Part 6

The banks of the Ohio river were lined with armed men for many miles to prevent his escape into that State. It was generally believed that he would be apprehended within a day or two. But days passed and yet the outlaw had eluded his pursuers. He was no longer alone now. To his aid came his relatives, Johns, Elias and Troy Hatfield, Clark Smith, Henry Harmon and others, each heavily armed, and amply supplied with ammunition. Familiar with every nook and corner of that part of West Virginia, he was secretly assisted by other friends and henchmen, bound to him by ties of relationship or forced to render assistance through fear of incurring his enmity.

This condition aroused the entire State of West Virginia. On Wednesday the sheriff, with a considerable force of "militia," composed of men to be depended upon, again took to the mountains. Within three hours of their departure old Randolph McCoy came into Williamson, West Virginia. He was clad in the homespun of the country. His large-brimmed hat was adorned with a squirrel's tail. Carrying an old-fashioned, muzzle-loading rifle, he looked worthy of the comradeship of Daniel Boone or Kit Carson. Years before that, three of his sons had been foully murdered while being tied to bushes; some years afterwards another son and a daughter were shot down in cold blood, his wife brutally beaten, his home reduced to ashes, himself escaping only by a miracle, and now the old man is on the trail of one of the participants, if not the actual instigator of these outrages. He had come, said McCoy, to aid in the capture of "six feet of devil, and 180 pounds of hell," as he always described Cap Hatfield.

Seven miles below Williamson, McCoy overtook Sheriff Keadle, and united with him. Stretching over as much country as possible, the force scattered and advanced in skirmish lines. Nothing was seen of the fugitive on that day. At night camp was made on lower Beech Creek. The posse was now in the very heart of the Hatfield country, on Cap Hatfield's native heath.

Some years before in this locality Charles McKenney, a cousin of the McCoys, a lad of only eighteen, had been riddled with buckshot by Cap Hatfield and two others.

During the night, after the moon had risen, guards reported a column of smoke further up on the creek. This was not unexpected. The stronghold of the Hatfields was on a decided elevation some four miles away. The smoke suggested that they were there. The rumor served to keep the camp awake until daylight, when the march was resumed, the posse heading direct for the old palisade. The advance was made with caution. When within a quarter of a mile from the "fort," the first glimpse of the outlaw was had. His oft repeated boast that if once he gained the mountains, he would turn his back on no man, proved idle talk. He and his comrades rapidly retreated toward another mountain stronghold. When the log cabin was reached it was empty. No time was lost here. The men, elated at being so close upon the outlaws' trail, marched with spirit and rapidity. The direction these had taken indicated that they were straining every nerve to reach the mountain crag known as the "Devil's Backbone." It is said that from this point, some years previous, Devil Anse Hatfield had fought single-handed a considerable force of men. It was then that the summit was christened and received its weird name, and where old man Hatfield won his "nom de guerre" of "Devil Anse."

The mountains in this section are very steep to the southeast; Beech Creek cuts and winds through the hills until it empties into the Tug Fork. Huge walls of rock fringe the stream on each side. The strata is tilted until it stands on edge, a remarkable, interesting geological formation. Approach is impossible except from one direction. A slender footpath at that point clambers laboriously upward. At no place is there room for two men abreast. Two sharpshooters on top might successfully defend the place against a regiment. It was this stronghold that Cap Hatfield and his companions were so anxious to gain. He finally reached the foot of it, but at a loss. Old man McCoy was among the first of the attacking party, forging ahead with grim determination. Intuitively he seemed to know his old enemy's destination. McCoy and six or seven men at last separated from the main body of the sheriff's force and followed a cattle path. Sheriff Keadle pursued the other trail. It was along in the afternoon that the quiet of the forest hills was suddenly broken by a shot. Before another was heard, the armed posse was in a clearing which commanded a view for a mile or more toward the "Devil's Backbone." Nothing, however, could be seen except that the summit of the citadel was yet unoccupied. Then a white puff of smoke, followed instantly by a rapid fusilade, told that the battle had begun. McCoy and his party had intercepted the Hatfields. At that distance it was impossible to see the actors in the drama then being acted. Shot followed shot. Both parties were in ambush. Ever and anon old Randolph McCoy's rifle could be heard. Then there came a lull. By the aid of his field-glasses the sheriff saw that Hatfield was flanking McCoy. It was plain that the old man must either retreat or perish. But the old fox had not lost his cunning. He quickly saw the danger and effected a safe retreat, while the Hatfields stopped at the foot of the coveted fortress. It was seen that two of the Hatfield crowd were wounded.

The sheriff and his posse now pressed forward with speed. Within a few minutes they joined McCoy. It was almost dark, now, when the forces were once more united, and approached within range of the Hatfield guns. Bullets whistled and cut the twigs of limbs over the heads of the pursuers. The sheriff commanded his men to seek cover. Instantly every man "treed." Then began a fight after the fashion of Indian battles of old. The moment a body was exposed from a protecting tree, it was certain to become a target for many guns. Gradually, carefully, nevertheless surely the posse forged ahead, always under cover, yet advancing, concentrating and getting closer. Escape for the Hatfields seemed now impossible, unless they could put into effect one of their wonderful dashes which in the past had extricated them out of many dangers and difficulties. Cap Hatfield directed the fire of his men with utter disregard for their own safety. He seemed to bear a charmed life. The target of every sharpshooter in the sheriff's posse, not once did a bullet touch him. The Hatfield rifles did better execution. The posse, which had left Williamson the previous morning with flying colors and full of hope, was now decimated. Two of the deputies were fatally wounded and seven members of the posse more or less severely.

As night drew near the battle ceased. The posse camped. A council of war was held. Some were for pressing on in the night. Others, with cooler judgment, suggested that it was safer to starve the outlaws into submission. The latter opinion prevailed.

Early on the following morning (Friday), there was a short but hot skirmish during which another of the posse was wounded. At noon the sheriff was reinforced by a force led by J. H. Baldwin. This man had, for some time, led the Hatfields a hard life. Ever on their trail, he either captured them or drove them from the country. Cap and his band were those who had given him the most trouble and had constantly eluded him, thus far. Now he had another opportunity to try conclusions with them. Baldwin was a splendidly courageous man, and a crack shot with the rifle. He at once took the lead. "When I was a boy," he said, "I smoked many a rabbit out of a hollow tree." With this remark he despatched two men to Williamson for a supply of dynamite. The besiegers sat down to wait.

Late on Friday evening Baldwin "winged" one of the Hatfields. The man had attempted to reach water.

At nine o'clock Saturday morning, the dynamite arrived and preparations were made to place the mine. By eleven o'clock the work was complete, the match applied and the command given to retire.

Until now the besieged had apparently been in utter ignorance of what was being done. But the flashing of the train of powder leading to the dynamite, brought them to a full realization of their peril. Men sprang from cover and rushed hither and thither in full view. Cap Hatfield was seen to start for the path, heedless of the bullets that spitefully hissed about his ears. Then they made a sudden rush down the mountain. In this "sortie" three men went down. This convinced the rest of the uselessness of an attempt to escape by the path thus guarded. The trapped desperadoes returned to the "fort" and began to throw stones and bowlders upon the train of powder in the hope of breaking it. Then came the explosion. It sounded as though the mountains were slipping from their sockets. Pieces of rock and portions of trees flew in every direction. The atmosphere was surcharged with dust and smoke. When the air cleared at last, it was seen that more than half of the "Devil's Backbone" was torn up and blown down the mountain-side into a small arm of the Tug Fork, changing the course of the stream. Hatfield was still unharmed. In the excitement of the moment, Dan Lewis, Steve Stanley and Jack Monroe of the posse had left the shelter of the trees and were wounded. Another charge of dynamite was placed, and the besiegers retreated still further down the valley. The second explosion shook the earth--the Hatfields seemed doomed. But the moment the smoke cleared away rifle shots poured into the flank of Baldwin's men. Cap Hatfield had again successfully foiled the plans of his pursuers. His retreat had been made possible under cover of the smoke from the explosion. Thus the dynamite charge had effected nothing except the destruction of one of nature's unique works.

The chase was renewed, and though hampered by the wounded members of his clan, he made his escape. The spectacular attempt to capture the famous outlaw bore no fruit save wounds for many of the posse. Cap Hatfield, the man who is said to have a record of having killed eighteen men in his life, was gone. He was never apprehended.

Some years ago he lived in Virginia, apparently peaceably, but engaged in the sale of whiskey, a vocation which is almost certain to get him into trouble again, as it did two of his brothers, Elias and Troy, during October, 1911. They were shot and killed in a pistol duel at Cannelton, W. Va., by Octavo Gerone, an Italian, with whom they had a dispute over saloon property. The Italian opened fire upon the two Hatfields, fatally wounded both, and was himself instantly killed, riddled with bullets from the dying men. When the brothers were found by neighbors, the expiring Troy Hatfield made the characteristic remark: "You need not look for the man who did this, he is dead."

Years ago the prophecy was made that "Devil Anse" would inevitably die with his boots on. But he has confounded the prophets. He still lives, from last accounts. The daring feudist, who, with his sons, defied the law and authorities of three States, for twenty years, the chieftain of as daring a band of outlaws as ever trod American soil, has more than lived his "allotted three score years and ten." He is approaching the nineties. But a few days before the killing of Elias and Troy, just mentioned, he was converted and baptized, declaring that henceforth he would lead a Christian life. It was high time, a resolution unfortunately long deferred.

Randolph McCoy also passed the four score mark. He seemed to have borne a charmed life. Marked for assassination a hundred times, he had always escaped bodily harm. But his heart almost broke when three of his sons were slaughtered in one night; his spirit was crushed when another son and a young daughter were foully slain, his aged wife was brutally beaten and the home burned.

After all, he had the questionable satisfaction of assisting a few of his tormentors to a temporary berth in the penitentiary. One and only one was hanged, Ellison Mount, the slayer of Allifair, and he was the gainer at last, for he went straight to heaven. So he said. Perhaps he knew, perhaps he didn't.

Somehow, it seems difficult to believe that murderers should have a monopoly of heaven. The murderers' band there must be very large. Let a man be sentenced to death for a heinous crime, let his attempt to obtain a commutation to imprisonment prove abortive, and straightway he repents and away he goes--to heaven, so 'tis said. His victim, snatched into eternity without the formal preparations which orthodox religion prescribes for candidates for heaven, must suffer an eternity of hell.

They tell us "we shall know each other there." Will Randolph McCoy and his wife thrill with pleasure and be overcome with ecstatic spasms of happiness on beholding among the saints the slayers of four sons and a daughter? Will they join in the anthems warbled by these celestial birds, whose victims-- But let that be. We did not mean to be irreverent. We simply cannot help differing from the approved and established conception of God's justice.

THE TOLLIVER-MARTIN-LOGAN VENDETTA.

(ROWAN COUNTY)

The royal murder at Serajevo was the spark that set the world on fire. It would be silly, however, to place the blame of the world war upon it. To find the real causes of the appalling tragedy one must go further back.

So it is with the great Rowan County war. There were many agencies at work that contributed, little by little, but none the less surely, to that state of anarchy which disgraced Rowan County and Kentucky during the eighties. The evil influences which initiated it were: Politics and Whiskey. A weak-kneed, yea, corrupt administration of justice permitted its continuation. The reign of terror which continued so long unhindered could have been crushed in its infancy with any sort of an honest, determined effort at law enforcement.

A verse or two of Mulligan's "IN KENTUCKY" finds excellent application here:

"The bluegrass waves the bluest In Kentucky; Yet, bluebloods are the fewest (?) In Kentucky; Moonshine is the clearest, By no means the dearest, And yet, it acts the _queerest_ In Kentucky.

"The dove-notes are the saddest, In Kentucky: The streams dance on the gladdest In Kentucky: Hip pockets are the thickest, Pistol hands the slickest, The cylinder turns quickest In Kentucky.

"The song birds are the sweetest In Kentucky: The thoroughbreds are fleetest In Kentucky: Mountains tower proudest, Thunder peals the loudest, The landscape is the grandest, AND POLITICS--the damndest In Kentucky."

In the long continued struggle which brought Rowan County into disrepute, many families of high reputation, men of wealth and influence, as well as men of reckless, undaunted, desperate character, were pitted against each other. Officers of the law, lawyers, judges and politicians of more than ordinary ability and reputation, quarreled, disputed and excited such unreasoning passion as to result in bloodshed. After that the dogged, stubborn determination of the different factions admitted of no other settlement of the controversy save by the arbitrament of arms, a war to the death.

Patrick Henry cried out before the Virginia Convention: "Gentlemen may cry peace, peace, but there is no peace." In Rowan County, too, men cried continually for peace, yet there was to be no peace until anarchy had almost depopulated the county and its name had become synonymous with outlawry. The only alternative left was to leave the country or fight. Some did leave, most of them remained and fought, fought with a courage worthy of a better cause.

The courts appeared powerless. The officers were themselves bitter partisans. The government of the State, when applied to for troops to assist in restoring order, sometimes refused aid, owing to a technicality in the law, and thus was precipitated the famous bloody battle at Morehead, in which many men were killed and wounded.

It may be well to add that Rowan County was not a remote, inaccessible region where civilization had made but little progress, as was the case along the border of West Virginia and Kentucky, the scene of the Hatfield-McCoy war. Good roads and railroad communication had introduced to Rowan County even then a civilization which should have made the bloody conflict impossible; it certainly made it inexcusable.

It is difficult to produce a fair picture of the political upheavals and complications which eventually led to and resulted in so much bloodshed without going behind the actual outbreak of the feud. While this necessitates the narration of incidents of purely local interest, and may, therefore, not grip the interest of outsiders, a patient reading of it will develop the fact that it is indispensable to a true understanding of the history of this war, and also that it teaches a moral.

As early as 1874 political quarrels arose, engendering bitter hatred, between prominent, wealthy and influential men of Rowan and surrounding counties. At that time it was hoped and generally believed that the difficulties would be forgotten as soon as the heat of the political contests had abated. But as the years passed factional division grew more and more pronounced. Citizens who had theretofore held aloof from the disputes, were gradually and surely drawn into the vortex of strife. As is usual and unavoidable under such circumstances, many desperate, degraded characters attached themselves to the various factions. These would commit deeds for pay, from the commission of which the more circumspect employers of them shrank in fear. In such wars the hired assassin always finds lucrative employment. He becomes the blind tool of the coward with the money, and the greater the compensation the more horrible his crimes.

The innocent but direct cause of the political struggle to which we must refer, was the Honorable Thomas F. Hargis, who, in after years, rose to the highest judicial position in the State. His father, before him, served in the constitutional convention of the State in 1849 and was a very distinguished Kentuckian.

When the great rebellion broke out, Kentucky soon began to suffer the distress and horrors of civil war. It at first declared its intention to remain neutral. Governor McGoffin refused to furnish troops to the Union army and attempted to enforce neutrality by maintaining a "Home Guard." This brought on many conflicts with the State Guards. It became at once apparent that the two bodies of troops were nothing more than partisans. The Home Guards often employed their military power and authority in harassing and mistreating actual or suspected sympathizers with the cause of the South. The State Guards, on the other hand, used their influence and made every exertion toward turning the tide of public sentiment in favor of the Confederacy.

The sudden invasion of Kentucky by the federal troops was greeted with joy by the Home Guards, who made no attempt to repel it or to preserve the State's neutrality for which purpose they had been organized. The larger portion of the Home Guards, in fact, at once joined the Union army. The State Guards disbanded and a majority of them joined the Confederates. The division of Kentucky was now complete.

In the general rush to opposing armies we find Thomas Hargis donning the grey and fighting for the "Lost Cause" as captain until the close of the war.

Returning home, he studied law and was admitted to the bar. The date of this admission, an unimportant point it may seem, was nevertheless responsible for the internecine strife of after years.

In the year 1874, Captain Hargis, who had already won prominence as a lawyer of ability and sagacity, was nominated by the democratic party as its candidate for judge of the circuit court. Opposed to Hargis in this race was Geo. M. Thomas, afterwards United States District Attorney for the District of Kentucky. He was the nominee of the Republican party. The race was exceedingly hot and spirited from the beginning. The contest became bitter. It was charged by the friends of Thomas, among whom were not only the Republicans whose nominee and choice he was, but enemies of Hargis in the ranks of his own party, that he was not eligible to the office because he had not attained the requisite age, and that he was still further disqualified from holding the position of Circuit Judge because he had not been licensed as a lawyer for a sufficient number of years. These reports were industriously circulated against him. Appreciating the danger of such a rumor in a contest like this was, and knowing that only a prompt refutation and repudiation of the charges could prevent his signal and disastrous defeat, he hastened to obtain copies of the records of his age, and of the date of his admission to the bar from the records of the Clerk's office.

At the time of his candidacy Hargis was a resident of Carlisle, Nicholas County, but when admitted to the practice of the law had resided in Rowan County. So the records of his admission to the bar must be obtained there. He, therefore, went at once to Morehead and instituted an examination of the records, but to his consternation it revealed the astounding fact that the only record and evidence of his admission to the bar had been mutilated and destroyed; the pages containing them had been cut out from the books. Added to this was the unwelcome discovery that the family Bible had also been mutilated in so far as it contained the record of his age. The charges of ineligibility had been widely circulated and published in the newspapers and Hargis' inability to refute them for lack of record evidence now gave them the stamp and color of truth. The Republicans, and the personal enemies of Hargis among the Democrats, were jubilant, while his friends flatly and broadly accused Thomas' friends and supporters of the crime of stealing and destroying public records. This further increased the already bitter feeling. The friends of Thomas now charged that if any such records had ever existed Hargis himself had stolen and destroyed them. The result of it all was that Hargis was defeated by his Republican opponent, and this in a district theretofore always safely Democratic. The close of the contest brought out another truth no longer to be denied or overlooked. Every circumstance and condition existing after the election pointed clearly to the fact that something more than factional, political animosity, common in all hotly contested races for position, had been awakened and that in the hearts of many, malice had taken deep root. Each succeeding election only augmented the bitter feeling. Desire for revenge, and, what at first seemed but political excitement and zeal for the favored candidate, now caused friends of old to cancel their friendship and the most prominent leaders of the opposing factions regarded each other no longer as merely political, but as personal enemies.

In the year 1876 the Legislature of Kentucky created a Circuit Court for Commonwealth proceedings alone, the new district being composed of the same counties as the old. Hargis again announced himself a candidate for judge of the newly-organized court. This time he was elected with an easy majority. He continued in this office, which he filled with signal ability, until in the spring of 1879, when an event took place which opened to him the road to still higher honors, and also still further fanned the flame of political and personal strife.