REDDING BUNTING.
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.