Coming soon! A amazing offering of early glass Bitters, Cures, & Black glass bottles
Coming soon! A amazing offering of early glass Bitters, Cures, & Black glass bottles
Everyone has a “war story.” Some memorable experience that either you love to recall, or one you would just rather forget. This is my “war story” that I will never forget, which is by far, the most remarkable dig I likely will ever experience in my lifetime.
So my story unfolds...
Back when I was a much younger, and a care-free adventurer back in the mid- 1980’s, I decided to explore a possible new dig site under a dilapidated, (and somewhat) abandoned home in old town Petersburg VA. I’ll explain later by what I mean as ‘somewhat.”
It was sometime in May of 1987, while assigned to Fort Lee, Virginia, that I met a friend named Randy Sapp. He was assigned to the same office as the assistant editor for the U.S. Army Quartermaster Magazine. One day during a simple conversation, I happened to mentioned that I collected old bottles. Randy said that he lived in the old town of Petersburg, Virginia down on a street called Plum Street and had actually found some old bottles in his yard. He asked me if I wanted to come see his house, as it was very historic and look at the bottles. He began to explain that the house had been the home of a “Cooper’s,” one who crafted barrels back in the early 17th century. Then, sometime later around 1830’s his house became a bordello, apparently in connection with an old stone tavern not more than 50 feet away. While walking towards the old stone tavern, I passed a quite distressed and neglected home that was built between his house and the Old Stone Tavern. I thought to myself, if there were any old bottles laying around, they would be in the privy and/or under the crawlspace of that house. Looking under the house, I could see several embossed crown tops, and then a broken blob top soda caught my eye. I asked Randy if he had any gardening tools, too, excited to go get some proper clothing and equipment. He came back with an entrenching tool, which was perfect for scraping through the layers of history in such narrow confines of the crawlspace.
Randy liked history, but he showed very little interest in crawling under dirty, spider infested crawl spaces, much less hanging out in the darkness along Plum Street at night. As I crawled around under the entire house, digging test holes here and there to better understand what existed, I was hitting broken glass everywhere. Many of the broken bottles were from the early 1880’s. Settling on a glass rich spot, I immediately pulled out Lyons for the Hair, then another, and another. At about 2 feet, I was in to clay pipes and stems, and then came the oyster shells. I could hardly contain my excitement, as I threw dirt to one side of the crawlspace. Night came quick, so I hauled out my 5 gallon pail loaded with Lion’s Hair bottles, and a few other cures and bitters. I told Randy that we needed to come back with proper equipment and some dust masks, as the fine powdery dust never seemed to settle. Of course, being in the Army, the next day started early, with physical training at 5:30 am and it was already past 8 or 9 pm.
The next morning, I found my skin covered with itchy welts. Over the years, I some unfortunate encounters with poison ivy, but I never noticed any around the Plum St house, that is until the next visit a week later. I spent over a week trying to contain the welting, which eventually blistered and began oozing. It was a nightmare trying to relieve the itching and now appearance deforming affliction that spurred a lot of questions from my colleagues. Finally, not totally healed, but anxious to continue my adventure, I returned to the crawlspace. I was ready for anything this time, suited in old coveralls, gloves, miners lamp, and a dust-mask; and I dug like a mad man. The next day, my hands were so blistered, I couldn’t even close them completely. My neck , back, face, ears, and many other “undisclosable” areas of my body were just bubbling. I went to the infirmary, sent away with Calamine lotion and aspirin (the Army’s cure for everything). It wasn’t until my 2nd dig that I discovered the culprit; a hideous, foreboding monster of a hairy vine at least 6-8 inches in diameter along the distant back wall, growing up along the foundation and spreading its hairy tentacles everywhere. Sumac, Ivy, serpent, it didn’t matter, I could not avoid it regardless of where I was digging. This routine went on for several months of getting healed, returning to dig, then suffering through a period of recuperation.
Over the course of several months, after work, I would return to pulling 5 gallon bucket after bucket of bottles out from under the house, digging into the wee morning hours, drive home to shower catch a few hours of sleep and get ready for work the next that day.
One particular night, while digging under the house, I heard some noises upstairs and some in intelligible talking. Randy and I knew that homeless or drug addicts frequently occupied the living room of the house, as we found a mattress in the corner of the living room, surrounded by old opened pork and bean cans, rubbers, and used syringes; not much better than some “Motel 3’s.” In fact, the first day we walked through the old house, it was clearly occupied by Petersburg’s ‘aristocratic’ drug users.
I believe it was during my 4th dig, that the periodic occupants of the living room decided to return for a party. I could hear them bantering back and forth, and could tell it was a man and a woman. I shut off my lamps, and sat for a few moments, trying to figure out what I should do. After about 15 or 20 minutes of patiently waiting, I took my entrenching tool and scraped it slowly on the rock foundation of the fireplace. The scraping noise accompanied with my making low, moaning, growling and huffing sounds. Apparently my plan was working, as I heard the woman exclaim, “what was that… did you hear that?” I again growled and tapped on the flooring. Within seconds, I could hear the scurrying chaos of feet amongst the clanging of tin cans, as the “intruders” fled the house. I did not move for at least another half an hour, waiting, and listening to make sure that whoever was upstairs was not coming back. I checked my watch and it was just after midnight. I returned to my hole that I was digging, down about 2 feet in loose, powdery ash entrained with various broken Bottle pieces. Suddenly, I started digging up oyster shells in a hard pack clay, which was a good sign, indicating that the house may have dated back to the colonial period or at least the early 18 century. With the Old Stone Tavern next-door, it reasons that the oyster shells may have been pitched out the window into the yard where this house now stood. As I expanded the hole, I struck a rather large rock, far larger than those I had been encountering. Normally, I would have been able to lift it out, but the crawl space was too narrow to allow me the leverage necessary to pull it out, so I continued to dig down and around it. As I dug down in to the oyster shell layer, the bottom of a triangular bottle appeared on the sides, and disappeared underneath what else than the big stone. I gently attempted to remove it, but it was firmly encased in ash and dirt. As I carved around the bottle with a stick, the large stone shifted a bit more, as if the stone wanted to keep it’s prisoner entombed beneath. rock laid above it, to large and precariously positioned for me to remove, somehow seemingly guarding the potential treasure. After finally removing a sufficient amount of ash, I was able to wiggle the bottle free, and just as I freed it out, the rock collapsed into the empty void that remained and rolled in to the adjacent hole I dug. I wiped the dirt, squinting to make out the embossing, and immediately recognized the word, “BITTERS.” Overwhelmed by the find, I hurriedly placed the unbeknownst “precious gem” in my cargo pants pocket and continued digging. After several more hours and a bucket filled with other amazing civil war era finds, I jumped back in to my car and headed home, occasionally scratching my neck and arms as the “big hairy vine” began to take its revenge.
Upon cleaning the loot, I discovered that the triangular bottle was embossed, “ANTI-MALARIAL / BITTERS // D.T. EVERT & SON // PETERSBURG.” I eventually told some of my bottle collector friends about what I had found and invited them the location. Hunter Cox (may you rest in peace) and “Fig” Lewis were excited about the finds, particularly the “ANTI-MALARIAL BITTERS.” With a quick search in Carolin Ring’s “BITTERS ONLY” told us what we already knew; it was unlisted. Naturally, 3 sided bitters bottles are far and in between, especially identifiable medicinals. Hunter brought his probes and began to hunt the back yard of both houses in search of the outhouse pits, particularly those of the Stone Tavern. The heat was sweltering in June, so we all in made a concerted effort under the shade of the house, and immediately began pulling remarkable finds. All told, 13 Lyons were pulled from under the house, several blob top sodas “Flannegans” and hutches from Petersburg, a few Walker vinegars bottles, a hearts and stars Atterbery oil lamp, a few marbles, 2 wax sealers, an old torpedo whiskey jug, and broken shards of a yellow amber Dexter LoveGood’s Wahoo Bitters, a Figural milk glass bird, some dish ware, and much more. The “bubble vine” dig was clearly, my dig of my lifetime that I will likely never forget.
So a story unfolds, how a rare, very historic bottle was found, sold, and welcomed back home nearly 40 years later, and with a flood of bittersweet memories.
The Old Stone Tavern as it looked sometime in then 1990’s. The new owners put a roof over it, boarded all the doors and windows, and fenced it in. None of which was there during the dig.
Aerial view of the site location. Notice the discolored “pits” just north of the Stone Inn?
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