Old Wagoners continued—John Deets—His story told by himself—David Church—John Snider loads up with Butter—Billy Ashton, John Bradfield, Frank Bradfield—An Escapade—William Hall, Henry Puffenberger and Jacob Breakiron—Collision between a “regular” and a “sharpshooter”—Joseph Lawson, Jeff. Manypenny, Joseph Arnold, The Sophers, Robert Beggs, Thomas Gore, and John Whetsel.

John Deets was a wagoner on the road as early as 1826, before the invention of the rubber, or at least before its application to wagons on the National Road. He had a brother, Michael, who preceded him as a wagoner on the road. John Deets located in Guernsey county, Ohio, in 1835, whence he went from Menallen township, Fayette county, Pa. He is still living. The following from his own pen furnishes a graphic account of life on the road in his day:

Mr. Searight: I will try to give you as much information as I can at this time. My brother, Michael Deets, about four years older than myself, was among the first that wagoned on the pike. That was about the year 1822. He first drove his father’s team, and the first load of goods he hauled from Baltimore was to Uniontown for Isaac Beeson or Isaac Skiles, I am not certain which. After that he drove for Abram Beagle, who lived in the west end of Uniontown. After that he bought a team, and a few years after bought two more, so that he owned three teams at one time. He drove one of the teams himself and hired drivers for the other two. The team he drove himself was a bell team. One of his drivers was George Richards, and the other, Jesse Barnet, a colored man, who lived in the east end of Uniontown. When they took up the old bed of the road, and macadamized it, my brother took a contract and put his teams to hauling stones. After finishing his contract, he resumed the hauling of merchandise on the road and continued until about 1837, when he moved to Ohio, thence to Illinois, and thence to Missouri, where he died.

The pike boys had some hard times and they had some good times. They were generally very fond of sport, and mostly tried to put up where the landlord was a fiddler, so that they could take a hoe-down. Every one carried his own bed, and after they had all the sport they wanted they put their beds down on the floor in a circle, with their feet to the fire, and slept like a mouse in a mill. They were generally very sociable and friendly with each other, but I must note one thing just here: Two of the boys met at David Barnett’s, some three miles east of Hancock, and got into a dispute, which was not often the case. Elias Meek and Abner Benley were the two. Meek was for fight, Benley was for peace. But Meek pushed on Benley and Benley run, but Meek caught him. Then Benley knew he had to fight, and turned on Meek and gave him a wonderful thrashing, so that he was not able to drive his team for some time. And now with regard to getting up and down the hills. They had no trouble to get up, but the trouble was in getting down, for they had no rubbers then, and to tight lock would soon wear out their tires. They would cut a small pole about 10 or 11 feet long and tie it to the bed with the lock chain and then bend it against the hind wheel and tie it to the feed trough, or the hind part of the wagon bed, just tight enough to let the wheel turn slow. Sometimes one driver would wear out from 15 to 20 poles between Baltimore and Wheeling. Sometimes others would cut down a big tree and tie it to the hind end of the wagon and drop it at the foot of the hill. When there was ice, and there was much of it in winter, they had to use rough locks and cutters, and the wagon would sometimes be straight across the road, if not the hind end foremost. The snow was sometimes so deep that they had to go through fields, and shovel the drifts from the fences, and often had to get sleds to take their loads across Nigger Mountain, and on as far as Hopwood. Those of us who had to go through the fields were three days going nine miles. This was in the neighborhood of Frostburg, Md. There were no bridges then across the Monongahela or the Ohio rivers. Wagoners had to ferry across in small flat-boats, and sometimes to lay at the rivers for some days, until the ice would run out or the river freeze over. A small bridge across Dunlap’s creek, at Brownsville, broke down with one of the pike boys and did a great deal of damage. Sometimes a barrel of coffee would spring a leak and the coffee would be scattered along the road, and women would gather it up and be glad for such a prize. The writer has scattered some in his time. Some of the old citizens of Uniontown, no doubt, well remember the time, when scores of poor slaves were driven through that place, handcuffed and tied two and two to a rope that was extended some 40 or 50 feet, one on each side. And thousands of droves of hogs were driven through to Baltimore, some from Ohio. Sometimes they would have to lay by two or three days on account of the frozen road, which cut their feet and lamed them. While the writer was wagoning on the old pike, the canal was made from Cumberland to Harper’s Ferry. The pike boys were bitterly opposed to railroads and so were the tavern keepers. The writer heard an old tavern keeper say “he wished the railroad would sink to the lower regions.” That great phenomenon that occurred the 13th of November, 1833, or, as it is often called, the Shooting stars. That circumstance caused a great deal of excitement. Some became very much alarmed, and it was reported that some went crazy, and thought the world was coming to an end. The writer was at Hopwood that night with his team and wagon. The phenomenon was also seen in Ohio. It was reported in Ohio that there was a box of money hid on the old Gaddis farm, near the pike, about two miles west of Uniontown, supposed to have been hid there by Gen. Braddock. It was sought for but never found. The taverns we mostly put up at in Baltimore were the Maypole, on Paca street, south of Gen. Wayne, and at Thomas Elliott’s, near the Hill market; and where we mostly loaded our goods was at J. Taylor & Sons and at Chauncey Brook’s, on Baltimore and Howard streets. Our first day’s drive out of Baltimore was 19 miles, to Enoch Randall’s, or 20, to John Whalon’s. The second day to Frank Wathers—who could almost outswear the world. And one thing more: Before this writer became a pike boy he plowed many a day with a wooden mold-board plow, and after being engaged on the road for about ten years, he left the road and went to Ohio, and then made a public profession of religion and united with the Baptist church. In conclusion, will say to make as good a history as you possibly can, and I hope you shall be well rewarded for your labor, and above all never forget your Creator, as in Him we live, move and have our being.

David Church was an old wagoner, a native of Wheeling, and when the old pike ceased to ring with the clatter of travel and trade, he purchased a farm in Wharton township, near Farmington, Fayette county, Pa., took up his residence thereon, and died a mountain farmer. He was a large, fat man, of ruddy complexion and reddish hair. The leader in his team was of a dun color, and as it approached the old taverns and the big water-troughs, was recognized as the team of David Church by the color of the leader. Charley Rush often invited Church to take a chair and be seated when he visited the store at Farmington, but he invariably declined, remarking that he could rest as well standing as sitting. He felt like nearly all the old wagoners, that his occupation was gone when transportation ceased on the old road, and could never fully adapt himself to the new order of things.

In the year 1842 John Snider hauled a load of butter from Wheeling to Washington, D. C. The owner of this butter was a man by the name of Oyster, a butter dealer of Wheeling. He could have shipped his butter from Cumberland to its destination by rail, as the Baltimore & Ohio road had just then been finished to Cumberland; but his animosity against railroads was so deep-seated that he engaged Snider to haul it all the way through with his big team. On his way to Washington with this load he struck off from the National Road at Frederick City, Maryland. He reached that city on Christmas night and “put up” at Miller’s tavern. The guests of that old tavern danced all of that night, and early in the morning of the day after Christmas, Snider “pulled out” on a strange road for the city of Washington with his load of butter. He was three days on a mud road between Frederick and Washington, but, nevertheless, delivered his butter in “good condition” to the consignee. This butter was bought up in small quantities in the vicinity of Wheeling for ten cents per pound, and Snider got two dollars and fifty cents per hundred pounds for hauling it to Washington.

William Ashton, a well-known old wagoner, was an Englishman by birth. He was also an old tavern keeper. He was noted for his mental vivacity, and for his achievements as an athlete. At Petersburg he once bounded over the top of one of the big road wagons with the aid of a long pole. He kept a tavern at Funkstown, seventy miles west of Baltimore, and was largely patronized by wagoners. While keeping tavern he had two teams on the road in charge of hired drivers. This was as early as 1835. His drivers were Samuel Kelly and William Jones, and they hauled goods from Hagerstown, Maryland (then the terminus of the railroad), to Terre Haute, Indiana, and to Springfield, Illinois, involving a trip of four months duration, and the compensation was six dollars per hundred pounds.

John Bradfield was one of the most prominent old wagoners on the road. He was the general agent of the first transportation company on the road. He was also a tavern keeper. He kept the brick house west of, and a short distance from, Petersburg, and owned it. He was a native of Virginia.

Frank Bradfield, son of John, before mentioned, was also a wagoner. Fifty years ago, when but a boy, he drove one of his father’s teams to Baltimore, “pulled up” on the wagon yard of the old Maypole tavern, in that city, attended to his team, remained over night, and the next day mysteriously disappeared. Search was instituted, but he could not be found. He had enlisted as a soldier in the regular army. His friends thought he was dead. He served through the Mexican war, and yet his relatives knew not of his existence. When that war was over he stepped one morning from a steamboat to the wharf at Brownsville. Nobody recognized him. He took a seat in a coach at Brownsville, and in a few hours thereafter entered his father’s house, near Petersburg. He called for supper and lodging, and the person he addressed was his father, who did not recognize him, and to whom he did not make himself known. Supper was announced, and his father showed him to the dining room and withdrew. His mother, who was attending at the table, immediately after he was seated, recognized him, and fell fainting in his arms, and there was joy in that household, although inaugurated by a great shock. Frank Bradfield subsequently became a clerk in the Adams Express Company, and entered the Pittsburg office when it was first established in that city, and remained in its service until his death, a few years ago. He has a brother at this time in the office of the Adams Express Company at Pittsburg, where he has been employed for many years, and esteemed as a faithful and efficient clerk.

William Hall was a fine specimen of the old wagoner in the palmy days of the road—a regular of regulars, zealous in his calling, and jealous of his rights. Robert Bell, the quaint old wagoner before referred to, was his uncle and his friend, who, it is said, rendered him substantial aid in securing a foothold on the great National highway. There was a certain kind of esprit de corps among the old regular wagoners, and William Hall possessed it in a high degree. He was well attired, and clean in person and conversation. He was born in Adams county, Pennsylvania, and his first appearance on the road was in the year 1838. He was a great admirer of Thomas Corwin, and was in Ohio with his team on the day that old-time statesman and orator was chosen Governor, a circumstance he frequently referred to in after years with feelings of pride and pleasure. He married a daughter of Aaron Wyatt, and granddaughter of Major Paul, old tavern keepers, and this formed a silken cord that bound him to the destinies of the old pike. In the declining years of the road he became a stage proprietor, and in conjunction with Redding Bunting (not a stranger to these pages), operated a line of coaches between Cumberland and Washington, Pennsylvania. This line had nothing of the whirl and dash of the older lines of coaches. When wagons and stages ceased to enliven the road, William Hall located in Cumberland, and is living there at this time, one of the leading citizens of that place. Soon after he cast his lot in Cumberland he was appointed Superintendent of the Maryland Division of the road by Governor Hicks, and served in that office for a number of years previous to the late war. He had a brother, Robert, who was also an old wagoner, and subsequently, and for several years, a postal clerk on the Baltimore & Ohio railroad between Cumberland and Pittsburg.

Henry Puffenberger, a “regular,” given to blustering, but not a vicious man, and Jacob Breakiron, a “sharpshooter” and a fat man, met one day on the road and indulged in a wrangle about the right of way. Strings of fresh broken stone on either side of the road, as was often the case, left but a narrow passage where the meeting occurred, and this led to the difficulty. “Old Puff,” as he was called, demanded of Breakiron, with an air of authority, that he should “turn out.” Breakiron declined to obey, and showed a determined spirit of resistance. After an exchange of angry words Puffenberger inquired of Breakiron his name, and he answered, “my name is Breakiron.” “That,” said Puffenberger, “is a hard name, but you look harder than your name.” “I am as hard as my name,” said Breakiron, “and what is your name?” “Puffenberger,” was the reply. “That,” said Breakiron, “is a windy name.” “Yes,” rejoined Puffenberger, “but there is thunder with it.” After this explosion of wit the contestants compromised, shook hands, and passed without colliding. Puffenberger was a Maryland man, became a Confederate soldier, and was killed in battle. Breakiron was a farmer of Georges township, Fayette county, Pennsylvania, and died on his farm a number of years ago.

Turner Brown, brother of Henry, famous for the big loads he hauled, was an old wagoner. After a number of years’ experience as a wagoner he moved to Ohio and settled in Guernsey county, where he became wealthy and was elevated to the office of Probate Judge. Persons who remember him say he was “pompous” in manner, but honest in his dealings. He was a native of Fayette county, Pa., born and reared in the vicinity of Brownsville, and of the family of Browns prominently identified with the National Road in its early days. He had a number of sons, three of whom—Samuel, Turner and Levi—were Union soldiers in the late war. Another, Thomas, published for a time The Ohio Farmer, at Cleveland; and another, William, took to theology, and is engaged in missionary work in some remote quarter of the globe.

Joseph Lawson was, like his fellow teamster, John Galwix, considered a fancy wagoner. He took pride in his calling, and his team consisted of six stallions, well mated and of gigantic size. The gears he used were the very best of the John Morrow pattern, and his “outfit” attracted attention and evoked words of praise from the throngs that lined the road in that day. There was a regulation tread and an air about the old wagoner, especially of the regular line, that rose almost, if not altogether, to the standard of dignity.

Jeff. Manypenny was an old wagoner, and a son of the old tavern keeper of Uniontown, referred to in a subsequent chapter.

Joseph Arnold is said to have hauled the first “eighty hundred load” ever hauled on the road, and it gave him great fame. It was in 1837.

Joseph Sopher tried the experiment of using nine horses in his team, driven three abreast. It did not prove practicable or profitable, and he soon abandoned it and returned to the ordinary six-horse team. There were four Sophers on the road and they were brothers, viz: Joseph, Nimrod, Jack and William, and they were stage drivers as well as wagoners.

Robert Beggs, an old wagoner, prosecuted Jacob Probasco for perjury. The prosecution grew out of an affidavit made by Probasco alleging that Beggs, who was indebted to him, was about to remove his goods from the State with intent to defraud his creditors. This prosecution gave Probasco much trouble and involved him in considerable expense, and is said to have been the cause of his removal from Fayette county, Pennsylvania.

Thomas Gore was one of the first wagoners on the road, and a regular. He lived in Hopwood when that village was known as Woodstock. He drove a “bell team,” and owned it. He was well known all along the road, but it is so long ago that but few of the pike boys of this day remember him. He gave up wagoning long before business ceased on the road, and settled in Franklin township, Fayette county, Pennsylvania, where he died thirty years ago. Robinson Addis, a well known and much esteemed citizen of Dunbar township, Fayette county, Pennsylvania, married a daughter of Thomas Gore; and a grandson of the old wagoner, bearing the name Thomas Gore Addis, is one of the trusted and trustworthy superintendents of the H. Clay Frick Coke Company, with headquarters at Brownfield Station, on the Southwest Railway.

John Whetzel, called “Johnny,” a regular old wagoner, was small in stature, quiet in disposition, and of swarthy complexion. He talked but little, rarely using a word beyond the size of a monosyllable, and was well known and highly esteemed all along the road. When the career of the road as a great National highway ended, “Johnny” Whetzel retired to a farm in Saltlick township, Fayette county, Pennsylvania, where he still lives, bending under the weight of many years, but enjoying the confidence and respect of all his neighbors.