The Silent Brigade , livre ebook

Turner Publishing Company - Ron Elliott

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156 pages

English

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Description

The True Story of How One Woman Outwitted the Night Riders…

Sujets

Fiction

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Publié par	Turner Publishing Company
Date de parution	01 janvier 1995
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781618585288
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0700€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

TURNER PUBLISHING COMPANY 412 Broadway, P.O. Box 3101 Paducah, KY 42002-3101 Phone: (502) 443-0121

Turner Publishing Company Staff: Publishing Consultant: Douglas W. Sikes Designer: Herbert C. Banks II

Copyright © 1995. Ronald E. Elliott. Publishing rights: Turner Publishing Company. All rights reserved. Additional copies may be purchased directly from Turner Publishing Company.

This book or any part thereof may not be reproduced without the written consent of Ronald E. Elliott and Turner Publishing Company.

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 95-62026
9781618585288
Limited Edition. Printed in the U.S.A.

The Silent Brigade is a nonfiction novel.
Table of Contents
Title Page Copyright Page Dedication PREFACE Chapter 1 - Tuesday, September 10, 1906 Chapter 2 - Monday, September 16, 1906 Chapter 3 - Saturday, September 22, 1906 Chapter 4 - Saturday, November 17, 1906 Chapter 5 - Friday, November 30, 1906 Chapter 6 - Friday, November 30, 1906 Chapter 7 - Saturday, January 19, 1907 Chapter 8 - Thursday, February 28, 1907 Chapter 9 - Thursday, April 18, 1907 Chapter 10 - Wednesday, May 1, 1907 Chapter 11 - Thursday, May 9, 1907 Chapter 12 - Friday, May 10, 1907 Chapter 13 - Sunday, April 21, 1907 Chapter 14 - Tuesday, August 13, 1907 Chapter 15 - Wednesday, August 14, 1907 Chapter 16 - Thursday, August 15, 1907 Chapter 17 - Monday, August 19, 1907 Chapter 18 - Friday, December 6, 1907 Chapter 19 - Saturday, March 5, 1908 Chapter 20 - Tuesday, March 8, 1908 Chapter 21 - Tuesday, April 21, 1908 Chapter 22 - Wednesday, April 22, 1908 Chapter 23 - Wednesday, May 6, 1908 Chapter 24 - Monday, May 11, 1908 Chapter 25 - Monday, April 26, 1965 BIBLIOGRAPHY ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR
DEDICATION

To My Mother Eudelle Dawson Elliott Who is a little like Mary Lou Hollowell
PREFACE
Politically and economically, the Silent Brigade made an impact which covered a wide area of the United States and touched thousands of lives, including such notable personages as President Theodore Roosevelt, Kentucky Congressman A. O. Stanley, and, of course, tobacco magnate James B. Duke. The tumult from the flat-lands of western Kentucky and Tennessee was heard by tobacco farmers all the way to North Carolina, politicians in Washington, and financial brokers on Wall Street in New York City. Those events have been copiously researched and recorded in the years since they occurred.
Overlooked in such works, however, are the emotions of the ordinary populace who were forced to bear the brunt of the night rider activities. This book details the activities and emotions of a few such people, some fictional and some real, including the Hollowell family who proved to be not quite ordinary. The reader is entitled to who and what is real and fictional.
Jimmy Singleton and Lorena Leeson are fictional characters, so all of their activities and relationships did not exist. They were created, however, to convey events that actually happened to someone. The incident of a boy being captured under the Nabb school and forcibly inducted into the Silent Brigade, for example, actually did happen. Adam Smoot, Josh Deaton, Norvell Hanks, and Mrs. Haynes are all products of my imagination. Robert, Mary Lou, and Price Hollowell were real people who did act (and react) as described. Mary Lou Hollowell did operate a boarding house in Princeton and I suppose she had boarders, but all presented here are imaginary. Every other character named in this book was an actual person who played the role depicted. Milt Oliver and Sanford Hall were Silent Brigade “traitors;” Wiley Jones was a former sheriff who operated the stable in Princeton; John Hollowell was Bob’s brother; his wife, Lula, despised Mary Lou; and John Miller was the Hollowells’ lawyer. All the persons named as defendants, attorneys, witnesses and the judge in the Hollowells’ suits are the actual participants.
As for the events and places, the Association rally at Guthrie, the night rider raids on Princeton and Hopkinsville, the attack on the Hollowells and their ensuing odyssey, and the trials in federal court at Paducah all happened just as described. Jimmy’s life in Caldwell County, Paducah and Princeton is, of course, fabricated.
The goal of this book is not only to entertain, but to present the factual history of the Silent Brigade in an accessible fashion. I am able to assure the reader that the events are described accurately because some of the people involved — most notably John G. Miller — did us the kindness of writing books to pass along their experiences, the courts kept records, and the newspapers reported the activities. From these sources, plus the scholarly works on the topic, I was able to gather an accurate picture of the events.
A frequently heard comment, “I hate history” leads me to agree that memorization of names and dates is one of the dullest of endeavors. When history is presented in that fashion it is, indeed, boring. On the other hand, when historical events are considered as the product of human emotions, history fascinates us because it makes us what we are and it causes us to wonder how we ourselves would react to a situation. The most fascinating aspect of any historical tale, I think, is the discovery that it happened to real, live, flesh-and-blood people. Bob and Mary Lou Hollowell were certainly that. I hope you enjoy their story.
Most books that published are the result of several people’s efforts, and this one is no exception. Among those who participated with me in this project recognition is due to Jason Williams, John Snell, Harold McLaren, Bonnie Birkman, and Allan Elliot. My special thanks to Dr. Thomas D. Clark, who is, indeed, the fine gentleman that reputation has him.
Chapter 1
Tuesday, September 10, 1906
P anting from the long run up the dusty lane, I tried to yell, but no words came out of my mouth. All I could manage was the strength to pound on the screen door with both fists.
I heard someone rushing for the door from inside the house. “What’s the matter?” Concern was etched on the man’s face.
“Your barn’s afire!” I managed to gasp between gulps of air.
A wide grin quickly replaced the look of concern. He opened the door and stepped out on the porch. “You ain’t from around these parts, are you, son?”
I swallowed hard and inhaled deeply. “No sir, I ain’t from hereabouts. But what’s that got to do with all that smoke pourin’ out of the barn yonder?”
His smile widened. “Catch your breath, boy.” He waved me to a cane bottomed rocker. He sat beside me and placed a hand on the narrow board porch floor as he twisted to yell through the screen door. “Mary Lou, bring us some ice water out here.” As he leaned away, the collar of his blue work shirt dropped to expose a shoulder the whiteness of which starkly contrasted with his neck. Likewise, the deep copper pigment of his forearms identified him as a man who spent many hours in the summer sun. Here in western Kentucky, he’d be a tobacco farmer.
My breathing had calmed to the point that I felt I might live after all. “You mean to tell me that your barn ain’t burnin’ to the ground?”
He smiled again. “No, son, it ain’t. You don’t know much about how we cure ‘baccer here in the Black Patch, do you?”
“I reckon not. Up in Lincoln County, where I’m from, smoke means fire. When I seen all that smoke pourin’ out of ever’ crack in the barn, I thought sure it was afire. I run all the way up to the house here to tell you.”
“Well, I ‘preciate your tryin’ to help,” he said. “By the way, my name’s Bob Hollowell.” He extended his hand.
“I’m Jimmy Singleton,” I said. “Happy to make your acquaintance.”
The weakness in his grip surprised me as we shook hands. Although he was a big, strapping man, his hand felt like a three-days-dead fish. My pa always said that you could tell a lot about a man by his handshake. Despite the hard calluses on Bob’s palm, this handshake conveyed some kind of weakness that I did not understand.
My heart had stopped drumming my ribs. The screen door swung open to reveal a sight that started it pounding afresh. A woman emerged from the house carrying a pitcher of ice water and three glasses on a tray. When she looked at me and smiled, I wondered that the ice in the pitcher didn’t melt. She sat in the rocker beside Bob and placed the tray on a table.
“Jimmy,” Bob said, “this here is my wife. Mary Lou, say hello to Jimmy Singleton.”
“Hello, Jimmy.” Her voice would have made an angel choir envious. She glanced up at me as she poured water into the glasses. The glow from her liquid gray eyes caused a burning sensation under my collar. “You look like you could use this,” she purred, extending a full glass. The glass was covered with beads of perspiration and my neck was, too. I hoped her conclusion on my looks was due to the run up the lane rather than what her presence was causing inside me.
I accepted the glass with my left hand, using my right to tug at my shirt collar in an attempt to admit some fresh air to my burning chest. As I reached for the glass, my hand brushed hers. She smiled, seeming not to notice. As I could think of nothing to say, I gulped the water.
“Jimmy says he’s from up around Stanford,” Bob commented. “He run all the way up here from the big road just to tell us that the barn’s on fire.” He tried to contain a giggle, but failed. I was surprised that he’d know the name of my county seat town as Lincoln County was a good 200 miles northeast of here.
“Now, Bob,” Mary Lou chided. “Don’t be laughin’ at the boy. He simply tried to do us a good turn.” She tossed her head so that the sunlight filtered through her deep auburn hair, giving it a touch of reddish-gold at the edge.
Bob assumed an apologetic pose. “I’m sorry, Jimmy. It’s just that smoke pourin’ from a ’baccer barn is such a common sight in these parts that we don’t even notice it. Never fails, though, ever’ fall, some stranger does the same thing you just did.” He took a sip of water whi