After Mason left Cave-in-Rock other outlaws still continued to use the cavern as a temporary stopping place or headquarters. An outlaw’s stay at any place is of necessity short. Mason, in 1797, had lived there longer than any other. Those who followed him were more or less migratory. Residents in the vicinity were in no way implicated in the various acts that made the Cave so notoriously dangerous, until the mysterious Ford’s Ferry band began its robberies. Since 1834, when that organization ceased its operations, the Cave has never been identified with outlawry.

To what extent James Ford, the owner of Ford’s Ferry—a crossing place on the Ohio two and one-half miles above the Cave—was connected with this organization was not revealed in his day nor since, and it is not at all likely that it will ever be determined. He is more frequently discussed in tradition, and his life is the subject of a greater variety of opinions than that of any other man connected with the tragedies of the Cave-in-Rock country. According to one version, “Jim Ford was as black as some have painted him,” and, according to another, his connection with the mysterious band had the effect of preventing bad men from committing more crimes than they would have if his influence had not acted as a restraint.

A careful study of the few written records and the many varied oral traditions pertaining to Ford, indicates that when he reached the prime of life conditions had undergone many changes. Outlaws were no longer in a position to carry on their depredations with the freedom that attended the earlier days. Population had increased, and with that increase came a better reign of law. The line between law-abiding and law-breaking citizens was rapidly widening. For about ten years, ending in 1833, Ford apparently stood between the two, and kept in close touch with both. By mingling with the upright citizens he held in some measure the respect of the community, and by acting as one of the leaders of the highwaymen he reaped a share of their booty. In serving the two opposing classes he faced, and finally met, the fate common to such men.

His education and appearance, and his public activities, gained for him the confidence of the community and the standing of a trustworthy man, which he held until toward the close of his life. Before he died many of his fellow-citizens began regarding him with more or less suspicion, and he soon became a man of mystery. After his death his career was extensively discussed throughout the lower Ohio valley. Our account is confined principally to court records and oral traditions. These old records, as far as known, have not been cited heretofore by anyone attempting to tell the story of James Ford.

Tradition has it that James Ford was born some time during the latter part of the Revolution. His father, it is said, was a Revolutionary soldier and moved with his son to western Kentucky about 1803. Thus he appeared in the Cave-in-Rock country about half a dozen years after the Masons and Little Harpe had gone south, but was living in the neighborhood when “Jim Wilson” and some of the other outlaws were holding forth at the Cave. His home was a half-mile southwest of what is now the village of Tolu, Crittenden County, Kentucky. It was a mile from the Ohio and the head of the notorious Hurricane Island, about eight miles below Ford’s Ferry and five miles below Cave-in-Rock. Ford owned a number of good farms in what was then northern Livingston, now Crittenden County. So well was he known along the lower Ohio that Samuel Cuming’s Western Navigator, published in 1822, designates the river landing near his home as “Major Ford’s.” The old court records preserved at Smithland show that he was a justice of the peace in 1815 and held the office a number of times thereafter, and that practically every suggestion made before the county court “on motion of James Ford” was carried. He frequently served as appraiser and administrator of estates. Through these and other acts of trust he gained the prestige of a desirable citizen. The improvement of roads was encouraged by him, especially those leading to Ford’s Ferry.

One of the most interesting chapters of the mystery surrounding Ford’s Ferry may be found in a book of personal reminiscences and local traditions of Cave-in-Rock and its vicinity disguised as historical fiction and called Chronicles of a Kentucky Settlement. Its author, William Courtney Watts, who possessed an excellent education, was a very successful man of international business experience, born at Smithland, Kentucky, near Cave-in-Rock. Much of his information came directly from his father and other pioneer settlers.

Among the men who figure in the romance, and whom Watts personally knew, was Dr. Charles H. Webb, of Livingston County, of which Smithland is the seat. Dr. Webb married Cassandra Ford, the daughter of James Ford. He related the story of his life to Watts and thus contributed a chapter to history that stands alone. There exists in more or less abundance printed data relative to some of the methods employed by the bands of robbers at Cave-in-Rock to entice boats to land at the Cave and get possession of victims. All these, however, are, as already observed, stories based on statements made, not by men who spoke from actual observation, but by persons who had heard others relate another man’s experience. In Dr. Webb we actually touch hands with a well-known and highly respected citizen who was lured to the Cave by some of the tricks suggested—tricks regarding which few lived to tell the tale and of which nobody else left any direct authoritative account.

Dr. Charles H. Webb and his brother John, both young men, left South Carolina in 1822 for Philadelphia and shortly thereafter set out for the West in search of fortune, with St. Louis as their destination. At Cave-in-Rock, on their way down the Ohio, they met their great adventure and were separated as the narrative records. Dr. Webb, having lost all, settled at Salem. There he subsequently met and knew Watts. The two became fast friends when Watts, much the younger of the two, had grown up. It was from Dr. Webb, in the flower of his middle age, that Watts had this story:

“My brother and I descended the Ohio River from Pittsburgh to Louisville in a flatboat, and after remaining a few days in Louisville we again started on another flatboat, intending to go on it as far as the mouth of the Ohio River or near there.... The boat, a ‘broadhorn,’ was in charge of one Jonathan Lumley, who owned a large proportion of the cargo which consisted of corn, provisions, and whiskey. With Mr. Lumley were three other stout young men as hands, making, with my brother and myself, who had agreed to work our way for food and passage, six persons on board.

“Day after day as we floated along, the better I got acquainted with my companions and the more I found that, under a rough exterior, they were warm-hearted, generous, and confiding fellows, equally ready for a jig or a knock-down, for a shooting match or a drinking bout, for a song or a sermon.

“I was playing on my flute as our boat was nearing Cave-in-Rock, and when within full view of the high rocky bluff, at the base of which is the entrance of the Cave, we observed a woman on the top of the bluff hailing us by waving a white cloth, whereupon our captain, as we called Mr. Lumley, ordered us to pull in close to shore, within easy speaking distance, so as to learn what was wanted.

“Presently a man came from the entrance of the Cave, and called out: ‘Hey, Cap! have you enny bacon or whiskey on board?’

“‘I-yie!’ shouted back our captain.

“Won’t yer land? We’re short on rations here, an’ want ter buy right smart!’ said the man.

“‘Goin’ to the lower Mississippi!’ answered our captain, ‘and don’t want to break bulk so high up.’

“‘But, Cap, we’ud be mi’ty obleeged ef you’d lan’. An’ we’ve got a woman here and a boy who want passage down ter the mouth er Cumberlan’. They’ve bin waitin’ a long time, an’ll pay passage.’

“‘All right then,’ replied the captain, ‘I’ll land; but let them come aboard at once.’

“And land we did some two hundred yards below the Cave, when the captain and three others—my brother being one of them—went ashore and walked up to the entrance. After waiting for more than an hour, and none of our men returning, I asked my remaining companion to go up to the Cave and see what was detaining them. Another hour passed away; the sun had gone down, and night, with clouds, was rapidly coming on.

“I began to feel uneasy, and to add to my uneasiness, a large dog which we had on board began howling most dismally. Presently, by the dim twilight, I saw three men approaching the boat from the Cave. At first I thought them a part of our crew, but I was soon undeceived, for they came on board, and with pistols drawn, demanded my surrender. Resistance was useless; my arms were soon bound behind my back, and I was told that if I made any row my brains would be blown out. I asked about my friends but was only told that they were ‘all right,’ that the captain had ‘sold the boat and cargo,’ and that what little information they had given was ‘enough’ for me ‘to know.’

“I was then blindfolded, and when my money had been taken from me, I was assisted—I should say lifted—into a skiff, into which two of the three men, so I thought, entered. I begged to know what had become of my brother, and told them that he and I were passengers on the boat and no part of the crew proper. I did this hoping that if they knew we were passengers and had no direct interest in the boat and cargo they would think us less likely to return to the Cave and molest them. But the only answer I got was that the ‘fewer questions’ I asked the better it would be for me, ‘by a d—— sight.’

“The skiff was then rowed away—in what direction I could not tell, but in some five minutes there was a pause in the rowing, and soon a slight jar as of two skiffs coming together, followed by a conversation in low tones, the purport of which I could not catch. Very soon, however, one of the men approached me and whispered in my ear. There seemed to be a remnant of mercy in the intonations of his words, rather than in the words themselves. He said: ‘We’re goin’ ter vi’late orders a little, an’ turn yer loose here in the middle er the river. An’ the furder yer float away frum here ’fore yer make enny noise, the better for yer by a d—— sight. Yer’d better lay low an’ keep dark till mornin’ comes.’ The speaker then slackened the cords that bound my arms, after which he again whispered: ‘Yer ken work ’em loose when we’re gone, say in ’bout an hour, but not sooner, er yer may get inter trouble. An’ don’t yer never come back here to ax enny questions, or yer’ll fare worse, an’ do nobody enny good.’

“The man then left me seated in the stern of the skiff, and I could tell from the motion and the rattling of a chain that a second boat was being pulled along side it, into which the man stepped, leaving me alone. I strained my ears to catch the slightest sound, but I could neither hear the click of oars nor the dip of a paddle; the latter, however, might have been used so noiselessly as to be unheard. I was therefore in doubt. I thought possibly the other boat might be floating close to me and that I was being watched. This brought to my mind the man’s caution not to try to free my arms for an hour. I therefore, remained quiet for about that length of time. No sound reached me except the moaning of the night winds among the forest trees that lined each shore, the occasional barking of wolves, and the weird cry of night-fowls—particularly the blood-curdling hooting of great owls....

“After a long and painful effort I succeeded in releasing my arms and freeing my eyes from the bandage. Looking around I found the heavens overcast: the night was so intensely dark that I could see only a dim outline of the shore. I discovered there were neither oars nor paddle in the skiff, but I was floating some two or three miles an hour, and it might be many hours before I would pass any habitation. I therefore made up my mind to lie down in the skiff, try to get some sleep and await the coming of morn. But the distant growling thunder was creeping nearer and nearer; flash after flash lit up the heavens, followed by almost deafening discharges that rolled, crashed, and reverberated along the river and among the forests, which moaned and groaned under the pressure of the rising wind. The waves in the river were momentarily increasing, and were dashing my little skiff about in a way that was alarming....

“I knew if the downpour continued for many minutes my skiff would fill and sink. There was but one way to bail it out—to use one of my thick leather shoes as a scoop. I worked manfully while the rain lasted, which, fortunately, was not for more than an hour.

“The long night finally passed, but the heavens were still overcast. I peered along both banks—looked, hoping to see smoke curling above some cabin chimney—but there was no sign of human habitation. Occasionally I raised my voice to its highest pitch—gave a loud halloo—but no answering voice was returned. However, about an hour later, I saw an island ahead of me; it was evidently inhabited, for notwithstanding the leaden aspect of the skies, I could see smoke ascending from among the trees. I used my hands as paddles as vigorously as I could so as to drift against the head of the island, and in this I succeeded. Having secured my boat, I soon found the cabin, and was kindly received by a Mr. Prior and his wife who gave me a good breakfast. I told them of my misfortune, and they expressed much sympathy for me. Mr. Prior, who seemed to be an honest and intelligent man, told me that he was one of the earliest settlers in those parts. He said he had often heard of the depredations of the Wilson gang about the Cave and that I was lucky to have escaped with my life. He advised me to stop at Smithland, at the mouth of the Cumberland River, where I might obtain assistance and directions as to what was best for me to do. Mr. Prior then made me a paddle out of a clapboard, and bidding him and his kind wife goodbye I returned to my skiff, pushed off, and that evening arrived in Smithland.”

At Smithland young Webb was directed to Salem, “which then contained a population, white and black, of about two hundred and fifty.” There, in turn, he was advised by Judge Dixon Given to consult Colonel Arthur Love relative to the best method of gaining information regarding his brother who had been captured at the Cave. Colonel Love, a highly esteemed citizen, lived a few miles from the home of James Ford, who was suspected by many of being a leader of the Cave-in-Rock band. No crime, however, had ever been traced to Ford “with sufficient clearness to cause his arrest and trial.” On his way to Colonel Love’s farm Webb fell from his horse and sprained his ankle, and it so happened that Cassandra Ford, daughter of James Ford, found the helpless young man lying in the road. She took him to her home, and he soon discovered he was in the house of the very man he dreaded most. But his fears rapidly vanished, for his rescuer had become very much attached to him and he to her. He was shown the flute of which he had been robbed near the Cave. The mother and daughter revealed to him the fact that they, like many of their neighbors, felt somewhat suspicious that James Ford was, in some way, connected with the notorious crowd at the Cave. Ford, who was away from home much of his time, did not return until about a week after the crippled man was admitted. Then Webb saw “the masterful, self-willed, dreaded, and almost outlawed man.” He gave a description of him as he appeared at that time:

“He was about six feet in height, and of powerful build, a perfect Hercules in point of strength; but he has now grown too corpulent to undergo much fatigue. His head is large and well shaped; his sandy brown hair, now thin, is turning gray, for he must be fully fifty years old; his eyes, of a steel-gray color, are brilliant and his glance quick and penetrating; his nose rather short and thick; his upper lip remarkably long, his mouth large, and his lips full and sensuous. He has a broad, firm, double chin, and his voice is deep and sonorous. His complexion is very florid, and he converses fluently. On the whole, when in repose, he gives one the idea of a good natured, rather than a surly, bulldog; but, if aroused, I should say he would be a lion tamer.”

When Webb’s foot was sufficiently healed to permit his leaving the Ford home he took his flute and crutches and returned to Salem. Shortly thereafter he made the first of his many calls on Miss Ford. In the meantime, learning that his brother had been allowed to depart from the Cave unhurt, he wrote letters to various places and finally located him. Later he “went to Fort Massac on a flatboat and from there walked to St. Louis,” where he found his brother established in business. The two spent several months together in the city and, according to the story as related in Chronicles, it was during his absence from Kentucky that Ford, the “almost outlawed man,” passed beyond the reach of law.

It was at Ford’s Ferry that many emigrants going to the Illinois country crossed the Ohio. In Ford’s day the ferry at Shawneetown and another at Golconda also were thriving and the three were, in a sense, rivals.

A river crossing with the reputation of having the best roads leading to and from it was usually given the preference. Ford, realizing this, placed sign-boards at a number of road crossings, and cards in some of the taverns, advertising the highway to his ferry. What was known as the Ford’s Ferry Road extended, in Kentucky, some eight miles south of the ferry and, in Illinois, about twelve miles north of it. That part of it in Kentucky running north from Pickering Hill to the ferry, a distance of four miles, was well maintained by the county through Ford’s influence. The road leading from his ferry into Illinois was an equally important one, but its condition depended solely upon his interest and efforts in the matter. He attempted to persuade the local authorities in Illinois to change the old Low Water Road running through the bottoms to Pott’s Hill, a distance of twelve miles, to one over higher ground. Failing in this effort, he, at his own expense, opened up a new road ever since known as Ford’s Ferry High Water Road.

Thus with about twenty miles of comparatively good road through a densely wooded country and with a first class ferry, and by proper advertising, he succeeded, as one man expressed it, “in having things come his way.” Many people, it is true, were molested at the ferry and along the highway leading to and from it; but such misfortunes were then likely to befall any traveler at any place. If a robbery occurred along the Ford’s Ferry Road, the news of the hold-up invariably ended with the report that “Jim Ford found the robbers and ran them out of the country.” And so, for many years, the Ford’s Ferry Road and Ford’s Ferry maintained the reputation of being “safe again.” In the meantime, strangers continued to travel over it, and many fell into the well-set trap.

At the foot of Pickering Hill, near Crooked Creek, newcomers frequently met, as though by chance, some “strangers” who explained that they were on their way to Illinois. The unwary emigrants continued their travel accompanied by persons who seemed honest men. The “strangers” soon gained their confidence, and if, by the time Ford’s Ferry was reached, the desirability and possibility of a hold-up had not been ascertained, the united party crossed over into Illinois. At Potts’ Hill, or before reaching that wayside tavern on the south hillside, the newcomer was either robbed or permitted to continue his journey unmolested. It is said that many a traveler who was found weak and destitute by the “strangers” was given money and other help by them. On the other hand, the traveler who exhibited evidence of wealth and prosperity almost invariably met his fate along the road, at the ferry or at Potts’ Hill.

Billy Potts was the strategist on whom the highwaymen relied as their last and best man to dispose of any encouraging cases that had not been settled before they reached his house. Potts, by one means or another, succeeded in persuading the selected travelers to remain all night at his inn. His log house was large and comfortable and stood near a good spring which, then as now, offered an abundant supply of water for man and beast. Tradition says many a man took his last drink at Potts’ Spring and spent his last hour on earth in Potts’ house. Human bones are still turned up by plowmen in the Potts’ Old Field, and since there is nothing to indicate that they are the remains of Indians, the conclusion is they represent some of the victims of the mysterious Ford’s Ferry band. The log house occupied by Billy Potts is still standing. Many years ago it was converted into a barn. On its floor and walls there can still be seen a number of large dark spots. Tradition has it that they are stains made by human blood. Some of the old citizens living in the neighborhood insist that they are as distinct today as they were more than half a century ago, notwithstanding the ravages of time.

There are many traditions of mysterious murders attributed to the Ford’s Ferry highwaymen. Every one is a fearsome tale and has evidently undergone many changes since it was first told. Some seem to have more versions than they are years old. None, so far as is now known, can be verified by documentary or other positive evidence. All these tales are apparently based on facts but it is also evident that each is much colored by fiction. A version of the tradition pertaining to Billy Potts and his son is here retold:

A traveler was riding north on the Ford’s Ferry Road one day, and after crossing the ferry was overtaken by the son of Billy Potts. Young Potts expressed a delight at having found a man with whom he could ride and thus not only pass the time away more pleasantly, but also travel with greater safety. After going a few miles young Potts gained sufficient information to convince him that the man was well worth robbing. When they reached a point along the road where a hold-up could be made with the least danger of exposure, Potts pulled out his pistol, forced the man to throw up his hands and then proceeded to rob him. While Potts was in the act of taking his victim’s money, two farmers living in the neighborhood happened upon the scene. Not being in sympathy with the gang of highwaymen and having recognized young Potts, they informed others what they had witnessed and reported the robbery to the authorities. Ford, so runs the story, realizing that one of his men had been detected and that much evidence could be produced to convict the guilty one, advised him to leave for parts unknown, and thus not only save himself but also shield his confederates from further suspicion. The young man left, and a few days later, rumors emanating from the gang, to the effect that young Potts had been driven out of the country by Jim Ford, circulated freely. The disappearance of Potts substantiated the report, and Ford received the credit for ridding the community of an undesirable citizen.

Young Potts wandered around for several years, in the meantime growing a beard and gaining in weight. He evidently changed in appearance to such an extent that he felt confident no one—not even his mother—would recognize him, and that he could return home without the least fear of detection. He reached Pickering Hill on his homeward journey and there met a number of “strangers” who informed him that they were resting preparatory to resuming their travel to the Illinois country. Potts recognized in these men his old companions in crime, but none suspected who he was. He rode with them to Ford’s Ferry, in the meantime keeping the men in ignorance as to his identity. When they reached the Ohio he saw that active preparations were being made to rob him and, if necessary, to murder him. He then revealed his identity. But it was only after producing considerable proof that he convinced the men that he was their long gone accomplice. A great rejoicing followed.

Early in the evening young Potts started alone over Ford’s High Water Road to his father’s house, where he arrived shortly after dark. He found his father and mother at home and, as he had anticipated, was not recognized by them. He decided to attempt to conceal his identity until late in the night, for he concluded that if before making himself known he could impress his father with the fact that his wandering boy had accumulated money, the surprise which he was soon to give him would be even greater. With this double surprise in view, young Potts displayed a large roll of money and whispered to his unsuspecting host that he knew he was in a safe place for the night. The two men had chatted in the candle lighted room for an hour or more, when the guest asked for a drink of water. Out into the dark they walked and down to the Potts Spring, a distance of some three hundred feet. The young man getting down on his knees, leaned over the rock-lined spring. While in the act of drinking he was stabbed in the back, under the left shoulder blade, and instantly killed.

The murderer took the money from his victim’s pocket, but failed to find anything to indicate who he was, from where he came, or to what place he intended to go. Old Potts dug a shallow grave and in it buried all evidence of the crime. He returned to the house, and after reporting to his wife that he had “made a good haul,” retired for the night.

The next morning some of the Ford’s Ferry gang rode to Potts’ Hill to celebrate the return of their friend. Before they had an opportunity to explain the object of their coming, Potts recited the details of how he had disposed of an “easy” man the night preceding. One of them then began the story of how they had met the young fellow and how, when they were at the point of carrying out their intention of robbing and killing him, he made himself known and proved beyond doubt that he was young Potts, their former associate. But before the account was finished old Potts and his wife accused the crowd of concocting this story and cursed the men for plotting against them. But, persisting and giving every detail of what happened during the time the victim was in their presence, the men created doubt in the minds of Potts and his wife, though Potts asserted that in his opinion the man he had killed was not his son, but perhaps a friend in whom his son had confided to such an extent that he was able to convince them that he was young Potts himself.

At this point of the discussion Mrs. Potts recalled that her son had a small birthmark under one of his shoulder blades, but which shoulder blade she could not remember. Upon learning this, the men, hoping to find such evidence as would convince the parents of the identity of their son, repaired to the grave. It was shallow and the soil loose. In a little while the body was uncovered. Without waiting for it to be taken from the grave, Potts bent forward and began to rip the clothing from the corpse. The back showed no mark on the right side. The bloody wound made by the dagger that had pierced the heart was then examined. It revealed the presence of the remembered birth mark....

It was at Cave-in-Rock that the Ford’s Ferry band met to discuss some of its plans and operations and to divide the spoils. This rendezvous was two miles from the road on which the highwaymen operated, and therefore sufficiently distant to avoid discovery by anyone traveling over that land route. It was conveniently reached by a boat from Hurricane Island or from Ford’s Ferry. Furthermore, it was an ideal hiding place in which to lie in wait for flatboats going down the river.

What went on at these meetings was never revealed to any one not a member of the organization. The tragic story of Billy Potts and his son is one of the few secrets that leaked out, and it was not divulged until long after Potts died and the organization had ceased to exist. No arrests were made and for a long time no local citizens were suspected; for, as already stated, every reported robbery was soon followed by the news that the crime had been committed by a traveling highwayman, who had since been driven out of the country.

In time suspicion began to point toward a number of local men whose incomes were out of proportion to their labor, and whose frequent and long absences were accounted for by them in contradictory ways. Vincent B. Simpson, who lived on the Kentucky side of the Ohio and ran the ferry boat at Ford’s Ferry, and Henry C. Shouse, who lived on the Illinois shore at Cedar Point almost opposite, were among those suspected of being implicated in some of the depredations and were regarded as two of the men responsible for the circulation of counterfeit money. Both were apparently on intimate terms with James Ford, whose two sons were also suspected of being involved in some of the lawlessness which was then increasing rapidly. Ford owned Ford’s Ferry and the ferry house near it. The ferry, however, was run by Simpson, who occupied the house.

After carefully concealing its acts for many years, the clan began drifting to the inevitable. A lack of trust among the men themselves and the increasing danger of their work indicated that sooner or later something would occur to end its career. The end came in 1834. Strange to say, it was brought about, not through a dispute over the division of spoils or a wholesale arrest of its members, but was due more directly to a lawsuit regarding a slave than to any other cause known to the public. Tradition is vague regarding this litigation, but the court records reveal sufficient data from which to glean the cause of the beginning of the end of the Ford’s Ferry mystery.

The Circuit Court Records of Livingston County contain the proceedings of a suit entitled “Ford versus Simpson” which began in September, 1829, and continued nearly two years. James Ford’s petition recites that on January 7, 1829, he bought from Vincent B. Simpson a slave named Hiram, for the sum of eight hundred dollars. Simpson guaranteed him to be “a good blacksmith, sound and healthy,” but the negro died soon after the sale, at the age of thirty-four. Ford set forth that the man was “no blacksmith and no labourer and was labouring under a disease called hernia,” and that he was worth only two hundred and fifty dollars at the time of the sale. In consequence of the loss of time and work resulting from the purchase of the negro, Ford sued for one thousand dollars damages. Simpson tried, through various witnesses, to prove that the slave was a good mechanic and a healthy negro, but failed to establish any of his claims. Ford, on the other hand, produced many men who upheld him and gave much testimony to prove that Simpson had practiced a fraud in making the sale. The case dragged through the courts until March 9, 1831, when, by agreement of the attorneys, the suit was ordered dismissed, “each party paying their own costs.”

This was a victory for Ford, for rumor had it that he and Simpson were equally implicated in certain robberies. Ford had proved Simpson a deceitful man and could now cite the Hiram transaction as an example of his unreliability. Ford was prepared, should Simpson reveal any of their secrets and “try” to implicate him; he was fortified against any accusation, true or false, that Simpson might make. In the meantime, Simpson continued to run Ford’s Ferry. Whether or not Ford attempted to remove him is not known. It is probable that each feared the other, and that each was awaiting the other’s first damaging act. Ford and his two grown sons evidently foresaw the possibility of serious trouble.

These two sons were Philip and William M. Ford (whose ages, in 1831, were respectively thirty-one and twenty-eight years). He had one daughter, the Cassandra who, February 5, 1827, married Dr. Charles H. Webb, as previously noted. The daughter was an accomplished and highly respected woman, and is so represented in Watt’s Chronicles. Her husband was all his life a model citizen. Ford’s first wife, it is said, was a Miss Miles, whose brother at one time ran a ferry where the village of Weston, Kentucky, now stands. After the death of his first wife, Ford, January 15, 1829, as shown by Livingston County marriage records, married Mrs. Elizabeth Frazer, a widow with three daughters. Mr. Frazer and his family, so runs the story, were coming down the Ohio in a flatboat and chanced to stop at Ford’s home. Mr. Frazer became ill while there, and a few days later died. In the course of a short time Ford married the widow, and from that union was born, in 1830, one child, James Ford Jr.

Trouble was brewing. What preparations were made by Ford and his two sons to meet the uncertain developments is not known. A perusal of the wills recorded in Livingston County reveals the fact that Philip Ford made a will on November 21, 1831, and that within seven months thereafter wills were also made by his brother and father. Philip Ford died two days after he had prepared his will. One tradition has it that he died of yellow fever, but that is not at all likely to be true. The document was not recorded until June, 1833. It shows he was a widower and a man of some means. He designates his father and brother-in-law, Dr. Webb, as administrators. He bequeathed some of his estate to his father, sister, and brother William, but the greater part to his only child, Francis Ford, then a small boy. Among the items were seven slaves, two of whom, “Irene, a woman, and Kitty, a girl,” were to be retained and the other five sold “at nine months credit, the proceeds to go for the whole use and benefit of my son.” Another item reads: “My gold watch I wish Doct. Charles H. Webb to take charge of until my son comes of age and then to go to my son Francis Ford.” As requested in this document, he was “buried by the side of where my beloved wife is buried and in a decent manner.” The inscription on his gravestone reads:

“To the memory of Philip Ford who was born November 25th, 1800, departed this life November 23d, 1831.”

A year later William died and was buried beside his brother. Tradition ascribes his death to cholera. Be that as it may, there is nothing to indicate that he “died with his boots on,” although he might have met that fate had he survived a few years longer. The graves of the two brothers are on the Ford Old Place about one mile southwest of Tolu. Each is marked with a dressed stone box grave cover, which, before the collapse a few years ago, was about six feet long, three feet wide and three feet high, the top being a well carved slab bearing an inscription. The inscription on the grave of Ford’s second son can be interpreted in more than one way:

“To the memory of William M. Ford, who departed this life on the 3d day of Novr. 1832, aged 28 years. Whose benevolence caused the widow and orphant to smile and whose firmness caused his enemies to tremble. He was much appresst while living and much slandered since dead.”

William also left a will. It is dated June 1, 1832. The official records show that it was recorded July 27, 1832, a little more than three months before he died. Tradition has forgotten how William’s “firmness caused his enemies to tremble” and by what means he was “much appresst while living and much slandered since dead.” Nor is there any tradition regarding the identity of the widows and orphans who, through his benevolence, were caused to smile. His will, however, throws some sidelights on his career as a father. The document does not refer to a wife, living or dead. One tradition has it that at the age of twenty-two he married a girl by the name of Simpson, but that name does not appear among the three mothers of his children referred to by him. He first bequeaths all his estate to his two sons, one of whom was, in 1832, seven years old, and the other seven months. After stating the name of the mother of each, he adds: “both of said children I acknowledge to be my sons.” But in the event of the death of both boys before they reached the age of twenty-one, he gives two thousand dollars to the young daughter of a certain woman he mentions, and bequeaths practically all the residue of his estate to his uncle, Richard Miles.

It is said that the inscription placed on the grave of William was dictated by James Ford. Beginning a short time before the death of his two sons, many accusations against William and his father gained wide circulation. Ford evidently hoped that such an inscription on the tomb of the “appresst” and “slandered” son would have the effect of a voice from the grave and do much toward subduing undesirable true and false reports that might continue to circulate after his death. Tradition says James Ford requested his wife to place an inscription of a similar character on his grave, hoping it would, to a considerable extent, prevent the community from attributing all the lawlessness to him and none to the mysterious Ford’s Ferry band, of which he was openly accused of being the leader. Mrs. Ford, in all probability, would have carried out this wish had she not died so soon after her husband. Be that as it may, nothing marks the grave of James Ford nor that of his wife. If small stones were erected over them they have long ago disappeared, as have some of the other headstones that once stood in the same graveyard. The spot pointed out as the one where James Ford was buried is a few feet from William’s grave and is now, and long has been, covered by a briar patch.