The Boys In Breathitt

 

Courier-Journal, 1878

Camp Taylor, Jackson, Breathitt County, Kentucky

December 19.

Perhaps some readers of The Courier-Journal, without time to fan out the chaff that has been written about the "Breathitt Wars," would like to have the causes that brought the soldier boys here in a few grains, is it were. Well, here's the story in as few words as I know how to put it:

J. W. Burnett, a young attorney at the bar, and ex-Judge Ed Strong both wanted the Democratic nomination for county judge, and as the mass-meeting in June broke up in a row, they entered the race independently and had things hot by the August election. Burnett, by a questionable trick at one of the precincts, came out winner by eight votes. Then the Littles, the Gambles, Aikmans, Allens, and other supporters of Ed Strong swore Burnett should never discharge the duties of the office, while Bill Strong and his clan swore that he should.

In the early part of November a candidate from each of the opposing factions offered for the office of school commissioner, and the election of one of the two by another questionable process increased the bitter feeling, and both parties took up arms.

On November 25, circuit court was to meet, and the opposing forces agreed to stack arms and keep the peace as long as they could. Bill Strong (a noted Federal freebooter in Breathitt County during the Civil War) came early to town, but did not put away his arms as agreed, and when at noon Aikman and party arrived they immediately opened fire on Strong, and, in the fight that ensued, Freeman, a Negro in the Strong party, was killed and his brother wounded.

On the following day a posse was ordered to go out and meet the sheriff, who was bringing from Lexington Jason Little, to be tried for the murder of his wife. Judge Burnett went with the posse, and upon their return the Aikman-Little party fired on the sheriff's party and killed Judge Burnett. The sheriff's party returned the fire and killed Tom Little. The ended the actual hostilities, and that night the Little clan withdrew from the town and the Strong clan did likewise the next day. Matters, however, continued equally. Circuit Judge Randall had fled the town, after having ordered the prisoner, Jason Little, taken to the Richmond jail, which was done the following Friday; the county judge was dead, and peaceable citizens left the county for safety.

This state of affairs continuing, and Judge Randall making no call for state aid as he should have done, Gov. McCreary finally took the responsibility of ordering a portion of the Louisville Legion and of the McCreary Guards, 56 men, to report in Jackson to Judge Randall, the sheriff of Breathitt, or to whatever officer could be found.

The troops, accompanied by a Courier-Journal correspondent, arrived at Mt. Sterling by rail on the night of the 11th, and on the following (Thursday) morning started out afoot through rain and snow over a miserable mud road through the mountains, and after enduring every sort of privation, wading streams and camping out at night without tents, reached this place on Monday morning, and just in time to protect the magistrates in the election of Judge Lindon to succeed the deceased Burnett in the office of county judge.

The boys have converted the courthouse into quite comfortable quarters, and are about as lively a set as you will find anywhere. It is now eight o'clock at night, and, having partaken of a good supper, they are amusing themselves in various ways. Some are engaged in conversation, some are playing cards, and a choir, led by Frank Hutchison of the McCreary Guards, is giving us some old-time songs, such as "Massa's in de cold, cold ground," "Old Black Joe," and "My Old Cabin Home." They are really good singers, and it gave one pleasure to listen to them. I found in the courthouse a patent arm-chair that is just the thing to write on. I took a candle, melted some of it on the table part of the chair, and stuck one end of the candle in hot tallow. When it cools I have a first rate light, and am fixed for work. The chair sits right at the foot of the judge's stand, and commands a good view of the whole room.

A Noisy Crowd

I have but one objection to the boys, and that is they are the noisiest set of fellows I ever saw. It would take Jerry Little's gang and 40 others just like it to reduce Camp Taylor to a comparative state of quietude, and the only relief to be found from the terrible noise is to work while the boys are asleep. I presume it would take another Civil War to break the boys of this habit; hence there is not much prospect of a chance during the Breathitt campaign.

Compliment to Capt. Taylor

Capt. Taylor, having done his whole duty to the men on the march to Jackson, they compliment him today by naming the camp after him. He is an excellent officer, and is not only respected, but well liked by every member of the command. Lieut. Back commands like a veteran. Lieut. Thompson moves about with the quiet air of an old soldier, and does his duty admirably well. Lieut. Swigert provides the capables, and is at work all the time.

Last night and today the weather was very cold, but the sun had at last begun to shine on us, and that is enough to jump with joy after enduring so much rain and snow.

A Good Set of Men

The people say the men who came here before were not the best soldiers they ever saw. The soldiers who are here now conduct themselves in a different manner than the others, and they are pleased with their appearance and manners. They say many of those who were here would contract for things to be sent to the quarters to be paid for there, and that was the last of it. Capt. Taylor's men pay promptly for everything they get.

This morning Lieut. Swigert left on a horse for Mt. Sterling, where he goes to make arrangements for additional supplies and to attend to other men connected to military affairs. Jackson has the appearance of a regular military station, and there business is being transacted. It reminds me of the little towns that were overrun by the soldiers of both armies during the war. There are only store opens, but they have limited supplies. The county would not be in a much more deplorable situation.

A Reign of Terror

A reign of terror prevails, and most of the good citizens keep away; fearing they will be assassinated. The factions are undoubtedly watching each other closely, and are ready to take advantage of the smartest exhibition of weakness. I venture to say that Breathitt County, today, is the worst place to be in the United States, and no human tongue can tell how the people are going to protect themselves from their miserable condition. The first day we arrived 40 or 50 people were assembled to see the soldiers march in. Since then the streets have been almost deserted by men in citizen's clothes. I heard one of the Little party say today that he wished they would declare martial law in the county, and not stop until peace was permanently made. He said some of the men who belonged in his party deserved punishment as much as anybody, and he hoped it would be given out to them.

Some of Bill Strong's particular followers have yet made their appearance, but Judge Lindon, the newly-elected county judge told me today that Strong would come in before long. From what I have heard I believe it is the intention of some parties to watch the roads and waylay him and his party when they start to town. There will be no shooting in town, but I would not be surprised at any moment to hear of other murders in the county. The readers of the Courier-Journal who live far away from here cannot imagine what bitter feelings exist between the factions, and it does seem that neither party will be satisfied with anything but more blood.

Overawed By A Few Men

A few men have simply overawed the peaceable and law-abiding citizens, and they are permitted to do abut as they please. Jerry Little was in town today, chock full of apple brandy, and he made it lively for awhile. A man by the name of Markham, who is a sympathizer of Strong, met Jerry, this evening and started to say something to him. JErry stepped up to Markham and very cooly knocked him down with his fist. Markham got up and went away without saying a word or offering any resistance. The two stores were immediately closed by the proprietors, but no other difficulty occurred. Yesterday evening as I was passing along the street, I saw two men engaged in a war of words. One of them said, "Did you say I stole your pistol?" The other made some reply and whipped out a long knife, and brandished it threatingly in his antagonist's face, but they separated without coming to blows. Two men got into a difficulty a short time before that, when one of them knocked the other "heeled over appetite," as the soldiers say who witnessed the lick. If the soldiers had not been here, it is more than probable that each one of these difficulties would have resulted in bloodshed. Several of the natives are drunk tonight, and, to use a slang phrase, seem to be spoiling for a fight.

They have got soused to violence and bloodshed they do not think anything of jerking out a pistol and blazing away at a man for the least kind of an insult, and in many cases they shoot at a man just to see him run. I was entertained last night for two or three hours by three young men narrating some of the incidents that have happened here in the past few years. Incidents of men being shot at in the dark, and often hit, are too numerous to mention, and it would require a column to give the names of those who have been hit with rocks and bricks.

Where Is Judge Randall

Not a word has been heard here from Judge Randall. The people are unanimous in the opinion that if he does not hold a court while the soldiers are here, he never will hold one. When he was here before a man drew a murderous looking knife across the judge's breast, and said, "Damn you, we would just as soon cut your heart out as not." What is best to be done it is hard for anybody to say,but some action should be taken by the governor, and without any very great delay, either.

There has been a disposition on the part of some persons to treat the Breathitt County trouble as somewhat of a joke, but the time has gone by for that. Red-handed murder stalks forth in broad daylight over the Breathitt hills and through the valleys, and nearly every man you meet might almost be termed a walking arsenal. Men strap their hugh pistols around them and do not try to conceal the fact that they carry them constantly. Everybody is provided with the most improved brands of revolvers and rifles, and no people know better how to use them. It is a common thing for men to brag about the men they have killed and about those they intend killing. An old lady told me last night that she would rather start on foot and take nothing with her but the clothes on her back and hunt a place where people live in peace than to endure what she has in the past few years. Her house, she says, has been fired into time and again, and for many nights she has remained in a state of terror, expecting every moment to hear bullets crashing through the windows, doors, and weather-boarding. Her house is already full of bullet holes, and if the strife continues she will have to stop them up to keep out the cold. I say in all seriousness that I am not writing to create a sensation, but am simply giving a statement of affairs that really exist here. I would rather live on the western plains, and take the chances of being scalped by Sitting Bull, than to live in Breathitt County at the present time. Gov. McCreary will not perform the duty he owes to the state until he brings about a different state of affairs here, or at least make a very determined effort to do so. If it requires a regiment of soldiers to accomplish the desirable end, they ought to be mustered in and sent here. There is one thing certain, and that it, it is going to be more trouble than the governor dreams of to stop the continued flow of blood, and make Breathitt County a place where men can go about their daily avocations without the grim specter of death staring them all the time in the face.

I hold to the opinion expressed in a former letter that the improvement of the Kentucky River, and the building of a railroad through this region, will go far towards redeeming it from the bloody grip of the desperado. The people here have but little else to do now, except to nurse their private grievances and kill their enemies whenever the opportunity offers. If they had a market for their vast beds of coal, iron, lead, and timber, they would go to work in earnest, and through their desire to posses themselves of a larger supply of this world's goods than they can now lay claim to, they would forget, to a great extent, these petty feuds, and learn that there is something better to live for than the gratification of personal hate and revenge. Again, internal improvement would soon turn the tide of immigration towards one of the richest mineral regions on the globe, and it would not be long before the habits of the people would undergo a complete change. Those who now live here in comparative idleness would be ashamed to stand by and see their neighbors prosper above them, and would either go to work themselves or gather together what little they have and go to some other part of the world. Furthermore, the interests of the commonwealth, regardless of the state of affairs that exist here, demand that these improvements should be made, and it is to be hoped that the members of our next legislature will think more upon this subject than about their prospects for becoming statesmen. When they meet together next winter they will have no United States Senator to elect, no bigger bank bill, perhaps, to consider, and the meager question being settled for a time to come, probably they will condescend to legislate upon something that will benefit their constituents.

The Cannel-Coal Beds

The cannel-coal beds up here are inexhaustible, and they contain the best quality to be found anywhere. If the needed improvements were made here the hills would reverberate with the sound of the woodman's ax and the whistle of the locomotive and steamboat, and employment would be given to thousands of men. I want to renew the invitation to the members of the next legislature to visit this country in a body and view the enormous wealth that is here, waiting, as it were, for an owner, for I feel confident they will go back and vote for the internal improvement bill without a dissenting voice.

I certainly never appreciated the value of our own state until the Breathitt war brought me to the richest portion of it, and the men who have come here to preserve the peace say the same thing.

The King Of The Ox Drivers

John Faulkner, who drove the ox wagon that contained the supplies for the command on the late trip, is undoubtedly the king of the ox drivers. He drove all the way with nothing but an ordinary suit of clothes on, and never once complained of the cold. After driving all day he showed no signs of fatigue whatever, and was ready to scout around every night in search of adventures. He can sleep on the ground all night without covering and get up feeling as is he had slept in a warm feather bed.