THE MOUND LINE
(Ellicott Line)
Mile Mound No. 216 located 1200 feet East
Surveyed in 1799 to mark the 31°- North Latitude. this line charted the first southern boundary of the United States: separating the U.S. from Spanish Florida. The line was marked at one-mile intervals by earthen mounds approximately fifteen- feet square and three-feet high with a charred lighter-pine post at the center, hence the name Mound Line. Jointly surveyed by Major Andrew Ellicott. U.S. Commissioner, and Esteban Minor, Spanish Commissioner to determine boundaries as agreed in the Treaty of San Lorenzo in 1795. The line began at the Mississippi River, Aran east along 31° North Latitude to the Chattahoochie River be thence eventually to the Atlantic Ocean Stockton was divided by this line, with living in the United States and some in Although Stockton became border some residents. Spanish Florida US law generally prevailed in the area.
SPONSORED BY THE STOCKTON CIVIC CLUB
ALABAMA HISTORICAL ASSOCIATION
1999
I passed this historical marker about the Mound Line – the survey taken by a joint Spanish and American team after the establishment of the newly independent US, and after negotiations over territory disputes. Someday, I’d like to find out more about what it was like to conduct that survey. I wonder if there were squabbles between the Spanish and American participants.
At Hubbard Landing, I met Cathy and David, who rode straight from Mobile. (I had divided the trip into two short hops, stopping at Blakey State Park.) We ate dinner together. They are experienced riders, and I tried not to bore them with lots of questions. They are graduates of Oberlin college, an institution that played an important part in the Abolition movement. They are celebrating their 50th reunion with this ride!
The next morning, I rode out early, between 6:30 and 7:00. That’s easier for me when I’m at a cabin, because I’m so incredibly slow at breaking down camp. I think this ride—from Hubbard Landing to Grove Hill will be the toughest ride of the trip. Crossing the northern Appalachian Trail up north might be tougher, but I’ll be in better shape by then.
The morning started out breezy and cool. The pungent smell of Alabama red soil filled the air, a scent that really ought to be lurking somewhere in a barbecue sauce. When the soil dries out in the heat, the scent dissipates. Every now and then, a whiff of some unseen flower rises from the ground—and disappears.
I have time to notice these scents, because I’m climbing hills, which is to say, pedaling slowly.
The cool air didn’t last.
It’s 65.7 miles from Hubbard Landing to this motel in Grove Hill, with a total elevation gain of 3,600 feet.
(Dave and Cathy left after me, but they soon passed me by while I was privately admiring some trees in the forest. Later, I met a fireman conducting a prescribed burn, He said they were about an hour ahead of me by that time.)
Dellet-Bedsole Plantation
C. 1850
NATIONAL REGISTER OF HISTORIC PLACES
This 4000 acre complex has been recognized for its contribution to our understanding of the history of Monroe County and the State of Alabama, Originally developed as a cotton plantation during, the Antebellum period, this
from that period to the present time. The plantation retains 16 buidings and sites of historic significance and shows evidence of occupation for long periods of time by Native Americans prior to white settlement. Listed 1994.
Alabama has a lot of historical markers. They celebrate the Native Americans who lived here 1000s of years ago. They celebrate the Spanish and French roots. But so far, the historical markers outside of Mobile don’t say much about African Americans.
I met a Black farmer on the road & learned a little bit about what farming is like here. He said his family has owned and farmed this land for over 100 years. So: the 1920s? That would be at the height of the so-called Redemption period, when terrorists violently repressed and reversed much of the progress of the Reconstruction era. Wouldn’t that be a great historical marker? The story of endurance and struggle involved in carving out lives in that environment? Isn’t that at least as interesting as stories of antebellum oligarchs? And isn’t the story of the South that all southerners could embrace if they weren’t so anchored in a romance about the antebellum period?
He also talked about hurricanes, how they can roar up the delta and buzz saw his cotton leaving it scattered among the trees and bushes that line his 3,000 acres. Then he shrugged his shoulders: “What can you do?”
As the day progressed, the sun progressed. The heat reached 85 degrees according to Weather Underground, and 90 according to my Garmin. I sucked on the tube of my hydro pack, pulling in and sweating out liters of water.
About 30 miles in, I picked up a sausage dog and a big dill pickle in a bag. I hate the sausage and saved the pickle. There’s a thought out there on the web that pickles—and pickle juice—is good for your muscles when you’re working hard. I tried that when I started to feel really tired, eating the pickle and drinking the juice. I don’t know what it did for my muscles, but I know what it did to my tummy.
At 40 miles, I bonked. Simple acts like getting my camp chair from my panniers wore me out. So I set that camp chair down at a resting place that just happed to be just outside of a cemetery under a big shade tree, and rested for a good half hour, closing my eyes for some of it, maybe even falling asleep.
When I started feeling human again, I rode 2 miles to a convenience store, where a nice couple gave me two bottles of Gatorade. Between that, and the ice cream sandwich I bought at the store, I got my second wind, and finished the last 25 miles—maybe not with grace, but it felt good nonetheless.
Here are some photos:
Oops. I “ate the sausage.” I didn’t “hate the sausage!
Thank you David for taking us along. I have never been in the southern states, the photos and history are powerful and moving. I enjoy your writing a great deal.