Dumb Ike—Reminiscences of Uniontown—Isaac Johnson—Squire Hagan—A Musician Astride of a Hog—Anecdote of Judges Black and Williams—Morgan Miller, an Old Tavern Keeper—Philip Krishbaum, an Old Stone Cutter—Crazy Billy—Highway Robbery—Slaves Struggling for Liberty—William Willey, an old Friend of the Slaves—Unsuccessful Attempts at Suicide by an old Postmaster and an old Drover—Tom Marshall, of Kentucky, appears on the Road and amuses the boys.

The National Road had its variety, as all the ways of life have, and this variety added spice to it, and gave it much if not all of its flavor. There were high types, and low types, and queer types of life on the road. Every section of the road had its noted character. There was Marion Smith (Logan), who made his headquarters, for the most part, at Searights, but a familiar figure all along the line between Uniontown and Brownsville. He stood ever ready to fetch the gear pole and insert it between the spokes of the hind wheels of the big wagon, the moment it was driven upon the yard at the old tavern in the evening, to rest for the night. He was likewise prompt in carrying the hay and grain to feed the big six horses that stood with their heads to the long, strong trough supported by the wagon tongue, and when this little job was done, his compensation was replete, and his topmost ambition realized in the big drink he took with the driver at the bar. And Logan was further noted as an imitator of the rooster, and gave many a long, loud crow over Democratic victories in the olden time. Bill Hickman will be readily recalled by the reader who is familiar with the history and traditions of the road, as an eccentric character. He gravitated between Chalk Hill and Jockey Hollow, and Billy Brubaker afforded amusement for the men of the road near Brownsville. It would scarcely be doing justice to the nomenclature of the old road, without writing this name “Bluebaker.” There were many others of this class, but time and space will not permit a reference to them, and besides, this sketch is devoted especially to “Dumb Ike.” His name was Isaac Griffin, or Toner, and he belonged to the queer type in the above enumeration. He was not in fact dumb, but everybody called him “Dumb Ike.” He was opaque and bright by turns. Dr. Hugh Campbell once asked him why they called him dumb, and he said “he didn’t know, unless because they were dumb themselves.”

Isaac was born and reared in Springhill township, Fayette county, Pennsylvania. The sound of the glories of the old pike reached his ears at his rural home, and he resolved to cast his lot upon it. It was previous to the year 1840 that he made his appearance in Uniontown, and for the first time beheld the National Road. When he shook the dust of Springhill from his feet, it was with a high resolve to never engage in hard labor, a resolution he never thereafter broke. His ambition was to become a stage driver and it was irrepressible. He reached his goal. He obtained employment as a driver on one of the stage lines and approved himself a good one. Not given to absolute steadiness of habit, his employment was not continuous, but he was held in reserve, as it were, to take the place of regular drivers in cases of accident or emergency. He could handle the reins and crack the whip equal to the best of drivers, and took good care of his team. He not only drove stage but was a driver on the express line, and perched on the high front seat of an express wagon, drawing the reins over four stout horses, was the personification of a proud and happy man. A little incident in the old National House on Morgantown street, when that popular old hostelry was kept by the kind-hearted and gentle Joshua Marsh, goes to illustrate the eccentric ways of Isaac. It was in the bar room. Samuel McDonald, a prominent citizen of the town, had occasion to call there, and among those in the room at the time was “Dumb Ike,” with whom McDonald was well acquainted, as was every other citizen. McDonald invited Isaac to take a drink, a proposition quite agreeable to him, and which he promptly accepted. Standing at the bar with glass in hand, well filled, Isaac felt it a duty to compliment his entertainer, and said: “McDonald, I respect you,” and hesitating, continued, “and probably I am the only man in town that does.” Isaac intended to be complimentary, and McDonald knowing this, joined in the loud laughter of the bystanders over Isaac’s bull.

During the prevalence of Asiatic cholera in Uniontown in 1850, some one was speaking to Isaac in reference to the fatality of the epidemic, and was much astounded to hear Isaac say it was not cholera. “What then is it?” queried the other party. “It is death,” retorted Isaac. When Isaac wished to express indignation against a person he thought was putting on airs, he called him “The Great Nates,” and of conceited persons he said they were “great in their own estimashing.” The writer has in his possession a boot jack made and given to him by “Dumb Ike” in 1852. It is a clumsy specimen of mechanism, but prized on account of the maker and donor. Isaac’s patriotism was accelerated by a drink, and often under its influence he exclaimed with emphasis of voice and violent gesticulation of his right arm, “I am going to the District of Columbia to see the Goddess of Liberty.” When the war against the South assumed the shape of open and active hostilities, “Dumb Ike” volunteered as a soldier, and proudly marched to the front under the flag of the stars and stripes. He was assigned to duty in the transportation service, for which his experience eminently fitted him, and he died in the faithful discharge of duty, and was buried where he died, near the capitol of the Republic beneath the shadow of the Goddess of Liberty, at whose shrine he was a devoted worshipper. At his death a small sum of money was on deposit to his credit in the old bank of Fayette county, which was absorbed by claims for nursing and other services in his last illness. He left neither widow or heirs to survive him. His administrator was Nathaniel Brownfield, his old friend of the Swan tavern in Uniontown, where he made his headquarters for many years, and where he was living when he enlisted as a soldier. There were worse men and better men than “Dumb Ike,” but no one who knew him will begrudge a good, kind word for his memory.

Isaac Johnson, a former well known and respected citizen, who died at his residence near Uniontown a number of years since, had occasion to visit the East in the year 1833, and on his return home walked the entire distance from Baltimore over the National Road. His mission carried him as far east as New Castle, Delaware, and from that point to Frenchtown he rode on the first passenger cars propelled by steam in the United States. He was a native of Greene county, Pennsylvania, and the father of David D. Johnson, of Fayette Springs, who was Commissioner of the road during the administration of Governor Beaver.

Squire Hagan, who died in Uniontown a few years ago, much lamented, father of Miss Maggie, the popular clerk in the Uniontown postoffice, was a “Green Mountain Boy,” born in Vermont, near Montpelier, the capital of that State. The fame of the old National Road was carried on the wings of the wind to the snow-capped hills of his native land, and he yearned for a share of its glories. His first appearance on the road was at Somerfield, where, in the year 1834, he owned and conducted a general store. The leading trait in the character of Squire Hagan was amiability, and the trend of his mind was toward philosophy. He was widely known along the line of the road, and highly respected.

William Hunsucker was a hog drover from Greene county, Pennsylvania, and the boys called him “Suboy Bill.” Upon being asked who owned the hogs he was driving, and where they came from, he replied in words that jingled thus:

It is said that Joe Williams, a wit, musician, comedian, lawyer, and in his riper years Chief Justice of the Territorial Court of Iowa, once straddled a big black hog in a drove, and rode it through the main street of Uniontown, playing a clarionet. Judge Williams was born in Somerset county, Pennsylvania, and was a brother of Mrs. William Murphy, who lives near Uniontown. Hon. Jeremiah S. Black, of national fame, and Joe Williams were cronies in their boyhood days. Williams visited New York after he became Chief Justice, and it happened that Judge Black was in that city at the same time. A morning paper stated that Judge Black was a guest at the Astor House, and this falling under the eye of Williams, he proceeded hastily to the hotel to see his old friend. He walked into his room, to discover that he was out, and seeing writing material on the table, indited the following lines, which he left in the room for Judge Black’s perusal, on his return:

“The salutations of the Chief Justice of Iowa, to the Chief Justice of Pennsylvania:

Morgan Miller kept a tavern on Morgantown street, Uniontown, as early as 1830, and probably before that time. His house was a dingy frame structure, painted red, which time and storm made a dead red. The location was on the hill near the old Baptist church, in that day called “Prospect Hill.” At this old tavern many persons of the neighborhood were accustomed to spend their evenings in drinking and gossipping. Among its patrons were Philip Krishbaum, a stone cutter, and Abram Brown, a farmer. Krishbaum had some aptitude in making rhymes, a talent he found useful in his business of chiseling tomb-stones. After spending an hour or two, one evening, in alternate drinking and gossipping with his friend Brown, he rose from his chair and remarked that he must take a drink and go, as he had to finish some lettering on a tomb-stone. “Stay awhile,” said Brown, “and write an epitaph for my tomb-stone, and I will treat.” “Agreed,” said Krishbaum, who, taking up a pen, wrote this:

Brown paid for the drinks. Seeing that Krishbaum had made a success of the Brown epitaph, Miller, the landlord, requested him to write one for his tomb-stone, which he did, as follows:

The well known character brought to mind by the name of “Crazy Billy,” was at no time in his strange life engaged in any pursuit connected with the National Road, but his long stay at Uniontown, covering a period of fifty years and more, entitles him to a place in this history. He was well known to many of the stage drivers, wagoners and tavern keepers of the road, and to every man, woman and child in Uniontown. His name was William Stanford, and he was horn in England. It was evident that he had been well bred, and had received some education. He was often heard quoting from the liturgy of the Church of England. He was brought to Uniontown about the year 1829, and closely confined in the county jail. His first appearance in Fayette county was in Springhill township, whither he wandered without any apparent object, and no one knew whence he came. On a certain day of the year above mentioned, he was discovered alone in the house of one Crow, in the said township of Springhill. The Crow family had all been absent during the day, and upon their return in the evening were surprised to find an occupant within, and the doors and windows securely fastened. After reconnoitering the premises the family discovered that it was the manifest intention of the strange intruder to “hold the fort.” In this state of the case Mr. Crow proceeded to a neighboring justice of the peace, made complaint, and obtained a warrant, which was placed in the hands of the township constable, who with the aid of the local posse comitatus hastily summoned, entered the beleagured dwelling, arrested the intruder, took him to Uniontown, and lodged him in the county jail, in and around which he remained from that time until the date of his death, which occurred on the 26th day of January, 1883. Soon after his incarceration one John Updergraff was committed to the jail for disorderly conduct on the streets, and after the keys had been turned, “Billy” fell upon the new prisoner, and killed him outright. He was indicted and tried for murder, but acquitted on the plea of insanity, and remanded to jail. Henceforth, and to the time hereafter mentioned, he was heavily ironed and chained fast to the jail floor. William Snyder was elected sheriff in 1847, and a few months after his induction to the office, his wife, who was a good and discerning woman, observed some redeeming qualities in the nature of the chained lunatic, and concluded that it would be wise and safe, as well as humane, to remove his fetters. Accordingly with the aid of her son James, who was a sort of general deputy about the jail and office, she released “Billy” from the chains which had so long bound and chafed him, and permitted him to walk about his dingy cell, untramelled. Gradually he gained the confidence of the sheriff’s family and after a season was permitted to enter the official mansion, and move about at pleasure. He showed an inclination to care for the sheriff’s horses, and was permitted to feed and clean them, exhibiting much skill in this line. About this time, James Snyder having occasion to visit Monroe, told “Billy” that he might go with him if he chose. Pleased with the opportunity, “Billy” placed saddles and bridles on two horses, mounted one himself, and Snyder the other, and off they sped to Monroe. It was an agreeable trip to “Billy”; the first time in many years, that he had enjoyed the privilege of seeing the country and snuffing the pure air of liberty. After this, he rode out frequently with the deputy to various parts of the county; but his mind was never fully restored. He was incoherent, and given to unintelligible mutterings. As time wore on, the people of the town became familiar with “Crazy Billy,” and as before stated everybody knew him. He carried letters, and performed errands for the county officers, for many years, and up to the date of his last illness, and his fidelity was proverbial. Nothing could divert him from the faithful execution of any little mission he undertook. In addition to his constant mutterings before alluded to, he was a habitual scribbler. He entered any of the offices in the court house at pleasure, and invariably sat down and began to scribble. He wrote a fairly good hand, but there was no intelligence in his writing, or rather no connected thought. One of his favorite lines was this: “I am a bold boy in his prime.” He would write this as often as a dozen times a day. Another of his favorite screeds was this:

The garb in which “Billy” from day to day appeared, was of the shabby order, and he paid little heed as a rule to personal cleanliness. His ablutions were periodical, but when he did indulge in them, they were thorough. He had a habit of rubbing his head with both hands, and would sit engaged in this exercise as long as an hour at a time, with great energy. He never would submit to an interview. He talked much, but always on the run. If approached by anyone with a purpose of conversing with him, he invariably walked off muttering in loud tones as he moved away. He wore a full beard, which in his latter years was quite gray. He had a small foot and hand, and many marks of intellectuality. After his death his body lay in state in the court house at Uniontown, and was viewed by thousands. He was buried in Oak Grove Cemetery, near Uniontown, with the rites of the Episcopal Church, under direction of the late lamented Rev. R. S. Smith. A section of one of the stone columns of the old Uniontown court house is made to serve as a monument over his grave. Maj. Jesse B. Gardner of Uniontown, who attended “Billy” in his last illness, gives the following pathetic narration of his closing hours. Until the last ebb, he continued to utter the sonorous and unintelligible mutterings so familiar to those who knew him, but in the final throe, he turned his eyes upon his attendant and exclaimed: “Oh, Gardner, if I could only see my mother!” This was not a lucid interval, in the ordinary meaning of that phrase, but an expiring thought, a final flash of affection, a wonderful testimonial to the sweetest of all names, and a most forcible and striking illustration of the ineffaceable impression made by a mother’s care and love, and all the more, since at no time before, during his long sojourn at Uniontown, was he ever known to have mentioned his mother, or his father. A poor, unfortunate lunatic, separated for more than a half century from the parental roof, a stranger in a strange land, tossed by the billows of a hard fate, and lying down to die, light flashes upon his long distempered mind, and his last and only thought is “MOTHER.”

The year 1823 developed one of the most extraordinary examples of grand larceny that ever occurred on the road, and excited the people all along the line from Baltimore to the farthest point west. During the early spring of the year mentioned a merchant whose name was Abraham Boring, doing business in an Ohio town, took passage in a coach of one of the regular stage lines for Baltimore to purchase a stock of fresh goods. At Tomlinson’s tavern, west of Cumberland, John Keagy and David Crider, merchants, of Salisbury, Somerset county, Pennsylvania, took seats in the same coach that was conveying Boring, destined also for Baltimore, on a like mission. It required considerable time to reach Baltimore, and passengers in a stage coach became acquainted, one with another. The three merchants not only became personally acquainted with each other, during their long stage ride, but formed strong friendly relations. Reaching Baltimore they stopped together at the same hotel and talked over their business, the quality and quantity of goods required by each, forming the leading topic of their conversation. They went out among the wholesale stores of the city and bought the goods they desired, the stock purchased by Mr. Boring being much larger, finer and more varied than the stock bought by the Somerset county merchants. Upon completing his purchases, Mr. Boring’s first thought was to have his goods safely shipped upon the best terms obtainable. Messrs. Keagy and Crider kindly tendered their services to aid him in engaging a trusty wagoner to haul his goods to Ohio, and introduced one Edward Tissue as the right man for that purpose. Tissue was engaged, but one wagon bed would not hold all the goods, and Tissue brought in and introduced another wagoner by the name of Edward Mitchell, who was engaged to haul the remnant that could not be handled by Tissue. Mr. Boring having arranged for the transportation of his goods, said good-bye to his friends Keagy and Crider, and left for his home in Ohio. His goods, not arriving when due, he supposed some accident had caused a delay, and that they would be forthcoming as soon as practicable. But days and weeks passed and Mr. Boring began to feel uneasy about the long delay, and wrote the consignors in Baltimore for an explanation. They replied that the goods had been carefully loaded in the wagons of Tissue and Mitchell, according to the agreement, and they knew nothing of their destiny beyond that. Boring then took to the road to find his goods. He went first to Baltimore and learned that Tissue and Mitchell had left the city with the goods in their wagons, and proceeded westward. He traced them as far as Hagerstown, and at that point lost his clue. He proceeded to Cumberland without tidings of his lost goods. From Cumberland he went on, making inquiry at every tavern and toll gate, until he reached Somerfield, but heard nothing of Tissue or his companion, Mitchell. He put up for the night at a tavern in Somerfield, and while at supper discovered an important clue. The waiting maid at the table wore a tortoise shell comb, resembling very much those in a package he had bought in Baltimore. In polite and delicate terms he inquired of the girl where she obtained so handsome a comb. She replied, “In a store at Salisbury.” In an instant Mr. Boring recalled his fellow merchants and recent fellow travelers, Messrs. Keagy and Crider, of Salisbury, but concluding that they had purchased the same quality of combs in Baltimore, went to bed, with a purpose of continuing his researches along the National Road. During the night he changed his purpose, and in the morning returned to Tomlinson’s tavern, and thence directly to Salisbury. Reaching Salisbury he entered a store, and to his amazement saw upon the counters and shelves various articles, which he recognized as belonging to his stock. Investigation disclosed a remarkable example of criminal conduct. Keagy, Crider, Tissue and Mitchell entered into a conspiracy to steal Boring’s goods. The acquaintance formed in the stage coach constituted the initial point of the scheme, and Keagy and Crider found ready confederates in Tissue and Mitchell. There was of course to be a division of the spoils, but in what proportion never was made public. The wagoners to avoid identification changed the color of their wagon beds, and upon reaching Hagerstown diverged from the National Road and took the country by-ways. The goods were placed at first in a large barn in the vicinity of Salisbury, and thence carried in small lots to the store of Keagy & Co. A portion of the goods consisting of fine china ware, thought to be too expensive for the Salisbury trade, was broken up and buried under ground. There was a third owner of the Salisbury store by the name of Markley, who did not accompany his partners on their tour to raise stock. Boring, after thoroughly satisfying himself that he had found his goods, proceeded to Somerset and swore out a warrant against the parties accused. The warrant was placed for execution in the hands of —— Philson, the sheriff of Somerset county. Keagy was first arrested and promptly gave bail for trial, but goaded by the weight of his offense, soon thereafter committed suicide. Tissue fled the jurisdiction and was never apprehended. Crider also fled and located in some of the wilds of that early day in the State of Ohio, where he married and raised a family, and, it is said, has living descendants to this day. Markley essayed to flee, but made a failure of it. Giving out the impression that he had followed in the wake of Tissue and Crider, he concealed himself in the woods not far from Salisbury, and was supplied with food by a devoted wife. One Sloan, however, happened to fall upon his hiding place and he was arrested. Markley owed Sloan a sum of money and proposed to settle if Sloan would release him from custody. To this Sloan assented. Markley had no ready money, but owned property and proffered his note, which Sloan agreed to accept. But no means were at hand to prepare a note. After canvassing the situation for a while a pen was made from a stick of wood, ink obtained from stump water, and Sloan producing a scrap of paper, a note was prepared and duly signed by Markley for the sum he owed Sloan, and the money subsequently paid by Markley’s wife. Sloan promised Markley that he would not make known his hiding place, but it leaked out and he was arrested by the sheriff. He requested permission of the sheriff to go to his house to change his clothes, which was granted him, and taking advantage of the sheriff’s indulgence, fled to parts unknown. His wife rejoined him in after years at some point in the West.

Mention was hereinbefore made of the tragical death of Atwell Holland, killed by a fugitive slave on the 4th of July, 1845, at an old tavern in the mountain. In this connection it is proper to state, that fugitive slaves were frequently captured on the National Road, and returned to their masters. Capt. Thomas Endsley, an old tavern keeper, mentioned elsewhere, once had a terrible conflict with three powerful fugitive slaves, at his barn near Somerfield. Without assistance and against most determined resistance, he succeeded in capturing two of them and returning them to their owner or master. The third escaped and became a free man. Capt. Endsley was himself a slave owner as before stated. He owned and used slaves when he lived at Frostburg, and also during his incumbency as landlord at the old Tomlinson tavern, and brought eight with him when he located at Somerfield in 1824. Like all other old slave owners, he thought there was no wrong in owning slaves and considered it a conscientious duty to aid in capturing and returning fugitives. His sons, however, probably from witnessing the struggles of the slaves to gain their freedom against the efforts of their father, all grew up to be abolitionists, and abide in the anti-slavery faith to this day.

One of the most untiring and devoted friends of escaping slaves, was William Willey of Somerfield. He was a shoemaker without means, yet it is said that he secreted, fed and otherwise aided more fugitive slaves than any other man on the National Road. He is known to have harbored as many as eight and ten in a single night, in his lowly tenement. He was a native of Baltimore, and reared a Democrat. Those of his friends who survive him regard him as a philanthropist, worthy of a granite monument. The wife of William E. Beall, the well known manager of the Uniontown steel mill, a most excellent lady, is a daughter of William Willey, the old friend of the escaping slaves.

In the year 1829 the postoffice at Somerfield was in the brick house, on the south side of the street, known as the Irvin house. John Blocher was postmaster. The old line of coaches, carrying the mail, stopped at the Endsley House. It was customary for the driver after reaching the tavern to carry the way mail pouch on his shoulders to the postoffice. One evening Charley Kemp drove the mail coach in from the west, and upon going to the office with the mail, found the door locked, and was unable, after repeated efforts, to gain admittance. Going around to a window, he looked through the glass into the office, and was horrified by seeing Blocher, the postmaster, lying on the floor, weltering in blood, and forcing his way into the room discovered that his throat was cut. Dr. Frey was summoned, and applied agencies first to arrest the flow of blood, and then sewed up the gash, and to the surprise of all, the man recovered and lived for many years thereafter.

In 1834 John Waters, a cattle drover of Ohio, fell sick at Frazer’s tavern, in Somerfield, and languished for many weeks. His mind becoming affected by reason of his severe bodily suffering, he rose from his bed one evening when alone, opened his pocketbook and tore into small fragments a number of good bank notes of the aggregate value of $800. He then deliberately cut his throat. When discovered he was lying on his back on the floor, and small pieces of bank notes were seen floating in blood all around his body. Dr. Frey was summoned on this occasion also, and under his treatment the much dejected old drover was restored, and afterward took many droves of cattle over the road to Baltimore. The fragments of notes were gathered up, carefully cleaned, dried and fitted together with mucilage, so that the loss of money was inconsiderable.

Some time during the year 1840 or ’41 a rather tall and cadaverous looking individual, presenting the appearance of a man on a protracted spree, was observed coming down the hill into Somerfield from the east, walking and leading a beautiful bay horse, equipped with a handsome saddle and bridle. The quaint looking and quaint moving stranger halted to converse with a cluster of boys, who were sitting on the pavement in front of Endsley’s tavern, near the stone bridge at the Big Crossings. He told the boys so many amusing stories, that they reckoned him to be the clown of a coming circus. That man was Tom Marshall, one of the brightest of Kentucky’s many bright sons, a brilliant lawyer, orator and statesman, who carried off the palm in every intellectual combat he ever engaged in save one, and that was when he locked horns with Henry Clay. The horse led by Marshall was a favorite animal which he kept and used in Washington, while attending the sittings of Congress. He frequently passed over the road in the manner described, and often tarried several days and nights in Uniontown. Many of the surviving pike boys remember Marshall with distinctness.