for him the confidence of the community and the standing of a
trustworthy man, which he held until toward the close of his life.
Before he died many of his fellow-citizens began regarding him with
more or less suspicion, and he soon became a man of mystery. After
his death his career was extensively discussed throughout the lower
Ohio valley. Our account is confined principally to court records
and oral traditions. These old records, as far as known, have not
been cited heretofore by anyone attempting to tell the story of
James Ford.
Tradition has it that James Ford was born some time during the
latter part of the Revolution. His father, it is said, was a
Revolutionary soldier and moved with his son to western Kentucky
about 1803. Thus he appeared in the Cave-in-Rock country about
half a dozen years after the Masons and Little Harpe had gone
south, but was living in the neighborhood when “Jim Wilson” and
some of the other outlaws were holding forth at the Cave. His
home was a half-mile southwest of what is now the village of
Tolu, Crittenden County, Kentucky. It was a mile from the Ohio
and the head of the notorious Hurricane Island, about eight miles
below Ford’s Ferry and five miles below Cave-in-Rock. Ford owned
a number of good farms in what was then northern Livingston, now
Crittenden County. So well was he known along the lower Ohio that
Samuel Cuming’s _Western Navigator_, published in 1822, designates
the river landing near his home as “Major Ford’s.” The old court
records preserved at Smithland show that he was a justice of the
peace in 1815 and held the office a number of times thereafter,
and that practically every suggestion made before the county court
“on motion of James Ford” was carried. He frequently served as
appraiser and administrator of estates. Through these and other
acts of trust he gained the prestige of a desirable citizen. The
improvement of roads was encouraged by him, especially those
leading to Ford’s Ferry.
One of the most interesting chapters of the mystery surrounding
Ford’s Ferry may be found in a book of personal reminiscences
and local traditions of Cave-in-Rock and its vicinity disguised
as historical fiction and called _Chronicles of a Kentucky
Settlement_. Its author, William Courtney Watts, who possessed an
excellent education, was a very successful man of international
business experience, born at Smithland, Kentucky, near
Cave-in-Rock. Much of his information came directly from his father
and other pioneer settlers.
Among the men who figure in the romance, and whom Watts personally
knew, was Dr. Charles H. Webb, of Livingston County, of which
Smithland is the seat. Dr. Webb married Cassandra Ford, the
daughter of James Ford. He related the story of his life to Watts
and thus contributed a chapter to history that stands alone. There
exists in more or less abundance printed data relative to some of
the methods employed by the bands of robbers at Cave-in-Rock to
entice boats to land at the Cave and get possession of victims.
All these, however, are, as already observed, stories based on
statements made, not by men who spoke from actual observation, but
by persons who had heard others relate another man’s experience.
In Dr. Webb we actually touch hands with a well-known and highly
respected citizen who was lured to the Cave by some of the tricks
suggested--tricks regarding which few lived to tell the tale and of
which nobody else left any direct authoritative account.
Dr. Charles H. Webb and his brother John, both young men, left
South Carolina in 1822 for Philadelphia and shortly thereafter set
out for the West in search of fortune, with St. Louis as their
destination. At Cave-in-Rock, on their way down the Ohio, they met
their great adventure and were separated as the narrative records.
Dr. Webb, having lost all, settled at Salem. There he subsequently
met and knew Watts. The two became fast friends when Watts, much
the younger of the two, had grown up. It was from Dr. Webb, in the
flower of his middle age, that Watts had this story:
“My brother and I descended the Ohio River from Pittsburgh to
Louisville in a flatboat, and after remaining a few days in
Louisville we again started on another flatboat, intending to go
on it as far as the mouth of the Ohio River or near there.... The
boat, a ‘broadhorn,’ was in charge of one Jonathan Lumley, who
owned a large proportion of the cargo which consisted of corn,
provisions, and whiskey. With Mr. Lumley were three other stout
young men as hands, making, with my brother and myself, who had
agreed to work our way for food and passage, six persons on board.
“Day after day as we floated along, the better I got acquainted
with my companions and the more I found that, under a rough
exterior, they were warm-hearted, generous, and confiding fellows,
equally ready for a jig or a knock-down, for a shooting match or a
drinking bout, for a song or a sermon.
“I was playing on my flute as our boat was nearing Cave-in-Rock,
and when within full view of the high rocky bluff, at the base
of which is the entrance of the Cave, we observed a woman on the
top of the bluff hailing us by waving a white cloth, whereupon
our captain, as we called Mr. Lumley, ordered us to pull in close
to shore, within easy speaking distance, so as to learn what was
wanted.
“Presently a man came from the entrance of the Cave, and called
out: ‘Hey, Cap! have you enny bacon or whiskey on board?’
“‘I-yie!’ shouted back our captain.
“Won’t yer land? We’re short on rations here, an’ want ter buy
right smart!’ said the man.
“‘Goin’ to the lower Mississippi!’ answered our captain, ‘and don’t
want to break bulk so high up.’
“‘But, Cap, we’ud be mi’ty obleeged ef you’d lan’. An’ we’ve got
a woman here and a boy who want passage down ter the mouth er
Cumberlan’. They’ve bin waitin’ a long time, an’ll pay passage.’
“‘All right then,’ replied the captain, ‘I’ll land; but let them
come aboard at once.’
“And land we did some two hundred yards below the Cave, when the
captain and three others--my brother being one of them--went ashore
and walked up to the entrance. After waiting for more than an hour,
and none of our men returning, I asked my remaining companion to
go up to the Cave and see what was detaining them. Another hour
passed away; the sun had gone down, and night, with clouds, was
rapidly coming on.
“I began to feel uneasy, and to add to my uneasiness, a large dog
which we had on board began howling most dismally. Presently,
by the dim twilight, I saw three men approaching the boat from
the Cave. At first I thought them a part of our crew, but I was
soon undeceived, for they came on board, and with pistols drawn,
demanded my surrender. Resistance was useless; my arms were soon
bound behind my back, and I was told that if I made any row my
brains would be blown out. I asked about my friends but was only
told that they were ‘all right,’ that the captain had ‘sold the
boat and cargo,’ and that what little information they had given
was ‘enough’ for me ‘to know.’
“I was then blindfolded, and when my money had been taken from me,
I was assisted--I should say lifted--into a skiff, into which two
of the three men, so I thought, entered. I begged to know what had
become of my brother, and told them that he and I were passengers
on the boat and no part of the crew proper. I did this hoping that
if they knew we were passengers and had no direct interest in the
boat and cargo they would think us less likely to return to the
Cave and molest them. But the only answer I got was that the ‘fewer
questions’ I asked the better it would be for me, ‘by a d----
sight.’
“The skiff was then rowed away--in what direction I could not tell,
but in some five minutes there was a pause in the rowing, and
soon a slight jar as of two skiffs coming together, followed by a
conversation in low tones, the purport of which I could not catch.
Very soon, however, one of the men approached me and whispered in
my ear. There seemed to be a remnant of mercy in the intonations
of his words, rather than in the words themselves. He said: ‘We’re
goin’ ter vi’late orders a little, an’ turn yer loose here in the
middle er the river. An’ the furder yer float away frum here ’fore
yer make enny noise, the better for yer by a d---- sight. Yer’d
better lay low an’ keep dark till mornin’ comes.’ The speaker
then slackened the cords that bound my arms, after which he again
whispered: ‘Yer ken work ’em loose when we’re gone, say in ’bout an
hour, but not sooner, er yer may get inter trouble. An’ don’t yer
never come back here to ax enny questions, or yer’ll fare worse,
an’ do nobody enny good.’
“The man then left me seated in the stern of the skiff, and I could
tell from the motion and the rattling of a chain that a second
boat was being pulled along side it, into which the man stepped,
leaving me alone. I strained my ears to catch the slightest sound,
but I could neither hear the click of oars nor the dip of a paddle;
the latter, however, might have been used so noiselessly as to be
unheard. I was therefore in doubt. I thought possibly the other
boat might be floating close to me and that I was being watched.
This brought to my mind the man’s caution not to try to free my
arms for an hour. I therefore, remained quiet for about that length
of time. No sound reached me except the moaning of the night winds
among the forest trees that lined each shore, the occasional
barking of wolves, and the weird cry of night-fowls--particularly
the blood-curdling hooting of great owls....
“After a long and painful effort I succeeded in releasing my arms
and freeing my eyes from the bandage. Looking around I found the
heavens overcast: the night was so intensely dark that I could see
only a dim outline of the shore. I discovered there were neither
oars nor paddle in the skiff, but I was floating some two or three
miles an hour, and it might be many hours before I would pass any
habitation. I therefore made up my mind to lie down in the skiff,
try to get some sleep and await the coming of morn. But the distant
growling thunder was creeping nearer and nearer; flash after flash
lit up the heavens, followed by almost deafening discharges that
rolled, crashed, and reverberated along the river and among the
forests, which moaned and groaned under the pressure of the rising
wind. The waves in the river were momentarily increasing, and were
dashing my little skiff about in a way that was alarming....
“I knew if the downpour continued for many minutes my skiff would
fill and sink. There was but one way to bail it out--to use one of
my thick leather shoes as a scoop. I worked manfully while the rain
lasted, which, fortunately, was not for more than an hour.
“The long night finally passed, but the heavens were still
overcast. I peered along both banks--looked, hoping to see smoke
curling above some cabin chimney--but there was no sign of
human habitation. Occasionally I raised my voice to its highest
pitch--gave a loud halloo--but no answering voice was returned.
However, about an hour later, I saw an island ahead of me; it was
evidently inhabited, for notwithstanding the leaden aspect of the
skies, I could see smoke ascending from among the trees. I used my
hands as paddles as vigorously as I could so as to drift against
the head of the island, and in this I succeeded. Having secured my
boat, I soon found the cabin, and was kindly received by a Mr.
Prior and his wife who gave me a good breakfast. I told them of my
misfortune, and they expressed much sympathy for me. Mr. Prior, who
seemed to be an honest and intelligent man, told me that he was one
of the earliest settlers in those parts. He said he had often heard
of the depredations of the Wilson gang about the Cave and that I
was lucky to have escaped with my life. He advised me to stop at
Smithland, at the mouth of the Cumberland River, where I might
obtain assistance and directions as to what was best for me to do.
Mr. Prior then made me a paddle out of a clapboard, and bidding him
and his kind wife goodbye I returned to my skiff, pushed off, and
that evening arrived in Smithland.”
At Smithland young Webb was directed to Salem, “which then
contained a population, white and black, of about two hundred and
fifty.” There, in turn, he was advised by Judge Dixon Given to
consult Colonel Arthur Love relative to the best method of gaining
information regarding his brother who had been captured at the
Cave. Colonel Love, a highly esteemed citizen, lived a few miles
from the home of James Ford, who was suspected by many of being a
leader of the Cave-in-Rock band. No crime, however, had ever been
traced to Ford “with sufficient clearness to cause his arrest and
trial.” On his way to Colonel Love’s farm Webb fell from his horse
and sprained his ankle, and it so happened that Cassandra Ford,
daughter of James Ford, found the helpless young man lying in the
road. She took him to her home, and he soon discovered he was in
the house of the very man he dreaded most. But his fears rapidly
vanished, for his rescuer had become very much attached to him and
he to her. He was shown the flute of which he had been robbed near
the Cave. The mother and daughter revealed to him the fact that
they, like many of their neighbors, felt somewhat suspicious that
James Ford was, in some way, connected with the notorious crowd at
the Cave. Ford, who was away from home much of his time, did not
return until about a week after the crippled man was admitted. Then
Webb saw “the masterful, self-willed, dreaded, and almost outlawed
man.” He gave a description of him as he appeared at that time:
“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.
Early in the evening young Potts started alone over Ford’s High
Water Road to his father’s house, where he arrived shortly after
dark. He found his father and mother at home and, as he had
anticipated, was not recognized by them. He decided to attempt to
conceal his identity until late in the night, for he concluded
that if before making himself known he could impress his father
with the fact that his wandering boy had accumulated money, the
surprise which he was soon to give him would be even greater. With
this double surprise in view, young Potts displayed a large roll
of money and whispered to his unsuspecting host that he knew he
was in a safe place for the night. The two men had chatted in the
candle lighted room for an hour or more, when the guest asked for
a drink of water. Out into the dark they walked and down to the
Potts Spring, a distance of some three hundred feet. The young man
getting down on his knees, leaned over the rock-lined spring. While
in the act of drinking he was stabbed in the back, under the left
shoulder blade, and instantly killed.
The murderer took the money from his victim’s pocket, but failed
to find anything to indicate who he was, from where he came, or to
what place he intended to go. Old Potts dug a shallow grave and in
it buried all evidence of the crime. He returned to the house, and
after reporting to his wife that he had “made a good haul,” retired
for the night.
The next morning some of the Ford’s Ferry gang rode to Potts’
Hill to celebrate the return of their friend. Before they had an
opportunity to explain the object of their coming, Potts recited
the details of how he had disposed of an “easy” man the night
preceding. One of them then began the story of how they had met
the young fellow and how, when they were at the point of carrying
out their intention of robbing and killing him, he made himself
known and proved beyond doubt that he was young Potts, their former
associate. But before the account was finished old Potts and his
wife accused the crowd of concocting this story and cursed the men
for plotting against them. But, persisting and giving every detail
of what happened during the time the victim was in their presence,
the men created doubt in the minds of Potts and his wife, though
Potts asserted that in his opinion the man he had killed was not
his son, but perhaps a friend in whom his son had confided to such
an extent that he was able to convince them that he was young Potts
himself.