Late October sets our thought on Halloween

n By Ol’ jim cathey

On The Back Porch

Late October sets our thinking toward Halloween. A time for hair raising shivers and scares. Beware of witches and warlocks, hobgoblins and ghosts! 

The McDow Ghost Hole is a local legend about a place near where I grew up on Greens Creek, close to Alexander. It seems that Charlie and Jenny Papworth left Georgia in 1880 to come to Texas. Charlie’s Dad’s cousin, Jim McDow, had property and Charlie chose a site ‘neath a large Pecan tree on the banks of Greens Creek. 

Shortly after settling in, Charlie received news that his parents had died and left him all of their furniture. Charlie had it shipped to Texarkana by train and then he had to travel by wagon some two hundred miles to pick up his goods. 

Jenny and their two children remained at the cabin, but because of cattle rustling in the area, Jenny would spend the nights with a nearby neighbor. One night she did not show up and it was later discovered that she and her baby had been murdered and neighbors found 5-year-old Temple hiding under the bed. At first, he was incoherent but later told his Dad that the murderer was white and spoke English. 

Another neighbor, a scoundrel named Brownlow tried to throw the blame on a roving band of Comanches, but he himself was suspected to have committed the foul deed, and ultimately confessed to the murder as he lay on his death bed years later. The ghost of Jenny and the baby continue to haunt the McDow Hole. 

One of my high school English teachers, Dr. Mary Joe Clendenin, said that her Dad, Joe Fitzgerald told her many stories, some of which he had published in a newspaper. She was an authority on the McDow Ghost Hole’s history, in fact, she wrote a couple of books about it. I grew up on Green‘s Creek and the McDow Hole is located about five miles upstream from our spread. As a result, we had a lot of inquiries about the location of this historic area. 

My dad was quite a jokester and trickster and relished an opportunity to exhibit his skill. He was ready when a group of youngsters from John Tarleton College came to our house inquiring about the location of the McDow Hole. Now, about 1/4 mile from our house was an old iron train bridge trestle that crossed Green’s Creek. This was part of the discontinued MKT railroad. 

Well sir, Dad gave those youngsters directions to that train trestle, but he routed them along a way that carried them through the local cemetery. Now, someone had to get out and open a gate to enter the cemetery and then open a gate to leave the cemetery. Keep in mind that the rule of thumb for rural Texas demanded that if a gate is closed, you would close it after going through. About a quarter of a mile down the trail, they could see the train trestle looming dark and sinister in the disturbing distance. 

Dad knew that driving through the cemetery would have their terror levels at its peak and have them primed for the disturbed flight and screams of the trestle’s resident Screech Owl or the haunting howl of the coyote or with luck the spine-chilling scream of a mountain lion. He knew that they would tremble and shake as they had to open and probably forget to close the cemetery gates in their hurried escape from the Ghost of Jenny. He also knew that they would tell others about their hair-raising experience which would mean more groups to come seeking the thrill of the scare. Entertainment was hard to come by in our country.

Jenny’s Ghost

It was a dark and stormy night, 

When hobgoblins are about, 

Doing evil deeds before first light, 

With strangled yell and horrid shout. 

 All Hallows Night came upon the land,

To challenge those who might dare,

Frightenin’ those who might make a stand,

Posin’ to all, an unearthly scare.

Now in Texas, not so long ago,

Thought of Comanche raid brought dread,

In the night under full moon’s glow,

They ravaged the Papworth homestead.

Now that’s the story told by Brownlow,

A nare-do-well squint-eyed coward,

He did the deed yet blamed Comanche foe,

Yet to most folks, this story soured.

An’ here at a bend in Green’s Creek,

A ghostly legend was born,

At full moon rise for those that seek,

See woman an’ babe she has borne.

Cowboys camped on this creek bank,

At the end of a long hard day,

One had a mind to pull a prank,

Not knowin’ the price he would pay.

These cowboys were a sturdy lot, 

Seasoned sons of the range, 

Mortal fear, far from their thought, 

But this was about to change. 

As the moon peaked over the hill,

A cowboy pulled his dastardly deed,

But what he saw gave him a chill,

He lit a shuck in quick stampede.

The camp spooked as he went by,

A lady an’ her babe they saw,

Upon the water she gave a sigh,

Then disappeared up the draw.

These gents were quick to leave this place,

Their gear, they just flat left behind,

Push, shove an’ run in panicked race

Safer ground they sought to find.

Thus, the legend grew by leaps an’ bounds,

As each cowboy described this sight,

Buildin’ rep with picture an’ sounds,

A true scare on this Halloween Night!

Over the years more would make the trip,

With hope to see this sacred soul,

The tale grows to be put in scrip,

The Legend of the McDow Hole!

© Ol’ Jim Cathey    

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