JIM BAKER OF
BAKER’S ROCK
BY
Connie Bolling
Early in the 1840’s, a man by the
name of Jim Baker came to the remote settlement of
Flat Gap, located on the headwaters of the North Fork
of the Pound River. Where he came from, no one
knew.
He was a very peculiar man, dreamy looking, talking
very little to men but articulate and easy in
conversation with women. He possessed an air
about him that drew women to him. He was roughly
handsome with his neatly trimmed moustache and curly
black hair. Naturally, the men hated him for
having such a blessing. They ostracized and
taunted him, causing him to flee their mistreatment
into the wilder regions of the mountains.
Gossip leaked out that he had been seen with a strange
woman near a cave-house on a large flat atop Black
Mountain. This place was located just north of
Dunbar and Roaring Fork. Then, as time drifted
on, Baker was seen around the cave with an assortment
of women,
Finally, the old settlers in Flat Gap became
suspicious and not a little curious of Baker’s
activities with so many women. They vowed they
were going to find out what he was up to. At
two-week intervals Baker would come down with his
small donkey to the big country store in Flat
Gap. He always bought two sacks of supplies,
such as flour, meal, salt and lard and other staples
needed to feed a fair number of people. He tied
the fee sacks together, laid them across the little
donkey’s back and started for home. He had
spoken to no one.
‘What a strange man,” the women would say, shaking
their heads
‘Well, if you want my word fer it, I’ll bet he’s a no
good rascal,” Shanklin Hubbard kept saying.
His trail led him past a large saw mill operation, and
there were those who speculated tahat he might be
employed there. This time preceded the mining
camps at Dunbar, Pardee and Roaring Fork, so of course
he wasn’t engaged in that type work.
“He’s right up air makin licker,”cause he haint ever
out’n of money,” Shanklin would exclaim, “and the
wimmen air atter him fer it.”
Great–grandpa Jeremiah and my grandpa, Jessie plotted
to go up on the mountain, pretending to hunt but
intending to satisfy their curiosity about Baker and
his women. Grandpa said, “I’ll bet he’s alivin’
in that cave up air. I’ve been in it, and they’s
three rooms air.”
So the two got their guns and dogs and headed for the
top of the mountain which was five or six miles away
over hill and down hill, up what now is called
“Phillip’s Creek.” Hunting was good as they went
along, but they led their dogs and held their
fire. They wanted to slip up on old Jim.
Suddenly, at the edge of a clearing, they watched as a
black clad women ran sobbing into view. She
wailed incoherently. Presently Jim Baker
appeared, giving chase to the distraught female, who,
at length, flung herself across a large bolder.
Still at some distance, Baker yelled, “It looks like
with so few of you, you could get along.”
At length, the two figures, talking softly, rose and
headed for their cave home. Puzzled, but amused,
Jeremiah and Jessie concluded that they had witnessed
a martial squabble, one of the many that must have
plagued Baker with his retinue of women.
The two men followed the couple to the cave. As
they approached they saw two black bear dogs tearing
through the “bresh” and hell bent for them, baring
their fangs when they came nearer. Jeremiah and
Jessie who had grabbed clubs and begun beating at them
through the bushes met them. They held their own
dogs back.
To their surprise, three hefty women who had heard the
commotion came running after the dogs yelling, “Come
back here! Come back here! You
devils!” They dragged their dogs back to the
cave.
Suddenly, the two men saw Baker come from behind the
cave, holding a musket. Four more women emerged:
one combed her hair, another held an iron poker in the
air. Baker stepped out front of them, his gun
still held ready and cocked. Jeremiah and Jessie
wanted to run, but stood frozen in their tracks.
Despite their fear, one mighty peculiar thing caught
their eye. It was a cannon, sitting on a level
spot in front of the cave. The women filed back
into the cave while Jim continued to glare at the two
scared men.
In one voice they offered, “Hello there.” Jim
made no response, but took one step toward them.
They knew they were treading on dangerous ground, so
they tucked their tails and ran all the way to Flat
Gap.
They were two tired, heroic men. They, at last,
knew the secrets of Jim and his seven
concubines. Was he a modern day Solomon?
The whole community gathered around them and listened
to the most exciting news since the Revolutionary War.
All the citizenry had learned enough about old Jim to
start tongues wagging. Women were tittering and
ooohing and aaahing, while men were cussing and
fuming, no small part of their response being
jealousy, though they would have denied it. Men
buckled on their guns when they went into Black
Mountain. Women “dyked out” in their best
dresses when they went to the store, hoping to see Jim
Baker, the 1840’s heartthrob.
The people also pondered the problem of the
cannon. What was the purpose of such a huge gun
in so remote a place? How did Baker get
the 500 pound cannon there? All such questions
drifted up and down the upper Pound River settlement.
Some of the old settlers “Aimed on going after him to
tar and feather him and run all of ‘em off the
mountain.” Everybody was mad and hostility was
at a fever pitch. Wilse Church, their Primitive
Baptist preacher sent runners out to summon all of
them to a meeting at the old log church the following
night. He wanted to preach a sermon to
them. The time was ripe.
The text for his sermon that night was “Vengeance is
mine, saith the Lord.” And what a foot stomping
good service it was. Some women shouted, while
some of the men cussed. But it seemed to lessen
the tension among the people.
But during the next week things took a turn for the
worse. One morning, just at daybreak, all the
countryside was awakened by three booming explosions
from Baker’s cannon. The hills and valleys
echoed with the deafening noise. People gathered
in-groups and speculated about Baker’s reasons for
shooting off the cannon. Most everyone thought
he was mad because of Grandpa’s visit. For
several days their tongues wagged, but no answers
came.
So the men returned to hunting game for the supper
table, and the women settled back to their
housekeeping and attending their children. But
one queer fact was beginning to emerge – none of the
huntsmen had been able to kill any of the game they
stalked. Even though they were at close range
and had a fair, open shot, their aim missed. The
deer, and other animals, just trotted away.
Grandpa Jeremiah was a good marksman, and he shot at a
deer and missed even though he was close enough to see
the rings around the deer’s eyes. He turned and
fired at a rock about two hundred yards away, and the
rock shattered into pieces. “Something is wrong,
I know it is. I hit the rock and I know I should
have killed that deer.”
Jeremiah had heard that the woods could be “RUNG” by a
witch and that no one would be able to kill any game
as long as the “spell” was in effect. Baker, they
reasoned, must be a witch who had cast the “spell” all
over the hills and mountains. The three shots
from the cannon had really “RUNG” the woods, Jeremiah
concluded.
As time went by, men continued to hunt, only to return
home empty handed. The news spread quickly about
the “ringing of the woods.” It was an accepted
as fact by everyone and sentiment was running high
against Baker. Some wanted to go up on the Flats
and beat Baker to death.
Benjamin Bolling, having fallen ill, called his son,
Jeremiah, to his bedside. He told him he knew a
way to “cast a spell” on a witch and kill it if
certain directions were followed very closely.
Benjamin said he had found the witch-killing ‘receipt’
under the stock of a rifle that he had brought from
England when he was 14 years old.
With trembling fingers, Benjamin removed the old brown
parchment paper from a box beside his bed. He
said, “Read this Jerry.” So Jeremiah read the
witch-killing ‘receipt’ as follows: “Carve the image
of the witch on the smooth bark of a chestnut tree
that faces the morning sun. The step back 13
steps from the tree and as the sun rises, shoot the
image of the witch. Then speak the words, “In
the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy
Ghost.” Go home and plug the muzzle of your
rifle with bee’s wax. Turn the muzzle down and
drop 30 drops of water in the gun barrel. Put
the gun in the chimney corner. In a day or two
the witch will fall ill with fever, as the water dries
up in the gun barrel. When all the water dries
from the gun barrel, the witch will die a most
terrible death. Beware! If, after the
witch sickens, any of his family seeks to borrow
anything from you, your spell may be broken if
anything is actually lent to them.
So, Jeremiah carved the image of Baker on the smooth
bark of a chestnut tree that faced the morning.
The next morning he was at the tree at sunrise.
He stepped back 13 steps from the tree and shot the
image of Baker in the heart. He went home to
await the outcome.
The tenth day following, a strange woman shrouded in
black, appeared at Jeremiah’s door asking to borrow a
shuttle for a loom. Jeremiah responded, “I have
no shuttle and none of our people has one.” She
turned away rejected. “Aha, my witch killing
“receipt” is working,” Jeremiah gloated. He went
about warning his kinfolk not to lend any thing to any
stranger that might come to their doors. If
Baker was clever enough to “ring the woods” to begin
with, he might be clever enough to foil the
witch-killing receipt.
On the twenty-ninth day after the image had been shot,
a trembling woman with tears streaming down her
cheeks, came to Jeremiah’s door and pleaded, “Jerry,
if you don’t do something for Jim, he is going to
die.”
On hearing this, Jeremiah reached in the corner and
got his gun. When he removed the bee’s wax plug,
only one drop of water came from the gun barrel.
“Now,” Jeremiah told her, “in one more day Jim would
have been dead. Go back to him now and give him
this plug of bee’s wax. Have him eat it and he
will not die.”
From that day on no one saw Baker nor any of his women
again and the settlers returned to their day-to-day
activities.
Post-Script: Baker did live
in the cave with seven women. To this day some
of the older people will well remember the area as
Baker’s Flats or Baker’s Rock. When I was ten
years of age, my father took me to the tree where
Baker’s image had been carved. I am writing and
compiling these articles in the hope of preserving our
Appalachian heritage as best as I am able.
C.C. Bolling, Oak Ridge, Tenn.
Source: The Coalfield Progress,
Thursday, April 5, 1984.
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