Tag: Antebellum

The Rest…Of the Story

Posted on by brian1902

…With apologies to Paul Harvey.

One of the frustrating things about writing a book is that often you find stuff about the subject only after it goes to press, and too late to insert into the manuscript. A prime example is the following tale, which only surfaced after the writing was done.

Jesse Avritt Bryan was born in 1815 and raised in Clarksville, Montgomery County. His father served in Congress but died when Jesse was only a youngster. He later became a partner with his brothers in a mercantile firm, and was quite popular – if touchy. “he was of a proud and sensitive nature,” one friend later wrote, but one that “could not brook aught of insult.” This sensitive nature got him into serious trouble in the summer of 1838 when he was 22.

Somehow he ran afoul of the starchy Marius Hansbrough, a 37-year old fellow Clarksvillian. Hansbrough was married, and his first and only child – a daughter – had been born earlier that year. He’d also apparently had a few hard knocks to deal with – in 1832 while he was attending a celebration of Washington’s birthday at Shelbyville, Kentucky, a cannon had exploded and his right arm had to be amputated from the resulting damage. In 1836 he had partnered up with G.A. Davie and purchased the Washington Hotel on the public square, the most prominent hotel in Clarksville. It would end up being a house he never left.

clarkpubsquare
The Washington Hotel, on the north side of the Clarksville Public Square, ca. 1870. It was originally a massive, three-story building constructed ca. 1825.

 

Exactly what their beef was is unclear, but one account says that Hansbrough had – correctly or not – interpreted some action on Bryan’s part as an insult. So angry was he that Bryan was later informed that Hansbrough had gone hunting for him with a bowie knife until his friends intervened. However, rather than meet with Bryan to settle the issue, he chose to shun the youngster and snub him. For over a year the two tiptoed around the ticking time bomb between them.

Finally, on August 4, 1838, Jesse Bryan walked into the Washington Hotel and met Marius Hansbrough face to face. He greeted the older man in a friendly fashion, but Hansbrough coldly told him that he wouldn’t associate with someone who was out to assassinate his character. An argument ensued which ended with Hansbrough threatening to “wring his nose” and “cut off his ears” if Bryan ever angered him again.

At that, Bryan stormed off and procured a bowie knife before heading out to find his adversary. On the sidewalk in front of Barksdale & Cromwell’s store they met and Bryan said he supposed Hansbrough was “prepared.” Almost immediately the fight began. Apparently Hansbrough raised his riding whip with his good left arm and tried to hit Bryan with it. Bryan slashed the upraised arm, but the cut did no damage as the sheath was still on the blade. He flung the sheath into the street and struck again, this time stabbing his target in the ribs on the left side.

Bryan fled while Hansbrough was carried back into his hotel and a doctor was summoned. Sadly, nothing could be done to stop the internal bleeding, and he lost ground rapidly. At 10:45 PM on Sunday, August 5th, Marius Hansbrough died.

washington-hotel
Scene of the Crime: The Washington in its final days. Drastically cut down in the 20th century, it survived as a store and tobacco factory into the 1970’s. A parking lot occupies the site today.

 

Bryan was later apprehended and tried for the killing, but apparently he was acquitted on grounds of self-defense. However, this wasn’t the last scrape he would become involved in. His next fight would also involve a posh and popular hotel, this time on Nashville’s Public Square. And once more, it would be a duel to the death involving guns, knives, and a secret weapon. What happened?

You can find out in the pages of my book…

A Duel in the Sun

Posted on by brian1902

From the time it was founded in 1796, Tennessee’s legal code forbade the gentlemanly “art” of dueling. This is why so many famous duels in the state’s history (Jackson-Dickinson, Coffee-McNairy) were started in Nashville and finished elsewhere. The favored dueling ground was the strip of land in Adair County, KY, just across the state line.

However, not so in every case. Early Nashville did see its share of formal duels – usually when two gentlemen were so peeved at each other they decided they couldn’t wait for “satisfaction” and risked the consequences under the law.

The first known fatal duel to take place in the city occurred at sunrise on March 18, 1800. As is so often the case the cause is lost to history. All that is known is that two doctors had a falling out for some reason or other, enough so that Dr. Francis May challenged Dr. Frank Brown Sappington to meet him with pistols  in a cedar thicket just south of town (guesstimation puts the spot at approximately where the Music City Center now stands).

Before dawn on the day of the duel, Sappington composed a poignant letter to his brother explaining his actions. It remains a rare look into the mind of a duelist:

                                                                                                                                                Nashville, 18th March 1800.

Dr. Roger,

                Ere the Sun Arrives at its Maridean [sic] height to day my Existance [sic] in this World may be Terminated I am Engaged In a Disagreeable Business and Which you are and Always must be a Stranger To, Circumstances, Prevents one from Detailling [sic] this to you, however you may be Assured it is with Reluctance I am Draged [sic] into this Affair, And Nothing but Defending my Reputation, Which no man Shall Assail, with Impunity, Could Induce me to it — My Worldly Affairs I Commit in your Charge Should my Death be the Consequence of this Act, After the Settlement of all Demands Against the firm of A. Foster & Co. I am Intitled [sic] to one third the Profits of said house which I Wish my Father you and my own Brothers and Sisters to Enjoy Refering [sic] you however to my Letter of this Date to William Lytle my ever Dear friend and Assistant in this Affair — It gives me the Greatest Satisfaction even [in] this trying moment to think I have Never Intentionally and Knowingly Stained the Reputation of my self and Relations – Which I hope and Trust no Person Can Justly Asperse, May heaven Continue This Blessing to you all unimpaired is the Prayer of your Sincere Brother

                                                                                                                                                Francis B. Sappington

This letter he tucked into his pocketbook before setting out for the field. The combatants met at dawn and one fire was exchanged. Sappington’s shot missed; May’s struck his opponent in the forehead inflicting a wound “of the depth of four inches and of the breadth of one fourth of an inch.” He died instantly.

Indicted for murder, May immediately lit out for the town of Knoxville where he was given shelter by friends. Indeed, he was able to practice medicine openly without fear of arrest and even married Polly, the daughter of Knoxville’s founder Gen. James White. In May of 1802 he returned to Nashville where he stood trial for murder. To nobody’s surprise, he was found not guilty – gentlemen rarely convicted other gentlemen of behaving like gentlemen.

May went on to act as a surgeon during an even more famous duel four years later involving this guy.

 

It’s A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood…

Posted on by brian1902

As a follow up, here’s a quaint item illustrating exactly how fragrant the vicinity of Lt. Chandler’s penultimate resting place had become by the time they moved the tomb:

“Cephus McStravick, evidently a sporting gentleman, fond of fire arms, was arrested for indulging his ruling passion in unlawful, not to say exceedingly dangerous manner. It appears that Cephus was passing through the jungles in the neighborhood of the Sulphur Spring, when his eye rested upon a woman standing at a second story window of one of the houses in that locality. Cephus expressed himself to the effect that she offered a good mark for his pistol, which he drew. The woman dodged, but defendant fired, and his ball passed through an adjoining window and into an apartment which was fortunately tenantless at that moment. The Court regarded the offence as a flagrant one, and inflicted the highest penalty in its power, $50 and costs.”

[“Police Court,” Nashville, TN Republican Banner, Apr. 23, 1857.]

So…a gambler uses a woman at a brothel window for target practice. Just another fine day in the “jungles.”

And also…”Cephus McStravick?” Really?

Tune in next time…

Old Soldiers Fade Away – Part 2

Posted on by brian1902

According to an old timer, Chandler’s was the first grave at the Sulphur Spring, in an isolated grove on land deemed unsuitable for farming. Chandler had come into town in poor health from an outpost (possibly Fort Southwest Point) and died at Talbot’s Tavern on Public Square. His burial took place on a snowy day in late December, 1801, with a small contingent of citizens and army officers in attendance. They hoped that it would prove a suitable location for his final resting place. They were wrong.

By 1859, the vicinity around the grave of Lt. Chandler had become – to put it mildly – an eyesore. The once genteel public park had become the hangout of “disreputable” sorts, a popular trysting point for adventurous couples. It was apparently some of these ne’er-do-wells who had vandalized the old grave in the first place, breaking two feet of the slab off the stone lid.

Due to the deteriorating condition of the area, a motion was forwarded to the City Council by the Tennessee Historical Society to reinter the lieutenant’s remains in Mount Olivet Cemetery in a more fitting manner. September 23rd was named as moving day.

It was quite a to-do. Major Adolphus Heiman, the noted architect, was named as the Marshal of the ceremony, and Edward East of the City Council was named speaker. The cadets from the University of Nashville Military Academy were invited, but apparently declined. However, the “German Yagers” (sic – Jägers) probably a light infantry militia  company from Germantown, provided an escort. The body was exhumed at around 9 A.M.

To everyone’s surprise, despite the frequent floods that had washed over the crypt, the skeleton was intact, and the papers noted that badly-healed breaks in the right arm and leg showed that the lieutenant had “passed through some rough scenes” during his service. The bones were placed in a velvet-lined casket with thirteen silver stars on it.

At 2:00 P.M. the remains were escorted from Public Square to McKendree Church where the funeral service was read by Rev. Charles T. Quintard (soon to be noted as a leading Confederate chaplain). From there it was on to Mount Olivet, the body escorted by veterans of 1812, the Seminole War, and the Mexican War. September 23 was the anniversary of the Battle of Monterey, Mexico, making it doubly meaningful for the old soldiers.

Chandler was buried beneath a tree on a high hill in the new cemetery, to the accompaniment of a twenty-one gun salute fired by the “Yagers.” The old stone sarcophagus was too far gone to save, but the plans were to put an appropriate new marker over his grave.

And then the Civil War happened. And apparently all that was forgotten.

Today, Chandler remains unmarked, more than 150 years after his second funeral. I made a search recently for him, and the records indicate that he’s buried in Plot No. 118, Section No. 1. The problem is…there is no 118.

The numbered plots seem to end with 117. As far as anyone can tell, this earliest of Nashville burials lies today in an unmarked grave, probably next to the old sunken “Hearse Road” that runs through Section 1. The photo below shows the approximate spot.

Chandler

Perhaps one day his resting place can be confirmed and a suitable marker placed above his grave. But for right now, one of Nashville’s links to its frontier past lies forgotten, surrounded by elegant Victorian markers from a more “settled” time.

More to come next time.

 

Old Soldiers Fade Away – Part 1

Posted on by brian1902

ANNND, we’re back. Sorry ’bout that. I’ll try not to be away that long again.

Our next tale involves neither murder nor mayhem, but an interesting tale about a grave that was lost…then found…then lost once more. And therein lies some information on Nashville’s earliest graveyard and its current rebirth into…something else.

Five days before Christmas in 1801, a soldier died in Nashville. Lieutenant Richard Chandler was the paymaster of the 4th U.S. Infantry, and a veteran of the many wars fought in the “Northwest Territory” (modern-day Ohio). Originally from Virginia, he was commissioned an Ensign in the 4th Sub-Legion on May 12, 1794, and in August of that year he fought with “Mad Anthony” Wayne at the bloody Battle of Fallen Timbers. He was made paymaster on July 22, 1795.  When the 4th Sub-Legion was re-designated the 4th Infantry on Nov. 1, 1796, Chandler went with it. He was promoted to 1st Lieutenant on July 31, 1798, still acting as paymaster. During this period, he did outpost duty with his command, manning far-flung posts in Tennessee and Georgia.

After Chandler’s untimely death he was interred in an impressive stone-box tomb in the town’s burying ground, which at that time was along the banks of the now-vanished Lick Branch near the Sulphur Spring. This ad-hoc cemetery grew rapidly after the first settlers began to die under the musket balls and tomahawks of the Chickasaw, Cherokee, and Creek warriors of the 1780s.

In 1822 the new City Cemetery was founded, and the old one fell out of fashion. Gradually it fell into decay as the Sulphur Spring was reinvented as the town’s new pleasure gardens. If the original graves weren’t relocated into the new cemetery, they were gradually overgrown and forgotten.

Chandler was lucky. Just as the Civil War was looming on the horizon a new interest in the early pioneers manifested itself, and a movement developed to preserve some of the relics of that age. On July 7, 1859 several sketches were made of the old burial. The worn epitaph was recorded thusly:

Chandler Inscription

 

The location of the tomb was also sketched:

Chandler's Tomb

It’s a remarkable snapshot of a long vanished Nashville staple – up until the Civil War and after “the Springs” were where folks of all walks of life went to pass time, and to be seen and see. Long before baseball settled there in the late 19th century, it was Nashville’s first public park. The tomb stood across the branch from the Springhouse itself, on a tall spit of land  at the end of Cherry Street (now 4th Ave.)

The sketch is not to scale, but by comparison with other maps done about the same time (the Army was very interested in correct cartography during the Late Unpleasantness), it is possible to come close. The location appears to be somewhere in the parking lot of the new First Tennessee Park baseball stadium.

Needless to say, there is little left to remind one of the spot’s 19th century appearance today, but the next time you attend a game there, hopefully you can have a new appreciation for the history of the spot as you trudge wearily towards your car under a hot summer sun.

As to Chandler, what happened to him? In 1859 a “memorial” was given to City Council, proposing to move the grave “to either the City Cemetery or to Mt. Olivet…”

More on that next time.

 

 

 

A Pair of Loafers

Posted on by brian1902

Difference

One of the interesting things about research is that you never know where the sources will take you.

The Nashville Union gave the following brief notice in its April 9, 1840 issue: “MURDER: James Claxton stabbed a man by the name of Moses Parks at a house of ill fame in this city on Tuesday. Parks died immediately, and Claxton made his escape.”

The New Orleans Times-Picayune shed little additional light on the case, except to take a shot at the character of both men: “They were both loafers.”

For a long time these two brief articles were all I could find on the incident. However, a little searching in the Tennessee State Penitentiary Records and the Circuit Court Minutes at the Tennessee State Library filled in the blanks. What the sources reveal provides an unusually rich slice of the world of gamblers, ladies of the evening, and – yes – “loafers” who could be found in the back alleys of pre-Civil War Nashville.

Jim Claxton was 21 at the time, born and raised in Nashville. 5’9 1/2″ tall, 167 lbs. with black hair, hazel eyes and a dark complexion, he had first been a horse jockey, “until too large.” Thereafter he “followed the River,” working as a deckhand and fireman aboard the many boats plying the Cumberland. He also seems to have been a rough customer, with scars on the left cheek, left leg, and left arm, and had at one point been “Shot in the left arm & leg.” Intriguingly, his mother is said to have kept “a house of ill-fame” on “Vinegar Hill” in Nashville (on the bank of the Cumberland, near the present-day intersection of Adams and Van Buren Streets.) Whether her establishment was the one where the fight happened is not mentioned.

On April 7, 1840 – as loafers often do – he was drinking with cronies in the brothel of Judy Young in Nashville when Moses Parks stormed into the place. Earlier, he’d had a fight with Parks and witnesses edged towards the exits as the two faced off. Parks accused Claxton of ripping his shirt earlier, then reached out and tore the ruffle off the front of Claxton’s own shirt, saying, “Now we are even!”

A “hurt and afraid” Claxton responded “[Expletive] Yes we are!” before pulling a clasp knife from his pocket with a blade “about the length of his finger,” and stabbed Parks in the chest. Parks died very shortly thereafter while Claxton made a hasty getaway. He was soon apprehended and taken to jail, charged with murder.

Tried on May 12, 1840, he was found guilty of the lesser charge of manslaughter, and sentenced to 5 years at hard labor in the State Penitentiary. He appealed to the Supreme Court of the state and was granted a hearing. Four days before Christmas they rendered their verdict: Even though the Judge made questionable remarks to the jury during his instructions, the high court ruled he had not actually committed an error. The verdict stood, and the same day Jim Claxton entered the prison on Church Street to start his five year sentence.

He didn’t make it. Like many another, he fell victim to the horrifying conditions within the hell hole that was “Old Red Top.” On March 18, 1844 he died of “marasmus,” or acute malnutrition. To put it another way, just three years into his sentence, the once robust young man had died of starvation.

In a sense, James Claxton and Moses Parks were both tragic nobodies, living and dying in the shadows of Jacksonian Nashville. But the their case serves as a peek into their squalid world, and allows us a more thorough view of the “have nots” as well as the “haves” of the city on the Cumberland in the 1840’s.

It’s also a lesson that not everything is out there on the net…sometimes ya just gotta dig.