Tales from the road: A hanging, 'Rebel gold' on Roper's Knob

Ben Nance of the State of Tennessee Archaeology Department explains how Civil War soldiers
used a flag to signal each other. The U.S. Army had a signal station on Roper’s Knob.
(CLICK ON ALL  IMAGES TO ENLARGE.)

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On a whim on New Year’s Day 2023, two bleary-eyed history-minded pals and I ascended to the summit of “Roper’s Knob” north of downtown Franklin, Tenn., only to discover the real Roper’s Knob stood way over yonder.

“I think we’re on the wrong knob,” one of us geniuses remarked about the embarrassing sojourn. Blame New Year’s Eve champagne.

An illustration of the U.S. blockhouse that
stood on this site at Roper’s Knob.

Thankfully, on this sun-splashed Saturday morning, our party of five Civil War adventurers had a qualified human being — Ben Nance, a 36-year employee of the State of Tennessee Archaeology Department — to guide us about the real Roper’s Knob.

In 1863 atop the 350-foot-high knob, the United States Army constructed a fort, blockhouse, earthworks, magazine, signal station, rifle pits and more. Four cannon protected the stronghold, which a New York Herald correspondent called "impregnable" in the summer of 1863. The Confederates (smartly) never attacked Roper's Knob.

“Five thousand men worked in shifts to construct it,” Nance explained to us trampers. Roper’s Knob is one of those “hidden” Middle Tennessee Civil War gems we history aficionados relish exploring.

On our way up the steep, osage orange-strewn trail to the summit, Nance took us to the remains deep in the woods of a circa-1829 stone house where mid-30ish Agnes Roper hanged herself in 1840. A 22nd Wisconsin chaplain referenced Agnes' hanging in a letter published in a Wisconsin newspaper in the summer of 1863, although he probably was mistaken about the location of the tragedy.

Remains of house where
Agnes Roper lived.

"One of our fortifications occupies a spot, according to [a] report, [that] was previously rendered historic," Caleb Dudley Pillsbury wrote in a letter published in The Racine (Wis.) Advocate on July 8, 1863. "It is called 'Roper's Knob' and rises very abruptly to a hight [sic] of no less than two hundred feet, in the midst of a valley some six miles in diameter. On the summit there is still standing a large peach tree, now well laden with ripening fruit, on which, Mrs. Roper committed suicide by hanging herself.   

"This knob seems to have been planted here in view of this unholy rebellion for the purpose of commanding this valley; and the Rebs will find that it produces fruit of a more solid character than peaches should they venture too near. The view of the surrounding country from the summit of this knob is most beautiful, and [a] more desirable location for a camp in these sweltering days could hardly be found."

Closer to the summit, Nance showed us the trace of the road the Union Army used to haul cannons, ordnance, supplies and more to the summit. But what really piqued my interest was the tale about Roper’s Knob "Rebel gold."

Ben Nance of the State of Tennessee Archaeology Department inspects a stone outcropping for carvings.

ABOVE AND BELOW: Carvings on an outcropping at Roper’s Knob.

“Have you ever seen strange symbols carved in the rocks on Roper’s Knob?” a caller asked Nance years ago.

Knob visitors have carved their names on rock outcroppings between the fort and surrounding rifle pits, but Nance has never spied “strange symbols” that the caller said represented the Order of the Golden Circle. According to the man, that secret organization supposedly hid Confederate gold, silver, weapons and other valuables in a secret chamber on the knob. Outlaws Frank and Jesse James are said to have had a role in stashing the treasure. 

My gawd, Mrs. B and I are going to skip watching football on fall weekends and spend much more time exploring Roper’s Knob.

Another carving on Roper's Knob.

While my thoughts drifted to launching my 250-gram drone, Nance pointed out at the summit the locations of the blockhouse — it was manned by 60 soldiers — and depressions in the ground for the fort cisterns. Years ago, he and his archaeology team unearthed a friction primer wire for a cannon, a flashlight and Thermos at the sites. Over the years, relic hunters have unearthed scores of artifacts on the knob. (Illegal now!)

“I’d love to get ground penetrating radar up here,” Nance said.

Heck, I’d love to find a map for that Rebel “treasure.”

Now who has a contact at the Order of the Golden Circle?

Earthworks on Roper’s Knob.

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SOURCES

• New York Daily Herald, June 12, 1863
• The Racine (Wis.) Advocate, July 8, 1863

A Tennessee adventure: 'I think we're on the wrong knob'

From left: Civil War adventurers Taylor Agan, Jack Richards and John Banks.

A cropped enlargement of a wartime map shows Roper's Knob, the "fake" knob, the location
of U.S. Army troops and more. (Boyd Family Papers | Bancroft Library
| University of California-Berkeley)

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It’s only Day 1 of a new year, but my psyche has already suffered severe—and perhaps irreparable—damage.

Days ago, my Civil War adventurer pal Jack—who once hypnotized me at Fort Granger early one morning—suggested we climb Roper’s Knob, site of a U.S. Army signal station and blockhouse north of Franklin, Tenn.

Beer can, probably post-war.

“Heck, yes,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

I had hoped to bring Mrs. B, but she nixed that idea during a conversation remarkable for its brevity.

“Do you want to go to Roper’s Knob on New Year’s morning?”

“No.” 

So Jack invited our young friend Taylor, who has, like, 250 direct Civil War ancestors.

After a great breakfast—Taylor paid, so it tasted much better than a regular breakfast—we assaulted “Roper’s Knob,” passing old lawn chairs, climbing over an ancient farm wall, eluding barbed wire and plowing through nasty Osage branches.

After our arrival at the summit of “Roper’s Knob,” two members of our party came to a sad realization: “I think we're on the wrong knob.”

The real Roper’s Knob—much higher and steeper than the “fake” one—appeared in the near distance.

So we climbed the real Roper’s Knob—my ACLs shall weep for days—and discovered remains of a parapet, the possible remains of a cistern, one Budweiser beer can and a steel cable for who-knows-what.

In 1863, 50-some U.S. Army soldiers manned the blockhouse at the summit. In all, roughly 325 Union soldiers served up on the knob. What an adventure.

—— 

For more stories like this, read my book, A Civil War Road Trip Of A Lifetime, coming late-spring 2023. 🙏 Let’s keep history alive. 👊

Remains of a parapet at the summit.

Jack Richards and Taylor Again hold a steel cable discovered at the summit.

A close-up of the cable, perhaps used for logging.

The descent. Gulp.

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