The Righteous Killers The John A. Murrell Excitement and Southern Mob Law, 1835

By William J. LaFrankie

William Faulkner once said, "To understand the world, you must first understand a place like Mississippi."

• Language: English
• Publisher: William J. LaFrankie
• Release date: Nov 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9798985329612

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Late April 1834

Camp Meetings in the early Antebellum South were more than simple evangelical events. They were social gatherings as much as they were spiritual revivals. Traveling Methodist preachers would ride into a community and announce that their town had been selected as the next saving post. Flyers and announcements would be printed and posted all over the county and neighboring counties.

The host county might be given as little as four weeks to prepare a meeting site. Committees would be selected, bees¹ would be organized, and the time of preparation would begin.

A small group of men would perform a survey of the best-wooded acreage they could find. It would be necessary to locate a plot of land that was large enough to host a possible one to three thousand revelers. Also, supply the preachers with a site that induced reverence and spirituality.

Once the site selection committee decided, the labor committee would be engaged. A group of men and boys, women and girls, white and black, free and slave, would be responsible for clearing the land of brush and trees and erecting the main stage and seating area along with creating enough room to house one to three hundred tents, longhouses, and covered wagons.

In a matter of thirty days, a few hundred townspeople would come together and create a twenty-five-acre wooded lot to host thousands for five days of Bible-thumping-Jesus-jumping prayer.

Nobody would be denied entrance. They would welcome all; preachers and prostitutes, saints and sinners, free or slave, informal and formal, would all gather on this place. The less spiritually inclined used the meeting to spread Satan’s bile into the revival. They would set up their wagons and tents in the most remote parts of the campsite (by law, no less than one mile from the altar). This is where the whiskey-drinking, gambling, and whoring would commence. It would be referred to as Satan’s Circle throughout the week. These sinners gave the multiple itinerant preachers an endless supply of dirty folk who needed spiritual cleansing and awakening.

The site itself was well thought out, not some hastily thrown-together traveling carnival location. Roads and paths would be cleared. Hundreds of trees would be felled. The best of the towns’ men would take to the whipsaws and down tree after tree. The two-man saw, or whipsaw, would be most instrumental in the laborious task. If you knew how to put fire into the whipsaw, you could elevate your place in town for the next two weeks. Your need for food and fresh clothes would be satisfied for the duration. Nightly tending to your hands and body would fall onto the women of the town. Just about every masculine desire would be procured for you and given to you, including the basest of your needs. Your whiskey bottle would have no bottom, and your bedroom would have a nightly visitor. On your end of the unspoken agreement---fell as many trees as you and your partner can in two weeks. The best whipsaw teams would end up being legends by the time the revival concluded.

The event was an enormous opportunity for a town and county. If not done well, the Methodists would not return. On the other hand, if the meeting place was deemed under God’s providence, handsomely put together, and the preachers felt God’s presence, the county might be revisited every six months. Camp meetings brought with them tremendous economic opportunities too. Vendors selling everything from handmade rugs to homemade lemonade would flood the area. Musicians, poets, and sculptors would set up the sights and sounds on the periphery of the camp. Impromptu minstrel bands would form, and a blanket of Beethoven or banjo would cover the grounds. Makeshift casinos would be constructed on the outskirts, and all-night Faro games would last the entire week.

Such was the excitement when Reverend Benjamin Houghton rode back to his home in Vicksburg, Mississippi from Natchez, Mississippi, in the spring of 1834, and announced that the Methodist Council had selected the small bustling Delta town as the next stop on the Natchez Trace Revival Line.

The Reverend rode off down Main Street, pronouncing the good news. He shouted to his friend Dr. Hugh Bodley from his horse, Doctor Bodley, the Council has selected Vicksburg for their next Camp Meeting! Jesus is coming to Vicksburg, and he’s bringing a Christian army with him. Prepare his site, Doctor, and he will sanctify our beautiful town! Prepare the town, Doctor! Prepare the town!

Doc Bodley grabbed his black top hat and threw it as high as he could as he exclaimed in joy, Praise Jesus!!!!! Praise Jesus!!!!

The Doctor made haste and rode through town, hollering, Camp Meeting is coming to Vicksburg! Camp Meeting is coming to Vicksburg!

Men and women came out of every corner of the town to hug and celebrate. So much to be done in so short of time.

CHAPTER I

SITE SELECTION

Early May 1834

Doctor Hugh S. Bodley was a soft, accommodating soul that loved his newfound home. The people of Vicksburg loved him in return. He was a fiercely loyal friend to all and a skilled physician. Like so many in Vicksburg, Bodley was a transplant. Born and educated in Lexington, Kentucky, his father was a General during the War of 1812, and he was the middle child of six. He followed his older brother William to Vicksburg in the spring of 1831 in search of prosperity and his own future. Thick, coal hair with a well-groomed beard and shoulder-length locks hiding beneath an enviable signature stovepipe hat. A scar presented itself above his left eyebrow, a wound received from an errant knife throw. He was clever with a knife and an excellent marksman. When they were teens, his elder brother Harry bounced his steel bowie knife off a cedar tree, and it struck young Hugh above the left eye.

Everybody knew "Doc Bod, a bachelor of 27 years, the solid-framed Doctor delivered dozens of Vicksburg’s babies. He wasn’t just gifted at healing the physical body. He would be called on to mend marriages, broken friendships, and witness to the fallen faithful. He possessed wisdom beyond his young age, and he was a man of deep religious belief. He was every boy’s hero and every woman’s infatuation. Few men in town despised him because of his innate ability to put people at ease with his soft voice and friendly demeanor.

Town legend said he once talked a group of armed, transient, drunken gamblers out of burning down a local Faro house by inviting them to his barn for a meal and marksman’s competition. Once they arrived at the barn…. the town sheriff was there to arrest all of them.

Doc Bod called on three men to aid him in his search for the perfect site location. Sheriff Chet Whaley, Mayor Paul Choke Milkey, and Marmaduke Shannon all rode out of town toward the Walnut Hills Forest about six miles north. Vicksburg lay sixty miles southwest of the county seat Beattie’s Bluff in Madison County and forty-five miles southwest of Livingston, the former county seat. Forty-five miles due east was Jackson in Hinds County. Doc’s idea was to select a location that their populations would find accessible. Maximizing attendance was his goal.

Vicksburg sits at the highest altitude on the Mississippi River, and the vistas overlooking the Delta are some of the prettiest in the state. The four men rambled into the forage of the Walnut Hills Forest, Bodley leading the way on his chestnut mare, Maggie. The men drove deeper and deeper into the forest, navigating the brush, thickets, and fallen trees. Suddenly Doc pulled the reins on Maggie tight to his chest and came to a stop. Whoa! Whoa! He ordered Maggie to a halt. The other men followed and pulled up on their reins.

Marmaduke shouted, Doc, whatchya see?

Doc looked to the heavens and swirled in his saddle. Quietly, peaking through a hundred walnut tree canopy, was a Mississippi blue sky. Doc looked to his left and then to his right. His three riding mates staring at him with puzzlement.

Sheriff Whaley spoke softly, Doc, what is it ya see?

Doc held up his hand to stifle further questions and slowly dismounted Maggie. His spurs spoke when his feet hit the ground, Maggie whinnied, and the other men gazed with uncomfortable, inquisitive smiles.

Doc strode a few steps left and then right. Glaring up and then down.

Then he spoke, Gents, do you feel it?

Mayor Milkey replied, Feel what, Doc?

God guided us here, and… is in fact…. HERE.…with us.… this very moment. I feel it in my bones, boys! We’ve been brought to this spot. Look at this land. Just look at it, Duke!! Made for saving souls, it is! Doc said softly.

He continued, Men, this is it. hurriedly, he asked, Who owns this land? Anybody know?

Marmaduke responded, Hell Doc, this land ain’t spoken for.

Doc asked, You sure? How do you know?

The sheriff answered, Well shit, Doc…I been the sheriff here for three year…. Ain’t nobody laid no claim nor planted no stake in this land. If’in they had…I’d know. Choke, tell Doc.

Mayor Paul Choke Milkey was the elder statesman of the four. He was 36 years old and had been in Vicksburg longer than anyone in the town except for Reverend Houghton. Six years. An eternity for residents of Vicksburg. A person was hard-pressed to find a native of Vicksburg. There weren’t many. She was a transient town filled with people from all walks of life, all looking for their promised land. Choke was a likable man, but he had his quirks. Often sloppy and disheveled and frequently drunk, he was a man that enjoyed the company of gamblers and did little to engage with the up-and-coming Methodists in town.

Nevertheless, Choke had two things going for him. First was a laugh that could fill the Mississippi Valley. Starting high pitched, like a giggle, his hand would cover his wide-margined face and then taper into a deep, muffled moan, always ending in a cough that sounded as if he was choking. The second thing Choke had was land. He inherited from a distant relative 1400 acres of prime cotton plantation, and he owned seven slaves. He also knew every inch of the Walnut Hills Forest, and he knew that land was unclaimed.

Choke replied, Doc, nobiddy owns dis land. Der were some hold-out Choctaw that used to claim it as der own…but they bin outta here fer long time. Doc, this is godforsaken land. Donchya suppose we’d be better off closer to town? I mean to say, we damn near six mile from any soul.

Doc jumped back on Maggie and exclaimed, Paul, the water is in close proximity, and we’re gonna need that. You can’t invite these preachers here not havin’ easy access to water. There’s plenty of game in these woods, nuts, and berries too. This meeting is five days long, and we have four weeks to gather a site. This is the site. Timber will fall easily for the pews and the altar. Lookey right there. Doc pointed to a grove of perfectly aligned walnut trees; he ambled Maggie over to the area and continued, now just imagine…we fell those trees, and you nearly have every stump you’re gonna need for pews. We open that area up there, and you have the main stage with the altar and the pulpit. Jesus Christ himself will be looking down through the opening. No, no, my friends…this is the place. Let’s stake it and claim it for our temporary use.

The men spent the next several hours laying stakes in the land and posting signs that the Town of Vicksburg was temporarily annexing this 25 acres of land for their first Camp Meeting. All are welcome!

CHAPTER II

MARMADUKE SHANNON

September 1831

Marmaduke Shannon enjoyed what minor celebrity was afforded in the town of Vicksburg, with dark brown eyes, standing six feet four, and mutton chops that came to a point at a chin that seemed made of marble. Enormous hands that were not afraid of hard work. He featured a signature Panama gambling hat that made him easily identifiable. A blousy pale shirt hid his expansive chest line with red suspenders that held up stylish button-fly corduroy trousers. Leather knee-high boots covered his large feet.

He was as eligible a bachelor as a woman could want. He had been in Vicksburg for just shy of three years and had established himself in town as a gentle man who was hard to anger, easy to engage, and loyal to his kin and friends. He was the only child to his Pennsylvania parents John Shannon and Ann Scull Shannon.

Like many in Vicksburg during the Flush Times, Duke came to the Mississippi River town from the north." He was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and moved to Eastern Ohio when he was young. His mother’s brother willed him 600 acres of premium cotton farm not more than two miles from Davis’ Bend, Mississippi, the land owned by Jefferson Davis’s family. When Duke got word of his inheritance, he left his family in Ohio and hopped on the first available boat to Vicksburg.

In the late summer of 1831, at the age of 26, Marmaduke Shannon kissed his mother and father goodbye and went searching for his future and fortune.

Duke booked passage on the flat bottom showboat named the Floating Theater. She was headed to New Orleans via the Monongahela River into the Ohio River and onto the mighty Mississippi, with stops in port towns along the Mississippi. The growing town of Vicksburg was on the itinerary.

The Floating Theater was a poorly made barge with a stage at the aft spanning 16 feet across. A pit that dropped 2 feet below and extended 10 feet wide by 10 feet long, followed by seats for as many as 45-50 audience members that ran 90 feet to the stern. The passage fee was fifty cents and a peck of vegetables. The Floating Theater was the first boat built with the singular purpose of entertaining passengers. It was contracted to be made in the country’s boat-building capital, Brownsville, Pennsylvania. A notable family of actors out of England named Chapman hired the Pringle Boat Building Company to build a flat bottom theater boat. With no engine and no propulsion means, the vessel relied on an Attaboy, otherwise known as a towboat, to push the craft downriver. The Chapman clan were entertainers who had spent years in New York and Philadelphia and desired the adventurous life that westward expansion offered. Their departure coincided with Duke Shannon’s need to get to Vicksburg.

At this time, the Monongahela, Allegheny, Ohio, and Mississippi rivers were littered with steamboats carrying anxious, hopeful passengers westward and southward searching for their piece of America. It was foolish to think that these pioneers had a plan. Most came from humble means in northern cities, and these cities were grappling with their identities. However, early 19th century Pittsburgh had a clear identity.

In1807, two young inventors named Robert Fulton and Robert Livingston created the first successful steamboat, the Clermont. And although New York was the Clermont’s birthplace, Pittsburgh would become the epicenter of boat building.

In 1818, there were forty-five steamboats on the four valleys’ rivers. By 1830, thanks to Pittsburgh’s boat-building towns, Brownsville, West Brownsville, and Elizabeth, there were 1500 steamboats and countless flat bottoms, keels, and pirogues.

Duke arrived in Vicksburg on September 2nd, 1831. A farewell procession was offered to the departing guests from the Floating Theater’s cast and crew. Mr. and Mrs. Chapman hugged Duke as though they were saying goodbye to their own son. Their oldest daughter, LouEllen, batted her eyes and blushed a genteel farewell to him.

He complimented their talents and thanked them all for the enjoyable week on their boat. He spoke convivially to all of them when he said, "Folks…. that was one fine way to travel. I particularly enjoyed your production of The Stranger. I am not a man of letters and culture, but I most certainly enjoyed that. Perhaps we will see you on your next tour down the river."

He stepped off the boat, and his feet hit the dock to a rash of farewells. He surveyed his new surroundings. What he saw was an immature town with little infrastructure. Dirt roads speckled with fully-built and half-built storefronts. He turned to wave goodbye to the departing showboat. He saw Louisiana on the other side of the river, and wondered if it was any cooler over there than where he was standing. The humidity was unbearable, and the gallnippers² were relentless.

He heard a young girl’s voice shouting and waving her hand madly, Mister, hey Mister! Over here! Yoooou---whoooooo—over here---Dontchya see me?

He looked toward the coastline and saw a handsome young lady. She was dressed like a young man. Suspenders, thrown over top a white blouse shirt with a buttoned collar, bow silk tie, matted corduroy pants, and soft knee-high boots topped off with a large, flat, Cuban straw hat that covered her flowing auburn-red hair. Sweat glistened on her brow, and subtle dirt tones were mixed across her cheeks and chin. He grabbed his belongings, consisting of two pistols, a Kentucky Squirrel Rifle, and two suitcases.

He moseyed over to her, Ma’am, he tilted his head as his hands were full.

Welcome, welcome, welcome! she said with great enthusiasm, You are Mr. Shannon? Isn’t that, right? she inquired.

Yes, ma’am, that’d be me. Marmaduke Shannon. Friends and kin call me Duke. Who might you be? he asked with a quiet curiosity. Duke was a bit travel-worn and could not muster the energy to match his new young friend.

She bubbled back at him while grabbing his two bags and guns, Well, my friends and kin call me Levi. On account, my name is really Levina Morris.

Levi? Ain’t that a boy’s name? he retorted.

She answered as she worked quickly, throwing his belongings into the buckboard wagon, Why yes, I suppose it is! Then she sharply asked with a smile while tossing a crooked finger at him, What’s your point?

Duke grinned. He stepped up and sat in the coachman’s seat while saying, No point, ma’am’ just curious as to why you’re dressed like a man and have a man’s name, that’s all?

Well…. maybe my daddy wanted a son and got me instead? she fired back while jumping up and squeezed in next to him.

She exhaled a big breath and then stared at him. Her blue eyes were gazing away all the while she was grinning cheek to cheek.

Duke asked, What are you grinning at?

Nothing. Just curious, that’s all, she said while smiling.

Bout’ what? he mumbled while he grabbed the reins.

Bout’ where we going? She snapped while leaning back and crossing her arms.

Hell, I don’t know. His frustration showing.

Then she reached over and grabbed the reins and gave him a hip check while saying condescendingly, Precisely! So, let’s allow me to drive the wagon.

Duke gave up the reins, leaked a slight grimace, and slid over to allow Levi the room needed. There was something about their engagement that he enjoyed. He struggled with her choosing to call herself Levi and dressing the way she did, but he liked her, and they clicked.

Let me ask you something, she said with a wry smile.

What? as he leered at her.

She clapped back quickly, Why dey name you Duke? there was a pause followed by, Yer daddy want English royalty and gotchu’ instead?

Duke let out a chuckle, and Levi let out a satisfied smile while she snapped the reins and barked out a Yaw! The horses trotted off.

Suffocating humidity along with hellish temperatures and a cloudless Mississippi blue sky welcomed Duke. He examined his new surroundings while Levi paid close attention to the roads.

Vicksburg’s streets were unpaved and mostly dirt and gravel. The town was growing but still immature. The population in Warren County in 1831 was 3,603 free whites 5,105 enslaved blacks. By 1840 the former would increase by 25 percent, but the latter would increase by 95 percent.

Duke lifted his voice over the wind and carriage noise, Where you takin’ me?