The Mountain Goat

By Harry Easter

(Reprinted from the Franklin County Historical Review, Vol. XI, No. 2, Summer 1980, 102-104.  Copyright, Franklin County Historical Society, 1980.)

     Early settlers in Sewanee know how to appreciate the railroad facilities which we now enjoy and I am not far wrong when I say that even up to 1880 the track was little more than the aforementioned streaks of rust. A wait of from two to five hours at the depot at Cowan was nothing. Passengers fought shy of the night trains,unless prepared to camp out all night for they seldom came until the next day. When the trainmen left their homes they took a supply of food and their lanterns for the hour of their return was unknown. To run off the track was an every day oc­currence, and it was a common thing to hear the long blasts of the whistle, calling for section hands scarcely after the train had turned the first curve. The engineer who made the whole trip without accident "set 'em up to his crew." Passengers were rarely hurt, however, and when blackberries were in season they took the delay good-naturedly, for the berries were very abundant. Sometimes, there was a stuffy little car attached to the train, but generally passengers, baggage and all were piled up on top of the coal cars to take the weather as it came. This may seem an exaggeration but I have seen ladies perched on the loaded cars with their umbrellas up to keep off the rain. Once on board the cars, you could take your choice between balancing on a split-bottomed chair, sitting on the left side of a lump of coal, or lying down, which ever way you thought safest. The engines were tiny little humpback affairs and the first one, "The Sewanee," would attract as much attention now as she did on her first trip. It was very short and so were all the cars, on account of the sharp curves. When better coaches were put into service matters were not much improved for the engine had to stop at each grade to get up more steam and when it started off again one was apt to sit down with more celerity than grace. I well remember seeing a man who was looking out the back of the car jerked half-way out of the window, while on another occasion the superintendent of the road was rolled very un­ceremoniously under the water-cooler. Probably the worst connections were in 1865, when to the question, "When does the next train go up the mountain'?" the answer was, "Next Wednesday"; while to further question, "What am I to do'?" the answer was, "You can climb the mountain, go back where you came from, or camp out here."

It was years before there was any pretense of entertainment for the belated passengers at Cowan, and it was a place to be fought shy of and to be remembered long after.

Finally one Gillem started a hotel, at least it was called a hotel by courtesy. I fancy it was remembered by the visitors with more anathemas than blessings. Bishop Quintard stopped there one night with a New York friend. Calling at the door considerably after midnight, a voice came in reply:

"That you Bishop'? Well, push in, push in to the right!"

They pushed in to the right and the Bishop began feeling around for the bed.

"You are not going to bed in the dark, are you, Bishop'? asked his friend.

"Yes, I am," answered the Bishop, "and in the morning you will be glad that you had no light."

• This article is reprinted from Purple Sewanee, a volume of notes and stories available from Sewanee's chapter of the Association for the Preservation of Tennessee Antiquities (APTA). The content of Easter's article derives from a paper he delivered to the Ecce Quam Bonum club, oldest continuing organization on the mountain (org. 1870). The chief entertainment of the club is the presentation of papers which by custom may be on any subject other than that of the speaker's professional expertise. Since Easter was a priest, it was all right for him to talk about trains.

(Henry "Harry" Easter enrolled in the University's grammar school (the Sewanee Academy) in 1871. Finishing with school, he decided to stay on in Franklin County and became a bussiness partner of P. S. Brooks in Sewanee. Mter ten years (1880-90), his religion got the best of him. He received Sewanee's seminary education and was taken by his new vocation to Texas and then to other parts of Tennessee. But he continued to love his mountain in Franklin County, returning to spend his last four years as rector of Sewanee's Otey Church. He died in 1922.)

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