Velda Brotherton lives in the wilderness of the Ozark National Forest only
fifteen miles from where she was born. Raised in Wichita, she and her husband lived in New York for a while, then returned to the state of her
birth. She designed and helped build the house in which they live. They have two children and three grandchildren.

They both enjoy flower gardening, swimming, traveling and tent camping in wilderness
areas.

Velda's most recent  historical romance novels written under her pen name of  Samantha Lee. 


ANGEL'S GOLD
Set in
Kansas in 1871 the story involves some unusual twists regarding a lost confederate gold
shipment and a reluctant outlaw.

click book to order

For more information
Visit Velda's Website

Fayetteville and the Civil War

Northern scalawags and carpetbaggers roamed the burned remains of Washington County at the end of the Civil War. Not much was left of what were once lovely farms, churches, schools and growing settlements like Shiloh and Fayetteville. Even the smaller communities that dotted the county suffered during the four years of destruction. Caught on the borderland between North and South, the state had voted reluctantly for secession, but many of its residents chose to take up the northern cause.

Called a war of brother against brother, this was literally the case in such states as Arkansas and Missouri. Women and children left behind fended for themselves as best they could against bushwhackers, both Confederates and the Federals (Yankees to most) with many an outlaw mixed in who took no sides in the war. One brother might ride in for a visit with his family in the dark of night, leaving his Confederate men in arms camped nearby. The next night or the next, his brother, fighting with the Federals, would drop by. Neither could risk being caught for fear of immediate execution by neighbors whose sympathies might lie with the other side.

Located on yet another borderland, that of the wild and wooly Indian Territory to the west, folks in Arkansas had always understood this kind of adversity, but most had reached an uneasy peace in dealing with raids and forays by outlaws, both Indian and white, from across the border. For the most part, law prevailed.

There was a grand jury, after all, and one that could often cause lawbreakers to quake in their boots. Granted, some of the laws seem a bit ridiculous in this day and age. Sometimes when the sheriff rode into one of the settlements, it wasn't unusual for a signal to go out and men at various tasks would quietly sneak away into the woods. None wanted to be summoned before the grand jury. And they didn't always know what minor infraction might have occurred.

To be called before the grand jury meant being a witness without a lawyer, sitting before a body of prominent citizens and answering whatever questions were posed. Someone in the vicinity might merely have a grudge against another citizen and report violations that normally would be settled by the Justice of the Peace. The wronged one would insist on the grand jury for his enemy, and most times get it.  There was money to be made by both the prosecutor and the court. Piles of indictments meant fees and fines, and though most were nominal they did add up. Sometimes court costs would have to be borne by the perpetrator of such violations as working on Sunday, though this was sometimes overlooked if a farmer was seen putting up hay when a storm approached. Men who cut fences, or entered church with their spurs jangling, or carried pistols and brass knuckles, or sold whiskey or got in a fight with a knife, all could be summoned to defend themselves against the charges before the grand jury.

This was the law in the early days, but it was sporadic, and until the prosecutor or his deputy visited a neighborhood to talk with some nosey busybody who might level charges merely because he was angry with someone, life went on pretty much as usual.

By the early 1860s, with the Civil War looming on the horizon, Fayetteville was for the most part a law-abiding, quiet town. It was the chief education center of the state, and was known as the home of culture, refinement and good old southern hospitality . The population was 633 including slaves, with a goodly additional population in the outlying communities.

Before the war's outbreak there was Burnside's tavern on the southwest corner of the square. Some brick buildings already stood, one on the northeast corner of the square belonging to Stephen K. Stone and the office of Dr. Paddock on the southeast corner. There was a tanyard, the ice plant, the McRoy Carriage shop and an Episcopal Church.

In the center of the square stood the brick courthouse that would be burned in 1862 by a Confederate soldier who had belonged to General Rains' army. At about that same time it is said he burned the Arkansas College. It is doubtful that one soldier was totally responsible for the fires, but that's the way it was told later. The tag insane was given to the soldier, but that too is doubtful, unless one could agree that all men may be considered insane when fighting in such a war.

South of the square family homes lay scattered through the hills. Two prominent homes were those of the Onstott family and the John Blakely family. On Mountain Street was the Christian Church, and the homes of Mr. Crouch and Doctor Paddock and the Seminary of Sophia Sawyer. A wagon shop owned by Dan Jobe sat on the corner of College Avenue and Mountain Street. To the east of Stone's store were the homes of Isaac Taylor and Colonel Wash Wilson. The barns of the Butterfield Stage Line were across College from the square, but the line stopped running when war broke out and did not resume, though other stage lines did run through the area. On the east side of the imposing brick building occupied by the Arkansas Bank was a small orchard of large apple trees. Residents with homes west of the square were Stephen Stone, Henry Rieff, Zeb Pettigrew, an early merchant Joe Holcomb, Uncle Presly Smith who was county clerk for many years, and the last residence to the west, that of the Quesenbury's. Many other residences were scattered about the square in those prosperous days before the war would change everything. Some were large, like that of the notorious Wallace family, Doctor Pollard's home occupying an entire block, Harvey Stirman, the McIlroy family, and the list goes on. A growing, thriving town.

An old brick house on South School Street marked the spot where one day the city's high school would stand, but not before soldiers rampaged through, fighting and burning, destroying what had taken thirty or more years to build. Only one house sat on the east side of College north of Dixon Street on property owned by Major Davidson. It was the home of the Christian Church minister. The McGarrah farm lay east from Major Davidson's to the Gunter place and south to Dixon Street.

All of the territory east of College Avenue to the big spring and north from Huntsville road to the McGarrah farm was open ground. And to this quiet and peaceful place on the northern outskirts of Fayetteville armies of both the Confederacy and the Union would clash, each intent on occupying the lovely seven hills of the city. Here, on April 18, 1863, would be fought the battle of Fayetteville. Finally, in retreat, the Confederate soldiers burned what it could not have, intent on keeping it out of the hands of the enemy.

Fayetteville and Northwest Arkansas' destiny was to rise from those ashes, and once the days of carpetbaggers and those scalawags from the north and the dreadful days of reconstruction were past , those same citizens who had settled and tamed the land would rebuild and prosper.

Velda Brotherton is currently working on a history of Springdale, Arkansas, which will be published by Arcadia Publishers in their Making of America Series.

Copyright © 2002 Velda Brotherton