The Kentucky Ranger
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Edward T. Curnick >> The Kentucky Ranger
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This narrative strongly affected the group of ministers, and some more
emotional than others shouted: "Praise the Lord! Hallelujah!"
"Brother Very, did I tell the story right?" said Harvey.
"You told it about as it was," responded Very, "only there is this
sequel to add: one of these young men made an able and successful
preacher. After traveling a few years his health failed, and he died
triumphantly."
A sallow-faced parson from the river-bottoms remarked: "Jasper Very has
been through many trying experiences, and I am going to ask him to tell
us how he conquered that cantankerous woman by tact and muscles."
Thus appealed to, Very told the following anecdote: "Some time ago I
crossed the Ohio River into the State of Illinois where I had some
preaching engagements. On one of my tours I met a local preacher who
was a small, good natured, pious and withal a useful preacher. He had a
wife who was a noted virago. She was high tempered, overbearing and
quarrelsome. She opposed her husband's preaching, and was unwilling he
should ask a blessing at the table or conduct family prayers. If he
persisted in his effort to pray she would run noisily about the rooms
and overturn the chairs. If unable to stop him any other way she would
catch a cat and throw it in his face while he was kneeling and trying
to pray. The little man had invited several preachers to his home to
talk with the woman and bring her to a better frame of mind, but she
cursed them to their face and raged like one possessed. Several times
he invited me to go home with him, but I was afraid to trust myself. I
pitied the poor little man so much that finally I yielded, and went
home with him one evening. When we arrived I saw she was mad, and the
devil was in her as big as an alligator. So I determined on my course.
After supper her husband said very kindly: 'Come, wife, stop your
little affairs, and let us have prayers.' To this she replied: 'I will
have none of your praying about me.' Speaking mildly, I expostulated
with her, but to no use; for the longer I spoke the more wrathful she
became, and she cursed me most bitterly. Then I spoke sternly and said:
'Madam, if you were a wife of mine, I would break you of your bad ways,
or I would break your neck.'
"'The devil you would!' she said. With this she poured upon me such a
torrent of curses as was almost beyond endurance.
"'Be still,' said I, 'we must and will have prayer.' Again she declared
we should not.
"'Now,' I remarked to her, 'if you do not be still, and behave
yourself, I'll put you out of doors.' At this she clenched her fist,
swore at me, and told me I could not put her out. I caught her by the
arm, and swinging her round in a circle brought her up to the cabin
door, and shoved her out. She jumped up, tore her hair, foamed, all the
time swearing in a terrible way. The door was made very strong to keep
out hostile Indians. I shut it tightly, barred it, and went to prayer.
Under such conditions praying was difficult, I assure you, but I was
determined to conquer or die.
"While she was raging, foaming and roaring on the outside I was singing
with a loud voice spiritual hymns on the inside to drown her words as
much as possible. At last she became perfectly exhausted and panted for
breath. Then she became calm and still, and knocking at the door said:
'Mr. Very, please let me in.'
"'Will you behave yourself, if I let you in?' said I.
"'O yes,' replied she, 'I will.' With this I opened the door, took her
by the hand, led her in, and seated her by the fire-place. She was in a
high perspiration, and looked pale as death. After she was seated she
said: 'What a fool I am.' 'Yes,' said I, 'about one of the biggest
fools I ever saw in my life. Now, you have to repent of all this or
your soul will be lost.' She sat silent, and I said 'Brother C., let us
pray again.' We kneeled down and both prayed. His wife was as quiet as
a lamb. And what is better, in less than six months this woman was
soundly converted, and became as bold in the cause of God as she had
been in the cause of the wicked one.'"
CHAPTER IV.
The Trail of the Serpent.
While these ministers of grace were engaged in pleasant conversation a
different kind of a crowd had met not far away. They were moonshiners.
Their rendezvous was a cave near the top of a hill about one mile back
from the Cumberland River. A motley company of about a dozen men they
were, dressed in cheap trousers supported by "galluses," coarse shirts,
and wide-brim straw hats.
Sam Wiles was leader of this band. As these pages are often to be
burdened with his name, we shall now take his measure. He belonged to
that part of the population called "poor whites." His parents had come
to the settlement when Sam was a little boy. They were poor, shiftless,
improvident, ignorant, and, worse than all, apparently contented with
their lot. They dwelt in a log cabin in the hills, and in a haphazard
way cultivated a few acres of half-barren land, raising a little corn,
tobacco, hay, fruit, and a few vegetables. There were six children in
the family, of whom Sam was the oldest. Five dogs guarded the house and
helped to make the inmates poor. "Tige," the coon dog, was the favorite
of this quintette.
Sam Wiles was the brightest of the children, his mind being naturally
active; but he had little disposition for study and very meager
opportunities, for "school kept" only a few weeks in a year. At the
time of this story he had just passed his majority, was somewhat above
medium height, solidly built, with broad, square shoulders. His brown
hair hung several inches below a coonskin cap he wore, and was
supplemented by a large mustache of which he was very proud.
Behold this leader of the moonshiners as he stirs the fire of logs
under the still and speaks to his pals:
"That war a mighty fine trick I played on Dick Granger, the revenue
deputy t'other night. He was after me with his dorgs, and saw me as I
was crossin' the road near Franklin Schoolhouse. 'Halt, there!' he
hollored; but I was not in the haltin' bizness, and I made tracks fur
Pigeon Crick close by. As I run he fired off his gun; but the light was
dim and I was mighty peart, and dodged in time. He called to his
bloodhounds and said, 'Sic 'im, Rex; ketch 'im Bull,' but by that time
I was wadin' in the crick. I run 'long till I cum to that big white oak
which grows by the crick where it makes a turn north, and I jumped and
caught a big branch an' pulled myself up into the tree. Then I walked
on the thick branches till I got to the furder side, and there war
standin' by the oak a mighty fine sugar maple with branches which
touched the oak. I walked out on an oak branch as fur as I could go,
and then swung from my hands back and for'ard with all my might. At
last my feet touched a branch and letting go my hands, I swung down
like a ham of meat in a smokehouse. Soon I pulled myself up and made
fifty feet crossing that tree, and then I dun the same turn to a big
walnut tree; and so on till I knew the dorgs could not track me, when I
clim down to the ground and got safe back to the cave."
"That war a monkey trick, shore nuff," said Tom Walker, a gaunt fellow
over six feet tall, who was stretched on the ground by the fire, and
who, because of his height, was usually called "Long Tom." In his
cavernous mouth he held an immense chew of tobacco, and ever and anon
he squirted tobacco juice into the fire with a precision and force
which showed long practice.
"I wish the devil would kill the whole crew of revenue officers," said
Wiles. "Why should we be hunted like wild beasts for makin' a few
gallons of whisky? Do we not raise the corn, and have we not a right to
turn it into drink? You fellers know how hard it is to make a living on
these hills; and if we make more money by changing corn into whisky,
why should we be hindered and our lives put into danger? We have a
right to make whisky and to drink it and to sell it, and I'm goin' to
do it in spite of all the officers in Kentucky," and he brought his big
fist down with a thwack on his knee to give emphasis to his words.[1]
[1] It was impossible for this lawbreaker to foresee that in
about one hundred years the whole whisky business in its
beverage aspects would be prohibited by law in the United
States, and that the sophistry he used would be employed by
multitudes in denying the eighteenth amendment to the national
constitution.
"Now yer speaking the truth, pardner," drawled Long Tom as he ejected
from his mouth a generous quantity of tobacco juice. "My father fit in
the Revolutionary War for liberty 'way down in ole Virginy, and I'll
never submit to have my right to make home-distilled whisky taken
away."
"Always stick to that and you'uns will be a man, even if you'uns die
with yer boots on."
The speaker was Zibe Turner, a creature who would pass for a Calaban. A
monster he was except his legs, which were short and slim, giving him a
dwarfish appearance. So he was a monster dwarf, if such a term is
allowable. His head was immense in size, covered with long unkempt
hair. His shoulders, arms and trunk would become a giant. A look at his
face showed a low forehead, black, restless eyes, wide apart, flat
nose, and large mouth.
Like Calaban he could be called "hag-seed," or the son of a witch and a
devil.
His moral nature was as misshapen as his body. His mind was degraded,
yet keen in plotting mischief and violence. His affections were
debased. Prospero's description of Calaban applied to him:
"Abhorred slave which any print of goodness will not take
Being capable of all ill."
The words of Saint Paul to the sorcerer fitted him: "O full of all
subtlety and all mischief, thou child of the devil, thou enemy of all
righteousness." He was a type of those whom the apostle described as
"filled with all unrighteousness, fornication, wickedness,
covetousness, maliciousness; full of envy, murder, deceit,
malignity--implicable, unmerciful."
Strangely enough, one of the moonshiners had read Shakespeare's
"Tempest," and gave Caliban's title of "monster" to Zibe Turner. From
that day he was generally nicknamed "Monster Turner."
"Always stick to dat," repeated Turner in his deep, gutteral voice.
"Let's drink to de health of all moonshiners and to de defeat an' death
of all revenue spies. Dat's my holt (hold)." Suiting the action to the
words, he raised a stone jug nearly full of spirits to his lips and
taking a long draught, handed it to the next, and so it went the
rounds. The liquor, which would have made an ordinary drinker
intoxicated in a few minutes, had no perceptible effect upon these men,
who scarcely ever tasted water, so commonly did they drink the product
of their stills; but it perhaps raised their feelings a trifle and
loosened their tongues to speak other words and strengthened their
purposes to perform unlawful acts.
Sam Wiles then spoke: "Next to these officer dorgs who hunt us on the
hills and mountains, I hate them shoutin' hypercrits who air holdin'
that camp meetin' near Poplar Crick. They're tryin' to make the whul
county pious, and you fellers know how their head men have jined with
others around here to appint a vigilance committee to drive all such as
we'uns air out'n the State. Because we believe in pursonal liberty,
because we think it right to make our own whisky and to race our
hosses, because we sometimes try our luck at cards and win money from
the young fools in the valley, they want to put the law on our tracks.
Now the more camp meetin's we have around here, the less pursonal
liberty we shall have; and I propose to you'ns that we jine with the
boys on Honey Crick and bust up the camp meetin'."
This proposition was hailed with delight by all the company except Long
Tom. When he had cleared his mouth of juice, he drawled out: "Byes,
none of ye would like to see that meetin' capsized better nor I would.
But we must be sure of our ground. I have hearn that the star preacher
there--what's his name? Jasper Hurry? No. Very? That's it, Jasper Very.
I have hearn that he is almighty strong and brave, and we had better be
keerful how we tackle 'im."
"Shucks," said Wiles, "they air all cowards, and their magistrates will
run at the first attack; and I say it is to our interest to break up
that meetin', and do it right away. What do you say, byes?"
They all consented to the attack, and took another swig around from the
big jug to seal the agreement.
"Now," said their leader, "it's time you'ns went to yer homes. Zibe
Turner will stay, and we'uns will tend de fire. Long Tom, tomorrow you
go to Bert Danks, the captain of the Honey Crick crowd, and ask him and
his pals to meet us here in de evenin'."
CHAPTER V.
Rowdies in Camp.
Sam Wiles and Zibe Turner attended to the still while the day began to
wane, and shadows cast by the tall hills were lengthening over the
plain.
When darkness finally came Wiles continued to replenish the fire and
supply the necessary water from a running stream. His boon companion
threw himself down on some cedar boughs within the cave's mouth and was
soon asleep. His watch would come later on.
While this precious pair of "wildcatters" are thus employed, a good
opportunity is given us to describe their retreat.
Their rendezvous was called Wind Cave, and was discovered a few years
before by a young brother of Sam Wiles. The boy, Ephraim Wiles, one day
was hunting stray cattle on some hills skirting the Cumberlands River,
when he came to the top of a hill which was nearly bare of timber and
whose southern side was a sheer perpendicular of rock for several feet
down. The boy stood looking over this precipice, lost his footing, and
fell down the cliff. He was unhurt, for about fifteen feet below was a
level place a few feet across covered with leaves and moss and upon
this he landed. When he had recovered from his surprise, he looked
about him and saw that the hillside below him was very steep, with
trees and bushes growing thickly in the soil. Then he turned his eyes
toward the rock, and beheld an aperture of considerable size partly
covered by bushes and decayed vegetation. With a boy's curiosity and
daring he crawled into the opening, and found himself in a cave of
moderate dimensions. Finding in it nothing but broken rocks and white
walls and a small stream of water flowing along, he soon crept out, and
knowing no way of escape save down the hill side, slipped over the
edge, and by holding on to bushes and shrubs and checking himself
against trunks of trees he finally reached the bottom, and, returning
home, told of his discovery to the family.
From this time the cave became the resort of Sam Wiles and his
moonshiners, and here they carried on their illicit distilling with
little fear of detection. They explored its interior thoroughly, and
discovered that the cave went north for a considerable distance, when
it turned to the east, its dimensions becoming narrower as they
proceeded. At last they came to a second entrance which opened upon the
hill's side about midway between top and bottom. This aperture was
partially close by fallen logs and decayed leaves and mold. The two
openings made the cave a sort of tunnel, and because there was always a
current of air passing through the passages they named it "Wind Cave."
The narrow entrance was used for receiving sacks of corn, barrels, and
other necessaries of their unlawful work, and also for removing the
whisky after it had been made. The men kept this hole well secured by
covering it with brush. As the other part of the cave was much larger,
it was there that the still was set up, and there the outlaws usually
remained.
Behold them this Saturday evening brewing mischief as well as
distilling whisky. They were a reckless, religion-hating crowd. They
were mostly young men, though some had passed middle life. Nearly all
were shabbily dressed, and of large and bony frame. The faces of most
were heavy and dull showing marks of dissipation. Others, especially
the very young men, were really fine specimens of Kentucky physical
manhood. They had rosy cheeks, bright eyes, and a ready smile and
laugh. Surely they were worthy of a better cause.
In a way they were as jolly and hearty, as full of fun and jokes, as
the ministers themselves. Their conversation was coarse and marred the
King's English; it was boisterous and narrow, but it fitted their
characters.
They were seated on logs or on the moss-covered ground in or near the
cave's mouth. Each one was smoking a corncob pipe or rolling a quid of
tobacco under his tongues.
These men had no compunctions of conscience either as to the
lawlessness of their business, or to their desire and will to disturb
the peace of the camp meeting. Sam Wiles speaks: "Fellers, tomorrer is
Sunday, and we'uns must spile their meetin' on de camp ground. You'ns
must arm yo'selves with any weapons you'ns can git--dirks, knives,
clubs, and horsewhips. You'ns, Long Tom and Bert Banks, will walk right
into de crowd while de preacher is spoutin' and start to break up de
meetin'. De rest of you'ns must be ready to help."
"Right you air," said Bert Danks, captain of the Honey Crick band.
"Long Tom and I will go, and I 'low all we'uns can make a rip-roarin'
time, for we'll frighten de people, and be too much for de preachers
and magistrates. I'll bring a passel of my bully byes with me, and
they'll make things lively at de camp."
Long Tom remained silent, but a close observer might have seen a look
on his face telling that his part of the program was not exactly
agreeable, but he was not a man to shirk a hard task.
"Won't I laugh to hear de women scream and to see 'em run over benches
like scart sheep," said Monster Turner. "You'ns will have to be right
smart to keep up with me on de camp ground, for I'm goin' to have my
fightin' clothes on from hat to boots. Confound 'em, dose pesky
preachers won't fight, and we'll be too many for de officers. Dat's my
holt."
These words wrought the men up to a higher pitch of excitement, and
Wiles their leader, wishing still further to work on their feelings,
said to Lem Curtis, a blue eyed youth of eighteen:
"Lem, you air de best singer in de bunch, and I want you to lead us in
our favorite song. No revenues air near tonight, and we'uns air safe
from danger if we'uns do not sing too loud."
Thus appealed to, Lem Curtis started a well known refrain, the rest
joining in heartily.
After all had paid their respects to the brown jug Sam Wiles dismissed
the meeting with these words: "We'uns shall meet near de edge of de
camp on de east at seven o'clock tomorrer mornin', an' all you fellers
be shore to be in time."
Sunday morning dawned beautiful and bright. The numbers on the camp
ground were constantly being increased by persons coming on horseback,
in buggies, wagons, and every known vehicles. Jasper Very was the
preacher at ten o'clock. Everything proceeded in a becoming manner
until he was half through his discourse, when up stalked near to the
stand Bert Danks and Long Tom with hats on and loaded whips in their
hands. They remained standing, and began talking in an audible voice
with some women of their acquaintance. Naturally many eyes were turned
to this scene, and the attention given to the speaker was lost.
Jasper Very stopped in his sermon and, turning to the rowdies, said:
"Young men, this is a religious meeting, held by Christian people, and
protected by the laws of Kentucky. You will therefore get down off
those benches, cease from talking, and be quiet and orderly."
Instead of complying with this request, both of the rowdies cursed the
preacher, and said: "You'ns mind yer own bizness. We'uns will not get
down from dese seats."
Jasper knew that trouble was present, and being sure that it was vain
to continue preaching, he cried out: "I call for the magistrates on
this ground to come forward and take these men into custody." There
were several officers at hand; but they, being afraid, declared they
could not arrest them.
Jasper spoke to them: "Command me to take them, and I will do it at the
risk of my life." Saying this, he advanced toward them. "Stand off,"
shouted both of the rowdies; but the preacher walked forward, when Bert
Danks struck at him with his loaded whip, but that moment Jasper seized
him and jerked him off the bench. A regular scuffle ensued, and the
congregation was in great commotion. The magistrates, having found
their courage, commanded all friends of order to aid in suppressing the
riot. By this time Jasper Very had thrown Bert Danks down and, despite
his utmost efforts to arise, held him fast. About the same instant two
lusty farmers who were standing by the preacher took hold of Long Tom
and bore him to the ground.
Then the mob headed by Sam Wiles and Monster Turner with loud outcries
rushed to the rescue of the prisoners. They knocked down seven
magistrates and several preachers and many others. At this point Jasper
Very gave his prisoner to others, and threw himself in front of the
order-loving people. At once Sam Wiles confronted him. His eyes were
blazing with bitter hate. His rage was so great that it weakened his
judgment, and he struck out again and again at Very to fell him. The
last time he struck at him the momentum threw the side of his face
toward the preacher. It was too great a temptation to resist and Jasper
hit him a sudden and powerful blow in the ear which dropped him to the
earth.
Meantime the fight was waxing fierce in another direction. Zibe Turner
led a part of the mob to the right of the fighting, and attempted a
flank movement. He seemed like a personification of Satan. His black
eyes glared with a terrible fury, and with his long arms outstretched
he rushed on the fray. His voice of command seemed a mixture of beast
and human. Women shrieked and fled before him, and he had the
satisfaction of seeing them indeed fall over the rough benches. With
oaths and shouts his men followed, and many camp meeting folks were
knocked down and bruised.
If it had not been for John Larkin, "the square man," the mob might
have won. In the midst of all the excitement and noise he remained calm
and wise. He had helped in resisting the attack in front, when,
glancing to the right, he saw the monster dwarf approaching, knocking
the people about with his long and powerful arms. Larkin put himself in
his way, and as he got nearer said:
"Are you monkey, man, or devil, or the three combined? Whoever you are,
you must reckon with me."
"I'm de man who can whip ary sneakin' braggin' preacher on dis ground.
Dat's my holt," replied Turner.
With this he threw himself upon Larkin, and they were clasped in a
close embrace. The monster dwarf gripped the preacher's body in his
terrible arms with a strength like that of a grizzly bear, and it
seemed to Larkin as though his ribs would crack and his breath leave
him. But while the dwarf's arms were abnormally strong, his legs were
weak, whereas Larkin's limbs were as sturdy as an oak tree. Besides, in
his school days he had learned several wrestling tricks, and now he
used one to throw Turner to the ground. There they continued to
struggle for some time, the friends of each trying to help him. But by
this time the mob in the other quarter had been subdued; and Jasper
Very coming to the rescue of his colleague, the monster dwarf was
conquered and several of his aids subdued and captured.
All the prisoners were sent to the county seat, and placed in jail,
there to await their trial before the criminal court over which Judge
LeMonde presided.
CHAPTER VI.
Under the Pine Trees.
Judge William LeMonde lived about three miles from the camp ground we
have described. He was the richest man in his township, his farm
consisting of one thousand acres stretching from the Cumberland River
back to some high hills about one mile distant. That part lying on the
river was like a garden of the Lord for richness of soil. In this land
Indian corn, tobacco, cabbage, and potatoes grew to perfection. Midway
between the river and the high hills was a narrow ridge which ran
parallel with the river. This natural backbone of land reached its
greatest height on Mr. LeMonde's farm. But the highest point of all had
been increased in size by artificial means. In prehistoric times a race
of people living in this region had added earth to this hill until they
had made an almost circular mound, which became a conspicuous object in
the valley. Mr. LeMonde's father, who bought the farm many years
before, called the hill "Mount Pisgah." He was a descendant of the
French Huguenots. When he came from Louisiana he built a log house on
this elevation. A few years before our narrative opens Mr. William
LeMonde had removed this log house and built a spacious mansion of
brick. It was the only brick building for miles around.
The mansion Judge LeMonde erected was an ornament to this beautiful
site. It was two stories high, crowned with a French mansard roof. It
faced the river and a country road which ran along the river bank. The
visitor stepped upon a broad piazza, and then entered through a wide
and ornamented doorway a large hall from which ascended a broad flight
of stairs. On the left was a spacious drawing-room, carpeted with an
imported Brussels and adorned with several oil paintings. It contained
a piano, an instrument seldom seen in those days. Back of this room was
the owner's study or private apartment. On the right was a room half
the size of the drawing-room, all finished in white, containing on the
river side a fine bay-window. This room was fitted up with much taste
as a family living-room. At the rear of this was a large dining-room,
and beyond this a kitchen in which the colored cook, Aunt Dinah, ruled
supreme. On the second floor were several large bedchambers furnished
in a neat and becoming manner. One hundred yards west of the house, on
the ridge, was a cluster of negro cabins, and beyond these an immense
barn, the largest in the county.
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