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An Old Tintype and a Faded Journal
Isaiah Jefferus Kimberlin, my great-grandmother's brother, was just a
name on my family tree before I moved to Sherman, Texas, in 1948.
I discovered that Isaiah had preceded me to Sherman. He brought his
family from Missouri soon after the Civil War and became a successful
and respected rancher in the area. I also learned that Isaiah had a
great-granddaughter, Helen McGee Ludlam, living in Jackson, Mississippi.
She shared with me mementoes of her great-grandfather: a framed tintype
of him as a Civil War soldier and a faded, handwritten journal of his
early life as a teamster and of his later war experiences.
From his notebook, I gleaned the following story. It tells how the
tintype was made and the reason for his coming to Texas.
"I belonged to General Joe Shelby's Brigade," he wrote. "We were on a
cavalry raid into Missouri in the winter of 1862 for the purpose of
battle with the enemy and to check their movements to the south. I was
serving as a spy and went into the town of Sedalia, Missouri, and
through the enemy's camp disguised as a cripple. That night I made my
way back to where I had hid my firearms in a hollow log, about fourteen
miles from Sedalia, arriving there after sunup the next morning. I
concluded that before I got my pistol and returned to my command, I
would go to a house and get something to eat."
While he was waiting for food, a Federal scouting party passed nearby. A
Negro, who had seen Isaiah go to the house, told the Federal captain
that he thought there was a "Reb at dat ar house." The soldiers charged
up to the house and captured Isaiah.
Isaiah recorded, "The captain believed I was a bushwhacker, which was
independent warriors fighting under the black flag, and had no prisoner
exchange....and he ordered me shot."
But Isaiah convinced him that he was a Confederate soldier, and the
captain agreed to take him back to headquarters for trial. In Sedalia,
the officer in command questioned him. Someone recognized him as the
cripple that went through the camp the day before; and there were shouts
of "spy, spy." So the commanding officer ordered the guard to take him
by the government blacksmith shop and get a twenty-four-pound cannonball
and a draft chain riveted on his ankle and to take him to prison, where
he remained for two or three days under heavy guard.
"My case was acted on by the appointed court-martial and sentence
passed," Isaiah continued, "whereupon, the guard concluded that they
would take me to a picture gallery and have some tin pictures taken to
represent the form of shooting on the day of the execution. So several
tintypes were taken to send back home to show the penalty of a spy. When
through, they went out the door. I saw one of the pictures laying on the
table, and the picture man was back in his little dark room. I picked up
the picture and thought I would destroy it, but on second thought, I
held it in my hand under my ball and chain. When I turned the corner of
the street as they were marching me back to the prison, I looked a few
rods in front of me; and I saw an old lady about 50 years old that I
knew; and she recognized me at once. I looked her in the face and told
her all I could with my eyes, and I rubbed up against her as I passed
and gave her the picture. She clasped it in her hand and never spoke a
word to me, or me to her; and she took the picture home with her and
sent it to my wife; and I've got it yet."
For the next eight nights Isaiah worked to get his ball and chain off
and to tunnel through two walls. The night before he was to be shot, he
escaped. He described how he and four other prisoners made their way
through the tunnel he had dug. He told of the dangers and hardships he
encountered while fleeing through woods and over river crossings for 250
miles before reaching his command in the Confederate army. By the time
he reached General Hindman's headquarters, he was ill. General Hindman
ordered him to enter the hospital and receive medical care. Later he
sent Isaiah to the home of one of his friends in Sherman to recuperate.
Isaiah spent several weeks in Sherman. He liked Texas; he liked Sherman;
he liked the people. When the war was over, he returned home to Blue
Springs, Missouri, and moved his family to North Texas.
In September 1948 the city of Sherman celebrated its 100th anniversary.
The centennial edition of the Sherman Democrat contained articles
about events and people that played a role in the city's history. There
was a picture of Isaiah and an article that described him as "a cattle
king at the turn of the century." There was also a picture of Sargent,
his prize Durham bull that was declared an international champion.
Isaiah planned to show the animal at the world's fair in Paris, France,
but Sargent suffered a broken leg during a rainstorm and had to be shot.
Isaiah is no longer just a name on my family tree. I have visited his
grave in West Hill Cemetery; I have stood on the place where he lived at
503 North Travis Street; his ranch is just a few miles northwest of
Sherman; and, through an old tintype and a faded journal, I have come to
know and respect this relative who preceded me to Texas.
A
slightly different version of this story appeared in The Family Saga:
A Collection of Texas Family Legends, published by the Texas
Folklore Society in 2003.
Eleanor Monroe
Sherman, Texas
Published:
November 14,
2005
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