News and citizen. [volume] (Morrisville, Vt. ;) 1881-current, 1884-10-09
STORY OF THE OIL REGIONS
THE FAMOUS CITY OF PiTH0LE AS 1T
WAS AND AS 1T Is NOW.
Described by N Man who yns There When
Pithole Had 10000 IBha5itants, ard
Went Back " hen it was simply n Mud
Hole.

| OF pennsylvania, neld up well Ior nearly
a wear, and began to fade. 1t went very
suddenly. A few weeks before its de-
cline the people were confident that the
big wells could never cease to produce
oil in immense quantities. The general
confidence in the town was SO strong
that on Feb. u, 1866, the Daily Record
printed this:
The Record is now fixed fact; and
as long as single hole shGEsSsxf5ns OF oil,
or derrick is visAasS1 ntinue to
| make its appearance. SOil City,
Petroleum Centre, Tidionte, and other
older and ao-called" liyelier towns
have been without paper, Pithole,
from its birth, has supported daily
paper, and is likely to do so for years to
| come.
What vain boast that was never
realized fully until visited the ruins OF
Pithole few weeks ago. / had known,
of course, that the oil wells had sud-
denly ceased to ponr out their floods of
petroleum.; that the people had gone
elsewhere to speculate, and that the er-
ratio city had fallen into decay. But I
was not prepared for what 7 saw when,
in an endeavor to live the old days over
again, I hired saddle horse at Titus
vile and pushed my way through the
almost forgotten country that leads to
the Pithole valley. On the edge of a
bluff, eleven miles from Titusville, I
came upon an old man, shabby, decrepit,
and weather beaten, who sat upon log
at the upper edge of the field, with his
| bearded chin in his hands, looking va
cantly down the still valley. He glanced
up moment to speak as I approached,
and then resumed his doubled-up atti-
tude.
"Lookin' for Pithole, strangerp" he
asked. 1f y are, jest tie your gray to
that saplin' there, an come an sit down
here on this stick O. timber n look till
you're tired"
"And this is-Pithole ?"
"The same, my friend; or what there's
left of it"
I had ridden eleven miles through
mud and water, over rocks and logs, up
hill and down, to see this-an old log
cabin, the d1smantled wing of an old
hotel, and a lonely field upon which
neither tree nor shrub would grow. And
this was Pithole [ had left it teeming
with busy people, bustling with busi-
ness, and half mad with the excitement
of wild speculation. Now, even nature
had forsaken it, leaving only one half
crazed old man to guard its dust and
| ashes. The harmless old man had lived
in peace and contentment on little
clearing ON the site of Pithole all his
life. The oil feyc- had FeoS1les IN Foor.
it had made him fabulously rich, and
when it subsided it left him poorer than
before, for it had wrenched his poor old
mind off its bearings.
"What do you see ?" I asked, seating
| myself beside the old man, and not let
ting him know that the landscape was
by degrees becoming strangely familiar
! to me:
"What do I see ?" said he slowly,
without moving his eyes from the bare,
brown valley. ST see city full of peo.
pie; see valley swarming with life
and business, the smoke of countless
furnaces, the steam from countless en-
gines. I hear the clang of hammer and
anvil. the roar of swift wheels, the rattle
of cranks and bolts, the voices of busy
men, the hum of industry.
"This," said the old man, laying his
hand sorrowfully upon the rotten tim
ber, s'this is all that is left of the Bontt
House, a noble structure. Down there
where YOU see q woodchuck burrowing
stood the Chase House, the best hote
in northwestern Pennsylvania. The Pos
Office occupied one of its big corners
and a noisy crowd of oil princes filled it
scores of rooms. Right across tn,
street, where sapling grows, murde
was done. and just above is where tn
first woman in Pithole shot hersel
through the heart in fit of remorse
Drink, some said, but [ knew better. 4
short distance below-there's a Gov
munching dry grass there now-stoo(
the Methodist church, dedicated will
great pomp by Bishop Simpson,
Philadelphia; DIR. Loomis, President o
Allegheny College, and the Rev. G. W
! Maltby, Presiding Elder of the James
a town District; never had a dollar
1 debt, as l know personally.
"Oh, yes, can point 'em all out
8 banks, churches and theatres (tkere wa
: Murphy's Theatre over that pool OF wa
= ter), machine shops, pipe line offices, tn
g railroad station, hotels; there stood tn
e Morey Farm Hotel, destroyed by fir
e by an incendiary. And the big oi
s wells. Why, over there among thos
t new-grown bushes was M great Poo
n well, the pride of the toga, the wonde
: of the whole country. It flowed for
l. time at the rate of l 800 barrels day
d Then there were the old Frazier, goo
). for 900 barrels a day; the big Gran
It we'll, 700 barrels; the Burtis, 3Oo bal
" rels. the two Homestead wells; the Ell
x reka. that produced $4,000 barrels
f told: the famous Twin wells, No. on
n No. Q. on the Thomas Holmden farm
q and hundreds of others. The land a
,r around here was covered as thick
e trees with them. What do you 81
W now? Here and there the blackene
1t end of a length of iron casting stlckln
20 a foot above ground-that is all. Ever.
it thing is gone now--buildings, derrick
,r tanks, machinery, tools, men al
T. money. The town lasted two year
g. and then faded away, until to-day the
to is nothing left. l lived here almo
as alone when the town started, and
ut living here alone now. Men have con
10 and gone by thousands, but L have st
at remained true to the old place. Som
IN times at night. when / am alone IN n
er little old house down there, live ov
ry the days of '65; I see the waves
IS. speculation and strange innovatl
sweeping up against the solid door, on
en- to ebb again, leaving the old house a
to me alone. Sometimes when sit ne
I'M the city rises up before me as OF old, a
no the valley swarms with busy men.
set "Going now, stranger? Well, it's
Us ways been that way with me. va
your horse down this little path--lt us