Chapter II

During the war for independence, the Susquehanna valley below Schenevus creek was the lurking place of Indians and Tories, who, from this secluded territory, made many and frequent inroads upon the settlements on the Schoharie and Charlotte. Owing to the remoteness of this section and the weak condition of the frontiersmen, the trail of the retreating savages was seldom followed to any considerable distance and consequently but little knowledge concerning the valley was derived by the settlers at the former points until the restoration of peace.

In 1770, an extensive tract of land was granted to Sir William Johnson and others, a large part of which lies within the limits of the town of Oneonta. This tract lies on both sides of the Susquehanna river, both above and below the Otego creek. It is supposed the first settlement within the town was made upon this patent.[A] It contained 26,000 acres.

[Footnote A: Many have erroneously believed this patent to have been the grant made by the Indian chief to Sir William in accordance with a dream the latter had, i.e., he had dreamed that the Indian gave him all of a certain described tract, whereupon the Indian told him that he supposed what he had dreamed must be true, but "be sure and not dream again." "Dreamland," by good authority, is said to be in Herkimer county.]

Some years before the commencement of hostilities, Henry Schramling, a hardy pioneer from the older settlement at German Flats, on the Mohawk, came into the valley and made a settlement at a point near the Otego creek bridge, but by reason of the troubled condition of the country after 1775, Mr. Schramling moved back to the Mohawk for greater security. After the war he with his brothers, George and David, returned to the Susquehanna. It is believed upon good authority that he was the first white settler in the town of Oneonta. After the departure of the Schramling family, many years elapsed before any pioneers were found venturesome enough to settle in this portion of the valley.

Abram Houghtailing, Elias Brewer and Peter Swartz became settlers here in 1786. Houghtailing and Brewer came from Washington county, and Swartz from Schoharie. About the same date, James Youngs settled near the mouth of the Charlotte and Baltus Kimball settled north of the village on the farm now owned by Jacob Morell.

About the year 1790, Thomas Morenus[A] settled on the south side of the river. He was a German from Schoharie. About the same time Frederick Brown came from Fulton, N.Y., and settled on the farm formerly owned and occupied by Eliakim R. Ford. At this time Brown's house was the only one standing within the limits of the present village corporation. About the year 1795, one Aaron Brink built a large log house by the mill pond, or rather between the railroad crossing on Main street and the mill pond. Brink's house was the first hotel kept in the village of Oneonta, and perhaps the first that was kept in town. Between Brown's house and Brink's tavern there was only a common wood-road, with a dense forest on either side.

[Footnote A: Thomas Morenus, before settling here, had been a captive among the Indians, and had "run the gauntlet" at Fort Niagara. The terrible scourging he had received at the hands of the savages left marks which were plainly traceable when he had become an old man.]

About the same time John Vanderwerker built the first grist-mill. This mill stood some distance east of the grist-mill now standing in the lower part of the village.

In 1791, Asel Marvin came from Vermont and first settled at Oneonta Plains. Shortly afterwards he removed on a large tract of wild land, about two miles from the village, upon the Oneonta Creek. He was a well-known builder and lumberman. For twenty-two consecutive years he rafted lumber to Baltimore. He built the first school house on the Oneonta Creek road, and when the first church edifice was built in town, he was one of the trustees of the church society. When Mr. Marvin moved into the valley of the Oneonta Creek, the country across the hill from Oneonta to Laurens, was almost an unbroken wilderness.

Some years later than the last named date, Peter Dinninny opened the first store kept in Oneonta. The store then stood where the opera block now stands. The first school-house was built soon after 1790, and stood on the rise of ground near the house of Horace Sessions, on the south side of the river.

Previous to 1816, when the Presbyterian church was built, church services were generally held in Frederick Brown's barn. The first clergyman who regularly preached here was the Rev. Alfred Conkey, who was settled at Milford. Mr. Conkey is yet remembered by some of the older citizens as a very earnest and zealous man, besides being a person of liberal culture.

The first white child born in this town, or the first known to have been born in town, was Abram Houghtaling. He was born in 1786.

John and Nicholas Beams were early settlers to the east of the village. Elisha Shepherd came from New England at an early day and settled at Oneonta Plains. His sons, in after years, became actively engaged in different branches of industry, and the Plains at one time bid fair to become the most prominent village in town. It contained a hotel, a store, two churches and a distillery.

Andrew Parish was also one of the pioneers of Oneonta. He was born in Massachusetts in 1786, and moved from Springfield here in 1808. He settled on the south side of the river on the John Fritts farm, and afterwards on the hill near the "Round Top." From the latter place he moved to the farm now owned by his son Stephen, on the south side of the river. Mr. Parish reared a large family of children, all of whom became successful farmers, and men of business. Andrew Parish was a justice of the town for twenty years in succession. He was also a commissioner of schools under the old system. In 1809 he put up a brick kiln on the Elisha Shepherd farm at the Oneonta Plains, from which came the first bricks that were used in town.

Dr. Joseph Lindsay was the first physician who settled in Oneonta. He came from Pelham, in the old county of Hampshire, Mass., in the year 1807. Having received a liberal education in the advanced schools of his native state and at Williams College, in after years he became a teacher to many of the younger people of the country who were ambitious of extending their studies beyond the rudimentary branches taught at that time in the schools of the neighborhood.

In 1815, Frederick Bornt moved on the farm now owned and occupied by his son, on the Oneonta Creek. He had been a soldier in the war of 1812 and had served at the battle of Plattsburg. He came from Rensselaer county, N.Y.

Before the date last named, Jacob Van Woert, a Dutchman, and father of the late Peter and John Van Woert, came from Albany and settled on the farm lately owned by his son Peter, near the mouth of the Otego Creek. Asa Emmons about the same time settled on the south side of the river, near the Charlotte. He came from Vermont, and settled where Deacon Slade now lives. Jacob Wolf, the father of Conradt Wolf, had also settled in the southern part of the town at about the close of the Revolutionary war. Mr. Wolf had been taken as an Indian captive to Canada, where he had been detained for several years. His home, when captured, was in the valley of the Mohawk. While extinguishing a fire which had caught in a tall hemlock, by night, he was surprised by a company of Indians, by whom he was easily overpowered. He at length escaped from his captors, and making his way southward, after a long and perilous journey, he met with friends on the Tioga river. He rejoined his wife on the Mohawk, and afterwards removed to the Susquehanna, on the farm now owned by George Swart, southwest of the village.

Elihu Gifford, with four sons, came from Albany county in 1803, and first settled at West Oneonta, on the farm now owned by Joseph Taber. In 1806, Mr. Gifford moved to the farm now owned by Henry Gifford on Oneonta Creek. About the same time Josiah Peet and Ephraim Farrington moved into the same neighborhood. Later, Col. Wm. Richardson settled further up the creek and built a saw-mill and a grist-mill. "Richardson's Mills" became a well-known place in a few years, and a thriving hamlet soon began to form around them. Col. Richardson was an enterprising man of business and took a prominent part in the affairs of the town. He served in the war of 1812-15.

When Elihu Gifford moved to the Oneonta Creek there were only four "clearings" in that valley. A Mr. Armitage had made some inroads upon the wilderness, on what is now known as the Losee farm; Asel Marvin had made a clearing on the James Sheldon farm, and there were others on Mrs. Richardson's farm, and where Peter Yager lives. The settlers along the Oneonta Creek, after Mr. Marvin, moved in slowly.

About 1804, David Yager came from Greenbush, N.Y., and purchased the farm now known as the Peter Yager farm. Solomon Yager, the father of David, came afterwards, purchasing his son's farm.[A]

[Footnote A: For the purpose of showing the increase in the value of real estate, it may be mentioned that at the time David Yager sold to his father, he was offered a farm lying between Maple street and the farm of J.R.L. Walling, containing 150 acres, for $400.]

James McDonald settled at the lower end of the village at an early date. Mr. McDonald was of Scotch descent, and an active business man. The lower part of the village was largely built through his enterprise and at one time bid fair to become the business centre of the village. He built a mill and hotel, and also became an extensive landholder. James McDonald kept the first post-office established within the limits of the town.

The first settlers were mostly German Palatinates from Schoharie and the Mohawk. The German was the language of common conversation, and so continued until Dr. Lindsay and Asa Emmons came into the settlement. At this time the Emmons and Lindsay families were the only ones that made the English their exclusive language.

These German settlers were a patient and persevering people, and betook themselves to the task of felling the forest and rearing homes for themselves and their posterity, with a noble and praiseworthy resolution. Beneath the sturdy strokes of the axe, the wilderness slowly but gradually disappeared around their rude homes, and in the place of the gloomy forest, fields of waving grain appeared on every side to cheer and encourage the industrious woodsman. The forests abounded in the most ravenous animals, such as bears, panthers and wolves, while along the river and creek bottoms the ground was at places almost literally covered with poisonous reptiles. The climate was severe, and the country remote from the frontier, yet notwithstanding the obstacles and discouragements that beset them, these were not sufficient to cause the settlers to relax their efforts to rear comfortable homes for their descendants.

The following story I have taken from Priest's Collection, for the reason that the scene of the exploit is said to have been near our town boundaries:

"Ben Wheaton was one of the first settlers on the waters of the Susquehanna, immediately after the war, a rough, uncultivated and primitive man. As many others of the same stamp and character, he subsisted chiefly by hunting, cultivating the land but sparingly, and in this way raised a numerous family amid the woods, in a half starved condition, and comparative nakedness. But as the Susquehanna country rapidly increased in population, the hunting grounds of Wheaton were encroached upon; so that a chance with his smooth-bore, among the deer and bears was greatly lessened. On this account Wheaton removed from the Susquehanna country, in Otsego county, to the more unsettled wilds of the Delaware, near a place yet known by the appellation of Wait's Settlement,[A] where game was more plenty. The distance from where he made his home in the woods, through to the Susquehanna, was about fifteen miles, and was one continued wilderness at that time. Through these woods this almost aboriginal hunter was often compelled to pass to the Susquehanna, for various necessaries, and among the rest no small quantity of whiskey, as he was of very intemperate habits. On one of these visits, in the midst of summer, with his smooth-bore always on his shoulder, knife, hatchet, &c., in their proper place, he had nearly penetrated the distance, when he became weary, and having come to the summit of a ridge (sometime in the afternoon) which overlooks the vale of the Susquehanna, he selected a convenient place in the shade, as it was hot, for the rays of the sun from the west poured his sultry influence through all the forest, where he lay down to rest a while among the leaves, after having taken a drink from his pint bottle of green glass, and a mouthful of cold Johnney cake from his pocket.

[Footnote A: Wait's Settlement is said to have been in the vicinity of what now is known as North Franklin.]

"In this situation he was soothed to drowsiness by the hum of insects, and the monotony of passing winds among the foliage around him, when he soon unwarily fell asleep with his gun folded in his arms. But after a while he awoke from his sleep, and for a moment or two still lay in the same position, as it happened, without stirring, when he found that something had taken place while he had slept, which had situated him somewhat differently from the manner in which he first went to sleep. On reflecting a moment, he found he was entirely covered over, head and ears, with leaves and light stuff, occasioned, as he now suspected, either by the sudden blowing of the wind, or by some wild animal. On which account he became a little disturbed in his mind, as he well knew the manners of the panther at that season of the year, when it hunts to supports its young, and will often cover its prey with leaves and bring its whelps to the banquet. He therefore continued to lie perfectly still, as when he first awoke; he thought he heard the step of some kind of heavy animal near him; and he knew that if it were a panther, the distance between himself and death could not be far, if he should attempt to rise up. Accordingly, as he suspected, after having lain a full minute, he now distinctly heard the retiring tread of the stealthy panther, of which he had no doubt, from his knowledge of the creature's ways. It had taken but a few steps however, when it again stopped a longer time; still Wheaton continued his silent position, knowing his safety depended much on this. Soon the tread was again heard, farther and farther off, till it entirely died away in the distance—but he still lay motionless a few minutes longer, when he ventured gently and cautiously to raise his head and cast an eye in the direction the creature, whatever it was, had gone, but could see nothing. He now rose up with a spring, for his blood had been running from his heart to his extremities, and back again, with uncommon velocity; all the while his ears had listened to the steps of the animal on the leaves and brush. He now saw plainly the marks of design among the leaves, and that he had been covered over, and that the paws of some creature had done it.

"And as he suspected the panther was the animal, he knew it would soon return to kill him, on which account he made haste to deceive it, and to put himself in a situation to give it a taste of the contents of old smooth-bore. He now seized upon some pieces of old wood which lay all about, and placed as much as was equal to his own bulk, exactly where he had slept, and covered it over with leaves in the same manner the panther had done, and then sprang to a tree near by, into which he ascended, from whence he had a view a good distance about him, and especially in the direction the creature had gone. Here in the crotch of the tree he stood, with his gun resting across a limb, in the direction of the place where he had been left by the panther, looking sharply as far among the woods as possible, in the direction he expected the creature's return. But he had remained in this condition but a short time, and had barely thrust the ram-rod down the barrel of his piece, to be sure the charge was in her, and to examine her priming, and to shut down the pan slowly, so that it should not snap, and thus make a noise, when his keen Indian eye, for such he had, caught a glimpse of a monstrous panther, leading warily two panther kittens toward her intended supper.

"Now matters were hastening to a climax rapidly, when Wheaton or the panther must finish their hunting on the mountains of the Susquehanna, for if old smooth-bore should flash in the pan, or miss her aim, the die would be cast, as a second load would be impossible ere her claws would have sundered his heart strings in the tree where he was, or if he should but partially wound her the same must have been his fate. During these thoughts the panther had hid her young under some brush, and had come within some thirty feet of the spot where she supposed her victim was still sleeping; and seeing all as she left it, she dropped down to a crouching position, precisely as a cat, when about to spring on its prey. Now was seen the soul of the panther in its perfection, merging from the recesses of nature where hidden by the creator, along the whole nervous system, but resting chiefly in the brain, whence it glared, in bright horror, from the burning eyes, curled in the strong and vibrating tail, pushed out the sharp, white and elliptical fangs from the broad and powerful paws, ready for rending, glittered on the points of its uncovered teeth, and smoked in rapid tissues of steam from its red and open jaws, while every hair of its long dun back stood erect in savage joy, denoting that the fatal and decisive moment of its leap had come.

"Now the horrid nestling of its hinder claws, drawn under its belly was heard, and the bent ham strings were seen but a half instant by Wheaton, from where he sat in his tree, when the tremendous leap was made. It rose on a long curve into the air, of about ten feet in the highest place, and from thence descending, it struck exactly where the breast, head and bowels of its prey had lain, with a scream too horrible for description, when it tore to atoms the rotten wood, filling for several feet above it, the air with the leaves and light brush, the covering of the deception. But instantly the panther found herself cheated, and seemed to droop a little with disappointment, when however she resumed an erect posture, and surveyed quite around on every side on a horizontal line, in search of her prey, but not discovering it, she cast a furious look aloft among the tops of the trees, when in a moment or two the eyes of Wheaton and the panther met. Now for another leap, when she dropped for that purpose; but the bullet and two buck shot of old smooth bore were too quick, as he lodged them all exactly in the brain of the savage monster, and stretched her dead on the spot where the hunter had slept but a short time before, in the soundness, of a mountain dream.

"Wheaton had marked the spot where her young were hidden, which, at the report of the gun, were frightened and ran up a tree. He now came down and found the panther to measure, from the end of its nose to the point of its tail, eight feet six inches in length; a creature sufficiently strong to have carried him off on a full run, had he fallen into its power. He now reloaded and went to the tree where her kittens, or the young panthers were, and soon brought them down from their grapple among the limbs, companions for their conquered and slain parent.

"Wheaton dismantled them of their hides, and hastened away before the night should set in, lest some other encounter might overtake him of a similar character, when the disadvantage of darkness might decide the victory in a way more advantageous to the roamers of the forest. Of this feat Ben Wheaton never ceased to boast; reciting it as the most appalling passage of his hunting life. The animal had found him while asleep, and had him concealed, as he supposed, intending to give her young a specimen of the manner of their future life; or if this is too much for the mind of a dumb animal, she intended at least to give them a supper.

"This circumstance was all that saved his life, or the panther would have leapt upon him at first, and have torn him to pieces, instead of covering him with leaves, as she did, for the sake of her young. The panther is a ferocious and almost untamable animal, whose nature and habits are like those of the cat; except that the nature and powers of this domestic creature are in the panther immensely magnified, in strength and voracity. It is in the American forest what the tiger is in Africa and India, a dangerous and savage animal, the terror of all other creatures, as well as of the Indian and the white man."

The German Palatinates who settled in the upper Susquehanna were noted for their physical endurance and their fondness for sports, but the same can hardly be said of their desire for intellectual culture. Perhaps they were no worse, in this respect, than circumstances made them. Poverty and hard work were their portion, and the share was not stinted out to them. There were no newspapers, that is, during the earlier history of the settlement, published at a nearer point than Albany. Even those papers were but poor affairs. They were filled with the unimportant doings of the Dutch burghers—perhaps enlivened now and then, with a highly seasoned article, full of indignation because some obscure man in Massachusetts had committed a trespass by cutting a forest tree on the manor of Livingston.

School teachers were not numerous nor were they well qualified for their work. School houses were at a great distance from most of the homes. They were both comfortless and cheerless. The snows were deep in winter and the weather was inclement. In summer, even little hands were helpful at home.

In their sports, the settlers were often inclined to push a joke to rudeness, and what began in fun often ended in a fight. Still, they were good-natured, honest people. They were kind to those needing assistance, and if necessity became common so did the loaf of bread.

There was no lack of social enjoyment, for their hardest toil was made the occasion of a gathering. If a piece of woodland was to be cleared, or a fallow, the male portion of the community united in a "bee" and the work was soon done. Perhaps, while the men were thus working together in the field, the women had gathered within doors, and were busily plying their fingers over the mottled patch-work of a quilt. In the lengthening summer twilight the men, coatless and barefoot, sat in groups on the front steps or under the low Dutch stoops and talked of the incoming crops, the weather or the watery moon.

The forests, all over the hillsides, where now village streets are creeping up and winding across, were frowning with great pines and hemlocks. The log road ran in every direction and was no more exclusive than a common highway. The "shingle-weaver's" huts were on nearly every road and bypath. The most towering pines were regarded as lawful prize, and during the winter the men found plenty of employment and slight recompense in hauling the pines to mill. Here they were converted into lumber, which was piled up by the bank of the river until "the spring freshet." On the swollen stream it was rafted to Baltimore, Harrisburg and other places.

The "rafting season" was looked forward to with no little solicitude by the more robust and daring of the young men. They waited for the rafts to be cut from their moorings with keen anticipation, and the stories of some of the rivermen are still well remembered by the older inhabitants.

For a great many years, Albany was the only market to which the pioneers carted their wheat. The roads were barely passable and the trip to Albany and back required from six to eight days. The wagons, upon which the produce was carted, were of rough and clumsy make. It would not be supposed that the driver would find much pleasure in making the distance to market and back on one of these clumsy vehicles, but the trip, especially to the younger men, was not without its enjoyments. They carried their provisions in a large, round, wooden box over which closed a round, wooden cover. They also carried provender for their teams and the only necessary cash expense was a sixpence each night for lodging. The more sumptuous and less economical might, if they chose, diminish their exchequer to the amount of an extra sixpence by indulging in a glass of "flip." Nearly every farm-house of any pretension on the high road to Albany was a hotel, so-called, if not in fact. Seated at night within these primitive hotels, the farmers who had assembled from different parts told their tales of prowess—some true stories and a good many lies.

Beside the ambitious house that gloried in a daub of red paint and which had been pushed up to the aristocratic height of one and a half or two stories, before which flapped in the wind a wide, white board with the cheerful announcement, "Smith's Inn—Refreshments for Man or Beast," stood a more modest structure. Brown, unpainted, unclapboarded, it stood by the wayside. Its log walls were stuccoed with mud, and in the wide mouth of the doorway was the brawny housewife, bare-armed, peering from beneath a slatternly red sun-bonnet, while over the doorway the passer-by read the letters in red chalk upon a new pine shingle:

+————————-+ | "CAKES AND BEER | | FOR SALE HERE." | +————————-+

After the farmer had sold or bartered away his wheat or other produce, he generally returned with a load of goods for the village merchant.