The Kentucky Ranger

by Edward T. Curnick

Nature was at rest, and also the pioneer. His crops of corn, hay, wheat, tobacco, and vegetables were all gathered and safely placed in barns and storehouses. Little was to be done during the short winter day but to attend to the stock, to do the "chores" about the house, and perhaps to haul wood—backlogs and foresticks—to replenish the ravenous fire in the great fireplace.

But what was a time of rest to the Kentucky farmer was a season of special activity to the pioneer preacher. It was usually in winter that "protracted meetings" were held. Next to camp meetings, they were the great religious events of the year. The old saints anticipated with keen relish the sermons, songs, prayers, exhortations, and altar services. The young people were scarcely less interested, but from mixed motives—partly religious and partly social. Ever since Adam courted Eve under Eden's trees God's woods have been places for lovers to woo in, and one of the best things connected with the "protracted meeting" was the occasion it made of bringing young people into one another's society and starting friendships which ripened into love and matrimony.

Through the influence of Costello Nebeker a small church was built some distance from his house in the noble forest. It was composed of logs cut smooth with axes on two opposite sides. These logs were placed one above the other, and the chinks between were closed up with mortar made of clay and water. The roof was of heavy beams upon which were nailed coarse clapboards. The building could boast of two small windows and a single door. The inside arrangements were as simple as the outside. A common wooden desk answered as a pulpit, and instead of pews wooden benches were placed in front of the stand. A large cast-iron stove, placed near the center of the room, gave heat when the weather was cold. The building was called the "Bethlehem Church."

The "protracted meeting" was appointed to begin early in January. The preachers who were to conduct it were Jasper Very, John Larkin, and Ezra Thompson, an old minister, grizzled and toughened by time and exposure.

This history has to do with the Sunday evening service which Jasper Very was to conduct. It was a beautiful winter evening. The orb of day had scarcely descended behind the unbroken line of forest trees in the west ere the full moon appeared in the east, rising in majesty through the trees. The silvery globe stretched from the base almost to the tops of the trees. Slowly and serenely she climbed on her upward way, the tree tops now marking the line of her diameter; then in a few minutes she was free from their obstruction and hung above the earth a great, shining ball, sending upon river, forest, plain, and plantation a light so full and soft that one standing in it would become charmed by her magical rays.

In the falling darkness it was easy to walk or ride to the evening appointment. Because of the distance most of the people rode on horseback. When they had all assembled, the sight was one to remember. Horses were hitched everywhere to racks which had been placed near the church, to branches of trees, and to small saplings.

Before the services began many of the people had gathered inside the church, which was illuminated with a half dozen tallow candles that tried their best to burn, but seemed discouraged by the attempt. Outside men collected in groups and talked in low, earnest tones. Do you ask what was the subject of their conversation? It was about the sermon to be preached that night by Jasper Very.

A few days before a family feud in this neighborhood had broken out afresh. It was the noted feud between the Wiles and Barker families. This estrangement had occurred a quarter of a century before. It began by some cattle of a former Wiles getting into the field of a settler named Barker. Barker told Wiles to keep his live stock out of his land, and Wiles replied by demanding that Barker should repair his rail fences and mind his gates. Wiles was careless about his cattle and Barker about his fences. So one night a lot of Wiles' cattle got into a fine field of growing corn belonging to Barker, and ate as long as they could chew the juicy food and trampled down the green stalks with perfect indifference as to ownership. Early the next morning Barker saw the devastation and the causes thereof. He walked over to Wiles' plantation, and the two men quarreled, fought, and almost killed each other.

This was the beginning of that celebrated Wiles-Barker feud which has soiled the annals of that part of Kentucky. Its course was marked by murders, assassinations, wounds, burning of buildings, and every injury which cunning could devise and hate execute.

For a full year before this winter, by an unspoken agreement, the two factions had ceased to quarrel. Violence had exhausted itself, for the worst of men cannot give loose rein to their passions all the time. But, though the wild beast of hatred and revenge was quiet, he was neither dead nor changed into a lamb; he was really nursing and strengthening his powers for more savage attacks. The occasion which made him crouch, show his teeth, and leap forward with sudden and terrible fury was a barn-raising on a settler's farm not far from Costello's tavern. The Wiles and Barker families were both well represented by young and middle-aged men. According to the custom of the time, whisky was freely tendered to the workers and as freely received.