We take our seat in the stage, bound from Watertown to Clayton, making
the sixth passenger inside, a very comfortable number, and when the seventh
comes to get in, he is obliged to lower himself gradually between two
other passengers, who are seated, until he is conscious of an exact fit.
As we jog along, we discuss railroads, politics and religion, till at
last the passengers rest their weary minds, and take refuge from ennui,
by propounding and receiving answers to conundrums, after the following
manner: What kind of hair does a mourner's dog have? Dog's hair of course.
Why is a hen like Heaven? Because her son never sets. Why is a moderate-sized
hill like a lazy dog? Because it is a slow pup (slope up.)
At this point we are interrupted by the driver's opening the door, and
asking us to get out and help keep the sleigh in equilibrium, which we
do by standing on the rave. This is exactly the same point between Stone
Mills and Lafargeville, where, one year ago, we were performing the important
operation of keeping the sleigh right side up, by executing, what in saltatory
language might be called the "double pigeon wing" on the rave, when we
were careless enough to remain too long in position, and, in the language
of the immortal "Julius Caesar," "directly afterward we heard something
drop;" when we found ourselves in the snow, the sleigh inverted, everything
in confusion, and the lady and gentleman inside not heard from.
We repeated the beautiful language of Shakespeare, "All the world's a
'stage,' and all the men and women merely players;" fearful in this case
that the play would turn out a tragedy, and hearing no sound inside, we
sprang on to the covered sleigh, and making an opening about nine by fourteen
inches, we peered cautiously in expecting to see the mangled remains of
somebody; but to our surprise we beheld the lady, sitting upon the U.S.
mail, looking as innocent as Eve, before she offered the apple to Adam.
We politely enquired if she could get out through the orifice we had
made. She replied that she was so frightened she could do nothing. Her
exit effected, we again peeped through the opening into the stage—there
sat the gent, looking just as though he had stolen a sheep. But "All's
well that ends well." With properly directed effort, our stage assumed
a verticle position, and rejoicing in our deliverance from difficulty,
and hopeful for the future, we resumed our journey and prosecuted it to
a successful termination without further mishap. This happened one year
ago. Nothing of the kind is to be feared now, as we have careful and experienced
drivers, whose good judgment is equaled only by their good nature. In
this latter statement we speak especially of our friend Waful.
Norman Maxon, who was a driver on the "Old Sherwood Stage Line"
which began operations in this county in 1809, is still living at his
home in Elbridge. His fund of anecdote and humorous stories makes him
a much sought-for companion in that village. To a Herald reporter
he gave the following account of his experience on the road:
I began driving in 1828 and the only old drivers known to be living
beside myself are, Consider Carter, who lives in Chicago, and George
Brown of Danforth. Col. John M. Sherwood controlled that part of the
line from Manlius and Fayetteville to Geneva. It was divided into three
sections. Eastward from Auburn one line ran through Skaneateles, Marcellus
and Onondaga Hill to Manlius. Another went over the Seneca Turnpike
through the villages of Elbridge, Geddes and Syracuse to Fayetteville.
That part of the road between Auburn and Geneva comprised the third
section. It would be impossible now for me to tell you the exact number
of teams that were employed on the line, but I think 80 would be near
the figure. At that time the stages ran through from Albany, the horses
only being changed. The teams and their drivers were in the rounds,
that is, "First in, first out." For instance, a coach came
into Fayetteville. My team had been in the stable longest, I would hitch
on and drive it to Syracuse, where another team would take it and go
on to Camillus.
When it came my turn I would follow to Camillus and then in order to
Elbridge and lastly to Auburn, where I would turn. On the down trip,
stops were made at the same changing places until I got to Fayetteville,
where Parker and Faxton's teams met ours. The same method was pursued
on the Genesee Turnpike and between Auburn and Geneva. The advantage
of such a course was it gave the horses shorter drives and saved passengers
the delay which would result in stopping to feed.
The "way-bill," which every driver carried, was another feature
of the road. If a person in Auburn was going to Albany he would go to
the stage office in that village and the agent would register on it
the agent of the station where the passenger took passage. By such a
system the driver was saved the trouble of handling the fares. We carried
the mail, too, and the distribution was done at each post office along
the route except the through mails. Very few newspapers were carried,
as people had not got to reading them. I think we would bring about
five into Elbridge, one of them going to the hotel and the other four
supplying the town with its weekly reading matter.
To give you an idea of the circulation of the secular press, I will
speak of the number that supplied the country from Syracuse to Christian
Hollow, three miles below Cardiff. On publication day I have been in
Lewis H. Redfield's office and seen him put up the papers for the above-mentioned
territory. I could put my two hands around the entire list. Colonel
Sherwood had the contracts for carrying the mails over a large section
of Central New York, but he relet them all except over the main stage
lines. Assistant Postmaster General Porter rode with me once. He gave
Colonel Sherwood the credit of being the best stage proprietor in the
United States so far as prompt delivery of mails was concerned. And
doubtless the compliment was merited by the old gentleman, for he took
great pride in having his stages run on time and always kept good horses
for that purpose.
The first stage on the Seneca Turnpike was nothing but a two-horse
wagon, and Consider Carter ran it for Isaac Sherwood, the colonel's
father, who started the business in 1820. Carter is yet living, being
more than 90 years old, and has been seen by Charles Briggs of Auburn
within a short time.
Sherwood ran lateral lines of stages to Weedsport, Lyons and Montezuma.
But there was no money in these side lines and they were continually
changing hands. I spent two summers and one winter on the Genesee Turnpike,
and that would bring me into Skaneateles. Colonel Sherwood lived there
and a noble old fellow he was. He weighed 410 pounds and on account
of his fleshiness was a careful eater. He had a fondness for crackers,
and several times a day he would eat one or two and then wash them down
with a swallow of rum. And his rum was no common stuff, but would come
in cases which he kept in the cellar. Myself and another driver would
go down and get a case, drink the rum and fill the bottles with water
and return the case to the cellar. We congratulated ourselves on our
shrewdness in evading detection, but the old Colonel was onto us from
the start and enjoyed the joke as well as we did.
I went to the funeral of the first white child born in this county.
It was Colonel Phillips' wife, the daughter of Asa Danforth. The Phillips
family lived on the corner where the Vanderbilt House now stands. The
house, I think, was used afterwards as a coffee house and kept by the
Cooks. Mrs. Phillips was buried in a little graveyard that stood off
the canal not far from the present site of Greenway's brewery. After
the death of his wife the old Colonel would not enter his house for
more than three months unless I was with him. I was well acquainted
with him because he was the Syracuse agent for the stage company.
While I was in Syracuse, William H. Marcy would come to our office
and hire a team and driver to take him to General Mann's. I took him
the first time he went. He would always ask for me after that. I had
a fine gray team and it became a great favorite of his. General Winfield
Scott went up the line with me once. He was on his way to Fort Erie,
and wore a military cloak and cap. When he got out at Elbridge he made
me think of a pair of tongs he was so tall and thin, but afterward he
Another time I had Fanny Kemble, the English actress, as a passenger.
She was a vivacious woman and full of fun. There was a young Southerner
coming up at the same time, and he as fuming because he could not stop
over at Syracuse and get breakfast at the Syracuse House. It was fun
for the English woman to hear the young snob take on. She took breakfast
at Elbridge, and years afterwards someone brought me a paper containing
an article which she had written and in it was an account of that meal
at Elbridge. She spoke in very complimentary terms of my wife, who had
prepared the meal for her.
Enos T. Throop would occasionally take passage with me, but I was never
anxious to have him in my stage. he was a very selfish person and had
no regard for the comforts of others. One morning I was called up to
take him to Weedsport to catch the packet. It was late in the fall and
the day was cold and stormy. It was the last packet east that season
and he was anxious to get it.
That is what he said at the stage office when he ordered the turnout
the night before. His home was near the foot of the lake, but he stayed
in Auburn that night with his brother George. I was at the house at
the time agreed upon, but Throop was not ready. He sent out word that
he was eating his breakfast. It was a full hour before he got outside.
We began quarreling before we got outside of the village, and kept it
up until we reached Weedsport. We got there just as the packet drew
up to the dock.
Frank Granger was a constant traveler and was very popular with the
boys. The spring succeeding the fall he ran for Governor on the anti-Mason
ticket I had him as a passenger. My trip took me to Camillus, and from
there into Syracuse. Jess Williams drove the stage. It was a raw day,
and Frank got chilled before reaching there. When he got out of the
stage he lectured Jess about the poor run from Camillus. Williams replied:
"Say, Mass Granger, I guess I've made as good a run as you did
last fall when you run for anti-Mason governor." Granger was so
pleased with the report that he gave Williams a new buffalo robe which
he had with him. Williams told the story on his return, and when Granger
got back he told it to a party of friends.
One other person deserves some notice—that of Humphrey, the bank
runner. At that time the system of banking by checks and drafts was
not in vogue. Merchants would go to New York to buy goods, taking the
money with them for payment. They would take bank bills in preference
to coin because of the convenience of carrying them. After the merchants
from the interior had got through trading and returned home the New
York banks would collect all the Western bank bills and start out Humphrey
to have them redeemed.
He was always accompanied by a guard, and both men were armed. On the
up trip Humphrey would call at each bank and present such bills as had
been issued by that particular bank. If the bank had Eastern bank bills
he would accept them in exchange, but if not, specie would be paid.
The money would then be deposited for safe keeping until the return
trip from the West, when the deposits would be collected. Very few,
if any, of the banks would have sufficient paper money to redeem their
bills, and the consequence would be that Humphrey would accumulate a
large quantity of gold and silver. I recollect once of going out of
Syracuse with a four-horse team, purposely to carry Humphrey and his
money. I think he said he had $60,000 with him.
The money usually was put into trunks and the trunks thrown into the
boot under the driver's feet. Crosby, the guide, always rode on the
seat while Humphrey rode inside. I gave Humphrey a good scare once just
east of Syracuse. It was on a trip out and the trunks were in the boot
as usual. Crosby and myself were on the seat and Humphrey inside asleep.
It was a pleasant day in winter time and the thaw had made the roads
slippery. I was driving at a brisk trot and a sudden turn in the road
sent the sleigh over on its side, throwing out the trunks. Humphrey
was dozing at the time, but the way he crawled out of the stage was
amusing. The sudden awakening and the idea of robbery, which probably
always haunted him, doubtless was the incentive to his quick movement.
About the time the agitation concerning the old United States Bank
was at its height, Nicholas Biddle, the president of the concern, came
down over the line from Niagara Falls, then the great summer resort
of the country. He was in great haste to get east and Colonel Sherwood
called on me to take him from Auburn to Elbridge. His instructions were
to make the trip in forty minutes, the usual time being one hour and
fifteen minutes. I did it and it was considered a very creditable feat.
It would not be thought much of a drive now with a light wagon, but
you must recollect our stages weighed 2,400 pounds. Towards the east,
the Seneca turnpike got to be the favorite thoroughfare, because it
ran through a leveler country than did the Genesee. Another thing that
contributed to make it popular was that it led through Syracuse.
The old line stage barns stood on the ground afterward occupied by
the old New York Central depot on Vanderbilt Square. The Presbyterian
Church on the green south of the barns, and Jake Hosenpratt's farm house
still further out, were the only buildings on that side of the road
until you got outside what is now the corporate limits of Syracuse.
To give you an idea of the value of land in the village then, I will
refer to a land purchase by Landlord Comstock of the Syracuse House.
He bought 10 acres about forty rods east of the hotel and paid $1,000
for it. The price was the town talk for a long time, and Comstock was
classed as a fool for paying such a price for the land. People said
it would never be good for anything except as a cow pasture. The deal
made him the laughing stock of the town for a long time.
But Salina! It was worth a man's life to get out of there. Saltpointers
had an especial dislike for the residents of Syracuse. Why they did
I never knew. I speak from personal knowledge when I say it was not
healthful for a Syracusan to be caught in Salina. Dean Richmond was
king of the bullies, and he always had a big gang at his beck and call.
Fighting in the community was an essential element of their religion.
A man was not in good standing in his church unless he would fight.
The bigger the bruiser he was, the better Christian he was, the better
Christian he was considered.
They were delighted when some outside bully would come in and the poor
devil who had the pluck to do it would be sure not to repeat the visit.
On one occasion they got beat at their own game. A great stalwart Englishman
named Rand, who owned a farm near Onondaga Hill, was waylaid one day
by the boilers. But he knocked them right and left with his bare fists
and ever afterwards he was never molested. Rand was a very powerful
man, somewhere about six feet four inches and broad in proportion, with
a bony muscular frame.
One peculiar thing about the politics of the county was the large Democratic
majority. And yet every prominent lawyer in the county was a Whig. I
attributed it to the lack of education and intelligence, for all you
had to do to make anything popular with the masses was to label it Democracy
and it was accepted unquestioned.
There was no party that ever existed that compared in ability with
the old Whig party. I was at Syracuse when Seward was nominated for
Governor, and that night 11 stages and a long string of wagons loaded
with members of the convention went to Auburn to call on him.
From the Syracuse Daily Star, March 23, 1849
The Secret of Warm Feet
Many of the colds which people are said to catch, commence at the feet.
To keep the extremities constantly warm, therefore, it is to effect
an insurance against the almost interminable list of disorders which
spring out from a 'slight cold;' and, at the risk of being trifling,
and telling people what they know already, we beg to remind them of
the following simple rules: -
1. Never be tightly shod. Boots or shoes, when they fit closely, press
against the veins of the foot, and prevent the free circulation of the
blood. When on the contrary, they do not embrace the feet too tightly,
the blood gets fair play, and the spaces left between the leather and
the stocking are filled with a comfortable supply of warm air.
Those who have handsome feet will, perhaps, be slow to adopt this dictum;
but they are urgently recommended to sacrifice a little neatness to
a great deal of comfort and safety, by wearing what the makers call
2. Never sit in damp shoes. It is often imagined, that unless they
be positively wet it is not necessary to change them when the feet are
at rest. This is a fallacy; for, when the least dampness is absorbed
into the sole it is attracted further to the foot itself by its own
heat, and perspiration is dangerously checked.
Any person can prove this by trying the experiment of neglecting the
rule, and his feet will be cold and damp after a few minutes; although
on taking off the shoe and examining it, it will appear perfectly dry.