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.