Family History - Writings of Josiah P. Scott
Submitted to the USGENWEB Archives Project by
Edith Ziegler, OCT 2001

Tensas Parish Louisiana
Letter to Mrs. Henry

This has been copied from a copy of a letter on display at the
Plantation Museum in St. Joseph, La.

Mr. Josiah P. Scott was owner, editor and publisher of the Tensas
Gazette from 1894 to 1953. His unique style of writing is still
being enjoyed today.

The following letter pertains to the book, "Dead Men's Shoes".
Written in the 1800's, many people thought the book was a thinly
disguised story of one family in the area.

At the time the book was written and published it raised quite a
furor, causing most of the copies to be destroyed. The only copy,
remaining, that I know of, is in the State of Louisiana Library.

This letter was written by Mr. Scott in answer to inquiries made
by Mrs. C.G.Henry of Melrose Plantation in Natchitoches.

Follows the letter to Mrs. Henry

                                     St. Joseph, La.
                                     November 18, 1931

Mrs. C.G. Henry
Melrose, La.

Dear Mrs. Henry:

    Your very nice letter came yesterday and its receiving was a

pleasure. Also wish to thank you for a box of your beautiful pecans.
No mention of the pecans was made in your letter but the box bore your
return address, and I am sure it is to you that I am indebted for the
very welcome and toothsome delicacy. Believe they are of the Stuart
variety, a very fine nut. Notice they are well filled and of delicious
flavor. I won't eat them all but will divide with her. Being an old,
worthless and no account bachelor of course I still cling to the one
sweet boon in life--hope! And, as I say, toward that end will divide
with her, giving her, maybe the lion's share. Thank you for the very
thoughtful remembrance.

    Am glad you have been more successful than I as to "Dead Men's

Shoes". I have exhausted every means at my command to secure a copy of
this book for you. Mrs. Schauf at St. Joseph had a copy. I saw her,
but she had only a little while before loaned it to a relative in
Mississippi who was on a visit to her, and who had begun reading the
book while here, and asked to be allowed to carry it home for its com-
pletion. She says she has written for the book several times, to give
it to me to send to you, but thus far it has not been returned.

    Again, Mrs. Walton, also of St. Joseph, had a copy. I saw her,

too. She told me that she had lost the book. Several years ago Mrs.
Walton went thru a hard spell of sickness, was so ill that friends sat
up with her, day and night. The book was not hidden away but was kept
in her bookcase with the rest of the books. When Mrs. Walton ultimately
recovered she one day had occasion to look for this book and could not
find it, and until this day she has not been able to find it. Whoever
borrowed it never returned it. Told me she had a letter from Miss
Bowman within the last year, asking for its use, but she could not
comply with the request for the reason stated.

    I also learned of the existence of a copy in an old family in

Natchez. I applied there, too, but the same cry, some body had it
already and had not returned, and the favor could not be granted me.

    The Public Library at Ferriday was reported to have this book.

I tried there, but was informed that it had gone back to the State
Library, thus I got left again. Am glad your efforts have been better
than mine. Glad you have a copy and hope you will find it interesting.
To you I daresay the story will not have the interest it had to us of
this parish, and particularly this section, where all characters lived,
and whose real names and families were well known here.

    Believe it was Miss Hadermann's first book, and maybe her later

works showed improvement in literary ability. I knew Mrs. Walworth, nee
Miss Jeanette Hadermann, but not until after her marriage. There were
five sisters, all living to become octogenarians, and the last of the
generation, Mrs. Eli Tullis, died last week at the remarkable age of 96
years. She was possibly even brighter than any of her sisters, but all
were exceptionally intelligent. Mrs. Walworth was the only one of the
sisters not to have children. The second generation is likewise noted
for ability, and even the third generation, now approaching middle life,
are all of more than average ability, and leadership.

    The story included scenes and characters continguous to St.

Joseph. Being so long ago it has never been my pleasure to know person-
ally any one mentioned in the tale, but I have seen pictures of several,
all oil paintings. The scene is a plantation only five miles north of St.
Joseph and still called "Osceola". It is a large and highly developed
place and raises over a hundred bales of cotton. The house described in
the story was burned some years ago, but I had visited it often, and
having previously read the book found much about its architecture of
interest.

    The story describes the house as being one and a half story.

There may have been a shallow upstairs but I never saw steps, and really
think this meams a mere attic. Believe there was one window in each gable
end. Maybe there was a manhole or trap door some where within convenient
reach and the attic may have been used as a place to store what was not
needed in the present. Anyhow there were four rooms in the living apart-
ment, that is on the ground floor, not meaning to say that there was a
second floor, two rooms on either side of the unusually wide hall.
Folding doors cut off a section of the hall, which was used by the
manager, when I was at his house, as a dining room.

    Now, go to that part of the story , not far from the end where,

one cold, rainy night, a knock is heard at the front door. A servant
opens the door to find a gentleman, asking to be allowed to spend the
night, that his horse had given out and his buggy had a broken wheel,
and he could not get to St. Joseph, I have forgotten what name was
given St. Joseph. Was the heroine named Bertha? I have forgotten. But
she opened this folding door to the dining room, and her form was
silhouetted by the light behind her. I recognized this scene, it was
well described. The door to the front room on the right until the day
of the fire bore marks on the inside, inflicted by the weakminded boy,
who was imprisoned in that room. The story tells that he ultimately
recovered his mind. That was alright for a novel. All stories I guess
should have a happy ending, but such was not the case in truth in this
instance. The boy's mind was never restored, he lived out his life in
a home for the feebleminded at Baltimore, where relatives kept him with
every comfort he could enjoy. Now as to the truth of the story. Has been
years since I read the book and much has faded from my mind, but the
history of the family is still clear to me.

   Away back, maybe before the Civil War, of course long before the

Civil War, one Mr. Scott Watson pioneered here from somewhere in
Mississippi, and settled on a tract of land, including several thousand
acres, located on the bank of Lake Bruen, in Tensas Parish. Lake Bruen
is supposed to be an old bed of the Mississippi River of prehistoric
times, and is very deep. It is a lovely body of water, affords fine
fishing and boating, and in the story is called, very appropriately,
"Silver Lake". Peter B. Bruen, one of the first pioneers to come into
this section of North Louisiana, when it was a dense canebreak, came
here and entered the island formed by this horseshoe shaped lake. The
lake is 18 miles from end to end, but not over 100 yards from leg to
leg. In some places it must be half a mile wide and is so deep that it
is often said to be without bottom. In some parts it measured 60 feet
deep. The same man Peter B. Bruen entered land on the Mississippi side
and a river landing to this day is called "Bruensburg".

   Mr. Scott Watson cleared up quite a bit of this land he had

entered from the government, brought what slaves he had and yearly
increased his cultivated land, until in time he had several thousand
acres in cultivation, and was reckoned a rich man and big planter. As
far as I have ever learned he had but one son, who likewise was called
Scott Watson and upon the death of his parents, inherited this property.
A rich young man, he received advantages of education, completed if not
in Europe at least in the best seats of learning in America. His manager
or overseer, as known in those ante-bellum days, looked after the pro-
perty, made the crops and marketed the cotton, the young master being
worried very little with business affairs. As I understand young Watson
had been either on a trip abroad or to the New England States, and
returning home to Tensas was accompanied by a friend, Paul, as I recall
his first name, was more elegant in his manner, and handsomer in his
person than was his host, Scott Watson. By what name Scott Watson is
known in the story, I do not recall, but I have given you his real
name--Scott Watson.

   Mr. Snow was a planter of less wealth on a plantation across

the lake in the "island", as the land within the horse shoe is termed.
Now Mr. Snow was not the real name of this planter. This as I recall
is the name given him by the authoress. Right now my mind is blank as
to his real name, but Mr. Snow, as known to fiction, was a planter
living on a farm across the lake, a man of rather limited means, and
blessed with a family, including several daughters, one of whom as the
story shows, was not content to live in pecuniary circumstances all her
life. She was pretty and winsome, as so many daughters of Eve are, and
she seemed to know how to employ her arts to advantage. She knew that
Scott Watson, the young heir, was a rich young bachelor and lord of a
large domain, owned many slaves and live stock and broad acres. She
felt sure she would make a lovely mistress to this princely estate, and
toward that end "set her head."

   She knew that Watson was journeying some where in distant lands,

but that in the ordinary run of things, he would some day come back to
his home. All she asked was for him to come home and then some way for
to meet him, when she felt that she would be able to play her cards
right and win the game. He came to St. Joseph via mail-boat from Natchez
or Vicksburg. This boat always reached St. Joseph at night. His over-
seer had been advised of his expected arrival and had a carriage at St.
Joseph river landing to meet him. Driving on to his place his arrival
was made known to the lady across the lake by the appearance of a light
in a room in the house that had not been lighted before and was kept
exclusively for his use.

    Seeing this light, and therefore knowing that the sheep for the

shearing had finally come, she remarked "At last!". As I recall from
memory that was her remark.

   As days passed the young lady persuaded her father to invite his

neighbor across the lake to come over and dine with them. This accomp-
lished, a return visit to call on the young ladies of the house, and
perhaps a buggy ride, was naturally and necessarily expected.

   Paul, the visitor, also was there, and trips in boats across

the lake became frequent. In time it became apparent that both host
and guest had fallen prey to cupid's darts, and both young men had
looked upon the one fair charmer with eyes of love. Paul tells her
so first. Skilled in the wiles of her sex she concealed her feelings,
cast aside love for gold and told Paul that she could only be a sister
to him. Disappointed, Paul retired from the race and left the field
open to Scott. His luck was better. She at once promised to marry him.
That had been her intention from the beginning, even before she saw him.

   She told him that she would make him a good wife, but because of

the ethics of that day, unhappily now almost lost, indulgence in endear-
ments must be confined to words and not acts. The boys of that age must
have missed a lot of fun, that I too never knew. They, like me, never
ate lipstick. That was kept until after marriage. So the sweet one would
not let Scott kiss her. Had she loved him she would have, but she real-
ized that she was selling her birthright for a mess of pottage--she
hoped for a pot of gold!

   As the Wedding drew near, Paul, who had remained to serve as best

man to his more fortunate rival, but really unfortunate one, was called
in secret conference with the bride elect. She told him of the double
part she had played, how she had really loved him but was marrying
Scott for his wealth. "But, Paul," she said passionately, "it may not
yet be too late." Renew your offer and I will accept you, and find an
excuse to postpone to-day's nuptials and in time break the engagement,
and advising you will arrange to meet elsewhere or have you visit me
here, when we will marry." An honorable young man, faithful and loyal
to his friend, Paul refused. As he was departing she said, "Paul, as
you pass thru that door I am sure I Can depend on your forgetting the
occurence here."

   The wedding followed. She had sold herself for wealth to one man

while in her heart she loved another. Under such circumstances happi-
ness is impossible.

   Scott sought to interest his wife in his plantation affairs. She

refused to have anything to do with his business. He told the slave
women to see their mistress about cotton picking sacks. She became in-
furiated and gave him to understand that he must not expect her to
interest herself in his business. She was a society woman.

   However, two children came to them--a girl and a boy. Their real

names were Ida and Scott, Jr. In fiction I believe they are called
"Osceola" and "Aland". Has been so long since I read the book that I may
be confusing fact and fiction. Was the girl the sister of the unfortun-
ate boy in the story? In reality she was.

   Mr. Watson cared little for society, home life was much more

attractive to him. The opposite was the case with his wife.

   Winter is now on and the Mardi-Gras season is approaching. A pil-

grimage to New Orleans on the lovely palitial steamer that plied the
Mississippi in those days was a regular event about Mardi Gras time.
The winter is severe, but the cold queen would not hear to absenting
herself from the carnival gaities, in which she was wont to revel,
displaying a wardrobe, Parisian dreams of loveliness, that made her
the envy of even the favorites in the exclusive set of the mid-winter
capital of the south--New Orleans, the Paree of America. Her husband of
course consented to the trip, and while in New Orleans, exposed to
bitter cold weather, he contracted pneumonia. To his bed-side in the St.
Charles Hotel his wife called the first doctor within reach. His real
name was Weatherly. I don't recall the novelistic name.

   A young physicain, not long out of college, poor and scarcely

earning a living, his attention was attracted by the jewels the wife
of the patient wore. Of short stature and short neck, a physique usually
uncombative against pneumonia, the patient lasted but a day or two. Away
from home, in a big city, during a gladsome season, few had time to
offer comfort and aid to the lone woman now soon to don widow weeds.

   The young physician saw his opportunity and made good of it.

His attentions to the heart-broken(?) wife were lovely, he thought of
everything, he saw to every detail. She had only to grieve. He did
everything else. The funeral over he saw to having her baggage gotten
ready and escorted her to the levee, where a boat was soon to weigh
anchor. His last words to her were filled with comfort and sympathy.
Only her insistence prompted him to accept compensation.

   Following her departure he wrote her a letter, expressing the

hope that her return trip was made with safety and thanking her for the
check, which but for his needy circumstances he would have prefered not
accepting.

   Time passes. Summer comes and residents of the lowlands of Louis-

iana, known as the swamp, fear malaria, and seek other climes. Cooper's
Well, Miss. was then a favorite resort for the people of the river
parishes of this state, of this section. To this popular resting place
the yet sad (?) widow turned her face. There she found few with whom
she cared to associate and spent her time alone, generally reading.

   The young doctor in New Orleans expected this trip and carefully

watched the Picayune for arrivals at Cooper's Well. At last he spied
her name, and at once packed his bag, closed his office and announced
that he would be out of town for a little while.

   Arriving at the Wells and refreshing himself a bit he started

out in quest of the sheep for the shearing. Tables sometime turn!
Seeing her lying, gracefully and elegantly in a hammock, under a tree,
he modestly approaches her.

   Seeing a shadow pass across her book she refuses to lift her

eyes but inwardly feels indignant at the vulgar one who had presumed
to approach so close to her presence and pause. At this moment a voice
addresses her. "Mrs. Watson, I believe." Looking up she finds Dr.
Weatherly. Rising she extends her hand, saying, "My good friend, Dr.
Westherly". Already half the battle is won.

   The remaining fortnight the widow and the doctor devote them-

selves to each other. As she prepares to leave for home he asks if he
may visit her. It maybe that they become engaged at the Wells, if not
they were well on the way and did become engaged soon after.

   Dr. Weatherly, following his marriage to the rich widow,

concluded to give up his practice in New Orleans and devote his entire
time to managing his wife's property. He had a young brother, Major
Weatherly. "Major" was name and not title. He called him to Tensas, to
Osceola plantation. The two boys would be company for each other, he
told his wife. Major was older and more schooled in the world than the
country bred boy, Scott, Jr.

   The doctor's step-daughter was fast approaching woman-hood. If

he could marry the daughter to his brother, thereby accuring control
of one half of the estate, he felt sure he could find some way to get
his hands on the son's half. The boy was high tempered. He was not
well. The doctor essayed to prescribe for him. A tonic of greenish hue
was recommended by him and he ordered a case, believing that several
bottles would hardly control a stubborn disease, and only by continued
treatment could the boy's system be fully cleared of malaria and
appetite restored and interest in his surroundings aroused. Children
must be coaxed and even compelled to take medicine when it is bad, but
after getting used to it objection sometimes relaxes.

   After the first bottle of the peculiar green tonic was taken

the patient seemed to become brighter and showed a desire to take his
medicine. The plot thickens. Day by day the terrible French Drug
"Absinthe" was gaining control of the boy's system, was gradually
consuming his brain. His fits of temper grew more frequent and more
intense. Availing himself of his wife's occasional absence from the
house, the doctor would slip a case of the Absinthe into his step-
son's room, which the boy drank freely.

   Now comes the part played by the visitor on the dark rainy night,

following his breadown on the road. He proved to be a doctor. Bertha
explained to him that the cries coming from a room in the house were
made by her brother, younger than herself, who had been an invalid a
long while, and was being treated by her step-father, also a doctor,
on that particular night away from home, at St. Joseph, where he had
gone to get a consignment of medicine, due to arrive by boat. "He is
very thoughtful about brother's medicine." she said, "and keeps a
supply ahead ere the stock on hand is exhausted.

   The doctor asked to be shown the medicine. A bottle is brought

to him. He recognizes, not medicine, but a drug, popular with the
French, and as destructive as cocaine or morphine.

   Here, however, the novelist ceases to be historian. Beginning

here she tells how the good visiting doctor discovers the terrible
scheme of the step-father, finds how he is striving to destroy his
step-son's mind, to make of him a manic or feebleminded, have him
interdicted and himself appointed guardian and thus have charge of
all of the property, following the success of his match-making plan.

   The story, as I recall, goes on here to say how the evil plot

of the step-father has been thwarted, and the boy recovers his health,
mentally and physically, and all goes merry as a marriage bell.

   But that climax existed only in the imagination of the authoress.

I should have said at the outset that Miss Hadermann had been employed
as governess by Dr. Weatherly, and was living in the house at the time
all these incidents were transpiring. She wrote the story from first
hand information. Her sister, Mrs. Tullis, had married a planter,
living on the "island", across, lake, from Osceola and adjoining the
place of Mr. Snow.

   As I write latter's real name comes to me. He was Mr. Stampley.

I knew some of his family, including one of his daughters, who lived in
St. Joseph practically all of her life, and who was left quite wealthy
by her husband. She was a full sister of Mrs. Weatherly. But I did not
know Mrs. Weatherly, wife of one Scott Watson and mother of another
Scott Watson, also mother of the girl Bertha in the story.

   In real life the wicked plans of Dr. Weatherly were carried out

to the fullest. The boy's mind was totally destroyed and he lived to be
quite an old man, being an interdict for more than half a century. His
sister did marry the Dr's brother, Major Weatherly.

   Dr. and Mrs. Weatherly had one son, who was called Watson

Weatherly. Following a dissipated life he eventually became a suicide.
Major Weatherly and the girl whose real name was Ida Watson were
blessed with a son, who lived a useless existence and misspent life.
I knew him fairly well.

   Watson Weatherly had one son, who to-day owns the plantation

Osceola and operates it and is a most promising young man, happily
married and a splendid citizen.

   The interdict Scott Watson died several years ago at the retreat

for the feebleminded at Baltimore. A relative, also a Watson, managed
the property successfully and financed the unfortunate. But visits from
old friends could never revive a single thought to childhood. His mind
was a perfect blank.

   In this rather rough and hastily written resume of the story

told in the book "Dead Men's Shoes" I have tried to tell succinctly a
tale unhappily only too true. Have discussed it with men and women who
lived when the events occured and knew all characters personally.
Cement vaults on burying ground on the plantation today house the
remains of the three oldest characters in the story, the Veda Barrow
and her two husbands. Where the second generation lie sleeping I am not
informed. Watson died in Mississippi from a pistol wound inflicted by
himself in despondent mood. Major and Ida did not live happily and I do
not know their end. The property, however, has remained in the family,
due largely to the fact that a half interest was held by the interdict
and the court would not allow its sale. Bob Weatherly, son of Major and
Ida, must have disposed of his interest to the interdict, for in some
ways when the interdict died he was the sole owner.

   The authoress, Miss Jeanette Hadermann, seemed more devoted to

writing than to society, and did not marry until well along in life.
Her husband was Mr. Douglas Walworth, a newspaper editor, and a widower.
Mr. Walwoth lived at Natchez and edited the Natchez Democrat. He
married his second wife, Miss Hadermann, at St. Joseph, the wedding
taking place in Christ Episcopal church. Following the ceremony the
wedding party drove in carriages up to the "island", to the home of Mrs.
Tullis, sister of the bride, where a reception was tendered them. As the
carriage containing the bride and groom passed thru St. Joseph, Dr.
Weatherly, still alive, was standing on a store gallery, and not far
from the road. Making a low obeisence he said to the bride, "May you
fill the dead woman's shoes as good as I did the "Dead Man's Shoes!"

   All characters mentioned in this weird and unhappy story are now

gone to their reward. May their souls rest in peace is my prayer.

   Following the publication of the book Dr. Weatherly was among

the first to secure a copy and upon reading, wired the publisher
offering his own price for the copyright and all copies already off
the press. Buying the copyright he forbade the printing of another
edition and destroyed entire issue still unsold. However quite a few
copies had already gotten on the market and had found their way into
a number of homes hereabouts. The doctor offered good prices for them
and was successful in buying quite a few, all of which were destroyed,
but some only a few I am sure, did escape his eagle eye and some are
yet around. It is not easy to find a copy.

   The book may not have had a great deal of merit. Perhaps at

points remote from Tensas it would have been a poor seller. But the
touch of local color, writing in novella, no way a tragedy coming to
Southern lowlife, has made the book of interest to even the third and
future generations here.

   In the author's own family it caused trouble. The Stampley and

Tullis families had been life long friends until the book was known.
She wrote the story in the home of her sister, Mrs. Tullis, across the
lake from the scene of events and near neighbors to the Stampley's
whose daughter's character here displayed that she would rather wed
than work. Anyhow Dr. Weatherly did gain control of the Watson estate,
sending his brother and step-son to France at the beginning to give the
boy opportunity to acquire the craving for the brain destroying
beverage; however first warning, yes commanding his brother to keep
away from it, but to offer no hinderance to the step son learning to
like it.

   The recuit was a bright and promising young man, was ruined

and his mind destroyed that an evil minded creature, who loved wealth
and the power it gives might enjoy for a brief span of years domination
over his fellows.

   May God be more merciful to him than old timers in this section

have been, for I have heard a unanimity of opinion among those who
lived in those days and were familiar with occurences recited that Dr.
Weatherly purposely fed his step-son on absinthe to destroy his mind,
that he "put an enemy in his mouth to steal away his brains".

   At the risk of tiring you I have told the story of "Dead Men's

Shoes" as well as I have heard the story from those who knew all the
characters. That a prison, with barred windows and doors, did exist
at the home is certain. The mother, while a selfish, pleasure loving
woman, was still a mother, and did not want her unfortunate child taken
from her and placed in an asylum. Neither did the doctor. He knew that
if placed where proper treatment could be received his mind might
recover and the hellish scheme not a success. Poor, blind woman, little
did she realize that the husband of her bosom was quietly inflicting
her son a living death!

   I am sure it has been 30-odd years since I have read this book

and what I tell you is fact, not fancy, as told me by those who knew
the facts.

   But enough of this. Let's talk about peaches and cream!
   I am glad you saw something in the Gazette to interest you. I

like the "used-to-be" stuff and think somehow the place I occupy in
life, a publisher, can best be used to hand down to posterity, legends
and truths popular in earlier life. In this work I am happpy you like
ardent laborer. "Men may come and men may go" but history goes on
forever. And we who appreciate the past can best serve the next
generation by as faithfully as possible handing the story down. Any
aid that you can render me will be appreciated. If you chance to have
any stories of this section of Louisiana I would be glad to get them.
As result of digging so into the past my acquaintance with Civil War
records has enabled me to help about 10 Confederate Veterans or widows
to secure pensions. In the success of such work I am well repaid. To-
day several old men and old ladies living in comfort as result of
pensions which they are enjoying with the past aided me to to secure
for them. Their comfort is the only reward I wish.

    If what I have told you about the book will help you, I will be

happy. I trust, Mrs. Henry, your health remains good. It would be a
real pleasure to meet you, but as we live so far apart I doubt if I
can soon expect that honor.

    With best wishes to you in your good work, and thanking you

for the opportunity to serve you, and again acknowledging my
appreciation for the peacans, I am

                             Sincerely yours,
                             Josiah P. Scott