CHARLES ELBERT COMPHER

By Eugene Scheel

One of Loudoun’s oldest citizens, born December 28, 1876 on the Kolb Place near Mt. Olivet Church. “My oldest sister, Molly, and brother Bill, were married the same year”—as the bridge was built across the Potomac (in 1893) – to Berlin. “The ferry was owned by Sam Wenner, but was operated by John Ball and Sam Sigafoos. The boat would carry a four-horse team and wagon and a two-horse team and wagon, loaded. Mr. Armistead Filler was a great cattleman. And when he wanted to ship a load of cattle, and didn’t have enough of his own, he’d buy from different farmers around to fill out the load. I went along one summer when Pa sold him several cattle, and I don’t think there were three or four, and they all met down Mr. Filler’s—everyone that brought in cattle, and we drove them down and put them on the boat. The down-river side of the boat was blinded with some material—I don’t remember what it was—and the up-river side was blinded between the windlasses. The river was pretty high, and all the poling we’d need was to get started from the bank. A portion of us—mostly us boys—headed the boat—and when we landed, we divided. I went just past the bridge, over the block, to keep them from going down the towpath. And two boys were to go over the block and stand between the towpath and Sam Wenner’s saloon to keep them from going east. And others were divided in different places.

“When we were out in the river—I don’t think we were halfway along the middle—our long-horned steer jumped right off the boat, and he went to the Virginia side, down to about Quarter Branch. “The ferry cost one dollar for a four-horse team and wagon. They used ropes—I call them windlasses—ropes up to the cable (to run the ferry).

“The next day Pa took me down the river to try to bring the steer back up to put him in Mr. Filler’s pasture. We had him near the old tollhouse near the bridge, but he got away. So I was told that Mr. Filler took down with him a tame cow or two and took him (the recalcitrant cow) back to pasture.

“Not until the bridge was put onto the old piers—I can’t agree with them on that (in regard to 1893 date of bridge building). I think it was 1890, date of organization of the company to build the bridge. First sentence of paragraph refers to operation of tollhouse. Mt brother, Will, and my sister, Molly were married in the year 18 and 90. And Will taught at the Brooklyn School that adjoins my daddy’s farm, two terms. And I thought that during the holidays, 18 and 90, that my sister was married. But it must have been the first of 90, for the reports from the Lutheran Church at Lovettsville that Preacher McLinn was there the first year 18 and 90. For he married my sister and Grant Reid. And the river was froze over and the boat wasn’t running. And Pa took them to Point of Rocks to take the train in a two-horse sled.

“Well, so I didn’t know anything about him myself. So when Will came home that evening, he brought Grant Reid with him. So that fall—the fall of “90—Will taught school there again, and he married sometime late that fall. He went up in Rockbridge County after his wife and I went to the river after her myself. And they came across the bridge. There was a bridge across Rock Creek just before you come up the bank to get on the old bridge, and I met them on that bridge.

“They used the tollhouse right at the foot of the bridge when that bridge was put on. There was another tollhouse that they used for the first bridge, I suppose. I don’t know.

“River Mill out by Knoxville, didn’t wash away (in the May 31, 1889 flood—‘Johnstown Flood’). I’ve seen it when I used to go to Harper’s Ferry on picnics: that’s everything I know about it”. Mr. Compher never saw the lime kiln above the mill. “ But I think they used to grind plaster there; my granddaddy talked about them grinding plaster.”

“My parents were different from some people; they would never sit down and talk to us children like some parents did. But I think, from what I’ve read, that my grandfather Compher’s father came down from Pennsylvania in 17 and 32 with the German settlement. I never heard him explain anything about his marriage or anything else. But he married Susan Smith, daughter of Thomas Smith. And my mother was a Bowers, raised—born in Hagerstown. She was the daughter of John Bowers, who operated the mill at Taylorstown during the Civil War. And he later operated the mill at Wheatland, Virginia. And I was told he fell off a horse and was killed. Her mother was a Fideley (Figley). Yow know George Bowers, run the Hillsboro mill? He was my mother’s brother; John Bowers. George was also called ‘Wash’.” John was George’s brother. Charlie another brother, with the Brunswick bank?; he had seven sisters.

“Well, I heard my mother explain the time my grandfather Compher cut across the Potomac here, when the Southern soldiers were known to be in the country. I don’t know where my grandfather Compher was, but my Aunt Allie, they called her, was a pretty big girl, and they tried to burn the house by setting the bed afire. And every time they would light the fire, she would put it out. And one of them got mad and hit her over the head with his sword. She didn’t die right then, but that’s what caused her death. And I heard Mr. John Axline tell it twice. That when his father wasn’t home, the soldiers came along and made him harness up four of his best horses and put ‘em to the wagon, and go up to the Simon Arnold place, and throw on ten barrels of corn. And take it down to Manassas. He begged them to let him take the team back home. But he was told that they would take care of the team and wagon. And he had to walk home.

“There was a man in the Southern army by the name of John Mobberly. And he would ride horseback and gather up recruits. So one day Pa—he was about of age—that was John W. Compher—he was mending fence up along the Mountain Road, and he rode up—Mobberly rode up along the fence and said ‘John, come here and get on behind me.’ And the answer was ‘I will do no such thing.’ So he hit him over the head with the sword and went on. I was shown the place where John Mobberly was killed; at the foot of the Short Hill Mountain—it was at the Presgrave Farm—Presgraves lived there; I don’t know whether they owned it or not. I was told that he 2was lured there; that they had some horses they wanted to sell. That’s all I know about that.

“When I was small there was an old man by the name of Abner Riley; he used to gather eggs and butter from my mother and others—if my mother didn’t have enough. He would carry two big baskets on a horse; one full of eggs, the other full of butter. And this old man would lead his horse by the name of ‘Patch Stipes’. He would carry up at the market one day and sell it in Harper’s Ferry the next. Course he used what they called the Grubb Road. I think it was.

“Just for fun there was an old man Between The Hills by the name of Roger Waters. And he had gathered up herbs in the mountain; it was wintergreen and Indian Turnip, ginseng—all three were good. And he got a patent on his medicine. On the bottle was labeled ‘Mountain Oil’. But he called it the ‘ragical, tragical compound’. And he told us one day about an old man’s wife died over Between The Hills. And when they left the grave after she was buried, he said ‘she was one miserable piece of stuff’. That was quite a compliment.

“ Now that’s where I ever went to school. I don’t know whether I ought to tell it or not, but I think it was the year of the big flood (1889). That was what they called the Johnstown Flood; 18 and 89.

Mr. Ash George had his whole family, in Brunswick that day. That was end of fall of ’89. And the river on the boat, they had a load of wheat ready to leave the boat. And Mr. George came down from the Rock Bridge in a big trot and rushed right into the river below the boat. Well, Willie, and Carl, and Charlie jumped out of the wagon hit the water. But the two girls held onto the spring seat. And Mrs. George was in the seat with a baby in her lap. Mr. Sam Richey was pumping a tank of water at the edge of the river and he hollered to Mr. Ash George to come back and they’d go up and get some more. But Mr. George paid no attention to him. Then he hollered to him to stop, but he wants to go along. So he stopped and Mr. Richey drove the tank out, close as he could get it to Mr. George’s wagon, got a hold of the lines and brought the wagon back. As they came up out of the water, Mr. George said, ‘Gentlemen, this is business on the first floor.’ And Mr. John Ball said, ‘I think it’s business on the second floor if I know anything about it.’

“Well sir, when I was small, the river was fill of mussel shells, but of late years I couldn’t see any when I went across the river. They all dead at that time; I don’t know what killed them. They were two and a half inches long.

“Why Mr. Sam Richey was hauling water to Brunswick; he was building Brunswick at that time; a two-horse tank. And the bridge was put on the piers the next year as far as I know about that. Only signs I ever saw of the bootlegging was by Pete Riley, Jim Riley’s boy. He built a little shack by the flat (on the Virginia side). He came by when I was picking corn one day and had a sack, looked like he had bottles in it. He let the bars down and all the cows could have gotten in the cornfield. I never thanked him for that.

“When it comes to Bolington, Morrisonville, and what they call Arlington Schoolhouse, I saw all three of them in one day. Well, the way it was, Pa told me to come along with him; I may not have been over four years old. I know I had not gone to school. So we walked cross four fields, southwest and stuck to the road that led to the Arlington Schoolhouse. Then went east to Morrisonville, then on east across the pike and down to what was called the Curry farm. That man had bought a carload of Canadian sheep. And Pa looked him up and they picked out six or eight, yose (ewes) and buck. Then they sit there and talked ‘till the sun was setting low. And I had begun to think about night. So I asked Pa if we don’t start won’t we be in the dark? That’s what we want; too hot to start with them yet. And when we passed a certain church, it was a ‘getting dark’. That was Rehoboth Church. And we got to Bolington it was dark. I told Pa I was entirely give out; I couldn’t walk any further. I thought he would offer to carry me, but he asked if I could ride the buck. ‘ I will try.’ So he picked me up and placed me on the buck. I grabbed a handful of wool on each shoulder, and rode him up to the road gate at the Brooklyn Schoolhouse. And he never appeared to know that I was on him. I have often wondered why we couldn’t have taken one horse at least; as many horses as there was on the farm.

“At that time the farmers had organized and built a creamery at Bolington. And I would go along with my brother Lute, and open the gates. We would take Uncle Charlie Fry’s milk, Mr. Lute Hickman’s, Mr. William Wentzel’s and Mr. Lute Wentzel’s. And about that telephone line was put in from Brunswick to Purcellville (1886). They had the poles along the road—great long poles, first I ever seen of it. And when he heard that they was gong to talk over a wire from Brunswick to Purcellvile, he didn’t believe it would succeed.

“About the mail, Mr. Frank Shumaker, a brother to Joe Shumaker, he had a hack. And he would haul the mail from Brunswick to Purcellville.” I think Frank Shumaker was from Lovettsville. Carried people, too; two-horse team. That was before the first mail route started; what they called the Star Route. Before that route started there was people from the Potomac River to out—in what they called the Shinar country. They had to go to Lovettsville for mail. Mr. John Axline was the first man to carry the mail to office at George’s Mill; office at Mr. Silas DeKalb springhouse loft on the farm. And at William English’s store; was called Britain. They office at Mr. Silas Kalb’s farm was called Jumbo, but later at Rinker’s Store at Elvan. There wasn’t much mail at that time; very little mail. One-horse buggy.

“’Bout all the mail my father took was the Rural New Yorker, published in New York.

“ Not likely that he (Shumaker) helped them free of charge.” In carrying passengers from Berlin to Purcellville.

“I can’t say much about Lovettsville; always been a dead little place. I didn’t know until just lately that Lovettsville was ever laid out in streets or blocks. I found out from the paper that what I used to call Pig Ally was Pennsylvania Avenue. Plenty of mud holes. That led from William Biser’s tombstone works out by Thomas Potterfield’s butvher shop. That’s the short route I’d take when hauling milk out to the cheese factory. Mr. Joe Grubb operated a cheese factory. And he made as good a cheese as ever was put on the market. Why that fell through I never heard.

“My father kept accounts here (at Hammond’s blacksmith shop) the year 1875; the year before I was born. It used to have horses shod there. That’s all I know about that. I knew Mr. Hammond and his family. I stacked Mr. Hammond’s wheat for him the year 1900 and 4. And Dick told me that his father said, ‘that I did a pretty good job for a boy’, and I was twenty-eight years old. I was never anybody to boast, but I put them up to keep; I didn’t put ‘em up to rot. I was put to stacking wheat the summer I was in my eleventh year, and I stacked every bit of the wheat on that farm and brother Will’s farm until 1900.” Then he went out West to homestead.

“When, I made ‘em look very much like an egg setting up on end. The idea was to put a bulge on they calls it, jug; jug on them. I handed sheaves to my father the year ’84 and ’85. And I knew exactly how it was done. I thought the year ’86, when I was in my tenth year, I was going to hand sheaves again but when we went to haul it in, Pa got a wagon from Mr. John Axline and he ran two wagons and Pa and myself brought the wheat in and I loaded every bit of the wheat from that summer until 1900.

“ Throw the butts down. The idea was to keep the stacks level until they draw in; and then raise the middle. That way they’ve all the sheaves down. The reason he put me to stacking wheat so soon; one Sunday morning after the weather got warm, I went out in the woodhouse and built a wheat stack out of corn cobs. I didn’t think Pa would see me in there. But when be came by, starting to church, he spied me. He sized that stack up. Well he said ‘that’s pretty good, but you’ve picked the wrong day.’ So that summer—that was in ‘87—when the wheat was hauled in, I thought I was going to haul in sheaves again. The first stack was on sandy ground. And very soon he got the stack leveled. ‘Now you get down there.’ ‘Why Pa I can’t stack.” ‘Yes you can.”

I got down there and stacked. And I stacked every sheaf from that time ‘till I left home. His only correction was: I wouldn’t put it out fast enough in the start.” He left home March 1900.

“I told him I didn’t like to see props under the stack to hold it up—like was under his stacks. He handed me sheaves until he finished that bag. And he never came around as long as I was there as long as I stacked wheat for him. I did love to stack wheat.

“Our market was at Berlin; Crampton Company. That mill burned. They (George’s Mill) didn’t handle wheat; only for bread the way I understood it. Slater’s Mill was an old grist mill; they didn’t make flour. Just corn meal and hops, hominy. They’d make hominy. They also had sawmill there; upright saw. And the log carriage bring the log up to the saw. It was proof enough that the corn cribs over home where I owned; the slate over both them cribs were sawed at Slater’s Mill—that was called John Kalb’s Mill. For as late as I left home, there was some of them lathe up over the corn crib; showed they was sawed by the upright saw. They wouldn’t saw within about two inches of the end, you know.” The mill was running in 1900. “ I don’t know just what year that big wheel played out. I know that Mr. Wolford ran it there one summer; that was after I left the farm.

“I went to enough teachers to have enough education. But failed somewhere. After I struck the thirteen, I never went to school again until after Christmas. I must have been too good help at home, I reckon. My brother Will was the only teacher I went to that did have prayer at morning. But late years we’d read in the Testament, and later on we’d sing. My first teacher was Gerald (Jared?) Atwell and he broke me in the first day; an old gray-headed man. Spring of ’83. It was some time in May that they started me; after it got good and warm. And I was barefooted, sitting on the front seat near the stove. As soon as I sat down, I said something aloud to the boy beside me. And first thing I knew, a big oak ruler hit me on the foot, and bounced clear back to the door. “Now go get that ruler and bring it up here to me. Now go back to your seat and see if you could keep your mouth to yourself.’

“Mr. John Hunter was the second teacher, and Mr. Robert Working was the third. I think it was about 1912 as I can remember, I was talking to Mr. Working in Lovettsville. And he said, ‘Elbert, you never gave me much trouble in school.’ Little wonder, Mr. Atwell broke me in.

My greatest trouble in school was to looking over on the girl’s side too much. Mr. Will Hunter told me to go up to the blackboard and look in the corner for a change. I was never so embarrassed in all my life. You bet I paid more attention to my books after that.

“The trouble of it was, had to start in after Christmas. Had to start in just where they were. The whole class took the same lesson. Did well in all but arithmetic. I got into decimals, but I never reached percentage. The common run of people like myself; not necessary to have a college education. Just a common education good enough for most people. We got in the corn a little early that fall, so I got to go in a week earlier that year. I got to go to school ‘till I was twenty-one. I never heard the word ’grade’. They went by the reader. They say I went good in the fourth reader. Went in the fifth as far as I can understand. I never did have a stick used on me in my life. I may have been too sneaky for ‘em to catch me.

“The one year I was going to school to Will, the spelling class was the last class before school was dismissed. And I never missed a word. And was feelin’ pretty good. So I tried to see how bow-legged I could walk back to my seat. Will said ‘Elbert, come back up here and see if you can’t beat that.’ I went up and walked back to my seat, natural. So that night at supper, I no sooner pushed back from the table, Will told me to make that the last time that you ever pull anything off like that while I’m teaching. As I passed the chair, I said ’putsie’—I don’t know how you spell it--. He grabbed me by the arm, put me over his knees and gave me a good warming up. That was the only paddling I ever got at school.

“Old Ned Curtis, a former slave, he belonged to Ebbie Grubb. And he would stand and turn the corn sheller all day for fifty cents. And his meals. He would rather turn than feed (the corn into the sheller). Of course, it was only a one-spout sheller. The only time it turned hard was when it would choke down. My father never sold his corn or his granddad’s corn until in the fall. And before I ever started school, my job was to take out the cobs and scrapes the corn off the sleeves. And that was my job every fall until I became old enough to turn. And I thought about that lately. Once you started shelling, I didn’t go to school, but ‘till that time wasn’t forced to school. Eighty bushels a day was all we could shell; that was a load at that time. Something like a week we’d be at it; both Grubbs. The Eddie Grubb farm is on east of the Lutheran Church.

“I never saw a toothbrush in the family until Brother Will came back from Bridgewater College. Their teeth all gave ‘way.” Dr. Rex was a dentist the Compher family went to in Waterford, about 1900. Dr. Rex taught school before he practiced. Mr. Compher doesn’t know where he taught. “I haven’t had a tooth in my mouth since

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

This is an interview with Charles Elbert Compher by Eugene M. Scheel on July 1, 1977 at the home of Mr. Compher in Brunswick, Maryland. This interview was conducted as an oral history project. The original is located in the Thomas Balch Library in Leesburg, Virginia.

I have not changed anything in this interview except for a couple of typo errors.

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