Hatfield and Mccoy fued continues in Court.

PIKEVILLE, Ky. - Descendants of one of the nation's most famous pairs of feuding families, the Hatfields and McCoys, will face off in court to settle a dispute over access to a cemetery where three slain boys were buried.

``I really hate that we have to go to the court system to settle this,'' said Bo McCoy of Waycross, Ga., a plaintiff in the lawsuit against a Hatfield descendant who blocked access to the family cemetery.

``We wanted to be gentlemen about it,'' McCoy said. ``We felt like we had no other choice.''

The cemetery, which holds remains of three McCoy boys who were tied to pawpaw trees and executed by the Hatfields in 1882, is too important historically to remain closed to the public, McCoy contends.

Larry Webster, an attorney for Hatfield descendant John Vance, whose property stands between the cemetery and the nearest road, said the case pits an individual family that wants some privacy against the interests of tourism and economic development officials.

Vance had posted ``no trespassing'' signs on the property before a judge granted an injunction this year giving temporary access until a jury decides the issue. The trial is set to begin Jan. 22.

``This was designed to get national headlines, and designed as a way to get free advertising for people who hope to make a profit from these things,'' Webster said.

The feud between the McCoys of Kentucky and the Hatfields of West Virginia is believed to have stemmed from a dispute over a pig. A court battle over timber rights escalated the tension in the 1870s. By 1888, at least 12 people had died.

Bo and his cousin Ron McCoy, organizers of the annual Hatfield-McCoy Reunion Festival in Pikeville, want the cemetery to be part of a tour highlighting points of interest in the bloody feud. Economic development officials hope the feud sites and cemeteries will draw tourists to the mountain communities.

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Men Who Matched the Mountains

It is the stuff of legend: the story of two noble, strong-willed families locked in the throes of mortal combat, bound by personal honor to avenge the smallest of grievances, finally forsaking the pursuit of justice for the call of vengeance.

The families were led by two men who matched the character of the mountains they called home. William Anderson "Devil Anse" Hatfield and Randolph "Ol' Randell" McCoy were men of similar yet contrasting natures. Both men were heads of large families. Devil Anse and his wife, Levicy, and Randolph and his wife, Sarah were thought to have had thirteen children each. Both men were hard working and adept at surviving the harshness of mountain life. Both were men with profound senses of duty and justice. Both heeded the call to war and fought for the Confederacy. Both sensed the changing tide of Appalachia as West Virginia seceded from Virginia and timber, railroad and mining interests began working their way into the region.

Known as a gregarious storyteller and gracious host, Devil Anse was also an able outdoorsman and excellent marksman. As a young man, his penchance for hunting bear earned him his nickname when, after one three-day long encounter, he declared himself ready to take on the devil himself.

Some fifteen years older than his counterpart, Randolph, by contrast, was said to be a more introverted, sullen man. He was a man resolutely committed to his family, quick to defend against what he perceived as injustices done to his family. He was also a strong believer in the legal system. When others were quick to take up arms to settle disputes, Randolph was often the sole voice of reason, steadfastly pursuing legal resolutions to his problems.

For his involvement in the feud, Randolph paid a great price. Five of his children were gunned down and a sixth, Roseanne, died at the age of thirty. "Ol' Randell", now broken and driven nearly mad by grief was known to walk the streets of Pikeville recounting the story of the feud to whoever would listen.

Devil Anse, meanwhile enjoyed a certain post-feud fame. Though his business interests prospered, as did his personal notoriety, Devil Anse still struggled with the legacy of the feud. Ultimately, this struggle led him to finally make his peace with God and the fiercely proud, self-sufficient mountain man was baptized by his friend, Rev. Dyke Garrett in the waters of Island Creek.

So how is that two such men could set their families into a decades-long bloody conflict that would be settled only at unspeakable costs? The origins of the vendetta are unclear. Like most great tragedies, however, its beginnings are a collection of relatively minor offenses, minute in comparison to its ultimate outcome.

First Blood

Though taking place nearly two decades before the height of the feud, the slaying of Asa Harmon McCoy is often given as one of the defining events of the Hatfield-McCoy feud.

With the onset of the Civil War, Kentucky remained a "neutral" State and, as such, was often at the mercy of the competing forces of North and South. Asa Harmon, brother of Randolph McCoy, though he was a slave owner, was a keen observer of his times. Sensing the turning tide of the war, he defied the general sympathies of the region and enlisted in the Union Army in 1864. He served for eleven months until he was felled by a broken leg and discharged from the Army on Christmas Eve, 1864.

He returned home to a chilly reception. Though he expected animosity from the Confederate side of the Tug, he was surprised at the cool welcome he received amongst his own family members. Indeed, he found little sympathy at home even after he was threatened by Jim Vance, the ruthless uncle of Devil Anse Hatfield. It was Vance who promised a visit from the Logan Wildcats, a local "home guard" group intent on protecting their own interests.

Frightened by a series of gunshots fired on him as he drew water from a well, Asa Harmon fled for the safety of the hills and found refuge in a cave there. For several weeks, he hid there, visited only by his wife and his slave, Pete, who brought food and supplies. On the night of Jan. 7, 1865, it was Pete who inadvertently revealed Asa Harmon. The Wildcats had simply followed Pete's tracks in the snow. Asa Harmon met his fate at the end of a rifle.

Suspicion first fell on the leader of the Wildcats, Devil Anse Hatfield. Devil Anse as it was well known had no affection for the Union in general or the McCoys in particular. Devil Anse, however, was quickly found to have a legitimate alibi: on the night of the killing, he was sickly and confined to bed. The slaying of Asa Harmon was followed by a resounding silence. There were no calls for vengeance, no cries for legal reprocity from the McCoys. A number of reasons have been ascribed to this lack of action: a noted lack of sympathy for the Union, a possible apathy in the region credited to war weariness, a lack of tangible proof and conflicting accounts of what had transpired. By some accounts, Randolph McCoy, who also served in the Confederate Army was being held in a Union prison camp. Whatever the reason, the simple fact remains that the tensions between the families had yet to cross the bloody line of violence that would be a staple of the feud to come.

Of Pigs and Men

It is often the smallest of things that can serve as a catalyst for major catastrophe. So it was that an argument over livestock would set into motion years of bitter strife.

In the manner of mountain living, it was not uncommon for the owners of livestock to mark their property, then allow them to forage freely through the mountainside fattening themselves up on the vegetation that was plentiful during the spring and summer months. In the Fall, they would be rounded up by their rightful owners for their inevitable slaughter. Since honesty and integrity were part and parcel of mountain mores, livestock owners could always count on their livestock being recovered.

In 1878, Randell McCoy happened on the property of his Stringtown neighbor, Floyd Hatfield, the cousin of Devil Anse. As the two made conversation, Randell's gaze fell on a pen of Floyd's razorback hogs. In a sudden outburst of anger, he did the unthinkable: he accused his neighbor of stealing one of his hogs.

Randell marched to the home of Rev. Anderson Hatfield, the presiding Justice of the Peace, and placed charges against Floyd Hatfield. "Deacon" Hatfield, with a keen sense of justice and perhaps at least a fearful concern of upsetting one or both of the families, selected a jury comprised of six Hatfields and six McCoys. Bill Staton, a nephew of Randell's whose sister had married Ellison Hatfield, swore that he had witnessed Floyd mark the hogs. The pendulum ultimately swung in favor the Hatfields when Selkirk McCoy, a cousin of Randell's, sided with Staton and voted for the Hatfields. A livid Randolph McCoy left the court, cursing and vowing vengeance on the two that had betrayed him. The men took him at his word. After receiving numerous threats, both Staton and Selkirk relocated to the West Virginia side of the Tug Fork.

Some time later, "Squirrel-Huntin'" Sam McCoy, nephew of Randell, and his brother Paris, were hunting in the woods when a frightened Staton, sure that he was being tracked, fired on the two. Soon Paris and Staton were locked in a heated, physical struggle. As Staton gained the upper hand, Sam took aim at Staton, shot and killed him. Leaving the body in the woods, the two evaded justice until Ellison Hatfield swore out a warrant for the men, contrary to the wishes of Devil Anse.

Sam stood trial for the shooting of Staton with Valentine "Wall" Hatfield, older brother of Devil Anse presiding. The McCoy family was stunned when the decidedly Hatfield jury acquitted Sam on the basis of self-defense. It is speculated that the wishes of Devil Anse were carried out since it is said he wanted the well-respected Sam released in the interest of maintaining the peace.

Juliet of the Mountains

Election days were always festive times for the residents of the Tug Valley. Communities would use the occasion to come together to enjoy food, family and friends. The more adept political candidates would provide food and alcohol in hopes of coercing votes. Families separated by the severity of the land would traverse great distances, crossing city, county and state lines to come together in a time of fellowship.

The Hatfields were a prolific family in the Tug Valley: "River" Hatfields resided on the West Virginia side of the Tug River while "Creek" Hatfields made their home along the Tug's many creeks on the Kentucky side. Devil Anse was known as a respected, prominent member of the community, having social and political contacts on both sides of the Tug. As a rising timber entrepreneur, Devil Anse had a personal interest in the outcome of the election. So it was that the Hatfields to be a part of the elections in Blackberry Creek in 1880.

Devil Anse and his family members including his eighteen-year-old son, Johnse traveled to the home of Jerry Hatfield that was serving as the polling center. Also on hand were Randolph and his clan including his daughter, Roseanne, a mature nineteen year-old regarded as one of the most comely young women in the valley.

As the two eyed each other for the first time, Roseanne and Johnse knew the instant attraction of forbidden love. Throughout the afternoon, the two talked until they could bear no more. They stole away for privacy, leaving the cacophony of the Election Day celebration far behind.

When night fell, the two returned to the polling center only to find that the crowd had dissipated and the families had returned home. Fearful of the wrath of her father, Roseanne elected to go home with her new beau. In doing so she sealed her fate, for her father would never forgive her for stepping into the home of her father's arch-nemesis.

Devil Anse had no inclination to allow his son to wed a McCoy. In years to come, it was a decision for he which he voice regret. In the ensuing months, a still-angry Randolph sent Roseanne's sisters as emissaries to bring her home. Finally, a disheartened Roseanne left the Hatfield homestead and went to live in Stringtown with her Aunt Betty, widow of Allan McCoy, the brother of Sarah.

An infatuated Johnse still made regular visits to see Roseanne. Word of these visits reached the

McCoys and they engineered an ambush. Jim McCoy, attacking as a Pike County deputy, alleged that Johnse would be carried back to Pike County to face moonshining charges. Roseanne, fearful that her lover was being led away to be killed, performed one of the most daring acts in feud history. She made her way to Tom Stafford's farm, borrowed a horse and sped through the night over the rough mountain terrain to warn the Hatfields. Devil Anse, Cap Hatfield, Jim Vance and others mounted up and navigated familiar shortcuts until they surrounded the McCoy forces and negotiated the release of Johnse.

Following his capture, a fearful Johnse discontinued his visits into Kentucky. A grieved Roseanne was now faced with a greater injustice. Deprived of the man she loved, she was now pregnant with his child. Roseanne gave birth to a daughter, Sarah Elizabeth whom she named after her mother and her aunt. The child soon fell ill and died at eight months of age. A grieved Roseanne would make daily visits and prostrate herself in anguish over the grave of her child.

Johnse, on the other hand, found solace in the arms of Roseanne's cousin, Nancy, the daughter of Asa Harmon. A consenting Devil Anse permitted the two to marry. They resided in West Virginia had several children together until Nancy had her fill of Johne's carefree ways. Ultimately, she returned home to Kentucky, only to marry the most dreaded of the Hatfield's antagonists, Frank Phillips.

A broken Roseanne finally returned to the home of her parents in 1888 to tend to the recovery of her ailing mother. Lost in depression and despair, Roseanne found her health gradually slipping away. Despite repeated assurances by doctors that she bore no illness, Roseanne finally passed away at the age of thirty. She was the first of her family to be laid to rest in Dils Cemetery.

The story of Roseanne's tragic life soon became a staple of Appalachian folklore. It is said that as her story was recounted, whenever her name was mentioned, they spoke of her in whispers.

Election Day, 1882

It was yet another Election day, August 7, 1882 that set the stage for the event that would propel the families into bloody conflict. Tolbert McCoy, representing the leadership of his family that day, was in a particularly argumentative mood. Although the cause of the argument is unclear, Tolbert became embroiled in an argument with the Ellison Hatfield, brother of Devil Anse. In a fit of rage, Tolbert attacked the elder Hatfield with a knife. Soon, his brothers, Pharmer and Randolph, Jr .joined in. Ellison was cut twenty-six times. As Hatfield put up a vigorous fight, a desperate Pharmer finally shot him in the back. Despite his wounds, Ellison managed to live, though barely clinging to life.

The three brothers sought refuge in the woods, only to be captured and detained for transfer to the Pike County prison. On the morning of August 8, Devil Anse arrived with a posse to lay claim to the boys. Clearly outnumbered, the McCoys relinquished the three. Randolph, fearful for the lives of his boys, hastily made his way to Pikeville to enlist legal and judicial help.

The Hatfields delivered their detainees to the security of an abandoned schoolhouse to await their fate. Sarah McCoy and Tolbert's wife, Mary made their way through a driving rain to plead for the lives of their loved ones. Following a lengthy final visit with their men folk, they were finally sent away with the assurance that fate of the McCoy boys would be contingent on the outcome of Ellison's fight for life. Devil Anse gave his word that the three would not be slain on West Virginian soil.

On Wednesday, August 9, Ellison lost his fight for life. The Hatfields stoically led the McCoys to the mouth of Mate Creek and crossed over to the Kentucky side. There, the three were bound to paw-paw bushes where they met a fuselage of more than fifty bullets as punishment for their crime.

On August 10, funerals were held on both sides of the Tug. Ellison Hatfield was laid to rest by family while friends and neighbors buried the three McCoys in a common grave. The families had now crossed the point of no return. Blood was drawn and family honor demanded justice.

Ambush

Once again, the feud settled into a period of lulling silence. Randolph enlisted the aid of Pikeville attorney Perry Cline, the brother of Martha McCoy, the widow of Asa Harmon. Fueled by his own ulterior motives and fostering an impassioned hatred for Devil Anse, Perry Cline took to the pursuit of the Hatfields with a vengeance. Warrants were sworn out for more than twenty Hatfields relations for the murder of the McCoy boys. But, the Hatfields remained sequestered on their side of the Tug Fork and Pike County officials were reluctant to pursue them.

Some minor skirmishes transpired in these quiet years. The Hatfields suspected that many of their activities were being telegraphed to the McCoys through Johnse's wife Nancy and her renownly talkative sister, Mary Daniels. Taking matters into their own hands, Cap Hatfield and Tom Wallace assaulted Mary and beat her as punishment for her talkative ways. This assault did not sit well with Mary's brother, Jeff. In 1886, after a quarrel that resulted in the death of Fred Wolford, Jeff fled to the relative safety of Nancy's home in West Virginia. Now on common soil with his enemy, Jeff plotted revenge against Cap and Wallace. Following a failed assault on the two, Cap, acting as a special constable for Logan County soon arrested Jeff for the murder of Wolford. En route to Pike County, Jeff managed a desperately escape. As he swam across the Tug, he was felled by a bullet from the rifle of Cap Hatfield just as he reached the Kentucky side. .

With the onset of the gubernatorial race of 1887, Perry Cline seized on the opportunity to pursue the Hatfields for political gain. He promised Sam Buckner, facing an uphill battle for election, the votes of the McCoy clan in exchange for his support for bringing the Hatfields to justice. He revived the warrants sworn out in 1882 and when Buckner ultimately was elected governor, he convinced him to offer bounties for the capture of the Hatfields. Further, Buckner appointed Pike County deputy sheriff, "Bad" Frank Phillips, as his special agent in charge of the vendetta. Phillips was a man known for his courage, his tenacious resolve and in particular, his ruthlessness. Organizing his first excursion into West Virginia, Phillips netted his first capture. Ironically, the first man taken was none other than Selkirk McCoy, the noted swing-vote of the infamous pig trial.

New Years Day, 1888

With the threat of arrests now looming over them and the continued forays into West Virginia increasing, the Hatfields devised a plan that was daring even by mountain standards. Cap, Jim Vance and the now liberated Johnse, whose wife, Nancy had now returned to Kentucky, rounded up a cadre of more than twenty men that included Ellison "Cotton Top " Mounts, the illegitimate, mentally retarded son of Ellison Hatfield. Declaring himself too ill to participate, Devil Anse sent the party by night on a raid that intended to put an end to the struggle once and for all.

As the party surrounded the cabin of Randolph McCoy, Jim Vance called out for the McCoys to surrender. Randolph and his son, Calvin took up position to defend the homestead as Sarah and her daughter, Alifair gathered up the smaller children. Suddenly, the first shot rang out as Johnse fired accidentally, perhaps as a warning intended for his former love, Roseanne who he mistakenly believed to be in the cabin.

A massive onslaught of gunfire followed but proved ineffective against the double-logged walls of the cabin. Frustrated by the futility of the attack, Vance set fire to the cabin. As the fire quickly spread throughout the cabin, Alifair opened up the kitchen door and called out to Vance. Knowing that Appalachian code would never permit the shooting of a woman, Alifair boldly stepped into the darkness to plead with the attackers. In an instant, she was shot and killed. Sarah, running out after her daughter, met the butt of Jim Vance's rifle. She was beaten repeatedly until her skull was broken and she slipped into unconsciousness.

With the fire collapsing the cabin around them, Calvin offered a plan of escape. He would provide a distraction by running to a nearby woodpile and providing cover for Randolph and the children to escape. A reluctant Randolph agreed. Snatching up one of the younger children, Randolph ran for the woods as Calvin made a dash for the woodpile. It was a run that he would not complete. He, too was killed as a bullet pierced his skull.

The daring premise of the assault was now unresolved. Despite the fierceness of their assault, the head of the opposing clan had somehow managed to survive. By the dying embers of the fire, the Hatfields retreated back into West Virginia, unfulfilled.

By the light of morning, Randolph returned to the cabin to find his wife miraculously clinging to life, her grandchildren gather about her. Alifair lay dead beside her, her long hair frozen to the ground. Friends and neighbors once again performed a solemn duty as they buried two more of Randolph's children in the McCoy Cemetery.

His home gone, a beaten Randolph moved from the valley to the relative safety of Pikeville, some twenty-five miles away. He and Roseanne reached a peace by necessity as she moved into the home to help care for her mother.

Randolph spent the remainder of his years operating a ferry crossing the Chloe Branch of the Big Sandy River. Overcome by the loss of six of his children, he was known to wander the streets of Pikeville, recounting his tale of woe to all who would listen, muttering and cursing the name Hatfield.

The Battle at Grapevine Creek

Following the attack on the McCoy cabin, the raids into Hatfield territory increased to a fevered pitch. Logan County and West Virginia officials including Governor Willis Wilson expressed concern and threatened to take action against the incursions. Meanwhile, Frank Phillips escalated his forays into West Virginia, narrowing his focus to concentrate on capturing Cap Hatfield and Jim Vance. As Phillips ambushed the two, Vance, in what was to be his last effort in defense of the Hatfields, ordered Cap to safety while he lingered behind. As Cap scampered away, Phillips walked steadfastly up to the injured Vance and put a bullet in his head.

Further excursions into West Virginia resulted in the capture of Wall Hatfield, Cap Hatfield, Tom Chambers and others. They were returned to Kentucky and held in the Pike County jail to await trial. In turn, West Virginia swore out warrants for the arrests of Frank Phillips and twenty-three others for the murder of Jim Vance.

The Hatfields organized defense patrols to combat the intrusions into their territory. These groups elected to remain on the West Virginia side of the Tug Fork and not risk the possibility of capture and incarceration. In addition, Govs. Wilson and Buckner ordered their State troops to standby for possible deployment to secure their borders.

On Jan. 18, 1888 the cauldron of tension finally erupted into the largest, open gunfight of the feud. Frank Phillips and a party of eighteen men met a Hatfield party of thirteen at Grapevine Creek, a West Virginia tributary of the Tug. In the ensuing gunfight, a number of injuries were sustained. Young Bill Dempsey, fighting for the Hatfields, suffered a gunshot to the leg and hid himself in the underbrush for safety. He too met his fate when the gun of Frank Phillips answered his cries for help.

From the Tug Valley to the Supreme Court

With bounties for the capture of the families now in abundance, the area was now inundated with free-lance bounty hunters. These "detectives" were considered rudely intrusive and were reviled by the residents of the Tug Valley. Sensationalized accounts of the feud began appearing regularly in the pages of the tabloid press. New York writers who came to the remote Tug Valley were unable or unwilling to understand the culture and ethics of Appalachian culture. As a result, the stereotype of the ignorant, savage "hillbilly' was created to explain away the truth of the feud and the ingrained sense of honor and justice that bound the families to it.

The legal battle between the States finally found resolution in the United States Supreme Court. The Court ruled in favor of Kentucky deciding that individuals acting as free citizens were firmly within their rights when they crossed the boundary between States, captured the persons in question and returned them to their home state to face justice.

With this ruling in place, Kentucky was free to pursue the prosecution of the Hatfields being detained in the Pike County Courthouse.

Last Hanging in Pike County

In the summer of 1889, the Hatfield's long wait had come to an end. The many months of legal wrangling, the countless petitions of the courts, the harsh war of rhetoric between States had finally resulted in the unthinkable: members of one of the Tug Valley's most prominent families were being brought to trial for murder.

With the onset of the trials, Ellison " Cotton Top" Mounts opted for what he considered an intelligent alternative. In a bid for leniency, "Cotton Top" pleaded guilty to the murder of Alifair McCoy.

Unfortunately for Mounts, however, this decision precipitated the final pivotal event of feud history.

On Aug. 24. 1889, a court made up of decidedly nonaligned jurors begins the process of passing down sentences of life imprisonment for eight Hatfields including Johnse, Cap and Wall. Wall would eventually die in prison. Johnse would receive an abbreviated sentence after he saved the life of a prison guard. On Sept. 4, while the balance of his fellow detainees received life imprisonment, "Cotton Top" received the harshest of sentences: death by hanging.

It has been speculated that Mounts was enticed into his confession, either by the Hatfields, or by the prevailing legal authorities in Pike County in search of a scapegoat. Given his limited mental capacity, Mounts made for an able sacrifice for either side. Indeed, in the months that he spent awaiting his execution, "Cotton Top" steadfastly, though errantly, believed that the Hatfields would break him out of prison.

It had been nearly forty years since the last public hanging in Pike County. Indeed, public hanging had long previously declared illegal. As the day of reckoning approached, Pike County officials reached a compromise that would satisfy the law as well as the public's insatiable desire for justice. The gallows, though surrounded by a high fence, were conveniently constructed at the base of a hill that allowed bystanders an unobstructed view of the execution.

On Feb. 18, 1890, more than five thousand bystanders gathered as Ellison Mounts was led up the platform to meet his fate. As the hangman's noose encircled his neck, distraught Mounts, abandoned by the family he loved, spoke his final words: "the Hatfields made me do it!"

Following the death of "Cotton Top" Mounts, the sounds of gunfire that had long filled the Tug Valley began to wane. The blood of the families that had fought so bitterly for twenty years would spill no more. The last hanging in Pike County brought peace.

Our Common Heritage

The story of the Hatfield-McCoy feud has long ago slipped into modern myth. People are fascinated by the smallest details of the story, from its instances of passion, pride and fierce family devotion to its stories of courage and desperation, justice and vengeance. As self-identity is washed away in the current of progress, people are intrigued by tales of self-reliant individuals with their resolute devotion to the ethics of right and wrong. In an era when few stand for anything, many are looking to the examples of those who stood for what they believed in.

The very age that has helped to generate this renewed interest in things past, however, has helped to spawn a paradox that threatens to destroy its veracity.

In the post Civil War period, many journalists were turning to escapist stories of sensationalism to placate a public hardened by years of contending with the brutal details of war. These "yellow journalists" were content to whet their reader's appetites with lurid details of illiterate, barbaric hillbilly clans intent on killing each other for the sport of it. When Northern urban writers found themselves unable or unwilling to understand the mores and ethics of rural mountain-folk, they created sensational stories of massive gunfights, unbridled passions and bloodlust. Given the isolation of the Kentucky-West Virginia region, most "details" of these stories went unchecked and sometimes were further exaggerated by editors intent on selling newspapers. Indeed, by the time the feud had escalated to the point where it had captured the collective national imagination, the true story of the feud was forever clouded by inaccuracies that have long since become clichés.

It is this challenge of truth that faces us today. It is our duty to perpetuate the truth of what transpired before us and to bear reverently the legacy of our common history.

Written by Ron McCoy,
Durham, North Carolina

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