The Appalachian mountains hold secrets, just as all mountains should. From hillbilly feuds to abandoned coal mines this land is, in many respects, a world unto itself. The Scots-Eirish blood has run through it for centuries. Sometimes literally. The people are stubborn proud, fiercely determined, and hopelessly poor. Really, these people are extremely impoverished. As with diamond mines in Africa, the Appalachian coal market was structured in such a way that the miners were stuck in perpetual poverty. Really, their plight is relatable to most manual labor based industries, unless a worker gives everything he has to the company, and then some, he can be replaced in a heartbeat.
Besides that, the isolation that preserves their freedom has proven to be a two-edged sword. It prevents them from having access to basic necessities of the modern world, hospitals, utilities, etc. And being so deep in the wilderness means that few outsiders know where they are to help them if they wanted to. But being away from the crimes, politics, and general madness that fill and characterize our modern world gives the people a sense of solace. They work as slaves, but they live as free men.
You may have heard it said that misery loves company, but that’s not necessarily true. After all, just because everyone is poor together doesn’t mean everyone wants to be together. However, there have been moments of a remarkable community spirit, and one of the most impressive examples was the pig wagon. Yes, pig wagon. No one knows who started it, but the premise was quite simple. Have a small team of pigs pull a wagon. As for what the wagon had inside, it was more pigs, that is piglets. You see, the wagon worked like this. Every two months, the wagon would go from house to house carrying piglets in an old apple crate. If the residents wanted one, they would take it. But usually, they would give something to take its place.
As I said, mountain folk are proud, most far too proud for what they thought to be the “shame of charity.” So they would pay with items of relative worth, eggs, patchwork quilts, jars of whiskey, etc. Funny thing, as the wagon was refilled, those further down the line sometimes found the piglet payments to their liking, so they would take those things instead of the remaining few piglets. And of course, they would give their own payments for these. Besides, there was something about the last few piglets that made people feel guilty. Somewhat hard to explain, but it was like the less the last person left, the more the next person feared they would be taking from the person after them. So it was that the last few piglets were usually left in the wagon as it wandered back home, along with an assortment of heirlooms, crafts, preserves, and so on.
The wagon never had a driver. Somehow, the pig team always knew just where to go. Whenever someone approached, they knew to stop and wait for the shoppers to finish browsing. Before long, people organized stations to meet the pigs as a group and everyone had their items to trade, but many of them were unhappy when they saw that some of the things they wanted were traded for by others. And there was no little dispute about the worth of each item, so that some would not trade, but left feeling slighted. In the end, all thought the old way was best by keeping the trades anonymous and one at a time.
Everyone wondered where the wagon came from, and once in a while some children would go looking for the source but somehow, inexplicably, they would always lose it. None of the older folks went- there were at least three reasons for this. One, mountain people don’t stick their noses where they don’t belong. You try sticking your nose in a beehive and see what happens. Two, they feared that if it was ever found out where the wagon came from, it just might stop coming. Three, most didn’t want to know where it came from because they had fun telling rumors about it. If someone discovered the truth, it would prove a lot of folks wrong, and proving folks wrong when you don’t really need to is no way to make friends.
So the wagon remained a mysterious visitor. But the greatest mystery came when the wagon stopped coming. Some thought it was just late. Others feared the pigs might have gotten lost or injured. And a few suspected the wagon was stolen, pigs and all. Whatever the case, a posse set out to look for it. They were all just children, mostly boys, but a couple of rough-footed girls went with them. They searched from Blancherd’ Corner all the way to Black Water creek, but nothing. When they came back to tell their mother’s, why they all went to the Widow Caster’s to see if she knew anything about it, she being one of the oldest among them.
She lived in a cabin that was half shot through from stray bullets, fallen rocks, and hail. She admitted to having never learned who was behind the wagon, but strange enough, it had not come by her house for years. Instead, it would go by her son’s house and he would take additional supplies for her. When asked if she remembered just when the wagon stopped coming, she leaned back, held her eyes tight, and after a good thinking, she thought it stopped when her husband died. Well, the women went to tell their husbands about it, and then the men folk got together to talk, and they came to the conclusion that someone must have died to make the wagon stop coming, either the person who had been sending it out or else someone important enough to make the whole community suffer for it. So a call was made to find who might have done the dying.
Sad to say, it did not take long for them to scrounge up a list of possibles. Mine shafts have always been open graves. But of all the fellows that were choked by dust or buried alive or struck by a runaway cart, no death seemed more tragic than the others. None of the mourning families seemed likely to have sent the wagon, many of them were known to have joined in its trades. So the next possible answer was someone high in the company hierarchy, but this too seemed unlikely. After all, whenever a foreman or executive died, the news travelled fast and was met by a small celebration. So the matter was left unresolved and the wagon stayed staunchly absent.
But next summer, the pigs themselves returned. Yes, and the piglets with them. This little herd of fat porkers with saggy bellies and drooping ears could be heard snorting and squealing as they came up the road. Folks would watch them but they did not bother them. So the pigs would walk all around their properties, tearing up the ground, eating weeds and insects, and then they would move on. Because everyone had their gardens and chickens fenced, the pigs did not bother them. But each time the pigs would leave, the family would send their oldest child after them to see where they would go and with strict orders to not bother them.
So a gang of fifteen boys and four girls went out. But finally, the pigs stopped and settled at the foot of a huge boulder and they all rested. While the piglets suckled, the children just stood or sat. They waited for who knows how long, and then went home. All except for the oldest girl. She already finished her chores, so she just sat there and waited to see what would happen. She didn’t like pigs, but since her parents had put her up to this, she decided to stay with it until the evening. But doing nothing tends to make you tired. So, the girl fell asleep under a weeping willow tree.
When she awoke, the pigs had gone, except for a runt. When she came near, she saw that the runt had writing on it, but she could not read, so the girl ran with the squirming beast under her arm. Back home, her parents puzzled over the words, because they could not read either. So her father took the pig from house to house to see if anyone could read. In the whole neighborhood, big as it was with whole mountains between, only one boy was found who could read. A traveling salesman had taken a liking to him and helped him get started. When the boy looked over the smudged words, apparently written by a finger with dark grease, he struggled to make sense of them, but his best guess was that they meant:
“AROUND THE STONE”
So the girl’s father asked her where the boulder was. She led her father and some others to the stone. Then they all circled around the hill until they found a cave. Since it was evening, they all had lanterns and guns, so the darkness was no difficulty. They went in and after several twists and turns, they found a round stone about four feet tall marked with an ‘X’. They rolled the stone over to reveal a passage and instantly, hideous noises poured out, shrieks and grunts and roars. So they did not dare to go in, but all of them ran like mad.
When they all went back and told their families and neighbors, it just seemed mad. But they were so feverish in their insistence that they called folks from miles around to come see for themselves. So the whole band of men, women, and children went out to see and when they got to the cave and heard those awful sounds, they were all as one in their own cries of fear and trampled each other as they ran out. While most kept going all the way home, some of the older boys stopped just outside the cave and seeing that they had already brought their arms, they decided to try using them. They went back to the stone in the cave and pushed it further so they could all stick their rifles and shotguns in at once. But before they could, they heard a voice shout:
“Stop! Please!”
At once they all turned with their weapons, but saw no one. Again the voice came.
“Please!”
The oldest boy shouted back.
“Who’s there?!”
“Please don’t shoot, I have no gun!”
“Who are you?!”
At that, a pebble was rolled from behind a large rock and one of the younger boys, feeling especially scared, shot at it.
“Please don’t shoot! Please!”
“Come out where I can see you!”
The oldest boy shouted.
“I want your word not to shoot me!”
“If you don’t come out by the time I count to five, we will shoot you!”
Then he started counting: 1-2-3-
“Alright, alright! I’m coming!”
A figure slowly crawled from behind the rock. The same boy who had shot the pebble was trembling violently and the oldest boy suspected that he was about to pull the trigger.
“Calm down, Bill…”
Bill didn’t hear him.
“Bill, calm down…”
He was just too scared.
Suddenly, the oldest boy swung his own gun and knocked Bill’s gun away. Bill fired and sent the figure scrambling back behind the rock. Bill went wild and was about to swing his gun at the oldest boy’s head, but the oldest boy reared back and punched him, sending Bill flat on the ground. He ordered another boy to take Bill’s gun. He did so, not daring to make the oldest boy angry. Since the figure now seemed firmly planted behind the rock, the oldest boy ordered another to follow him with a lantern behind the rock. So they crept slowly towards it, and at once they jumped behind to find an elderly man laying there. He buried his face in his arms and muffled many pleas that they not harm him. Of course, the oldest boy lowered his gun.
“Old man, what are you doing here?! This place is dangerous!”
The old man looked up. The oldest boy reached down to take him by the arm.
“Come on, we gotta get you outta here!”
“No, you don’t understand, I live here!”
The oldest boy stopped tugging at him.
“What are you talking about?!”
“This is my home, those are my pigs!”
The elderly man stood up. The rest of the boys held their guns ready, still unsure what to think of all this.
“What pigs?!”
The oldest boy demanded.
“In that hole!”
The elderly man pointed towards the tunnel, still partly obscured by the stone marked ‘X’.
“There’s a big room past that hole, and that’s where I keeps my pigs!”
The oldest boy thought the old man was crazy at first, but his insistence and sincerity gave his claim a little credibility. So the oldest boy decided to see for himself. The boy took his belt off and looped it through the handle of his lantern. Then he hung it on his neck and crawled in. He winced as the squeals grew in volume, but on he went. When he got to the other end, he saw that he was in a very dark chamber, his lantern barely ripping the curtain. The noises suddenly stopped and he almost wished they would return. But there he stood in grave silence. One of the other boys called after him through the hole.
Instantly the wretched chorus gave forth its blood curdling tones. In a panic the boy dropped his gun and his lantern, busting it and killing the flame. A faint hue from the other boys’ lanterns dusted through the hole, so he quickly found it and dove inside. When he came out the other end, the oldest boy was met by the business end of 10 and some guns. When they heard the lantern break, the rest of the gang thought the ‘pigs’ or whatever was in there had ate him and was coming for them next. Thankfully, they were not so quick on the trigger as Bill, who still lay unconscious on the cave floor.
“Hold it boys, it’s Joe!”
So shouted the second oldest boy, who happened to be Joe’s brother. Joe jumped to his feet and ran to the elderly man who was now sitting on the rock he had hid behind. Joe grabbed him by his arm and with a trembling voice he insisted-
“Alright Mister, if them’s your pigs, then you go in and get them!”
The elderly man obliged and started crawling through the hole. Joe took his brother’s gun and lantern and followed. When they got to the other side, Joe kept his gun on the old man. But he asked that Joe give him the lantern. So Joe sat it on the ground and pushed it with his foot. The old man stooped to pick it up, then he took the light and walked over to something hanging on the wall. Joe recognized it was a torch. The elderly man lit it and then walked to another torch and then another, all the while he whistled. Joe saw that the old man seemed to be shrinking, but soon realized that he was going down stairs. It was then that Joe also noticed the sounds were gone.
But they were replaced by an absurd sight. As the cavern was unveiled, it revealed a herd of swine. Pigs were everywhere around the cave floor, lazing around, waddling, eating, drinking, etc. Joe saw that there were troughs cut into the wall. The old man stood on a platform about halfway down and called Joe to follow him. Slowly, he obliged and the elderly man showed him channels bored in the floor down to the troughs.
“I pour their feed and water here.”
Joe stayed silent, so his guide continued.
“I’ve been raising these pigs for decades. Years and years of patience. Just watching. All I did was feed and water them. Do you see that cliff? There’s a 20 foot drop on the other side. It falls into a lake full of catfish. The pigs know to relieve themselves over the edge.”
Still, Joe said nothing.
“You ever heard about old man Caster?”
Joe gestured ‘yes’ with his head.
“Well, he and my Grandpa were good friends. They trusted each other. Til’ one day a pig wandered over into Grandpa’s garden, so he shot it. It was so big, that he invited Caster’s family to come eat with’em. But Caster claimed that it had been his pig that Grandpa shot. Grandpa denied it and punched Caster in the nose. All hell broke loose and them Casters’ and my folks feuded until Grandpa got a bullet in his back what left him crippled. When old man Castor heard about how badly Grandpa was hurt, he called off the feud, but their folks and mine never looked at each other the same way again. When it was over, my oldest brother had got killed and Daddy killed Old Man Castor’s oldest boy. I wondered what it was that made people hate from then on. Momma always said that pigs was born mean, so I figured I could learn something from them. Before long, I found this cave, so I bought some pigs from Daddy and put’em in here. I’ve been seeing what they do ever since. You know what I’ve seen?”
Joe gestured ‘no’.
“They started out mean, the boars beating each other, beating the sows. Boars and sows eatin’ their piglets. But before long, there were changes. No one was able to sleep, every one was afraid of being beaten or eaten; there was so much fighting over food, that no one dared move toward the troughs. So the pigs decided to settle down or else they would all die. Then the next generation grew without seeing much violence, and the next generation after that saw even less. The pigs developed their own kind of justice. Whenever a sow ate her piglets or a boar was mean, the whole herd would come against it and force it over the cliff. There was something else strange, the pigs didn’t mate as much. I suppose that was because they did not think they had to really compete with each other over who got to do it and with which one, so they just didn’t get so hot.”
The old man stopped and looked behind Joe. When he turned, he saw that the rest of the gang had come through and were listening from the top of the stairs.
“Well, what happened next?!”
One of them shouted.
This gave the pigs quite a stir and they all went back to squealing and roaring. This frightened the boys greatly, but they had all been so engrossed in the story that none of them thought to draw their guns. The elderly man whistled and instantly the pigs were calmed. He then resumed his tale.
“My pigs have achieved a state of absolute peace with each other. And they have done so without my involvement beyond providing a constant supply of food and water. And it did not matter what I fed them, mushrooms, nuts, berries, fish, whatever. It didn’t matter what they had, it was just having enough, and the pigs knew they would have none if they didn’t stop fighting. So they did stop, and after a while, they forgot how to fight. And I’m sure that’s how it is with folks. When we remember that we’re all fightin’ death, we’ll stop feeding it by killing each other, and after a while, we won’t even know how to.”
At this point, Joe spoke.
“Mister, did you send that wagon?”
The elderly man smiled.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Well, my pigs never fight or cause any trouble, so I figured they’d be perfect for folks to raise for food. When folks eat good, they don’t get mad so easy, then they’re not so keen on fighting. So I decided to share my pigs and hope that folks would share’em ‘stead o’ fightin’ for’em. And whens I saw that folks was trading for’em and even wit’ themselves, I just kept on wit’ it!”
“But why did you stop?”
The old man’s face fell, then his head.
“Because it didn’t work the way I meant it to.”
Joe shook his head.
“Mister, you lost me.”
“I didn’t want folks to just trade when the wagon came by, I want’em to take a real interest in each other. To always be looking for ways to help each other!” And ever since I stopped sending the wagon, the only ways y’all been working together is tryin’ to find it! That’s just not right! So’s I decided to lead your folks here to show’em and tell’em all I just told you.”
“Then why were you hiding?!”
“Well, it’s been so long since I been with a lot of folks at once, and y’all had guns…I was scared.”
Joe stared at the elderly man, then he looked at the pigs.
“Mister, do you still have that wagon?”
It was deep in the night, all of the families whose boys were gone had become terribly worried, but none of them knew just what they should do. Had their boys been captured by the cave monsters? Or had they gotten lost in the woods as they ran like everyone else? Finally, all of the families organized a search party, men and older boys, and started out. But just as they were going down the road back towards the cave, they saw something large coming up.
It was glowing all over and bellowing. As the party readied their guns, they realized the clamor they heard was singing. Very bad singing, but regardless. One of the fathers recognized his son’s voice and then a boy recognized his brother’s voice and so on. The group ran down to meet the boys and saw that they were riding in the pig wagon! Though all were relieved to see they were alive and well, several scolded the lost boys and demanded to know where they had been and what they had done. At this, Joe introduced the old man, whose name was Herman, and he went on to explain everything. But as he spoke, all those in the search party thought he was crazy; a few even accused him of having kidnapped the boys, so they seized Herman and threw him into a nearby barn. They agreed to go for the Sheriff in the morning and have the old man arrested. All of this in spite of the boys’ protests.
But when the Sheriff came, along with one of his deputies, they opened the barn and found that the old man had inexplicably escaped. The Sheriff thought these hillbillies were playing a joke on him, but one of them thought of going back to the cave, so they went and took the Officers with them, and they found the stone marked with an ‘x’ and the hole, but they heard no sounds coming from it. One of them suggested the Sheriff shoot into the hole. He told his deputy to do so. But after the shot they still heard nothing. So the Officers condemned them all as fools and left. One of the group decided to go into the hole and he was followed by another and another. So the whole group went in and found a large cavern. They found the stairs and the torches and the troughs; but although the air reeked of swine, there were none to be found, nor did anyone ever see Herman again.