With affection and pride

this little book is

dedicated to my

children

WILLIAM, LAURETTA, and SAMUEL

FOREWORD

This booklet, the Reminiscences of an Old-Timer, though unpretentious, is a worthwhile production, particularly in its depiction of the construction and the beginning of the operation of railroads in East Tennessee, as well as of the use made of such lines of communication by the Union and Confederate forces during the Civil War.

Many books of a reminiscential kind have been written by persons who engaged in early steamboat navigation, but, strangely enough, few if any have appeared that have been written from the standpoint of an employee on our early railroads. The book is, in this respect, well-nigh unique, and therefore of essential value to those who may hereafter deal with the history of transportation in Tennessee and the South.

I remember the old stagecoach that used to stop at the Kinney Hotel for breakfast and to change horses after a night's drive from Blountville to Abingdon. The body of the coach was hung with heavy leather straps. The coach carried four to six passengers, often one being on the high seat with the driver. The luggage was carried in a large leather case behind in what was called the boot.

I remember well the speaking in behalf of the preservation of the Union of the States by Thomas A. R. Nelson, Sr., for the Union, and Landon C. Haynes, for secession. One was a Whig, the other, a Democrat. The question of secession was on, and the passions of the people were high.

Our town itself was pretty equally divided. In the fifties there lived in the old town several influential men who figured most honorably in the affairs of the State of Tennessee, and there was an atmosphere of culture and refinement such as pervaded the South. Most of these men had three to four slaves who were treated very well. I do not remember of ever hearing of one being whipped.

We had lived in town two years. I was born in a two-story frame that stood between the jail and John L. Blair's residence, now a vacant lot. Later we lived in a house that stood just back of the Hicky & McCorkle wholesale grocery. We had a cow, and Mother kept her milk in a spring house at the old mill spring. Father having built a home and bought some land near his old homestead, we moved to that in 1847.

After Father's death the responsibility of raising her four children fell upon Mother. I was eight years of age, my brother Sam, six months. As my father had built a house and bought some land, in settling up the estate there was a debt of about eight hundred dollars. We managed fairly well to live with some hired help until the Civil War came up. The E. T. & Virginia R. R. had been surveyed just before Father's death. My mother cooked first meal for the surveyors in this section.

Along between the years of 1856 and 1860 James Buchanan was our President. I went to school and helped on the farm. We kept a few sheep, sheared them, hauled the wool to a carding machine, where it was made into rolls which my mother would spin into yarn for our clothes. Then she would buy cotton yarn for the web. All of this would have to be dyed with homemade extractions. Many a thread have I handed through the gears of our old loom to make our jeans or linseys. My mother could do any kind of work in the field except to handle a wheat cradle. In the early fifties the cradle had just come into use. I remember having seen men cutting wheat with the sickle.

As the war progressed, times grew harder. It was pretty tough to make ends meet. I would have to go eight or ten miles to a country mill for flour and bring it home on horseback. Then groceries became very scarce: for coffee we parched wheat, or cut sweet potatoes into small cubes and parched them. If our tallow dips gave out for a light at night, we would take a rag and lay it in a saucer of fried grease. There was no coal oil until after the war ceased. Then it was forty cents a gallon.

Finally the Confederate forces lost control of Upper East Tennessee, and then it was that small parties of both Confederate and Federal cavalry rushed back and forth between the two armies. What one left, the others took. They robbed our field of what little corn we had raised and at last stole our horses, leaving us without any means of making a crop of any kind.

But all of these depredations must not be laid to either force. Their actions were confined to forage and food. There were many men laying out in the mountains to keep out of the army, and they often made a raid in the valley for provisions.

A part of this time no trains were run between Knoxville and Carter Station. Prior to this time I had a great liking for railroading. I would often leave home on any train the engineer or conductor would let me ride, loading freight, firing, tossing up wood, or any other work just so I was railroading, not knowing or caring when I got back home or got anything to eat. I often slept on the footboard of the engine near the boiler.

At last my mother got tired of this and said, "I will get you a job tomorrow. When the passenger train stops at Blair's Hotel for diner, we will try."

So the next day we were there. When the engineer stepped from his engine, Mother asked for the Job. " Yes," he said. "Be here in the morning."

So I was on hand. My first pay job was a wood passer. The engineer's name was William Pettus, the fireman was an Irishman by the name of Pat Cain. On reaching Knoxville our duties were to clean the engine, the fireman on one side, I on the other. That was in the days of no ballast, and you can bet that, on a rainy day, the engine was about as muddy as a country road wagon.

This was in February, 1862. The mountain men had burnt the bridge over the Holston at what is now Bluff City. (The first name of this station was Middletown, then Union. Confederate authorities, not liking the name, changed it to Zollicoffer, a Confederate general killed in the Civil War. At the close of war it took the name of Union again.) Bluff City was our terminal. On account of the bluff below the railroad bridge, all freight, baggage, and passengers had to be transferred over a wooden bridge opposite the station, a distance of nearly a mile.

Just how long I kept that job I do not remember, but in the summer of 1863 I was working on the Jonesboro section at two dollars per day. I boarded myself, or rather my mother did. The value of the dollar then was running along with the German mark during the World War. I remember for one month's work I got a sack of salt, fifty dollars, and a pair of shoes, twenty dollars. As my mother had boarded me, I gave her the salt and kept the shoes. The last month's work is still in the arrears.

In the winter of 1863-64 I was braking on a short run between Greeneville and Bulls Gap, hauling supplies to General Longstreet's army whose headquarters was one mile east of the Gap. The authorities would not let regular trains go west of Greeneville for fear of capture.

Part of the time it was very cold. My bed was in the depot on a plank by the stove. One bitter day three officers came to Alex Whalen, our engineer, with a request that he take them to Bulls Gap. He said: "Gentlemen, I would like very much to accommodate you, but the crosshead of the engine is broken. I have sent it to the blacksmith shop for repair and can't say when it will be done."

Being ignorant of machinery, they went away satisfied. That was a, tough job. We had no cab to warm us up. The wages for that job are still due. One day, in a downpour of rain, we were unloading a car of corn for the army. Two of the staff officers came in the car out of the rain. I overheard one say to the other that the army would leave for Virginia in a few days.

Being an Andrew Johnson Democrat, I had no idea of going with the rolling stock, which I knew they would take. So when I got back to Greeneville, I took sick and I told my conductor (Allison) I was going home. Having two or three pounds of boiled ham and some hard biscuits in an old haversack, I sold them to Louise Clem for five dollars Confed. Clem was one of Mike Clem's slaves of Jonesboro. So home I came, and I kept out of sight a few days until the Confederates left, going the northern route.

Then one night about eight o'clock John Emmet Naff, two Hutton boys from Virginia, and I left my home, going over Green's Hill and struck the railroad below town. I had seven and a half dollars, which my mother had accumulated and given me. We reached Greeneville at daylight. At Midway we were stopped by a small squad of Federal cavalry, who questioned us and then allowed us to proceed. We spent that night at a farmhouse near the Gap.

The next day I left for Knoxville on a train conducted by Col. Robert McKee, of Greeneville. This was the last I ever saw of my companions. I remained in Knoxville two or three days and met a man by name of Dempsey, who had worked for us on the farm. Together we went to Chattanooga. I caught a freight train for Stevenson, Ala. Remember that I was not troubled with a particle of luggage: all I had was the clothes I had on.

Reaching Stevenson I met up with Capt. Henry Lyle running a freight train for the government. He gave me a job. Right here I met a friend indeed, and one whose kindness will always be remembered. He then had a crew from home: Jacob Brown, Green Burleson, and myself from Washington County; the other was Joseph Fouche from Greene County. It was during the summer of 1864. We were hauling supplies to General Sherman's army when it was marching through Georgia. The captain's pay was one hundred twenty-five dollars per month; the brakeman's was sixty dollars and rations.

Our trips out of Nashville were over the N. C. & St. L. R. R. The return trip was by the M. & C. R.

R. to Decatur, thence the N. & S. to Nashville. The empty cars were all taken back via Decatur to give better transportation facilities for the army. While on these runs, we would get very tired of sow belly and other rations furnished. The people along the road were glad to exchange roasting ears and beans for our fat sides. You may bet this exchange on our part was more than mutual.

There were many accidents then. General Wheeler would often make a dash in and tear up a portion of track, causing a bad wreck. I have seen General Wheeler's home along the M. & C. road a few miles east of Huntsville, Ala.

On one trip we had a large black negro for front brakeman. In coming up the Cumberland Mountain one sunny day, this fellow went to sleep. When the train ran into a tunnel we suppose he awoke. Jumping up he struck his head against the roof of the tunnel, falling off between the cars and walls of the tunnel.

We missed him but had no idea what became of him. After arriving at Stevenson, he came in on a following train an hour or two later, none the worse, only a few bumps on his head.

A serious accident occurred on this mountain that summer. There were two train loads of wounded soldiers from the Battle of Resaca going north to hospitals. The government had no comfortable accommodation for the wounded. The day being hot, the soldiers lay in box cars on green branches and bushes with the doors open and with holes cut in the sides of the cars for air. The second train, following the first, got away from the crew and, about halfway down the mountain, crashed into the first. You may imagine the result as I can't describe it. None of this kind of accidents was ever published that I know of.

On one of our return trips up the North & South Road near Franklin, Tenn., I went to sleep and lost my hat. Now losing my hat was not unusual, but the cost of the hat at Jonesboro is worth mentioning. Sometime before I left home, J. C. Aiken, a merchant selling goods where now is the city drug store, had a wool hat priced at thirty dollars. I wanted it. Mother nor I had any money, so she told me if I would haul wood to pay for it I could buy it. So, to pay for that wool hat, I hauled thirty loads of wood to J. C. Aiken, who lived then behind the W. E. May store.

Later in the summer we were sent to Springfield, Tenn., to haul timbers for the sappers and miners (as they were then called) to rebuild the trestles and bridges on that line at Springfield that had been destroyed by the retreating Confederates. I had a bad case of typhoid fever and lay in a box car six weeks, attended by a doctor in the employ of the United States Government.

After I got so I could travel, I went to Nashville, drew my pay, and came to Knoxville. There I met Cal Shaw and George Olliver. We concluded to make a trip to our old home, arriving at Bulls Gap at sundown, where General Gilliam's forces were stationed. We slipped out between two pickets, crossed Lick Creek, got our supper at a farmhouse, and then resumed our trip. It was dark and, on nearing Midway, we heard quite a racket in that direction and concluded that safety first was in order. We found a big bunch of hay dropped from some wagon. Picking it up, we carried it in to Swan Pond thicket, where we spent the night.

Next morning, hungry as usual, we started out to hunt our breakfast. Crossing the railroad to the north, we saw a large two-story brick house at which we thought that we might get a meal. This house stood on the main highway and was owned by a man named Harmon. There had been a man by that name and one by the name of Fry hung at Greeneville for bridge burning. Whether this was the same Harmon I do not know.

Nearing this house we were going along a staked fence, when a squirrel ran up on a stake. Shaw, carrying a small rifle, raised the gun to shoot it, but the gun failed to fire. At that moment we heard the tramp of horses on the road a few yards ahead of us. On looking we saw a bunch of Confederate cavalry passing west. We took to the woods double-quick. We ran into a man going in the direction of the troopers, and we held him up until we saw them cross Lick Creek.

Had that gun fired, your humble servant would not be here to write the story. We recrossed Lick Creek and lay in a sage field until sundown. Going to a farmhouse near by, we got supper and bed, and remained there three or four days. Being the only one having any money, I paid the bill.

One night at twelve a man on horseback came, awakened us and told us the army was leaving. We dressed hastily and lit out for the Gap, two miles distant. Why the young man came to notify us we never knew. Arriving at Bulls Gap, all was confusion; there were as many, if not more, civilians than soldiers.

We took the road south of Whitesburg; at Russellville we turned north, crossing the railroad. Right here the handles of my old oilcloth valise broke, and a time I had wagging it the balance of the night and all next day. We crossed the Holston River and around Clinch mountain, arriving at Bean Station about four in the afternoon. There I was fortunate enough to buy a piece of fresh beef and had roast for our supper.

Next day at noon we broke camp again, still going west. As I had recently got over the fever, I was always hungry. In passing a sweet potato patch I could not resist the temptation to go in. I scratched out a half dozen, carried them in my arms to our next camp, and we had roasted potatoes for supper. Our camp that night was four or five miles north of Mossy Creek. The following day we left the army near Mossy Creek. The next night we slept in an old storehouse at New Market. Leaving there early, we reached Colonel Shaw's home four miles east of Knoxville that evening, as full of cooties as a dog is of fleas. In an old outhouse we built a fire, bathed, and burned every rag we had on. That cured me of scouting. I went to Knoxville, got from Henry Hoss a hundred dollars that I left with him while trying to make a visit home.

Leaving Knoxville I went to my Uncle David Smith, who lived in Edgar County, Ill., twelve miles west of Paris. This being late in the fall of 1864, I helped his boys gather a large crop of corn.

When winter set in, the boys all went to a free school. Not wishing to stay at home, I went also.

In the spring I took a notion to railroad again. Going to Pana I got a job of braking on the Big Four, Pana, Ill., to St. Louis. I was in Pana on the night of the assassination of President Lincoln. On the Sunday following, there was a big freight wreck two miles east of Pana.

On going to this wreck I met my old engineer, William Pettus, who had given me my first job at home. That job did not last long, as the company fired my conductor. Going back to Uncle's I went to work on his farm. We boys put in a large acreage of corn, and then came the end of the war.

I began to want to see the home folks, so I borrowed fifty dollars from Uncle. On arriving at Greeneville, Tenn., I had five dollars left. This I loaned to Al Brown so he could get home too. He lived at this time in the home now occupied by J. A. Cummins. So I came home broke, or less than I left with.

After I had stayed at home a few weeks, I went to braking on a train hauling timber to the trestle of the Watauga and Holston rivers. The conductor's name was Messer, of the Boston & Maine R. R. He had been running a train for the government. Many Northern men came South during the war for better wages.

During the war the roads used by the government--all cars and rolling stock--were branded U. S. Military R. R. The man in charge of a train drew a captain's pay; that is why all the conductors on our Southern roads are called captain. Now it is a common title applied to every foreman in charge of a crew.

Later I went to braking for Col. Isham Young on a local freight. We had very few conveniences. To put in a brass, we had to get a good stout fence rail, with a block of wood for a heel. There were no dogs to replace a car on the track; we had to rely on the firewood we used. In the early days of the operation of the road, all things were crude.

The life of all the trainmen was hard--there was no cab on a through train, but one on the local freight. The brakeman had to ride the hurricane deck in rain or snow, sleet or hail, holding his train from running away down the many heavy grades in this section of East Tennessee. Seldom did he have a chance to warm his hands during the trip. Many are the boys who lost their lives from the top of a frozen train. All couplings were made by hand.

In winter we had to dig wood out of the snow five or six times for the engine between Knoxville and Bristol. Often the engine would get out of water between tanks. Then we would have to hunt up a section crew and buckets, get to some pond which was often frozen over, and bail enough water to get to the next tank. Often when on a side track waiting for a train, the engine would get low in water. Then in order to fill the boiler, we would put out a flag, get out on the main track in order to run the pump of the engine. This would fill the boiler again. There were no injectors in those days.

At meeting points all trains would wait thirty minutes on the opposing train. If it failed to reach the meeting point at that time, the train had a right of track. If both trains failed to make the meeting point, then the westbound train had the right of track. Each road kept its own cars at home.

The Old Dominion Line of steamships from New York to Norfolk brought the freight; there it was loaded on the Norfolk and Petersburg cars, and hauled to Petersburg. Then it was transferred to the Petersburg and Lynchburg, and so to Bristol, Knoxville, Dalton, and on to its destination, all to be transferred to each line. Now cars are loaded to go to their destinations without change. At Knoxville the E. T. & Va. and E. T. and Ga. railroads each had a transfer platform in their yards. Generally the E. T. and Ga. would shunt their cars up to the E. T. and Va. yard for freight brought in by that road, then vice versa.

In 1867 there was a large crop of corn raised in East Tennessee. The Irish near the yard always kept a lot of hogs running loose. They would get in the cars for the shattered corn after the cars were unloaded. Many mornings, on taking out the local, on rounding French's grade just east Of Knoxville, we would see a hog or two standing in the car doors. I'll bet the owners never guessed what became of their hogs.

When I was braking my pay was forty-five dollars per month. Twenty of this I gave to Mother; the rest went for board and clothes. I was given a train in the fall of 1866, with an increase in pay. I paid off all the old debts on the estate. Some were for my schooling, one a doctor bill of my father, and a large bill of merchandise bought before the war--all this I paid. When I had accumulated enough to settle one bill, I would come home and pay it, but it took a few years to do it as there were other expenses at home.

In September, 1873, the Jay Cooke banking house of New York failed, causing at that time a panic throughout the United States nearly equal to the black Friday a few years before. The officials of the road ordered a twenty percent cut in wages from top to bottom. The engineers refused to accept the cut and quit.

At that time I was running a passenger train, as the road was running a double daily. On Saturday the 20th, I reached Knoxville on No. 1. No train had left Knoxville that day. As soon as I stepped off of my train Newt Bogart, train master, led me away from the crowd (which was large), and told me that I was expected to get on that engine and take No. 1 to Chattanooga. I demurred for a while, calling his attention to the relations between myself and the men, but he insisted.

Finally I told him to get Chas. Hodge, master mechanic to oil the engine for me and that I would go, but first I went among the engineers and talked to them, and told them what was expected of me. They were friendly and did not advise me, so after holding the train an hour, I went and got on Engine 125 Rogers and lit out. I stopped at Mouse Creek for diner and made Cleveland on time. On reaching Chattanooga I told the yard engineer to turn the engine and bring it back into the Union shed. He did so and stood her right beside our ticket office from which I watched that night.

Next morning, on leaving Chattanooga, the engine would not steam. Stopping for wood just of Tyners, I found that the sparks had not been removed from the smokestack. I got the spark chute and removed them. This caused me a twenty minutes' delay, but the engine steamed all right and I soon made up lost time, reaching Knoxville on Sunday. I found a large portion of the population at the depot to meet the train. After eight days the engineers accepted the cut and went back to work.

The three other men who ran an engine during the trouble were C. C. Trainham, William Whitlock, and Rufus Patty. Trainham was killed in a collision just east of Watauga. Patty was riding on the engine of train No. 2, and was killed at Raders by crashing into the rear of a freight.

When all was settled it resulted in taking off one passenger train. The officials offered me my choice of trains, but as there were older men than I, I refused to supplant them and took back the Bristol local that I had run before.

III

ROSTER OF EARLY RESIDENTS

OF JONESBORO
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I will endeavor to give a roster of the names of the citizens of old Jonesboro in the years of eighteen fifties with residences, names, and occupation. Such roster will be correct only as memory serves me in this the year 1930. Once the capital of the State of Franklin, its first charter was granted in 1784, and it celebrated its centennial year in l879.

Commencing at the old cemetery, at the east end of Main Street, on the north side, going west, was: Milton Atkinson, Silversmith: A long one-story frame. Large family. James and Browlow followed their father's trade, Henry Cate and William were tinners. There were six daughters. One married A. C. Collin, father of H. C. Collin, of the Knoxville Journal; one, Bush McCloud; one, John Dwain; one, William Smith; one, Nelson; one, John Compton.

Blacksmith shop of W.P.Brewer: One-story frame.

W. P. Brewer, Merchant: One-story frame; our Sunday School superintendent. Two boys. My memory of this family is vague. W. P. Brewer moved to Bristol, and was depot agent for the E. T. & Va. R. R. through the war. All of the above is now the property of Mrs. Silas Cooper.

Thomas Dosser, Constable: One-story frame. Two sons: William, deceased; and James, now a mechanic in the Southern Railway shops, Knoxville, Tenn. Site now of the bungalow of F. S. Patton.

David Wilds, Merchant: Two-story brick and frame. Four children: John, a minister; Mrs. George Smith; Mrs. Wilson; one died. Home of Miss Lillian Dosser.

Chief Justice James W. Deadrick: Large two-story frame. Five boys: James W., Jr., and A. S. were lawyers; Dot, owner of Unaka Spring; others were Frank Shell and Dissey: two daughters: one married Judge John Moon; one, a lawyer named Van Dyke. Now the home of Mrs. Charles Thomas.

The Baptist Church, one of the oldest in town, is still prosperous. The pastor was William Cate. A fine addition has been added by John D. Cox and sister, Virginia, in memory of their mother.

Mrs. Mary Stewart: Boarding House, two-story log, later weather boarded. Kept a select house of picked boarders. Only one son that I remember. Later occupied by Charles Meek. Now a filling station.

Seth J. Lucky, Jurist: Two-story brick, one of our most prominent citizens. One son: Cornelius,

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Tom Burton's Saloon: One-story frame.

A.G. Mason's Wagon and Blacksmith Shop: A long one-story frame. Site now of Ward's Warehouse.

Honly Sisters, Seamstresses: One-story brick. Made their living by dressmaking.

J.D. Estes, Shoemaker: Two-story frame. Had a large family, but names forgotten. Site now ofthe William Lee Warehouse.

W.C. Slemons Tanner: Two-story frame. Two sons: Melvin and James. Melvin lives in Orlando, Fla.; James who married a daughter of W.H. Maxwell, lives in California. Two daughters, Charlotte, deceased, and Miss Alice, who still lives in the old home.

Now east again:

J.W. Atkinson, Silversmith: Two-story frame. Poindexter Bros., Merchants: Two-story brick, sold general merchandise.

Jeremiah Smith, Laborer: A large family: Addison, Zachariah, sons; one daughter married Thomas Russell; one, William Paterson; one, William Bratton; one, John Naff; one, a White; Miss Fannie, a school teacher.

Phoenix Hotel: Three-story brick, owned by John Green, with livery stable in connection. This hotel ceased to function about 1850. The sites were on the vacant lot now owned by Miss Alice Slemons.

Job and Printing Office: One-story frame. In this building, I think, W.G. Brownlow published his paper the short time he lived in Jonesboro. This was run later by Lawson Gifford, who published Fowler's Arithmetic, edited by Roswell C. Smith. From this Arithmetic my father took the writer's name.

Servant House of W.M. Gammon: Two-story brick, both torn away. Stood in the yard now the possession of the Hoss heirs.

W.M. Gammon, Farmer and Broker: Three stories. Three sons: Melville, John A., Ally. The youngest was killed during the war near Morristown in a skirmish with some Federal Cavalry. John A. and Melville moved to Rome, Ga., and engaged in the mercantile business. Now the home of Matt Hoss' heirs.

David Reece, Shoemaker: A small one-story brick. Site now of the new Baptist parsonage.

William Cate, pastor of the Baptist Church for many years: A two-story frame. Only one son that I remember, Gideon, father of Col. R.H. Cate of Knoxville. Now the home of Mrs. George Smith.

Enoch Brown: A two-story frame, father of Col. A.J. Brown, who was also Circuit Court Judge, married Miss Sally Wild. Now the home of ex-Sheriff Pritchett.

J.W. McCatherine, Wagon Maker: One-story frame. Now replaced by a new building owned by Carl Osborne.

Addison Smith, Brick Mason: One-story frame. His sister, Fannie was a school teacher. Joseph Marshall, Colored Minister and Carpenter: One-story frame. Now back to the Phoenix Hotel and going south on the old Cherokee Road, I will take both sides of the road: