W. M. F. MAGRAW
One of the smartest, best known and most picturesque men of the road forty years ago was William M. F. Magraw. He was probably little known west of Brownsville, as his business was for the most part on the line east of that point. He was a native of Maryland, and belonged to an old and influential family of that State. His brother, Harry, practiced law for several years in Pittsburg, and served a term as State Treasurer of Pennsylvania from 1856 to 1859. The Magraws were intimate friends of James Buchanan, and Harry was a leader in the movements that led up to the nomination and election of that old time statesman to the Presidency. W. M. F. Magraw became identified with the National Road as many others did, through a matrimonial alliance. His wife was a daughter of Jacob Sides, who owned the Tomlinson tavern. His first business engagement in the vicinity of Uniontown was with F. H. Oliphant, the old iron master of Fairchance. Soon after engaging with Mr. Oliphant that gentleman put on a line of teams and wagons hereinbefore mentioned, to haul freights between Brownsville and Cumberland, and Magraw was placed in charge of the line as its general road agent. This put him in communication with the people along the road, and established him in the ranks of the pike boys. He was a large, fine looking man, always well dressed, attracting attention wherever he appeared, and making friends by reason of his agreeable manners. He was not fleshy, but broad shouldered, tall and erect, of ruddy complexion, light hair, and habitually wore gold rimmed spectacles on account of some defect of vision. He was generous almost to a fault, and lavish in his personal expenditures. He spent much of his time in Uniontown, making his headquarters with his friend Joshua Marsh, of the National House. His habits of living were different from the majority of the old pike boys, especially in the matter of eating, and he enjoyed a good supper at midnight, better than any other hour. He brought in game of all kinds from the mountain and had it served in savory style at the National House. He kept a carriage, and often had it ordered out as early as three and four o’clock in the afternoon, to go to the mountain, but lingered about the town, chatting with friends, until nightfall. He seemed to delight in driving over the mountain in the night. Leaving Uniontown about the dusk of the evening, he would reach the Tomlinson tavern about daybreak the next morning. He called up the old tavern keepers along the road, all of whom knew him, chatted a while with them, took a mint julip, or something stiffer, and pushed on, and this was his habit as long as he remained on the road. He was a southern sympathizer during the war, and participated as a Confederate partisan, in some of the irregular skirmishes in Missouri, in the incipient stages of the long struggle. Notwithstanding his southern sentiments, he was well liked by his northern acquaintances, and had many warm friends among them. There was no bitterness in his heart. He was clever and courteous to all. He had no stauncher friend than Redding Bunting, the good old stage driver, who was a pronounced Union man. Sometime near the close of the war, Magraw appeared in Harrisburg. Upon being questioned as to the object of his mission, he said he had come to see the Governor on behalf of the appointment of his old friend, Red Bunting, to the office of Commissioner of the Cumberland Road. He knew the Governor (Curtin) personally. In fact, he knew nearly all the public men of his time. He called on the Governor, and was cordially received. “What brought you here,” queried the Governor. “I came,” said Magraw, “to solicit the appointment of Redding Butting as Commissioner of the Cumberland Road.” “How does it come,” further queried the Governor, “that all you copperheads are for Bunting?” “Oh!” said Magraw, “Bunting is a good man, the right man for the place, and a good Republican.” “Well,” said the Governor, “I guess I’ll appoint him,” and he did. Mr. Bunting was not aware that Magraw intended to go to Harrisburg in his behalf, which shows the disposition of the man. During the administration of President Pierce, Magraw had a contract for carrying the mails from the Missouri boundary to western points beyond the plains. He suffered much loss by reason of Indian invasions, and preferred a claim to Congress for a large sum of money to reimburse him. While his bill was undergoing consideration by the committee, he appeared before it and emptied upon the floor a number of bags of mules ears, as evidence of his losses. His bill was passed. Magraw died suddenly, in Baltimore, a number of years ago, much lamented. His wife is also dead. He had a daughter, Miss Sallie, well remembered by the older citizens of Uniontown, who is living in Kansas City, a widow, in affluent circumstances.
[CHAPTER XLV.]
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.