Old times in oildom

Preface

I wish to say to my readers that I have but two reasons for writing this Httle book. The first reason is that eleven articles were written to the Oil City Derrick, some years ago, in the way of correspondence. Then I was requested by the business manager of The Derrick Publishing Company, J. N. Perrine, to write more about "Old Times in Oildom." He explained that they would gladly publish it in book form.

My second reason is that I wish to enlighten the present generation regarding the many points of difference between the present time and fifty or seventy-five years ago.

It seems to me to be the duty of those who saw these great changes to hand them down to present and future generations — to those who can never know these things first hand. You will by reading this book learn that it is not a book of fiction, with a single thread running through all of it. Dozens and dozens of different little stories will be found in these brief touches on the history of the progress of our great country and state, and dozens of names of worthy but almost forgotten people will be found here.

The reader should thoroughly understand that the first eleven chapters of this book were written in 1896- 1897. The additional chapters were written in 1909.

G. W. BROWN- Youngsville, Pa., July, 1909.

OLD TIMES IN OILDOM.

Chapter I. Hauling Oil On Sleds

Coleman & Batchelor have just commenced a 'five years' lumber job at the "old Pennsylvania house," four miles below Irvineton. One peculiarity about this business is the fact that the saw mill is on the west side of the Allegheny river, and the shingle mill is on the east side of the river. A tramway is being built three miles back into the lumber woods, where all kinds of timber is found, that flourishes in this climate. They cut all, both hard and soft. Tlie loaded tram cars are drawn by a steam locomotive, and run directly on to a ferry boat, which — by the aid of an inch wire — sails across to the saw mill, Tvhere the logs are tumbled into the river, being hitched to and drawn into the mill. This firm has leased the old Pennsylvania house, and a plot of land to pile their lumber on to dry. Speaking of this old house, reminds me of the early days of oil transportation. Before a railroad along the Allegheny was even talked of, the oil was transported from Tidioute to Irvineton in barrels. In the spring, summer and fall, large flat boats towed by two, three, and four horses, in single file, were used to transnort the oleaginous treasure from the wells at Tidioute to the P. & E. railroad at Irvineton. This was greasy work for the men, and killing work on the horses. In the fall and spring, when the shore ice was thick and sharp, the poor animals were pushed through the breaking ice, that would about half bear their weight, cutting their legs so severely that the generally clear waters of the Allegheny ran red with their blood.

Many a noble horse laid down his life in this savage work. It was no uncommon sight to see the bloated carcasses of horses lodged along the shore. When a faithful equine would give up his life, the owner found it an easier way to dispose of the carcass by floating it off in the river than to bury it decently on shore. But when the ice got so solid, in the winter, that it could not be broken by the horses' hoofs, the mode of transportation was on bob-sleds, drawn by horses that were not killed in the ice. As the oil wells about Tidioute on Dennis run in particular, were considerably on the gusher order, it required a vast number of teams to transport it. One trip was a good day's work for a team. The loads ranged from six to twelve barrels each. The reader can easily imagine the great necessity for hotels and stabling under these circumstances. The roads were completely lined with teams. It was almost an impossibility for the hosts of teamsters {o find board and lodging for themselves and horses. This was the situation of things when "Jim" Conroe, an old farmer domiciled on the east bank of the Allegheny, took it into his head to show his philanthropy by building a four-story liotel on the narrow strip of land between the wooded hill slope and the river. He put on all the masons and woodworkers that could find room to work and soon the the magnificent Pennsylvania house reared its tall roof skyward, standing on an immense cut stone foundation, and ornamented by huge wooden pillars in front.

People were wont to say: "How will Jim ever get his money back?" Well, Jim did get his money back in about one year. His big hotel filled up every night, as if by magic, and some nights more were turned away than taken in, and Jim soon found himself rolling in wealth. But an end comes to all things. Soon the cunning oil producer began to lay pipe lines. Then a railroad, now the W. N. T. & P., then the Warren & Franklin road, with its iron tank cars (brought into use by the lamented Adna Neyhart), great iron tanks that held the oil until convenient to move it to refineries, lightened the weight of the crude on the ground where it was produced; pump stations sent the oil through many arteries all over the land, and James Conroe found his great hotel unoccupied by guests. He lived in this hotel with his family until it nearly rotted down over his head. Then this lumber company came and rented the property, rejuvenated the old hotel, and now three families live under its hospitable roof, and "keep boarders." Conroe, the builder, has moved out, and now contentedly spends his waning years on the fine old farm above Dunn's eddy, known as the "Dave Crull farm." Such are a few of the changes in the great oil business. Oil cost something those days. The fortunate owner of a gusher was obliged to Day $2 each for his barrels, and $1 for hauling, a smart sum for storage at the railroad depot, and high freights to the railroad corporations, which had not learned to respect this new oil business.

If the eye of any of those old teamsters happens to fall on this, they will recollect the late James Patterson, who checked their loads of oil at Irvineton. Many a belated teamster came after Mr. Patterson had "shut up shop" for the

OLD TIMES IN OILDOM.

night. The most urgent entreaties of I fellows — many of whom wished to go these teamsters, asking Mr. P. to check their loads, were invariably answered by the words, "I cawn't do it," and the poor elsewhere for the nightlinger until morning.

-were obliged to

Chapter II. Staging Before Railroads Were A Blessing To

OIL CITY.

When the Atlantic & Great Western railway extended its Oil City brancli (or Franklin branch as it was called at that time) to Franklin, your correspondent, who, at that time, was helping to supply Smith & Allison, the only lumber yard owners in Oil City, with boards and shingles, was making almost weekly trips to the "Hub of Oildom." On one of these trips he took his wife along to let her see the beauties of oildom, as the beauties shone forth at that time.

Well, one very cold winter's morning we took the P. & E. accommodation to Corry. Here we "changed cars" for Meadville. A rather pleasant ride on the old Atlantic & Great Western soon landed us in the great covered depot in Meadville. After a flrst-class dinner at the McHenry house, tliat great structure so well known to old-time oil men, where for $1 the hungry traveler could be feasted as sumptuously as at any of the great notels of New York. Alas for all vanishing things. How the greatness of the McHenry house has fallen, once the white aproned colored waiter flourished, now rats, and, I was on the point of saying, owls find a home. We took passage on the "Franklin branch" for that "Nursery of Great Men" — Franklin. No "Exchange hotel" at that time (in fact no Mitchell lived there to build one). We. wife and I, put up at the United States hotel, Franklin's pride in the hotel line. After partaking of a very palatable supper, we were consigned to the only vacant room in the house; but after being piloted in devious ways among cots by the dozen, placed in the parlor and halls and in every nook and corner by the accommodating porter, we found that we were in a room without lock or fastener of any kind. I did not feel safe, but my wife, the courageous woman that she always was, said: "Let the door go without fastening; no one will hurt us." With slight misgivings, I fell asleep that night to be awakened about 3 o'clock in the morning by a man crawling around on the floor of our sleeping apartment. (Don't get alarmed, reader, nothing is going to happen.)

I raised on my elbow and also raised my voice in a courageous tone, and demanded of the intruder his business in our room. The incoherent muttering of tlie supposed culprit soon convinced us that the poor fellow was a victim to old King Alcohol, and that he was on the verge of the "jim jams." He had just sense enough left to get out of that room as gracefully as a man is expected to when rtot able to walk upright. He was no criminal, simply in a dazed condition. Several other men have been in tlie same condition from tlie same cause. The next morning we took passage on the stage for Oil City. Five dollars was the modest cliarge for two of us. This would have been less burdensome if not for the fact that the male passengers were obliged to jump out many times and help extricate the wheels of the stage from the deep, frozen "chuck laoles." In fact, we not only helped lift the wheels out of those lioles, but many times we walked along for quite a distance with our shoulders to tlie vehicle in sometimes, vain endeavor to keep the stage wheels clear of those deep holes. After a short sojourn at the "Gibson house," wliich would not compare favorably with the pride of Oil City, the Arlington, in size and accommodation, but in good cheer its full equal, myself and wife concluded we would reach railway accommodations by a different route than the one we came. The route chosen was up Oil Creek "by stage" to the Shaffer farm, where the "Oil Creek railroad" tlien had its terminus. Profiting by my experience while getting from Franklin to Oil City, I very gallantly paid $5 for my wife's "stage fare" to the Shaffer farm, and "hoofed if on terra flrma myself. Your readers may think this is a sort of a "buckwheat" arrangement to save $5. Nothing of the kind. This arrangement had a twofold advantage. In fact, a triplefold advantage. First, it was much easier for a man to walk from Oil City to Shaffer farm than to try to hang on to a "stage" and ride; second, my "better half" was much safer with her faithful husband walking by the side of tlie jostling.

OLD TIMES IN OILDOM.

tipping, rattling "stage," ready with his | strong arms, to arrest the movement of the stage when it would be standing on two wheels, ready to fall on its side; and, third, there was only room in the crowded thing called a "stage" for the female travelers. The ladies were afflicted with a harum-scarum boy for a driver, who would lash his horses into the numerous crossings of Oil Creek, without any regard to whether the ice was thick enough to hold them up or just thin enough to let them go through with a smash and a crasn. Such driving I never witnessed before or since. It was really a relief to all concerned when the carriage, stage, wagon or whatever it might be called, broke down with a crash when two miles below Shaffer farm. 1 never saw a more willing set of travelers than those ladies. They never knew what a comfort it was to have a genuine breakdown before. When the cars were sig -ted, a happier set of ladies were not met with on Oil Creek tnan those who were just released from the perils of Oil Creek stage travel. All got to the train on time except one "smart" young man and his best girl. The young man had more confidence in his time piece than in others carried by experienced travelers and insisted on all taking a slower gait. All got on the train "just in time" except this "smarty," who had the fun of seeing the train move off, not to return for him and his girl until the next day. In this age of progress, let the passenger of those days answer whether there is an improvement when he now lies down in a luxurious berth of a' Pullman sleeper and glides along the crooked, winding Oil Creek, without a jar.

Chapter III. Oil Creek Pond "fresh

The young people don't know and the older ones have nearly forgotten, when walking over the smooth, hard brick pavements of Oil City, what a change science and hard knocks have brought about. Let tlie reader look backward a few years — what do we see? We see a sea of thick mud in all the streets of Oil City, the depth of which could only be guessed at. The writer at one time stood on the corner near the First M. E. church (which was burned years ago) and saw, with his own eyes, three unfortunate horses floundering flat in the very deep mud, with as many gangs of men trying to tow the poor brutes to one side of the street, where the mud was not quite as deep as in the middle of this muddy canal. Now, mind, these horses were all down at the same time, in three different directions, all in plain sight of the corner spoken of above. One of the horses was owned and driven by the only Tom Hecker, who is known to every man, woman and child in Oil City, and who, from almost time immemorial, has raised chickens and took toll at the north end of the Suspension bridge. Tom can tell you about mud and Oil City pond freshets.

Fearing that the unsophisticated reader may not know what a pond freshet is I will say that the mode of getting the oil from the big wells along Oil Creek to the Allegheny river was by towing boats and barges up Oil Creek to the wells along the banks on either side with horses, then running the oil from the wooden tanks into these boats, in bulk. Tube works were not heard of those days in this section, and the pipes that conveyed the oil from the tank to the boat were generally made of boards, planks or anything that happened to be lying around loose. When all the owners of boats were ready, and they were legion, the chutes on all dams above Titusville would be cut. Then came the rushing waters, the ropes that held the loaded boats to the shores would be cut and the mad race for the Allegheny would be on. No old pencil of mine can describe the scene. Little and big bulk boats would fight their way down the rushing waters, endways, sideways and in all shapes, these boats would heave in sight of the shanty town of Oil City. The old bridge across the mouth of the creek would be black with people wlio flocked from the rough board shanties, called houses, to see one of the sights of the world, such a sight as was never seen before and never will be seen again. I witnessed one of these runs which ended very disastrously. The first boat to reach the bridge was one carrying 400 barrels of oil, in bulk. The boat and oil was owned by an old Oil Citizen named Turner. He didn't turn that boat and cargo into money. The forward end of the boat struck a rock a few rods above the bridge, swung around and sailed up against the middle pier of the old bridge, the middle of the boat striking

OLD TIMES IN OILDOM.

the pier. Turner's boat came around the pier in two pieces, and his oil painted the river green from shore to shore. But if the show had ended here a vast amount of money would have been saved. The first boat that cleared the old creek bridge safely stuck on the river bar, out in front of the mouth of the creek. The river was low, and the creek high, consequently the hundreds of boats piled up against each other until the creek was a great drift pile from the bar in the river, to quite a distance above the Lake Shore tunnel. As the oil was slashing around loose in all these boats it was as amusing to the observer as it was dangerous to the boatmen to see the oil, when the boat would smash into the Jam, go surging from the rear to the front of the boat, there to pour into the waters of the Allegheny. As may be imagined, this general smashup was a great loss to the owners of the boats and oil. Tens of thousands of barrels of oil covered the surface of the river from shore to shore. This vast amount of oil, as it floated Pittsburgward, made the Allegheny one great river of green.

Old Oil City settlers will bear me out in saying that the young dudes and dudesses of the far-famed Hub missed one of the greatest sights that falls to the lot of mortals to behold by being boin too late to see an Oil Creek oil pond freshet. And now here is where the irrepressible Tom Hecker comes in again. When Tom saw that so much beautiful green grease had got away from the owners he improvised a small dam near the old Moran house, gathered a lot of barrels on short notice and, as oil was about $10 a barrel at that time, he cleared about $900 on this afternoon's work.

One word about the price of real estate in those muddy times. The Hon. William Hasson offered to sell to me one-quarter of an acre of land wliere the postoffice now stands for $200. I could have borrowed the money and paid for it, but my dim vision could see nothing in it. My neighbors. J. C. and D. Mead, took the venture and paid the $200, built the very unsubstantial "Mead hotel," which cost them the sum of $500. They sold out in a year for $5,000. While they weie building their hotel the Mead brothers urged me to take the quarteracre lot adjoining their hotel lot at $200, but my business capacity was not equal to the occasion, and I never became an Oil City lot owner.

Chapter IV. Pithole Hotel And Livery Charges

A few words about teaming. The word teaming meant something when Oil City was a shanty town. The soft alluvial soil on the Hasson flats was good material to form mortar beds of, when nothing could be moved without that faiihful servant of man — the horse — and as business boomed to such an extent that thousands of horses were needed to keep things moving, the flats soon became. In a rainy time, one mammoth mudhole.

Now, to illustrate things, and to give the modern reader a slight idea of the cost of doing business at the time of which I write I will give an account of my first oil venture. I was taken in as a partner of J. C. & D. Mead, to operate an acre lease on Cherry run. about a half mile above Rouseville. I owned a quarter interest and was unanimously elected sucerintendent. Well, to make a long story short, the first well was finished at a cost of about $9,000. The reader may think that there was mismanagement on the Dart of the superintendent in running up such a bill as that in putlng down one well in "shallow territory." After an explanation, the reader will think different. The teaming was the great factor in the big expense account. In the first place, a boiler was drawn onto the ground bj^ four span of horses, at $18 a span. Then after trying to drill a few weeks, the fact leaked out that there were not enough flues inside the boiler, and the old sawlog-shaped thing was hustled aside and a new $2,000 boiler put in its place. This last venture was satisfactory. That high-priced boiler was equal to the task of making the steam to keep the unweildy old secondhand engine in motion. But now let us look again at the cost of this $9,000 job. Here is where the text "teaming" comes in again. This big boiler would not boil without heat, and to make heat wood or coal was required, .and as wood was about $5 a cord delivered, we used coal. Cranberry coal. From the mines to our oil well was one great river of very stiff mud. This coal was hauled on wagons, to which was hitched three span of horses, and we paid the very modest little price of $1.25 per bushel. The owners of the coal were not unreasonable in charging what seems, in these

OLD TIMES IN OILDOM.

days of railroads, a bis steal. The sell- I ers of this coal were fair dealers. They could not set tlie coal out of the crude { Cranberry mines and haul it tlirough this deep mud as fast as tlie green operators would take it at $1.25 per bushel. Well, the reader can see, without glasses, tliat this kind of work kept up for several weeks, with the little light weight tools of those days, could very easily reach the $9,000 mark. Scientific operators of to-day will wonder whether this company of Mead & Brown came off winners or losers. The answer is neither. Oil was $3.5 per barrel and the well panned out about 25 barrels a day, and kept up this production until the company sold out and were neitlier winners nor losers, from a financial point of view. But in an educational standpoint, the company were the gainers. Tliey came off with a few hundred dollars' worth of experience.

Anotlier leaf froin mv own experience will help along with this article with "teaming" for the text.

Mead & Co. (which means ourself and Nelson Mead, now of Corydon, Pa.) leased a building lot on a back street at Pithole City and built a store house, of the rough order, on said lot. We were obliged to fatboat our lumber and material down tlie Allegheny from Irvineton to McCray"s Landing, a noted commercial point at that time. From tlie landing to Pithole City, four miles, was found a typical oil country mudhole. We (Mead »<t Co. paid $20 per thousand to have our lumber hauled and delivered on our speculative building lot. The store room went ud witli a rush, at a cost of $800. When completed, we were offered $1,800 for the building. We wanted $2,000 for it. Our customer wanted us to give him three days to think about it. We gave the time. At tlie end of three days he had dropped $800 and offered us $1,000. After a hurried consultation. Mead & Co. concluded tliat at tliis rate of dropping off, it would not take a very long time to get below cost. So we closed the bargain, content with $200 profit on our venture. Our customer gave us $650 cash down and a bank note due in 30 day* for $350. At the end of 30 days when Mead & Co. called at the then waning oil metropolis, our customer wanted to give us the property for the $350 note. As we were not anxious to buv Pithole City property on tlie declining valuation, we refused tlie generous offer, and called on tlie bank and drew our $35 0. Mead & Co. were not a grasping corporation and their kind liearts could not be brought to the point of taking a $1,000 property for $350.

To show the reader that horseback riding was a luxury tliose days, to be paid for, as well as teaming, I will say I hired a little bit of horseflesh, with a saddle on, one day. during my business career in Pithole, for the purpose of riding four miles, to McCray's Landing, and return. When the trip was finished, the liveryman, who was not stopping at Pithole for his health, charged me $5. I told the dealer in horses that I did not intend to buy the horse, but only to pay for the use of it, about two hours. A glance at the man's face showed that he meant business and I handed over the fiver without further protest. When I took into consideration tlie fact that I had, that very morning, paid 75 cents to a hotel man for sleeping in a haymow In the barn, witliout even a blanket, I came I to the conclusion that the liveryman was I quite reasonable in his charges, and was 1 only keeping abreast of ihe times.

Chapter V

GEN. BURNSIDE'S RAILROAD.

The young citizens, and part of the old. Of Oil City, while enjoying the blessings of four railroads, may not know the difficulty under wnich outside capitalists labored in bringing the present state of affairs about. I well remember that when the Atlantic & Great Western built a branch of their road from Meadville to Reno, the management found themselves "up a stump" when reaching the sacred precincts of the "Hub." The "city fathers" would not let a noisy and smoky railroad come into the "golden streets" of Oil City. The muddy streets and the creek and river were good enough for them. Besides, there was "no room on the narrow flats for railroad tracks." The city of Reno was not quite large enough for a great railroad terminus, so a railroad was built from Reno to Plumer. The city of Plumer was the terminus. Oil City, with Its short-sighted and high-toned council was left out in the cold. I had the pleasure of riding from Franklin to Plumer several times on this picturesque and expensive road. I am not exactly sure as to the distance from Reno to Plumer. but I think it was about 16 miles. This is not as the crows fly, but as the surveyors laid out the road. The route ran toward Dempseytown for several miles, when the top of the mountain was reached. Here a station was built, and a prospective town laid out in lots (Oil City speculators did not tumble over each other to buy lots); then down grade for a few more miles brought the road over dangerous looking trestles plump into McClintockville, then up through Rouseville and on up Cherry run to Plumer, the terminus of the only railroad in this great oil region.

Coming down the mountain side from the direction of Dempseytown to McClintockville, a passenger could get a peep at a part of Oil City. The part that could be seen seemed to almost hide its head in shame at the thought that Reno, Dempseytown, McClintockville, Rouseville, Cherry Run, the Humboldt refinery and Plumer could have a railroad, but the greasy, busy hub of oildom could not have one. The city council and everybody else were obliged to get out of the city on a raft, flat boat, wagon, horseback, or afoot, while Plumerites could take a seat for New York or any city, on a soft cushion in a railroad passenger coach. Of course the haughty citizen of Plumer was obliged to "change cars" at Reno, from the standard gauge to the (then) six-foot gauge of the Atlantic & Great Western. But what oi that? Could they not glide down Cherry Run and up through several townships over the mountain to Reno, with the serene satisfaction of knowing that poor little Oil City had no ra.iroad connection with the outer world? Well, the reader may say, "Who was so short-sighted as to build a road with such grades, when Oil City, with its commanding location, was sure to become quite a railroad center in no great length of time, regardless of nearsighted rulers?" I cannot answer that question — I can say that a man of great renown was president of the Plumer road.

The only time that I ever had the pleasure of seeing General Burnside was when he was seated on a pile of ties, on a flat car, or gondola, making strenuous efforts to get over the road, of which he was president. Two of these flat cars, partly loaded with ties, were hitched to a fine, new locomotive. Three times the start was made from Reno, and three times these two cars were backed down to the junction at Reno, for a new start, after having labored up the mountain side a mile or two. Tlie fourth time the summit was gained, up among the Venango county farms, and the great general soon found himself and directors flying down over the dangerous looking gullies to ti.e raging Oil Creek. I never heard the general's report after this patient ride, but very likely it was not very encouraging to the stockholders of his oil country railroad.