by J. L. Salter
1. Though it happened many years (possibly decades) later than I portray in my tale, there was a stranger on horseback who rode to the nearby Pleasant Hill Church. He stopped to speak with someone, remounted, and was almost immediately shot dead beside the road; church members buried him where he lay. Supposedly nobody back then knew who he was, where he was from, or why he’d stopped. And presumably nobody now living knows why that stranger was killed or who shot him.
In real life, there is no particular reason to believe the killer was involved with that church service. He/she could have lived nearby, or (as I suspect) could have been following the stranger and only caught up when the victim stopped at the church. The real life variations I’m aware of (to this true story) are as I’ve presented them in my novel: whether the stranger entered the church building, whether he arrived as the service began or ended, how many people he interacted with, and whether he got a drink of water.
Touching that grave’s modest fence was an actual spooky tradition among the children of this community in times past — my father-in-law did it himself. Over time, however, the site of the victim’s grave was eventually forgotten, and after the highway crew checked (unsuccessfully) in mid-2005, they proceeded with their paving project.
There was an article in the local paper (during the summer of 2005, as best I can recall) about the mystery grave and the highway crew’s problem, but well over a year later when my father-in-law and I searched for it in the archives of the Commonwealth-Journal, we were unsuccessful.
2. After the actual Dutton’s Hill battle nearby — rendered in my appendices with extremely factual detail, based on the numerous historical sources I consulted — my wife’s ancestral family did house a mortally wounded Rebel soldier, who died during the night and was hastily buried in the woods on the hill before daybreak. It was the real life beginning of the Bishop Cemetery. Had they been caught, it would have resulted in dire consequences for the entire household. The oppressive life for a local resident during the Yankee occupation of Somerset is accurately depicted in my novel and appended material.
As I portray in my story, different family descendents remembered variations of whether there was a second CSA soldier and which direction he departed. As I heard these different versions, I was captivated by the possible stories of this second Reb — so I dreamed up the notion of him hiding in a nearby (actual) cave and being attended by an imaginary member of the cabin’s household. And I thought it would be a wonderfully inventive twist if that second soldier returned here after the war to look up the family who’d helped him and his companion… but evidently ran into the wrong person and was murdered instead. My fictional solution to the real church murder mystery is, of course, entirely my own conjecture.
An elderly William Bishop and his young second wife, Mary Taylor Bishop, resided in the cabin described in my story (and its foundation is visible about 500 feet from our house). Among their children was my wife’s great-grandmother, Nancy Catherine Bishop (who later married a Fisher). Nancy Catherine was not yet ten years old at the time of the wounded Reb’s fateful visit. The 25-acre farm my wife inherited came through Nancy Catherine’s daughter, Jessie Fisher Williams, and Jessie’s son, Charles A. Williams — who was my father-in law until his death in early 2008.
The fabricated actions and words of my characters in the made-up Butler family are meant, in no way whatsoever, to represent any real individuals in the Bishop family of that era. In particular, though patriarchs were typically stern during those times, I am not at all suggesting any actual Bishops were abusive to their children. The children of my fictional William and Mary Butler are not based on any of my wife’s actual great-great-aunts/uncles. The character Belva Butler is entirely from my own imagination.
Two documents in my novel — Mary Butler’s letter to her sister and Belva Butler’s diary pages — are totally my own creations, needed to advance my invented plot.
My greatly distilled information about the Yellow Fever epidemic — as it involved the Memphis area in 1878 — is completely true, though its involvement with characters inspired by my wife’s family is totally my own fabrication.
My novel features a song — Weeping, Sad and Lonely; When This Cruel War is Over — which is real in every detail, and I possess an authentic vintage edition of its sheet music.
The poet-author William Alexander Percy — who wrote the poem, Safe Secrets — was an older relative of Walker Percy, an award-winning and critically-acclaimed author whom I knew from my hometown (Covington LA).
In real life, both caves are farther away — representing the north point of a triangle with the battle site and the cabin — than I have placed them in my story. Since they are on private property, I have not revealed the actual names by which my wife’s family knew them. There really is a stalactite which (somewhat) resembles a bunch of bananas, but it’s in the other nearby cavern — not in the cave I’ve characterized as the Reb’s temporary home. The notion this particular wounded Reb hid there after one night in the cabin is entirely my own invention, though it certainly would have been possible. The actual nearby cave does have a cracked ceiling which looks like gigantic shuffled cards, and such damage would be consistent with the results of blasting for the new highway construction.
Perra and Gato represent our actual pets, Belle and King Sipper, though our beloved terrier, Belle, died in early 2013, nearly five years after this novel was originally drafted.
Acknowledgements
It is far more than a mere formality that I express profound appreciation to Stephanie Griffin, founder and CEO of Astraea Press. Without her acceptance of me and my stories, you probably would not be reading this novel. I’m very pleased to work again with senior editor Kay Springsteen, and I want to thank editor/proofer Traci Pollitt for her careful attention. My compelling cover was created by Book Beautiful.
This story owes a lot to my late father-in-law, Charles A. Williams, who was born in a small yellow house just a few feet from where the old Bishop Cabin stood (and was still occupied for many decades). Dad read my novel in early manuscript form and seemed to enjoy it, including the Chet “Pop” Walter character, which was inspired by him. When one of his nephews asked him some questions about the real incident with the wounded Reb, my father-in-law pointed to me and said, “He covers the whole story in his book.” That is an endorsement which I take to heart.
The several writers cited in my novel and/or appendices are the actual authors of works which included historical information I found useful, particularly related to the Civil War era in this region and the Battle of Dutton Hill.
I’m indebted to the gracious Terrie Vacek who showed me the genuine Confederate monument atop Dutton Hill during the early fall of 2007.
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Readers
In addition to my wife, Denise W. Salter (who read particular sections of early drafts and also helped proof the entire manuscript in galley format), and my brother, Charles A. Salter (who read and critiqued an early draft and greatly assisted with the blurb), this story had numerous readers for much earlier drafts. I greatly appreciate:
These who read a complete early draft and provided helpful feedback: Dr. Gerald Weigel, Theresa Thevenote, Sona Dombourian, Dean Spradlin, Richard Jasper, Susan Wise, Becky S. Rod, Mike Aguillard, Stephanie R. Morgan, Rachel R. Stewart, Connie Williams, Renita Godby, Doris R. Salter, Julie Salter Moers, and Scott Warner.
These, who also read an early draft: Charles A. Williams, Jeff Williams, Ron Carter, Paula Thevenote, Brian Stewart, Kathy Roy, and Cathy Lenox.
These others, who expressed encouragement and interest in my story: Angel B. Salter, Lisa Rowell, Georgia Raymond, and Liz Lenox.
Appendix 1
Lake Cumberland & Wolf Creek Dam
The federal government had impounded all the area needed by the Tennessee Valley Authority for flood control and hydroelectric power. They constructed the 22nd largest dam in the U.S. and flooded the designated area at the end of 1950, re
sulting in a modified lake considered one of the largest east of the Mississippi River. Some of the lake’s published statistics referred to its highest possible reaches as 760 feet above sea level and claimed it was 101 miles long, had 1,255 miles of shoreline, and covered 65,530 acres. But the normal lake level was 723 feet, where surface coverage was 50,250 acres — significantly less than at “maximum flood.” However, at its minimum power pool level, 673 feet, the lake would cover only 35,820 surface acres.
Of course, the lowered level of 680 feet, in order to fix the dam, was the upstream elevation — downstream portions of the lake were only 543 feet above sea level. Some people lived on lake fingers where the water was just plain dried up, while others still had navigable streams… albeit narrow ones. In most places one could see some forty-three feet of dry shoreline which had remained soaked for the previous fifty-six years.
The lake was the primary draw of some $150-$200 million in annual tourist dollars to the area. According to numerous published sources: Lake Cumberland, prior to the current dam problem, was an average of ninety feet deep. So, draining off some forty-three feet actually meant the current lake — by volume — would have an average depth of only a bit more than half its normal level.
Even with lowered water, Lake Cumberland remained the third largest lake in Kentucky: still numerous areas with wide, presumably deep water. But the massive rework of the main Wolf Creek Dam was predicted to take seven years to finish, so people got used to only the lower half of the lake.
Originally, the 2007-2013 dam overhaul was projected to cost about $309 million, but as additional problems were discovered, that amount swelled to about $594 million, according to newspaper accounts.
The firm hired by the Corps of Engineers had completed enough of the dam repair to raise the water level significantly during the summer of 2013; however, it was not scheduled to be back at its normal pool level until the following year.
Feb. 1, 2014 update: because of the EPA restrictions concerning a protected species, the Duskytail Darter, the Corps of Engineers had announced a preliminary decision NOT to raise the lake to its full “normal” level in the summer of 2014 after all. The pool level will only rise to about 705 feet, roughly where it was during the summer of 2013. That is still some twenty feet below the original level before the 2007 drawdown.
April 2014 update: In a reversal which greatly pleased both local residents and thousands of visitors, the Corps and EPA have made other arrangements for the Duskytail Darter and intend to bring Lake Cumberland back up to full normal level by the summer of 2014.
Appendix 2
Bishop Cemetery
Established 1863
In the text, for simplicity, I rounded the numbers in the fictional Butler Cemetery and generalized its layout. Here are the actual figures for the old portion of the real Bishop Cemetery:
Of those spaces, 102 plots had been definitely located… yet they came up with only sixty-four names. At the bottom of the list were seven other individuals known to be buried somewhere in the old section, but their graves could not be pinpointed. Plus there were thirty-one more spaces known to be graves, yet no idea of who was buried in them.
According to the list, some unknowns had rocks, a few had stones, some indicated the marker was flat, and at least two indicated “small stone laying flat.” Some of the unknowns had no markers of any sort — they were only recognized as graves by the slight depression in the ground. Yet all that accounted for only 102 graves.
The chart also had huge areas with no graves indicated. Those spaces were believed to hold approximately 198 more bodies. No markers. Not even any surviving evidence the dirt or grass had ever been disturbed, yet no new graves had been undertaken. Locals had thought bodies were buried there, so subsequent generations observed proper respect by maintaining substantial space, which tradition said were likely graves. Three or four generations of diggers had properly begun the newest holes away from graves which, back then, were likely still visible.
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The chart suggested a vague physical pattern. The dead Rebel was as close as you could get to absolute dead center of the old part. The second known date was 1872, but that grave was five bodies to the north of the Reb. Between them, all in a neat row, were three unknowns and a marker with a single name. There were several other unknowns nearby and a lot of unmarked space in the rows to either side of the Reb. The third known date, 1877, was slightly farther away from the Confederate… six graves south and two rows west. By that time the cemetery was at least four rows wide and an average of twelve graves long — approximately forty-eight plots.
The next ten known dates were dispersed evenly: five to the Reb’s north and five to his south. By 1899, the cemetery had at least six full rows averaging sixteen graves each: approximately ninety-six total graves by the turn of the century. By the time the final grave was added to the old section in about 1940, some 204 more bodies had been interred.
Appendix 3
Battle of Dutton’s Hill
March 29-30, 1863
[This is my own distillation of numerous historical documents, including: Gillmore’s report, Pegram’s report, a local columnist named O’Leary Meece, a local history compiled by Alma Tibbals, plus articles by Roger Tate, John Nelson, and Gladys Dutton. Plus a unit history of the Union’s 1st Kentucky, published about thirty years after the war.]
Brigadier General John Pegram’s Confederate forces moved back into eastern Kentucky in mid-March of 1863, mostly to obtain beef cattle for the Confederate army. They got as far north as Danville. Major General Quincy Gillmore began collecting his Union troops: 6,000 men scattered all over western Virginia, eastern Tennessee, and eastern Kentucky. Many of these Yankees retreated from the advancing Confederate raiders. This was partly because Yankee intelligence indicated Pegram had 3,500 men and six artillery pieces with him, while two other Southern forces of 1,500 and 750 men were in his general area. Gillmore’s goal was to attack Pegram before he could link up with those other two Rebel forces.
In the actual main battle, the Rebels slightly outnumbered the Yankees, but not by nearly as much margin as their intelligence had indicated. The Union force under Gillmore’s immediate command on site was about 1,250 men, with two large cannons and four mountain howitzers.
As Gillmore’s Yankees advanced, Pegram backpedaled toward Somerset. What the Yankees didn’t know was the Rebels were stopping to skirmish with them so Pegram’s other forces, farther south, could get their stolen cattle, horses, and supplies across the river at Burnside, and eventually down into Tennessee. Pegram’s strength has been listed as everything from 1,500 to 2,600 men; it varies so much because some counts likely include one or both of those other two Rebel forces nearby. Pegram also had three field pieces. Somebody in the battle, probably the Yanks, had what they call Rodman guns… which ranged in size.
Though there were fighting skirmishes — including an engagement near Stanford on March 29 — before and after the main battle, most people think of the entire battle as the fight which took place near a hill on the Dutton farm. That’s about two miles north of Somerset off the road to Crab Orchard. Pegram’s complete campaign lasted a little under two weeks, but the main battle occurred on March 30, 1863. After daybreak the Yankees moved into position to attack. The Union artillery, in the center, began the actual battle about 12:30 p.m. As they shelled the Confederate line, a Rebel force attacked the Yankee right flank, forcing it back.
At about the same time Gillmore ordered the Yankee right and center to assault the Confederates on the hill. Most of the Confederate fire from three artillery pieces went high over their heads because of proximity and trajectory… and the hill itself fell rather easily. Some accounts say in about ten minutes.
The Yankee artillery and men then turned to assist the heavy fighting on their right flank. Pegram sent a Rebel unit around his left to attack the Yankee right, but their attack never happened. After several hours of fighting, Pegram’s command retrea
ted. The Rebels were driven from one position to another, they retreated through Somerset, and they set up for one final skirmish in the general area where the Community College is now. Some say they did skirmish there, while others say the Yankees never attacked that evening.
Pegram later withdrew during the night across Cumberland River. Some say he was just driven out of the state, while others specify that he fled to Tennessee or southwest Virginia.
On a nine day expedition into Kentucky, Pegram’s forces had captured horses, supplies, and 750 cattle… of which they took 537 across river. They left behind 213 livestock, plus much of the plunder and other supplies they’d picked up from the abandoned Union outposts.
The casualty reports vary quite a bit.
The Confederates sustained somewhere between 200 to 300 casualties… which included killed, wounded, captured, and missing. Most reports indicate about 250. Reports agree most of them were taken prisoner, in fact local stories say 200 prisoners were confined in the Pulaski County Courthouse. Actual battle deaths were somewhere between 19-27 killed. If the number of prisoners is correct, then there could have been as many as eighty wounded or missing… though the number is more likely about twenty-five.
The Yankees had considerably fewer total casualties. Reports vary for them also, but the range was smaller: somewhere between 30-60 men were killed, wounded or missing. The figures you see most often are ten killed and twenty-five wounded.
The Union dead were taken to the cemetery near Nancy or sent to their homes, if nearby. Those of the Confederate forces were buried on the battlefield where they died. Many were interred in a single grave up on Dutton’s Hill.