The scene of this war was Perry County, Kentucky, one of the most
mountainous sections of all Southeastern Kentucky. Hazard, the county
seat, was then a small, but very thrifty and enterprising village. It
was called a town. Rightfully it ought not to have aspired to that
title. It is situated on the North Fork of the Kentucky River, and was
built in scattered fashion, between abrupt hills in the rear and the
river, with but a single street running through it.
Here at Hazard was the cradle of the feud which for years filled
newspaper columns and furnished most sensational reading. Many of
the stories which have gone out to the world had, however, no other
foundation than a lively imagination of newspaper writers who were
anxious to fill space and to please the readers that loved the
sensational. In this purpose they have succeeded admirably.
Here at Hazard resided the chieftains of this war--Joseph C. Eversole,
and Benjamin Fulton French.
Both were men of fine business abilities, successfully engaged in the
mercantile business; both were prominent, able lawyers of the Perry
courts; both were in easy financial circumstances.
Eversole was extensively related in Perry and adjoining counties.
French had originally come from the State of Tennessee, but had married
a Kentuckian and by marriage had become related to influential families
of Breathitt, Leslie and other counties.
Prior to the difficulties which eventually arrayed them against each
other, Eversole and French had been apparently close friends.
A misunderstanding over a rather trivial matter furnished the basis of
their future enmity, an enmity to the death.
The bird on the snowy alpine slope starts an insignificant slide. It
increases as it rolls downward and becomes an avalanche; thundering
into the valley below, carrying everything before it and leaving a path
of desolation, destruction and death behind it.
So a trivial difference over a business transaction opened graves for
many brave and generous men, desolated happy homes, and for a long time
heaped shame upon the name of Perry County and the State at large.
French and Eversole disagreed and quarreled. At each subsequent
meeting the quarrel was renewed with ever increasing bitterness;
menacing threats were freely indulged in until the vials of hate became
filled to overflowing. A theretofore existing sharp business rivalry
materially assisted the estrangement from the start. As stated, both
were engaged in the mercantile business in which each tried to outdo
the other, often at a material loss.
Serious trouble might yet have been averted through the interference of
honest friends but for an unfortunate circumstance, which involved them
to such an extent that the breach became irreparable.
The circumstance referred to might, however, never have had serious
consequences had it not been for the pernicious activity of the
slanderous tale teller. In this feud, perhaps more so than in any
other of the internecine strifes which, during the eighties added
to the significance of the title, the "Dark and Bloody Ground," and
intensified the crimson hue of its history, we find those who shunned
battle, feared to oppose their breasts to the shock of bullet, but
gloried in pouring oil upon the flames, without danger to themselves.
In such a struggle the tale-bearer is more dangerous than powder
and shot. Morally and legally, he who instigates a murder, even by
indirection, is as much a murderer as the man who fires the gun and
accomplishes the bloody deed. With the countenance of the saint such
a man will seek the confidence of both sides. He loves to pose as a
peacemaker; he preaches brotherly love. Yet, when the trouble is about
to abate, he seems to regret it, for then he seizes upon every chance,
uses every opportune moment to convey some confidential intelligence
to the party or parties for whose ears it had been least intended. The
strife is renewed; passions are rekindled; yet, while men welter in
their hearts' blood, widows mourn and orphans cry, the traitor, the
tale-teller, the scandal peddler, maintains his saintly countenance and
bewails the fate of the unfortunates.
Yet it is not always the spoken slander, the spoken tale, that hurts.
The old adage that "silence is golden" is not to be applied in all
cases. Silence is often even more dangerous than spoken words.
_Silence_ may become a greater liar than the tongue. We often hear the
expression "if you cannot speak good of any one, say nothing!" Yet
silence is the most bitter, poisonous, insidious traducer. Silence may
convey contempt more completely than a torrent of spoken words. Silence
is most treacherous because it places the burden of its interpretation
upon the other side. That interpretation may be wrong, but the silent
slanderer does not correct it.
Silence is also many sided. It may mean consent; it may mean denial.
It does incalculable harm without being in the least responsible or
actionable. One cannot horsewhip one for injury to character through
silence. Silence and innuendo are closely related; both are the most
dangerous weapons of the moral coward.
Spoken lies are soon forgotten. They "rile" the blood--but that passes.
Spoken lies are tangible, as it were, and may be met. Silence and
innuendo are like enemies in invisible ambush. One cannot attack an
invisible foe.
What we have reference to might best be illustrated by the following
dialogue the writer once overheard: