By Dallas Reese -4th Great Grandson of Barak Pickeral and Mary Nicholson Norton
Deep in the Blue Ridge heart of my home state North Carolina, in the land of the noonday sun, sits Cashiers Valley. Perched 3484 feet above sea level and flanked on one side by Whiteside Mountain, the valley stretches out to majestic views of a wide triangle of sky for miles around. Each summer, people from across the country visit Cashiers Valley. The intoxicating scents, cool weather and stately scenery give many reason to never leave. But leave they do, at least for the winter. The off season population is less than a couple hundred but each tourist season May to October, they return en masse when numbers swell to 25,000 plus.
In was in this valley my Norton ancestors made their home. After early trips from his then home in Pickens District(now Oconee County) South Carolina to scout out the area in 1818, My Great-Great-Great-Great Grandfather Barak Norton decided to follow pioneer vision and become the first person not of Indian descent to make a home in the valley. In the spring of 1824, Barak, along with four sons, three daughters and wife Mary, packed their belongings on horses and mules and set off to blaze a trail in the wilderness of Western North Carolina.
Upon arrival at Cashiers Valley the entire family went to work felling trees and hewing logs to build a rough, but practicable home for themselves. The nearest neighbor, more than twenty five miles away and nearest store, halfway between due south and due east 75 miles away in Augusta Georgia. The luxuries of modern life eluded them. Survival, the paramount concern. It's hard to fathom how different their lives were from our own. Adventure and hardship
Four years after his arrival in Whiteside Cove, Barak Norton assisted with the forming of Macon County North Carolina. That same year, 1828, the first white child in Cashiers Valley was born to Barak and Mary, Sarah "Whiteside" Norton, named after the great granite faced mountain forming the northern boundary of the valley, Whiteside Mountain. And after several more years Barak Norton gained some neighbors. John Alexander Zachary and A.D. McKinney came to the area about 1833. At the time these three came to the area there were Indian settlements on both sides of Whiteside Mountain. In the early 1800s Cashiers Valley had no wagon roads, nor cart ways for horses. Indian Trails led through the coves and around each mountain. These trails were originally cut by buffalo and Indians later used them to traverse the rough terrain. The white settlers in the valley used these same trails before more suitable roads were cut by picks and shovels to connect the various settlements. The McKinney family eventually removed to the new town of Highlands, North Carolina in the mid 1870s and became close friends with my Reese family who also settled in Highlands right after the town was created. Before Sarah Whiteside Norton was one year old, her mother, Mary saddled up a horse, wrapped the baby in blankets, and ventured off over the wilderness trail to their old homeplace in Pickens, South Carolina. The purpose of the trip, to obtain cotton for quilt padding. Upon arrival in Pickens, Mary set forth to pick the seed from the cotton by hand. It was a tedious task that required careful work. The cotton had to be cleaned & cleared of burrs, seeds and dirt before it would be suitable to use for making clothing or quilts. Thirty-five years earlier Eli Whitney had invented the cotton gin to simplify the process, but the cotton gin remained too expensive for residents of the mountains of North and South Carolina in the early 1800s. After working for about a week to carefully separate cotton from seed, Mary felt she had enough to make quilts for the family for winter. She packed the cotton in bales to make it easier to carry on horseback. She saddled up early the next morning, with Sarah and cotton in tow and set out for the long ride to Cashiers Valley. The length of the ride; 23 miles, but because of treacherous terrain and mountains it would take much longer and time was of the essence. Mary did not want to ride through the dense woods of the backcountry after dark. During the week, heavy rains had drenched the area and it was a slow muddy slough that took the better part of a day to travel 20 miles. After nearly eight hours in the saddle, only two miles from their home in the Valley, with twilight shadows creeping, Mary approached the swollen Chattooga River. It looked far more menacing than it had a week early. The banks were full to the brim with rushing headwaters from the onslaught of rain. Mary stopped to deliberate. There was no turning back to the rough trail she had taken. Nightfall would arrive soon. She shuddered at the thought of staying put, especially with her young daughter in tow. Bears, bobcats and other wild animals would attack and finish them in the night.
Desperation forced a quick decision. Mary Norton was brave and accustomed to hardship, trials and toil, so without a second thought as to the perilous danger she & Sarah faced, she grasped the baby, held her close to her chest and with her other arm gathered up the bails of cotton which had been perched behind the saddle. Giving the horse free rein, Mary spurred the gallant animal into the murky waters of the Chattooga River. At first all was well, but as they reached the middle of the river a strong rush of current pushed the horse out of course as easily as a late fall blast of mountain air blows dead leaves from oaks. The current almost ripped the baby from Mary Norton's arms. She had no choice, either let the cotton go or her baby would be lost. Mary grasped her baby with both hands as the bales of cotton were ripped away by the swift current. Mary had to helplessly watch as all her hard work raced down stream with the rushing flow. But being the strong lady she was, Mary Norton did not lament the loss. Time was of the essence. Her goal was clear. To prevent a much greater tragedy she needed to steer the horse through the rush of water to safety. When she finally succeeded in guiding the laboring horse to still water she was doubtless too grateful, then, to think of anything but returning home to her family. And they made it back to Whiteside Cove safe and sound.
Whiteside Cove-Spring 1865 -Kirk's raiders Torture and terrorize the Norton Family
Near the twilight of the Civil War as a hopefulness filled Whiteside Cove, death and destruction, terror and torture was visited upon the Norton family on the level of Greek Tragedy, at least for this family.
Early on the morning of May 1, 1865, Colonel George Kirk and his mounted soldiers cantered to the front steps of the home of my 4th Great Grandparents Barak and Mary Norton in Whiteside Cove near Cashiers North Carolina. Kirk was a Tennessee native who began the Civil War as a Confederate soldier, but his views were Unionist so he left and joined the Union army. He rose to the rank of Colonel and in 1864 he raised a Union unit, mostly loyalists of the north, the 3rd North Carolina Mounted Infantry. Their purpose; to terrorize southerners and wreak havoc on the south. Kirk's unconventional guerilla raids, combined with torture tactics, frightened North Carolina citizens from one end of the state to the other. It seemed their bloodthirst knew no end. The group became known as Kirk's Raiders. Unfortunately for many southern families, Kirk's Raiders brought death, destruction and heartache.
On May 1st 1865, life in Whiteside Cove would change forever. The miserable war was coming to a close, but Kirk's evil misfits and miscreants didn't care. On that grey-sky day Kirk and his Raiders galloped into Whiteside Cove and found Mary Norton at her house with her children. There they asked my 4th Great-Grandmother Mary Norton for money. Her response, "We have none." Southern deserters who knew the family stepped forth and said they knew the family had a stash of coins on the property. Mary denied this accusation (even though it was true) and refused to hand the gold coins over. The soldiers proceeded to string up Mary Norton by the thumbs and torture her. Her sons and husband Barak had hidden in the woods, for they would have certainly killed them, if discovered. Barak was 88 years old at the time, but it wouldn't have mattered to the vengeful raiders. The soldiers slashed Mary's throat with a razor blade. Not deeply, but enough to make the blood drip fast. Mary, tough as nails, still would not talk. The soldiers grudgingly cut the ropes. But later that night the soldiers returned and this time they brought a full portion of evil with them. Reports of the number of men traveling with Kirk vary but some say as many as 300 of these deserters, drifters and derelicts were roaming the mountains in the spring of 1865 and afterwards. However many the number, enough returned to Whiteside Cove later the same evening and broke into the home of Edward "Ned" Norton. Ned was a son of Barak and Mary and only a few days earlier had completed the long journey home from the battlefields of Virginia, returning to the comforts of his wife and infant baby.
The raiders entered the home, grabbed Ned Norton by his hair and dragged him away from and proceeded to murder him. The next day his lifeless body was found half a mile from home, literally tortured to death, by whatever means diabolical ingenuity could conceive. Kirk and his desperados had brought needless death to the doorstep of the Norton family. Edward Ned Norton was 43 years old when he was murdered. His grave is near his parents in the Norton Cemetery in Norton, North Carolina (very near Cashiers in Whiteside Cove)
The divisive Civil War had officially been over for almost a month when Ned was murdered, yet Kirk and his men were oblivious to its end. They were bent on robbery, killing and lawless anarchy. They lacked human emotion or morals. They were God forsaken death mongers, bound for hell in the next life. I for one, believe with certainty these lawless men are paying the toll now, for the trail of destruction and death they carved. For the Norton family, the road to rebellion came to a bitter end on what should have been a marvelous May day deep in the mountains of western North Carolina.
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