M. M. Folsom's Down The River:

M. M. Folsom's father's farm was located on land lot 137. Land District 12. This is roughly two miles northwest of modern Hahira. His paternal grandfather lived about a mile away on land lot 183. Land District 12, near the intersection of what is now Old Coffee Road and Old Valdosta Road.

Randal Folsom had twenty people enslaved at the time of the 1860 census. Dr. James R. Folsom did not own any slaves at the time of the 1860 census. In Lowndes County in 1860, 41% of total households and 51% of landowning households enslaved at least one person. 12% of landowners in Lowndes County were immediate relatives (parent/child). Randal Folsom's plantation produced labor-intensive crops like cane sugar, molasses, and cotton in addition to corn, oats, and wool. In 1860, James R. Folsom was working as a teacher, but he was empowered by the state legislature to practice medicine in 1854. Later census records do indicate that he did practice medicine. His obituary indicates that he studied medicine under Dr. Henry Briggs.^[1] Dr. Folsom does not have a listing in the 1860 agricultural schedules, but is listed as owning real estate.

Dr. James R. Folsom was about 29 years old in 1861 when the American Civil War broke out. Randal Folsom was 62 years old. Randal Folsom was too old for military service during the war. Dr. James R. Folsom would have been exempt from service as a teacher, or as a physician. The area in northwest Lowndes County where the Folsoms resided had several large plantations and the enslaved population outnumbered the white population. His obituary does give a brief account of his military service. It states that he served briefly under General Robert Toombs in Savannah before being discharged on account of his health, and served again in Macon, GA before being discharged again on account of his health.^[2] His time in Savannah would have been before Toombs went north to Virginia to fight. The obituary goes on to state that near the end of the Civil War that he was detailed to hunt down deserters and bushwhackers in south Georgia. The only combat he would have seen would be against the holdout and deserter gangs.

After the Civil War, M. M. Folsom's father and grandfather still owned plantations that produced cotton and molasses.

Education and Career:
From M. M. Folsom's obituary that appeared on 3 July 1899 in The Altlanta Consitution, we learn much about his early life. His grandfather, Randal Folsom, is credited with starting his love of literature. The obituary characterizes him as "essentially a self-made man, and his fight for an education was a bitter, uphill one, fraught with obstacles in the shape of poverty and scant resources." That seems contradicted by the facts. His father and paternal grandfather were both successful farmers and landowners during his adolescence. His father's own obituary says that Dr. Folsom had one of the largest practices in South Georgia. The scant resources part could possibly be true as he grew up more or less in a rural frontier community.

A poem he wrote, "The Dying Minstrel," appeared on the front page of The Savannah Morning News on 17 July 1878. He was twenty-one years of age when it was published.

He and his father moved to Colquitt County, GA in the late 1870s where they engaged in farming. While living there he married Frances Edna Croft (15 July 1861 Colquitt County, GA-22 January 1951 Atlanta, GA) on 13 November 1879. They would go on to have the following children:
1. Mamie Leona Folsom (25 August 1880 Tifton, GA-15 September 1968 Dallas, TX)
2. Ewell Vernon Folsom (10 February 1883 Tifton, GA-1933 Beaumont, TX)
3. Noel Byron Folsom (2 December 1885 Berrien County, GA-1962 Yonkers, NY)
4. Julia Grady Folsom (15 May 1889 East Macon, GA-23 July 1969)
5. Jessie Juanita Folsom (9 February 1894 Atlanta, GA-23 February 1956 College Park, GA )
Several of his children also became writers.

He began working for The Americus Recorder in 1882. His work started appearing in newspapers across the state during the next few years. In 1885, he commenced writing a series of articles covering the history of Lowndes County, GA for The Valdosta Times. He would continue to write historical articles that appeared in The Valdosta Times for several years. In December 1885, he became the Macon correspondent for The Atlanta Constitution. In April 1888, he became the editor of The Cedartown Standard. Later that same year he became editor of The Atlanta Commonwealth. During the next decade, he was the editor for several newspapers in the southeast and a correspondent for several national newspapers.

He died from a sudden stroke on 2 July 1899. He was only 42. He was buried in Oakland Cemetery in Atlanta, GA.

Down the River:
Folsom's Down the River series was published in nine installments from May 1885 to July 1885 in The Valdosta Times. Each installment typically ran a little bit over a full column. Throughout the series, he regularly mentions individuals who lived along the river, but rarely by their full names. A bit of detective work can help identify who he was actually talking about. Later portions of the series began giving the full names of the people.

There are some historical events that he had to be relaying second hand. Several tales related to his maternal grandfather, Morgan Swain, are included, even though Folsom was born several years after his grandfather was dead. That Folsom was often passing along history that he had not witnessed should be kept in mind.

Other notable works of Folsom's related to the history of Lowndes County, GA include:
"Old Times in Lowndes," The Valdosta Times. 21 February 1885. p3.
"Old Times in Lowndes," The Valdosta Times. 7 March 1885. p2.
"Burning the Woods," The Valdosta Times. 18 April 1885. p2.
"War Times," The Valdosta Times. 25 April 1885. p2.
"Dr. Briggs," The Valdosta Times. 5 May 1885. p2.
"War Times," The Valdosta Times. 9 May 1885. p2.
"How We Played," The Valdosta Times. 23 May 1885. p2.
"Old Times," The Valdosta Times. 1 August 1885. p2.
"Old Times," The Valdosta Times. 8 August 1885. p2.
"Old Times," The Valdosta Times. 15 August 1885. p2.
"Old Times," The Valdosta Times. 22 August 1885. p2.
"Old Times," The Valdosta Times. 29 August 1885. p2.
"Old Times: Salem Church," The Valdosta Times. 5 September 1885. p2.
"Old Times: Court Week in Troupville," The Valdosta Times. 12 September 1885. p2.
"Old Times: Court Week in Troupville," The Valdosta Times. 26 September 1885. p2.
"Old Times: Court Week in Troupville," The Valdosta Times. 3 October 1885. p2.
"Folsom's Story: The Cracker Boy's Love," The Valdosta Times. 10 October 1885. p2. [Possibly a roman à clef].
"Uncle John," The Valdosta Times. 21 November 1885. p2. [About John Belote]
"Christmas in the Piney Woods," The Valdosta Times. 19 December 1885. p2.
"John Belote," The Valdosta Times. 2 January 1886. p2.
"Col. Enoch Hall," The Valdosta Times. 25 September 1886. p2.
"How I Love Valdosta," The Valdosta Times. 8 January 1887. p2.
"Old Troupville," The Valdosta Times. 26 January 1889. p2.
"Ragged Reminisces: How My Grandpa and I Had Some Fun Hiving Bees," The Valdosta Times. 13 April 1889. p1.
"Ragged Reminisces: How Major Duckworth Had A Falling Out With His Mule," The Valdosta Times. 27 April 1889. p2.
"Ragged Reminisces: How I Had Considerable Trouble in a Love Affair," The Valdosta Times. 20 July 1889. p2.
Untitled, The Valdosta Times. 10 May 1890. p4. [History around the Cecil and Hahira area].
"Folsom's Visit," The Valdosta Times. 2 August 1890. p7

The Valdosta Times. 30 May 1885. p2:

Away up on the line of Dooly county [NOTE: This area is now in Turner County] there issues from a cypress pond a little insignificant stream which winds in and out among the pine covered hills, and by the time it reaches the northern limit of Berrien county it has grown to be a cypress swamp of one half to three fourths of a mile in with. It is a marshy, swamp and altogether uninviting in its aspect. There are long, dark looking lakes connected by shallow runs where an interminable forest of cypress knees lift their queer looking heads above the wine colored waters. But I can't dwell on the general dreariness of that unexplored swamp. I will carry you about twenty miles below, to the lower line of Berrien, where the river changes its somber aspect to one rare loveliness.

There is a dark swamp a few miles eastward, most appropriately named "No-Man's Friend." In its dark pools the catfish has lived, unmolested, till the boys assert he has grown mossy headed. and the spotted raccoon with his shining, curious eyes has made him well beaten paths along the muddy rills that ooze tussocks where luxuriantly grows the tall ferns, and waving fans of the saw palmetto rustle in the breeze. In this gloomy swamp occurred one of the bloody tragedies that make people shudder to think of. A captain of a squad of detailed soldiers had made himself exceedingly obnoxious by his oppressive actions. One fine morning he walked out of the house of an estimable lady, where he had made his headquarters, and strolled down the shadowy swamp, little dreaming of the dark fate that awaited him, within its gloomy depths. Suddenly he felt himself in the grasp of two strong men, and found himself surrounded by half a dozen more whose angry glances boded no good. He felt the desperateness of his position and struggled to free himself, but was roughly ordered to make no outcry on peril of instant death, and was half dragged toward the line of brooding gum trees and magnolias which marked limit of "No-Man's Friend." What took place in those gloomy depths has never been fully explained; but about three weeks after his disappearance his mangled skeleton was found on a little knoll; surrounded by a quantity of frazzled blackgum switches. He had been whipped to death! In the crotch of a tree near by where found his watch and other effects, they have been placed there by his slayers.

The river along there where No-Man's Friend empties into it, has a rather deep channel, and every bend is a bar of snow white sand which makes a peculiar crunching sound as you walk on it. Near the Brooks county line there is a sharp bend to the eastward. Along the western shore, the brown hills of Colquitt roll away, towards the setting sun, covered with wiregrass and crowned by the primeval forest of tall yellow pines. Eastward "The Bend" encloses a level, flatwoods country, filled with swamps and bay-ponds. Here is one of the most fair and fertile farming regions in Georgia. Cornfields, cotton fields, potato, cane and rice patches, with long levels planted for variety, in oats, peanuts, peas and chufas. Apples, peaches and plums grow luxuriantly and yield generously. And such huckleberries! I have had more sport hunting coons and catching "suckers" in that county than I will ever have again.

Late one summer evening I plunged into "Burnt Bay," where it is a mile through, armed with a double-barrel shot gun, thinking perhaps I might get a shot at a coon. My hound was, had been for an hour or more, trailing up and down, and I could hear his mellow baying as I pushed my way through dense thickets of "hooraw" bushes, and scratched my face with trailing bamboo briars. When about the center of the bay, I came upon a sluggish run and stopped to listen. Suddenly I heard a soft "pit-a-pat" on the damp leaves. The day was darkened by the tall trees, and the sun was about setting, anyway, so that I had to look sharply to discover anything. At last, as the foot falls came nearer, I caught a glimpse of the biggest wild cat I ever saw trotting along about fifteen paces away. I leveled my gun, and as he came fully into view, I pulled trigger and the cap snapped. The cat sprang forward and stood glaring at me, with his yellow eyes like burning coals, and hair all turned the wrong way. After gazing at each other a full minute, it seemed to me, he turned away and I fired the other barrel, wounding him severely. The dog came up, they began fighting, rolled into a mud puddle together, and I, with my hair all the "wrong way," ran over bushes and tore through the brambles till I reached the open woods. That was my last cat hunt, and I guess it was my cat's last hunt also, for the dog was a long while getting out, and showed signs of a big fight. But we must go on down the river and I'll tell you about some other queer encounters by and by.

[NOTE: Below is a USGS map showing No Mans Friend Pond. It is three miles west of Adel.]

[NOTE: Two weeks after the above segment appeared in The Valdosta Times, a response to Folsom was printed in the newspaper. It was written by W. E. Connell of Nashville, GA. This is most certainly William Evander Connell (1829 Darlington County, SC-1899 Lowndes County, GA). Connell's family moved to what was then Lowndes County, GA about 1834 from Darlington County, SC. They settled three miles southwest of modern Nashville, Berrien County, GA.]

The Valdosta Times . 13 June 1885. p3:

Joining Issue With M. M. Folsom.
NASHVILLE, GA, June 5th 1885 --- EDITOR VALDOSTA TIMES: I see in your paper of May 30th, a letter from Mr. Folsom, of Americus, Ga., headed "Down the River." I wish the people of Berrien county to be truthfully represented, therefore I write this. I shall only take M. Folsom's up so far as relates to a captain of details "who hade made himself oppressive in his actions" our people, and was captured by his enemies and led by force into a swamp called No Man's Friend, and whipped to death with black-gum switches, etc. Now as I happen to have been a resident of Berrien for fifty years and never before heard of the Captain's fate in No Man's Friend, I demand in the behalf of my people Mr. Folsom's authority for what he has written and hope to have the matter set before the public in its true light.

If Mr. Folsom wishes to write up the history of that dead Captain let him have the facts. I can furnish him. As I have been very short in this letter I will close by saying if Mr. Folsom wants light on this subject, I will on application, furnish him some of the details about the capture and death of an officer that was murdered in Berrien County. I can show the spot where the deed was done and the grave where the skeleton of Captain. William S Sharp lies, with many other facts connected with capture, death, etc.

Let justice be done and I shall be heard no more.
W. E. CONNELL

[NOTE: Folsom responded to Connell two weeks later.]

The Valdosta Times. 27 June 1885. p2:
To W. E Connell.
I read Mr. Connell's card, and am puzzled to understand why he claims that I have put the people of Berrien in a false light. I know not where the Captain alluded to lived. That he was oppressive, I have ample evidence from personal knowledge, a kind too painful to repeat. As to his murder, I only gave the facts as I heard them years ago. I can't say he was whipped to death, I was told perhaps twenty years ago. If I have mistreated the facts, let Mr. C., correct me. I hold myself open to correction at all times.
M. M. Folsom

[NOTE: William E. Connell does not appear to have replied to Folsom.]

The Death of William S. Sharp: What Do We Actually Know?:
The identity of Captain William S. Sharp is not immediately clear. There are not any Sharp/e families in Berrien County at the time of the 1860 census. There are several Sharp/e families in the 1870 census, but none who like they could be closely related to a William Sharp who died between 1860 and 1870. Searching the surrounding counties also does not produce any William Sharps who appear to have died during the civil war.

The account of his murder is documented in another secondary source.^[3] In A History of Savannah and South Georgia, Volume 2, William Harden gives a biographic account of the life of George Robert Christian. Christian's father was Thomas Johnson Christian. During the Civil War, Thomas J. Christian moved to Berrien County, GA. Deed records show that he owned and operated the Griffin mills at Flat Creek four miles north of Nashville. Harden's mentions that Christian was harassed by deserter gangs who killed his livestock, and burned his kitchen and other buildings. Harden's mention of Sharpe's is brief. He says that Sharpe was an enrolling an officer, that he was a guest of Thomas J. Christian, and that Sharpe was brutally murdered by deserters.

The only documents that can be firmly linked to the William Sharpe who was murdered are two letters from 1864 to Governor Joseph Emerson Brown. The first is dated 14 June 1864.^[4] Sharp sent it from Nashville, GA. He complains of there being many healthy young men in the county who could be in service, but who are not. The second letter is dated 30 August 1864. In that letter, Sharp reports that there were 40-60 deserters in the county, and asked for help dealing with the situation.^[5]

Below is William Sharp's letter to the governor dated 14 June 1864.

Sharp's murder appears to be mentioned in a letter dated 17 October 1864 from E. C. Morgan who was an aide de camp in charge of the militia district that covered most of central south Georgia.^[6] That letter mentions that the state of the deserter problem was getting much worse, and that "On the 8th inst. the local enrolling officer of Berrien was taken by them by force and carried off and has not been heard of since..." That gives us 8 October 1864 as the date of the murder.

We do know that William E. Connell would have been at home in Berrien County, GA during the time of the murder. He enlisted in Company I, 50 GA Infantry Regiment on 22 August 1862. His service records show that he was on a 29-day furlough on 10 February 1863. On 10 April 1864, he was discharged by General Longstreet. By 24 April 1864, he was back at home in Berrien County and married Sarah Elizabeth Morris the widow of Mitchell M Griffin. His wife applied for a pension after his death, and reported that he was discharged after having been elected county ordinary and allowed to return home.

M. M. Folsom would have been seven years old at the time of the murder of William S. Sharp. Given that Dr. James R. Folsom was hunting down deserters during the final days of the Civil War, Dr. Folsom would have probably known Sharp. it is likely that Dr. Folsom supplied his son with the information about Sharp's death.

A search of service records for a William S Sharp, W Sharp, and variants of the names does not produce a William Sharp who died. Service records for home guard companies were often poorly kept, so there being no record is not surprising. For now, the identity of William S. Sharp is a mystery, beyond that he was an enrolling officer and was murdered.

The Valdosta Times. 6 June 1885. p2:

In the big bend near the corner of Brooks, Colquitt, Berrien, and Lowndes used to be a noted bridge. Old "Uncle" Paul Johnson lived on the Brooks side. [NOTE: Paul Johnson (1789 SC-1862 Brooks County, GA. He lived at LL 491. LD 9.] There was a dispute about cutting a new road along there, and a well known gentleman, who lived on the Lowndes side, disagreed with Unce Paul about it; and remarked that he "wished he had a cannon that would chamber three hundred green shingle-blocks, to knock some sense into old Paul," The bridge was a famous crossing place for members of the famous "Pony Club" an many a wiregrass pony has been riden across there between sunset and sunrise. Through that wild and unsettled country a horse thief could then travel without fear of detection. [NOTE: This bridge is what is known in more recent times as Burney Bridge, but historically also known as Weeks Bridge/Weeks Ferry.]

No sound of human life awoke these solitudes save the crack of the long cow whip or the sharper crack of the deer hunters' rifle. And the wiregrass grew, in all its luxuriant beauty, and the fox squirrel busied himself cutting up the rough pine burrs for the sake of the juicy meat. On every hand rolled away the everlasting hills resting in majestic monotony beneath skies most wondrously blue. Oh! it was God's own land! Great herds of long horned and wild looking cattle led by some old brindled chief who had been lord of the range for many a year. Troups of shaggy swine rooting and grunting among the bushy hollows. Flocks of scrubby sheep whisking their tails as they ran along cropping the juicy herbage in Nature's green pastures. Land of my nativity! Once known, loved evermore.

Down the River! Oh, come and go.
Where the shimmering waters flow,
And shadowy lines of towering pines,
Checker the sunlight's golden glow.

Down the River!, when dews of morn
Gem the sprays of the sweet hawthorn,
And fragrant gains, from flowery vales
Adorn the long, dim visits borne.

Down the RIver, when Noon's bright way,
Lightens the depths of the tenous way,
And rich and rare on the quiet air,
Echoes the mocking birds sweet lay.

Down the River where twilight's star
Peeps from the purpling depths afar,
And evening stands with trembling hands,
Closing the day with golden bar.

Down the river, oh, lonely land!
Peace still reigns on thy placid strand
By sin uncured, pure as at first.
Still leaving marks of God's own hand.

Not far below the above mentioned bridge is another called "The Rocks" Here is the famous picnic ground. On the eastern side the bluff is very steep, and the high sand hill is crowned by beautiful groves of oaks. A small stream empties into the river just above the Rocks, and there is a natural bridge across it, formed by a large, flat rock. [NOTE: The Rocks is where the old route of Georgia State Route 76 crossed the Little River. In Cook County, Old Quitman Annex Road leads up to the river along the same path and in Brooks County, County Road 169 does the same. There is an abandoned bride there now that is known as Stone Bridge.]

Out about a mile from the river is "Billy's Spring." Now, Billy, or "Hatter" Billy, as he was called, was a famous man in olden times. He was very eccentric. He lived in a little log cabin among the swamps to the eastward, and owned a few dozen cattle that were all in the world to him. If in the course of his rambles he found a patch of extra fine grass he would go and get his cows and drive them to it. There were named. There was the old mother cow, he called her "Stately." Then there were "Young Stately," "Old Stately's Heifer," "Stately's Heifer's Calf," and so on through the catalogue. He had several daughters. One married and moved about twenty miles away. One day old Billy went to see her, and in a sudden fit of generosity he offered to give his son-in-law a bull for a beef if he would take his cart and accompany him home. He made the trip, and Billy penned his cattle, but when he looked at them his heart gave way and he told the disappointed son that he'd "be durne if he'd part with that black bull to save the lives of all the family connections."

Billy always carried his rifle, powder horn and shot pouch. In the latter he carried all the gold and silver that had ever come into his possession. The coin was carefully wrapped in buckskin, and few people ever had a chance to look at it. He would frequently come into a neighbor's house, Sunday, with a fine string of fish. He used to spend the days in the woods hunting with the Indians, and long after the tribes had been removed, straggling parties would stop with Billy and enjoy a regular pow wow.

When among the whites he'd stay with one family until he got tired, and then imagine himself insulted, and leave without a word to anybody. Then he'd go to another neighbor's and curse and abuse his former entertainers terribly, and so on till he had made the rounds when he would take to the woods, or retire to his own cabin in the midst of the dark woods that he loved so well; there to brood like the spirit of revenge over his imagined wrongs, and to nurse the impotent wrath that burned in his beclouded mind. Nothing remains to perpetuate his weird memory, but Billy's Spring, and the dark pool called Billy's Fish-hole.

[NOTE: Due to how common the name William is. It is not entirely clear who this Billy is. The most likely candidate is William Folsom (1797 Burke County, GA-16 November 1872 Brooks County, GA). He was the brother of M. M. Folsom's grandfather, Randal Folsom. Like, the other Lowndes County Folsoms he came to the county before Indian Removal. William Folsom's plantation was along that stretch of the Withlacoochee River. He did have a daughter (Martha Folsom) who moved 15 miles away when she married John S. Harrell. The 1850 agricultural schedule for William Folsom does indicate that he had extensive herds of cattle. Specifically: 750 milk cows, 1,150 other heads of cattle.^[7] The 1860 census, also shows a very large number of cattle. Specifically, 500 milk cows and 1,500 other heads of cattle.^[8] But the phrase "among the whites" and only refering to him by his first name makes it sound like Billy might have been Black. Billy is described as owning the cattle and having had a daughter who had married and moved away. That all would be unlikely for an enslaved person or even for a free person of color. William Folsom at the time of the 1860 census did hold 47 people captive in slavery.^[9] It could be the case that he spent a lot of time on his own plantation among his slaves, or that among the whites was used in reference to his having been friends with Natives passing through the area.]

[Below is an image of the piney woods breed of cattle from Dan Routh Photography's website. It would have been the most likely breed owned by "Billy." It is a similar breed to the Florida cracker cow. Both breeds originated from cattle brought over from Spain by conquistadors.]

The Valdosta Times. 13 June 1885. p3:
After passing The Rocks the river passes through a section of splendid hammock lands. On the Brooks side above and below the rocks for several miles, are the old Folsom [NOTE: William Folsom (1797 Burke County, GA-16 November 1872 Brooks County, GA), Noah Folsom (ca. 1835-)] and Ryals [NOTE: Isiah B Ryalls (1 April 1810-22 October 1860)] plantations, and on to Lowndes are the Wells [NOTE: Berry Wells (1809 NC-24 January 1892 Lowndes County, GA)] and Rountree [NOTE: William Jackson Rountree (1 January 1848 Lowndes County, GA-14 June 1935 Cook County, GA)] farms.

Just below The Rocks is a place, noted for the redbellied perch and blue cats, which is called the "Canoe Landing." Here a trusty old darkey, Uncle Dave, used to tie up his canoe when going from Rountree's to Folsom's where his wife, Aunt Sallie lived. Uncle Dave's boss thought the world of him. They had lived together through many years and Uncle Dave had followed his young master through thick and thin until a younger race had grown up, and the boss was a staid farmer of middle age. One cold night, Uncle Dave, in spite of the advice of his friends decided to "cross de riber to see Sallie." The dark water had overflown the banks and gurgled and foamed through the muddy sloughs and covered the adjacent flats. The old man paddled his canoe across the stream, and out to where the water was too shallow, where he got out and tied it to a stump. Them picking his way along the well-beaten path he started to wade across the dreary flats. But he was numbed through and through. The cold wind moaned among the dark pine boughs. He felt that his strength was giving way. He dragged his weary feet as long as they would move, and then he tried to crawl. But the bent and withered form was no match for the cruel elements. He reached a sapping that stood on a little knoll and tried to hollow, but his voice was too weak, and those who heard thought it was some night birds' cry. Then he tried exercise, and those who found him next day saw how he had wrung the bark off the tree. Well, they laid him away as tenderly as if he had been a high-born gentleman, and the boss grieved over his sad death for many a long day.

Then there is the "Swimming Pen." Those old settlers owned large stocks of cattle and as the range lay west of the river, and Savannah was a good market for their beeves, they used to drive them across the river at swimming pen, and a high old time they would have. [NOTE: This is most likely where the current route of Georgia State Route 76 crosses the Little River.]

About a mile east of a beautiful bluff, called "Half-moon Bluff," [NOTE Maybe modern Pine Bluff?] is a fine piece of hammock lying along the "Joe Barr" branch, Hidden away in the depths of this hammock are some interesting relics of by-gone-days. The Indians had some sort of town here and in a huge log half buried in the soil, are the mortars in which they beat "sofka." [NOTE: Sofkey/sofkee. "Sofkey is made by cooking white cracked corn in a large amount of water that also contains lye made from wood ash."^[10]] Near by, in a giant oak tree are some deep notches, cut out with the tomahawk. In these notches they fastened the barrels of their long rifles when they needed dressing out.

A mile or two further down the river are two Indian mounds, the only ones I know of in that region. And down at the "Dead-river" is the old camping ground of the band that burned Roanoke and fought several bloody battles with the whites. The pits where they built their fires remain unto this day. They called this river "Ocklacoochee," but it has always been called "Little River" by the white settlers. This "Dead River," is a long bend that was left stagnant by a cut off. It is queer, indeed, to think about it being the channel for the accumulated waters so long, and then thrown aside by an upstart of a cut off, but life is full of such examples. [NOTE: The location of Dead River is not entirely certain. There are several oxbow lakes and historical paths of the river between the crossing of Georgia Route 76 and the Cook County/Brooks County/Lowndes County tripoint. There does appear to be a chain of swamps running just north of the crossing of Georgia Route 76 to where Wells Mill Creek begins flowing into low lands that could possibly be the Dead River. The locations of the Native sites are not identifiable. They might have been destroyed since the 1800s.]

[Below are two maps showing the section of the river from the above segment.]

The Valdosta Times. 20 June 1885. p2:
Now we have reached the point where the river widens out, and winds along interminable swamps. Here in the autumn the mellow haws hang red on the trees and in the sweet Indian summer great festoons of wild grapes and "bullaces" hang in mellow lusciousness from the vines which have twined their tendrils around the topmost boughs of the tall trees.

Fields of yellow corn cover the fertile hillsides, the withered stalks rustling and creaking in the whimpering breeze. These farmers have inherited a goodly legacy in these broad acres. The cotton fields are white as snow, and the merry jest and hearty laugh attest in the contentment of laborers. In striking contrast with the brilliant colors of the autumnal foliage is the deep blue green of the sugar cane.

Through long years of cultivation in alien soil it has preserved its identity as a child of the tropics, and holds its green until the great leveler, Jack Frost, chills its sugary sap. Other plants have learned to adapt themselves to the new order of things, and shorten the season of their growth accordingly, but the sugar cane never ripens. If I have dwelled long on the peculiarities of this plant it is because I have experienced so many perils and pleasures in connection with it. Is there a South Georgia boy, to-day, who never slipped in at the back of the cane patch, starting nervously as he chanced to snap a blade, picking his way carefully until a selection was made, then cutting down the cane by easy stages, so that it would not crack loudly when it fell; carefully stripping off the blades one by one, then stealing noiselessly out, ensconcing himself in a fence jamb and then---oh! the delicious taste of the juice! Trebly sweet when obtained through so much peril. Hark!

"Ahem!!" The boy springs to his feet and trembling in every limb beholds the "old man" leaning his elbow on the fence watching him intently.
"Ahem!" "Is it gittin' sweet yet sonny?" But the boy is too dumbfounded to answer.
"Well, I guess I'd better give ye a row, and you musn't cut any out'n the rest of the patch."
Oh! Joy!! In less than ten minutes every child on the place is informed that "Pa has give us a row of cane to chaw." And the old man stalks about in the potato patch in search of a late watermelon, an odd smile on his lips. He passed through the same experience some twenty or thirty years ago.

[Below is a photo of a patch of purple ribbon sugar cane. It was one of the common cultivars of sugar cane in Georgia during the 1800s before falling out of fashion in the 1900s. It has recently been revived by some farmers on Sapelo Island.]

The Folsom bridge, a noted crossing place, spans the river here. In olden time a party under the command of Gen. Coffee passed through South Georgia from east to west. At this point they crossed the river [NOTE: Other evidence suggests that, at least originally, the Coffee Road crossed further south at Miller Bridge^[11]]. If you were to ask the old settlers they would show you the blazes on the pine trees that were made long ago. This road was a great thoroughfare and many a hardy settler has packed his traps in a cart drawn by a tough pony, and driving his flocks and herds before him has traversed the lonely pine barrens in search of a more generous soil and greener pastures. The hunters of Coffee's party were Isham Jordan [NOTE: Isham Jordan (before 1780-after 1830)] and Kenneth Swain [NOTE: Canneth/Kenneth Swain (1771 Tyrell County, NC-15 September 1830 Thomas County, GA) was M. M. Folsom's maternal great grandfather]. The song that was made by the hardy pioneers has been given to posterity as follows:

"Yander comes ole Isham Jordan,
That ole 'onest huntin' man.
Glorious tidin's he doth bring,
Swain as kilt another turkey hen!

We'll allow the New Convention;
We'll allow the rights of men;
We'll allay the Injun nation;
The volunteers and the drafted men."

About a mile and a half from the bridge, eastward, the ancestor of the Folsoms' settled. It had been a populous Indian town, and there are in existence to-day, a tomahawk, a sofka pestle, a small cannon ball, and innumerable arrow-heads and skinning knives of flint that were found there. The old gentleman had erected a strong block house, and when there was an alarm of Indians, the women and children were carried there, and the old men and boys left to defend them while the ablebodied ones sallied forth to meet the foe.

From this fort they marched forth to the bloody encounter at Brushy creek. The Indians had been goaded to madness. They were concealed in the dark swamp, and awaited in silence the approach of the whites. Pennel Folsom [NOTE: Pennywell Folsom] had made his will before leaving home and when the soldiers were all drawn up at a safe distance from the enemy, and the scouts were cautiously advancing, he and Orville Shanks dashed forward with a yell and received the fire of a dozen unerring rifles. Shank fell dead, and Folsom desperately wounded was carried from the field, after the battle was over, behind Capt. Sharpe who rode a powerful horse. When they halted he was laid down on the green grass and breathed his last. Some years ago I visited his grave in a lonely spot in the heart of one of the gloomiest forests of Berrien County.

[Below is a map showing the location of Folsom Bridge during the 1800s, Folsom Cemetery, and LL 182. LD 12. where Lawrence Folsom settled in the 1820s.]

[NOTE: That same issue also had a letter that said Folsom was exaggerating the hills of Colquitt County since South Georgia is relatively flat. The letter was signed simply signed "L. B. P. Philidelphia, Penn. June 16th." This is most likely Louis Beauregard Pendleton (21 April 1861 Tebeauville, GA-13 May 1939 Bryn Athyn, Pennsylvania). He was the brother of the then editor of The Valdosta Times, Charles R. Pendleton, and a successful writer. The letter overall praised Folsom's writing even though he had a tendency for poetic exaggeration. Folsom has references to the complaints about his descriptions of hills in the remaining articles of Down the River.]

The Valdosta Times. 27 June 1885. p2:

We will now make a little detour to the westward, among the "pimple " hills of Brooks County.

A few miles travel through a splendid country brings me to the first "capital" of old Lowndes, once as large as an empire, but since divided and subdivided until Brooks, the eldest daughter, is a rival of the mother county in area and population. Old man Sion Hall lived out here among these picturesque hills, and was a noted man in his day. [NOTE: Sion Hall (1784 NC-14 November 1849 Brooks County, GA) lived on LL 271. LD 12.] His large house, double-pannel, and built of hewn logs, was the court house. Some high logs a few hundred yards away served as seats for the accommodation of jurors, who could not have been more secluded in their deliberations had they been locked in an air-tight building of stone. Of green grass was the carpeting and the canopy was the blue dome of heaven. High old times had they, when jurors and litigants, horse traders and venders of home brewed beer and ginger cakes baked in a dirt oven, besides that class who always attend court merely for the pleasure of the thing, all came, some horseback, some in one horse carts over which were stretched covers so that the owners might sleep among their chattels. The judge and the luckiest of the lawyers occupied all available space about the premises, other camped out. But in those days Justice did not deliver her decisions with one eye peeping out at the main chance.

The scales had not been so tampered with, and the edge of the sword was not blounted with the rust legal quibbles and technicalities. Around the camp-fires politics were discussed, and yarns spun. Ah! those were the good old times that men with hoary locks delight to remember.

Mount Zion camp ground, that strong hold of religion, is just across the mill creek from where Uncle Sion lived. The hard sills of the old mill are there yet, with the sparkling water eddying and plashing among them. The old dam has a large tree growing on it. Tradition says that Uncle Sion prided himself on the speed of his mill. He owned an old hound with a deep toned voice. One day a neighbor came to the mill, and Uncle Sion poured the corn in the hopper, hoisted the gates and the great runner rock began to revolve in its slow and monotonous manner. "Let's go and get dinner while it's agrindin'."

By and by they head the old hound baying down towards the mill. "Ah, he's atter them danged otters, agin," said Uncle Sion. Returning to the mill, the old hunter was found seated in the meal box, and as a little swist of the meal would drop from the shoot, he would lap it up, and setting back on his haunches he would give vent to a long-drawn howl for more. This is only a tradition in regard to the speed of the mill. I cannot vouch for the authenticity of it.

Under the shade of the great trees, near by rests the remains of Uncle Sion, as honest a man as ever lived, and his son, the venerable Col. Enoch, lived in the old house on the hill. [NOTE: Enoch Hall (11 November 1804 Telfair County, GA-2 September 1886 Morven, GA)]

Back across the river lived a typical gentleman of the olden time. This was Drew Vickers. He owned about as fine a body of land as is to be found in Lowndes county. Born before the Revolution, he removed to the range when a young man with limited means, and he and his wife, on the sweetest natured ladies that ever lived, remained on the old place for many years. [NOTE: Drew Vickers (1776 NC-after 1850 Lowndes County, GA). He lived on LL 181, 188. LD 12.] The old man accumulated a large fortune, and hoarded his gold with a miser's care, and there was an idea prevalent at his death, that his treasure was buried in the deep woods near his home. So wild were his surroundings that the partridges, deer and turkeys were half tame; his chickens, hogs and cattle more than half wild. The deer were so fond of his peas that he got half a dozen in a field which was strongly fenced, and with his sons and negroes, had a big time shooting them.

Apropos of this I have heard a good story of an old settler in the region who had never killed a deer, but was fortunate enough to entrap one in a snare. "Now," said he to his wife, "I'll have it to say that I've killed one deer." So he tied a rope about the animal's horns and fastened it to a tree. Carefully loading his big bored rifle, he stepped off a few yeards and aimed deliberately at the buck's head. Bang! went the gun, the dust flew from the rope, and the deer bounded off, free and unfettered to enjoy the pleasures of his haunts in the green wood. The bullet had cut the rope in twain.

The Valdosta Times. 4 July 1885. p2:

Thankful for his kind words, I am sorry that "L. B. P." objects to the term 'hills' as applied to the rolling ridgey lands of Colquitt and Brooks. Well, what would he have me call them? I'm sure by any other name they would be no steeper. He wants me to explain. I don't wish to make mountains out of mile-hills. True, those hills are not by any means mountainous, though in some places the country is quite broken. Sometimes I may be able to write an article on the topography of the country. Just now I am writing for my own amusement, "Down the River."

East of the river, in Lowndes there is a small stream that flows due east. There was an old time superstition that if the hair nearest the top of the head were buried in the exact source of a stream flowing eastward, the person from whom the hair was taken would enjoy immunity from headache. Tradition says that a hair was taken from the head of a lady that once lived there, and so planted; and that she was never troubled with such headache any more. The branch still goes by her name. [NOTE: This stream is not identified for certain. There is a branch of Big Creek to the east of Miller Cemetery that roughly fits the general description.] Just below the head of the stream is Miller's Ferry, now, and now there is a bridge a few hundred yards below the old ferry. Each side of the river here lie splendid farming lands.

Down a few miles further is Shiloh Church in Lowndes. This is a noted church. For years and years it has been a strong hold of Methodism. Years ago this neighbor received the soubriquet of "Snake Nation." I never knew why Old Uncle Billy Bradford [NOTE: William Bradford Sr (1801 GA-15 January 1890 Lowndes County, GA). He lived on LL 101. LD 12., and earlier at LL 178. LD 12.] and Uncle Shade Griffin [NOTE: Shadrick Griffin (12 October 1792 NC-1868 Brooks County, GA) He was married to William Bradford's sister, Nancy Bradford. William Bradford was married to Shadrick Griffin's sister, Elizabeth Griffin. Shadrick Griffin lived on LL 178. LD 12.] were the patriarchs of the Nation. Good men they were, and their descendants marrying and inter-marrying soon made the whole Nation akin. Shiloh has been the scene of many a day of religious enjoyment.

When very young my father carried me to church there. While talking with a friend, I saw him turn and grasp the hand of a tall, dark bearded, handsome man. "Tom," said he, "This is my little boy." The handsome stranger took me upon his knee and asked me a great many things. "When do you leave, Tom?" said my father. "Three days more, and I'm off to Virginia." I knew them that he was a soldier, I have learned since that never a braver spirit drew his saber, nor rode in the front ranks of Hamptom's legion than Tom Heath. He had all the dash and vivacity of a cavalier. His dark eyes sparkled with fun, and he never grew moody even when compelled to submit to the hardships of war to which his high bred spirit was so unaccustomed.

He gave me a little pearl handled knife, and told me when I grew to be a man to forget Tom Heath and his good horse "Crusoe," and I never have. He always told the boys that Crusoe would never surrender, and "boys, if Crusoe ever comes out of the battle without me, search in the foremost ranks and you will find Tom with his face to the foe." Such was the case. After passing through many hair-breath escapes, and after he had become famous as one of the most daring cavalryman in the legion, he rode into battle one day, and after a long while the cavalry retired from a desperate charge. Tom was not among the number, but Crusoe galloped wildly forth with great splotches of blood. Tom was found by his comrades, lying dead on the field. A smile was on his lips, and the dark eyes gazed at the enemy's rank until they grew fixed in death.

[NOTE: This appears to likely be Thomas M. Heath (ca. 1830 Thomas County, GA-ca. June 1864 Battle of Trevilian Station, VA). He lived in Thomas County, GA at the time of the 1850 census. In the 1860 census, he was living in Brooks County, GA about 10 miles north of Quitman. He enlisted on 12 May 1862 at Thomasville, GA in Co. A 20th Battalion GA Cavalry, CSA. He was promoted to Second Lieutenant on 31 May 1862. His service records have him missing in action at the Battle of Trevilian Station, which took place on 11-12 June 1864 in Louisa County, VA.]

Near Shiloh lived the two men who tried to obtain glue by boiling a glazed earthernware jar for several hours. Somebody had told them it was a good place, and as glue was hard to get, in war times, they tried the plan, with what success I leave you to imagine.

The Valdosta Times. 11 July 1885. p2:

The next important place on the river is the River Mill. The ridges along the eastern bank are rather elevated for some miles. The soil is rather light and sandy. Where the ridges meet the swamp they terminate in bold bluffs. The bases of some of them are washed by the dark stream itself; while at other points the current travels away to the western shore, leaving a dark swamp, subjet to periodical overflows, lying along next the sandy bluffs.

It is a strange thing to see a branch so large as that departing abruptly from the parent stream, and taking its sluggish way directly toward the face of a bluff one hundred feet high. Such is the case at the Mill. The stream is twenty or thirty yards wide, and two to three hundred long, running at nearly a right angle from the river, and disappearing in a cave in the face of the bluff. The entrance to this cavern is perhaps six feet in height. For a few yards above the entrance the stream rushes down a series of small cascades, and just at the beginning of this descent a dam was thrown across it. [NOTE: The Myers Bluff Sinkhole is a stream and cave that roughly matches this description and is in the right area of the river.]

Here a large structure was erected and a meal and flour mill established. The only drawback was high water in the river which flooded the swamp and drowned out the mill. To overcome this Morgan G. Swain started a check dam to run from the upper angle of the junction of the main river and the mill stream upward to the highland, thus keeping that portion of the swamp from being overflowed. He also built a check-dam across the heart of the stream, at the river, to hold water under control. For some reason the work was never finally completed. The check dam at the river was frequently brought into use. By closing its gates the water could be carried off, and the mill repaired at care. At such times they used to catch great quantities of fish and turtles. They disposed of the surplus catch of the latter in a novel manner. There were a number of large hollow tupelos near the mill, and in one of these a few feet above the earth, a large hole was cut, and the turtles were dropped in there and fattened for future eating. Water stood in the cavities, and a generous supply of bran and mill offal kept the turtles in fine condition for eating.

But the old mill got burned, and was only partially repaired. The new owners neglected it, and it became sadly dilapidated. Various individuals, of a venturesome turn frequently explored the cave, some going three hundred yards through a series of high vaulted chambers, connected by narrow apertures that would scarce admit the body of a man, through which the waters gurgled and splashed as they pursued their wildering way toward their mysterious goal. I used to go to mill there when there was nothing left but the sills of the house on which a small platform was laid and the mill set up. A few boards afforded scant shelter from wind and the weather, and the old half rotten gates could hardly be raised and lowered.

Once I went and Bill Powers was miller. [NOTE: William Powers (ca. 1842 GA-August 1887 Lowndes County, GA)] There was a quantity of toll corn on hand, and after mine was ground, not being able to close the gates, Bill threw up peck after peck of the toll corn as he endeavored to shut off the water. At last the corn was all ground, the day was growing late, and still he couldn't shut off. Grain after grain disappeared, till at length Bill roared out, "Well, durned if I don't stop the old thing," and he procured a stout fence rail and thrust it through one of the buckets which stopped it sure enough. Next day the miller got an assistant and succeeded in making the gates work. Ah me! How often have I sat and listened to the sweetly monotonous hum of the old mill. Sometimes I would hunt for red haws and sparkle berries on the sunny slopes, and again, with two or three lads, would bathe in the rippling waves of the river, or frolic on the shining sand bars. There was one miller who used to play on the fiddle, the wild music being a most pleasant accompaniment to the low rumbling of the whirling water. I can see him now as he sits on the inverted "half bushel," the shooting rays of the summer sun bringing into bold relief his grotesque form. And again I hear the old fiddle. He is playing "The Walls of Jerico:"

"Party Polly, party Polly, pray let me alone,
I am a poor stranger, and far from my home!" (Thump, thump, thump)
"--- Pray let me alone,
For I am a poor stranger, and far from my home."

[NOTE: The fiddle song "The Walls of Jerico" can be heard here. The lyrics Folsom quotes appear to be from other songs "Party Polly" appears to be a variant of the song "Pretty Polly" especially if one takes into account a thick backwoods Georgian accent.]

[Below is a USGS map of that stretch of the river mentioned in the above segment. Given the karst geography and the high bluffs there are likely to be several caves.]

The Valdosta Times. 18 July 1885. p2:

"The river woods are oaky and hickory;
Who will marry ole Polly Vickery?
Out-back woods are poor and piney,
There they'll marry Eme-eli-ay."

I have a very poor opinion of the poetical taste of the author of the above stanza, yet the memory of it recalls to my mind some incidents connected with the history of Snake Nation.

Polly Vickery was a well known character. She manufactured, obtained second-hand and procured by every means with her reach gossip and scandal by the wholesale, and peddled out by retail among her neighbors. Aunt Polly knew all that was going on, and a great deal that was not going on. She knew what houses were haunted, and where the spirits most did congregate in forsaken fields, and ancient grave yards. Emeline was her daughter, an only child, not much spoiled by over indulgence, for Aunt Polly was one of those people who are chronically impecunious.

There was an old field, not far from the River Mill, called "The old Bettie Field." On the opposite side of a branch was an old cabin where Aunt Polly had become a pro tempore inhabitant.

My grandfather was a brave man. Like Hubert, in "Ivanhoe," I have always prided myself on his progress. "My grandfather drew a good bow at Hastings," to speak figuratively.

Aunt Polly always walked with a crutch, the reason being as she said, My leg is lame ever since the god-infernal mad-dog bit me." Most people thought that it was done to aid Aunt Polly in her earnest endeavor to obtain access to the flesh pots of her neighbors.

One day my grandfather was in the woods near the road that led from Aunt Polly's to a neighboring homestead. Suddenly he heard voices approaching and peering through the trees discovered Aunty Polly and Emeline coming down the road under full sail. Emeline generally led the way, but to-day she was outstripped by the elder dame who carried her crutch on her shoulder and every now and then cried out to her daughter, "Hurry up, 'Liney, its now beyant 'leven o'clock, and we wont git to Mr. Griffin's time enough to git our names in the pot."
"I'm comin' jist as peart as I can, mammy."
"Well, pearten up a little: rickolect that Griffin killed a deer yistiddy, and"
---
"Hello! Aunt Polly," said my grandfather.
"Laws a massay!" Swain, how ye scart me." and dropping her crutch under her arm she began in her peculiar whinning way, "Ah! Swain! That god-infernal mad-dog bite."
"Why Aunt Polloy, you were going along all right before I spoke."
"Yes, Swain, I were; but I was that troubled I was scarcly awar of what I was doin'. Swain, I hear a sperrit in the woods in the Old Betty field. I heern it grown and kinder struggle like it were fetchin' its last gapes. Swain, that field is han'ted jist as shore as ye're a foot high."

This gave Swain a cue, and taking leave of the old lady he went home and fixed up a plan to have some fun out of the old catamaran.

Choosing a dark night he slipped quickly up near the dilapidated cabin and groaned in a most doleful way.
"Liney" he heard the old lady call, Liney, do ye hear that."
"Oh! Its only a hog, mammy."
Then he came closer and groaned and made a most hideous racket.
"G'way!" cried the old lady. "Ef ye don't g'way I'll shot ye.

Suiting the action to the word she fumbled around and found her "flint and steel" which folks used to keep to kindle fire with, and began to "whack! whack! clickity---whack," in imitation of a flint lock rifle. Finding this of no avail she tried the effect of repeating some words that were said to be effective in driving away ha'nts.

"By the fa-ather and the son,
Holy Ghost, all three in one.

I cammand ye, leave my door,
And never come to ha'nt me more.

Be ye good, may good betide ye!
Be ye bad, may the devil ride ye!"

Human endurance could bear no more and the ghostly visitor burst out laughing , and after explaining matter to Aunt Polly, started home.
[NOTE: Folsom must have heard this tale second hand. His grandfather, Morgan Swain, died in 1851, and M. M. Folsom was born in 1857. Polly Vickery can be positively identified in both the 1840 and 1850 Lowndes County, GA censuses. It is not clear if she was widowed or if some other type of situation was going on. Neither Polly nor Liney can be identified in records after the 1850 census. Below is the 1850 census for Polly Vickery and her daughter. At the time, they were living near the Cat Creek settlement.]

It was a night in early autumn, and he enjoyed the crisp night air. Down steep bank, across the little stream and up the hill---but heavens! Just in the edge of the Betty Field, he beheld a gaunt spectre in his path. I believe I remarked that my grandfather was a brave man. So he was, but what the devil was that just ahead. Ten feet tall, in long flowing robes of snowy whiteness it stood gazing at him, and a dialogue about as follows began:
Swain,"?'
Ghost, "!"
S. "??"
G. "!!"
S. (with emphasis "???"
G. (with deep intonation) "!!!"
Finally summoning a little courage he advanced a step or two till he reached a big stump when "smack!" came a smarting blow on his back accompanied by a diabolical shriek.

Whew! How he did run! You might have played marbles on his coat tail, it hung so straight and stiff behind him.

When morning dawned he some what recovered his equilibrium, and repaired to the scene of his night's adventure to secure his hat, and a little investigation explained the matter. The shrouded spectre was a tall stalk of bear-grass, covered with its snowy blossoms; and the assailant was an angry whippoorwill that had a nest in the old stump. That was the last time he ever tried to play ghost on any body and especially Aunt Polly.

[Below is a species of bear grass. It grows up to five feet tall].

The Valdosta Times. 25 July 1885. p2:

I have dallied with the subject for some time. Most leisurely have I taken my way along the banks of this lovely stream. I trust I have entertained you by traversing again the paths of my youth. Paths strown with pleasing recollections. But alas! the suns of many summers have shone on them since last. I trod upon that sacred soil. The tracks that I made on these shining sands are long since obliterated.

"Like prints which feet have left on Tampa's desert strand."

So gentle reader, hand in hand we'll start on the longest tramp that we have had. We will pass by the broad fields of those former friends, Simmons [NOTE: Ivy Simmons (1798 Onslow County, NC-1855 Brooks County, GA)], Peacock [NOTE: a Peacock family in the area could not be identified], Tillman [NOTE: Jeremiah Tillman (28 December 1825 GA-18 January 1913 Brooks County, GA)] and others, on the Brooks side; and Young [NOTE: Remer Young (5 April 1826 Thomas County, GA-21 April 1888 Lowndes County, GA)], Tillman [NOTE: Isaiah Hamilton Tillman (10 February 1825 Telfair County, GA-9 December 1896 Lowndes County, GA) and others, on the Lowndes side.

Little River and Withlacoochee meet and mingle their waters about a mile below the town. In a dark pool in the Withlacoochee Swain and another man sunk the body of a man named Timberland. Timberland accused them of being "Murrillites," and they decoyed him to that secluded spot, killed him, took out his lungs, and filled his body with rocks, sunk him in the river. [NOTE: Folsom appears to be misremembering what he had been told about this whole incident. Jeremiah Revells (-ca. March 1843) was murdered by Jacob Timberland/Timberlin (1819, NJ-unknown) near Rocky Ford on the Withlacoochee River.^[20]]

They were arrested, and Swain sawed out of jail, and escaped to Texas. [NOTE: Tarleton Swain (ca. 1809-after 1880 TX) was the brother of M. M. Folsom's grandfather Morgan Swain. When he moved to Texas Swain changed his name to James W. Lane. The Lowndes County Superior Court Docket Book for the time period (currently in the possession of the Lowndes County Historical Society) documents that during the May 1843 term Jacob Timberlin had been found guilty of murder, and that Tarlton Swain and John Strickland had been charged with assisting escape from jail. The cases against Swain and Strickland was not able to be prosecuted due to them having fled.^[21] The Lowndes County grand jury minutes for that same term describe Swain and Strickland as being part of an organized group of bandits.^[22] Tarleton Swain, Samuel Mattox, and John Strickland escaped from the Lowndes County jail later that year.^[23] Mattox was shortly recaptured. Jacob Timberline was captured not long after his escape and sentenced to life at the state penitentiary. He escaped from the penitentiary in October 1846.]

Alex Wright accidentally, it was supposed, shot and killed Coleman Dixon one Christmas eve, and he was in jail with Swain. He escaped and after many privations succeeded in reaching relatives in Virginia. [NOTE: Folsom again seems to be mixing the stories. The saga with Tarleton Swain occurred in 1843, and the murder of Coleman Dixon occurred on 24 December 1854. The Lowndes County Superior Court Docket has Alexander A. Wright being charged with murder during the December 1855 term, and his having escaped by June 1856.^[24]] Old Auguste, a negro, would not leave the jail though condemned to be hanged, and the sentence was executed, he protesting his innocence to the last. The history of this place would fill a volume.

[Below is the map of Troupville based upon Charles Stokely Morgan (1836 Troupville, GA-13 June 1926 Atlanta, GA)'s map of Troupville. It shows several of the locations mentioned by Folsom.

Some Commentary about the Current Maps of Troupville and its Actual Location:
A few comments should be made about the C. S. Morgan map of Troupville. In the 2000s, another map of Troupville had been produced that takes the C. S. Morgan map and overlays it upon the modern boundaries of the rivers. The town would not be as far south near the confluence of the Little River and Withlacoochee Rivers as depicted in either of those maps. That being inaccurate is also suggested from Folsom's account from above. Folsom states, "Little River and Withlacoochee meet and mingle their waters about a mile below the town."

The only fixed positions that can be located with any certainty currently from the Morgan map are:
1. The stage road going east and west through town (St. Augustine Road).
2. The Baptist church's graveyard on the other side of the Withlacoochee River.
3. The forks of the roads east and west of town.
4. Morgan Springs.
5. The bridges over the Little River and Withlacoochee River.

The graveyard on the northwest side of Troupville is located somewhere on the grounds of the prison. Its location was known in the 1990s at the time of the printing of the addendum to the Lowndes County Cemetery book. Pinpointing its location would help with getting an accurate understanding of the scale of the map's north to south axis.

It is easy to assume that modern Val-Tech Road is the same road that bisects the town from north to south in the Morgan map, but there are reasons to think that might not be the case. A 1938 aerial photo of the area shows that there was a road branching off southwest from the modern path of Val-Tech Road around where Woodman Circle intersects Val-Tech Road. That road then runs roughly parallel with Val-Tech Road before branching out in several directions as it approaches Georgia State Route 133/St. Augustine Road.

Secondly, a newspaper article from 1946 reports that the masonic lodge which met in Swain's Hotel was "about 300 yards west of the present marker."^[25] The Troupville marker back then was not located where it currently is. The 1927 deed from W.P. Kendall to the UDC states that the land for the memorial was to be 472' 83°30' E from the end end of the steel span over the Little River and then 36' N 6°30' W from the centerline of the bridge.^[26] Through aerial photos from 1938 and the 1940s and a photograph from the 1950s we know the location of the bridge in relation to the modern bridge. A distance 472' east of the end of the steel bridge is about the western edge of an extension of Val-Tech Road to where the path of State Route 133 was before the 1950s. The heading of 83°30' E shifts the monument to being in the modern path of State Route 133 a bit west of the intersection with Val-Tech-Road. A heading of 93°30' E would be right at the NW corner of the old path of State Route 133 and the original path of Val-Tech Road/Mineola Road. The deed might have had a heading that had an 8 when it should have had a 9. No matter the heading, this puts Swains Hotel a good distance west of the path of Val-Tech Road. "The 300 yards west of the present marker" description does appear to be inaccurate. 300 yards west of any point along that stretch of Val-Tech Road is nearly 80 yards on the other side of the Little River. On the other hand, about 300 feet west of the old location of the monument would be very close to the probable length of a town block in Troupville plus the width of a street and about how much back from the street you would suspect a building to be at the time period (209'+40'+~20'). This would make Val-Tech Road the north to south street east of the road to Macon.

Why did the United Daughters of the Confederacy place the monument where they originally had it placed in 1927? One possibility is that it was placed where Tranquail Hall had been located.

Two survey plats by county surveyor Jeremiah Wilson, the first from 1846 showing LL 33. LD 12., and the second from 1857 showing the plantation of Rachel Jones, indicate the town of Troupville was solely in LL 33. LD 12. The survey of the Rachel Jones plantation shows details elsewhere in it, but shows nothing in the section of LL 32. LD 12 in the confluence of the two rivers. Deeds for the area from the 1860s forward also indicate that town of Troupville was in LL 33. LD 12. We do know the location of the boundary line between LL 32. LD 12. and LL 33. LD 12. Deeds show the farm of William L. Morgan was also in LL 33. LD 12.

The Morgan map suffers from distortion. The map has a varying scale throughout. The river swamps almost certainly contributed to the distortion. Many maps and even official surveys from the 1800s underestimate the distance through a river swamp.

The forks of the roads east and west of town also show distortion is clearly going on. The intersection of the stage road to Waresboro (the western part of modern Baytree Road) with the road to Florida (St. Augustine Road) was located in front of the Race Way on St. Augustine Road. Baytree Road was cut short when I-75 was created. That is 0.7 miles from the center of Troupville and 0.37 miles from the residence of W. L Morgan (C.S. Morgan's father). The fork to the west of Troupville was located about where Riverland Drive intersects the Valdosta Highway. The Morgan map depicts both of these intersections as being less than a block's length away from the bridges over the rivers.

One needs to ask, why did C. S. Morgan create his map of Troupville? The answers seem to be more or less to show the layout of the town. The peripheries of town would have been of less importance than town itself. When an inexperienced person draws a map, one often that they run out of space towards the edge of the paper and must start making things no longer to scale.

Geography also suggests that is unlikely that Troupville was not as far south and east from the intersection of modern Val-Tech Road and State Route 133 as the Morgan map has led some people to assume. Most of the land between the Little River and Withlacoochee River in LL 32. LD 12 is easily flooded and would not be suitable for building. Southwest of the current boat ramp at Troupville is a dirt path that runs down to the confluence of the rivers. The path is on a narrow strip of high ground between the Little River on the west and a drain that enters the Withlacoochee River just upstream from the confluence. That drainage area to the east of the path to the confluence is muddy during relatively dry weather and flooded during moderate rain levels.

There is a low-lying area between the high ground at the intersection of Val-Tech Road and the State Route 133, and the current path of the Withlacoochee River. The area drains water from east of Val-Tech Road and then joins a slough of the Withlacoochee River about 200' north of the bridge that crosses the path of the drain. The path of the drain winds its way southwest before rejoining the main path of the Withlacoochee River about 0.24 miles east of the confluence of the Little River and the Withlacoochee River. That slough east of the high ground at the Val-Tech Road and the State Route 133 was a problem back in the 1800s. Newspaper accounts from the 1800s sometimes refer to it as the lagoon at Troupville. The Valdosta Times talked in 1888 about the necessity "to turnpike that portion of the road between the bridge and the foot of the hill at Troupville."^[27] That article implies that Troupville was on a hill. "The lagoon" between Troupville and the bridge over the Withlacoochee River remained a steady problem throughout the rest of the 1800s.^{[28, 29, 30, 31]} The town of Troupville would have to be up on the hill to the west of the lagoon. Newspapers imply it and the area between the drainage of the lagoon and the Withlacoochee River itself is unsuitable for building a town.

Even more evidence for Troupville being located on the high ground on the Little River comes from a newspaper advertisement when the town was first surveyed. It reads, "Troupville is beautifully situated on an elevation on Little River and within a few hundred yards of the junction with this stream with the Withlacoochy River... ."^[32] The high grounds near the Troupville boat ramp are about 600 yards away from the confluence.

[Below is a USGS map of the area around Troupville.]

Surviving records show that the town lots in Troupville typically varied between 1/4 to 1/2 of an acre. An acre is about 209' x 209', so 1/4 of an acre would be about 52.25' x 52.25' if a lot was to be of equal length on all sides. The town of Troupville consisted of two surveys. The original survey was done by Samuel Clyatt and a second one was carried out by Jeremiah Wilson. The Clyatt survey had at least 92 lots, and the Wilson survey had at least 59 lots. The town blocks north of the Stage Road appear to be at least two lots in width. The length of town blocks appears to be between three to four lots. Three lots would be about 156.75' and four lots would be about 209'. If each block was 2 lots by 3 lots, the lot count for the 10 rectangular blocks north of the stage road would come to only 60 lots. While the same for blocks of 2 lots by 4 lots would come to 80 lots. There were at least 151 total lots in town. Therefore, math supports that the blocks were most likely 2 lots by 4 lots.

If the town blocks were:
3 lots by 4 lots then ten rectangular blocks north of the stage road would come to 120 lots, leaving barely 30 lots left for the rest of the town. This layout is also unlikely since there would be two lots per block with no street frontage. Town surveyors rarely laid out town lots that did not have some sort of frontage.
4 lots by 6 lots the ten rectangular blocks north of the stage road would come to 240 lots.

Blocks of 2 lots by 4 lots of1/2 lots would be 209' x 418' In that scenario, the north to south street west of the road to Macon would run directly into the river halfway through the town instead of continuing through the town from north to south.

All of that is reliant upon the town area having been drawn to a consistent scale in the Morgan map. In theory, the town blocks would be the area most likely to be drawn to a consistent scale.

The two maps below depict a theoretical layout of Troupville on a modern map with the lots in the rectangular blocks being 1/4 of an acre and 2 lots by 4 lots. For these maps Val-Tech Road is considered to have been the first north to south road east of the road to Macon. The boundary line of land lot 33 is marked in red on the map below. The Withlacoochee River, the Little River, and the various drains are the blue lines.

The Valdosta Times. 25 July 1885. p2 [Continued]:
Just at the beginning of the war my father took me with him to Valdosta. His business there was to carry Mansfield Lewis that far on his way to join his command. Now I loved Mr. Lewis with a devotion that was as unaccountable as it was sincere. His brusque manner, sour temper and usually cross look would naturally have kept at a distance most youngsters. But there was that about him that won my boyish affection, and never moon struck swain adored his mistress with more disinterested affection that I did for that man. For long hours I have tramped after him over the pine covered ridges with my dog "Sulton," and carried the squirrels as Mr. Lewis shot them. Then I would sit open mouthed, and listen most attentively as he recounted his wonderful exploits and experiences. If these lines should ever meet his eye, I trust that he will accept them as manhood's tribute to boyhood's hero.

On our way to town we stopped at Troupville for dinner. There is a cool spring on the eastern bank of the Withlacoochee, and here we spread our modest repast. I remember well the beauty of the surroundings. The cool shad fanned by the arching boughs overhead and the sweet splashing of the murmuring waters below. For an hour we sat there, my father and Mr. Lewis talking of that all absorbing topic, the war, its consequences and the prospects of the country. At last the conference broke up, and very timidly I approached my hero and said, "Mr. Lewis, do they have little bits o' pistols in the war?"
"Lots of 'em." he replied.
"Well, sir, I wish, if you see one lying around, after the fight, that somebody's throwned away, you would just put it in your pocket for me."

A grim smile played around the stern features of the soldier as he assured me that he would remember my wish. And what do you think? After many months they brought him home as helpless as a child, wasted with disease, and on the verge of the grave; but among his belongings was a double barrelled pistol he bought in Savannah for the diminutive companion for his squirrel hunting days. Amid all the troubles that beset the soldiers path he had not forgotten me, and I love him for it till this day.

[NOTE: Mansfield W. Lewis (26 April 1832 GA-31 October 1889 Sparks, GA). A service record could not be found for him. He settled near modern Sparks, GA in 1870.]

Closing Remarks:

For the most part, Folsom provides an extremely detailed account of an over twenty-mile stretch of the Little River. The most thorough sections of his accounts cover the area within four miles of where his father's farm was. That is to be expected.

There are some families along the stretch of the river that he skipped over. Aaron Miller and John Miller were free people of color before the Civil War who settled in the area around Miller Bridge, and were the namesakes for the bridge. He briefly mentions the bridge in one article. The millers were all within three miles of where Folsom grew up. He also does not mention Jordan Tucker or Tucker bridge on the Little River. Tucker came to the area in the 1850s and lived on LL 130, 147, 176. LD 12. This area was further downstream on the Little River from where he grew up. The family of Michael Myers is not mentioned. His farm was at LL 148. LD 12. It is possible that when Folsom went to Valdosta via Troupville, he never went the route on Snake Nation Road and only went along Shiloh Road. That way would have missed where the Myers and Tucker families lived. He might have skipped over them due to wanting to bring an end to his Down the River series. He does put the last nine miles of the river into one article.

The people living on the west side of the Little River are not covered particularly well between Folsom Bridge and Tucker Bridge, other than Sion Hall and his kin.

References:
1. "Death of Dr. J. R. Folsom," The Rome Tribune, 30 December 1896, p8.
2. "Death of Dr. J. R. Folsom," The Rome Tribune, 30 December 1896, p8.
3. William Harden, A History of Savannah and South Georgia, Volume 2, (New York: Lewis Publishing Co, 1913), p1069.
4. William Sharp to Joseph E. Brown, 14 June 1864, Governor's Incoming Correspondence, Civil War-- Governor Joseph E. Brown of Georgia. Morrow, Georgia: Georgia State Archives.
5. William Sharp to Joseph E. Brown, 30 August 1864, Governor's Incoming Correspondence, Civil War-- Governor Joseph E. Brown of Georgia. Morrow, Georgia: Georgia State Archives.
6. E. C. Morgan to Henry C. Wayne, 17 June 1864, Defense — Adjutant General — Incoming Correspondence, 1861–1914. 22/1/17. Georgia State Archives, Morrow, Georgia.
7. "William Folsom," 1850 Agricultural Schedule Lowndes County, GA, U.S. Department of Commerce, Census Bureau (Washington D.C.:1850).
8. "William Folsom," 1860 Agricultural Schedule Brooks County, GA, U.S. Department of Commerce, Census Bureau (Washington D.C.:1860).
9. "William Folsom," 1860 Slave Schedule Brooks County, GA, U.S. Department of Commerce, Census Bureau (Washington D.C.:1860).
10. Pamela S. Wallace, “Sofkey,” The Encyclopedia of Oklahoma History and Culture, https://www.okhistory.org/publications/enc/entry?entry=SO003.
11. Folsom, Robert E. L. "Historic Sketch of Lowndes County," The Valdosta Times. 14 October 1899.
12. Goerge White, Statistics of the State of Georgia (Savannah: W. Thorne Williams, 1849), p387.
13. "Ancient Civilization," Gleason's Pictorial Drawing-Room Companion, 7 October 1854.
14. "A Forgotten City," The St. Louis Globe-Democrat, 11 April 1895, p4.
15. The Forgotten City in Lowndes and the Mystery Surrounding it," The Valdosta Times, 22 April 1905, p2.
16. James N. Talley, "An Ante Bellum Trail at Troupville," The Georgia Lawyer (October 1931).
17. "More Shooting at the Fish Trap, The Valdosta Times, 23 October 1875, p3.
18. "Sturgeon Captured," The Valdosta Times, 4 May 1878, p3.
19. "Andrew B.'s Troupeville trap...," The Valdosta Times, 9 February 1884, p3.
20. "Murder," Macon Georgia Telegraph, 7 March 1843, p2.
21. Lowndes County Superior Court Docket Book, May 1843 Term, (Available from Lowndes County History Society).
22. "Presentments of the Grand Jury of Lowndes County, for May Term, 1843," The Federal Union, p3.
23. "A Proclamation," The Federal Union, 14 November 1843, p3
24. Lowndes County Superior Court Docket Book, December 1855 Term, (Available from Lowndes County History Society).
25. "1,000 Masons From South Georgia, North Florida Are Expected for Celebration Here," The Valdosta Daily Times, 3 October 1946, p1-2.
26. Lowndes County, Georgia, Deed Book, MMM, p257.
27. "A Turnpike Wanted," The Valdosta Times, 3 March 1888, p3.
28. "The Withlacoochee River was Out of Its Banks...," The Valdosta Times, 7 April 1888, p3.
29. "The River Lagoons at Troupville and the Double Bridges...," The Valdosta Times, 5 January 1889, p8.
30. "The River Has Been Quite Full...," The Valdosta Times, 16 September 1893, p5.
31. "Under the Seething Waters," The Valdosta Times, 15 February 1896, p5.
32. "Merchants and Mechanics, Look at This!,"The Federal Union 26 July 1836, p1.