hunters. They, with few exceptions, sleep the sleep that knows no waking. Hugh and John McCrea occupy the old farm at McKee's Rocks. The farm was sold for oil purposes, but as very little oil was found on it, they repurchased it.

"At Henry's Bend lived John Henry. His was the first house above Pithole riffle, and a good place of entertainment. John's son Hugh I have already mentioned as a partner of William Elliott in mercantile business at Franklin. William, another son, was in partnership with Mr. Pickersgill, in the shoe business, in Pittsburgh. I think he is now in Philadelphia. Michael, another son, died at Tionesta, a few years ago. There was one brother in the Henry family that was an invalid and never walked. His head and shoulders were those of a full-grown man, while his legs, from the hips down, were those of a boy. The cause of his helplessness, I think, was rheumatism. He always seemed cheerful, and he was certainly intelligent. He was well-educated, and spent the most of his time reading. The Henrys were a good family of men -sociable and intelligent. William Henry was somewhat of a hunter while he lived at the river. There was plenty of deer in the woods. Wild turkeys were plentiful, also, up to 1840, when the deep snow of that year exterminated them. The wolves were starved out that winter. On the last day of December I went to Balltown on business. The creek in some places was frozen clear across, and in other places there was only a little ice along the shore. The snow on the ground was about knee deep. I took my rifle, thinking I might get a shot at a wolf. I saw one on my way but too far away to shoot. That night I staid at Balltown, and it snowed twenty-two inches, making four feet of the beautiful' for me to wade through ten miles to get home. But I

was young then, and not easily discouraged. Where there was ice on the creek the snow had turned into slush, and did not come over my boot tops; where there was no ice I had to take the shore, and then it was wallowing rather than walking. About a mile below Panther Rock there was a house. There the woman of the cabin got dinner for me, and I thought it was the best meal I ever ate. I reached Newtown, three miles from home, the next day about noon. My wife was not much frightened about me. She said she thought I would get home. And during that winter and in that snow the wolves and the wild turkeys all perished. "Erastus Gibson was one of the old settlers of Tionesta. He lived, with his family, one mile above Balltown, on the south side of the creek. A man named Shephard and myself had been rafting over an old piece of lumber that had lain in the water all summer. We had worked hard, but darkness came on us before we got to Gibson's, and we could not see to navigate through a windfall that was in our way. We halloed to Gibson, and he pushed up to us in a canoe and took us down to his house, where we staid all night. Some time after that I was at a certain boarding-house at Tionesta, and Gibson was there also, with a number of others. It was said that the landlady was not quite as tidy about her cooking as some other housewives. We had buckwheat cakes for dinuer, and Gibson was what a sailor would call three sheets in the wind.' He took a cake on his plate and was picking it all to pieces. Some one asked him what he was doing. Said he, 'I'm trying to see what this d-d pancake is made of.' Gibson emigrated to the west, in search of the place where the sun sets.

"William White* was an old settler on Tionesta. He owned some land on

*Wm. White, who died at Delphos, Kas., October 26, 1878, came to Forest county in 1837, and with John Hunter took a raft down Hunter's run. The following spring he took a raft from the Tionesta to Pittsburgh in safety. In 1838, when Hamilton Stowe commenced lumbering at Newtown, White rafted and jobbed for him, and afterward for Wheeler and Dusenbury. In 1871-72 this pioneer raftsman moved to Kansas.

the creek, and sold it when the people were crazy about oil, for $10,000. The company put down a well on it, but did not get enough oil to grease a gimlet. But White got the money, and he was one of the few that money did not make a fool of. He invested his cash in bonds, and emigrated to Kansas. He was a man of more than ordinary intelligence. He used to say there were three classes of professional men that he wanted no dealings with--lawyers, doctors and preachers. I once heard a joke that occurred between him and John A. Dale. Dale met White in company, and said: 'White, when I first saw you I thought you were a fool, but when I became acquainted with you, I changed my opinion.' White replied: 'When I first saw you I thought you were a fool, and when I got acquainted, I did not alter my opinion a bit.'

"Thomas Nugent lives in the woods, ten miles south of Balltown and five miles north of Marienville. He is now about seventy years old, and has been in the wilderness upward of thirty years. He says he is half German and half Irish. He was born on the Alleghany mountains, and came to Forest county with his parents when he was only five years old. Their mode of travel was on pack-horses, over a bridle-path through the woods. He remembers that he rode on an old mare that had a mischievous colt that amused itself on the way by catching in its teeth the clothing on which he sat, and trying to pull it from under him. In one year he killed forty deer, and thirty-six the next. After that, as game became scarcer, his quantity was reduced. Perhaps the deer became better acquainted with his skill, and kept themselves at more respectful distance. Several old bucks that he wounded tried to use their horns on him, but he was never seriously injured. Once he caught a bear in a trap, or rather the bear caught the trap and walked off with it. Nugent followed him for eight days. He came in sight of him once but was unable to get a shot. The old gentleman thinks that bear may yet be carrying that trap around the country. One day he caught a bear in a pen, and when he discovered him he killed him with his knife, for, like the Dutchman's anchor, his gun was at home. These bear pens were built of solid logs, with a log floor. Without the log floor a bear could dig out as fast as a man with a grubbing hoe. Sometimes bruin will eat his way out of a pen built of good-sized logs, if he has time enough before he is interviewed by the trapper. Mr. Nugent was out one day and started a buck, which ran across a hollow and stopped one hundred and fifty yards away. He shot at him and dropped him. Then, instead of reloading his rifle, which a hunter should never forget to do, he ran up to the buck to cut his throat. But, when he reached the spot, the buck had so far recovered as to get upon his fore feet. Mr. Nugent stuck his knife into his game, and the handle catching in the skin, the deer was in a fair way to take it from him. The buck kept getting better and better, and was soon able to run as fast as Nugent. At length they came to a high log, on top of which was a fallen birch. In jumping the log, the buck's horns became tangled in the brush, and Nugent succeeded in stabbing him to the heart. He was almost entirely out of breath, and thought he would never regain it. At another time Mr. Nugent was hunting with a comrade named Sam Kirkpatrick. on Spring creek. Sam had slightly wounded a buck, and sent a young dog after him. The dog was slowly following the trail, just ahead of Sam. Coming to a fallen tree, the dog put his fore feet on the trunk to look over. The buck was lying on the other side, but little the worse for Sam's shot. He jumped up and ran after the dog, and the dog ran after Sam. It was a race for life, with the chances in favor of the buck. Sam used his legs to good advantage, expecting every moment to feel how sharp that buck's horns were. The buck ran past the dog and turned his whole attention to Sam, as the larger

object of the two. At last the dog, recovering courage, caught the buck by a hind leg, and drew his attention from Sam. This enabled Sam to put a tree between him and the buck, when he loaded his gun and ended the difficulty.

"Daniel Fleming was one of the old settlers of Tionesta township, Venango county. He made the improvements on Fleming's Bottom, and lost his labor by a defective title. He also had the misfortune to lose a leg at Miller's Eddy, by getting caught in a raft line. He owned a farm situated about. half a mile from West Hickory, on Fleming hill; so he was not a tramp. Who would be a one-legged tramp? John K., Andrew, William and Daniel were sons of Daniel Fleming, Sr. They were all good, steady men-not a black sheep in the flock. Andrew Fleming had a good education, backed by good sense, and he became a first-class pilot on the Allegheny and Ohio rivers-following that for an occupation. In the latter part of his life he had poor health and became a dyspeptic, dying about two years ago in Crawford county. The next in order is the Siggins family. George Siggins, Sr., emigrated from Ireland and settled on the west side of the Allegheny river in an early day, and the farm on which he settled showed his good sense in choice. No better body of land lies on the river between Irwin's farm, at the mouth of Brokenstraw, and Kittanning. It is so high that it is not subject to overflow by the river, and raft freshets do not destroy the fences or wash off the soil from the plowed fields. James and Isaac are the only two living.

"Thomas Hicks Prather, who owned a farm on the Allegheny river at the mouth of East Hickory creek, was a noted man in his day. The farm is known far and near as the Prather homestead. Hicks Prather (as he was always called) had acquired it by inheritance from his father, who was, perhaps, the original settler. At least two generations of the Prather family lie buried on the place. Hicks Prather lost his first wife, and married a second. By that marriage he got a woman several years younger than himself. It was a very fortunate venture for him, for when he broke down physically and became superannuated, she took his place at the plow and elsewhere, where work and oversight were needed. She managed the farm better than it had ever been managed under his own superintendence, and proved by practical demonstration that she knew something about farming. She made a good living for the family, and he, appreciating her worth, left the farm to her when he died. Hicks Prather was an eccentric character. He could not do too much for a man he liked, and he could not do too much to injure a man that he disliked. He had an ungovernable temper, that he could not control. That temper often got him into trouble. Hicks Prather died about twenty years ago. The old homestead was sold for oil territory, but its only production in that line was dry holes.

He

"Robert Guiton, an old trapper and hunter, now living in Green township, has killed more deer and bears than any other living white man. thinks he has averaged fifty a year. I should think he exaggerates a little, for since deer have become comparatively scarce, an average of fifty is more than I should want on my conscience. Guiton is about sixty years old, and there is yet greyhound enough about him to run down a deer.

"Samuel Felton, with his young wife, Catharine Felton, came to Tionesta about 1833 or 1834. He became an expect hunter and trapper. A deer had to look sharp if Sam did not get a shot at it, and a shot from Sam generally counted. He had a long, heavy rifle, made somewhere in Kentucky. It carried a heavy charge of powder, and when I heard the report I could tell it from any other gun. Felton and myself once went on a hunting tour, to be gone from home over night. It was some twenty-eight years ago, when game

us.

was plenty. In the evening Felton killed a buck. It was pleasant weather in October, and we camped under a bushy hemlock, and roasted a part of the buck for supper, after which we lay down, hunter fashion with our feet to the fire. In the night Felton awakened me, saying, 'Hear the wolves!' There appeared to be two gangs of them by their howling-a pack on each side of They came so close that we could hear them walking on the leaves. We kept the fire burning brightly, which kept them off. Had they attacked us they might have got into trouble. When it became light enough to see objects, we took our guns and got in behind a fallen tree top with the leaves on, between the two packs, and while lying there could hear them walking around at the butt of the tree. But the leaves were so thick that we could not see them, and we did not get a shot. Wolves were plenty in those days. I remember killing one with a club that I cut with my jack knife. I had run a raft to Pittsburgh, and on my way home thought I would look at a trap that I had set some time before. The trap was about a mile off my direct route home. When I got to the spot I found that some animal had taken the trap away, and I had trouble in following it. The chain attached to the trap was only about eighteen inches long, with a clog run through a ring at the end of the chain. The snow was frozen hard and the trail could be seen only now and then. At last I found where my game had been fast, and discovered some gray hairs. Then I knew that I had business with a wolf. I did not follow far until I started him. The trap bothered him so that I could easily outrun him, and he was the largest gray wolf I ever saw. He jumped over an old hemlock log, and one of the springs of the trap caught on a knot and held him. I cut a witch hazel about five feet long, and went over the log to get a rap at him. The wolf jumped back over the log and got loose. We had another race, and I ran him into Little Coon creek. The stream was frozen over, but not hard enough to carry him, and he broke through the ice. I walked out on a log, and knocked him on the head. I took his twelve-dollar top-knot and left the rest of the carcass in the creek. The wolf and the lamb did lie down together that night.

"Evan Roberts was a native of one of the eastern counties of the State. He was master of the German and French languages, and could tell as good a Dutch story as a Dutchman himself. The early settlers were not particular about boundary lines. Eli Kingsley thought that Roberts & Hendricks were cutting timber on a lot that he held by virtue of squatter sovereignty. Kingsley called on Roberts, and said: 'Mr. Roberts, where does your line run?' Mr. Roberts replied: 'Wherever there is good timber.' 'Dod! I thought so,' said Kingsley, and that was all the trouble there was about it—no sheriff's fees, no court charges nor lawyers to pay. A few words between the two men, in good humor, settled it all.

"During the winter of 1824-25, Sheriff Robison, of Venango, and Sheriff Littlefield, of Warren, visited Kingsley's cabin, while surveying the State road from Tionesta to Sheffield. The owner recited for them the following story: 'Soon after I came to the flats [meaning the low ground where he then resided], I had an adventure that I shall never forget. About four years ago I started out one morning for a hunt, taking provisions for a two days' stay. The first day out, just in the evening I killed a four-pronged buck, which I dressed and hung up out of the reach of wild animals. I then built a fire close to the spot where I had hung the deer, and, after eating a hearty supper, rolled myself up in my blanket, with my feet to the fire, and was soon asleep. In the middle of the night I was awakened by a great noise, and on turning over discovered a large bear, trying to pull the dead buck out of the tree where I had

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hung it. I grasped my rifle, and taking as careful aim as I could, in the dim light, I fired at the bear, who went off with a growl. In the morning I saw stains of blood on the ground, and started on the track. After following the trail some distance I came to the mouth of a cave among some rocks. I saw a pool of blood, and had no doubt of my game being in the cave. procured a pine knot, out of which I made a torch, and after the manner of Gen. Putnam proceeded to enter the opening. The entrance was small, and I I was obliged to crawl in on my hands and knees, but as I advanced the cavity grew larger, until finally I could stand erect. I was feeling my way along cautiously, when I heard a growl, and before I could use my rifle the bear sprang upon me from behind a projection in the rock, knocking me down and severely wounding me on the left shoulder with her claws. The torch that I carried was extinguished by the shock, and I was left to fight for my life in the dark. I succeeded in getting out my hunting knife, and made several vigorous thrusts in her neck and sides. The blood from the bear's wounds spurted in my face and nearly blinded me. The bear finally relaxed her hold and made for the opening of the den. I followed, but in the darkness could not find my gun. At the mouth of the cave we had another close encounter, that lasted, as near as I could judge, about fifteen minutes. After the bear had stripped me of all my clothing, except a pair of buckskin breeches, I succeeded in killing her. I then hunted another pine-knot, made another torch, and went into the cave again to get my rifle. I found it in the far end of the cavern, and also found two little cubs, about two weeks old. The floor of the cave was pretty well covered with bones. I was unable to hunt for three or four weeks after this rough experience, and was never in my life so near handing in my checks.'

"John White, who also lived in Tionesta in those days was a native of Ireland. He was an excellent mechanic, and could make almost anything that was to be made of wood. He was at work at the mills during the abovementioned fight. Many old settlers will still remember Johnny White, as he was familiarly called, and his eccentricities. He, too, was fond of a 'drop.'

as he termed it, and when he took one, that drop became very lonesome and required company, and before Johnny knew it, he was half-seas over, not to the old country, but to the tipplers' paradise. There was a young man at East Hickory, named Sylvester Bailey, who had practiced so successfully in mimicking White that Johnny used to say: 'Be jabers! Bailey can talk more like Johnny White than Johnny White can talk like himself.'

"John White owned property on West Hickory creek-a saw-mill and some land. During the oil fever he sold it for $20,000, and emigrated to Canada. That windfall enabled him to live very fast while he did live, which was not long.

"William Armstrong, who settled at Clarington in 1828, was the true founder of that village, and one of the great lumbermen of sixty years ago. On the point, one mile above Horse creek, on the north bank of the Allegheny river, lived James Downing, in a log-house sixteen feet square, more or less. In this humble cabin Mr. and Mrs. Downing made raftmen welcome to the best they had, generally got up in good shape, and plenty of it. The lodging was not what would be termed first class in this age of the world. spring bedsteads, matresses and feather-beds, it was two deep on the floor. But, to make things balance, there was no charge for beds. Raftmen, as a rule, never complained about the lodging. If they could get enough to eat they were always satisfied. They would build a fire on the shore, if they had no shanty on the raft, and sit around it all night, or lie down, hunter-fashion,

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