Part 5

"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, 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.

"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.

CHAPTER III.

Prominent among the early settlers of Oneonta was Jacob Dietz, who removed into the settlement from Schoharie county about the year 1804. Mr. Dietz was early appointed a justice of the peace, and continued in office either by appointment or election for a great length of time. He was active in the affairs of the town and an energetic man of business. He was a long time in mercantile business, and his store, which was situated where now stands the brick building occupied by the First National Bank, was the center of a lively trade for those times. Mr. Dietz accumulated an extensive estate, and reared a large family of children. He became the owner of extensive tracts of land, some of which are now occupied by the streets and residences of the village. Some of his representatives are now living in the west and are deservedly esteemed where they reside.

At about the date last mentioned, one Schoolcraft erected a modest structure on the site of the Susquehanna House. Schoolcraft's house became in a short time the leading tavern of the community, where poor grog and worse food were dispensed to the villagers and wayfarers, doubtless much to the gratification of their primitive tastes.

About the same period, 1804-5, one Joseph Westcott, from the present town of Milford, erected a store nearly opposite the residence of D.M. Miller. These stores--Dinninny's, mentioned in the preceding chapter, Dietz's and Westcott's--were all of the most primitive order, and, especially the first named, contained but a meagre stock of goods, the stock generally consisting of a barrel of New England rum of the most violent nature, several old bull ploughs, a little crockery ware, a few cooking utensils, and a small amount of dry goods. There was but little money and the merchant's trade was carried on mostly in the way of barter, the tradesman exchanging his merchandise for grain, lumber and shingles.

Early in the history of the town, a Mr. Walling, the grandfather of J.R.L. Walling, located to the east of Oneonta creek, near where his descendant above named now lives. One Newkirk also settled on Chestnut street, on the lot adjoining Philander Lane's. Lawrence Swart settled on the farm now owned and occupied by Henry Wilcox, about the same time that Jacob Dietz came into the settlement.

At the time of Swart's settlement the land on the lower end of River street was covered by a dense forest of hemlock and maple. Over those attractive and well-tilled fields now composing Mr. Wilcox's farm, roamed at that time the bear and the panther, and glided with little molestation numberless rattlesnakes of the largest and most poisonous species. The settlement along the river, below the residence of George Scramling, seemed to proceed slowly, as the land below this point was considered of but little value, while the heavy growth of hemlock precluded the rapid clearing away of the forest. To the north and east of the village the hillsides yielded a vast quantity of the more valuable timber.

For news outside of the little settlement the inhabitants had recourse to the Freeman's Journal, at that time published by one of the pioneers of journalism in Otsego county, John H. Prentiss. The mails were conveyed from one settlement to another by the postman, who traveled over the hills and through the valleys on horseback, and made known his approach to each post-village by the winding of a huge horn, which was always carried by his saddle-bows ready for use.

During the war of 1812-14, the winding of the postman's horn caused the settlers both in the village and without to assemble rapidly and in full force, men, women and children, to learn the news from the "Canada border." Early in that war a number of men entered the army from Oneonta. Some of them were stationed at Sackett's Harbor and Oswego, while others did good service at Lundy's Lane and the Heights of Queenstown. But few of those veterans yet remain to tell

"Of their strange ventures happed by land or sea."

At the time of its first settlement, Oneonta was in the old county of Tryon, which was formed from Albany county in 1772. Tryon county then embraced the whole western portion of the state, from a line extending north and south through the centre of the present county of Schoharie, to Lake Erie. In 1784 the name was changed from Tryon to Montgomery. Oneonta was then in the old town of Suffrage.