to explore the Courthouse, by all means do it. It is a place with an amazing history and is a SETX treasure.

 

 

 

 

 

The article that I have added below is from the Beaumont Enterprise 1931. I do not know who the author is, but I found this article to be most amusing.

——————————————————————————————————————

Exclusive Apartments Open About November 1

 Beaumont’s newest and most exclusive apartment house, “Bar Harbor,” is nearing completion and tenants are expected to move in about November 1. The building itself, which will cost approximately $1,000,000, is conceded to be one of the best in the state.

Located within a block of the harbor, the windows of the apartments, which are located on the eighth to thirteenth floors, give a remarkable view of the city and surrounding territory and their height insures a constant breeze. Because of this and the proximity to the river it is conceded that tenants who take leases on space in the building will seldom suffer from the heat which sometimes descends upon the city.

Electric Refrigerator

   Every conceivable convenience has been provided. Electric refrigeration is not only provided in the kitchen, but ice water is available in each room. Many windows give plenty of light and ventilation. Steam heat warms the building in winter and hot water is on tap at all times. Elevator service is offered 24 hours a day and caretakers are on hand at times to look after the needs of the tenants.

Home cooking is not essential for the lucky tenants as a table d’hote restaurant service is provided by the management for those who wish their meals sent in.

Unique in Beaumont

   The apartment house, because of the many luxuries, and advantages it offers, is to be unique in Beaumont. Apartments will be let by lease only and there is a clause in the contract which absolutely prohibits lease breaking. No children or pets will be allowed in the building.

Persons interested in taking an apartment in “Bar Harbor” are advised to get in touch with the custodian, W.W. Covington, at the sheriff’s office.

Airy and Well Lighted

   Yes, dear readers, this new and modern apartment building is none other than the new Jefferson county jail located atop the million dollar courthouse. But what a glorified jail it is! No dark, dingy, buggy, and unsanitary hole, but six stories of airy, well-lighted cells, adequately barred it is true, but also provided with clean, light painted walls, hot, cold, and ice water at all times, shower baths, snowy white toilets and wash basins. The furniture is built in and indestructible.

Steel bunks built in, steel dining benches, and benches with the tables so built that they make a comfortable backrest when the prisoner wishes to turn around and lean back, are furnishings provided for the guests of the county.

Richard William Dowling

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While still feeling the effects of Dick Dowling Day, I thought this week’s blog post would be a no-brainer. Many locals have heard of the great battle that took place in Sabine Pass on September 8th, 1863, but few know of the man behind the legend. And even fewer still know what happened to Lt. Richard William Dowling after the war. So let us delve a bit into the life of this major player in our SETX history.
Born in 1838 near Tuam, Galway County, Ireland, Dick Dowling and his family emigrated from their homeland to New Orleans in the late 1840s when he was still a boy. After the death of his parents, he worked his way to Texas and settled in Houston. It was there that he married Elizabeth Ann Odlum and awakened his entrepreneurial spirit by opening, in October 1857, the Shades saloon—the first of what would eventually grow to be a chain of three such establishments. By 1860 he had sold the Shades and purchased the Bank of Bacchus, which was located near the Harris County Courthouse. He also owned the Hudgpeth Bathing Saloon as well as a liquor-importing firm located in Galveston.
As soon as the Civil War started to become a reality, Dowling joined the Davis Guards as a lieutenant where he participated in raids at U.S. Army outposts on the Texas-Mexico border in 1861. Then, in January of 1863, Dowling fought in the recapture of Galveston’s port. Within three weeks, his company was transferred to Sabine Pass where nine months later he would achieve hero status.


On September 8th, 1863, a Union flotilla of 5,000 (some say 6,000) men, transports, and four ships attempted to enter the Pass and the rest, as they say, is history. Note: After hearing author Edward T. Cotham Jr.’s version of what happened that fateful day, I felt he brought out more of the story than is often told (or at least than I have heard). I’m sure his book Sabine Pass: The Confederacy’s Thermopylae is filled with the same passion that he displayed in researching an accurate account of what happened that day. Interestingly enough, I had purchased the book a week before Dick Dowling Day. Not knowing of this or the author’s involvement in DDD, I was—and am—anxious to begin reading his book. And from talking to others at the event who had read his book (some had even read it twice), I feel even more enthused.
After the Battle of Sabine Pass, Dowling served as a recruiting officer until his discharge as a major in 1865. He returned to civilian life in Houston, managing the businesses he had left before the war. He also acquired new types of businesses: some in real estate, others in oil and gas leases. He even had an interest in a steamboat.
Richard William Dowling seemed to be on his way to a prosperous life. Given his history, along with his past military experience, he was undoubtedly a great businessman. Sadly, neither would help him in the fall of 1867 when Dowling became ill and was stricken with the Yellow Jack (yellow fever). He died on September 23rd. He left behind his wife, a daughter, and a son, and was buried in St. Vincent’s Cemetery in Houston.
Given his lifespan of only 28 or 29 years (historical records are not clear on the exact year of his birth), I find it simply amazing for someone to have achieved what he did. Forget for a moment his military accomplishments. He started out as a U.S. immigrant and, through his own hard work, prospered to the extent that he had multiple successful businesses by the time he died. This is indeed a life to be celebrated. Yes, he will be remembered as Lt. Richard William Dowling, victorious commander of 40+ Irish dockhands on a hot day in September, but his life, as I have discovered, was more than a battle, and he himself was more than victorious.

 

Dick Dowling Day

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What a day! My first introduction to historical battle reenactments and all things LOCAL! First, let me begin by saying that those who planned, volunteered, and participated in this event did a wonderful job. I can only guess at the enormous preparation something like this takes.

I left the house early—at 7:30am—as I wanted to check out another site that had been on my radar since my WWII oral history lecture. I drove to Texas Point to see the remains of the defense battery, which had last been used between 1898 and 1945. The gun had since been removed and little still exists except for the cement circle mount that it once sat upon. (A quick note to anyone wishing to make the journey down to Texas Point: the road is nothing more than old crumbled bricks and cement. To take a car would be a real adventure in my opinion.)

After taking a few photos of the Sabine Lighthouse with both my regular camera and my new Sony Handycam Extended Zoom Camcorder, I headed to Dick Dowling Park. As I drove into the park, passing the flags and white tents set up by the reenactors, I found myself imagining that fateful day when Lieutenant Richard William Dowling commanded 40+ Irish dock hands to victory over a 6000-strong Federal invasion force.

I had heard bits and pieces of the story, but I had never really delved into it until I learned about my favorite actor of that time, Mrs. Kate Dorman. On this day, however, I would learn much, much more.

As I parked, I watched as, right behind me, a truck and trailer carried two canons. Another truck followed holding the wagon. Yes, I was early and the actors were setting up, but it still took me to a place that I had not been before—a hundred and forty-nine years back in history.

I walked through the grounds taking in all the sights. One thing I did learn during the day was that the passion these reenactors felt boiled over into their everyday conversations. Most of these people had family who had fought in the war. Some even had family members on both sides. And I guess that last sentence sums up the reality of what this war between brothers was, for it was indeed a family affair.

After the reenactment of the court-martial and the execution of Lt. Elijah P. Allen for desertion, the first battle took place. (Note: I have not found much information on Elijah Allen at the time of writing but will do more research into his story.) The canons roared, and the battle began. By the time the smoke had cleared, the Confederates had the upper hand, but the Federals would get their chance later in the day.

And it wasn’t just the reenactors dressing in the appropriate garb. There were a few people who showed up in dress but who were not a part of the formal festivities. One person in particular was the Woman-in-Mourning. (Note: There were three Women-in-Mourning walking around the grounds that day, but the first caught me off-guard.) As I looked back, I saw a lady dressed all in black. I couldn’t help but picture this woman to be the “Woman in Black” from the novel of the same name by Susan Hill. Fortunately she wasn’t and no harm came to the children of Sabine City, but she was creepy all the same. (Great costume!)

If she sees you its too late? ;)

Speaking of ladies, there were many who dressed according to the fashion of the occasion, and I found it surreal to see them walking through the grounds or sitting near tents. I also felt for them. In 1863 it must have been bad enough enduring the elements in this area but to dress the way they did? I could not comprehend how they could stand the heat.

At 11:30 some people made their way to the statue of Richard Dowling. It was time for the memorial service. The service, hosted by the Jefferson County Historical Commission, served as a remembrance of those who died in this battle.

After the memorial service, Edward T. Cotham, author of the book Sabine Pass: The Confederacy’s Thermopylae, gave us an accurate account of what had happened on that fateful day. To hear him speak of the reality of the crews of the gunships Sachem and Clifton made me think that this day in history had been very different from the earlier skirmishes that had taken place here. Death was apparent and many lost their lives. It was certainly not on the same level as Gettysburg per se, but I believe that a life is precious whether it is one or a thousand.

Finally the time came for the Federals to face a worthy opponent. In October of 1862, a raiding party of 50 came ashore and burned the Confederate’s barracks and stables along with other structures. They confiscated steamboat Captain Dorman’s horse and wagon to transport a howitzer to use against the Rebels, but Capt. Dorman’s wife, Kate, saw what was taking place and would not stay silent as these invaders of Texas pillaged the town. Her rant to the invading army cut deep and, despite all the threats by the Federals, Kate’s hotel, which they declared they would burn to the ground, survived the raid. (Note: I apologize for the audio quality of the video of the reenactment. It would seem we were invaded by another northerner this day—a Canadian front blew in and impaired the sound.)


After the reenactment of Kate and the raiding party, another battle took place. Both sides fought bravely and fiercely, but in the end, all of the fallen would rise from the hallowed ground and prepare to fight another day. And I, of course, will be there when that day comes.

To all those who participated and put in countless hours of preparation to bring us a part of our history and heritage, I salute you. Whether you wore the blue uniform or the grey, whether you were the owner of the Catfish Hotel and cared for your brethren during the yellow fever epidemic as Kate did, you are remembered, as are the hardships you endured.

Legend of Kisselpoo

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It is when that orb sheds its full light across the lake that the story has its greatest attraction. Then the tale-tellers declare, in the silvery path across the twinkling water, sometimes can be seen a canoe bearing a boy and girl in strange clothing, paddling up the shimmering moon way.

The tribe of Kisselpoo, so runs the ancient story, lived by the lake; and she, the only child of the chieftain, had been born when the moon was full and was under the protection of the moon goddess.

When Kisselpoo was fifteen years old, tales of her beauty and ability had traveled far, and many braves from other tribes came to woo her. The one whom the leaders favored was head of several groups whose land adjoined to the north; and, although he was older than her father and already had many wives, arrangements were made for their marriage.

When nuptial preparations were far advanced, a stranger, whose home was seven sleeps distant toward the setting sun, arrived in the village. He was tall and straight as the pines, and for gifts he brought arm bands of a shining metal, set with stones like rainbows and like the blue of the skies. Kisselpoo loved him, but her wedding was set for the time when the moon would be at its brightest. That night as the luminous disc rose over the horizon, she waited in her finery for other maidens of the village to come to her father’s lodge and lead her to the elderly northern chief.

Instead, she heard the westerner’s deep voice softly speak her name, and with him she fled through reeds and grass to the lake where a canoe lay waiting. Swiftly they glided out on the water; but already the princess had been missed, and pursuit, led by the chieftain from the north and medicine men of her own tribe, was close. Her father did not participate in the chase, for he had dreamed a dream in which the moon goddess appeared to him and urged him to let his daughter wed the Indian from the west.

The medicine men called down the wrath of their gods, and a storm came up, ruffling the lake and upsetting the canoe, so that the eloping pair was last seen in the path of moonlight. Thereupon, the moon goddess, angered, called upon her kinsman, the storm god from the tropics, who rode in on a devastating hurricane. When at last the waves retreated into the Gulf, there was nothing left of the village or its inhabitants. The moon goddess decreed that the Lake of the River of Cypress Trees, for allowing itself to yield to the medicine men’s commands, should slowly disappear and all the streams that feed it bear down silt and mud to fill it.

For many moons after the great storm, the waters of the lake were clouded with mud, and its sandy bottom was covered with silt. The fish that were once abundant were now only a few. The sandy shores of the lake were stained, and shorebirds that once nested in the reeds and fished the shallow flats were gone. However, the spirit of the young lovers has remained with the lake that Kisselpoo loved so dearly. The moon goddess has shown forgiveness, and the lake is free of the curse that could have destroyed it. One can only assume that Kisselpoo had asked her protector, the moon goddess, to restore the beauty of the place of her birth. Now a swift current from the River of Cypress Trees is sweeping away the silt, and a fine sand shall again cover the lake floor.

With each new moon, the water becomes clearer, and great schools of fish have returned to the lake. Beautiful shorebirds and waterfowl have also returned to the sandy shores, along the salt marshes where alligators and furbearing animals abound. Meanwhile on a night when the full moon is rising, to those who have the power to see such things, appears the canoe with its two occupants who shall watch over Lake Sabine and protect its beauty until the last full moon.

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Certainly an interesting legend from our past that should live on for many more moons! The Attacapas were the last of the Indian tribes to live in this area, but not the only ones. Past archaeological digs have been performed, finding many burial mounds along the banks of the Neches and Sabine rivers. There was also a mound found at Tyrrell Park in Beaumont years ago, dating back 10,000 years or so, if I can remember right.

Here in Port Neches, one of the most extraordinary archaeological finds would have been the six burial mounds 20 ft high, 60 ft wide, and 100 yrds long, located on the bluff where Joseph Grigsby built his home. I say ‘would have been’ because they were never excavated. The first was destroyed by Joseph Grigsby in preparation for his home and slave cabins; the second was disassembled in 1862 and used to build Fort Grigsby during the Civil War. Three more mounds were used for Beaumont’s roads, industries, and railroad right of ways. The last was destroyed by the Central Asphalt and Refining Company in 1902 while building its nearby refinery. I do understand using resources in time of need, but looking at it from a historical perspective this was a tragedy.

On a lighter note, one interesting fact about this legend is that it was the inspiration for J.P. (The Big Bopper) Richardson’s song Running Bear, recorded by Johnny Preston. Both J.P. and Johnny were Port Arthur natives and added their own history to our little patch of the world, which we will explore at a later date.

For now, tonight is the full moon. And what better way to spend the evening on the banks of Lake Sabine? Who knows…? You may even get a glimpse of a dark stranger in a canoe, along with his love, our own Princess Kisselpoo.