Slave Cemetery at Mingus Mill

Tucked away beneath a canopy of trees in the Appalachian Mountains of North Carolina stands a gristmill that was operated by the Mingus and Enloe families in the mid-nineteenth century. A quiet stream is diverted into a trough that was once used to power millstones that ground corn into meal. 

Nowadays it lies within the boundaries of Great Smokey Mountains National Park and attracts a modest amount of visitors. On the far side of the parking lot from the mill is a narrow trail that leads into the trees and up a hill. It is neither marked nor noticeable to the casual visitor. 

About one hundred feet up the trail is a small burial ground consisting of five mounds in two separate rows. Small rocks with no inscriptions act as crude headstones. Pennies have been placed at each headstone to show their respect. Some say the pennies are left as a symbolic gesture of the Great Emancipator, Abraham Lincoln. Others say it is an old African tradition where the dead pay a toll to the underworld. 

The burials are those of slaves, most likely servants of the Mingus or Enloe families. No one knows exactly who they were. 

It is a solemn feeling to be here. Away from the roads we can hear no cars. Even though the sky is overcast, a brightness seems to shine through the grove of trees. The forest teems with life.

Who are the people buried here and what kind of life did they lead? Did their owners treat them well? Where did they live? Were they all one family or had some been traded or sold and broken up? What were their names? These are questions that may never be answered. 

From here we leave the tiny cemetery and mill, likely never to return. To me this little burial ground is a microcosm of the Appalachians as a whole⸺deep, hidden, draped in history and abounding in mystique. ♠

 

 

Battle of Ramsour's Mill

I am a newcomer to the history of the Revolutionary War. I grew up in the West, far from the eastern battlefields. To illustrate this point, when Benedict Arnold was defeated at the Battle of Valcour Island on October 11, 1776, Dominguez and Escalante were on the other side of the continent passing through an empty valley inhabited only by Paiute Indians. That empty valley is where I now live. Therefore, the stories and setting of the war are far removed from my own experience. 

Recently I visited North Carolina and was placed on ground zero of Revolutionary battlefields. Just being there brought the battles alive. Some of the conflicts were major and others minor. The Battle of Ramsour's Mill falls into the latter category. 

My study of the war has really made me wonder which side I would have been on had I lived back then. Loyalist or Patriot? It's easy to look back with hindsight and think I would have been a Patriot, but it wasn't so cut and dry. Having nothing besides ideology separating the two sides, it would be the equivalent—at least in my mind—of a modern war between Republicans and Democrats. 

They say that the Revolution was North America's first civil war. That point is illustrated perhaps no better than at the Battle of Ramsour's Mill. When all was said and done, many of the dead, Loyalist and Patriot alike, were buried in the same mass grave because they couldn't be told apart. 

Millstone on display at the battleground site.

The battle took place in Lincoln County, North Carolina, just twenty five miles northwest of Charlotte. That area now consists of an elementary and high school, complete with football field and playground. The former is fittingly named Battleground Elementary. Clark Creek flows roughly north to south on the west side. 

Leading up to battle the British had gained momentum with decisive victories in Georgia and South Carolina under the command of Lord Cornwallis. In early June of 1780, Colonel John Moore and Major Nicholas Welch, both natives of Lincoln County, returned home and issued a call for local residents to assemble and support the Loyalists. By June 19th, over 1,000 men and boys, most unarmed, camped on the east bench of Clark Creek on the land of Christian Reinhardt. On the west was a gristmill operated by Jacob Ramsour. 

Meanwhile, Patriot General Griffith Rutherford, who was camped near Charlotte, learned of the assembling Loyalists. He sent orders to Colonel Francis Locke and other militia leaders to call up their militia groups. Locke responded by gathering 400 infantry and cavalry at Mountain Creek, a location sixteen miles northeast of the battle site.—It was decided by Locke's group to attack at daybreak without waiting for Rutherford's group, fearing the British might gain extra reinforcements. 

Clark Creek.

The Battle 

The Patriot militia left Mountain Creek and made a night march toward Ramsour's Mill. A heavy fog blanketed the area surrounding the mill and Christian Reinhardt's farm. Led by the cavalry, Patriot forces marched to battle, coming close to the Loyalist encampment before being discovered. 

The cavalry attacked first, followed by the infantry. The British were caught off-guard, but quickly recovered and fired back. Fighting was brutal, much of it hand to hand. Sometimes muskets were used as clubs due to lack of ammunition. They wore no uniforms. Patriots pinned white paper on their hats. Tories (or British) stuck green twigs in theirs. 

The Patriots were able to gain control of the ridge, but when they were unable to reform their line, Colonel Locke ordered a retreat. Captain John Dickey, the legendary hero of Ramsour's Mill, refused to obey orders and led a group of militiamen to higher ground. The marksmen, led by John Hardin, picked off several Loyalist soldiers and turned the battle into a victory. Loyalists retreated toward the mill, crossing to the west side of Clark Creek where they dispersed into the countryside. The battle lasted less than two hours. 

Grave of John Martin Shuford on the battlefield of Ramsour's Mill.

South of the football field is a sloping grassy field and a log cabin with rock chimney. I don't know the age of the cabin, nor whether it was connected to the battle. Next to it is a large millstone for display on the grass, as well as an interpretive sign. Near this is a parking area where my brother-in-law and I parked to explore what we could of the battlefield. 

North of the cabin next to a grove of trees is the grave of John Martin Shuford, a farmer recruited by the British to fight in the war. He died during battle at age 36. 

We walked along a dirt path through the grove of trees, alongside what appeared to be a practice field for the football team. Soon we came to Clark Creek, a small stream by North Carolina standards. Being left to our own knowledge—which wasn't much on this subject—we had no idea of the location of Jacob Ramsour's Mill, nor of Christian Reinhardt's farm. We found a few remains of something, but wasn't sure how old, or what it was. 

After the battle had ended and the fog had lifted, it was revealed that many had died. Estimates say that perhaps 50 to 70 on each side had perished, and several more than that were wounded. Many were wounded so severely that they died days later. 

Like I stated earlier, this was a battle between friends and family members. There is a story of Peter Costner, a Loyalist, who was killed by his brother, Thomas, who buried his brother's body after the combat. Another story tells of a man who rushed to battle hoping to kill his sibling, only to find that he had already been wounded and carried off. 

We wandered to other parts of the arena. On the south side of the school complex is what is referred to as “The General's Grave.” A sign indicated that there were several Generals killed in the battle, but two of them, John Dobson and John Bowman were interred at the site. Others were returned to their hometowns to be buried. What made the General's Grave interesting was that years later, when other family members had passed away, they chose to bury them there also. 

"The General's Grave," located behind the Elementary School at Lincolnton, North Carolina.

On the north side of the Elementary School, across the street from the football field, is a mass grave. Due to the fact that many of the soldiers could not be distinguished from one another because they wore no uniforms, they were respectfully buried together. Shortly after the battle work began to help the wounded and bury the dead. A large trench was dug on the west side of the hill where Loyalist and Patriot were interred as one. 

There was a somber feeling as we slowly walked around the mass grave. Today it is manicured with grass and surrounded with cement curbing. Two small Colonial flags are displayed at the corners. As we pondered, light raindrops began to fall. 

A nearby plaque reads: “Underneath this hallowed ground, lying between the borders marked, are the remains of many of the seventy brave and true citizen-soldiers, names unknown, Loyalists and Patriots, their bodies unclaimed. They died fighting, their strong beliefs intact, on that 20th day of June, 1780. Sacred to memory are those who fell, defending their beliefs, at the Battle of Ramsour's Mill. May these stones cry out—lest we forget!” 

A mass grave, which includes both Loytalist and Patriot.

The Aftermath 

On that day in June, 400 Patriots defeated 1,300 Loyalists. The victory weakened support and morale for the Loyalist cause and began momentum for the Patriots. It provided inspiration for the crucial victory at King's Mountain just a few months later. 

And remember Captain Dickey, the man who refused orders and led an attack that would turn the tide of battle? He was hailed as a hero, and perhaps a legend. A Patriot soldier composed a ballad to honor Captain Dickey. It has been sung many times in his honor. One verse remains: 

"Old Colonel Locke kept pretty well back,
While brave Captain Dickey commenced the attack.
He, Colonel Locke, ordered us to retreat and reform,
Which made our old hero mightily storm." 

By this time the rain was picking up and now a downpour. We darted quickly for the truck. As we drove through the green Carolina countryside, I couldn't help but to ponder the history tucked inside these lonely dales. History that was crucial to our nation's beginning, but is lost to the majority of us who have moved on or live so far away. ♠

Grave of Mary Anne Ramsour Butler at White Church Cemetery in Lincolnton. Daughter of Jacob Ramsour.

 

Lost in Appalachia

With the advent of GPS I have noticed that many have become dependent on the new technology. On our trip to North Carolina I quickly learned that there are so many roads that even some of the locals rely heavily on GPS to do simple tasks such as driving home. 

As my in-laws drove us around, I studied the roads and paid attention to our location. For a newcomer I wasn't doing too bad, but understood I had a long way to go. I was becoming so confident in my newly acquired skills that at times I was skeptical of their GPS. 

On day four of our adventure we found ourselves in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina near the magnificent cascade of Mingo Falls. It was our last stop of the day. 

Mingo Falls.

The Blue Ridge Mountains, which include the Great Smokies, are a wild and enchanting range. Lying near the border with Tennessee, they are home to a remnant of the Cherokee Indians. With the coming of the Europeans at the time before the Revolution, a large number of Scotch, Irish and Welsh also moved into the area. The rugged isolation led to the molding of a unique culture. 

My sister-in-law drove. I sat in the back seat. We were three hours from her home. The GPS told us to turn right. I thought we should turn left because that's the way we came. Even though I expressed my concern, I decided to swallow my pride and let the GPS guide. After all, I had already been proven wrong once. 

We made the right-hand turn and followed the Raven Fork of the Oconaluftee River. I was curious to see where it would land us. We were already on a small side-road with tall rolling hills all around. 

We followed the GPS like devoted sheep, going deeper into the Carolina backwoods by the minute. We passed the occasional double-wide trailer or perhaps a campground with fishermen. 

Suddenly the GPS told us to turn on to a dead-end road. We thought it was bluffing. But as soon as we passed the turnoff, it told us to pull into another. When we did we saw two dogs and a man. We didn't want to get shot, so we quickly backed out. 

The truth is, we didn't know what we'd find. This neck of the woods is steeped in stereotypical tradition that may or may not be true. We didn't want to find a Deliverance-like scenario, full of shotgun-toting mountain people who were inbred and missing teeth, making moonshine and ready to shoot on sight.⸺ But, I wouldn't have minded coming across a song of dueling banjos played by two old men sitting on a porch.  That would have fascinated me.  

We learned that the GPS was telling us to turn around. So we did. We didn't know if it changed its mind, or if we missed a turn, but now it was telling us to cross the bridge and head onto Bunches Creek Road. 

If we thought we were on a side-road before, well now . . . we were on a side-road of a side road! This new path meandered inside a narrow canyon choked with oak and hickory trees. 

We double-checked the GPS, zooming it out to see where the road led. Sure enough, it eventually led us to Soco Road. But did we trust it? 

So we continued our drive. And guess what? The road turned to gravel! 

And it began to climb. 

Lost somewhere in the North Carolina backwoods.

We saw it coming on the GPS. Switchbacks with sharp hair-pin curves, drawn out like a long, long snake. I will admit that my wife and I were enjoying the adventure, but my sister-in-law⸺who was our chauffeur⸺was a bit on the nervous side. She said her stomach had begun to churn. 

At least it wasn't dark. Not yet. We had a couple more hours. I thought of several scenarios. The road could become washed away. Or perhaps we could come across a gate blocking the road. ⸺I remember hunting elk as a boy with my father and getting lost for several hours in the dark. Finally we found the main road, but it was blocked by a fence! Dad didn't hesitate to take out wire-cutters and snip our way through! 

Now, here in North Carolina, at least the road stayed in good condition. The tread on our tires was as good as new. We had four-wheel drive if needed. But the road was only wide enough for one vehicle. Good thing we didn't see another soul. 

By the time we climbed the switchback we sat at nearly 5,000 feet. That's pretty high for the Eastern United States. When the pathway straightened out, we came to a paved road at last! This was the famed Blue Ridge Parkway. 

We weren't completely out of the woods yet, but at least we were on pavement. Now we knew our road wouldn't piddle out and become an obscure logging track. 

Big Witch Tunnel.

Within one minute we passed through the Big Witch Tunnel⸺perhaps a bad omen for a group of paranoid travelers! But we survived. 

Two more tunnels and a couple overlooks and soon we came to a “T.” The GPS told us to turn left . . . onto Soco Road! 

At last we had made it. I guess the GPS knew where it was taking us all along, but I still doubt it was the quickest route. Perhaps it was the best choice after all, because it gave us one more adventurous story to tell. ♠

 

The crew.

 

Old Cemeteries of North Carolina

Goshen Cemetery.

As you probably already know, I am fascinated with cemeteries and try to visit them wherever I go. North Carolina was no exception. Being an eastern state, I knew that burials would be much older than what I am used to. In Utah (where I live), the earliest known European burials are from the year 1847 when pioneers for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints first arrived in Salt Lake City. In my town the first burial was in 1853. 

My goal in North Carolina was to find the oldest burial possible with a legible inscription. Until now, the oldest I had ever found in the United States was from 1821 in St. Augustine, Florida. I was sure I could do better. 

Our search was confined to the area just west of Charlotte. We only visited a handful of cemeteries, but these were carefully selected. I should add that North Carolina is rich in cemeteries, with each town having at least a couple dozen of their own. 

Lutheran Church in Gastonia, North Carolina.

Lutheran Chapel Cemetery.

Southern Cross to commemorate Confederate soldiers.

We (me and my brother-in-law, Allen) first stopped at a burial ground next to a red-brick Lutheran Church in Gastonia. It was one where he had passed all the time, but had never stopped. Everywhere there were cemeteries next to churches. I don't know the history as to why, but I assume the tradition has been carried down from their European mother countries. 

This cemetery was a good mixture of old and new. We found several names that seemed to repeat throughout the burial yard, probably prominent families in the community and parishioners of that church. Allen pointed out the Southern Cross, a metal placard placed near tombs of Confederate soldiers. 

We found several headstones from the mid-1800's, and finally, toward the end of our short visit, Allen found the oldest one of the day: Miles Lineberger, died in 1840. 

Miles Lineberger, died in 1840.

A couple days later we stopped at the Abee Cemetery, which was just a stone's throw from the Catawba River. At first I thought that “Abee” might be a corruption of the word “Abbey,” indicating that a church once stood there. But I learned that Abee was a surname of a family who is buried there. 

The cemetery was small, with a gray stone fence surrounding it. I couldn't get good pictures because of condensation on my camera lens from the humidity coming off the river. I would wipe it off and instantly it returned. 

We found the oldest grave: Wilmuth Well, a lady who died on January 31, 1818. With each new cemetery we were inching older and older with our dates. 

Wilmuth Well, died in 1818.  Oldest recorded burial in Abee Cemetery.

Just a few minutes away was the Goshen Cemetery. This one was much bigger than the previous two, and also had many more old graves. When headstones are as old as what we were looking for, it is a huge challenge to read them. Most of the writing is eroded and illegible. Luckily, some of them had been replaced in the first half of the last century with a legible stone. But sadly, the reality with most of these cemeteries is that many of the oldest burials are lost to time, some of them not marked at all. 

At Goshen, most of the oldest headstones were thin and made from a darker slate. From a distance they appeared to be wooden. 

Old headstones in the Goshen Cemetery.

It was here we found our first burials from the 18th century. The oldest we found (but surely not the oldest in the cemetery) was the infant son of Samuel and Margaret Lowrie, who died in December of 1790 at the age of seven days. After doing a little research, I learned that Samuel was a Judge of the Superior Court in Mecklenburg County, just east of the Catawba River. Samuel and Margaret had six children, including two more that died as infants who were also buried in the Goshen Cemetery. 

Buried near her infant grandson, the mother of Margaret is also buried at Goshen. On her headstone it reads: “Here lies the body of Mary Jack Alias Alexander who died Nov. 29, 1806 Aged 62 years. She was a loving wife tender & affectionate Mother. She left a tender Husband four Daughters & one Son to regret and lament her death. Their consolation is that she repined not but resigned herself to the will of her God with lively hopes of a saving interest in the merits of his BLOOD.” 

It is certainly a reminder that although the dates on these headstones are from a time in the distant past, they were real people with real families with convictions that still resonate with many today. 

Infant son of Samuel and Margaret Lowrie, died in 1790.

In Lincolnton we explored the Old White Church Cemetery. This cemetery was originally established next to a log church that was later covered with weatherboards and painted white. The old white church no longer exists, but instead, there is a red brick building built right to the edge of the tombstones. 

We knew, from my research on the internet, that there were a handful of graves from the 1700's. Although the cemetery wasn't that big, we had a hard time finding these old graves. 

We pulled out my phone and began comparing photos that were online with those that we saw in real time. It was still difficult to find. Time had taken it's toll. Trees had grown, headstones had toppled and ground had shifted. 

We finally found a few we were looking for. Only a couple were legible. One we would have never found if we didn't have another picture to compare it with. All the writing had eroded. It was the headstone for Henry Summerour, a German immigrant who died in 1792. He joined 29 other Saxon families and moved to Catawba County, North Carolina. Among these families were Christian and Cathorina Zimmerman, who are also buried in the cemetery. 

Old White Church Cemetery.  Henry Summerour's headstone on front, left.  Died in 1792.

Cathorina Zimmerman, a Saxon immigrant from Germany. Died in 1797.

Several miles away, passing farmland, small houses with no fences and quaint little Main Streets is the town of Statesville, North Carolina. In the center of town, surrounded by a rock wall and next to a church, is the Old Fourth Creek Cemetery. As we entered the graveyard we were lucky enough to meet a man named Scott Stevenson. 

Scott was coming from the church to his vehicle when he saw us and decided to see if we had any questions. Yes, we did! 

He was probably in his late 60's, wore a brimmed hat and gray beard. After talking to him, I think he might be the most knowledgeable person alive on the Fourth Creek Cemetery. 

Old Fourth Creek Cemetery in Statesville, North Carolina.

Gravestone of Samuel Steel who died in 1782. Old Fourth Creek Cemetery.

He taught us that all the headstones with an American flag next to them represent soldiers who fought in the Revolutionary War. It's hard for me to imagine such an old war being fought here, but several battles were indeed fought in both North and South Carolina. 

He also pointed out the Southern Cross that had been inscribed into some of the headstones of Confederate soldiers. The inscriptions were fading, but you could still see them. Many of these headstones had a unique shape to distinguish them from the others. He said that recently someone placed little Confederate flags next to each soldier's graves. Personally, he didn't have a problem with it, but he removed them all so they did draw attention of vandals. 

He told us the story of Tom Dooley, a Confederate soldier who murdered a lady. He was later tried and hanged. A ballad was later written about the story and made famous by The Kingston Trio. The doctor who pronounced Tom Dooley dead is buried in this cemetery. 

Dr. Wesley Campbell, the man who pronounced dead Tom Dooley.

Scott spends much of his time taking care of old graves. While we were there he broke off a twig from a nearby bush and used it's leaves to sweep off a flat headstone that was becoming covered with dirt. He said there are several old headstones he has found by prodding around in the grass. 

Then he took us to the opposite side of the cemetery. There, in a neat line was a row of headstones. The one on the far right was for William and Margaret Archibald. “She (refering to Margaret) died in 1759,” he said. “This is the oldest burial in the cemetery.” 

The legible headstone with her name and death dates was made in the early 1900's. Set in front was the original stone, just the top half, with all the writing completely eroded away. 

Scott explained to us that Mrs. Archibald was definitely buried in this area, but perhaps not exactly below the headstone. “Over the years,” he said, “people have come in and straightened up the headstones and made them a neat row, not caring if they moved it a bit.” 

Well, we had found our oldest grave! 

Neatly aligned headstones at the Old Fourth Creek Cemetery.

Margaret Archibald, died in 1759. Oldest burial in the cemetery.

On our way out, Scott asked me why I loved cemeteries so much. I told him because it represented history, and oftentimes it was the only physical reminder we had left. “Old structures such as buildings are knocked down and new ones built in their place, but headstones will always be there.” 

He said there's a word out there for someone who loves headstones and cemeteries. It is a “taphophile.” That's an odd word I had never heard before. But it would be an apt description of myself. ♠

 

Old Fourth Creek Cemetery in 1911. (photo courtesy of Scott Stevenson)