Incident at Resurrection Mountain

Murder Cove was not named for the homicides that have taken place there, but there are many tourists who come here expecting to hear grisly tales of murders that have occurred here. Standing on Murder Rock, A person would suspect the three hundred foot drop would be the perfect place to commit a murder, but this would not be the case.  Murder Rock was so named for the abundance of crows that flutter among the steep terrain.  According to native belief, the crows are the carriers of the souls of the deceased.  Stories do tell of this belief which is why this mountain that sticks out like a giant thumb in the Smokey Mountains is called Resurrection Mountain.  It is a fitting name since this mountain seems to reach up into the clouds, into the heavens.

Now I'm not claiming this mountain is innocent. No sir, there is blood on its history that time cannot cleanse.  During the removal of the Cherokee, stories surfaced of those who resisted the removal, were brought to Murder Rock and dispatched by the soldiers sent to retrieve them.  It was said that those watching their brothers and sisters fall to their deaths, had a change of heart joining the rest of the tribe on the Trail of Tears.  The silent wind that blows across the flat rock, will not give up the secrets of those times. There were others who met their end being forcibly thrown from this rock.  If you listen closely, you will hear the voices of runaway slaves in the chatter of the crows who gather here.

I have walked this trail many times as A guide.  My ancestral roots speak of renegade outlaws who resisted walking the Trail of Tears choosing to remain.   But I did not come to you to tell you my story, rather I will tell you the story of Amos Brantley's which became known around here as the incident at Resurrection Mountain.    

Amos Brantley was half black and half red.  Known for his extraordinary strength, Amos was A woods man by trade and a reputable wood worker among the local craftsmen.   A lot of the locals claimed he had come from the backwoods where he grew up without electricity or running water.  His upbringing marked him as A man who could not rise above the lowly station he had been born to despite his strength and talent. That's the way things are in Checkerboard, Tennessee that sits at the base of the mountain.  Named for the checkers games that were common A hundred years ago before the textile factories showed up, Checkerboard is known for its suspicion of outsiders, especially those of color.

Amos came to Checkerboard to answer A newspaper ad for A lumberjack. Despite demonstrating his superior talent, Roy Dodge, the owner of the company would not hire A colored man. Obviously, this did not sit well with Amos.

One night after leading a hunting party up the mountain, I found him huddled over a small cooking fire.  In his pot were cut up pieces of rabbit and some stolen carrots.

"Who are you?" His presence startled me.   

"Amos Brantley." His accent was heavy, A dead giveaway of where he was from.

"Good to meet you, Amos Brantley, my name is Thomas Crooked Arm." I nodded.

"Care for some dinnah?  Got more than I can manage." His manner was gentle despite his largeness.

"Sure, I'm A guide on this mountain." I told him as I sat on the log next to him.

"I'm thinking about building a cabin up in these parts." He scooped some of the stew on his dirty plate.  This did not bother me as I was famished from my excursion.

"Why?" I asked before taking a mouthful of stew.

"Ain't nobody like me gonna get hisself hired round here." His sigh was heavy with rejection.

"You have to be willing to do the thing you are good at." I blew on the stew.  It was good and filling. "I'm a guide."

"Well that's good and all, but ain't no one wanna give me A chance." He shook his head, "A man be colored and having done time..."

"Time?  What for?"  I was surprised since he did not strike me as the criminal kind.   

"My uncle had me drive a car when he robbed a store." He stirred the fire with his stick, "Police shot him dead and then took me to jail.  I was just sixteen, but the lawyer wanted me to stand trial like an adult, which I done.  Spent ten years at the State penitentiary." 

"That sounds rough." I finished my stew.

"It were." He sighed again.

“So you are going to hide out for a while on Resurrection Mountain?” I asked, handing him his iron plate back, “Place is supposed to be haunted.”  

“That is the plan.” He chuckled. “I’m not so worried ‘bout no spooks or spirits.” 

“You are a brave man.” I shook my head, “I’ve been a guide on this rock going on twenty years.” 

“Hmmm, long time to be dragging that chain.” He shrugged as his eyes looked at the darkening sky. “Looks like we goin’ to has a full moon.”

I looked up to confirm his observation.

“Extra light will be welcome.” He nodded. “In the morning I’ll start building my shelter.”

“Do you need a hand?” I asked.

“Who ya got in mind?” He glanced at me.

“I could bring some young bucks up in the morning.” I smiled. 

“More the merrier.” He chuckled again. 

“I will see you then.” I nodded, “Thanks for the grub.” 

I patted him on his large shoulders before moving down the path.  I heard him throw a bucket of water on his fire.  It hissed like an angry snake.  I kept walking as the darkness engulfed the world around me.  I know I could walk this stretch blindfolded, but there were critters in the woods that still gave my heart a quite a start.  Nonetheless, I made it home with no problem.  Checkerboard was nearly dark when I reached the outskirts.  The crows seemed quite agitated as they called out in the gloaming as the darkness crept over the town.  

“You are running late.” Mrs. Tucker, my landlady was sweeping off the porch as I appeared at the gate of the picket fence that surrounded the tidy little cottage I called home. 

“Yes, ma’am.  Met up with a friend up on the mountain.” I nodded.

“Oh, I don’t know how you do it.  I am scared to death of that mountain.” She finished sweeping and leaned on the broom handle as I passed her on my way inside. “I heard them awful birds screeching out there tonight.” 

“Yeah, me too.” I was bone tired and could barely walk up the stairs to my room.  It was small and cozy, but it was home.

I slept as soundly as I had in the past few months.  Slept the sleep of the dead as my grandfather was fond of saying.  It hurt my heart to know that three years ago, he joined that sleep.  I do miss him, because he was my connection to my past.  Now my past was nothing but conjecture.  He died unable to read or write.  So any part of the story he carried with him was in his head and his heart. 

The part of the story I remember is how our ancestors hid out in The Smoky Mountains from the federal authorities as renegades and outlaws.

“We were a clever folk.” Darius Running Horse told me on a calm early autumn evening as I sat with him at his lodge.  My grandfather did not wish to live in town among the white folks.  He was proud of his ancestors.  I was proud of him because he had earned a medal during the war in the Pacific at some island called Iwo Jima.  “We was sneaky.  Hid out in those hills. And we are still there” 

He would point to the mountains as if I had no idea where they were.  Then he’d bait his hook and cast it into the river.  It didn’t take him long before he had hooked a river bass.  He would hold it up still squirming on the line, smiling, “Bottom feeder, but he will make a good dinner, Thomas.” 

It did. 

I never told a soul that I could still hear his voice echoing in my head at times.  Some of the good citizens of the town would just think I was another crazy injun, drunk again.  Fact of the matter, I did not care for alcohol, but facts did not matter when your skin color spoke louder than the truth.  

The next morning, I brought three eager youths to help Amos build his castle on the mountain, but when we came to a clearing, he had already put up a solid foundation. 

“Good mor’nin,’ Thomas.” He waved at me with his chin which was already moist with sweat. 

“Brought you some help.” I pointed to the boys.

“Much appreciate it.” He nodded, taking a sip from his canteen.  

“Did you cut these boards?” I asked, glancing at the pile of timber in front of the frame.

“Yessir. I pride myself on my woodcutting skills.” He took a rag from his hip pocket and wiped the sweat off his brow. 

“Have you been to Murder Rock?” I asked watching the boys scurrying about playing tag.

“Murder Rock?” His face turned into a question mark.

“It was named after the crows that nest there.” I was proud of my knowledge about local things.

“Crows carry the souls of the dead to the heavens.” He grunted as he sprawled out in the shade of one of the pine trees. 

“Yeah.” I nodded. 

“The wind was a-blowing last night and I could hear some fierce whispering. Words were hard to distinguish, but I know they were talking from another world.” He opened one eye to see what my reaction would be. “I hear my uncle’s voice.  He was mostly Indian.  It was my mama who was colored. She give me some rules made just for black folk.  I still got them.” He patted his shirt pocket.  She got hit by a truck in some cracker town.  She died before the colored only ambulance was able to reach her.” 

He closed his eyes as if keeping them open was draining his energy.

“Condolences.” I said squatting near him under the tree.

“It was a long time ago.” He shrugged. “Long before my uncle talked me into driving his car when he robbed that store. Long before they sent me to the state pen.  Glad my mama didn’t live to see that.  It would have broken her heart, not to mention breaking three of his ten commandments.” 

“I will be back to collect these kids before sunset.” I stood up and ambled back to the path. 

“See you then, boss.” He grinned before standing to orchestrate his building project. 

When I did come back, I found Jake and his younger brothers sitting on a pile of wood.  The progress of the house building had slowed considerably.

“Where is Amos?” I asked as I walked toward the boys.

“He took off.” Jake kicked the dirt.

“We didn’t know what to do.” Morgan, the next oldest, added.

“Well if that don’t beat all.” I took off my hat and waved it in front of my face since it had been a rather torrid walk up the path.

“He walked up that path yonder.” Trevor the youngest pointed.

“You boys stay here.  I’m going to try to find him.” I instructed them, “Did anyone come up here?”

“There was this man.” Jake nodded, “He asked to see Mr. Brantley.”

“What did Mr. Brantley do?” I asked.

“He run into the house to hide.” Jake pointed to the house.

“Alright, I’ll be back as quick as I can.” I said as I began to walk down the path.

Murder Rock was three miles up a steep grade on the path. The midday heat began to be oppressive as the grade got steeper. The rocks hindered my progress, cutting into my boots and into my hands when I used the rocks to steady me. I had been up this path almost every day, but somehow this became a struggle for me.  The closer I got to the rock, the louder the crow screeched overhead.  As my heart pounded inside my chest, I knew for certain that Amos Brantley was there at Murder Rock.

“Amos!” I called out.  No answer. I pushed forward. “Amos!”

He was there on the rock.  He was laying back staring at the blue sky with fluffy white clouds dancing above.  

“Amos!” I ran out onto the rock.

“Why is you here?” He looked at me as if I was a predator. 

“The boys told me you walked away.” I sat next to him.

“It was one of the men who testified against me.” He was fighting off tears. “He told me that he was watching me…close.” He tossed a small stone over the side of the drop off. “I ain’t going back to the pen.  I ain’t gonna do that.” 

“Why would you have to go back?” I asked, confused. 

“Said that I was taking land that weren’t mine.” He sniffed.

“No one owns the mountain.” I shrugged trying to keep things positive.

“Ain’t no one gonna give me an even break.” He spit. 

“He told me no nig…no Negro, should build a house up on Resurrection Mountain.” He paused, “The way I figure it, Jesus is waiting for me. Raise me up like Lazarus.”

I did not like the way he said that.  It was as if he was thinking about taking a leap off Murder Rock like folks from a long ago time trying to escape oppression, but were pushed off the rock instead.  My heart feared that old practices would return today.  His size would not help him.  I could hear at least six horses headed up the path.  I heard gunfire.  These men were desperate.  Bringing up horses to this place was risky at best. They were closing in on us. 

“You must hide.” I pulled at Amos’ arm, but he did not budge.  Meanwhile the three boys disappeared in the corpse of pine trees. 

“No, I will not hide.” He waved me off as the crows filled the air, squawking some kind of communication among the murder. “I will face whatever they wish to inflict on me.  I am tired of running and hiding like the small creatures of the woods.” 

His voice rang out, his eyes fixated on the sky filled with black birds.  With a nod, his voice sounded again, “My brothers have come for me.  It is my time.” 

“Time for what?”

“Time to join them.” He answered.

“You are not one of them.  You have no wings or feathers.” I saw one of the riders appear in the clearing at the foot of the flat shale rock.  The rider was armed.  I called out to him, “We don’t want any trouble.”

“Too late.  We have burned the house he was building.  His hour of reckoning has come.” He informed us as he dismounted.  He pointed the rifle at Amos’ chest with his finger on the trigger and the hammer cocked. 

“Please.  We will come with you.” I put my hands up.

More riders appeared, each of them armed as well. 

“This mountain is sacred and this man has defiled it.” The man held his rifle pointing at Amos.  

“So this is the man?” One of the riders walked up to us.  We were just a few paces from the precipice. Glancing over my shoulder, I could see the valley spread out behind me.  

“Yup.” The first man acknowledged.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” The second man waved his rifle.

The squawking became more pronounced as the crows fluttered.

“Dale, have you ever seen so many black birds?” The first man said over his shoulder.  

“Can’t say I have, Bud.” He replied. 

“We are going to see if you can fly with these crazy birds.” Dale pushed Amos closer to the edge with his rifle barrel.

“You don’t have to do this.  We will leave peacefully.” I said after seeing how close Amos was to the edge of a three hundred foot free fall. 

The sun in the sky was blacked out by the increasing number of crows.  Without any further persuasion, Amos stepped off the edge.  I gasped as I watched him flail his arms.

“He went peacefully, Bud.” He turned to his comrade. 

At that moment, Amos stopped falling as the crows surrounded him.  Lifting him into the air.

“What the-” Bud shook his head as he saw the big man lifted heavenward by the squawking crows.  

Dale could not believe his eyes.  The other men stood there awestruck like statues frozen in the moment.  

I could not take my eyes off of him as he became engulfed by the heavy thick clouds.  

“I cannot believe what I just saw.” Dale breathed out.

“Are you going to clear out?” Bud asked, glancing over at me.

“I am a guide,  You were in one of my parties.” I Shook my head. 

“Let’s clear out. There is nothing to see anymore.” Dale’s eyes were still fixed on Amos’ ascension into the clouds.  

One by one the men got back on their horses.  A minute later they disappeared in a cloud of dust.  In a few minutes the boys slowly appeared from their hiding place. 

“What happened?” Jake asked.

“Well, if i did not believe in miracles before, I sure believe in them now.” I glanced up at the sky one last time before leaving Murder Rock with the three boys.