Jesse James, Lowndes, Alabama http://files.usgwarchives.net/al/lowndes/history/jjames.txt ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- USGENWEB PROJECT ARCHIVES NOTICE: These electronic pages may NOT be reproduced in any format for profit or presentation by any other organization or persons. Persons or organizations desiring to use this material, must obtain the written consent of the contributor, or the legal representative of the submitter, and contact the listed USGenWeb Project archivist with proof of this consent. ALGenWeb Archive File Manager - Carolyn Golowka ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Contributed by Carolyn Golowka, October 2000 The author of this piece was my great-uncle, James Madison Garrett, II He was born on Sept. 24, 1864 and died Dec. 20, 1943 in Montgomery, AL His recollection may be a bit off. It is believed that the bank robbery told of in this story is actually the First National Bank in Northfield, MN and the year would have been 1876. Northfield to this day celebrates the fact that they fought the James gang and won. They have a museum and a festival the weekend after Labor Day to celebrate their success. Read about this raid at the following: http://www.defeatofjessejamesdays.org/lmth/bankraid.shtml Story of Jesse James' 30-Day Stay in Lowndes County By J. M. Garrett Fifty years ago Jesse James was the most notable outlaw and desperado that this country has ever known. Governor Crittenden, of Missouri, had offered a reward of $50,000.00 for his body, dead or alive. His name was in almost every newspaper; a name that stood for adventure, daring deeds, robbery and murder. Jesse James was a guest in our home in Mt. Willing, Lowndes County, Alabama, during the month of October 1875, under the assumed name of J. T. Jackson. The object of this paper is to give my recollection of him, and certain incidents and characteristics observed during my association with him. Lest the reader jump to the conclusion from the above statement that I am a charter member of some Annanias Club, a little family history will be necessary. My mother was born and reared in Northwest Missouri, Clinton County. She received what was considered in that day and time a liberal education. When she was eighteen or nineteen years of age, she taught school in a rural community a few miles East of Liberty, Clay County, Missouri, in the neighborhood of the home of the James'. She remembered well that two small boys by the name of James attended her school, but she could not recall either the name of Frank or Jesse. Investigation many years later developed the fact that Frank and Jesse James, the noted outlaws, were the James boys that attended her school. In 1860 my mother came to Alabama to assist her brother in a large school at Mt. Willing, Lowndes County. Both brother and sister secured board in the home of my father's people. Soon the Civil War broke out, and my mother was not able to visit her Missouri home until after the conclusion of that struggle. In the meantime, acquaintance between my mother and father ripened into friendship, and friendship int a love that lasted as long as they lived. The Winsfield bank robbery was typical of many bloody outrages perpetrated by the James gang. A small town in a rich, prosperous country. The time was late summer or early in the fall of 1875. A picnic was in progress a few miles out. A large percent of the entire population of the town was at the picnic. About 12 o'clock the James gang came in on horseback, and dismounted. Some remained outside near the entrance, some held the horses, and some went into the bank. The cashier made an effort to draw his gun. They killed him. A boy in the bank ran out of a back door and tried to give the alarm; they shot him down as he ran. A man in an upper window across the street tried to fire at them with a gun; they shot him while he was raising the gun to his shoulder. They robbed the bank. The news spread like wildfire. Soon a great posse was in hot pursuit. The gang was overtaken about sundown. A pitched battled ensued. Some of the gang were shot down, some were wounded and captured, some got away. Jesse James was one of those that escaped. The gang was broken up temporarily. It took several months for them to recuperate and reorganize. James at Mt. Willing Shortly after the bank robbery, about sundown of a typical fall day, I remember well a stranger coming to our house and asking for board and lodging for a few days. I was a boy eleven years old. The stranger stated that he was very tired; that he had traveled much; was greatly fatigued and begged to be allowed to stay and rest awhile before looking at certain lands in the neighborhood, which he hoped to purchase for a stock farm. He said his name was J. T. Jackson, and that he was from Kentucky; that he was "well to do" and desired to purchase a farm in Lowndes county for stock raising, and since he understood my father was familiar with the lands, he wanted to secure him as a guide to show him about. The stranger was about thirty years old, of medium height and build, dark complexion and keen, penetrating eyes. Back through the vista of forty-six years I can visualize him as clearly as if it were but yesterday. The first night he stayed with us he asked for a basin and war water to dress a wound in the shoulder which he claimed was received during the Civil War. My father aided him in dressing the wound. It seemed rather to us that it had not healed, but we had no reason to doubt him. For a week of more my father aided him daily in dressing the wound, which healed up clean and well before he left us. We learned afterwards that the wound was received during the bank robbery incident above referred to. We did not at the time know we were entertaining the great outlaw, Jesse James. Almost every family of any consequence in those days took the weekly Louisville Courier-Journal. During his stay with us its pages were filled with the accounts of the evil deeds of the James gang. On more that one occasion he asked my father for his personal opinion of the James boys and while my father tried to make excuses for them, Mr. Jackson was bitter in is denunciation of them. After he had rested up somewhat, father told him that he had horses ready, and would show him the adjacent lands at any time. Mr. Jackson always put him off, saying that he was not yet ready. He never did ho to look at any lands. An Engaging Personality Before he had been with us a week, we were all greatly in love with him. To the children of the family he told most wonderful stories of the Civil War and hairbreadth escapes. He was very fond of children. He seemed never to tire of them. I was the oldest of five. Many a time he would have us and some of the neighbor children around him, with a package of shin plasters in his hand, spread out lie a fan, and ranging in denomination from ten cents to fifty cents in value, and freely inviting the youngsters to come up and help themselves, but when one dared to do so instead of receiving a shin plaster he would get stuck in the side or had or arm with a pin. Thereupon the youngsters would scamper back out of arms reach, and they were coaxed again and again to come forward and try it over. Occasionally, a youngster would grab one. (My stenographer has just wondered what a shin plaster is, so, for the benefit of those like her, will state that it was the current name for fractional paper currency following the war period.) During the time Mr. Jackson stayed with us he broke up and harrowed three acres of land and planted some in rye. Not being able to find a suitable harrow in the neighborhood, he made one. He went to the woods with my father and aided in cutting and hauling fire wood. Always Cautious To live in our home was to go to church on Sunday. Mr. Jackson had to go too. We noticed that he never allowed himself to be surrounded. He always stayed on the outside of a crowd. Even in church he took a back seat. We gave him the best room in the house, a large room with no lock, but with a barrel hold on the inside. It was the custom in those days never to lock up a residence. We would leave for days at a time with only the doors "pulled to." Mr. Jackson invariably bolted his door at night. I remember seeing great rolls of money, almost as large around as one could span with both hands. I have no idea of its value, but it is probable that since small bills were not then the fashion, that he had several thousand dollars. My father was perhaps the best shot with a rifle in the county. He could split a bullet on an ax from fifty to seventy-five yards away. Upon one occasion he was training his gun, that is , adjusting the sights in some way and practicing at a target. Mr. Jackson watched the proceedings with interest, and after a little remarked, "I believe I can beat you with my piston," whereupon he pulled out a large pistol and shot several times at the target, hitting same with remarkable accuracy. When several shots had been fired my father asked to see the pistol. Mr. Jackson continued to fire the pistol until it was empty. He then handed it over. In the meantime, he had out another pistol and began to shoot with it. My father remarked, "I believe that one is better than this. Let me see it." Mr. Jackson made first one trivial excuse and then another until he had recovered the first pistol and reloaded it; then he handed over the second pistol, empty. This and several other incidents of a similar nature, show how extremely cautious he was and how always on guard even with his friends. My aunt Rebecca, whose home was about three-quarters of a mile from ours, was sick nigh unto death. If Mr. Jackson had been her brother or a near relation, he could not have exhibited more anxiety or solicitude for her welfare. He offered to "set up" and to aid the family in any way and begged that he should be called on to render some service. James Departs He stayed with us a month, and during this time endeared himself to every member of the family, so that when he left every on of us felt a personal loss. I never saw him out of patience, or in the least perturbed in any way. He was gentleness itself with women and children. One day he received a letter. He said it was very important; that he must go at once to visit the bedside of someone that was sick. My father took him to Fort Deposit, the nearest railroad station, the next day. We almost wept as his going. He promised to write. He said he felt such great interest in Aunt Rebecca, and he wanted to know if she got well. He left no address; he said there would be no mail to forward. So great was our respect and love for him that we waited eagerly for a message from him and often wondered as time passed on why he had not written us as he had promised. On April 3, 1882, Jesse James was shot to death by Ford, at St. Joe, Missouri. The papers carried page after page of the story. Among other things it was stated that after the Winsfield robbery, to elude the vigilance of the officers, he went south and stayed for some time, assuming the name of J. T. Jackson. When we read that statement, we realized for the first time that the beloved stranger whom we had entertained six years before was none other than the noted outlaw. In 1884 my mother visited relatives in Missouri. While there, she went to see the mother of Jesse James. She described to her the J. T. Jackson who had stayed with us, the date of his visit and various circumstances connected with same. The mother assured her that it was none other than her son, Jesse James. She knew of his stay in Alabama in 1875, and that he had been in the home of a former Missouri woman. She thanked my mother again and again for having befriended her son. She gave my mother several pictures of him and a single feather from the large duster which he was using when he was shot by Ford. The pictures alone would have been sufficient to convince us that our Mr. J. T. Jackson was, in reality, Jesse James. In 1886, I was in northwest Missouri. I went to the home of his mother; I talked with many of his former neighbors, schoolmates and friends. All held him in high esteem. It would have been almost worth a man's life to have made a disparaging remark about him in the presence of any of them. In one corner of the old homestead stands a plain marble monument, about two feet square and five feet high, and engraved thereon, "Jesse K. James. Born 1847. Died 1882."