Virginia furnace glows for a split second
The stone pyramid stands between Route 26 and Muddy Creek in Preston County, an imposing artifact from the county’s nascent industrial era.
The iron furnace was built by Levi Kennet for Harrison Hagans, Brandonville’s foremost entrepreneur, merchant, and promoter. Historian Reardon S. Cuppett claimed it was built in 1854; other sources state 1852; a sign at the forge states an even earlier origin. My guess is that, given the magnitude of this task, years were required to complete it and all dates are correct.
Situated below Muddy Creek’s waterfall, the furnace once drew upon that waterpower to generate the blast of air that drove the interior temperature to 3,000 degrees F. The cut-stone pyramid rises about 25 feet to road level, Route 26, and is partially open at the top. The road-level access facilitated loading the raw materials from above. Limestone was plentiful near the surface of these mountains; iron ore came from the hillside across the stream, on the west flank of Briery Mountain. Charcoal, produced by burning the ancient hardwood trees that grew on these mountainsides, came from locals, who sacrificed these treasures for a few fleeting dollars.
At the bottom of this furnace, the molten iron was drawn out and routed into ditches dug into the ground surrounding the furnace. These crude molds, or “pigs,” were fed from a long ditch, the “sow,” that led from the furnace. The product thus produced was pig iron, which was sold to industries in Wheeling and Baltimore.
Dozens of these old iron furnaces dotted the western Virginia landscape in the early 1800s. The cost of transporting iron into the mountainous region was prohibitive, so local production options were necessary. Hagans realized this shortly after arriving in Brandonville from New England, and he set about raising capital for iron works that could supply his other ventures. His first vision of making fledgling Preston County a center of iron production became incorporated in 1837, just in time for the nation’s great economic panic. The Greenville Furnace and Mining Company, with Hagans as president, suffered through those times, exacerbated by an embezzling superintendent and investors defaulting. Hagans resumed control after those trials and managed to operate it until 1851.
S. T. Wiley’s 1882 History of Preston County states that the furnace was built on Laurel Run, east of the Cheat River and about five miles from the Maxon Dixon line. Mat Carlile, “a man of no education, but of good business qualifications, without capital, but endowed with powers of wonderful perseverance,” stuck with the doomed endeavor. “The see-saw policy that has resulted of antagonistic policies has at one time encouraged, and at another time discouraged, enterprise in the manufacturing of iron, and financially ruined those engaged in it. These are the reasons why our rich ores have not been developed and turned into the channels of commerce,” Hagans declared in 1865 as he looked back on the venture.
Haggans could not place blame on expenses related to the local supply chain. In November 1836, Hagans contracted with James Gibson to cut more than 1,000 cords of wood and “cole” it into charcoal for the furnace. Jonas Shaw agreed to provide Gibson with all the wood he needed that year for $5! The ore, obtained from the Rock Ore Bank, was contracted at $2.25 per ton. Robert Patterson got the contract for the limestone in 1837. He agreed to provide whatever was needed during the entire year for $27.50.
The prices speak to the relative abundance of each natural resource and the related difficulties in harvesting and transporting them to the furnace. Soon, it became evident that hauling the iron itself to market was virtually impossible on the mud pikes on that time, and a two-mile railroad had to be constructed. The cost of getting the iron out of the mountains and to Pittsburgh further contributed to the Greenville Furnace and Mining Company’s inability to turn a profit, and the furnace was eventually abandoned.
Hagans didn’t give up, however. In 1847 he opened in Brandonville a foundry to manufacture his Hagans “Ten-Plate” Cooking Stove. The behemoth was a wood burner (from start to finish, Hagans’ industries were no friends of the forest), built of heavy iron. “Those who remember it say it had a three-leaf clover appearance,” wrote Cuppett in his master’s thesis, “Harrison Hagans and His Times. “The front had two wings and the back was rounded out to about one half the size of the front. Underneath was the firebox and spacious oven.”
Again, one has to assume that getting these things to market made for a very marginal profit, if any.
In need of a local source of iron for his foundry, Hagans once again turned to making iron in 1852 with his Muddy Creek venture. Operations at the stone furnace began in the fall of 1854, with George Maust as manager. A son of Christian Maust, originally from Maryland, George managed Greenville Furnace and sold Brandonville cooking stoves throughout the region. He also possessed legal knowledge and argued cases before the magistrate. Interestingly, Harrison Hagans was a district justice.
The weekly output of this 24-hour-per-day operation was between 40 and 50 tons of foundry iron. Transportation of the material remained a problem. Even after the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad line reached Preston County, the iron had to be hauled over Brierry Mountain to reach the locomotives that awaited at Terra Alta. The furnace struggled along throughout the 1850s, but the Civil War brought an influx of business as demand for iron escalated with artillery needs. For a short while, there was even a post office at Muddy Creek’s furnace.
After Maust’s tenure as manager, a man named Lloyd ran it. S.B. Patterson, who named it the Josephine Furnace, was its last manager, and the fires burned out under his watch in 1880, according to Wiley. Some of the ancillary equipment and structures disintegrated, but the stone pyramid survived and became a landmark. It eventually received its due honor from the community in 1966, when the Daughters of the American Revolution dedicated a roadside park above the old furnace on Route 26. It remains a popular stopover spot for history and waterfalls fans, alike, although upkeep at the park is sorely lacking and a large fallen tree spoils the view of the furnace; had the massive trunk struck the furnace, it might have been a death blow to preservation.
While the creek is referred to as “Muddy,” the water isn’t. But the rocks over which it tumbles are stained orange, a legacy of pollution from the acid-rich waste that leaks from the coal mines in this area.
My first visit to the park was in passing, during a trip with my father in 1978. Looking back on that drive, I realize how so many of the landmarks I enjoyed on that journey have given way to environmental concerns: the large coal mine and tipple north of the furnace, the coal-fired First Energy power plant at Albright, for example. The lights from the latter glowed in the misty gloam of the evening as we passed through that town on our way to Eglon. I always wanted come back and photograph it, but the lights went out there long before I had the opportunity to recapture what I had experienced while trying to keep my eyes on the highway.
Now that I live here and have spent the past two years researching Feather family history in Preston County, Virginia has taken on familial significance, as well. My fourth great-grandfather’s first farm in Preston County was on Muddy Creek, near Guseman. Christian Feather, my third-great-grandfather had a farm on Muddy Creek, over the hill from the furnace. I can imagine that my ancestors worked at Virginia Furnace or cut wood from their lots to earn cash for items their families needed. Harrison Hagans owned the store where the Feather family traded, and in researching my new book, My Fathers’ Land, I have found numerous Jacob and Christian Feather entries in the store’s day books, in the collection of the West Virginia and Regional History Center at West Virginia University. Hagans’ brick store building stills stands in Brandonville, and whenever I pass it, I think of my ancestors making the seven-mile trip from their farms at Crab Orchard to Brandonville, perhaps with several bushels of grain or pounds of wool packed in saddle bags, hoping for a good price and a few luxuries in the trade.
In Preston County, I continue my penchant for nighttime documentary photography of historic structures, a project I worked on for years in Ashtabula County, Ohio. Healing from the heart attack and procedures, I’ve finally gained enough strength to haul the lights, tripod, camera, and other gear to these sites and work by starlight as I create my interpretations of revered landmarks. Virginia Furnace has been on my to-do list for more than a year, and I finally tackled it March 25, despite concerns about windy conditions playing havoc with registration of the multiple images. I share the image here.
Next on my list is Wesley Chapel at Crab Orchard, where my family’s farms were located. Feather reunions were held on the grounds of the chapel. The Rev. Joseph B. Feather, revered in the history of Methodism in West Virginia, preached his messages there and throughout the state. And many Feather eulogies have been delivered in the simple chapel since it was built in 1873.
Similarly, my documentary photography strives to give visual eulogies to these anachronisms that made our ancestors’ lives possible, in the process, ours.
Photo details: Camera, Nikon D810, RAW. Lens, Zeiss 21mm f/2.8 Distagon. Lighting: Paul Buff Einstein, LED lights. Processing: Capture One, composting in Affinity Photo 2.
