[figure description] Page 009.[end figure description]

There is a wide-spread error on the subject of American
scenery. From the size of the lakes, the length and breadth
of the rivers, the vast solitudes of the forests, and the seemingly
boundless expanse of the prairies, the world has
come to attach to it an idea of grandeur; a word that is in
nearly every case, misapplied. The scenery of that portion
of the American continent which has fallen to the share of
the Anglo-Saxon race, very seldom rises to a scale that
merits this term; when it does, it is more owing to the
accessories, as in the case of the interminable woods, than
to the natural face of the country. To him who is accustomed
to the terrific sublimity of the Alps, the softened and
yet wild grandeur of the Italian lakes, or to the noble
witchery of the shores of the Mediterranean, this country
is apt to seem tame, and uninteresting as a whole; though
it certainly has exceptions that carry charms of this nature
to the verge of loveliness.

Of the latter character is the face of most of that region
which lies in the angle formed by the junction of the Mohawk
with the Hudson, extending as far south, or even
farther, than the line of Pennsylvania, and west to the verge
of that vast rolling plain which composes Western New
York. This is a region of more than ten thousand square

[figure description] Page 010.[end figure description]

miles of surface, embracing to-day, ten counties at least,
and supporting a rural population of near half a million of
souls, excluding the river towns.

All who have seen this district of country, and who are
familiar with the elements of charming, rather than grand
scenery it possesses, are agreed in extolling its capabilities,
and, in some instances, its realities. The want of high
finish is common to everything of this sort in America; and,
perhaps we may add, that the absence of picturesqueness,
as connected with the works of man, is a general defect;
still, this particular region, and all others resembling it—for
they abound on the wide surface of the twenty-six states—
has beauties of its own, that it would be difficult to meet
with in any of the older portions of the earth.

They who have done us the honour to read our previous
works, will at once understand that the district to which we
allude, is that of which we have taken more than one occasion
to write; and we return to it now, less with a desire
to celebrate its charms, than to exhibit them in a somewhat
novel, and yet perfectly historical aspect. Our own earlier
labours will have told the reader, that all of this extended
district of country, with the exception of belts of settlements
along the two great rivers named, was a wilderness, anterior
to the American revolution. There was a minor class of
exceptions to this general rule, however, to which it will
be proper to advert, lest, by conceiving us too literally, the
reader may think he can convict us of a contradiction. In
order to be fully understood, the explanations shall be given
at a little length.

While it is true, then, that the mountainous region, which
now contains the counties of Schoharie, Otsego, Chenango,
Broome, Delaware, &c., was a wilderness in 1775, the
colonial governors had begun to make grants of its lands,
some twenty years earlier. The patent of the estate on
which we are writing lies before us; and it bears the date
of 1769, with an Indian grant annexed, that is a year or
two older. This may be taken as a mean date for the portion
of country alluded to; some of the deeds being older,
and others still more recent. These grants of land were
originally made, subject to quit-rents to the crown; and
usually on the payment of heavy fees to the colonial officers,

[figure description] Page 011.[end figure description]

after going through the somewhat supererogatory duty of
“extinguishing the Indian title,” as it was called. The
latter were pretty effectually “extinguished” in that day,
as well as in our own; and it would be a matter of curious
research to ascertain the precise nature of the purchase-money
given to the aborigines. In the case of the patent
before us, the Indian right was “extinguished” by means
of a few rifles, blankets, kettles, and beads; though the
grant covers a nominal hundred thousand, and a real
hundred and ten or twenty thousand acres of land.

The abuse of the grants, as land became more valuable,
induced a law, restricting the number of acres patented to
any one person, at any one time, to a thousand. Our monarchical
predecessors had the same facilities, and it may
be added, the same propensities, to rendering a law a dead
letter, as belongs to our republican selves. The patent on
our table, being for a nominal hundred thousand acres, contains
the names of one hundred different grantees, while
three several parchment documents at its side, each signed
by thirty-three of these very persons, vest the legal estate
in the first named, for whose sole benefit the whole concession
was made; the dates of the last instruments succeeding,
by one or two days, that of the royal patent itself.

Such is the history of most of the original titles to the
many estates that dotted the region we have described,
prior to the revolution. Money and favouritism, however,
were not always the motives of these large concessions.
Occasionally, services presented their claims; and many
instances occur in which old officers of the army, in particular,
received a species of reward, by a patent for land,
the fees being duly paid, and the Indian title righteously
“extinguished.” These grants to ancient soldiers were
seldom large, except in the cases of officers of rank; three
or four thousand well-selected acres, being a sufficient boon
to the younger sons of Scottish lairds, or English squires,
who had been accustomed to look upon a single farm as an
estate.

As most of the soldiers mentioned were used to forest
life, from having been long stationed at frontier posts, and
had thus become familiarized with its privations, and hardened
against its dangers, it was no unusual thing for them

[figure description] Page 012.[end figure description]

to sell out, or go on half-pay, when the wants of a family
began to urge their claims, and to retire to their “patents,”
as the land itself, as well as the instrument by which it was
granted, was invariably termed, with a view of establishing
themselves permanently as landlords.

These grants from the crown, in the portions of the
colony of New York that lie west of the river counties,
were generally, if not invariably, simple concessions of the
fee, subject to quit-rents to the king, and reservations of
mines of the precious metals, without any of the privileges
of feudal seignory, as existed in the older manors on the
Hudson, on the islands, and on the Sound. Why this distinction
was made, it exceeds our power to say; but, that
the fact was so, as a rule, we have it in proof, by means of
a great number of the original patents, themselves, that
have been transmitted to us from various sources. Still,
the habits of “home” entailed the name, even where the
thing was not to be found. Titular manors exist, in a few
instances, to this day, where no manorial rights were ever
granted; and manor-houses were common appellations for
the residences of the landlords of large estates, that were
held in fee, without any exclusive privileges, and subject to
the reservation named. Some of these manorial residences
were of so primitive an appearance, as to induce the belief
that the names were bestowed in pleasantry; the dwellings
themselves being of logs, with the bark still on them, and
the other fixtures to correspond. Notwithstanding all these
drawbacks, early impressions and rooted habits could easily
transfer terms to such an abode; and there was always a
saddened enjoyment among these exiles, when they could
liken their forest names and usages to those they had left
in the distant scenes of their childhood.

The effect of the different causes we have here given was
to dot the region described, though at long intervals, with
spots of a semi-civilized appearance, in the midst of the
vast—nay, almost boundless—expanse of forest. Some of
these early settlements had made considerable advances
towards finish and comfort, ere the war of '76 drove their
occupants to seek protection against the inroads of the
savages; and long after the influx of immigration which
succeeded the peace, the fruits, the meadows, and the tilled

[figure description] Page 013.[end figure description]

fields of these oases in the desert, rendered them conspicuous
amidst the blackened stumps, piled logs, and smooty fallows
of an active and bustling settlement. At even a much later
day, they were to be distinguished by the smoother surfaces
of their fields, the greater growth and more bountiful yield
of their orchards, and by the general appearance of a more
finished civilization, and of greater age. Here and there,
a hamlet had sprung up; and isolated places, like Cherry
Valley and Wyoming, were found, that have since become
known to the general history of the country.

Our present tale now leads us to the description of one
of those early, personal, or family settlements, that had
grown up, in what was then a very remote part of the territory
in question, under the care and supervision of an
ancient officer of the name of Willoughby. Captain Willoughby,
after serving many years, had married an American
wife, and continuing his services until a son and
daughter were born, he sold his commission, procured a
grant of land, and determined to retire to his new possessions,
in order to pass the close of his life in the tranquil
pursuits of agriculture, and in the bosom of his family. An
adopted child was also added to his cares. Being an
educated as well as a provident man, Captain Willoughby
had set about the execution of this scheme with deliberation,
prudence, and intelligence. On the frontiers, or lines, as it
is the custom to term the American boundaries, he had
become acquainted with a Tuscarora, known by the English
sobriquet of “Saucy Nick.” This fellow, a sort of half-outcast
from his own people, had early attached himself to
the whites, had acquired their language, and owing to a
singular mixture of good and bad qualities, blended with
great native shrewdness, he had wormed himself into he
confidence of several commanders of small garrisons, among
whom was our captain. No sooner was the mind of the
latter made up, concerning his future course, than he sent
for Nick, who was then in the fort; when the following
conversation took place:

“Nick,” commenced the captain, passing his hand over
his brow, as was his wont when in a reflecting mood;
“Nick, I have an important movement in view, in which
you can be of some service to me.”

[figure description] Page 014.[end figure description]

The Tuscarora, fastening his dark basilisk-like eyes on the
soldier, gazed a moment, as if to read his soul; then he
jerked a thumb backward, over his own shoulder, and said,
with a grave smile—

“Nick understand. Want six, two, scalp off Frenchman's
head; wife and child; out yonder, over dere, up in
Canada. Nick do him—what you give?”

“No, you red rascal, I want nothing of the sort — it is
peace now, (this conversation took place in 1764), and you
know I never bought a scalp, in time of war. Let me hear
no more of this.”

“What you want, den?” asked Nick, like one who was
a good deal puzzled.

“I want land—good land—little, but good. I am about
to get a grant—a patent—”

“Yes,” interrupted Nick, nodding; “I know him—paper
to take away Indian's hunting-ground.”

“Why, I have no wish to do that — I am willing to pay
the red men reasonably for their right, first.”

“Buy Nick's land, den—better dan any oder.”

“Your land, knave!—You own no land—belong to no
tribe—have no rights to sell.”

“What for ask Nick help, den?”

“What for? — Why because you know a good deal,
though you own literally nothing. That's what for.”

“Buy Nick know, den. Better dan he great fader know,
down at York.”

“That is just what I do wish to purchase. I will pay
you well, Nick, if you will start to-morrow, with your rifle
and a pocket-compass, off here towards the head-waters of
the Susquehannah and Delaware, where the streams run
rapidly, and where there are no fevers, and bring me an
account of three or four thousand acres of rich bottom-land,
in such a way as a surveyor can find it, and I can get a
patent for it. What say you, Nick; will you go?”

“He not wanted. Nick sell 'e captain, his own land;
here in 'e fort.”

“Knave, do you not know me well enough not to trifle,
when I am serious?”

“Nick ser'ous too—Moravian priest no ser'ouser more
dan Nick at dis moment. Got land to sell.”

Captain Willoughby had found occasion to punish the

[figure description] Page 015.[end figure description]

Tuscarora, in the course of his services; and as the parties
understood each other perfectly well, the former saw the
improbability of the latter's daring to trifle with him.

“Where is this land of yours, Nick,” he inquired, after
studying the Indian's countenance for a moment. “Where
does it lie, what is it like, how much is there of it, and how
came you to own it?”

“Ask him just so, ag'in,” said Nick, taking up four
twigs, to note down the question, seriatim.

The captain repeated his inquiries, the Tuscarora laying
down a stick at each separate interrogatory.

“Where he be?” answered Nick, taking up a twig, as a
memorandum. “He out dere—where he want him—where
he say.—One day's march from Susquehanna.”

“Well; proceed.”

“What he like?—Like land, to be sure. T'ink he like
water! Got some water—no too much—got some land—
got no tree — got some tree. Got good sugar-bush — got
place for wheat and corn.”

“Proceed.”

“How much of him?” continued Nick, taking up another
twig; “much as he want—want little, got him—want more,
got him. Want none at all, got none at all—got what he
want.”

“Go on.”

“To be sure. How came to own him?—How a pale
face come to own America? Discover him—ha!—Well,
Nick discover land down yonder, up dere, over here.”

“Nick, what the devil do you mean by all this?”

“No mean devil, at all — mean land — good land.
Discover him — know where he is — catch beaver dere,
three, two year. All Nick say, true as word of honour;
much more too.”

“Do you mean it is an old beaver-dam destroyed?” asked
the captain, pricking up his ears; for he was too familiar
with the woods, not to understand the value of such a thing.

“No destroy—stand up yet—good as ever.—Nick dere,
last season.”

“Why, then, do you tell of it? Are not the beaver of
more value to you, than any price you may receive for the
land?”

“Cotch him all, four, two year ago — rest run away.

[figure description] Page 016.[end figure description]

No find beaver to stay long, when Indian once know, two
time, where to set he trap. Beaver cunninger 'an pale
face—cunning as bear.”

“I begin to comprehend you, Nick. How large do you
suppose this pond to be?”

“He 'm not as big as Lake Ontario. S'pose him smaller;
what den? Big enough for farm.”

“Does it cover one or two hundred acres, think you?—
Is it as large as the clearing around the fort?”

“Big as two, six, four of him. Take forty skin, dere,
one season. Little lake; all 'e tree gone.”

“And the land around it—is it mountainous and rough,
or will it be good for corn?”

“All sugar-bush—what you want better? S'pose you
want corn; plant him. S'pose you want sugar; make
him.”

Captain Willoughby was struck with this description, and
he returned to the subject, again and again. At length,
after extracting all the information he could get from Nick,
he struck a bargain with the fellow. A surveyor was
engaged, and he started for the place, under the guidance
of the Tuscarora. The result showed that Nick had not
exaggerated. The pond was found, as he had described it
to be, covering at least four hundred acres of low bottom-land;
while near three thousand acres of higher river-flat,
covered with beach and maple, spread around it for a considerable
distance. The adjacent mountains too, were arable,
though bold, and promised, in time, to become a fertile
and manageable district. Calculating his distances with
judgment, the surveyor laid out his metes and bounds in
such a manner as to include the pond, all the low-land, and
about three thousand acres of hill, or mountain, making the
materials for a very pretty little “patent” of somewhat
more than six thousand acres of capital land. He then collected
a few chiefs of the nearest tribe, dealt out his rum,
tobacco, blankets, wampum, and gunpowder, got twelve
Indians to make their marks on a bit of deer-skin, and
returned to his employer with a map, a field-book, and a
deed, by which the Indian title was “extinguished.” The
surveyor received his compensation, and set off on a similar
excursion, for a different employer, and in another direction.

[figure description] Page 017.[end figure description]

[figure description] Page 018.[end figure description]

the spring. Mrs. Willoughby, and the children, were left
with their friends, in Albany; while the captain and his
party pioneered their way to the patent, in the best manner
they could. This party consisted of Nick, who went in the
capacity of hunter, an office of a good deal of dignity, and
of the last importance, to a set of adventurers on an expedition
of this nature. Then there were eight axe-men, a
house-carpenter, a mason, and a mill-wright. These, with
Captain Willoughby, and an invalid sergeant, of the name
of Joyce, composed the party.

Our adventurers made most of their journey by water.
After finding their way to the head of the Canaideraga, mistaking
it for the Otsego, they felled trees, hollowed them
into canoes, embarked, and, aided by a yoke of oxen that
were driven along the shore, they wormed their way,
through the Oaks, into the Susquehanna, descending that
river until they reached the Unadilla, which stream they
ascended until they came to the small river, known in the
parlance of the country, by the erroneous name of a creek,
that ran through the captain's new estate. The labour of
this ascent was exceedingly severe; but the whole journey
was completed by the end of April, and while the streams
were high. Snow still lay in the woods; but the sap had
started, and the season was beginning to show its promise.

The first measure adopted by our adventurers was to
“hut.” In the very centre of the pond, which, it will be
remembered, covered four hundred acres, was an island of
some five or six acres in extent. It was a rocky knoll, that
rose forty feet above the surface of the water, and was still
crowned with noble pines, a species of tree that had escaped
the ravages of the beaver. In the pond, itself, a few
“stubs” alone remained, the water having killed the trees,
which had fallen and decayed. This circumstance showed
that the stream had long before been dammed; successions
of families of beavers having probably occupied the place,
and renewed the works, for centuries, at intervals of generations.
The dam in existence, however, was not very old;
the animals having fled from their great enemy, man, rather
than from any other foe.

To the island Captain Willoughby transferred all his
stores, and here he built his hut. This was opposed to the

[figure description] Page 019.[end figure description]

notions of his axe-men, who, rightly enough, fancied the
mainland would be more convenient; but the captain and
the sergeant, after a council of war, decided that the position
on the knoll would be the most military, and might be
defended the longest, against man or beast. Another station
was taken up, however, on the nearest shore, where such
of the men were permitted to “hut,” as preferred the
location.

These preliminaries observed, the captain meditated a
bold stroke against the wilderness, by draining the pond,
and coming at once into the possession of a noble farm,
cleared of trees and stumps, as it might be by a coup de
main. This would be compressing the results of ordinary
years of toil, into those of a single season, and everybody
was agreed as to the expediency of the course, provided it
were feasible.

The feasibility was soon ascertained. The stream which
ran through the valley, was far from swift, until it reached
a pass where the hills approached each other in low promontories;
there the land fell rapidly away to what might
be termed a lower terrace. Across this gorge, or defile, a
distance of about five hundred feet, the dam had been
thrown, a good deal aided by the position of some rocks
that here rose to the surface, and through which the little
river found its passage. The part which might be termed
the key-stone of the dam, was only twenty yards wide, and
immediately below it, the rocks fell away rapidly, quite
sixty feet, carrying down the waste water in a sort of fall.
Here the mill-wright announced his determination to commence
operations at once, putting in a protest against
destroying the works of the beavers. A pond of four
hundred acres being too great a luxury for the region, the
man was overruled, and the labour commenced.

The first blow was struck against the dam about nine
o'clock, on the 2d day of May, 1765, and, by evening, the
little sylvan-looking lake, which had lain embedded in the
forest, glittering in the morning sun, unruffled by a breath
of air, had entirely disappeared! In its place, there remained
an open expanse of wet mud, thickly covered with
pools and the remains of beaver-houses, with a small river
winding its way slowly through the slime. The change to

[figure description] Page 020.[end figure description]

the eye was melancholy indeed; though the prospect was
cheering to the agriculturist. No sooner did the water
obtain a little passage, than it began to clear the way for
itself, gushing out in a torrent, through the pass already
mentioned.

The following morning, Captain Willoughby almost
mourned over the works of his hands. The scene was so
very different from that it had presented when the flats
were covered with water, that it was impossible not to feel
the change. For quite a month, it had an influence on the
whole party. Nick, in particular, denounced it, as unwise
and uncalled for, though he had made his price out of the
very circumstance in prospective; and even Sergeant Joyce
was compelled to admit that the knoll, an island no longer,
had lost quite half its security as a military position. The
next month, however, brought other changes. Half the
pools had vanished by drainings and evaporation; the mud
had begun to crack, and, in some places to pulverize; while
the upper margin of the old pond had become sufficiently
firm to permit the oxen to walk over it, without miring.
Fences of trees, brush, and even rails, enclosed, on this
portion of the flats, quite fifty acres of land; and Indian
corn, oats, pumpkins, peas, potatoes, flax, and several other
sorts of seed, were already in the ground. The spring
proved dry, and the sun of the forty-third degree of latitude
was doing its work, with great power and beneficence.
What was of nearly equal importance, the age of the pond
had prevented any recent accumulation of vegetable matter,
and consequently spared those who laboured around the
spot, the impurities of atmosphere usually consequent on
its decay. Grass-seed, too, had been liberally scattered on
favourable places, and things began to assume the appearance
of what is termed “living.”

August presented a still different picture. A saw-mill was
up, and had been at work for some time. Piles of green
boards began to make their appearance, and the plane of
the carpenter was already in motion. Captain Willoughby
was rich, in a small way; in other words, he possessed a
few thousand pounds besides his land, and had yet to receive
the price of his commission. A portion of these means
were employed judiciously to advance his establishment;

[figure description] Page 021.[end figure description]

and, satisfied that there would be no scarcity of fodder for
the ensuing winter, a man had been sent into the settlements
for another yoke of cattle, and a couple of cows.
Farming utensils were manufactured on the spot, and sleds
began to take the place of carts; the latter exceeding the
skill of any of the workmen present.

October offered its products as a reward for all this toil.
The yield was enormous, and of excellent quality. Of
Indian corn, the captain gathered several hundred bushels,
besides stacks of stalks and tops. His turnips, too, were
superabundant in quantity, and of a delicacy and flavour
entirely unknown to the precincts of old lands. The potatoes
had not done so well; to own the truth, they were a
little watery, though there were enough of them to winter
every hoof he had, of themselves. Then the peas and
garden truck were both good and plenty; and a few pigs
having been procured, there was the certainty of enjoying
a plenty of that important article, pork, during the coming
winter.

Late in the autumn, the captain rejoined his family in
Albany, quitting the field for winter quarters. He left sergeant
Joyce, in garrison, supported by Nick, a miller, the
mason, carpenter, and three of the axe-men. Their duty
was to prepare materials for the approaching season, to
take care of the stock, to put in winter crops, to make a few
bridges, clear out a road or two, haul wood to keep themselves
from freezing, to build a log barn and some sheds,
and otherwise to advance the interests of the settlement.
They were also to commence a house for the patentee.

As his children were at school, captain Willoughby determined
not to take his family immediately to the Hutted
Knoll, as the place soon came to be called, from the circumstance
of the original bivouack. This name was conferred
by sergeant Joyce, who had a taste in that way, and
as it got to be confirmed by the condescension of the proprietor
and his family, we have chosen it to designate our
present labours. From time to time, a messenger arrived
with news from the place; and twice, in the course of the
winter, the same individual went back with supplies, and
encouraging messages to the different persons left in the
clearing. As spring approached, however, the captain

[figure description] Page 022.[end figure description]

began to make his preparations for the coming campaign, in
which he was to be accompanied by his wife; Mrs. Willoughby,
a mild, affectionate, true-hearted New York woman,
having decided not to let her husband pass another
summer in that solitude without feeling the cheering influence
of her presence.

In March, before the snow began to melt, several sleigh-loads
of different necessaries were sent up the valley of the
Mohawk, to a point opposite the head of the Otsego, where
a thriving village called Fortplain now stands. Thence
men were employed in transporting the articles, partly by
means of “jumpers” improviséd for the occasion, and partly
on pack-horses, to the lake, which was found this time, instead
of its neighbour the Canaderaiga. This necessary
and laborious service occupied six weeks, the captain having
been up as far as the lake once himself; returning to Albany,
however, ere the snow was gone.