"Fresh from the fountains of the wood
A rivulet to the valley came,
And glided on for many a rood,
Flushed with the morning's ruddy flame;
The air was fresh and soft and sweet,
The slopes in spring's new verdure lay,
And, wet with dewdrops, at my feet
Bloomed the young violets of May.
No sound of busy life was heard
Amid those forests lone and still,
Save the faint chirp of early bird,
Or bleat of deer along the hill.
I traced the rivulet's winding way,
New scenes of beauty opened round.
Where woody shades of brightest green
And lovely blossoms tinged the ground.
'Ah, happy valley stream,' I said,
'Calm glides thy waters 'mid the flowers,
Whose fragrance round my path is shed
Through all the joyous summer hours.'"
After the storm of the Revolution had passed away, and the Angel of
Peace once more brooded over the forest, there was a daring hunter with
his family found living in the Valley of the Adaca, now called Otego
Creek, by the name of Mayall, who had become perfectly familiar with
every hill, mountain, valley and glen for many miles around his humble
cottage. He led a wild and romantic life, living and lodging wherever
night overtook him, when the distance was so great that he could not
reach his home, where the smoke of his cottage fire curled in blue
wreaths over the forest trees, whilst its walls furnished a safe abode
for his wife and children from the wild beasts of the forest. His cabin
was strongly built of logs, with small windows, which looked more like
port-holes to a fort than windows. A deep hole was dug beneath his
cottage floor, from which there was a secret passage leading under the
foundation outside, that one might make his escape, if necessary. A bed
of straw was thrown down into this hole, and here his children slept,
descending by means of a trap-door, which was closed in time of danger,
and made a safe retreat against the wild beasts of the forest in his
absence. There was abundance of game scattered over the forest, and the
multitude of furred animals that inhabited the valleys and congregated
along the streams, living on the swarms of fish that then abounded in
every mountain rill, made it an easy matter to support his table with
fresh and dried venison, choice fowls and speckled trout, whilst the
furred animals, that were abundant, would furnish him with clothing to
protect him from the frosts of winter.
About the year 1774 this wild forester was found cultivating a small
spot of ground near a little crystal rill that flowed from a deep gorge
in the hill. Eastward of his cabin was a high bluff of rocks, crowned
with lofty pines, that overlooked the valley, which stretched away
towards the Susquehanna. From this rocky promontory the forest appeared
unbroken, excepting the small spot cleared by his own hands, and seemed
to lie beneath this rocky throne in tranquil loveliness. Here at his
cottage, when at home, his wife cooked his frugal but delicious repast.
The Oneida tribe of Indians made their main path to the Susquehanna
Valley through the Valley of the Otego Creek, for the purpose of
procuring their yearly supply of lead, which they used to carry away in
abundance. The first settlers of this valley used to say that they would
leave Laurens Village, and, after an absence of two or three hours,
return loaded with their yearly supply; yet, with all the search that
has been made by the white race, this mine remains a secret, known only
to the red man to this day, and probably will remain so until the end of
time, unless found by accident. This state of affairs moved on quietly
until the breaking out of the Revolution. Great Britain, with her
warlike bands, invaded the eastern and southern coast, whilst the Indian
tribes westward, aided by the Canadians and Tories, swarmed through all
the western forests.
Mayall began to shun them as much as convenient. They appeared very
different from the Oneidas, and seemed now to be hunting for men and
plunder, instead of wild game. They cleared away and made their
war-paths more plain along the broad-armed Susquehanna and her
tributaries. They came, painted and plumed for the fray, with their
scalp-locks waving in the air; and the frightful war-whoop echoed
through the valley and died away upon the mountain top, frightening the
wild beasts to their lair, as they marched towards the nearest
settlements, to kindle the terror-awakening fire, and massacre and
plunder the inhabitants. The war-whoop awoke the child from the
cradle--the infant was torn from its mother's arms, the aged fell by the
tomahawk and scalping-knife, and the earth fattened with their blood.
Such was the state of affairs when autumn arrived, and hung out her flag
of many colors from the forest trees over hill and vale, as the sun,
with fiery crest, gilded every forest tree with the glory of the season,
whilst the bold hunter gathered in the ripening fruit to increase his
scanty winter store. The furred animals had now put on their winter
robes, which nature so wisely prepares for their comfort during the
frosts of winter.
Mayall, who styled himself one of that religious sect called Friends, in
order to soothe the fears of his enemies, always hailed them, wherever
he met them, as friends.
Autumn, with him, was the season for rambling and hunting to lay in his
winter store of furs and provisions, and he prepared for a hunting
excursion up the Cherry Valley Creek. The next morning, when the first
rays of light appeared in the east, he was seen to emerge from his cabin
with a knapsack of provisions on his back, a bundle of traps thrown over
his shoulder, powder-horn and bullet-pouch by his side, and his trusty
gun in his hand. Thus equipped, he took an eastward course for the
Cherry Valley Creek. At the head of that creek was the nearest
settlement, where he sometimes went to dispose of his furs and purchase
stores and ammunition, distant from his home about twenty-seven miles.
As soon as he reached the mouth of the stream, which is a tributary of
the Susquehanna, he began to reconnoitre the stream, and set his traps
wherever signs appeared of beaver, animated with the prospect of a rich
harvest of furs and venison. He had not proceeded far before he saw a
fine buck, which had come to the creek to drink. He instantly raised his
trusty gun to his face. A flash and report, and the noble animal fell
dead upon the bank of the stream. The day had now far advanced, and he
drew his knife from its sheath and dressed his venison with dispatch. He
then hung up three of the quarters upon the trees, cutting off a limb to
form a hook on which it would hang safely from the wolves that were
nightly prowling along the stream. He then took the remaining quarter
and wrapped it up in the skin of the buck, retired into a thick, dark
swamp that lay near the stream, until he reached a large, spreading
hemlock, that afforded a convenient resting-place at its root. Here, in
this dense thicket, he built a small fire, examined his trusty gun, and
laid down to rest. He afterward said he used every caution, for he had
three enemies upon his track--the panther, the wolf and the red man. The
night seemed to pass away quietly, excepting the howling of a wolf
occasionally upon a distant hill, which gave him no uneasiness. Rosy
morn soon appeared, and he could see the sun send his blush upon the
highest hills, from his camping-ground in the swamp. He then prepared
his breakfast, and feasted on the loin of the buck that he had killed
the day previous. Emerging from the swamp, he intended to examine his
traps, and then take the skin of the buck and the choicest part of the
venison to his family. In this calculation he was sadly disappointed;
for, as he proceeded along a path near the stream, suddenly three Indian
warriors appeared in the path before him. He walked directly up to the
party and said, "Good morning, brothers." They returned the compliment
by saying, "Good morning, brother." One of the party said, "Let me see
your gun." He handed it out. The Indian took from his pocket a knife and
turned back the screws that held the lock, and then took the lock and
put it in his pocket, handing the gun back to Mayall, informing him that
he must go with them. Mayall bit his lips in silence, to think a hunter
who had faced his enemies in every form could be so easily frustrated in
his plans. They then informed him that they were on the war-path and he
must consider himself their prisoner, to which he made no reply.
They immediately commenced their march in the following order: the
stoutest Indian led the march, next came Mayall, the prisoner, followed
by two Indian warriors. In this manner they marched down the creek, and
then down the Susquehanna, to a place near where the Schenevus mingles
with and loses its name in the waters of the Susquehanna. Here they
encamped for the night, and after starting their camp-fire in a thicket
of hemlocks, they all four eat their supper from the venison cooked by
Mayall in the morning. Then, binding their prisoner's hands behind him,
and tying his feet firmly together, they laid down to sleep, with an
Indian on each side and the remaining one to keep guard. As soon as the
blaze of the fire died away, Mayall tried to disengage his hands, which
began to pain him cruelly, but all in vain. If he could once free
himself, he could reach his home before the sun could rise again, and
once more see his wife and children; but six miles of forest parted them
at this time, on a straight line. Oh, the misery of being dragged from
home! And who could foretell his fate? Was he to wear the bearskin
moccasin, and be tied to the fatal stake and burned for Indians' sport,
and his poor family left to starve and perish amid the frosts of a long,
dreary winter? He dreamed of the red war-post, the terrific dance of the
red man round his burning victim, and all the refined torture of the
savage. Morning broke his dreams; the sun again kissed the mountain-top.
Mayall was unbound--his mind became calm, his resolution was formed. It
was the last night that he was to endure the horrors of being bound.
Little did the Indians know the danger of driving to desperation so
terrible a foe, who was perfectly acquainted with the forest many
leagues around them. The Indian warriors soon resumed their march in the
same order of the previous day, but with greater haste. They moved
forward rapidly, as if they feared an enemy in the rear. Mayall scanned
every movement with the eye of the vulture, for a chance to deal the
deadly blow upon his captors. The day seemed to wear away without an
opportunity for the deadly combat, until they halted at a ford above
where the village of Unadilla now stands. Here they held a parley, as
the stream was swollen and rapid. Mayall looked on in sullen silence, as
he began to feel the demon rise. He said he soon felt the courage of a
lion, and the strength of a Samson before he had trifled with Delilah.
They hesitated for a short time over the danger. The foremost warrior
finally ventured into the stream with his rifle and it was with great
difficulty he kept his footing. He struggled against the rushing waters,
and finally reached the opposite bank; the second one now stepped into
the stream and ordered Mayall to follow. Mayall made every appearance of
preparing to follow, until the Indian reached the rapid current; then,
turning suddenly upon the Indian on the shore, at one blow with the
stock of his gun he laid him dead at his feet. As quick as thought,
before his body had fairly reached the ground, Mayall seized his rifle
and shot the Indian in the stream. Then tearing the Indian's belt from
his body (for it was hurrying times), he jumped behind the trunk of the
nearest tree that would shelter him, as a ball from the Indian's rifle
on the opposite bank whistled by his head, which he had anticipated, and
moved as quickly as possible, to avoid his deadly aim. They now stood on
opposite banks, each behind the trunk of a tree, with an empty rifle in
their hands. The rifles were quickly loaded and prepared for the deadly
combat, and the life of one at least must be sacrificed. After Mayall's
gun was in readiness he cautiously peered out; but seeing the Indian's
rifle aimed directly at him he dodged suddenly back, just in time to
save his life; for the very instant Mayall dodged back his head, a ball
from the Indian's rifle grazed the bark of the tree, and whistled away
among the forest trees. Mayall now thought of taking the advantage of
the Indian by aiming his rifle directly at his hiding-place and firing
at the first appearance of the Indian's head, but in this he was
disappointed; for the Indian, seeing Mayall's rifle aimed at his head,
drew it back so quickly that the ball cut a channel in the bark where
the Indian's eye appeared. Mayall loaded again as hastily as possible,
and stood for a moment, hesitating what course to pursue, satisfied that
the Indian warrior was his equal in aim and courage. He cast his eye
back into the forest, and readily saw the trees stood thick, and by
drawing the Indian's fire he could make a quick and safe retreat. But
that would not answer--he would be hunted down and surprised, and his
life would never be safe. Mayall quickly resolved that the Indian or
himself must fall on that ground, and the only means now left him was
stratagem. He drew his ramrod from his rifle, and putting his hat on the
end, pushed it out carefully, to prevent the Indian from discovering the
deception. It had the desired effect; for scarcely had the hat shown its
full size outside the trunk of the tree, before the Indian sent a ball
from his rifle through the hat, which Mayall lowered quickly to the
ground, and then listened with breathless anxiety the result. In this
condition he waited a long time.
All was silent as the tomb, excepting now and then the scream of a
fish-hawk or the singing of a hermit-thrush that had approached the bank
of the river after the firing had ceased, and seemed singing the funeral
dirge of the red warriors who had already fallen. All of a sudden the
thrush flew past Mayall into the forest, and the practiced ear of Mayall
heard a rippling in the stream, like running water dashing against some
slight obstruction. Anticipating the approach of the Indian warrior, he
stepped suddenly from behind the tree, whilst the Indian was struggling
with the current, and sent a ball from his rifle through the warrior's
heart. He then floated down the rapid current, and sunk in the deep
water below the rift.
Mayall then took his gunlock from the pocket of the Indian on the shore,
who had stayed behind to engineer and direct the crossing, placed it
upon his own gun, dragged the Indian into the current of the river, and
he, too, floated down, and sunk with the first two in the deep, dark
waters of the Susquehanna. He then washed out all traces of the bloody
strife, and bent his course homeward. He hurried on, avoiding the
trodden path of the red man, until he reached the mouth of the Otego
Creek, when night's sable curtain began to darken the landscape around
him. He then ascended a high peak of the mountain, that not only
overlooked the Valley of the Susquehanna, but also overlooked the lovely
Valley of the Otego Creek. Here, after finding a suitable spot, and
examining his rifle, and seeing that all was right, he laid down, weary
and exhausted, to rest, without kindling a fire.
The experience of the last two days had taught him a lesson long to be
remembered. As the night grew dark and chilly, he could see the fire
from his own cottage window gleam warm and bright from his lofty
mountain bed, distant twelve miles. The night seemed long and wild, and
still wilder round his lonely bed. The war was now raging between the
United States and Canada. The inhabitants of Cherry Valley had been
massacred, and he had come near losing his own life and liberty, and
time would only tell what would become of himself and family. The
Oneidas knew his home and place of rest, but at present they were his
friends; but how should he escape these western savage tribes, that
delighted in kindling the terror-awakening fire, and causing the
midnight to glitter with the blaze of some solitary dwelling, whilst
they stood at the door with the scalping-knife and tomahawk, to deal the
death-blow to the inmates, and triumph with savage glee over their
untimely death? Such were the reflections of Mayall, solitary and alone
in his mountain bed, when the wild beasts of the forest were in motion,
and no human being within twelve miles of his mountain camp. At length
the morning dawned; the sun arose in all his glory, throwing a rosy
blush, as it touched one peak and then another along the Catskill
mountains, which he could see clothed in all their autumnal glory above
the intervening hills. Long lines of clouds lay along the highest peaks
of these mountains, painted with all the hues of vermilion and gold, but
soon faded to a leaden hue, as they began to veil the sun.
Mayall was now aware of the approaching storm, which he considered a
stroke of good luck. He took the Indian's rifle, which he had brought
thus far with him, and secreted it in a hollow log, lest it might be a
tell-tale of what had happened. He then took a general survey with his
practiced eye, to see if there was any smoke rising from the valleys. He
could see none but his own in the distance. He then hurried down from
the mountain, and took the nearest path to his home with rapid and
hurried steps, in order to get as near home as possible, that the rain
might wash out all traces behind, and took special care to avoid soft
ground, as he well knew the shrewdness of the Indians on the track if
they should miss their tribesmen. He reached home before the rain began
to descend, and had hardly closed the door before the wind began to blow
and the rain fell in torrents.
His family were surprised to see him return, after three days' absence,
with nothing but his gun and ammunition, and appearing careworn, weary
and hungry. He walked to the door and looked out, and said, "Nature
weeps for me!"
Mayall was a bold, daring man, and none was found more brave; but when
he looked upon his little prattling children and lovely wife, he thought
of the three Indian warriors lying at the bottom of the dark, deep
stream, and he wept, thinking they might have wives and fatherless
children, who would look out evening and morning for their fathers and
husbands, who would never return again to their homes.
His wife and children hailed him with joy, but nothing they could say
seemed worth his notice; he seemed to be wrapped in deep meditation--not
a smile was seen to light up his sunburnt countenance. No one could read
the secret of his meditation.
Autumn quietly wore away, and Mayall confined his hunting excursions to
his own quiet valley, where game appeared quite plenty, until the snows
of winter began to whiten the hills. He then remained most of the time
at home, excepting now and then, when the weather was favorable, he made
an excursion up or down the valley in quest of deer, to supply his
family with fresh venison. The deep snows had drifted over the war-path
of the red man, and Mayall had enjoyed a quiet season, spending most of
his time by a warm winter fire.
At length winter began to resign his sway, and took up his march for his
northern icy throne. The rays of the sun began to dissolve the deep
snow, the southern breeze began to whisper among the dumb branches of
the forest trees, the warm rains pattered down, the little mountain
streams were swollen, and noisily hurrying down to pour their tribute
into the Otego, which overflowed its banks and inundated the lowlands
along the streams, and Spring began to put on her glorious robes of
beauty. The violet opened its young leaves with all its youthful blush,
the honeysuckle displayed its glistening cups of gold, and the forest
trees were again clothed with living green, while every tree that bore
the fruits of Autumn was dressed with Nature's fairest wreaths, which
art can scarcely imitate. The feathered choir had fluttered up the
valley, borne on the southern breeze, to cheer the woodland with their
song.
Such was the earthly Paradise of Mayall. Not all the halls of state,
with their artificial splendor; not all the retinue of kings, with
golden crowns, surrounded with warriors glittering with burnished gold
and ornamented with diamonds--all these faded into insignificance, when
compared with his green forest home.
"What city," said Mayall, "with all its towers and domes, can compare
with these sylvan shades and waving arches, the music of these
waterfalls, and that of the tall pine's quaking cone standing on its
high and lofty throne? And what music can compare with the notes of
these feathered songsters, that morning and evening hymn the praise of
Nature's God, where He sits enthroned with all his glory?" Such were the
reflections of Mayall, as he sat beneath a clustering vine that his
lovely companion had trained, in his absence, to form an arch over his
cottage door, and shelter him from the burning sun.
The flowers of May soon began to drop their leaves, the streams had
become confined within their banks, the red men from the Western lakes
and Canada were again upon the war-path, and it required all the skill
of a forest life to elude their pursuit. Mayall knew every sound of the
night; his eye and ear had long sought in the dark; not a beast that
walked the forest by night, or prowled around his cabin or camp-fire,
but he could name readily by the sound of his footsteps. Mayall had
remained most of the summer at his forest home, cultivating a small
field that surrounded it, and capturing such game as frequented his own
valley, and the streams that meandered through it abounded with fish of
the finest quality for his table.
Summer had quietly passed away, and the golden sun of September began to
change the bright green of summer to all the varied hues of autumn.
Mayall once more began to feel a desire to roam over the hills, which
had long been his favorite employment; he finally resolved on visiting
his more distant hunting-ground in quest of deer, which had become
scarce near his home. He accordingly rose with the sun and prepared for
a journey over the distant hills and valleys, which had only appeared to
him in his dreams since his capture by the three Indian warriors. He
took an eastern course, crossed the highlands between the Otego Creek
and Susquehanna Valley, crossed the Indian war-path that passed up the
Susquehanna, and thence up Cherry Valley Creek at right angles, and soon
began to climb the steep ascent of the Crumhorn mountain, in the
direction of a small lake situated on the top of the mountain. As he
began to ascend the mountain the sun had passed the meridian, and poured
its heated rays against the western slope of the mountain. Mayall,
coming to a noisy little rill that spun its silver thread down the
mountain side, to mingle with the water in the valley below, slaked his
thirst at the stream, and, walking up to a little mound near the stream,
scraped together some leaves that had fallen in wild profusion around,
to carpet the mountain-side with all their varied hues, and seated
himself for his noonday meal. After satisfying his hunger and again
quenching his thirst at the stream, he sat down to rest; a stupor came
over him, as the gentle breeze fanned the mountain-side and whispered
among the lofty branches of the forest trees, like the Æolian harp of
passing time.
Mayall soon became unconscious of the fearful dangers that were hovering
around him; time, to him, passed unheeded; the sun was fast sinking
towards the western hills, and the wild beasts of the forest were again
in motion. Mayall slowly awoke to consciousness, and, to his surprise
and horror, he heard the tread of a panther walking about him, and
covering him with leaves. Being perfectly acquainted with the habits of
this animal, he knew that to move a hand or foot would cause his instant
death, as the old panther was then preparing a feast for her young ones,
as he had seen them prepare a deer that she had found in the same
manner, and then go and bring her young ones. He lay in fearful suspense
until the panther had finished her covering of leaves. He heard her
footsteps begin to recede, until the sound was lost in distance; then,
creeping out from his covering of leaves, he discovered near him an old
decayed log about the length of a man. This he moved to the spot where
he had lain, and covered it with leaves, then, casting his eyes around,
he saw a tree that he could easily climb, and, slinging his gun over his
shoulder, fastened by a strap to his belt, he lost no time in ascending
the tree to the height of twenty-five or thirty feet, where he found a
convenient branch to rest upon, above the height of the panther's
ground-leap. He waited quietly for the return of the panther and her
family, not knowing how many guests would be invited to the feast.
Whilst sitting on this lofty perch, in painful suspense, he carefully
examined his trusty gun and hunting knife, which he sheathed in his boot
in readiness for the combat, should the panthers attempt to attack him
by ascending the tree. After resting on one of the branches of his
chosen tree for a short time he heard the rustling of the leaves in the
distance, and could plainly see through the branches of the trees that
the old panther was advancing towards his bed of leaves, accompanied by
three large cubs. He now felt thankful there was but one old one in the
company, and waited in silence to see the exploits of the old panther,
which advanced steadily towards the bunch of leaves with cautious steps,
as if she feared to wake her prey until she came within leaping
distance; then, settling down on the ground, waited until her young ones
came to her side; then springing forward with one tremendous bound, she
struck upon the log covered with leaves. The rotten wood-bark and leaves
flew fearfully around for a moment. The panther seeing her mistake,
dropped her tail and ears like a shamed cur, and taking a careful survey
with her eyes of the surrounding forest, stood at fault for a few
moments. Then raising her head and ears, she seemed to resume all her
native fierceness, and seemed maddened with rage at her disappointment,
and, seeming to have caught the scout of the victim of her rage, she
raised her eyes and fixed them on Mayall in the tree, and advanced
directly towards him, her young panthers following, which were about the
size of a large wild cat.
Mayall awaited her approach, with his gun in readiness, until the
panther came in full view, and as she settled towards the ground to make
a bound up the tree he sent the contents of his gun through her head.
For a few moments there was a fearful struggle among the small brush and
saplings, and then she dropped lifeless and exhausted upon the ground.
Mayall lost no time in loading his gun, but the young panthers, seeing
their protector and provider fall, were quickly out of reach of the
fearless hunter. Mayall descended to the ground just as the sun was
casting his last crimson blush on the Crumhorn hills, and kindled his
camp-fire on the leaves that the panther had scraped together for his
funeral pile. After he had kindled his fire and made preparations for
the night he then laid down near his camp-fire, where he could get a
fair view of his surroundings. The shades of evening soon gathered
around him. The stars shot forth in beauty one by one, and the evening
dew fell in silence. Thinking the young panthers might return for their
dam, he had placed her in a sleeping position in a conspicuous place, to
draw them to her side if they came within sight. Mayall waited in
sleepless anxiety, thinking that when the embers of his fire died away
the young panthers might approach. In the midst of his watchfulness the
moon arose and showed her maiden face, and walked among the stars,
reflecting her borrowed light among the branches of the forest trees.
Mayall was delighted with the grandeur of the scenery around him, which
drew out his mind in pure devotion to Nature and Nature's God. The night
seemed to pass like a pleasant dream, and the day-star began to twinkle
in the east. Mayall kindled again his fire to prepare his morning
repast, that he might retrace his steps to the Valley of the Otego,
knowing that the hunter finds no deer in forests inhabited by panthers.
The day-king soon arose and dispelled the darkness of night. Mayall went
forward and circumnavigated the little lake in pursuit of the young
panthers. Not finding their hiding place, he sat down on a log for a few
moments to view that beautiful sheet of water, reflecting on its bosom
the surrounding forest. Eolus was slumbering. Not a breath of air played
over its surface, but lay like the mirror bright and fair. Mayall in his
excitement viewed it as one of the lovely dimples on the face of
creation, which held him for a time like a charm, until his thoughts
roamed over the forest hills to his loved ones at home. He then arose
and retraced his steps to the Valley of the Otego, considering the past
day and night one of the most charming incidents of his past life.
The war of the Revolution had now ended, and new adventurers began to
visit the Valley of the Otego. Charmed with the beauty of its forests
and crystal streams, they would return and soon appear with their
families.
And behold the green hills in distance laid,
Where the wild hunter often strayed,
Where through the forest swift as light
The wild deer shunned the bullets' flight.