Clarksburg, The Birthplace of the Great

Chieftan [sic] Stonewall Jackson.

_________

Recollections of The Pioneers—Early Struggles

of the Soldier Who Knew Noth-

ing of The Word Fear—Deputy Sheriff at Eighteen.

By F. B. M’Quiston, Staff Correspondent,

in Pittsburgh Sunday Dispatch.

A pretty little spot nestling between two Harrison county hills, on Elk creek, is this wee city, the birthplace of Stonewall Jackson. A few days spent up here have proved refreshing. Clarksburg is a little world within itself. It is one of the oldest towns in the country and I am told has not grown much in the last three quarters of a century. It has been a city now about one year, and is the county seat. True it is that within a dozen miles of our Allegheny Court House we have about a dozen boroughs, each larger than this West Virginia city, which has about 5,000 inhabitants.

Clarksburg is famous on two scores, its age and as the place where General Thomas Jonathan Jackson, known the world over as “Stonewall” Jackson, was born and raised. It was this little town that sent out in the 60’s that young man whose fighting ability and generalship won the love of the Confederacy, and the past two days I have met and talked with gray-haired men who were big boys when Jackson was in short dresses. Younger men have told me how they went swimming with Tommie [sic] Jackson back in the 30’s.

HOUSE WHERE HE WAS BORN.

Stonewall Jackson was born in a little story and a half brick house in what is now the center of the town. It was an old house when the future great General was ushered into this troubled world; it got older each day, but it was not until 1881 that the crush of business forced the little landmark away. A great four story building owned by David Davidson now stands on the site. Last night I called on Colonel Luther Haymond, who had nursed Stonewall Jackson. Mr. Haymond is a man whose appearance commands admiration. He has lived long and well, not fast. Ninety winters have left his hair white as snow, but aside from this he does not show age. Mr. Haymond is near six feet tall, straight as an arrow, yet strong and muscular. He can read unusually small print without glasses. Mr. Haymond was a member of the Legislature and a prominent banker here. Last evening he sat across the room from me and we carried on a lengthy conversation in an ordinary tone. His sense of hearing is unusually keen for a man of such years. Said he:

“Yes, I knew Stonewall Jackson almost from the day he was born. I knew him intimately from the first day he came out on the street with his brother Warren. He was born on June [sic] 21, 1824. When he was 4 years old I went to clerking in the store of Ed McCullough, which stood near the Jackson home. I was then about 17 years old.

TOMMY HAD ONLY ONE SHIRT.

“Some days after I went into the store the little Jackson boys came running in. It was an awfully hot day and the boys horrified Mr. McCullough and several customers by bursting in to view in abbreviated costumes. They wore little linen pants held up with strings, but had no shirts on. Warren, the elder, explained that his mother was washing their shirts and that they had slipped out of the house while she was busy. Mr. McCullough at once took the boys to the back of the store and cut off a great piece of shirting and gave it to them so that they might have at least two shirts apiece. This will show you how poor the Jacksons were and under how great a handicap the future great General started on his face with the world.

“Tommy was just 7 years old when his father died and the financial troubles which had all along pressed on the family were now trebled [sic] when the head of the house had fallen. Cummings Jackson, who lived 19 miles up the river in Lewis county, came down to see the family and he took a great fancy to wee Tommy, the gray-eyed fearless chap who had already started out to lick all the 10 year old boys on both sides of the creek. He offered to take the bright lad to his home and send him to school. The young widow saw no better chance, it would leave one less mouth to feed and the boy would be sure of good treatment, so for a time Clarksburg knew the lad no more; that is, he didn’t live here, but he visited his mother and old friends very frequently. He used to spend much time with Aunt Katy Williams, a motherly old soul who lived down by the creek. His relative, Mrs. Mary S. Jackson, who lived on the hill, also received many visits from him then and in after life.

STONEWALL AS A CONSTABLE.

“While up in Lewis county Tommy Jackson’s great love of fighting and for horses was developed. The boy wasn’t more than 16 years old when he began riding as a constable in the county. He was soon afterward made deputy sheriff in the county then very wild and lawless, and until he was 18 years old he was the terror of all evil doers. He was the finest horseman I ever saw. I used to admire him as he dashed into town at full speed on his visits to his mother and his young sister Laura. In 1831 Mrs. Jackson again married and I was one of the wedding guests. She married Blake B. Woodson.

“When 19 years of age young Jackson first became prominent. The daring young deputy riding night and day was named for the West Point cadetship by Samuel Hayes, then Congressman from this district. I well remember the day he started from here to West Point. He had ridden over from Weston with all his worldly goods tied up in saddle bags. He got the appointment and an hour later he was riding out of town to catch the stage on the river below. He sent his horse back to Weston. From this time out it seemed that the boy belong to the world, not to us. He came back to see us occasionally dressing in his nice blue uniform—this was before the gray was thought of. He graduated with high honor and when the call of the South went up, he was instructor at the military school over at Lexington.

“There was much real mourning here when news came that the famous “Stonewall” of Bull Run had been killed by one of his own men at Chancellorsville. He was only 39 years of age when he died.

The antiquity of this town, which was laid out before the Revolutionary War, in 1772, is something which impresses on upon entering its gates. “Stranger, we don’t pretend to be anything here but a real old-fashioned town,” said the barber this afternoon as he shaved me very carefully—that echoes the sentiment of our entire city. From the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad station, full three-quarters of a mile from the center of the city, it presents a beautiful picture of repose and simplicity.

IT RESEMBLES FREDERICKTOWN.

An old citizen here tells me that this place bears some resemblance to Fredericktown, in Maryland, the famous residence of Barbara Fritchie, whose little fuss with Stonewall Jackson on one September day has been so beautifully told by Whittier. This may be so, for even this great poet must have had such an inspiring picture as this before him when he said the valley was:

Fair as a garden of the Lord

To the eyes of the famished revel horde.

General Clark, the famous Indian fighter, of Kentucky, was the man for whom Clarksburg was named. Two rows of log cabins were built in 1772. There is one old cabin standing yet near the big Tinsman block. It is said that it was built in 1774. It looks a few years older than that, however.

Yesterday afternoon I stood on some old pieces of masonry on the playground of the public school. It is all that remains of the first chartered institution of learning founded west of the mountains, the old Randolph Academy, a branch of the William and Mary College of Virginia. The academy was incorporated in 18?7 [illegible copy]. James Madison was one of the trustees of the academy. Raising money by lottery for a college each year would create quite a comment now, but this was what was done 100 years ago for this old academy, whose foundation stones are yet plain to be seen. The Legislature of Virginia a[u]theorized Madison and other trustees “to raise a sum of money by lottery, not to exceed 1,000 pounds.”

Fifty years later the identity of the Randolph Academy was lost in the Northwestern Virginia Academy, which had a nice brick building. A great deep-toned bell was hung in the cupola of the new building, and for the last 80 years that same bell has rung out a welcome to the children of Clarksburg. It now hangs in the public school tower. In 1866 Clarksburg passed out of the collegiate and academic world by turning over the Northwestern Virginia Academy building to the public school authorities. The Dispatch is indebted to Miss Lillie Hart for this educational data.

MOST IMPORTANT R. R. CENTRE.

Clarksburg, though small, is perhaps the most important railroad and commercial centre of its size in the country. This assertion is made without fear of contradiction. When the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad put its line through this region in the 50’s no account was taken of the town of Clarksburg, which sat some distance from the proposed line. The railroad people no doubt thought the town would get up early the first morning after a train was sent through and move over to the railroad. The railway people were wrong—the road still runs along the top of the hill by itself, while the town still nestles close to the creek as a hundred years before. Travelers get to and from the station in buses. The West Virginia and Pittsburgh and the Monongah roads now also run in at the Baltimore and Ohio station, and the one little station is the busiest place that I have ever seen.

Figures are not at hand as to the business transacted at this depot in 1897, but in 1896 $40,000 loaded cars were handled at this depot. Think of it!—a station at a little town of 5,000 souls taking in at its station $1,000,000 for express, freight and tickets. The sale of tickets alone amounted to $105,000. The year 1897 was better than the previous year, but I am told that 1893 was the biggest year ever known in railroad business here. One hundred and eleven thousands dollars’ worth of tickets were sold by the agent here, and these figures do not give a fair idea of the amount of travel out of Clarksburg, as almost all the people going out use mileage books. There are three very healthy scalpers’ offices in this little town and the scalpers wear diamonds. It is here that the great vein of Pittsburg [sic] coal reaches its maximum thickness—nine feet. The mines close by have an output of about 250,000 tons per annum. These figures are matters of fact and can be shown anyone who inquires. There seems just a little justice in the claim that Clarksburg is the most important station on the Baltimore and Ohio between Baltimore and Cincinnati.

A CTIY OF GREAT INTELLIGENCE.

Clarksburg keeps in very close touch with the outside world. The number of newspapers coming in daily is astonishing. Every train brings papers from some corner of the outside world. Over their breakfasts they read the evening papers of Cincinnati, Baltimore, New York, Pittsburg [sic] and Wheeling. At supper they have all the news of the world by that day’s morning papers.

For the first time in twenty-two years Clarksburg has liquor licenses.

In mayor M. G. Holmes Clarksburg has a fine magistrate. I had a long talk with him a few days ago and found that he has several good ideas which, when he gets them running, will no doubt lend to the improvement of the city. I do not think,however, that his improvement will reach to the street car stage. It seems funny to see a city with a lively mayor and a town council not having a street car or any public conveyance save a bus, but this is Clarksburg for you.

In the Clarksburg TELEGRAM, issued weekly, the people have a good-wide-awake up-to-date paper. State Senator Stuart F Reed is editor. Mr. Reed, though young, is the Republican leader of this the richest, county in the State. It was he who nominated Elkins for the United States Senate. He was a Regent of the State University of West Virginia and is postmaster at Clarksburg.