Coal Oil Johnny

Front matter

Vy

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JOHN WASHINGTON STEELE (COAL Or. JOHNNY). Taken during Philadelphia Career.

Introduction

So much of a misleading nature had been written concerning my career, that I resolved, after earnest consultation with friends, to present this little volume. While visiting Franklin, Pennsylvania, several years ago the matter was definitely planned, and Mr. S. H. Gray kindly consented to assist me in the preparation of the volume; and to him I feel under many obligations for advice and help. He is the first man to whom I ever related those incidents of my life in which the people have always manifested so much interest. I am also under greater obligations to General Charles Miller, of Franklin, Pa., than I can find power to express. His kindly, helpful nature, which expresses itself in good deeds in so many ways, has proven a great encouragement to me while arranging this volume.

I present the narrative to the world with

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no apologies whatever. In it I have tried to clearly and succinctly set forth some of the features which appear to have proven attractive when reference has been made to them in the newspaper press. It would be presumptious for me to predict the cordiality of the reception which this little volume will receive. It is published not so much for any benefit which may accrue to me as to set at rest many of the misrepresentations which have been set in circulation concerning my career; and I have tried to make the narration as accurate as the lapse of many years will permit. I remain, Most sincerely,

JOHN WASHINGTON STEELE,

Franklin, Pa. (Coal-Oil Johnny). April 22nd, 1901.

Coal Oil Johnny—His Book.

Chapter I

The incidents surrounding my early life may not prove of great interest to the reader who will search these pages for lively and exciting occurrences, but they may prove in some measure attractive in showing from what a prosaic existence may spring circumstances which have to some extent “set the world agog.”

I, John Washington Steele, better known to the public as “Coal-Oil Johnny,” was introduced to this big and busy world in the year of our Lord 1843, near Sheakleville, Mercer County, Pennsylvania. Whether or not I was born under a lucky star is one of those things which it is difficult to determine. Providence seemed kindly disposed to me certainly during the early part of my life, and possibly would have been as devoted to me during my whole career had I not i

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taken the bit in my teeth and pulled away on my own responsibility, cheerfully assisted at times by others, and leaving Providence, figuratively speaking, to go one way, while I traversed a path which to a large extent was wholly and entirely my own.

When I was one and a half years of age my sister, Permelia, who was two years older, and I, were adopted into the family of Culbertson McClintock, a well-to-do farmer, comparatively speaking, who lived on Oil Creek in the County of Venango, Pennsylvania, across the creek from and slightly above the present site of Rouseville. So the only parents I ever knew were “Uncle Culbertson” and his wife Sarah, whom we always called “Aunt Sally,” and no parents could have treated children with greater care and kindness than we were treated by this loving couple, whose greatest delight seemed to be in doing good to others. In these later years my memory has often gone back to them, and always with a heart full of gratitude, although not unmixed with regret, because of the fact that I did not always so conduct myself as to better pay the honest tribute due their memory,

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Hamilton McClintock, the father of Culbertson McClintock, my benefactor, was one of the first settlers of the Oil Creek valley— for it was known as the Oil Creek valley long before the time of oil derricks, flowing wells, and quickly acquired fortunes—and he divided his acres amongst his three sons, Culbertson, James Jr., and Hamilton, the latter occupying the old homestead, situated on the site of the present and once thriving town of McClintockville.

In those times the farmers living along that afterwards famous stream were dependent for a livelihood upon the produce of their hard and stony acres. Measured by the agricultural standard of other portions of the country, the land was not fertile, and the woodland to be cleared, and the rocks to be removed, presented obstacles which would have appalled a less hardy class of people. However, their tastes were simple and their wants easily satisfied, and ceaseless and untiring industry brought to the homes of many what in those days were comparative comforts. Culbertson McClintock did not live to see the golden flood of wealth which in later years swept down the valley,

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transforming everything as by the wand of an enchanter, for in the year 1855 he died, at the age of forty-five.

My boyhood days upon the farm were but a repetition of the existence of thousands of other youngsters who lived in comparatively isolated communities. It was a life that would have killed a city boy with its loneliness, but to one who had never known anything else it was chock-full of interest and excitement. Was not the barking of foxes within a few yards of the house a sound pleasing to the ears of a youth who liked to hunt? And were not the cries of the wildcats welcome music to a youth who liked the excitement of a shot at the “pesky varmints?” And surely nothing could have been more exciting than for a bare-footed boy trying to dodge the rattlesnakes which were at that time so plentiful along the creek. I used to go hunting for them with a favorite dog, who regarded all rattlesnakes as his legitimate prey, and knew how to despatch them with ease. However, I do not recommend rattlesnakes as fit playmates for children, but I want to say that, as snakes go, the rattler is the king among them, a

1fe)

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gentleman when compared with other crawling things. He never intrudes himself upon your presence, always gives you a fair warning when you are about to intrude upon his, and will get out of your way when given half achance. Asa boy I knew him well, and for him I cherished a respect which has never dimmed with years.

The country bordering on Oil Creek at that time was a veritable huntsman’s paradise. Rabbits, squirrels, and game birds were plentiful, and during vacation times I enjoyed myself.

Once a week I used to sling a bag of grain over the shoulders of a horse and ride up through the lonely woods to Irwin’s mill, at Cherry Tree. This was rare fun, and I always enjoyed it more than any chore I had to perform around the home.

I presume the evenings were lonely enough, but they did not seem so then. In the summer time we retired shortly after sundown. But if a boy does go to bed it does not follow that he goes to sleep, and many an hour have I lain awake listening to the song of the whippoorwills, and the ghostly hooting of the owls, the cry of the wildeats, and the bark of the foxes. GH

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Indeed, little did we care in those times for the outside world. We only dreamed of it, or listened to stories of it as they fell from the lips of some stranger or peddler who chanced for an evening to be enjoying the hospitality of the fireside, or maybe caught some glimpses of it from the columns of the weekly newspaper.

In the summer time, before I had reached an age where I could assist much around the farm, I attended school at what was known as the McClintock school-house, a short distance down the creek from the farm, and in the winter time I received instruction at the Blood school-house, situated two or three miles above our place. One winter I attended the “academy” at Cherry Tree, an institution of learning of some pretensions for the time and locality. It was presided over by a Mr. and Miss Crosby, and branches of knowledge were taught that were not touched upon in the district schools of that period. It was at this school that I “graduated,” that is, it ended my education so far as schooling wag concerned, except for a short period many years afterward. Mrs. McClintock was a woman of good education

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for those days, and she possessed the practical and sensible idea that it was essential that everyone should be more or less versed in “book larning;” and for this reason advantages were afforded me, which compared with those received by some of the other boys of the neighborhood at that time might be considered exceptional. However, I cannot Say that I took advantage of the chances offered me or profited by them ag fully as some who were less favored.

My “Uncle” and “Aunt” were members of what was called the Seceders’ Church, with a creed supposed to represent the old-time Presbyterian faith, and the meeting-house which they attended was situated in Oakland Township, about three miles from our home. It is standing there to-day. My benefactors being religiously inclined, lived conscientiously according to the light which was given them, and were faithful churchgoers. “Aunt Sally” believed in walking the straight and narrow path, and tried to persuade others to walk in it; and she drilled me faithfully in the weekly Scripture lesson, with the result that while yet a lad I could recite the first four Gospels of the Bible, a

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number of the Acts, and could answer correctly the hundred or more questions of the catechism, “without looking at the book.”

Early on each Sunday morning the tasks about the farm would be completed, and the family, seated in the lumber wagon, would start for the Oakland church. The edifice is, and was at that time, surrounded by a large wood, and the gatherings there on Sundays bore no little resemblance to what are known in some sections of the country as “old settlers’ meetings.” The worshippers assembled somewhat early, hitched their horses to the trees, and the neighbors would gather in groups and gossip of the doings of the vicinity during the preceding week, and, of course, the crops and the state of the weather were unfailing topics.

We always took our lunch with us, for worshipping in those times required time and physical hardihood, and refreshment was necessary. At ten a. m. Sunday-school would convene and continue in session until eleven, when Elder Slentz would begin a discourse which smacked of earnestness, promising eternal forgiveness and happiness to those who would repent, and setting forth a

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certainty of fire and brimstone for the unrepentant. His abjurations were always attended with terrific poundings of the Bible or the pulpit. I boyishly argued that one of his principal reason for carrying on in this way was to prevent all the younger and some of the older members going to sleep. But that was only a boy’s way of looking at it, and possibly in my thoughts I did the good man an injury.

After the forenoon services the congrega-

tion were given fifteen minutes to lunch, after which we would regather to listen toa second discourse from the minister, which was never less than an hour in length. - No one could blame a youngster for wanting to sleep, but “Aunt Sally,” who occupied one of the seats at the side of the pulpit, took me in with her, and by pinching and shaking managed to keep me fairly attentive until the close of the meeting.

The congregation having thus become inured to hardship, were not extremely shocked when in later years my aunt discovered that I had a voice suitable enough, according to her idea, for singing bass in the choir, and persuaded me to join that aggregation.

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As a member of the choir I did my best, sang way down low while others sang high or half-way between, and in some way escaped punishment for the crimes I committed in the name of music. But “Aunt Sally” was pleased, and that settled it with me.

Chapter II

The house in which we lived when I was a boy was of the old-fashioned, log-cabin style of architecture, of one room, with a door and window at each side, while at one end was a large fire-place which furnished light and warmth for the house, as well as heat for cooking purposes. About the room were strung festoons of dried apples, dried pumpkins, and red peppers. The roof of a shed built against one end of the house served as a means for reaching the garret, wherein were stored many of the farming implements when not in use, and in this room were also placed the butternuts, walnuts, hickory-nuts, and chestnuts, which I always gathered in the fall and put away for the long winter evenings.

In this place, too, “Aunt Sally” stored her “varbs,” prominent among which was a goodly supply of boneset, for she believed in the efficacy of the tea made from that plant as firmly ag I despised the concoction. Were anything wrong with my physical organiza-

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tion, out would come the boneset, and I would be treated to an internal bath until my soul cried out in protest. Many a time did I suffer in silence rather than to endure a deluge of my Aunt’s favorite remedy.

The neighborhood frolics were gatherings which I always enjoyed. Nuts were brought down from the garret, and cracked between a hammer and flat-iron, the reddest and juiciest apples came from the cellar, and cider drawn from the best barrel into the big pitcher. And with the old fire-place all aglow, the conversation seasoned with, perhaps, crude, but hearty, wit, hardships were forgotten, and the evenings would wear away with a zest and happiness which were never experienced in later life, and left deep impressions upon the memory which can always be recalled with the keenest pleasure,

One day Mr. McClintock purchased a cook-stove, and thenceforward the cooking and heating were performed by this means; and, while not so cheerful as the old fire-place, it was more convenient, and it seemed to me we stepped up one rung higher in the social ladder than our neighbors who were stove-

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less. I put my hands in my pockets, tipped my hat back on my head further than was usual, and went boasting among the boys at school about that new cook-stove up “to our house.” This assumption on my part excited base envy among my comrades, of course, and they at times would argue their side of the question in such a way as to leave scars upon my anatomy, as well as upon their own. But I stood by the stove with the earnestness of an old crusader, and the cook-stove won. It was bound to do so, and when it did, was the proudest moment of my life.

Later Mr. McClintock built a frame addition to his house for living apartments, and the old log structure was made to do duty as a kitchen. When other additions came in later years, the old log house was demolished, and the McClintock house looked, except for its age, as it does to-day standing on the hill above the creek.

The saddest incident of my youthful days, when the mind is so sensitive to impressions, was the death of my sister. My boyish grief for a time was uncontrollable, and it was hard for me to reason how a Providence represented to be so kind and loving should

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take away one who was so much to me. As time rolls on, they say we forget to a great extent such things as the passing away of those who have been near to us: but I cannot believe this is strictly true. I think that rather one learns to better conceal the grief from others as time rolls around, though the scar is always there. Two years after the death of my sister, Emily Scott was taken into the family. She was older than I, and her coming cheered the loneliness somewhat which we had all felt after the death of my sister. Some years later she married Richard Moffitt, but only lived about five years.

As I have already mentioned, the stream upon whose banks we lived had been called Oil Creek for years before the beginning of the oil excitement, and this name was probably given it because of the oil springs which bubbled up at different places along its course. One of these was in the creek at our farm. We would construct a dam to keep most of the water away from it. and the oil would form on top of a pool, and be soaked up by a flannel rag which was placed on top

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of the water. When this rag became soaked with oil, the contents would be squeezed into a bucket. This was necessarily very slow work, and probably not more than a barrel a year could be gathered in that way, but we received seventy-five cents to a dollar a gallon for it from those who bottled it and sold it under the label of “Seneca Oil.” Why it was called by that name is not clear, but possibly because of the Seneca tribe of Indians which in the earlier days flourished, hunted, and scalped, in that vicinity. The label on the bottle set forth the fact that “Poor Lo” believed in the efficacy of the remedy for his aches and pains, as an inducement for the white man to use it. And use it the white man did, especially if he were a resident along the creek, for all the ills that flesh is heir to, and took the fluid internally, externally, and eternally.

When Culbertson McClintock died he left the farm to his wife for her use during her lifetime, with a provision that after her death it was to go to me. I was but twelve years of age when my uncle went the way of all earth, but, nevertheless, I set to work with a will to do what I could around the

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farm. I was never accused of laziness, not even in spending money in later years. My shoulder was thus early braced to the wheel, and throughout the most of my life it has been kept steadily there. A time when it was not, and the circumstances relating to that period, will be referred to in some of the later chapters. But my life at this time was one even, plodding course, and left me but little time to think or care for what was going on outside ef the confines of the Oil Creek valley.

And so I might have always lived a quiet, homely life, and been always a_ respected tiller of the soil, had not a Yankee by the name of Drake drilled a hole in the ground up near Titusville, and released such a fountain of oily wealth that it started excursions of fortune-seekers from all over Christendom to our quiet and peaceful valley. Where before the visit of a stranger had been of rare occurrence, they now came in crowds to the quiet settlements and homesteads of Oil Creek,—high-booted, flannelshirted men on horseback, who offered such amazing sums for a lease of our stony acres that it almost seemed a dream, They scat-

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tered wealth in such profusion that we gaped in open-mouthed wonder, and it was from these men that I first caught a glimpse of how life was lived in the great space beyond my limited horizon.

A great many of our neighbors, as well as ourselves, discovered that we had _ been camping right on top of several independent fortunes and had never for an instant suspected it. Jimmy Buchanan, the good-natured Irishman across the creek, even in one of his highest flights of imagination— and he took a flight once in a while—never suspected that so much wealth would come to anyone, even when he was dreaming of the glories of his adopted country from the bogs of “Ould Ireland.” Scrub-timber lands, which had been considered of no value, turned out to be veritable gold mines of wealth.

Mrs. McClintock leased her farm to a number of oil operators, and for each lease received the usual bonus of four or five hundred dollars, payable at the drawing up of the lease, and received one-eighth royalty on all the oil produced. The land favored and taken by the oil men was mostly that por-

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tion near the creek, the low-lying bottoms, for in the early days of oil the producers ignored the hilly portions, arguing that land of that kind would not prove valuable for the purposes of oil production, and as a consequence neglected many thousands of acres which in later years gave forth immense fortunes. :

So the Oil Creek valley became a busy hive of industry almost in the twinkling of an eye. Derricks reached skyward everywhere, and the sound of the pumping engine was heard in the land. Busy, hustling humanity had taken possession of our quiet acres and overridden them, and, instead of the peacefulness of yore, the mad race for wealth encompassed everything, and changed conditions completely. Towns sprung up like mushrooms on a fall morning, and attracted the class of people who always flock to those communities where law and order are set to one side, and, as a result, a reign of lawlessness often ensued that was only equalled by that of the mining camps of the West.

At the mouth of Oil Creek, a settlement composed of a mill, a blacksmith shop, a store, and a few houses, grew into a good-

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sized, progressive city, whose growth of buildings was too slow at first to keep up with the inflow of population. An oil exchange was afterwards established, and Oil City controlled the oil market of the world. Irom the howling, bustling, crazy, wicked place of that time, Oil City has developed into a municipality of substantial progress. Prospectors came and went, waded in mud, slept in mud, ate mud, and drank—vwell, everything and anything except water. The old residents of the valley rubbed their eyes at these sights,—and bought safes in which to store the wealth which now came to many of them so easily.

Evidences of prosperity crept slowly into our houses, in the form of pictures, carpets, and more pretentious furniture, and “biled” shirts became commoner than they had been in the earlier times. Children were sent to colleges and academies to receive a “polish” not theretofore procurable. The wand of the enchanter was over the valley, turning everything it touched into gold, and some were there who were getting ready to spend it, and I was no minor exception.

In the year 1862 I was married to Eleanor

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J. Moffitt, the eldest daughter of Robert Moffitt, a well-to-do farmer of Oakland Township, Venango County, Pa. We had known each other from childhood, had attended the same church, and participated in the same neighborhood festivities. At this time I was nineteen years of age. A kind Providence is good to those to whom He gives a faithful and loving helpmeet, and in this respect I was especially favored. Through all my hardship and trial, in good and ill repute, through sunshine and shadow my wife never lost faith in me, and to her alone is due mainly the credit for all that I am to-day.

Our marriage was blessed by the birth of a son, Oscar C., who now holds a responsible position with the Burlington Railroad.

Chapter III

With the coming of the oil industry, necessarily occupation was afforded to many of the people who had resided along the creek, whose attention had theretofore been given entirely to farming and kindred pursuits. I went into the business of teaming, work which was quite remunerative at that time, as the methods of transportation of oil later adopted were not then in vogue. Barrels had to be hauled from Union City, Franklin, and other points, to the oil fields, and, when filled with oil, these were drawn to the nearest shipping point. Machinery for drilling and the timber for derrick construction also furnished plenty of work in the teaming line.

To haul a heavy load through the oil country mud was something of an art, and it produced as choice a vocabulary of profanity as could be found anywhere in the world. Many of the teamsters of the early days of the oil excitement took advantage of the tide which leads to fortune and laid by ample

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riches. Certainly anyone who could overcome such difficulties as were presented by the muddy travel in those days possessed sufficient spirit to overcome the hardest of’ obstacles, and when applied in the proper direction usually resulted in success.

To describe the nature of the oil region mud is a task beyond my vocabulary. It seemed but a covering to the bottomless pit, and a teamster who knew how to swim possessed an advantage over one who did not. I have never entirely doubted the story told of one teamster who was found standing alone by the side of the road, flourishing a whip, and giving voice to choice exclamations of profane text, interspersed with an occasional “haw,” “gee,” “git up.” A passerby, having doubts of his soberness or sanity, approached cautiously and called for an explanation of the strange actions, to which the teamster replied, “Well, stranger, I’ve got a team of mules down in this blasted mud somewhere, and I am trying to persuade ’em to come out.”

There was a great deal of boasting and betting among the men as to the merits of their respective teams in the matter of haul-

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ing heavy loads. On the road between our place and the Rynd farm, just above, was a very steep hill, and to pull a heavy load up this incline, even when the roads were dry, was quite a task for a good team of horses. One day a teamster by the name of Pike was boasting of the heavy load which a team of horses belonging to him had drawn up this incline, and said, “They got up all right, but you ought to have seen the parables fly out from under their feet!” I took it that by “parables” he meant “pebbles.”

Another way of transportation early adopted by the oil men was by boat. Ordinarily the water was not high enough at all seasons of the year to allow a heavily loaded boat to float, but this was overcome by means of pond freshets. Various dams had been built along the creek and tributaries for the operation of mills, and one or two others were constructed by the oil men. An agreement was entered into with the mill men by which, for a certain amount of money, the water in the dams was released at stated times. This would cause the streams to rise, and the boats were floated down the creek to the Allegheny River at Oil City, whence

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most of the oil was transported to other places.

The boats were built to carry oil in both barrels and in bulk, and the position of pilot was an important one in many respects. The stream was narrow and crooked in places, and considerable skill was required, when the swift rush of water came, to steer a boat around the bends, keep it away from the rocks, and prevent its colliding with other boats. The craft was provided always with long sweeps or oars, fastened to the ends, similar to those used on rafts. I learned the business of piloting boats quite well, and got through the dangerous occupation without any serious mishap.

On “pond fresh” day all was excitement along the creek for many miles. Hundreds of boats, loaded with small fortunes of the greasy fluid, and manned by anxious pilots, awaited the flood. Finally the water would come with a rush, bearing with it boats from up-stream, joined by others as they came along, and the whole flotilla go helter-skelter towards the mouth of the creek. Perhaps a boat by an unlucky collision would lose a sweep and then go whirling around, caus-

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ing dismay to the other boats, whose pilots were doing their best to dodge it. Sometimes a boat would become lodged on a rock or some other obstacle, and as the other boats would glide past the pilots would shout words of “encouragement” to the unlucky crew, calling forth a bombardment of profanity which would have sunk a less formidable fleet.

Having passed safely down stream, one was apt to get in a jam at the mouth of the creek, as all the boats came together, and as may be imagined they would not bump together delicately, but generally with a force that scattered kindling wood around indiscriminately, and would place the crew in a position where they had to imitate the historic O’Grady and “swim out.” Many of the bulk boats were not at first provided with covers, and sometimes the luckless pilot would be treated to an oil bath from which he would emerge with feelings too fervent to permit of clear utterance.