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diff --git a/25413.txt b/25413.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6a06416 --- /dev/null +++ b/25413.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11459 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Blue Ridge Country, by Jean Thomas + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Blue Ridge Country + +Author: Jean Thomas + +Editor: Erskine Caldwell + +Release Date: May 10, 2008 [EBook #25413] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BLUE RIDGE COUNTRY *** + + + + +Produced by Mark C. Orton, Roger Frank and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + AMERICAN FOLKWAYS + + EDITED BY ERSKINE CALDWELL + + BLUE RIDGE COUNTRY + + by + + JEAN THOMAS + + DUELL, SLOAN & PEARCE . NEW YORK + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + COPYRIGHT, 1942, BY + JEAN THOMAS + + All rights reserved, including + the right to reproduce this book + or portions thereof in any form. + + + PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + To My Brother + + DOCTOR GEORGE G. BELL + + A once itinerant "Tooth Dentist" + who became the first Republican county judge + in more than a quarter of a century + at the mouth of Big Sandy + and whose unique sentences have become legendary + throughout the Blue Ridge + + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + APPALACHIAN RITUAL + + Emerald nobility + Reaching to the sky, + Makes the eye a ruler + Fit to measure by. + + In the spring an ecstasy + Lies upon the hills-- + Purpling with new red-buds, + Ruffling colored frills. + + Make an early ritual + For the mountain side; + Pine and beech are spectators, + White dogwood a bride. + + Give a pair of ivory birch + For a wedding gift, + All the mountain side a church + Where wild flowers sift + + Velvet carpet-petals down + To the edge of hill and town, + Showing wild-grape fringes through + Opal cloud-thrones dropped from blue. + + Now the summer like a queen + Does her mountain home in green; + With a season for a bier + Some old majesty lies here. + + Autumn gold is swift and fleet + With a wing upon the feet, + Rushing toward a winter breath + Pausing for immaculate death. + + In such economic bliss + And a swift parenthesis-- + In immortal mountain trails, + There are resurrection tales. + + All the while the mountains know + Sudden death is never so. + + --Rachel Mack Wilson + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + CONTENTS + + 1. THE COUNTRY AND THE PEOPLE 3 + THE LAND 3 + THE PEOPLE 10 + BLAZING THE TRAIL 16 + THE MOUNTAINEER 40 + 2. LAND OF FEUDS AND STILLS 46 + HATFIELDS AND MCCOYS 46 + PEACEMAKER 55 + TAKING SIDES 72 + MARTIN-TOLLIVER TROUBLES 91 + FAMILY HONOR 105 + 3. PRODUCTS OF THE SOIL 112 + TIMBER 112 + WOMAN'S WORK 117 + 4. TRADITION 122 + PHILOMEL WHIFFET'S SINGING SCHOOL 122 + RIDDLES AND FORTUNES 135 + THE INFARE WEDDING 151 + 5. RELIGIOUS CUSTOMS 155 + FUNERALIZING 155 + OLD CHRISTMAS 158 + FOOT-WASHING 161 + NEW LIGHT 164 + 6. SUPERSTITION 168 + BIG SANDY RIVER 168 + WATER WITCH 169 + MARRYING ON HORSEBACK 172 + DEATH CROWN 177 + A WHITE FEATHER 178 + 7. LEGEND 180 + CROCKETT'S HOLLOW 180 + THE SILVER TOMAHAWK 186 + BLACK CAT 189 + THE DEER WOMAN AND THE FAWN 194 + GHOST OF DEVIL ANSE 199 + THE WINKING CORPSE 203 + THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN GABLES 205 + 8. SINGING ON THE MOUNTAIN SIDE 210 + OF LAND AND RIVER 210 + FEUD 216 + LEGEND 218 + TRAGEDY 228 + PATRIOT 239 + 9. RECLAIMING THE WILDERNESS 248 + VANISHING FEUDIST 248 + SILVER MOON TAVERN 250 + BLOOMING STILLS 255 + LEARNING 258 + MOUNTAIN MEN 269 + COAL 273 + PUBLIC WORKS 274 + BACK TO THE FARM 283 + VALLEY OF PARKS 301 + WHEN SINGING COMES IN, FIGHTING GOES OUT 317 + VANISHING TRAIL 327 + INDEX 331 + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + BLUE RIDGE COUNTRY + + 1. THE COUNTRY AND THE PEOPLE + + THE LAND + + +High mountain walls and bridgeless streams marooned the people of the +Blue Ridge for centuries, shut them off from the outside world so that +they lost step with the onward march of civilization. A forgotten people +until yesterday, unlettered, content to wrest a meager living from the +grudging soil, they built for themselves a nation within a nation. By +their very isolation, they have preserved much of the best that is +America. They have held safe and unchanged the simple beauty of the song +of their fathers, the unsullied speech, the simple ideals and +traditions, staunch religious faith, love of freedom, courage and +fearlessness. Above all they have maintained a spirit of independence +and self-reliance that is unsurpassed anywhere in these United States of +America. They are a hardy race. The wilderness, the pure air, the rugged +outdoor life have made them so: a people in whom the Anglo-Saxon strain +has retained its purest line. + +The Blue Ridge Country comprises much of Appalachia, happily called from +the great chain that runs along the Atlantic coast from the Gulf of St. +Lawrence to the Gulf of Mexico. It is a well-watered region having +numerous streams and rivers throughout, being drained by the Cumberland +and Tennessee as well as by smaller, though equally well-known, +rivers--Big Sandy in northeastern Kentucky, which flows into the Ohio, +and the Yadkin in North Carolina, which eventually reaches the Atlantic +Ocean. + +In general the region includes three parallel chains, the Cumberlands, +Alleghenies, and Blue Ridge. Like a giant backbone the Blue Ridge, +beginning in the southwest portion of Old Virginia, continues +northeasterly, holding together along its mountainous vertebrae some +eight southern states; northeastern Kentucky, all of West Virginia, the +eastern part of Tennessee, western North Carolina, the four northwestern +counties of South Carolina, and straggling foothills in northern Georgia +and northeastern Alabama. The broad valley of the Tennessee River +separates the mountain system on the west from the Cumberland Plateau +which is an extension of the West Virginia and Kentucky roughs. + +Throughout its vast course the Blue Ridge is not cut by a single river. +A narrow rampart, it rises abruptly on its eastern side south of the +Potomac to a height of some two thousand feet, cutting Virginia into +eastern and western, and descends as abruptly on the west to the +Shenandoah Valley. Similar in topography in its rough, broken steepness +to the Alleghenies across the valley, it consists of a multitude of +saddles or dividing ridges many of which attain an elevation of six +thousand feet. As it extends south, rising from the Piedmont Plateau, it +grows higher. In North Carolina alone there are twenty-one peaks that +exceed Mt. Washington's six thousand feet in New Hampshire. Contiguous +to the Blue Ridge there is another chain between the states of North +Carolina and Tennessee, which to Carolina mountaineers is still the +Alleghenies. However, the United States Geological Survey has another +name for it--the Unakas. It is higher as a whole than the Blue Ridge to +which it is joined by transverse ranges with such names as Beech and +Balsam and a sprinkling of Indian names--Cowee, Nantahala, Tusquitee. It +differs, too, in physical aspect. Instead of being in orderly parallel +tiers the entire system, unlike the Blue Ridge, is cut by many rivers: +the Nolichucky, French Broad, Pigeon, Little Tennessee, Hiawassee. The +parts so formed by the dividing rivers are also named: Iron, Northern +Unaka, Bald, Great Smoky, Southern Unaka or Unicoi. Though many of its +summits exceed six thousand feet, the chain itself dwindles to foothills +by the time it reaches Georgia and crosses into Alabama. + +If you flew high over the vast domain of the Blue Ridge, you would view +a country of contrasting physical features: river and cascade, rapids +and waterfall, peak and plateau, valley and ridge. Its surface is +rougher, its trails steeper, the descents deeper, and there are more of +them to the mile than anywhere else in the United States. + +The southern mountaineer has to travel many steep, rocky roads to get to +any level land, so closely are the mountains of Appalachia crowded +together. It is the geography of their country that has helped to keep +our highlanders so isolated all these years. + +This region has the finest body of hardwood timber in the United States. +Black walnut is so plentiful and so easy for the carpenter to work that +this wood has been used freely for gunstocks and furniture, and even in +barns, fences, and porches. + +White and yellow poplars grow sometimes six to nine feet in diameter. +"Wide enough for a marrying couple, their waiters, and the elder to +stand on," a mountaineer will say, pointing out a tree stump left smooth +by the cross-cut saw. The trunks are sixty to seventy feet to the first +limb. Chestnuts are even wider, though sometimes not so tall. White oaks +grow to enormous size. Besides pine, and the trees common generally to +our country, these southern mountain forests are filled with buckeye, +gum, basswood, cucumber, sourwood, persimmon, lynn. The growth is so +heavy that there are few bare rocks or naked cliffs. Even the "bald" +peculiar to the region which is sometimes found on the crown of a +mountain belies its name, for it is covered with grass--not of the +useless sage type either, but an excellent grass on which sheep might +"use" if they chose to climb so high. + +The lover of beauty finds delight in these mountains from the first +daintiness of spring on through the glorious blaze of wonder that is +fall in the Blue Ridge. Beginning with the tan fluff of the beeches, the +red flowering of maples, the feathery white blooms of the "sarvis," on +through the redbud's gaiety and the white dogwood's stark purity, all is +loveliness. The enchantment continues in the flame of azaleas, which is +followed by the waxy pink of the laurel and the superb glory of the +rhododendron. These have scarcely vanished before the coves are golden +with the fragrance of grape blossom. + +The beauty of the woodland is a paradise for birds. Early in the spring +the spotted thrush wings its way through leafy boughs. The cardinal in +his bright red coat stays the year round. Neither snow nor winter wind +dulls his plumage or stills his song. His mate, in somber green, sings +too, but he, unmindful of southern chivalry, attacks her furiously when +she bursts into song; ornithologists explain that jealousy prompts the +ungallant act. The oriole singing lustily in the spring would seem +conscious of his coat of orange and black. These are the heraldic colors +worn by the servants of Lord Baltimore. The nightingale and the +whippoorwill sing unpretentiously in the quiet of eventide. The +blackbird makes up for his somber dress in good deeds. He destroys +insects on leaf and bark. The eagle still finds a haven of safety in +giant trees and hollowed trunks. + +There is neither tarantula nor scorpion to be feared in the Blue Ridge; +the harmless lizard is called scorpion by the mountaineer. Nor are there +large poisonous reptiles. There are snakes of lesser caliber, but only +rattlers and copperheads among them are venomous. The highlander is not +bedeviled by biting ants but there are fleas and flies in abundance +though no mosquitoes, thanks to the absence of stagnant pools and lakes. +There are no large lakes as in the eastern section of the United States +and few small ones though the country has numerous cascades, rapids, and +waterfalls. + +The Blue Ridge is a well-watered region, and characteristic of the +country are the innumerable springs which form creeks and small streams. +A mild and bracing climate results from these physical features. The +rapidity with which the streams rise and their swiftness, together with +almost constant breezes in the mountains, reduce the humidity so +prevalent in the southern lowlands. Although the rainfall is greater +than anywhere else in the United States, except Florida, the sudden fall +in the topography of the watercourses brings quick drainage. The sun may +be scorching hot in an unprotected corn patch on a hillside, yet it is +cool in the shade. And, as in California and the north woods, a blanket +is needed at night. The climate is contrasting, being coldest in the +highlands where the temperature is almost as low as that of northern +Maine. Yet nowhere in the United States is it warmer than in the +lowlands of the Blue Ridge. + +In the highlands, carboniferous rocks produce a sandy loam which is +responsible for the vast timber growth there. Throughout it is rich in +minerals, coal, iron, and even gold, which has been mined in Georgia. In +some sections there are fertile undulating uplands contrasting with the +quagmired bottoms and rocky uplands of other parts of the Blue Ridge. +There are high and uninviting quaternary bluffs that lure only the eye. +It was the fertile valleys with their rich limestone soil producing +abundant cane that first proved irresistible to the immigrants of Europe +and lured them farther inland from the Atlantic seaboard. + +Long before man came with ax and arrow the wilderness of the Blue Ridge +teemed with wild animal life. The bones of mastodon and mammoth remained +to attest their supremacy over an uninhabited land thousands upon +thousands of years ago. Then, following the prehistoric and glacial +period, more recent fauna--buffalo, elk, deer, bear, and wolf--made +paths through the forest from salt lick to refreshing spring. These salt +licks that had been deposited by a receding ocean centuries before came +to have names. Big Bone Lick located in what today is Boone County, +Kentucky, was one of the greatest and oldest animal rendezvous in North +America, geologists claim. It took its name doubtless from the variety +of bones of prehistoric and later fauna found imbedded in the salty +quagmire. + +Man, like beast, sought both salt and water. Following the animal trails +came the mound builder. But when he vanished, leaving his earthen house +and the crude utensils that filled his simple needs--for the mound +builder was not a warrior--there was but little of his tradition from +which to reconstruct his life and customs. + +A century passed before the Indian in his trek through the wilderness +followed the path of buffalo and deer. Came the Shawnee, Cherokee, and +Chickasaw to fight and hunt. To the Indian the Blue Ridge was a favorite +hunting ground with its forests and rolling plains, while the fertile +valleys with thick canebrakes offered bread in abundance. Sometimes +these primeval trails which they followed took their names from the +purpose they served. For instance, the Athiamiowee trail was, in the +Miami dialect, the Path of the Armed Ones or the Armed Path and became +known as the Warrior's Path. It was the most direct line of +communication between the Shawnees and the Cherokees, passing due south +across the eastern part of the Cuttawa country (Kentucky) from the mouth +of the Sciotha (Scioto) to the head of the Cherokee (Tennessee). Another +trail was called Old Buffalo Path, another Limestone because of the +soil. Then there was a Shawnee Trail named for the tribe that traversed +it. + +The Indian was happy and content with his hunting ground and the fertile +fields. The streams he converted to his use for journeys by canoe. He +had his primitive stone plow to till the soil and his stone mill for +grinding grain. The fur of animals provided warm robes, the tanned hides +gave him moccasins. Tribal traditions were pursued unmolested, though at +times the tribes engaged in warfare. Each tribe buried its dead in its +own way and when a tribe wearied of one location it moved on. Unlike the +mound builders, the Indian had a picture language and he delighted to +record it in cuttings on rocks and trees. He would peel the bark from +the bole of a tree and with a sharp stone instrument carve deep into the +wood figures of feather-decked chieftains, of drums, arrows, wild +beasts. And having carved these symbols of the life about him, depicting +scenes of the hunt and battle and conflict, he covered the carving with +paint fashioned in his crude way from the colored earth on the mountain +side. The warrior like his picture language vanished in time from the +Blue Ridge. But not his trails. + +These trails, the path of buffalo and deer and the lines of +communication between the tribes, finally marked the course of explorer, +hunter, and settler. As each in turn made his way to the wilderness he +was glad indeed to find paths awaiting his footsteps. The scene was set +for a rugged race. They came and stayed. + + + THE PEOPLE + +The men and women who came to settle this region were a stalwart race, +the men usually six feet in height, the women gaunt and prolific. They +were descendants of English, Scotch, and Scotch-Irish who landed along +the Atlantic coast at the close of the sixteenth century--around 1635, +when the oppression of rulers drove them from England, Scotland, and +Ireland. Some were impelled by love of religious freedom, while others +sought political liberty in the new world. Their migration to America +really started with a project, a project that had its beginning in +Ireland as far back as 1610. It was called the English invasion of +Ireland. King after king in England had sent colonists to the Emerald +Isle and naturally the native sons resented their coming. Good Queen +Bess in turn continued with the project and tried to keep peace between +the invaders and the invaded by donating lands there to court favorites. +But the bickerings went on. It was not until after Elizabeth's death +that King James I of England worked out a better project--temporarily at +least. He sent sturdy, stubborn, tenacious Scots to Ulster; their +natures made of them better fighters than the Irish upon whose lands +they had been transplanted. But even though it was English rulers who +had "planted" them there the Scots were soon put to all sorts of trials +and persecution. They resented heartily the King's levy of tax upon the +poteen which they had learned to make from their adopted Irish brothers. +Resentment grew to hatred of excise laws, hatred of authority that would +enforce any such laws. These burned deep in the breast of the +Scotch-Irish, so deep that they live to this day in the hearts of their +descendants in the southern mountains. + +So political strife, resentment toward governmental authority, hatred +toward individuals acting for the rulers developed into feuds. In some +such way the making of poteen and feuds were linked hand-in-hand long +before the Anglo-Celtic and Anglo-Saxon set foot in the wilderness of +America. + +They were pawns of the Crown, used to suppress the uprisings of the +Irish Catholics and in turn themselves even more unfairly treated by the +Crown. They could not--these Presbyterians--worship as they chose; +rather the place and form was set by the State. Their ships were barred +from foreign trade, even with America; they were forbidden to ship +products or cattle back to England, though after the Great Fire of +London, Ireland generously sent thousands of head of cattle to London. +Barred then from engaging in profitable cattle trade, they turned to +growing wool. This too was defeated by prohibitive duties, and when +Ireland undertook to engage in producing linen, England thwarted that +industry too. They were forbidden to possess arms, they were expelled +from the militia, and what with incessantly being called upon to pay +tithes, added rents, and cess they had little left to call their own, +little to show for their labors. Then adding insult to injury, the Crown +declared illegitimate the children born of a marriage performed by the +ministers of these Presbyterians, so that such offspring could not +legally inherit the lands of their parents. + +Oppressed and persecuted for a century, they could bear it no longer; +these transplanted Scotch-Irish (as America came to call them) turned +their faces to the new world. + +The massacres of 1641 sent them across the uncharted seas in great +numbers. And to stimulate and spur their continued migration to America +these "adventurers" and "planters" were offered land in Maryland by Lord +Baltimore--three thousand acres for every thirty persons brought into +the state, with the provision of "free liberty of religion." But +Pennsylvania offered a heartier welcome and "genuine religious liberty" +besides. + +Oppression and unfairness continued to grow in Ireland. Protestants +there had never owned outright the land which they struggled to clear +and cultivate. Moreover they toiled without pay. Protest availed them +little. And the straw that broke the camel's back was laid on in the +form of rent by Lord Donegal. In 1717 when their leases had expired in +County Antrim, they found themselves in a worse predicament than ever. +Their rents were doubled and trebled. Now, to hand over more than two +thirds of what they had after all the other taxes that had been imposed +upon them left them with little or nothing. How was a man to pay the +added rent? Pay or get out! demanded Lord Donegal. Eviction from the +lands which their toil had developed--a wasteland converted into fertile +productive fields--stirred these Scotch-Irish to fury. They didn't sit +and tweedle their thumbs. Not the Scotch-Irish. + +In 1719, just two years after the Antrim Eviction, thirty thousand more +Protestants left Ulster for America. They continued to come for the next +half century, settling in various parts of our land. There was a goodly +settlement in the Virginia Valley of Scotch-Irish. You'd know by their +names--Grigsby, Caruthers, Crawford, and McCuen. + +As early as 1728 a sturdy Scot from Ulster, by name Alexander +Breckinridge, was settled in the Shenandoah Valley, though later he was +to be carried with the tide of emigration that led to Kentucky. + +Naturally, first come first served--so the settlers who arrived first on +the scene chose for themselves the more accessible and fertile lands, +the valleys and rich limestone belts at the foot of the Blue Ridge and +the Alleghenies. The Proprietors of Pennsylvania, who had settled on +vast tracts, were prevailed upon by the incoming Scotch-Irish to sell +them parts of their lands. The newcomers argued that it was "contrary to +the laws of God and nature that so much land should lie idle when +Christians wanted it to labor on and raise their bread." But that wasn't +the only reason the Scotch-Irish had. There were other things in the +back of their heads. A burnt child fears the fire. Their unhappy +experience in Ulster had taught them a bitter lesson and one they should +never forget, not even to the third and fourth generation. They would +not be renters! Hadn't they been tricked out of land in Ulster? They +would not rent! They would buy outright. And buy they did from the +Proprietors at a nominal figure. Nor were the Pennsylvanians blind to +the fact that the newcomers were good fighters and that they could act +as a barrier against Indian attacks on the settlement's fringe. There +was still a fly in the ointment for the Scotch-Irish. That was--the +Proprietors' exacting from them an annual payment of a few cents per +acre. It wasn't so much the amount that irked the newcomers as the legal +hold on their land it gave the Proprietors. They objected stoutly and +didn't give up their protest until their perseverance put an end to the +system of "quitrents." + +This cautious characteristic persists to this day with the mountaineer +and can be traced back to the persecution of his forbears in Ulster. +Mountaineers in Kentucky refused point-blank to accept fruit trees +offered them gratis by a legislator in 1913, fearing it would give the +state a hold on their land. + +But to get back to the settling of the Blue Ridge Country. + +When political and religious refugees continued to come to America in +such vast shoals they found the settlements along the Atlantic coast +already well occupied by Huguenots who had been driven from France, by +Quakers, Puritans, and Catholics from England, Palatine Germans escaping +the scourge of the Thirty Years' War. Here too were Dunkers, Mennonites, +Moravians from Holland and Germany. Among them also were followers of +Cromwell who had fled the vengeance of Charles II, Scots of the +Highlands who could not be loyal to the Stuarts and at the same time +friends to King George. + +The Scotch-Irish among the newcomers wanted land of their +own--independence. Above all independence. So they drifted down the +coast to the western fringe of settlement and established themselves in +the foothills east of the Blue Ridge in what is now the Carolinas. +Migration might just as well have moved west from Virginia and across +the Alleghenies. However, not only did the mountains themselves present +an impenetrable barrier, but settlers were forbidden to cross by +"proclamation of the authorities" on account of the hostility of the +Indians on the west of the mountain range. Then too there were inviting +fertile valleys on this eastern side of the Blue Ridge, where they might +dwell. + +But these newcomers, at least the Scotch-Irish among them, were not +primarily men who wanted to till the soil. They were not by nature +farmers like the Germans in Pennsylvania. And they did not intend to +become underlings of their more prosperous predecessors and neighbors +who had already taken root in the valleys and who had set up projects to +further their own gains. Furthermore, being younger in the new world +they were more adventurous. The wilderness with its hunting and +exploring beckoned. And so they pressed on deeper into the mountains. +There was always more room the higher up they climbed. And as they moved +on they carried along with them, as a surging stream gathers up the life +along its course, a sprinkling of all the various denominations whose +lives they touched among the settlements along the coast. + +In that day many men were so eager for freedom and a chance to get a +fresh start that before sailing, through the enterprises set up by +shipowners and emigration agents, they bound themselves by written +indentures to work for a certain period of time. These persons were +called Indents. Their labor was sold, so that in reality they were +little more than slaves. When finally they had worked out their time +they had earned their freedom, and were called Redemptioners. The +practice of selling Redemptioners continued until the year 1820, all of +forty-four years after "Honest" John Hart had signed his name to the +Declaration of Independence. It is said that a lineal descendant of +Emperor Maximilian was so bound in Georgia. + +Many were imposed upon in another way. Their baggage and possessions +were often confiscated and even though friends waited on this side ready +to pay their passage, innocent men and women were duped into sale. + +Then there were the so-called convicts among the pioneers of the Blue +Ridge. It must be remembered that in those days offense constituting +crime was often a mere triviality. Men were imprisoned for debt; even so +they were labeled convicts. But, as Dr. James Watt Raine assures us in +his _The Land of Saddle-Bags_, the few such convicts who were sent by +English judges to America could scarcely have produced the five million +or more people who today are known as southern mountain people. + +Widely different though they were in blood, speech, and customs, there +was an underlying similarity in the nature of these pioneers. It was +their love of independence. Independence that impelled them to give up +the security of civilization to brave the perils of uncharted seas, the +hazards of warfare with hostile Indians, to seek homes in an untamed +wilderness. + + + BLAZING THE TRAIL + +Sometimes a single explorer went ahead of the rest with a few friendly +Indians to accompany him. If not he went alone, tramping into the +forest, living in a rough shack, suffering untold hardship through +bitter winter months. For weeks when he had neither meal nor flour he +lived on meat alone--deer and bear. It was the stories of valuable furs +and the vast quantities of them which trickled back to the settlements +that lured others to follow. Hunters and trappers came bringing their +families. The stories of furs and the promise of greater possessions to +be had in the wilderness grew and so did the number of adventurers. They +began to form little settlements and their coming crowded before them +the earlier hunter or trapper who wanted always the field to himself. + +In the meantime settlers in the Valley of Virginia were growing more +smug and prosperous. They wanted to invest part of their earnings. They +wanted to set up other undertakings. So they began sending out +expeditions into the wilderness with the intention of trading with the +Indians and possibly of securing lands for settlers. + +As early as 1673 young Gabriel Arthur had set out on an expedition for +his master Colonel Abraham Wood of Virginia with a small party. Through +the Valley of Virginia went the young adventurer, taking the +well-defined Warrior's Path; he followed watercourses and gaps that cut +through high mountain walls, down the Holston River through Tennessee, +through the "great gap" into the Cuttawa country. Finally separated from +his companions, the lad lost all count of time. Even if he had had a +calendar tucked away in the pocket of his deerskin coat, however, it +would have done him no good for he could neither read nor write. Weeks +and months passed. Winter came. Finally after many adventures young +Arthur started on the long journey back to Virginia. As he drew near +Colonel Wood's home he heard merriment within and the voice of his +master wishing his household a merry Christmas. Not till then did the +young adventurer know how long he had been away. + +With the master and the household and the friends who had gathered to +celebrate and offer thanks at the Yuletide season, with all listening +eagerly, young Gabriel Arthur, though unable to bring back any written +record, told many a stirring tale. A swig of wine may have spurred the +telling of how he had been captured by the Shawnees (in Ohio), of how he +had been surrounded by a wild, shouting tribe who tied him to a stake +and were about to put a flaming torch to his feet when he thought of a +way to save his life. They were charmed with the gun he carried, and the +shiny knife at his belt. If they'd set him free he promised to bring +them many, many knives and guns. Once young Gabriel made his escape he +didn't intend to be caught napping again. He painted his fair face with +wild berry juice, and color from bark and herbs. After much wandering he +found himself with friendly Cherokees in the upper Tennessee Valley. +They were so friendly, in fact, that a couple of them accompanied him on +his return to Virginia. He returned along other watercourses--by way of +the Rockcastle and Kentucky Rivers. He crossed the Big Sandy--the +Indians called it Chatterawha and Totteroy. He got out of their canoe at +a point where the Totteroy flows into the Ohio and stood on the bank and +looked about at the far-off hills. So it was young Gabriel Arthur who +was the first white man to set foot in Kentucky, and that at the mouth +of the Big Sandy. + +Young Gabriel's tales traveled far. Soon others, fired with the spirit +of adventure, were turning to the wilderness. Nor was adventure the only +spur. Investors as well as hunters and trappers saw promise of profits +in Far Appalachia. Cartographers were put to work. A glimpse at their +drawings shows interesting and similar observations. + +In 1697 Louis Hennepin's map indicated the territory south of the Great +Lakes, including the southern Appalachians and extending as far west as +the Mississippi River and a route which passed through a "gap across the +Appalachians to the Atlantic seaboard." Later the map of a Frenchman +named Delisle labeled the great continental path leading to the +Carolinas "Route que les Francois." Successive maps all showed the +passing over the Cumberland Mountain at the great wind gap, indicating +portages and villages of the Chaouanona (Shawnees) in the river valleys. +Lewis Evans' map in 1755 of "The Middle British Colonies in America" +shows the courses of the Totteroy (Big Sandy River) and of the Kentucky +River. Thomas Hutchins in 1788, who became a Captain in the 60th Royal +American Regiment of Foot, was appointed Geographer General under +General Nathanael Greene and had unusual opportunity to observe +geographically the vast wilderness beyond the Alleghenies. On his map +the Kentucky River (where Boone was to establish a fort) was called the +Cuttawa, the Green River was the Buffalo, the Cumberland was indicated +as Shawanoe, and the Tennessee was the Cherokee. Though there were +numerous trails in the Cumberland plateau, the Geographer General +indicated only one, the Warrior's Path which he called the "Path to the +Cuttawa Country." He too showed the Gap in the "Ouasioto" Mountains +leading to the Cuttawa Country. + +With the increase of map-making, more projects were launched. There were +large colonizing schemes to induce settlement along the frontier, but +colonizing was not the only idea in the heads of the wealthy Virginia +investors. They were not unmindful of the riches in furs to be garnered +in the Blue Ridge. In this connection Dr. Thomas Walker's expedition for +the Loyal Land Company in 1750 was important. Dr. Walker, an Englishman, +was sent into what is now Kentucky where the company had a grant of +"eight hundred thousand acres." A man could buy fifty acres for five +shillings sterling, the doctor explained. He was not only a physician +but a surveyor as well, and primarily the purpose of these early +expeditions was surveying--to lay out the boundaries of the land to be +sold to incoming settlers. Such an expedition was composed usually of +some six or eight men each equipped with horse, dog, and gun. +Fortunately the doctor-surveyor was not illiterate like young Gabriel +Arthur. Walker set down an interesting account of the expedition which +was especially glowing from the trader's point of view. In their four +months in the wilderness the Walker expedition killed, aside from +buffalo, wild geese, and turkeys, fifty-three bears and twenty deer. And +the doctor added that they could have trebled the number. Walker +followed the Warrior's Path as young Gabriel Arthur had more than +seventy years before. The rivers they crossed, as well as the places on +the way which were sometimes no more than salt licks, bore Indian names. +But when Dr. Walker reached the great barrier between Kentucky and +Virginia he was so deeply moved by the vastness and grandeur of the +mountains that he called his companions about him. "It is worthy of a +noble name," said Dr. Walker. "Let us call it Cumberland for our Duke in +far-off England." When the expedition reached the gap that permitted +them to pass through into the Cuttawa country he cried exultantly, "This +too shall be named for our Duke." So Cumberland Gap it became and the +mountain known to pioneers as Laurel Mountain became instead Cumberland +Mountain. + +The doctor-surveyor could not know that one day he would be hailed as +"the first white man in Cumberland Gap" by those sturdy settlers who +were to follow his course. When Dr. Walker reached the Indians' Totteroy +River, or rather the two forks that combine to make it, he called the +stream to the right, which touched West Virginia soil, Louisa or Levisa +for the wife of the Duke of Cumberland. + +This leader of the expedition of the Loyal Land Company jotted down much +that he saw. There was the amazing "burning spring" that shot up right +out of the earth, its flame so brilliant the doctor could read his map +by the glow at a distance of several miles. Apparently he was not +concerned with the cause but rather with the effect of the burning +spring. He saw the painted picture language of the Indians on mountain +side and tree trunk. + +Dr. Walker returned on a second expedition in 1758, but he gained only +partial knowledge of the wilderness land. However, the mountain he named +determined the course of the trail which was to be laid out by Daniel +Boone, and the gap through which he passed became the gateway for +thousands of horizon-seekers. + +Their coming was not without hazard. + +The southern Indians resented the invasion of their hunting ground by +the English. The French-Indians incited by the French settlers in the +Mississippi Valley who wanted the wealth of fur-bearing animals for +themselves, began to swoop down on the settlements of the +English-speaking people along the frontier, massacring them by the +hundreds. + +The Assembly in Philadelphia turned a deaf ear to the frontiersmen's +plea for help, so the Scotch-Irish, accustomed to fighting for their +rights, organized companies of Rangers to defend themselves against the +attacks of the Indians. With continued massacre of their people their +desperation grew. If they could have no voice in governmental matters in +Pennsylvania and could expect no protection from that source against the +warring Indians, they could move on. They did. On down the Valley of +Virginia they came into Carolina. They built their little cabins, +planted crops, and by 1764 had laid out two townships, one of which, +Mecklenburg, figured in an important way in America's independence. + +As each settlement became more thickly settled the more venturesome +spirits pressed on into the mountains. And as they moved forward, +clearing forests and planting ground for their bread, they dislodged +hunters and trappers who had preceded them. For all of them there was +always the troublesome Indian to be reckoned with. A cunning warrior, he +pounced upon the newcomer at most unexpected times. To maintain a +measure of safety the pioneer began to build block houses and forts +along the watercourses traveled by the Indians. Fur-trading posts were +set up by the Crown but even when the Indian seemed satisfied with the +exchange he might take prisoner a trader or explorer and subject him to +torture, or even put him to death. The homes of settlers were objects of +constant attack. It would take white men of more cunning than the Indian +to deal with him: fearless and daring fighters. + +About the time Dr. Walker had started on his expedition in 1755, a +family living in Pennsylvania packed up their belongings and moved down +into the Valley of Virginia. There were the father, his sons, and his +brothers. They hadn't stayed long in Rockingham County, barely long +enough to raise a crop, when they moved again. This time they journeyed +on down to the valley of the Yadkin River in North Carolina and there +they stayed. All but one son--Daniel Boone, a lad of eighteen. Even as a +boy he had roamed the woods alone, and once was lost for days. When his +father and friends found him, guided by a stream of smoke rising in the +distance, Daniel wasn't in tears. Instead, seated on the pelt of a wild +animal he had killed and roasting a piece of its meat at the fire, he +was whistling gaily. He had made for himself a crude shelter of branches +and pelts. It was useless to chide his son, the older Boone found out. +So he saved his breath and let Daniel roam at his will. Soon the boy was +exploring and hunting farther and farther into the mountains. + +On one such venture the young hunter alone "cilled a bar" and left the +record of his feat carved with his hunting knife upon a tree. His +imagination was fired with the tales of warfare about him, of the +courage and independence of the men who dwelt far up in the mountains. +He knew of the heroism of George Washington who, four years after the +Boones left Pennsylvania, had led a company of mountain men against the +French. He had heard the stories of how Washington had been driven back +with his mountain men at Great Meadows. Boone longed to be in the thick +of the fray. So in 1755, when General Braddock came to "punish the +French for their insolence" and Washington accompanied him with one +hundred mountain men from North Carolina, Daniel Boone, for all his +youth, was among them--as brave a fighter and as skilled a shot as the +best. + +This was high adventure for young Daniel. It spurred him to further +daring, and he set out on more and more distant explorations. Each time +he returned from his trips with marvelous tales of what he had seen, of +unbelievable numbers of buffalo and deer and wild beasts he had +encountered. He always had an audience. No one listened with greater +eagerness than the pretty dark-eyed daughter of the Bryans who were +neighbors to the Boones. Daniel was still a young man, only +twenty-three, when in 1755 he married Rebecca Bryan. They had five sons +and four daughters. Rebecca stayed home and took care of the children, +while her adventurous husband continued to rove and hunt on long +expeditions. + +Neighbors gossiped, even in a pioneer settlement. They said Daniel +wasn't nice to Rebecca, going away all the time on such long hunting +trips. They even talked to Rebecca about her careless husband. But +Rebecca paid little heed, though she may have chided him in private for +returning so tattered. Sometimes his hunting coat, which was a loose +frock with a cape made from dressed deerskin, would literally be tied +together when he returned. Even the fringe which Rebecca had +painstakingly cut to trim his leggings and coat had been left hanging on +jagged rocks and underbrush through which he had dragged himself. His +coonskin cap, with the bushy brush of it hanging down on his neck, was +sometimes a sorry sight. One can hear Rebecca asking, as the hunter +removed his outer garments, "Were there no creeks on your journey?" His +leather belt he hung upon a wall peg after he had oiled it with bear +grease. His tomahawk which he always wore on the right side, and the +hunting knife which he carried on the left with his powder horn and +bullet pouch, he laid carefully aside. He inspected his trusty flintlock +rifle.... He had slept under cliffs, wrapped in his buffalo blanket with +his dog, with leaves and brush for a pillow. His thick club of hair had +not been untied in weeks. The chute bark with which it was fastened was +full of chinks. There was something worse. "What are you scratching +for?" Rebecca would pause from stirring the kettle at the hearth, to +survey her husband who was digging his fingers into his scalp. "Lice!" +gasped Rebecca. Instead of jowering, she would give him a good +scrubbing, comb out his matted hair, and clean him up generally and +thoroughly. + +Daniel was a restless soul. And every time he returned home he was more +restless. So the Boones moved from place to place and each time others +went along with them. Daniel had a knack of leadership, but no sooner +would everyone be settled around him than he'd pack up and go to another +place. Daniel couldn't be crowded. He had to have elbow room no matter +where he had to go to get it. + +In the twenty-five years he spent in North Carolina Boone cleared +ground, cut timber, and built a home many times--and all the while he +continued to hunt and explore. + +Finally returning from one of his long expeditions he told glowing tales +of another country he had found. Bears were so thick, and deer, it would +take a crew of men to help him kill them and salvage the rich hides. He +persuaded Rebecca to come along with him and bring the children. Once +more Rebecca packed up their few worldly goods, while Daniel made sure +his guns were well oiled, his hunting knife whetted, his dogs fit for +the journey--they meant as much to Boone as wife and children, gossips +said--and the family started for a new home. + +This time, in 1760, they went far from the Yadkin into the Watauga +country of Tennessee. He crossed the Blue Ridge and the Unakas, and +settled in what was then western North Carolina, now eastern Tennessee. +That year he led a company as far westward as Abingdon, Virginia. But no +sooner were they settled than Daniel up and left to go deeper into the +forest. + +Not only was he a great hunter, he was a good advance agent. Soon, +through his glowing accounts, the fame of the country spread far, even +to Pennsylvania and Virginia. Hunters came to join him. Some stayed with +him wherever he went. It was through his leadership that the first +permanent settlement was made in Tennessee in 1768. + +But to go back a year. In 1767 Boone worked his way over the Big Sandy +Trail in the country which Dr. Walker had seen back in 1750. Daniel +lived alone in a crude hut on a fork of the Big Sandy River, close to a +salt lick, you may be sure, for he had to have salt to season the wild +meat which was his only food. He too saw the burning spring that had +helped Dr. Walker to scrutinize his maps at night. In 1768 he entered +Kentucky through Cumberland Gap and traversed the Warrior's Path. From +Pilot Knob he viewed the Great Meadow. That would be something more to +tell about when he got back home. + +Though his neighbors may have considered him a shiftless fellow +concerned only with hunting and exploring, a fellow who was ever moving +from pillar to post, his very first visit to Watauga was not without +significance. + +It was the way of the wilderness that settlers followed the first +hunters, and Boone with his companions had been in Watauga first in +1760. Eight years afterward a few families had followed the hunters' +trail for good reason. + +Things had been going miserably for immigrants in North Carolina. The +situation was fast reaching a desperate point. Some of the oppressed +were for violence if that was needed to obtain justice in the courts. +Others reasoned that there was a better way out. Why not move away in a +body? The wilderness of the Blue Ridge beckoned. It was under Virginia +rule and perhaps life would not be so hard there. Because of Indian +treaties the lands had been surveyed in those rugged western reaches and +could be legally leased or even purchased. The more level-headed +mountain people reasoned in this way: Why not send one of their number +on ahead to look over the region, negotiate for boundaries, and stake +them out for families who decided to take up their abode there? A +Scotch-Irishman named James Robertson took upon himself this task. + +During this period of unrest in North Carolina, Boone had returned with +Rebecca and the children to Watauga where they found others to welcome +them. If indeed Daniel needed a welcome or wanted it. Again he cleared a +piece of ground and built a log house. But the smoke no sooner curled up +from the chimney than scores of Scotch-Irish from North Carolina, who +could no longer bear the injustice of government officials, began to +crowd into the valley around him. This irked Daniel, for he loved the +freedom of the wilds. "I've got to have elbow room," he complained to +Rebecca, "I know a place--" + +The Scotch-Irish, however, stayed on in Watauga. + +They had had enough of injustice and were glad to escape a country where +the more prosperous were making life hard for the less fortunate +immigrants who continued to come down the Virginia Valley, and the +mountain people who settled in the rugged western part of the state. +Like their Scotch-Irish brothers in Pennsylvania, they had determined to +find a remedy. They remembered how the Rangers in the Pennsylvania +border settlements had been forced to take matters in their own hands to +protect life and home, and they organized their protective band called +the Regulators. If armed force was needed, they meant to use it. They +found the Governor as indifferent to their appeals for fairness as the +Pennsylvania Assembly had been to the Rangers' protests. If North +Carolina's Governor had been a man of cool and fair judgment, the +tragedy of Alamance might have been averted. On the other hand, the +first decisive step toward American independence might have been lost, +or at least delayed. + +In ironic response to the pleas of the Regulators, the Governor of North +Carolina summoned a force of one thousand militia men and led them into +the western settlements. At the end of the day, May 16, 1771, two +hundred and fifty of the two thousand Regulators who had gathered with +their rifles at Alamance when they heard of the coming of the militia, +lay dead. The living were forced to retreat. + +If Robertson had planned his return it could not have come at a more +auspicious moment. His neighbors had been sorely tried. They eagerly +welcomed words of a better land in which to live, and sixteen families +followed their leader to the Watauga country. + +Things loomed dark for the new settlers for a time. It turned out that +the lands staked out for them were neither in Virginia nor Carolina. +Indeed Robertson and his neighbors found themselves quite "outside the +boundaries of civilized government." + +The Scotch-Irish had not forgotten Ulster, and they lost no time in +making a treaty with the Indians upon whose territory they really were. +They drew up leases, and some of the seventeen families even purchased +part of the land. + +Soon the ax was ringing in the forest. A cluster of cabins sprang up. +Another settlement was established and before long thousands came to +join the seventeen families who had followed James Robertson. So long as +there had been only a handful of neighbors the problem of government did +not present itself. The level-headed thinkers of the group again put +their heads together and pondered well. Now that they had burned their +bridges behind them they must make firm the rock upon which they built. +Above all they must stand united, with hearts and hands together for the +well-being of all. To that end they formed an Association, the Watauga +Association they called it, and adopted a constitution (1772) by which +to live. It was "the first ever adopted by a community of American-born +freemen," says Theodore Roosevelt in _The Winning of the West_. + +If Daniel Boone had been a man to glow with pride he might well have +done so over the outcome of that first hunting trip he made to the +Watauga country. But Daniel was a hunter, an adventurer, an explorer who +loved above all else space. He didn't like being crowded by a lot of +neighbors. So again in 1773, calling his little family around the +fireside one night, he told them he meant to pull up stakes and move on. +They had only been there four years which was a brief time considering +the laborious journey they'd had to get there, the hardships of life, of +clearing ground and taking root again. However, if Rebecca offered +protest it was overcome. Daniel had a way with him. Perhaps she even +helped her husband convince members of her family that it was the thing +to do. Her folks, the Bryans, told others. The word passed around the +family circle until forty of the Bryans had decided they'd join Daniel +and Rebecca. Boone sold his home. Why bother with it! He'd probably +never be back there to live, for this time Daniel and Rebecca, with +their children, the Bryans, and Captain William Russell, were going on a +long journey. They were headed for Kentucky. Daniel had told them some +fine and promising yarns about his lone expedition to that far-off +country. + +The way wasn't easy. Following watercourses, fording swollen streams, +picking their way over rocks and loose boulders, through mud and sand. +Besides there was the constant dread of the Indian. Their fears were +confirmed before they reached Cumberland Gap. While they were still in +Powell Valley a band of Indians attacked Boone's party. The women +huddled together in terror while the men seized their guns. + +But for all his skill as a marksman, Daniel Boone could not stay the +hand of the Indian whose arrow pierced the heart of his oldest son. +There was another grave in the wilderness and the disheartened party +returned to the Watauga country. This time, however, Boone settled in +the Clinch Valley. + +The Indians continued on a rampage. Consequently it was nearly two years +before Boone started again for Kentucky. This time he gained his goal, +though at first he did not take Rebecca and his family. He meant to make +a safe place for them to live. + +These were times to try men's souls. Everywhere man yearned for freedom. +About this time a young Scotch-Irishman in Virginia astounded his +hearers by a speech he made at St. John's Church in Richmond. When the +zealous patriot cried, "Give me liberty, or give me death," the fervor +and eloquence of his voice echoed down the valleys. It re-echoed through +the mountains. That young orator, "Patrick Henry, and his Scotch-Irish +brethren from the western Counties carried and held Virginia for +Independence," it has been said. + +There was unity in thought and purpose among the Scotch-Irish whether +they lived in highland or lowland and their purpose was to gain freedom +and independence. A bond of feeling that could not have existed among +the Dutch of New York, the Puritans of New England, the English of +Virginia, even if they had not been so widely separated geographically. +Moreover, the isolation of the Scotch-Irish in the wilderness, though it +cut them off from voice in the government or protection by it, made them +self-reliant people. They had had enough of royal government. Added to +this was their natural hatred of British aggression, distaste for the +unfairness of those in political power from whom they were so far +removed by miles and mountains. They thought for themselves and acted +accordingly. Their individualism marked them for leadership that was +readily followed by others who also had known persecution: the Palatine +Germans, the Dutch, and the Huguenots. They had another strong ally in +the English who had come from Virginia to settle in the mountains and +whose traditions of resolute action added to the mountaineer's spirit of +independence. The flame of agitation was fanned by the unfairness of +government officials in the lowlands. The mountain people had long since +looked to their own protection and their Scotch-Irish nature persisted +in resentment of unfairness from authority of any source. This spirit +prevailed among the incoming settlers in Carolina. There was +dissatisfaction between them and the planters, the men of means and +influence who with unfair taxation and injustice persecuted the less +prosperous newcomers. Discontent grew and brought on events that were +forerunners of the expansive militant movement that came in American +life. + +First was the Declaration of Abingdon, Virginia, in January, 1775. +Daniel Boone had led an expedition there sixteen years earlier and may +have planted the seed in the minds of those who stayed on, while he went +on to Kentucky. Title to much of the land which embraced Kentucky was +claimed by the Cherokees. England still claimed the right to any +territory in America and the war's beginnings left the whole thing in +doubt. England might even make void Virginia's titles if she were so +inclined. In the midst of these doubts and disputed claims several North +Carolina gentlemen, including Richard Henderson and Nathaniel Hart, in +the spring of 1775 formed themselves into the Transylvania Company for +the purpose of acquiring title to the territory of Kentucky from the +Cherokees. They meant to operate on a great scale, to establish an +independent empire here in the "expansive West." They looked about for a +man to help them. They didn't have to look long. + +There was Daniel Boone. He had a background. He'd scouted all over the +country. He'd fought with Washington against the French when he was only +in his teens. He was a fearless fellow; he knew how to deal with the +Indian. So the Transylvania Company employed Daniel as their +representative to negotiate with the Cherokees. The council met at +Sycamore Shoals on the Watauga, a tributary of the Holston River. There +the Cherokees ceded to the company for "ten thousand pounds, all the +vast tract of land lying between the Ohio and Cumberland rivers, and +west and south of the Kentucky." This region was called Transylvania. + +So, just six years after his first hunting trip to Kentucky, Boone began +to colonize it and that in flat defiance of the British government. He +thumbed his nose too at a menacing proclamation of North Carolina's +royal governor. + +Now that the land was acquired by the Transylvania Company they would +have to charter a course leading to and through it for prospective +settlers. For theirs was a "land and improvement company." Again Daniel +Boone was employed. This time his task was to open a path through the +wilderness. + +With ax and tomahawk, with fighting and tribulations, he blazed the +trail from Holston River to the mouth of Otter Creek on the Kentucky +River. "Boone's Trace," they called it, connecting with the Warrior's +Path and its extensions into eastern Tennessee and western North +Carolina through Cumberland Gap and even beyond. It became the +Wilderness Trail or Wilderness Road. It was the first through course +from the mother state of Virginia to the West. + +In spite of the purchase of land from the Indian, in spite of all the +treaties of peace, the cunning warrior persisted in attack upon the +white men, in massacre of women and children, in capture of hunter and +trapper. + +Daniel Boone and his men had to safeguard their families and the future +of their company. They set about building a fort. As for Boone, he felt +himself "an instrument ordained to settle the wilderness." No hardship +was too great, no sorrow too deep to deter him in his mission of +"pioneering and subduing the wilderness for the habitation of civilized +men." + +After two years of hardship and toil a fort was built on the banks of +the Kentucky River. It consisted of cabins of roughhewn logs surrounded +by a stockade. Over this crude fort, in one cabin of which Boone and +Rebecca lived with their family, a flag was raised on May 23, 1775. It +marked a new and independent nation called Transylvania. + +Only a week after the flag-raising in Kentucky the people of +Mecklenburg, which had been established only eleven years, made another +step toward independence. On May 31, 1775, the Mecklenburg Resolutions +were adopted in North Carolina. + +In the meantime the Revolution had begun and mountain men were first to +join Washington against the British in the forces of Morgan's Riflemen +and Nelson's Riflemen. Their skill with firearms, their fearlessness, +made them invaluable to Washington. "It was their quality of cool +courage and personal independence," said Raine, "that won the battles of +Kings Mountain and Cowpens and drove Lord Cornwallis to his surrender at +Yorktown." + +Each movement toward independence in Tennessee, Kentucky, Virginia, and +North Carolina had been under the leadership of mountain men and the +accomplishment of their several declarations paved the way for the more +widespread Continental Declaration of Independence at Philadelphia, July +4, 1776. + +It echoed around the world, but Daniel Boone, that young rebel, didn't +even hear of it until the following August. Whereupon the fearless +hunter with the abandon of a happy lad danced a jig around the bonfire +inside the stockade. It could have been an Elizabethan jig, ironically +enough, for the Boones were English. Daniel tossed his coonskin cap into +the air again and again and let out a war whoop that brought the +terrified Rebecca hurrying to the cabin door, a whoop that pierced the +silence of the forest beyond. + +By the time the Declaration was signed the mountain people constituted +one sixth of the settlement of the United States. + +As for Daniel Boone, twenty-five years had passed since he, a boy of +sixteen, had left Pennsylvania with his father and brothers. He was +forty-one years old when he set up housekeeping at Boonesborough where +the fort stood on the banks of the Kentucky. Never in all his life had +he been quite so settled. Daniel had acquired title to lands from the +Transylvania Company and things looked promising. Rebecca too must have +been happy in their security. The children could safely play inside the +stockade even if they did squabble with the neighbors' children. Rebecca +must have sung a ballad betimes as she cooked venison or wild turkey at +the hearth, or swept the floor with her rived oak broom. For Daniel +could whittle a broom for her while he sat meditating aloud on his past +adventures. Daniel was satisfied. Rebecca could see that. Now with the +colony established in the wilderness Daniel Boone had realized the dream +of his life. + +In the thirteen years Boone lived in Kentucky he continued to hunt and +trap and explore. He took others along with him on his various +expeditions. In January, 1778, with a party of thirty men he went to +make salt at Blue Lick. He knew the places to go for he had found them +previously by following the path of buffalo, deer, and bear that had +gone there to lick salt. Boone and his men threw up rough shelters for +themselves. Soon the kettles were boiling, the salt was made. They were +in the midst of preparations to pack up their belongings and load the +salt into bags when Daniel's keen ears caught the sound of moccasined +feet in the underbrush nearby. Suddenly as if they had popped up out of +the ground a band of Indians pounced upon the white men. All but three +of Boone's party were captured. They escaped and after hiding the +kettles took the salt back to the stockade. Daniel and two of his +companions were borne off to Detroit. + +Boone was a wary fellow, so he pretended to be quite contented with his +lot and the Indians were so pleased with him they adopted him as a son +into their tribe. He would have looked a fright to Rebecca for the +Indians cropped his hair close to the scalp save a tuft on the top of +his head which was bedecked with trinkets--shells, teeth of wild +animals, feathers. The women dressed him up in this fashion, first +taking him to the river and giving him a thorough scrubbing "to take out +his white blood." Then they painted his face with colors as bright as +those of any chieftain in the tribe. Daniel was a good actor. He +pretended to be highly pleased, but he was only awaiting the chance to +escape. One day there was quite a stir in the camp. Daniel observed many +new faces among the warriors. They talked and gesticulated excitedly, +and Boone soon gathered the purpose of the powwow. "They're going on the +warpath," Daniel said to himself, "and to my notion they're headed +toward our stockade." While they continued to harangue among themselves +Daniel stealthily made his escape. He covered the intervening one +hundred and sixty miles in five days. + +The Indians didn't carry out their plan to attack the fort until some +weeks later and when they did march into view they were led by Captain +Duquesne of the English Army. + +The siege lasted for nine days but the veteran riflemen of the fort, +under Boone's skillful direction, gained the day with only a loss of +three or four men, while many of the four hundred Indians fell. + +There were many other battles with the Indians who crossed the Ohio into +Kentucky, and though Boone was always in the thick of the fray he came +out uninjured. + +And then misfortune came in another way. + +Things had looked fair enough in the beginning when the Transylvania +Company sold boundaries of land to settlers, with Colonel Henderson, a +bright lawyer who had once been appointed Associate Chief Justice, to +look after the legal side of the transactions. The company asked only +thirteen and one third cents per acre for the land for one year and an +added half cent per acre quitrent to begin in 1780. At such a low rate +it was possible for a man to purchase a boundary of six hundred acres. +When Daniel talked it over with Rebecca they concluded he would not be +overreaching himself to invest in such an acreage. + +The Transylvania Company did a land-office business. By December of the +first year after Colonel Henderson opened up his office for business in +Boonesborough 560,000 acres were sold. That was all right for the +company, but what of the purchaser? What with the squabbles and disputes +concerning title between Indian and settler, English and French, Boone +like others soon found himself with not a leg to stand on. He had bought +"wildcat" land. Land-sharks cleaned him out. + +At the age of fifty-four, in 1788, Daniel had to start all over again. +With Rebecca at his side and a larger family he moved on. + +Boone had scouted through the West Virginia country long before, when he +had passed a solitary winter in a hut on the Big Sandy. So now once more +he turned in that direction, pressing on until he reached the mouth of +the Great Kanawha River. He lived from place to place in the Kanawha +country, following his old pursuits of hunting and trapping, and as +usual absented himself from his fireside for long days at a stretch. But +Rebecca was used to his ways. She looked after the family, cooked and +mended. When Daniel returned home Rebecca always cleaned him up again +before he started on another hunting trip. + +Eleven years passed without a word being said about land titles. Then +one day Daniel found himself facing the same situation that had robbed +him of his acres in Kentucky. A man of sixty-five, and with a family of +seven, three boys and four girls--two of their boys had been killed in +battle with the Indians--Daniel, though still a fearless hunter, didn't +want to be bothered with squabbles over land titles. He told Rebecca +there was an easier way around. There were places outside of the +jurisdiction of the United States altogether. "We don't have to be +beholden to anyone," he said boastfully. + +Pioneer women followed their men. So once more Rebecca made ready for +the journey. She mended garments; she gathered up their few cooking +utensils and the furry hides that were their blankets. She tied some of +her choice things in her apron. That she'd carry right on her arm. The +boys helped their father make ready the great cumbersome cart that was +to carry their possessions. When all was in readiness Daniel pulled on +his coonskin cap and whistling up his dogs he started off resolutely +ahead of his family. + +On and on they went until they reached Spanish territory beyond the +Mississippi in Upper Louisiana. There at Charette (fifty miles west of +St. Louis) Daniel Boone remained for a score of years, still hunting and +trapping. + +Even after Rebecca died he stayed on in the log cabin that had been +their home for so long. An old man of seventy-eight he was, with many a +sorrow to look back upon. For him the trail had been a "bloody one," +Daniel often reflected. He had seen two of his boys fall under the +tomahawk, and his brothers too. He had seen Rebecca's grief and terror +at bloodshed; her anxiety in the lonely life of the wilderness. He had +seen her despair when the very ground in which they had taken root was +torn from under their feet. He had known the suffering of winter winds, +the desolation of the forest. He had suffered innumerable hardships. All +these things he lived again as he sat alone in the house where Rebecca +had died. + +But the spirit of the hunter still burned in the old man's bosom at the +age of eighty-five. Even then he was all for shouldering his gun once +more and setting out with an Indian lad to explore the Rockies. His son +persuaded him to give up the thought. "You're too old, Pa. If you fall +over a cliff your bones would be broke to smithereens. Come and live +with me. My house is safe. It's all built of stone. The Indians can't +burn down a stone house." After much bickering Daniel finally heeded his +son and went to live with him. He died there in 1822. + +The fort which he so proudly built and valiantly defended continues to +bear his name, being one of at least thirty localities in the United +States which take their name from the first pioneer of the great valley +of the Mississippi. His body lies in a little cemetery in Kentucky's +capital. A humble grave, though as you stand beside it you feel the +spirit of the great hunter hovering near. A courageous explorer in +leather breeches and coonskin cap blazed the trail through an unbroken +wilderness to help build America. + +At length through Cumberland Gap following Boone's Wilderness Trail came +the ancestors of David Crockett, Samuel Houston, John C. Calhoun, +"Stonewall" Jackson, and Abraham Lincoln. The Boones and Lincolns had +been neighbors back in Pennsylvania in one of the most German +settlements. Yet both families themselves were English. + + + THE MOUNTAINEER + +Difficulties of communication are enough to explain the isolation of +mountaineers. For long years, even until yesterday, the only roads were +the beds of tortuous and rockstrewn watercourses that were dry when you +started at sunup and were suddenly transformed by a downpour to swollen, +turbulent streams, perilous even to ford. + +But for all that, in 1803 there were a million settlers in the southern +highlands. Hardships of life there might have shaken a man's faith but +not his love of the country. In Kentucky alone in 1834 there were 500 +pensioners of the Revolution. And when the guns roared at the opening of +the Civil War, the southern highlanders sent 180,000 riflemen to the +Union Army. + +An isolated people drops easily into illiteracy. Cut off as the mountain +men were from the outside world, they knew little of what was going on +beyond their mountain walls. Even if newspapers had found their way to +the mountaineer's cabin they would have been of little use to men who +could not read. On the other hand, had the mountain men known of the +great westward movement toward the plains few of them could have joined +the caravans. The mountaineer had no money because he had no way to +produce money. For that reason he could not even reach the nearest +lowlands. Even if he had moved down into the lowlands he could not hope +to own land but would only have fallen once more into the unbearable +state of his forbears in Ulster--that of tenant, or menial, with +proprietors and bosses to harass his life. This peril alone was enough, +aside from the lack of money, to make the highlander shrink from the +society of the lowlands. The few who straggled down were glad enough to +return to the cloister of the mountains. Besides the mountaineer didn't +like the climate or the water down there. The sparkling, cool mountain +brook, the constant breeze and bracing air were much more to his liking. +Indeed the climate has had its effect upon the mountaineer, not only +upon his physical being--he is tall and stalwart; few mountain men are +dwarfed--but the bracing air enables him to toil for long days in the +open. He can walk--or hoe corn on an almost perpendicular corn +patch--from daylight till dark. He is patient and is never in a hurry. +Time means nothing to him. Down in the Unakas a mountaineer once had a +cataract removed from the right eye. The surgeon told him to return in a +couple months when it would be safe to operate upon the other eye. +Twenty years elapsed before the fellow returned to the doctor's office; +when he was chided for the delay he answered unconcernedly, "I 'lowed +'twas no use to be in a hurry about it." + +Yet for all their seeming indifference the people of the Blue Ridge, who +locked their offspring generation after generation in mountain +fastnesses that have barred the world, have kept alive and fresh in +memory the unwritten song, the speech, the tradition of their +Anglo-Saxon and Anglo-Celtic ancestors. + +Down through the centuries the blood and traditions of the pioneers have +carried, creating a stalwart, a fearless people. Hidden away in the high +crannies of the Blue Ridge they have come to be known as Mountaineers, +Southern Highlanders, Appalachian Mountaineers, and Southern +Mountaineers. But if you should ask a name of any of the old folk of the +Blue Ridge country they doubtless will tell you, "We are mountain +people." Never hill-billies! A hill-billy, the true mountain man or +woman would have you know, is one born of the mountains who has got +above his raising, ashamed to own his origin, one who holds his own +mountain people up for scorn and ridicule. To mountain folk the word +hill-billy is a slur of the worst sort. A slur that has caused murder. + +They recognize no caste in the Blue Ridge Country. They are hospitable +beyond measure, I have come to know in my long years of roaming through +the mountains, first as court stenographer in isolated courts, then as +ballad collector. I have never entered a mountain home throughout the +Blue Ridge, no matter how humble the fare, where man, woman, or child +offered apology for anything, their surroundings or the food and +hospitality given to the stranger under their roof. "You're welcome to +what we've got," is the invariable greeting--though the bed be a crude +shuck tick shared with the children of the family, the fare cornbread +and sorghum. + +As a child I used to go to the cabin home of one of my father's kinsmen, +a man who could neither read nor write, though he knew his Bible from +cover to cover and could cite accurately chapter and verse of any text +from which he chose to preach. There was but one room in his house of +logs with its lean-to kitchen of rough planks, but never did I hear +father's kinsman or his wife offer any word of excuse for anything. When +it was time for victuals his wife, with all the graciousness of +nobility, would stand behind her guests, while her man, seated at the +head of the table, head bowed reverently, offered thanks. Then, lifting +his head, he would fling wide his open palms in hospitality, "Thar hit +is afore you. Take holt and eat all you're a-mind to!" And turning to +his wife, "Marthie! watch their plates!" My great-aunt kept a vigilant +eye on us as she walked around the table inviting us to partake, "Hure, +have more of the snaps. Holp yourself to the ham meat. Take another +piece of cornbread. 'Pon my word, you're pickin' like a wren. Eat +hearty!" she urged, while above our heads she swished the fly-brush, a +branch from the lilac bush in summer, otherwise a fringed paper attached +to a stick. + +They learned through necessity to put to use the things at hand, made +their own crude implements to clear and break the stubborn soil; they +learned to do without. + +Their poteen (whiskey) craft, handed down by their Scotch-Irish +ancestors, survives today in what outlanders term moonshining. +Resentment against taxation of homemade whiskey survives too. The +mountaineer reasons--I've heard them frequently in court--that the land +is his, that he "heired it from his Pa, same as him from hisn," that he +plants him some bread without no tax. Why can't he make whiskey from his +corn without paying tax? + +As for killing in the Blue Ridge Country. In my profession of court +stenographer I have reported many trials for killing and almost +invariably my sympathy has been with the slayer. Usually he admits that +he had it to do either for a real or fancied wrong, or for a slur to his +womenfolks. I've never known of gangsters, fingermen, or paid killers in +the Blue Ridge Country. + +With an inherent love of music, handed down from the wandering minstrels +of Shakespeare's time, and with a wealth of ballads stored up in their +heads and hearts, they found in these a joyful expression. Even the +children, like their elders, can turn a hand to fashion a make-believe +whistle of beech or maple, although they may never know that in so doing +they are making an imitation of the Recorder upon which Queen Elizabeth +herself was a skilled performer. Little Chad at the head of Raccoon +Hollow will cut two corn stalks about the length of his small arms and +earnestly proceed to make music by sawing one across the other, singing +happily: + + Corn stalk fiddle and shoe-string bow, + Best old fiddle in the country, oh! + +not knowing that Haydn, the child, likewise sawed one stick upon another +in imitation of playing the fiddle. And there's Little Babe of Lonesome +Creek who delights in a gourd banjo. His grandsir, finding a straight, +long-necked gourd among those clustered on the vine over kitchen-house +door, fashioned it into a banjo for the least one. Cut it flat on one +side, did the old man, scooped out the seed, then covered the opening +with a bit of brown paper made fast with flour paste, strung it with cat +gut. And there, bless you, as fine a banjo as ever a body would want to +pick. + +They are neighborly in the Blue Ridge Country. They ask no favor of any +man. Yet the road is never too rough, the way too far, for one neighbor +to go to the aid of another in time of sickness or death. I knew a +little boy who was dangerously sick with a strange ailment that +primitive home remedies could not heal. Neighbor boys made a slide, a +quilt tied to two strong saplings, and carried their little friend some +ten miles over a rough mountain footpath to the nearest wagon road. +There, placing him in a jolt wagon, the bed of which had been filled +with hay to ease his suffering in jolting over the rough creek-bed road, +they continued the journey on for thirty miles to the wayside railroad +station where the cars bore the afflicted child on to town and the +hospital. + +A feud is the name given to their family quarrels by the level-landers. +Mountain people never use the word. They say war or troubles. Their +clannishness was inherited from their Scotch ancestors, and the wild, +rugged mountains lent themselves perfectly to warfare among the clans. +They had lived apart so long, protected from invasion and interference +by their high mountain walls, that they learned to settle their own +differences in their own way. They knew no law but the gun. If John +warned his neighbor Mark that Mark's dog was killing his sheep and the +neighbor did nothing about it, John settled the matter forthwith by +shooting the dog. Families took sides. The flame was fanned. The feud +grew. + +However, in time of disaster, with grim faces and willing hands, they +come to the aid of an unfortunate neighbor. Once when a terrible flood +caused Troublesome to overflow its banks, carrying everything in its +raging course, I saw a team of mules, the only means of support of a +widowed mother of a dozen children, swept away. She hired the team to +neighbors and thus earned a meager living. I remember the despair of +that white, drawn face as the widow looked on helplessly at the +destruction. Not a word did she speak. But before darkness the next day +neighbor men far and wide, and none of them were prosperous, chipped in +from their small hoards and got another team for the woman. + + + + + 2. LAND OF FEUDS AND STILLS + + HATFIELDS AND MCCOYS + + +When Dr. Walker, the Englishman, the first white man in Cumberland Gap, +followed the course of Russell Fork out of Virginia into Kentucky back +in 1750, he came upon a wooded point of land shaped like a triangle +which was skirted by two forks of tepid water. The one to the left, as +he faced westward, this English explorer called Levisa after the wife of +the Duke of Cumberland. + +Generations later a lovely mountain girl wore the name he had given the +stream and she became the wife of the leader of a blood feud in the +country where he set up his hut. It was a blood feud and a war of +revenge that lasted more than forty years, the gruesome details of which +have echoed around the world, cost scores of lives, and struck terror to +the hearts of women and innocent children for several decades. + +Devil Anse Hatfield, the leader of his clan, himself told me much of the +story when I lived on Main Island Creek in Logan County, West Virginia, +and on Tug Fork of the Big Sandy River. His wife Levicy--she who had +been Levicy Chafin--did not spell her name as the name of the stream was +spelled though she pronounced it the same way. It was a story that began +with the killing of Harmon McCoy in 1863 by Devil Anse, who was a +fearless fighter, a captain in a body of the Rebel forces known as the +Logan Wildcats. Later, when Jonse Hatfield, the leader's oldest boy, +grew to young manhood, he set eyes upon Rosanna McCoy, old Randall's +daughter, and loved her at sight. But Devil Anse, because of the hatred +he bore Rosanna's father, wouldn't permit his son to marry a McCoy. +Rosanna loved Jonse madly. And he, swept away with wild, youthful +passion, determined to have her. He did, though not in lawful wedlock. + +Quarrels and bickerings between the sides sprang up at the slightest +provocation. Even a dispute over the ownership of a hog resulted in +another killing. Old Randall grew more bitter as time went on, what with +Rosanna the mother of an illegitimate child and Jonse, even though he +lived with her under his father's own roof, being faithless to the girl. +And when, after the McCoys stabbed Ellison Hatfield to death, Devil Anse +avenged his brother's death by inciting his clan to slay Randall's three +boys, Little Randall, Tolbert and Phemer, the leader of the McCoys vowed +he'd not rest until he wiped out the last one of the other clan. + +There were killings from ambush, open killings, threats, house-burnings. +Once the McCoys had outtricked Devil Anse and had stolen his favorite +son Jonse away while he was courting Rosanna. They meant to riddle him +with bullets. But the Hatfields got word of it. Rosanna had betrayed her +own family, so the McCoys felt, for the love of Jonse. The Hatfields +came galloping along the road by moonlight, surrounded the McCoys, +demanded the release of the prisoner, young Jonse, and even made a McCoy +dust young Hatfield's boots. + +When the law tried to interfere, Devil Anse built a drawbridge to span +the creek beside which his house stood, stationed a bevy of armed +Hatfields around his place, and ruled his clan like a czar, directing +their every deed. + +The bloody feud did not end until 1920, after Sid Hatfield on Tug Fork, +which with Levisa forms Big Sandy, had shot to death some nine men led +by Baldwin-Felts detectives. They had killed Mayor Testerman of the +village of Matewan. And when they came to arrest Sid on what he termed a +trumped-up charge he reached for his gun. Sid, then chief of police of +Matewan, West Virginia, had been accused of opposing labor unions among +the coal miners and the coming of the detectives was the result. Though +Hatfields and McCoys were both miners and coal operators, the killing of +the detectives by Sid had no direct bearing upon the early differences +between the clans. But the wholesale killing on the streets of Matewan +in 1920 marked the end of the Hatfield-McCoy feud. + +Devil Anse lived to see peace between his family and the McCoys. + +Through thick and thin Levicy Chafin Hatfield stood by her man, though +she pleaded with him to give up the strife. + +They waged their blood battles on Levisa Fork and Tug, on Blackberry and +Grapevine, creeks that were tributaries to the waters that swelled the +Big Sandy as they flowed down through the mountains of West Virginia and +Kentucky, emptying at last into the Ohio. + +Levicy bore her mate thirteen children and died a few years after 1921 +when the old clansman had passed to the beyond. There was not even a +bullet mark on the old clansman. He died a natural death, mountain +kinsmen will tell you proudly. He was buried with much pomp, as pomp +goes in the mountains, on Main Island Creek of West Virginia, in the +family burying ground. + +I knew Devil Anse and "Aunt" Levicy quite well. For, long centuries +after my illustrious kinsman had returned to Merrie England to report +upon his expedition for the Loyal Land Company in the Blue Ridge, I +followed the same course he had blazed out of Virginia into the +mountains of Kentucky and West Virginia. I lived for a number of years +on Levisa Fork and Tug Fork and on Main Island Creek in West Virginia, +where my nearest neighbors and best friends were Hatfields and, +strangely enough, McCoys. + +One day Devil Anse stopped at my house out of a downpour of rain and as +he sat looking out of the open door he fell to talking of another rainy +day many years before. "This puts me in the mind of the time I had to go +away on business down to the mouth of Big Sandy," he said in his slow, +even tones. All the time his eagle eyes were fixed on me. "I had to go +down to the mouth of Big Sandy," he repeated, "on some business of my +own. A man has a right to protect his family," he interrupted himself +and arched a brow. "Anyway there come an awful rainstorm and creeks +busted over their banks till I couldn't ford 'em--not even on Queen, as +high-spirited a nag as any man ever straddled. But she balked that day +seeing the creeks full of trees pulled up by the roots and even +carcasses of calves and fowls. Queen just nat'erly rared back on her +haunches and wouldn't budge. Couldn't coax nor flog her to wade into the +water. A feller come ridin' up on a shiny black mare. Black and shiny as +I ever saw and its neck straight as a fiddle bow. He said the waters +looked too treacherous and turned and rode off over the mountain, his +black hair drippin' wet on his shoulders. Anyway there I was held back +another day and night till that master tide swept on down to the Big +Waters [the Ohio]. When I got home my little girls Rosie and Nancy come +runnin' down the road to meet me. 'Pappy, look! what a strange man give +us!' Rosie held out her hand and there was a sil'er dollar in it and +Nancy brought her hand from behind her and openin' her fist she had a +sil'er dollar too and little Lizbeth she come runnin' to show me what +she had. Another sil'er dollar, bless you. 'This strange man were most +powerful free-hearted,' sez I, gettin' off of Queen. I throwed the +bridle over the fence rail and went on up to the house, packin' my +saddle pockets over my arm and my gun and cartridge belt over my +shoulder. My little girls come troopin' behind. Their Ma stood waitin' +in the door twistin' the end of her apron like she ever did when she was +warned. 'Captain Anderson!' sez she, that were her pet name for me, +'I've been nigh in a franzy. I 'lowed sure you and Queen had been washed +plum down in the flood. Here, let me have them soppin' clothes and them +muddy boots.' Levicy was the workinest woman you ever saw. Washed and +scoured till my garmints looked like new. And after I'd got on clean dry +clothes such a feast she set before me. 'Pon my word, it made me feel +right sheepish. 'A body would think, Levicy,' sez I, 'that I were the +Prodigal Son come home.' She spoke right up. 'See here, Anderson +Hatfield, I won't have you handlin' no such talk about the sire of my +little girls,' sez she, spoonin' the sweet potatoes on my plate, and +smilin' so tender and good on me. Then my little girls gathered round to +see what I'd fetched them. There was store candy and a pretty hair +ribbon for each one that I taken out of the saddle pockets. And a gold +breast pin for Levicy. Never saw a woman so pleased in my life. 'I don't +aim to hold it back just to wear to meetin',' sez she. And she didn't. +From then on she wore that gold breast pin every day of her life. Said +she meant to be buried with it. Well, 'ginst my little girls had et +their candy and plaited each other's hair and tied on their new ribbons +they hovered around me again to show their sil'er the strange man had +give them. 'Captain Anderson,' sez Levicy, 'he was handsome built and +set his saddle proud and fearless. But not half so proud and fearless as +you. Nor were he half so handsome.' I could feel her hand on my shoulder +a-quiverin' a little grain like Levicy's hand ever did when she was plum +happy. Then she went on to tell as she washed the dishes and Nancy and +Rosie dried them and Lizbeth packed them off to the cupboard, about the +strange man. 'He laid powerful admiration on our little girls.' Levicy +was wipin' off the oilcloth on the table with her soapy dish rag. 'He +had them line up in a row to see which was tallest, whilst I set him a +snack. "Shut your eyes," sez he, "and open your mouth." They did, and +bless you, Captain Anderson, what did he do but put a sil'er dollar in +their mouth--each one.' By this time Nancy and Rosie and Lizbeth had +finished the dishes and they come hoverin' round my knee again whilst I +cleaned and polished my gun. Each one holdin' proud their sil'er dollar, +turnin' it this way and that, rubbin' it on their dress sleeve to make +the eagle shine. Just then, Jonse, my oldest boy, come gallopin' up the +road on Prince, his little sorrel. He never stopped till he got right to +the kitchen-house door. The chickens made a scattermint before him. +'Pa!' he shouted out, throwin' Prince's bridle out of his hand and +jumpin' down to the ground. 'They've caught him! Robbed the bank at +Charleston!' Levicy was drying the tin dishpan. She starred at Jonse and +so did I. 'Caught who?' sez I. 'Jesse James' brother, Frank! It was him +that was here. Him that Ma fed t'other day. Him that give Nancy and +Rosie and Lizbeth a sil'er dollar!' Levicy dropped the dishpan and +retched a hand to the table. 'Mistress Levicy Chafin Hatfield!' sez I, +'never again can I leave this house in peace. A man's family's not safe +with such scalawags prowlin' the country!'" + +Then Devil Anse went on with the rest of the story. + +Devil Anse, the leader of the Hatfield clan whose very name struck +terror to the hearts of people, and Jesse James' brother Frank, +highwayman and bank robber, had met on a mountain road, each unaware of +the other's identity, each intent on his own business. Captain Anderson +had gone down to the mouth of Big Sandy, the county seat, Catlettsburg, +Kentucky, to buy ammunition with which to annihilate the McCoys. That +story too the outside world heard afterward, for the clans met on +Blackberry Creek and engaged in battle for several hours with dead and +dying from both sides on the field--or rather in the bushes. + +Whatever else has been attributed to Devil Anse he liked to prank as +well as anyone. He took particular glee in telling the following story +to me, his eagle eyes twinkling: + +"One day a tin peddler come with his pack of shiny cook vessels in a +shiny black oilcloth poke on his back. The fellow wore red-topped boots +and a red flannel shirt, for all it was summer. His breeches had more +patches than a scarecrow and his big felt hat had seen its best days +too. He kept at Levicy to buy his wares but she was one that didn't +favor shiny tinware. 'It rustes out,' she told the peddler. 'Nohow I've +got plenty of iron cook vessels.' All the time the old peddler was +trying to wheedle and coax her into buying something, a quart cup, a +milk bucket, a dishpan, a washpan. I was inside in the sitting room +resting myself on the sofa. I could hear the peddler outside on the +stoop, bickering and haranguing at Levicy to buy. Finally I got my fill +of it and I tiptoed out through the kitchen-house, my gun over my +shoulder. I went to the barn lot and turned loose Buck, a young bull we +had that I'd been aimin' to swop Jim Vance. I give Buck one good wollop +across the rump with the pam of my hand. He kicked up his heels and +rushed forward, me close behind with my gun. The peddler took one look +at Buck, so it peered to me, and Buck took one look at the peddler, +lowered his head and charged. The peddler let out a war whoop and flew +down the hillside like a thousand hornets had lit on him. The pack fell +from his back and there was a scattermint of tinware from top to bottom +of that hill. Buck shook his head and snorted. His eyes bugged outten +the sockets. I couldn't tell if he was ragin' mad at the shiny tin cook +vessels that was tanglin' his hoofs, or if it was the red shirt and +red-topped boots of the peddler that riled Buck. Nohow Buck ducked his +head again and bellowed, caught a shiny quart cup on each horn and a +couple washpans on his forefeet and kept right on down the hill. By this +time the tin peddler had scooted up a tall tree quick as a squirrel and +there he set on a limb. Buck was ragin' and chargin' in circles around +that tree. That bull was riled plum to a franzy and that tin peddler was +yaller as a punkin. Skeert out of his wits. 'Come on down, you pore +critter!' sez I. But he just opened his mouth and couldn't say a word, +just a dry croak like a frog bein' swallored in sudden quicksand. 'Come +on down,' I coaxed, 'I'll quile Buck down till he's peaceable as a +kitten.' + +"But the peddler just starred at me and shivered on the limb like a +sparrow bird freezin' of a winter time in the snow. 'I'll tend to Buck!' +I promised him. 'Come on down!' And to put his mind at ease I up with my +rifle-gun, shot the quart tin cups offen Buck's horns and the washpans +offen his front hoofs. 'Now get back to the barn where you belong and +behave yourself!' I sez to Buck and he scampered back up the hill as +frolicsome as a lamb, pickin' his way careful like as a Jenny Wren +through that scattermint of tinware. + +"The peddler was still shiverin' on the tree limb overhead and his eyes +buggin' out worser'n Buck's had when he ketched first sight of the +feller's red shirt and the shiny tinware. 'Buck's gone,' I sez to him +coaxin' like. 'You don't need to be skeert of him no more!' 'T-t-tain't +B-b-buck!' the feller's teeth chattered. 'It's you, D-d-evil A-a-nse!' +With that he drapped off the limb down to the ground at my feet. +Swoonded dead away!" + +Devil Anse Hatfield chuckled heartily. "'T-t-ain't Buck! B-b-uck,' sez +he when he ketched his wind and revived up. 'It's you--D-d-evil Anse!'" + +The rest of the story Captain Anderson himself would never tell but Aunt +Levicy told me how he packed the tin peddler back up the hill to the +house on his shoulder and had her cook him a big dinner of fried chicken +and cornbread; how he gave the peddler a couple greenbacks that made him +plum paralyzed with pleasure and surprise; and how he had Jonse take the +peddler back to the county seat, the peddler riding behind Jonse on +Queen, where he bought a new supply of tinware and went on his way. + +Except for such interludes of pranking, doubtless Aunt Levicy and old +Randall's wife, Sarah McCoy, could never have survived the ordeal of the +Hatfield-McCoy feud. + +The women of both households lived days of torture, ever watchful of the +approaching enemy. They spent sleepless nights of anguish, knowing too +well the sound of gunshot, the cry of terror that meant another outbreak +of the clans. And when the cross grew too heavy even for their stoic +shoulders to bear they ventured unbeknownst to their menfolks to the +Good Shepherd of the Hills to beg his intercession, his prayers for +peace. + + + PEACEMAKER + +Autumn had painted the wooded hillside bright scarlet, golden brown, +vivid orange, and yellow that shone in the late September sunlight like +a giant canvas beyond the rambling farmhouse at the head of Garrett's +Fork of Big Creek where dwelt the Good Shepherd of the Hills, William +Dyke Garrett and his gentle wife. Here in Logan County in the heart of +the rugged West Virginia country, Uncle Dyke and Aunt Sallie lived in +the selfsame place for all of seventy years. Sallie Smith, she was, of +Crawley's Creek, a few miles away, before she wed the young rebel of the +Logan Wildcats. That was away back in 1867, February 19th, to be exact. +He was twenty, she in her teens. He had been born and grew to young +manhood in a cabin only a stone's throw from where he and Miss Sallie, +as he always called her, went to housekeeping. As for their neighbors, +there wasn't a person in the whole countryside that didn't love Sallie +Garrett, nor one that didn't revere the kindly Apostle of the Book. So +long had Dyke Garrett traveled up and down the valley comforting the +sick, praying with the dying, funeralizing the dead. + +I had heard him preach in various places through the West Virginia +hills. + +"Hello, Uncle Dyke!" I called from the roadside one autumn day in 1936. + +"Howdy! and welcome!" he replied cheerily, rising at once from his +straight chair and taking his place in the door. His wife stepped nimbly +to his side, for all her ninety-odd years, and echoed the husband's +greeting. + +It is the way of the mountains. + +I lifted the wood latch on the gate and went up the white-pebbled path. +Flower-bordered it was, with brilliant scarlet sage, purple bachelor +buttons, golden glow. There was pretty-by-night, too, though their +snow-white blossoms were closed tight in the bud for it was not yet +sundown; only in the twilight and by night did the buds bloom out. +"That's why they wear the name Pretty-by-Night," mountain folk will tell +you. There were clusters of varicolored seven sisters lifting up their +bright petals. Moss, some call it in the mountains. There were bright +cockscomb and in a swamp corner of the foreyard a great bunch of +cat-o'-nine tails straight as corn stalks. + +Tall, erect stood the Good Shepherd of the Hills, fully six feet three +in his boots, his white patriarchal beard pillowed on his breast. The +blue-veined hands rested upon the back of his chair as he gazed at me +from friendly eyes. Aunt Sallie, a slight bird-like little creature, +reached scarcely to his shoulder. Her black sateen dress with fitted +basque and full skirt was set off with a white apron edged with +crocheted lace. The small knot of silver hair atop her head was held in +place with an old-fashioned tucking comb. About her stooped shoulders +was a knitted cape of black yarn. + +"Take a chair," invited Uncle Dyke when I reached the porch, waving me +to a low stool. "Miss Sallie al'lus favors the rocker yonder on account +the high back eases her shoulders. She's not quite as peert as she was +back in 1867." + +"It took a bit of strength to tame Dyke and I had it to do." She +addressed me rather than her husband. "He was give up to be the wildest +young man in the country when he came back from the Home War." + +The Civil War having been ended for some two years and the young private +of the Logan Wildcats having been tamed, he became converted to +religion. Thereupon he began to preach the Gospel. + +But never in all the years of his ministry from 1867 to 1938, when +failing health took him from the pulpit, did Uncle Dyke Garrett receive +a penny for preaching. He never had a salary. William Dyke Garrett got +his living from the rugged little hillside farm that he tended with his +own hands. + +"Before I was converted to religion," he said, straightening in his +chair, "I played the fiddle and many a time went to square dances. But +once I got the Spirit in here,"--placing a wrinkled hand upon his +breast--"I gave up frolic tunes and played only religious music. There +are other ways for folks to get together and enjoy themselves without +dancing. Now there's the Big Meeting! Every year on the first Sunday of +September folks come from far and near here to Big Creek and bring their +basket dinner." + +"Dyke started it many a year ago," Aunt Sallie interposed with prideful +glance at her mate. + +Again he took up the story. "After we've spread our basket dinner out on +the grass all under the trees we have hymn-singing and--" + +"Dyke reads from the Scripture and preaches a spell." Aunt Sallie meant +that nothing should be left out. Nor did the old man chide her. + +"Many a one has been converted at the Big Meeting"--his eyes +glowed--"and nothing will stop it but the end of time. They'll have the +Big Meeting every year long after I'm gone. I'm certain of that." + +Presently his thoughts looped back to his wedding to Sallie Smith. "Our +infare-wedding lasted three days. The first day at Sallie's, the second +day at Pa's house, and the third right here in our own home. That was +the way in those times. And I got so gleeful I fiddled and danced at the +same time! That'll be seventy-one year come February of the year +nineteen thirty-seven." Slowly he rolled his thumbs one around the +other, then he stroked his long beard, eyes turned inward upon his +thoughts. "Well, sir, if I should get married one hundred times I'd +marry Miss Sallie Smith every time. We've traveled a long way together +and we've had but few harsh words." + +His mate lifted faded eyes to his. "Dyke, it was generally my fault," +she said contritely, "but I was bound to scold when you'd get careless +about your own self. I vow," the little old lady turned to me, "he took +no thought of his health nor his life nor limb. There was nothing he +feared--man nor beast nor weather. In the early days there were no roads +in this country and he rode horseback from one church to another through +the wilderness. In the dead of night I've known him to get up out of bed +and go with a troubled neighbor who had come for him to pray with the +dying." + +Uncle Dyke chuckled softly. "Sometimes they were not as near death as I +thought. Once I remember John Lawton came from way over in Hart County. +His wife was at the point of death, he said. She had lived a mighty +sorry life had Dessie Lawton." + +"Parted John and his wife!" piped Aunt Sallie, "and that poor girl went +to her grave worshiping the ground John Lawton walked on; hoping he'd +come back to her. Dyke claims there's ever hope for them that repent, so +when John brought word that Dessie wanted to make her peace with the +Lord before she died, Dyke said nothin' could stay him. So off he rode +behind John to pray over that trollop!" Aunt Sallie's eyes blazed. "They +forded the creek no tellin' how many times. They got chilled to the +bone. When they got there Dyke stumbled into the house as fast as his +cold, stiff legs could pack him, fell on his knees 'longside Dessie's +bed and begun to pray with all his might. Then he tried to sing a hymn, +but still never a word nor a moan out of Dessie, covered over from head +to foot in the bed. Directly John reached over to lay a hand on her +shoulder. 'Dessie, honey,' he coaxed, 'Brother Dyke Garrett's come to +pray with you!' He shook the heap of covers. And bless you, what they +thought was Dessie turned out to be a feather bolster. John snatched +back the covers. The bed was empty except for that long feather bolster +that strumpet had covered over lengthwise of the bed. Come to find out +Dessie had sent John snipe huntin', so to speak, and she skipped out +with a timber cruiser. Dyke was laid up for all of a week; took a deep +cold on his chest from riding home in his wet clothes." + +The old preacher smiled at the memory. "Could have been worse, like John +Lawton said that night. 'Dessie's got principle!' said he. 'She could +a-took my poke of seed corn, but there it is a-hangin' from the rafters. +And she could a-took my savin's.' With that John Lawton pried a stone +out of the hearth with the toe of his boot. Underneath it lay a little +heap of silver coins. John blinked at it a moment. 'There it is. +Dessie's shorely got principle. No two ways about it.' He shifted the +stone back to place, tilted back in his chair, and patting his foot +began to whistle a rakish tune. He was still whistling as I rode off +into the bitter night." + +There was another time Dyke recalled when old Granny Partlow sent word +that she couldn't hold out against the Lord no longer. Granny was +nearing eighty and for thirty of her years she had sat a helpless +cripple in a chair. At the birth of her seventeenth child, paralysis had +overtaken Deborah, wife of Obadiah Partlow, rendering her useless to her +spouse and their numerous offspring. She had protested bitterly, saying +right out that it wasn't fair and that so long as the affliction was +upon her she meant to ask no favor of the Lord. Deborah Partlow was +through with prayer and Scripture and Meeting, though in health never +had been there a more pious creature than Obadiah Partlow's wife. +Neighbor folk saw her wither and pine through the years. A grim figure, +she sat day in and day out in her chair wherever it was placed. Lifeless +from the waist down, using her hands a little to peel potatoes or string +beans, though so slow and laborious were the movements of the stiff +fingers her children and Obadiah said they'd rather do any task +themselves than to give it to her. At last she had become an old woman, +shriveled, grim, still bitter about her fate. + +No one was more surprised than Uncle Dyke Garrett when she sent for him. + +"Granny Partlow craved baptism," Uncle Dyke remembered the story as +clearly as though it had happened but yesterday. "The ice was all of a +foot thick in the creek but men cut it with ax and maddock, spade and +saw. It had to be a big opening to make room for Deborah Partlow and her +chair. Though her children and grandchildren and old Obadiah +protested--'It'll kill you!' 'You'll be stone dead before +night!'--Granny had her way. Nor would she put on her bonnet or shawl. +Resolute, she sat straight in her chair as neighbor men packed her +through the snow to the creek. The women standing on the bank wept and +wailed till they couldn't sing a hymn. 'It'll kill Granny Partlow!' they +cried." + +Uncle Dyke was silent a long moment. "No one could ever rightly say how +it come about. But the minute my two helpers brought the old woman up +out of the icy waters she leaped out of her chair and took off up the +bank for home, fleet as a partridge, through snow up to her knees, +holding up her petticoats with both hands as she flew along. Lived to be +a hundred and three. Hoed corn the day she died of sunstroke." The Good +Shepherd of the Hills sighed contentedly. "Deborah Partlow bein' +baptized under ice brought a heap of converts to religion." + +"But that baptizin' caused me no end of anxiety," Aunt Sallie took up +the story. "That day when Dyke went out to saddle old Beck the snow was +plum up to his boot tops. The mountains were white all around and the +creek froze in a sheet of ice. But go Dyke would. I wropt his muffler +twice around his neck, got his yarn mittens and pulse warmers too and +throwed a sheep hide over the top of his wood saddle and one under +it--to ease the nag's back. He had wooden stirrups too. Made the whole +thing himself. I dreaded to see Dyke ride off that winter's day for +there was a sharp wind that come down out of the hollow and froze even +the breath of him on his long black beard till it looked white--white as +it is today. I watched him ride off. Heard the nag's feet crunching in +the snow. All of three full days and nights he was gone, for at best the +road to Hart County was rough and hard to travel. In the meantime come a +blizzard. Not a soul passed this way, so I got no word of Dyke. I +conjured a thousand thoughts in my mind. Maybe he'd met the same fate of +old man Frasher who fell over a cliff in a blinding snowstorm. Maybe the +nag had stumbled and sent Dyke headlong over some steep ridge. The +children, we had several then, could see I was troubled, though I tried +to hide it. Finally on the third night I had put our babes to bed and +was sitting by the fire too troubled to sleep. I had about give up hope +of seeing Dyke alive again. It was in the dead of night I heard a voice. +It sounded strange and far off, calling 'Hallo! Hallo!', more like a +pitiful moan it was. I lighted a pine stick at the hearth and hurried as +best I could through the snow to where the voice was coming from. I +stumbled once and fell over a stump and the pine torch fell from my +hand. It sputtered in the snow and nearly went out before I could pull +myself up to my feet. And all the time the voice seemed to be getting +farther away. But it wasn't. It was just getting weaker. In a few more +steps I come on the nag deep in a snowdrift up to its shanks and there +slumped over in the saddle was Dyke. His feet were froze fast in the +stirrups. He was numb and nigh speechless. I wropt my shawl around him +and hurried, back to the house, heated the fire poker red hot and with +it I thawed Dyke Garrett's boots loose from them wooden stirrups." Aunt +Sallie sighed. "Of course no mortal can tell when salvation will take +holt on their heart but after Granny Partlow's baptizing and Dyke having +to be thawed out of his stirrups I was powerful thankful when the Spirit +descended on a sinner in fair weather." + +"It's not always womenfolks like Granny Partlow who are slow to open +their heart to the Spirit. Now take Captain Anderson! + +"In his home there never lived a more free-hearted man. Loved to have +folks come and stay as long as they liked. Once I recall a man came to +the county seat in court week. He was making tintypes and charged a few +cents for them. Captain Anderson had his picture made and was so pleased +with it he coaxed the fellow to go home with him so that he could get a +tintype of Levicy and the children. He never stopped until he had ten +dollars' worth of tintypes and then he didn't want the fellow to leave. +But he did. Finally settled over on Beaver. His name was Jerome Bailey +and he died a rich man and always said he got his start with the ten +dollars he earned making tintypes for Captain Anderson Hatfield." + +Uncle Dyke reflected a long moment. "There's good in all of us no matter +how wicked we may seem to others. And down deep in the heart of me I +knew my Captain would one day open his heart to salvation." + +Anyone could tell you how the Good Shepherd of the Hills through the +long years had pleaded and prayed with Devil Anse to forsake the thorny +path, even far back when they returned from the Home War. Already the +Captain of the Wildcats had made a notch on his gunstock by killing +Harmon McCoy in 1863. He was already the leader of his clan. And all the +time Uncle Dyke kept pleading with his comrade to give up sin. But not +until Uncle Dyke Garrett had preached and prayed for nearly fifty years +and Devil Anse too had become an old man did he admit the error of his +way. Not until then were the patience, faith, and hope of Uncle Dyke +rewarded. + +"It was one of the happiest days of my life," he told me, "when Captain +Anderson took my hand. Sitting right here we were together. It was in +the falling weather. These hills all around about were a blaze of glory, +like they are today. And here sat Captain Anderson, in this very rocking +chair where Miss Sallie is sitting now. We were alone. Miss Sallie was +busy with her posies down yonder near the gate. 'Dyke,' says the Captain +of the Logan Wildcats, in a voice so soft I could scarce hear, 'I've +come into the light! I crave to own my God and Redeemer. I long to go +down into the waters of baptism and be washed spotless of my +transgressions.' I could not move hand or foot. My tongue clove to the +roof of my mouth. Captain Anderson gripped the arms of the rocker there +as if to steady himself. A man who had tracked mountain lion and bear, +panther and catamount. I could see the face of him, that old +daredeviltry vanish away and on his countenance a childlike look of +repentance. It took a heap o' courage for Captain Anderson to admit his +transgressions even to me, his lifelong friend. But I always knew that +down deep in the heart of him there was good and that his hour would +come when he'd fall upon his knees before the Master and say, 'Here I +am, forgive me Lord, a poor sinner!' But when the words fell from his +trembling lips I could not even cry out in rejoicing, 'Thank God!', like +I always aimed to do when my comrade should come within the fold. I sat +with my jaws locked, my tongue stilled. Captain Anderson spoke again. +'Dyke,' sez he, 'brother Dyke ...' I could feel my heart pounding like +it would burst out of my breast. 'Brother Dyke,' he repeated the words +slowly, pleadingly, 'ain't you aimin' to give me the hand of +fellowship?' Then, still unable to utter a word, I reached out my hand +and my comrade seized it, gripped it tight. There we sat looking at each +other and so Miss Sallie found us as she came up the path there with her +arms filled with posies, golden glow, and scarlet sage, and snow-white +pretty-by-night just burst into bloom for it was sundown. 'Men!' said +she, 'at last you're brothers in the faith! I know it. Ah! I'd know it +from the look of peace on the faces of the two of you, even if I did not +witness the sign of your hands clasped in fellowship!' The next Sabbath +day, it fell like on the third Sunday of the month, we witnessed the +baptism of a once proud and desperate rebel. A rebel against the Master! +The baptism of him and six of his sons as well who had not before +received salvation." + +Swiftly the word passed along the creeks and through the quiet hollows. +"Devil Anse has come through!" There was great rejoicing throughout the +West Virginia hills, indeed throughout the southern mountains. Not only +the leader of the Hatfields, but six of his sons, had "got religion" and +"craved baptism." Hundreds flocked from out the hollows of West Virginia +and Kentucky to witness the Hatfield baptizing. + +That was another autumn day only a few years ago as time goes. + +The sun was sinking behind the mountain, casting long shadows on the +waters of Island Creek when the Good Shepherd of the Hills moved slowly +down the bank to the water's edge. Behind him followed his old friend, +no longer the emboldened Devil Anse with fire in his eagle eye, but a +meek, a silent, penitent figure. The autumn breeze stirred his +snow-white hair, his scant gray beard. Upon his breast the old clansman +held respectfully his wide-brimmed felt as he walked with head uplifted +in supplication. Behind him followed his six sons. Jonse came first, +Jonse, who had loved pretty Rosanna McCoy, reckless Jonse, who like his +father had slain he alone knew how many of the other side. Then came +Cap, Elias, Joseph, Troy, Robert. + +Slowly and with steady stride Uncle Dyke walked into the water. Up to +the waist he stood holding the frayed Bible in his extended right hand. +"Except ye shall repent and go into the waters of baptism ye shall +perish. But if ye repent and accept salvation, though your sins be as +scarlet they shall be washed whiter than snow," the voice of the Good +Shepherd of the Hills drifted down the valley. + +"Amen!" intoned the trembling voice of Devil Anse. + +"Amen!" echoed the six sons grouped about their aged sire. + +Then Aunt Levicy, wife of the grim clansman, began singing in a +quavering voice: + + Amazing grace, how sweet the sound + That saved a wretch like me; + I once was lost, but now I'm found, + Was blind, but now I see. + +The wives and daughters, mothers, sisters, and sweethearts of McCoys +took up the doleful strain: + + 'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear, + And grace my fears relieved; + How precious did that grace appear + The hour I first believed. + +"Hit's our sign of peace!" shouted old Aunt Emmie McCoy clapping her +palsied hands high above her head, "the sign of peace 'twixt us and +t'other side!" Whereupon Young Emmie McCoy, still in her teens, who had +loved Little Sid Hatfield since their first day at school on Mate Creek, +threw her arms about his sister and cried, "Can't no one keep me and +Little Sid apart from this day on." + +"Amen!" the voice of Devil Anse led the solemn chant. "Amen! God be +praised!" + +Jonse, the first-born of the Hatfields, bowed his head and his +deep-throated "Amen! God be praised!" echoed down the valley. Then Cap +and Troy, Tennis, Elias, Joe, Willis, and the rest joined in. All eyes +turned toward Jonse. He who had loved pretty Rosanna McCoy when he was a +lad, she a shy little miss. + +Many at the baptizing remembered the first meeting of the two +star-crossed lovers one autumn day long ago on Blackberry Creek. The day +when young Randall and Tolbert, her brothers, were there. Old folks +remembered too the time when Devil Anse had slain Harmon McCoy. But that +was long ago and forgiven. "Let bygones be bygones," Levicy had pleaded +with her mate, and Sarah, wife of Old Randall, did likewise with her +spouse. But only Levicy, of the two sorely tried women, had survived to +witness the answer to her prayers--peace between the households with the +baptism of Devil Anse and his six sons. + +As one by one they went down into the waters of baptism, it was the +voice of Levicy Chafin Hatfield that led in that best-loved hymn tune of +the mountains: + + On Jordan's stormy banks I stand and cast a wistful eye + Toward Canaan's fair and happy land where my possessions lie. + I'm bound for the Promised Land, I'm bound for the Promised Land. + Oh! who will come and go with me, I'm bound for the Promised Land. + +The hills gave back the echo of their song. + +It was a day of rejoicing. + +As for Uncle Dyke Garrett he continued to journey up and down the broad +valley and through the hills, preaching the Gospel of repentance, +forgiveness, salvation. Above all he told of the baptism of Captain +Anderson and his six boys. + +From the very first Dyke Garrett was more than a preacher. + +Along lonely creeks into quiet hollows he went to pray at the bedside of +the dying, to comfort the bereft, to rejoice with the penitent. In the +early days he was the only visitor beyond the family's own blood kin, so +remote were the homes of the settlers one from the other. Like a breath +from the outside world were Uncle Dyke's words of cheer, while to him +they in the lonely cabins were indeed voices crying out in the +wilderness. Nor did flood nor storm, his own discomfort and hardship +deter him. Winter and summer, through storm and wind, he rode bearing +the good tidings to the people of the West Virginia ruggeds. + +And now here he sat this autumn day in 1937, alert and happy for all his +ninety-six years. Bless you, he even talked of fighting! + +"If anyone jumped on these United States without a good cause," he +declared vehemently, "I'd fight for my country--" Uncle Dyke didn't +quibble his words. "That is to say if Uncle Sam would take me. Me and my +sword!" Again he faltered, adding reflectively, "But after all the Bible +is the better weapon. With it I can conquer all things." + +Slowly he arose from his chair and Aunt Sallie and I did likewise. + +"Come," he invited, "I want you to see for yourself where I've baptized +many a one that has come to me." He pointed to a pool in the creek +beyond the house where he had made a small dam. As we stood together it +was on the tip of my tongue to ask how many couples he had baptized, how +many he had married. Abruptly with the uncanny sense of the mountaineer +he lifted the questions out of my mind, though it could have been +because so many others had asked the same things. "I've never kept count +of the wedding ceremonies I have performed, nor of the baptisms," he +said thoughtfully. "I have always felt that if it was the Lord's work I +was doing, He would keep the count." + +You didn't have to ask Uncle Dyke Garrett either which were the happiest +days of his long life. You'd know from the look he bestowed upon his +frail mate that his supreme happy hour was when he married Miss Sallie +Smith. "My wedding day," he was saying as if the question had been +asked, "that was the happiest day of my whole life. And next to that +comes the day when the Lord chose me to administer baptism to Captain +Anderson and his six boys. Such hours as these are a taste of heaven +upon earth." His voice was hushed with solemnity. His brimming eyes were +lifted to the hills. "Though it was a day of sorrow I am grateful that +it also fell to my lot to preach the funeral of my lifelong friend +Captain Anderson. Most of all though, my heart rejoiced because Captain +Anderson had become like a little child, meek and penitent, worthy to +enter the fold." + +Uncle Dyke sat silent a long time. His wrinkled hands cupped bony knees. +"It brought peace to Levicy's troubled heart." His eyes grew misty with +unshed tears. "I see her now as she lay so peaceful in her shroud and on +her bosom the gold breast pin she prized so much that Captain Anderson +brought her the time he was stormbound, when he met that scalawag +brother of Jesse James. She loved posies did Levicy and every springtime +we take some to her grave, me and Miss Sallie." + +At this, Miss Sallie, slipping her small hand through the bend of his +arm, led the way down the flower-bordered path. "Posies are the +brightness of a body's days," she said softly. "You can't just set them +out and they'll bloom big. You have to work with them. Posies and human +creatures are a heap alike. Sometimes they have to be pampered. Like +Dyke here," she smiled up at her aged mate. "I had to understand his +ways, else I'd never have tamed him," she persisted. "He's the last +surviving one of his company--the Logan Wildcats." Aunt Sallie's blue +eyes lighted with pride. "I like to think of him outlasting me too." + +I'd remember them always as they stood there in the sunset with the +golden glow and scarlet sage and the snow-white pretty-by-night all +about them, the two smiling contentedly as I waved them good-by far down +at the bend of the road. + +It was the last time I ever saw Uncle Dyke alive. The next May--1938--he +died. I was gratified that it fell to my lot to attend his funeral. And +what a worthy eulogy the Reverend John McNeely, whom Uncle Dyke always +referred to as "my son in the Gospel," preached, taking for his text "My +servant, Moses, is dead," a text that the two had agreed upon long +before the Good Shepherd of the Hills passed away. + +That day when the sermon was ended the great throng that filled the +valley and the hillsides, gathering about the baptismal pool he himself +had fashioned, sang Uncle Dyke's favorite hymn. Their voices blending +like the notes of a giant organ swelled and filled the deep valley: + + Like a star in the morning in its beauty, + Like the sun is the Bible to my soul, + Shining clear on the way of life and beauty, + As I hasten on my journey to the goal. + + 'Tis a lamp in the wilderness of sorrow, + 'Tis a light on the weary pilgrim's way, + It will guide to the bright eternal morrow, + Shining more and more unto the Perfect Day. + + 'Tis the voice of a friend forever near me, + In the toil and the battle here below, + In the gloom of the valley, it shall cheer me, + Till the glory of the kingdom I shall know. + + I shall stand in its glory and its beauty, + Till the earth and the heavens pass away, + Ever telling the wondrous, blessed story + Of the loving Lamb, the only living way. + +Uncle Dyke chose also his own grave site in the family burying ground +overlooking the house where he'd lived seventy-one years. Often he had +visited the spot and picked out the place beside him where Miss Sallie +should be laid to rest. His life had ended almost where it began. The +house in which he was born stands only a few miles from that in which he +died. + +"He built this house his own self," Aunt Sallie quietly reiterated that +evening as some of us lingered to comfort her. "We came here to Big +Creek soon as we married. We've lived here seventy-one year." Through +brimming eyes she gazed toward the new-made grave. "We traveled a long +way together, me and Dyke--" a sob shook the frail little body--"and +now, I'm goin' to be mighty lonesome." + +Big Meeting is still carried on just as Uncle Dyke wished it. + +In September, 1940, I went again to mingle with the hundreds who show +their reverence for the Good Shepherd of the Hills by keeping fresh in +memory his teaching through their prayers and hymns at the Big Meeting +each autumn. And here again a worthy follower of Uncle Dyke Garrett +eulogized his deeds and mourned his loss. And close by, for all her +ninety-two years, his beloved Miss Sallie, with a trembling hand on the +arm of a kinsman, listened intently while those who knew and loved him +extolled her lost mate. + +And now Miss Sallie is gone too. She died on July 28, 1941, at the age +of ninety-three and loving hands place mountain flowers on her grave and +that of Levicy Hatfield far across the mountain. + + + TAKING SIDES + +Some took sides in the feuds that have been carried on throughout the +Blue Ridge Country and thereby got themselves enthralled, while others, +more tactful, managed to keep aloof and remain friends with the +belligerents. + +There's Uncle Chunk Craft on Millstone Creek in Letcher County. Enoch is +his real name. There's nothing he likes better than to tell of the days +when he was one of Morgan's raiders. Then, when he was only twenty-two, +that was in 1864, Uncle Chunk slept in a cornfield near Greenville, +Tennessee, the very night General John Hunt Morgan, who had taken +shelter in a house a couple of miles away, was betrayed by the woman of +the house and shot to death by Unionists. + +"We were tuckered out," he said, "had tramped through rain and mud and +finally rolled in our blankets, if we were lucky enough to have one, and +fell asleep wherever it was. I burrowed in with a comrade. But we didn't +get much rest. For, first thing you know, seemed I'd just dozed off, +someone come shoutin' through the cornfield that the General had been +killed. We shouldered our muskets and stumbled off through the field, +grumbling and growling that we'd 'tend to the ones that had betrayed +him. But even if the woman had been found I reckon we'd a-shunned +killin' her. There's a heap that goes on in war that a man don't like to +think on." + +Uncle Chunk was proud to own, however, that he saw hard fighting through +Virginia, Tennessee, and Kentucky and was glad enough when the war was +ended. He came back, married Polly Ann Caudill, and settled down in +Letcher. It wasn't long until another war started. This time between his +neighbors. But with all the carryings-on between John Wright and Clabe +Jones in the adjoining counties of Floyd and Knott, Enoch Craft managed +to stay friends with both sides. Whichever side happened to round in at +his home, hungry and footsore from scouting in the woods for the other +faction, found a welcome at Uncle Chunk's and plenty to eat. "Fill up +the kittle, Polly Ann," he'd call to his wife, as he went on digging +potatoes. "Here comes some of John Wright's crew." Or, "Put on the +beans, I see Clabe Jones's men comin'!" + +And fill up the kettle Polly Ann did. + +After the belligerents had eaten their fill, Uncle Chunk would try to +reason with them to let the troubles drop. "A man thinks better on a +full gut than a empty one," he argued. And at last, through his help, +the Clabe Jones-John Wright feud ended. + + * * * * * + +In Bloody Breathitt in 1886, Willie Sewell was shot from ambush while +making molasses on Frozen Creek. That started feeling, for Willie had +lots of kinfolks. He himself was not without sin, for he had killed +Jerry South. The Souths were related to the Cockrells. But when Willie +Sewell, who was a half-brother of Jim and Elbert Hargis, was shot the +trouble, which became the Hargis-Cockrell feud, really began. + +A quarter of a century after one of the most famous of Kentucky mountain +trials--when Curt Jett was tried for the assassination of James B. +Marcum and James Cockrell--the trouble was revived with the killing of +Clay Watkins by Chester Fugate. This uprising, it was said, started when +Sewell Fugate was defeated by Clay Watkins for the office of chairman of +the county Board of Education. Chester quarreled with Clay over a petty +debt. Three years before that time Amos, cousin of Chester, had shot and +killed Deputy Sheriff Green Watkins, brother of Clay. When an enraged +posse found Amos they filled him with bullets. Sixty years before, Hen +Kilburn, grandfather of Chester Fugate, was taken from the county jail +in Jackson and lynched for killing a man. It was the first time such a +lynching had occurred at the county seat. + +On Christmas morning in 1929, Chester Fugate was taken from the same +jail and shot to death, but not in the courthouse yard. The posse took +him out to a farm some miles away. That was the second lynching in +Bloody Breathitt. There was a heavy snow on the ground, making a soft +carpet for the swiftly moving feet of the mob numbering more than a +score, as they hurried their victim away. Before entering Fugate's cell, +they had bound the jailer, S. L. Combs, to make sure of no interference +from that source. + +Some miles from the county seat they stopped in a thicket on a farm. + +That morning farmer Jones got up before daylight and with lantern on arm +went out to milk the cows and feed the stock. He halted suddenly in the +unbeaten snow for from a nearby thicket came a strange sound. At first +the farmer thought it the moaning of a trapped animal. Holding the +lantern overhead he stumbled on a few yards to find Chester Fugate in a +pool of blood that stained the snow all about the crumpled figure. +Bleeding profusely from thirteen gunshot wounds, Chester survived long +enough to give the names of at least six of his assailants. + +It was another outbreak in the Hargis-Cockrell feud. + +Five of the men in the mob surrendered. They were bound over and +released on bail. All were kin of Clay Watkins: Samuel J. was his +brother, L. K. Rice his son-in-law, Allie Watkins his son, and Earl and +Bent Howard were his nephews. The men signed their own bonds together +with Jack Howard, uncle of Bent and Earl. The name of Elbert Hargis was +also affixed to the bonds. The sixth man named by Chester Fugate before +he died was Lee Watkins, a cousin of Clay, who said he would surrender. + +The trouble went back more than a quarter of a century when Curtis +Jett--his friends called him Curt--and others assassinated James B. +Marcum and James Cockrell. Curt was a nephew of county Judge James +Hargis, who was said by some to be the master mind behind the murders. + +The state militia was called out to preserve order during the trial. + +Things had been turbulent in Breathitt before. Back in 1878 Judge +William Randall fled the bench after the slaying of county Judge John +Burnett and his wife. However, the commencement of the Hargis-Cockrell +feud in 1899 was over a contested election of county officers. The +Fusionists or Republicans declared their men the winners, while the +Democrats were equally certain of triumph. James Hargis was the +Democrats' candidate for county judge, Ed Callahan for sheriff. + +The leading law firm in all of eastern Kentucky at the time was that of +James B. Marcum and O. H. Pollard, but when the election contest arose, +the men dissolved partnership. Marcum represented the Republican +contestants, his former partner looked to the affairs of the Democrats. +Until this time Marcum had been a close personal friend as well as legal +adviser to James Hargis. + +Depositions for the contestants were being taken in Marcum's office when +the two lawyers almost came to blows over Pollard's cross-examination of +a witness, with Hargis and Callahan sitting close by. Harsh words were +uttered and pistols drawn, and Hargis, Callahan, and Pollard were +ordered from Marcum's office. When warrants were issued for them and +Marcum also by police Judge T. P. Cardwell, Marcum appeared in court and +paid a fine of twenty dollars. But Jim Hargis refused to be tried by +Cardwell--the two men had been bad friends for some time. Then, instead +of attempting alone the arrest of Hargis, the town marshal of Jackson, +Tom Cockrell, called on his brother Jim to lend a hand. + +It is said that when Tom went to arrest Hargis the latter refused to +surrender, drawing his gun. But Tom covered Jim Hargis first. Whereupon +Hargis's friend, Ed Callahan, who was close, covered Tom Cockrell and in +the bat of an eye Jim Cockrell, his brother, covered Callahan. Seeing +that the Cockrells had the best of them, both Jim Hargis and Ed Callahan +surrendered. That incident passed without bloodshed and Marcum himself +sent word to police Judge Cardwell that he didn't want to prosecute +Hargis and asked that the case be dismissed, as it was. + +That same year there was a school election. + +"Marcum flew in a rage," said Hargis, "when I accused him of trying to +vote a minor and he pulled his pistol on me but did not shoot." + +Though that difference was also patched up, the families began taking +sides in the many quarrels that followed. Accusations were made first by +one side, then the other. Marcum accused Callahan of killing his uncle, +and Callahan in turn charged that his father had been slain by Marcum's +uncle. + +In July, 1902, the flames of the feud were fanned to white heat. + +Tom Cockrell, a minor, fought a pistol duel with Ben Hargis, Jim's +brother, in a blind tiger, leaving Ben dead upon the floor. Tom was +defended by his kinsman, J. B. Marcum, without fee. Tom's guardian, Dr. +B. D. Cox, one of the leading physicians in Jackson, was married to a +Cardwell whose family belonged to the Cockrell clan. + +It was not long after Ben Hargis's death that his brother John, "Tige," +was slain by Jerry Cardwell. Jerry claimed that it was in the exercise +of his duty as train detective. + +"Tige was disorderly," Jerry said, "when I tried to arrest him." + +Anyway pistols were fired; Jerry was only wounded but Tige was killed. +His death was followed shortly by that of Jim Hargis's half-brother. The +shot came from ambush one night while he was making sorghum at his home, +and no one knew who fired it. + +On another night not long thereafter, Dr. Cox, who was guardian of the +minor Tom Cockrell and the other Cockrell children, was hurrying along +the streets of Jackson to the bedside of a patient. + +When the doctor reached the corner across from the courthouse and in +almost direct line with Judge Hargis's stable, he dropped with a bullet +through the heart. Another shot was fired at close range and lodged in +the doctor's body. + +The evidence disclosed that at the time of the shooting Judge Hargis and +Ed Callahan were standing together in the rear of Hargis's stable from +which direction the shots came. The Cockrells stated that Dr. Cox had +been slain because of his family relationship with them and because of +his participation in the defense of young Tom Cockrell, his ward. + +The story of Dr. Cox's death was still on many lips when Curt Jett, who +was Sheriff Ed Callahan's deputy, met Jim Cockrell in the dining room of +the Arlington Hotel where they engaged in a quarrel and exchange of +bullets. Neither was injured, but bad feeling continued between them. + +Sometime during the morning of July 28, 1902, Curt and a couple of +friends concealed themselves in the courthouse. At noon that day, in +broad daylight, Jim Cockrell was shot dead on the street from a +second-story window of the building. Across the way, from a second-story +window of Hargis's store, Judge Jim Hargis and Sheriff Ed Callahan saw +the shooting. + +Jim Cockrell had assisted his brother, the town marshal, in arresting +Jim Hargis and was the recognized leader of the Cockrell faction. He had +spared no effort in obtaining evidence in his brother's behalf when +young Tom was tried for killing Ben Hargis in the blind tiger. + +Under cover of darkness Curt Jett and his companions were spirited away +from the courthouse on horseback and no arrests were made. + +In the meantime the trial of young Tom Cockrell for killing Ben Hargis +was moved to Campton, but Judge Jim Hargis and his brother, Senator Alex +Hargis, declared that they'd never reach Campton alive if they should go +there to prosecute young Tom. So the case was dismissed. "Our enemies +would kill us somewhere along the mountain road," the Hargises declared. + +Jim Hargis loved his wife and children. He idolized his son Beach, who +spent his days hanging around his father's store and squandering money +that the doting parent supplied. + +Up to November 9, 1902, according to information supplied by J. B. +Marcum, there had been thirty persons killed in Breathitt County as a +result of the feeling between the factions and to quote Marcum's own +words, "the Lord only knows how many wounded." + +After Marcum's assassination on May 4, 1903, his widow wrote the +_Lexington Herald_ that there had been thirty-eight homicides in +Breathitt County during the time James Hargis presided as county judge. +J. B. Marcum and his wife both had known for a long time that he was a +marked man. Indeed, ever since he had represented the Fusionists in +contesting the election of Jim Hargis as county judge, it was an open +secret that Marcum would meet his doom sooner or later. Added to this +was the animosity aroused on the Hargis side by Marcum's defense of +young Tom Cockrell for killing Jim Hargis's brother Ben. + +Marcum made an affidavit which he filed in the Breathitt Circuit Court +declaring that he was marked for death. Others substantiated his +statement by swearing to various plots that had been concocted to +assassinate him. As a matter of fact while the feeling was raging high +in the contest case he was a prisoner in his own home for seventy-two +days, afraid to step out on his own porch. To protect himself against +bullets he had a barricade built joining the rear of his house with a +small yard. Whenever he left his home, which was seldom, he was +accompanied by his wife and he carried one of his small children. + +Once he went to Washington and stayed a month. It was during that time +that his friend Dr. Cox was assassinated. A client of Marcum's by the +name of Mose Feltner came to his home to acquaint the lawyer with a plot +against his life. Mose told how he had been given thirty-five dollars to +commit the deed and a shotgun for the purpose. He also took Marcum to a +woods and showed where four Winchester rifles had been concealed by him +and his three companions. The guns, Mose said, were kept there during +the day but were carried at night so that if he or his companions met +Marcum they were prepared to kill him. The plot, so Mose declared, was +to entice Marcum to his office on some pretext or other. Mose was to +waylay him and pull the trigger. Mose went further. He told Marcum that +the county officials had promised him immunity from punishment if he +would carry out the plot and kill Marcum. When at last the election +contest furore had quieted down Marcum concluded it was safe to venture +forth to his law office and resume his practice. + +On the morning of May 4th he had gone to the courthouse to file some +papers in the case. He lingered for a while in the corridor to greet +this one and that, then walked slowly through the corridor toward the +front door. From where he stood talking with a friend, Benjamin Ewen, +Marcum could see across the street Judge James Hargis and Sheriff Ed +Callahan sitting in rocking chairs in front of Hargis's store. When the +shots were fired that killed Marcum neither Hargis nor Callahan stirred. +Their view was uninterrupted when the lifeless body plunged forward. +They remained seated in their rocking chairs, looking neither to right +nor to left. They made no effort to find out who did the shooting. + +"My God! they have killed me!" cried Marcum as bullets struck through +the spine and skull and he lunged forward dead. + +Curt Jett, tall and angular with red hair and deep-set blue eyes, a man +of many escapades, was convicted of the murder and sent to the +penitentiary for life. The evidence of Captain B. J. Ewen, with whom +Marcum was talking when shot, disclosed that Tom White, one of the +conspirators, walked past Marcum glaring at him to attract his +attention. As he did so Curt in the rear of the hallway of the +courthouse fired the shots. Curt Jett's mother was a sister to Judge +Hargis, and Curt, though only twenty-four at the time, was a deputy +under Ed Callahan. + +Nine years later on the morning of May 4, 1912, Ed Callahan, while +sitting in his store at Crockettsville, a village some twenty-five miles +from Jackson, the county seat, was killed. Callahan too was a marked man +and knew it. Connecting his house and the store he had built a stockade +to insure his safety as he passed from one to the other. There was a +telephone on the wall near the back window of the store and he had just +hung up the receiver after talking to a neighbor when two bullets in +quick succession whizzed through the window from somewhere across the +creek. One entered Callahan's breast, the other his thigh. Members of +his family rushed to his side and carried him, sheltered by the +stockade, to his home where he died. + +The old law of Moses, "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth" still +prevailed. + +It is estimated that from 1902, when the Hargis-Cockrell feud started +over an election contest, to 1912, more than one hundred men had lost +their lives. + +Like the feuds of Scotland, those of the southern mountains usually +found kin standing by kin, but sometimes they quarreled and killed each +other. In the Hargis-Cockrell feud, Marcum's sister was the wife of Alex +Hargis. Curt Jett's mother was a half-sister to Alex and Jim Hargis. His +father was a brother of the mother of the Cockrells, Tom and Jim. Yet +Curt was openly accused of killing Jim Cockrell. Dr. Cox, who was slain +early in the fray, was the guardian of young Tom Cockrell and Mrs. Cox +was a sister of the police judge of Jackson, T. P. Cardwell, Jr., who +was in office when he issued warrants for Marcum, Jim Hargis, and Ed +Callahan when they had quarreled in Pollard's law office at the time +depositions were being taken in the election contest. + +Though Curt Jett, Mose Feltner, John Abner, and John Smith confessed to +the assassination of J. B. Marcum, saying Jim Hargis and Ed Callahan +planned the crime, Hargis and Callahan protested innocence. Even so +Marcum's widow got a judgment for $8000 against the two for killing her +husband. After John Smith confessed and was dismissed he turned bitterly +against Hargis and Callahan and their faction and was suspected of +attempting to assassinate Callahan a year before the deed was +accomplished. + +Around the store of Judge James Hargis conversation turned often to the +troubles. If a woman came in to buy a can of baking powder she looked +stealthily about before gossiping with another. If a man entered to buy +a plug of tobacco or a poke of nails to mend a barn or fence, his swift +eye swept the faces of customers and loiterers and presently he'd sidle +off to one side and talk with some of his friends. + +Young Beach Hargis, upon whom his father doted, heard this talk. He knew +of the feeling of the different ones connected with the trouble. It was +talked not only around the store but in the Hargis home. When the father +wasn't about Beach and his mother mulled it over. Beach never was a lad +to work. "Why should I?" he argued. "Pa's got plenty. And I aim to get +what's coming to me while the old man's living." + +If the father protested that Beach was squandering too much money, the +mother shielded her son and wheedled Jim Hargis into giving him more. + +"He's been pampered too much, Louellen," Judge Hargis often remonstrated +with his wife. "Should we spare the rod and spoil the child?" And +sometimes Evylee, Beach's sister, would plead with her father to forgive +Beach once again for drunkenness and waywardness. Evylee had been away +to school at Oxford University in Ohio near Cincinnati. She loved the +nice things of life, particularly learning. Judge Hargis was an +indulgent father. He wanted his children to have the best, both in +education and dress. He wanted his boy Beach to go through college. But +Beach had no fondness for book-learning or fine clothes. + +"I've give up trying to do anything with him, Louellen," said Jim Hargis +to his wife one day when they were together in the sitting room of their +home. "Look yonder there he goes." He pointed a condemning finger at +Beach reeling drunk along the sidewalk. + +"Don't fret, Pa," Mrs. Hargis pleaded with her husband. "He's young. +He'll mend his ways. Don't forsake him." + +That was the day before the homicide. + +Next day Beach was still drunk. He swaggered into the store, leered +about for his father, and not seeing him stumbled on past the racks +where the guns lay, past the shelves laden with cartridges and shells, +on into the rear room where coffins were lined in a somber row. Judge +Hargis kept a general store that carried in stock most anything you +could call for from baking soda and beeswax to plows, guns and coffins. +Beach didn't notice the black-covered coffins or the guns. He stumbled +along to a corner of the wareroom where he slumped on a keg of nails. +There he sat a while mumbling to himself. His eyes were bloodshot, his +face swollen from a fall or a fight. "The old man punched me in the +jaw," he kept repeating, "and I'll--I'll--" + +Frightened clerks hurried past him in waiting upon customers. No one +tried to listen or understand. Beach kept on mumbling. After awhile he +staggered out again. Later that same day he went to a barber shop for a +shave and haircut. Suddenly he raised up from the chair and leering +toward the street muttered at a man passing, "I thought that was the old +man going yonder." It was not Judge Hargis, the barber assured Beach, so +the drunken fellow settled back in the chair and the barber proceeded to +lather his face. + +Beach's sister, who was married to Dr. Hogg, often took her drunken +brother in. + +"Evylee's got no right to harbor Beach," Judge Hargis complained to his +wife. "He's tore up our home and he will do the same for Evylee and her +husband and for Dr. Hogg's business too. He's a plum vagabond and +spoiled. And put on top of that whiskey, and a gun in his hand, the Lord +only knows what that boy will do." + +Out of one scrape into another, in jail and out, Beach Hargis went his +way. The mother pleading with the father to forgive him and let him have +another chance. The sister pleaded with Beach to quit drinking and +carousing. + +On the 17th day of February, 1908, Beach, still maudlin drunk, went +again into his father's store. He didn't look at the guns in the racks +this time. He glanced toward the wareroom where the black coffins stood +in a row on wooden horses. "I'm looking for the old man," he muttered to +a clerk. Then he reeled toward the counter and asked the clerk to give +him a pistol. The clerk refused, saying he could not take a pistol out +of stock, but added, "Your Pa's pistol is yonder in his desk drawer. You +can take that." + +Beach helped himself. + +In the meantime Judge Hargis had come into the store just as Beach, with +the pistol concealed in his shirt, went out. + +In the drugstore of his brother-in-law, Dr. Hogg, Beach terrorized +customers and the proprietor by pointing his pistol around +promiscuously. He reeled out of the place without firing, however, and +went back to his father's store. Someone later said all he had been +drinking was a bottle of Brown's Bitters. + +From where Judge Hargis stood in one part of the double storeroom he +could see Beach sitting cross-legged in a chair near the front door. +Beach spat on his shoe and slowly whetted his pocket knife, scowling +sullenly now and then in his father's direction. He clicked the blade of +his knife shut and slipped it into his pocket and sat with his arms +dangling at his sides, head slumped on his breast. + +A customer came in and asked Judge Hargis, "Where's Beach?" + +The father pointed to the son. "There he is. I have done all I can for +him and I cannot go about him or have anything to do with him." Then +Judge Hargis repeated that Beach was destroying his business and would +do the same with Dr. Hogg's business if Evylee kept on harboring him. + +Not a word was spoken between father and son. But as Jim Hargis walked +in his direction, Beach pulled himself up out of his chair, stepped +around behind the spool case that stood on the end of the counter, +leered at his father and moved toward him. Beach came within three feet +of his father. The next thing they were grappling. + +Terrified bystanders and clerks heard the report of five pistol shots. +All five of the shots lodged in Jim Hargis's body. By this time the two +men were on the floor. The father holding the son down with one arm, +lifted in his right the smoking pistol. "He has shot me all to pieces," +gasped Judge Hargis as he handed the pistol to a bystander. He died in a +few minutes. + +Loyal to her unfortunate son, Louellen, the widow of Judge Hargis, set +about to get the ablest lawyers in the state to defend him. Will Young, +matchless orator of Rowan County, was not able to clear Beach on the +first trial. On the second, however, aided by the legal skill of +Governor William O. Bradley, D. B. Redwine, J. J. C. Bach, Sam H. Kash, +and Thomas L. Cope, Beach was sentenced to the penitentiary for life +instead of the gallows. + +As the years went by the mother continued to plead for her son's +freedom. Time and again she made the journey to Frankfort to beg mercy +of the governor. Weary and sad she lingered outside the door of the +mansion. She hovered close to the entrance of the chief executive's +suite in the capitol, pleading by look, if word was denied her. Finally +the governor pardoned Beach Hargis, because, it was said, His Excellency +could no longer bear the sight of the heartbroken mother. Beach was +pardoned on promise of good behavior. + +But scarcely was he back in Breathitt County when pistol shots were +heard again. He rode out to the farm of relatives a few miles from +Jackson and when the womenfolk spied him galloping up the lane they took +to the attic in terror. Beach, reeling drunk, staggered into the dining +room where the table was set for dinner. There was a platter of fried +chicken, another of hot biscuits. He shot all the biscuits off the +plate, threw the chicken out the door and didn't stop till he had +riddled every dish on the table. + +The womenfolk up in the attic, with fingers to ears, stared white and +trembling at each other. Finally one of the girls reached out of the +small window up under the eaves and, with the aid of a branch from the +cherry tree close by, caught hold of the rope on the farm bell. Once the +rope was in her hand she pulled it quickly again and again. The clanging +of the bell brought the men from the fields but as they approached on +the run through the cornfield and potato patch, Beach threw a leg over +his horse and galloped away, shooting into the air. + +He continued on the rampage. Out of one scrape into another. + +His mother died of a broken heart. She had done all she could for her +son but Beach Hargis went his reckless way. + +He was sent to prison a second time, for the safety of all concerned, +but he escaped about the time of the World War. No one has seen hide or +hair of him since then. There have been many conjectures as to his +whereabouts but no one really knows what has come of Judge Jim Hargis's +slayer. + +There is a fine State College in Morehead, Rowan County, Kentucky, where +Judge Will Young, whose eloquence saved Beach from the gallows, lived +and died. On the college campus there is a Hargis Hall, named for Thomas +F. Hargis, a Democrat and captain in the Confederate Army, and a +relative of the reckless Beach. + +As for Beach's cousin, Curt Jett, accused of murder, rape, and even the +betrayal of a pretty mountain girl, convicted of the slaying of J. B. +Marcum, he was pardoned from the penitentiary, got religion, and was, +the last heard from, preaching the gospel through the mountains of +Kentucky. + +For all the shedding of blood of kith and kin in the Hargis-Cockrell +feud, when our country was plunged into the World War, Bloody Breathitt +had no draft quota because so many of her valiant sons hastened to +volunteer. + + * * * * * + +Although many of the feuds in the Blue Ridge grew out of elections, they +were not prompted by ambition, for the offices contested were not high +ones like that of senator or congressman. Frequently they were lesser +posts such as that of sheriff or jailer or school-board trustee. When +the strife finally led to assassination the motive usually was the +desire for safety. The one feared had to be removed by death. + +One famous feud, however, was started over the possession of a wife's +kitchen apron. + +Tom Dillam's wife left him and one day passing his farm she spied a +woman working in the field wearing one of her aprons. Mrs. Dillam flew +into a rage, climbed the rail fence, and deliberately snatched the apron +off the other woman. Tom went after her to the home of his +father-in-law, John Bohn, to recover the apron. He quarreled with his +wife and instantly killed Bohn who tried to interfere. + +As the quarrels continued and the years went by, Dillam incited his +relatives and friends and armed them as well. He finally had behind him +a band of outlaws. In 1885, about the time the Martin-Tolliver feud in +Rowan County was at its height, Mrs. Dillam's brother William had a +dispute over timber with her estranged husband's brother George. Bohn +killed Dillam but as he ran for shelter he himself was slain by two +other brothers of Dillam, Sam and Curt. + +As the feeling grew others were drawn into the fray. Brothers opposed +brothers. The Dillams' sister was married to Lem Buffum, and because of +Buffum's friendship with the Bohns he was hated by the Dillams. + +There was a dance one Christmas night at which two of the Dillam band +were slain by Buffum. From then on Sam Dillam dogged the steps of Lem +Buffum who finally killed his tormentor. This so enraged the Dillam band +they started a reign of terror. They were openly out to get any Buffum +sympathizer. They riddled their homes with bullets, burned barns, +waylaid the sympathizers and shot them to death without warning. Once a +friend of the Buffums', Jack Smith, when the Buffum home was besieged, +rushed in and carried out the aged mother of Lem. He bore her down to +the river and leaping into a skiff rowed the old woman safely to the +other side. On his return the Dillams shot him to death from ambush. + +In such a high-handed fashion did they carry on their warfare that they +made bold to seize Jake Kimbrell, a Buffum friend, at a dance. While +some of the Dillam band held their prisoner fast other members of the +crew shot him to death. + +Their utter cruelty finally caused even some of their own faction to +withdraw from the feud. Tom Dillam's brother Ab said outright that if +they wanted to go on hunting Lem Buffum and terrorizing the country +they'd have to do it without him. Lem's sister was married to Ab's son +Jesse. One day in his absence they set upon Ab's house and shot it as +full of holes as a sieve. + +Women and children were no longer safe and the citizens decided +something had to be done for protection. They asked the governor for +troops. His refusal was bolstered by the alibi that first it was the +duty of the sheriff of the county to attempt to capture the murderers. +Then the judge of the county called for fifty militiamen. Instead of +that number only fifteen came to restore law and order. But even before +they arrived on the scene a lad on horseback saw them coming and +galloped off to inform the outlaws who took to the woods. + +With seven of the sheriff's men left to guard the home and family of +Jesse Dillam, Jesse and several others sought safety in a log house some +distance away. However, before they could reach the log house one of +their number was killed, one fled and the rest managed to escape into a +nearby thicket. + +When circuit court convened soon afterward the Dillam brothers, Tom and +Curt, were arrested. Tom, having been released on a $5000 bail, was +going toward the courthouse one day with his lawyer. Following close +behind was Tom's lieutenant and another friend. On the way they passed +the house where their wounded victims were staying and when within range +of the place the outlaws drew their pistols. They did not know that Lem +Buffum and his friends had been warned and were waiting for this moment. +Suddenly a volley of bullets was poured upon the outlaws. Sixteen of the +well-aimed shots had pierced Tom Dillam's body. + +Hatred and lust for murder had by this time gone deep into the heart of +Tom's son who became the leader of the band. If anyone opposed him in +anything, he knew but one way to take care of the opposition and that by +the gun. He gave one of the Dillam band twenty dollars and a gun to slay +a rival. Tom's brother Curt was finally released on bail but it was not +long until his bullet-torn body was found in the woods. + +Fear on the part of those who had testified against the outlaw in his +trial impelled the removal for all time of the cause of fear. The +universe breathed easier after Tom's brother Curt was under the sod. + + + MARTIN-TOLLIVER TROUBLES + +Troubles brewed around elections and courts. + +Some years previously when the Talliaferro families changed their abode +from Old Virginia to settle in Morgan County, Kentucky, it wasn't long +until their name also was changed. Their neighbors found the name +Talliaferro difficult to speak and they began to shorten the syllables +to something that sounded like Tolliver. So Tolliver it was from then +on. + +Craig Tolliver's father became a prosperous farmer but with his +prosperity came quarrels with a neighbor and finally a lawsuit. Tolliver +was successful in the litigation, which incensed his neighbors. One +night as he lay asleep in his bed the irate neighbors stealthily entered +the house and shot him dead before the eyes of his fourteen-year-old +son, Craig. + +This early sight of high-handed murder embittered the boy who at once +began to carry a gun and drink and lead a life of lawlessness. + +In about 1880 he moved to Rowan County which became the scene of one of +the bloodiest of Kentucky feuds, that of the Martins and Tollivers. +Craig was the leader of his side. Gaunt and wiry, he stood six feet in +his boots. His long drooping mustache was a sandy color like his goatee. +His eyes, a light blue, were shifty and piercing, eyes that had the look +of a snake charming a bird. In appearance Craig was a typical desperado. +He swaggered about with gun at belt, a whiskey bottle on his hip. + +At this time the secret ballot had not yet been instituted. Not only was +the name of the voter called out but his choice as well. With the open +ballot a man who bought votes knew how they were cast. Bribery and +whiskey, both of which were plentiful and freely dispensed at voting +time, went hand-in-hand with fights and corruption. + +The stage was set for bloody feud in Rowan County by the time Cook +Humphrey in 1884 ran for sheriff of the county on the Republican ticket +against S. B. Gooden, Democrat. + +That election day in August a group of men gathered in the courthouse +yard at Morehead, the county seat, discussing the returns in heated +tones. + +Gooden lived in the town while his opponent lived about seven miles away +on his father's farm. + +"Cook Humphrey won by twelve votes," someone called out. At that a +quarrel started. Fists were flying in the air. William Trumbo, kin of +John Martin's wife who was Lucy Trumbo, made a remark to a man by the +name of Price. And the next thing they were in a wrangle. There were +Tollivers and Martins present as well as friends of both families and +soon all of them were engaged in the controversy. Someone struck John +Martin, supposedly with the butt of a gun, knocking out a front tooth +and badly cutting his head. His blood stained the courthouse steps. As +he scrambled to his feet cursing vengeance against John Day and Floyd +Tolliver for wounding him, he drew his pistol and others did likewise. + +The next moment Sol Bradley, the father of seven children, lay dead with +a bullet through his brain. Young Ad Sizemore caught a bullet in the +neck. + +There was a dispute as to whether John Martin or Floyd Tolliver had +killed Sol Bradley, who was a friend and partisan of Cook Humphrey. It +was never decided who did the killing. But it started the +Martin-Tolliver troubles. + +The wounding of Ad Sizemore was generally laid to Sheriff John Day. + +Forthwith the factions organized and armed themselves. There were +Martins, Sizemores, and Humphrey on one side, Days and Tollivers on the +other side. + +John Martin, the son of Ben, lived not far from his father on Christy +Creek, a few miles from Morehead. His brothers, Will and Dave, resided +nearby. They had a sister, Sue, who was as fearless as the menfolks of +her family. She resented bitterly the treatment of the Martins by the +other side. Sue lived at home with her father and mother. + +The Tollivers were more widely scattered. Floyd lived in Rowan, Marion +and Craig in Morgan County, their cousins Bud, Jay, and Wiley lived in +Elliott County. + +Their clansmen, all Democrats, including Tom Allen Day and his brothers +Mitch, Boone, and John, also Mace Keeton, Jeff and Alvin Bowling, James +Oxley, and Bob Messer lived in Rowan County. + +The Martins, Logans, and Matt Carey, the county clerk, all Republicans +and friends of Cook Humphrey, newly elected sheriff, resented the +killing of Sol Bradley, an innocent bystander. + +There had been whisperings of threats laid to both sides. "As soon as +the leaves put out good, I aim to get Floyd," Martin is reported to have +said. Similar mutterings were reported to have been uttered by Tolliver. +"I'll bide my time till the brush gets green; then I aim to have a +reckoning. That Logan outfit, well-wishers of the Martins, are getting +too uppity." + +It was Fentley Muse who told a tale-bearer that no good could come of +such things and urged that all keep peace. But peace bonds were violated +as fast as they were made. Pledges by Craig Tolliver to leave the county +for good and all were broken. + +There was more tale-bearing. There were those who, according to John +Martin's son Ben, later a World War hero, made the bullets for others to +shoot, including one, a doctor, whom I knew well in later years. Ben +Martin said of him angrily, "He filled more graves than any other man in +Rowan County and yet he himself never fired a shot." Ben's aged mother, +Mrs. Lucy Trumbo Martin, reiterated this often to me when I sat beside +her on the porch of the old Cottage Hotel on Railroad Street in Morehead +where much of the shooting took place. Indeed the old hostelry had been +the scene of one of the fiercest gun battles between the Martins and +Tollivers. It faced the Central Hotel across the tracks. The Galt House, +the name by which the Carey combined boarding house and grocery-saloon +was known during the Rowan County troubles, stood some distance away +across the road from the courthouse. + +It was a bleak day in December, 1884, following the August election in +Rowan County when John Martin was struck on the head, that he and his +wife Lucy and two of their small children climbed into their jolt wagon +out on Christy Creek and rode into town. While his wife and the children +went to do some trading at a general store down the road, John met Sam +Gooden, John Day, and Floyd Tolliver. Words passed between Martin and +Tolliver after which John went into Carey's saloon. As he stood at the +bar Floyd Tolliver came up and repeated what he had said to Martin +outside--something to the effect that Martin had been wanting to +bulldoze him. Martin denied the charge but Tolliver repeated, "Yes, by +God, you have, and I am not going to permit it." To which Martin +answered, "If you must have a fight, I am ready for you." At this Floyd +put his hand in his pocket. Martin, thinking, so his wife and son told +me, that Floyd Tolliver was about to draw his gun, drew his own in +self-defense. Though Martin was quicker on the trigger than Tolliver, +who now had his gun out of the holster, Martin did not have time to get +his weapon completely out of his pocket. He shot through it, killing +Floyd Tolliver almost instantly. "Boys," Floyd managed to gasp, turning +his eyes toward friends who rushed into the bar, "remember what you +swore to do. You said you would kill him and you must keep your word." + +Martin gave himself up to the law. By this time a mob, friends of both +sides, had gathered around and Martin was hurried, half dragged, across +the road to the jail behind the courthouse. + +In order to protect the prisoner from violence he was taken to the +Winchester, Kentucky, jail next day. But he had been there only six days +when a band of five men presented themselves to the jailer with an +order, apparently signed by the proper authorities, commanding Martin's +return to Rowan County. He pleaded with the jailer not to surrender him. +"It is only a plot to kill me," he cried. + +That day Martin's wife had been to see him in his cell. She took him +some cornbread and a clean shirt and socks. Little did she dream when +she got on the train to return to Morehead that night that her husband +sat handcuffed in the baggage coach ahead. Around the prisoner stood his +five captors: Alvin Bowling, Edward and Milt Evans, a man named Hall, +and another by the name of Eastman. + +When the train was within five miles of the county seat of Rowan, at a +village called Farmers, it was boarded by several masked men who rushed +into the baggage car and shot John Martin, helpless and handcuffed, to +death. + +"They've killed him!" Lucy Trumbo Martin screamed at the sound of the +first shot, though until that moment she had not known her husband was +on the train. "I knew they had killed John," she told her friends at the +time and often afterward. + +When the train bearing John Martin's bullet-torn body reached Morehead +he was carried, still breathing, into the old Central Hotel where he +died that night. In the meantime his distracted wife had sent for their +children and her mother who was staying with the family on the farm on +Christy Creek. An old darky who had long lived at the county seat +mounted his half-blind mule and rode out along the lonely creek that +cold winter night to carry the sad tidings to the Martin household. He +also rode ahead of them on the journey back with the corpse of John +Martin later that same night. + +"Hesh!" Granny Trumbo warned the children huddled in the bed of the +wagon as it rumbled along the creek bed road, "Hesh! no telling who's +hid in the bresh to kill us." The children sobbed fearfully. Ben, the +older of the two small boys, sat dry-eyed. His small hands sought those +of his father cold in death and still in irons. "Pa, they didn't give +you no chance," he murmured bitterly. "You were helpless as a trapped +deer. They didn't give you no chance." + +It wasn't a cry of revenge but of heartbreak, one that the mother and +the other children would remember always. And Granny Trumbo, sitting +bravely erect on the board seat of the wagon beside her widowed +daughter, gripped the reins and urged the weary team onward along the +frozen road, keeping close behind the silent horseman ahead. + +In March of the following year another of the Martin side, Stewart +Bumgartner, a deputy sheriff of Cook Humphrey, was shot from ambush as +he rode along the road some six miles from Morehead. + +A month later Taylor Young, county attorney of Rowan, was shot in the +shoulder as he rode along another lonely road in the county. Though +Young heartily disclaimed any connection with either side, he was +accused by the Martins of being a well-wisher of the Tollivers. Again, +as in the Bumgartner case, no arrests were made. However, when Ed Pierce +was convicted some time later of highway robbery and jailed in +Montgomery County, he confessed to waylaying Taylor Young but put the +blame of the actual shooting on Ben Rayburn. Pierce said it was plotted +by Sheriff Humphrey who assured him and Rayburn of all the whiskey they +could drink and two dollars a day while they were watching for Young; +when they had killed him they were to receive two hundred and fifty +dollars. + +After that, one Sunday morning, Craig Tolliver, who was town marshal of +Morehead, accompanied by a half dozen men, went to the home of old Ben +Martin, father of John. Craig told Mrs. Martin that he had warrants for +the arrest of Cook Humphrey and Ben Rayburn. At first she said the two +were not there, that only her daughters, Sue, Annie, little Rena, and a +married daughter, Mrs. Richmond Tussey, were in the house. It was a +fact; her husband and her two sons, Will and Dave, whose lives had been +threatened, had gone to Kansas. + +The Tollivers, however, were not to be deceived. They had seen Cook +Humphrey, carrying his gun, enter the Martin house the evening before. +The house, a two-story frame with the old part of logs stood at the foot +of a hill about thirty feet from the road. Tolliver's band, including +Mark Keeton, Jeff Bowling, Tom Allen Day, John and Boone Day, Mitch and +Jim Oxley, and Bob Messer, were well armed. They demanded that Humphrey +and Rayburn surrender, saying they had warrants for their arrest for the +attempted assassination of Taylor Young. The two men asked to see the +warrants and when the documents of arrest were not forthcoming they +flatly refused to surrender. Then Craig Tolliver stationed his crew in +the bushes all around the Martin house. Watching his chance he finally +slipped inside and up the narrow stairway. Humphrey spied him, rushed +forward and striking his gun discharged it in Craig's face. Craig fell +backward. Wiping the blood from forehead and cheeks he hurried out into +the yard. + +Sue Martin dashed past him headed toward town for help. But no sooner +did she reach the county seat than she was arrested and put in jail. +Craig and his crew were still surrounding the Martin house, and finally +one of them called out that if Rayburn and Humphrey did not surrender +they would burn the place down. It was known that Tom Allen Day was one +of the best marksmen in the county, so Mrs. Martin, in an effort to help +Rayburn and Humphrey escape, ran toward the barn where Day was ambushed. +He had his gun uplifted and leveled at the fleeing men. Mrs. Martin +struck the gun upward and the shots went wild. But the rest of the +Tolliver crew poured lead toward the two men. Rayburn was slain but +Humphrey escaped. Knowing he still held on to his Winchester the +Tollivers feared to go into the brush after him. + +The body of Rayburn lay all night where it fell. Friends feared to +approach it. The next day, however, they piled fence rails about the +corpse to keep hogs from destroying it. + +At dusk that day the Tolliver crew set fire to the Martin house and +burned it to the ground. The women escaped, seeking shelter under a +tree. Mrs. Martin's married daughter, Mrs. Tussey, was carried out with +her young babe. Another of the Martin girls went to Morehead to see Sue, +and she too was arrested and put in jail. + +The militia was called out, arriving on the following day. The Martin +girls were promptly released. Sue had revenge in her heart for the +insult and humiliation of false arrest. + +Later while the Tollivers were barricaded in a hotel down near the +railroad tracks in Morehead a plump roast turkey was sent in for their +dinner. They wondered whose generosity had prompted the act. But on +sniffing the well-roasted fowl they began to suspect a trick. Upon +examination it was found that the turkey contained enough arsenic to +kill a dozen men. Sue Martin was suspected but nothing was done about +it. There was not sufficient evidence to warrant arrest. + +No sooner had the militia been removed from Morehead than the Tollivers +set upon the Galt House where Cook Humphrey, Howard Logan, Mat Carey, +and others were staying. There wasn't a windowpane left in the place +when they finished. The doors were splintered to smithereens. In the +midst of the fusillade of bullets Cook Humphrey grabbed up a hymn book +from the organ in the musty parlor, held it over his heart, and thereby +saved his life. A bullet lodged in the thick leather cover of the book. + +Things quieted down for some months and Craig Tolliver vowed he was +through with the trouble. "I'm a quiet, peaceable man," he went about +saying, "and the citizens ought to encourage my good behavior by +electing me police judge." But when he set out canvassing for votes he +carried a Winchester. The other candidates forthwith dropped out of the +race, leaving Craig the only one on the ticket. + +When Boone Logan stepped up to the voting booth Craig was close enough +to hear what was said. The election officer told Boone who was running +and the latter expressed himself in no uncertain terms. He said he'd +rather vote for the worst man in the county than for Craig Tolliver. + +Boone Logan was a well-educated, peaceable citizen and practiced law in +Morehead. + +Not long after Craig Tolliver was elected police judge he contrived to +have two younger brothers of Boone Logan arrested on a charge of +kukluxing. Marshal Manning and twelve men repaired to the Logan home two +miles from Morehead. The father, Dr. Logan, prevailed upon his young +sons to surrender and Tolliver agreed that the boys would be taken to +town and given a fair trial. But they had walked scarcely ten feet from +the house when the Tolliver posse shot the boys to death and trampled +the bullet-torn faces into the earth and rode on to town. + +The motive behind the murder of the innocent Logan boys was that Craig +Tolliver knew they would be chief witnesses for their father, who was +charged by Tolliver with having conspired to kill Judge Cole. Craig +decided that the best way out was to end the lives of Dr. Logan's sons. +No sooner had this been accomplished than Tolliver sent word to Boone +Logan to get out of the county. + +Boone got out of the county. He went to Frankfort to seek aid and +counsel of the governor. But Governor Knott said that the state had done +all it could for the relief of the citizens of Rowan County. Logan then +turned to Hiram Pigman, who had had trouble with Craig Tolliver, and +together they solicited the support of Sheriff Hogg in securing the aid +of one hundred and fifty of the county's best citizens in bringing the +Tollivers to justice. As a means to that end Boone Logan went to +Cincinnati where he purchased a supply of Winchester rifles. + +Those who didn't have a Winchester shouldered muskets, shotguns, and +other firearms. Warrants of arrest against the Tollivers on charges of +murder, arson, and various other crimes and misdemeanors were issued and +the date set for the arrest of the men was June 22, 1887. + +Early that morning before daybreak more than one hundred armed men in +the posse were stationed in groups at seven different points outside of +Morehead. + +Craig Tolliver was apprehensive so he walked out of his saloon--he +operated two at the time--and called his clan together at the American +Hotel. There they lay in wait and presently one of the crew saw a man +named Byron going down the street. They knew Byron to be a member of the +posse. They fired on him and he took to his heels with the Tollivers in +pursuit. One of their number, Bud Tolliver, fell with a bullet in his +knee. He crept off in the weeds for safety. + +The Logan posse, in order to identify themselves and avoid their own +bullets, were fighting bareheaded. The Tollivers seeing this threw away +their hats which helped a couple of their number to escape. "The two +Mannings never did stop running until they got entirely out of the +state," so the story went. So quickly did the posse increase they seemed +fairly to spring out of the ground. + +The Tollivers now retreated to the Central Hotel but they soon fled the +place when the posse pelted the old hostelry with bullets. + +Jay Tolliver was killed a short distance away, on the hill beyond +Triplett Creek, and Craig was dropped by a bullet in the leg when he was +crossing the railroad. The tracks separated the Cottage Hotel and the +Central Hotel both of which were in sight of the Galt House, also known +as the Carey House, where Floyd Tolliver had been killed by John Martin +during the preceding December. + +As marksmen the posse surpassed the Tollivers in this street battle for +only one of their number was wounded and that was Bud Madden. He was +shot by "Kate" Tolliver, a boy scarcely fourteen years old. Young +"Kate," or Cal, as he was sometimes called, was as fearless as a +mountain lion. Never once did he run for shelter during the shooting. +And when his uncle Craig lay dying of seventeen bullet wounds the boy +went to him, removed his watch and pocketbook, then crawled away under +the Central Hotel where he remained until darkness when he made his way +to the woods. + +The battle was waged for more than two hours. The posse was determined +to clear the scene of Tollivers. + +They found Bud unable to crawl out from his hiding place in the weeds. +He asked no mercy, nor was mercy granted. A gun was placed close to +Bud's head. His brains were blown out. Another of the Tolliver clan, +Hiram Cooper, thought to conceal himself in a wardrobe in Allie Young's +room in the Central Hotel. (Allie was the son of Taylor Young whose life +had been attempted.) But Cooper, like Bud, was shown no mercy. He was +dragged out into the middle of the floor to meet Bud's fate. + +The bodies of the Tollivers were gathered up, Jay's from the hillside +beyond Triplett Creek, Bud's from the weeds where he had crawled to +hide, Craig's from where it lay near the railroad tracks, and that of +their confederate, Hiram Cooper, from beside the wardrobe wherein he had +tried to hide. The bullet-riddled bodies were washed and laid out in a +row in the musty sitting room of the old American House. This last +office for the dead was performed by members of the posse. + +While the corpses still lay cold in the quiet sitting room, a short +distance away in the courthouse there was a spirited gathering of stern +and earnest men. Their leader, Boone Logan, whose young brothers had +been brutally slain by the Tollivers, arose and addressed the crowd. + +When the last word of his grave speech had been uttered the men silently +drew up a resolution which read in part as follows: + +"If anyone is arrested for this day's work we will reassemble and punish +to the death any man who offers the molestation." + +Coffins for the four bodies that lay in shrouds in the old hotel were +brought from Lexington. The remains of the Tollivers, Craig, Jay, and +Bud, were hauled to Elliott County for burial, while that of Hiram +Cooper was removed by his friends to the family burying ground in the +outskirts of Rowan County. + +The death of these four men brought the total number slain in the +Martin-Tolliver feud to twenty-one. + +Tragedy stalked two of the crew who had been connected with the killing +of John Martin while he sat handcuffed in the baggage coach: Jeff +Bowling killed his father-in-law in Ohio and was hanged for the crime; +Alvin killed the town marshal of Mt. Sterling, not many miles from +Morehead, and was sent to the penitentiary for twenty-one years. + +Although Craig Tolliver lived by the sword and died by it, there was no +record to be found that he ever actually killed a man. Rather he was +credited with plotting the deeds, molding the bullets for others to +fire. + +The life of Allie Young, the son of the prosecuting attorney, Taylor +Young, whose life had been attempted, was saved because on the day of +the street battle he was in Mt. Sterling in an adjoining county. + +One old woman who witnessed the open battle that day on Railroad Street +became raving insane. And Liza, Jay Tolliver's wife, fled in dismay +across the mountain never to return. + +Marion, brother of Craig, had no hand whatever in the trouble. He lived +his days in peace within sight of the county seat of Rowan tending his +farm and looking after his household. If his kinfolk had heeded him +there never would have been a Rowan County war which put a blot upon the +community that took years to erase. + + + FAMILY HONOR + +Looking down on a clear day from a bald on Dug Down Mountain you can see +the valley far below. The bald is sometimes called the sods--where the +trees can't grow because of high winds. This particular spot is called +Foley Sods after the Foleys who have lived here in the Dug Down +Mountains for generations. Looking closer from the high, green bald you +can see far below in the edge of a dilapidated orchard a lorn grave. +Overrun with ivy and thorns it is enclosed with a wire fence, sagging +and rusty and held together here and there with crooked sticks and +broken staves. + +Ben Foley's grave it is, anyone whom you happen to meet along the way +will tell you, but your informant will say no more. If you have the time +and inclination to follow the footpath on around toward a cliff to the +right you may come upon old Jorde Foley sitting near on a log as if +keeping watch over the place. The old fellow will appraise you from head +to foot and either he will be glum, like the person you have passed on +the way, or he will invite you to rest a while. Then presently he falls +into easy conversation and before you are aware you have learned much +about Ben and Jorde Foley too. + +It wasn't that Jorde had any objection to what Ben, his son, was doing, +but it was the things that happened when Ben brought home his bride from +Cartersville that caused Jorde to speak his mind. This day he went back +to the beginning of things. + +"I've been makin' all my life right here in these Dug Down Mountains +alongside this clift," he said. "It's my land, my crop. And I've a right +to do with my corn whatever I'm a mind to. And Cynthie, my wife, many's +the time she taken turns with me breakin' up the mash, packin' the wood +to keep the fire under the still. We've set by waitin' for the run off. +And Ben, our boy, he learnt from watchin' us how to make good whiskey, +from the time he was a little codger. Sometimes Cynthie would keep an +eye out for the law. But we hated that part of it worser'n pizen. We +were in our rights and had no call to be treated like thieves in the +night. Pa made whiskey right here in these Dug Down Mountains same as +his'n before him, out of corn he raised on his own place and in them +days there wasn't ever the spyin' eyes of the law snoopin' around." +Jorde rolled his walking staff between his rough hands and looked away. +"Sometimes I'd change places with Cynthie whilst she tended the fire. We +made good whiskey," he said neither boastfully nor modestly. "We sold it +for an honest price. That's the way we learnt Ben to do. But, hi +crackies, what takes my hide and taller is when a son o' mine turns out +yaller. I never raised my boy for no chicanery." Old Jorde's voice +raised in indignation. However, when he spoke again there was a note of +tolerance even pity in his tone. + +"Ben would never 'a' done it only for that Jezebel he married down to +Cartersville and brought home here to the mountains. Effie, like Delilah +that made mock of her man Samson, was the cause of it all. Ben just +nat'erly couldn't make whiskey fast enough to give that woman all her +cravin's and now you see where it got my poor boy. A man's a right," +said the old fellow in deadly earnest, "to marry a girl he's growed up +with--stead of tryin' to get above his raisin'. See where it got my poor +boy," he repeated. The troubled eyes sought the neglected grave in the +scrubby orchard far below. + +There was no marker, not even a rough stone from the mountain side at +head or foot like on the other Foley graves in the Foley burying ground +on the brow of the hill. Only the sagging fence enclosed Ben's resting +place. "It was hard to do," old Jorde said grimly, "but it had to be +so's no other Foley will follow Ben's course." + +With that he slowly arose and led the way to a pile of soot-covered +stones. + +"Now close here was where the thumpin' keg stood," he began to indicate +positions, "and yonder the still." + +There was nothing but charred remnants of staves and rusty hoops left of +the barrel through which the copper worm had run, while the copper still +itself was reduced to a battered heap. The worm and the thumping keg and +all the essentials for making whiskey leaped into a living scene, +however, when Jorde Foley got to telling of the days when he and Cynthie +and young Ben, peaceable and contented, earned a meager living at the +craft. + +"Set your still right about here," Jorde hovered over the remnants of +the stone furnace, "and you break your mash once in so often. A man's +got to know when it is working right. The weather has a heap to do with +it fermenting. Sometimes it takes longer than other times. No, you don't +stir it with a stick but a long wooden fork. I've whittled many a one." +He retrieved from the pile of stone what was left of the stirring fork. +"Have it long so you can retch far all around the barrel," he said, +measuring the fork against his own height. With unconcealed pride he +explained the various steps of making corn whiskey in his own primitive +way. He told how the thumping keg in which it was aged was first +carefully charred inside to add a tempting flavor, and how the barrel in +which the cornmeal and malt were placed was made of clean staves of oak +or chestnut, or whatever wood was at hand. The wood was cut green and +when the mash began to work the liquid caused the staves to swell and +thus make the barrel leak-proof. + +Never once in his explanation did Jorde Foley say moonshine, or shine, +or mountain dew. + +"Whiskey, pure corn whiskey," he repeated, "when it is treated right +won't harm no one. And when a body sees the first singlin' come +treaklin' out the worm, cooled by the cold water that this worm is +quiled in," he indicated the location of the barrel, "somehow there's a +heap of satisfaction in it. Seeing that clear whiskey, clear as a +mountain stream come treaklin' into the tin bucket or jug that is +settin' there to ketch it, it makes a man plum proud over his labors." + +Jorde looked inward upon his thoughts. "Many a time me and Cynthie would +take a full bucket to a neighbor's when there was a frolic, set it in +the middle of the table with a gourd dipper in it, and let everyone help +hisself to a drink. Why, there was no harm in whiskey in my young day. +And us people up here didn't know or need no other medicine." + +In the bat of an eye Jorde Foley explained how pure corn whiskey had +cured cases of croup, saved mothers in childbirth, cured children of +spasms and worms, and saved the life of many a man bitten by a +copperhead or suffering from sunstroke. "Once I saw Brock Pennington +stob Bill Tanner in the calf of the leg with a pitchfork. Bill he bled +like a stuck hog and we grabbed up a jug of whiskey and poured it on his +leg. Stopped the blood! No how," Jorde was off on another defense, "land +up here and in lots of places in these mountains is not fitten to farm +so we have allus made whiskey of it after exceptin' out enough for our +bread. Good, pure whiskey that never harmed no man that treated it +right, that's what we made. In Pa's day he sold it for fifty cents a +gallon. Us Foleys in my day sold it for a dollar a gallon and let the +other fellow pack it off and sell it for what he could get. Why, I had +knowin' of a man on Chester Creek in Fentress County over in Tennessee +that sold it for three dollars a gallon. But that is a plum outrage!" +Jorde spat vehemently halfway to the cliff. + +"After Pa died, me and Mose Keeton got to makin' together. We halved the +corn and halved the work and halved the cash money and never no words +ever passed betwixt us. By the time Mose died my boy Ben taken his +place." + +Only once did a smile light the grim face. "One day Cynthie and me was +busy here and Ben's pet pig followed him up here when he brought us a +snack to eat. The pig snooted around and found the place where we had +dumped the leavin's of the mash after we had took off the brine. Well, +sir, that pig just nat'erly gorged itself and directly it was tipsy as +fiddlesticks. I never saw such antic was out of a critter in my life. It +reeled to and fro and squealed and grunted and went round and round +tryin' to ketch its own tail. Finally it rolled down the hill. Ben +packed it back up again and it reeled around, its feet tangled and it +rolled down again. Kept that up till it got sober. Its eyes rolled back +in its head, it sunk down in a grassy spot over yonder and slept till +dark. It follered at Ben's heels meek as a lamb when we went down the +hill that night. That pig was too sick to eat or even sniff a nubbin of +corn for two whole days, just laid and groaned. 'Now, Ben,' says Cynthie +to our boy, 'you see what comes of gettin' tipsy.' And Ben Foley learnt +a lesson off the pig and never did take a dram too much." + +Again Jorde's eyes sought the neglected grave far off. He looped back to +the story of his son. "Everything was peaceable here, though we did miss +Cynthie powerful after she died. But me and Ben made on the best we +could. We had a living from our whiskey. Then come Effie! That woman +nat'erly tore up the whole place. She kept gougin' Ben for more cash +money." Jorde pointed a condemning finger toward a ravine. "There's a +half dozen washtubs rustin' away under there." + +A part of a zinc tub protruded from the brush heap. "One day," Jorde +continued, "unbeknown to Ben's wife, Effie, I snuck off up here away +from that Jezebel though she had talked no end about me being too old to +climb the mountain. 'You'll get a stroke, Jorde,' she'd warn me. 'You +best sit here in the cool, or feed the chickens or the hogs.' Effie was +ever finding something for me to do if I offered a word about comin' up +here to see how Ben was getting on. That made me curious. So I snuck off +from the house and come up here one day." Jorde's eyes turned toward the +ground. "When I come up on Ben I couldn't believe my own eyes. My boy +had a fire goin' not under just one but a half dozen tubs! What's left +of them are over yonder." He jerked a thumb toward the brush covered +ravine. "My boy Ben was stirring around not with the wood fork like he +had been learnt, but with a shovel!" Jorde lifted scandalized eyes. "A +rusty shovel, at that! He was talking in a big way to his helper--a +strange man to me. I come to find out he was a friend of Effie's from +Cartersville." + +Jorde pondered a while. "Come to find out, to make a long story short, +Ben was cheatin' them that bought his whiskey, tellin' them it was a +year old when he knew in reason he'd just run it off maybe the night +before. Ben Foley was sellin' pizen!" Old Jorde Foley's voice trembled. +"That's all it was that he was makin'. Pizen that he forced to ferment +with stuff that Effie's friend, who used to work in the coal mines, +brought here. And Ben sellin' that pizen that burnt the stummick and the +brains out of men that drunk it. Hi gad!"--old Foley spat vehemently--"I +never raised my son to be no such thief! It was that Jezebel Effie that +led my boy to the sin of thievin'. She wanted more cash money than he +could earn honest with makin' good whiskey." + +It was Ben's fear of prison, old Jorde explained bluntly, that caused +him to run from the law, and running he had stumbled and thereby stopped +a bullet. + +"What the law didn't bust to pieces of them tubs and shovels and such, I +did," Jorde added with a note of satisfaction. For a moment he lapsed +into silence, then added gravely, "Ben just nat'erly disgraced us +Foleys." The father hung his head in shame. "Why, Cynthie would turn +over in her grave if she knew of him thievin' and runnin'--runnin' from +the law! It's such as that Jezebel with her carryin's on, temptin' men +to thievin' that's put an end to makin'--makin' good whiskey in these +Dug Down Mountains here in Georgia. Put an end to sellin' good pure +whiskey for an honest price like me and mine used to make." + + + + + 3. PRODUCTS OF THE SOIL + + TIMBER + + +The individualism of the mountaineer has not made of him a scientific +inventor, but this marked trait of character has developed his +self-reliance and resourcefulness. He may not know, or care to know, in +figures the degree of the angle at which the mountain slopes. Probably +he has never heard of the clinometer by which geological surveyors +arrive at such information. Yet the untrained mountain man seeing a +stream gushing down a steep escarpment knows how to divert it to his own +best use. + +Sometimes he set his tub mill, or the wheel, at the most advantageous +point to grind his corn into meal. If, however, his house happened to be +near no stream he had a simpler method for grinding his corn, a way his +forbears learned from the Indian, or heard about through his Scotch +ancestors. He rounded two stones, about the size of the average dishpan, +with great patience. Bored a hole in the center of the top one, placed +the two in a hollowed log and patiently, laboriously poured corn, a few +grains at a time, into the opening. With the other hand he turned the +top stone by means of a limber branch attached to a rafter overhead, the +other end of which was thrust into a small hole near the rim of the top +stone. In this way he kept the top stone moving, slowly, steadily. The +Scotch called this simple handmill a quern. It was a laborious way of +grinding meal. + +It has amazed men of the U. S. Geological Survey to find that the corn +patch of the mountaineer often slants at an angle of fifty degrees so +that it is impossible to plow. The mountaineer cultivates such a patch +entirely with a hoe. When the mountain side, crop and all, slides down +to the base he bears the ill luck with patience and fortitude and tries +to find a remedy. He hauls rocks to brace the earth and plants another +crop. He had no time to sit and bemoan his fate. Through such trials, +and because neighbors were so far removed, his self-reliance and +resourcefulness were of necessity developed. The mountain man learned +early to face alone the hazards of life in the forest; first of all was +defense of his home against wild beasts and the Indian. He knew the +danger to life and limb from fallen trees, treacherous quicksand, +swollen creeks, the peril of slipping mountain sides after heavy rains. +Of necessity he relied upon himself; he could not wait for a neighbor to +help pull the ox out of the ditch. He learned early to make his own +crude farm implements at his own anvil. In short, he had to be +jack-of-all-trades--blacksmith, tanner, barber, shoemaker, wagoner, and +woodsman. + +Men of the Blue Ridge did not clear their land after the manner of the +German farmer in Pennsylvania, who uprooted his trees. Instead, it was +done by belting the tree. He notched a six-inch band around the trunk, +removed the bark which prevented the sap from going up and thus killed +the tree from lack of nourishment. A field of such trees he called a +deadening. The roots were left to rot and enrich the soil but the +hillsides were so steep that the fertility from wood soil soon washed +away and another deadening had to be made before another crop could be +planted. Though crops were scant, the forest itself was ample and +sometimes brought him rich returns if he managed right. + +A timber cruiser would come into the community, prospecting for a lumber +company, and examine the standing timber. After he reported back to the +company, a lawyer was sent to sound out the landowners--to see if they +were willing to sell their surface rights. When the legal matters were +attended to, the lumber company sometimes bought as much as seventy +thousand acres of forest. Woodsmen were brought in to work along with +the mountain men. Portable sawmills were set up and busy hands--sawyers, +choppers--set to work leveling the giant trees. + +The owners calculated it would take twenty-five years to cull out all +the large timber and by the time that job was finished there would be a +second growth ready to cut. With this in view, hardwood and rich walnut +were cut and used with utter extravagance and disregard for their great +worth; full-sized logs of the finest grade were used for building barns, +planks of black walnut found their way into porch floors, walnut posts +were used freely for fencing by the mountaineer himself. + +So profuse was the supply up until a quarter century ago that no thought +was given to its possible disappearance through wasteful methods of +lumbering, frequent forest fires, and the woodsman's utter carelessness +and disregard for the future. + +A timber cruiser in Knott County, Kentucky, once came upon an old woman +chopping firewood beside the door of her one-room cabin. Upon +examination he found it to be a fine species of walnut. After talking +with her he learned that she owned hundreds of acres of timber, much of +which was covered with walnut such as she was ruthlessly burning in the +fireplace. He spent days going over the acreage and offered the old +woman a fabulous price for the larger timber, at the same time assuring +her, through written agreement, protection of all her rights. But the +old creature, who lived alone, dismissed the timber cruiser with a wave +of her bony hand. "Begone!" she chirped, "I don't want to be scrouged by +your crew comin' in on my land choppin' down trees and settin' up them +racket-makin' contrapshuns under my very nose. No how such as that +skeers off the birds in the forest." Though the cruiser agreed that his +company would even be willing to keep a distance of three miles in all +directions from her little cabin, the old woman still refused, and when +he tried again in honeyed tones to persuade her she up with the ax and +chased him off the place. + +The mountain man, however, often seized the opportunity to dispose of +his timber and set to work with a vim to get it to the nearest market, +though such was a mighty task. Having cut down the larger trees, he +rolled the logs down the mountain side toward the watercourse. Usually +the creeks were much too shallow to carry rafts of logs so he +constructed a splash dam at a suitable point between the high banks of +the stream. A splash dam consisted of two square cribs of logs filled +with great stones. Against these two crude piers he built a dam in the +middle of which he placed an enormous gate. He remembered how he had +made rabbit traps when he was a boy. So now, on a bigger scale, he made +a figure-four trap-trigger for his splash dam. On one side, the gate +which he built in the middle, pushed against two projecting logs in the +dam. A long slender pole like a telegraph pole held the gate in place. +This is the trigger pole. Thus dammed, the water soon formed a deep lake +into which strong-armed men threw the logs. + +Gate and trigger are in readiness. The mountaineer has only to wait for +a tide, which is often not long in coming. Even overnight, even in a few +short hours, a stream has been known to swell from sudden rains or snow, +bringing the water with a rush down steep mountain sides and carrying +with it the logs that were left strewn on the slopes or near the bank. +Men work with feverish haste to roll the logs into the stream. The whole +is swept into the dam, the trigger is released at the right moment and +the rush of water with its freight of logs sweeps through the open gate +with a mighty roar, carrying its cargo for miles on down to the river. + +Zealous workers have been known to splash out in this fashion as many as +thirteen thousand logs in one season. + +Timber so floated down the Big Sandy River made at its mouth the largest +round timber market in the world and brought untold fortunes to +capitalists who ruthlessly cut down the virgin forests along its banks. + +Here at the waterfront taverns a motley crowd of loggers and raftsmen, +woodsmen and timbermen, were wont to gather for nights of revelry. The +old taverns rang with as rollicking songs as ever enlivened a western +bar in gold-rush days. Here too woodsman and logger rubbed shoulders +betimes with Devil Anse Hatfield and Randall McCoy, for it was to the +mouth of Big Sandy, the village of Catlettsburg, the county seat of +Boyd, that the clansmen repaired to reinforce their ammunition for +carrying on their bloody feud. + +And here, in the spring of the year, the calliope could be heard far +down the Ohio as the showboat steamed into view. Shouts of glee went up +from the throats of youngsters along the way as they rushed excitedly +for the river-bank to watch the approach of the flag-decked boat. And +when the _Cotton Blossom_ had docked and deckhands had made her fast to +her moorings with rope and chain, a gayly uniformed band--led by a drum +major in high-plumed hat and gold-braided coat--with sounding horns and +quickened drumbeat walked the gangplank, leaped nimbly to shore, and +paraded the narrow winding village street. + +Old and young wept over the death of Uncle Tom and hissed viciously the +slave-whipping Legree. Woodsman or logger, who had imbibed too freely at +the waterfront taverns, sometimes arose and cursed angrily the +black-mustachioed villain. Whereupon the town marshal patted the +disturber on the shoulder (the officer always had passes to the showboat +for himself and family and friends), wheedled the giant mountaineer into +silence, and left him dozing in his seat. + +When the curtain fell on the last act, woodsmen and raftsmen and their +newfound friends in the village returned to the riverfront tavern to +make a night of it. + +By sunup the crew would be on its way back up to the head of Big Sandy +to make ready for another timber run. + + + WOMAN'S WORK + +The woman of the mountains has always been as resourceful in her way as +the man. She made the sweetening for the family's use from a sugar tree +and as often used sorghum from cane for the same purposes, even pouring +the thick molasses into coffee if they were fortunate enough to have +coffee. She made her own dyes from barks and herbs. And though she may +have had a dozen children of her own she was ready and eager to help a +neighbor in time of sickness. Doctors were scarce, so she of necessity +turned midwife to help another through childbirth. She shared the tasks +of her husband in the field and home. She was as busy at butchering time +as the menfolk. Once the hog was killed and cleaned, she helped chop the +meat into sausage and helped to case it. She boiled the blood for +pudding and looked to the seasoning, with sage and pepper, of the head +cheese and liverwurst. Hers was the task of rendering the lard in the +great iron kettle near the dooryard. And once the meat was cut into +slabs she helped salt it down in the meat log. But only the man felt +capable of properly preparing and smoking the ham for the family's use. +She frugally set aside the cracklins, after rendering the lard, for use +in soap-making at the hopper. + +At sorghum-making time mother and daughter worked as busily as father +and son. The men cut the cane and fed it to the mill, while the +womenfolk took turns tending the pans in which the syrup boiled, +skimming off the greenish foam and scum that gathered on the top. They +urged the young boys, who hung around on such occasions, to bring on +more wood to keep the fire going under the pans. The owner of the +portable sorghum mill sometimes took his pay for its use in sorghum, if +there was no money to be had. He was paid too for the use of his team in +hauling the mill to the cane patch of the neighbor who had engaged it, +and he himself sometimes tarried to help set it up. A small boy was +sometimes pressed into service to urge the patient mule on its +monotonous course around and around pulling the beam that turned the +mill. + +Sorghum-making had its lighter side. The young folks especially found +fun in seeing a guileless fellow step into the skimming hole concealed +by cane stalks. The sport was complete when the bewildered fellow +struggled to free himself from the sticky mess. But the woman was quick +to help him out of his plight by providing a change of raiment and soap +and water and clean towels, "yonder in the kitchen-house." She knew what +to expect at sorghum-making time. + +Each season of the year brought its communal activity: corn shucking in +the fall, that was ever followed by a frolic. Bean stringing when the +womenfolk pitched in to help each other out stringing beans with a long +darning needle on long strands of thread. These were hung up to dry and +supplied a tasty dish on cold winter days. There was also +apple-butter-making in the fall when long hours were spent in peeling +and preparing choicest apples which were boiled in the great copper +kettle and richly seasoned with sugar and spice. Apple-butter-making was +an all-day job in the boiling alone but the rich and tasty product is +considered well worth the effort and any mountain woman who cannot +display shelves laden with jars of apple-butter would be considered a +laggard indeed. + +But the mountain woman's greatest pride and joy was +handiwork--quiltmaking, crocheting. Perhaps it is because these crafts +have always gone hand-in-hand with courtship and marriage. + +At the first call of the robin in the spring, Aunt Emmie on Honey Camp +Run, in clean starched apron and calico frock, dragged her rocker to the +front stoop of her little house and there she sat for hours rocking +contentedly while her nimble fingers moved swiftly with crochet needle +and thread. "Aunt Emmie's crocheting lace for Lulie Bell's wedding +garments." Folks knew the signs. Hadn't Lulie Bell ridden muleback from +Old Nell Knob just as soon as winter broke to take the day with the old +woman. "Make mine prettier than Dessie's and Flossie's," she had said. +Or, "I want the seashell pattern for my pillowcases." Or, "I want you to +crochet me a pretty chair back." "I want a lamberkin all scalloped +deep"--another bride-to-be measured a half arm's length. "I want my +edging for the gown and petticoat to match." Passersby overheard the +talk of the young folk. "Wouldn't you favor the fan pattern?" Aunt Emmie +offered a suggestion now and then while the shiny needle darted in and +out of scallop and loop. Sometimes she dropped a word of advice to the +young, how to live a long and happy married life, how and when to plant, +what to take for this ailment and that. There were things that brought +bad luck, she warned, and some that brought good. + +"If a bride plants cucumber seed the first day of May when the dew is +still on the ground, the vines will grow hardy and bear lots of +cucumbers and she will bring forth many babes, too," her words fell on +willing ears of the young bride-to-be. "If you sleep under a new quilt +that no one has ever slept under, what you dream that night will come +true." Many a young miss declared she had experienced the proof of the +saying. There was something else. "Mind, don't ever sew a ripped seam or +patch a garment that's on your back. There will be lies told on you sure +as you do." That could be proved in most any community in the Blue +Ridge. + +Yards upon yards of lace Aunt Emmie crocheted, the Clover Leaf pattern, +the Sea Shell, Acorn, the Rose, and if a bride-to-be had no silver, the +lacemaker was content to take in exchange a pat of butter, eggs, or +well-cured ham. Her delight was in the work itself. + +The thrifty woman of the mountains takes great pride in her quilts; not +only does she strive to excel her neighbor in the variety of patterns +but in the number as well. On a bright summer day she brings them out of +cupboard and presses, and hangs them on the picket fence to sun. She is +pleased when a passerby stops to admire, and especially so if it be a +young miss. The older woman recognizes the motive behind the question, +"What is this pattern?" "Is this easy to piece?" The older woman knows +the young miss has marrying in her head and goes to great lengths to +explain. "Now this is Compass and Nine Patch and it's easiest of any to +put together. This is Grandmother's Flower Garden--it's a lot of little +bitsy pieces, you see, and a heap of different colors and it's most +powerful tejous to put together. This is Double Wedding Ring, this Irish +Chain"--she names one after another--"this is Neck Tie, and this in the +fair blue and white is Dove in the Window." + +The quiltmaker is even more pleased when the young miss comes to take +the day and she has the proud privilege of starting John's or Tom's +future wife on her very first quilt. It is an occasion of merriment when +the quilt is finally finished and taken out of the frames after many a +pleasant quilting bee. Then, at the urging of one of the older women, +two girls shake a cat on the new quilt. The one toward whom the cat +jumps will be married first, they believe. Some brides believe too that +by going to the oldest woman in the community to set up the quilt for +their marriage bed they will be insured long life and joy. There are +lovelorn maidens so eager to peer into the future they will even help a +neighbor on wash day. Two girls will wring a dripping quilt by twisting +it in rope fashion. The one toward whom the end curls up will be first +to rock the cradle. + + + + + 4. TRADITION + + PHILOMEL WHIFFET'S SINGING SCHOOL + + +Philomel Whiffet was dim of eye and sparse of beard. A little white +fringe framed his wrinkled face and numbered indeed were the hairs of +his foretop. Trudging up the snow-covered mountain, he caught sight of +the glowing stove through the window of Bethel church house whither he +was bound this winter night to conduct singing school. He chuckled to +himself, drawing the knitted muffler closer about his thin throat and +making fast the earflaps of his coonskin cap. "Yes, they're getting the +place het up before the womenfolk come. Mathias or Jonathan, one or the +other." The singing master had come to know the signs by the behavior of +the old heating stove--who rivaled, who courted, who might be on the +outs. "It's Jonathan that's making the fire tonight. I caught the shadow +of him against the wall when he threw in the stove wood. Jonathan's all +of a head taller than Mathias. Trying to get in favor with Drusilla +Osborn. It's a plum shame the way that girl taynts him and Mathias. At +meeting first with one, then the other. She's got the two young fellows +as mad as hornets at each other nigh half the time. No telling, Dru's +liable to shun them both when it comes to choosing a mate. Women are +strange creatures." The singing master talked to himself as he plodded +on. + +Many the year Philomel Whiffet traveled that selfsame road with the +selfsame aim, for the church house was the only place on Pigeon Creek +where folks could gather. The seat of learning too it was there in the +Tennessee mountains, so that old Whiffet, having journeyed hither and +yon to take up a subscription for singing school, must need get the +consent of school trustees and elders in order to hold forth in Bethel +church house. Honor-bound too, was he, to divide his fee of a dollar per +scholar with his benefactors. + +"We're giving you the chance, brother Whiffet, to earn a living," one of +the elders murmured when the singing master that year shared with them +his meager earnings. But when Philomel ventured to suggest it might +liven the gathering somewhat if he brought along his dulcimer and +strummed the tune while scholars sang, both elders and trustees stood +aghast. Couldn't believe their ears. "Brother Whiffet!" gasped one of +the elders, "so long as we're in our right mind no music box of any +nature shall be brought into Bethel church house. We don't intend to +contrary the good Lord in any such way." + +That settled it. + +The memory of that session brought a smile to the old man's face. +"Elders and women have strange ways," he told himself as he walked on +through the snow, eyes fixed on the beacon light of the old heating +stove in the church house. + +"Now I used to think that Mathias had got the best of Jonathan," his +thoughts returned to the present, "but there's no knowing if Drusilla is +aiming to set down her name Mistress Oneby or Mistress Witchcott. Women +are powerful tetcheous. Keep a man uncertain and troubled in his mind +with their everlasting whims." + +No one knew that any better than did Philomel Whiffet. It made him +patient with the young fellows in their trials, for he had had a mighty +hard row to hoe in his own courting days. Hadn't Ambrose Creech and Herb +Masters aggravated him within an inch of his life before he finally +persuaded Clarissa that neither of the two was worth his salt, that only +he, Philomel Whiffet, the singing master, could bring her happiness in +wedded life. That had been long years ago. + +Philomel had been a widower for ten years past and never once had he +cast eyes on another woman; that is to say, with the idea of marriage. +"There's no need for a man to put his mind on such as that without he +can better himself, and I never calculate to see Clarissa's equal, let +alone her betters. Nohow, singing school is good a-plenty to keep a body +company." That was Philomel Whiffet's notion and he stuck to it. It was +as though she, Clarissa, still bustled about the Whiffet cabin, for +Philomel, though he lived alone, kept the place as she had--spic and +span just as Clarissa had left it. There on the shelf were the cedar +piggins, scoured clean with white sand from the creek, one for spice, +one for rendering, one for sweeting. And there on the wall hung the salt +gourd. "It's convenient to the woman for cooking," he had said when +first they started housekeeping. How happy he had been in those days, +looking after Clarissa and the little Whiffets as they came along. Not +until they were all grown and married off and gone, and he and Clarissa +were alone once more, did he really come to realize how very happy their +household had been. He liked to look back on those times. "It's +singing-school night, Pa"--Clarissa had taken to calling him Pa; got it +from the children. "You best strike the tuning fork and sing a tune or +two before you start. Gets your throat limbered up and going smooth." +Philomel had come to wait for her urging. Then he would fumble in his +waistcoat pocket for the tuning fork and tapping it to chair rim or +bootheel, he'd hold it to his ear, pitch the tune, and sing a verse or +two of this ballad and of that. Then when he started forth on a winter's +night, "Mind your wristban's!" his wife would say, "and your spectacles! +Don't forget your spectacles! Your sight's not sharp as it once was. And +your tuning fork, Pa. Don't forget to put it in your pocket." It pleased +the old singing master in those days to have Clarissa feel that he was +dependent upon her. And now that she was gone, for ten long years, those +familiar words running through old Philomel Whiffet's thoughts were all +he had left to remind him of his needs when he started out to singing +school. + +Slowly he plodded on through the snow, his eyes raised now and again to +the light of the heating stove in the church house. + +Arrived at the door he stomped the snow from his well-greased boots and +went in. Untying the flaps of the coonskin cap he moved across the +floor. "Good evening, boys," he greeted cheerily, unwinding now the +muffler from his throat. + +"Good evening, sir!" the early birds, Jonathan and Ephraim Scaggs, +answered together. It wasn't Mathias Oneby, after all, whose shadow he +had seen against the wall. At once the singing master knew why Ephraim +Scaggs was there. His sister, Tizzie Scaggs, was head-over-heels in love +with Jonathan Witchcott. She was trying every scheme to get him away +from Drusilla Osborn. Yes, Tizzie had sent her brother Ephraim along +with Jonathan to make the fire so he could drop in a few words about +her; how apt she, Tizzie, was at many tasks, what a fine wife she'd make +for some worthy fellow. Philomel Whiffet knew the way of young folks. +And Drusilla knew the ways of Tizzie. She was really wary of her and +watchful, though Dru would never own it to Jonathan Witchcott. + +Even though the snow was nearly knee-deep it didn't keep folks from +singing school. Already they were crowding in. So by the time old +Whiffet was ready to begin every bench was filled. Young men and old in +homespun and high boots, mothers and young girls in shawls and +fascinators, talking and laughing at a lively clip as they took their +places: sopranos in the front benches opposite the bass singers; behind +them, altos and tenors. + +"I'm sorry to see that some of our high singers are not here this +evening." The old singing master from his place behind the stand +surveyed the gathering, squinting uncertainly by the light of the oil +lamp. High on the wall it hung without chimney, its battered tin +reflector dimmed by soot of many nights' accumulation. He picked up the +notebook from the little stand which served as pulpit for the preachers +on Sundays, and casually remarked, "We kinda look to the high singers to +help us through, to pitch the tune and carry it. Too bad"--he squinted +again toward the gathering--"that Drusilla Osborn is not here. Dru is a +extra fine singer. A fine note-singer is Dru. Takes after the Osborns. +Any of you heard if Osborns' folks have got sickness?" + +A titter passed over the singing school and just then Tizzie Scaggs, +leering at Dru, piped out, "Why, yonder's Dru Osborn in the back seat!" + +The tittering raised to a snicker and Philomel Whiffet, too +flabbergasted to call out Drusilla's name and send her to her own seat +with the sopranos where she belonged, turned quickly his back to the +school and fumbled in his pocket. He brought forth a piece of charred +wood, for chalk was a rarity on Pigeon Creek, and began to set down on +the rough log wall a measure of music. In shaped notes, for round notes +had not yet made their way into Philomel Whiffet's singing school. +Painstakingly he set down the symbols, some like little triangles, +others square, until he had completed a staff. Nor did he face the +school again until all the tittering had subsided. Then with the same +charred stick he drew a mark on the floor and called for sopranos, alto, +bass, and tenor to toe the mark. + +Drusilla Osborn was first, then Lettie Burley, an alto, came next. Tom +Jameson, the tenor, and Felix Rideout, who couldn't be beat singing +bass, stood in a row careful-as-you-please to see that they kept a +straight line, toes to the mark, shoulders back, chests expanded. They +sang the scale through twice--forward and backward, bowed to the singing +master, then went back to their seats. It was a never-changing form to +which Philomel Whiffet clung as an example for the whole school to +follow should they be called to toe the mark. A fine way to show all how +a singer should rightly stand and rightly sing. + +"Now, scholars," Whiffet brushed the black from his fingers, having +replaced the charred stick in his pocket, "lend attention!" Taking the +tuning fork from his waistcoat pocket, he looked thoughtfully at the +school. "Being as this singing school is drawing to a close, seems to me +we should review all we can this evening." He paused. "Now all that feel +the urge can take occasion to clear their throats before we start in." + +Not one spurned the invitation, and when the raucous noise subsided +Philomel Whiffet tapped the tuning fork briskly on the edge of the +stand, put it to his ear, and listened as he gazed thoughtfully +downward. + +"Do! Me! Sol! Do!" he sang in staccato notes, nodding the sparse gray +foretop jerkily with each note as bass, alto, tenor, soprano took up +their pitch. Thereupon he seized the pointer, a long switch kept +conveniently near in the corner, and indicated the first note of the +staff. + +Scarcely had the pointer tapped a full measure before the school +realized they were singing by note an old familiar tune and with that +they burst forth with the words: + + Oh! have you heard Geography sung? + For if you've not it's on my tongue; + First the capitals one by one, + United States, Washington. + +They changed the meter only slightly as they boomed forth: + + Augusta, Maine, on the Kennebec River, + Concord, New Hampshire, on the Merrimac. + +Of course they knew it was the Geography Song from their McGuffey Reader +which the singing master had set to tune. To make sure they had not +forgotten the McGuffey piece he halted the singing and directed that +they speak over the piece together, which they did with a verve: + + Oh! have you heard Geography sung? + For if you've not, it's on my tongue; + About the earth in air that's hung. + All covered with green, little islands. + Oceans, gulfs, and bays, and seas; + Channels and straits, sounds, if you please; + Great archipelagoes, too, and all these + Are covered with green, little islands. + +Philomel Whiffet sometimes had his school do unexpected things that way. +And now once again they went on with the geography singing lesson, +putting in the names of places and rivers to the tune. + +Far and wide traveled Philomel Whiffet's singing school, wafted by note +from freedom's shore to African wilds. They knew it all by heart. On and +on they sang, and Drusilla Osborn's voice led all the rest: + + Bolivia capital Suc-re + Largest city in South America + + Mexico is Mexico + Government Republican + +Around the world and back again, nor did they stop until they again went +through all the States, finishing with a lusty: + + New Hampshire's capital is for a fact + Concord on the Merrimac. + +Silence came at last. + +Taking from the stand the songbook, Philomel placed a hand behind him +and announced with quiet decorum, "Those who have brought their +notebooks will please open them up to page--" he faltered, fumbling the +leaves of his book. "Open to page--" still groping was Philomel Whiffet +and squinting at the faded pages. "Those who have not brought their +notebooks can look on with someone else." Trying to act unconcerned was +the singing master. "Turn to one--of our--old favorites," poor old +Whiffet murmured, still fumbling the pages of the book. "My eyes--are +dim"--he mumbled in confusion--"I--cannot see." Vainly he searched his +vest pockets, the pockets of his coat. "--I've left my specs at home," +he blurted in desperation. + +With that the tantalizing Drusilla Osborn, from her bench at the back of +the room, nudged the girl beside her and, pointing to the staff of music +left on the wall where Philomel had placed it,--Dru began to hum. +"You've pitched it too shaller," whispered the other girl, and quickly +Dru hummed a lower register until her companion caught the pitch; then +the two sang loud and shrill: + + My eyes are dim, I cannot see, + My specs I left at home. + +And before Philomel Whiffet knew what had happened, sopranos, altos, and +bass had taken up the tune. Even Jonathan Witchcott, for all he sat on +the very front bench where anybody could see with half an eye that the +singing master was plagued and shamefaced, let out his booming bass with +all his might and main. Hadn't Drusilla pitched the tune? What else was +the doting Jonathan to do? The two had been courting full six months, +just to spite Mathias Oneby if for no other reason. And Mathias, the +patient and meek fellow, sitting in the far corner of the very last +bench straight across from the adored Drusilla, sitting where anyone +could see that Dru was playing a prank, when he heard the mighty boom of +his rival, joined in with his high tenor: + + My eyes are dim, I cannot see, + My specs I left at home. + +Louder and stronger roared Jonathan's bass. And Mathias, not to be +excelled, raised his shrill notes higher still, sweeping the sopranos +along with him. + +Bethel church house fairly trembled on its foundation. Poor old Philomel +Whiffet raised his hands in dismay: "I did not mean for you to sing!" he +cried, and again Drusilla took up his words: + + I did not mean for you to sing + +and louder swelled the chorus. All the while the singing master stood +trembling, shaking his white head hopelessly. "I did not mean for you to +sing," he pleaded, "I only meant my eyes were dim!" + +His words merely spurred them on. On surged the voices, bass, soprano, +alto, tenor, in loud and mighty + + I did not mean for you to sing, + I only meant my eyes were dim. + +The singing master fumbled his woolly wristbands, thrust his hands deep +into pockets of coat and breeches, and peered searchingly about the +little stand where, it was plain to see, was nothing but the songbook +which he had dropped in his confusion. At last his trembling hand sought +the sparse foretop. There, bless you, rested the lost spectacles. He +yanked them to the bridge of his nose, and then, just as though he +didn't know all the time it was Drusilla Osborn behind the prank, he +turned his attention toward that pretty young miss. + +"Drusilla"--you'd never suspect what he was up to--"we all favor your +voice in the ditty of My Son John. And you, Jonathan Witchcott, I don't +know of any other fellow that can better sing the part of the courting +man than you yourself. And I'm satisfied that no fairer maid was ever +wooed than Dru yonder. So lead off, lest the other fellow get the best +of you." + +Almost before Jonathan was aware of it he was singing, with his eyes +turned yearningly upon Dru: + + My man John, what can the matter be, + That I should love the lady fair and she should not love me? + She will not be my bride, my joy nor my dear, + And neither will she walk with me anywhere. + +Then, lest a moment be lost, the singing master himself egged on the +swain by singing the part of the man John: + + Court her, dearest Master, you court her without fear, + And you will win the lady in the space of half a year; + And she will be your bride, your joy and your dear, + And she will take a walk with you anywhere. + +Encouraged by the smiling school, Jonathan Witchcott took up the song, +turning yearningly to Dru who now smiled coyly, head to one side, while +he entreated: + + Oh, Madam, I will give to you a little greyhound, + And every hair upon its back shall cost a thousand pound, + If you will be my bride, my joy and my dear, + And you will take a walk with me anywhere. + +Scarcely had the last note left his lips when Drusilla, now that all +eyes were turned upon her, sang coquettishly: + + Oh, Sir, I won't accept of you a little greyhound, + Though every hair upon its back did cost a thousand pound, + I will not be your bride, your joy nor your dear, + And neither will I walk with you anywhere. + +With added fervor Jonathan offered more: + + Oh, Madam, I will give you a fine ivory comb, + To fasten up your silver locks when I am not at home. + +That too Dru spurned, but all the same she was watching +nervously--indeed Dru was watching anxiously--Tizzie Scaggs, lest she +take up Jonathan's offer, which is another girl's right in the play-game +song. + +Quickly Jonathan Witchcott, knowing all this, sang pleadingly: + + Oh, Madam, I will give to you the keys of my heart, + To lock it up forever that we never more may part, + If you will be my bride, my joy and my dear. + +Whereupon Drusilla, her eyes sparkling, her rosy lips parted temptingly, +sang: + + Oh, Sir, I will accept of you the keys of your heart; + I'll lock it up forever and we never more will part, + And I will be your bride, your joy and your dear, + And I will take a walk with you anywhere. + +When her last note ended Dru turned demurely toward Jonathan, whereupon +that happy swain leaped to his feet and, extending a hand toward the +singing master, sang: + + My man, Philomel Whiffet, here's fifty pounds, for thee, + I'd never have won this lady fair if it hadn't been for thee. + +With that the whole singing school cheered and laughed. + +Drusilla Osborn was so excited she almost twisted her kerchief into +shreds, for she and all the rest knew that by consenting to sing the +play-game song through she and Jonathan had thereby plighted their +troth. Either could have dropped out on the very second verse if they +had been so inclined. But there, they had sung it through to the end. If +she hadn't Tizzie Scaggs would have leaped at the chance. So now, the +singing master arose and was first to wish them well. + +"A life of joy to the Witchcotts!" He bowed profoundly. + +Even Mathias Oneby wished his rival happiness. The girls tittered. Older +folks nodded approval. + +Then away they all went into the starlit night, trooping homeward +through the snow, Jonathan and Drusilla leading the way. + +Philomel Whiffet lingered a moment in the doorway of Bethel church house +chuckling to himself, "Dru's got her just deserts. She had no right to +taynt the two young fellows. I'm pleased I caught her in the snare and +made her choose betwixt them." He wrapped the muffler about his throat +and, drawing on his mittens, the singing master stepped out into the +snow, the coonskin cap drawn lower over his bespectacled eyes. "I'm +proud I caught Dru for Jonathan," he repeated. "She's too peert nowhow +for that shy Mathias Oneby. Women are strange critters when it comes to +courting. And her prankin' like she did over me misplacing my specs." + +He went steadily on his way, mittened hands thrust deep into coat +pockets, spectacles firmly on the bridge of his nose. "She had no call +to make mock of me and my specs like she did," Philomel mumbled to +himself as he trudged along. + +As for the courting play-game song and the way it turned out for Dru and +Jonathan, that story too traveled far and wide, so that Philomel Whiffet +never lacked for a singing school as long as he lived. That is the +reason, old folks will tell you, you'll come upon so many good singers +to this day along Pigeon Creek. + + + RIDDLES AND FORTUNES + +Telling riddles is no lost art in the Blue Ridge Country and their text +and answers are much the same whether you turn to the Carolinas, +Tennessee, or Virginia. There is little difference among those who tell +them. It is usually the older women who cling to the tradition which +goes hand-in-hand with trying fortunes. + +Aunt Lindie Reffitt in Laurel Cove would rather have a bevy of young +folks around her anytime than to sit with women of her own age. "It's +more satisfaction to let a body's knowing fall on fresh ears." That was +her talk. + +Aunt Lindie knew no end of riddles and ways to try fortunes. And as soon +as girl or boy either turned their thoughts to love they took occasion +to drop in at Aunt Lindie's. + +What would be the color of their true love's eyes, the hair? Or, "Tell +me, Aunt Lindie"--a lovelorn one begged--"will I have a mate at all or +die unwed?" And the old woman, sipping a cup of sassafras tea made tasty +with spice-wood sticks, had an answer ready: + +"On the first day of May, just as soon as the sun comes up, go to an old +well that's not been used for many a year. With a piece of looking glass +cast a shadow into the well. The face that appears reflected there will +be that of your true love. The one you are to wed." + +One of the Spivey girls had tried her fortune so. And no one could make +her believe other than that the handsome black-mustached man from +Collins Gap was the one whom she had seen reflected in the well. They +married. But poor Minnie Tinsley. That same May she tried her fortune at +the well. But never a face appeared. Instead there seemed to float to +the surface of the water a piece of wood in the shape of a coffin. +Minnie died before the summer was over. For a while others were afraid +to go near the well. But, as Aunt Lindie reminded, "There are other +ways. In the springtime the first dove you hear cooing to its mate, sit +down, slip off your shoe, and there you will find in the heel a hair. It +will be the color of your husband's locks." + +There were other ways too, even for the very, very young. To try this +fortune it had to be a very mild winter when flowers came early, for +this was a fortune for St. Valentine's Day. "The lad sets out early on +his quest," Aunt Lindie explained. "He knows to look in a place where +there is rabbit bread on the ground--where the frost spews up and swells +the ground. Close by there will be a clump of stones, and if he looks +carefully there he will find snuggled under the stones a little +Jack-in-the-pulpit. He plucks the flower and leaves it at the door of +his sweetheart. Though all the time she has listened inside for his +coming, she pretends not to have heard until he scampers away and +hides--but not too far away lest he fail to hear her singing softly as +she gathers up his token of love: + + A little wee man in the wood he stood, + His cap was so green and also his hood. + + By my step rock he left me a love token sweet, + From my own dear true love, far, far down the creek. + + Some call his name Valentine, St. Valentine good, + This little wee man in the wood where he stood. + +When Aunt Lindie finished singing the ballad she never failed to add, +"That is the best way I know to try a body's fortune. My own Christopher +Reffitt was scarce six when he left such a love token on my step rock +and I a little tyke of five." + +Many a night they told riddles at Aunt Lindie's until she herself could +not think of another one. Some of the young folks came from Rough Creek +away off on Little River and some from Bullhead Mountain and the Binner +girls from Collins Gap. If several of the girls took a notion to stay +all night, Aunt Lindie Reffitt made a pallet on the floor of extra +quilts and many a time she brought out the ironing board, placed it +between two chairs for a bed for the youngsters, Josie Binner, her hair +so curly you couldn't tell which end was growing in her head, always +wanted to outdo everyone else. Some said Josie was briggaty because she +had been off to settlements like Lufty and Monaville. + +No sooner had they gathered around the fireplace and Aunt Lindie had +pointed out the first one to tell a riddle, than Josie popped right up +to give the answer. It didn't take Aunt Lindie a second to put her in +her place. "Josie, the way we always told riddles in my day was not for +one to blab out the answer, but to let the one who gives it out to a +certain one, wait until that one answers, or tries to. Your turn will +come. Be patient." + +Josie Binner slumped back in her chair. + +"Now tell your riddle over again, Nellie." Aunt Lindie pointed to the +Morley girl who piped in a thin voice: + + As I went over heaple steeple + There I met a heap o' people; + Some was nick and some was nack, + Some was speckled on the back. + +"Pooh!" scoffed Tobe Blanton to whom Nellie had turned, "that's easy as +falling off a log. A man went over a bridge and saw a hornet's nest. +Some were speckled and they flew out and stung him." + +"Being as Tobe guessed right," Aunt Lindie was careful that the game was +carried on properly, "he's a right to give out the next riddle." + +Tobe was ready. + + A man without eyes saw plums on a tree. + He neither took plums nor left plums. + Pray tell me how that could be? + +The cross-eyed lad to whom Tobe had turned shook his head. "Well, then, +Josie Binner, I can see you're itchin' to speak out. What's the answer?" + +Josie minded her words carefully. "A one-eyed man saw plums. He ate one +and left one." + +It was the right answer so Josie had her turn at giving out the next +riddle: + + Betty behind and Betty before. + Betty all around and Betty no more. + +No one could guess the answer. Some declared it didn't make a bit of +sense and Josie, pleased as could be, challenged, "Give up?" + +"Give up!" they all chorused. + +"Well," Josie felt ever so important, "a man who was about to be hanged +had a dog named Betty. It scampered all around him as he walked to the +gallows and then dashed off and no one saw where it went. The hangman +told him if he could make up a riddle that no one could riddle they +would set him free. That was the riddle!" + +"Ah, shucks! Is that all?" Ben Harvey scoffed and mumbled under his +breath, "I'll bet Josie made that up herself." + +"It's your turn." Aunt Lindie had sharp ears and young folks had to be +mannerly in her house. If not she had her own way of teaching them a +lesson. She took Ben unawares. He had to think quickly and blurted out +the first riddle that came to his mind: + + Black upon black, and brown upon brown, + Four legs up and six legs down. + +Even half-witted Tom Cartmel to whom Ben happened to be looking gave +back the answer: + +"A darky riding a horse and he had a kittle turned up-side-down on his +head. The kittle had four legs!" + +Not even Aunt Lindie could keep a straight face, but to spare Ben's +feelings she gave out a verse that she felt certain no one could say +after her. And try as they would no one could, not even when she said it +slowly: + + One a-tuory + Dickie davy + Ockie bonie + Ten a-navy. + Dickie manie + Murkum tine + Humble, bumble + Twenty-nine. + + One a-two + A zorie, zinn + Allie bow + Crock a-bowl. + Wheelbarrow + Moccasin + Jollaway + Ten. + +No one could say it, try as they would. + +"Then answer me this," Aunt Lindie said. "Does it spell Tennessee or is +it just an old comical way of counting?" + +Again no one could answer and Aunt Lindie said smilingly if she told all +she knew they would know as much as she. Though perhaps she wasn't aware +of it, Aunt Lindie was keeping alive their interest in telling riddles. +For young folks went about in their neighborhood trying to find answers +to her riddles. + +She now pointed to Katie Ford, and that young miss started right off, +saying: + +"As I was going to St. Ives," but everyone protested, so Katie had to +try another that everyone didn't know. + + As I was going over London bridge + I heard a lad give a call; + His tongue was flesh, his mouth was horn, + And such a lad was never born. + +"A rooster!" shouted cross-eyed Steve Morley, who vowed Katie looked +straight at him. And in the bat of an eye he said: + + As I went over London bridge + I met my sister Ann; + I pulled off her head and sucked her blood + And let her body stand. + +"A bottle of wine," two in the corner spoke at once, which was against +the rules, but both thought Steve was looking in their direction. + +"Tell another," Aunt Lindie settled the matter. + +"As I went over London bridge I met a man," said Steve. "If I was to +tell his name I'd be to blame. I have told his name five times over. Who +was it?" + +No one spoke up for they all knew the answers to Steve's simple, +threadbare riddles. "The answer is I," he said, running a hand over his +bristling pompadour. + +And lest he assert his rights by starting on another, Aunt Lindie, which +was her right, gave a jingle and the answer to it too. + + As I walked out in my garden of lilies + There I saw endible, crindible, cronable kernt + Ofttimes pestered my eatable, peatable, partable present, + And I called for my man William, the second of quillan, + To bring me a quill of anatilus feather + That I might conquer the endible, crindible, cronable kernt. + +She looked about the puzzled faces. "I'll not plague your minds to find +the answer. I'll give it to you. As the woman walked out in her garden +she saw a rabbit eating her cabbage and she called for her second +husband to bring her a shotgun that she might kill the rabbit." + +The old teller of riddles pointed out that there was good in their +telling. "People have been known to be scared out of doing meanness just +by a riddle. Now what would you think this one would be? + + Riddle to my riddle to my right, + You can't guess where I laid last Friday night; + The wind did blow, my heart did ache + To see what a hole that fox did make. + +Whoever knows can answer." She looked at Josie Binner. "You have the +best remembrance of anyone I know. Don't tell me you can't give the +answer." + +"I never heard it before," Josie had to admit, twisting her kerchief and +looking down at the floor. + +"Speak out!" urged Aunt Lindie. But no one did so she riddled the +riddle. "A wicked man once planned to kill his sweetheart. He went first +to dig her grave and then meant to throw her into it. She got an inkling +of his intent, watched from the branches of a tree, then accused him +with that riddle. He skipped the country and so that riddle saved a +young girl's life. And while we're on trees, here's another: + + Horn eat a horn in a white oak tree. + Guess this riddle and you may hang me. + +For the fun of it they all pretended not to know the answer so she gave +it. "You're just pranking," she admonished playfully, "but nohow--a man +named Horn eat a calf's horn as he sat up in a white oak tree. But I'll +give you one now to take along with you. It's a Bible riddle, now listen +well: + + God made Adam out of dust, + But thought it best to make me first; + So I was made before the man, + To answer God's most holy plan. + + My body he did make complete, + But without legs or hands or feet; + My ways and actions did control, + And I was made without a soul. + + A living being I became; + 'Twas Adam that gave me my name; + Then from his presence I withdrew; + No more of Adam ever knew. + + I did my Maker's laws obey; + From them I never went astray; + Thousands of miles I run, I fear, + But seldom on the earth appear. + + But God in me did something see, + And put a living soul in me. + A soul of me my God did claim, + And took from me that soul again. + + But when from me the soul was fled, + I was the same as when first made. + And without hands, or feet, or soul, + I travel now from pole to pole. + + I labor hard, both day and night, + To fallen man I give great light; + Thousands of people, both young and old, + Will by my death great light behold. + + No fear of death doth trouble me, + For happiness I cannot see; + To Heaven I shall never go, + Nor to the grave, or hell below. + + And now, my friends, these lines you read, + And scan the Scriptures with all speed; + And if my name you don't find there, + I'll think it strange, I must declare." + +That was the way Aunt Lindie and other older mountain women had of +sending young folk to read the Word. + +There was rarely a gathering for telling riddles and trying simple +fortunes, especially during the winter, that did not end with a taffy +pull. That too afforded the means for courting couples to pair off and +pursue their romance. + +The iron pot filled with sorghum was swung over the hearth fire to +bubble and boil. In due time the mother of the household dropped some of +it with a spoon into a dipper of cold water. If it hardened just right +she knew the sorghum had boiled long enough. Then it was poured into +buttered plates to cool. Often to add an extra flavor the taffy was +sprinkled with walnut kernels. The task of picking out the kernels with +Granny's knitting needles usually fell to the younger folks. There on +the hearth was a round hole worn into the stone where countless walnuts +had been cracked year after year. + +When the taffy had cooled so that it could be lifted up in the hands the +fun of pulling it began. The girls buttered or greased their hands so +that it would not stick, and the boys, of their choice, did likewise. +Pulling taffy to see who could get theirs the whitest was an occasion +for greatest merriment. "Mine's the whitest," you'd hear a young, +tittering miss call out. Then followed comparisons, friendly argument. +And when at last the taffy was pulled into white ropes it was again +coiled on buttered plates in fancy designs of hearts and links and left +to harden until it could be broken into pieces with quick tap of knife +or spoon. + +Once more the courting couples paired off together and helped themselves +politely when the plate was passed. + +Riddles and fortunes, taffy pulling and harmless kissing games, like +Clap In and Clap Out, Post Office, and I Lost My Kerchief Yesterday, +made for the young folk of the mountains a most happy and (to them of +yesterday) a most hilarious occasion. + +And when a neighbor like Aunt Binie Warwick gave out the word there'd be +a frolic and dance at her house, nothing but sickness or death could +keep the young people away. Such an occasion started off with a +play-game song in order to get everyone in a gay mood. The hostess +herself led off in the singing: + + Come gather east, come gather west, + Come round with Yankee thunder; + Break down the power of Mexico + And tread the tyrants under. + +Everyone knew how to play it. The boys stood on one side of the room, +the girls on the other, and when the old woman piped out the very first +notes the boys started for the girls, each with an eye on the one of his +choice. Sometimes two or more of the young fellows were of the same +mind, which added to the fun and friendly rivalry. The one who first +caught the right hand of the girl had her for his partner in the dance +that would follow. Immediately each couple stepped aside and waited +until the others had found a partner. If there was a question about it, +the oldest woman present, who by her years was the recognized matchmaker +of the community, decided the point. + +"Who'll do the calling?" asked the hostess, Aunt Binie. + +Everyone knew there was not a better caller anywhere than Uncle Mose, +who was just as apt at fiddling. So Uncle Mose proudly took his place in +the corner, chair tilted back against the wall. Fiddle to chin, he +called out: "Choose your partners!" + +With a quick eye he singled out one couple. "Lizzie, you've got a bound +to stand to the right of the gent!" + +Quickly Lizzie, tittering and blushing, stepped to the other side of +Dave. + +"And you, Prudie," Uncle Mose waved a commanding hand, "get on the other +side of John. You fellows from Fryin' Pan best learn the proper ways +here and now." + +A wave of laughter swept over the gathering and Uncle Mose, sweeping the +bow across the strings, called: "Salute your partner!" + +There was bowing and shuffling of feet and, as the tempo of the fiddle +increased, heels clicked against the bare floor and the caller's voice +rang out above music and laughter: + + Salute your corner lady, + Salute your partners, all: + Swing your corner lady + And promenade the hall. + +They danced to the fiddle music of O Suzanna and Life on the Ocean Wave, +and Uncle Mose had calls to suit any tune: + + Swing old Adam + Swing Miss Eve, + Then swing your partner + As you leave. + +Now and then a breathless girl would drop out and rest a moment leaning +against the wall. And just for fun an oldster like Old Buck Rawlins, who +didn't even have a partner, caught up one boot toe and hopped off to a +corner moaning: + + Sudie, Sudie, my foot is sore, + A-dancing on your puncheon floor. + +Sometimes a young miss limped off to a chair. "Making out like someone +stepped on her toe," Aunt Binie whispered behind her hand, for she knew +all the signs of young folks, "but she's just not wanting to dance with +Big Foot Jeff Pickett." The next moment Dan Spotswood had pulled himself +loose from his cross-eyed partner and made his way to the side of his +true love who had limped to the corner. + +Nor was Uncle Mose unmindful of what was going on. The caller must have +a quick eye, know who is courting, who is on the outs, who craves to be +again in the arms of so and so. Quick as a flash he shouted, "Which +shall it be Butterfly Swing or Captain Jinks?" + +"Captain Jinks," cried Dan Spotswood jovially. For Dan knew the ways of +the mountains. He didn't want any hard feelings with anyone. This dance +would give all an opportunity to mingle and exchange partners. Even +though Big Foot had tried his best to break up the match between him and +Nellie, Dan meant that that fellow shouldn't have the satisfaction of +knowing his jealousy. So he urged the couples into the circle. Dan, +however, did see to it that he had Nellie's hand as they circled halfway +around the crowded room before following the familiar calls of the +play-party game as they sang the words along with the lively notes of +the fiddle. They were words that their grandparents had sung in the days +of the Civil War, with some latter-day changes: + + Captain Jinks came home last night. + Pass your partner to the right; + Swing your neighbor so polite, + For that's the style in the army. + + All join hands and circle left, + Circle left, circle left, + All join hands and circle left, + For that's the style in the army. + +They saluted partners, they stepped and circled, and sashayed, they +fairly galloped around the room, much to the disapproval of old Aunt +Binie. "I don't favor no such antic ways. They're steppin' too lively." +Her protest was heeded. + +The fiddler stopped short. Folks were respectful in that day and time. + +"Mose," the hostess called out to the fiddler when he had rested a +little while, "please to strike up the tune Pop Goes the Weasel." + +No sooner said than done. The notes of the fiddle rang out and Uncle +Mose himself led off in the singing: + + A penny for a spool of thread, + A penny for a needle, + +while old and young joined in the singing as each lad stepped gallantly +to the side of the girl of his choice and went through the steps of the +Virginia Reel. + +Though all knew every step and danced with grace and ease, they perhaps +did not know that the dance was that of Sir Roger de Coverley; that it +was one of a large number of English country dances, so called, not +because they were danced in the country, but because their English +ancestors corrupted the French word _contredanse_, which had to do with +the position the dancers assume. Of one thing they could be sure, +however, they owed it to their elders that this charming dance had +survived.[A] + +With what charming ease even old Aunt Binie with an aged neighbor went +through the lovely figures of the Virginia Reel, harking back to the +days of powdered wigs, buckled shoes, satin breeches and puffed skirts, +as the head lady and foot gentleman skipped forward to meet each other +in the center of the set. How gracefully she bowed to him and he to her +with hand upon his chest, as they returned to their places! + +Then the head lady and foot gentleman skipped forward, made one +revolution, holding right hands. + +With dignity and charm they went through the entire dance while those on +the side lines continued to sing with the fiddle: + + A penny for a spool of thread, + A penny for a needle. + That's the way the money goes. + Pop! goes the weasel. + +Each time on the word "Pop!" the fiddler briskly plucked a string. + +There was an interlude of fiddle music without words, then followed +another verse while the dancers stepped the tune: + + All around the American flag, + All around the eagle, + The monkey kissed the parson's wife, + Pop! goes the weasel. + +This was followed by a lively tune, Vauxhall Dance, with a lusty call +from the fiddler: "Circle eight!" + +Whereupon all joined hands, circled to the left and to place. + + Head couple out to the right and circle four, + With all your might + Around that couple take a peek! + +At this Dan Spotswood peeked at smiling Nellie, almost forgetting to +follow the next figure in his excitement. + + Back to the center and swing when you meet, + Around that couple peek once more. + + Back to the center and swing all four, + Circle four and cross right o'er. + +The dance was moving toward the end. + +"Balance all. Allemande left and promenade," the fiddler's voice raised +louder. + +There was repetition of calls and figures and a final booming from the +indefatigable caller: "Meet your partners and promenade home." + +Then the fiddler struck up Cackling Hen and a Breakdown so that the +nimblest of the dancers might show out alone and so the frolic and dance +ended. + + +----- +[Footnote A: DANCE DIRECTIONS: + + I. (a). Head lady and foot gentleman skip forward to meet each other in + center of the set. They bow and return to places. + (b). Head gentleman and foot lady repeat (a). + + II. (a). The head lady and foot gentleman skip forward and make one + revolution, holding right hands. + (b). The head gentleman and foot lady repeat (a). + (c). The head lady and foot gentleman skip forward and make one + revolution, holding left hands. + (d). Head gentleman and foot lady repeat (c). + +III. (a). Head lady and foot gentleman skip forward and around each other + back to back. + (b). Head lady and foot gentleman repeat (a). + + IV. The head couple meet in center, lock right arms, and make one and + one-half revolutions. They go down the set swinging each one once + around with left arms locked, the gentleman swinging the ladies, the + lady swinging the gentlemen. They meet each other swinging + a round with right arms locked, between each turn down the line. They + swing thus down the set. + + V. Couples join hands, forming a bridge under which the head couple + skips to head of set. They separate, skipping down the outside of the + lines and take their new places at the foot of the set. The original + second couple is now the head couple. The dance is repeated from the + beginning until each couple has been the head couple.] + + + THE INFARE WEDDING + +Even when the dulcimer, that primitive three-stringed instrument, could +not be had, mountain folk in the raggeds of Old Virginia were not at a +loss for music with which to make merry at the infare wedding. They +stepped the tune to the singing of a ballad, nor did they tire though +the infare wedding lasted all of three days and nights. It began right +after the wedding ceremony itself had been spoken--at the bride's home, +you may be sure. + +How happy the young couple were as they stood before the elder, the +groom with his waiter at his side, and the bride with her waiter beside +her. Careful they were too that they stood the way the floor logs were +running. Thoughtless couples who had stood contrary to the cracks in the +floor had been known to be followed by ill luck. + +When the elder had spoken the word which made them one, the bride with +her waiter hurried out to another room, if there was such, if not she +climbed the wall ladder to the loft and there in the low-roofed bedroom +she changed her wedding frock for her infare dress--the second day +dress. In early times it was of linsey-woolsey, woven by her own hands, +and dyed with homemade dyes, while her wedding frock had been of snowy +white linsey-woolsey. + +And what a feast _her_ folks had prepared for the occasion. Cakes and +pies, stewed pumpkin that had been dried in rings before the fireplace, +venison, and wild honey. + +While the bride was changing to her infare dress, older hands quickly +took down the bedsteads, tied up the flock ticks and shuck ticks in +coverlids and quilts, shoved them back into the corners so as to make +room for the frolic and dancing. + +If the bride's granny lived it was her privilege to lead off in the +singing, which she did in a high querulous voice while the young folks, +the boys on one side, the girls on the other, faced each other and to +soft handclapping and lightly tapping toe sang: + + There lived an old Lord by the Northern sea, + Bowee down, + There lived an old Lord by the Northern sea, + And he had daughters one, two three; + I'll be true to my love, + If my love will be true to me. + +All the while the bride and groom sat primly side-by-side near the +hearth and looked on. + +The rest stepped the tune to the singing of the Twa Sisters, reenacting +the story of the old ballad as it moved along. + +It gave everyone an opportunity to swing and step. + +After that the bride's father stepped to the middle of the room and +urged even the bride to join in. In the meantime the young folks had +taken the opportunity to tease the bride, while the young men went +further by bussing her cheek. A kiss of the modest, proper sort was not +out of order; every groom knew and expected that. Even a most jealous +fellow knew to conceal his displeasure, for it would only add to further +pranking on the part of the rest if he protested. + +Presently two of the young lads came in bearing a pole. They caught the +eye of the groom who knew full well the meaning of the pole. Quickly he +tapped his pocket till the silver jingled, nodded assent to the unspoken +query. They should have silver to buy a special treat for all the +menfolks; forthwith the polebearers withdrew, knowing the groom would +keep his word. + +And now the father of the bride egged the groom and his wife to step out +and join in singing and dancing the next song, which the father started +in a rollicking, husky voice: + + Charlie's neat, and Charlie's sweet, + And Charlie he's a dandy. + +It was a dignified song and one of the few in which the woman advanced +first toward the man in the dance. The lads already being formed in line +at one side, the girls one at a time advanced as all sang, took a +partner by the hand, swung him once; then stepping, in time with the +song, to the next the lad repeated the simple step until she had gone +down the line. The second girl followed as soon as the first girl had +swung the first lad, and so each in turn participated, skipping finally +on the outside of the opposite line, making a complete circle of the +dancers, and resuming her first position. + +It did not concern them that they were singing and stepping an old +Jacobean song that had been written in jest of a Stuart King, Charles +II. + +At the invitation of the bride's mother the dancing ceased for a time so +that all might partake of the feast she had spent days preparing. Even +in this there was the spirit of friendly rivalry. The bride's mother +sought to outdo the groom's parent in preparing a feast for the +gathering; the next day, according to their age-old custom, the +celebration of the infare would continue at the home of his folks. + +When all had eaten their fill again the bride's granny carried out her +part of the tradition. She hobbled in with a rived oak broom. This she +placed in the center of the floor with the brush toward the door. +Everyone knew that was the sign for ending the frolic at the bride's +home. Also they knew it was the last chance for a shy young swain to +declare himself to his true love as they sang the ancient ballad, which +granny would start, and did its bidding. Usually not one of the unwed +would evade this custom. For, if _she_ sang and stepped with _him_, it +meant betrothal. So they stepped and sang lustily: + + Here comes the poor old chimney sweeper, + He has but one daughter and cannot keep her, + Now she has resolved to marry, + Go choose the one and do not tarry. + + Now you have one of your own choosing, + Be in a hurry, no time for losing; + Join your right hands, this broom step over, + And kiss the lips of your true lover. + +So ended the infare wedding at the bride's home. + +The next day all went to the home of the groom's parents and repeated +the feasting and dancing, and on the third day the celebration continued +at the home of the young couple. + +In those days mountain people shared each other's work as well as their +play. Willing hands had already helped the young groom raise his house +of logs on a house seat given by his parents, and along the same creek. + +It was the way civilization moved. The son settled on the creek where +his father, like his before him, had settled, only moving farther up +toward its source as his father had done when he had wed. + + + + + 5. RELIGIOUS CUSTOMS + + FUNERALIZING + + +To the outsider far removed, or even to people in the nearby lowlands, +mountain people may seem stoic. A mountain woman whose husband is being +tried for his life may sit like a figure of stone not for lack of +feeling, but because she'd rather die than let the other side know her +anguish. A little boy who loses his father will steal off to cliff or +wood and suffer in silence. No one shall see or know his grief. "He's +got a-bound to act like a man, now." The burden of the family is upon +his young shoulders. + +Mountain folk love oratory. Men, especially, will travel miles to a +speaking--which may be a political gathering or one for the purpose of +discussing road building. + +To all outward appearances they seem unmoved, yet they drink in with +deep emotion all that is said. Both men and women are eager to go to +meeting. Meeting to them means a religious gathering. Here they listen +with rapt attention to the lesser eloquence of the mountain preacher. +But at meeting, unlike at speaking, they give vent to their emotions, +especially if the occasion be that of funeralizing the dead. + +Much has been written upon this custom, but the question still prevails, +"Why do mountain people hold a funeral so long after burial?" + +The reason is this. Long ago, before good roads were even dreamed of in +the wilderness, when death came, burial of necessity followed +immediately. But often long weeks, even months, elapsed before the word +reached relatives and friends. There were few newspapers in those days +and often as not there were those who could neither read nor write. For +the same reason there was little, if any, exchange of letters. + +So the custom of funeralizing the dead long after burial grew from a +necessity. The funeralizing of a departed kinsman or friend was +published from the pulpit. The bereaved family set a day, months or even +a year in advance, for the purpose of having the preacher eulogize their +beloved dead. "Come the third Sunday in May next summer," a mountain +preacher could be heard in mid winter publishing the occasion. "Brother +Tom's funeral will be held here at Christy Creek church house." + +The word passed. One told the other and when the appointed Sunday rolled +around the following May, friends and kin came from far and near, +bringing their basket dinner, for no one family could have prepared for +the throng. Together, when they had eaten their fill, they gathered +about the grave house to weep and mourn and sing over "Brother Tom," +dead and gone this long time. + +The grave house was a crude structure of rough planks supported by four +short posts, erected at the time of the burial to shelter the dead from +rain and snow and scorching wind. + +Many a one, having warning of approaching death, named the preacher he +wished to preach his funeral, even naming the text and selecting the +hymns to be sung. + +As the service moved along after the singing of a doleful hymn, the +sobbing and wailing increased. The preacher eulogized the departed, +praising his many good deeds while on earth, and urged his hearers on to +added hysteria with, "Sing Brother Tom's favorite hymn, Oh, Brother, +Will You Meet Me!" + +Sobs changed to wailing as old and young joined in the doleful dirge: + + Oh, brother, will you meet me, + Meet me, meet me? + Oh, brother, will you meet me + On Canaan's far-off shore. + +It was a family song; so not until each member had been exhorted to meet +on Canaan's shore did the hymn end--each verse followed of course with +the answer: + + Oh, yes, we will meet you + On Canaan's far-off shore. + +By this time the mourners were greatly stirred up, whereupon the +preacher in a trembling, tearful voice averred, "When I hear this +promising hymn it moves deep the spirit in me, it makes my heart glad. +Why, my good friends, I could shout! I just nearly see Brother Tom over +yonder a-beckoning to me and to you. He ain't on this here old troubled +world no more and he won't be. Will Brother Tom be here when the peach +tree is in full blowth in the spring?" + +"No!" wailed the flock. + +"Will Brother Tom be here when the leaves begin to drap in the falling +weather?" again he wailed. + +"No!" + +"Will Brother Tom be up thar? Up thar?"--the swift arm of the preacher +shot upward--"when Gabriel blows his trump?" + +"Eh, Lord, Brother Tom will be up thar!" shouted an old woman. + +"Amen!" boomed from the throat of everyone. + +As it often happened, Tom's widow had long since re-wed, but neither she +nor her second mate were in the least dismayed. They wept and wailed +with fervor, "He'll be thar! He'll be thar!" + +"Yes," boomed the preacher once more, "Brother Tom will be thar when +Gabriel blows his trump!" + +Then abruptly in a very calm voice, not at all like that in which he had +shouted, the preacher lined the hymn: + + Arise, my soul, and spread thy wings, + A better portion trace. + +Having intoned the two lines the flock took up the doleful dirge. + +So they went on until the hymns were finished. + +After a general handshaking and repeated farewells and the avowed hope +of meeting again come the second Sunday in May next year, the +funeralizing ended. + + + OLD CHRISTMAS + +Though in some isolated sections of the Blue Ridge, say in parts of the +Unakas, the Cumberlands, the Dug Down Mountains of Georgia, there are +people who may never have heard of the Gregorian or Julian calendar, yet +in keeping Old Christmas as they do on January 6th, they cling +unwittingly to the Julian calendar of 46 B.C., introduced in this +country in the earliest years. To them December 25th is New Christmas, +according to the Gregorian calendar adopted in 1752. + +They celebrate the two occasions in a very different way. The old with +prayer and carol-singing, the new with gaiety and feasting. + +To these people there are twelve days of Christmas beginning with +December 25th and ending with January 6th. In some parts of these +southern mountain regions, if their forbears were of Pennsylvania German +stock, they call Old Christmas Little Christmas as the Indians do. But +such instances are rare rather than commonplace. + +Throughout the twelve days of Christmas there are frolic and fireside +play-games and feasting, for which every family makes abundant +preparation. There is even an ancient English accumulative song called +Twelve Days of Christmas which is sung during the celebrations, in which +the true love brings a different gift for each day of the twelve. The +young folks of the community go from home to home, bursting in with a +cheery "Christmas gift!" Those who have been taken unaware, though it +happens the same way each year, forgetting, in the pleasant excitement +of the occasion, to cry the greeting first, must pay a forfeit of +something good to eat--cake, homemade taffy, popcorn, apples, nuts. + +After the feast the father of the household passes the wassail cup, +which is sweet cider drunk from a gourd dipper. Each in turn drinks to +the health of the master of the house and his family. + +Throughout the glad season some of the young bloods are inclined to take +their Christmas with rounds of shooting into the quiet night. Some get +gloriously drunk on hard cider and climbing high on the mountain side +shout and shoot to their hearts' content. + +However, when Old Christmas arrives, even the most boisterous young +striplings assume a quiet, prayerful calm. The children's +play-pretties--the poppet, a make-believe corn-shuck doll--the banjo, +and fiddle are put aside. In the corner of the room is placed a pine +tree. It stands unadorned with tinsel or toy. On the night of January +6th, just before midnight, the family gathers about the hearth. Granny +leads in singing the ancient Cherry Tree Carol, sometimes called Joseph +and Mary, which celebrates January 6th as the day of our Lord's birth. +With great solemnity Granny takes the handmade taper from the +candlestick on the mantel-shelf, places it in the hands of the oldest +man child, to whom the father now passes a lighted pine stick. With it +the child lights the taper. The father lifts high his young son who +places the lighted taper on the highest branch of the pine tree where a +holder has been placed to receive it. This is the only adornment upon +the tree and represents a light of life and hope--"like a star of hope +that guided the Wise Men to the manger long ago," mountain folk say. + +In the waiting silence comes the low mooing of the cows and the whinny +of nags, and looking outside the cabin door the mountaineer sees his cow +brutes and nags kneeling in the snow under the starlit sky. "It is the +sign that this is for truth our Lord's birth night," Granny whispers +softly. + +Then led by the father of the household, carrying his oldest man child +upon his shoulder, the womenfolk following behind, they go down to the +creek side. Kneeling, the father brushes aside the snow among the +elders, and there bursting through the icebound earth appears a green +shoot bearing a white blossom. + +"It is the sign that this is indeed our Lord's birth night, the sign +that January 6th is the real Christmas," old folk of the Blue Ridge bear +witness. + + + FOOT-WASHING + + He riseth from supper, and laid aside his garments; and + took a towel, and girded himself. + + After that he poureth water into a bason, and began to + wash the disciples' feet, and to wipe them with the towel + wherewith he was girded. + +"It is writ in the Good Book," said Brother Jonathan solemnly, "in the +thirteen chapter of St. John, the fourth and the fifth verses." + +With hands meekly clasped in front of him Brother Jonathan stood--not +behind a pulpit--but beside a small table. Nor did he hold the Book. +That too lay on the table beside the water bucket, where he had placed +it after taking his text. + +It could be in Pleasant Valley Church in Magoffin County, or in Old Tar +Kiln Church in Carter County; it could be in Bethel Church high up in +the Unakas, or Antioch Church in Cowee, Nantahala, Dry Fork, or New Hope +Chapel in Tusquitee, in Bald or Great Smoky. Anywhere, everywhere that +an Association of Regular Primitive Baptists hold forth, and they are +numerous throughout the farflung scope of the mountains of the Blue +Ridge. + +"He laid aside his garments ... and after that he poureth water into a +bason, and began to wash the feet of the disciples...." Again Brother +Jonathan repeated the words. + +Slowly, deliberately he went over much that had gone before. This being +the third Sunday of August and the day for Foot-washing in Lacy Valley +Church where other brethren of the Burning Spring Association had +already been preaching since sunup. One after the other had spelled each +other, taking text after text. And now Brother Jonathan--this being his +home church--had taken the stand to give out the text and preach upon +that precept of the Regular Primitive Baptists of washing feet. It was +the home preacher's sacred privilege. + +Old folks dozed, babies fretted, young folks twisted and squirmed in the +straight-backed benches. A parable he told, a story of salvation, +conviction, damnation. But always he came back to the thirteenth chapter +of St. John. He spoke again of that part of the communion service which +had preceded: the partaking of the unleavened bread, which two elders +had passed to the worthy seated in two rows facing each other at the +front of the little church; the men in the two benches on the right, the +womenfolk in the two benches facing each other on the left. Among these, +who had already examined their own conscience to make sure of their +worthiness, had passed an elder with a tumbler of blackberry juice. He +walked close behind the elder who bore the plate of unleavened bread. +The first said to each worthy member, "Remember this represents the +broken body of our Lord who died on this cross for our sins." The second +intoned in a deep voice, "This represents the blood of our Lord who shed +his blood for our sins." All the while old and young throughout the +church house had sung that well-known hymn of the Regular Primitive +Baptists. + + When Jesus Christ was here below, + He taught His people what to do; + + And if we would His precepts keep, + We must descend to washing feet. + +That part of the service being ended, Brother Jonathan exhorted the +flock to make ready for foot-washing. + +The men in their benches removed shoes and socks. The women on the other +side of the church, facing each other in their two benches, removed +shoes and stockings. A sister arose, girthed herself with a towel, knelt +at a sister's feet with a tin washpan filled with water from the creek, +and meekly washed the other's feet. Having dried them with an end of the +long towel, she now handed it to the other who performed a like service +for her. This act of humility was repeated by each of the worthy. All +the while there was hymn-singing. + +The menfolk who participated removed their coats and hung them beside +their hats on wall pegs. + +"It is all Bible," the devout declare. "He laid aside His garments. We +take off our coats." + +Brother Jonathan and the other elders are last to wash each other's +feet. + +And when the service is ended and the participants have again put on +their shoes, they raise their voices in a hymn they all know well: + + I love Thy Kingdom, Lord, + The House of Thine abode, + The church our blessed Redeemer saved + With His own precious blood. + +The tin washpans were emptied frequently out the door and refilled from +the bucket on the table, for many were they, both women and men, of the +Regular Primitive Baptist faith who felt worthy to wash feet. + +At the invitation everyone arose and those who felt so minded went +forward to take the hand of preacher, elder, moderator, sister, and +brother, in fellowship. An aged sister here, another there, clapped bony +hands high over head, shouting, "Praise the Lord!" and "Bless His +precious name!" + +Again all was quiet. Brother Jonathan announced that there would be +foot-washing at another church in the Association on the fourth Sunday +of the month and slowly, almost reluctantly, they went their way. + + + NEW LIGHT + + SNAKE BITE IS FATAL. RELIGIOUS ADHERENT DIES FROM BITE + AFTER REFUSING MEDICAL AID + +The death of 48-year-old Robert Cordle, who refused medical aid after +being bitten by a rattlesnake during church services, brought 1,500 +curious persons today to a funeral home to see his body. + +While the throngs passed the bier of the Doran resident, the Richlands +council passed an ordinance outlawing the use of snakes in religious +services and sent officers to the New Light church to destroy the +reptiles there. + +Commonwealth's Attorney John B. Gillespie, who estimated the visitors at +the funeral home totaled 1,500, said after an investigation that no +arrests would be made. He explained that the state of Virginia has no +law, similar to that in Kentucky, forbidding the use of snakes in church +services. + +J. W. Grizzel of Bradshaw, itinerant pastor who preached at the services +Thursday night when Cordle was bitten, was questioned by Gillespie. + +The Commonwealth's attorney quoted Grizzel as saying: + +"I was dancing with the snake held above my head. Brother Cordle +approached me and took the snake from my hands. I told him not to touch +it unless he was ready." + +After a moment, the rattler struck Cordle in the arm, Gillespie said +Grizzle told him. Cordle threw the snake into the lap of George Hicks, +15, and then was taken to the home of a friend and later to his own +home. + + --The Ashland Daily Independent + + CHILD, SNAKEBITTEN AT RITES, MAY GET + MEDICAL CARE + +Kinsmen of snake-bitten Leitha Ann Rowan permitted her examination by a +physician today, but barred actual treatment and claimed she was +recovering rapidly in justification of their sect's belief that faith +counteracts venom. + +The six-year-old child was brought to Sheriff W. I. Daughtrey's office +today by relatives, after having been missing for three days while her +mother, Mrs. Albert Rowan, sought to avoid treatment for the girl. + +Dr. H. W. Clements did not support relatives' claims that Leitha Ann was +almost fully recovered but said she had made some progress in overcoming +the effects of a Copperhead Moccasin's bite sustained eight days ago in +religious rites at her farm home near here. + +He said her condition remained serious and directed that she be brought +to his office for another examination Monday. + +Meanwhile the child's father, a mild-mannered tenant farmer, and +preacher-farmer W. T. Lipahm, tall leader of the snake-handling folk, +remained in jail on charges of assault with intent to murder. Sheriff +Daughtrey said they would be allowed freedom under $3,000 bonds when the +child is pronounced out of danger. + + --Atlanta Journal + + MAN SUFFERS SNAKE BITE DURING + RELIGIOUS RITES + +A man listed by chief of police Ralph Tuggle as Raymond Hayes of Harlan +county was in a serious condition today from the bite of a copperhead +snake suffered yesterday during religious exercises in a vacant +storeroom. + +Hayes and three other persons, including a woman, were under bond Chief +Tuggle said, pending a hearing Friday on charges of violating a Kentucky +statute prohibiting the use of snakes in religious ceremonies. + +Tuggle said the four first appeared on the courthouse square and started +to hold services from the bandstand but that he dispersed them. The +chief said they then secured a vacant storeroom which was quickly +crowded and before police could break up the gathering Hayes had been +bitten by the copperhead. + + --Barbourville, Ky., Advocate + + MAN DIES OF SNAKE BITE. SECOND MEMBER OF RELIGIOUS + SECT TO DIE IN FOUR DAYS; BITTEN DURING SERVICES + +County Attorney Dennis Wooton listed Jim Cochran, 39, unemployed +mechanic, today as the second member of an eastern Kentucky +snake-handling religious sect to die within four days as the result of +bites suffered during church services. + +Bitten on the right hand Sunday morning Cochran, married and father of +several children, died 18 hours later at his home at nearby Duane. + +Mrs. Clark Napier, 40, mother of seven children, died Thursday night at +Hyden, coal-mining community in adjacent Leslie county, and County-Judge +Pro-Tem Boone Begley said she had been bitten at services. + +Wooton said Jimmy Stidham, Lawsie Smith and Albert Collins were fined +$50. each after Cochran's death on charges of violating the 1940 +anti-snake-handling law. Unable to pay, they were jailed, he said. + +Elige Bowling, a Holiness church preacher, is under bond pending grand +jury action on a murder charge in the death of Mrs. Napier. Wooton said +Perry county officials would be guided on further prosecution in the +Cochran case by disposition of the Leslie county case. + + --Corbin, Ky., Times + +Finding themselves in the throes of the law, members of the +snake-handling sect at times turned to drinking poison in testing their +faith. There was no legislation to prevent it, the leaders craftily +observed. However, in some southern mountain states such a measure has +been advocated. + +At times, nevertheless, even in cases of death from snakebite during +religious service, county officials refused to prosecute, saying the +matter was up to the state itself to dispose of. + + + + + 6. SUPERSTITION + + BIG SANDY RIVER + + +There once prevailed a superstition among timbermen in the Big Sandy +country which dated back to the Indian. + +The mountain men knew and loved their own Big Sandy River. They rode +their rafts fearlessly, leaping daringly from log to log to make fast a +dog chain, even jumping from one slippery, water-soaked raft to another +to capture with spike pole or grappling hook a log that had broken +loose. They had not the slightest fear when a raft buckled or broke away +from the rest and was swept by swift current to midstream. There were +quick and ready hands to the task. Loggers of the Big Sandy kept a cool +head and worked with swift decisive movements. But, once their rafts +reached the mouth of Big Sandy, there were some in the crew who could +neither be persuaded nor bullied to ride the raft on through to the +Ohio. Strong-muscled men have been known to quit their post, leap into +the turbulent water before the raft swept forward into the forbidding +Ohio. They remembered the warning of witch women, "Don't ride the raft +into the Big Waters! Leap off!" So the superstitious often leaped, +taking his life in his hands and often losing it. + + + WATER WITCH + +If anyone wanted to dig a well in Pizen Gulch he wouldn't think of doing +it without first sending for Noah Buckley, the water witch. He lived at +the head of Tumbling Creek. Noah wore a belt of rattlesnake skin to keep +off rheumatism. "That belt's got power," Noah boasted. And young boys in +the neighborhood admitted it. More than one who had eaten too many green +apples and lay groveling under the tree, drawn in a knot with pain, +screamed in his misery for Noah. If Noah was within hearing he went on a +run, fast as his long legs could carry him. And the young sufferer +reaching out a hand touched the rattlesnake belt and quicker than you +could bat an eye his griping pains left and the next thing he was up +playing around. + +However, it was his power to find water that was Noah Buckley's pride. +He took a twig from a peach tree, held a prong in each hand, and with +head bent low he stumbled about here and there mumbling: + + Water, water, if you be there, + Bend this twig and show me where. + +If the twig bent low to the earth you could count on it that was the +spot where the well should be dug. To mark the spot Noah stuck the twig +at once into the earth. Mischievous boys sometimes slipped around, +pulled up the peach branch and threw it away. Again there would be a +doubting Thomas who sought to test the water witch's power by stealing +away the peach branch and dropping in its place a pebble. But Noah was +not to be defeated. He forthwith cut another branch, repeated the +ceremony, and located the exact spot again. Whereupon neighbor menfolk +pitched in and dug the well. Not all in one day, of course. It took +several days but their labors were always rewarded with clear, cold +water at last. + +A well once dug where Noah directed never went dry. That was his boast +as long as he lived. + +However, it was not so much his power to find water that strengthened +the faith of people in the water witch. It was what happened on Dog +Slaughter Creek. The Mosleys, a poor family, had squatted on a miserable +place there. One day the baby of the lot toddled off without being +missed by the other nine children of the flock. When Jake Mosley and his +wife Norie came in from the tobacco patch they began to search +frantically for the babe, screaming and crying as they dashed this way +and that. They looked under the house, in the well, in the barn. They +even went to neighbors' pig lots; the Mosleys had none of their own. +"I've heard of a sow or a boar pig too eating up the carcass of a +child," a neighbor said. "Maybe the babe's roamed off into Burdick's +pasture and the stallion has tromped her underfoot," Jake opined. With +lighted pine sticks to guide their steps they searched the pasture. +There was no trace even of a scrap of the child's dress anywhere to be +seen on ground or fence. + +At last someone said, "Could be a water witch might have knowing to find +a lost child!" And the frantic parents moaned, "Could be. Send for the +water witch." + +It was after midnight that neighbors came bringing the water diviner. + +"Give me a garmint of the lost child," Noah spoke with authority, "a +garmint that the little one has wore that's not been washed." + +The mother tearfully produced a bedraggled garment. + +The water witch took it in his hand, sniffed it, turned it wrongside +out, sniffed it again. "Now have you got a lock of the little one's +hair?" He looked at Norie, moaning on the shuck tick bed, then at Jake. +They stared at each other. At last Norie raised up on her elbow. They +did have a lock of the babe's hair. "Mind the time she nigh strangled to +death with croup"--the mother fixed weary eyes on the father of her ten +children--"and we cut off a lock of her hair and put it in the clock?" + +In one bound Jake Mosley crossed the floor and reached the clock on the +mantel. Sure enough there was the little lock of hair wrapped around +with a thread. Without a word Jake handed it to the water witch. + +Noah eyed it in silence. "I'll see what can be done," he promised at +last, "but, Jake, you and Norie and the children stay here. And you, +neighbors, stay here too. I'll be bound to go alone." + +With a flaming pine stick in one hand and the child's dress and lock of +hair in the other, he set out. + +Before morning broke, the water witch came carrying the lost child. + +They hovered about him, the parents kissed and hugged their babe close +and everyone was asking questions at the same time. "How did it happen?" +"Where did you find the little one?" + +"I come upon a rock ledge," said Noah with a great air of mystery, "and +then I fell upon my knees. I'd cut me a peach branch down at the edge of +the pasture. I gripped the lost child's garmint and the lock of her hair +on one hand with a prong of the peach branch clutched tight in fists +this way," he extended clenched hands to show the awed friends and +neighbors. "I'd already put out the pine torch for daylight was coming. +It took quite a time before I could feel the little garmint twitching in +my hand. Then the peach branch begun to bear down to the ground. First +thing I know something like a breath of wind pulled that little garmint +toward the edge of the rock cliff. My friends, I knowed I was on the +right track. I dropped flat on my belly and retched a hand under the +cliff. I touched the little one's bare foot! Then with both hands I +dragged her out. This child"--he lifted a pious countenance--"could +a-been devoured by wild varmints--a catamount or wolf. There's plenty of +such in these woods. But the water witch got there ahead of the +varmints!" + +The mother began to sob and wail, "Bless the good old water witch!" and +the joyful father gave the diviner the only greenback he had and said he +was only sorry he didn't have a hundred to give him. + +After that more than one sought out the water witch. Even offered him +silver to teach them his powers. + +"It's not good to tell all you know, then others would know as much as +you do," said Noah Buckley of Pizen Gulch, who knew that to keep his +powers a water witch has to keep secrets too. + + + MARRYING ON HORSEBACK + +Millie Eckers, with her arms around his waist, rode behind Robert Burns +toward the county seat one spring morning to get married. But before +they got there along came Joe Fultz, a justice of the peace, to whom +they told their intent. Joe said the middle of the road on horseback was +as good a place as any for a pair to be spliced, so then and there he +had them join right hands. When they were pronounced man and wife Robert +handed Joe a frayed greenback in exchange for the signed certificate of +marriage. Joe Eckers always carried a supply of blank documents in his +saddlebags to meet any emergency that might arise within his bailiwick. +The justice of the peace pocketed his fee, wished Mister and Mistress +Burns a long and happy married life, and rode away, and Robert turned +his mare's nose back toward Little Goose Creek from whence they had +come. + +Some said, soon as they heard about Millie and Robert being married on +horseback right in the middle of the road, that no good would come of +it. As for the preacher he said right out that while the justice of the +peace was within his rights, he had observed in his long ministry that +couples so wed were sure to meet with misfortune--married on horseback +and without the blessing of an Apostle of the Book. + +Scarcely had Millie and Robert settled down to housekeeping than things +began to go wrong. + +One morning when the dew was still on the grass Millie went out to milk. +"Bossy had roamed away off ferninst the thicket," she told Robert, "and +ginst I got there to where she was usin' I scratched the calf of my leg +on a briar." + +Robert eyed her swollen limb. "Seein' your meat black like it is and the +risin' in your calf so angry, I'm certain you've got dew pizen." + +Sure enough she had. Millie lay for days and when the rising came to a +head in a place or two, Robert lanced it with the sharp blade of his +penknife. + +Some weeks later old Doc Robbins who chanced by wondered how Millie had +escaped death from blood poison from the knife blade, until the young +husband told casually how when he was a little set along child he had +seen an old doctor dip the blade of a penknife in a boiling kettle of +water and lance a carbuncle on another's neck. He had done the same for +Millie. + +No sooner was she up and about than something else happened. + +Millie and Robert had just the one cow but soon they had none. Even so +Millie said things might have been worse. "It could have been Robert +that was taken." And he said, bearing their loss stoically, "What is to +be will be, if it comes in the night." + +It was Millie who first noticed something was wrong with Bossy. It was +right after she had found her grazing in the chestnut grove. All the +young growth had been cut out and the branches of the trees formed a +solid shade so that coming out of the sunlight into the grove Millie +blinked and groped in the darkness with hands out before her, feeling +her way and calling, "Sook, Bossy! Sook! Sook!" Millie all but stumbled +over the cow down on her all fours. She coaxed and patted for a long +time before Bossy finally got to her feet and waddled slowly out of the +shaded grove into the sunlit meadow. + +That evening Robert did the milking. But before he began he stroked +Bossy's nose and bent close. "I've caught the stench of her breath!" he +cried. "Sniff for yourself, Millie!" + +Millie did. "Smells worser'n a dung pile," she gasped, hand to stomach. + +Quick as a flash Robert put the tin pail under Bossy's bag and began to +milk with both hands. + +There was scarcely a pint in the bucket until Robert gaped at Millie. +"Look! It don't foam!" His eyes widened with apprehension. He took a +silver coin from his pocket, dropped it into the pail and waited. In a +few moments he fished it out. "Black as coal!" gasped Robert. "Our cow's +got milk sick!" + +Bossy slumped to the ground. By sundown the cow was stark dead. + +Before dark Robert himself grew deathly ill. + +They remembered that at noon time he had spread a piece of cornbread +with Bossy's butter. He had drunk a cup of her milk. + +Millie lost no moment. She mixed mustard in a cup of hot water and +Robert downed it almost at a gulp. + +"He begun to puke and purge until I thought his gizzard would sure come +up next," Millie told it afterward. "All that live-long night he puked +and strained till he got so weakened his head hung over the side of the +bed and hot water poured out of his mouth same as if he had water brash. +Along toward morning Doc Robbins come riding by. He had a bottle of +apple brandy and we mixed it with wild honey. It wasn't long till Robert +got ease. Doc set a while and about the middle of the morning he give +Robert two heaping spoonfuls of castor oil." + +From then on no one could coax Robert Burns to touch a mouthful of +butter nor drink a cup of sweet milk. Though he drank his fill of +buttermilk with never a pain. + +As for the shaded grove where the cow had grazed, every tree was cleared +away--at Doc Robbins's orders. The sunlight poured into the place and +soon there was a green meadow where once the shaded plot had been +covered with a poisoned vegetation. Cows grazed at their will over the +place with no ill effects. + +Still Robert had no hankering for butter or sweet milk. + +"You've no need to fear milk sick now," Doc Robbins tried to reassure +Robert. "It's never found where there's sunlight." Though he could never +figure out whether the deep shade produced a poisonous gas that settled +on the vegetation, or whether it came from some mineral in the ground, +he did know, and so did others, that whatever the cause it disappeared +when sunlight took the place of dense shade. + +The incident was scarcely forgotten when ill luck again befell Millie +and Robert. Their barn burned to the ground, reducing their harvest and +their only mule to ashes. + +Tongues wagged. "Bad luck comes to the couple married on horseback." + +Everyone the countryside over was convinced of the truth of the old +superstition one fall when a tragedy unheard-of overtook Millie at +sorghum-making. + +No one ever knew how it happened. But some said that Brock Cyrus's +half-witted boy was the cause of it. He shouted, "Look out thar!" and +Millie, looking up from her task of feeding cane stalks into the mill, +saw, or thought she saw, her babe, Little Robert, toddling toward the +boiling pans. She screamed and lunged forward, and as she did so the +mule started on a run. The beam to which it was hitched whirled about +and struck Millie helpless. Before anyone could reach her side or stop +the frightened mule, her right hand was drawn into the mill, then her +left. With another revolution of the iron teeth of the cane mill both of +her arms were chopped into shreds. + +It was necessary for old Doc Robbins to amputate both at the shoulders. +Everyone thought it would take Millie Burns out and they said as much. +But she lived long, long years, even raised a family. All her days she +sat in a strange chair that Robert made. A chair with a high shelf on +which her babes, each in turn, lay to nurse at her breast. + +And always the armless woman was pointed out as a warning to young +courting couples, "Don't get married on horseback! It brings ill luck, +no end of ill luck." + + + DEATH CROWN + +Once you evidence even the slightest respect of a superstition in the +Blue Ridge Country there is ever a firm believer eager to show proof of +the like beyond all doubt. It was so with Widow Plater as we sat by the +flickering light of the little oil lamp in her timeworn cabin that +looked down on the Shenandoah Valley. + +"I want to show you Josephus's crown," she said in a hushed voice. Going +to the bureau she opened the top drawer, bringing out what appeared to +be a plate wrapped in muslin. She placed it on the stand table beside +the lamp and carefully laid back the covering, revealing a matted circle +of feathers about the size of the human head. The circle was about two +inches thick and a finger length in width. Strangely enough the feathers +were all running the same way and were so closely matted together they +did not pull apart even under pressure of the widow's firm hand, she +showed with much satisfaction. "Can't no one pull asunder a body's death +crown," she said with firm conviction. + +Resuming her chair she went on with the story. "All of six months my +husband, Josephus, poor soul, lay sick with his poor head resting on the +same pillow day in and day out. I'd come to know he was on his death +bed," she said resignedly, "for one day when I smoothed a hand over his +pillow I felt there his crown a-forming inside the ticking. I'd felt the +crown with my own hands and I knew death was hovering over my man. +Though I didn't tell him so. I wanted he should not be troubled, that he +should die a peaceable death and he did. When we laid him out we put the +pillow under his head and when we laid him away I opened the pillow and +took out his crown that I knew to be there all of six months before he +breathed his last." She sighed deeply. "It's not everyone that has a +crown"--there was wistful pride in her voice--"and them that has, they +do say, is sure of another up yonder." The Widow Plater lifted +tear-dimmed eyes heavenward. "And what's more, it is the bounden duty of +them that's left to keep the crown of their dead to their own dying day. +Josephus's death crown I'll pass on to my oldest daughter when my time +comes." + +Carefully she folded the matted circle of feathers in its muslin +covering and reverently replaced it in the bureau drawer. + + + A WHITE FEATHER + +Rhodie Polhemus who lived on Bear Fork of Puncheon Creek was one who +believed in signs. It had started long years ago when Alamander, her +husband, had met an untimely fate. That morning after he had gone out +hunting Rhodie was sweeping the floor when she saw a white feather +fluttering about the brush of her broom. It hovered strangely in midair, +then sank slowly to the puncheon floor near the door. "The angel of +death is nigh. There'll be a corpse under this roof this day." Rhodie +trembled with fear. Sure enough Alamander was carried in stark dead +before sundown. It came at a time when there wasn't a plank on the +place. They had disposed of their timber, which was little enough, as +fast as it was sawed. So that there was not a piece left with which to +make Alamander's burying box. Nor was there a whipsaw in the whole +country round with which to work, the itinerate sawyer having gone on +with his property to another creek. But folks were neighborly and +willing. They cut down a fine poplar tree, reduced a log of it to proper +length and with ax and adze hewed out a coffin for Rhodie's husband, +hollowing it out into a trough and shaping the ends to fit the corpse. +The lid they made of clapboards. Placing a coverlid inside the trough +they laid the body of Alamander upon it, made fast the lid, and bore him +off to the burying ground. + +"I knowed his time had come," Rhodie often repeated the story, "when I +found the white feather--and when it hovered near the door where +Alamander went out that morning." + +There were other signs. + +All of a week after Alamander was buried Rhodie claimed she had seen the +mound above him rise and move in ripples the full length of the log +coffin in which he lay buried. "Could be he's not resting easy," the old +woman said to herself. "Could be the coverlid under his back is +wrinkled." In response to her question the departed Alamander is said to +have assured his widow that it was his sign of letting her know he was +aware of her presence. However, when curious neighbors accompanied +Rhodie to the burying ground, the mound remained still as a rock. Rhodie +said it was the sign that he had rather she come to his grave alone. + +Though there was never an eyewitness to the rippling earth on the grave +save that of Rhodie, whenever anyone found a white feather about the +house he remembered what the old woman on Bear Fork of Puncheon Creek +had said, "It is a sign of death!" + + + + + 7. LEGEND + + CROCKETT'S HOLLOW + + +When Jasper Tipton married Talithie Burwell and settled on Tipton's Fork +in Crockett's Hollow, folks said no one could ask for a better start. +The Tiptons had given the couple their house seat, a bedstead, a table. +Jasper had a team of mules he had swapped for a yoke of oxen, and he had +a cookstove that he had bought with his own savings. A step stove it +was, two caps below and two higher up. The Burwells had seen to it that +their daughter did not go empty-handed to her man. She had a flock tick, +quilts, coverlids, and a cow. But, old Granny Withers, a midwife from +Caney Creek, sitting in the chimney corner sucking her pipe the night of +the wedding, vowed that all would not be well with the pair. Hadn't a +bat flitted into the room right over Talithie's head when the elder was +speaking the words that joined the two in wedlock? Everyone knew the +sign. Everyone knew too that Talithie Burwell, with her golden hair and +blue eyes, had broken up the match between Jasper and Widow Ashby's +Sabrina. Yet Talithie and Jasper vowed that all was fair in love and +war. If a man's heart turned cold toward a maid, it was none of his +fault. There was nothing to be done about it. You can't change a man's +way with woman, they said. It's writ in the Book. + +And soon as Jasper had cast her off, Widow Ashby's Sabrina took to her +bed and there she meant to stay, so she said, the rest of her life. +Or--until she got a sign that would give her heart ease. Sabrina Ashby +didn't mince her words either. "I don't care what the sign may be," she +said it right out, before Granny Withers. That toothless creature +cackled and replied, "I'm satisfied you're knocking center." + +Indeed Sabrina was telling the truth. She meant every word of it. The +jilted girl did not go to the wedding. She didn't need to, as far as +that was concerned, for old Granny Withers came hobbling over the +mountain fast as her crooked old legs would carry her, and it in the +dead of winter, mind you, to tell Widow Ashby's Sabrina all that had +happened. How lovely fair the bride looked beside her handsome +bridegroom! "Eh law, they were a doughty couple, Jasper and Talithie," +Granny Withers mouthed the words. She lifted a bony finger, "Yet, mark +my words, ill luck awaits the two. When the bat flew into the house and +dipped low over the fair bride's head, she trembled like she had the +agger--and--" + +"The bat flew over her head?" Sabrina interrupted, eyes glistening. "A +bat--it's blind--stone blind!" the jilted girl echoed gleefully. +"There's a sign for you, Mistress Jasper Tipton, to conjure with!" She +let out a screech and then a weird laugh that echoed through Crockett's +Hollow. She cast off the coverlid and in one bound was in the middle of +the floor, though she had lain long weeks pining away. She clapped her +hands high overhead like she was shouting at meeting. Sabrina laughed +again and again, holding her sides. + +Granny Withers thought the girl bewitched. So did Widow Ashby and when +the two tried to put a clabber poultice on her head and sop her wrists +in it, the jilted Sabrina thrust them aside with pure main strength. +That was the night of the wedding. + +The days went by. Jasper and Talithie were happy and content everyone +knew. + +Old Granny Withers in her dilapidated hut up the cove watched and +carried tales to Sabrina. The forsaken girl listened as the old midwife +told how she had seen the two with arms about each other sitting in the +doorway in the evening many a time when their work was done. Or how she +had found them in loving embrace when by chance she happened to pass +along the far end of their corn patch. "Under the big tree, mind you!" +Granny Withers scandalized beyond further speech clapped hand to mouth, +rolled her eyes in dismay. "Just so plum lustful over each other they +can't bide till night time. The marriage bed is the fitten place for +such as that." + +When the forsaken Sabrina heard such things she burned with envy and +jealousy. Secretly she tried to conjure the pair, to no avail. That had +been by wishing them ill. She meant to try again. One day she went far +into the woods and caught a toad. She put it in a bottle. "There you +are, Mistress Talithie Tipton. I've named the toad for you!" she gloated +as she made fast the stopper. "You'll perish there. That's what you'll +do. Didn't old Granny Withers tell me how she worked such conjure on a +false true love in her young day? He died within twelve month. Slipped +off a high cliff!" Stealthily, in the dusk, Sabrina made her way through +the brush to a lonely spot far up the hollow where the big rock hung. +There she put the bottle far back under a slab of stone. + +She waited eagerly to hear some word of the wedded couple. + +One day, a few months later, old Granny Withers came hobbling again over +the mountain. "Jasper's woman is heavy with child," the toothless +midwife grinned, moistening her wrinkled lips with the tip of her +tongue. "He's done axed me to tend her." + +Not even to Granny Withers did Sabrina tell of the toad in the bottle. +"If you ever tell to a living soul what you've done, that breaks the +conjure," the old midwife had warned long ago. So Sabrina kept a still +tongue and bided her time. Nor did she have long to wait. + +News traveled swiftly by word-of-mouth. And bad news was fleetest of +all. + +At first Jasper and his wife were unaware of their babe's fate, though +Talithie had noticed one day, when the midwife carried the little one to +the door where the sun was shining brightly, that it did not bat an eye. +Granny Withers noticed too, but she said never a word. The young mother +kept her fear within her heart. She did not speak of it to Jasper. + +Two weeks later, after Granny Withers had gone, Talithie was up doing +her own work. Supper was over and the young parents sat by the log fire. +There was chill in the air. The babe had whimpered in her bee-gum crib, +a crib that the proud young father had fashioned from a hollowed log in +which wild bees had once stored their honey. Cut the log in two, did +Jasper, scraped it clean, and with the rounded side turned down it made +as fine a cradle as anyone could wish. With eager hands Talithie placed +in it, months before her babe was born, a clean feather tick, no bigger +than a pillow of their own bed. Pieced a little quilt too, did the +happy, expectant mother. + +How contentedly the little one snuggled there even the very first time +Talithie put her in the crib! Rarely did the child whimper, but this +night small Margie was fretful. Talithie gathered her up and came back +to the hearth crooning softly as she jolted to and fro in a straight +chair. The Tipton household, like most in Crockett's Hollow, owned no +such luxury as a rocker. But for all the crooning and jolting small +Margie fretted, rubbed her small fists into her eyes, and drew up her +legs. "Might be colic," thought Talithie. "Babes have to fret and cry +some, makes them grow," offered the young father who continued to +whittle a butter bowl long promised. However, for all his notions about +it, Talithie was troubled. Never before had she known the babe to be so +fretful. + +The log fire was burning low and in the dimness of the room she leaned +down to the hearth, picked up a pine stick and lighted it. She held it +close above the babe's face. The small eyes were open wide and strangely +staring. Talithie passed the bright light to and fro before the little +one's gaze. But never once did the babe bat a lash. + +"Lord God Almighty!" Talithie cried, dropping the lighted pine to the +floor. "Our babe is blind, Jasper! Blind, I tell you! Stone blind!" + +Jasper leaped to his feet. The wooden bowl, the knife, clattered to the +floor. The pine stick still burning lay where it had fallen. + +"Our babe can't be blind," he moaned, falling to his knees. "Our +helpless babe that's done no harm to any living soul, our spotless pure +babe can't be so afflicted!" he sobbed bitterly, putting his arms about +the two he loved best in all the world. + +The pine stick where Talithie dropped it burned deep into the puncheon +floor leaving a scar that never wore away. + +Again old Granny Withers hobbled over the mountain as fast as she had +the night she bore the news to Sabrina about the bat that flew over the +fair bride's head. "Talithie's babe is blind--stone blind, Sabrina +Ashby! Do you hear that?" + +This time Widow Ashby's Sabrina did not cry out in glee. She did not +clap her hands above her head and laugh wildly. The forsaken girl sank +into a chair. Her face turned deathly white, she stared ahead, unseeing. + +It was a long time before she spoke. Then there was no one there to +hear. Granny Withers had scurried off in the dark and Widow Ashby--she +was long since dead and gone. + +"A toad in a bottle," the frightened Sabrina whispered and her voice +echoed in the barren room, "a toad in a bottle works a conjure. Ma's +gone and now Talithie's babe and Jasper's is plum stone blind." She +swayed to and fro, crying hysterically. Then she buried her face in the +vise of her hands, moaning, "Little Margie Tipton, your pretty blue eyes +won't never 'tice no false true love away from no fair maid. And you, +Mistress Jasper Tipton, you'll have many a long year for to ruminate +such things through your own troubled mind." + + * * * * * + +Some shake their heads sympathetically, finger to brow, when they speak +of Widow Ashby's Sabrina living alone in her ramshackle house far up at +the head of Crockett's Hollow. "A forsaken girl that holds grudge and +works conjure comes to be a sorry, sorry woman," they say. + +Should you pass along that lonely creek and venture to call a cheery +"Hallo!" only a weird, cackling laugh, a harsh "Begone" will echo in +answer. + + + THE SILVER TOMAHAWK + +In Carter County, Kentucky, there is a legend which had its beginning +long ago when Indian princesses roamed the Blue Ridge, and pioneers' +hopes were high of finding a lost silver mine said to be in caves close +by. + +Morg Tompert loved to tell the story. As long as he lived the old fellow +could be found on a warm spring day sitting in the doorway of his little +shack nearly hidden by a clump of dogwoods. A shack of rough planks that +clung tenaciously to the mountain side facing Saltpeter, or as it was +sometimes called--Swindle Cave. The former name came from the deposit of +that mineral, the latter from the counterfeiters who carried on their +nefarious trade within the security of the dark cavern. + +As he talked, Morg plucked a dogwood blossom that peeped around the +corner of his shack like a gossipy old woman. "See that bloom?" He held +it toward the visitor. "Some say that a Indian princess who was slain by +a jealous chieftain sopped up her heart's blood with it and that's how +come the stains on the tip of the white flower. There have been Indian +princesses right here on this very ground." Morg nodded slowly. "There's +the empty tomb of one--yes, and there's a silver mine way back yonder in +that cave. They were there long before them scalawags were +counterfeiting inside that cave. Did ever you hear of Huraken?" he asked +with childish eagerness. Morg needed no urging. He went on to tell how +this Indian warrior of the Cherokee tribe loved a beautiful Indian +princess named Manuita: + +"Men are all alike no matter what their color may be. They want to show +out before the maiden they love best. Huraken did. He roved far away to +find a pretty for her. That is to say a pretty he could give the +chieftain, her father, in exchange for Manuita's hand. He must have been +gone a right smart spell for the princess got plum out of heart, allowed +he was never coming back and, bless you, she leapt off a cliff. Killed +herself! And all this time her own true love was unaware of what she had +done. He, himself, was give up to be dead. But what kept him away so +long was he had come upon a silver mine. He dug the silver out of the +earth, melted it, and made a beautiful tomahawk. He beat it out on the +anvil and fashioned a peace pipe on its handle. He must have been proud +as a peacock strutting in the sun preening its feathers. Huraken was +hurrying along, fleet as a deer through the forest, his shiny tomahawk +glistening in his strong right hand. The gift for the chieftain in +exchange for the princess bride. All of a sudden he halted right off yon +a little way. There where the stony cliff hangs over. Right there before +Huraken's eyes at his feet lay the corpse of an Indian lass, face +downward. When he turned the face upwards, it was the princess. Princess +Manuita, his own true love. His sorryful cry raised up as high as the +heavens. Huraken was plum beside himself with grief. He gathered up the +princess in his arms and packed her off into the cave. Her tomb is right +in there yet--empty." + +Old Morg paused for breath. "Huraken kept it secret where he had buried +his true love. He meant to watch over her tomb all the rest of his life. +Then the chieftain, Manuita's father, got word of it somehow. He vowed +to his tribe that Huraken had murdered his daughter in cold blood. So +the chieftain and his tribe set out and captured Huraken. They bound him +hand and foot with strips of buckskin out in the forest so that wild +varmints could come and devour his flesh and he couldn't help himself. +He'd concealed his tomahawk next to his hide under his heavy deerskin +hunting coat. But the spirit of the dead princess pitied her helpless +lover. Come a big rain that night that pelted him and soaked him plum to +the skin. The princess had prayed of the Rain God to send that downpour. +It soaked the buckskin through and through that bound Huraken's hands +and feet and he wriggled loose. Many a long day and night he wandered +away off in strange forests, but all the time the spirit of his true +love, the princess, haunted him. He got no peace till he came back and +give himself up to the chieftain. Only one thing the prisoner asked. +Would they let him go to the cave before they put him to death? Now the +Cherokees are fearful of evil spirits. When they took Huraken to the +mouth of the cave they would go no farther. 'Evil spirits are inside!' +the chieftain said, and the rest of his tribe nodded and frowned. So +Huraken went into the dark cave alone. From that to this he's never been +seen. And the corpse of the Princess Manuita, it's gone too. Her empty +tomb is in yonder's cave. Not even a crumb of her bones can be found." + +Old Morg Tompert reflected a long moment. "I reckon when Huraken packed +the princess off somewhere else her corpse come to be a heavy load. He +dropped his silver tomahawk that he had aimed to give the chieftain for +his daughter's hand. It lay for a hundred year or more--I reckon it's +been that long--right where it was dropped. Off yonder in Smoky Valley +under a high cliff some of Pa's kinfolks found it. A silver tomahawk +with a peace pipe carved on its handle. Pa's own blood kin, by name, Ben +Henderson, found that silver tomahawk but no living soul has ever found +the lost silver mine. There's bound to have been a mine, else Huraken +could never have made that silver tomahawk. Only one lorn white man knew +where it was. His name was Swift. But when he died, he taken the secret +of the silver mine to the grave with him. Swift ought to a-told some of +the womenfolks," declared old Morg, still vexed at the man Swift's +laxity though his demise had occurred ages ago. "Swift ought to a-told +some of the womenfolks," old Morg repeated with finality. + + + BLACK CAT + +From where old Pol Gentry lived on Rocky Fork of Webb's Creek she could +see far down into the valley of Pigeon River and across the ridge on all +sides. Her house stood at the very top of Hawks Nest, the highest peak +in all the country around. Pol didn't have a tight house like several +down near the sawmill. She said it wasn't healthy. Even when the owner +of the portable mill offered her leftover planks to cover her log house +where the daubin had fallen out, Pol refused. "The holes let the wind in +and the cat out," she'd say, "and a body can't do without either." + +There was a long sleek cat, with green eyes and fur as black as a crow, +to be seen skulking in and out of Pol Gentry's place. If it met a person +as it prowled through the woods, the cat darted off swift as a weasel +into the bush to hide away. Young folks on Rocky Fork of Webb's Creek +learned early to snatch off hat or bonnet if the cat crossed their path, +spit into it, and put it quickly on again--to break the witch of old Pol +Gentry's black cat. But never were the two, Pol and the cat, seen +together. + +Truth to tell there were some among the old folks on Rocky Fork who long +had vowed that Pol and the cat were one and the same. They declared Pol +was a witch in league with the Devil and that she could change herself +from woman to cat when the spell was strong enough within her, when the +evil spirits took a good strong hold upon her. Moreover, Pol Gentry had +but one tooth. One sharp fang in the very front of her upper jaw. "A +woman is bound to be a witch if she has just one tooth," folks said and +believed. + +Pol Gentry was a frightful creature to look upon. She had a heavy growth +of hair, coal black hair all around her mouth and particularly upon her +upper lip. Her beard was plain to be seen even when she turned in at a +neighbor's lane, long before she reached the door. Little children at +first sight of her ran screaming to hide their faces in their mother's +skirts. + +There wasn't a child old enough to give ear to a tale who hadn't heard +of Pol Gentry's powers. How she had bewitched Dan Eskew's little girl +Flossie. It wouldn't have happened, some said, if Flossie had spit in +her bonnet when the black cat crossed her path as she trooped through +the woods one day gathering wild flowers. That very evening when she got +back home Flossie sank on the doorstep, the bonnet filled with wild +flowers dropped from her arm. She moaned pitifully, holding her head +between her hands and swaying to and fro. Right away her head began to +swell and by the time they got word to Seth Eeling, the wizard doctor +who lived in Mossy Bottom, Flossie's head was twice its size. Indeed, +Flossie Eskew's head was as big as a full-grown pumpkin. The minute the +wizard clapped eyes on the child he spoke out. + +"Beat up eggshells as fine as you can and give them to this child in a +cup of water. If she is bewitched this mixture will pass through her +clear." + +Orders were promptly obeyed. Flossie drained the cup but no sooner had +Flossie passed the powdered egg shells than the witch left her. Her head +went back to its natural size. Nevertheless Flossie Eskew died that +night. + +"Didn't send for the wizard soon enough," Seth Eeling said. + +Some believed in the powers of both, though neither witch nor wizard +would give the other a friendly look, much less a word. + +Pol Gentry was never downright friendly with any, though she would hoe +for a neighbor in return for something to eat. "My place is too rocky to +raise anything," she excused herself. And whatever was given her, Pol +would carry home then and there. "Them's fine turnips you've got, +Mistress Darby," she said one day, and Sallie Darby up and handed her a +double handful of turnips. Pol opened the front of her dirty calico +mother-hubbard, put the turnips inside against her dirty hide and +tripped off with them. Nor was Pol Gentry one to sit home at tasks such +as knitting or piecing a quilt. But everyone admitted there never was a +better hand the country over at raising pigs. So Pol swapped pigs for +knitting. She had to have long yarn stockings, mittens, a warm hood, for +her pigs had to be fed and tended winter and summer. Others needed meat +as much as Pol needed things to keep her warm. Tillie Bocock was glad to +knit stockings for the old witch in return for a plump shoat. Tillie had +several mouths to feed. Her man was a no-account, who spent his time +fishing in summer and hunting in winter, so that all the work fell to +Tillie. Day by day she tended and fed the shoat. It was +black-and-white-spotted and fat as a butterball, she and the little +Bococks bragged. + +"Another month and you can butcher that shoat." Old Pol would stop in at +Tillie's every time she went down the mountain, eyeing the fat pig. +Sometimes she would put the palms of her dirty hands against her mouth +and rub the black hair back to this side and to that, then she'd stroke +her chin as though her black beard hung far down. Pol would make a +clucking sound with her tongue. "Wisht I was chawin' on a juicy sparerib +or gnawin' me a greasy pig's knuckle right now," she'd say. Then Pol +would begin on a long tale of witchery: how she had seen young husbands +under the spell of her craft grow faithless to young, pretty wives; how +children gained power over their parents through her and had their own +will in all things, even to getting title to house and land from them +before it should have been theirs. She told how Luther Trumbo's John +took with barking fits like a dog and became a hunchback over night. +"Why? Becaze he made mauck of Pol Gentry, that's why!" She rubbed a +dirty hand around her hairy mouth and cackled gleefully. + +At that Tillie Bocock turned to her frightened children huddled behind +her chair. "Get you gone, the last one of you out to the barn. Such +witchy talk is not for young ears." + +Then old Pol Gentry scowled at Tillie and her sharp eyes flashed and she +puffed her lips in and out. Pol didn't say anything but Tillie could see +she was miffed and there was in her sharp eyes a look that said, "Never +mind, Tillie Bocock, you'll pay for this." + +Next morning Pol Gentry was up bright and early, rattling the pot on the +stove and grumbling to herself. "I'll show Tillie Bocock a thing or two. +So I will. Sending her young ones out of my hearing." + +Far down the ridge Tillie Bocock was up early too, for already the sun +was bright and there was corn to hoe. Tillie and the children had washed +the dishes, and she had carried out the soapy dishwater with cornbread +scraps mixed in it and poured it in the trough for the pig. "Spotty," +they called their pet. The Bococks had no planks with which to make a +separate pen for the spotted pig so they kept its trough in a corner of +the chicken lot. + +"Mazie, you and Saphroney go fetch a bucket of cold water for Spotty," +Tillie called to her two eldest. "A pig likes a cold drink now and then +same as we do." So off the children went with the cedar bucket to the +spring. When they returned they poured some of the water into the +dishpan and Spotty sucked it up greedily while they hurried to pour the +rest into the mudhole where the pig liked to wallow. + +The sun caked the mud on the pig's sides and legs as it lay grunting +contentedly in the chicken yard. + +And when Tillie and the children came in from hoeing corn at dinner time +Spotty still lay snoozing in the sun. An hour later they returned to +toss a handful of turnip greens into the pig. But Spotty didn't even +grunt or get up, for on its side was a sleek black cat. A cat with green +eyes stretched full length working its claws into the pig's muddy sides, +now with the front paws, now with the hind ones. + +The children screamed and stomped a foot. "Scat! Scat!" they cried but +the black cat only turned its fierce eyes toward them. + +Hearing their screams Tillie came running out. She fluttered her apron +at the cat to scare it away but it only snarled, showing its teeth, +lifting its bristling whiskers. Then Tillie picked up a stone and threw +it as hard as she could, striking the cat squarely between the eyes. It +screamed like a human, Tillie told afterwards. Loud and wild it +screamed, and leaping off the pig it darted off quick as a flash. + +When the cat reached the cliff halfway up the mountain that led toward +Pol Gentry's it turned around and looked back. With one paw uplifted it +wiped its face for there was blood pouring out of the cut between its +shining green eyes. It twitched its mouth till the black fur stood up. + +"Come, get up, Spotty!" Tillie and the children coaxed the pig. "Here's +more dishwater slop for you. Here's some cornbread!" + +Slowly the pig got to its knees, then to its feet. It grunted once only +and fell over dead. + +After that old Pol Gentry wasn't seen for days. But when Tillie Bocock +did catch sight of her, Pol turned off from the footpath and hurried +away. Even so Tillie saw the deep gash in Pol's forehead oozing blood +right between her eyes. She saw Pol Gentry's mouth widen angrily and the +black hair about it twitch like that of a snarling cat, as she slunk +away. + + + THE DEER WOMAN AND THE FAWN + +Amos Tingley, a bachelor, and a miser as well, lived in Laurel Hollow. +Nearby was a salt lick for deer. Often he saw them come there a few at a +time, lick the salt, and scamper away. There were two he noticed in +particular, a mother and its fawn. They had come nearer than the salt +lick--into his garden--more than once and trampled what they did not +like, or nibbled to the very ground things that suited their taste, +vegetables that Amos had toiled to plant and grow. He didn't want to +harm the animals if it could be helped so Amos thought to make a pet of +the fawn. When a boy he had had a pet fawn, carried it in his arms. He +even brought it into the house and when it grew older the little +creature followed at his heels like a dog. He reached a friendly hand +toward this fawn in his garden but it kicked up its heels and fairly +flew down the garden path. However, the mother, watching her chance when +Amos had returned to the house, led her fawn into the garden again and +together they ate their fill of the choicest green things. + +It annoyed Amos Tingley no little. He determined to put a stop to it. +One evening he greased his old squirrel rifle. He took lead balls out of +the leather pouch that hung on the wall, rolled them around in the palm +of his hand, and wondered when his chance would come to use them. As he +sat turning the thoughts over in his mind pretty Audrey Billberry and +her little girl, Tinie, came along the road. Audrey was a widow. Had +been since Tinie was six months old. Some wondered how she got along. +But Audrey Billberry was never one to complain and if neighbors went +there she always urged them to stay and eat. If it was winter, there was +plenty of rabbit stew and turnips and potatoes, or squirrel and quail. +Audrey loved wild meat. "It's cleaner," she'd say, "and sweeter. Sweet +meats make pretty looks." Audrey smiled and showed her dimples and +little Tinie patted her mother's hand and looked up admiringly into her +face. Then off the two would skip through the woods to gather greens or +berries, chestnuts or wild turkey eggs, whatever the season might bring. + +Sometimes they went hand in hand, Audrey and the child, past Amos +Tingley's place. + +"Good day, to you," pretty Audrey Billberry would call out and Tinie +would say the same. "How goes it with you today, good neighbor?" + +"Well enough," Amos answered, "and better still if I can get rid of that +pestering deer and her fawn. The two have laid waste my garden patch. +See yonder!" he pointed with the squirrel rifle. "And it won't be good +for the two the next time they come nibbling around here!" + +Pretty Audrey Billberry gripped little Tinie's hand until the child +squealed and hopped on one foot. They looked at each other, then at the +gun. Fright came into their eyes. Audrey tried to laugh lightly. "When +you kill that deer be sure to bring me a piece, neighbor Tingley," she +said, as unconcerned as you please, and away she went with the little +girl at her side. When they reached home Audrey Billberry turned the +wood button on the door and flung back her head. "Kill a deer and her +fawn! There is no fear, Tinie. Why"--she scoffed--"Amos Tingley's got +only lead to load his rifle. I saw." She put her hands to her sides and +laughed and danced around the room. "Lead can't kill a deer and her +fawn. It takes silver! Silver! Do you hear that, Tinie? Silver hammered +and molded round to load the gun. And when, I'd like to know, would +skinflint Amos Tingley, the miser, ever destroy a silver coin by +pounding it into a ball to load a gun? There's nothing to fear. Rest +easy, Tinie. Besides all living creatures must eat. It is their right. +Only silver, remember, not lead, can harm the deer. A miser will keep +his silver and let his garden go!" She caught little Tinie by both hands +and skipped to and fro across the floor, saying over and over, "Only +silver can harm the deer." + +The wind caught up her words and carried them through the trees, across +the ridge into Laurel Hollow. + +While Audrey and Tinie skipped and frolicked and chanted, "Only silver +can harm the deer," Amos Tingley, the miser, over in Laurel Hollow was +busy at work. He took a silver coin from the leather poke in his pocket +and hammered it flat on the anvil in his barn. Thin as paper he hammered +it until he could roll it easily between thumb and finger. Then around +and around he rolled it between his palms until there was a ball as +round and as firm as ever was made with a mold. Amos put it in his +rifle. + +The next morning when he went out to work in his garden there was +scarcely a head of cabbage left. The bunch beans he had been saving back +and the cut-short beans had been plucked and the row of sweet corn which +he had planted so carefully along the fence-row had been stripped to the +last roasting ear. He stooped down to look at the earth. "Footprints of +the deer and the fawn, without a doubt. But she must have worn an apron +or carried a basket to take away so much." Amos shook his head in +perplexity. Then he hurried back to the house to get his gun. + +"Right here do I wait." He braced himself in the doorway, back to the +jam, knees jackknifed, gun cocked. "Here do I wait until I catch sight +of that doe and her fawn." + +It wasn't long till the two appeared on a nearby ridge, pranking to and +fro. Into the forest they scampered, then out again, frisking up their +hind feet, then standing still as rocks and looking down at Amos Tingley +in his doorway. + +Then Amos lifted his gun, pulled the trigger. + +The fawn darted away but the deer fell bleeding with a bullet in the +leg. + +"Let her bleed! Bleed till there's not a drop of blood left in her veins +and my silver coin is washed back to my own hands!" That was the wish of +Amos Tingley, the miser. He went back into the house and put his gun in +the corner. + +When darkness came little Tinie Billberry stood sobbing at Amos +Tingley's door. "Please to come," she pleaded. "My mother says she'll +die if you don't. She wants to make amends!" + +"Amends?" gasped Amos Tingley. "Amends for what?" + +But Tinie had dashed away in the darkness. + +When Amos reached pretty Audrey Billberry's door, he found her pale in +the candlelight, her ankle shattered and bleeding. The foot rested in a +basin. + +"See what you've done, Amos Tingley." The pretty widow lifted +tear-dimmed eyes, while Tinie huddled shyly behind her. "A pitcher of +water, quick, Tinie, to wash away the blood!" + +As the child poured the water over the bleeding foot, Amos heard +something fall into the basin. He caught the flash of silver. Amos stood +speechless. + +In the basin lay the silver ball the miser had made from a coin. + +"Never tell!" cried pretty Audrey Billberry, her dark eyes starting from +the bloodless face. "Never tell and I promise, I promise and so does +Tinie--see we promise together." + +The child had put down the pitcher and came shyly to rest her head upon +her mother's shoulder, her small hand in Audrey's. + +"We promise," they spoke together, "never, never again to bother your +garden!" + +They kept their word all three, Amos Tingley and pretty Audrey Billberry +and little Tinie. But somebody told, for the tale still lives in Laurel +Hollow of the miser and the deer woman and the little fawn. + + + GHOST OF DEVIL ANSE + +Near the village of Omar, Logan County, in the hills of West Virginia +there is a little burying ground that looks down on Main Island Creek. +It is a family burying ground, you soon discover when you climb the +narrow path leading to the sagging gate in the rickety fence that +encloses it. There are a number of graves, some with head stones, some +without. But one grave catches the eye, for above it towers a white +marble statue. The statue of a mountain man, you know at once by the +imposing height, the long beard, the sagging breeches stuffed into +high-topped boots. Drawing nearer, you read the inscription upon the +broad stone base upon which the statue rests: + + CAPT. ANDERSON HATFIELD + +and below the names of his thirteen children: + + JOHNSON + WM. A. + ROBERT L. + NANCY + ELLIOTT R. + MARY + ELIZABETH + ELIAS + TROY + JOSEPH D. + ROSE + WILLIS E. + TENNIS + +You lift your eyes again to the marble statue. If you knew him in life, +you'll say, "This is a fine likeness--and a fine piece of marble." + +"His children had it done in Italy," someone offers the information. + +"So," you say to yourself, "this is the grave of Devil Anse Hatfield." + +You've seen all there is to see. You're ready to go, if you are like +hundreds of others who visit the last resting place of the leader of the +Hatfield-McCoy feud. But, if you chance to tarry--say, in the fall when +fogs are heavy there in the Guyan Valley, through which Main Island +Creek flows--you may see and hear things strangely unaccountable. + +Close beside the captain's grave is another. On the stone is carved the +name--Levisa Chafin Hatfield. If you were among the many who attended +her funeral you will remember how peaceful she looked in her black +burying dress she'd kept so long for the occasion. Again you will see +her as she lay in her coffin, hands primly folded on the black frock, +the frill of lace on the black bonnet framing the careworn face. You +look up suddenly to see a mountain woman in a somber calico frock and +slat bonnet. She is putting new paper flowers, to take the place of the +faded ones, in the glass-covered box between the grave of Devil Anse and +the mother of his children. + +"You best come home with me," she invites with true hospitality, after +an exchange of greetings. You learn that Molly claims kin to both sides, +being the widow of a Hatfield and married to a McCoy, and at once you +are disarmed. + +That night as you sit with Molly in the moonlight in the dooryard of her +shack, a weather-beaten plank house with a clapboard roof and a crooked +stone chimney, she talks of life in the West Virginia hills. "There's a +heap o' things happens around this country that are mighty skeery." +Suddenly in the gloaming a bat wings overhead, darts inside the shack. +You can hear it blundering around among the rafters. An owl screeches +off in the hollow somewhere. "Do you believe in ghosts and haynts?" +There are apprehension and fear in Molly's voice. + +Presently the owl screeches dolefully once more and the bat wheels low +overhead. A soft breeze stirs the pawpaw bushes down by the fence row. +"Did you hearn something mourn like, just then?" Molly, the widow of a +Hatfield and wife of a McCoy, leans forward. + +If you are prudent you make no answer to her questions. + +"Nothing to be a-feared of, I reckon. The ghosts of them that has been +baptized they won't harm nobody. I've heard Uncle Dyke Garrett say as +much many's the time." The woman speaks with firm conviction. + +A moth brushes her cheek and she straightens suddenly. + +The moon is partly hidden behind a cloud; even so by its faint light you +can see the clump of pawpaw bushes, and beyond--the outline of the +rugged hills. Farther off in the burying ground atop the ridge the +marble figure of the leader of the Hatfields rises against the +half-darkened sky. + +At first you think it is the sound of the wind in the pines far off in +the hollow, then as it moves toward the burying ground it changes to +that of low moaning voices. + +You feel Molly's arm trembling against your own. + +"Listen!" she whispers fearfully, all her courage gone. "It's Devil Anse +and his boys. Look yonder!"--she tugs at your sleeve--"See for yourself +they're going down to the waters of baptism!" + +Following the direction of the woman's quick trembling hand you strain +forward. + +At first there seems to be a low mist rolling over the burying ground +and then suddenly, to your amazement, the mist or cloud dissolves itself +into shafts or pillars of the height of the white figure of Devil Anse +above the grave. They form in line and now one figure, the taller, moves +ahead of all the rest. Six there were following the leader. You see +distinctly as they move slowly through the crumbling tombstones, down +the mountain side toward the creek. + +"Devil Anse and his boys," repeats the trembling Molly, "going down into +the waters of baptism. They ever do of a foggy night in the falling +weather. And look yonder! There's the ghost too of Uncle Dyke Garrett +a-waiting at the water's edge. He's got the Good Book opened wide in his +hand." + +Whether it is the giant trunk of a tree with perhaps a leafless branch +extended, who can say? Or is nature playing a prank with your vision? +But, surely, in the eerie moonlight there seems to appear the figure of +a man with arm extended, book in hand, waiting to receive the seven +phantom penitents moving slowly toward the water's edge. + +After that you don't lose much time in being on your way. And if anyone +should ask you what of interest is to be seen along Main Island Creek, +if you are prudent you'll answer, "The marble statue of Capt. Anderson +Hatfield." And if you knew him in life you'll add, "And a fine likeness +it is too." + + + THE WINKING CORPSE + +On the night of June 22, 1887, the bodies of four dead men lay wrapped +in sheets on cooling boards in the musty sitting room of an old boarding +house in Morehead, Rowan County, Kentucky. Only the bullet-shattered +faces, besmeared with blood, were exposed. Their coffins had not yet +arrived from the Blue Grass. No friend or kinsman watched beside the +bier that sultry summer night; they had prudently kept to their homes, +for excitement ran high over the battle that had been fought that day in +front of the old hostelry which marked, with the death of the four, the +end of the Martin-Tolliver feud. + +While the bodies lay side-by-side in the front part of the shambling +house, there sat in the kitchen, so the story goes, a slatternly old +crone peeling potatoes for supper--should the few straggling boarders +return with an appetite, now that all the shooting was over. + +It was the privilege of old women like Phronie in the mountains of +Kentucky to go unmolested and help out as they felt impelled in times of +troubles such as these between the Martins and Tollivers. + +The place was strangely quiet. Indeed the old boarding house was +deserted. For those who had taken the law in their own hands that day in +Rowan County had called a meeting at the courthouse farther up the road. +The citizenry of the countryside, save kin and friend of the slain +feudists, had turned out to attend. + +"Nary soul to keep watch with the dead," Phronie complained under her +breath. "It's dark in yonder. Dark and still as the grave. A body's got +to have light. How else can they see to make it to the other world?" She +paused to sharpen her knife on the edge of the crock, glancing +cautiously now and then toward the door of the narrow hallway that led +to the room where the dead men lay. + +The plaintive call of a whippoorwill far off beyond Triplett Creek, +where one of the men had been killed that day, drifted into the quiet +house. + +"It's a sorry song for sorry times," murmured old Phronie, "and it ought +to tender the heart of them that's mixed up in these troubles. No how, +whosoever's to blame, the dead ort not to be forsaken." + +There was a sound behind her. Phronie turned to see the hall door +opening slowly. "Who's there?" she called. But no one answered. The door +opened wider. But no one entered. + +"It's a sign," the old woman whispered. "Well, no one can ever say +Phronie forsaken the dead." It was as though the old crone answered an +unspoken command. She put down the crock of potatoes and the paring +knife. Wiping her hands on her apron, Phronie took the oil lamp, with +its battered tin reflector, from the wall. "Can't no one ever say I +forsaken the dead," she repeated, "nor shunned a sign or token. The +dead's got to have light same as the living." + +Holding the lamp before her, she passed slowly along the narrow hall on +to the room where the dead men lay wrapped in their sheets. She drew a +chair from a corner and climbed upon it and hung the lamp above the +mantel. It was the chair on which Craig Tolliver, alive and boastful and +fearless, had sat that morning when she had brought him hot coffee and +cornbread while he kept an eye out for the posse, the self-appointed +citizens who later killed the Tolliver leader and his three companions. + +The flickering light of the oil lamp fell upon the ghastly faces of the +dead men. + +For a moment the old woman gazed at the still forms. Then suddenly her +glance fixed itself upon the face of Craig Tolliver. + +Slowly the lashes of Craig's right eye moved ever so slightly. + +Phronie was sure of it. She gripped the back of the chair on which she +stood to steady herself, for now the lid of the dead man's eye twitched +convulsively. As the trembling old woman gaped, the eye of the slain +feudist opened and shut. Not once, but three times, quick as a wink. + +"God-a-mighty!" shrieked Phronie, "he ain't dead! Craig Tolliver ain't +dead!" She leaped from the chair and ran fast as her crooked old limbs +would carry her, shrieking as she went, "Craig Tolliver ain't dead!" + +Some say it was just the notion of an old woman gone suddenly raving +crazy, though others, half believing, still tell the story of the +winking corpse. + + + THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN GABLES + +About halfway between the thriving, up-to-date, electrically lighted +City of Ashland, Boyd County, Kentucky, with its million-dollar steel +mills, and Grayson, the county seat of Carter County, Kentucky, there +stands on the hillside a few rods from the modern highway U. S. 60, a +little white cottage with green gables. + +Within a mile or so of the place unusual road signs catch your eye. +White posts, each surmounted by a white open scroll. There are ten of +them, put there, no doubt, by some devoted pilgrim. There is one for +each of the Ten Commandments. You read carefully one after the other. +The one nearest the point where you turn off on a dirt road that leads +to the white house with the green gables reads + + Honor Thy Father and Thy Mother. + +You leave your car at the side of the dirt road near U. S. 60, and go on +foot the rest of the way. + +You wonder, as you look at the beauty of the well-kept lawn, the +carefully planted hedge and cedars, the step stone walk that leads up +the sloping hill to the door, at the silence of the place. As you draw +nearer, you wonder at the uncurtained windows, neat, small-paned +casements with neither shade nor frill. + +You learn that the place has stood untenanted for years. Truth to tell +it has never been occupied. Some call it the haunted house with the +green gables. + +Some will tell you there is a shattered romance behind the empty, +green-gabled house. Others contend it _is_ tenanted. They have seen a +lovely woman, lamp in hand, move about from room to room through the +quiet night and stand sometimes beside the window up under the green +gable that looks toward the west. She seems to be watching and waiting, +they say. But when the day dawns woman and lamp vanish into thin air. + +Others will tell you that an eccentric old man built the house for his +parents long since dead. He believes, so they say--this old eccentric +man living somewhere in the Kentucky hills (they are not sure of the +exact location)--that his parents will return. Not as an aged couple, +feeble and bent as they died, but in youth, happy and healthful. This +"eccentric" son himself now stooped with age, with silver hair and +faltering step, built the pretty white house that his parents might have +beauty in a dwelling such as they never knew in their former life on +earth. The old fellow himself, so the story goes, makes many a nocturnal +visit to the dream house, hoping to find his parents returned and +happily living within its paneled walls. + +There are all sorts of stories, varying in their nature according to the +distance of their origin from the green-gabled house. + +Curious people have come all the way from the Pacific Coast to see it, +from New England and Maine, from Canada and Utah. + +As the years go by the legend grows. + +"Oh, yes, I've seen the haunted house with the green gables," some will +say, glowing with satisfaction. "And they do say the eccentric old man +who built it for his parents has silent, trusty Negro servants dressed +in spotless white who stand behind the high-backed chair of the master +and mistress at the table laden with gleaming silver and a sumptuous +feast. The old man firmly believes his parents will return!" + +What with the increasing stories you decide to take a look for yourself. +I did, accompanied by a newsman and a photographer. + +Nothing like getting proof of the pudding. + +Out you go, under cover of darkness, equipped with flashlights and flash +bulbs. A haunted house, you calculate, will be much more intriguing by +night. Stealthily you draw near. You peer into the windows, the +uncurtained windows, in breathless awe prepared to see the lady with the +lamp floating from room to room, hoping to glimpse the spectral couple +seated at table in the high-paneled dining hall of which you have heard +so many tales. Tales of gleaming silver, white-clad Negro servants +bowing with deference before the master and mistress of the green-gabled +house. + +Through the uncurtained windows you gape wide-eyed. Instead of the scene +you expected, there looms before your eyes plunder of all sorts tossed +about helter-skelter: sections of broken bookcases, old tables, musty +books, broken-down chairs. + +You are about to retreat in utter disgust when you hear the sound of +footsteps on the cobblestone walk that leads around the house. The sound +draws nearer. + +The wary photographer pulls his flashlight. Its bright beam plays upon +the stone walk, catching first in its lighted circle the feet of a man. +The light plays upward quickly. It holds now in its bright orb the +smiling face of a man. A middle-aged man with pleasant blue eyes. + +"--could--we see--the owner of this place?" stammers the reporter. + +"You're looking at him, sir!" the fellow replies courteously. "What can +I do for you?" It is a pleasant voice with an accent that is almost +Harvard. + +"Who--who--are you?" the reporter stammers. + +"Hedrick's my name. Ray Hedrick! What's yours?" + +When the uninvited visitors have identified themselves the owner invites +you most graciously to take a seat on the doorstep. + +You learn that this "eccentric old man," of whom you have heard such +ridiculously fantastic tales, is and has been for a number of years +telegraph operator for the Chesapeake and Ohio Railroad at their little +wayside station, Kilgore. It is within a few miles of the mill town of +thriving Ashland, Boyd County, Kentucky, and the county seat of Carter +County. The little railroad station is within a stone's throw, as the +crow flies, of "the haunted house." + +"Pleasant weather we are having," the owner observes casually. + +"Yes," the reporter replies reluctantly, "but this house--here"--the +reporter is obviously peeved for having been snipe-hunting--"what about +this house?" + +"Well," drawls the owner tolerantly, "a house can't help what's been +told about it, can it?" + +"But how did the story get started--about it being haunted?" the +reporter is persistent. + +The owner jerks a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of U. S. 60. +"Is that your car parked over there?" + +There is in his tone that which impels you to stand not on the order of +your going. You go at once--annoyed at being no nearer the answer than +when you came. + +And still the curious continue to motor miles and miles to see the +haunted house with the green gables. + + + + + 8. SINGING ON THE MOUNTAIN SIDE + + +Though there were and are people in the Blue Ridge Country who, like +Jilson Setters, the Singin' Fiddler of Lost Hope Hollow, can neither +read nor write, such obstacles have meant no bar to their poetic bent. +They sing with joy and sorrow, with pride and pleasure, of the scene +about them, matching their skill with that of old or young who boast of +book learning. + + + OF LAND AND RIVER + + APPALACHIA + + Clothed in her many hues of green, + Far Appalachia rises high + And takes a robe of different hue + To match the seasons passing by. + + Her summits crowned by nature's hand, + With grass-grown balds for all to see, + Her towering rocks and naked cliffs + Hid by some overhanging tree. + + In early spring the Maple dons + Her bright red mantle overnight; + The Beech is clad in dainty tan, + The Sarvis in a robe of white. + + The Red Bud in profusion blooms + And rules the hills a few short days, + And Dogwoods with their snowy white + Are mingled with its purple blaze. + + High on the frowning mountain side + Azaleas bloom like tongues of flame, + The Laurel flaunts her waxy pink, + And Rhododendrons prove their fame. + + Then comes the sturdy Chestnut tree + With plumes like waving yellow hair, + And Wild Grapes blossom at their will + To scent the glorious mountain air. + + But when the frost of autumn falls, + Like many other fickle maids, + She lays aside her summer robes + And dons her gay autumnal shades. + + Oh, Appalachia, loved by all! + Long may you reign, aloof, supreme, + In royal robes of nature's hues, + A monarch proud--a mountain Queen. + + --Martha Creech + + + BIG SANDY RIVER + + Big Sandy, child of noble birth, + Majestically you roll along, + True daughter of the Cumberlands, + With heritage of wealth and song. + + Free as the hills from whence you came, + In folklore and tradition bound, + You seek the valleys deep and wide, + With frowning forests girded round. + + Descendants of a stalwart breed + And fed by nature's lavish hand, + You carry on your bosom broad + The riches of a virgin land. + + When ringing ax of pioneers + The silence of the forests broke, + Upon your rising crest you bore + The poplar and the mighty oak. + + The push boat launched by brawny arms + And filled with treasure from the earth + Has drifted on your current strong + From out the hills that gave you birth. + + And steamboats loaded to the hold + You swept upon your swelling tide, + 'Til fruits of sturdy, mountain toil + Were scattered out both far and wide. + + The Dew Drop plowed your mighty waves. + From Catlettsburg to old Pike Town, + To bring her loads of manmade gifts + And carry homespun products down. + + And Market Boy, that far-famed craft, + Churned through the foam, her holds to fill, + And proudly reared her antlered head + A trophy rare of mountain skill. + + --D. Preston + + + OLD TIME WATERFRONT + + Come all you old-time rivermen + And go along with me, + Let's sing a song and give a cheer + For the days that used to be. + + Let's wander down to Catlettsburg + And look upon the tide. + We'll mourn the changes time has made + There by the river side. + + Gone is the old-time waterfront + That rang with joy and mirth, + And known throughout a dozen states + As "the wettest spot on earth." + + And Damron's famed Black Diamond, + The logger's paradise, + Where whiskey flowed like water + And timbermen swapped lies. + + Here Big Wayne ruled in splendor; + His right, none would deny. + And Little Wayne was always there + To serve the rock and rye. + + And Big Wayne never failed a friend, + Or stopped to chat or lie, + And no one entering his doors + Was known to leave there dry. + + And many a time some timberman + Would land himself in jail, + But Big Wayne always lent a hand, + And went the wretch's bail. + + Some of the buildings still are there, + Along the old-time ways. + Silent and dark their windows stare + Gray ghosts of bygone days. + + No sound of merriment or song, + No dancing footsteps fall; + The days of fifty years ago, + Are gone beyond recall. + + So to Big Wayne and Little Wayne, + Big Sandy's pride and boast, + And to the old-time waterfront, + Let's drink a farewell toast. + + While to the old-time timbermen, + This song we'll dedicate, + Who fought their battles with their fists, + And took their whiskey straight. + + --Coby Preston + + + WEST VIRGINIA + +There is singing in the mountain where the sturdy hill folk meet, +There is singing in the valleys where the days are warm and sweet, +There is singing in the cities where the crowds of workers throng, +Wherever we meet, no day is complete, for West Virginians without a song. + +West Virginia, land of beauty, West Virginia, land of song, + +West Virginia, hear the singing of the crystal mountain streams, +Songs of joy and songs of power to fulfill man's mightiest dreams, +West Virginia, hear the singing of thy shadowed forest trees, +Holding the winds, holding the floods, so that thy sons may be at ease. + +West Virginia, land of beauty, West Virginia, land of song. + + --Esther Eugenia Davis + + + SKYLINE DRIVE + + The Skyline Drive is not a road + To bring you near the skies + Where you can sit and gather clouds + That flit before your eyes, + Or jump upon a golden fleece + And sail to paradise-- + But it is a super-mountain road + Where you can feast your eyes + Upon the beauties of the world + The Lord God gave to man + For his enjoyment and his use; + Improve it if you can. + The builders of this Skyline Drive + Have filed no patent right + That they improved upon God's plan, + Nor have more power and might; + But they have seen His handiwork, + This panoramic view, + Have paved this road to ease the load + Of all the world and you. + This is akin to hallowed ground, + A sacred beauty shrine; + Its fame has traveled all around; + It now is yours and mine. + There's little points of vantage--views, + Where you can see afar-- + Compare the beauty with that land + That stands with "Gates Ajar." + The people who have given much + To save this precious shrine + Must surely all be friends of God + And friends of yours and mine. + + --George A. Barker + + + FEUD + + THE LOVE OF ROSANNA McCOY + + Come and listen to my story + Of fair Rosanna McCoy. + She loved young Jonse Hatfield, + Old Devil Anse's boy. + + But the McCoys and Hatfields + Had long engaged in strife, + And never the son of a Hatfield + Should take a McCoy to wife. + + But when they met each other, + On Blackberry Creek, they say, + She was riding behind her brother, + When Jonse came along that way. + + "Who is that handsome fellow?" + She asked young Tolbert McCoy. + Said he, "Turn your head, sister. + That's Devil Anse's boy." + + But somehow they met each other, + And it grieved the Hatfields sore; + While Randall, the young girl's father, + Turned his daughter from the door. + + It was down at old Aunt Betty's + They were courting one night, they say, + When down came Rosanna's brothers + And took young Jonse away. + + Rosanna's heart was heavy, + For she hoped to be his wife, + And well she knew her brothers + Would take his precious life. + + She ran to a nearby pasture + And catching a horse by the mane, + She mounted and rode like a soldier, + With neither saddle nor rein. + + Her golden hair streamed behind her, + Her eyes were wild and bright, + As she urged her swift steed forward + And galloped away in the night. + + Straight to the Hatfields' stronghold, + She rode so fearless and brave, + To tell them that Jonse was in danger + And beg them his life to save. + + And the Hatfields rode in a body. + They saved young Jonse's life; + But never, they said, a Hatfield + Should take a McCoy to wife. + + But the feud is long forgotten + And time has healed the sting, + As little Bud and Melissy + This song of their kinsmen sing. + + No longer it is forbidden + That a fair-haired young McCoy + Shall love her dark-eyed neighbor + Or marry a Hatfield boy. + + And the people still remember, + Though she never became his bride, + The love of these young people + And Rosanna's midnight ride. + + --Coby Preston + + + LEGEND + + THE ROBIN'S RED BREAST + +Through the southern mountains the Robin is often called the "Christ +Bird" because of this legend. It is also called "Love Bird." + + The Savior hung upon the cross, + His body racked with mortal pain; + The blood flowed from His precious wounds + And sweat dropped from His brow like rain. + + A crown of thorns was on His head, + The bitter cup He meekly sips; + His life is ebbing fast away, + A prayer upon His blessed lips. + + No mercy found He anywhere, + He said, "My Father knoweth best." + A little bird came fluttering down + And hovered near his bleeding breast. + + It fanned His brow with gentle wings, + Into the cup it dipped its beak; + And gazed in pity while He hung + And bore His pain so calm and meek. + + At last the bird it flew away + And sought the shelter of its nest; + Its feathers dyed with crimson stain, + The Savior's blood upon its breast. + + The lowly robin, so 'tis said, + That comes to us in early spring, + Is that which hovered near the cross + And wears for aye that crimson stain. + + --Martha Creech + + + JENNIE WYLIE + +Thomas Wiley, husband of Jennie Sellards Wylie, was a native of Ireland. +They lived on Walker's Creek in what is now Tazewell County, Virginia. +She was captured by the Indians in 1790. Her son Adam was sometimes +called Adam Pre Vard Wiley. + + Among the hills of old Kentucky, + When homes were scarce and settlers few, + There lived a man named Thomas Wylie, + His wife and little children two. + + They left their home in old Virginia, + This youthful pair so brave and strong. + And built a cabin in the valley + Where fair Big Sandy flows along. + + Poor Thomas left his home one morning, + He kissed his wife and children dear; + He little knew that prowling Indians + Around his home were lurking near. + + They waited in the silent woodland + Till came the early shades of night; + Poor Jennie and her young brother + Were seated by the fireside bright. + + They peeped inside the little cabin + And saw the children sleeping there. + These helpless ones were unprotected + And Jennie looked so white and fair. + + They came with tomahawks uplifted + And gave the war whoop fierce and wild; + Poor Jennie snatched her nursing baby; + They killed her brother--her oldest child. + + They took poor Jennie through the forest + And while they laughed in fiendish glee, + A redskin took the baby from her + And dashed out its brains against a tree. + + They traveled down the Sandy valley + Until they reached Ohio's shore; + They told poor Jennie she would never + See home or husband any more. + + For two long years they kept her captive, + And one dark night she stole away, + And many miles she put behind her + Before the dawning of the day. + + Straight for home the brave woman headed + As on her trail the redskins came; + The creek down which she fled before them + To this day bears poor Jennie's name. + + She reached the waters of Big Sandy + And plunged within the swollen tide. + The thriving little town of Auxier + Now stands upon the other side. + + Her husband welcomed her, though bearing + A child sired by an Indian bold; + He proudly claimed the stalwart Adam, + Whose blood descendants are untold. + + --Luke Burchett + + + MOUNTAIN PREACHER + + When the Sabbath day is dawning in the mountains, + And the air is filled with bird song sweet and clear, + Once again I think of him who lives in spirit, + Though his voice has silent been for many a year. + + And the music of the simple prayer he uttered + Seems to echo from the highest mountain peak, + And the people still respect the holy teaching + Of that mountain preacher, Zepheniah Meek. + + I can see him there upon the wooded hillside, + While between two giant Trees of Heaven he stood, + And the blue skies formed a canopy above them, + As befitting one so humble, wise and good. + + And he reads of how the Tree of Life is blooming, + From the thumbworn leaves of God's own book of love, + While the wind sweeps gently through the Trees of Heaven + And they seem to whisper softly up above. + + Oh, your name still lives among Big Sandy's people, + Though your earthly form is molding 'neath the sod; + May your memory linger in their hearts forever, + While your spirit rests in peace at home with God. + + --D. Preston + + + CHURCH IN THE MOUNTAINS + +This was composed by a little girl in Rowan County, Kentucky, after she +had been to church in the mountains on Christy Creek in that county in +1939. + + Have you been to church in the mountains? + 'Tis a wonderful place to go, + Out beneath the spreading branches + Where the grass and violets grow. + + Hats hang around on the trunks, + Coats lay across the limbs, + No roof above but heaven, + They sing the good old hymns. + + So they pray and preach together + And sing in one accord, + My heart within rejoices + To hear them praise the Lord. + + Though seats are rough, uneven, + And they lay upon the sod, + There can be no fault in the building, + For the Architect is God. + + Through years--it's been a custom + That prayer should first be made, + And then the others follow, + Their praises ring in wood and glade. + + There in the temple of temples, + They tell of the glory land, + While they beg the many sinners + To take a better stand. + + They beg the sinners to listen + As they explain God's love, + Telling of home that's waiting + In the mansions up above. + + Still praising God, the Father, + Who gave His only Son, + The meeting service closes + Just as it had begun. + + --Jessie Stewart + + + MOUNTAIN DOCTOR + +This ballad was composed and set to tune by Jilson Setters, the Singin' +Fiddler of Lost Hope Hollow, who can neither read nor write, yet who has +composed and set to tune more than one hundred ballads, some of which +the late Dr. Kittredge of Harvard declared "will live as classics." + + A very kindly doctor, a friend, I quite well know, + He owned a mighty scope of land, some eighty year ago. + The doctor had an old-time house, built from logs and clay, + A double crib of roughhewn logs, it was built to stay. + + The doctor he would fish and hunt, + He would bring in bear and deer; + He was content and happy in his home + with his loved ones always near. + + The doctor owned a faithful horse, + He rode him night and day; + He had nothing but a bridle path + To guide him on his way. + + The panther was his dreadful foe, + It often lingered near; + The doctor always went well armed, + He seemed to have no fear. + + He made himself a nice warm coat + From the pelt of a brown woolly bear; + Often I loved to trace its length + With eager hands through shaggy hair. + + The forepaws fitted round his wrists, + The hind parts reached to his thighs, + And of the head he made a cap + That sheltered both his ears and eyes. + + The doctor dearly loved the woods, + He was raised there from a child; + He was very fond of old-time ways, + If you scoffed them, he would chide. + + He was good and sympathetic, + He traveled night and day; + He doctored many people, + Regardless of the pay. + + Nels Tatum Rice was his name, + He was known for miles around; + Far beyond the county seat, + 'Long the Big Sandy up and down. + + His mother wove his winter clothes, + As a boy he'd case their furs; + With them to the county seat, + But once a year he'd go. + + The merchant he would buy the fur, + It gladdened the boy's heart. + He had money in his jeans, + When for home he did start. + + Boys, them days was full of glee, + Both husky, fat and strong. + Nels very soon retraced his steps, + It didn't take him long. + + Safely, of home once more in sight, + The boy quite glad did feel. + For he could hear old Shep dog bark, + Hear the hum of the spinning wheel. + + --Jilson Setters + + + MOUNTAIN WOMAN + + 'Tain't no use a-sittin' here + And peerin' at the sun, + A-wishin' I had purty things, + Afore my work is done. + I best had bug the taters + And fetch water from the run + And save my time fer wishin' + When all my work is done. + + Paw heerd the squirrels a-barkin' + This morning on the hill, + And taken him his rifle-gun + And tonic fer his chill. + Menfolks ain't got no larnin' + And have no time to fill; + Paw spends his days in huntin' + Or putterin' round his still. + + "'Tain't no use complainin'" + Is the song the wood thrush sings, + And I don't know of nothin' + That's as sweet as what he brings. + But I best had comb my honey + And churn that sour cream, + And listen to the wood thrush + When I ketch time to dream. + + Sometimes I feel so happy + As I hoe the sproutin' corn; + To hear, far off upon the ridge, + The call of Paw's cow horn. + Then I know it's time for milkin' + And my long day's work is through, + And I kin sit upon the stoop + And make my dreams come true. + + I'll dream me a wish fer a shiney new hoe, + And some dishes, an ax and a saw: + And a calico shroud with a ribbon and bow + And a new houn' dawg fer Paw. + + --John W. Preble, Jr. + + + WOMAN'S WAY + + You like this Circle Star quilt, Miss, you say: + I have a favorance for this Flower Bed bright and fair; + I made it when my heart was light and gay. + Like me, it's much the worse for time and wear. + I used it first upon my marriage bed-- + And last, when Thomas, my poor man, lay dead. + + This Nine Patch that is spread across my bed, + My Emmy made it in her thirteenth year; + I meant for her to claim it when she wed-- + Excuse me, Miss, I couldn't help that tear. + She sewed her wedding dress so fine and proud-- + Before the day, we used it for her shroud. + + That Double Wedding Ring? poor Granny Day, + Before I married Tom, made that for me. + A thrifty wife, I used to hear her say, + Has kiverlids that all who come may see. + She rests there on the knoll f'nenst the rise-- + The little grave is where my youngest lies. + + Dove at the Window was my mother's make, + Toad in a Puddle is the oldest one, + Old Maid's Ramble and The Lady of the Lake + I made for Ned, my oldest son. + Hearts and Gizzards make me think of Grandpap Day. + "Like Joseph's coat of many colors, Ma," he'd say. + + The Snow Ball and the Rose are sister's make, + She lived in Lost Hope Hollow acrost yon hill, + Poor Jane, she might have had her pick of beaux, + She sits alone because it was her will. + A wife she never would consent to be, + For Jane, she loved the man that favored me. + + --Martha Creech + + + MOUNTAIN SINGERS + + What song is this across the mountain side, + Where every leaf bears elements of Him + Who is all music? Silences abide + With rock and stone. A conscious seraphim + Directs the measure, when the need of song + Arrives to set the spirit free again. + The Mountain Singers, traipsin' along + To woody trail and a cabin in the rain, + Bring native music fit to cut apart + Old enemies with gunshot for the heart. + With Singin' Gatherin' and Infare still intact, + The Mountain Singers make of ghost, a fact. + + --Rachel Mack Wilson + + + TRAGEDY + + THE ASHLAND TRAGEDY + + One Christmas morn in eighty-one, + Ashland, that quiet burg, + Was startled--the day had not yet dawned-- + When the cry of fire was heard. + + For well they knew two fair ladies + Had there retired to bed. + The startled crowd broke in, alas, + To find the girls both dead. + + And from the hissing, seething flames + Three bodies did rescue; + Poor Emma's and poor Fannie's both, + And likewise Bobby's too. + + And then like Rachel cried of old + The bravest hearts gave vent, + And all that blessed holiday + To Heaven their prayers were sent. + + Autopsy by the doctors show'd + The vilest of all sin, + And proved to all beyond a doubt + Their skulls had been drove in. + + And other crimes too vile to name; + I'll tell it if I must; + A crime that shocks all common sense, + A greed of hellish lust. + + An ax and crowbar there was found + Besmeared with blood and hair, + Which proved conclusively to all + What had transpired there. + + Two virgin ladies of fourteen, + The flower of that town, + With all their beauty and fond hopes, + By demons there cut down-- + + Just blooming into womanhood, + So lovely and so true; + Bright hopes of long and happy days + With morals just and pure. + + Then Marshal Heflin sallied forth, + Was scarcely known to fail, + And in ten days had the assassins + All safely placed in jail. + + George Ellis, William Neal and Craft, + Some were Kentucky's sons, + Near neighbors to the Gibbons' house + And were the guilty ones. + + In this here dark and bloody ground + They were true types indeed, + Of many demons dead and dam'd + Who fostered that same greed. + + A hellish greed of lust to blast + The virtuous and fair, + To gratify that vain desire + No human life would spare. + + There Emma Thomas lay in gore, + A frightful sight to view; + Poor Fanny Gibbons in a crisp, + And Bob, her brother, too. + + Bob was a poor lame crippled boy, + Beloved by everyone; + His mother's hope, his sister's joy, + A kind, obedient son. + + At that dread sight the mother's grief + No mortal tongue can tell. + A broken heart, an addled brain, + When all should have been well. + + Both her dear children lying there, + Who once so merry laughed. + There stiff and stark in death they lay, + Cut down by Ellis Craft. + + That dreadful demon, imp of hell, + Consider well his crime; + Although he was a preacher's son, + Has blackened the foot of time. + + --Peyton Buckner Byrne + + +This ballad was composed by Peyton Buckner Byrne of Greenup, Greenup +County, Kentucky. He is in error in writing the name of Emma Thomas; the +murdered girl's name was Emma Carico. The tragedy occurred in the early +'80's in the mill town of Ashland, Boyd County, Kentucky, which adjoins +Greenup County. The town of Greenup was formerly called Hangtown because +of the many hangings which occurred there in the days of the Civil War. +Peyton Buckner Byrne was a schoolteacher in that County and one of his +scholars, Miss Tennessee Smith, supplied this copy of the old +schoolteacher's ballad. Ellis Craft is buried on Bear Creek in Boyd +County, not far from Ashland where he committed the crime. + + THE MORAL OF THE BALLAD + + There's a sad moral to this tale. + Now pass the word around; + Pull off your shoes now and walk light; + Ashland is holy ground. + + Bill Neal he came from Virginia, + A grand and noble State, + But his associates were bad + And he has shared their fate. + + Bill Neal he saw Miss Emma Thomas, + So beautiful and fair + That all his hellish greed of lust + Seemed to be centered there. + + Bill Neal he was a married man, + Had children and a wife; + And ofttimes bragged what he would do, + If it should cost his life. + + Bill Neal done what he said he would, + And yet a greater sin; + Then with a great big huge crowbar + Broke Emma's skullbones in. + + Yes, Bill Neal done just what he said, + And yet that greater sin, + For which the gates of Heaven closed + And will not let him in. + + Now while his victim is in Heaven, + Where all things are done well, + There with the angels glorified, + Bill Neal will go to hell. + + + THE DEATH OF MARY PHAGAN + +Leo M. Frank, manager of the pencil factory, was a Jew. Sentiment ran +high against him at the time of the murder. This ballad was composed by +young Bob Salyers of Cartersville, Georgia, who heard the story on all +sides. He could neither read nor write. + + Come listen all ye maidens, + A story I'll relate + Of pretty Mary Phagan + And how she met her fate. + + Her home was in Atlanta + And so the people say, + She worked in a pencil factory + To earn her meager pay. + + She went down to the office + One April day, it's said; + The next time that they saw her, + Poor Mary, she was dead. + + They found her outraged body-- + Oh, hear the people cry-- + "The fiend that murdered Mary + Most surely he must die." + + James Conley told the story, + "'Twas Leo Frank," he said, + "He strangled little Mary + And left her cold and dead." + + Now Frank was tried for murder, + His guilt he did deny. + But the jury found him guilty + And sentenced him to die. + + His life he paid as forfeit; + And then there came a time + Another man lay dying, + And said he did the crime. + + We do not know for certain, + But in the Judgment Day, + We know that God will find him + And surely make him pay. + + --Bob Salyers + + + THE FATE OF EFFIE AND RICHARD DUKE + + Oh, hearken to this sad warning, + You husbands who love your wife, + Don't never fly in a passion + And take your companion's life. + + Of Doctor Rich Duke I will tell you, + Who lived up Beaver Creek way, + He married fair Effie Allen + And loved her well, so they say. + + Both Effie and Rich had money, + But he was much older than she, + And she said, "All your lands and money + Should be deeded over to me." + + His wife he loved and trusted + And he hastened to obey; + But the fact he soon regretted + That he deeded his riches away. + + They quarreled and then they parted, + The times were more than three, + For both of them were stubborn + And they never could agree. + + Now Doctor John, his brother, + Was a highly respected man, + He brought Effie home one evening, + Saying, "Make up your quarrel if you can." + + And Rich seemed glad to see her, + And followed her up the stair, + But only God and the angels + Know just what happened there. + + Doctor John was down at the table + When he heard the pistol roar; + He ran up the stairs in a moment + And looked in at the open door. + + Poor Rich lay there by his pistol + With a bullet through his brain, + And Effie lay there dying + Writhing in mortal pain. + + They were past all human succor, + No earthly power could save; + And they took their secrets with them + To the land beyond the grave. + + Now all you wives and husbands, + Take heed to this warning true. + Never quarrel over lands and money + Or some day the fact you will rue. + + --Coby Preston + + + THE FATE OF FLOYD COLLINS + +This ballad was composed in 1925 by Jilson Setters, when Floyd Collins +was trapped in a salt mine near Mammoth Cave, Kentucky. + + Come all you friends and neighbors + And listen to what I say, + I'll relate to you a story, + Of a man who passed away. + He struggled hard for freedom, + His heart was true and brave, + While his comrades they were toiling + His precious life to save. + + His name was Floyd Collins, + Exploring he did crave. + But he never dreamed that he'd be trapped + In a lonely sandstone cave. + His entrance it was easy, + His heart was light and gay, + But his mind was filled with trouble + When he found he'd lost his way. + + He wandered through the cavern, + He knew not where to go, + He knew he was imprisoned, + His heart was full of woe. + He started for the entrance + That he had passed that day. + A large and mighty boulder + Had slipped down in his way. + + The stone was slowly creeping + But that he did not know, + Underneath he found an opening + He thought that he could go. + He soon got tired and worried, + He soon then had to rest, + The boulder still was creeping, + It was tightening on his chest. + + He lost all hopes of freedom, + No farther could he go; + His agony was desperate, + That you all well know. + His weeping parents lingered near; + A mother gray and old. + Soon poor Floyd passed away + And heaven claimed his soul. + + A note was in his pocket, + The neighbors chanced to find; + These few lines were written + While he had strength and mind: + "Give this note to mother, + Tell her not to cry; + Tell her not to wait for me, + I will meet her by and by." + + --Jilson Setters + + +This ballad was written by fifty-year-old Adam Crisp who lived in +Fletcher, North Carolina, at the time of Collins' death. Crisp could +neither read nor write but composed many ballads. + + FLOYD COLLINS' FATE + + Come all you young people + And listen to what I tell: + The fate of Floyd Collins, + Alas, we all know well. + His face was fair and handsome, + His heart was true and brave, + His body now lies sleeping + In a lonely sandstone cave. + + How sad, how sad the story, + It fills our eyes with tears, + His memory will linger + For many, many a year. + His broken-hearted father + Who tried his boy to save + Will now weep tears of sorrow + At the door of Floyd's cave. + + Oh, mother, don't you worry, + Dear father, don't be sad; + I'll tell you all my troubles + In an awful dream I had; + I dreamed that I was prisoner, + My life could not be saved, + I cried, "Oh! must I perish, + Within the silent cave?" + + The rescue party gathered, + They labored night and day + To move the mighty boulder + That stood within the way. + "To rescue Floyd Collins!" + This was the battlecry. + "We will never, no, we will never + Let Floyd Collins die." + + But on that fatal morning + The sun rose in the sky, + The workers still were busy, + "We will save him by and by." + But, oh, how sad the evening, + His life they could not save, + His body then was sleeping + Within the lonely cave. + + Young people all take warning + With this, for you and I, + We may not be like Collins, + But you and I must die. + It may not be in a sand cave + In which we find our tomb, + But at that mighty judgment + We soon will find our doom. + + --Adam Crisp + + + PATRIOT + + IT'S GREAT TO BE AN AMERICAN + +For long years the members of the Hamm family in Rowan County, Kentucky, +both old and young, have gathered on a Sunday in the month of August for +their mountain Eisteddfod. Upon this occasion there is friendly rivalry +as to whose ballad or poem is best, who speaks his composition best. And +the prize, you may be sure, is not silver but a book of poems. This +composition of Nannie Hamm Carter was read at their mountain Eisteddfod +in August, 1940. + + It's great to be an American, + And live on peaceful shores, + Where we hear not the sound of marching feet, + And the war-clouds come no more. + Where the Statue of Liberty ever stands, + A beacon of hope for all, + Heralding forth to every land + That by it we stand or fall. + + It's great to be an American, + For wherever we may go, + It is an emblem of truth and right, + A challenge to every foe. + It's great to be free and unfettered, + And know not wars or strife, + Where man to man united, + Can live a carefree life, + + While men are falling hour by hour + Upon some foreign shore + Amidst the roar of battle there, + Ne'er to return no more. + They're offered as a sacrifice, + Upon the altar there, + With no one there to sympathize, + Or shed for them a tear. + + Where men are marching 'mid the strife, + Where there, day after day, + There's danger and there's loss of life + Where conquerors hold sway. + They bow to rulers' stern commands, + They face the deadly foe, + While far away in other lands, + There's sorrow, pain and woe. + + But not so in America, + The birthplace of the free. + For 'midst the conflict Over There, + With loss of life and liberty, + It's a privilege to know, + That in a world, so fraught with pain, + We feel secure from every foe + Where naught but fellowship remains. + + For in our free country, + We hear not the battlecry, + We hear not the bugle's solemn call, + When men go forth to die. + For over all this land of ours + The Stars and Stripes still wave, + Waving forth in triumph + O'er this homeland of the brave. + + Hats off! to our own America, + With pride we now can say, + We bow not down to rulers, + For justice still holds sway. + God keep us free from scenes like those + That are in other lands, + Where the shell-shocked and the wounded + Are there on every hand. + + So, it's great to be an American, + We'll stand by our flag always, + For right shall not perish from the earth + As long as truth holds sway; + As long as her sons are united + In a cause that's just and true, + The bells of freedom still will ring, + Ring out for me and you. + + --Nannie Hamm Carter + + + SAD LONDON TOWN + +Jilson Setters composed and set to tune this ballad and sang it at the +American Folk Song Festival in June, 1941, to the delight of a vast +audience. To the surprise of some he pronounces the word bomb, _bum_, +like his early English ancestors. + + Eight years ago I took a trip, + I decided to cross the sea; + I spent some weeks in London, + Everything was strange to me. + + The city then was perfect peace, + They had no thought of fear, + Soon then the bombs began to fall, + The airplanes hovered near. + + The people cannot rest at night, + Danger lingers nigh, + Bombs have dropped on many homes, + The innocent had to die. + + The flying glass cut off their heads, + Their hands and noses too; + Folks then had to stand their ground, + There was nothing else to do. + + English folks are brave and true, + But do not want to fight. + The Germans slip into their town + And bomb their homes at night. + + They watch the palace of the King, + They watch it night and day; + They have a strong and daring guard + To keep the foe at bay. + + --Jilson Setters + + +The aged fiddler also composed and set to tune the following ballad +called-- + + BUNDLES FOR BRITAIN + + Two little children toiled along + A steep and lonely mountain road, + They heeded not the bitter cold + But proudly bore their precious load. + + I asked them where they might be bound + And what their heavy load might be. + They said, "We're going to the town + To send our load across the sea. + + "For, far away on England's shore, + Our own blood kin still live, you know; + They fight to stay the tyrant's hand + That threatens freedom to o'erthrow. + + "And many little homeless ones + Are cold and hungry there today, + 'Tis them we seek to feed and clothe + And every night for them we pray. + + "Some of them reach our own dear land, + While others perish in the sea; + And we must help and comfort them + Until their land from war is free." + + Oh, may we like these children face + The curse of hate and war's alarm + With faith and courage in our hearts + And Britain's Bundles 'neath our arms. + + --Jilson Setters + + + SERGEANT YORK + +His own favorite ballad, however, is that which he composed and set to +tune several years ago about Sergeant Alvin C. York, who is Jilson +Setters' idea of "a mountain man without nary flaw." + + 'Way down in Fentress County in the hills of Tennessee + Lived Alvin York, a simple country lad. + He spent his happy childhood with his brothers on the farm, + Or at the blacksmith shop with busy dad. + + He could play a hand of poker, hold his liquor like a man, + He did his share of prankin' in his youth; + But his dying father left him with the family in his care, + And he quickly sought the ways of God and truth. + + Then came the mighty World War in the year of seventeen, + And Uncle Sam sent out his call for men. + Poor Alvin's heart was heavy for he knew that he must go, + And his Church contended "fighting was a sin." + + He never questioned orders and did the best he could, + And soon a corporal he came to be; + He was known throughout the country as the army's fighting ace, + Beloved in every branch of infantry. + + The eighth day of October the Argonne battle raged, + Machine guns whined and rifle bullets flew; + Then Alvin lost his temper, he said, "I've had enough, + I'll show these Huns what Uncle Sam can do." + + He took his army rifle and his automatic too, + And hid himself behind a nearby tree; + He shot them like he used to shoot the rabbits and the squirrels + Away back home in sunny Tennessee. + + + He took the whole battalion--one-hundred-thirty-two-- + While thirty-five machine guns ceased to fire; + And twenty German soldiers lay lifeless on the ground + As he marched his prisoners through the bloody mire. + + His name was not forgotten, a hero brave was he, + Our country proudly hailed his fearless deeds; + He was offered fame and fortune but for these he did not care, + His daily toil supplied his simple needs. + + "I want nothing for myself" he said, "but for the boys and girls, + Who live here in the hills of Tennessee, + I'd like to have a school for them to teach them how to farm + And raise their families in security." + + His wish was quickly granted. At Jamestown, Tennessee, + There stands a school, the mountains' joy and pride; + And with his wife and children in the hills he loves so well, + He hopes in peace forever to abide. + + --Jilson Setters + + +A Tennessee mountaineer, who is proud of his "wight of learning" +according to his own words, "put together" this ballad which he calls-- + + NORRIS DAM + + At Norris Dam, our Uncle Sam + Has wrought a mighty deed. + He built a dam, did Uncle Sam, + So "all who run may read." + + He saw the "writing on the wall"-- + Called the soothsayers in. + Soothsayers all, both great and small + Said, "It would be a sin-- + + "To let the things God wrought for man + Stand idle all the years. + But use God's knowledge (in a can), + Soothsaying engineers." + + And so, this miracle today + You see with your own eyes, + Was planned ten million miles away-- + In "mansions in the skies." + + That pigeonhole is empty there; + Now we employ that plan + For use and pleasure, down here, where + 'Twill be a boon to man. + + So day by day in every way, + At least we're getting wise; + And now we play--as well we may-- + On playgrounds from the skies. + + So let us give a rousing cheer + For our dear Uncle Sam, + Whose mighty arm reached way up there + And brought down Norris Dam. + + --George A. Barker + + + THE DOWNFALL OF PARIS + + Oh, come all ye proud and haughty people, + Behold a nation plunged in gloom, + A country filled with pain and sorrow + Since that great city met its doom. + + They had no thought of this disaster; + The Maginot Line could never fail. + Then came the downfall of proud Paris; + Oh, hear the people mourn and wail. + + Oh, see the horror and destruction, + When death came flying through the air. + The people vainly sought a refuge; + Oh, friends, take warning and beware. + + They hear the sound of alien footsteps, + The soldiers marching side by side + Among the ruins of that great city, + A mighty nation's boast and pride. + + Oh, let us then be wise and careful, + And strive to keep our country free; + For war is cruel to the helpless, + The weak must pay the penalty. + + God help the rulers of the nations! + What is in store, no tongue can tell; + But keep in mind the simple story-- + The Line was broke and Paris fell. + + --Coby Preston + + + + + 9. RECLAIMING THE WILDERNESS + + VANISHING FEUDIST + + +There are people all over the United States to whom the mere mention of +the word mountaineer evokes a fantastic picture--a whiskey-soaked +ruffian with bloodshot eyes and tobacco-stained beard, wide-brimmed felt +cocked over a half-cynical eye, finger on the trigger of a long-barreled +squirrel rifle. He is guarding his moonshine still. Or he may be lying +in wait behind bush or tree to waylay his deadly enemy of the other side +in a long-fought blood-feud. + +Though there may be a semblance of truth in both, such pictures should +be taken with a grain of salt. Illicit whiskey has been made in our +southern mountains, as well as in towns and cities throughout the +country. There were blood-feuds in bygone days but they have been so +overplayed that scarcely a vestige of the real story remains +recognizable. Few of the old leaders are left to tell the facts. + +I have known well and claim as my loyal friends members of families who +have been engaged in the making of illicit whiskey. I have known quite +well many members of families on both sides in two of the most famous +feuds in the southern mountains. These people were and are today my good +friends and neighbors. + +As recently as the fall of 1940, I returned to Morehead, the county seat +of Rowan County, for a visit with the Martins and Tollivers. Strangely +enough, upon the day of my arrival I found Lin Martin, son of John +Martin, who killed Floyd Tolliver, up on a ladder painting the walls of +the Cozy Theatre. This modern motion-picture theater occupies the site +of the old Carey House where Martin shot Tolliver. Lin was standing in +almost the exact spot where his father stood when he shot Floyd +Tolliver. Most willingly he stepped out into the sunlight, paint brush +and bucket in hand to meet and be photographed with Clint Tolliver, a +son and nephew of the Tolliver leaders, whose father, Bud, was killed by +the posse in the all-day battle on Railroad Street when the Tolliver +band was wiped out. Clint was a nephew of Floyd Tolliver, slain by John +Martin; he married Mrs. Lucy Trumbo Martin's niece, Texannie Trumbo. + +While the men shook hands in friendly fashion, believe it or not, across +the street in the courthouse yard under a great oak, past which John +Martin was hurried to the safety of the jail, a blind fiddler was +singing the famous ballad composed by a Rowan County minstrel, called +the Rowan County Troubles. The sons of the feudists smiled blandly. +Clint Tolliver is a Spanish American War veteran and Lin's brother, Ben, +was a sharpshooter in the World War. + +Both Lin Martin and Clint Tolliver say they have but one regret today +and that is that they are too old to take up their guns to enlist in the +United States Army. The men and their families are the best of friends +and meet often at social gatherings. + +So feuds die out, though feud tales persist. Old rancors live only in +memory. + +Today in Morehead, the county seat of the once Dark Rowan, there stands +a modern State Teachers College on the sloping hillsides within sight of +the courthouse and street where the Rowan County war was fought. One of +the halls is called Allie W. Young, taking its name from the Senator +whose influence brought about the establishment of the college. Young's +father, Judge Zachariah Taylor Young, was once shot from ambush during +the troubles. + +This same county is the seat of a native art exhibit which has attracted +nation-wide attention. It was started many years ago by a descendant of +Mary Queen of Scots, Mrs. Lyda Messer Caudill, then a teacher of a +one-room log school on Christy Creek. One morning a little boy living at +the head of the hollow brought to school, not a rosy apple (there wasn't +a fruit tree on his place), but clay models he had made in native clay +of his dog, the cow, and his pet pig. Mrs. Caudill seized the +opportunity to encourage the other children in her mixed-grade one-room +school to try their hand at clay modeling. Later Mrs. Caudill became +county superintendent of Rowan County Schools. Through her enthusiasm +and efforts the plan has developed through the years and today mountain +children of Rowan County have exhibited their handicraft in national +exhibitions through the co-operation of the group of American +Association of University Women of Kentucky with which Mrs. Caudill is +affiliated. + + + SILVER MOON TAVERN + +Over on Main Island Creek in Logan County, West Virginia, where Devil +Anse Hatfield held forth in his day, another picture greets the eye +today. Coal-mining camps are strung along from one end of the creek to +the other. Omar, near where Devil Anse is buried, is quite a thriving +town. It was here that Jonse, the eldest son who loved Rosanna McCoy, +spent his last days as a night watchman for a power plant. Jonse's +nerves were so shattered he jumped almost at the falling of a leaf and +the company, fearing some tragedy might be the result from too sudden +trigger-pulling, found other occupation for the Hatfield son. + +Within a few yards of the spot where the home of Devil Anse burned to +the ground stands today a rustic lodge garishly designed. Over the +doorway painted in bright red letters are these words-- + + SILVER MOON TAVERN + +Neighbors call it a beer j'int. Entering, you are greeted by the +proprietor, a mild, pleasant fellow who asks in a slow mountain drawl, +"What kin I do for you?" If you happen to be an old acquaintance as I +am, Tennis Hatfield--for he it is who runs the place--will add, "Glad to +see you. I've not laid eyes on you for a coon's age. Set." He waved me +to a chromium stool beside the counter. "I've quit the law." Tennis had +been sheriff of Logan County for a term or two. "This is easier." He +flung wide his hands with a gesture that encompassed the interior of the +Silver Moon Tavern. "Well, there's no harm in selling beer." He fixed me +with a piercing look such as I had seen in the eye of Devil Anse. +"What's more there's no harm in drinking it either, in reason. Young +folks gather in here of a night and listen to the music and dance and it +don't cost 'em much money. A nickel in the slot. We ain't troubled with +slugs," he said casually. "The folks choose their own tune." He pointed +to a gaudily striped electric music box that filled a corner of the +tavern. With great care he showed me the workings of the moan box, he +called it. "These are the tunes they like best." He called them off as +his finger moved carefully along the titles: "Big Beaver, The Wise Owl, +Double Crossing Mamma, In the Mood, and Mountain Dew. They just +naturally wear that record out. Young folks here on Main Island Creek +like Lulu Belle and Scotty. See, they made that record Mountain Dew." A +slow smile lighted his face. "'Pon my soul all that young folks do these +days is eat and dance. That's how come me to put the sign on the side of +my beer j'int--Dine and Dance. We're right up to snuff here on Main +Island Creek," he added with a smug smile. "But now Joe Hatfield over to +Red Jacket in Mingo County, he follows preaching and he says a beer +j'int is just sending people plum to hell. I don't know about that. +There's never been no trouble here in my place. I won't sell a man +that's had a dram too many. And if he starts to get noisy"--he lifted a +toe--"out he goes! I aim to keep my place straight." He shoved his +thumbs deep into the belt of his breeches. "Not much doin' at this time +of day. The girls in school or helping with the housework; the boys in +the mines. Don't step out till after supper. Then look out! The young +bucks shake a heel and the girls put on their lipstick. Them that can't +afford a permanent go around all day with their hair done up in +curlycues till they look a match for Shirley Temple by the time they get +here of a night. Times has surely changed." + +A bus whizzed by and disappeared beyond the bend of the road. + +"Times has changed," Tennis repeated slowly as his gaze sought the +hillside where Devil Anse lay buried. "I wonder what Pa would a-thought +of my place," he said with conscientious wistfulness. His eyes swept now +the interior of the Silver Moon Tavern. "This couldn't a-been in Pa's +young days. Nor womenfolks couldn't a-been so free. Such as this +couldn't a-been, no more than their ways then could stand today." The +son of Devil Anse leaned over the bar and said in a strangely hushed +voice, "Woman, I've heard tell that you have a hankerin' for curiosities +and old-timey things. I keep a few handy so's I don't get above my +raisin'." He reached under the counter. "Here, woman, heft this!" He +placed in my hands Devil Anse's long-barreled gun. "Scrutinize them +notches on the barrel. That there first one is Harmon McCoy. Year of +sixty-three," he said bluntly. + +While I hefted the gun, Tennis brought out a crumpled shirt. "Them holes +is where the McCoys stobbed Uncle Ellison and there's the stain of his +gorm." + +The gruesome sight of the blood-stained garment slashed by the McCoys +completely unnerved me. I dropped the gun. + +Instantly a door opened behind Tennis and a young lad rushed in. He took +in the situation at a glance and swiftly appraised my five-foot height. +"Pa," he turned to Tennis Hatfield, "you've scared this little critter +out of a year's growth. And she ain't got none to spare." + +Seeing that all was well he backed out of the door he had entered, and +Tennis went on to say that his young son had quit college to join the +army. "He'll be leaving soon for training camp. That is, if he can quit +courting Nellie McCoy long enough over in Seldom Seen Hollow. 'Pon my +soul, I never saw two such turtledoves in my life. She's pretty as a +picture and I've told her that whether or not her and Tennis Junior +every marry there's always a place for her here with us. A pretty girl +in a pretty frock is mighty handy to wait table." Again the wideflung +hands of the proprietor of the Silver Moon Tavern embraced in their +gesture the shiny tables, booths, chromium-trimmed chairs, and the gaudy +juke box in the corner. + +In September, 1940, Tennis Hatfield's son, Tennis, Jr., joined the army. +He was nineteen at the time. + +The Hatfields and McCoys have married. Charles D. Hatfield, who joined +the army at Detroit's United States Army recruiting office, is the son +of Tolbert McCoy Hatfield of Pike County and is friend to his kin on +both sides. + +The two families held a picnic reunion in the month of August, 1941, on +Blackberry Creek where the blood of both had been shed during the feud, +and at the gathering a good time was had by all with plenty of fried +chicken and no shooting. + +Today on the eve of another war things are still quiet up in Breathitt +County so far as the Hargises are concerned. Elbert Hargis, brother of +Judge Jim Hargis who was slain by his son Beach, has passed on. They +buried him, the last of Granny Hargis's boys, in the family burying +ground behind the old homestead on Pan Bowl, so called because it is +almost completely encircled by the North Fork of the Kentucky River. + +To his last hour, almost, Elbert Hargis sat in the shadow of the +courthouse looking sadly toward Judge Jim Hargis's store where Beach had +killed his father, the store in front of which Dr. Cox had been +assassinated. His eyes shifted occasionally toward the courthouse steps +down which the lifeless body of J. B. Marcum plunged when Curt Jett shot +him from the back. Again Elbert's gaze turned to the second-story +windows of the courthouse from which Jim Cockrell had been shot to death +one sunny summer day. + +Ever alert and never once permitting anyone to stand behind him, with a +gun in its holster thumping on his hip every step he took, Elbert Hargis +must have lived again and again the days when his brother Jim directed +the carryings-on of the Hargis clan. But if you'd ask him if he ever +thought of the old times, there would be a quick and sharp No!, followed +by abrupt silence. + +Elbert Hargis is dead now. And a natural death was his from a sudden +ailment of the lungs. He died in a hospital down in the Blue Grass where +white-clad nurses and grave-faced doctors with a knowing of the miracles +of modern surgery and medicine could not prolong the life of the aged +feudist for one short second. The last of Granny Evaline Hargis's sons +rests beside his mother, alongside the three brothers John, Jr., Ben, +and Jim, and the half-brother Willie Sewell, whose death away back in +1886, when he was shot from ambush at a molasses-making, started all the +trouble. In the same burying ground with Elbert is the vine-covered +grave of Senator Hargis, father of the boys, who preceded his wife +Evaline to the spirit world long years ago. + + + BLOOMING STILLS + +A visit today to a United States District Court in most any section of +the Blue Ridge Country where makers of illicit whiskey are being tried +shows that the name moonshine no longer applies to the beverage. It got +its name from being made at night. Now operations in the making are +conducted by day, while only the transportation of the liquor is carried +on after nightfall. Trucks and even dilapidated Fords with the windows +smeared with soap to conceal the load are pressed into service. The +drivers consider it safer to travel with their illegal cargo under the +shades of darkness. + +During the questioning of witnesses and offenders in court you learn +that tips provided by law-abiding citizens are the usual means of +bringing offenders to trial. In rare instances, however, members of a +moonshiner's own family have been known to turn him in. + +The process of capturing the moonshiner has changed considerably from +that of other days. Then the revenooer (mountain folk usually call him +the law) slipped up from behind the bushes on the offender and caught +him red-handed at the still. In those days the men who were making had +their lookout men who gave warning by a call or a whistle, even by gun +signals, of the approach of the law while the moonshiner took to his +heels, hiding in deep underbrush or far back under cliffs. Today these +mountain men have learned not to run. For the officers of the law are +equipped with long-range guns and with equipment so powerful the bullets +can penetrate the steel body of an automobile. The method of locating +the still has changed too since the airplane has come into use. Looking +down from the clouds the flyer spies a thin stream of smoke rising from +a wooded ravine. He communicates by radio to his co-workers of the +ground crew, who immediately set out at high speed by automobile to +capture the still. + +It is estimated that of the 170,000,000 gallons of liquor consumed in +this country in 1939, at least 35,000,000 were illicit and that for +every legal distillery there are at least one hundred illegal ones. The +southern mountain region has always lent itself admirably to the making +of moonshine and for this reason has been a thorn in the flesh of U. S. +Alcohol Tax Unit. During the year 1939, according to _Life_, it is +estimated that more than 4000 stills were captured in the states of +Georgia, Alabama, South Carolina, and Florida. + +However, it is not the moonshiner who reaps the richest revenue from +corn whiskey, which he sells for ninety cents a gallon, but the +bootlegger and others down the line who add on, each in his turn, until +the potent drink reaches a final sale price of ninety cents a quart and +more. The tax on legitimate whiskey is $2.25 a proof gallon which makes +it prohibitive in a community competing with the moonshiner's untaxed +product. + +Through the southern mountain region Negroes frequently are employed by +white men operating stills on a large scale, where many boxes are used +for the fermenting mash. The fines and sentences vary with the output +and number of offenses. + +The mountaineer, on the other hand, who operates a small still usually +is a poor man. When brought into court he pleads that he cannot haul out +a load of corn over rugged roads miles to a market and compete with a +farmer from the lowlands who is not retarded by bad roads. Or again, if +he is from an extremely isolated mountain section, he offers the old +reasoning, "It is my land and my corn--why can't I do with my crop +whatever I please?" + +If the federal judge is a kindly, understanding man he will listen +patiently to the story of the mountaineer who has made illicit whiskey, +and if it be only the first or second offense, a sentence of six months +in prison is imposed. "But, judge, your honor," pleads the perplexed +mountaineer. "I've got to put in my crop and my old woman is ailin'--she +can't holp none. I've got to lay in foirwood for winter, judge, your +honor, my youngins is too little to holp." Often the understanding judge +replies, "Now, John, you go back home and get your work done up, then +come back and serve your sentence." Rarely has the judge's trust been +betrayed. + + + LEARNING + +What with good roads, the radio, and better schools and more of them the +scene is rapidly changing in the Blue Ridge Country. + +The little one-room log school is almost a thing of the past. Only in +remote sections can it be found. No longer is the mountain child +retarded by the bridgeless stream, for good roads have come to the +mountains and with them the catwalk--an improvised bridge of barrel +hoops strung together with cables--spanning the creek has passed. The +mountain mother's warning is heard no longer. "Mind, Johnny, you don't +swing the bridge." Concrete pillars support steel girders that span the +creek high above even the highest flood point. Education soars high in +the southern mountain region. Instead of a few weeks of school there are +months now, and what is more Johnny doesn't walk to school any more. The +county school bus, operated by a careful driver, picks him up almost at +his very door and brings him back safely when school turns out in the +evening. Instead of the poorly lighted one-room school, there is the +consolidated school built of native stone, with many windows and +comfortable desks. If the mountain boy or girl fails to get an education +it is his own fault. There is a central heating system and the teacher, +you may be sure, is a graduate of an accredited college. The _Kentucky +Progress Magazine_ of Winter, 1935, gives a remarkable example of what +is taking place in an educational way in the mountain region: +"Twenty-nine well-equipped, accredited four-year high schools and two +junior colleges now dot the five counties, Lawrence, Johnson, Martin, +Floyd, and Pike ... seven high schools and one junior college have the +highest rating possible, membership in the Southern Association of +Colleges and Secondary Schools.... The advent of surfaced roads has made +successful consolidation possible in many instances." + +Preceding the consolidated school an inestimable service has been +rendered the children of the southern highlands by means of the +settlement school. It would be impossible to discuss them all +adequately, but of the outstanding ones of which I have personal +knowledge are: that great institution at Berea, Kentucky, the Hindman +Settlement School in Knott County, Kentucky; the Martha Berry School in +the mountains of Georgia; the agricultural school of Sergeant Alvin C. +York near Jamestown, Tennessee; and the John C. Campbell Folk School at +Brasstown, N. C. + +Under efficient guidance mountain boys and girls are taught to preserve +the handicrafts of their forbears, knitting, spinning, weaving, making +of dyes, and even a pastime once indulged in by boys and men--whittling. +Idle whittling has been converted into not only an artistic craft, but a +profitable one. Nowhere in the country is there to be found a finer +collection of whittled figures, ranging from tiny chicks to squirrels, +rabbits, birds, than those made by the mountain youths at the John C. +Campbell Folk School. + +Perhaps no greater service is being rendered mountain folk than that +headed by Sergeant York in his agricultural school, because he is of the +mountains and knows well the need of his people. + +But even before the settlement school had been thoroughly rooted there +was the Moonlight School of Rowan County, Kentucky, for adult +illiterates. It was a great, a magnificent undertaking by a mountain +woman--Mrs. Cora Wilson Stewart, born in Rowan County. She had been a +teacher in the wretched, poorly lighted one-room log school. Becoming +county superintendent, she set about to lead out of ignorance and +darkness the adult illiterates of her county. Happily she had been +preceded in such an undertaking by a pioneer teacher in rugged Hocking +County, Ohio, in the days of the Civil War. There Miss Kate Smith, +scarcely in her teens, who saw her brothers shoulder their muskets and +march off to the Civil War, took upon herself the task of teaching, +first, a bound boy, an orphan lad bound by the state to a farmer. The +lad later became a stowaway in a covered wagon in which the young +teacher and her parents rode west. This lad in his teens was only one of +many adult illiterates taught by the Ohio woman and her plan proved that +it could be done. That boy, William Wright, became a Judge of the Court +of Appeals. + +With book-learning have come many broadening factors in the life of the +southern mountaineer. His sons attend agricultural college, his +daughters are active workers in the 4-H clubs. They return to the +hillside farm to show their mothers how best to can fruit. The boys have +learned how to improve and conserve the soil, how to save forests. The +consolidated school has taught mountain children to mix with others. +They have Girl Scout groups and Boy Scout groups; they learn +self-government under trained leaders. + +Above all, book-learning is swiftly wiping out the old suspicions and +superstitions about the medical profession. Time was when there was but +one doctor in all of Leslie County, Kentucky. Mountain mothers relied on +the old midwife; infant mortality was appalling. Then came the Frontier +Nursing School headed by Mrs. Mary Breckinridge. Her work is known +throughout the breadth of the nation. The Frontier Nursing Service has +the support of the leading people of the nation. Debutantes gladly give +up a life of frivolity and ease to become trained in obstetrics and give +their services to helping mountain mothers and babies. Its purpose was +to combat the infant death rate in remote Kentucky mountain sections. +The nurses ride on horseback and visit and care for mountain mothers. +Mrs. Breckinridge herself was a nurse during the World War in France and +went back to the Scottish Highlands--from which her kinsman Alexander +Breckinridge came to settle in the Shenandoah in 1728--where she became +a midwife. + +Mountain folk usually are slow to take on new ways. But the wonders +wrought through the Frontier Nursing Service they have "seen with their +own eyes." + +Learning has brought about a great change for the better in the life of +the mountain woman. Once we saw her lank, slatternly, meek, +stoic--mother of a dozen or more, obeying with patient fortitude the +will of her man. We saw too the pitiable child-bride marrying perhaps a +man three times her age because he could take care of her. There being +so many in the family Pappy and Mammy were glad to be rid of one of +their flock. Though both pictures were often as overdrawn as that evoked +by a daughter of the Blue Ridge--a whimsical picture of a pretty maid in +full-skirted crinoline with a soft southern accent--moonlight and +honeysuckle, a gallant, goateed colonel paying court to her charm and +beauty while he sips a mint julep. This picture and that of the +snaggle-toothed mountain woman in bedraggled black calico can no more be +taken for fact than that Jesse James is still holding up stagecoaches or +that cowboys in high boots and leather breeches are daily wedding the +rich easterners' daughters who have come West. + +There are well-organized centers: weaving centers that market the wares +of mountain women all over the nation; music centers and recreational +centers. Women and their daughters are better dressed and certainly they +give more care to their appearance than the mountain woman did when she +rode to the county seat on court day with a basket of eggs and butter +and ginseng on one arm and a baby on the other. + +She still knits and crochets and hooks rugs--not from leavings of the +family's wearing clothes--but from leavings she buys from the mills. She +does not have to take her wares to the county seat--today she stretches +up a clothesline across the front stoop, pins her rugs and lace on the +line, and the passing motorist buys all that her busy hands can make. + +The question is often asked: How does the mountain woman regard her +right to vote? Generally she is unconcerned with the vote. But as time +goes on, by reason of the many factors that enter into her new way of +living, she is evidencing more interest, both in the county and state +elections. Strangely enough, though the mountain woman went hesitantly +to the polls, a Kentucky mountain woman, Mrs. Mary Elliott Flanery, of +Elliott County, was the first woman to be elected to the legislature +south of the Mason and Dixon line. She was self-educated and for a +number of years was rural correspondent for newspapers, which experience +perhaps gave her a broad understanding of political matters and the +incentive to enter the field. Hers was a distinctive service to the +commonwealth and particularly to her sisters of the southern highlands, +inasmuch as she was first of her sex to actually voice before a +legislature the problems and needs of the mountain woman. + +Today with rural electrification the mountain woman ceases to be a +drudge. She is on a par with her sister of the level land. + +She no longer stumbles wearily to the barn after dark with a battered +lantern, its chimney blackened with smoke. She has only to switch on a +light and turn to milking. Or if her household has progressed to dairy +farming, as many of them have, finding the sale of milk to the city +creameries more profitable than raising vegetables, she has only to +attach the electric devices and the cows are milked mechanically. She +sits no more at the churn, one hand gripping the dasher, the other +holding a fretful babe to her breast. Now that unseen juice, or +'lectric, comes along the wire and into the new churn and there! Almost +before you know it there is a plump roll of butter. + +The whole family benefits from rural electrification. The youngest girl +of the household is not reminded of the irksome task of cleaning and +filling the lamps, trimming the wicks. What if the single bulb swinging +from the middle of the ceiling is fly-specked! It still gives ample +light for the room. The hazard of the overturned oil lamp and the fear +of burning the house down are gone too. "I'd druther have 'lectric than +a new cookstove or a saddle mare," any mountain woman will tell you. + +She is through with the back-breaking battling trough and the washboard. +Her proudest possession and the greatest labor-saving device on the +place is the electric washer. Carefully covered with a clean piece of +bleach, it holds a distinguished place in the corner of the dining room +when not in use. It is the first thing to be exhibited to the visitor. + +But whenever progress brings, it likewise takes away. + +The fireside gathering where the glowing logs provided light and cheer +for the family circle, conducive to story and riddle and song, has +almost reached the vanishing point. Instead, the young folks pile into +the second-hand Ford and whiz off to town. They don't wait for court +week, when in other days the courthouse yard was the market place of the +hillsman. Though the old courthouse still stands as it did in early +days, the scene has changed. There is one ancient seat of justice in the +Big Sandy country within sight of the spot where the first settlers +built their fort for safety against Indian attack, and over the door +these words catch the eye-- + + READER, WHERE WILT THOU SPEND ETERNITY? + +Young folks don't seem to give it much thought. Just across the road (it +is paved now) the raucous sound of the juke box is heard playing I +Understand, Hut Sut, You Are My Sunshine and Booglie, Wooglie, Piggy. +The jitterbugs are at it early and late. They know all the hits on the +Hit Parade. They know Frankie Masters' and Jimmy Dorsey's latest records +and the newest step and shake. If they ever tire, which is rarely, there +are booths and stalls where they may sip a soda, drain a bottle of coke, +crunch a sandwich, a yard-long hot dog, a hamburger. Or, if he is real +sophisticated and she "has been farther under the house hunting eggs +than some have been on the railroad cars," he will cautiously draw his +hip flask, when the waiter or proprietor isn't looking, and pour a snort +of year-old or Granddad in the glass of cracked ice. Sure, you buy your +cracked ice, what do you think this is? "Let's go on to the Rainbow," +she suggests presently, when only cracked ice is left in the glass. +"Rainbow? You got your rainbow right here in the juke box," he answers. +"I don't mean no rainbow like's on the groan box, and you know it." +Maybe they go, maybe they don't. But things are surely changing along +the once quiet mountain trail. Now if the lad is real devilish he will +try a slug in the juke box instead of a coin. Then the proprietor drops +his beaming smile and asserts his authority. A young stripling or two +may drop in, stagging it. One gets an eye on a pretty girl dancing with +her date. But just let him try to cut in. "Can't you read?" With the +proprietor's husky voice the intruder feels at the same moment the +proprietor's firm hand upon his shoulder. "What's eatin' you? Can't you +read, I say!" The owner of the big voice and bigger fist points a +warning finger to the sign on the wall-- + + NO STAG DANCING + +The stag isn't slow in being on his way. He and his pals pile into their +car and head toward the next tavern. + +The present generation of mountain youth may have lost their +superstition but they will take a long chance on beating the pinball +machine. They will play it for hours--until the last nickel is dropped +in the slot because, "Yes siree, just last night at the Blue Moon I saw +a fellow get the jackpot. Double handful of coin!" + +A mountain girl once ashamed because her granny smoked her little clay +pipe puffs a cigarette nonchalantly held between highly manicured +fingertips. She will spend her last dollar for a permanent and lipstick. +She would not be interested in the simple fireside games, Clap In and +Clap Out, Post Office and Drop the Handkerchief. Such things are far too +slow for her highstrung nerves these days. + +However, community centers are trying valiantly to bring back square +dancing and community singing. The effort is successful in some +localities, particularly through North and South Carolina. Old-time +singing school with the itinerant singing master has given place to +singing societies that meet sometimes in the summer months on the +courthouse square or indoors. + +Religious customs, too, are becoming modernized. The foot-washing of the +Regular Primitive Baptists, while it is still carried on in some of the +mountain churches, lacks much of the solemnity and imposing dignity of +bygone days. The church house itself is changed, which may account for +much of the modification of customs. The log church is replaced with a +modern structure of native stone. The walls are painted. There is a gas +chandelier suspended from the ceiling. While there is still no +elaborate, elevated pulpit, the floor of the front portion of the church +where the faithful wash each other's feet is today covered with +linoleum. The long spotlessly white towel used for drying the feet of +the meek has given place to a brightly colored green and red striped +bath towel (basement special, or such as are found on the counters of +the five and ten). The singing, instead of being the solemn chant of the +sixth century to which mountain folk for generations adapted the words +of their traditional hymns, is in swift tempo, almost jazz such as can +be heard at any point on your radio dial any day in the week. + +The jolt wagon, with its rows of straight hickory chairs, carrying the +whole family to meeting with a well-filled basket with victuals for all, +is a thing of the past. At a recent foot-washing down in the Georgia +mountains there was but one wagon in front of the little church. A +string of automobiles of all sizes and makes was strung along the road +for a mile. + +The solemn funeralizing with its simple beauty is almost a thing of the +past in the southern mountains. Today it is accompanied by the barking +of the hot-dog vendor, "Get your hot dogs here. A nice ice cold drink of +Coca-Cola here! Here's your Doctor Pepper! Cold orange drink!" + +The decorations on the grave--once paper flowers made by loving +hands--are garish factory-made flowers in cellophane covers. Mother's +picture in the glass-covered box beside her headstone is gone long ago. +The favorite hymn is sometimes sung and a few of the old-time preachers +survive to weep and pray and sing and offer words of praise for the +long-departed friend. The present generation do not speak of the +funeralizing. Today it is a memorial. Strangely enough, however, only a +few miles from the heart of the Big Sandy country, a memorial service +was held for O. O. McIntyre for the second time on August 11, 1940. A +twilight memorial it was called and his good friends and close +associates came to hear him eulogized. + +The mountain preacher of yesterday is passing fast. Then, his was a +manifold calling. When he traveled the lonely creek-bed road with his +Bible in his saddlebags, he was the circuit rider bringing news of the +outside world to the families along the widely scattered frontier. He, +like the mountain doctor, was truly counselor and friend. The people +looked to him to tell of things that would be happening in the near +future. They hung upon his every word from the pulpit. His reasoning in +spiritual matters was sound and his eloquence impelling. His sermons +often combined quotations from the early writers of England, passages +from Shakespeare, true echoes of Elizabethan English, as might be +expected considering his ancestry. Words flowed freely from his lips. +The mountain preacher to this day has a natural gift of oratory. It has +been handed down through generations. He needs only the spur and the +occasion to burst forth. The mountain preacher, as some may imagine, was +not always untutored or illiterate--of the type we sometimes encounter +today in remote mountain regions. In early days he was quite often both +preacher and teacher, such as William E. Barton, father of Bruce Barton, +who after preaching in the thinly settled parts of Knox County, +Kentucky, became the pastor of a Chicago church in later years. Some of +the early roving preachers even studied theology in the great centers of +learning both in America and Europe. + +At one time, even as late as the last quarter of a century, there were +strait-laced Baptist preachers (my own blood kin among them) who would +not permit an organ in the church. But today it is quite the vogue for +young evangelistic couples to hold forth with piano-accordion and +guitar. "It peps up the joiners," the evangelist says. On the other +hand, in remote churches, where preachers still hold that note-singing +and hymn books with notes are the works of the Devil, these same fellows +will play up the hysteria of the audience with the "Holy Bark," the +"And-ah," "Yep, Yep," and the "Holy Laugh," chiefly at foot-washing +ceremonies. + +The number of young people, however, who cling to the custom of +foot-washing is comparatively small. One reason may be that they are too +busy with other things, or that they consider such practices +old-fashioned. + + + MOUNTAIN MEN + +Old Virginia had its Patrick Henry, the Blue Grass its Clays and +Breckinridges, but the Big Sandy produced from its most rugged quarter +as fine and noble timber as could be found throughout the breadth and +width of the Blue Ridge Country. + +Early in his youth Hugh Harkins came from Pennsylvania to settle in +Floyd County in the heart of the Big Sandy. That was far back in the +1830's. He knew the saddlery trade but the young man preferred the +profession of law. So acquiring a couple volumes on practice and +procedure he began to study for the bar. He built himself an office of +stone which he helped to dig from the mountain side and with every spare +dollar he bought more law books and timber land. He died in 1869, but by +that time his grandson, Walter Scott Harkins, had a thirst to follow his +footsteps. The boy, even before he was old enough to understand their +meaning, listened avidly to the speeches of his grandfather in the +courtrooms of the mountain counties. And when Walter Scott Harkins was +only a strip of a lad he rode the unbeaten paths to courts of law with +his law books in his saddlebags. If the day were fair he'd get off his +horse, tether it to a tree and climb high on the ridge. There with +statute or law reporter in hand he would read aloud for hours. Again +he'd close the book and with head erect, hands behind him, young Harkins +would repeat as much as he could remember of the text. Often he waxed +enthusiastic. He longed to be an orator. Sometimes thoughtless +companions would jeer at the young Demosthenes, even pelt him with +acorns and pebbles from ambush. But Walter Scott Harkins wasn't daunted +by any such boyish pranks. He kept on orating. + +In the meantime, as he rode the lonely mountain paths, he took notice of +the fine timber, just as his grandfather had before him. He was admitted +to the bar in 1877 and hung out his shingle at the door of his +grandfather's office. Like Hugh Harkins, the grandson also began +investing his earnings, meager though they were, in timber land. + +One summer evening near dusk the young lawyer was riding toward the +mouth of Big Sandy when he was startled to see in the distance a giant +tongue of flame shooting skyward. At first he thought there was fire on +the mountain but he soon discovered that the flame did not spread but +continued in a straight column upward. He sat motionless in the saddle +for a moment. By this time darkness had descended. The young lawyer was +fascinated by the brilliant flame and determined to test its strength. +Taking a law book from his saddlebags he opened the volume and, to his +surprise, was able to read the small type by the light of the distant +flame with as great ease as though an oil lamp burned at his elbow. Then +he recalled the story of how Dr. Walker, the English explorer, had once +read his maps by the light of a burning spring. Unlike the early +explorer young Harkins determined to do something about it. The legal +mind of the lad spurred his zeal to find the cause of the illuminating +flame. + +Walter Scott Harkins not only found the cause but he probed the effect +with fine results. With the aid of other interested persons he acquired +mineral rights of lands in the Big Sandy country which included the +burning spring, the like of which in the next decade was to illuminate +towns and cities and operate industries as far removed as one hundred +miles. + +Moreover Walter Scott Harkins lived to see more than 75,000 acres of his +own forest leveled, whereby he piled up a fortune that could scarcely be +exhausted even unto the fifth generation of Harkinses. + +On the window of his law office in Prestonsburg, Floyd County, Kentucky, +appears in letters of gold, an unbroken line of five generations of +Harkinses who have followed the practice of law. Likewise the Harkins' +descendants hold unbroken title to the largest acreage of timber land in +the country. The virgin forest brought its owner more than $160,000 and +the second growth is ready to cut. + +Lumber companies bought 70,000 acres of forest and constructed their own +railroads to carry out the timber. They calculated it would take about +twenty-five years to cull out all the big timber and by that time there +would be a second growth. Wasteful methods of lumbering, together with +frequent forest fires and man's utter disregard for the future, have +already brought about the necessity for reforestation in many mountain +sections. As far back as 1886 out of the Big Sandy alone was run +$1,500,000 worth of timber. + +Rafts of logs carpeted the Big Sandy River and at its mouth was the +largest round timber market in the world. With its row of riverfront +saloons Catlettsburg, between the Big Sandy and the Ohio Rivers, was +then called the wettest spot on earth. Through its narrow streets strode +loggers and raftsmen. Theirs was talk of cant hooks and spike poles, +calipers and rafts. "You best come and have a drink down to Big Wayne's +that'll put fire in your guts." The boss wanted his whole crew to be +merry, so the whole crew headed for Big Wayne Damron's Black Diamond. + +Today the old riverfront lives only in memory. That part of the county +seat is a ghost town. Timbermen and loggers gather no more for revelry +at the riverfront saloon. And should you ask the reason, the old river +rat will answer with a slow-breaking smile, "See off yonder--locks and +dams! Can't run the logs through that!" + +Forests that were felled a quarter of a century ago are once again ready +for the woodsman's ax. + +The present generation of timbermen look upon a very different scene. +Their dim-eyed grandparents complacently beheld the push boat, that +crude ark which was urged along the stream by means of long poles. It +gave way to shallow drift steamers. And in turn the steamers were shoved +aside for the railroad which was quicker. The boats, _Red Buck_, _Dew +Drop_, once the pride of the river, soon went to anchor and +deterioration. + +The county seat changed as well. Once women came to do their trading +there with homemade basket, filled with eggs, butter, ginseng which they +swapped for fixings, thread, and calico. They motor in now to shop. + +Typical of the changing scene is the town of Prestonsburg in Floyd +County. It became a county seat in 1799 and was once called Spurlock +Station. Today it is a thriving city with a country club. Daughters of +once rugged farmers and struggling country lawyers now have a social +position to maintain. + +Mountain women are becoming class conscious! More's the pity. + + + COAL + +It is often said, "Old mother nature must have laughed heartily at the +pioneer, who in his mad rush to go west hurried down through the wide +troughs between the mountains, hurrying on through the valleys, passing +unheeded the wealth in forests on either side, the wealth in minerals +under his very feet." But there came a time when the mountain men +discovered the treasure. + +Over in Johnson County, adjoining Floyd, where Walter Scott Harkins had +an eye for timber, his young friend was being twitted for a different +reason. "John Caldwell Calhoun Mayo," they'd string out his long name, +"when you're cooped up in the poorhouse or the lunatic asylum, you can't +say we didn't warn you to quit digging around trying to find a fortune +under the ground." + +But young Mayo, like his friend Harkins the lawyer, would only say, +thumbs hooked in suspenders, "He who laughs last, laughs best." + +Some of his youthful companions continued to poke fun but John Caldwell +Calhoun Mayo turned them a deaf ear. On foot he trudged endless miles +when he was a poor lad, or rode a scrubby nag along the Warrior's Path, +always seeking coal deposits, pleading with landowners for leases and +options on acreage he knew to be rich in minerals. He surmounted +seemingly impossible barriers, even having legislation enacted to set +aside Virginia land grants. He tapped hidden treasures, developed the +wealth of the Big Sandy country that had been locked in mountain +fastnesses for centuries. Through his vision, thriving cities blossom +where once was wilderness. + +The United States Geological Survey shows one eighth of the total coal +area of the nation to be in this region; it supplies nearly one quarter +of all the country's bituminous coal. + + + PUBLIC WORKS + +Only in recent years has the mountaineer begun to forsake his cove, +however unproductive the earth may be, for the valley and public works. +Indeed mountain folk long looked down on their own who sought employment +at public works, mines, lumber camps, steel mills. They decried any +employment away from the hillside farm, because it meant to them being +an underling. No mountaineer ever wanted to be company-owned. Leastwise +none of the Wellfords of Laurel Creek. But Clate, youngest of Mark +Wellford's family, lured by the promise of big cash money, decided to +quit the farm and take his wife and little family down to the foothills. +"There's a good mine there, pays good money, and there's a good mine +boss on the job," so Clate was told. Some two years later Clate, a weary +figure, emerged one evening from the company commissary. His face was +smudged with coal dust. A miner's lamp still flickered on his grimy cap. +He carried a dinner bucket and the baby on one arm. Over his shoulder +hung a gunnysack that bulged with canned goods and a poke of meal. At +his heels followed his bedraggled, snaggle-toothed wife, a babe in her +arms and another tugging at her skirts. Her faded calico dress that +dragged in the back was tied in at the waist with a ragged apron. There +was a look of sad resignation in her eyes. Now and then she brushed a +hand up the back of her head to catch the drab stray locks. She might +have been fifty, judging from the stooped shoulders and weary step. Yet +the rounded arms--her sleeves were rolled to the elbow--looked youthful. + +Clate halted a few minutes to talk to another miner, a boy in his teens. +"What'd you load today?" the younger asked after casual greetings. +"'Tarnal buggy busted a dozen times, held me back," Clate complained, +shifting the dinner pail and the baby. "Always something to hold a man +back." "I'm figuring on going to Georgia," the young lad sounded +hopeful. "Got a buddy down there in the steel mill. Beats the mines any +day." He saw some young friends across the street and hurried to join +them. + +"Come on, Phoebe!" Clate called over his shoulder to his wife, "get a +mosey on you. I'm hongry. And 'ginst you throw a snack of grub together +it'll be bedtime. An' before you know it, it's time to get up and hit +for the hill again." He plodded on up the winding path to a row of +shacks. His little family followed. + +The row of dilapidated shacks where the miners lived was clinging to the +mountain side at the rear, while the fronts were propped up with rough +posts. They were all alike with patched rubberoid roofs, broken tile +chimneys, windows with broken panes. Rough plank houses unpainted, +though here and there a board showed traces of once having been red or +brown. Between the houses at rare intervals a fence post remained. But +the pickets had long since been torn away to fire the cookstove or +grate. There were no gardens. Coal companies did not encourage +gardening. Miners and their families lived out of cans, and canned goods +come high at the company's commissary. + +A tipple near the drift mouth of the mine belched coal and coal dust day +after day. When Phoebe--you'd never have known her for the pretty girl +she used to be far back in the Blue Ridge--rubbed out a washing on the +washboard, hung it to dry on the wire line stretched from the back door +to a nail on the side of the out-building, she knew that every rag she +rubbed and boiled and blued would be grimy with coal dust before it +dried. What was she to do about it? Where else could the wash be hung? +Once Phoebe thought she had found the right place. A grassy plot quite +hidden beyond a clump of trees. She put the wet garments in a basket and +carried them off to dry, spreading them upon the green earth. But no +sooner had she spread out the last piece than a fellow came riding up. +"What's the big idea?" he demanded, shaking a fist at the garments on +the ground. And Phoebe, from Shoal's Fork of Greasy Creek, never having +heard the expression, mumbled in confusion, "I'm pleased to meet you." + +"Don't try to get fresh," the fellow scowled. "Don't you know this +ground is company-owned? The big boss keeps this plot for his saddle +horse to graze on. Pick up your rags and beat it!" + +She understood from the gesture the meaning of beat it and obeyed in +haste. + +There was little room to stretch up a line indoors, though she did +sometimes in the winter when the backyard was too sloppy to walk in. +Clate Wellford's was one of the smaller shacks, a room with a lean-to +kitchen. The others, with two rooms, cost more. Besides there were other +things to be taken out of date's pay envelope before it reached him; +there were electric light, coal, the store bill, and the company doctor. + +"None of my folks have been sick. We've never even set eyes on the +doctor," Clate complained to the script clerk on the first payday. + +"What of it?" the script clerk replied. "You'd be running quick enough +for the doctor if one of your kids or your old woman got sick or met +with an accident, wouldn't you? The doctor's got to live same as the +rest of us." + +So the miner stumbled out with no more to say. Sometimes he'd vent his +spleen upon his wife. "You wuz the one that wanted to come here! Wisht +I'd never married. A man can't get nowheres with a wife and young ones +on his hands." And the wife, remembering the way of mountain women, +offered no word of argument. + +When the owners of the coal operation came from the East to check up +output and earnings they didn't take time to make a tour of inspection +of the shacks. Certainly they had no time to listen to complaints of +miners. + +Lured by the promise of big money Clate Wellford, like many other +mountain men, forsook the familiar life of his own creek for the strange +work-a-day of the mining camp. + +Back on Shoal's Fork of Greasy Creek there was always milk a-plenty to +drink. Bless you, Clate knew the time when he'd carried buckets full of +half-sour milk to the hogs. How they guzzled it! Here there was never a +drop of cow's milk to drink. You got it in cans--thick, condensed, +sickeningly sweet. Couldn't fool the children, not even when you thinned +it with water. "It don't taste like Bossy's milk," the youngsters shoved +it away. + +What was more, back on Shoal's Fork there was always fried chicken in +the spring. All you could eat. Turkey and goose and duck, if you chose, +through the winter and plenty of ham meat. There was never a day date's +folks couldn't go out into the garden and bring in beans, beets, corn, +and cabbage. He'd never known a time when there were not potatoes and +turnips the year round. The Wellfords had come to take such things for +granted. But here in the coal camp you could walk the full length of the +place from the last ramshackle house on down to the commissary and never +see a bed of onions and lettuce. The shacks were so close together there +was no room for a garden, even if the company had permitted it. + +"That's company-owned!" the boss growled at Clate that time he was +trying to break up the hard crusty earth with a hoe. + +"I've got my own onion sets," Clate tried to explain. "My folks fetched +'em down." + +"Who cares?" the company boss snarled. "What you reckon the company's +running a commissary for? The store manager can sell you onions--ready +to eat." + +So the miner didn't set out an onion bed. + +Again, Clate found some old warped planks outside the drift mouth of the +mine; he brought them home and was building a pigpen. The mine boss came +charging down upon him. + +"What you doing with the company's planks?" + +The frightened Clate tried to explain that he had supposed the wood +thrown aside was useless and that he was making ready for the young +shoat his folks meant to bring him. + +"What you suppose the company would do if every miner packed off planks +and posts that he happens to see laying around?" he eyed Clate +suspiciously. "We'd soon shut down, that's what would happen. And as for +meat. You can buy sow-belly and bologna at the commissary." There was +something more. "If you want to keep out of trouble and don't want a +couple bucks taken out of your pay, you better get them planks and posts +back where you found them!" + +The miner's shack was perched on such high stilts that the wind whistled +underneath the floor until it felt like ice to the bare feet of the +children. It took a lot of coal in the grate and the kitchen stove to +keep the place halfway warm. The children were sick all through the +winter. Now and then the company doctor stopped in on his rounds of the +coal camp to leave calomel and quinine. + +With the birth of her last baby, Clate's wife got down with a bealed +breast after she had been up and about for a week. "I'm bound to hire +someone," Clate told his wife. So he hired Liz Elswick to come and do +the cooking, washing, and ironing and to look after the children. + +Out on Shoal's Fork neighbor women came eagerly to help each other in +case of sickness. + +Though it was not much they had to pay Liz--she took it out in trade at +the store, the makings of a calico dress, a pair of shoes--it was a +hardship on the Wellfords. For Liz Elswick, like other women in a coal +camp, never having handled real money, knew little of cost. Nor did she +know how to supply the simple needs of the family. Phoebe was too ill to +offer a word of advice, poor though it would have been. So, before long, +Clate was behind with his store bill. Or to put it the other way around, +for the company always took theirs first, Clate had nothing left in his +pay envelope on payday. + +Then, when he might have had a few dollars coming, something else would +happen: shoes would be worn out, he'd have to buy new ones for the +children couldn't go barefoot in the winter. He himself had to wear +heavy boots in the mine in order to work at all, for Clate had to stand +in water most of the time when he picked or loaded. Another time the +house caught fire and burned up their beds, chairs, everything. Even +though he had steady work that month he had to sell his time to the +script clerk in order to get cash to replace his loss. A buddy in the +mine was selling out his few possessions at a sacrifice because his wife +had run off with a Hunkie. The Hungarian showed the faithless creature a +billfold with greenbacks in it, promised her a silk dress and a +permanent. + +"Why don't you buy new furniture at the commissary?" the script clerk +wanted to know of Clate. "There are beds and chairs, bureaus and tables. +Get them on time." + +"I can't afford it," Clate said honestly. + +So, after much bickering, the company's script clerk offered to give the +miner script for his time. + +"My buddy has to have cash money," Clate argued. "He's quitting. Going +back to his folks over in Ohio." + +Clate found out that when he sold his time he got only about fifty cents +for a dollar. + +"What you think I'm accommodating you for?" the company's script clerk +wanted to know. "I'm not out for my health. Course if you don't want to +take it"--he shoved the money halfway across the counter to Clate--"you +don't have to. There are plenty of fellows who are glad to sell their +time." + +There was nothing left for Clate to do. He and his family had to have +the bare necessities, bed, table, chairs. + +Soon he was in the category with the other miners, always behind, always +overdrawn, always selling his time before payday. Soon he was getting an +empty envelope with a lot of figures marked on the outside. Clate was +company-owned! If he lived to be a hundred he'd never be paid out. + +Though Clate Wellford and the other coal miners never heard the word +redemptioner and indent, they were not unlike those pioneer victims of +unscrupulous subordinates. Men in bondage like the sharecropper of the +Deep South, the Okie of the West. + +How different the children of the coal field looked to those along the +creeks in the shady hollows of the Blue Ridge! + +In the coal camps they were unkempt and bony, in dirty, ragged garments. +They squabbled among themselves and shambled listlessly along the narrow +path that led past the row of shacks toward the commissary. The path was +black with coal dust and slate dumped along the way to fill the mud +holes. + +Why do they continue to live in such squalor and in bondage? Why don't +they move away? + +If a miner should decide to move out, he has no means of getting his few +belongings to the railroad spur some distance from the camp, for he has +neither team nor wagon. All these are company-owned. The company, which +controls the railroad spur, also has control too over the boxcars that +are on the track. Only the company can make requisition for an empty +boxcar. If a miner wants to move he cannot even get space, though he is +willing to pay for it, in a boxcar to have his goods hauled out. + +He stays on defeated and discouraged. + +If, however, he does quit one coal camp and get out he is unskilled in +other labor and if he should try to evade his store and other +obligations with one coal company, the office employees have a way of +passing on the information to another operation. There are ways of +putting a laborer on the blacklist. + +But why should he try to move on? Word comes back to the miner from +other buddies who have tried other camps. "They're all the same. Might +as well stay where you are." + +Behind every shack is a dump heap of cans, coal ashes, potato peel, +coffee grounds, and old shoes. + +Rarely was the voice of the miner's wife raised in song as she plodded +through her daily drudgery. Now and then the young folks could be heard +singing--but not an ancient ballad. Rather it was a rakish song picked +up from drummers coming through the mining camps who sold their inferior +wares to the commissary manager. + +There was a church propped up on the hillside. But meeting usually broke +up with the arrest of some of the young fellows who didn't try hard +enough to suppress a laugh when the camp harlot went to the mourner's +bench, or when some old creature too deaf to hear a word the preacher +said went hobbling toward the front. Sometimes an older miner, who for +the sheer joy of expressing a long-pent-up feeling, shouted "Praise the +Lord!", was dragged out by a deputy sheriff, along with the young +bloods, on a charge of disturbing religious worship. + +The limb of the law usually knew who had a few dollars left from the +week's pay. The law knew too that a miner preferred to pay a fine rather +than lie in jail and lose time on the job next day. + +There was no pleasant diversion around the coal camp for womenfolk and +children, no happy gatherings such as the play party, a quilting, an +old-time square dance. In their drab surroundings, little wonder men and +women grew old before their time. + +That was yesterday. Today there are model mining towns throughout the +coal fields. Holden in West Virginia even has swimming pools and modern +cottages for its miners. A miner can work on the side too--it is not +uncommon to see signs over his cottage or barn door reading, "Painting +and Paper Hanging," "Decorating." There are thrifty vegetable gardens, +and miners' wives vie with each other in the product of their flower +gardens. Holden is sometimes called the Model Mining Town of America. It +has welcomed visitors from all over the land. + +In Harlan, Kentucky, once the center of many stormy battles between +miners and operators, the county crowned a Coal Queen on August 23, +1941, commemorating the first shipment of coal thirty years previously. +The queen, a pretty eighteen-year-old high school girl, won the title +from six other contestants, enthroned on a replica of the railroad car +which hauled out the county's first coal. As part of the celebration a +$1500 public drinking fountain was dedicated and speakers hailed the +economic progress of Harlan County since 1911. Each day 1200 railroad +cars loaded with coal leave the county. + +It was an all-day program being sponsored by the Harlan Mining Institute +safety organization in co-operation with the County Coal Operators +Association. + +Not only were mining officials present from many points but politicians +as well were present, including Mrs. Herbert C. Cawood, Republican +nominee for sheriff, a sister of the crowned coal queen. + + + BACK TO THE FARM + +For those who do not have a hankering for work in the foothills and +industrial centers there is today a greater incentive to go back to the +farm or to stay there than ever before in the history of our country. +For the young mountaineer there is the Future Farmer Association which +not only trains him in soil conservation, guides him in what is best for +his type of farm, or what stock he can best produce, but also holds out +the spur of reward. It is a fine plan for promoting friendly rivalry and +spurs the future farmer to excel his young neighbor. Each fall there is +a great state fair in a leading city of each of the Blue Ridge states, +where the young future farmers of America gather with their exhibits in +livestock, poultry, exhibits of their own crops. There is even a revival +of the prettiest baby contest so familiar to the old county fair of the +long ago. However today the contest has expanded beyond mere beauty; +there is a health baby contest. The grand champion rural child is given +an award with much pomp, and to complete the spirit of friendly rivalry +and to bring about better understanding and fellowship between country +and town there is also a contest for the champion rural and city baby. + +The mountain boy, because he is no longer isolated by rugged roads, +meets his city cousin on common ground. + +The scene has changed along the once rugged creek-bed road. In place of +the saddle hung on a wall peg on the front stoop for passersby to view +and perhaps envy, a new saddle once the joy and pride of the mountain +lad, today there is a spare tire and there is an auto in the foreyard or +in the garage, a garage which is often bigger than the little cabin +itself. + +The mountain farmer is being taught by skilled leaders to help himself. + +Even if the mountaineer's farm is on a forty-five-degree slope there is +hope for him today, thanks to the Farm Security Administration. A +workable plan for soil rebuilding was the first step. To reclaim wet +land the mountain man digs drainage ditches. Stone, heretofore hidden in +the mountain side and unused, is now utilized for building barns and +houses. On fourteen acres a man and his family, including a couple of +grown sons and their families, can today raise a living and be +comfortable. With a loan of $440 from the Farm Security Administration a +once unproductive miserable farm can be made liveable and productive. + +The farmer of the hill country is being trained to put to use the things +at hand. + +Second-growth timber is coming on and is conserving the productive +qualities of the hillside soil which was drained away by ruthless +cutting of timber a quarter century ago. Today the farmer is taught to +treat his farm and pasture land with lime and phosphate, a thing unheard +of in the early days. And the greatest of all his blessings today, the +mountain farmer will tell you, is the good road. + +Why then should he want to leave the mountains he knows and loves so +well? + +It was tried by the young folks, but finding themselves ill fitted for +work at coal camps or steel and iron mills or factories or industrial +centers, they returned eagerly to the hills, at least during the first +five years of the thirties. + +To this day, though some have remained in the mill towns, it is not +uncommon to hear the womenfolk--whose men have provided them with modern +conveniences, a frigidaire, a gas range, an electric washer and iron, a +spigot of running water--say, "Wisht I had back my cellar house, my +cedar churn, the battling block to make clean our garments. All these +here fixy contrapshuns make slaves of my menfolks at public works to +earn enough cash money to pay for them." And again, "I'm a-feared of +that 'mobile. I'd druther ride behint old Nell in the jolt wagon." + +Recently a Harvard sociologist, Dr. C. C. Zimmerman, has suggested that, +because the Appalachian and Ozark farmers are producing children in +excess of the number "required to maintain a population status quo," +they pull up stakes and settle in "declining rural New England." + +However, those in a position to know, through long years of close +contact with the southern mountaineer and his needs, point out that no +resettlement or colonizing plan can be worked out until a better program +of regional analysis is first accomplished. They point out that many a +mountain farmer would not earn in a whole lifetime of toil enough money +to make a down payment on "even a rundown New England farm." + +Besides there is still in the makeup of the mountaineer that spirit of +independence. He does not want to rent. He wants to own outright, even +if his property is no more than a house seat. There are few +sharecroppers in the southern highlands. A mountaineer would rather +suffer starvation than be subservient. Though he may be illiterate he +still remembers, because the story has been handed on by word-of-mouth, +the suffering and mistreatment of his forbears across the sea. + +To add to his security today there is the Tenant Purchase program for +rehabilitation through the United States Department of Agriculture, and +mountain men themselves are selected as members of the committee. It is +a part of the FSA. The _Big Sandy News_, July 25, 1941, carries this +story to the mountaineer: "The Tenant Purchase program provides for the +purchase of family type farms by qualified tenants under the +Bankhead-Jones Tenant Purchase Act. Farm Security Administration +rehabilitator loans are available to low income farm families, +ineligible for credit elsewhere, for the purchase of livestock, +workstock, seed, fertilizer and equipment, in accordance with carefully +planned operation of the farm and home. About 150 farm families in +Lawrence county have already been helped by this program. + +"The services of debt adjustment committeemen are available to all +farmers, as well as to FSA borrowers. The committeemen will assist +creditors and farm debtors to reach an amicable adjustment of debts +based on the ability to pay." + +In this particular section of the Blue Ridge, while some are looking to +the soil, others have an eye on the waters above the earth. There is +being revived the plan of twenty years ago for the canalization of one +of the best-known and most important rivers of the Blue Ridge +Country--the Big Sandy. As a means to that end there is an organization +called the Big Sandy Improvement Association and, with a mountain man, +Congressman A. J. May, to espouse its cause, things look promising for +the project. + +The mountain men and their city co-workers get together and speak their +minds and exchange views at dinner meetings down in the Big Sandy +Valley. A survey is being conducted to show to what extent a navigable +river would aid industry, especially the coal business. Mountain men are +joining their practical knowledge with the scientific knowledge of men +of the level land who are putting the plan of canalization of the Big +Sandy River before Uncle Sam for consideration and backing. + +The people of the Blue Ridge mountains are learning slowly and surely to +mingle and to work with others. That again is due to good roads. + +Once there was the simple manner of making sorghum, whereby the mountain +man paid for the use of the mill in cash or cane; today there is the +Sorghum Association which helps the mountaineer market his product. +There is even a Blackberry Association whose trucks drive to the very +door and load up every gallon a family can pick. + +Conservation is evident on every side and mountain people are realizing +the benefits in dollars. + +Where once timbering was carried on in an appallingly wasteful manner, +reforestation under the guidance of trained leaders is under way. Camps +of the CCC dot the whole southern mountain region and fruits of their +efforts can be seen in the growing forests on many a mountain side. In +Mammoth Cave National Park alone 2,900,000 seedlings were planted to +stay gulley erosion in an area of 3,000,000 square yards. + +Mountain boys who have entered CCC camps are rated high in obedience, +deportment, and adaptability to surroundings. Some of them have never +been away from home before. Many have been no farther than the nearest +county seat. + +Frequently the mother back home can neither read nor write but she shows +with pride a letter from her son. "My boy's in the Three C's. He's writ +me this letter. Read with your own eyes." You see her glow with genuine +pride of possession as you read aloud--perhaps the hundredth time she +has heard it--the boy's letter. The mother shows it to everyone who +crosses her threshold there in the Dug Down Mountains of Georgia. There +is another letter too. "Johnny's captain writ this one." She knows them +apart even though she does not know A from B. "Johnny's captain has writ +moughty pretty about our boy." So well does the old mother know the +content of the letters she is ready to prompt if the visitor omits so +much as a single word in the reading. And when Johnny came home, after +his first months of service were ended, he was hailed as a conquering +hero by family and neighbors alike. The mother was proudest of all. +"Look at this-here contrapshun." From the well-ordered case in the boy's +trunk she brought out a toothbrush. "He's larnt to scrub his teeth with +this-here bresh and"--she added with unconcealed satisfaction--"he don't +dip no more. 'Pon my honor he's about wheedled me into the notion of +givin' up snuff. But when a body's old and drinlin' like I'm getting to +be dipping is a powerful comforting pastime." + +The mountain boy's older brothers and father too have come to understand +co-operation. They can work with others. They know the meaning of WPA +folklore. When the boss calls out jovially, "Come and grab it, boys!" +they, who have never heretofore worked by the clock, know dinner time is +up and they must start back to work. When the head of the work crew +calls out "Hold! Hold! Hold!" they know a fuse of dynamite is about to +be lighted to blast the rock from the mountain side and they hurry to +safety. "Dynamite is powerful destructuous!" one tells the other, and +they remain at safe distance until again the boss of the crew calls out +"All right!" and they are back with pick and shovel. + +The mountaineer has become a good steel worker, a dairyman in the +foothills, a good mill hand. + +The old folk, however, still cling to the old order of things. Once +there was an old schoolmaster in the southern mountains who refused to +give up teaching from the McGuffey Readers despite the fact that +legislation had ruled out the old familiar classics. So persistent was +he in his decision it eventually brought on a heart attack which caused +his death. + +Men of the hills have been quite baffled by CIO and other union cards. +Young men first joining the CIO were heard to boast, "We can have +anything we want. The CIO is going to buy me and my woman and the kids a +nice, fine, pretty home. Pay all our bills if we get sick." + +Only a few short years ago in a coal camp in West Virginia a mountain +man, who was then working at public works for the first time, found +himself haled into court at the county seat on some misdemeanor charge. +When asked "Who is the President of the United States?" he +unhesitatingly gave the name of the sheriff who had arrested him. So +long had his family lived apart that he knew nothing of the workings of +his own government and nothing about the various offices, high and low. +Yet in the family burying ground of that mountain man inscriptions on +the tombstones of his ancestors show that three of them served with +distinction in the War of the Revolution. + +Lest the coming generation forget the ways of their forbears and the +America for which men struggled and died--the America of yesterday--the +scene is being faithfully reconstructed in various ways in national +parks. The boys of the CCC camps are having a very important hand in +reconstruction and conservation. + +Some years ago a nephew of Fiddling Bob Taylor of Tennessee met with +several friends on hallowed ground in that State, not for a patriotic +celebration but merely for the joy of roaming in the great out-of-doors. +The ex-governor's kinsman, like his forbears, had been born on the site +where in 1772 the first step was made in American independence by the +Watauga Association. This autumn day these sons of those early +patriots fell to talking of the country, its scenic beauty, its +resources--particularly in the mountain region. "Fitting shrines set in +the beauty of the great out-of-doors are the finest monuments to our +patriots, it seems to me," said one. Another said, "The world's history +shows that from the time of creation the successful men were those who +really loved the out-of-doors. Abraham was a nomad whose home was +wherever he pitched his tent. Moses sought the silence and solitude of +Midian before God could speak to him. David was a shepherd boy on the +Judean hills. Elijah dwelt in a cave. In the New World we see +Washington, the surveyor, a lover of the out-of-doors; Thomas Jefferson, +finding happiness and contentment in roaming the hills of Virginia; the +immortal Lincoln, coming from the backwoods of humble parents; Theodore +Roosevelt, cowboy on the plains of our western country." + +With a smile Fiddling Bob's nephew turned to his friends. "Fellows, I'll +wager there's not one among them from Abraham down to Teddy but would +enjoy a canter over a good highway to take a look at the Blue Ridge +Country. The most beautiful forests and parks in the world. Ought to +link 'em up with a highway." + +"Not a bad idea," chorused the friends, and they took another round of +mint juleps to celebrate the birth of a thought. + +"Ideas grow and thoughts travel fast," Fiddling Bob's nephew remarked +some years later when setting out on a cross-country journey. "The +Park-to-Park Highway grows annually and this Skyline Drive, which is a +part of the plan, is one of the most alluring of all modern roads." +Starting at Front Royal, the northern entrance to the Shenandoah Valley +Park, it continues to Rockfish Gap near Waynesboro on the south, a +distance of 107 miles. It is a broad mountain highway following the +crest of the Blue Ridge, invading a world that was remote and known only +to mountain folk. Today over its smooth, paved surface cars climb +quickly to airy heights from which may be viewed innumerable vistas of +the Piedmont plateau and the Shenandoah Valley. At strategic points +parking overlooks have been constructed, from which are seen tumbling +waterfalls, deep and narrow canyons, cool shady forests, open meadows, +and wild flowers of every shade and hue throughout the summer. Autumn +presents a boundless riot of color and winter a snowy, sparkling blanket +pierced by tall green pines. + +The Skyline Drive links with the Blue Ridge Parkway at Rockfish Gap +which will at last connect the Shenandoah National Park with the Great +Smoky Mountain National Park in North Carolina and Tennessee. + +"In case you don't know," Fiddling Bob's nephew likes to remind a +stranger, "Shenandoah Valley Park was presented by Virginians to the +nation in 1935 and more than three million dollars have been spent on +the Skyline Drive alone--a drive that hasn't a parallel in America. +Through this wilderness the Father of his Country once trudged on foot +as a surveyor and looked down upon the beauty of the Shenandoah Valley +from the lofty peaks of the Blue Ridge. His was the task to survey lands +for the oncoming settlers. He had no moment to explore under the earth. +That was the task of later men. Today for good measure, after you have +beheld the breathtaking beauty from the heights, just travel seven +eighths of a mile from Front Royal to the Skyline Caverns where you'll +see the most unusual cave flowers that man has ever looked upon. +Why"--Fiddling Bob's nephew puffs vehemently on his corn-cob pipe--"do +you know that Dr. Holden, he's professor of Geology at VPI, says these +Hellicitites, that's what he calls 'em, 'these weird, fantastic, and +pallid forms' warp scientific judgment. And, friends, it's nature's +work, these inconceivable structures hidden from the world for millions +of years down under the ground." + +He turned with a beaming countenance when we had emerged from the cavern +of matchless wonders. "Young Americans don't have to study geography +books these days. All they have to do is get a second-hand car, fill it +up, and strike out on the Park-to-Park Highway. They'll get an eyeful +and an earful too from native sons, and learn more about America than +they can dig out of the dry pages of a book in a year. Why, right down +there at Charlottesville there's Ash Lawn where James Monroe lived and +meditated. His friend, Thomas Jefferson, set about building the place in +1798 while Monroe was in France looking after Uncle Sam's business. Even +great and busy men in those days were neighborly. Thomas Jefferson did a +good part by his neighbor James Monroe when he built that house, and the +ambassador thanked him generously when he came back to occupy the place. +The two used to roam the grounds together and spent many happy hours +there. They visited to and fro; you see Monroe lived across yonder +within sight of his friend's home. The great of the past take on reality +when you actually set foot upon the ground they have trod. Places come +to life when we see them with our own eyes. That's the purpose of these +great highways, the Park-to-Park highways that connect the scenes of +American history." + +As the terrain changes there is a great variety in the scenes along +Skyline Drive. Sometimes the road leaves the crest to tunnel through a +rocky flank of mountain and you come unexpectedly upon sparkling streams +tumbling down the mountain side to the valley below. The eye follows the +cascade to the very edge of the drive. It disappears beneath the wide +surface and reappears beyond a rocky wall, cascading down and down to +fertile valleys below. + +Virginians, and people of the Blue Ridge generally, count one of their +greatest prides the restoration of the capital at Williamsburg through +the generosity of John D. Rockefeller, Jr. Old and young who pass +through the graceful wrought-iron gates to the Governor's Palace thrill +at the sight of the restored colonial capital named for King William +III, a scene which all in all reflects old England in miniature, "as the +state of mind of its citizens reflected the grandeur that was to be +America." Here are the stocks in which offenders were locked while they +suffered jibes from passing tormentors. Elegant coach-and-four remind +the visitor of days of grandeur of Old Virginia when the FFV's were +entertained at the royal palace. Across the way is the wigmaker's shop, +and the craft house, displaying the Wolcott Collection of ancient tools +and instruments. Here too is seen the Wren building, oldest academic +structure in English America, "first modeled by Sir Christopher Wren." + +Even a youngster of the Blue Ridge knows about Yorktown where Lord +Cornwallis surrendered in 1781. "Here's where we fit and plum whopped +the life outten the redcoats," we overheard a mountain boy from a +mission school boasting to his companions. + +Within a few short hours I had left behind Old Virginia and its +reminders of colonial days and crossed into the Mountain State. + +"There's plenty of beauty and culture in Old Virginia, I'm not denying +that--" Bruce Crawford looked over his spectacles at his inquisitive +visitor--"but there's just as much on this side of the Blue Ridge. We've +got as many wonders under the earth as above it. And"--he turned now in +his swivel chair in his quarters in the Capital to look far up the +Kanawha River--among the many duties of this Fayette County man is that +of letting the world know about his state--"I'm not forgetting Boone +roved these parts. Trapped and hunted right here on the Kanawha. But +what I started to talk about was not the hills, the rivers, and the +caves, but the people." He spoke slowly, deliberately, this sturdy, +well-groomed hillsman. Like Sergeant York of the Tennessee Mountains +Bruce Crawford can, if need be, drop easily back into the dialect of his +people. And he is an accomplished writer. "I don't care enough about it +to follow the profession of writing," he said, and fire glowed in his +gray eyes. "But as old Uncle Dyke Garrett used to say, 'I takened all I +could a while back from furriners' so I cut loose and wrote my notions +about it and it was published in the _West Virginia Review_. Take it +along with you on your travels through the Mountain State and see if +I've come near hitting center." + +It seems to me he came mighty near hitting center and with Bruce +Crawford's permission, here are his sentiments: + +"In recent weeks two ignorant jibes were flung at the State of West +Virginia, one by a Southern editor and the other by a Northern +cartoonist. + +"The editor, a Virginian, moaned that rude mountaineers had routed +Democrats of the 'old Southern type' from the Capital on the Kanawha and +that the Lost Cause was lost all over again. He was still sad because +Senator Matthew M. Neely had been elected Governor on a platform to +restore democracy to the Democratic Party, and government to the +governed, in West Virginia. + +"The cartoonist represented us by a stock hill-billy character with +bushy beard and rifle in hand, gunning for someone around the mountains. + +"Both editor and cartoonist have their heads in the sands of the past. + +"West Virginians are Mountaineers by geography and tradition, and proud +of it. Originally they were induced by wily Virginians to come into +these mountains and form a buffer back-country against Indians, French +and British. Here they grew sturdy, self-reliant and independent. They +fought the first and last battles of the American Revolution, as well as +the first land engagement of the war to preserve the Union. They were +shooting for liberty while Patrick Henry was still shouting for it among +appeasers of King George. A continental commander, it is told, refused +to enlist more volunteers from the Colonies, saying he had plenty of +West Virginians. General Washington, too, thought these mountaineers +were tops, for in a dark hour of the Revolution he said: 'Leave me but a +banner to place upon the mountains of West Augusta, and I will gather +around me the men who will lift our bleeding country from the dust and +set her free.' + +"These mountaineers saved piedmont and tidewater Virginia from Indians, +helped win the American independence, and made possible the opening up +of Kentucky to the West. They then expected a fair deal from the +Virginia Government, but they did not get it. So when Virginia seceded +from the Union, they seceded from Virginia. And proudly they adopted the +motto, 'Mountaineers are always free,' a sentiment so generally +subscribed to that it appears over the entrance to our penitentiary. + +"The slurs persist through ignorance. + +"True, we have had all-out clan wars. We have had violent chapters in +our industrial story, under state governments apparently considered +benevolent by the Virginia editor. We tolerated waste of both human and +material resources under wild individualism. But a new day has come, +promising the greatest good to the greatest number, and we shall have +much to advertise, as envisioned in Governor Neely's inaugural address +when he said: + +"'Fortunately impoverished land can be reclaimed; denuded areas can be +reforested; unnecessary stream pollution can be prevented; and in our +purified watercourses fish can be made to thrive.... For our posterity +and ourselves, we must restore as much as possible of the matchless +heritage which we wasted as improvidently as the base Indian who threw +away a pearl that was richer than all his tribe.... If to West Virginia +scenery, which is surprisingly diversified and transcendently beautiful, +we add the lure of fully restored forests, fish and game, the State will +eventually become a happy hunting ground for the sportsman; a paradise +for the tourist; and the home of prosperity more abundant than we have +ever known.' + +"Progress toward these aims is being made under the direction of various +heads. + +"In addition to mining areas producing more soft coal than any other +state, plus our varied manufactures, we have fertile valleys and slopes +from which ... an increasing harvest is reaped. The State's diversity of +activity should, in the fullness of time, make West Virginia the most +progressive, the most socially balanced, and therefore the most truly +civilized State in the Union. + +"Our road system is being rapidly improved.... Many of our historic and +scenic spots and recreational areas, hitherto locked in the uplands, are +easily reached as more and more tourists travel pioneer trails on modern +highways. + +"All these things now are being discovered, or soon should be, by the +whole Nation. Ours is the Vacationland at the Crossroads of the East. + +"Just as in other times of national peril the human and material +resources of this region figured indispensably, so today its great +strength will be used against the Hitler menace.... West Virginia, with +its industrial development and strategic isolation from attack, may +become the Defense Hero of a war in which states little and large have +fallen before the juggernaut of tyranny. Again, as in the time of +Washington, the Nation may look to these West Virginia hills, and plant +here the oriflamme of freedom. + +"Let us sing of the soft, folded beauty of the Alleghenies; of rivers +roaring with primeval discontent and streams crystal-clear (save those +running red from wounded hills); of Edenlike forests in Monongahela's +million acres; of Ohio's fertile valley, placid and hill-bordered, where +once 'warwhoop and savage scream echoed wild from rock and hill'; of +clean-trimmed rolling landscapes of Eastern Panhandle, famed for history +and old houses; of lovely pastoral valleys of the South Branch, +Greenbrier and Tygart; of wild, boulder-strewn New River Canyon; of +Webster's forest monarchs and her deep, cool woods; of the 'brown waters +of Gauley that move evermore where the tulip tree scatters its blossoms +in Spring'; of the green hills mirrored in starlit Kanawha; of +white-splashing Blackwater Falls, awe-inspiring Grand View, enchanting +Seneca Rocks, and the remote Smoke Hole region with its Shangri La +inhabitants. + +"Sing of our rhododendron and its dark-green, wax-like leaf and purple +flower; of Mingo's mighty oak that weathered six hundred winters; of our +highest peak, Spruce Knob, bony above the lush forest; of Cranberry +Glades and their strong plants native to Equator and Pole; bracing +altitudes, averaging highest east of the Mississippi. + +"Sing a lay for the strawberries of Buckhannon, buckwheat of Kingwood, +our lowly but uprising spud, tobacco at Huntington, and the wine-smell +of orchards in Berkeley; for the horses of Greenbrier, Herefords of +Hampshire, sheep on Allegheny slopes, deer in a dozen State Parks, and +bears in the pines of Pocahontas. + +"Sing of timber, iron and steel; of coal heaved by brawny miners into +the bituminous bin of the Nation; of oil gushers and gas flow; of +vitrolite and chromium, plastics and neon, rayon and nylon; of glass +stained for cathedrals of Europe; of billions of kilowatts from coal, +and potentially more water power; of fluorescent bulbs at Fairmont, and +poisonous red flakes in the Kanawha sky from metallurgical plants--fire +poppies blooming in the night. + +"Sing of deeds and events of deathless renown; of Morgan Morgan and his +first white settlement at Bunker Hill; of James Rumsey and his steamboat +on the Potomac; of Chesapeake and Ohio's epic completion across the +State in '73 to the tune of legendary John Henry's steel-driving ballad +in Big Bend tunnel; of turnpikes, taverns and toll houses long +abandoned; of our leaders, Negro and white, in business, industry, +education, religion and government; of our stalwarts of union labor +whose vision, social comprehension and courage helped to bring a new day +for all; of our cherished democracy, flexible and self-righting in a +world where popular rule is a rarity. + +"I have catalogued in clumsy prose what a Thomas Dunn English or a Roy +Lee Harmon could peel off in crisp, singing lines. Surely we have gifted +souls who can illumine our story in song--the story of Mountaineers +Always Free, of West Virginians always Mountaineers--for a better +understanding by the country at large ... of this land of heroic past, +exhilarating present, and promising future." + +A journey through the Mountain State convinces the traveler that on her +side of the Blue Ridge West Virginia offers as many wonders under the +earth as above it, if one is not a claustrophobe. There's Gandy Sinks +where my friends of the Speleological Society were trapped by a +cloudburst on August 1, 1940; and Seneca Caverns, in Monongahela +National Forest, once the refuge of Seneca Indians about twenty miles +west of Franklin on U. S. Route 33, and six miles from Spruce Knob. +Caves as unbelievably beautiful as the Luray Caverns of Virginia, where +the great council room of the Seneca tribe remains as it was in the day +of the redskins. There is even a legend about Snow Bird, the only +daughter of Bald Eagle and White Rock, his wife. Inside the cavern, if +you look carefully, there is to be seen the outline of the lovely face +of Snow Bird on the great stone wall. There are a Wigwam, and an +Iceberg, an Alligator, and the Golden Horseshoe and Balcony of the +Metropolitan, all in natural stone formation. + +West Virginia has developed 84,186 acres in its state-park and forest +system. Sparkling rivers flow throughout the state. At the junction of +the Ohio and Kanawha Rivers where Daniel Boone once roamed there is a +monument commemorating the battle of the Revolution between colonial +troops and Indians. Here too are the graves of a woman scout, "Mad Anne" +Bailey, and a Shawnee chieftain, Cornstalk. There are hundreds of miles +of trails, safe underfoot, but flanked by as wild and rugged lands as +ever infested by the Indian. + + + VALLEY OF PARKS + +If Dr. Walker, the English explorer, should return to the earth today +and visit the Big Sandy country near the point where he first entered +the state of Kentucky, he'd be amazed at the sight which would greet his +eyes. Cities have sprung up where once was wilderness. Yet one natural +beauty of the country remains unchanged: the great gorge made by Russell +Fork of Levisa Fork of the Big Sandy, breaking through the mountain at +an elevation of 2800 feet--The Breaks of Big Sandy. Here in the days of +the Civil War many thrilling episodes took place and through The Breaks +a Confederate regiment trekked back to Virginia leaving behind a string +of Democratic counties in its wake. + +Recently added to Jefferson National Forest, another link in the chain +of Park-to-Park highways, The Breaks of Big Sandy is the most +picturesque and historic spot in eastern Kentucky. It is located on +State Route 80, just thirty miles from Pikeville where many of the +McCoys live peaceably today. Kentucky, with the mother state Virginia, +is planning a better and broader highway to The Breaks, which will +readily connect it with the Mayo Trail. And the native sons still +dwelling in the hills, aided by their neighbors representing them in +state and federal offices, are busily planning an improvement program +for the area in which The Breaks are embraced. + +Once the Dark and Bloody Ground, Kentucky today is fairly teeming with +reawakening. Her people are hastening to bring from hidden coves things +once discarded as fogey. "We aim for this generation to know how thrifty +and apt their forbears were," is frequently heard from their lips. In +historic Levi Jackson Wilderness Road State Park (U. S. 25), near +London, there is an old cider press. Far back in 1790 William Pearl, one +of the early settlers in Laurel County, made and set up the crude press +for making cider, or brandy if he chose. The press rests on a stone base +five feet wide. Happily, Pearl's great-grandson was wise enough to +preserve the relic and present it to the park. Within the park also is +Frazier's Knob, the highest point in the state of Kentucky. On the banks +of Little Laurel flowing through the park one may see an old-time +watermill in full operation. And if you have a bit of imagination you'll +wait your turn and take home a poke of meal and have cornbread for +supper. + +Through this region--now The Valley of Parks--Boone blazed his famous +trace and Governor Shelby built the first wagon road through the +wilderness from infant Kentucky to Mother Virginia. Along the way a +pleasant reminder of an almost forgotten past is that of the Wilderness +Road Weavers busy at loom and wheel. They process cloth from wool and +flax before your eyes and explain with care the art of making homemade +dyes from herb and bark. An older woman pauses with shuttle in hand. +"See the hollow tree off yonder, a mother and her babe hid there to +escape the Indians. And the cabin over there with the picketin' fence +around, that's our library now and we've got all sorts of curiosities +there too." A visit within reveals the curiosities to be relics of early +home arts and mountain industries. + +Cumberland Falls, Kentucky's Million Dollar State Park, of 593 acres, +was a gift of T. Coleman du Pont and family of Delaware; its chief +attraction is the Falls, once called Shawnee, with the profile of an +Indian plainly to be seen in jutting rock over which the roaring +cataract plunges near Corbin and Williamsburg. In this once Dark and +Bloody Ground there is amazing beauty; on July 1st, 1941, Mammoth Cave, +the twenty-sixth National Park, was dedicated with imposing ceremonies, +adding another link to the Park-to-Park plan. If it had not been for the +saltpeter from this cave the Battle of New Orleans would have been lost, +for from this mineral gunpowder that saved the day was made. So vast is +one of its caverns, the Snowball Dining Room, 267 feet underground, that +hundreds of members of the Associated Press held a dinner there in 1940. +Mammoth Cave is reached by U. S. Highway 70, west from Cave City, and +one hundred miles south of Louisville. The vast national park of which +it is a part is watered by the Green River, known to early explorers. + +Kentucky's most talked-of cave in recent years is that in which Floyd +Collins lost his life in 1925. The tons of rock in Sand Cave under which +he was trapped did not cause his death, however. Collins died of +pneumonia. His body now lies buried in Crystal Cave, which was Floyd's +favorite of all those he had spent his life in exploring. + +One travels cross country from Crystal Cave to the Blue Grass on Russell +Cave Road, along with some of the 45,000 other people who have come +within a single year to see Man o' War, the most famous race horse of +all times. "The Blue Grass region of Kentucky," says Prof. E. S. Good, +head of the department of animal husbandry of the University of +Kentucky, "is the premier breeding ground for light horses because of +its ample rainfall, mild climate, abundance of sunshine and a soil rich +in calcium and phosphorus, so necessary to produce superior bone, muscle +and nerve." + +Though mountain men are proud to own a good pair of mules and will +praise the merits of this lowly beast without stint, they generally know +or care little about blooded race horses. They take pride in less +glamorous possessions. For instance, they are proud that in their midst +the McGuffey Readers were still taught by an aged schoolmaster in +defiance of legislation which barred the classics and that the little +log school in which he taught is the first and only shrine in Kentucky +to the illustrious educator, Dr. William Holmes McGuffey, who compiled +the Eclectic Readers which gave the children of America a different, +brighter outlook upon life back in those dark days of Indian warfare. +The McGuffey Log School shrine stands not far from the mouth of Big +Sandy River in Boyd County. Each year hundreds of McGuffey enthusiasts +make a pilgrimage to the humble shrine of learning. + +"We've got no end of fine sights to see." Mountain folk are justly +boastful. "Down at Bardstown is the Talbott Tavern built 162 years ago, +one of the first such taverns where travelers could tarry west of the +Alleghenies. On the walls there are the marks of bullets left by the +pistols of Judge John Rowan, who fought a duel with Dr. Chambers and +mortally wounded him. There's Audubon Memorial State Park with all +manner of paintings, books, and pictures left by Audubon, kin of a +French King, who spent many a happy day roaming the hills of Kentucky +and studying the ways of wild birds. And no country can claim a greater +man than was born right here at Hodgenville, and even if we didn't have +a memorial built out of stone to Abraham Lincoln he will live in our +hearts as long as the world stands." The mountaineer who sings the +praises of his native land eyes his listener attentively. "Bless you, +folks are so friendly and kind of heart in Kentucky they even have a +refuge for turkeys. There is a sanctuary for this native American fowl +in the Kentucky Woodlands Wildlife Refuge just west of Canton. And to +make sure the wild creatures do not starve there are vast unharvested +crops grown on the cleared land and left for them to feed upon. Here +too, if travelers will drive slowly along the wooded trails, they are +most sure to come upon a startled deer, for there are more than 2000 +roaming in the woodland." + +Along with other traditions there survives in Kentucky the medieval rite +of blessing the hounds which takes place usually on the first Saturday +in November. In his clerical robes the Bishop of Lexington, in the heart +of the Blue Ridge, performs the ceremony much in the manner of the +prelates of ages past. With proper solemnity the bishop bestows upon +each huntsman the medal of St. Hubert, patron of the hunt, while the +gay-coated hunters stand with bowed heads and the hounds, eager for the +hunt, move restlessly about the feet of their masters. + +Across the Blue Ridge in the Carolinas fox hunting and horseback riding +are sports as popular as in Kentucky. But above all the things in which +the people of the Carolina mountains lead are their matchless +handicrafts, weaving, spinning, and their skill in play-making. + +Who hasn't heard of "Prof." Koch, Director of the Carolina Playmakers +and of the group's plays? And the thing about the Playmakers which sets +them apart is that they are chiefly of the mountains. Their plays are +made out of the life of mountain folk. Archibald Henderson declares, +"Koch is the arch-foe of the cut-and-dried, the academic, the +specifically prescribed. All his life he has demanded room for the +random, outlet for the unexpressed, free play for the genius." Nowadays +he travels by caravan with his Carolina Playmakers from coast to coast +that the world may see for itself what genius unrestrained can turn out. +If one wishes to see them, in their own setting, which thousands of us +do every year, there is The Playmakers' Theatre at Chapel Hill, North +Carolina, the first theater building in America to be dedicated to the +making of its own native drama. + +"This love of drama is in the blood of Carolinians," they themselves +will tell you. "Get three of them together and before you can say Jack +Robinson they're building a play. A folk play, each one with an idea, a +situation. Why, right over to Kernersville in North Carolina the first +little theater was born. And say, if you want to hear ballad singers, +stop wherever you're a-mind to in the Blue Ridge in the Carolinas and +keep your ears open. There's a fellow over on South Turkey Creek, little +more than a dozen miles as the crow flies from Asheville, and you'll +hear the finest singing of old-time ballads you ever listened to. Mostly +menfolks like best to sing. Womenfolks turn to the loom, particularly in +North Carolina." + +A visit to the Weave Shop at Saluda convinces the visitor of the skill +of mountain women. Fabrics of unbelievable beauty are turned out at +handlooms and it is mountain women who lead in the work. + +Much has been written on the subject of handicrafts but perhaps the most +comprehensive treatment of the diversified subject is Allen Eaton's +_Handicrafts of the Southern Highlands_. + +Through Allen Eaton's knowledge of handicrafts and his untiring efforts +a great service has been rendered the mountain people of the Blue Ridge +in marketing their wares. For he has been instrumental in organizing a +handicraft guild which serves the entire southern mountain region. The +co-operating units cover various phases of handicraft. The Shenandoah +Community Workers of Bird Haven specialize in toy making, while The Jack +Knife Shop of Berea College, the Woodcrafters and Carvers of Gatlinburg, +Tennessee, the Whittlers at the John C. Campbell Folk School in +Brasstown, North Carolina, embrace most every type of handicraft in +their output which is the work of mountain boys and girls. + +It was to mountain people that George Washington looked for hope and +help in the hour of our country's need, and two later presidents held +the same opinion. The mother and the wife of a president of these United +States have done likewise. + +One winter day more than a score of years ago a group of children +huddled about the pot-bellied stove in a little log church in the +mountains of Georgia. They had trudged through snow and mud and a cold, +biting wind to reach this one-room church house. Though the older folk +were eager to teach the children lessons of Scripture, few of them could +read or write. A mountain child, like every other child, delights in +hearing an older person read, whether it be a make-believe story or a +real story from the Bible. "Wisht you could read the Word," an eager +little girl this winter day said to the old woman who, though she could +neither read nor write, was doing her best to explain from a small +colored leaflet the meaning of the Sunday School lesson. + +The story reached the ears of a lady not far away. After that she began +reading Bible stories to the mountain children gathered at a little log +cabin near her home. "Martha Berry didn't need eye specs to see how +eager the children were for learning," one of her mountain friends +remarked, "and then and there she began to ruminate through her mind a +way to help them help themselves. 'Not to be ministered unto, but to +minister,' that was what Martha Berry said from the very first and that +is still the motto of the great institution that has steadily grown up +from the humble beginning in a little one-room log house." + +It is an unusual institution of learning with a campus equally unique, +for in its 25,000 acres are a forest, a mountain, and a lake and more +than one hundred buildings which were not only erected by Berry +students, but built from materials also made by them. Here mountain boys +and girls express the fine spirit of independence inherited from their +forbears. Once they enter the Gate of Opportunity, they _earn_ their +education. The mountain boy, with his carpentry, brick-making, +stock-raising, hand-carving, matches his skill in friendly rivalry with +the girl, in her spinning and weaving, making dyes and canning fruits. +In one year the girls canned 50,000 gallons of fruit grown within the +boundary of the Berry Schools. + +Boys and girls of the Georgia mountains need not despair nor be backward +while the "Sunday Lady of Possum Trot" keeps open the Gate of +Opportunity to the Berry Schools. + +"There's a heap of change here in these mountains for our children. If a +child's afflicted in its nether limbs, it don't need to lay helpless no +more, a misery to itself and everyone else. There's the waters of Warm +Springs and doctors with knowing that are there to help them on foot," a +mountain mother told me last winter when I stopped at her cabin. "Take +the night," she urged. "You can get a soon start in the morning, if you +choose." I accepted her hospitality and she told me much of her early +life there and of crippled children of the mountains who had been +restored through bloodless surgery. Of one boy in particular she told +who for long years had never walked a step until he had been brought to +the healing salt waters. "He can drive a car now and climb a mountain on +foot. He drove an old couple that had bought a new car all the way from +Warm Springs plum acrost the State of Georgia and back again so's he +could travel the Franklin D. Roosevelt Highway. It give him something to +brag about when he got back home." The old woman lifted her eyes to the +hills reflectively. "There have been a heap of people in this country +who stood in the light of their afflicted children claiming it was the +Good Lord's will that they were so and that it was a deep-dyed sin to +try to change them. Some claimed it was a sin against the Holy Ghost to +carve upon their crooked little limbs and shed their life's blood even +though it might make them to walk. Folks with such notions as that are +plum in benighted darkness. But times have changed and it's learning and +good roads that make it. Nohow, there are doctors now with a heap of +learning who can straighten twisted joints of crippled children and +never shed their life's blood. Not nary drop!" The old woman's eyes +widened with incredulity. "I've seen crippled children packed away on a +slide plum helpless and come back home on foot as spry as a wren and +never a scar on their flesh. They've got knowing ways off yonder to Warm +Springs where the doctors and nurse women, to lend a hand, straighten +out the twisted little bodies of many a crippled child. They do say it +is a sight to the world how them little crippled fellers can cavort +around in the salty waters in no time, playful as minner fish in a sunny +mountain brook. And they never shed a drop of their life's blood. So you +see there's always a way around a mountain if you can't climb over it. +And by these new ways of learning the doctors and the nurse women are +not breaking faith with the belief of mountain people. It's a great and +a glorious gospel, I tell you!" + + * * * * * + +If you climb to the top of a peak in Dug Down Mountains, a spur of the +Blue Ridge that dwindles to a height of 1000 feet in southeastern +Alabama, and take a look at the state--provided the binoculars are +strong enough-you'll see why there's a saying down in that country to +the effect that "Alabama could sleep with her head resting upon the +iron-studded hills of her mineral district, her arms stretched across +fields of food and raiment, and her feet bathing in the placid waters of +Mobile Bay." + +This Cornucopia of the South is not sleeping, however; she is on her +feet and bestirring herself and aware of her almost limitless resources. + +"She could dig beneath her surface and find practically every chemical +element required in the prosecution of modern war.... She could fire her +guns with 7,529,090 pounds of explosives produced annually in her +mineral mines.... In her hour of victory, she could declare herself the +Queen of the Commonwealth, mold her diadem with gold from Talladega, and +embellish it with rubies from the bed of the Coosa that drains the Dug +Down foothills of the Blue Ridge." + +In short, her native sons like to boast, "Alabama could isolate herself +from all the world and live happily forever after." + +And lest they forget the past, the first White House of the Confederacy, +where Jefferson Davis lived and ruled, still stands, a grim reminder of +the old South. + + * * * * * + +How amazed the pioneer dwellers of the Blue Ridge would be if they could +stalk down the mountain side and take a look at what Uncle Sam has been +doing the past eight years! Strange words too would fall upon their +ears, modern-made to suit modern things. What with good roads and autos, +hotels have sprung up thick as mushrooms; so have motels. There's the +Zooseum, combining living curiosities and relics. Pleaz Mosley got +together in a corner of his farm a lot of Indian relics, petrified +oddities, and a few rare varmints, a five-legged calf and a one-eyed +'possum, and housed them in a shack down by the new road that cut +through his bottom land and drew sightseers day after day. + +"But Pleaz's Zooseum can't hold a candle to the curiosities down in the +Holston and Tennessee River country," his neighbors say. "Looks like +they just naturally turned loose the briny deep in that country. When +they started in on the job old Grandpap up and spoke his mind. Said he, +'Sich carryings on is destructuous of the Master's handiwork and I don't +countenance it.' He'd set there by his log fire in his house all his +endurin' life. The fire had never went out on that hearth since he was +borned and he told the goverment he didn't aim the embers should die +down whilst he lived. Well, sir, to pacify the old man they up and moved +him, house, log fire and all, up higher in the mountains and him +a-settin' right there by the fire all the time. Now he can look down to +them mighty waters and them public works with his door open and never +jolt his chair away from the hearth." + +If Daniel Boone could retrace his steps along the Holston and Tennessee +Rivers perhaps he would gape, too flabbergasted to utter a word. Or he +might ask in dismay, "What's become of my elbow room?" The country he +once roamed with gun and dog has been transformed into a mighty flooded +area to make way for the world's largest project of its kind. At first +much was said back and forth about the Tennessee Valley Authority. Some +viewed it with a dubious eye, called it names--a New Deal experiment, a +merchant of electricity, a threat to private ownership of business, or +again merely a new series of letters in alphabetical government, the +TVA. To isolated mountain folk who came to look as time went on, it was +the plum biggest public works they had ever set eyes on. + +Eight years after it was begun--by the middle of 1941--with war +threatening the civilized world, the TVA has become a defense arm. + +Uncle Sam at once cast his discerning eye down Tennessee way and his +National Defense Advisory Committee designated the TVA as one of its +defense industries, and an appropriation of $79,800,000 was granted the +Authority, and a call from the defense power program went out for TVA +"to add to its system of ten multi-purpose dams the Cherokee Power Dam +on the Holston River, to build another near the Watts Bar Dam and to +advance work on the Fort Loudoun Dam on the Tennessee River." + +"About the only things unchanged are the caves under the earth and the +forests, I reckon," an old mountaineer observes. "They won't never dig +away them Great Smoky Mountains, I'm satisfied, though they've got a +roadway on the very top from Newfound Gap Highway to Clingman's Dome. +And they've got what's left of the Cherokees scrouged off to theirselves +in Qualla Indian Reservation." + +Wise and far-seeing men have looked to the preservation of much of +nature's beauty through the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, which +embraces Little Pigeon Gorge, and Chimney Tops, which command a +breathtaking view of the surrounding country. + +"My grandfather journeyed miles on foot over these mountains," a young +man told me one day when I tarried at the Mountaineer's Museum in +Gatlinburg on U. S. Highway 71. "Look over yonder is Le Conte, the +Grand-pappy of Old Smoky Mountain as we say here in Tennessee." He +turned about in the other direction. "And off there the rushing waters +of Little Pigeon turn an old-time mill wheel." + +Leaving the alluring sights of Little Pigeon I turned the nose of my +antiquated car toward U. S. Highway 25E to visit Cudo's Cave. It is +electrically lighted and bright as day. A cave that appears to be an +endless chain of rooms. Within are all manner of rock formations, a +Palace, a great Pipe Organ, even a reproduction of Capitol Dome not made +by mortal hand; Petrified Forests, Cascades that seem to be covered with +ice, and a Pyramid said to be eighty-five million years old. And in the +midst of these ageless wonders the names of Civil War soldiers carved on +the stone walls. + +"If all this had been on top of the earth," my mountaineer guide +declared, "destructuous man would have laid it waste long ago. Look +about," he urged. "There's every sort of varmint by the Master's Hand, +from a 'possum to an elephant, and even the likeness of the American +flag." + +Outside the caves which lie under three states, Kentucky, Tennessee, and +Virginia, you look down upon the town of Cumberland Gap to the right of +which are remains of Civil War trenches. + +"There are wonders no end to be seen around this country," mountain +people say, "and things maybe never thought of anywhere else." + +Perhaps that is not an unlikely statement, considering the stirring +event a few years ago that took place at Dayton, Tennessee, when +Clarence Darrow and William Jennings Bryan argued the question of +evolution pro and con. Or when you know that at the little town of Model +across the Tennessee River from Calloway County, Kentucky, a quiet +minister by the name of James M. Thomas, prints his little paper from +his own handmade type on his own handmade press. It is a tiny paper +called _The Model Star_ and it reaches the far corners of the earth. +Most of its content is of a religious nature, though there are a few +advertisements. While it brings the minister little in financial return +he finds his recompense in the enthusiasm of readers scattered from +Pitcairn Island to Cairo, Bucharest, and Shanghai. + +Tennesseans have a way of doing unusual things. And they are a religious +people, especially those who have spent their lives in mountain coves. +There's Sergeant York. He admits he sowed his wild oats in his youth. +"We drinked and gambled," he says, "and we cussed and fit." But when +this giant mountaineer's eyes were opened to the evil of his ways, after +the death of his father, Alvin C. York forsook his old habits once and +for all. When the World War came he declared himself a conscientious +objector. His church--the Church of Christ in Christian Union--held that +war was a sin. York had a terrific struggle deciding his duty between +God and patriotism. He loved his God. He loved his country. He made +every effort to obtain exemption because he firmly believed it a sin to +fight and to kill, even for the sake of one's country. But for all that, +he could not gain exemption. Whereupon York went alone into the +mountains and fervently prayed for guidance. When the voice of God +pointed the way he followed, with the result that all the world knows. + +"You might call my escape from death purely a matter of luck, but I know +different," he says. "It was faith in God that kept me safe. I prayed +that day alone on the mountain and asked Him to bring me back home alive +and well and He did. I knowed He would. That's what faith in God will do +for a man." + +Alvin York is a true mountain man. He seeks neither praise nor +self-glory. Upon returning from the World War he spurned a fortune in +pictures and vaudeville appearances, refusing steadfastly to +commercialize his war record. And with the same determination he +declined to sell out to small politicians who tried to use him when he +undertook to raise funds to start a school for mountain boys and girls. +Knowing the need of the young people of his Tennessee mountains, York +has made his life purpose to give them "a heap o' larnin'." This he has +continued to do year after year through the York Agricultural School +near Jamestown, Tennessee. Mountain folk call it Jimtown. Now there's a +highway running through the town called York Highway. + +Sergeant York likes to sing. He "takened lessons in Byrdstown," and +being especially fond of singing hymns, he acquired the name of "The +Singing Elder." He teaches a Sunday School class and did even before he +went to war. He admits smilingly that his fight with "small politicians" +who wanted to use him and his war record was a worse battle than that of +the Argonne Forest. Alvin York married his childhood sweetheart, Gracie +Williams, upon returning from war, and the Governor of Tennessee +performed the ceremony at Pall Mall where the mountain hero was born. He +is the father of seven children. For some time he served as project +superintendent at a CCC camp in the Tennessee mountains. He is president +emeritus of the school he founded and has written his life's story in a +simple, straightforward way, with never the slightest hint of +boastfulness. + +When it came to putting in parts of official records and commendation of +his heroism, Sergeant York did so reluctantly. "But it has to be put in, +I reckon." He finally had to give in. + +Sergeant York's achievement, capturing single-handed 132 Germans, +killing 20 others, and destroying 35 machine-gun nests stands +unparalleled. + +This tall, red-headed, freckled mountain man says modestly that he +always was a pretty good shot and that he kept in practice by hunting in +the Tennessee mountains, shooting turkeys and going to shooting matches +that required a pretty steady nerve to hit center of a criss-cross mark. + +"I'm happiest here in the Valley of the Three Forks of the Wolf," says +the Singing Elder, "here in Fentress County just across the Kentucky +state line, once the happy hunting ground of Creeks and Cherokees. Hit's +the place I love best with my family, my dogs and my gun. Hit's where I +belong." + +Looking backward, history shows that mountain men, such as Alvin York, +have always led their countrymen in time of war, as I have pointed out +earlier. In the Civil War the southern highlands sent 180,000 riflemen +to the Union Army. In the Spanish-American War they rushed to the +defense of our country. In the World War, Breathitt County, known for +its fighting blood, had no draft quota, so many of her valiant sons +hastened to volunteer. Though mountain people have suffered the stigma +of family feuds, they have lived to see old rancors forgotten. Hatfields +and McCoys, Martins and Tollivers shoulder their muskets and march +side-by-side when they have to defend their native land. + +The Big Sandy country is still filled with patriots. In Floyd County, +the father of eleven sons is not worried about the draft, according to +the _Big Sandy News_, November 15, 1940: "Frank Stamper, Prestonsburg +Spanish-American War veteran, isn't worried about the draft 'catching' +any of his eleven boys, six of whom are of draft age. Five of the bra' +laddies already are infantrymen in the U. S. Army--enlisted men. The +sixth, Harry, from whom the family has not heard in nine years, may also +be in the army now, and not subject to conscription later. Two of his +sons--Everett of Jackhorn, Kentucky, and Avery of Ronda, West Virginia, +were in the World War as volunteers, and when you take in consideration +that Mr. Stamper himself was a volunteer in the Spanish-American War, it +makes the adult population of the family about unanimous in the matter +of patriotism. The five sons in the army now are: Frank, Jr., Paul, +Damon, John and Charles. Mr. Stamper is the father of twenty-seven +children, seventeen of whom are living." + + + WHEN SINGING COMES IN, FIGHTING GOES OUT + +Mountain folk, especially those who have had the misfortune of being +mixed in troubles (feuds to the outside world) believe earnestly that +"when singing comes in, fighting goes out." "Look at the Hatfields and +McCoys," they say. "They make music together now at the home of one side +and now at the home of them on t'other side. They sit side-by-side on +the bench at the Singing Gathering down on the Mayo Trail come the +second Sunday in June every year. Off yonder nigh the mouth of Big +Sandy, across the mountains which once were stained with the blood of +both families. What's more, Little Melissy Hatfield and Little Bud McCoy +even sing together a ballad that tells of the love of Rosanna McCoy for +Devil Anse's son Jonse. And their elders sing hymn tunes long cherished +in the mountain church, whilst tens of thousands gathered on the hills +all around about listen with silent rejoicing over the peace that has +come to the once sorry enemies." + +To be sure, there is the singing of folk songs handed down by word of +mouth from generation to generation. When the mountain people are asked +the origin of their music, the usual reply is "My grandsir larnt me this +fiddle tune," or "My Granny larnt me this song-ballet." + +Since mountain people have brought their music out of the coves and +hollows for the world to hear through their Singing Gathering and +Festivals, the nation is fast becoming aware of the importance of folk +music in the life of Americans today. Great singers have taken up the +simple songs of our fathers. "Wipe out foes of morale with music," says +Lucy Monroe, New York's "Star Spangled Banner Soprano," director of +patriotic music for RCA-Victor, when she sang on September 11, 1941, +before the National Federation of Music Clubs in New York. "Let's make +certain that when the present crisis is passed, music will have done its +full job of defense," she said enthusiastically. The singer urged +federation members to become soldiers of music. "Let us enlist together +to form a great army of music!" she urged. Miss Monroe was commissioned +by Mayor LaGuardia to devote her efforts to the cause of music for the +Office of Civilian Defense. Whereupon she outlined a four-point program: +1. To visit large plants and industrial centers connected with defense +work to give musical programs and to suggest that the plants begin each +day's activities with playing the Star-spangled Banner--to tell the men +what they are working for. 2. To conduct community sings in large +cities. 3. To collect phonograph records for the boys in army camps, +establishing central depots in every locality in the country. 4. To give +talks, with song illustrations, on the history of the United States of +America in colleges, high schools, women's clubs, and music clubs. + +Though some may see folk song, the basis of all music, endangered by +motion pictures, Kurt Schindler, authority on ancient European customs +and collector of folk music in other lands, believes the danger lies in +another direction. "The young students, the modernists, in their great +desire to keep up with the times wish to kill the old things." + +All the forces working in America to preserve folk song should share +Kurt Schindler's fears. The press is cognizant of the farflung effort +throughout the land. The _Atlanta Journal_ (September 19, 1928) says, +"The collection and preservation of mountain folk music is a singularly +gracious work and one of rare value to history. Collected in its natural +environment, it is perforce authentic both in tune and idiom, and +sincere collectors are not content with this alone--they complete the +record by tracing the songs to their origins. Such is a most gracious +work and one which lovers of beauty, whether music or in legend or in +local history, throughout the South, would do well to imitate." + +Far removed from the metropolitan area where great singers interpret the +simple songs of our forbears and urge the necessity of their +preservation, an untrained mountain minstrel is lending his every effort +to aid not only in conserving but in correlating as well the folk lore +of the Blue Ridge Country. He is a kinsman of Devil Anse Hatfield and +lives just around the mountain from where the old warrior lies buried. +"Sid Hatfield never was mixed up in the troubles in no shape nor +fashion," anyone can tell you. "He'd not foir a gun if you laid one in +his hand. But just give him a fiddle! Why, Sid Hatfield is the +music-makinest fellow that ever laid bow to strings. What's more he puts +a harp in his mouth and plays it at the same time he's sawin' the bow. +I've seen him and hear-ed him, many's the time." + +And so have thousands of others. For Sid Hatfield spends his spare time, +when he's not working for the Appalachian Power Company in Logan County, +West Virginia, making music first at one gathering, then another. Sid's +repertoire is almost limitless. He plays any fiddle tune from Big Sandy +to Bonaparte's Retreat. And when it comes to the mouth harp, Sid just +naturally can't be beat. "I love the old tunes," he says, "and they must +not die. You and I can help them to live. Let old rancors die, but not +our native song." + +To that end he has become a prime mover in a folksong and folklore +conservation movement called American Folkways Association. "There are a +lot of McCoys," he says, "who can pick a banjo and sing as fine a ditty +as you ever heard. There's Bud McCoy over on Levisa Fork. Never saw his +betters when it comes to picking the banjo. We've played together a +whole day at a stretch and never played the same tune twice. We just +stop long enough to eat dinner and then we go at it again. Bud's +teaching his grandson, Little Bud, and he's not yet five year old. +Little Bud can step a hornpipe too. Peert as a cricket!" A slow breaking +smile lights Sid's open countenance. "Reckon you've heard of our +Association," and, not giving anyone time to answer, Sid is off on the +subject nearest and dearest to his heart. "We've got the finest +Association in the country. Got a nephew of Fiddling Bob Taylor in our +Association and by next summer we aim to hold a Singing Gathering down +in his country--the Watauga country in Tennessee. Folsom Taylor, that's +his name and he's living now in the far end of the Blue Ridge in +Maryland. He helped us with the Singing Gathering we held in the +Cumberlands in Maryland this past summer. We've got another helper down +in Tennessee. His name is Grady Snead. He was in the World War and about +lost his singing voice but he's not lost any of his spirit for mountain +music and old-time ways. Why, every summer ever since Grady got back +from the war he's gathered his people around him in Snead's Grove--he +owns quite a few acres down in Tennessee--and they have an old-time +picnic and they have hymn singing and ballad singing and fiddle music. +This past summer our Association joined in with them at the Snead picnic +and you never saw the like that day in Snead's Grove. People thick as +bees and pleased as could be. We started off a-singing a good +old-fashioned hymn all together and that put everybody in good heart. +Never saw such a picnic in all my born days. There's nothing like a good +old-fashioned all-day picnic to make friends among people and then mix +in a lot of good old-time music. That's what Americans were brought up +on and that's what they're going to live on more and more through these +troubled hours and as time goes on." + +That day at Snead's Grove, Sid Hatfield told them about the Association +and how already different organizations had united with it. He told of a +preacher over in Maryland who had joined in whole-heartedly. "He's +adopted the great out-of-doors for his temple in which to worship with +song and prayer. Robinson is his name. Reverend Felix Robinson, as fine +a singer and as fine a preacher as you'd ever want to sit under." + +Then Sid put down his fiddle and his mouth harp and drawing from his +coat pocket a crumpled paper, he began again. "My friends, I want to +read you this piece in the _Chicago Daily News_. This is the place to +read it. We ought to be warned about what can happen in this country to +our music, by what has happened to some of our people. Though maybe +sometime it's been for the best. This piece was writ by a mighty knowing +man. His name is Robert J. Casey and he flew from Chicago for his paper +the _Chicago Daily News_ to hear with his own ears the music of the +mountains from the lips of mountain singers at Traipsin' Woman cabin on +the Mayo Trail the second Sunday in June, 1938." + +There was a moment's breathless silence over the great gathering there +in Snead's Grove. The look of fear and apprehension gave way to that of +eagerness and hope as Devil Anse Hatfield's kinsman read with quiet +dignity: + +"'One breathes a sigh for the Hatfields and McCoys who maintain the +Democratic majority in cemeteries along the West Virginia line. One +voices a word of commendation for the Hatfields and the McCoys who drive +taxi-cabs in Ashland or run quiet, respectable and legal beer parlors in +Huntington. And looking from one group to the other, one realizes that +something has happened to the hill country. + +"'A person of imagination standing on the tree-shaded porch of the +Traipsin' Woman cabin up in Lonesome Hollow probably still can hear +echoes of "the singing gathering" which only a few hours ago +demonstrated the essential durability of the hill folks.... Where a day +or two ago there was only a neutral interest in such proceedings, now +people are talking of Elizabethan culture preserved completely for a +matter of centuries by people who lived on the wrong side of the tracks, +just a few rods from the fence of the rolling mills. + +"'There is a tendency in some quarters to look upon the sing-festival as +a permanent and predictable community asset. But that is because the +sophisticated and urban population is ignoring the present status of the +McCoys and the Hatfields, as for many years it has ignored the +crack-voiced "ballet" singers and the left-handed virtuosi in its own +backyard.'" + +Sid Hatfield paused in his reading to say a few words on his own. "There +is one, not calling any names, who discovered a forgotten England in the +Kentucky uplands." He turned again to read from the paper. "'One who set +down the words of the amazing ballads and studied music in order to +capture the changeless arrangements for psaltery, dulcimer and sakbut, +who has no such illusions. The music of the hills today is a thin echo +of tunes that were sung on the village greens in Shakespeare's time. +Tomorrow it will be gone!'" Sid Hatfield's voice lifted in warning. +"'And with it will vanish the early English idiom of the hill +folks--their costumes, their customs, their dances, the singing ritual +of their weddings. Pretty soon there aren't going to be any more hill +folk--if indeed, there are any now. + +"'"The Hatfields and McCoys, they were reckless mountain boys," whose +history is now as stale as that of the Capone mob. Their feud, which ... +threatened to provoke a civil war between two states, gave rise to the +general belief in the lasting endurance of the hill dwellers. A race +must be hardy as the ragweed when it could not be exterminated even by +its own patient effort. The tenantry of the flatlands might be excused +for believing that a special Providence intended it to survive, despite +poverty, malnutrition, bad housing and wasting disease forever and ever. + +"'And so it might have survived, for the hill people had "the habit of +standing." They had set a precedent of fertility and hardihood and the +will to live for a matter of centuries.... But there had come influences +over which not even the carefully nurtured stubbornness of 300 years +could prevail.... The railroad and the concrete highway and the +automobile and the black tunnels of the coal mine. + +"'... The day of isolated communities and isolated culture in the United +States is already past.... The hill folk have been known to the flatland +people chiefly for feuds and moonshine. Perhaps tempers are no less +quick, but it's less trouble to get to court and have grievances +adjudicated according to law. And the music is going--and the +traditional dances. It is one of the defects of all educational systems +that they make it easier for a person to forget by removing the +necessity for his remembering.'" + +Sid Hatfield again voiced his own observations. "Time was when old folks +could recall every word of hundreds of ballads." He turned once more to +read from the newspaper in his hand. "'... and every note of a music +whose disregard for melodic rule made it exceedingly difficult to +remember. Now, when such things can be written down, no "grandsir" will +bother to repeat them to the youngins and the youngins will get their +music from the radio. By that time there will be no doubt that Queen +Elizabeth is dead.'" + +Devil Anse's kinsman surveyed his listeners. "My friends, we've got +a-bound, me and you and you," he singled out a lad here a man, a woman +there, "to put our shoulders to the wheel and save our old ways and our +old music." + +Then he told about the American Folkways Association and its purpose. +"We aim to unify efforts to conserve and cultivate the traditions and +customs of the Blue Ridge Country where conditions are ideal for a +renewed emphasis on living a simple and natural life ... to preserve the +past and present expressions of isolated peoples in the Southern +Appalachians which are untainted by any form of insincerity or +make-believe. There is growing interest among city-bred people in the +folk-ways, and through research and actual experiences, they are +learning to appreciate the simple folk-life that is still intact." + +Sid, like Devil Anse, understands crowd psychology, though neither calls +it by that name. Sid had the attention of his hearers and he told them +more. "We're getting our eyes open more every day to the boundless +treasures in America. People all through the Blue Ridge don't aim to +stand by and see things disappear because new ways have come in. They've +started all sorts of gatherings and festivals to keep alive the things +that mean America!" + +With quick gesture he enumerated upon his fingers as he named some of +them: "There's the Forest Festival held in October at Elkins, West +Virginia, with a pretty mountain maid for its Queen; the Tobacco +Festival in Shelbyville, Kentucky, that pays homage to the leading +product of the Blue Grass country, next to the race horse, of course; +there's the Mountain Laurel Festival at Pineville, Kentucky, in May, +glorifying the beauty and profusion of the mountain flower; the Virginia +Apple Blossom Festival in April in the Shenandoah Valley at Winchester, +Virginia--a wilderness of blossoms that has made beautiful a once lonely +valley; the Rhododendron Festival in Webster Springs, West Virginia, in +July, that vies in charm with a like event in Kentucky; the Sweet Potato +Festival in Paris, Tennessee, that pays tribute to the yam; the American +Folk Song Festival in the foothills of Kentucky. Then there's the Snead +Picnic that our good friend Grady Snead has been carrying on every +summer ever since he got back from the war across the waters; there's +the Mountain Choir Festival over in Oakland, Maryland, in the month of +August, when hundreds of mountain boys and girls gather together to sing +hymns and old ballads too; there's the Arcadian Folk Festival and the +Poet's Fair and the Arcadian Guild all bunched together at Hot Springs +National Park and McFadden Three Sisters Springs where down in the Ozark +Country folks welcome the advent of 'the Moon of Painted Leaves' and +pattern new dreams in the valley of pastoral fancy, listen to the Pipes +of Pan, meet old friends, and make new ones in a sylvan environment, +where poetry slides down every moonbeam. Every sort of gathering right +where it belongs, where it was cradled through all these long +generations." + +Sid paused a moment for second wind. "When we look about we're bound to +own this is a mighty changing world. Time was when the mountain people +rode to the gatherings in Brushy Hollow in jolt wagons. They kept it up +a while, loading the whole family in the jolt wagon. But times have +changed.... A body has to sort o' keep up with the times, like Prof. +Koch. Bless you, he loads his whole pack and passel of boys and girls in +a bus and packs them hither and yon 'crost the country to show out with +their play-making. The Carolina Playmakers just naturally fetch the +mountain to Mohammed." Sid flung wide his hands, brought them slowly +together. "To get all such folks to work together that's why we formed +the American Folkways Association. What's more we've got us a magazine +to tell about what we've done and aim to do--the _Arcadian Life_ +magazine, with our good friend Otto Ernest Rayburn as editor, 'way down +in the Ozarks." Sid Hatfield smiled pleasantly. "There's no excuse for +folks not being neighborly nowadays. No matter where they live, what +with good roads and the automobile--we've just got a-bound to be +neighborly. To sing together, to make music together, to show out our +crops and our posies and our handiwork together. Here in Snead's Grove +today is the third time we've bore witness that our Association is not +just a theory. We made our first bow in the Kentucky foothills in June, +the second in Maryland in August, and now in Tennessee. In October we +aim to join hands and hearts and our music in Arcadia under the Autumn +moon." + +That day in Snead's Grove in Tennessee they wanted Sid Hatfield to keep +right on but taking a squint at the sun sinking in the west, he said in +conclusion, "I've got a long ways to travel back to the West Virginia +mountains but I hope we'll all be together again here in the Grove next +summer, this day a year, the Lord being willing." + + + VANISHING TRAIL + +Perhaps it is merely the result of evolutionary process, economic rather +than intentional, that man has wiped out many reminders of the past; +that the forest primeval has passed to make room for blue grass, +tasseled corn, and tobacco; that forts and blockhouses gave way to the +settler's log house encircled by a garden patch; that the windowless +cabin has gone to make room for the weather-boarded frame of many rooms +and glass windows; that the village has vanished for the town--the +industrial center. + +The Wilderness Trail broken first by mastodon, then panther and bear and +frightened deer, has been transformed into a modern highway. The Shawnee +Trail along which Indians lurked and tomahawked white men has become +Mayo Trail, taking its name from a country schoolteacher. He was a +far-seeing man, who stumbled sometimes hopelessly along the lonely way, +when he needed help to bring out of the bowels of the earth the treasure +in coal he knew to be hidden there. Mayo Trail is an amazing engineering +feat that connects mountains with level land. Limestone Trail in Mason +County has left along its course only a vestige of vegetation to remind +us it was once the path of buffalo and Indian. To motorists hurrying +onward it is merely U. S. 60 that leads to another city. + +The rugged, unbroken path once pursued by the lad Gabriel Arthur, a +Cherokee captive, called on Hutchins Map in 1778 the "War Path to the +Cuttawa Country," uniting today with the Wilderness Trails, has become +the open gateway to the West. Boone's Trace, or Boone's Path, leading +from Virginia through Cumberland Gap, to the Ohio River, still is called +Boone's Path. Since 1909 it has been a national motorway, being a part +of the Dixie Highway which runs from Michigan to Florida. It was over +this same path that Governor Duncannon of Virginia built the first wagon +road in 1790. During the Civil War the region of the Gap was fortified +and occupied by Confederate and Union soldiers in turn. Later, in 1889, +the first railroad entered the Gap. Today Skyline Highway--U. S. 25 and +58--leads from the saddle of the historic Gap to the top of Pinnacle +Mountain, commanding a view of six states, Kentucky, Tennessee, +Virginia, North Carolina, Georgia, and Alabama. + +And the scene has changed. + +Spring has come to the Blue Ridge. The hum of industry echoes along once +lonely creeks, through quiet hollows. We see no more the oxcart +lumbering, creaking laboriously along, higher and higher up the rugged +mountain side. The latest model motor glides swiftly over the smooth +surface, winding its way upward and upward. Off yonder the TVA has +harnessed the waterpower of the Holston and Tennessee, made a great +valley to burst into a miracle of man's genius. Modern industrial plants +steam along the banks. + +Good roads, the automobile, schoolhouses, the airplane have wiped out +all barriers between mountain and plain. The Blue Ridge casts a long, +long shadow across blossoming valleys. The mountaineer of yesterday with +his Anglo-Saxon speech of Elizabeth's time, his primitive plow and loom, +has vanished before the juggernaut of progress. But the children of the +hills are blessed with a rich, a priceless heritage in tradition, song, +and love of independence that will not die as long as mountains stand +and men of the mountains survive to defend and preserve it. + + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + INDEX + +Abingdon, Virginia, Declaration of, 31-32 +aborigines, 8 +adventurers, 15 +agriculture, 112-21, 283-89 +Alabama, 310 +Alamance, Battle of, 28 +Allegheny Mountains, 4 +American Folk Song Festival, 241 +American Folkways Association, 320-27 +animal life, 8 +Appalachia, 3-4, 5 +"Appalachia," by Martha Creech, 210 +Apple Blossom Festival, 326 +Arcadian Folk Festival, 326 +Arcadian Guild, 326 +_Arcadian Life_, 327 +art exhibit, Kentucky, 250 +Arthur, Gabriel, expedition of, 17-18, 328 +Ash Lawn, 293 +"Ashland Tragedy, The," by Peyton Buckner Byrne, 228 +Athiamiowee Trail, 9 +_Atlanta Journal_, 319 +Audubon Memorial State Park, 304 + +Bailey, "Mad Anne," 300 +ballads, 132, 152, 154, 159, 210-47, 249, 306; + and music, 43-44; + patriotic, 239-47 +Baltimore, Lord, 7, 12 +Bankhead-Jones Tenant Purchase Act, 286 +baptism, 60-61 +Baptists, 161-64, 268; + Regular Primitive, 161-64, 266 +Bardstown, Kentucky, 304 +Barker, George A., "Norris Dam," 245; + "Skyline Drive," 215 +Barton, Bruce, 268 +Barton, William E., 268 +beliefs, women's, 120-21 +belting a tree, 113 +Berea College, 259, 307 +Berry Schools, 259, 307-10 +Big Bone Lick, 8 +Big Meeting, 57, 71 +Big Sandy Breaks, 301 +Big Sandy Improvement Association, 287 +_Big Sandy News_, 286, 317 +Big Sandy River, 4, 18, 19, 48, 116, 271, 304; + canalization, 287; + superstition, 168 +"Big Sandy River," by D. Preston, 211 +birds, 6-7 +black cat, legend of, 189-94 +Blackberry Association, 288 +blessing the hounds, 305 +blindness, conjured, 180-85 +block houses, 22 +blue grass country, 303 +Blue Lick, 35 +Blue Ridge Mountains, 4 +Blue Ridge Parkway, 292 +boats, river, 272 +books, 16, 29, 34, 306 +Boone, Daniel, 19, 21, 22-39, 295, 302; + capture by Indians, and escape, 35-36; + death and grave, 39 +Boone, Mrs. Daniel, 24-25 +Boone's Trace (Trail; Path), 33, 328 +Boonesborough, 35, 37, 39; + Battle of, 36 +Braddock, General, 23 +Breaks of the Big Sandy, 301 +Breathitt County, Kentucky, 73, 74, 75, 79, 88, 316 +Breckinridge, Alexander, 13, 261 +Breckinridge, Mrs. Mary, 261 +Bryan, William Jennings, 314 +Bryans, trek with Boone, 29-30 +Buckley, Noah, 169-72 +Buffum-Dillam feud, 88-91 +"Bundles for Britain," by Jilson Setters, 242 +Burchett, Luke, "Jennie Wylie," 219 +Burning Spring, 21, 26, 270 +Byrne, Peyton Buckner, "The Ashland Tragedy," 228 + +CCC, 288, 290 +CIO, 289-90 +Callahan, Ed, 75, 76, 77, 78, 80, 81, 82 +Campbell, John C., Folk School, 259, 307 +canalization, river, 287 +candy pulling, 143-44 +"Captain Jinks," 147 +Carolina Playmakers, 305-06, 326-27 +Carter, Nannie Hamm, "It's Great to Be an American," 239 +Casey, Robert J., 322 +cat, black, legend of, 189-94 +Catlettsburg, Kentucky, 116, 271-72 +Caudill, Mrs. Lydia Messer, 250 +caverns, 186, 292, 300, 303, 313 +Cawood, Mrs. Herbert C., 283 +Chapel Hill, North Carolina, 306 +Charette, Missouri, 38 +Cherokees, 18, 32, 312, 328; + legend, 186-89 +_Chicago Daily News_, 322 +Child, lost, finding of, 170-72 +Christmas, Old and New, 158-61 +"Church in the Mountains," by Jessie Stewart, 222 +church music, 268 +churches, new, 266 +cider press, old, 302 +Civil War, 47, 55, 72, 231, 310, 313, 316, 328 +Civilian Conservation Corps, 288, 290 +claims, land, 32 +climate, 7, 41 +Clinch Valley, 30 +coal mining, 250-51 +coal mining and miners, yesterday and today, 273-83 +"Coal Queen," 283 +Cockrell, James, 74-81 +Cockrell-Hargis feud 73-88 +Collins, Floyd, 303; + ballads of, 235, 237 +Confederacy, White House, 310 +Congress of Industrial Organizations, 289-90 +conjuring, 180-85 +conservation, 288 +Constitution, first American, 29 +"convicts," early, 16 +corn, grinding of, 112-13 +Cornstalk, Chief, 300 +corpse, winking, legend of, 203-05 +country dances, 148 +County Coal Operators' Association, 283 +courting and song, 122-34 +cow, poisoned, 174-75 +Craft, Uncle Chunk, 72-73 +Crawford, Bruce, 294-99 +Creech, Martha, + "Appalachia," 210; + "The Robin's Red Breast," 218; + "Woman's Way," 226 +Crisp, Adam, "Floyd Collins' Fate," 237 +crocheting, 120-22 +Crockett's Hollow, legend of, 180-85 +crops, 112-21 +croup, curing, 171 +crown, death, 177-78 +Crystal Cave, 303 +Cudo's Cave, 313 +"Cumberland," origin of use of name, 20 +Cumberland Falls Park, 302-03 +Cumberland Gap and Mountain, 4, 20, 26, 30, 33, 46, 313, 328-29 +Cumberland Plateau, 4, 19 +Cumberland River, 3, 19 +customs, religious, 155-67 +Cuttawa country, 17, 19 + +dancing, 145-50; + modern, 264-65; + wedding, 153 +Darrow, Clarence, 314 +Davis, Esther Eugenia, "West Virginia," 214 +Davis, Jefferson, 310 +Dayton, Tennessee, 314 +death, omens of, 177-79 +death crown, 177-78 +"Death of Mary Fagin, The," by Bob Salyers, 232 +Declaration of Abingdon, Virginia, 31-32 +Declaration of Independence, 34 +deer woman and fawn, legend of, 194-99 +Delisle, map, 19 +Dillam-Buffum feud, 88-91 +dipping snuff, 289 +divining rod, use of, 169-72 +Dixie Highway, 328 +doctor, mountain, ballad of, 223 +doctor, wizard, 190 +doctors, 173-74, 261 +Donegal, Lord, 12 +"Downfall of Paris, The," by Coby Preston, 246 +drives. _See_ highways +Dug Down Mountains, 105, 310 +Duke, Effie and Richard, ballad of, 234 +Duncannon, Governor, 328 +Duquesne, Captain, 36 + +Eaton, Allen, _Handicrafts of the Southern Highlands_, 306 +education. _See_ schools +electrification, rural, 263-64 +Elizabeth, Queen, 10, 43 +Evans, Lewis, map, 19 +evolution trial, 314 +excise laws, hatred of, 11, 43 +explorers, 16 + +Fagin (Phagan), Mary, ballad of, 232 +fairs, state, 284 +families, large, 285-86 +family honor, 106-11 +Farm Security Administration, 284, 285, 286, 287 +farming, 112-21, 283-89 +"Fate of Effie and Richard Duke, The," by Coby Preston, 234 +"Fate of Floyd Collins, The," by Jilson Setters, 235 +fauna, 8 +feather, white, 178-79 +festivals, 325-26 +feuds, 45-111; + ballad on, 216; + vanishing feudist, 248-55. + _See also_ family names +fighting and singing, 317-27 +Flanery, Mrs. Mary Elliott, 262-63 +flora, 5-6, 56 +"Floyd Collins' Fate," by Adam Crisp, 237 +Foley, Ben, 105-11 +Foley, Jorde, 105-11 +Foley Sods, 105 +folk festivals, 325-26 +folk lore, and conservation of, 320-27 +folk singing, 317-27 +Folk Song Festival, 241 +Folkways Association, American, 320-27 +foot-washing, 161-64, 266, 268-69 +Forest Festival, 325 +forestry, 288 +forests, national, 300, 301 +Fort Boone, 39 +fortunes and riddles, 135-50 +fox hunting, 305 +Frank, Leo M., ballad of, 232 +Franklin D. Roosevelt Highway, 309 +Frazier's Knob, 302 +Frontier Nursing School, 261 +Fugate, Chester, 74-75 +funeralizing, 155-58, 267 +furs, 17, 19, 22 +Future Farmer Association, 283 + +games, kissing, 144 +Gandy Sinks, 300 +Garrett, Aunt Sallie, 55-72 +Garrett, William Dyke, 55-72, 201, 202, 295 +Gentry, Pol, legend of, 189-94 +geography song, 128-29 +Georgia Warm Springs, 308-10 +Good, Professor E. S., 303 +"Good Shepherd of the Hills," 55-72 +Great Kanawha River, 37 +Great Meadows, and Battle of, 23, 26 +Great Smoky Mountains National Park, 292, 312-13 +Green River, 19, 303 +Greene, General Nathanael, 19 +Greenup (Hangtown), Kentucky, 231 + +Hamm family Eisteddfod, 239 +handicrafts, 306-07 +_Handicrafts of the Southern Highlands_, by Allen Eaton, 306 +Hangtown (Greenup), Kentucky, 231 +Hargis, Beach, and murder of father, 79, 82-87 +Hargis, Elbert, 254-55 +Hargis, Judge James, and murder by son, 75-87 +Hargis-Cockrell feud, 73-88 +Harkins, Hugh, 269-70 +Harkins, Walter Scott, 269-71 +Harlan, Kentucky, 283 +Harlan Mining Institute, 283 +Hart, "Honest" John, 15 +Hart, Nathaniel, 32 +Hatfield, "Devil Anse," 46-67, 250; + anecdote of, 62-63; + conversion and baptism of, 63-67; + ghost, 199-202; + statue of, 199-202; + stories told by, 49-54 +Hatfield, Jonse, 251 +Hatfield, Levisa Chafin, 46-72; + grave, 200 +Hatfield, Sid, 320-27 +Hatfield, Tennis, 251 +Hatfield burying ground, 199-202 +Hatfield-McCoy feud, 46-72 +Hatfields and McCoys, reunion, 254-55; + singing together, 317-27 +haunted house, legend of, 205-09 +Hedrick, Ray, and his "haunted house," 205-09 +Henderson, Archibald, 305 +Henderson, Richard, 32, 37 +Hennepin, Louis, 18 +Henry, Patrick, 30 +highways, 291-93, 309, 315, 328, 329 +hill people, tribute to, 322-25 +"hill-billies," 41-42 +Hindman Settlement School, 259 +Hodgenville, Kentucky, 304 +Holden, West Virginia, 282-83 +Holston River, 17, 33 +home industry, 117-19, 262, 306-07 +honor, family, 107-11 +horses, race, 303-04 +hospitality, 42 +hounds, blessing of the, 305 +house with the green gables, legend of, 205-09 +hunters and trappers, 17 +Huraken and Manuita, legend of, 186-89 +Hutchins, Thomas, map, 19, 228 +hymns, 66, 67, 70-71, 157-58, 162-63 + +illiteracy, 40; + adult, school for, 260 +improvements, modern, 263-64 +Indents, 15 +independence, spirit of, 286 +Indians, 9-10, 13, 15, 17, 18, 21-22, 28, 30, 33, 35; + legend, 186-89; + picture language, 9-10; + ways and customs, 9-10 +industry, home, 117-19, 262, 306-07 +infantile paralysis, 308-10 +infare wedding, 151-54 +Ireland, English invasion of, 10-11; + oppression of, 11-12 +"It's Great to Be an American," by Nannie Hamm Carter, 239 + +Jack Knife Shop, 307 +James I of England, 10 +James, Frank, 49, 51-52 +Jefferson, Thomas, 293 +Jefferson National Forest, 301 +"Jennie Wylie," by Luke Burchett, 219 +Jett, Curt, 74-81, 88 +John C. Campbell Folk School, 259, 307 +Jones-Wright feud, 73 + +Kentucky, art exhibit, 250; + beginning of colonization, 32; + first white man in, 18; + past, commemoration of, 301-02 +_Kentucky Progress Magazine_, 259 +Kentucky River, 18, 19, 33, 35 +Kentucky Woodlands Wildlife Refuge, 305 +Kernersville, North Carolina, 306 +killings, 42, 43 +kissing games, 144 +Koch, "Prof.," 305-06, 326-27 + +labor, coal-mine, yesterday and today, 273-83 +land claims, 32 +_Land of Saddle-Bags, The_, by Dr. James Watt Raine, 16, 34 +land-purchase program, 286 +land reclamation, 284 +Lawton, John and Dessie, story of, 58-59 +learning. _See_ schools +legends, 180-209, 218 +Levi Jackson Wilderness Road State Park, 302 +Levisa River. _See_ Louisa River +Limestone Path, 9, 328 +Lincoln, Abraham, 304 +Little Theatre, 305-06 +Logan Wildcats, 47, 55 +logging and loggers, 5-6, 112-17, 270, 271-72, 288; + superstition, 168 +London bombing, ballad on, 241 +Louisa (Levisa) River, 21, 46 +"Love of Rosanna McCoy, The," by Coby Preston, 216 +Loyal Land Company, 19-21, 49 +lumbering. _See_ logging +lynchings, 74, 96-97 + +Main Island Creek, 250 +Mammoth Cave and National Park, 288, 303 +Man o' War, 303 +Manuita and Huraken, legend of, 186-89 +maps, and making of, 18-19, 328 +Marcum, James B., 74-81 +marriages. _See_ Weddings +Martha Berry School, 259, 307-10 +Martin-Tolliver feud, 91-104, 203-05; + end of, 249 +May, A. J., 287 +Mays, John Caldwell Calhoun, 273 +Mayo (Shawnee) Trail, 301, 317, 322, 328 +McCoy, Harmon, 46 +McCoy-Hatfield feud, 46-72 +McCoys and Hatfields, reunion of, 254-55; + singing together, 317-27 +McGuffey, Dr. William Holmes, Readers, and shrine, 128, 289, 304 +McIntyre, O. O., 267 +McNeely, Reverend John, 70 +Mecklenburg, North Carolina, Resolutions, 22, 34 +medicine, 261 +Meeting, Big, 57, 71 +meetings, religious, 155 +memorials, 267 +men, mountain, 269-72 +minerals and soil, 8 +mining, coal. _See_ Coal +_Model Star, The_, 314 +Monongahela National Forest, 300 +Monroe, James, 293 +Monroe, Lucy, 318 +Monticello, Virginia, 293 +Moonlight School, 260 +"moonshine," 43, 46-111, 248, 255-58; + origin of, 11 +Morehead, Kentucky, 249-50 +Morgan, General John Hunt, 72 +Morgan's Riflemen, 34 +Mosley, Pleaz, Zooseum, 311 +mound builders, 8, 9 +Mountain Choir Festival, 326 +"Mountain Doctor," by Jilson Setters, 223 +Mountain Laurel Festival, 325 +"Mountain Preacher," by D. Preston, 221 +"Mountain Singers," by Rachel Mack Wilson, 228 +"Mountain State" (West Virginia), 294-300 +"Mountain Woman," by John W. Preble, Jr., 225 +mountaineers, the, 40-45 +Mountaineer's Museum, 313 +mountains, 4-5 +murders, 42, 43 +museums, 311, 313 +music, and ballads, 43-44; + church, 268 + +Neely, Matthew M., 295, 297 +neighborliness, 44-45 +Nelson's Riflemen, 34 +New Light, 164-67 +"Norris Dam," by George A. Barker, 245 +North Carolina, settlement, 21-22, 26-29 +Nursing School, Frontier, 261 + +"Oh, Brother, Will You Meet Me!" 157 +oil, 270-71 +Old Buffalo Path, 9 +"Old Time Waterfront," by Coby Preston, 213 +omens of death, 177-79 +oratory, 155 + +paleontology, 8 +Paris, downfall of, ballad on, 246 +Park-to-Park Highway, 291-93 +parks, national and state, 288, 291, 292, 302-03, 304, 312-13 +parkways. _See_ highways +Partlow, Deborah, story of, 60-61 +paths. _See_ trails +patriotic ballads, 239-47 +Pearl, William, 302 +Pennsylvania, Proprietors of, 13 +people of the Blue Ridge, 10 +petroleum, 270-71 +Phagan (Fagin), Mary, ballad of, 232 +physicians, 261 +picture language, Indian, 9-10 +Piedmont Plateau, 4 +pig, bewitched, 189-94 +Pilot Knob, 26 +Pinnacle Mountain, 329 +pioneers, 10 +play-game songs, 145-48 +play-making, 305-06 +Playmakers' Theatre, 306 +poems, mountain, 210-47 +Poets' Fair, 326 +"Pop Goes the Weasel," 148-50 +poteen, 11, 43 +Powell Valley, 30 +preachers, mountain, 267-69 +Preble, John E., Jr., "Mountain Woman," 225 +Preston, Coby, + "Old Time Waterfront," 213; + "The Downfall of Paris," 246; + "The Fate of Effie and Richard Duke," 234; + "The Love of Rosanna McCoy," 216 +Preston, D., + "Big Sandy River," 211; + "Mountain Preacher," 221 +Prestonsburg, Kentucky, 272 +Primitive Baptists, Regular, 161-64, 266 +products of the soil, 112-21 +progress, gains and losses by, 264-69 +Proprietors, Pennsylvania, 13 +public works, 274-83 +purchase, land, program for, 286 + +quilts, 120-21; + poem on, 226 +quitrents, 13-14 + +race horses, 303-04 +Raine, Dr. James Watt, _The Land of Saddle-Bags_, 16, 34 +rainfall, 7 +Rangers, 21-22, 27 +Rayburn, Otto Ernest, 327 +reclaiming the wilderness, 248-329 +reclamation, soil, 284 +"recorder, the," 43 +redemptioners, 15 +Reffitt, Aunt Lindie, 135-43 +reforestation, 288 +Refuge, Kentucky Wildlife, 305 +Regular Primitive Baptists, 161-64, 266 +Regulators, 27, 28 +religious customs, 155-67 +rent system, 13-14 +reptiles, 7 +Revolutionary War, 34; + battle monument, 300; + commemorating, 290 +Rhododendron Festival, 326 +riddles and fortunes, 135-50 +river boats, 272 +river improvement, 287 +rivers, 3-4 +roads, improvement of, 286, 287 +Robertson, James, expedition of, 27-29 +"Robin's Red Breast, The," by Martha Creech, 218 +Robinson, Reverend Felix, 321-22 +Rockcastle River, 18 +Rockefeller, John D., Jr., 294 +Roosevelt, Franklin D., Highway, 309 +Roosevelt, Theodore, _The Winning of the West_, 29 +Rowan County, Kentucky, 92, 250-51, 260; + art exhibit, 250 +"Rowan County Troubles, The," 249 +rug-making, 262 +rural electrification, 263-64 +Russell, Captain William, 29 +Russell Cave Road, 303 + +"Sad London Town," by Jilson Setters, 241 +Saint Valentine Day charm, 136-37 +salt licks, 8 +Saltpeter Cave, 186 +Salyers, Bob, "The Death of Mary Fagin," 232 +Sand Cave, 303 +Schindler, Kurt, 319 +schools, 258-62. + _See also_ names of schools and colleges +Scopes trial, 314 +Scotch-Irish, 10-14, 31 +Seneca Caverns, 300 +"Sergeant York," by Jilson Setters, 243 +Setters, Jilson, and his ballads: + "Bundles for Britain," 248; + "Mountain Doctor," 223; + "Sad London Town," 241; + "Sergeant York," 243; + "The Fate of Floyd Collins," 235 +settlers, 10 +Sewell, Willie, 73 +Shawnee (Mayo) Trail, 9, 301, 317, 322, 328 +Shawnees, 18, 19 +Shelby, Isaac, 302 +Shenandoah Community Workers, 306 +Shenandoah National Park, 291, 292 +Shenandoah Valley, 4, 13 +showboat, 116-17 +silver mine, lost, legend of, 186-89 +Silver Moon Tavern, 251-55 +silver tomahawk, legend of, 186-89 +singing and songs, courting, 133-34; + folk, 317-27; + Gatherings, 317-27; + geography song, 128-29; + mountain, 210-47; + mountain, poem on, 228; + play-game, 145-48; + school, Philomel Whiffet's, 122-34; + societies, 266 +Skyline Caverns, 292 +Skyline Drive, 291-93, 329 +"Skyline Drive," by George A. Barker, 215 +Smith, Kate, 260 +snakes, 7; + use in religious services, and bites, 164-67 +Snead, Grady, and his picnic, 321, 326, 327 +Snow Bird, legend of, 300 +snuff, dipping, 289 +soil, and minerals, 8; + products of, 112-21; + reclamation, 284 +Songs. _See_ singing and songs +Sorghum Association, 287 +sorghum making, 118-19 +Spanish-American War, 316 +"speakings," 155 +Speleological Society, 300 +Spring, Burning, 21, 26, 270 +Spurlock Station, 272 +Stamper, Fred, 317 +Stewart, Mrs. Cora Wilson, 260 +Stewart, Jessie, "Church in the Mountains," 222 +stills. _See_ "moonshine" +superstitions, 168-79, 180, 181 +surgery, primitive, 173-74 +Sweet Potato Festival, 326 +Swindle Cave, 186 + +TVA, 311-12 +taffy pulling, 143-44 +Talbott Tavern, 304 +Taylor, Fiddling Bob, 290 +Taylor, Folsom, 321 +tenant purchase program, 286 +Tennessee, 311-17; + first permanent settlement, 26 +Tennessee River, 3, 4, 19 +Tennessee Valley Authority, 311-12 +Theatre, Little, 305-06 +Thomas, Reverend James M., 314 +timber. _See_ logging +Tiptons, the, legend of, 180-85 +Tobacco Festival, 325 +Tolliver-Martin feud, 91-104, 203-05; + end of, 249 +tomahawk, silver, legend of, 186-89 +topography, 8 +tradition, 122-54 +trails, 9-10, 17, 19, 20, 26, 33, 39, 273, 328 +Traipsing Woman cabin, 322-23 +Transylvania, and Company, 32-35, 36-38 +trappers and hunters, 17 +trees, 5-6; + belting, 113. + _See also_ lumber +turkey refuge, 304-05 +"Twa Sisters," 152 + +Unaka Mountains, 5 + +Valley of Parks, 302 +Valley of Virginia, 17 +"Vauxhall Dance," 50 +Virginia Apple Blossom Festival, 326 +Virginia reel, 148-50 +vote, women's, 263 + +WPA, 289 +Walker, Dr. Thomas, expeditions of, 19-21, 46, 49, 270, 301 +Warm Springs, Georgia, 308-10 +Warrior's Path, 9, 17, 19, 20, 26, 33, 273 +Washington, George, 23, 34, 292, 296 +Watauga Association, 29, 290 +Watauga country, 25; + settlement of, 26-29 +Watauga River, 32 +water-witch, 169-72 +watercourses, 7 +Weave Shop, 306 +weavers, Wilderness Road, 303 +weddings, infare, 151-54; + on horseback, unlucky, 172-77 +Wellford, Clate, 274-83 +wells, finding, 169-72 +West Virginia, 294-300 +"West Virginia," by Esther Eugenia Davis, 214 +_West Virginia Review_, 295 +Whiffet, Philomel, singing school, 122-34 +whiskey, 11, 43. + _See also_ "moonshine" +white feather, 178-79 +Whittlers, 307 +whittling, 259 +wilderness, reclaiming, 248-329 +Wilderness Road Weavers, 302 +Wilderness Trail, 33, 39, 328 +Wildlife Refuge, Kentucky, 305 +Williamsburg, Virginia, 294 +winking corpse, legend of, 203-05 +_Winning of the West, The_, by Theodore Roosevelt, 29 +witch, legend of, 189-94 +witchcraft, 180-85 +wizard doctor, 190 +woman, mountain, 262-64, 272; + poems on, 225, 226; + work, 117-21, 263-64 +woman suffrage, 262 +"Woman's Way," by Martha Creech, 226 +Wood, Colonel Abraham, 17 +Woodcrafters and Carvers, 307 +Works Progress Administration, 289 +works, public, 274-83 +World War, 316, 317 +Wright, Judge William, 260 +Wright-Jones feud, 73 +Wylie, Jennie, ballad of, 219 + +Yadkin River, 4 +York, Sergeant Alvin C., 295, 314-16; + ballad of, 243; + school, 259, 315 +York Highway, 315 +Yorktown, Virginia, 294 +Young, Judge Will, 88 +younger generation, the, 264-66 + +Zimmerman, Dr. C. C., 285 +Zooseum, Mosley's, 311 + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Blue Ridge Country, by Jean Thomas + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BLUE RIDGE COUNTRY *** + +***** This file should be named 25413.txt or 25413.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/5/4/1/25413/ + +Produced by Mark C. Orton, Roger Frank and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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