“He was about six feet in height, and of powerful build, a perfect Hercules in point of strength; but he has now grown too corpulent to undergo much fatigue. His head is large and well shaped; his sandy brown hair, now thin, is turning gray, for he must be fully fifty years old; his eyes, of a steel-gray color, are brilliant and his glance quick and penetrating; his nose rather short and thick; his upper lip remarkably long, his mouth large, and his lips full and sensuous. He has a broad, firm, double chin, and his voice is deep and sonorous. His complexion is very florid, and he converses fluently. On the whole, when in repose, he gives one the idea of a good natured, rather than a surly, bulldog; but, if aroused, I should say he would be a lion tamer.”
When Webb’s foot was sufficiently healed to permit his leaving the Ford home he took his flute and crutches and returned to Salem. Shortly thereafter he made the first of his many calls on Miss Ford. In the meantime, learning that his brother had been allowed to depart from the Cave unhurt, he wrote letters to various places and finally located him. Later he “went to Fort Massac on a flatboat and from there walked to St. Louis,” where he found his brother established in business. The two spent several months together in the city and, according to the story as related in Chronicles, it was during his absence from Kentucky that Ford, the “almost outlawed man,” passed beyond the reach of law.
It was at Ford’s Ferry that many emigrants going to the Illinois country crossed the Ohio. In Ford’s day the ferry at Shawneetown and another at Golconda also were thriving and the three were, in a sense, rivals.
A river crossing with the reputation of having the best roads leading to and from it was usually given the preference. Ford, realizing this, placed sign-boards at a number of road crossings, and cards in some of the taverns, advertising the highway to his ferry. What was known as the Ford’s Ferry Road extended, in Kentucky, some eight miles south of the ferry and, in Illinois, about twelve miles north of it. That part of it in Kentucky running north from Pickering Hill to the ferry, a distance of four miles, was well maintained by the county through Ford’s influence. The road leading from his ferry into Illinois was an equally important one, but its condition depended solely upon his interest and efforts in the matter. He attempted to persuade the local authorities in Illinois to change the old Low Water Road running through the bottoms to Pott’s Hill, a distance of twelve miles, to one over higher ground. Failing in this effort, he, at his own expense, opened up a new road ever since known as Ford’s Ferry High Water Road.
Thus with about twenty miles of comparatively good road through a densely wooded country and with a first class ferry, and by proper advertising, he succeeded, as one man expressed it, “in having things come his way.” Many people, it is true, were molested at the ferry and along the highway leading to and from it; but such misfortunes were then likely to befall any traveler at any place. If a robbery occurred along the Ford’s Ferry Road, the news of the hold-up invariably ended with the report that “Jim Ford found the robbers and ran them out of the country.” And so, for many years, the Ford’s Ferry Road and Ford’s Ferry maintained the reputation of being “safe again.” In the meantime, strangers continued to travel over it, and many fell into the well-set trap.
At the foot of Pickering Hill, near Crooked Creek, newcomers frequently met, as though by chance, some “strangers” who explained that they were on their way to Illinois. The unwary emigrants continued their travel accompanied by persons who seemed honest men. The “strangers” soon gained their confidence, and if, by the time Ford’s Ferry was reached, the desirability and possibility of a hold-up had not been ascertained, the united party crossed over into Illinois. At Potts’ Hill, or before reaching that wayside tavern on the south hillside, the newcomer was either robbed or permitted to continue his journey unmolested. It is said that many a traveler who was found weak and destitute by the “strangers” was given money and other help by them. On the other hand, the traveler who exhibited evidence of wealth and prosperity almost invariably met his fate along the road, at the ferry or at Potts’ Hill.
Billy Potts was the strategist on whom the highwaymen relied as their last and best man to dispose of any encouraging cases that had not been settled before they reached his house. Potts, by one means or another, succeeded in persuading the selected travelers to remain all night at his inn. His log house was large and comfortable and stood near a good spring which, then as now, offered an abundant supply of water for man and beast. Tradition says many a man took his last drink at Potts’ Spring and spent his last hour on earth in Potts’ house. Human bones are still turned up by plowmen in the Potts’ Old Field, and since there is nothing to indicate that they are the remains of Indians, the conclusion is they represent some of the victims of the mysterious Ford’s Ferry band. The log house occupied by Billy Potts is still standing. Many years ago it was converted into a barn. On its floor and walls there can still be seen a number of large dark spots. Tradition has it that they are stains made by human blood. Some of the old citizens living in the neighborhood insist that they are as distinct today as they were more than half a century ago, notwithstanding the ravages of time.
There are many traditions of mysterious murders attributed to the Ford’s Ferry highwaymen. Every one is a fearsome tale and has evidently undergone many changes since it was first told. Some seem to have more versions than they are years old. None, so far as is now known, can be verified by documentary or other positive evidence. All these tales are apparently based on facts but it is also evident that each is much colored by fiction. A version of the tradition pertaining to Billy Potts and his son is here retold:
A traveler was riding north on the Ford’s Ferry Road one day, and after crossing the ferry was overtaken by the son of Billy Potts. Young Potts expressed a delight at having found a man with whom he could ride and thus not only pass the time away more pleasantly, but also travel with greater safety. After going a few miles young Potts gained sufficient information to convince him that the man was well worth robbing. When they reached a point along the road where a hold-up could be made with the least danger of exposure, Potts pulled out his pistol, forced the man to throw up his hands and then proceeded to rob him. While Potts was in the act of taking his victim’s money, two farmers living in the neighborhood happened upon the scene. Not being in sympathy with the gang of highwaymen and having recognized young Potts, they informed others what they had witnessed and reported the robbery to the authorities. Ford, so runs the story, realizing that one of his men had been detected and that much evidence could be produced to convict the guilty one, advised him to leave for parts unknown, and thus not only save himself but also shield his confederates from further suspicion. The young man left, and a few days later, rumors emanating from the gang, to the effect that young Potts had been driven out of the country by Jim Ford, circulated freely. The disappearance of Potts substantiated the report, and Ford received the credit for ridding the community of an undesirable citizen.
Young Potts wandered around for several years, in the meantime growing a beard and gaining in weight. He evidently changed in appearance to such an extent that he felt confident no one—not even his mother—would recognize him, and that he could return home without the least fear of detection. He reached Pickering Hill on his homeward journey and there met a number of “strangers” who informed him that they were resting preparatory to resuming their travel to the Illinois country. Potts recognized in these men his old companions in crime, but none suspected who he was. He rode with them to Ford’s Ferry, in the meantime keeping the men in ignorance as to his identity. When they reached the Ohio he saw that active preparations were being made to rob him and, if necessary, to murder him. He then revealed his identity. But it was only after producing considerable proof that he convinced the men that he was their long gone accomplice. A great rejoicing followed.