After the storm of the Revolution had subsided, the Indian's bow was
unstrung, the tomahawk and scalping-knife were laid idly by, and the
Angel of Peace had spread her guardian wing over the waters of the
Susquehanna and her tributaries. The hardy sons of New England came
flocking to this section of country, and many of them found a home for
their families in the lovely Valley of the Otego. Here they purchased
lauds and commenced cutting down and clearing away the forest along the
valley, and erecting rude houses to shelter their wives and children,
and mills to grind their grain.
In a few short years the smoke from their morning fires curled above the
forest trees for more than twenty miles along the winding banks of the
crystal waters of the Otego, and began to present a scene of activity.
School-houses were erected by the industry of the settlers along the
valley at the most convenient places, and these served a double
purpose--for schools through the week and meeting on the Sabbath.
Orchards soon began to blossom in spring, and fields of grain to wave in
summer, both yielding the gems of bright abundance in autumn. Then the
reapers, robust and ruddy with health, thrust in the willing sickle,
whilst the young maidens with glowing cheeks gathered up the gavels and
bound them in sheaves and raked the new-mown hay. Health, beauty and
prosperity spread their glory over the lovely scene. The axeman's blows,
that lowered the forest and frightened away the game, were displeasing
to Mayall, and all his thoughts were now turned on finding a new home.
The thought of living in a country where the primeval forest was fast
disappearing, the thick boughs that had sheltered him from the storms
and the green plumes that had waved over his head in summer to protect
him from the scorching rays of the sun in his daily rambles, for so many
years, where the wild game had lived and fattened for his table--all
seemed like departing friends.
Mayall could endure the scene no longer, and started in quest of a new
home. He traversed the country to the north in every direction, with his
gun in his hand and his hunting-knife and tomahawk in his belt.
Thus equipped he wandered over a vast section of country, winding around
lakes and crossing streams, at times climbing the highest hills, there
from some lofty tree-top taking a view of the surrounding country, to
see if the smoke from the cottage of some adventurous settler or that of
the Indian wigwam dimmed the air. He was seeking a lone retreat where
human footsteps seldom fall. At length he learned from an Indian of the
Oneida tribe that he would find that secluded and happy retreat he was
searching for on the head-waters of East Canada Creek, where the
sparkling waters swarmed with speckled trout, where the buck and the
doe, with her fawn, coursed on their runway undisturbed, where beautiful
little lakes nestled among the hills, and abounded with fish and water
fowls, where the green forest in summer reflected its image upon the
waters so smooth and fair, and stamped upon its bosom creation's image,
the sun and clouds reflected in their waters by day and the moon and
stars by night, with the beautiful arch of heaven's high concave.
Whilst conversing with the Indian, his daughter came from his cabin near
by and informed her father that his morning meal was ready, and invited
Mayall to come with her father to breakfast. Mayall was struck with the
youthful simplicity and beauty of the Indian maiden. After they had
enjoyed their delicious meal of venison together, and smoked the long
pipe of peace, Mayall informed the Indian that he had a son equal in
height, years, activity and beauty with the Indian chief's daughter, and
if the chief had no objection he would take them both with him to the
beautiful and romantic country he had so graphically described, after
their marriage, and the Indian chief could come to visit her every fall
and enjoy the Indian summer in hunting deer and procuring furs for
winter.
The Indian replied that if his daughter was pleased with Wolf-hunter's
son, and he was as good a hunter as his father, he would consent. The
Indians had adopted Mayall into the tribe, by the name of Wolf-hunter,
which made Mayall's son equal in rank with the daughter of the Indian
chief.
Mayall now parted with the chief and his family in friendship, and left
the proposed marriage to abide future events. Mayall directed his steps
towards East Canada Creek, where he arrived in safety, and commenced his
journey up the valley which had been scooped out by the stream since the
morning of creation. He soon passed beyond the noisy bustle of
civilization in the Valley of the Mohawk River, and launched into a
solitude which appeared to him as a divine retreat, and was better
fitted for a wild hunter than a civilized man.
Mayall carefully examined the forest along the banks of the stream and
its branches, from its outlet into the Mohawk to its source far away
among the forest hills. He found many traces of beaver and other furred
animals, and plenty of deer.
Mayall said it so nearly resembled the Otego Creek in its wild state,
shaded with the primeval forest, that it made him think of home in
gone-by days. The speckled trout swarmed in the creek and its small
tributaries, the feathered songsters sung their evening and morning
hymn, unmolested by man.
Mayall selected the most beautiful place he could find, on an elevated
spot of ground, near a small rill fed by springs, where the creek formed
a half circle like a new moon, on one side of his cottage. This fertile
spot, lying in the bend, he intended to clear and cultivate.
Breeze of the woodland and breath of the prairie,
Sweet with the fragrance of flower and vine,
Proclaim o'er the hill-tops and deep-shaded glens
That the sweet songsters of spring have returned,
And the little birds chirp, flutter and sing,
And make the groves again with melody ring.
Their music charms me like the voice of love,
And chains me to this wild, uncultivated grove,
Where spring flowers vary their beauty and bloom,
And spread their morning and evening perfume.
How beautiful the hills and forest land,
Where Nature spreads her loam and fertile sand;
Where seeds long-buried in the drifting snow
Spring forth in beauty when the south winds blow.
The sun, with golden beams and brighter rays,
Shines forth to warm the earth and lengthen out the days.
He there built his camp-fire, and reared a rude cabin to shelter his
family, until he could build a more permanent residence.
Here Mayall rested for a few days, charmed with the music of the woods,
and the water-fowls that had stopped along the stream to lay their eggs
and rear their young. Mayall then pursued his journey up the stream
until he reached its utmost spring among the distant hills, and then
bent his course eastward among the highlands of that region, where he
found the beautiful little lakes so graphically described by the Indian,
stored with fish, and covered with water-fowls during the summer season.
All the wilds of the forest appeared more beautiful than he had
anticipated.
After exploring the hills and valleys for a few days, during which time
he never saw a human being, Mayall resolved to return once more to his
wife and children. As he passed down the valley he stopped at the rude
cabin he had erected, and passed the night in quiet sleep. Mayall
declared that in his chosen bower Nature appeared fresh from the hand of
Omnipotence. He described one of the lakes he had seen as the most
beautiful sheet of water that human eye ever saw, surrounded with a belt
of white sand, where the buck, the doe, and the spotted fawn came and
slaked their thirst from the crystal waters of the lake, unmolested by
man, and fed tamely upon its grassy shores; where the wild rose, queen
of bowers, shed her perfume, and the lily displayed her spots of beauty,
as second in rank among the flowers; the third in magnitude and adorning
was the wild honeysuckle, with all her tints of beauty. These encircled
the snow-white sands upon its beautiful shores, whilst the low undertone
of its waves kept time to the music of the grove.
Mayall was enchanted with the beauties of Nature around him, and made
his bed at night under a low branching tree, covered with a wild
grape-vine, so nicely tied and coiled by Nature that it served every
purpose of a tent. Mayall made his evening meal on trout he took from
the lake, and laid down to sleep upon the wild, enchanted shores of an
earthly paradise. His sleep was quiet and undisturbed. He awoke with the
first rays of rosy morn, and listened to the lovely song of Nature's
harmonists, the songsters of the grove.
After Mayall left his cabin on Canada Creek he bent his course for home,
where he arrived after three tedious days' journey along an Indian path,
fording streams, and crossing hills and ravines, and was once more in
the bosom of his family. All were glad to see him, and listened with
rapture to the glowing account he gave of a country so wild and
beautiful, until Mayall reached the story of the proposed marriage of
his young son with the daughter of an Indian chief. The young man was of
the Caucasian race, young and sprightly. He declared that he would not
marry a squaw--he would live solitary and alone before he would marry
the daughter of a race he had always learned to hate, if she was allied
to the royal family of chiefs. Mayall heard his resolves with a twinkle
in his eye, and here the matter rested, whilst every preparation was
making for their now home.
Mayall was truly one of Nature's noble philosophers. When he had
resolved to leave the Valley of the Otego Creek, where he had enjoyed so
many scenes of strife and pleasure, his friends, both old and young,
gathered at his cabin for a farewell visit. In the course of the evening
the question was put to Mayall, who was the most advanced in years of
any of the company, what season of life he had found most happy. In
reply he inquired of the company if they had noticed the forest trees
that once shaded the valley. They all replied they had. He then said,
"When spring comes and the soft south wind blows up the valley, the buds
on the trees open and they are sweet with blossoms, I say how beautiful
is Spring, representing the morning of life.
The light winds are her laughter,
The murmuring brooks her song;
and when Summer comes and clothes the trees with foliage and shields me
from the rays of the flaming noonday sun, cools the wind that sighs
among the branches filled with singing birds that charm me to the grove,
I say how glorious is Summer, the noonday of life.
The sunbeams are her lovely smiles,
The rose and lily are her footsteps light;
and Autumn, in her turn, comes with golden fruit, and the leaves bear
the gorgeous frost-tints so variegated with all the glory of colors,
with the full ear, and Ceres has bound his golden sheaf, I say how
beautiful is Autumn, crowned with fruit that perfumes the surrounding
air, representing the fruits of maturer years.
The branches bend with riper fruit,
The grapes in royal purple shine
When Autumn yields the glory of the year;
and when Winter comes, and there is neither opening buds, green foliage,
or ripening fruit, nor gorgeous frost-tints upon the leaves, I look
through the bare branches of the trees better than I could in spring,
summer and autumn, and lo, how beautiful are the stars that spangle the
heavens and twinkle in the pale light of the moon, with maiden face
sweeping through the heavens, veiled with fleecy clouds, like the
bridesmaid of heaven, to direct our thoughts to the celestial city to
meet the great Author of our creation. For the spirit came from God, and
to God it must return, it being that part of Divinity that dwells with
man during the journey of life.
And we shall hail with joy
The glorious sunset of life."
And the company recorded his wise sayings and poetical phrases for the
benefit of future generations that should inhabit the Valley of the
Otego.