The Hatfields and the McCoys

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by Otis K. K. Rice


  Not long afterward, while Wall was on guard, Sarah McCoy and her daughter-in-law Mary Butcher, the wife of Tolbert, appeared. Recognizing the women, Wall stopped them at the steps of the building. Sarah began a tearful plea for permission to see her sons. Both Wall and Devil Anse had mixed feelings about granting her request, but Devil Anse finally gave the word to allow them to enter, and he and Wall permitted them to spend a considerable time with the prisoners. By ten o’clock Sarah, crying, praying, and pleading, was nearing hysteria. Charley Carpenter, one of the guards stationed among the trees surrounding the schoolhouse, commanded her to cease. About that time someone shouted that Randolph McCoy was across the Tug Fork, organizing a rescue party, a rumor without a shred of truth. The Hatfields thereupon ordered the sobbing women to leave. They disappeared into the darkness, to spend the night at the home of Dr. Jim Rutherford.

  The next morning, while Mary still slept, Sarah returned to Mate Creek, but Wall warned her to leave and not come back. Periodic news concerning Ellison left no doubt that he lay near death, and several of the numerous Hatfield clan who visited the schoolhouse to see the prisoners freely predicted that the McCoy brothers themselves had but a short time to live. Ellison (“Cotton Top”) Mounts, reputedly the son of Ellison Hatfield, entered the building and made threats against the McCoys, but Wall ordered him out.

  On Wednesday, August 9, 1882, Ellison died. Already, Devil Anse, who had visited his dying brother and heard from his own lips an account of the election-day fight which implicated all three of the McCoys, had decided upon a course of action. When news of Ellison’s death reached the school-house, a band of Hatfield partisans helped the prisoners to their feet and marched them off to Kentucky. On the way they met Joe Davis, a witness to the death of Ellison, who confirmed that Randolph, Jr., the youngest of the three brothers, had assisted Tolbert and Pharmer in the stabbing of Ellison. At the mouth of Mate Creek they crossed the Tug Fork to the Kentucky side. There, in a small depression, not far from the riverbank, they stopped and bound the McCoys to some pawpaw bushes. Then, within the space of a few seconds, they fired some fifty shots into the brothers.

  Jim McCoy, who had already heard of Ellison’s death, was sitting on the porch of Asa McCoy’s cabin, at the mouth of Sulphur Creek, during the firing. Hearing the fusillade, he moved to the edge of the porch and obtained a glimpse of the flashes of the last shots. Later that night, Jim, suspecting that the Hatfields had carried out a threat to put an end to his brothers, gathered some of the men of the neighborhood, including Anderson Ferrell and Sam Simpkins, and crossed over to the Kentucky side of the Tug River. With the aid of lanterns, they climbed to the scene of the shooting, near a sinkhole where men had earlier thrown the carcasses of sheep-killing dogs. Swinging from the bushes were the bullet-riddled bodies of Tolbert and Pharmer. Tolbert’s hand was clasped over his head, as if to ward off the bullets, one of which had passed through his skull. Young Randolph remained in a kneeling position, with the entire top of his head blown off.8

  Following the grisly events of August 9, funerals were held on both sides of the Tug Fork. On the afternoon of August 10 friends of the Hatfields carried the coffin of Ellison Hatfield from the home of his brother Elias to a grave prepared nearby. The following day a similar procession left the McCoy house bearing three hastily constructed coffins. It wound its way down the trail a short distance and then ascended a steep path to a burial ground on a cleared mountain shelf, where the bodies of Tolbert, Pharmer, and Randolph, Jr., were lowered into a single grave.9

  One significant difference marked the two funerals. That of Ellison Hatfield represented a death avenged. The McCoys went to their graves without retribution by either law or family. Almost immediately after the discovery of their bodies, the coroner had held an inquest, but the jury had announced that they had been killed by persons unknown, a report technically true, since no witnesses testified against the Hatfields and their friends and all evidence of guilt was purely circumstantial.10

  Although he knew that the alleged murderers resided in West Virginia and that there was almost no chance of extradition, Judge George N. Brown of the Pike County Circuit Court determined that the form if not the substance of justice must be satisfied. He charged a grand jury, without a Hatfield or a McCoy as a member, with naming the killers of the McCoys. After ten days of deliberation, the grand jury returned indictments against twenty men. They were Devil Anse Hatfield, his brothers Wall and Elias, his sons Cap and Johnse, Charley Carpenter, Joe Murphy, Dock, Plyant, and Sam Mahon, Selkirk McCoy and his sons Albert and L. D., Tom Chambers, Lark and Andrew Varney, Dan and John Whitt, Alex Messer, and Elijah Mounts.

  Four days later, on September 18, 1882, Judge Brown issued bench warrants for Jacob Puckett, Matthew Hatfield, the Reverend Anderson Hatfield, Richard Hatfield, James McCoy, Tolbert McCoy, an uncle of the murder victims, James Francisco, Anderson Ferrell, John C. Francis, Samuel Simpkins, Uriah McCoy, George Sprouse, Floyd Hatfield, Harriet Simpkins, Mont Stafford, Scott Allen, and Sarah McCoy as witnesses for the state.11

  When the next term of court convened in February 1883, the sheriff reported that he had been unable to arrest any of the twenty men named in the indictments. Beside each name in the court records he wrote, “Not found in this county February 19, 1883,” a phrase that meant nothing more than an admission of the unwillingness of the sheriff and his men to confront the Hatfields, who continued to cross the Tug Fork into Kentucky, but always in heavily armed bands. For over five years the Hatfields and their associates escaped arrest. Their open defiance of civil authority in Kentucky further weakened an enfeebled system of justice in Pike County and contributed to a prolongation of the feud.12

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  THE SMOLDERING FIRES

  THE HATFIELDS and the McCoys showed little inclination to maintain the tempo of action that characterized the week following the election of 1882, which left Ellison Hatfield and Tolbert, Pharmer, and Randolph McCoy, Jr., dead. Some of them may have occasionally fired upon a member or a cabin of the opposing clan. Stories circulated of men who mysteriously disappeared and of hunters who came upon unidentified bones, which they assumed to be of human origin and about which they kept a discreet silence. Such reports, which may have contained an element of truth, must be accepted, however, with considerable reservation, since the disappearance of a protagonist on either side would not have gone unnoticed or, if need be, unavenged.

  Although the feud entered one of its quieter periods, both the Hatfields and the McCoys felt the strain of the constant watchfulness. The Hatfields occasionally rode to Pikeville, but they traveled in companies adequate for their protection and were heavily armed. The McCoys also ventured into West Virginia, and they took the same precautions.

  The participation of Devil Anse in the killings appears to have reached a climax with the slaying of the sons of Randolph McCoy. After that incident he became less active in confrontations between the two families, although many regarded him as still the archschemer behind most of the deaths that occurred in later years. The ostensible leader of the Hatfield clan from then on appeared more and more to be Cap, the second son of Devil Anse.

  Ironically, as Devil Anse’s passion for vengeance appeared to subside, that of Randolph McCoy seemed to increase. Yet even McCoy sought redress by legal means. He pinned his hopes on Perry Cline, a Pikeville attorney and the brother of Martha Cline McCoy, the widow of Randolph’s brother Harmon. Described as “a tall, rather stoop-shouldered man, with a pale face and full, long, black beard that extends up to a Blaine nose,” Cline had an intelligent, gentlemanly bearing. He had grown up near the Tug Fork, but had moved to Pikeville, where he won election to public office on several occasions. In 1873 he was a successful candidate for the Kentucky House of Delegates, and he also served in the state’s Democratic convention. In later years he supplemented his income by serving as deputy sheriff and jailer of Pike County.1

  Through mountain gossip and their own intelligence, the Hatfields learned
that Randolph McCoy was planning a trip to Pikeville, evidently to consult with Cline. Randolph combined a morose nature with a tendency to talk about his troubles with all who would listen. The Hatfields therefore gathered rather precise information about his purposes and plans for travel. Despite an apparent preference on the part of Devil Anse to allow feelings to cool, the Hatfields had no intention of permitting Randolph to array the legal authority of Pike County against them. On the day that he was to leave, members of the Hatfield clan took up positions along the trail that he would use. Their plan, however, miscarried. They shot at two men, whom they mistook for Randolph and his son Calvin, from ambush, wounding one and killing the horses of both. Their victims turned out to be nephews of Randolph, John and Henderson Scott, and the McCoys, who left home somewhat later than they had planned, escaped almost certain death.2

  Although not connected directly with the feud, an incident in the spring of 1883 reinforced the belief that no Hatfield would willingly submit to confinement in a Kentucky jail. On March 5 a police guard removed Montaville Hatfield, who had been charged with murder, from a Wolfe County jail to the Montgomery County jail in Mount Sterling. Sentiment had run so high in Wolfe County that authorities feared that Montavilles friends might try to rescue him or that his enemies might remove him and kill him. Montaville was the son of Elexious Hatfield, a brother of the Reverend Anderson Hatfield, and a cousin of Devil Anse. At least one newspaper reporter, therefore, could not resist the urge to link him with the activities of the West Virginia clan and even with the murder of the three McCoys in 1882.

  One morning the wife of the jailer at Mount Sterling observed a rope made of blankets suspended from an upper-story window of the jail, a clear indication of a jailbreak. An investigation disclosed that three of the prisoners, among them Montaville Hatfield, had escaped by tearing loose a cell door, breaking away a stone supporting the grating over the window, and making the rope of blankets. One newspaper speculated that the escapees had planned their strategy well in advance and had obtained assistance from someone on the outside. Another prisoner stated that the trio had told him of their plans and that they were headed for West Virginia to join their friends and to find safety from Kentucky authorities.3

  Meanwhile, Johnse, the casanova of the Hatfields, began to have his own problems. Drawn to the McCoys as if by some fatal attraction, he had married Nancy, a cousin of Rose Anna, but neither the Hatfields nor the McCoys looked upon this alliance between their families with approval. Although Johnse had a reputation as a domineering man, Nancy soon established her authority over their household, and it became common knowledge that Johnse was henpecked. The McCoys may have gloated over a kind of victory over the Hatfields, but Devil Anse looked upon Johnse’s meekness with disgust.

  The Hatfields might have endured Nancy’s domination of Johnse, but they could not tolerate her disloyalty to the clan. Not long after the marriage of Johnse and Nancy, they became convinced that someone was providing detailed information of their plans and actions to the McCoys. Nancy, they reasoned, must be the link with the enemy. From Nancy, the trail led to the residence of Bill Daniels, on the West Virginia side of the Tug Fork. Daniels was a peaceable man, who gave no offense to his neighbors, but his wife, Mary, was a sister of Nancy and in every way her equal in her ability to control her husband.

  Nancy and Mary thrived on gossip, and the events of the feud between the Hatfields and the McCoys fascinated them. They visited each other frequently and exchanged information freely. In time the Hatfields assured themselves that Nancy and Mary were supplying information to the McCoys. Knowing that neither of their husbands was master in his own house, they decided to take matters into their own hands.

  One night Cap, acting for the family, and Tom Wallace burst into the Daniels cabin and held the family at gunpoint. One of them backed Daniels and his daughter against the wall and held them, while the other lashed Mary Daniels with a cow’s tail. The intruders then changed places, and one held Mary Daniels and her husband at bay, while the other whipped their daughter, also much given to gossip, with the cow’s tail. The two men had nothing against Daniels, but when they left they warned the two women to stay at home and mind their own affairs.

  Wallace had his own reasons for the attack. The Daniels girl had lived with him for a time as his wife but had left after finding out that he had tricked her into a mock wedding ceremony. Wallace had not been able to persuade her to return and may have sought vengeance for her leaving. The Daniels family had no difficulty in identifying their assailants, who made no attempt whatever at any disguise, and complained far and wide of the indignities that they had suffered.4

  Not long after the visit of Cap Hatfield and Tom Wallace to the Daniels cabin, Jeff McCoy, the brother of Nancy and Mary, found himself in trouble. In the fall of 1886, while at a dance, he killed Fred Wolford, a Pike County mail carrier. Upon the advice of his older brother, Lark, who lived on Peter Creek, Jeff decided to leave Kentucky rather than face arrest and possible imprisonment. He made West Virginia and the home of his sister Nancy his destination, confident that he could persuade her husband, Johnse, to accord him the welcome which he expected as a brother-in-law.

  At the Hatfield residence Jeff heard details of the attack upon his sister and niece by Cap and Tom Wallace. He allowed his desire for revenge to lead him down a tortuous path to his death. Jeff learned that Wallace, for whom he had a special contempt, was working as a hand at the home of Cap. He formulated a plan for capturing Wallace and taking him to the Pikeville jail. Ignoring the risk that he himself might be arrested, he waited for an occasion when Cap was away from home. Then, with Josiah Hurley, a crony willing to do his bidding, he rode over to the Hatfield farm. The two men tied their horses a short distance from the house and stole upon Wallace, who was working in the yard. Suddenly they sprang upon the unsuspecting Wallace, and before he could offer any resistance they had him on the way to Pikeville.

  A mountaineer born and bred, Wallace was not without resources in dealing with men of his own kind. As the trio rode toward Pikeville, he watched his chance and suddenly jumped from his horse and ran into the woods. His captors shot at him but inflicted only a flesh wound. Wallace managed to elude them and to reach Cap’s house. He barricaded himself inside the sturdy structure, and McCoy and Hurley tried in vain to force their way in. Wallace tried to shoot one or both of his abductors, but he found no opportunity. On the other hand, he himself remained secure against the bullets which McCoy and Hurley rained against the doors and windows in an attempt to force him out. Foiled in their efforts to recapture him, Jeff and Hurley withdrew from the scene.

  When Cap returned and heard of the attack, his temper flared. His fury stemmed not only from the damage to his house but also from the danger to which his wife, who was confined to her bed by illness, had been exposed. The next day he and Wallace appeared before a justice of the peace, and Wallace swore out warrants for the arrest of Jeff McCoy and Josiah Hurley. Cap procured for himself an appointment as a special constable for the express purpose of serving the warrants. In his search for retribution, he proposed to arm himself with the authority of the law as well as the usual deadly accoutrements of the Hatfield clan.

  Cap arrested McCoy and Hurley with little difficulty and set out with them for Logan. On the way he and Wallace, who accompanied him, stopped at the house of William Ferrell, near Thacker, on Tug Fork. While they were there, Jeff escaped. Cap and Wallace chased him to the Tug Fork. With his captors in close pursuit, Jeff jumped into the stream and swam toward the Kentucky shore. Bullets from the rifles of his pursuers splashed all around him, but he reached the bank on the Kentucky side. Just when success seemed at hand and he reached for a protruding root to pull himself to safety, a bullet struck him, inflicting a fatal wound, and he fell dying back into the water.5

  Once again Devil Anse attempted to calm a threatened tempest. On December 26, 1886, in response to a letter from Perry Cline, he wrote the Pikeville attorney that the
Hatfields were “very sorry” for the trouble that had occurred. Although it had taken place under “aggravated circumstances,” he told Cline, “I know and solemnly affirm that if such could have been prevented by me I would have stoped [sic] the Trouble.” The Hatfield spokesman gave a brief description of the attack upon Cap’s cabin, the capture of Jeff McCoy, and McCoy’s dramatic but unsuccessful attempt to escape. Devil Anse expressed the hope that “if thier [sic] is any ambition Relative to this affare [sic] … it will be quieted by a fair statement of the case.” He sought to reassure Cline by declaring, “I will say to all the relatives of Jeff McCoy that neither one of the Hatfields has any animosity against them” and that he himself was “very sorry that such has occured [sic] and sincerely Trustfed] that their [sic] will be no more Trouble in regard to the matter.”

  Devil Anse concluded his letter by saying, “Perryf,] the very Bottom of this crime is nothing more nor less than Mary Daniels and her girls. Now Bill [Daniels] is going and says he wont [sic] come back. No person is going to trouble him; let him come back.” The letter, written for Devil Anse by an unidentified person, has the ring of genuine sincerity. Addressing Cline by his given name and signing himself “Your friend,” Devil Anse clearly hoped to restore a measure of peace to relations between the Hatfields and the McCoys.6

  Unlike Devil Anse, however, some members of both the Hatfield and McCoy families yearned for revenge. They included Cap Hatfield and Jim Vance on one side and on the other Randolph McCoy and Asa Harmon McCoy, Jr., known as Bud, whose father had been killed by the Hatfields and who himself had a reputation as one of the most dangerous men in Kentucky. With men such as they thirsting for blood, any efforts at calming the turbulent waters had little chance of success.

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