Stage Drivers, Stage Lines and Stage Coaches—The Postilion—Changing Horses—He comes, the Herald of a Noisy World—Pioneer Proprietors—Peter Burdine and his Little Rhyme—Anecdote of Thomas Corwin—Johny Ritter—Daniel Brown, his sad Ending—Soldier Drivers—Redding Bunting—Joseph and William Woolley—Andrew J. Wable—James Burr.

“My uncle rested his head upon his hands and thought of the busy bustling people who had rattled about, years before, in the old coaches, and were now as silent and changed; he thought of the numbers of people to whom once, those crazy, mouldering vehicles had borne, night after night, for many years, and through all weathers, the anxiously expected intelligence, the eagerly looked for remittance, the promised assurances of health and safety, the sudden announcement of sickness and death. The merchant, the lover, the wife, the widow, the mother, the school boy, the very child who tottered to the door at the postman’s knock—how had they all looked forward to the arrival of the old coach! And where were they all now?”—Charles Dickens.

Stage drivers as a class did not rank as high morally as wagoners, but despite this there were among them men of good sense, honest intentions and steady habits. As typical of the better class, the reader who is familiar with the old road will readily recall Redding Bunting, Samuel Luman, Elliott Seaburn, Watty Noble, James Carroll, Aquila and Nat Smith, William Scott, David Gordon, James Burr, William Robinson, John Huhn, David Bell, John Guttery, John Ritter, Joseph Henderson and Peter Null. Others will be instantly recognized as their names shall appear on these pages. It is the sincere belief of all old pike boys that the stage lines of the National Road were never equalled in spirit and dash on any road, in any age or country. The chariots of the Appian Way, drawn by the fastest horses of ancient Italy, formed a dismal cortege in comparison with the sprightly procession of stage coaches on the old American highway. The grandeur of the old mail coach is riveted forever in the memory of the pike boy. To see it ascending a long hill, increasing speed, when nearing the summit, then moving rapidly over the intervening level to the top of the next hill, and dashing down it, a driver like the stately Redding Bunting wielding the whip and handling the reins, revealed a scene that will never be forgotten. And there was another feature of the old stage lines that left a lasting mark on memory’s tablet. It was the “Postilion.” A groom with two horses was stationed at the foot of many of the long hills, and added to the ordinary team of four horses to aid in making the ascent. The summit gained, the extra horses were quickly detached and returned to await and aid the next coming coach, and this was the “Postilion.” Nathan Hutton is a well remembered old postilion. He was a tall, spare man, and lived in a small log house on the roadside, a short distance west of the old Johnson tavern, and four and a half miles east of Brownsville. At the foot of the hill below his house, he re-enforced the coaches with his postilion both ways, east and west, up Colley’s hill, going west, and the equally long hill, coming east from that point. When he wanted a man or horse to be faithful to duty he exhorted him to “stand by his ’tarnal integrity.” The old postilion bade adieu to the scenes of earth long ago, and nothing is left to indicate the spot where his lowly dwelling stood except a few perishing quince bushes.

Hanson Willison, of Cumberland, when a boy rode postilion for Samuel Luman, and for Alfred Bailes. John Evans and Jacob Hoblitzell rode postilion through the mountains, east of Keyser’s Ridge. Martin Massey rode out from Brownsville, and Thomas M. Fee, now crier of the courts of Fayette county, Pennsylvania, rode out from Uniontown, over Laurel Hill.

Excitement followed in the wake of the coaches all along the road. Their arrival in the towns was the leading event of each day, and they were so regular in transit that farmers along the road knew the exact hour by their coming, without the aid of watch or clock. They ran night and day alike. Relays of fresh horses were placed at intervals of twelve miles, as nearly as practicable. Ordinarily a driver had charge of one team only, which he drove and cared for. Mail drivers, however, in many instances, drove three or four teams and more, which were cared for by grooms at the stations. Teams were changed almost in the twinkling of an eye. The coach was driven rapidly to the station, where a fresh team stood ready harnessed and waiting on the roadside. The moment the team came to a halt the driver threw down the reins, and almost instantly the incoming team was detached, the fresh one attached, the reins thrown back to the driver, who did not leave his seat, and away again went the coach at full speed, the usual group of loafers, meanwhile, looking on and enjoying the exciting scene. The horses used were showy and superb, the admiration of all who beheld them. Mr. Stockton had a strain called the “Murat,” and another known as the “Winflower,” which have become extinct, but many expert horsemen contend that they have not, in later days, been surpassed for nerve, beauty or speed. A peculiar affliction came upon many of the “wheel horses,” expressed by the phrase “sprung in the knees.” It is said to have been produced by the efforts of the horses in “holding back,” while descending the long and steep hills.

There was one mail coach that was especially imposing. On its gilded sides appeared the picture of a post boy, with flying horse and horn, and beneath it in gilt letters this awe inspiring inscription:

No boy who beheld that old coach will ever forget it. The coaches were all handsomely and artistically painted and ornamented, lined inside with soft silk plush. There were three seats furnished with luxurious cushions, and three persons could sit comfortably on each, so that nine passengers made a full load as far as the interior was concerned. A seat by the side of the driver was more coveted in fair weather than a seat within. During the prosperous era of the road it was not uncommon to see as many as fifteen coaches in continuous procession, and both ways, east and west, there would be thirty each day.

James Kinkead, Jacob Sides and Abraham Russell put on the first line of passenger coaches west of Cumberland, and as early as 1818 John and Andrew Shaffer, Garrett Clark, Aaron Wyatt, Morris Mauler, John Farrell, Quill and Nathan Smith, and Peter Null, were drivers on this line. The Smiths and Null drove in and out from Uniontown. One of the Smiths subsequently became the agent of a stage line in Ohio. James Kinkead, above mentioned, was the senior member of the firm of Kinkead, Beck and Evans, who built most of the large stone bridges on the line of the road. This early line of stages was owned and operated in sections. Kinkead owned the line from Brownsville to Somerfield; Sides, from Somerfield to the Little Crossings, and thence to Cumberland Russell was the proprietor. Kinkead sold his section to George Dawson, of Brownsville, and Alpheus Beall, of Cumberland, bought out Russell’s interest. This line was subsequently purchased by, and merged in, the National Road Stage Company, the principal and most active member of which was Lucius W. Stockton. The other members of this company were Daniel Moore, of Washington, Pennsylvania, Richard Stokes and Moore N. Falls, of Baltimore, and Dr. Howard Kennedy, of Hagerstown, Maryland. After the death of Mr. Stockton, in 1844, Dr. Kennedy and Mr. Acheson were the active members of the firm. John W. Weaver put a line of stages on the road at an early day, known as the People’s Line. After a short run it was withdrawn from the road east of Wheeling, and transferred to the Ohio division. Previous to 1840, James Reeside put on a line which Mr. Stockton nick-named the “June Bug,” for the reason, as he alleged, it would not survive the coming of the June bugs. Mr. Stockton subsequently bought out this line and consolidated it with his own. There was a line of stages on the road called the “Good Intent,” which came to stay, and did stay until driven off by the irresistible force of the Steam King. This line was owned by Shriver, Steele & Company, and was equal in vim, vigor and general equipment to the Stockton line. The headquarters of the Good Intent line at Uniontown was the McClelland house. There passengers took their meals, and the horses were kept in the stables appurtenant. The “old line” (Stockton’s) had its headquarters at the National house, on Morgantown street, now the private residence of that worthy and well known citizen, Thomas Batton. This little bon mot is one among a thousand, illustrative of the spirit of the competition between these rival lines. There was one Peter Burdine, a driver on the Good Intent line, noted for his dashing qualities, who was accustomed to give vent to his fidelity to his employers, and his confidence in himself in these words:

And this became a popular ditty all along the road.

On authority of Hanson Willison, the old stage driver of Cumberland, the first line of stages put on the road east of Cumberland, in opposition to the Stockton line, was owned, from Frederic to Hagerstown, by Hutchinson and Wirt; from Hagerstown to Piney Plains, by William F. Steele; from Piney Plains to Cumberland, by Thomas Shriver.

Thomas Corwin, the famous Ohio statesman and popular orator of the olden time, was not a stage driver, but he was a wagoner, and one of the rallying cries of his friends, in the campaign that resulted in his election as governor, was: “ Hurrah for Tom Corwin, the wagoner boy.” The introduction of his name, in connection with stages and stage drivers, becomes pertinent in view of the following anecdote: Corwin was of very dark complexion, and among strangers, and in his time, when race distinction was more pronounced than now, often taken for a negro. On one occasion, while he was a member of Congress, he passed over the road in a “chartered coach,” in company with Henry Clay, a popular favorite all along the road, and other distinguished gentlemen, en route for the capital. A chartered coach was one belonging to the regular line, but hired for a trip, and controlled by the parties engaging it. The party stopped one day for dinner at an old “stage tavern,” kept by Samuel Cessna, at the foot of “Town Hill,” also known as “Snib Hollow,” twenty-five miles east of Cumberland. Cessna was fond of entertaining guests, and particularly ardent in catering to distinguished travelers. He was, therefore, delighted when this party entered his house. He had seen Mr. Clay before, and knew him. The tall form of Mr. Corwin attracted his attention, and he noted specially his swarthy complexion, heard his traveling companions call him “Tom,” and supposed he was the servant of the party. The first thing after the order for dinner was a suggestion of something to relieve the tedium of travel, and excite the appetite for the anticipated dinner, and it was brandy, genuine old cogniac, which was promptly brought to view by the zealous old landlord. Brandy was the “tony” drink of the old pike—brandy and loaf sugar, and it was often lighted by a taper and burnt, under the influence of a popular tradition that “if burnt brandy couldn’t save a man” in need of physical tension, his case was hopeless. When the brandy was produced, the party, with the exception of Corwin, stepped up to the bar and each took a glass. Corwin, to encourage the illusion of the old landlord, stood back. In a patronizing way the landlord proffered a glass to Corwin, saying: “Tom, you take a drink.” Corwin drank off the glass, and in an humble manner returned it to the landlord with modest thanks. Dinner was next announced, and when the party entered the dining room, a side table was observed for use of the servant, as was the custom at all old taverns on the road at that time. Corwin, at once recognizing the situation, sat down alone at the side table, while the other gentlemen occupied the main table. The dinner was excellent, as all were at the old taverns on the National Road, and while undergoing discussion, Mr. Clay occasionally called out to the lone occupant of the side table: “How are you getting on, Tom?” to which the modest response was, “Very well.” After dinner the old landlord produced a box of fine cigars, and first serving the distinguished guests, took one from the box and in his hand proffered it to Mr. Corwin, with the remark: “Take a cigar, Tom?” When it was announced that the coach was in readiness to proceed on the journey, Mr. Clay took Corwin’s arm, and, approaching the old landlord, said: “Mr. Cessna, permit me to introduce the Hon. Thomas Corwin, of Ohio.” Cessna was thunder-struck. His mortification know no bounds. Observing his mental agony, Mr. Corwin restored him to equanimity by saying: “It was all a joke, Mr. Cessna; do not, I beg you, indulge in the slightest feeling of mortification. I expect to be back this way before long, and will call again to renew acquaintance, and take another good dinner with you.”

John Ritter, affectionately and invariably, by his acquaintances, called “Johnny,” was noted for his honesty and steady habits. For many years after staging ceased on the road, he was a familiar figure about Washington, Pennsylvania. He assisted Major Hammond for thirty years in conducting the Valentine house, and acted as agent for Brimmer’s line of mail hacks, and other similar lines, after the great mail and passenger lines were withdrawn. He was a bachelor, and a soldier of 1812, and drew a small pension. He died at the Valentine house, in Washington, on January 28th, 1879, in the eightieth year of his age, leaving behind him a good name and many friends.

The first line of passenger coaches put on the road between Brownsville and Wheeling was owned, organized and operated by Stephen Hill and Simms and Pemberton. This was in 1818, and a continuation of the early line before mentioned from Cumberland to Brownsville. Stephen Hill, while a stage proprietor, was also a tavern keeper in Hillsboro, Washington county, a small town, but an old town, which probably derived its name from his family. Under the inspiration of modern reformation, so called, the name of this old town has been changed and languishes now under the romantic appellation of Scenery Hill. When it was Hillsboro, and a stage station of the old pike, it was a lively little town. Under its present picturesque name it remains a little town, but not a lively one. The change of name, however, has not yet penetrated the thinned ranks of the old pike boys, and they still refer to it as Hillsboro.

The next station west of Hillsboro, where stage horses were changed, twelve miles distant, was Washington, where passengers also took meals. The Good Intent line stopped at the Mansion house, situate at the upper end of the town, and the “Old Line” stopped at the National, in the lower end. The next changing place west of Washington was Claysville, the next Roneys Point, and thence to Wheeling. About the year 1846 the Good Intent line stopped its coaches, or a portion of them, at the Greene house in Washington, kept by Daniel Brown, who, previous to that date, had, for a time, been a road agent of that line. Of all the good taverns on the road there were none better than Brown’s. He had his peculiarities, as most men have, but he knew how to keep a hotel. He enjoyed the occupation of entertaining guests, and glowed with good feeling while listening to the praises bestowed upon his savory spreads. This popular old landlord came to a sad and untimely end by being cut to pieces in a mill by a buzz saw, on what was once called the plank road, leading from Washington through Monongahela City, West Newton, Mt. Pleasant, Somerset and Bedford to Cumberland. Stages ran on that road, and at the time of the accident, Mr. Brown was in the service of a stage company and at the saw mill to urge forward the work of getting out plank for the road.

David Sibley, an old driver on Stockton’s line, went with the Fayette county “boys in blue” to Mexico in 1847, a member of Co. H, 2d regiment of Pennsylvania volunteers. He participated in the engagement at Cerro Gordo, emerged from that conflict unscathed, but died soon after at Pueblo from ailments incident to an inhospitable climate.

William Whaley, a soldier of the war between the States, and a son of Capt. James Whaley, a soldier of 1812, was an old stage driver. He was born in Connellsville, but spent the prime of his life in Uniontown, and on the road. He used to tell the boys that one of the horses of his team died coming down Laurel Hill, but that he held him up until he reached the McClelland house in Uniontown. Whaley drove for a time on the Morgantown route from Uniontown, and died in the latter place twenty years and more ago.

James Turner, a Somerset county man, an old stage driver, also volunteered as a soldier in the Mexican war, and started out a member of Co. H, above mentioned. In crossing the Gulf he fell down a hatchway of the vessel and was killed, and the mortal remains of the old driver were buried in the deep sea.

James Gordon, a well remembered old stage driver, went with Co. H to Mexico, and died in the capital city of that Republic. He was the father-in-law of Peter Heck, a former postmaster of Uniontown.

Samuel Sibley, probably a brother of David, before mentioned, was a well-known driver. He was small in stature, but alert in movement. It was he who drove the coach that upset on a stone pile in the main street of Uniontown with Henry Clay as a passenger, the details of which have elsewhere been given.

Ben Showalter is remembered as an old driver, who sang little songs and performed little tricks of legerdemain for the amusement of the boys. He went to the war between the States as a private in Major West’s cavalry of Uniontown, and died in the service.

Redding Bunting, mentioned before, was probably more widely known and had more friends than any other old stage driver on the road. His entire service on the road, covering many years, was in connection with the “old Line.” He was a great favorite of Mr. Stockton, the leading proprietor of that line. His commanding appearance is impressed upon the memories of all who knew him. He stood six feet six inches high in his stockings, and straight as an arrow, without any redundant flesh. His complexion was of a reddish hue and his features pronounced and striking. His voice was of the baritone order, deep and sonorous, but he was not loquacious and had a habit of munching. He was endowed with strong common sense, which the pike boys called “horse sense,” to emphasize its excellence. He was affable, companionable and convivial. He was a native of Fayette county, Pa., and born in Menallen township. He was not only a stage driver, but a trusted stage agent, stage proprietor, and also a tavern keeper. He once owned the property now known as the “Central Hotel,” in Uniontown, and if he had retained it would have died a rich man. Despondency and depression of spirits seemed to have encompassed him, when business ceased on the road, and he appeared as one longing for the return of other and better days. During the presidency of Mr. Van Buren, it was deemed desirable by the authorities that one of his special messages should be speedily spread before the people. Accordingly arrangements were made by the Stockton line, which had the contract for carrying the mails, to transmit the message of the President with more than ordinary celerity. The Baltimore and Ohio railroad at the time was not in operation west of Frederic City, Maryland. Mr. Bunting, as agent of the company, repaired to that point to receive the coming document and convey it to Wheeling. He sat by the side of the driver the entire distance from Frederic to Wheeling to superintend the mission and urge up the speed. The distance between the points named is two hundred and twenty-two miles, and was covered in twenty-three hours and thirty minutes. Changes of teams and drivers were made at the usual relays, and the driver who brought the flying coach from Farmington to Uniontown was Joseph Woolley, who made the sparks fly at every step, as he dashed down the long western slope of Laurel Hill. Homer Westover drove the coach from Uniontown to Brownsville, covering the intervening distance of twelve miles in the almost incredible compass of forty-four minutes. The coach used on this occasion was called the “Industry,” one of the early mail coaches with “monkey box” attachment, and it literally woke up the echoes in its rapid transit over the road. The Pittsburg Gazette had arranged for an early copy of the important message and agreed to pay Robert L. Barry and Joseph P. McClelland, of Uniontown, connected in various subordinate capacities with the stage lines, the sum of fifty dollars for a speedy delivery of the document at the office of that journal in Pittsburg. Brownsville was then the distributing point for all mail matter sent west over the National Road, consigned to Pittsburg, and Barry and McClelland went down to Brownsville on the “Industry” to obtain the message there and transmit it thence to Pittsburg by special convoy overland to the Gazette; but when the mail was opened it was discovered that it did not contain a package for the Gazette, and Barry and McClelland returned home disappointed, while the Gazette suffered still greater disappointment in not being able to lay an early copy of the message before its readers. The reader will bear in mind that at the time referred to the telegraph was unknown as an agency for transmitting news, and the railroad, as has been seen, had not advanced west of Frederic City, Maryland.

In the year 1846, after the railroad was completed to Cumberland, Redding Bunting rivaled, if he did not surpass, the feat of rapid transit above described. He drove the great mail coach from Cumberland to Wheeling, which carried the message of President Polk, officially proclaiming that war existed between the United States and Mexico. Leaving Cumberland at two o’clock in the morning, he reached Uniontown at eight o’clock of the same morning, breakfasted there with his passengers, at his own house (for he was then the proprietor of the National), and after breakfast, which was soon disposed of, proceeded with his charge, reaching Washington at eleven A. M. and Wheeling at two P. M., covering a distance of one hundred and thirty-one miles in twelve hours. He was not at that time an ordinary driver, but an agent of the line, and took the reins in person for the avowed purpose of making the highest speed attainable. Redding Bunting has been dead about ten years. His wife, who was a daughter of Capt. Endsley, the old tavern keeper at the Big Crossings, survived him about three years. He left two sons and two daughters. One of his sons, Henry Clay, is at present postmaster of Dunbar, Pa., and the other, William, is a printer, and at this writing foreman of the composing force of the Pittsburg Times. One of the daughters is the wife of Milton K. Frankenberry, a prominent citizen of Fayette county, Pa., and the other is the wife of Armor Craig, a leading merchant of Uniontown. The old driver has gone to his last home, but his memory remains fresh and fragrant all along the road.

Joseph Woolley, above mentioned, had a brother, William, who was also a well known stage driver. When the staging days on the road were ended, and the exciting incidents thereof relegated to the domain of history, Joseph and William Woolley sought and obtained employment in the service of the Baltimore and Ohio railroad company, and both ultimately became competent and trustworthy locomotive engineers.

Andrew J. Wable commenced driving stage in 1840, and continued uninterruptedly until 1851. He went to Illinois in 1867, and is still living, in good health and spirits. He frequently visits his old home in the mountains of Fayette county, where he was reared, and is there now, or was very recently. He drove first on the “Shake Gut,” which was not a passenger line, but a line put on the road to carry light freights with rapidity. He drove next on the “Good Intent” line, and subsequently on the old, or Stockton line. He was a driver on the Good Intent line when William Scott was its agent, and on the old line during the agencies of Granger and Bunting. He drove on the Good Intent line from Somerfield to Keyser’s Ridge, and on the old line from Keyser’s Ridge to Piney Grove. He also drove between Washington and Wheeling, and from Uniontown to Farmington. His recollections of the old road are vivid, and he is fond of recounting incidents of its palmy days.

James Burr drove out westward from Washington. He was reputed to be a man of great muscular power, but with it all, a man of quiet demeanor. A Cincinnati man, name not given, had achieved the reputation of “licking” everybody in and around Cincinnati, and like Alexander of old, sighed for more victories. Hearing of Jim Burr, he resolved to encounter him, and struck out for Claysville, where he had been informed Burr could be found. He traveled by steamboat to Wheeling, thence by stage coach to Claysville. The Cincinnati man “put up” at the tavern of William Kelley, the stopping place of Burr’s line at Claysville. Upon entering, the stranger inquired for Jim Burr, and was politely informed by Mr. Kelley, the old landlord, that Mr. Burr was at the stable looking after his team, and would soon be in. In a little while Burr came in, and Mr. Kelley remarked to the stranger, “this is Mr. Burr.” The stranger, who was a somewhat larger man than Burr, saluted him thus: “Burr, I have been told that you are the best man in all this country, and I have come all the way from Cincinnati to fight you, and lick you, if I can.” “Well,” said Burr, “you have come a long distance for a job like that, and besides I don’t know you, and there is no reason why we should fight.” “But,” rejoined the stranger, “you must fight me, I insist on it, and will not leave here until you do.” Burr persisted in declining the proffered combat, and finally went upstairs to bed, and after a nap of half an hour’s duration, came down without a thought of again meeting his aggressive visitor. To his utter surprise the Cincinnati bluffer met him at the foot of the stairs, and again demanded a trial of strength. This was more than Burr’s good nature could withstand, and stepping back, he drew up in the attitude of a striker, warning his assailant at the same time to “look out,” when with one blow of his fist, he felled him stone dead on the floor. Burr then went to the water stand in a rear room of the tavern, washed his face and hands, and upon returning saw the victim of his deadly blow still lying prostrate upon the floor, and exclaimed: “My God, has that man not got up yet?” But the vanquished bully did, after a while, get up, and in rising discovered that he was a wiser, if not a better man. News of this singular encounter spread rapidly through the town of Claysville, and nearly every inhabitant thereof rushed to the scene to learn how it happened, and all about it. The facts were minutely and carefully made known to all inquirers by William Kelley, the old landlord, and cheers went up and out for Jim Burr, the hero of Claysville. At the time of this occurrence David Gordon was also driving out westwardly from Washington. Tradition has it that these two men had a reciprocal fear of each other, but they never collided, and it is a mooted question as to which of them was the better man in a physical sense. It is a long time since Burr and Gordon were seen on the front boot of a handsome Concord coach, wielding the reins and flourishing the whip over the backs of four dashing steeds with a grace and dignity befitting a more pretentious calling; and presumably they have answered the last summons, but living or dead, their names are indelibly stamped on the history of the National Road.

David Gordon was sent out from the east by James Reeside, and drove first on the “June Bug Line.” Going out west from Claysville soon after he commenced driving his team ran off, with a full load of passengers. Discerning in a moment that the flying team could not be checked by ordinary methods, he pulled it off the road and turned the coach over against a high bank. The passengers were badly frightened, but none were hurt, and attributed their escape from injury to the skillfulness of the driver. After “righting up,” the coach but little damaged, proceeded to Roney’s Point without further casualty. This incident, or rather accident, gave Gordon a wide reputation as a cool and skillful driver, and he rapidly advanced to the front rank of his calling. The “June Bug Line” did not remain long on the road, and when it was withdrawn Gordon took service in the Good Intent line, and continued with it until all through lines of coaches were taken from the road. Gordon was a very stout man, six feet in height, and weighing about two hundred pounds, without any surplus flesh. It was said that he could fight, but was not quarrelsome. His motto seemed to be “non tangere mihi.” On one occasion, as tradition has it, he was compelled to engage in a knock-down, in self defense. It was at Triadelphia, Virginia. Three “toughs” fell upon him at that place, with the intention, as they stated it, of “doing him up,” but they failed ignominously. Gordon repulsed and routed them completely and decisively, and they never thereafter coveted a rencounter with Gordon, and the example of their fate rendered others with pugilistic proclivities a little shy about encountering him.