GREER, S.C. — Most of us of a certain age were brought up on TV Westerns, and we remember scenes of stagecoaches thundering across the open plain either pursued by robbers with guns blazing or hostile Indians screaming war cries. 

I found those old-time stagecoaches to be fascinating and often wondered what it would be like to rumble along inside as a passenger.

Well, it turns out that stagecoaches weren’t at all uncommon here in our neck of the woods in the nineteenth century, particularly before the arrival of the railroad to these parts. 

Old roads that crisscrossed Western North Carolina and Upstate South Carolina carried stage traffic almost daily. A stagecoach ran regularly between Rutherfordton, N.C., and Greenville, S.C., carrying both passengers and mail. 

Also, the old turnpike between Asheville, N.C., and Greenville was a much-traveled stagecoach road. 

A stagecoach regularly arrived in Flat Rock, N.C., especially in the summer, bringing travelers from Charleston.

Stagecoach travel was anything but easy on the rough and rocky roads of the 1800s which were little more than pig paths. Stagecoaches getting stuck in the mud was a common occurrence. 

An old tale, probably apocryphal, makes the point. It seems a man in Charleston on his way to Flat Rock was purchasing a ticket for his journey. 

The clerk asked him, “Do you want first-class or third-class?” 

The traveler asked, “What’s the difference?” 

“Oh, you’ll find out,” was the reply. 

The man spent a few more dollars and bought a first-class ticket and began his journey, which would last for several days. Once the stagecoach began its ascent up the mountain, it got stuck in a muddy spot.

Despite the driver’s best efforts to urge the horses on through the swampy slough, it was just going nowhere. 

Finally, the driver made an announcement, “First-class passengers remain seated. Third-class passengers get out and help push.” 

The traveler was glad he sprang for first-class.

C.A. David, a Greenville journalist from the early twentieth century, wrote often in his newspaper columns about the old days of stagecoach travel. 

As a boy living near Poe Mill, he wrote about hearing the loud, clear tones of the stagecoach driver’s long tin horn as he arrived in Greenville from Asheville. 

The horn served as a signal to the old stagecoach inns that the coach was soon arriving with passengers who needed to be fed and lodged. The driver would blow a long blast for each person aboard to give the inn’s proprietor an idea of what to expect.

The late Greenville County historian Mann Batson gave readers a good idea of what early stagecoach traffic would be like in his fine little book, “Early Travel and Accommodations.”

He shares brief thumbnail sketches of the 19th century roads and inns all the way from the French Broad valley, north of Asheville, down to Greenville. 

As I read about the rigors of early stagecoach travel, I’m grateful for the fact that when I’m making my way up to our beautiful mountains, I’m doing it at the wheel of a Toyota instead of at the reins of a coach and four.

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Drew Hines is a native of Greensboro, N.C, but he has spent most of his life in Upstate South Carolina. He lives just north of Greer, S.C.  For those wishing to respond to his column, he may be reached at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it .