Tenn., Jan. 26. – Editor Forest and Stream: In your numbers of Dec. 14 and Jan. 4 you give descriptions of the “Lost Man in New Brunswick,” and ask correspondents if they can throw additional light on the questions, who is he, and where did he come from. Apropos of the question asked, I can give you a description of his first cousin. The subject of my sketch is known as “The Wild Man of Chilhowee Mountain.” To come to the real facts with as little circumlocution as possible, the man was found by a party of hunters several years ago. The four hunters were camped at the base of Chilhowee Mountain, on a deer hunting expedition.
The Chilhowee Mountain is a rough and very wild and brushy knob or single pinnacle that raises its head far above the other peaks of the Cumberland range of mountains. It stands somewhat aloof from the main mountain range and therefore has a name of its own. It is situated some miles west of Cleveland, Tenn., and ninety miles northwest of Chattanooga. This part of the Cumberland range is extremely difficult of access, as there are practically no roads into the wilderness. Nature seems especially to have ordained that this brushy, repulsive region should be the home of animals alone. It is entirely uninhabited by man, excepting it be an occasional “wildcat distiller.”
One afternoon in November one of the party of hunters was returning to camp. He was riding and was following a cattle trail that meandered about the base of the old Chilhowee. It was growing dusk and the somber shadows were fast fading into gloom. The wind was whispering to the overhanging cliffs, and the tall trees were nodding their silent good night to their nearest neighbors. The birds were settling themselves for the night, and the hoot owl was making the gorges reverberate with his demoniacal laughter.
Thus engrossed in his own thoughts, and somewhat depressed by his weird surroundings, our lone horseman wended his way along the mountain path. At a sharp angle in the path his horse shied, and giving a peculiar snort, turned so quickly and abruptly as almost to unseat the rider. The man sprang to the ground, and quickly tethering his horse, advanced along the path with rifle cocked and ready to meet whatever foe or game was there. He expected to find a bear, as he hardly thought his horse would act so strangely over a deer or domestic animal. After advancing a few steps he came face to face with the object he was seeking, and, to use his own expression, “his hair all turned the wrong way.”
There, half crouching like a wild animal, in the path was a human being; but that was all. Our friend spoke to the naked, starved-looking creature, but receiving only a snarl in return, very wisely concluded to let him religiously alone.
Returning quickly to his horse he mounted, and making a wide circuit so as to avoid the unexpected acquaintance, made his way back to camp. After reporting the find to the others of the company, the question now arose what to do.
All were of the opinion that if the man turned out to be a “wildcatter” it would be decidedly unhealthy for this outfit even to attempt to form his acquaintance. Because the ragged denizen of the forest was sure to have confederates and they taking the party for revenue officers would ambush the outfit. The entire party being native East Tennesseeans and Georgians did not require any great amount of explanation to understand what would be their fate if they aroused the illicit distillers. A few words will explain to others who are not familiar with this class. There would have been a few rifle shots ringing out from among the rocks and brush and one by one the hunters would have been picked off, until none would have been left to tell the tale. Then a searching party would have come out to the old Chilhowee. The woods would have been searched, it is true, by relatives and friends; but the camp and all vestige of their whereabouts would have disappeared and the searching party would have gone home without success. As I said before, there is no one within fifty miles of the Chilhowee of whom to ask the question, “Have you seen them?”
John, who had found the wild man the evening before, said that he was sure the man was a maniac, as he had an unnatural gleam in his eyes, so after due deliberation the whole party agreed to go and investigate. Mounting and taking a rope, some food and extra clothing, they started. They were at the location described by John in the course of an hour. Here all dismounted and keeping close together, in case of an attack, began the investigation. After following the cattle trail for a quarter of a mile, they discovered a very dim trail leading up the mountain. Here they halted and held another consultation. They were sure that they had stumbled on to a den of illicit distillers, and as they were not officers they did not care for the empty glory of an uneven fight with those fellows on their own ground. John, braver than the others, declared that if they would not go with him he would go by himself. Ashamed to desert a comrade in the hour of danger. they told him to lead and they would go with him. Up the mountain they climbed, keeping a sharp lookout and anxiously awaiting the result. They had climbed probably 300 yds. upward when the trail ended at the mouth of a shallow cave or stone house, and there they found the object of their search. As they approached the old man sprang forward with a tremendous club, swinging it over his head. All hands leveled their rifles at him and tried to intimidate him, but he only laughed and snarled and chattered to himself in some unintelligible jargon. Realizing that he was crazy, the men lowered rifles and offered him food. He finally became composed enough to accept some of the food. He was almost starved and ate ravenously. He was the most pitiable object the men had ever beheld. Almost as naked as Adam, and covered with dirt, sores and vermin. He could only talk in broken, unconnected and totally unintelligible sentences; could not tell who he was, where he had come from, nor how long he had lived on the mountain side. His beard was long, filthy, coarse and matted with gum, blood and other foreign substances. His hair was halfway to his waist and hung in tangled twists or ropes done up in the same substances that had stuck to his beard. His fingernails were several inches long and curved like the talons of the eagle, excepting when broken off, as some of them were. The toenails were thick and unsightly, being broken off at various lengths from 4 to 14 in. The teeth were all gone excepting a tusk on each side, like a wild boar. Great Jupiter! Did anyone ever see such a specimen of the human race before?
The men who found him report that the man and his lair had a stench clinging to them that was almost unbearable. Scattered about in his den and on the ground outside were the bones and hoofs of calves and pigs, showing that the old man lived upon the young of the animals that were out on the range. He had no gun, axe, nor even a knife, and no matches ; so he must have killed his prey with a club or stone ; and carrying the carcass to his den, torn it to pieces by main strength. In summer and fall he lived on the mast and mountain berries, as the stains on his hands and beard indicated.
Well, while the old fellow was gorging himself, dog fashion, the men were plotting how to capture him without hurting him. He was down on his knees with his pile of food in front of him, shoveling good things into his mouth with both hands. But he watched his new friends with an eagle’s eye, and every time one of them moved he would grab his club. The muscles in his bare arms and legs were significant evidence that he was a powerful man; and the fact that he was crazy and not responsible for his actions made him all the more dangerous. Nothing but feelings of kindness and humanity prompted our four hunters to attempt his capture. They wanted to carry the old man to Cleveland, and from there send him to the insane asylum at Knoxville, where he would have care and kind treatment for the rest of his life. The old man of course did not understand, and it was evident that he had no intention of being captured. All four of the hunters were young and athletic men. John, a blacksmith by trade, stood 6 ft. in his stockings, weighed nearly 200 lbs., and was a match for almost any man. Two of the party were strong young farmers, and the fourth man was a city man, but somewhat of an athlete, and a fair match for any of the others. After summing up the strength of the four, they concluded that with their combined efforts the old man could be overpowered without serious injury to any one. So, removing the rifles to a safe distance up on the mountain side, they set about their unthankful task.
While the city man was trying to attract the old man’s attention with new supplies of food, the other three pounced upon him. Then the city man took a hand by grabbing hold of the old man’s club.
From the start the four realized that they had an herculean task: With a scream resembling the cries of Pluto’s archangels the old man rose to his feet, and then the battle began. John had thrown his powerful arms around the old man, endeavoring to pinion his arms to his body; the two farmers each had hold of an arm, and the city man had a death grip on the club, which the old man retained with a tenacity equaled only by death. For a moment it seemed as if they had him. If they had only had a fifth man to pass the rope around his body and secure his arms they would have had him sure enough. But alas ! there were only four of them, and each one had “bit off just about as much as he could chew,” to use a common expression.
The battle continued with unabated fury for several minutes, until finally John’s strength gave out, and the old man broke the cordon around his arms and body. John then grabbed the club with the city man, as he knew some one would die if the old man got possession of that implement of destruction. All at once the old man turned the club loose and began to scratch with his terrible claws. John said he was half a mind to fell the old fellow to the ground, as he was about to ruin one of the farmers, but his big heart would not allow him to strike. So throwing the club as far into the bushes as he could send it, he and the city man waded in again. They grabbed the arm that was doing such terrible execution, and the fight continued.
Finally after much exertion John succeeded in tripping the old man off his feet and all went down in a heap. They thought now they had him sure; but in some way one or two turned loose their grip in falling and the old man shook off the others and rose to his feet with a large stone in his vise like hand. He seemed to have a special grudge at John. Entirely ignoring the others, he sprang at John and striking him a heavy blow felled him to the earth. Then dropping the stone he gave vent to an unearthly yell and bounded down the mountain side. Our hunters picked John up and found that he was not seriously hurt, as the old man had struck him in the chest, merely knocking the breath out of him for a moment or two. The others had various and sundry bruises and one of the farmers was badly scratched about the face. They left the remainder of the food and the clothing in the old man’s den and sorrowfully took themselves back to camp. The next day they packed their tents and luggage on the horses and started out the way they had come in—that is on foot, leading the horses, as there were no wagon roads.
They went to Cleveland and showing their battered forms to the officers of the law reported their experiences. Then the officers collected a large body of humane men, who were willing to go out after a forlorn human being, and under the guidance of one of our hunters went back to the scene of conflict. After much tracking and beating of brush, the party finally bayed the old man in his lair and surrounding him with a large force captured him. He was brought to Cleveland. and after being washed and shorn of his matted hair and beard was sent to the insane asylum, where I dare say he now reposes in comfort, unless death has relieved him of all earthly cares.
Such are the experiences of sportsmen. What do you suppose some of them will find next? A. B. WINGFIELD.
Forest & Stream magazine, February 8, 1896