Sandy Creek News, Thursday, March 7, 1901
Stage Going Days Recalled
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Ambitions of Henry H. Lyman’s Boyhood
State Excise Commissioner Hon. Henry H. Lyman has published “Memories of the Old Homestead in Lorraine" which graphically describes many scenes from his boyhood days.
Samuel Cottrell who has kept a model country hotel at Greenboro on the old State road referred to by Mr. Lyman, has just been reading Mr. Lyman’s work and found much that deeply interested him. He took great delight in reading of the scenes with which in later years he has been associated and having frequently entertained Mr. Lyman in later years when on fishing trips into Redfield he read with great delight this gentleman’s allusions to incidents in his early life.
From Mr. Lyman’s book we make the following extracts:
The War of 1812-14 showed the need of a good road from Fort Stanwix to Sackets Harbor and the northern frontier, and the old road built by the first settlers was improved and rebuilt by the state to facilitate the movement of troops and munitions of war to the frontier. Since that has been known as the State road, and for many years was the principal road from the Black River country to Albany and New York.
Its builtin and use did much to settle and develop the town early, placing its settlers on the best possible basis as to markets and communication with the outside world. It was not only famous on account go its military history, but also its record as a stage route of great prominence.
One of my first excursions from home goto see the world was when I went over the Fox Gulf to the State road, near Lem Hunt’s tavern, to see the stage go by. This old tavern stood well back from the road at the Corners, and there, in later years, John Hancock, John Robinson and Levi Pitkin successively lived. Thefre wefe two regular stages a day, with extras when required. Relays of horses were furnished at least every ten miles, and good time was made. The horses were seldom allowed to walk, even up the steepest hills.
There was a tavern of more or less pretensions nearly every two or three miles. For instance, leaving Adams, in the town of Lorraine, was the Deacon Brown tavern, at the Corners; the old Risley house, on the Abram Calkins Corners; the Hesketh Place and the Dick Hart house, near the Boylston line - all taverns of standing and reputation - within seven or eight miles.
As the travel increased, many people who were not pretending to keep a regular public house accommodated travelers and teamsters. The travel by private conveyance by far exceeded that of the stage and this old State road was a busy thoroughfare from 1814 to 1850. Uncle Dan Beals once told me that he had slept and fed 75 people in one night at the old log tavern in the middle of the woods, now Greenboro. They did not have spring mattresses nor fine furnishings, but covered the floors of the whole house, travelers using their own blankets and buffalo robes for bedding.
In addition to stage passengers and general travelers, there was a stream of teamsters hauling goods both ways, as the freight to and from Rome, Utica, Albany and New York was taken over this road.
As often as possible I went to the State road to see the stage come and go. It was a great sight to watch it come up the road from the “Huddle,” with its four horses on a sharp jump, with a deck-load of laughing, joking passengers, the driver sitting straight as a cob on his seat, holding the four lines in his gloved hands and occasionally swinging and cracking a long whip over the heads of the leaders, or with the long lash entangling a chicken or touching a saucy dog beside the road.
As they came opposite the old distillery near the corner, the team was put to a sharp gallop whirled up to the tavern door with a splurge and a hurrah that brought things up standing. The passengers jumped out and ranged up to the board in a jiffy, assuaged their thirst, climbed aboard and were off again like a shot for the next tavern.
They did not always stop at every house; the passenger or their appetites controlled that. A load that would take their sap at every tavern from Watertown to Rome was said not to be uncommon in those times, when tippling and rum-drinking was thought to be the right thing by almost everybody.
I was, with several other good little boys in our school, expected some day to be president of the United States, for our teacher, Aunt Lucinda Barton, had assured us that our chances were good; but I would have gladly swapped my chance for president for a dead certainty that I would some day be a stage driver.
About 1848 the building of the Watertown & Rome Railroad was begun. Farmers all along the line and in adjoining towns were solicited to take stock, and many did so. It was completed as far as Adams, July 4, 1851, and a great opening excursion was advertised. Father was a stockholder to the extent of $500. There wee no hideous trusts then, and holding a nice, $500 block of railroad stock gave him financial standing and made him feel good; so he took us on this excursion, which was to run from Adams to Richland, about 18 miles.
We got up early and reached Adams an hour or two ahead of time. The puffing engine, with three small yellow cars, stood on the track just north of the creek, hooting and screeching.I had never before seen a locomotive or car, and I well remember the sensation of awe and wonder with which I looked them over, at first making sure that I was not too near, for I was really afraid of the engine, if not of the cars.
We got aboard early, fearing we would be left, and started on our trip about 10 o’clock, movie off at what I then thought to be dangerous rapidity, and reached Richland about noon. We stayed a little while at Richland, and returned to Adams under the same reckless speed at 3 o’clock in the afternoon. To know how fast we were going I counted the fence posts, which were seven or eight feet apart, I found that I was compelled to suspend my county every few rods by reason of having got ahead of the train.
To me it was an experience and a day to be remembered. Young as I was, I began to dream of something faster and stronger than old Dick, our favorite horse, and of places and things far away and outside Lorraine - even beyond Rome and Utica. Neither was I, the small boy, the only one who had his eyes opened and saw new light through the changes speedily wrought by the new steam road.
The road was soon finished to Watertown, and the old stage route lined with thrifty, busy people, was forever gone. The long chain of comfortable, money making old taverns from Watertown to Rome were never again to see the jolly and familiar faces of their long time guests.
The uses and activities of the old State road had departed, never to return, and with them went the flattering opes and prospects of many old Lorrainer, and my youthful ambition to be a stage driver.
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