"He was not the fearless bully of old, but a much broken stoop shouldered and crazy old man."
An item about the physical and mental decline of a bullying man in East Tennessee, which was originally published in the Louisville Courier-Journal, appeared in the January 9, 1887 edition of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle. An excerpt from the piece, which is more tall tale than journalism:
“The mountain bully is not unlike his kind met with elsewhere, except in his habits, which are instinctively formed by circumstances and surroundings. He abounds in large numbers throughout the East Tennessee mountains, and generally makes his headquarters about the Summer resorts, country stores, elections, shooting matches and wherever there is a crowd gathered. He is always ‘spilling’ for a fight and frequently gets his satisfaction, usually from some quiet dispositioned person who ‘hain’t much to say.’ The mountain bully gets about half full, goes to a shooting match, chews tobacco, blows about his conquests and his ability to lick the best man in the State, runs upon a ‘say nothin’ sort of feller,’ who puts a head on him and an end to his bragadocio talk.
A few years ago there died in a mountain county in East Tennessee a man who was a noted bully. He was a splendid specimen of physical manhood and was in every respect a fighting bully. He would fight at the drop of the hat and could knock out a half dozen ordinary men in one round. He would fight for the fun of it, and he who would dare cross his path was indeed a reckless man. In the old days of State militia and ‘musters’ he was a prominent man in his neighborhood and colonel of a militia regiment. On muster days, when the drill was over, he would proceed to clean up the regiment. When he shed his coat, twisted his huge fist around a few times, and yelled at the top of his voice: ‘Hide out, little ‘uns, I’m a comin’,’ there would be a general stampede. This was how he came to be called ‘Old Hide Out’ in after years.
"He rushed into the midst of the Federal soldiers, putting them to flight, not, however, without receiving a serious wound in the head."
When the late war came on he joined a Confederate regiment and made a brave, fearless soldier. During a slight skirmish his company had with the Federals down in Georgia, he took his gun by the muzzle end, with his old time watchword, ‘Hide out, little ‘uns, I’m a comin’!’ rushed into the midst of the Federal soldiers, putting them to flight, not, however, without receiving a serious wound in the head, which put him into the hospital for months and permanently injured his mind.
When he returned to his native county he was not the fearless bully of old, but a much broken stoop shouldered and crazy old man. He would stroll through the neighborhood aimlessly, and seeming unconscious of his whereabouts, always muttering to himself as he went, ‘Hide out, little ‘uns, I’m a comin’.’ Little boys and girls would make sport of him, and ‘Old Hide Out,’ as they called him, paid no heed of their mockery. He had become perfectly harmless.
At last the old man became mortally ill. He was alone in a little cabin provided for his use by an old comrade in the army. A few friends who had known him in his better days gathered around his humble couch expecting the end. It was now late in the afternoon, and the old fellow had not spoken for days. He was rapidly sinking, and some one remarked that he would go down with the sun, which was then pouring its last rays through the chinks and crevices of the cabin wall. Just then his face seemed to lighten up, his eyes twinkled, and he opened his lips.
‘Hide out, little ‘uns, I’m a com–‘
But he never completed his sentence. He had gone.”
