Part Five (and final) of a Tennessee Vendetta

        As time pressed on, the warring parties continued killing one and another until the War between the States brought a temporary reprieve to the hostilities.  Nothing lasts forever, war or peace like everything else has a beginning and an end.  Two years after the wars end the feud would begin again.  In this tireless cycle of hatred and blood, a Rogers would kill a Johnstone, a Johnstone would kill a Rogers, brawls would break out, shootings, stabbings, the chaos ensued.  When the sun would set on this small war, 14 men will have lost their lives.  The final act is here and now.  Fate being a fickle companion it is, has chosen two young men from the opposing families, Randall Rogers and Robert Johnstone, both war scarred veterans, unmarried, without family to play their part.
         Around noon time that fateful day, both men were at a grocery in Elizabethton.  Neither acknowledged the other and there was an uneasy feeling in the air which was pretty normal when one of the families found themselves in the vicinity of the other.  To add further animosity to the fire, both men had fought on opposing sides.  Before long hard looks to one and another gave way to insults filling the air, and shouting was thunderous and threats were levied out until they lunged for one another.  Bystanders commenced to pulling one another off of each other, the proprietor of the business had them removed before anymore damage could happen to his store.
        Friends of both men scuffled, kicked and cussed until they finally dragged the men off in two separate directions.  They had hoped some distance and time apart from each others sight would cool their tempers a bit.  This however, would not be the case.  Both were in a particular sour mood that day, like rattlesnakes that had bitten their own lip.  After a couple of hours had passed and their friends were satisfied nothing more to come from the earlier scuffle, they turned them loose.
       It was around 3 o’clock in the afternoon in downtown Elizabethton and talk of the days earlier excitement had started to die down.  That is, until the town folk noticed Rogers was walking down the street and to the opposite side Johnstone was walking up the street.  As the two came a head at about 100 yards, both sets of eyes met each other.
        Randall Rogers called out “Johnstone!” all the while Robert shouted “This ends today!”.  Both men threw back their overcoats and quickly produce a set of pistols and commenced to firing, well out of accuracy range for those pistols but it didn’t matter to either participant.  Step by step the hurriedly marched closer and closer, pulling back the hammer of one pistol while pulling the trigger and discharging the other pistol.  Closer and closer they drew, the air was almost choking with the smell of bitter gunpowder. 20 yards, 15 yards, 10 yard, 5 yards, the possessed men drew closer, when suddenly Robert Johnstone fell to the ground with a crimson wound to his right ribcage.
        Rogers walked to where Johnstone laid, his pistols relaxed by his side, he would take the moment and enjoy watching his nemesis draw his last breath.  He did just that very thing, however, as Robert was mere moments from death, down to his last three breaths, he drove pure terror into the heart of Rogers as he smiled one last time, raised his pistol and discharged it’s last bullet into Randall’s cranium with effective recourse.  Rogers was dead before he even knew it.  Instinct had taken over as he staggered closer to Johnstone, he spoke something unintelligible, more gurgled than anything and fired his pistol twice more into the ground before giving up the ghost.  Time paused for what seemed like an eternity, then Rogers fell across the lifeless body of Johnstone.  Both blood soaked souls had gone to meet their ancestors about the same exact time.  The feud had ended after 20 years,  and 14 men later.  They simply ran out of Roger’s and Johnstones to be able to continue.
I hope you enjoyed! I may eventually turn this into a body of work that is much longer, detailed etc.  The Mountains are calling! Until next time.  As seen in the Elizabethton Star March 18-19 edition.
       
       

Part four of a Tennessee Vendetta

    Night time crept upon the Rogers household and sleep did not come easy for Williams wife.  She had spent most the evening with busy work in an attempt to keep her mind preoccupied. When there was no more to be done she laid on her bed and wept silently.  When sleep did finally come, it was filled with nightmares and visions of violence warnings of death.  When she awoke, she sent for her brother Tom who lived just over the hill.  When he arrived he found his sister in a pitiful state, her mind and talk was full of fright.  He calmed her a bit and listened as she told him of her missing William.  Tom reassured and said he would set out at once to fetch him back.  He never let on or gave an indication that he feared the worst for.
          Tom rode off on his black spotted gray horse, dirt and dust rose from the ground with each trot of his trusty steed.  Once he was out of sight of the house, Tom gave the reins a hard crack and the creatures slow pace quickly set off into a frenzied gallop.  His plan was to get to Elizabethton and question all he could find as to Williams last known whereabouts.
          It never got to that…..Three miles down the dirt road Tom saw something out of the corner of his eye, he didn’t quite catch enough of it to fully understand what he saw, but instinct screamed danger.  With a hard jerk on the reins, his horse protested while it came to a full stop.  Tom was already off the weather beaten saddle and running towards a clearing in the trees that opened up to reveal the crystal clear waters of the Watauga river.  What he had caught a glimpse of was Williams horse standing in about 2 foot of the river, observing it’s surroundings and every now and again lowering it’s head to fill it’s throat with the cool waters.
          Tom made it to the lone horse and quickly scanned the terrain around him.  He scanned and rescanned but William was nowhere to be seen.  He took Williams horse back to the road where his was anxiously waiting.  Tom took notice of how skittish the animals became, and was having a difficult time calming them when he spied William not more than 30 feet away.  William was laying on his side, facing away from Tom.  Tom hurried over, all the while calling out Williams name.  Any hope quickly faded away when he reached down to turn William over to him, rigor mortis had set in and he was as stiff as a tree trunk.  Tom got him rolled over and saw that a rifle ball had pierced his forehead and penetrated his brain.  A dry, crusty, trail of crimson came from the wound and down his face, and under his head.  Tom gathered him up and laid William across his horse for one final ride.
          Tom made his way slowly back to his sister’s home, full of sorrow for her, and dread for having to deliver such news to her.  The latter was somewhat spared over for him for she saw him riding back and had already came running down the path from home.  The air filled with a mournful wail, followed by “Noooooooooooo, nononononono”, his eyes met hers for a brief moment before he saw her collapse to the unforgiving rocky soil.
          As in all the other times in the murderous, unforgiving feud, inquires were made, investigations brought no satisfaction to the family.  Local folk were full of speculation, many a accusation was thrown around as well.  Some had a wild theory that Williams oldest somehow grow 5 years overnight and sought vengeance for his father’s slaying.
To the more logical however, there was another most likely theory on who was the killer.
       It would be two years passed before light finally exposed the truth.  On one particularly dreadful, stormy day, in Elizabethton, a familiar and  shadowy figure sat in a dim light corner of the local tavern.  This man had drank pint after pint of Apple Jack and his tongue talked rather loosely.  He claimed he had killed William and had found tremendous satisfaction knowing he had sent him to meet his no account, murdering father.  One citizen claimed when they got close enough and  their eyes adjusted to the low light, everything at once made since.  He remembered…..When the elder Johnstone was gunned down in cruelty, he had two sons, James the older became the father’s avenger.  Now his brother had come home and set right (in his mind anyway) the untimely and violent end to James.
Time to go! Mountains are calling and the final installment is next week!

Part 3 of a Tennessee Vendetta

       The die had been cast and the cycle had begun, what started was an argument had become a blood feud.  Rogers the dishonorable had killed a good man Johnstone.  The son of the fallen became James the Avenger and returned the favor.  Now the mantle of vengeance would fall upon William Rogers who in turn, would become the Reckoning.
        William and James grew into young men and their families flourished and multiplied.  Relationships were fostered and both had their fill of bonds of friendships and loyalties.  Those friends in turn would grow to resent the other party of the feud and would take their hand at spiting one another.  Random acts of vandalism, threats, & violence, would breakout in streets of town, and on the home front.
          For a short time, there was a brief respite in the hostilities.  Anyone not associated with the history of the warring parties would have thought that perhaps the madness had come to an end.  The respite however, was nothing more than a rouse. One that would lure James into a false sense of tranquility and peace.
        One morning, William arose and readied himself for the day.  Without uttering a word to his family, grabbed his father’s rifle (that had killed the elder Johnstone in the first place) and mounted his horse and rode away as if he was doing nothing more than going for a hunt.  This façade wasn’t a full out lie, he was going to hunt, but his prey was not to be any other creature than James Johnstone.  William and his friends had used this time of peace to spy on James and learn his daily routine, most importantly, when he was alone.  He had several relatives and friends who would come by, and more often than none, the numbers didn’t fare well for Rogers.
         William, like James, had figured the Sabbath was the best time for his course of calamity.  James would be up early and down by a shallow lull in the river, gathering buckets of water.  This morning would be no different than the others.  James was punctual with his arrival at the river and was quietly observing the light fog that rose from the cool waters.  The quiet moment was abruptly shattered when a gunshot rang out, the shot went wild and splintered a branch overhead.  James looked in the direction of the sound and saw a billow of smoke as a second shot echoed across the river.  James was quickly backing up and was turning to run when he saw William and his two friends (they were brothers of mean reputation) galloping on horseback across the river.  James drew his pistol and fired two shots at William, neither finding their intended mark, but was able to wing one of the brothers, prompting him to lose his courage, causing him to fall from his horse into the river waters.
          William and the other had reared back to check on the other.  James heard him yell out “Im fine, go git em!!”  If anything else was said, James wasn’t around to hear it, he had made it to his horse.  A short minute later has was coming off of his steed before it even stopped,  William was shortly behind giving chase, firing his father’s rifle all the while.  James burst through the door and screamed at his family to get down on the floor.  He fetched his rifle and fired a few quick shots out the front door, he couldn’t see them, it was more of a desperate attempt at hopefully killing them blindly.
           It was quiet again,  James was slowly going window to window, looking for any sign of them and to gain a vantage point.  He had just crossed the dining area when the front door kicked open.  James spun and fired off a volley of lead at the empty doorway when outside a lone gunshot rang out, the window glass broke, James clutched his chest, took a few steps forward and was dead before he hit the kitchen table.
          William and friend rode off quickly to gather their wounded and make their getaway.  The family hadn’t seen them and James, well, dead men tell no tales, so they made their escape successfully.  Made no difference though, the community wasn’t filled with idiots and fools.  No one had a doubt who had committed this murder.  William scoffed that he had no hand in what transpired.  Someone else, however, knew the better.  That someone would wait for his moment for revenge, and revenge they shall have.
          Time had passed, and again a false sense of security had spread across the families minds and spirits.  One morning William kissed his wife on the cheek, and told her he was going to ride into Elizabethton.  It was a bit of a ride round trip, so his wife wasn’t particularly worried when he was late for supper.  She was nervous, but not worried, she remained calm while every so often, she would visually scan the roadside, expecting him to come trodding up any moment.  That calm melted away into worry when sunset came.  Then worry became dread as her husband had not returned as the midnight hours tolled by.
                 Thanks for reading, part 4 next week!  The mountains call again!
         

Part 2 of a Tennessee Vendetta: Fact of Farce

                     

      James Johnstone made no attempt to hid or conceal his deadly intention as he walked up to the Roger’s household.  His eyes narrowed and his steely gaze locked onto to Rogers who was sitting on the front porch smoking a pipe.
      Rogers, who had taken to his early morning routine of sitting on the porch, silently contemplating, and soaking in his surroundings, was caught off guard this morning.  No, this morning he was drifting in and out of an early morning daydream.  James had walked up to almost 100 yards from him when his appearance startled him out of his stupor.
      It didn’t take a single thought to realize what the young man was here for.  Rogers began to yell “I see you Johnstone!  I see you boy!!” and quickly leapt to his feet from his rocking chair, and spun around, his hand grasping his rifle that had been leaning near the door.  James was a bit surprised how quick and nimble the murderer was.  It made no matter though.  Instinct had kicked in for James, countless hours of practicing how to shoot, took over.  James quickly raised the rifle to his shoulder and eyed Rogers down the barrel and bellowed out the last words Rogers would ever hear.  “You killed my father!!” and squeezed the trigger.
        Rogers only had his rifle lifted up halfway before the bullet pierced his heart.  He collapsed in a crumpled heap, his pipe still smoking at his feet.  James took but a moment to drink it in.  Then turned to go back home, as he walked away he heard Rogers newly widowed wife scream in grief and the cries of his children filled the air.  He thought for a moment how strange their cries sounded, and might have even felt bad for a brief moment, until he wondered if that is how he and his brother sounded as they shook and held their father’s lifeless body.  As he approached his home he felt strangely empty in emotion.  Empty in emotion, but he was very much satisfied at the same time.
       He walked in and ate the breakfast his mother had prepared.  He ate heartedly enough for his mother to take notice.  She pressed her inquiry on what had him eating so well this morning, he told his tale to her, and at long last judgment had been passed.  She sat quietly a few moments before speaking, she looked at him, stone faced, and as his eyes locked with hers she finally spoke.  She told him she knew this day would come and how she tried her best to ease their pain.  She tried to teach them forgiveness, and to turn the other cheek like the good book says.  James quickly fired off that “an eye for an eye” is also in there and he was to honor his father.
      Her expression changed and she spoke with a great sadness “I know you feel like you honored your Pa today, but for everything we do, we answer for. What you have done today, there is a reckoning down the road.  Either in Heaven or on this Earth, There is a reckoning.”  James didn’t give it a second thought, “ Rogers got his reckoning today didn’t he?”  She tried to explain to him that he took judgment upon himself that was reserved for the Almighty only.  She shook her head and tears filled her eyes.  “My son, you made yourself no better than Rogers. You made a widow out of his wife, and three children without their father.  One of them is a boy named William.  How long before he comes here looking for vengeance?”.  James patted his rifle and uttered “Let em come.”
          The local Constable came to the home and spoke to James.  He had been called on for an inquiry as for the reasoning for the death of Rogers. He had interviewed the family, neighbors and James.  In the end, for all the wealth and supposed influence Rogers had, he had also made a great deal of enemies and none spoke for him, but for James instead, many quoting old Indian law as for justification.  In the end, it was enough for the Constable and having deemed it unfortunate but necessary killing, went on his way.
      Meanwhile back at the grieving Rogers home, the son William, upon hearing that there would be no charges, swallowed back his tears.  He swore to cry no more until he avenged his father.
      This is the end of part two.  Part three is next week and things really escalate out of control.  The mountains are callin’ See you then! (As published in the Elizabethton Star 02/18/17)

Part One of: A Tennessee Vendetta: Fact or Farce?

                         

         Before I dive into this Carter County legend, it needs to be prefaced that this account has been hotly contested as fiction.  The Louisville Journal originally printed this story supposedly from a letter they received from a correspondent in Elizabethton.  What research I have put into it has bore no fruit as of yet.  Census records don’t show either participants of this tragic tale living in the area. Alas, some chose not to take the census so that leaves it open to speculation.  Court records haven’t shown anything that would have any of them being charged either. For me it pushes out to the realm of legend.  Regardless, it’s an interesting tale none the less.
         In the fall of 1846 a fellow by the name of Johnstone left his home in Watauga County, NC to take up new residence in Carter County.  Johnstone settled in an area that had them neighbors with another family named Rogers. Johnstone quickly set to work his land,  he felled trees, cleared brush, burned stumps, and split rails for fencing for his property.  He wasn’t alone in his endeavors as he had two growing sons to teach lifes lessons of hard labor and the satisfaction of a job well done.
         When the father and sons began to erect a fence, Rogers came riding up mounted high on his horse and spied a pile of rails that he quickly laid claim too.  Johnstone fiercely disputed his absurb claim of ownership, stating he had made these himself from his timber that he felled on his own land.   Rogers at this point uttered the words “liar” and thief” in reference to Johnstones character.  Rogers quick, sharp edged tongue had now taken this dispute into a chain of events that would forever change the course of their well being.  Past the point of no return.
          On any normal day Johnstone would not have taken kindly to having his character slandered on the spot like that.  But here, this day, in front of his boys, a new lesson had to be taught.  A man had to be held accountable for what spewed from his mouth, and a man had to defend his good name.  In an instant the North Carolina man reached out and snatched Rogers from his horse and flung him to the ground.  Like a man possessed, Johnstone administrated a tremendous beating on Rogers.  When it was all over, Rogers rose from the ground, spit blood from his mouth, while hastily smacking dirt from his clothes.  He mounted his steed and vowed he would return for vengeance.  He returned within an hour and to his son‘s horror, unloaded his rifle’s bullets into the body of their father.
          Rogers was allegedly charged for murder and was acquitted by the local Justice.  Rogers was a man of wealth and influence and not a neighbor would testify against him.  The boys however, swore vengeance, he would not escape their wraith.  One of the son’s, James, took to work any job, any hour, for any pay.  He toiled day and night with one goal in his mind, a rifle, he would have a rifle and bring a bitter end to Rogers.
           Eventually the goal was reached, and he was an owner of a rifle, his instrument of revenge.  The rifle would be an extension, a delivering mechanism for his all consuming hatred.  He was up early that fateful Sunday morning.  He thought to himself “This is as good as a day as any to put down that murderous cur”.  He smiled coldly as the images of the act played out in his imagination, just as it had a thousand times before, late at night, in bed, eyes stinging with tears, mourning the loss of his beloved father.  “Yes, today is the day”.  He snatched up his rifle , and stole away ever so silently so not to alert his mother and family.  James looked back at his home, then down to the rifle in his hand,  turned and began his march down the dusty road, down the road to revenge step by step, further he urged on, around one more bend, he saw the Rogers home off in the distance.
                             I have to leave off here for now, the mountains are calling. See you all next week for part two!

Andrew Johnson Stover grandson of President Andrew Johnson

              Carter County has had it's share of local legends. Our focus is on such a legendary character. One that baffled many a person across this great nation because of his life choices. That man was the grandson of a United States president. His name was Andrew Johnson Stover.
             Andrew Johnson Stover was born in 1860 to Col Daniel Stover and Mary Johnson Stover.  Andrew's father served in the Fourth Regiment Tennessee Volunteer Infantry (Federal). His mother was the daughter of future President Andrew Johnson. Little Andrew lost his father at the tender age of four. Like many soldiers in the Civil War, Daniel succumbed to disease. In 1864 he lost his battle to tuberculosis and is buried in Drake cemetery.
            At the close of the war, Mary's father became president after the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. Her mother, being ill, was unable to serve as the White House hostess. These duties fell on Mary to fulfill. This circumstance is what afforded young Andrew Stover the opportunity to grow up in the White House. What sights he must have seen: the dignitaries in their grand costume and ceremonies, the turmoil of reconstruction that weighed heavily on his grandfather. One can just imagine the stresses the family endured during the impeachment trials alone.
            At the end of Johnson's presidency, Mary and her children moved back home. Andrew Stover was reunited with the sights and sounds of his childhood home.  Morning fog that rested on high mountaintops, the cool waters of the Watauga gently cascading in timeless fashion, forests full of trees and the wonderment of all God's creatures that lived in them. What child or any Carter Countian for that matter could refuse this fantastic tapestry of natural beauty and serenity? This was obviously a stark contrast to the city life found in our nations capitol. A life Andrew eagerly left behind for the opposite side of the spectrum. This life of luxury and grandeur of the White House would soon turn to a life of solitude, a permanent fixture in the mountains and our lore.
            In 1908, writers and readers across the country began to develop a peculiar fixation on the lives of  descendants that were born from the bloodline of presidents. Andrew Stover would be no exception to their investigations. They simply could not fathom that a grandson of a president, one that was raised in the presidents home, would choose to not take advantage of the luxuries that his lineage provided him.  So perplexed at his choosing to be a hermit, they began to create excuses for his shunning of public life. Some writers proposed than he became mentally unhinged when his mother died in 1883. Others submitted that he was kicked in the head by a pony as a child and retained the mental age of a child, never to have adult reasoning. It was completely oblivious to them all that maybe, just maybe, Andrew obtained a level of happiness that eludes most people. Happiness derived through a simple man's way of life.
           Obviously the courts found him to be too simple in needs and throughout the years appointed him various guardians. Capt Ellis was probably Andrew's favorite. Ellis let the young man live as he wanted. Free and clear. Ellis was to have said to make sure Andrew had plenty of tobacco and coffee, which was all he ever asked for. Andrew built a small cabin on the Holston Mountain. He lived off of wild game and fish, as well as natures bounty of fruit, wild ramps, and other vegetation. His prized possessions were his banjo, rifle and a shotgun, and he was known to keep raccoon and opossums as pets. During the winter, Ellis would make Andrew come live in his home for the season. Andrew was said to have been most miserable during these times and would brood and lament something awful until the next hint of spring would arrive.
         Andrew departed his happy life in 1923.  He is buried in the Andrew Johnson National Cemetery.
(Previously printed in the Elizabethton Star)

Old Ways of Weather Predictin'

As seen in the Elizabethton Star 01/21/17 edition.

     Let’s talk about the weather. Now hold on a doggone moment, don’t go off and take a nap on me yet.  We’re not actually talking about the weather outside today, last week or even last month.  I thought it might be interesting in taking a look at ways the weather used to be predicted.
      Back in the days before meteorologists stood in front of a green screen (with a computer generated model of the area showing) and talked Doppler radar, people of the communities had to look for signs to help forecast the days to come.  Sometimes just a day or two notice is all was needed to know when to plant or harvest crops, or protect them from weather related harm. Anyone who got skilled in this, or just got plain lucky repeatedly were seen as a sage and people would often consult with them before planning events.
      Now some of these I remember my Papaw telling me about when I was little boy.  I’m pretty sure you have similar recollections yourself if you study over it a bit.  We’ll start with the first on the list and work our way down.
     Some trees will turn the underside of their leaves up to the sky in anticipation of its thirst being quenched. Impossible to miss for the underside is a much lighter shade of green.
     They say counting August fogs will predict how much snowfall is coming.
     This one is a can’t miss, blackbirds feeding in mass gathering on the ground is a sure sign of bad weather coming in the next day or two.
     Of course we’ve all heard the saying “Red Sky at night, sailors delight. Red Sky in morning, sailors warning”.  Have you heard this one though? “Rainbow in the morning, heed the warning”.  Now a rainbow in the western morning sky means a lot of moisture in the air and usually rain is coming from that direction.  A rainbow in the western sky says rain is moving out and sunny days are ahead.
     Here is one you can take to the bank.  When the sun or the moon is encircled with a halo you can expect rain or snow in the next 3 days.
     If you happen to have a science minded friend when it comes to weather foretelling, mention wooly worms and watch them get fired up. Traditionally, I’ve heard folks find one before winter and try to predict the whole winter. More modern folks who celebrate this little critter will tell you it’s only good for a few weeks and you have to rely on several of them over time.
     Here’s one I didn’t know about. Pine cones will close up when humidity increases to protect its seeds from the soon to arrive downpour.
     What about Persimmons?  Supposedly if you cut one to the kernel and it’s shaped like a spoon, that means shovel. As in get ready to shovel some heavy wet snow that winter. If shaped like a fork, one would expect a light, mild winter.
     One of my favorites to investigate is a practice that was still being used in the 1930’s in the county, maybe even longer.  They were called “Goose Bone Prophets”.  Geese were commonly raised by families in the county and most would say if the breast feathers became dull and darker that a poor winter was coming.  The prophets would go further and upon slaughtering a goose, they would take the breastbone and boil it for several minutes and afterwards would measure the thickness of the bone as well as “read” the colors and patterns on the bone to predict how kind or harsh Old Man Winter’s return would be.
      What tales have you heard growing up? Which ones do you swear by? Drop us a line and let me know!  Until next time, the mountains are calling.