Hello, My name is Maud Hull. I was the youngest child of Dr.
William and Margaret Church Hull. I died quite suddenly when
I was only 16. It was December of 1886...I barely got a chance
You might recognize my mother's maiden name....Church. Her
father-my grandfather-was Jeremiah Church, the founder of
Carlisle. In fact, if you look closely at my stone, I am buried
beside both my Mother and my Grandfather.
Shortly after being laid to rest, a heavy snowfall came to
Carlisle. Right after that snow, a young boy was taking a
shortcut through the cemetery and noticed tracks in the snow.
Those tracks led to my grave where they plainly showed that
my grave had been disturbed. Thankfully, the young boy ran to
town to notify my family.
My oldest brother Dr. Frank Hull, took charge of the search for
my missing body. The search went on night and day but to no
avail.....Until a shoe salesman from Carlisle, named Andrew
Clark heard something disturbing. He passed on the clue he
had heard while fitting shoes for two medical students from
Des Moines. Those students just couldn't resist talking...thank
goodness for that.
After collecting a few more tips, my brother, the detective and
his friend, Mr. Fry, went to a medical building in Des Moines,
and looked down through a skylight into a dissecting room. In
my day, unfortunately, bodies were sometimes snatched to be
used to further the education of medical students. What they
saw when they peered in confirmed their hunch. It was me,
lying on a table. They entered the building and brought me
back to my resting place here in the Carlisle Cemetery pulled
by a horse-drawn sledge.Then quietly and reverently, they
placed me in my final resting spot.
Someday you might wander through this pleasant area and
you will spot some graves with cement over them. To ward off
would-be thieves, it became a popular thing to do.
For some time afterwards the good people of Carlisle took
turns at night guarding and watching over the graves of their
loved ones and fellow citizens here in the cemetery.
Sadly the grave robbers were never even punished.
My name is Martha Casebeer. This is my grave right here. It’s
nice to see visitors in this old part of the cemetery. Very few
people come here anymore and even fewer come to see me.
You see, I’m not from here. I have no folks here. We was just
passing through. I was born in Ohio in 1818. My Pa was a
blacksmith in his early life and later turned to farming. We had
a good life.
Then the war came. My brother, James went for a soldier in
the Ohio Volunteers. He died in 1863. He left a widow and 8
children. At 27, I was nearly an old maid when I married
Soloman Casebeer. He was a widower with a child so I
became a wife and a mother in the same day. Soon I was a
mother for real. All together we had 6 children. After both
James and Ma died, the whole family decided to pick up and
move west. Leaving the only homes we had ever known was
frightening but we knew there was a better place for us. A
place where we could heal from the wounds the war had left.
We could only take a small part of our belongings.
Mostly we walked. Folks was friendly and often we
stopped along the way for some time just to get over the
weariness. There was something new to see with every mile
that passed. I never saw such a mighty big river as the
Mississippi. My brother Austin found a spot for his family in
Brooklyn, Iowa. Pa stayed there too. He was sick of travelin’.
Me and Soloman and our family kept on going. When winter
came we stopped here for a while. It’s a nice place but
Soloman planned to move on in the Spring. The weather was
damp and cold. That cough I had turned nasty and there was
no medicine to help. I went quick. That was January of 1875.
I’ve been right here for 141 years. That is all there is to the
story of my life. I wasn’t nobody special. I never did anything
important but everyone deserves to be remembered. I hope
you’ll come and visit me again someday.