Wednesday, 19 June 2013 12:55
1882 Cowee Tunnel disaster comes into 21st century spotlight
Written by Garret K. Woodward
Charged with stealing, 15-year-old Charles Eason was sentenced to work on a prison chain gang.
It was 1882, and the teenager from Martin County soon
found himself side-by-side with other convicts, many two and three times
his age. Mostly from the eastern part of the state, the gang was sent
to construct the railroad lines in Western North Carolina.
Their hard, arduous labor — and that of other chain gains
like them — shaped the development of Southern Appalachia into a
bountiful economy based on lumber and minerals, now easily transported
by rail out of the mountainous landscape and into the world of
commerce.
But Mason wouldn’t ever get to the see fruits of his hard
work. After months of forced labor, he and 18 other African-American
inmates drowned while crossing the Tuckasegee River in their workboat to
do work on the Cowee Railroad Tunnel. Their shackles pulled them to
their death at the bottom of a frigid river. All 19 bodies were
carelessly dumped into a mass grave in Dillsboro, left behind and
forgotten for the next 130 years.
“It depresses me terribly that this much time has gone by
and nobody cared,” said Gary Carden, a well-known Western North Carolina
writer and artistic director of The Liar’s Bench. “The world can be
rotten at the heart.”
Forgotten, that is, until a group of Jackson County
residents took matters into their own hands. Spearheaded by Carden and
others involved in The Liar’s Bench — a Southern Appalachian cultural
variety show featuring regionally prominent musicians and folklorists —
the latest interest in the disaster has revealed new details, as well as
opened a can of worms about a dark era in American history.
“The world is full of stories where a town has to redeem
itself, and I don’t think Jackson County knows it has to redeem itself,”
Carden said. “This is a dangerous world, and this disaster validates
the kind of a world we live in where you can leave home and never come
back.”
Shipped up the river
Though slavery was abolished following the Civil War and
the passage of the 13th Amendment, African-Americans were still treated
as second-class citizens, especially in the South. Criminalizing legal
activities by African-Americans, the “Black Codes” were a harsh list of
laws created to wrangle and imprison blacks. These laws put
African-Americans behind bars for simply walking down the street after
dusk or traveling through an area without a permanent place of
residence.
With staggering numbers of new black prisoners filling the
jail system, state governments eventually constructed a system of
taking them out of their cells and putting them to work, mainly doing
hard labor for various job sites around the South. The prison system
made enormous sums of money off the cheap labor, while businesses were
able to complete seemingly impossible projects with minimal cost and a
never-ending flow of dispensable workers.
With this new resource of workers, plantation owners were
also legally allowed to purchase the services of the prisoners, which
were almost always African-Americans.
“You’ve got to keep in mind this is in the years following
the Civil War. It was the end of slavery, but this part of the country
was still used to the idea of utilizing people for labor without any
real compensation,” said George Frizzell, head of special collections at
Hunter Library at Western Carolina University. “Exploitable labor was
still part of the mindset, and some people didn’t see this as a big
concern that the state was leasing these prisoners in this way.”
Once purchased, these businesses could lease the men from
the state for upwards of a year. Along with the leased ownership came
the harsh reality of horrid working conditions, brutal beatings and the
occasional killing of a prisoner at the hands of the businesses. The
accountability was nil as the steady stream of workers continued to flow
in.
“These weren’t just a casual everyday type of labor. We’re
talking hard, hard physical labor under extreme conditions, led by
people that didn’t mind using convict labor,” Frizzell said.
The building of railroads became one of the largest
projects taken on by the prison chain gangs. During the post-Civil War
years, the United States continued to push westward, as well as expand
the connectivity of the already populated East Coast. The frenzied need
for exploration and cultivating of natural resources like lumber and
minerals only increased the need for speedy construction or rail lines
through the country.
“The creation of the railroad really joined together the
United States,” Frizzell said. “It linked the East and West coasts, and
lingering in the background through this fascination with the railroad
was the realization that so many people were sacrificed in doing so.”
On a typical day, the prisoners were shackled together,
the chains attached around their ankles and linked up to the next
convict and so on. They cleared forests, removed rock, dug tunnels and
laid heavy steel rail lines for hundreds of miles. If they slowed down,
they were beaten. If they tried to run away, they were shot. No
questions asked, no compassion given.
And amid this massive railroad bonanza came the
development of the densely forested and rugged landscape of Western
North Carolina. Filled with enormous untouched lumber and rich mineral
beds, the region had businesses licking their lips for decades. The
problem was how to get the resources out of ground and to markets. The
solution came from the emerging railroad and cheap prison labor.
“The railroad had such a vital impact on the economical
development of this area,” Frizzell said. “With the timber and mining
now available, the railroad reshaped everything here, and a lot of
people don’t realize it was built with convict labor.”
A frigid, deathly day
The Western North Carolina Railroad had assembled a
workforce of hundreds of convicts from a prison in Raleigh. Rail lines
were quickly moving across the state, with the 700-foot long Cowee
Tunnel outside of Dillsboro being built ahead of the line to keep up
with the pace of construction.
It was cold in Dillsboro on the morning of Dec. 30, 1882.
Snow and ice covered the ground, and the frigid Tuckasegee River flowed
through the small community.
A group of 30 convicts entered a boat on the eastern bank
of the river, readying themselves to head across the water to their
jobsite at the Cowee Tunnel (1.3 miles west of Dillsboro) on the other
side.
“You’ve got to remember the physical surroundings in
Western North Carolina hardly resembles what they were in 1882,” said
Dave Waldrop, assistant to the artistic director at The Liar’s Bench.
“There were trees with trunks 12 to 14 feet in diameter. These convicts
had never been in such a wild and intimidating wilderness like this, and
it probably frightened them not knowing what was going to happen while
working out there.”
As the boat was pulled across the river by a cable line,
puddles of water from a rainstorm the previous night were swishing back
and forth on the wooden floor. The sight and sound of the water began to
scare the prisoners, with many thinking the boat was sinking.
Panicking, the convicts began to push towards the front of the boat.
Prison guards ordered the men to stop moving around in the boat, but it
was to no avail. With the commotion and constant back and forth movement
of the craft, the boat capsized, sending everyone onboard into the
frozen river.
Struggling to get to shore, the men, shackled together,
tried desperately to keep their heads above water. One by one, the
entangled mass of convicts slipped to the bottom of the river,
ultimately to their demise. First hand accounts told of eyewitnesses on
the riverbanks watching helplessly as the men cried for help and
eventually drowned. The other 11 convicts and guards on the boat were
swept down the river.
In a February 1963 article by the Asheville Citizen-Times,
well-known Sylva writer John Parris spoke of the legendary heroics of
convict Anderson Drake, who climbed out of the river only to dive back
in and rescue prison guard Fleet Foster.
“Drake helped Foster up the steep bank, knelt a moment by
the gasping guard, then stood up and turned to look back at the foaming
river. There was no sign of the other 19 convicts,” Parris wrote. “They
called Drake a hero. They said he would surely go free.”
But Drake didn’t go free. Back in his quarters, following
the incident, Foster found his wallet and pistol missing. Upon ordering a
search of the prison camp, the wallet, containing $30, was found in
Drake’s belonging.
“That night, instead of thanking Drake and giving him a
feast, the camp foreman ordered him into the yard, bared his back, and
gave a dose of cat-o’-nine-tails (multi-tailed whip),” Parris wrote.
After the lashings, Parris reported Drake was sentenced to
30 years hard labor and immediately put back to work on the Cowee
Tunnel.
On New Year’s Day 1883, the 19 bodies of the convicts were
finally pulled from the river. An investigation ruled the deaths
accidental, with a guard’s statement concluding the incident was of no
fault to anyone. Reports and local legend had said the prisoners were
buried on the hill atop the tunnel, while replacement workers came in
and the railroad construction continued to move on down the line. The
names of the deceased were filed away, eventually covered up and
forgotten by the sands of time.
“Days later, the 19 bodies were recovered and buried in
unmarked graves on the hillside above the river and in plain view of the
mouth of the tunnel,” Parris wrote.
Though railroad chain gang worker deaths were commonplace
at the time, with Chinese immigrants on the West Coast and
African-Americans on the East Coast, the sheer number of fatalities in
this tragedy made national headlines.
The Dillsboro accident was described as “… the most awful
that has happened in any of the public works of this state,” reported
the Raleigh Observer.
The tragedy was a particularly embarrassing blow for
then-Gov. Thomas Jordan Jarvis, who had recently visited the rail lines
in an effort to show solidarity with the railroad companies that worker
conditions and line progress were going smoothly.
“There were a lot of people traumatized by the high number
of fatalities,” Waldrop said. “The governor was just saying how well
everything was going, how well the convicts were being treated, and then
this happens.”
And the infamous story, for the most part, was simply left at that.
Once the tunnel was completed, WNC was open for business.
But as the years ticked away, the Cowee Tunnel still remained a spot for
disaster. Between cave-ins and train derailments on the pitch-black
blind curve in the middle of the tunnel, local folklore attributed the
incidents to a curse Drake may have placed on the site. Inside the dark
and cavernous tunnel, streams of moisture fell from the ceiling and down
the walls – tears from the 19 deceased convicts perhaps, many felt.
The injustices towards African-Americans and harsh
conditions of chain gangs continued well into the 20th century. It
wouldn’t be until the 1950s when state-provided prison labor would be
eliminated around the country. The chain gangs were no more, but the
deep and disturbing memories and stories remained.
Discovering the past
As a child, Carden was well aware of the legend of the Cowee Tunnel tragedy.
“I had heard about when I was a kid and was always curious
about it,” he said. “Who were they? Where are they? Where are the
bodies? We still didn’t know everything though about where all these
bodies could be.”
Carden kept the tunnel story in the back of his head for
years. It wasn’t until this past winter when his curiosity was finally
sparked to do something on the issue. He researched numerous documents
and newspaper archives, eventually tracking down articles on the tragedy
and a complete list of those 19 forgotten prisoners who perished in the
river.
“Finding their names really affected me. They had been
nameless, they didn’t exist, and suddenly there’s a name and an age,” he
said. “And you wonder if they were fat or thin, if they were married or
had children.”
Carden soon came across The Road, a 1967 historical
fiction novel by John Ehle about the brutal construction of the
Swannanoa Tunnel, which was by the same chain gang involved in the Cowee
Tunnel. The book follows its protagonist, Weatherby Wright, and his
mission to build a railroad in an impossible landscape of thick rock and
deep forest. The work brings to life the rigorous 12-hour shifts of
manual labor, or working 24 hours a day with minimal food, housing and
amenities. Reading it fueled Carden’s fire to bring closure to the 1882
tragedy.
“Families all over North Carolina have that empty place on
their family tree where they wonder what happened to their family
member that left town and never came back,” Carden said.
Throughout this spring, Carden and Waldrop began
interviewing elderly residents around Jackson County. They started
pinpointing where the graves might be.
They finally tracked down longtime resident Ellen Sutton,
whose property overlooks the tunnel. She told them that the bodies
weren’t buried above the tunnel. Rather, the 19 convicts were placed in
mass graves on a ridge behind what is now the Jackson County Green
Energy Park. It was a statement backed up by Dennis Wilkey, whose
property butts against the ridge.
“Dennis knew where the graves were, but he wasn’t too hot
on locating them for us,” Carden said. “He finally called one day and
said ‘OK, let’s go.’”
Carden and Waldrop headed up the ridge with Wilkey. In
1882, the property was pasture. Now, however, it is overgrown with
hard-to-navigate brush.
“There was nothing pastoral about it, just pine needles and thickets,” Carden said.
Though Wilkey knew where the graves were, no one could
seem to figure out who currently owns the land they reside on. It had
been so long since anybody had taken any interest in it, it seemed many
forgot who it actually belonged to.
“Dennis cut us a path and finally showed us the spot where
they were buried,” Carden said. “He said that’s where his daddy had
showed him they were, which was some 60 years ago.”
During their second visit to the supposed gravesite on
April 26, Carden brought along dowser Tom Stewart, whose specialty is
locating unmarked human graves with his dowsing rods. Carden had
previously used Stewarts talents six years ago in locating dozens of
unmarked graves behind an old folks home in Webster.
Stewart strode across the ground. Certain spots were soft
when he walked over them and the rods immediately crossed, indicating a
gravesite. When he stepped off the spots, the rods uncrossed. They had
detected three large graves, which led the group to estimate each holds
several bodies.
Going Home Project
At a meeting of the Jackson County Genealogical Society on
June 13 in Sylva, Carden and his team presented their findings and
showed clips from their interviews with Sutton and Stewart. The clips
will be part of an upcoming documentary being made about the tragedy,
which will be called “The Going Home Project” – a title signaling the
next, and hopefully final, chapter of this 130-year-old story.
“What’s becoming rapidly apparent is that there’s a story
here, a significant story,” Carden told the audience. “This is a
continuing story, and it’s going to go on for a long time.”
Carden pointed out that there is interest from the
forensic department at WCU in digging up and identifying the bodies of
the 19 convicts. From that point their immediate families could be
located and notified that their ancestors have been found.
“Some people say stuff like this needs to be left alone,
but if these people were my family, I would be wondering where they
are,” Waldrop said. “We are all seeking our roots, and these workers are
part of somebody’s roots.”
“I have mixed feelings about the graves, but right now I
want them out of there,” Carden added. “I would like a monument in
downtown Dillsboro with the names of those guys on it.”
Sitting in the back of the crowd at the meeting was
Victoria McDonald, a Jackson County native, historical author and
African-American. Carden interviewed her for the documentary and asked
her to come down to the floor and say a few words.
“It hurts my heart to think if someone buried me and
didn’t tell my mother where I was,” she said. “These guys are in my
heart, they really are. There was no prayer and no blessing when they
were thrown in those graves. They were free men, but they weren’t free.”
McDonald said the worst part of the entire tragedy was the
lack of closure for the families involved, how these men became
anonymous and that nobody seemed to care enough to do the right thing.
“Their folks didn’t know where they were, and the people
that took them didn’t know who they were, and they didn’t bother to take
them back to their home county,” she said. “That’s what bothers me,
too, is that we in this country can’t get over that era, and we have an
opportunity to get over something that ruined a lot of lives and a lot
of families.”
Carden is currently writing a play about the tragedy.
Titled “Tears in the Rain,” he performed a few pages of the script
during the presentation, with McDonald singing the traditional slave
song “Jordan River” in the background.
“The prisons of the South had formed an unholy alliance,”
Carden read. “They were renting chain gang prisoners to some of the old
plantations where hundreds of African-Americans found themselves back in
the fields like their ancestors of the previous generation.”
Fundraising efforts, suggestions and more research on the
exact gravesite is underway. Though the fine details of the tragedy are
slowly being pieced together like one giant puzzle, they are becoming
clearer and clearer each day. The group is planning to continue the
mission to find the relatives of the deceased. For them, in a perfect
world, every family would be located and every body shipped home for a
proper burial, some 130 years in waiting.
“You get very few chances in life to make a wrong right again, and this is one of those chances,” Waldrop said.
Want to go?
The Liar’s Bench will do a special presentation about
the Cowee Tunnel tragedy from 7 to 9 p.m. Thursday, June 20, in the
Mountain Heritage Center at Western Carolina University. The group
promotes southern Appalachian storytelling, music, poetry, drama, and
folk arts. The presentation is free and open to the public. 828.227.7129
or theliarsbenchgazette.blogspot.com.
The Cowee Tunnel 19
Moses Brown, 25 • Warren Co., N.C.
Oren Brooks, 22 • Orange Co., N.C.
Charles Eason,15 • Martin Co., N.C.
Sampson Ward, 55 • Onslow Co., N.C.
Allen Tillman, 18 • Anson Co., N.C.
Robert Robinson, 27 • New Hanover Co., N.C.
Thomas Miller, 30 • Chesterfield, S. C.
James Fisher, 18 • Polk Co., N.C.
Nelson Bowser, 30 • Hertford Co., N.C.
John Newsom, 20 • Hertford Co., N.C.
George Tice, 21 • Iredell Co., N.C.
Jerry Smith, 33 • Wilson Co., N.C.
George Rush, 44 • Richmond Co., N.C.
David Dozier, 52 • Edgecomb Co., N.C.
Jim McCallum, 18 • Gaston Co., N.C.
Albert Cowan, 22 • Rowan Co., N.C.
Louis Davis, 29 • Vance Co., N.C.
Alex Adams, 25 • Washington Co., N.C.
John Whitfield, 20 • Wayne Co., N.C.
Accidental, indeed. According to modern day brain science fully 95% of human actions are buried in the subconscious, so we can call anything we wish-accidental.
ReplyDeleteI like to say denial of anything we wish to hide.
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