In my unvarying search for Northeast Tennessee history, I often uncover attention-grabbing material. Recently, I spotted something from the late 1800s that aroused my curiosity because it pertained to Davy Crockett, a favorite theme of mine. It concerned an actor from Kentucky who became rich and famous for his on-stage portrayal of the noted hunter and storyteller.

Frank Mayo (1839 to 1896) was an American actor and comedian. In 1872, he perchance depicted Davy Crockett in a stage production, featuring a backwoods character that, almost overnight, endeared him to his public. He became synonymous with the role for a couple reasons – the sincere, polished acting in his portrayal of the Tennessee pioneer and the reputation of the 19th-century American folk hero, frontiersman, soldier and politician.

L to R: Frank Mayo Flyer, Sketch of the Famous Actor, Portrait of Davy Crockett

On one occasion late in his career, the actor had just concluded a Crockett performance when he was approached by some newspaper reporters desiring to interview him. In spite of his fatigue and the lateness of the hour, the congenial actor agreed to talk with them.  

“How many times have you played Crockett on stage?,” asked one individual. Frank paused a few seconds, put his hand to his temple and responded: “My head is getting gray and every hair is a Crockett. This is a special night, the 3000th one. I have played it so long that the public has identified me with it and the demand is so strong that I am essentially prohibited from producing anything else. In one sense, I am regarded as the real Davy Crockett.

“In nearly every town I visit, I am invited to hunting parties, when the truth is that I never shot a gun in my life. Buffalo killing expeditions have been organized for my benefit. They are surprised to learn that I have neither the experience nor a taste for that kind of sport.

“I am passionately fond of appearing in other settings of legitimate drama. I was the principal supporting actor for Julia Dean Hayne (American actress) in all the classical characters in which she appeared. I favor variety so, consequently, the continual playing of one character is becoming monstrous to me.”

Another reporter noted, “You certainly had a full house tonight.” Mayo countered with “Oh yes, the house is always full. The late Davy Crockett is very popular, but it exasperates me to be compelled to play it all the time.”

Frank truly believed that he was a veritable Davy Crockett. Even in other occasional roles, people could not disassociate him from his mountain man character. He sincerely believed that a magnificent Shakespearean artist was spoiled when he became Davy Crockett.

Newspapers of that era had many flattering comments for Frank “Davy Crockett” Mayo:

1. “Mr. Mayo's fine physique and voice of great pathos and flexibility are no small portion of his advantages. He has disciplined himself into a subdued and picturesque style of interpretation, which is exceedingly effective.”

2. “David Crockett is a historical character and one of those wonderfully brave souls who fell at the Alamo. The love story that runs through it possesses all the elements that capture the public sympathy.”

3. “Mr. Mayo is the ideal backwoodsman, a hero in buckskin, commanding in statue, an Apollo in appearance, strong as Hercules and as tender as a woman. He possesses a face for manly beauty.”

4. “This theatre cannot afford to lose Davy Crockett or Frank Mayo. There is no play anything like the former and no actor to replace the latter. The pioneer, Crockett, was a gold mine and local managers demanded it be so.”

5. “Frank Mayo's “Davy Crockett” is one of the best of the realistic class of plays. The pure love of a strong, untutored nobleman of the forest is at all times portrayed in a masterly manner by Mr. Mayo.”

The end came in 1896 when the actor passed away.

On Sept. 17, 1890, a Memphis journalist, known only as Mr. J and who was a cousin of Johnson City's mayor, Ike T. Jobe, took a train ride to our city, first on the Memphis and Charleston Railroad and then over the East Tennessee, Virginia and Georgia Railroad. 

The writer noted that until a year or so prior, the area was unworthy to be called a city because it was nothing more than a railroad station with a few diminutive stores and residences scattered about. Nevertheless, older inhabitants always had an abiding faith that something much better was in store for them. 

In about 1888, the town began to take on a new image. Northern capital began finding its way to our area. As a result, new railroad lines were surveyed and constructed; manufacturing facilities were built in record number; and the surrounding hills and mountains disgorged its hidden treasures of iron and coal.

Almost overnight, Johnson City's modest village became a municipality of about 5,000 inhabitants. A 125-ton capacity blast furnace was among the substantial improvements of the newly formed Carnegie Land and Impartment Company.

Suburban lands were summarily subdivided into town lots, streets graded and scores of new residences and businesses houses constructed. One of the most beautiful one was a $100,000 lodge named Carnegie Hotel after the famed industrialist. The city acquired the distinction of being the seat of the largest tannery (The Horton and Yokum Co.) in the United States.

The Comet Newspaper Advertises Jobe's Livery Stable on E. Main Street

Upon arrival at Johnson City, the journalist became the guest of Ike T. Jobe, who, that same week, took him on an excursion over the narrow gauge East Tennessee and Western North Carolina Railroad that spanned a distance of 32 miles to Elk Park, N.C., just over the Tennessee line. As the train made its serpentine journey across the wild and rugged mountains, the vehicle passed through five tunnels in just four miles. The journalist described the area as being “a most beautiful and picturesque mountain region.” 

Mr. J visited Elk Park, a small town built up in the mountains, having an elevation of 3,250 feet above sea level with climate rarely exceeding 80 degrees Fahrenheit. The reporter was informed that only a few mile away was the celebrated Roan Mountain, renowned for being the highest elevation for many miles around. From its cloud-capped pinnacle could be seen portions of five States.

Two miles east of Elk Park, Mr. J. encountered the mining village of Cranberry, where the finest iron ore to be found in the country was obtained in copious quantities. The blast furnace and the mines furnished abundant employment to many workers. He described it as a very busy and prosperous community.

During Jobe's cousin's abbreviated stay at Elk Park, he was the guest of another cousin, Mrs. Hattie Taylor and her husband, Nat W., brother to the Honorable Robert L, Taylor, Governor of Tennessee, described as “a most amiable gentleman.” 

After departing, the train made a stop at Elizabethton. This town, the county seat of Carter county, was a small place but, according to the reporter, delightfully situated. Surrounded on all sides by lofty hills, the town was built at the convergence of the Doe and Watauga rivers.

Mr. Jobe explained to his relative that “Watauga” was an Indian name, signifying “beautiful river.” No one who viewed it and the lovely valley which stretched away to the west of Elizabethton, could refrain from agreeing with Landon Carter Haynes when he succinctly said, “It is beautiful indeed.” When viewed from one of the lofty hilltops nearby, it became a scene perfect for both artist and poet.

Ike explained to his cousin that nearby lived an uncle, Dr. A. Jobe, whom he had not seen since his boyhood days. He resided there for many years and played a conspicuous role in the history of East Tennessee.

After the writer made a hesitant adieu to Elizabethton, he made short stops at Johnson City and Cleveland, Tennessee, before heading home, bringing to a finale a passage that he would not soon forget.

Thank you Mr. J, whoever you are, for sharing another history nugget about our area.

The East Tennessee State University's Archives of Appalachia is a gold mine of area history. Case in point is a newspaper clipping from the Lester Moore Collection containing a reprint of an undated Johnson City Chronicle article written by John Smalling, a grandson of city founder, Henry Johnson (1809-1874).

Johnson City Founder, Henry Johnson (photo courtesy of Betty Jane Hylton)

The family member noted that he was 74 years of age. His mother, Sarah Jane Johnson was the only daughter of Henry and Mary Ann Johnson. His mother was married in 1856 to Abram G. Smalling and to this union was born eight children.

John's grandmother, before her marriage to Henry Johnson, was Mary Ann Hoss, a sister to Elkanah, Landon C. and Matt Hoss and cousin to Montgomery Hoss and the late Bishop E.E. Hoss.

In John's boyhood days, when he was from 7 to 14 years old, he spent much of his summer months at his grandfather’s home and there learned a good deal about the early settlers of the little village that became Johnson City. When Henry Johnson came to what was first called Johnson's Tank, there was no railroad present. However, it had been surveyed and the track laid to a location near Carter’s Depot (Elizabethton), which later became Watauga Station near the Watauga River.

Henry Johnson bought a parcel of land on the north side of the railroad survey and built a large house which later was used as his residence. It also housed his general merchandise store and the post office, for which he was later named postmaster. Furthermore, he kept a boarding house and rooms for lodging. The entrance to this building was from what is now Market Street.

There was another entrance on the southwest side of the building leading in from the railroad track, which led to the dining room and was used significantly more than the Market Street entrances.

“Tip” Jobe, as he became known, arrived soon after Johnson and purchased the tract of land on which a large spring was located. However, he did not build a home on it until later where he reared a large and influential family. Among his boys was Ike T. Jobe, about six years older than John Smalling. They played together on property which we now refer to as Fountain Square.

After the East Tennessee, Virginia and Georgia (ETV&G) Railroad was completed, Henry Johnson built a depot on the site naming it Johnson’s Depot. Through the influence of Major Goforth, who was then supervisor of the railroad from Bristol to Bulls Gap, Henry was appointed depot agent. In a short time it became a regular stop for all trains.

The little village began to grow over time, including some familiar family names: Hoss, Miller, Patton, Reeves, Yeager, Pouder, Carr, Toppin, Jones and Swingle. According to John, these folks were of that hardy pioneer stock that knew nothing but honesty and fair dealings.

The Henry and Mary Ann Johnson family consisted of three sons and two daughters (one died in infancy). Edmond, the eldest, married Ann Swingle; John was wed to Hattie Alexander; and Harrison, the youngest, died during the Civil War.

Other progressive merchants soon followed: John W. Hunter; King, Hoss & Hodge, succeeded by Christina; Hoss & Hodge; and Johnson and Bowman, who erected a modern building on the corner of Market street facing what is now Fountain Square. This building was later used by a Mr. Bruner, who operated the first “racket (five and ten cent variety) store” available in all the adjacent countryside.

The Hodge mentioned in the firm of King, Hoss & Hodge, who was more affectionately known to his associates as “Wis,” was still living in Johnson City when John penned his article. The first man to operate a then-modern hotel was Elkanah Hoss, who numbered among his guests many notable characters, one of them being Mrs. Fred Artz.

Smalling concluded his informative work by noting that he had Henry Johnson's diary, which also contained references about Andrew Johnson, the 17th president of the United States). A question begs to be asked; does anyone know the whereabouts of this actual diary or a copy of it? That would be a historian's dream.

East Tennessee State University's Archives of Appalachia is a gold mine of area history. Case in point is a newspaper clipping from the Lester Moore Collection containing a reprint of an undated Johnson City Chronicle article written by John Smalling, a grandson of city founder, Henry Johnson (1809-1874).

Portrait of Johnson City Founder, Henry Johnson (Photo Courtesy of Betty Hylton)

The family member noted that he was 74 years of age. His mother, Sarah Jane Johnson was the only daughter of Henry and Mary Ann Johnson. His mother was married in 1856 to Abram G. Smalling and to this union was born eight children.

John's grandmother, before her marriage to Henry Johnson, was Mary Ann Hoss, a sister to Elkanah, Landon C. and Matt Hoss and cousin to Montgomery Hoss and the late Bishop E.E. Hoss.

In John's boyhood days, when he was from 7 to 14 years old, he spent much of his summer months at his grandfather’s home and there learned a good deal about the early settlers of the little village that became Johnson City. When Henry Johnson came to what was first called Johnson's Tank, there was no railroad present. However, it had been surveyed and the track laid to a location near Carter’s Depot (Elizabethton), which later became Watauga Station near the Watauga River.

Henry Johnson bought a parcel of land on the north side of the railroad survey and built a large house which later was used as his residence. It also housed his general merchandise store and the post office, for which he was later named postmaster. Furthermore, he kept a boarding house and rooms for lodging. The entrance to this building was from what is now Market Street.

There was another entrance on the southwest side of the building leading in from the railroad track, which led to the dining room and was used significantly more than the Market Street entrances.

“Tip” Jobe, as he became known, arrived soon after Johnson and purchased the tract of land on which a large spring was located. However, he did not build a home on it until later where he reared a large and influential family. Among his boys was Ike T. Jobe, about six years older than John Smalling. They played together on property which we now refer to as Fountain Square.

After the East Tennessee, Virginia and Georgia (ETV&G) Railroad was completed, Henry Johnson built a depot on the site naming it Johnson’s Depot. Through the influence of Major Goforth, who was then supervisor of the railroad from Bristol to Bulls Gap, Henry was appointed depot agent. In a short time it became a regular stop for all trains.

The little village began to grow over time, including some familiar family names: Hoss, Miller, Patton, Reeves, Yeager, Pouder, Carr, Toppin, Jones and Swingle. According to John, these folks were of that hardy pioneer stock that knew nothing but honesty and fair dealings.

The Henry and Mary Ann Johnson family consisted of three sons and two daughters (one died in infancy). Edmond, the eldest, married Ann Swingle; John was wed to Hattie Alexander; and Harrison, the youngest, died during the Civil War.

Other progressive merchants soon followed: John W. Hunter; King, Hoss & Hodge, succeeded by Christina; Hoss & Hodge; and Johnson and Bowman, who erected a modern building on the corner of Market street facing what is now Fountain Square. This building was later used by a Mr. Bruner, who operated the first “racket (five and ten cent variety) store” available in all the adjacent countryside.

The Hodge mentioned in the firm of King, Hoss & Hodge, who was more affectionately known to his associates as “Wis,” was still living in Johnson City when John penned his article. The first man to operate a then-modern hotel was Elkanah Hoss, who numbered among his guests many notable characters, one of them being Mrs. Fred Artz.

Smalling concluded his informative work by noting that he had Henry Johnson's diary, which also contained references about Andrew Johnson, the 17th president of the United States). A question begs to be asked; does anyone know the whereabouts of this actual diary or a copy of it? That would be a historian's dream.

If George Washington is considered to be the “Father of our Country,” who then is the “Father of Tennessee?” In spite of all the great men who helped found “The Volunteer State,” the accolades likely belong to John Sevier.

The American soldier, frontiersman, politician and one of the founding fathers of the State of Tennessee was foremost among the pioneers of the territory and arose to a beloved leadership through his bravery, daringness and valor in Indian wars.

In 1913, it was proposed that Tennessee's contribution to Statuary Hall in the Capitol building in Washington DC would be Andrew Jackson and John Sevier. The hall is an impressive chamber devoted to sculptures of prominent Americans. It consists of a large, two-story, semicircular room, located immediately south of the Rotunda, with a second story gallery along the curved perimeter.

A

Andrew Jackson (left) and John Sevier

Concern was raised about one of the two individuals selected. Any youngster raised in the Volunteer State would readily identify Andrew Jackson and his contributions to the state of Tennessee. However, the deciding committee was not so sure about John Sevier, although his credentials were certainly overwhelming. In any event, the choices were Jackson and Sevier and they were selected. Their statues in Statuary Hall are shown in my column photo.

I checked my old seventh grade school book, The Story of Tennessee, by Joseph Parks and Stanley Formsbee, that was used by Miss Dora Huddle, Junior High School's Tennessee history teacher. There were 18 references to Sevier, who was portrayed as a great hero in our state.

The selection of Jackson and Sevier was ironic because the two men became bitter personal and political enemies. The competition was strong between them as each wanted to be the leader in Tennessee affairs. Jackson denounced Sevier for his ignorance of the Constitution and failure to respect the rights of the people. Sevier countered by calling Jackson a “poor pitiful pettifogging lawyer.” In spite of their differences, the fair-minded Governor Sevier appointed Jackson a judge of the Superior Court.

Once the governor of North Carolina picked a quarrel with Sevier and the latter was arrested unjustly and taken to Morgantown to be tried for treason and outlawry. The comrades of Sevier did not sit idly while their chief was being condemned. Instead, they took action.

One night a party of four men – James Crosby, Major Evans and Sevier's two sons, John and James rode up over the mountains through the green fertile valleys and arrived at the edge of the village of Morgantown. Crosby and Evans left the party and, disguised as poor farmers, rode to the courthouse holding the reins of one of Sevier's swiftest horses. When the two arrived, they noted that court was in session; through the open door, they could hear the busy hum of voices within.

Crosby got off his horse, went into the courtroom and approached the judge's bench. He looked his honor squarely and firmly in the face and thundered in a stern voice, “Are you not about through with this man?”

The judge sank into speechless amazement at the man's boldness. The jailers, the spectators, the lawyers – all looked at Crosby not sure what to do. Meanwhile. the bold backwoodsman cast a significant warning glance at Sevier and then at the door. Sevier peeked over and saw his horse pawing the earth expectantly. He knew what to do.

While all eyes were on Crosby and in the confusion of the moment, Sevier quickly, quietly arose and walked briskly out of the room, the bewildered crowd giving way to form a line where he could walk. Once at the door, he gave one bound, landed on his horse and dashed away in a cloud of dust.

“He's gone!” gasped the judge in a dazed manner and looked doubtfully at the sheriff. The confusion deepened and everyone forgot to consider the newcomer who had planned the coup. But this was exactly what Crosby had counted on. He discretely slipped away, found his horse again at the edge of the village and overtook his comrades on the road back to Tennessee.

Sevier continued his services for the cause of the colony and years later was made military governor of the territory of Tennessee by General George Washington.

One of my favorite writers, the late Hal Boyle, former Associated Press writer, questioned in a July 1955 column if Davy Crockett was really “King of the Wild Frontier.” “Davy Crockett, king of the wild frontier?” he wrote. “Why, man, there are people here in Davy's old home state who’ll tell you he was nothing but a wet-eared boy in an oversized coonskin cap compared to Sam Houston. 

Davy died in the Alamo, but Big Sam, who spent his youth here, was an even greater soldier and statesman and led Texas into the union.”

Sam Houston (left), Davy Crockett

Boyle wondered what Texas would be like today if it hadn't been for Sam Houston (and oil wells, of course). The youthful Sam might have been judged a juvenile delinquent by modern standards. Mrs. Boyd McKenzie, who once taught school in Tennessee, did not consider Davy to be in the same league with Sam as a frontier hero. According to her, Crockett would be almost unheard of had it not been for Walt Disney's popular movies of him in the 1950s. 

“Mrs. McKenzie was the descendant of a family who owned land next to the farm on which Sam Houston’s widowed mother settled in Tennessee. She made the trek here from Virginia with her nine children. She related that young Sam was an avid reader, but disinclined to farm chores. He once tried to run away and live with the Cherokee Indians who named him “The Raven.” According to Mrs. McKenzie, “He was picked up for drunkenness at the age of 18. He walked up and down the streets beating a drum and was charged with disturbing the peace.”

Then things changed. “During the next year he opened a school to pay off debts totaling $100 – a sizable chuck of change in those days, said Mrs. McKenzie. “He amassed the bill by buying presents for his mother and a few Indian maidens.” Although the previous teachers had charged $6 a semester tuition, Sam raised it to $8 and insisted that one-third be paid in cash.” His pupils ranged in age from 6 to 60 years. So many came that he had to turn several away.”

Houston’s teaching career was brief. He ran up more bills, as he himself later admitted, by unruly living. In March 1813, a recruiting officer came to town. He beat on a drum and shouted, “Hear ye; hear; if ye want to join General Jackson's army to fight the savage Indian, come and take a dollar from the drumhead, and this will enroll ye.” Sam, egged on by a friend, stepped up, took his dollar and instantly became a soldier.

Life changed dramatically for Sam Houston. His military and political affiliation put him on a momentous trail. He became a governor of Tennessee. He later commanded the Army of Texas, led the Republic of Texas and served as a United States senator and governor of Texas after it entered the union.

Houston was ousted as governor when he opposed the entrance of Texas into the Confederacy. He died in 1863 at the age of 70, with the fate of national union still unsettled.

During Sam's final years, he was asked what was his life’s greatest pleasure. He responded that it was being a schoolteacher during the rough times of his youth. He reflected blissfully on the simple old schoolhouse, weathered by 161 years of service to its youth that was still standing. He noted that wealthy Texans had tried to purchase it and relocate it to the Lone Star State, but the Volunteer State wasn’t about to get rid of it. 

Boyle offered a final note: “In 1924, a pair of ancient lead knuckles with Sam Houston's name scratched on them was found hidden above the doorway of the school. Perhaps young Sam enforced discipline on his pupils with lead knuckles? That was not likely because he stood 6 feet 6 inches tall and weighed 200 pounds when he was only 18-years-old, big enough to handle even Davy Crockett.”

I personally think Hal was a bit rough on our “King of the Wild Frontier,” but the writer’s work provides a fresh look at Houston. There can be no doubt that both men displayed strong leadership and were a tremendous asset to Tennessee and to our nation. I bet Sam Houston never killed a bear when he was only three. 

The 1916 black and white silent film version of Davy Crockett was a dramatic contrast to the 1950's Technicolor one.

L to R: The Real Davy Crockett, The 1916 Movie One, The 1950's Television Crockett

The 1916 movie starred American singer, dancer and actor, Dustin Farnum, as Davy and Winifred Kingston as his sweetheart and future wife, Eleanor Vaughn (fictitional). The distribution company, Paramount Pictures and the production company, Pallas Pictures produced a 50-minute movie on five 10-minute reels.

Crockett, in name and reputation, conjures up the image of a tall, brave mountaineer, ready at any given moment to tackle anything that could be thrust upon him on the ground or through the air. Although Davy was somewhat famed as a hardy huntsman, in the Pallas picture, he was portrayed more as a lover than a fighter, in spite of the fact that he could not overcome his shyness around women. Although he found it impossible to tell Eleanor how much he loved her, his acting as a lover was made creditable. That would have been more the case had the Pallas script used an earlier version that was released as an opera.

Critics that year noted that there could not have been a better actor to act portray Crockett than 42-year-old Farnum. Although he performed three heroic scenes during the 50 minute production in accepted style, that was about all the film had to offer its expectant audiences. For the rest of the motion picture, the actor was mushy at times, working with a story line that was soggy plus an elongated unrelated side narrative that distracted from the intended subject. 

In one scene, a scheming gambler planned to ensnare Eleanor, who was the daughter of a wealthy southern gentleman. The character was played by Page Peters, who tragically drowned soon after the film was released. To see Peters alive in action on the big screen, knowing that he was deceased, suggested a possible money-making opportunity. Families of fair means could have its members individually filmed with just enough footage to revive them later from the grave, allowing them to live forever on celluloid. The idea apparently never materialized.

Hoping to inspire Davy, Eleanor read a book titled Lochinvar to him. It was a fictional romantic hero of the ballad “Marmion” (1808), written in 1808 by Sir Walter Scott. However, even a famous romantic poem about a man who saved the woman he loved from marrying someone else made little impression on Crockett.

Soon after, another suitor who was interested in Vaughn's family sizable fortune advanced to the screen and began courting the impatient Eleanor. Even though she loved Davy, she agreed to marry the man, but on the wedding day, Davy decides to call out Lochinvar from England and transport him to the wild frontier. Just before the bride and groom exchanged marriage vows, Davy grabbed his prize, whisked her away and soon married her.

In other action, Crockett was attacked outside his cabin by a pack of ravenous wolves. Using his bare arm as a door brace, he displayed extraordinary bravery that highly impressed his audiences. Later, Farnum expertly broke an unruly horse and, in doing so, performed some fine bronco riding to the delight of his fans. Another scene found the actor expertly trapping a bear.

In summary, the movie's scenic surroundings were very entertaining and were it not for a somewhat drawn-out and padded story, this “Davy Crockett” production could have been a film disaster. It was the opinion of a reviewer that, with Farnum playing the lead role, the possibilities existed for another film of similar title and plot that learned from the failures of the first one. The critic encouraged Pallas to pursue another Davy Crockett movie along more active lines.

Something conspicuously absent in the 1916 version was the hit song from the 1950s titled, The Ballad of David Crockett.” It was recorded by several singers, but Bill Hayes's version became the most popular.

John Sevier (1745-1815) is recognized as our state's great pioneer and statesman. He was so popular that, after his first term as governor of Tennessee, the people reelected him to that office as long as the law would permit. Although the limit was six years, after being out of office for two years, he was chosen for three more terms of two years each, giving him a total of 12 years service as governor. 

When Sevier was first elected governor, he reasoned that that he would be expected to keep up the exquisite style of entertaining that had been introduced by Governor Blount. Therefore, he built an elegant brick mansion in Knoxville, which was the capital of the State at that time.

However, his financial means soon ran short and, after paying off his work hands, he abandoned the effort. He was too honest a man to risk going in debt. The unfinished house was sold and afterward completed by other parties. A line in the wall where Sevier ceased work was plainly visible by a slight change in color of the brick.

Sevier remained on his farm about five miles south of Knoxville and rode into town on horseback early in the morning to attend to his governor business. In the evening,  he returned home in the same fashion. His residence was on the site of an old frontier fort in a hilly and picturesque region. Here he added to his house one log room after another that allowed him to accommodate guests. Although Nolichucky Jack was a poor man, his hospitality knew no bounds, as evidenced by his home always being full of old friends, elderly soldiers, and Indian chiefs.

One of the larger cabins became his reception room. The puncheon floor of this room was, on special occasions, covered with a carpet representing a foreign country. Only once was the carpet allowed to remain in place all night. That was on the occasion of the visit to America by Louis-Philippe and his brothers, the French princes, who were guests of Sevier in 1797. 

After serving his last term as governor, Sevier retired to private life. Although advanced age was creeping up on the pioneer and he felt he needed rest, the people disagreed with his assessment and sent him back to Congress where he was elected three times. 

In 1815, Sevier was sent by President James Madison to handle matters with the Creek Indians, a task that matched his skills. While on this trip, he died of a fever and was buried near Fort Decatur, Alabama. He was 70 years old and had served his country 52 years. There, on the east bank of the Tallapoosa River, this great man lay in an almost  neglected grave for 74 years.

Portrait of John Sevier. Impressive monument dedicated to Sevier after his remains were transported from Alabama to the Knox Courthouse in Knoxville

In 1889, famed area resident, Governor Robert “Our Bob” Taylor arranged to have Sevier's remains brought back to Tennessee where he could rest among his people. He was transported to Knoxville, which had been the capital of Tennessee while Sevier was governor. Thousands of people met the procession and were present at the funeral. The casket was then placed under a beautiful monument in the courthouse grounds.

There is a story that relates just how popular Sevier was among the people. An old man and his young son once had a chance encounter with the governor. While they were at church one Sunday, a man, out of breath, ran up and noted that “Nolichucky Jack” was coming up the road. Everybody, including the minister, ran to see him. Although the church was not specifically identified, it is known that it was in East Tennessee during a time when Sevier was on his way to Virginia.

Soon Tennessee's hero rode up with a large body of men surrounding him. He had a good memory and began shaking hands and called people by name. He knew the boy's father and greeted him heartily. Since he had never met the lad, Sevier placed his hand on the little fellow's head and asked him his name. The father spoke up saying that it was his son and offered his name. The boy was proud to be noticed by the great man. As Sevier rode off, the boy looked up into his father's face and innocently spoke these words, “Why, father, Chucky Jack is only a man. “Those youthful innocent words said it all. 

Recently, I examined the book, Tennessee History Stories (T.C. Karns, B.F. Johnson Publishing Company, 1904). One subject grabbed my attention – Nancy Ward, who became Tennessee’s Pocahontas. What did she do to earn such a prominent place in Tennessee history?

Most people are familiar with the heroics of Pocahontas, an Indian girl who saved the life of Captain John Smith in Virginia, after becoming a friend of the white man. Unless your are a student of Tennessee history, you likely are not familiar with the lesser-known name, Nancy Ward. Like Pocahontas, she became friends with the white man and endeavored to promote goodwill between him and the red man.

Nancy’s father was an English officer, while her mother was of royal Cherokee blood, being the sister of the vice-king, Atta-kulla-kulla. Nancy's residence was at Chota, (Madisonville, TN) on the north bank of the Tellico River. The town was the capital of the Cherokee nation and became known as a city of refuge to those who had committed a crime and went there to prevent imprisonment or execution.

Nancy became known as a prophetess because it was believed that she was under the control of the Great Spirit, which included looking into the future and foretelling her people what was going to transpire. Not only was her wigwam larger than the others, she resided near the chief, which was close to the great council house where important meetings were held such as declaring war or peace.

Ward’s standard of living was quite good. It was noted that she kept a charm on her door that comprised an otter restricted by the coils of a water snake. Two white men once came up the Tellico River to trade with the Indians for corn. A dispute arose between the two factions and the intruders were about to be killed by a crowd of Indians. Nancy found out about the quarrel and immediately rushed to the spot where she quickly defused the disagreement.

The prophetess explained to her people: “These men are our brothers; you must not ill-treat them.” Because of her standing with the tribe, her order was immediately obeyed without further ado.

Nancy did not stop there. She commanded that the white men's canoes be filled with corn. The surprised but grateful visitors rowed back down the river and informed everybody whom they encountered about this beloved woman named Nancy Ward.”

On another occasion, the Indians made a raid on the Watauga settlement and arrived at the house of William Bean, an associate and fellow longhunter of Daniel Boone. Bean’s wife, a friend to the Indians, did not seek safety in the fort, thinking she would be safe. The Indians carried her to the Indian towns on the Tellico River, where they tied her to a stake on a high mound with the intent of burning her alive. Before the wood could be kindled, Nancy Ward rushed to her side and secured her released. 

Dragging Canoe, the great chief of the Chickamaugas, opposed Nancy, but her power was far too great to overcome. Mrs. Bean was not only set free but was given a guard to protect her on her way back to her husband and children on the Watauga. Whenever the Indians began the war dance and were getting ready to make an attack upon the white settlements, Nancy Ward would seek help from Isaac Thomas, an Indian trader, or some other trusted messenger to warn the settlers of impending danger.

The influence of this amazing lady also extended to John Sevier. After the frontiersman and other leaders had made a raid upon several Indian towns and were causing havoc on everything in their path, they arrived at Chota. “This town,” said the locals,” “must not be burned because it is the home of Nancy Ward, the friend of the white race.” The town was spared destruction.

Nancy died in 1822 and was buried near modern day Benton, TN. In 1923, a Chattanooga Chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution placed a monument on her grave. 

(Note: The subject of this article is controversal and will likely be rewritten to address some response that came in after it appeared in the Johnson City Press. Some people maintain that it is accurate as written, while others believe it was Robert Young who owned Sweetlips and brought down the British leader Patrick Ferguson at the Revolutionary War Battle of King's Mountain. Check back later for updates and comments. If you have information on this subject and would like to post a blog at the end of the article, e-mail me at boblcox@bcyesteyear.com.)  

The bold headline from an unidentified and undated newspaper article reads, “Famous Old Gun Found, Used at Kings Mountain.” The date is likely from the early 1900s.

In early October 1780, a spirited congregation of patriots, known as the Overmountain Men, originating from Sycamore Shoals in Elizabethton, Tennessee joined forces with similar groups of frontiersmen from nearby Tennessee and North Carolina. Their mission was to travel to Kings Mountain, SC (near the North Carolina border) to do battle with the British under the leadership of their commander, Major Patrick Ferguson.

General Wilder and a Map Showing the Overmountain Men's Route

Although three or four bold mountaineers were called upon on October 7 to bring down the British officer who was observed coming down the hill, Darling Jones was credited with firing the fatal shot that ended the leader’s life. He accomplished the feat using a long, flintlock rifle that he christened “Sweetlips.”

The article made a profound statement: “When “Sweetlip’s metallic lips so spoke on that day of patriotic struggle, its voice was heard throughout the entire British armies and turned the tide of the revolution.”

Over time, interested parties began to wonder what happened to the now famed rifle, but its whereabouts were unknown. Eugene F. Ware, Commissioner of Pensions in the nation’s capital, turned to someone whom he believed could locate it. He contacted John T. Wilder (1830-1917), a noted industrialist, who served as a Civil War Union officer and became a chief developer of natural resources in Tennessee.

Wilder further promoted the construction of the Charleston, Cincinnati & Chicago (3Cs) Railroad and became a driving force in the development of the booming industrial suburb of Carnegie along the east side of Johnson City. The magnate next constructed the popular 166-room Cloudland Hotel near the summit of Roan Mountain to serve tourists via the scenic narrow gauge “Tweetsie” railway line. In 1887, the tycoon organized the Roan Iron Works and built and operated two blast furnaces at Rockwood, Tennessee.

Gen. Wilder believed that the gun likely resided in Washington County since Darling Jones was from that location. Some years prior, he tried to learn its whereabouts from Jones’s widow, Nancy, but neither she nor her son knew had knowledge of it. She died in 1902.

Wilder, in an effort to locate the well-authenticated gun for Mr. Ware, journeyed to Johnson City about 1905, visiting a city that he was very familiar with because he previously resided there from 1884 until 1992.

Wilder entered the establishment of Summers, Barton and Parrott’s hardware store in the downtown district. Seeing some firearms for sale prompted him to ask if anyone knew the whereabouts of Darling Jones’ gun. Frank Mountcastle, a prominent farmer and merchant who lived near Johnson City was in the store and heard Wilder. He spoke up and said that he owned the prized gun and began to relate its history. Wilder, excited over the news, offered him the best gun in the store in exchange for the old relic. Mr. Mountcastle accepted his proposal and agreed to ship the gun directly to the commissioner’s home in Washington.

The gun was described as being an old, long-barreled, flintlock rifle used by the pioneers for killing game. The stock was broken but the lock and barrel were in good condition. The firearm was fabricated by a man named Deckard of Pennsylvania and was given by Darling Jones to his son-in-law, James Dunkin. The name “Dunkin” was cut in the barrel and helped to establish its identity.

Dunkin was foreman on the farm of Mr. Montcastle’s grandfather for years and died in that capacity, leaving the gun as a relic to the Mountcastle family. It remained in the attic of the old home place for many years. Only Mr. Frank Mountcastle knew its presence.

Does anyone know where “Sweetlips” resides today?