A Look Back

PLPL A Look Back

The Old Scotch Graveyard

Story by Ray Owen Images courtesy of Moore County Historical Association

Afew miles out from Carthage on the old Stage Road is a curious burying ground that has been prominent in local history for over two centuries. Known as the Old Scotch Graveyard, it is set atop a high ridge off State Road 1261 near the junction of State Road 1210. In this ancient place you sense a world not often remembered, its roots reaching back to the Highland Scot settlers who began populating the section in the mid-1700s.

The early Highlanders brought their dead here for burial from across the region. The property was once known as Widow Bethune’s Hill and later the Old Barrett Place. The headstone for Peter Bethune (ca. 1746-1805) is probably the oldest among approximately 65 markers. His kinsman, John Bethune, was the first minister of any denomination to serve in what are now Anson, Montgomery, Moore, Richmond and Robeson Counties.

Rev. Bethune came over around 1773, writing back to his homeland, encouraging others to join him and “become owners of the soil upon which they lived and labored and take their place among the landed Carolina gentry.” At the time, rapid changes in the economic, political and social systems had resulted in widespread poverty in Scotland.

With encouragement from Bethune and others, shiploads of Highlanders moved up the Cape Fear River into the Sandhills, ultimately comprising a third of the population. They clustered together, forming the strongest cultural presence due to their ties of kinship and custom. Their settlements dotted the woodlands where they engaged in subsistence farming and bleeding longleaf pines of their resin for the tar, pitch and turpentine industry—their major cash crop.

Interments in the Old Scotch Graveyard scatter across the distance with a few polished stones marking new arrivals. Traveling the uneven field, the mix of leaning slabs seem animated in back-and-forth or side-to-side movement, as the sinking stones of pioneers yield their outposts. With few exceptions, everyone was buried to face the rising sun, since they believed at the end of days they would rise to greet Jesus, who would come from the east to meet them.

Many of the graves are unmarked and headstones are broken. The ones you can read bear names and dates representing families still prominent in the region, such as Black, King, McIver, McDonald and Nunnery. Over time the elements have worked against the ridge, carving into the mound. Through a thicket down one side the hill, erosion has uncovered red sandstone a few feet lower in the level of the earth, revealing the material likely used for the headstones.

For the Highlanders, Sandhills life marked a new beginning but for us today, their hardships are nearly unimaginable. They had left behind civilization, however rocky, for an untamed wilderness where they suffered hunger, internal rebellion, extreme weather and clashes with native people. They spent lonely nights isolated in tiny cabins built in woods populated with wolves, wildcats and snakes. Typhoid, yellow fever and malaria were commonplace and often resulted in death.

John MacRae was a Highland poet who settled near the Old Scotch Graveyard just before the American Revolution. He wrote a poem for his daughter called “Lullaby” where he says, “At last we’re arrived on America’s shores in the shade of the forest forever unfailing. When winter departs and the warmth returns, nuts and apples and the sugar will grow.” But other lines are fearful: “We are all like Indians sure enough. Under the darkness of the trees, not one of us will survive.”

They had come to a brave new world, yet they held onto views of death and dying rooted in the pre-Christian beliefs of

Celtic society. For them, various omens preceded death, the “away-going” that would come for us all. Among the signs were ghost lights, called the will o’ the wisp, unexpected knocks at the door in sets of threes, a cock crowing more than usual, and the continuous howling of dogs. Birds tapping at the window and the cry of screech owls were also foreboding.

When death arrived, all the mirrors covered and clocks were stopped, and doors were kept ajar to set the spirit free. The body would be washed and dressed, and the eyes were closed and generally kept shut by means of coins placed upon them. If the bed they died on had bird feathers they would be placed on the floor in the belief that feathers stopped the dead from finding rest. The daily work routine was discontinued, such days of idleness being known as “dead days.”

People regularly viewed the remains and sat by them for at least two sunrises and often three if there was an intervening Sabbath. Neither burials or marriages were conducted before a proper funeral was conducted. The origins of a protracted wake were practical. A corpse was watched until the first indication of decay, the absolute proof of death. This was no light matter because there were many supposed instances of a dead person reviving in their coffin or even in the ground.

This very thing reportedly happened in the family of Reverend Colin Lindsay, Bethesda Presbyterian Church’s first pastor in what is now Aberdeen. According to some accounts, his mother lapsed into a coma and was pronounced dead. After her funeral, grave robbers exhumed her coffin to steal her wedding ring, but she sat up in her coffin, frightening the robbers away. When she returned home in her grave cloths, her husband rejoiced and Reverend Lindsay was apparently born a few years later.

There was a prevalent belief in the importance of a “good” death. This was anyone who died in combat or service to others, something seen as worthy of honor and dignity. And while most don’t choose the point of their earthly departure, to die away from home was undesirable.

Despite a sense of loss for the Highlanders death wasn’t something to be sad about. Someone’s passing was time of celebration because life was seen as a temporary gift to be appreciated. The focus of their grief and mourning revolved around happy memories. At times, outsiders saw this as a sign of disrespect and it was little wonder that an observant Englishman once declared that a Scottish funeral was “merrier than an English wedding.”

Today, the Moore County Historical Association has been working with the Jordan Lumber Company and Spencer Land Trust to obtain the property with the help of Bill Edsel and Kaye Davis Brown. One of the oldest and most esteemed groups of its kind, the Association will preserve the cemetery and Jordan Lumber has donated $20,000 to help defray costs and will maintain a clear-cut border as a firebreak. PL