The Old Pike / A History of the National Road, with Incidents, Accidents, and Anecdotes Thereon

by Thomas B. Searight

ALFRED BAILES.

Alfred Bailes, of Dunbar, Pennsylvania, is probably the oldest man living who drove a team on the National Road. He was first a wagoner, and subsequently and for many years a stage driver. He was born in Loudon county, Virginia, and came upon the road about the year 1830, at the solicitation of John Bradfield, who was also a native of Virginia, and agent of the first line of wagons on the road. Alfred Bailes was born in 1804, and although closely approaching his ninetieth year, his eye is undimmed and his natural vigor unabated. Samuel Luman, of Cumberland, is two years younger than Bailes, but two years his senior as a stage driver. Bailes was one of the most commanding figures on the road, upwards of six feet in height, with broad chest and shoulders, and long arms. Noted for great strength, he was never quarrelsome. As a driver he performed his functions faithfully and carefully. He is a most interesting relic of the road, and his memory is well stored with interesting reminiscences of its faded glory.

Samuel and William Scarborough were old wagoners. They lived on the old William Elliott farm, in Jefferson township, Fayette county, Pa., and were brothers. William Hogg, the pioneer merchant of Brownsville, was the owner of the William Elliott farm at the time referred to, and the Scarboroughs paid their rent by hauling a load of merchandise for Mr. Hogg once a year, from Baltimore to his store in Brownsville.

George McLaughlin, still living near Uniontown, but now, and for a long time, a sufferer from rheumatism, is an old wagoner. It may be that exposure, when a wagoner, to the snow storms of the mountains, is the source of the rheumatism which now afflicts him. His brother, Abraham, who lives at Mt. Braddock, is also an old wagoner, and, when a boy, broke stone on the pike at a “levy” a perch.

There was an old wagoner whose name was Hill, and he lived at Triadelphia, now West Virginia, then “Old Virginia never tire,” who never drove his team on Sunday. He seems not to have lost anything by resting his team and himself on Sunday, for he made as good time on his trips as any other wagoner, and in the end became rich.

Michael Teeters, a spluttering old wagoner, was noted for his profanity. He was possessed with the fatal delusion that hard swearing was evidence of superior intelligence. He, of course, had some good traits, as the worst of men have; but when age and infirmity came upon him, he exchanged the tramp over the hills of the old pike for a “walk over the hills to the poor house,” and died in the county home of Washington county, Pennsylvania. Had he followed the example of Hill, who rested on Sunday, it may not be said that he would have grown rich, but it is pretty certain that the surroundings of his dying hours would have been different from what they were.

James Riley and Oliver Pratt were among the oldest of the old wagoners—veterans in every sense. Riley was a large man, with florid face and very white hair, and was called “Old Whitey.” He lived and died in Hopwood. Pratt was also a large man, and stout, a steady drinker, with red-rimmed eyes. He was a good driver, and devoted to his calling. He married a Miss Bird, of the old family of that name, in Henry Clay township, Fayette county, Pennsylvania, and when flush times ended on the road, went west and died, far from the scenes of the grand old highway.

Robert Carr, who died in Uniontown about two years ago, was an old wagoner. He was on the road as early as 1825. He drove first for Benjamin Miller, grandfather of Ben, Sam and Jeff Miller, of Uniontown. He subsequently married a daughter of Abner Springer, of North Union township, Fayette county, who owned a road team which was placed in charge of Carr, and he drove it several years. He was also a stage driver.

Robert Q. Fleming, now residing in Uniontown, is an old wagoner. He hauled whiskey from the old Overholt distillery, near Mt. Pleasant, to Baltimore for many years, and loaded back with merchandise to various points in the west. One of his earliest back loads consisted of oysters for Pittsburg, via Brownsville. The oyster boxes were piled up to the canvass covering, and upon reaching Brownsville he was required to drive down the wharf to the steamboat landing, which was “sidling,” and at the time icy. Some of the top boxes fell out and were broken, whereupon the bystanders helped themselves to fresh shell oysters. They were not carried away, but the eager oyster lovers picked them up, cracked open the shells on the wagon wheels and gulped down the juicy bivalves on the ground. Fleming was “docked,” as they termed the abating of loss, from the freight charges.