It was in 1862 that the great oil wells of Pennsylvania attracted attention.  My friend Mr. William Coleman, whose daughter became, at a later date, my sister-in-law, was deeply interested in the discovery, and nothing would do but that I should take a trip with him to the oil regions.  It was a most interesting excursion.  There had been a rush to the oil fields and the influx was so great that it was impossible for all to obtain shelter.  This, however, to the class of men who flocked thither, was but a slight drawback.  A few hours sufficed to knock up a shanty, and it was surprising in how short a time they were able to surround themselves with many of the comforts of life.  They were men above the average, men who had saved considerable sums and were able to venture something in the search for fortune.

What surprised me was the good humor which prevailed everywhere.  It was a vast picnic, full of amusing incidents.  Everybody was in high glee; fortunes were supposedly within reach; everything was booming.  On the tops of the derricks floated flags on which strange mottoes were displayed.  I remember looking down toward the river and seeing two men working their treadles boring for oil upon the banks of the stream, and inscribed upon their flag was “Hell or China.”  They were going down, no matter how far.

The adaptability of the American was never better displayed than in this region.  Order was soon evolved out of chaos.  When we visited the place not long after we were serenaded by a brass band the players of which were made up of the new inhabitants along the creek.  It would be safe to wager that a thousand Americans in a new land would organize themselves, establish schools, churches, newspapers, and brass bands—­in short, provide themselves with all the appliances of civilization—­and go ahead developing their country before an equal number of British would have discovered who among them was the highest in hereditary rank and had the best claims to leadership owing to his grandfather.  There is but one rule among Americans—­the tools to those who can use them.

To-day Oil Creek is a town of many thousand inhabitants, as is also Titusville at the other end of the creek.  The district which began by furnishing a few barrels of oil every season, gathered with blankets from the surface of the creek by the Seneca Indians, has now several towns and refineries, with millions of dollars of capital.  In those early days all the arrangements were of the crudest character.  When the oil was obtained it was run into flat-bottomed boats which leaked badly.  Water ran into the boats and the oil overflowed into the river.  The creek was dammed at various places, and upon a stipulated day and hour the dams were opened and upon the flood the oil boats floated to the Allegheny River, and thence to Pittsburgh.