AUTO TRIP OVER THE OLD NATIONAL ROAD.
ALBERT DOUGLAS,
Member Congress, Trustee Ohio State
Archaeological and Historical
Society.
When the extra session of the 61st
Congress adjourned on
the 5th of August, we had bought our
railroad tickets, reserved
berths in the sleeping car and expected
to proceed home to Chilli-
cothe by the conventional railroad
train; but when I suggested
to my wife that instead of shipping our
motor car we should
ride home in it over the old National
Road she readily agreed.
So the next day at noon, with our driver
at the wheel and
our light luggage by his side, we
started from our Washington
abode and took the Seventh street pike
right north out of the
city for Olney and Ridgeville, Md.,
where we were to strike
the old road.
The old National Pike! To one who knows
its history the
name is full of romance and woven
intimately into the history
of the country; especially this middle
western country of which
it was the principal commercial outlet
for more than thirty
years. It had its legal history and its
constitutional history as
well. Jefferson, Madison and Monroe of
the old Virginia school
of strict constructionists opposed many
acts of Congress relating
to the road. As it was the first great
national highway over
the Appalachians so it was indeed the
first highway over the
unexplored constitutional mountains in
its pathway. Said one
of these Presidents in a veto message to
Congress - "A power
to establish turnpikes with gates and
tolls, and to enforce the
collection of tolls by penalties,
implies a power to adopt and
execute a complete system of internal
improvements." But the
power "to establish post offices
and post roads" with the powers
necessarily incident thereto was invoked
then, as some of us are
trying to invoke it now to secure help
from the National Treasury
for our roads over which pass the free
rural mail routes, and the
people had their way and their highway.
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Auto Trip Over Old National
Road. 505
"The Cumberland Road" as it
was usually and legally desig-
nated, from Cumberland over the ridges
of the Alleghanies to the
"Big Crossings" of the
Youghiogheny, then over the intervening
hills and Laurel Mountain, by Uniontown
to "Old Red Stone
Fort" at the head of navigation on
the Monongahela, now
Brownsville, and on across the Panhandle
of Virginia to the
Ohio River near Wheeling, was opened for
traffic in the year
1818. It continued to flourish, with its
hosts of stage-drivers,
wagoners, blacksmiths and hostlers, its
six horse teams, Conestoga
wagons, Concord coaches and private
carriages, its numerous
taverns and landlords, its stone paved
way, its stone culverts,
arches and bridges, its curious
triangular stone mile-posts and
oddly constructed toll houses, its
manners and customs, its usages
and traditions and all of its busy
traffic, until in the early fifties
came the railroads. Over it went Andrew
Jackson to be inaugu-
rated President of the Republic, the
first "Westerner" to achieve
that honor; and snowbound at Tomlinson's
tavern, high up among
the mountains he is said to have passed
the time playing "old
sledge" with his retinue. President
Monroe made a triumphal
progress over the road as far as
Uniontown. Henry Clay, the
road's best friend in Congress,
travelled it habitually to and
from his Kentucky home; as did also
Polk, Harrison, Benton,
Cass, Allen, Crittenden and all of the
public men of their gen-
eration living west of the mountains.
It should be borne in mind that, while
the National Road
so-called, extended from Baltimore to
the Mississippi, it was
only that portion of it from Cumberland
to Wheeling that was
originally constructed directly by the
federal government, out
of appropriations made between March
1806 and March 1810,
amounting to about a million and a half
dollars. Between Cum-
berland and the City of Baltimore the
road was built principally
by private capital, and it is older than
the Cumberland road
proper. West of the Ohio the road was
built largely from the
proceeds of public lands in Ohio,
Indiana, Illinois and Missouri,
reserved by Congress for this purpose
when these states were
admitted into the Union.
A couple of hours brought us to
Ridgeville and then, after
a good dinner at "The Eagle" a
road-house well known to local
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tourists, we started over the famous old
Pike towards the setting
sun. "Betsy," as we familiarly
call our little Ford machine,
was in good humor, and though the road
was hilly and somewhat
rough we reached Frederick, fourteen
miles away, before four
o'clock. Barbara Fritchie's house no
longer "stands in Frederick-
town," as it had to be pulled down
to make way for a viaduct
over a stream where this crosses the
principal street; but what-
ever of historical accuracy there may be
in the incident, Whittier
has certainly forever linked her name
with that of this prosper-
ous Maryland town. It was in Frederick,
too, that Francis Scott
Key. the author of our Star Spangled
Banner, was born.
The road from Frederick to Hagerstown,
crossing the Catoc-
tin and South mountains, was familiar to
us as we had passed
over it on former visits to the
battlefields of Antietam and Get-
tysburg; but the road itself is good,
the country through which
it passes beautiful as well as full of
historic interest, and the
afternoon ride was most enjoyable. We
had expected to spend
the night at Hagerstown at a good hotel
we knew there, but
when we reached the city about six
o'clock and made some in-
quiries we determined to push on. It is
this independence and
the feeling that you are not imposing
upon a good horse as well
as the lust for "pushing on"
that are elements in the pleasure of
travelling by automobile.
From Hagerstown to Cold Springs the road
is made of
blue limestone, crushed and
machine-rolled, so that it is about
as smooth and hard as concrete. The
evening ride with the
great ridges of the Alleghanies before
us looming up in the light
of the sinking sun was most enjoyable;
so that when a half hour's
ride brought us to the pretty village of
Cold Spring we decided to
go on to Hancock. It was after leaving
Cold Spring that our
real mountain ride began, for we had to
climb several long ridges
on the "low speed," and it was
after eight o'clock when we
reached Hancock, the speedometer
registering 103.5 miles.
The less said about the Maryland-Inn at
Hancock, the bet-
ter and we were not sorry to leave
betimes in the morning.
"Betsey" had received a
satisfactory breakfast of oil and gasoline
and seemed glad to be off. A motor car
comes with familiar
use to have a sort of personal character
and it seems in no-wise
Auto Trip Over Old National
Road. 507
out of place to speak of her
"humor," as one would of any human
thing. Her temper was sorely tried
however before she reached
the friendly shelter of the garage at
Cumberland shortly before
noon, for she had a rough road to
travel, and up and down five
great ridges of that system of mountains
we call Appalachian.
Sideling Mountain, one of the longest
and one of the roughest of
the whole trip, besides Green Ridge,
Town Mountain, Polish
and Flintstone. It would indeed be
interesting to know how
and where in the pioneer days of old
these great ridges obtained
their queer names. Some suggest their
origin but others do
not, and they probably owe their names
differing as they do at
different points in their latitude to
some early incident or settler.
The machine growled up the long rocky
ridges on the "low
gear," and sometimes, as we were in
no haste to catch a train
or "make" any particular point
by a fixed hour, she would stop
a bit, not to rest but to let the
boiling water in her tank cool a
little. Then the wife and I would get
down and walk on ahead,
picking the blackberries ripening on
every hand, gathering flow-
ers or drinking from some of the many
roadside springs, walled
and protected so well by the wagoners in
other days that they
still furnish cool and attractive places
to rest and drink.
High up on the side of Polish Mountain,
as we strolled along,
I found in the road a dead sora-rail, a
bird essentially of the
marshes and seashore. It had probably,
in its migration the night
before, flown against the wires which
lined the road, and its soft
olive-brown plumage with its pretty
markings was hardly ruf-
fled; a somewhat sad commentary on
Bryant's:
"He who from zone to zone
Guides through the boundless air thy
certain flight."
The telephone companies have taken
advantage of the direct
and convenient route of the National
Road to erect their lines,
and for the whole way through Maryland,
Virginia and West
Virginia to Wheeling, three systems of
poles and wires follow
the pike.
At "Fort" Cumberland we were
met by a hospitable friend
and after a pleasant visit of two hours
including luncheon, he
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accompanied us on our way as far as
Frostburg, returning by the
trolley line. Frostburg, once only a
village on the old pike
where the stage coaches changed horses
and where was located
the famous old tavern known as
"Highland Hall," is now a
prosperous and growing center of a great
and populous coal
field. In its principal street there
still stand, some ten feet
high, two of the old square iron posts
to which were hung the
iron toll gates of the olden time; and
many of the queer tower
like toll houses of brick or stone are
still seen along the road,
some occupied and some in ruin. At
Frostburg our crossing of
the Alleghanies really began only to end
at Somerfield at the
"Big Crossings," the name
given by the wagoners and stagemen
to the three sturdy stone arches which
form the bridge over the
Youghiogheny, and which, completed as
its tablet testifies on
July 4th, 1818, still stands
seemingly as secure as ever.
The intervening ridges of the mountains
bear the following
quaint names: Big Savage, Little Savage,
Red Hill or the
Shades-of-Death, Little Meadow, Negro
Mountain, Keyser
Ridge, and Winding Ridge. Just out of
Frostburg we passed
one of the finest of the many beautiful
springs along the road.
The many old taverns or road houses were
usually located near
a spring and a big log or stone trough
brimming with the
crystal water was an excuse for the
wagoner to stop his team for
a drink, and the whiskey within sold at
"two for a fip."
We found the road up Big Savage, a grade
of about 1,800
feet in two miles, one of the worst on
the whole trip, and a
disgrace to whomsoever may be
responsible for its condition.
For this there might be some excuse if
it were comparatively
unused, but on the contrary we found it
on that Saturday after-
noon thronged with teams. The stones out
of which the old road
was constructed, lay loosened amid the
sand and dust, and
through them "Betsy" had to
fairly plow her way. The sun
was hot too and that half hour was the
only one approaching
discomfort on our long ride. But when we
came to the summit,
and caught the glorious view to the West
and Southwest, of
meadows, fields, woods, and piled up
mountains, our discomfort
vanished and there followed a long
afternoon of unalloyed pleas-
ure; up hill and down, through the
forests and mountain farms,
Auto Trip Over Old National
Road. 509
meadows and pastures, through fields of
blooming buckwheat,
the prettiest crop the farmer grows,
over mountain brooks and
streams suggestive of trout, stopping
for a glass of fresh butter-
milk at an attractive old stone tavern,
now a farm house, where
a bonnie lassie, from far off Sweden as
she told us, was taking
the golden butter from her churn; until
at five o'clock we reached
"The vera tapmost tow'ring
height" of Keyser Ridge, the highest
point on the old National Road, 2,900
feet above the sea and
2,400 above the Potomac at Cumberland.
The air was cool and
invigorating and the view both West and
East superb.
The road down the West slope of Keyser
mountain to the
Eastern slope of Winding Ridge was very
good and in a few
moments we reached the spot, about three
miles from the top,
where the state line between Maryland
and Pennsylvania crosses
the Pike. The road here runs in a
Northwesterly direction and
so is crossed diagonally by this
historic line. Surveyed by Ma-
son and Dixon long before the American
revolution, it became in
popular parlance the dividing line
between freedom and slavery,
and the surname of Jeremiah Dixon has
been conferred by song
and story upon the whole south-land:
"the land of Dixie." On
the Northeastern side of the road the
line is marked by an old
post much defaced by the rust of many
decades, and on the
Southwest side by a new square block of
limestone. The iron
post gives the distance to Wheeling as
96 3/4 miles, and to Cum-
berland as 34¼ miles, making the total
length of the famous
Cumberland Road 131 miles.
Passing the crest of the Winding Ridge
we began the
long slope down towards the
"crossings" of the Youghiogheny.
Part of the road here had been newly
repaired with crushed
and rolled limestone, and we flew over
it towards the fast setting
sun through pretty, well kept villages
filled with summer board-
ers, past beautiful homes with close
clipped lawns, beautiful gar-
dens and handsome buildings and through
well cared for meadows
and farm lands, until we crossed the
river on its historic bridge at
Somerfield, called
"Smithfield" on the mile-posts. The place
looked very attractive and it was the
ending of a long day, but
we had been told of a pleasant hotel on
"Chalk Hill" some miles
westward and so we did not stop; but
took Beaver Hill on the
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high gear, then coasting down it and
running up the next ridge,
we crossed Mount Washington, near which
point Washington
built Fort Necessity and had his very
first experience of actual
war. This part of the road coincided
substantially with the old
"Braddock Road," the route of
that General to his memorable
defeat near Fort Duquesne; and the brave
old Scotsman, mortally
wounded, was carried back this far by
the retreating survivors
of his little army. Here he died and was
buried near this road,
in a spot which has recently been
identified.
Shortly after sundown we drew up with
sounding horn in
front of the attractive looking hotel on
Chalk Hill, only to find
every room taken and nothing to do but
to push on to Union-
town some ten miles further. However our
lamps were soon
lighted, the road was good, the evening
fine and by eight
o'clock we had passed the Summit House
on Laurel Ridge, a
favorite resort for the people of
Uniontown, down the long
four mile grade, past the romantic glen
called "Turkey's Nest,"
and past gleaming rows of coke-ovens on
the opposite hillsides,
into the city of Uniontown and into the
very excellent hotel kept
by a Mr. Tetlow and bearing his name. We
did full justice
to the good supper served us and to the
excellent "room with a
bath, please" to which we were
shown.
We woke to another fine morning, and at
nine o'clock bowled
out, through the "West End" of
Uniontown, with the top of the
machine down and the sun once more
behind us. Our way this
day lay through Brownsville and
Washington to Wheeling, and
then over the river once more into that
part of the "Northwest
Territory" allotted by Congress in
1802
to "Ohio."
The country was rolling and beautiful,
but we missed the
hills and woods and looked back with
regret to the misty moun-
tain tops. Brownsville at the head of
navigation on the Monon-
gahela was an important place in the
palmy days of the old pike.
A great part of the West-bound traffic,
both freight and passen-
ger, left the road here to embark on the
river boats for Pitts-
burgh and the West, and another good
part left it at Wheeling
for the boats on the Ohio. The old
covered wooden toll bridge
over the river at Brownsville, built on
stone piers and supported
by great arches of hewn oak, is rather
archaic, and the same
Auto Trip Over Old National
Road. 511
may be said of the condition of its
streets, but much may be for-
given the town that gave James G. Blaine
to his country.
At Washington we visited the buildings
and campus of the
Washington and Jefferson college, gave
"Betsy" a drink of gaso-
line and telephoned ahead to Claysville
for luncheon to be ready
in an hour. But that lunch had to wait,
for by some unaccount-
able mischance we took the wrong turning
somewhere between
Washington and Claysville and spent an
extra hour finding our
way across the country. After all the
luncheon was not very
good anyhow even if the town was named
for "Harry of the
West."
Two miles west of Claysville the road
ascends one of its
longest and steepest hills to West
Alexander and from this vil-
lage to Wheeling the road is fine with a
steady descent of about
twelve miles. As we passed through the
suburban part of
Wheeling we were impressed by the many
handsome and attrac-
tive residences, indicative not only of
the wealth but of the
taste of their builders. Then we climbed
a long. rough hill and
came down into the business streets of
this old and prosperous
city; from which Ebenezer Zane blazed
his famous "Trace," to
Limestone (Maysville) Kentucky, and
"at the crossings of
each navigable stream" acquired a
large tract of land under his
contract, thus fixing the locations of
the towns of Zanesville,
Lancaster and Chillicothe at the
crossings respectively of the
Muskingum, Hocking and Scioto Rivers.
As it was just five P. M. when we
reached the top of the
Alleghanies, so by chance it was exactly
twenty-four hours later
that we rolled upon the great suspension
bridge at Wheeling, paid
our two tolls and crossed over Jordan
into the promised land.
Motoring on, we passed through the
beautiful county seat
of Belmont County, concerning which town
Jake Pugsley of
Hillsboro, in the days of her bitter
contest with Bellaire, and
using a St. Clairsville weekly for his
text, made one of the
funniest speeches ever heard in the Ohio
Legislature, and quite
worthy to rank with Proctor Knott's
"zenith city of the unsalted
seas."
We passed the night in a little roadside
inn at Hendrys-
burg, near the borders 'of Guernsey and
Belmont, made our
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third and last morning's start at seven
o'clock, passed Cambridge
at nine, and into Zanesville before
eleven. After rest and refresh-
ment we left Zanesville and the National
Road at one o'clock
and travelling over the route of the old
"Zanesville and Mays-
ville Turnpike" through Somerset,
Rushville, and Lancaster,
arrived at Chillicothe at six, without a
single serious mishap or
detention, and after a most enjoyable
and informing journey.
The National Road today as a way of
travel may be de-
scribed by the old phrase, "good,
bad and indifferent." In spots
it is excellent, and in spots it is
execrable. But its most serious
defect and discomfort for motoring are
the bumps, breakers or
"thank-you-marms" on every
hill, no matter what the grade.
Modern road-making of course knows them
not; and in the old
specifications of the government
engineering department for re-
pairing the road as far back as 1832, I
find this language: "At
proper intervals on the slopes of hills,
drains or catch-waters
(they seem to have had the same trouble
then as now in giving
the things a name) must be made across
the road * * * *
These catch-waters must be made with a
gradual curvature so
as to give no jolts to the wheels of
carriages passing over them."
But the "gradual curvature" is
omitted now-a-days and the
jolts are there. As the years pass and
"horseless carriages"
become as common as horses, and pleasant
travel by private con-
veyances increases, we may expect to see
the roads repaired by
modern methods and
"catch-waters" will no more vex and delay
the traveller.
With all these changing conditions who
can say what the
future history of this famous old
National Pike may be? Our
children may see its glories revive, its
way repaved with modern
metal, its broken and defaced old
mile-posts repaired or replaced,
its toll houses rebuilt or re-occupied,
its iron gates once more
threatening the "joy-rider,"
its sides lined with colossal adver-
tising signs, "darkening the
view," and its old taverns renovated
rebuilt, re-established, -but with
"soft drinks" perhaps sub-
stituted for the
"fifteen-cent-a-gallon" of other days. Who can
tell! But in any event to fond students
of the past, to men
who love to revive in imagination the
days of the pioneers and
to dwell in thought among the days that
are no more, the romance
of this old pathway of the nation will
live forever.