Seven years before the fall of Fort Sumter, while our nation was spiraling toward Civil War, a monument was erected in Virginia to honor the brave deeds of a slave named Frank Padget. Jan. 21 is Frank Padget Day in Glasgow, Va.
In the pastoral days before canals and railroads shortened time, a ubiquitous army of river warriors known as bateaumen plied the inland waterways to move America’s commerce. In tapered flat-bottom boats known as bateaux (the singular is bateau), 6 to 8 feet wide and 40 to 90 feet long, the bateauman had only his instincts and a wood pole called a tiller to guide these workhorses, hauling as much as 11 hogshead, or 12,000 pounds.
The principal freight, according to the Rockbridge County Heritage Book, included flour, iron, plaster and other merchandise. It has been estimated that during the boom years, 1820 to 1840, about 1,500 of these anonymous men labored mightily to move America.
Along the James River, at a place called Balcony Falls Gorge, lurks the devil, a four-mile death trap filled with rocks, dangerous for bateaux to navigate even on a good day. It was especially dreadful on Jan. 21, 1854, when havoc and disaster rained down upon Capt. William H. Wood and his hearty but hapless passengers heading to their work sites on a canal boat called the Clinton. The towpath line broke, and chaos erupted.
Most of the crew members and passengers ended up safely on the towpath. A few however, were left stranded on the “velvet rocks,” so named for their “carpet of soft green moss.” They also were left with a faint glimmer of hope in the form of rescue by a few brave bateaumen. A group of five, led by Padget, volunteered to save the stranded men from the destruction nature had unleashed. Two trips were made. The first sapped Padget’s last ounce of energy; the second stole his final breath.
Except for the heroism that cost him his life, little is known about Padget. His exploits that day were recorded promptly in the local newspaper by Capt. Edward Echols, an eyewitness. The account of the incident in the Lexington Gazette describes the tragedy:
“Many persons on shore were affected to tears as they witnessed the scene at this moment. The situation on the rock was dangerous in the highest degree. Away they fly, the man on the rock is motioned to, to jump into the boat, as she passes by, which he understands. He fixes himself so as to jump, the boat arrives, he jumps into her, we all on shore fix our mouths for a shout, but Oh God! Horror of horrors! The boat has struck. In the twinkling of an eye she is wrapped around the rock, crushed like an egg shell. Frank struggled manfully, for a minute, and went down to rise no more. … Heaven grant we may not have any more such scenes.”
A shorter version of Padget’s exploits was soon etched upon a 900-pound obelisk at the confluence of the James and Maury rivers:
In Memory of
FRANK PADGET
A coloured slave, who, during a freshet in James’ River, in January 1854, ventured and lost his life, by drowning, in the noble effort to save some of his fellow Creature’s, who were in the midst of the flood, from death.
A freshet is a flood or overflowing of a river caused by heavy rains. Echols, a businessman and slave owner, was so moved by Padget’s bravery and courage that he arranged and paid for the monument, originally placed along the canal towpath at Lock 16, near where the tragedy occurred. The land subsequently was purchased by the Richmond & Allegheny Railroad and eventually passed to the Chesapeake & Ohio Railroad. For years, the monument silently rested in anonymity. It was illegal and inconvenient to visit, as it was located on private land about 30 miles from the nearest road.
Padget’s story, however, was brought back to life by the relocation of the monument from its former site to a public park. Virginia backed the plan, and student volunteers provided labor to transfer the Padget Monument to its current location, overlooking the James River in Glasgow’s Centennial Park. In addition, a Virginia historical maker has been placed near the site.
The bateaumen gradually faded away with the coming of canals and railroads. The end of the era was illustrated poignantly in Percy Alfred’s “The Amherst County Story”:
“The river life continued until the coming of the canal. Then one by one the watermen gave up their special craft on the James. Gone were the camps of the bateauman and the sound of music borne at night on the river wind to homes on Amherst hills. Gone the ways of ghostly remembrance are the music and song, the laughter as the brown jug circulated, the beat of the banjo, and the answering Slap Slap of bare feet upon the hard clay. Gone from Virginia.”
Decades later, the canals have come and gone, and the railroads have seen their heyday, but the beat of the banjo can be heard as bateaumen have returned to tame the James. Last year, the James River Batteaux Festival held its 21st anniversary celebration, and bateaux traversed 120 miles in eight days. The festival is held every summer by the Virginia Canals & Navigations Society, and one of the early reproduction bateaux in the festival is named for Virginia’s honored slave: the Frank Padget.
Paul N. Herbert is a Fairfax writer.
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