Annals of the Past - Chenango Lake - Norwich, NY (1873)

 Annals of the Past - Chenango Lake

Chenango Telegraph, Norwich, NY, February 20, 1873

To those who are acquainted with this gem of our mountains, or the thousands that make their annual pilgrimage to this beautiful lake to enjoy their picnics and dance under the old trees, or sail on its sparkling waters in pursuit of the finny tribe or gather the fragrant pond lilies around its borders, or with dog and gun hunting the grouse and squirrel on it bluffs, to these no description is necessary, they know and realize its beauties. But to the outside world, to the thousands who never visited it, a few words of description may not be inappropriate.  It is situated on the highest land midway between Norwich and New Berlin [Chenango Co. NY] nestled in a basin on the mountain and surrounded with a belt of forest trees, its waters clear, cold and sparkling, with a high bluff on the eastern bank, on which the Lake House stands, and nearby, in a depression of the mountain, an artificial outlet on which mills were built by the early settlers. As you approach the lake by the Quarter Road, you strike the southwest bend of it, and wind around on its border nearly a mile to the Lake House, taking in the full view of the lake from different points and enjoying the shade of the old forest trees (if in the summer) that have stood there for centuries.  It is now one of the most fashionable resorts of our pleasure-seeking community, and nearly as wild as sixty years ago.

My First Look at the Lake

In the winter of 1810, I was in the deep forest on the high bank of the lake standing by my father and uncle, surrounded by the huge old trees, their branches overhead interlacing each other, were festooned with the new fallen snow, and through their interstices I could see the gray sky above; before us was a plain a half-mile in front and extending to the right and left a mile or more, very level.  My father told me this was the pond.  I looked but could see no water, a queer pond thought I, without water.  Nevertheless, it was there, frozen and covered with snow.  I was too young to quite comprehend it.  I had never seen ice before in such a body.  At that time the lake was surrounded for miles with a deep, dark, almost impenetrable forest, save here and there a little clearing with a rude log cabin, the home of the sturdy pioneer.  On the south end of the lake there was a natural outlet, a little trout brook from which the trout would run into the lake as they grew too large for the brook.  After the race was dug on the east side, the water was drawn off, so the brook dried up. There were large trout in the lake.  One drifted ashore weighing about four pounds.  Other fish, but no pickerel there. The millrace, on the east side of the lake, was dug in about 1800, on which were erected a grist and sawmill, by Noah Mathewson, one of the first settlers. The race was quarried through rocks and completed for the meagre sum of $250, by Zadock Adams.  The mills were a little east of the road, close by the old house where Waterman Mathewson has resided till quite recently [in 1873]. and near the Lake House.  The ruins of the old mills were to be seen a few years ago, and I think at the present day [in 1873].  The lake failed to supply water sufficient to keep the mills running so they were suffered to rot down. Zadock Adams was at that time a resident of this town near Woods' Corners, was in the war of 1812 and on his return quite noted for his military genius and tactics, was Captain of the first rifle company in the county, a position which he held for a long series of years and used to edify us boys by his sham Indian fights and maneuvering on our village green.  Subsequently, on the formation of a rifle regiment, he was made colonel. We lost a jolly whole souled fellow when the Col. shuffled off this mortal coil.

The first settlers near and around the lake were Noah Mathewson and his sons Noah and Waterman, in about 1800, on the eastside of the lake.  Benjamin Guile, who built and lived in the house near the millrace in 1806, the same house afterward occupied by Waterman Mathewson so long, and his sons, Benjamin, Jr., William, John D., Jessie and Nathan Guile, all coming in from 1806 to 1809 and settling near the lake.  William Tiffany settled north of the lake in 1805, on the high land where his son Nelson lived afterward; subsequently removed to the King Settlement Road, where he lived till his decease a few years ago.  A prominent and wealthy man.  Daniel Belden lived on the south, and Daniel P. Barney and Jesse Beverly were among the first settlers. The Guile family were remarkable for stature, ranging from six-to-six feet four in height, and well proportioned, weighing as high as 250 pounds and over.  The Mathewsons would nearly equal them in stature and quite in weight, reaching as high as two hundred and sixty pounds. Benjamin Guile, Jr., who lived south of the lake, met with a sad fate, he and his brother-in-law, Malachi Smith, were out deer hunting, about 1826, and separated to take a wider range of the woods and were to come together at a designated place.  While thus separated, having each gone on his route, Smith thought he saw a deer away off through the staddles, took deliberate aim and fired, his aim was too sure.  He shot and killed his friend.  Of those first settlers around the lake only two are living [In 1873].  William Guile, now eighty-nine years old, is living near the old home, infirm and bent with age.  Waterman Mathewson, some years younger, is living in Pharsalia. The rest gone home "over the dark waters."

The Deer Hunt and Scene on the Lake

In the fall of 1809, a party of hunters with their old-fashioned flint lock muskets on their shoulders and their trusty hounds by their sides, had sallied out and were pursuing the trail of a deer.  the dogs, with an occasional low baying, sped onward till they roused the deer from his lair.  Away he sped, with the pack in full cry, their long, loud baying made the woods echo.  Over the rugged hills, down through the deep ravines dashing through the brooks, following the little water courses to their sources and failing to baulk the dogs, he turns his course to the lake.

While the hounds are in pursuit of the deer, we return to the lake feeling assured of his return.  The instinct of the animal, after all other devices fail to shake off the dogs, will take to large bodies of water.  Some considerable time has elapsed since the deer was started, and on the bank of the lake we stand listening to catch the first echo of the far-off baying of the hounds.  Nearer and nearer they come. Now the full cry of the hounds falls upon our ear,  The noble stag is bounding through the forest to the lake.  He stops on the bank, throws up his head and broad antlers and sniffs defiance at the pursuing pack.  One moment he listens, then plunges in the water and stretches out for the opposite shore, sure of his escape from his relentless foes.

Our attention is now called to another direction.  At a little distance we see the quick movements of a stalwart man shoving off from among the alders on shore, a light canoe, steps in and takes an oar.  At the same time a young girl jumps in and takes an oar and with measured strokes they send the little craft rapidly out on water in the direction of the deer, now away out in the middle of the lake.  They are nearing him, but as yet he had not discovered this new movement.  Soon his quick eye detects them, and he stretches out for the distant shore, the pursuers gain on him.  'Tis a life and death chase.  Nearer the little boat comes and glides gently by, the girl as it passes seizes the buck by the antlers and holds him fast. The man lays down his oar passes along to the girl, seizes the buck by the antler with one hand and with his knife in the other passes it down under the neck, with a quick stroke the keen blade severs the jugular. The crimson current is flowing, the waters are dyed with the blood of the noble animal, and all is over.  The game is won.  They turn the boat homeward; the girl holds the buck by the horns and floats him to the shore.

How Came the Pickerel in the Lake

About the year 1835, Abel Comstock, the prince of fishermen, conceived the idea of putting pickerel in the lake for our future diversion, and in one of our fishing excursions, having caught a large quantity of pickerel, saved some of them alive and put them in the lake, with the agreement between the fishermen that none should be taken till after five years, and then - well I will relate one of my experiences after the time had elapsed.  One mellow winter morning, Henry Snow, one of my fishing companions, hitched up "old yaller" and drove over to the lake.  Our pickerel ground was at the north end.  We cut the holes in the ice and set our lines with tiltups.  The weather was just right, and we had anticipated a good day's sport, nor were we disappointed. We had been taking the pickerel quite freely, our lines somewhat scattered, kept us on the run as one after another of the tiltups betokened a bite.  I was some distance from Mr. Snow when I heard a shout that made the old woods around reverberate with the echo, again and again it rang out, and looking in the direction, I saw my friend dancing and jumping with frantic gestures like mad.  I ran to him to see what was the matter, and there on the ice by his feet lay a monster pickerel.  As near as I can recollect there were a few more of those shouts by the two of us.  That pickerel weighed six and a half pounds, the largest one ever taken in the lake. What do you think of that, you fellows that get so much fun spearing bullheads and suckers by torch light, eh?

I must now return to the quarter, just south of the lake, only a mile or so, a part of the same neighborhood.  In the "Annals of the past" published in the Telegraph, Dec. 26, last, I related an anecdote of the bear and hog.  One of the boys that lived there at the time, who is a relative of one of the actors in the scene, complained that I had not given sufficient credit for the prowess of his kinsman on the occasion, and gave me his version of the story. As I am unwilling to underrate the courage of those early settlers, and especially the relative of my friend, I hasten to make the amend honorable.  Then the men, Reuben Smith and Belden, who were chopping close by, heard the squeal of the hog, they ran to the rescue, only one taking his axe.  Bruin had the hog down and was so busy, he had not noticed the men.  Smith raised his axe but hesitated.  Belden said strike, whereupon Smith handed the axe to Belden and says you strike.  He took the axe, raised it high over his head, and --and the bear walked off.  Smith then said if I had had the axe, I should have split him down.  

I hope my friend will be satisfied with this correction.

That Panther

A panther had been seen in the neighborhood and created quite a panic, all were on the qui vive, all expected a sight of the monster.  Again, the redoubtable Smiths were mixed up with it. Again the courage of Reub was put to a severe test, but he nobly sustained his previous reputation. Reuben and Bill were at work in a clearing on the mountain over a mile from home with a team of horses. Their dog who had been nosing around the woods, commenced a furious and angry barking.  The panther!  The panther! exclaimed Rueb and started for home, could not wait to mount one of the horses (that would have been too slow), but ran hard. Reub was a good runner and exemplified it in this race, ran fast all the way nor stopped to look behind. Arriving home, could not wait to open the door, but smashed right through, headlong taking the door with him, and fell exhausted full length on the floor.  Some little time elapsed before he got breath to speak.  Then he said, father the painter has got Bill. The father was a deacon, a good and pious man, always acting in the fear of God, and believed implicitly in the efficacy of prayer.  On the impulse of the moment said:  "Let us pray," knelt down and made a long prayer, imploring God to rescue Bill from the jaws of the panther, then rallied help and went back to the clearing to the rescue, when it turned out that the dog had only started a hare.

My Last Look of the Lake as Contrasted with the First

On one of those bright Indian summer days peculiar to this climate in the last autumn (1872) with a picnic party, we had taken the quarter road and after having passed and reconnoitered the ruins of my old homestead, we struck into the forest, stooping often to gather the beautiful tinted leaves and an occasional stray flower, winding around the south bend of the lake, taking in its different phases, till crossing the outlet on the east side we arrived at the lake house. The exercise had given us keen appetites and after having partaken of our lunch, most of our party took to the boats.  I with my gun to scour the bluffs on the eastern shore in pursuit of game.  Returning to the lake, there alone I stood under the same old trees as of yore, looking out upon the water, and contrasting the present with the long ago past.  Then the lake icebound, covered with snow, the trees denuded of their foliage, the sky above gray and somber.  Now the trees clothed in their gorgeous autumnal frondage, their leaves falling lazily to the ground, the lake spread out before me like a mirror, ruffled by the gentle breeze, and by the glint of the sun's rays on the crest of the little wavelets throwing out myriads of sparkling diamonds.  The surroundings were so delightful, the scene so soft, I could have stood there for hours taking in its beauties, but the declining sun, throwing the shade of the forest far out on the lake, admonished me it was time to leave, so hallooing to our party out on the lake, their merry laughter came floating back over the water, their boat came gliding in and we were away, homeward bound.

N.B.H.