Hancock County, Kentucky Stories
Helm Jarred hid-out in
room beneath corn crib
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Retyped as it appeared in the Clarion, by
George Lee Gibbs, Sr., Mary L. Gibbs, for non-profit use
As I loaded my suitcase in the buggy, a cool
October rain began to fall. I climbed into the buggy with Bill
Fullenwider, my brother-in-law, who was taking me to Whitesville
to catch a train. As we drove down the road in silence, I began
to think back about the past year, that fateful day in October
1892, a day I will have to live with for the rest of my life.
It turned out like any other day. I was
up at sun up, milked the cows and fed the horses and mules. By
the time I got back to the house, Mom had breakfast on the table.
After breakfast, my brother Oscar and myself rode to Troy,
Indiana to pick up a few supplies. We got back home about 6:00
that afternoon. Soon our cousin came by and asked us if we were
going to the dance that night at the Morris residence, a Saturday
night dance. Oscar said he would like to go because he liked to
drink, dance and flirt with the ladies. I, being the quiet, shy
type, told my cousin I didn’t want to go. My cousin then
asked me if I was afraid of the Hendersons, who were the “powers
that be” of Hancock County. I informed him that I wasn’t
afraid of anybody. I grabbed my bulldog pistol from the top of
the piesafe and stuck it in my belt and Oscar, our cousin and I
left for the party.
As we neared the house where the party
was being held, we could hear the music and laughter. As soon as
we arrived, Oscar went inside to find something to drink and a
pretty lady to dance with. My cousin and I eased inside to find
something with which to wet our whistle. After watching Oscar
whirl a few ladies, I went back outside on the porch to watch a
card game in progress.
I had much more than sat down when the
trouble began. George Henderson grabbed me and said “Helm
Jarred, you’re making to much noise.” Having said not
more than a casual hello to anyone there, the adrenaline
immediately started to flow through my veins and in a gruff voice
I told him to turn me loose. “You’ve been making too
much noise ever since you arrived,” he said. I again
demanded him to turn me loose. In his overbearing manner, he, for
the third time, told me that I’d better quit making so much
noise. By this time I was filled with rage. As he squeezed me
tighter, my demands of release were to no avail and I impulsively
reached for my pistol. Placed it in his belly and pulled the
trigger.
With the shot being fired, people
scattered in every direction. Realizing what I had done, and
knowing the power of the Henderson family in Hancock County.
Oscar and I jumped on our horses and hurriedly headed for home.
Realizing that would be the first place a posse would look, we
never let up until we reached Coal Bank Hollow located on Bill’s
farm. Before we reached our destination, it began to rain and it
rained the rest of the night. Before daylight the next morning,
Oscar sneaked to Bill’s house to tell him of the incident of
the previous night. Bill, realizing that by being our brother-in-law
his house would be searched, sent Oscar back to Coal Bank Hollow
with some food and the message that we were to stay there until
he came for us. Just before dark the following afternoon, Bill
came walking over the hill. He said the posse had been there that
day and that George Henderson was still alive but was in bad
shape and that we should stay in Coal Bank Hollow until things
settled down. Bill returned to us the next afternoon about dusk.
George Henderson had died and there was a warrant for my arrest
for murder. For me there was no going back. We talked for a while
and decided that since Oscar had committed no crime, he might as
well go back home. Oscar and Bill left me alone at Coal Bank
Hollow that night. It was the last time I saw my brother Oscar.
About an hour before daybreak the next
morning Bill came for me. He took me to a cornfield in the hollow
below his house where I remained in a corn shock all day. Shortly
after dark Bill brought me some food and took me to my “new
home” for the winter. Bill made a small room in the bottom
of the corncrib and covered it with corn. I had to crawl under
the floor of the corn crib then crawl insideto my “new home.”
To keep warm during winter, I would sneak up to Bill’s house
at night, crawl under the house and sleep next to the hearth.
Early the next morning Bill came to me
with more news. The posse had arrested Oscar the previous
afternoon and took him to Hawesville to the county jail to stand
trial as an accomplice to the murder of George Henderson. In
trying to find my whereabouts, they had threatened to hang Oscar
“on the spot”. The threat was carried out to the extent
that he was actually pulled off the ground by the hangman’s
noose but Oscar still didn’t talk. Later at the trial, if
one can call it a trial, Oscar was sentenced to one year in
prison for a crime he had nothing to do with.
By springtime, the posse had somewhat
relinquished their manhunt and were now checking Bill’s
house only on an irregular basis. By now, I have a full beard
that has been growing since last fall. I worked in the field for
Bill during the summer days and spent my nights in various
places, sometimes in the beechwoods below Bill’s house or in
my corn crib home on rainy or cool nights. Sometimes I would even
eat at the table in Bill’s house. One such meal was almost a
calamity. I had just finished eating, left the house and was
walking over the hill to the woods when the posse rode up. They
searched Bill’s house again but found no trace of me.
By the late summer of 1893, Bill was
teaching me how to read and write and how to measure lumber,
preparing me for the eventful day when I would have to leave.
The Henderson family had hired a private
detective to track me down, dead or alive. If he did find me, he
would have to take me back dead for I still had my bulldog pistol
and no one was going to take me alive.
Summer passed and the cool fall weather
was upon us. Buddy, Bill’s 11-year-old son, would bring my
supper to the corncrib and afterwards he and I would go possum
hunting. Sometimes he would bring me a newspaper and I would
practice my reading by the light of a lantern.
By the middle of October, Bill and I had
the tobacco housed and the corn shocked. I could read and write
good enough to get by and Bill had taught me enough about
measuring lumber that I could get a decent job. Bill had paid me
for working so I had saved over one hundred dollars.
Tonight would be the night, I thought. I
would tell no one, not even Bill, until I was ready to leave.
There would be no good byes or tears for my family. In the back
of my mind, I knew I could never come back and I could never
communicate in any way with my family.
When Buddy brought my supper, I told him
I wanted to see his dad. A few minutes later Bill came and I told
him I was ready to leave. There was utter silence for a moment or
two. Finally he said he would harness the horse. He understood
that I had to leave. Without his help I could never have survived.
It took a lot of courage to stand by me these past months,
knowing if I was found on his place, he would probably go to
prison.
There would be no way I could ever repay
Bill for all he has done for me. Teaching me a trade and to read
and write was a task in itself. Not counting all the extra work
he had done to provide me with a place to stay. My chicken coop
room under the corn in the crib and the warm shelter next to the
hearth in the house, the pay I had received for work, I feel as
though I should have been paying him.
About that time, Bill nudged me. I looked
up to see the lights of Whitesville ahead. When we got to the
train depot, Bill looked around to see if he knew anyone. I then
got off the buggy, went into the train depot and bought a ticket
for the first train heading south. I didn’t really know
where I was going, only that I had to get far away so that I
could start a new life. Three days later I got off the train in
Moulton, Alabama, a quiet little town nestled in the Pine Forrest
of Northwest Alabama. Surely no one would find me here.
I got a job at a sawmill just outside of
town. Within six months, I was buying timber for the mill.
Everything seemed to be working out as I had planned. I had a new
life, a good job and no one in Moulton had any idea who I really
was, but as fate would have it the end to all of this was near.
The sawmill owner had sent me to Decatur, Alabama to check on
some new equipment. When I got off the train in Decatur, I
started down the street looking for the Mill Supplier. About that
time someone tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Hello,
Helm Jarred.” Calmly I turned around and looked my first
cousin J.D. Colbert square in the eye and told him I was sorry
but I wasn’t Helm Jarred. I told him my name was Henry Cecil
and I slowly turned and walked down the street. I had to leave
Moulton; I couldn’t take a chance on being caught. I
purchased the equipment and took a train back but instead of
working, I told my boss I had received word that my mother was
very sick and near death in Tennessee and I must go to her. I
caught the next train out of Moulton and headed west. Two days
later I got off the train out in Paragould, Arkansas. I hadn’t
written to anyone since I left home. By this time I was getting
homesick. I wrote a letter to Bill telling him about my job at
the sawmill and to tell Mom and the family that I was fine and
that I missed everyone terribly. I know they wouldn’t be
able to write back because I didn’t know where I would be
from one day to the next. During the next six months, I drifted
from one job to another; picking cotton to off bearing at another
saw mill. I wrote home from time to time, always signing Henry
Cecil as my name. Of course my family knew whom the letters were
from.
I finally decided I must cut off all
family ties completely. I wrote one last letter telling Mom I was
bad sick and probably would die. The letter was mailed in
Advance, Missouri. I know it was going to hurt everyone at home
but the past must be put behind me. I had to start a completely
new life for myself. For the last time and I sincerely hope it is
the last, I’m catching a train headed west.
The murder did take place, but I
have no direct proof as the whereabouts of Helm Jarred over the
years or his deathplace.
NOTE: Helm and Oscar Jarred were sons of John Jarred
and Mary Colbert. Helm was born in 1866 and Oscar in 1870. Please e-mail me if
you have additional information about this family.
See Also George
Henderson Killed at dance near Lewisport for more on this story.