Tag Archives: Lincoln County

Caleb Headley 2

09 Wednesday Oct 2013

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The new “Mrs. Headley” — Sarah Farley — was born on May 26, 1849 to William Floyd and Elizabeth Jane (Clark) Jones-Farley in Logan County, (West) Virginia. She was a full 21 years younger than Caleb’s oldest child and barely older than his youngest child by his first wife. Her grandfather was Captain Henry Farley, who led an Indian raid down the Guyandotte River through present-day Logan County in the early 1790s and was one of the county’s earliest settlers.

Caleb and Sarah Headley had the following children: Lat. Headley, born May 1, 1866, died before 1870; John Timothy Headley, born April 20, 1867, married Emaline Susan Sias then Emarine Elkins in 1930, died March 29, 1956; Ida Cosby Headley, born March 23, 1869, married John Christian Henon Frye, died September 22, 1948; Caleb David Headley, born February 22, 1872, died about 1895; William Franklin “Will” Headley, born August 25, 1875, married Caroline Lucas, died January 1960; Margaret Headley, born March 28, 1878, married Zachary T. Neace, died 1911; and Ballard P. Headley, born April 14, 1880, married Claire D. Clark in 1924, died circa 1958.

Headley, a doctor, and Sarah, a midwife, combined to serve the medical needs of the community.

“Doctor Headley treated whatever ailed people,” said Ward Adkins, in a 2003 interview. “And Grandma Sarah was a midwife from the time she was young. She delivered way over a hundred babies, practically all of us. People paid them with whatever they had: chickens, garden stuff.”

In the 1870 Lincoln County Census (Harts Creek District, Household #16), Headley was listed as 62 years old, while Sarah was 27, John was 3 and Cosby was 1. Caleb had $160 worth of real estate and $350 of personal property.

Two years later, in 1872, Headley bought 145 acres of land valued at one dollar per acre from George Hager.

“Beginning at a chestnut oak, corner to Harman Stroud on the ridge between the Big Branch and the Sulphur Spring Branch,” according to the deed, “thence N. 20 W. 100 poles to a white oak and ash on the middle point of Big Branch, thence S. 87 E. 85 poles to a stake a corner to Daniel Messer, thence with his line, S. 70 E. 196 poles to a white oak and beech, a corner to Brumfield’s heirs lands, thence S. 5 W. 160 poles to a double beech, thence N. 55 W. 84 poles to a maple corner to Corbin Estep, thence with his line, S. 71 W. 43 poles to a locust, thence N. 45 W. 155 poles more or less and with Stroud’s calls to the beginning.”

In 1879, Headley purchased 62 acres worth one dollar per acre from a land company.

“Beginning at a poplar on the John Fry Branch,” reads the deed, “thence south 52 poles to a white oak S. 30 E. 40 poles to a ‘sour gum’ E. 70 W. 156 poles to a stake, N. 45 E. 153 poles to a poplar and beech in the old Hager Line, then with it S. 16 E. 77 poles to the beginning.”

In 1880, Caleb was listed in the Harts Creek District of Lincoln County as a 72-year-old physician. Interestingly, this was the first instance in which Headley, who claimed to have been a practicing physician for nearly fifty years in an interview conducted during the early 1880s, declared his occupation as anything other than farming.

“I know Will said he could cure cancer,” said Adkins. “He said he was born with a cancer on his stomach and he had to sleep on a pillow until he was four years old. He had to wait until that sore was large enough for his daddy to take it off. Will had a scar as big as a fifty-cent piece on his stomach. He showed it to me several times. He said, ‘That’s where Paw took the cancer off of me.’ Grandpaw Neace told me that, too. He took one off of some of their family. He died with his secret, though. He never did tell nobody what he knew.”

In 1881, Headley bought 150 acres of land worth two dollars per acre from G.W. Hager, giving him a total property acreage of 357.

The following year, he either purchased more land or surveyed his existing properties. Tax books record him with the following tracts: 210 acres worth two dollars per acre containing a $100 building; 200 acres worth $1.50 per acre; and 45 acres worth $1.50 per acre. In total, according to tax records, he owned 455 acres worth $888.

Around that time, Henry H. Hardesty published a biographical sketch on Headley and several of his neighbors in a Lincoln County history.

“Caleb Headley is now a prosperous farmer, owning 600 acres of good land on Fourteen-mile creek, a portion of which is heavily timbered with oak, poplar and pine; coal and iron ore in abundance. There is a fine sulphur spring upon the land, on the creek three miles from Guyan river, which has been visited by people from many parts of the United States, and it is pronounced of excellent medicinal quality by all.”

This sulfur spring, which provided the entire creek with a name and generated some interest as a spot for healing is still remembered by older residents of the area today.

“It was just up here around the curve from my house,” said Adkins. “It’s not there now. It’s been destroyed. It had a round rock and that rock was about two feet high and it was dressed all the way around. And someone had hollowed it out about two inches from the edge and it sat right down in that spring. People used to gather there when I was growing up to play marbles and pitch horseshoes. Dad used to send us up there to get him a bucket of water after we come out of the field. Sulfur is a blood purifier, they said.”

Not long after providing his biography to Hardesty, Caleb Headley passed away.

“Doctor Headley died in, I believe it was 1881,” said Adkins. “Will said his dad died when he was about six years old and he was born in August of 1875. I think he finally died of a Civil War wound.”

Tax records do not list Headley’s property as being in his estate until 1886.

Caleb Headley 1

08 Tuesday Oct 2013

Posted by in Civil War, Fourteen

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In the years following the Civil War, Caleb Headley migrated from Wetzel County, West Virginia to the Sulphur Spring Fork of Fourteen Mile Creek in Lincoln County, bringing with him a young wife and some degree of knowledge about medicine. Behind him were Pennsylvania roots, a soldier’s experience in the Mexican and Civil wars, as well as a failed marriage. About fifteen years later, he passed away and was buried on a hill near his home.

Today, Ward Adkins, an 81-year-old walking encyclopedia of Sulphur Spring history, is the best source on Dr. Headley’s life. He was partly raised by Headley’s son, Will, his step-grandfather, who told Adkins what little he knew about his father and eventually gave him a very important family heirloom: a geography book containing genealogical information in his father’s handwriting.

Caleb Headley was born on April 11, 1808, the first son and second child of Dr. Thomas and Sarah (Asher) Headlee, in Pennsylvania. Thomas was born around 1775 in New Jersey and was the son of a Revolutionary War veteran. Sarah was born around 1785 in Virginia.

Caleb had seven known or suspected brothers and sisters: Elizabeth Headley, born about 1807, Mary Headley (c.1811-1881), Anthony Headley (August 11, 1812 – January 1, 1894), Jerusha Headley (March 16, 1815 – May 16, 1884), Sarah Headley (August 22, 1817 – June 18, 1900), Elisha Headley (August 24, 1820 – August 2, 1895), and Nancy Headley, born about 1822.

In 1822, according to Hardesty’s History of Wetzel County, Thomas Headley settled in Tyler County, (West) Virginia with his family where he taught young Caleb what he knew about doctoring prior to his death, which reportedly occurred around 1830 in Monongalia County, (West) Virginia.

On November 2, 1826, Caleb married Nancy Ann Wright in Pennsylvania. Nancy was born on October 15, 1808 in Virginia. Her parents were born in Maryland.

Caleb and Nancy had ten children: Charity Headley, born March 1, 1828; Elizabeth Jane Headley, born June 2, 1829; Thomas J. Headley, born November 23, 1831; Joshua Headley, born April 7, 1832; Sarah A. Headley, born December 8, 1833; Caleb Samuel Headley, born March 30, 1836 or 1837; George Washington Headley, born May 21, 1839; Benjamin Franklin Headley (May 31, 1841 – April 11, 1918), Anthony Headley, born June 3, 1844, and Elijah Headley, born August 1, 1850.

During the 1830s and ’40s, Caleb lived in Tyler County where he was, by his own admission, a practicing physician, member of the Methodist Church and for sixteen years a justice of the peace.

“I don’t think Caleb had any schooling to be a doctor,” Adkins said, in a 2003 interview. “As far as I know, the only thing he had as far as a medical education was studying under his daddy. His daddy was a doctor.”

In 1846, the portion of Tyler County occupied by Headley became Wetzel County.

Some time between 1846 and 1848, Headley reputedly served as a lieutenant in the Mexican War. While no military records have been located at the present time to verify his service, one of his sons made the claim that he had been an officer in the war.

“His son Will told me that he was an officer in a war with Mexico,” said Adkins.

In the 1850 Wetzel County Census, Caleb appeared in the Green District as a 40-year-old farmer (not physician) with $200 worth of real estate. His wife was 32 years old, while the children were listed as follows: Thomas (age 17, farmer, in school), Sarah (age 16, in school), Samuel (age 13, in school), Washington (age 10, in school), Franklin (age 9, in school), and Anthony (age 6).

In 1860, the Headleys maintained their residence in Green District.

When the Civil War began in 1861, Headley joined with most of his neighbors and sided with the North.

“Wetzel County, Virginia, was one of the counties which supported the Union during the War Between the States,” Mary Curtis, a genealogist, wrote in 1959. “The large majority of the settlers were from Pennsylvania and the Piedmont areas of Virginia where slaves were not common, so that their interests lay with the North.”

According to Hardesty’s History of Lincoln County, Headley was captain of a company in the Union army. According to military records, he was captain of Company C, 154th Regiment.

“He was captain of a company in the Civil War,” said Adkins. “That’s in Hardesty’s. And Will said he was an officer. He didn’t know what rank, you know. I was told that he was shot in the back. His backbone was just barely hanging together. I think he was discharged in Ohio.”

Several of Headley’s sons fought for the North. Caleb Samuel, later a resident of Porters Falls in Wetzel County, “served a short time in the Union army as lieutenant,” according to Hardesty’s History of Wetzel County. Anthony, later a resident of Pine Grove in Wetzel County, “was a soldier with the Federal army, serving in Company I, 15th West Virginia Infantry, and he participated in all the fortunes of that regiment, engaging in its battles and witnessing the surrender of Lee at Appomattox.” His term of service was from August 24, 1862 until June 30, 1865.

In 1866, 50-something-year-old Headley settled in present-day Lincoln County and joined the Christian church. By that time, he had separated from his wife Nancy and was involved in an intimate relationship with 16-year-old Sarah Farley of Logan County. The two had their first child on May 1 then married on May 25 in Catlettsburg, Kentucky.

Headley’s separation from his first wife has been a hot topic of conversation among his local descendants.

“They had a rumor going that Dr. Caleb run off and left his first wife, but Will said it wasn’t so,” said Adkins. “I heard his wife died when their son Elijah was fifteen years old, which would have been around 1865.”

However, according to Wetzel County census records, Nancy was very much alive after the separation. In 1870 and 1880, she referred to herself in both census schedules as a widow.

In Search of Ed Haley 175

24 Tuesday Sep 2013

Posted by in Ed Haley, Music, Timber

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In 1925, likely stirred by Pomp Wentz’s comment, Fred B. Lambert interviewed Blind Bill Peyton of One Mile Creek, near West Hamlin in Lincoln County. Initially, Mr. Peyton spoke a great deal of his father, Henry Peyton, a fiddler, farmer, and timber man in the Guyandotte Valley.

“My father was among the first settlers on this creek,” Peyton said. “He settled about a mile and a half up from the river and raised all his 13 children in the same house. He followed farming mostly, and timbered some and sold some timber. Raised all kinds of stock — sheep, cows, hogs, horses — one dog at a time. Raised chickens, turkeys, guineas, pea fowls, geese, ducks, etc. My father was a good canoe maker. He made them out of poplar trees by digging out and shaping them, at $12 to $25, according to size. I often went to Logan for rafts. Henry Peyton, my father, Walter Lewis, Bob Lewis, and Dick Cremeans took a big barge of lumber to Cincinnati. Lumber was sawed early by a whip saw.”

“My father was a fiddler — played many a night,” Peyton said. “Young folks had a good many parties. Had all night dances. Uncle John Spears was the oldest fiddler I knew. He lived on Nine Mile Creek of Lincoln up on creek toward head. He was a good one. Some of the old-time tunes were: Maysville, Rebel Raid, Dalton Raid, Sourwood Mountain, Getting Off the Raft, Shelvin’ Rock, Dover, The Coquette, Leather Breeches Full of Stitches, Betsy Walker, Frosty Morning, Rollin’ Down the Sheets, The Grand Spy, Daniel Boone, Capt. Johnson, Cincinnati Belle, Rose in the Mountain, Rocky Mountain, The Blue Rooster, The Morning Star, The Butterfly, Tinpot Alley, Bonaparte Crossing the Alps, Butcher’s Row, The Brush Creek, Peach Tree, Waynesburg, The Basket, Nancy Rowland, The Arkansaw Traveler, and Cumberland Gap.”

Peyton spoke of other Lincoln County fiddlers, some of whom lived in the Harts area during Milt Haley’s time.

“Johnny Dalton, a blacksmith, came from East Virginia, settled at Falls, was a fiddler. Did your work and then played you a tune. Went to Mud River and died. Jack McComas of 6 mi. and Jim Franklin from Upper Two Mile were also fiddlers. Tom Cooper lived on Mud River, in Lincoln, above Hamlin. Morris Wentz and Ben France, who lived in Cabell, often came to Lincoln. Tom Peyton, my brother, Mig Sturgeon, Don Lambert, Irvin Lucas, and Leander Fry were fiddlers. The latter was a good one. Henry Pauley came from Boone County; settled on Parsoner Creek, and removed to near Four Mile of Guyan. He was well liked. Mr. Billy McKendree told of Dangerfield Bryant being a good fiddler and teacher of singing and instrumental music. A shoemaker by trade. He was lame. A good man and perfect gentleman.”

In Search of Ed Haley 174

23 Monday Sep 2013

Posted by in African American History, Civil War, Ed Haley, Music

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By the time of the Civil War, Benjamin France of Cabell County was the chief fiddler in the lower Guyandotte Valley. One person interviewed by Fred B. Lambert referred to him as “the best of all” in a list of fiddlers that included even Ed Haley. Of course, I was immediately interested in him.

According to Lambert’s notes, France was born in 1844. He “learned on a gourd fiddle, and was able to play when he entered the army. He served as a Rebel soldier, throughout the Civil War, entering the army, at the age of 17 years. He was noted as one of the best fiddlers of his time. He won two or three times, in contests, but his medals do not show when, nor whether they were first rank. Henry France, his nephew, says he could play all the old fiddle tunes, and could play all night without repeating the same tunes even once.”

France was a resident of Long Branch, near the Lincoln County line and died in 1918.

“From Cabell County, the principal fiddlers were Morris Wentz, Ben France, William S. Rogers and Charley Dodd,” according to J.T. “Pomp” Wentz, a riverboat captain who spoke with Lambert. “Banjoes were not used so much, in those days, but later Rev. Billy Walker and others used to play them very well. As a fiddler, Ben France played with the most ease of any man I ever saw. Morris Wentz played with some difficulty compared with Mr. France, but he could play almost anything. Morris Wentz used to play: ‘The Cold Frosty Morning’, ‘Going Back to Dixie’, ‘The Arkansas Traveler’, ‘Bonaparte’s Retreat’ (this pleased Billy Bramblett, the Frenchman), ‘Ducks in the Pond’, ‘The Puncheon Floor’, ‘Hop Light Ladies’, ‘The Boatsman’, ‘The Cackling Hen’, ‘Sourwood Mountain’, ‘Soldiers Joy’, ‘Little Birdie’, ‘Old Dan Tucker’, ‘Granny Will Your Dog Bite?’, ‘Liza Jane’, ‘The Shelvin’ Rock’, ‘Knock Kneed Nannie’, ‘Chippy, Get Your Hair Cut’, ‘The Rebel Raid’, ‘Turkey in the Straw’, ‘Sugar In the Gourd’, ‘Ginny, the Gal With the Blue Dress On’, ‘Old Joe Clark’, ‘Birdie’, ‘Old Napper’, ‘The Forked Duck’. After dancing the ‘set’ down, they would close with the ‘winder’.”

Apparently, the popular tunes of the day were “Forked Deer” and “The Peach Tree”.

“Babe McCallister, ‘a darkey’ owned by a farmer named McCallister from upper Mud River, was a master of ‘Forked Deer’,” one fiddler raved. “He ‘played the fiddle with the ‘free arm movement,’ the wrist joint only working, the elbow joint still, while the wrist joint was in active movement. To hear the coon on ‘Forked Deer’, his favorite tune, and call the cotillion figure was a great treat. Could I have inherited such talent with my fondness of and for the violin, it would have been dead easy that I should tour the universe and earn a million playing only ‘Forked Deer’ and ‘Peach Tree’.”

Further up the Guyandotte River from the Cabell County towns, in present-day Lincoln County, were fiddlers of lesser note.

“Some of the best fiddlers I ever knew in Lincoln County, were Henry Peyton, father of ‘Blind’ Bill Peyton, and Jack McComas, both of whom played before the Civil War,” said Pomp Wentz.

In Search of Ed Haley 155

21 Wednesday Aug 2013

Posted by in Ed Haley

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Benjamin Wade Walker, the man who organized the Milt Haley burial party, was born in June of 1851 in southwest Virginia. He came to Harts when he was very young with his mother Marinda (Steele) Davis and a few siblings. The family settled near Green Shoal where Marinda soon married Baptist T. Fry. Baptist was the uncle of George Fry — at whose home the Haley-McCoy murders took place — as well as his closest neighbor in 1889. Walker, then, was a step-first cousin (and former neighbor) to George Fry, perhaps explaining why he was inclined to remove Milt Haley and Green McCoy’s battered corpses from his yard and bury them.

Around 1877, Walker married Juliantes Adkins, a daughter of Enos “Jake” and Leticia McKibbon (Toney) Adkins, large landowners at Douglas Branch. Julia was also a first cousin to Al Brumfield. Mr. and Mrs. Walker settled on Walker’s Branch at Low Gap near West Fork. About 1883, Hezekiah “Carr” Adkins sold them this property, 25 acres on Guyan River originally part of a 260-acre 1855 survey for Abner Vance. The Walkers raised nine daughters and a grandson.

In 1889, following Milt and Green’s murder, Walker risked harm by organizing a burial party for them. He reportedly buried the men on his property. A year later, in 1890, he was ordained a minister in the United Baptist Church. In 1898, he was a founding member of the Low Gap United Baptist Church, which met for over forty years in a school building that still stands near the site of the old Walker homestead. He was president of the district board of education in 1902, 1911, 1912, and 1914. He died in December 1917.

“Rev. B.W. Walker, one of the best known citizens of the county, died at his home at Ferrellsburg, on last Wednesday, after a lingering illness of dropsy,” according to a front page story in the Lincoln Republican dated Thursday, January 3, 1918. “Rev. Walker was a great worker in the Master’s vineyard and had been a consistent Christian for years. He is survived by his wife and eight daughters. Burial services were conducted at the Low Gap cemetery.”

At the funeral, Walker’s beard was full of snow.

In Search of Ed Haley 81

18 Monday Mar 2013

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Back at Iris Williams’, we met another of her brothers, Shelby Kirk. We told Shelby a little of what we’d heard about Milt’s death from Roxie Mullins, who he said had recently died, then listened to his version of the trouble.

“They brought them in there sometime that night and they said they was killed at the edge of daylight,” he said. “There was a boy John Fowler told me once, he said, ‘I’ve heard my aunt Belle Fowler tell about that.’ Said she was there, a little girl. Said in one of them rooms they had apples picked off of a tree and had them stored, poured out you know, up there in a room. And said she got in that pile of apples and covered her head up with them apples to keep from hearing that when they was getting ready to kill them. They said they was a crying and a begging, wanting not to be killed away from their families and their children but they went right on and did it anyhow. They said they led them out the back door one at a time and as they come out that back door they was a fellow hit them with a double-headed axe — sideways, top of the head.”

I asked Shelby where the killing took place and he said it occurred on the Green Shoal side of the river, opposite where Mr. Kirk had showed us.

“The old house is still standing right there,” he said. “It’s just got some weather-boarding on it. An old log house.”

Shelby tried to describe the way law and order worked around Harts in Milt Haley’s day.

“Boy, they used to have mobs,” he said. “Used to have an outfit called the Night Riders down in here. If they got it in for me or you one — if we’d done something, you know — why, they’d pull straws to see who was gonna do the killing.”

In Search of Ed Haley 78

07 Thursday Mar 2013

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The next day, Lawrence and I went to find Milt Haley’s grave on the West Fork of Harts Creek. It had been two years since our initial trip up the Guyandotte Valley and I was excited to once again plant my feet on the grounds of Ed Haley’s childhood. We followed Bob Adkins’ directions to the West Fork of Harts Creek, where we found a confusing sign labeled “East Fork Road” pointing us across a stone bridge and past a somewhat large red brick church. Lower West Fork was very much different from my memories of main Harts Creek — more sparsely settled. It was surprisingly beautiful farm country with a view of an almost-forgotten agrarian way of life. There were old barns, cattle and tiny farms all along the nice little road.

Not surprisingly, Lawrence and I were unable to find the Milt Haley grave, which we figured was located in a thicket on top of one of the surrounding mountains. Hoping for the best, we decided to ask for directions at a nice-looking house. We chose a neat little white home, where an older lady came out and showed almost complete confusion as we asked about Ed Haley, Milt Haley and a grave. Once she figured out what we were talking about, though, she introduced herself as Iris Williams, said she was part-Brumfield and pointed toward the grave just down the road and to the right on a hill. She said her older brother Lawrence Kirk would know all about it. She went back inside and called Lawrence, who said he’d come right over and tell us what he knew about Ed Haley and the Haley-McCoy murders.

It wasn’t long until Lawrence Kirk pulled into the driveway and popped out of his car. He was a short stocky 70-something-year-old fellow with thinning hair and glasses. He made his way toward the porch, grinning and waving a newspaper. He said he had seen me on TV and unraveled the paper, which featured a front-page story about our recent visit to see Lynn Davis in Huntington.

In one of those “strange contact moments,” I introduced him to Lawrence Haley. It was a first-ever meeting of men whose ancestors had shot it out along Harts Creek over one hundred years earlier. They seemed to like each other right away and made it clear they held no grudges over their ancestors’ troubles. This was great news — no barriers to information flow. However, I have to admit, I got a little adrenaline rush in thinking that Lawrence and I were now in “enemy territory.” In my mind, the 1889 feud was still smoldering in the hearts and minds of at least a few people.

Instead, we all sat on Mrs. Williams’ front porch with Mr. Kirk, who remembered Ed well.

“I’ve heard Ed Haley play up there at the courthouse square many of a time in Logan with Ed Belcher,” he said. “They’d get together up there sometimes and play all day. I’d be with my dad up there when I was a youngster. I kinda got acquainted with the old man, enough to speak to him. He’d always ask you who it is. ‘Yeah, I know some Kirks,’ he’d say.”

Mr. Kirk said he used to see Ed and his wife on the Logan-Williamson bus that ran between the coalfields and Huntington.

“I felt sympathetic towards them,” he said. “They were blind — handicapped — and I’d notice them. I can’t remember that well about him. I can’t remember too much how he was dressed. It bears on my mind about ever time I ever saw him he was bald-headed. I’m not sure…but he played that fiddle.”

Mr. Kirk last saw Ed play music on a Sunday just before the election of 1948 or ’50 at the Harts Tavern. His uncle Taylor Brumfield was the owner of the tavern. Ed was there with Bernie Adams, who Mr. Kirk called “a pretty good guitar player.”

“Bernie was bad to drink,” he said. “He just drunk liquor until it finally killed him, I reckon.”

Ed was “being pretty sassy” at the tavern.

“They wasn’t giving him enough money to please him, you know,” Mr. Kirk said. “They was buying him a few drinks but he felt like fellows ought to throw him in a few dollars of money along. But that bunch there, they had to have their quarters to buy some beer with.”

Ed told Bernie, “Well hell, let’s go. This tight bunch here won’t buy a man no beer. Can’t get a crowd together no how.”

Bernie said, “Now, Ed. Don’t get to talking too rough about these fellows around Harts. Some of your folks didn’t have too good a relation with these Brumfields around here.”

“Aw, to hell with these damn Brumfields,” Ed said. “There’s nobody afraid of these Brumfields.”

I almost fell off the porch laughing.

In Search of Ed Haley 68

19 Tuesday Feb 2013

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The next day, Al and his posse headed for Hugh Dingess’ “great old big house” on Harts Creek. Bob’s mother Brooke Dingess was a witness to events that followed.

“They stayed all night there and they wanted to be awful sure that they were right, you know,” Bob said. “See, they didn’t want to kill somebody that was innocent. Well they took Haley outside and put handcuffs behind him and gagged him so he couldn’t make a noise and stuck a gun in his back and told him if he made any noise they’d shoot him, see? And a funny thing happened out there, though. He broke loose from them and pretty near got away.

“And then they told McCoy that they had taken Milton down there to hang in the orchard, and if he had anything to say he had better be saying it, see? He broke down and cried and he told them the truth about it. And he told them that they pulled straws on which one would do the shooting and it fell on Green and he got sick — vomited — and he just couldn’t do it. So Haley said, ‘You ain’t got no nerve. Give me the gun and I’ll do it.’ And he claimed Haley was the one that shot. He didn’t do it.”

As if to prove his story, Green then said something to the effect of, “You go down there and check at that sinkhole and you’ll see a pile of shavings that I whittled with my long razor.”

Bob said, “Well, Haley came out and cursed McCoy and told him he didn’t have any nerve and said everything to him. Said that fellow just cried and said, ‘Now, you know I’m telling every bit the truth.'”

Bob said the mob was convinced by McCoy’s confession, but I felt it had a few holes in it. First of all, what if Green skewed the truth by blaming everything on Milt — who he thought was dead — in the hopes of saving his own life? Second of all, why would he and Milt have only had one gun between them for their ambush? Of course, maybe these details were worked out by subsequent confessions not remembered by any living person today. In any case, the mob was apparently satisfied.

Bob said, “They didn’t do anything to them there. They weren’t nobody’s fool, now. They didn’t want any murder going on around their home; then it would be too easy to pin it on them. They’d go to somebody else’s home.”

Bob said his aunt Catherine Fry — an eyewitness to subsequent events — told him the rest of the story about Milt’s murder. He said she was nineteen years old at the time and lived at the mouth of Green Shoal on the Guyandotte River. She said a mob arrived at her home during the night and woke her from her sleep.

“Well, Cat said the first thing she knew she was sitting in the living room — the front room, you know,” Bob said. “They had whiskey there. A lot of drinking going on and a whole bunch of them… Must have been ten to fifteen maybe. The Brumfields and Dingesses all mixed up, you know. Haley and McCoy were back in the bedroom under guard. They had them both in bed.”

Milt continued to verbally abuse Green for admitting their guilt.

“Around ten o’clock, somebody shot the lamp out and Cat run and jumped behind a flour barrel over in the kitchen corner until the fracas was over.”

Milt and Green were shot in bed then pulled out in the yard where the mob “took an axe and cut their heads open and shot them all up — shot them all to pieces.”

I asked Bob what happened next and he said, “They got on their horses and left — walked off and left them. Al Brumfield was one of the head fellows who was there and he was a first cousin of Dad’s. Evidently somebody else took his horse. He came down to Grandfather’s house, which was his uncle by marriage and he told Grandpaw what they had done. Grandpaw told him to go on upstairs and go to bed. No, he did not want to do that because he was afraid those McCoy and Haley people might come in on him, friends or something, [and trap him in the house]. He slept up in the hollow under a beech tree up there. It was summertime, you know. I bet he didn’t sleep good and if he did he shouldn’t have. And the next morning he got out and he ate his breakfast with Grandpaw and then he went on to Harts — home, you know?”

In the next few days, someone hauled Milt and Green’s bodies to the West Fork of Harts Creek and buried them in a single, unmarked grave.

Bob gave us directions to the grave, which he’d last seen as a boy.

“You go up main Harts Creek. It’s not over a mile, I don’t think. It’s the first big creek that turns off to your left. You turn to the left there across the creek and go up that road about a mile or a mile and a quarter and they’s a little hollow there and they’s a house right in there. It’s been a good while since I been up there. If you’ll ask some of them people there, they’ll tell you right where it is.”

Lawrence and I planned to go to Harts in a few days and find it.

Bob said, “We lived there in a house right down below there for one year before we came down here. We sold our old farm up there and we had no where to go and we moved over there on an uncle of mine’s farm. And I farmed one summer right down below there. I went up there and saw that. Had just a little stone. Two of them there. They was buried in the same grave. Them stones may be torn down and gone now. We left there in 1919 or ’20.”