A Secret Tucked Away in Purple Ink

“I mite want to use your leter for reference to induse the part to go and look at he land”

Come on in and pull up a chair, friends. I’ve stumbled upon a real curiosity today that feels like catching a glimpse of a secret whispered over a backyard fence nearly a hundred and fifty years ago. It’s a letter dated May 8, 1883, written by a fellow named R.H. Maxwell to his partner, Mr. Guinn. You can almost see Maxwell leaning over his desk at the Doan Cooperage Company in Hinton, West Virginia, his pen scratching away in a bright, vibrant purple ink. The paper is yellowed now, showing its age, and it’s covered in little splatters of that blue-purple ink—as if Maxwell was in such a hurry to get his scheme down on paper that he didn’t care about making a mess.

Maxwell had a bit of a plan brewing. He starts off with some good news: they were finally clear of a lawsuit involving a man named James W. Davis. But the real meat of the letter is a piece of land they were trying to sell. Maxwell had a buyer in mind, and he wanted to make sure they got a good price—three thousand dollars, to be exact. To get there, he coached Mr. Guinn to play along in a little bit of theater. He told Guinn to write back as if they hadn’t spoken in ages, offering his half of the land for fifteen hundred dollars and talking up how wonderful the grass was. Maxwell wanted that letter to show the buyer, hoping a bit of unsolicited praise would be just the thing to seal the deal.

Looking at this stained, splattered page, you realize that Hinton back then was a bustling place, full of folks looking to make their way in the world. The letterhead reminds us of the local factories and the busy timber trade that kept the wheels of the economy turning. It wasn’t just about dates and battles; it was about regular people like Maxwell trying to turn a profit and maybe bending the truth just a hair to do it.

It’s funny how things don’t really change, isn’t it? We still have our big ideas and our little shortcuts, just like they did in 1883. This letter reminds us that history is made of these small, human moments—the hopes, the hustles, and the handwriting of those who came before us. It’s a wonderful thing to hold a piece of someone’s Tuesday afternoon from so long ago and see a bit of ourselves in their ambition.

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