Thursday, January 15, 1897
LAST FRIDAY, January 8, was Andrew Jackson Day, in commemoration of his signal victory over the British troops at New Orleans.
Last year might be called Andrew Jackson’s year, for all the patriots in the country had mounted the stump and insisted upon the lawmakers taking Jackson for their model, and expounding Jackson’s ideas of political economy. Very interesting are some of the memoirs of this man.
His father died three days before his birth, and as a child he experienced the bitterest poverty. He had two brothers who lived obscure lives, and of whom we have no special note. Jackson was of a very intense nature, and he loved or hated with all his might. No one was regarded with indifference. He married a beautiful grass-widow – both believing a divorce had been granted. The wedding was followed by another in three months, it having been discovered that no divorce had been granted at the time of the first marriage. His wife was one of the best of women.
A political scheme was hatched to have Jackson killed in a duel. He was compelled to challenge a professional duelist, and a dead-shot.
Owing to the manner in which he dressed, his opponent, Dickinson, failed to shoot him through, and only wounded him in the side. Then Jackson very deliberately killed him, cocking and sighting his pistol after his adversary had fired…
It is quite possible Grover Cleveland is popular compared to the feelings with which the people regarded Jackson in his time.
Mrs. Ella Lee Dysard, wife of L. J. R. Dysard, near Travellers Repose, died very suddenly, December 20th after an illness of a few days, aged 30 years. Her parents were Mr. and Mrs. David McGlaughlin (now dead), of Driftwood, this county (Pocahontas).
In the spring of 1892, Mr. and Mrs. Dysard moved from Driftwood to Travellers Repose, where they have resided ever since. Mr. Dysard is our esteemed merchant.
In all the relations of life, as wife, mother, and neighbor, she tried to meet her duties. She was an energetic, wide awake and tenderhearted lady…
She is mourned by her bereaved husband; her little son, Pearly, aged 4 years; and daughter, Mamie, aged 2; and many friends and relatives…
A large concourse attended her burial at the home “graveyard” at the McGlaughlin Church… May God’s blessing ever be with her bereaved husband, her two little children, as well as her brothers and sister.
MARRIED – In Mingo County, W. Va, Aaron Hatfield, Nephew of ‘Cap’ Hatfield, to Mary McCoy, Daughter of Rudolph McCoy.
A simple enough wedding notice – but behind it, and in it, as romantic a tale of love and courtship as was ever penned – a tale of a mountain maid’s wooing; she a McCoy; her lover, one of the famous Hatfields…
The zeal of the McCoys in joining the officers aroused the ire of their enemies, and a raid was planned for New Year’s night of 1888.
Nine of the Hatfields, led by Uncle Jim Vance, attacked the house of old Randolph McCoy. Two girls were in one end of the house and one, Allaphare McCoy, opened the door when the gang demanded admission. She was immediately shot and killed by Ellison Mounts, at the command of Vance.
Mrs. McCoy started from the door to go to her dead daughter, when Jim Vance broke two of her ribs with the butt of his gun, and stunned her with a blow from his pistol. Calvin McCoy was killed in the exchange of shots, and the old man was wounded.
Strange as it may seem, the Hatfields repudiated the killing of the McCoy girl. With their characteristic brutality toward women, it is hard to say what prompted it, but they delivered Ellison Mounts who fired the shot, into the officers’ hands, and on their testimony he was convicted and hanged.
From that time on, the feud, while it has been kept up, has not been as exciting as in former days. Now and then a Hatfield and McCoy exchange shots, but the last man killed met his fate two years ago. The persistent pursuit of the Hatfields by the deputies drove them into the mountain vastness, and made the warfare they used before impossible.
And now comes the reconciliation – the end of it all.
Aaron Hatfield, a nephew of old “Cap” Hatfield, met and loved pretty Mary McCoy, daughter of the head of the family, Rudolph McCoy. Primitive in their habits, these mountain lovers knew nothing of what the social world terms conventionality in courtship. There was no one to say that they should do this or do that. They only knew that they loved each other, that it was the lasting, enduring love of years, and they were happy.
The rugged barren hillsides were their trysting places; there they met alone, and their secret was shared with none, save one. And he was the trusted friend who saw to it that neither family knew what was transpiring until the time for the announcement was deemed ripe.
For there was danger should the secret be known prematurely. The fires of the feud, tho smoldering, were by no means out.
One day, Aaron told Mary that his brother would go to see her father the following day. The lovers met at the house of the friend. All day they waited to hear what the result had been. Mary, at the window, saw the stalwart form of her lover’s brother approach the house.
“It’s all right,” he said.
And then came the joyful news that the wedding would forever end the forty-year feud. – New York Journal