Stories of Early Inns and Taverns of the East Tennessee Country

If you are following “Author Beth Durham” on Facebook, I mentioned last week that I have run upon a fascinating book related to last week’s post.  I wanted to share some of it with you this week but it turns out after skimming it, that this will largely be a book review of Stories of Early Inns and Taverns of the East Tennessee Country by LaReine Warden Clayton (1995, The National Society of The Colonial Dames of America).

Mrs. Clayton introduces her stories with an entry from her grandfather’s journal, “He wrote that in 1847 while traveling from his home in Virginia to Alabama to teach school he had forgotten to exchange his Virginia scrip for Tennessee scrip at the state border.  He ‘had stopped over at the best inn in Knoxville and waited while I got this done at some loss’.”

I would certainly have been intrigued by such an entry from my any of my family, and Mrs. Clayton began a quest to learn about the accomodations that existed in the wild country that would become Tennessee. 

In early frontier days, almost any cabin would give shelter to a traveler.  And the travelers were scarce.  I can only imagine that a family was as happy to see the guest as the traveler was to see the comfort and safety of their home.  The first inns in East Tennessee were only family homes and they really had no extra room for guests.  However, the family was willing to ‘move over’ and make room for them.

What I first noticed in this book and had mentioned on Facebook was the absence of ‘stands’ from the index.  You will recall last week that a number of the inns along the middle Tennessee stagecoach route were referred to as stands.  This book notes that such places were referred to as inns, taverns, ordinaries, stops, stands, stations, public-houses, necessities, way-stations, or houses of entertainment.  No explanation is given of what is the difference among the titles.  As traffic increased and more accomodations were required, many homes added lofts or lean-tos to their existing house to serve the boarders.

As dedicated building were erected, a small space was often provided for public meetings.  Many major decisions were made in such places.  With no courthouse, the tavern often served.  If no church house had been built a congregation would gather at the public-house.  Innkeepers were entreprenuers who saw the value in offering space for such meetings as it brought people in, even locals who weren’t traveling.  A 1797 price list shows the cost of a room was six cents per night.  Keeping your horse would cost another four cents – and the horse was priceless to you when he was the only means of transportation in the frontier. 

When the stagecoach made its appearance in the early 1800’s, inns opened along the route.  Now we can trace those routes and see the waypoints at the historic stations.  Many are unfortunately long gone.  However, the Chester Inn in Jonesborough has been converted into a museum.  It was built in 1797 and is now owned by the state.  However, Jonesborough still hosts not less than four historic inns built from 1793 - 1840 that have rooms open today. 

One notable historic location has been lost to progress as Cherokee Lake flooded the Bean Station inn.  Built by slave labor at the direction of Mr. Thomas Whiteside in 1814, this was a three story brick house with a front passageway (or porte cochere) large enough to accommodate “the largest of stagecoaches, piled high with luggage to come through and unload passengers at the great front door”.  It served for many years because one description notes that the pine floors ‘show[ed] little wear after nearly a hundred thirty years of use”.  It burned in 1886 with only a single wing surviving.  That portion was removed before the land was flooded, however, the building where it was stored burned as well so only the tales of this inn survive.

Traveling along the Great Stage Road, this book details stories from dozens of inns and would make a great companion to an East Tennessee road trip. 

She also takes a look at the life of the innkeeper’s family.  Life on the frontier was hard, for everyone.  Just like on a farm where everyone works, the innkeeper had jobs for his whole family.  Older boys started their day in the barn caring for their guest’s horses.  Younger children were kept busy fetching wood for the numerous fireplaces required to warm the large buildings and cook for many mouths.  All the water used in the house had to be carried as well and all of the children would forage for the necessities supplied by the land.  From greens to berries, wild produce was carefully collected when it appeared.  Gardens were planted as well and would require much attention from the whole family.  Of course this assessment of the family assumes the inn is the primary business of the family.  As mentioned earlier however, the early stations were located on working farms so the family would have all of those duties after their guests left each day.

Roadside Stands and a Stage Coach Ride

Crab Orchard Inn

In this on-going study of Appalachian English, there’s a term that we on the mountain use regularly but I never questioned its meaning.  If you told me to turn right at the roadside stand, I think I would have been looking for a little place that sold vegetables or some such.  We have always referred to the junction of Highway 62 and Campground Road as The Bledsoe Stand.  There was never any kind of business or building there in my lifetime so that landmark didn’t help my understanding at all.

Perhaps I’m the only one that didn’t know a Stand is an inn, an old-time hotel or bed and breakfast of sorts. (By the way, I often wonder if I’m the only one that didn’t know these things yet I keep confessing my ignorance to all of you!)

Roadside stands were large homes that were opened to travelers much the way bed and breakfasts operate today.  The patrons dined with their guests and the inn was staffed by the family, with perhaps one or two slaves to assist them.  Most of these homes had large, upstairs lofts without partitions where guests slept.  Sometimes the guests had to bring their own pallet bedding and were simply given a space on the floor. The Officer Stand in Monterey charged eight cents per night for this type of lodging and another twenty-five cents got you a country breakfast the next morning.

These folks didn’t seem to be inn-keepers by trade.  Instead, they were frontiersmen and farmers who surely had a lot of hard work on their agenda each day.  There were no reservations and no idea who would be at your supper table from one evening to the next.

The Inn at Crab Orchard is purported to be the first to be built in Indian territory in 1804 when the Cherokee granted four men permission to build stands inside their hunting lands.  The building was 40 by 25 feet and constructed of hewn logs with doors built strong enough to endure an Indian hurdling himself at it.  Settlers living near the stand provided produce and game to feed the travelers so that the business supported several families.  The Sidnor Stand at Crab Orchard stood from 1804 to 1820 when it was replaced by a larger stand built by Dawson & Beaty.  Then in 1827, Robert K. Burke built a large brick inn on the same site.

Johnson Stand

John Roy Dillard published Standing Stone, Tenn. Monterey Early History in 1989 (Harris Press, Nashville) and includes a very fascinating account of what a stagecoach trip from Knoxville to Monterey might have been like in 1816.  At the time, there were about 25 of these stands along this route which would roughly follow today’s highway 70 passing through Campbell’s Station, Southwest Point (present-day Kingston), Post Oak Springs, Crab Orchard, Renfro Hollow, Drowning Creek, Mayland and finally arriving at Standing Stone or present-day Monterey.

The story is set when there was still significant unrest among the Native Americans in area and he actually depicts an brief and tense encounter which is mitigated by a wise stage driver who barters gunpowder and tobacco for safe passage of his over-crowded coach.

The 100 mile trip takes five days, and requires passengers to walk down hills as well as assist in felling a tree to use as a brake for the heavy vehicle. 

Dillam and Bohn Feud

Dillam and Bohn Feud as presented in The Land of Saddlebags

Tom Dillam, a wealthy land owner, married John Bohn’s daughter, who soon left him.  One day Mrs. Dillam angrily returned to her husband’s farm and took one of her aprons from a woman working in the field.  Dillam went to recover it, quarreled with her, and shot his father-in-law, killing him instantly.  Dillam baffled the courts for many years by shrewdness and intimidation.  He armed and incited his relatives and friends till he had behind him a whole band of arrogant outlaws.  In 1885, Bohn’s son William had a dispute over timber with Tom’s brother, George Dillam, who, knowing the band would back him, became insolent.  Bohn armed himself with a Winchester and soon met George Dillam similarly armed.  Both darted behind trees and began firing.  Dillam was killed.  Bohn, wounded, ran for shelter, but was killed by George’s brothers, Sam and Curt.

One of the Bohn’s friends was now drawn into the feud, Lem Buffum.  He had married a sister of George and Sam Dillam.  But the Dillam band were bitter against him because of his former friendship with Bohn.  There was a dance on Christmas night at which two of the Dillam band who had been drinking sought a quarrel with Buffum.  Suddenly it blazed forth, and when the smoke cleared, the two lay dead upon the floor.  Buffum fled to a neighboring state.  His brother-in-law, Sam Dillam, followed him relentlessly.  Once he grazed Buffum’s head with a rifle ball.  Again, reckless with drink, Sam taunted and threatened him.  Buffum, suspecting an ambush, cautiously retreated, Sam following.  When Buffum reached home, he turned, and as soon as Sam entered his lot, he killed him.  Buffum wished to surrender to the officers, but neither they nor the courts would protect him.  That would be merely to invite assassination, unarmed.

The Dillams began a reign of terror.  They threatened every Buffum sympathizer, riddled their houses with bullets or killed them outright.  Buffum’s aged mother was conveyed across the river by Jack Smith, who was thereupon waylaid and killed.  Jake Kimbrell, another friend, was seized at a dance and held fast while one of the band killed him.

But they were carrying things too far.  Ab Dillam, a brother of Tom, would not help to hunt Buffum.  Ab’s son, Jesse, had married Buffum’s sister.  In his absence, his house was riddled with bullets, but his wife and children escaped.  The camp of civil engineers surveying for a new railway was raided.  Nobody was safe.  The Governor, when asked for troops, refused to send them, because the sheriff had not made any attempt to capture the murderers with a posse of citizens.  But the citizens knew that unless they killed or captured all the outlaws, their families would be attacked, their homes burned, and they themselves constantly ambushed.

The judge called for fifty militiamen; fifteen responded.  With this puny force, the sheriff started out.  A lad on horseback saw the officers and gave the alarm.  The outlaws escaped into adjacent hilly woods.  The sheriff retreated, fearing an ambush.  He left seven men at Jesse Dillam’s house to guard it till Jesse could move his family to a safe distance.  Within an hour they were surrounded, the outlaws creeping close through high corn.  Jesse sent away his wife and children, and all started for a neighbor’s log house, which would better resist attack.  They never reached it.  One was killed instantly, one fled, and the rest, badly wounded managed to escape.  The outlaws planned an attack upon the county seat, where the wounded men were, but the activities of the sheriff deterred them.  Various attempts at arrest were, however, futile.

Circuit Court soon met, and Tom and Curt Dillam were arrested, but Tom was released on $5,000 bail.  Thus have Mountain courts, badgered by unscrupulous lawyers, “protected” innocent citizens from desperadoes.  Some weeks later Tom Dillam was walking toward the courthouse with his lawyer, followed by his lieutenant and another man.  When opposite the house where their wounded victims were, they started across the street, drawing their pistols.  The lawyer fortunately walked on.  The outlaws had scarcely reached the middle of the street when a terrific fire poured upon them.  Tom Dillam fell, pierced by sixteen bullets.  Jesse Dillam, Buffum, and their friends had been secretly warned and were ready.

With the death of Tom Dillam, people breathed more freely.  But the poison, of course, had entered into the fabric of the community.  Accustomed so long to no constraint of the law or duty, these men grew brutally arrogant and cruel.  Tom Dillam’s son, now the leader of the band, wishing to remove a rival, gave one of his band twenty dollars and a gun to kill him.  The slyest of the band planned the murder.  He knew that a young woman had invited the victim to supper on a certain evening.  Accordingly, he also secured an invitation from the young woman for that same evening.   While the party was gathering around the dining-table, he slipped back into the parlor and pinned back the heavy window curtains.  After super the victim stepped into the parlor and was instantly shot by someone outside the window.  The community was indignant, and the criminals were hunted down; some of them were killed, the rest were captured.

But even when such flagrant criminals were captured, punishment was not at all certain.  Curt Dillam was released on bail, but his body was found shortly after in the woods.  Doubtless he was shot by someone who was disgusted with “the law’s delays” and afraid that the released outlaw would seek vengeance on those that had given testimony against him.

Feuds

This public domain image is supposed to be affiliated with the famous Hatfields and McCoys feud.  I don't know any of the people so I couldn't say either way.

As I research and learn about the history of the mountains, my sheltered eyes are often opened to nuances I had no idea existed among my people.  Feuds are something I thought Hollywood stereotyped mountain-folk with.  However, a chapter in Raine’s book The Land of Saddle-Bags made me think about some of the old stories in a little different light.

Daddy always says that “Mountain folk are clannish,” and I have found it to be true.  Now, I’ve never seen that characteristic result in gun fights but we’ve discussed here many aspects of the clans.  Traditionally, the family unit has been the center of American life and certainly mountain life.  We get together every chance we have, attend decorations at every cemetery we can reach and often approach a funeral as a social event. 

James Watt Raine presents two separate stories of Kentucky feuds that lasted decades and took many lives. [If you’d like to read one or both of those accounts, please leave a comment and I will share it in next week’s blog.]  Reading that, I couldn’t help but ask myself if this has ever happened, or could ever happen on the Cumberland Plateau.  I believe the answer must be Yes.  I suspect some of you may have more information than me on some of these stories and I certainly hope you’ll share them with me.

While I can’t name any specific families I’ve known to be feuding each other, the twentieth century history of Fentress County certainly is peppered with violent events that could pit one faction against another.  (Note here that I’ve specified the twentieth century for we know all too well the fracture The Civil War caused throughout our region in the nineteenth century as men and families chose their allegiance and watched to see which side their neighbors supported.  The stories of Tinker Dave Beaty alone reflect the consequences of forcing a man into a conflict he had no interest in.)

Perhaps our most famous outlaw, Billy Dean Anderson, was included on the FBI’s most wanted list while he hid from authorities in the rugged Pall Mall country-side.  A member of his family, Kay Wood Conatser, wrote a book about him a couple of years ago in which she details how his family supported him during his life on the lam.  Moreover, the book indicates that Anderson shot or shot at a number of people, including a group of state troopers and at least one Fentress County deputy.

This violence against officers of the law seems to be a common theme in Fentress county’s history.  During the 1940’s and 1950’s there were numerous, violent confrontations with law enforcement and locals.  Sheriff Clay Stephens was caught by a group of men who rubbed mustard on his head (does anyone know the significance of that act?) after which he resigned.  He was replaced by Sheriff Clayton Upchurch who was shot while in the line of duty.  A second attempt was made on him, but his wife was shot instead as she drove the family car and was mistaken for the sheriff. 

These were tough men and law enforcement in general was a different world than it is today. 

Sheriff Upchurch killed a man during a gunfight.  On the witness stand he was asked who he was aiming at as he fired and he responded that he was just shooting, “My eyes were full of blood,” so he couldn’t see his target.  A group of ruffians sent word to Sheriff Upchurch that they were going to take his gun away from him and rub mustard in his hair.  He returned a warning that they should be sure and wear gloves because the gun would be hot when they got it.

Both Sheriff Upchurch and his successor, Irvin Jones, were known for their prowess with the black jack.  There was a notorious gangster in Ohio during the fifties, sixties and seventies.  Bill Stepp was actually born in Peebles, Ohio but his father was from Highland County, Virginia.  I don’t find any documented connection to Fentress County, but I've heard a story that he was arrested by a Fentress County man working up north; he roughed the gangster up a bit with his black jack.  Stepp asked the officer, “Did you learn that from Pont Upchurch?”

Of course these are legends, but they serve to give example of the culture of that era.

Coal mining was a boom on the plateau in the twentieth century, and it had its share of violence.  I don’t know if it would be proper to include these outbursts in a feuding discussion as there were so many people neither native to the area nor long-term residents.  The mining towns swelled with workers and managers coming from all over the place.  Some of the violence erupted due to the treatment of the workers while other instances were conflicts between individuals.

In Zenith, there was a 1937 uprising that saw several men killed then in 1940 Sheriff Horace Taylor and Deputy Casper Wood were killed while trying to arrest a miner.  That miner then engaged in a gunfight with the foreman who killed him after being was mortally wounded.  An interesting note is that Taylor and Wood are the only two Fentress County officers listed on the Officer Down Memorial Page (www.odm.org).  I don’t know how complete that record might be.

The 1930’s saw a huge strike in Wilder with much violence.  In fact, the National Guard was brought in at least twice to try to maintain the peace.  At least one man was killed in April 1933 when a union leader was shot.

Raine notes in his discussion of feuds that political offices were often used to fuel feuds.  I’m very interested to hear from you readers if you know of that happening on the plateau.  Certainly with everyone related to someone it would be a great temptation for an official to actin the best interest of his own family. 

These are sensitive subjects, I know.  If you have comments, please know that you can enter just your first name or initials in leaving comments here.  

Be sure to let me know in the comments if you want to hear Mr. Raine’s feud stories.

Scam Phone Calls

I was working on a story about feuds for this week until I had such a neat experience, I really thought I needed to share it.  We'll get to feudin' next week, don't worry.   Until then, today’s story is a bit off-subject for my history blog but I think you will enjoy it.

Despite being registered on the National Do Not Call List, I have been receiving a number of calls from “computer technicians”.  Specifically they all identify themselves as “Microsoft Certified Technicians” although they stop short of saying they are actually working for Microsoft – it took a few calls before I caught that nuance.  Now, I’m not quite naïve enough to think that Microsoft is carefully watching my computer and yours to ensure we are having no hiccups in operation.  In fact, I’ve actually tried to talk to Microsoft a few times and it’s not an easy feat.  I’ve had to talk to multiple people, wait to be transferred, been told that there is no solution to my particular problem and generally ignored by this monster-company.  It’s the same reception I get from a lot of big companies so it could just be me.

At any rate, I’m immediately suspicious when the caller tells me they are in anyway affiliated with Microsoft.  The first few times I got the call I just got off the phone as quickly as possible.  Because I knew it was a scam I didn’t want to give them any chance to somehow catch me off guard.  I still don’t know what they are after although I suspect there would be a point when they would ask for my credit card in order to complete some kind of service on my computer or they might just gain access to my files and try to find what information they could use to rob me.

Then one day I quickly ended one of these calls and I think the Holy Spirit whispered that this would be a good opportunity to witness.  If it accomplished nothing else, it would be good practice of an incredibly necessary skill.  Now, I accept Peter’s admonishment to always be ready to give an answer for my joy (1 Peter 3:15).  And, I strongly believe when Paul tells us the lost world can’t hear the gospel without a preacher (Romans 10:14) he is not referring to Brother So-and-So who delivers your weekly sermon.  You and I are that preacher and the great commission (Matthew 28:19-20) was given to all of us.

However – you knew there was one of those coming, didn’t you? – witnessing takes practice.  At least it does for me.  There have been times that I was more aware of opportunities to share the gospel or at least hand a tract with a word of encouragement.  I have no excuse for being out of practice but I’m confessing to you that I don’t speak up nearly as often as I should.  Therefore, when I think I hear the Lord hinting that He might just be sending me some opportunities, I want to be sure to respond, “here am I” (Isaiah 6:8).

And that’s how I came to answer the phone during the dinner hour on Tuesday.  Little do they know that the dinner hour is actually my best time to talk because my children are quietly stuffing their faces then.  I answered and told “Jack” I was so glad he’d called because I had a question for him.

I turned my Bible to Romans as I was asking him, “Have you ever thought about what would happen if you died?”

After the answer that he would go to heaven and the way to get there is to be good, I continued asking directive questions, prepared to lead him down The Romans Road. 

Here’s where it got really exciting.  “Jack” says “I want to tell you something, I am a scammer.”

Despite the smile it brought to my face, I was pretty shocked.  I know I’ve encountered a number of scammers on the phone and online but I have never ever had one admit it. 

He did go on to tell me a very sad story about how he was desperate for a job and this was the only thing he could find.  However, he did not ask again for me to turn on my computer, nor did he ever ask for my credit card or any other personal information. 

“Jack” was being recorded and monitored and he indicated our conversation would be ended any minute.  So I boldly took the opportunity to say to his monitor that he too could know for sure that he is going to heaven and that the only way is through faith in Jesus Christ.

I planted a seed.  I throw those seeds out about once a week when I get such a call.  I am fully aware that many – maybe even most – of the seeds fall on parched soil.  And maybe Jack’s soil wasn’t fully ready to nurture God’s Word but he heard it and he was instantly convicted and I find that too exciting to keep to myself.

Now it’s up to God himself to provide the water and ultimately the fruit (1 Corinthians 3:6-7) and I’m confident He will.

If you’ve had witnessing opportunities drop in your lap recently, I’d love to hear about them.  Just leave a comment below.