A look back at the days mules and kids powered shipping along the Delaware Canal
Mules get a bad rap for being stubborn. Maybe they are when mistreated. But generally they are kind natured and respond to similar treatment, like a faithful dog.
Mary Anne and I in our early marriage rented half of a fieldstone farmhouse on the Simons Farm on Holicong Road outside Pineville and frequently strolled Charlie and wife Anna’s broad pastures. We often encountered Duncan, the family’s mule rescued from abuse somewhere out West. He was the gentlest of creatures, normally alone out away from the dozen horses who hung together and often followed us in a line around the pasture. We could easily approach ol’ Duncan and pet him, but otherwise he preferred solitude out in the open.
One morning there was a tremendous commotion outside. Anna came running to tell us Duncan had been shot by a hunter who fled. “With an arrow!” We ran outside and saw the poor animal standing near the hilltop, an arrow through his head. We couldn’t believe it. A veterinarian came rushing to the scene and extracted the shaft. Fortunately it crossed over Duncan’s skull without further injury. The vet patched up the wound and Duncan resumed his life of leisure amid much love from his caretakers and us.
All of this leads me to reflect on the thousands of mules that for more than 100 years pulled long boats — each loaded with 95 tons of anthracite coal — down the Delaware Canal from Easton to Bristol. Built between 1827 and 1833, the waterway was that century’s version of a commercial highway serving factories, businesses and homes from Easton to Philadelphia.
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In his 2002 canal history, Albright Zimmerman revealed youths drove the two-mule teams. "The first ‘job’ of a youngster on the canal, sometimes at the tender age of 6 or 8, was the task of mule driver, that is, leading or riding the mules for an 18-hour day on the 6- or-7-day, 212-mile round trip from Mauch Chunk (today’s Jim Thorpe) to Bristol and back, and caring for the mules at the end of the long day.”
The route followed the Lehigh Canal from upstate mines around Mauch Chunk to Easton, where that stream joined the Delaware Canal. The work day began at dawn when the boat captain brought the mules out of stables dotting the canal route. The drivers combed each animal before being put in harness. They’d feed them every morning and evening with a feedbag in a basket strapped to them. The animals also could eat a mix of corn and oats as they pulled the boats.
The kids had to be careful not to let down their guard around the animals described as “hard-working and essentially tractable, less prone to excitement and panic than the horse.” There still was considerable danger. Lewis Strohm recalled removing the feedbags from his team when one of the animals kicked a basket at him, sending him sprawling down the bank. “If he had kicked me, I’d be dead,” Strohm noted.
Some drivers couldn’t swim, such as Jim Brown. Kicked into the canal by a mule, he managed to grab hold of a towline from his boat to keep from drowning. The Daily Intelligencer of Doylestown reported in June 1854 a boy from Easton driving a team along the canal near New Hope drowned. “The mules had fallen into the water, and in the effort to extricate them, he fell into the canal.”
Most boatmen and youngsters took good care of their animals, yet there were cases of cruelty. Strohm recalled one driver kicking his mules right above the hoof at a tender spot, causing the animals much pain. There were reports of drivers beating their mules. In another incident, a boat owner unfurled what was known as a “blacksnake” — a whip — that startled the mules. They broke free and fled on the towpath. A man operating gates on one of the canal’s 24 locks recovered the team.
Mule drivers despite their youth had to learn unique skills. “Passing another boat was an art, particularly if you were driving mules pulling a loaded boat,” according to Zimmerman. “As several of the old-timers recall, you had to unhook your mules and drop your line when your loaded boat passed beyond the nearer light boat, or risk having yourself and your mules pulled into the canal.”
Despite the risks, the journey had its joys for boat families who often lived aboard. “The canal provided a lifestyle, now passed, for both the boatmen and those who daily watched the boats pass and often envied the boatmen,” author Zimmerman wrote. “It was easy for those who watched the boats disappear into the distance to imagine that those operating them were escaping the drudgery of everyday routines.”
Sources include “Pennsylvania’s Delaware Division Canal: Sixty Miles of Euphoria and Frustration” by Albright G. Zimmerman published in 2002 by the Canal History and Technology Press in Easton, and the National Canal Museum in Easton where the last towboat mules are cared for. Information on the web at https://canals.org/
Sources include “Pennsylvania’s Delaware Division Canal: Sixty Miles of Euphoria and Frustration” by Albright G. Zimmerman published in 2002 by the Canal History and Technology Press in Easton, and the National Canal Museum in Easton where the last towboat mules are cared for. Information on the web at https://canals.org/
Carl LaVO can be reached at carllavo0@gmail.com.
This article originally appeared on Bucks County Courier Times: Mule barges fueled shipping along Delaware Canal from Bristol to Easton
