text: "".■#?* "V j|^L "i 4*l JF fjj Jr Si f~f**^s* ■ kW : ;> X Qk .L, *y» t 't f* W< k ,i «jppi^ r 7\m||i While the Ghosts of Their Famous Civil War Ancestors Seemed to I.ook Down on the Sordid Ruin of Goat Castle, Richard Dana and Miss Ortavia Dockery, Ills Housekeeper, Lived for Years Shut Off From the World. Their Only Companions Being Hundreds of Goats That Roamed at Will Through the Drawing Room With Its Priceless Heirlooms, Once the Property of General Robert E. Lee. EMILY Burns. Mississippi's "forgotten wo man" who served eight years at the State prison farm at Parchman for a murder it now appears she never committed, returned to her home in Natchez a free woman the other day. Governor Paul B Johnson's grant of execn itve clemency to the colored ex-landlady, really the least conspicuous figure in the case, has revived once more the fantastic "Goat Castle” murder, a mystery which now. it seems, will never be solved. It has again turned the spotlight upon two stately and historic old mansions standing on adjoining estates on the high bluffs that over look the Mississippi River on the outskirts Of Natchez two houses long linked by tradition, their occupants by a tangled web of pride, of love and prejudice and hate One of these mansions. Glenburney, is in excellent repair, its grounds trim and well kept the other known as “Goat Castle.” al though years ago it had a more dignified name is unkempt and fallen into ruin, its spa< ious rooms littered with the moldering re mains of priceless antiques, and filth In 1932, at Glenburney. occurred one of the South's weirdest and most puzzling murders, a murder which revealed to the world four characters as strange a* any ever portrayed by Hogarth or Poe, which left blood and dirt on the crinoline skirts of some of Natchez's finest old families and changed the course of the city's history a S dusk fell, sultry and oppressive, on the ** evening of August 4th. 1932. the telephone rang shrilly in the office of Sheriff Clarenee P. Roberts "Mistuh Sheriff, suh —'” a frightened voice came shakily over the wire. “Miss Merrill— she's done gone'" "Whoa wait a minute.” the sheriff drawled "Who are you and what's this all about ?” "I'se dc gardener, suh Miss Merrill's gar dener at Glenburney I was wukkin' in de field across de road when I hud screams and shots in de big house l run right over, but didn’t see nobuddv Here's blood in d<’ hall way, suh and Miss Merrill's done gone'" “Don't touch anything Ml be r.ght out " Sheriff floherti flapped on his hat and hurried to his car. 4 All Natchez knew Miss Jane Surget Mer rill, whose father had served as Ambassador to Belgium and held other important govern ment postß under President Grant. She her self had been educated abroad and for years had lived alone at Glenburney, a gentle white haired hermit clinging to the old ways in lonely grandeur—seemingly. But there were other things about her known only to the inner circle of old-line families gen erations had inter-married ami were able to boast proudly that practically everybody in Natchez was kin to everybody else. One thing was that in spite of her some what frail and helpless appearance Miss Mer rill was a crack shot and could wing a hawk or shoot the eyes out of an owl with rifle or pistol. Sheriff Roberts shrugged uneasily as he headed down Federal Highway 61, the Old Man River Route to New' Orleans Little did he suspect the tangled skein of events, the strange revelations that were to result from that telephone call, however, as he turned into the drive lined with magnolias and live oaks draped with ghostly festoons of Spanish moss, leading up to where Glenburney stood half hid den by a mass of dogwood and jasmine. Tile- gardener, blue-lipped and quaking, met him at the door. "Who else knows about this?" the sheriff demanded. "I notified de relatives, suh—and Mistuh Minor, of course." "Yes Mr. Minor—of course," the officer echoed thoughtfully, and went inside. There were the bloodstains on the hallway floor, several of them. A table had been over turned, a rug lay crumpled against the wall and there were other evidences a struggle had taken place. The bed In Miss Merrill's cham ber was mussed, as though she had gotten up from It hurriedly. When a quick look about the house and grounds revealed no further traces of the mis tress of Glenburney, Sheriff Roberts went to the telephone and ordered bloodhounds. T IE bloodhounds arrived, and close on their * heels came Mr. Minor white-haired, white must ached. erect as a ramrod in spite of his TO years spurring a foam-spattered horse. his life trying to wrest an empire from Mexico. His career strangely paralleled the adventures of the ‘'Philip Nolan” in Hale’s “The Man Without A Country,” although Hale insisted it was only a coincidence and that he had never heard of Mississippi's Philip Nolan when he created his. Duncan Minor was a strange man, but respected. In a time when everyone drove automobiles he still rode a horse. Other relatives arrived and Mr. Minor took charge of the house while Sheriff Roberts and his deputies put the dogs on the scent. To his chagrin, however, they simply ran around in circles, yelping and baying but finding nothing. But he was even more chagrined when he returned to the house and discovered it had been cleaned from top to bottom, the blood wiped up and many of his valuable clues, in cluding possible fingerprints, probably de stroyed. When Sheriff Roberts started to protest, Mr. Minor explained courteously but firmly that the sight of blood and. disorder upset him. The Sheriff shrugged philosophically. It was too late to do anything about it. Although he had no clues, and couldn't establish murder without a body, the sheriff began casting about for suspects. Questioned on that score, Mr. Minor told him about George Pearles, a Negro handyman. Pearles, he said, had come to Glenburney and made'a nuis ance of himself begging for food and work from Miss Merrill until finally that gentle lady had warned him she would—ah—takes meas ures if he annoyed her further. Sheriff Roberts shook his head, and his gaze turned speculatively toward the hulk of Goat Castle that loomed dark and forbidding through the trees. He knew the story of the hatred that existed between Miss Merrill and its strange inhabitants, a story going back many years to the mauve era of bustles and buggies when the side-wheelers raced to New Orleans with their cargoes of cotton and grain: when Natchez was Mistress of the Mississippi and her proud old families refused to allow a railroad to come there, fearing it would spoil their leisurely and graceful way of life. IN those days the stately old home of the * Rev. Charles Dachus Dana was not known as "Goat Castle." It bore the more appro priate title of "Glenwood” then. The Rev. Mr. "*■ ,; *H •>> Amptimn Weekly. Inr. r,r»at Britain Rights Reserved s?fe Cost Castle ThatJustWON’T No family in America had a more distinguished and glamourous back ground than Duncan G. Minor’s. A descendant of Don Estaban Minor, first Spanish governor of Mississippi, he was kin to France's famous Surgets, and a distant cousin of Miss Merrill's. A member of his family was the wife of Philip Nolan, who lost Dana was a kinsman of Charles A. Dana, the great editor, and had been rector of Gen. Rob ert E. Lee's church in Virginia. In apprecia tion of his services, the general had given his rector many fine old pieces of furniture which were later moved to Glenwood. Heirlooms long in the family of Gen. T. P. Dockery, an other famous Confederate hero, had also been placed there for safekeeping during the War Between the State#!. When the Rev. Mr. Dana died his son. Richard Henry Clay Dana, became master of Glenwood. As a boy, Richard Dana received a thor ough education in music. Although he de veloped into something of a dandy as a youth, he gave promise of becoming a fine concert pianist and great things were expected of him. Then two fingers of his right hand were smashed in an accident and he knew he would never play again the beautiful things he loved so much. That seemed to put some kind of a crimp in Richard Dana’s brain. He lost Interest in everything, except a-pair of goats. In the midst of generous acres he never put a plow in the ground. His home grew shabby and dilapidated, but that was when they were say ing that all Natchez was too poor to paint and too proud to whitewash, and nobody noticed it much. The house began to fall apart. The goats multiplied until there was a whole herd of them. Dana gave them the rup of the place and it was then people started to speak of it as "Goat Castle." t It was about then, too, that Miss Octavia Dockery, the daughter of General Dockery, came to see about the family heirlooms left there by her father during the War and which were now hers. She stayed on at Goat Castle as Dana's housekeeper and everyone said how sweet It was of Octavia Dockery to devote her life to caring for eccentric Dick Dana. Years went by and the place continued to fall into ruin. In the moonlight the goats, hundreds of them, were seen playing on the veranda or running through the house, sleep ing under rosewood four-poster beds, wrig gling their beards and nibbling at the books in the library Millions of fleas hopped about the rooms and nested in the beautiful rugs and draperies. Natchez said the strangest thing about the place was that the goats could stand it. Dana avoided people like a wild thing and was often observed slinking through the woods dressed only in a gunny sack Although his house was filled with priceless antiques, he and Miss Dockery lived in squalor. People said the goats ate the hooks and Dick and Octavia Eight Years Ago Mississippi's Authorities Thought They Had Partly Explained the Strange Killing of Rich, Secretive Miss Merrill, in the Shadow of That Crumbling Old Mansion Whose Blue-Blooded But Eccentric Occupants Shared Their Priceless Heirlooms With Goats— But When a Forgotten Negress Walked Out of Prison, the Mystery Again Grew Weirder Than a Plot by Edgar Allen Poe 11 jr jj « I E\n V (mn l -- if ft * W 7 A l_ ate the goats, when they ate meat at all. Of course Natchez looked down its nose at Goat Castle, but defended Dana and Miss Dockery to strangers. After all, they were old line, they belonged. Eventually, Richard Dana was ad judged mentally incompetent and Miss Dockery was appointed his guardian. Natchez tittered and said Dick Dana was crazy—like a fox. Then reports of a feud smoldering between Dana and Miss Merrill began to crop out. Miss Merrill, it seemed, was furious because some of Dana’s goats had run over onto her place She threatened to kill them. Dick Dana would have none of that, no sir. No one, was going to mistreat any of his beloved billies and nannies. There were said to have been violent quarrels. AS GOOD a motive as any. Sheriff Roberts thought, as he went out side to see how the bloodhounds were getting They were yapping and running this way and that, stMl mostly in circles, but as he descended the steps he heard a cry from a Negro searcher •who had apparently stumbled over some thing in the brush about two hundred feet from the house. Roberts and the deputies converged upon him with their flashlights. And there, under a clump of jasmine, they found the body of Miss Jane Surgct Merrill. She was dear). As the sheriff reconstructed the crime, after a hurried examination of the body and from what he had seen in the house. Miss Merrill was lying on her bed when she first heard the killer. All unsuspecting what was in store for her, the queer old recluse had then probably seized an old-fashioned pistol, crept out of her bedroom to meet her doom a fusillade of revolver shots- and staggered into the hallway where she died. Then she was dragged out and left in the bushes. The sheriff hurried over to Goat Castle and arrested Dana and Miss Dockery. Both protested their innocence. Dana stated that he had heard strange noises at Glenburney late on the afternoon of August 4th. "But we don't know anything about it." he said. "Miss Merrill was always quarreling with us and others about the place." THINGS happened rapidly during the next few days as revelation followed revelation and surprise followed surprise. The first shock came with the reading of Miss Merrill’s will and caused puzzled glances to be directed toward Duncan Minor. For in her last testament Miss Merrill stated with a terse definiteness that was almost breath taking: "I leave all I possess to Duncan G. Minor.” The will, and further questioning of Dana and Miss Dockery, caused more than one aged skeleton to rattle its pallid bones as the in side story of Goat Castle and Glenburney slip ped out, much to the delight of the more pro gressive element in Natchez. Duncan Minor and Mias Merrill had been sweethearts for years, it seemed, one persistent rumor even going so far as to insist they were married in their youth, but kept It secret. Their romance, begun in childhood, con tinued as Miss Merrill grew into a pretty, vivacious and charming belie. The dashing and debonair Mr. Minor was a persistent suitor, people recalled, and they made an ideal couple. But the romance was frowned upon by their families, probably because the Minors sympathized with the South while the Mer rills did not. At any rate, nothing came of It, as far as the world knew. Miss Merrill continued to be much sought after, but In 1905 she suddenly gave up her brilliant social career and fetired to Glenburney. She saw few visi tors and seldom spoke to anyone. As time went on she seemed to retire more and more into the past, clinging to the regal, high-necked dresses with the puffed sleeves that characterized the styles of the preced ing century. On her infrequent appearances in her ancient horse and buggy, she looked more like a female Rip Van Winkle than a person of flesh and blood. Furthermore, the publfr now learned as old-line Natchez had known all along that (Continued on Vest Page). 