Carol C Taylor Blog

Central National Road marker north of Greenville on US Highway 69

Early 19th Century travel was truly 3-D: difficult, dirty, and dangerous. Yet our ancestors took to the roads, such as they were, for numerous reasons. Some were looking for a new start, others left worn-out land behind, and some were a few steps ahead of the bill collector, while another group simply left a nagging wife and family obligations behind. Whatever the reason, a smooth open road did not await them.

On February 5, 1844, the legislature of the Republic of Texas authorized the construction of the Central National Road to run from a point 2500 feet north of the Old Red Courthouse in Dallas to the village of Kiomatia in Red River County. The distance was 129.5 miles. Major George W. Stell was appointed surveyor with five commissioners and various chain carriers and aides. All were compensated in land. The road was surveyed and cleared in thirty days; however, no roadbed was ever prepared.

The original intent was to provide those settlers in Red River, Lamar, and Fannin Counties of northeast Texas with suitable access to the new capital at Austin. In addition, the Central National Road would serve as an international highway connecting the United States with the Republic of Texas. This new road abruptly ended at the point where the Red River was no longer navigable.

Opposite the end of the Central National Road on the northern bank of the Red River stood Fort Towson. It was at the termination of a military road that connected it to Fort Gibson, also in the Indian Territory, and Fort Smith in Arkansas. Once the Central National Road connected to the military road by ferry, it offered a means of entry into the fertile lands of the Republic of Texas for incoming emigrants.
The Central National road ran past Barnes Bridge Road to the present site of Heath before turning north, only to pass present day Rockwall to the east. From there it passed through the eastern portion of what is now Collin County. About two miles south of Highway 380, the Central National road entered future Hunt County. It ran northeasterly, crossing Cow Leach Creek where Kellogg is today.

At that point the road turned north to avoid Black Cat Thicket, a notorious landmark filled with wild animals and wild men. After circling the thicket, the road angled northeast, crossed the South Sulphur River near Webb Hill and continued in a northeasterly direction through Ladonia, Pecan Gap, and Paris before its termination on the banks Red River in Red River County.

Two years later, after Texas annexation, the new state legislature created three new counties along the Central National Road, Dallas, Hunt, and Collin. The road missed the county seats of Greenville and McKinney. In less than ten years, Fort Towson was abandoned by the United States Army and given to the Choctaw Nation. The dream of an international road into Texas was no longer applicable.

Ambassador Fletcher Warren, a native of Wolfe City, wrote in the application for the Central National Road historical marker at Kellogg that the road was widely used by residents of the northwest quadrant of Hunt County. That it missed the county seat was a detriment to the road. Yet, it was a viable local road in all the counties it passed through.

This simple stone was said to have mysterious healing powers.

The Dallas Morning News of February 28, 1892 ran the following item, “Five children on the farm of J. C. Bomar were bitten by a rabid dog.  All the children were taken to Greenville (Texas) to try the efficacy of a madstone.”  Fortunate were the people in Greenville and other communities in the South where a madstone was available.

There is some argument as to what the madstone was.  Some believed it was made of herbs, porous wood, calcined bone or a smooth stone.  Most historians and folk medicine experts believe that madstone was actually a bezoar: a substance similar to a gallstone found in ruminant animals such as deer, cattle, or goats.  It consisted of animal fur, plant stalks, and other indigestible matter the animal had eaten.  Those found in the stomach of a white deer were the most valuable.

The treatment was always the same.  The victim’s wound was thoroughly washed.  The madstone was soaked in warm milk for a couple of minutes before being placed on the wound.  If it stuck to the wound, the wound surely contained poison.  The white or cream colored stone turned to nauseous green.  At that point, the madstone was removed, rinsed in boiling water to remove the poison, and again soaked in warm milk.  The process was repeated until the stone no longer stuck to the wound or turned green.

The earliest mention of a madstone in Virginia was the  Fauquier madstone, owned by James Smith of Scotland in the 1600’s.

Wedding picture of Mary Emaline Hill and Sam Houston Denning, my great-grandparents. They were married December 2, 1884 in Jack County, Texas. Mr. and Mrs. Denning were the parents of thirteen children, nine boys and four girls, all of whom lived well into their eighties.

Wasn’t the Royal Wedding absolutely smashing?  I especially loved the wedding gown with lace handmade in the traditional manner.  I mused over the fact that Kate’s wedding was so different and yet so much like weddings on the American frontier.

Until the 20th century, most weddings, like funerals, were held in the home of the bride’s parents or in the home of the justice of the peace.  Wedding gowns were seldom white; few women wore white since it was so difficult to keep clean.  Kate’s bouquet was reminiscent of 19th century ones.  She carried a sprig from the same plant that Queen Victoria did.

One of my friends tells of her grandmother helping a friend prepare for her nuptials at the turn of the 20th century.  My friend’s grandmother enthusiastically gathered honeysuckle, ivy, and another trailing vine from the garden and arranged them on the mantle the morning of the wedding.  When the time came for the bride and her attendants to appear, my friend’s grandmother had a severe, itchy rash.  Needless to say, that lovely vine was poison ivy.

The Blackland Prairie here in Texas turns into a quagmire in rainy weather.  The rains came with a vengeance one wedding day.  It was impossible for the minister to come from town to perform the ceremony.  Who could possibly marry them?  One of the guest mentioned that a minister was staying down the road with a family.  He was sent for and the ceremony began.  However, this minister had only one sermon in his repertoire; a hell fire and damnation oratory that lasted over an hour.  Finally, he pronounced the words everyone wanted to hear, “By the power vested in me by the State of Texas I now pronounce you man and wife.”

While William had difficulty putting the ring on Kate’s finger, no one had poison ivy that we know of and the sermon was quite lovely, didn’t you think?