Hers is the classic story of a girl who loved too
much. Young and starry-eyed, she blinded herself to
clan hatreds, and one spring afternoon, claimed Johnse
Hatfield as her lover and intended husband. Little did
she know how completely her happiness was doomed. Nor
that she would become fuel in America's most famous,
brutal feud. Before she died of a broken heart eight
years later, she would become a casualty in the
mountain war that left her alone, pregnant, a family
traitor, bereaved of five dead siblings and betrayed
by lover, parent and, at last, her own mind and body.
A
chronology
of the feud's main events against
the backdrop of other events in American history.
Map
of feud sites.
She is the heroine of myth, music and movies.
Even today, more than a century
later, her life and that of her kinsmen form the
compelling center for books and films, the latest an
Arts and Entertainment TV "Biography"
feature due to air this spring. It is one in a horde
of retellings . . . from major movies and love songs
to old texts and a new storybook cassette, many with
widely varying version of dates, names, times and what
occurred.
Yet one fact remains:
Nothing like the Hatfield-McCoy
feud has ever happened in American life. Nor could it
happen today.
First, there are the people . .
. Giants with fierce pride and strange names like
Devil Anse. Cotton Top. Bad 'Lias. And "Squirrel
Hunting" Sam. Men bred from the rugged
individuals who scorned the courtesies and
restrictions of their native, stifling Virginia
society and chose to strike out for open spaces to the
west, a wilderness where they could be free.
Here in the mountain terrain
among the wildest in eastern America, the twisting Tug
Fork River sliced West Virginia's Logan (now Mingo)
County with its Hatfields and Kentucky's Pike County
with its McCoys into separate and independent-minded
states. And never would that independence be more
challenged than with the coming of the War Between the
States, when Kentuckians and West Virginians fought
and died for both the Union and the South's honor and
cause.
Strangely, if not for the war
and its divisions, the tragedy of the Hatfields, the
McCoys and Roseanna might never have been.
Or perhaps, if there had not
been that damnable pig. . .
The People on the Peaks
Peace was never natural along the
Tug's banks. Especially not in the mid-19th century.
The men here doted on their
skills at guns and fights, their
spit-the-devil-in-the-eye fearlessness, their huge
families, their freedom. For them, government barely
existed. Courts were few and police protection almost
nonexistent, with public servants dreading to venture
into the hollows and backwoods near today's Matewan,
W.Va. and Pikeville, Ky.
Rugged outdoorsmen, often
intelligent and usually illiterate, they made whiskey,
logged timber, fished and hunted. And they excelled at
their crafts. Many were such uncanny marksmen that the
story is told of a shy mountain boy who put a bullseye
through a coin thrown into the air without any of
those present having seen him even draw his gun. The
stuff of legend? Likely, but indicative at least of
the tenor of the time and region.
Still, before the Civil War,
there was a certain quiet harmony in that
uncompromising land.
With romance in mind, both
Kentuckians and West Virginians frequently crossed the
Tug in search of sweethearts, courted their choices
and, as young couples, turned their relatives into
relations. With so few families in the vicinity, there
was limited variety. Cousins often married cousins.
Hatfields married McCoys. And as babies swelled their
ranks, all was well with the growing clans.
The Reigning Patriarchs
On either side of the river, men
stepped forward to assume the mantle of leadership for
their kin.
In Kentucky, that mantle went to
Randolph (Randall, Ole Ran'l) McCoy, a tall,
broad-shouldered man of property with gray eyes, full
beard and serious, almost morbid, bent of personality.
Married to his cousin Sarah, the couple produced 16
children, one dead at birth but a surviving brood that
included nine fighting-age sons and six daughters,
among them the ill-fated Roseanna. Described by a
sympathetic author as "a kindly old man," he
nonetheless seldom laughed and lacked the natural
charisma of his West Virginia counterpart.
Ruling the West Virginia bank
was Capt. William Anderson (Devil Anse) Hatfield, also
tall, gray-eyed and bearded, with a striking
resemblance to Stonewall Jackson. Gifted with an
innate talent for tall tales, a love of pranks and
almost clownish sense of humor, the former Confederate
officer was a legend in his own time, thanks to his
incredible marksmanship and legendary feats.
With finite detail in his book,
"The Hatfields & The McCoys," Virgil
Carrington Jones describes an instance when Devil Anse
single-handedly cowed a large band of Union soldiers
from his perch on a mountaintop. Methodically pivoting
from one position to another and with unerring
accuracy, he held them at bay in the ravine below
until the band, under cover of darkness, turned tail
and silently stole away.
Once described as a man who had
"never killed anyone just for the pleasure of
it," it's told that at some point in his youth,
Devil Anse came across a sleeping bear and kicked it
to consciousness, apparently for the sport of it. He
then stood guard over it, without food, drink or
ammunition, through two days and a night. When worried
family and friends rescued him, he insisted the food
go first to his dogs, then shot the animal in its
hiding place and vowed, according to some accounts,
that after such an adventure he was "ready to
face the devil." Apochryphal perhaps, but a good
fit for the nickname he would carry later in life.
 Like McCoy a prolific father,
Hatfield and his wife Levicy filled their home with 13
children, four daughters and nine sons. It was his
oldest, Johnson (Johnse), who would become Roseanna
McCoy's object of love, lust and broken dreams. Yet
the senior Hatfield and McCoy were not, by nature,
totally at odds. At the heart of it, each was a
"simple, hospitable mountaineer. . . affectionate and
home-loving." And perhaps sharing the same mortal
flaw: an overpowering family pride that grew to
murderous proportions in sons who were too quick to
take offense and too stubborn to forgive.
The Divided Banks
If only there had been no war . . .
If only the neighbors had all
fought together . . .
But reality was bitter. With
West Virginia's admittance to the Union in 1863, Devil
Anse Hatfield realized that, as a Southern
sympathizer, he, his family and property were in real
danger. Now, in the name of home defense, he formed
the Logan Wildcats, which as one of the most feared
guerrilla bands to patrol the Tug's banks, too often
forgot its honorable objective and cashed in on the
less-than-honorable spoils of war. In a tit-for-tat
aggression, guerrillas from both sides seized and
stole hogs and horses and hides. Always, in the midst
of the fracas, McCoys and Hatfields took turns as
victims and attackers. And always, the clans'
hostilities grew to increasingly dangerous new
heights.
Finally, on Jan. 7, 1865, they
claimed their first victim.
A Union veteran who had waited
two years to enlist, Harmon McCoy, younger brother of
Ole Ran'l, had defied his family's loyalties by
joining Northern forces as a private for 12 months.
Suffering a broken leg and
discharged on Christmas Eve 1864, he returned home to
a chilly welcome and a chilly warning from Devil
Anse's ruthless uncle, Jim Vance, that he could expect
a visit from Devil Anse's Wildcats.
Frightened by gunshots as he
drew water from his well, Harmon hid in a nearby cave,
supplied with food and necessities each day by his
slave, Pete. But Harmon's fate was sealed. His
tormentors followed Pete's tracks in the snow,
discovered the ailing Harmon and shot him dead.
At first, Devil Anse Hatfield
was the prime suspect.
Later, after finding the
Wildcats' leader had been confined to his bed, the
guilt turned squarely on Vance and, according to some
accounts, "Wheeler" Wilson, the real gunman.
But in an area where Harmon's military service was an
act of disloyalty, even his family believed the man
had brought his murder on himself.
In the end, the case died with
no suspect brought to trial.
Even so, it was a frightening
reminder of the brutality that the families'
hostilities could bring to life.
A Pig in Court
For 13 years, peace reigned along
the Tug.
With the passing of time,
Hatfields and McCoys forgot the tensions and
injustices of the war years. Again, the families
intermarried. Even the patriarchs, with Ole Ran'l
considerably older, added to their expansive families.
In West Virginia, times were
good. Devil Anse's logging enterprise prospered and
his crew grew to 30 men. Through a lawsuit against
Perry Cline, he gained 5,000 acres along Grapevine
Creek, turning him into one of Logan County's
wealthiest men.
But near Kentucky's Blackberry
Creek, the tide was about to turn.
It happened one autumn day in
1878 when Ole Ran'l stopped to visit a Kentucky
Hatfield, his wife's brother-in-law, Floyd. There
Ran'l spotted a familiar-looking pig and claimed it as
his own, accusing Floyd of theft. (Pigs in those days
roamed free until herding time, marked only with an
identifying ear notch.) Tempers flared and soon the
two faced off in court.
Ironically, Preacher Ans
Hatfield, a hard-shell Baptist minister and justice of
the peace, presided over the jury of six McCoys, six
Hatfields and a courtroom littered with jugs and
rifles. The final verdict rested on the testimony of
Bill Staton, a nephew of Ole Ran'l and brother-in-law
of Ellison Hatfield, who swore to Floyd Hatfield's
ownership.
It was enough. Floyd won.
But Staton was marked for death.
Within months he found it at the hands of Paris and
Sam McCoy. Though Sam was tried for the shooting in a
Hatfield court, which writers believe Devil Anse had
instructed to acquit for the sake of peace, the
gesture was futile. The Mc-Coys were en-raged that Sam
had stood trial at all. Instead of gratitude, they
felt an even greater hatred for the Hatfield clan, and
it would take little more for the seething
frustrations to burst into all-out war.
Enter Romeo and Juliet
Against this background of bubbling
resentment, nothing could seem more foolhardy than a
love affair between a daughter of Ole Ran'l and a son
of Devil Anse.
But Roseanna McCoy was not wise.
By the best measure, the spring
election of 1880 proved her downfall.
To mountain folk, elections were
great social events. Men came to swap goods and
stories, to drink and laugh and doze in the sun. The
women grabbed the chance to visit, gossip and show off
their gingerbread, a token bribe to influence votes of
their choice. All in all, elections were not to be
missed.
Johnse Hatfield understood that.
Though only 18 and a West Virginia resident, he
descended on Jerry Hatfield's Kentucky grounds that
day dressed in his finest Ð yellow shoes and new
mail-order suit. A notorious lady's man whose looks
set hearts aflutter, he had romance in mind.
Then he spied Roseanna.
Though her age varies from
source to source, as does the spelling of her name,
she was at least a year older than Johnse, by then a
well-established bootlegger with stacks of ignored
violations against him in Kentucky. The attraction was
instant and magical.
Soon Roseanna, considered one of
Pike County's most beautiful girls, sauntered away
into the nearby bushes with Johnse. The two returned
hours later, when the sun was beginning to set and
Roseanna realized her brother, Tolbert, had left for
home without her.
Panic-stricken and with fear in
her eyes, she turned to her new lover.
Johnse rose to the occasion,
suggesting that she come home with him to the Hatfield
cabin.
It seemed the only thing to do.
The Devil Resists
But though Roseanna had, quite
unexpectedly joined his household, Devil Anse was far
from pleased at the idea of the couple's marriage.
Some say he thought Johnse too
young. Others swear he simply refused to have his own
blood mixed with that of Randall McCoy. Whatever his
reason, he turned deaf ears to Roseanna's pleading and
when, months later, her mother sent her sisters to beg
for her return, Roseanna went, in part, according to
some historians, because of Johnse's wandering eye.
But her stay with her own family, punctuated by Ole
Ran'l's nagging and reproaches, was short-lived.
In desperation, Roseanna fled to
her aunt, Betty McCoy, at Stringtown, Ky., a spot
closer to her lover and where the two could meet again
with no prying brothers' eyes to disturb them.
But Roseanna had underestimated
the male McCoys.
One night, as the lovers
rekindled the magic of their attraction, her kinsmen
surrounded them, took Johnse prisoner and set out for
the Pikeville jail. The alleged destination didn't
fool Roseanna, who understood Johnse would be killed
at the first convenient spot. In an act of sheer
devotion and family disloyalty, Roseanna borrowed a
neighbor's horse and rode, hatless, coatless and
saddleless, to Devil Anse. Quickly gathering sons and
neighbors, he led his forces over a shortcut, cut off
the McCoys and reclaimed his son without a scratch.
For her bravery, Roseanna
received a cruel reward. From that day, Johnse never
again risked returning to her side. Hopeless and
pregnant, she went back to the father who considered
her ride an unforgivable sin. There, amid hostility
and shame, she contracted measles and miscarried her
child.
To add to her heartbreak, Johnse
married Roseanna's 16-year-old cousin, Nancy McCoy,
only months later, on May 14, 1881.
Declaration of War
In little more than a year, the
Hatfield-McCoy feud would burst into flames, perhaps
not coincidentally at Jerry Hatfield's home during the
1882 election.
There in the shadow of
Roseanna's first blush of love, her brothers, Tolbert,
Pharmer and Bud, would, without seeming provocation,
stab Devil Anse's brother Ellison 26 times and finish
him with a shot in the back. After his death three
days later, the trio paid with their own lives, tied
to paw paw bushes and riddled with bullets, despite
their mother's cries for mercy.
Soon after, when the Hatfields
decided someone was leaking their plans, they turned
on Nancy McCoy Hatfield's sister, Mary Elliott,
bursting into her home and switching her and her
daughter with a cow's tail. When her brother Jeff
McCoy tried to seek revenge, he was arrested, escaped
and quickly shot at the banks of the Tug.
Before the feud's end around
1891, the death toll numbered 13.
To answer a legion of real and
imagined wrongs from Ole Ran'l and with considerable
influence from his political ally Perry Cline Ð the
man who had lost 5,000 acres to Devil Anse so long
before Ð Kentucky's governor appointed special
officer Frank Phillips in 1887 to arrest the murderers
of the McCoy brothers. To sweeten the pot, he also
offered outlandish reward money that unleashed an army
of bounty hunters on the West Virginia ridges.
Determined to leave no living
witnesses to convict them of their crime, the
Hatfields raided the McCoy family home on New Year's
Day 1888, killing daughter Alifair and son Calvin and
burning the cabin to the ground.
Suddenly public opinion shifted
against the Hatfields, and Phillips began his work
with glee and new names on his list, though he lacked
properly executed extradition papers.
In response, West Virginia's
governor put up his own reward offers, sued his
neighboring state for unlawful arrest of nine
prisoners and eventually saw the case to the United
States Supreme Court before the men were returned to
Kentucky for sentences of death and prison terms.
But there was little joy at the
verdicts.
Roseanna herself was gone. After
tending her mother's wounds from the New Year's Day
raid, Roseanna grew more and more depressed, slipping
away from life soon after. Less than 30 at her death,
she lies today buried in Dils Cemetery at Pikeville.
In a twist of fate, Johnse
Mc-Coy, convicted separately and later than the others
of feud crimes, was pardoned when he saved the life of
Lt. Gov. William Pryor Thorne as the latter was
attacked by an inmate during the official's prison
inspection. Johnse's wife Nancy had long since left
him, moved in with and, upon the pair's mutual
divorces, eventually married his pursuer, Frank
Phillips. She died at 36.
The evil Jim Vance was killed in
the feud. His young comrade, Cap Hatfield, went on to
become an attorney and the father of Logan County's
first woman lawyer.
And Those Left Untouched
When the smoke had cleared, there
remained the greatest irony of all. With all the
bloodshed around them, both Devil Anse and Ole Ran'l
were left unharmed. Both lived well into their 80s.
Randolph McCoy died of burns on March 28, 1914. Devil
Anse, who had become a baptized, born-again Christian
in 1911, succumbed to pneumonia on Jan. 6, 1921. His
funeral, at Sarah Ann, W.Va. was the largest ever held
in Logan County.
Descendants of both men have
gone on to honor their states and nation as governors,
educators and physicians.
This past December, the site of
Devil Anse Hatfield's burial was dedicated as a
national monument. It's not known how many McCoys were
in attendance.
PICTURES COURTESY OF
PIKE COUNTY, KY. TOURISM COMMISSION, WEST VIRGINIA
STATE ARCHIVES, NATIONAL TAPE & DISC CORPORATION
|
