Colin Evans Great Feuds in History, Ten of the Liveliest Disputes Ever (2001)

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vendetta actually started.
It all began with a pig.
Sad to say, the feud by which all others in America are judged,
and perhaps the single most famous feud in history, had its ori-
gins in nothing more quarrelsome or momentous than an old
razorback hog.
Now, it should be remembered that along the Tug Valley, a siz-
able accumulation of hogs meant status and standing in the com-
munity, not to mention some serious folding money in the
pocket, and the sudden loss of a porcine snuffler was grounds
for considerable distress. Which explains why Randolph Ran l
McCoy got so riled when one of his hogs went missing one fall
day in 1878. A suspicious sort, the fifty-two-year-old Kentucky
farmer immediately turned his cold, gray gaze across the mists
of the Tug Valley, into neighboring Logan County, West Virginia,
home of the hated Hatfields.
There had been bad blood between the two families for years,
though no one knows exactly why. Maybe it had something to
do with the Logan Wildcats, a guerrilla band formed by William
Anderson Devil Anse Hatfield back in 1863, after he d deserted
the Confederate Army in favor of a little freelance skirmishing.
The Wildcats were a hellacious rabble that largely ignored mat-
ters of national military significance in favor of local raids on
adjoining farms, most notably the McCoys . . . .
Or it might have been the killing of Asa Harmon McCoy, an
ex Union soldier hunted down through the snow by bushwhack-
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Hatfields versus McCoys 69
ers and killed in a cave on January 7, 1865. Although blame fell
on the Wildcats, no one could be certain if Anse was present at
the time of the killing. . . .
More likely the feud was rooted in simple jealousy. Anse Hat-
field was several light years removed from being the stereotypi-
cal backwoods rube. A shrewd, intimidating businessman with
a dangerously quick temper, he and his wife, Levicy, had trans-
formed their branch of the Hatfield clan into the Tug Valley s
wealthiest landowners.
Whatever the origin of the bad feeling, there can be no doubt
that in this remote corner of the Appalachians, with no rail-
roads, no towns, no industry, and scant law enforcement, there
was plenty of time and ample opportunity for grudge bearing.
And Ran l McCoy could bear a grudge with the best of them.
The McCoys had been among the first wave of pioneers to set-
tle the Kentucky side of the Tug Valley, one of the most rugged
and forbidding sections of the Appalachians, a maze of secluded
valleys, dark shadowy woods, and craggy hills that kept out the
sun. Since the Civil War, Ran l had struggled to eke out an exis-
tence from the forests. Unlike Devil Anse, his efforts to garner
a share of the vast timber profits on hand had ended in ruin and
soul-destroying poverty. Things got so bad that most of his
sons he and wife, Sarah, produced sixteen children were
reduced to sharecropping on neighboring farms, which in
Appalachian terms was just about as low as a man could get.
It was a tough life and it showed. In his dress and austere
demeanor, Ran l McCoy resembled an Old Testament prophet,
with his full, flowing beard, shaggy hair, broad shoulders, and
threadbare clothes. Home was a rough log cabin on Blackberry
Fork in Pike County, and like just about everyone in these parts,
he supplemented his meager income by distilling illegal whiskey
and raising hogs.
Except that one of his hogs was missing.
Ran l was ready to bet his life he d find it rooting around in
some Hatfield pen. For the most part, his neighbors were hon-
est, but not those Hatfields. Old Devil Anse and his kin just
couldn t keep their hands off other folks property, despite the
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70 GREAT FEUDS IN HISTORY
fact that they already owned several thousand acres of prime
timberland, way more than anyone else.
Six feet of devil and one hundred eighty pounds of hell, 1 ran
one acid description of the Hatfield patriarch, and few argued
the point. Devil by name, devil by nature, and woe betide the
fool who crossed Anse Hatfield. They came up against a hook-
nosed, bearded troglodyte and his thirteen strapping kids, most
of whom had inherited Pa s swaggering belligerence. No doubt
about it, the Hatfields were big trouble and, boy, could they brag.
It was this propensity for loose talk that led Ran l to the home
of Floyd Hatfield, Anse s cousin. Sure enough, Ran l peered into
a pen and spotted a hog that looked mighty familiar. When chal-
lenged, Floyd angrily pointed out his own brand on the hog s ear
and growled at Ran l to make himself scarce.
Contrary to popular belief, not all mountain disputes were set-
tled with buckshot. Ran l, a law-abiding man, took his grievance
to a local judge, the Reverend Anderson Hatfield, who, despite
the name, had a reputation as an impartial jurist.* Because hog
rustling was a serious crime, Reverend Hatfield listened closely
to what Ran l had to say and agreed there was a case to answer. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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