PICAYUNE — (Editor’s Note: What follows is a two-part series of the attack on Eliza Jane Poitevent Nicholson, who was attacked and almost killed after the marriage to her first husband, the owner of “The Daily Picayune,” Col. Holbrook. Eliza Jane, who was reared at the Hermitage in Picayune — Picayune was then known as Hobolochitto — became not only a national renowned journalist and publisher but was also known as the South’s Poet Laureate. Holbrook’s exwife, the notorious Jennie Bronson, enraged with jealousy, attacked little Eliza Jane and almost killed her. The rival newspaper “The New Orleans Times,” in its June 18, 1872, issue headlined it: “Attempted Assassination: A Murderous Attack in a Private Household — A Divorced Wife Attempts to Shoot her Successsor — The Fury of a Woman Scorned.” Elize Jane was the first lady to own and run a large metropolitan daily in the U.S. The “Picayune” and the “Times” would later merge to become today’s “Times-Picayune.”)

By Don Wicks



 Part 1

 Eliza Jane Poitevent Holbrook Nicholson is recognized in the community of Picayune as the poet Pearl Rivers who grew up in Picayune and became owner and editor of the “The Daily Picayune,” later the “Times-Picayune.” She is also recognized as the lady that named Picayune (after her newspaper) and Nicholson (after her 2nd husband). Not as many know of the trauma she suffered shortly after her marriage to Alva M. Holbrook, who owned “The Daily Picayune.” Holbrook’s divorced wife, Jennie Bronson, on hearing of the marriage, traveled from New York to New Orleans with murder in her thoughts and attacked Eliza. Transcribed below is the testimony of Eliza at the trial shortly after the attack, extracted from the “Daily Picayune” newspaper microfilm files at the Williams Research Center in New Orleans: 

 “At 11o’clock, Monday Morning, the 17th of June (1872), I was standing at the bureau of my bedroom combing my hair, when I heard someone coming up the stair steps; I turned around to see who it was, and looking through the side door I caught a glimpse of a gauze veil.

 “I had not heard the door bell ring, and feeling sure that it was one of my young lady friends from ‘Downtown’ who whished to surprise me, and wishing to give her the pleasure of doing so, I turned back to the glass with a smile and kept on combing my hair.

 “I did not turn around again until Mrs. Bronson stood in the door [identifies the accused as the person alluded to.] I did not see the pistol in her hand, but I saw murder in her face and the room seemed to grow dark suddenly; but the next moment God sent a great calm and peace to my heart that took away all fear.

 “She walked into the room hurriedly, and said something. I do not remember what. When she got near enough to touch me, she held the pistol to my heart and fired. I caught her hand and held it, and told her to “Stop! That before she fired again I had something to say to her.

 “She answered, ‘What have you to say?’ And looking straight into her hard eyes, I told her: ‘The slander you created against me before you left this city were falsehoods, madam, and you know they were falsehoods.’ That seemed to enrage her more than ever, and jerking her hand away, she tried the second time, aiming, as she did at first, directly at my heart.

 “I then wrenched the pistol from her grasp and called for the police. Thinking to frighten me, she hissed out under her breath, ‘You dare to call for the police!’ I told her I did dare, and dragging her to the window with a strength not my own, I got the blinds open and called for the police several times. In the struggle the pistol fell on the floor outside of the window, but I got it again, and held on to it, too!

 “Finding that she could not get the pistol from me, she caught me by the hair, which was loose, and dragged me to the washstand, on the other side of the room, and catching up a bottle of bay rum, almost full, she broke it over my head, inflicting three deep cuts. She then struck me with my silver cup that was standing on the washstand.

 “Knowing that she would kill me if I did not have help, I screamed for Mary Rion, the washwoman. When Mary came into the room, Mrs. Bronson was holding me by the hair with one hand and striking me in the face with the fist of the other. Mary then caught hold of her and held her until I stepped back to the window, called for the police again and went down stairs.

 “I was bleeding terribly, and began to feel so faint and weak that I knew I needed a physician, and I went to the neighboring house (Mrs. Martin’s) across the street. She gave me a glass of wine and sent for Dr. Nicholson. He came and dressed my wounds. In about an hour I was taken back home and put into bed with a high fever. Before the Doctor came, and all the while he was dressing my wounds, I could hear crash after crash, and knew that Mrs. Bronson having failed in her murderous attempt, was venting her fury on the furnishings, etc., and was not surprised when I was brought home to hear that everything in the house had been broken, from the piano to a wine glass.

 “I was taken to the house by Mr. Holbrook, Dr Nicholson, my grandfather and my grandmother. Dr. Stille was sent for by me. Dr. Nicholson by Mrs. Martin. I had resided in the house (with my husband) about three weeks. Was confined to bed one week.”

 (Editor’s Note: Look for Part 2 presented by Don Wicks on the disposition of the criminal and civil trials that followed and the affect the ordeal had on our Picayune’s favorite daughter, Eliza Jane, Pearl Rivers, next week.)