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"An Oil
Sketch"
Reprint from The Financial Age, New York, a Thrilling Reminiscence
S. G. Bayne of the Seaboard National Bank Narrates His Personal Experience in the Early Days of Clarion County, Pennsylvania
| Samuel Bayne, president
of National Seaboard Bank, New York, was owner of the second oil
well drilled in the United States. His son-in-law, Alfred
Bossom, was a well-known architect whose specialty was designing
banks and buildings for the petroleum industry, usually in the form
of the skyscraper. Lord
Alfred Bossom was also a member of the British Parliament in
both houses and was a good friend of Winston Churchill. |
New York, May 22, 1906.
C. R. Watson, Esq., Secretary, Butler, Pa.
Dear Sir:
I have duly received the request of your committee
to write an "oil sketch" for a souvenir book commemorative of
the oil men's reunion at Conneaut Lake. I am not sure that I can
send anything of interest, but I will make an attempt to bring up something
to the memory of the "old guard" connected with the days of
"auld lang syne." There are many of our friends who are
familiar with the details of this little story, as they were printed in
the papers at the time, but it may interest those who have come into the
business since those good old days when oil sold for $5 a barrel in the
woods. The story is a long one if told with all its collateral details,
but I have tried to cut it down within the limits of your space, in the
hope that this mere synopsis will serve to show your reunion the kind
of times and conditions we had in oildom 35 years ago.
I shall begin by saying that I had been operating
near Titusville in the early [18]70's, but moved down to Clarion county,
Pennsylvania, with the argonauts, when the oil excitement broke loose
on the banks of the Clarion river. I rented Smith Cook's
office in St. Petersburg, and made it my headquarters; I was associated
with Jonathan Watson, under the firm name of Watson &
Bayne. Oil supplies were then very high and hard to get, and if
a contractor could furnish the machinery with casing, tubing, etc., he
was sure of a contract at his own figures.
Two very enterprising contractors, whom we will call
Clayton and McCabe, because these were
not their names, conceived the brilliant idea of putting the Allegheny
river between them in their operations, McCabe contracting
in Butler county and Clayton in Clarion county. Their
scheme was to steal their supplies from local operators where they were
drilling, boat the stuff across the river at night, and each hand it over
to the other partner to use in his contracts. This worked to perfection
for a long time, as the victim could never find a trace of the stolen
plunder in his neighborhood; and as a consequence, the firm of Clayton
& McCabe soon sported fast trotters, with furs and diamonds on the
side. They lit on my pile hard and often, but I could never trace
the theft. I finally passed the hat "'round among the boys,"
and we raised a fund with which to employ a detective. McGuire,
our detective, was an artist in his line, and he soon ran down the thieves.
Charley Clayton was drilling a well on the picturesque
banks of the Clarion river, directly opposite the celebrated ten-acre
grove of rhododendrons on the Logue farm. This
patch was never despoiled of its flowers, as it contained the largest
settlement of copperhead snakes in the Eastern States.
Our man hung round Clayton's well
till the tools were pulled out. When the jars came up he looked
for the maker's name, but found that a pean [sic]
hammer had been used to obliterate the name and trade mark on the jars.
This was his cue, and he asked Clayton what firm
made the tools; whereupon Charley blushed as red as a
lobster and stammered out that he knew nothing about them, as it was Jim
McCabe who had furnished them. We then got a warrant and
had both of them arrested. The gave bail before Squire Bostaph
out at his Dutch "kraal," about two miles from the village.
The day was set for the preliminary hearing, and the
whole countryside was roused to a pitch of feverish excitement. Clayton
and McCabe had a gang of "bad" men about them,
and murders were a weekly occurrence in 'Petersburg those days, so I had
to prepare for action. Watson & Bayne
were then drilling a dozen wells, employing forty-eight men, and when
the day for the hearing arrived I "shut down" all our wells
and hired teams to take the drillers to the Squire's office. I supplemented
the force by getting what men Dan O'Day could spare me
from his pile line stations, as he was just starting up the first practical
system of pipe lines in the oil country. There were over fifty men
all told, and as only a few of them had revolvers I borrowed the deficit
at the hardware stores in Foxburg and Parker's Landing. This was
an imposing body guard, and made a fine showing as we started out for
the field of battle.
When we arrived at the Squire's we found the Clayton-McCabe
cohorts ensconced in the "office" and lounging on the grass
plot in front of the house, with their horses hitched to trees. They
were armed with revolvers and shot-guns, and we had no advantage, as they
were nearly a hundred strong. The old Squire, who was almost an
exact prototype of President Paul Kruger in race, courage,
and personal appearance, came out of his bed-room and looked us over and
quickly made up his mind that if he did not show some nerve there would
be trouble on the "Reservation." Returning to his room,
he brought out a loaded double-barreled shotgun, laid it on the table
in front of him, and said:
"Gentlemen, if there's going to be any shooting
here to-day I proposed to do it myself. I want you all to drop your
weapons on the floor, and the first man who picks one up I'm going to
shoot him on the spot."
As the Squire was a man of his word and a celebrated
character, we all obeyed his order -- we felt we had to -- and quietly
put our "guns" on the floor.
The case was called, and the defendants pleaded "not
guilty," and stated that they would prove their innocence at the
County Court House with good and reliable witnesses. The Squire
demanded cash bail, and as they had the money with them the matter was
soon settled, and we all got ready to leave. I had a fine old buckskin
mare that knew as much as the average man, and could do everything but
sign a note. With her harnessed to the buckboard, I led the procession
from the house down the dugout road to Keating's Furnace.
This road ran down the hill at a steep angle, with a low precipice
on the left, below which were rocks and tree stumps. There was room
for only one rig on the road, and consequently passing was a delicate
operation. Suddenly I heard warning shouts from my men behind to
"look out," and looking round quickly I saw Clayton and McCabe
with their team dashing after me at full tilt, evidently intending to
force me over the brink on to the rocks. I waited till the last
moment and then, just as they were about to crash into my buckboard, I
pulled my wheels up on the bank at the right; my mare understanding the
situation, stood stock still, and the pair shot over the precipitous embankment,
killing both horses and wrecking their buckboard. The men, however,
miraculously escaped with a few cuts and bruises, which I did not stay
to examine, and the incident closed, at least till the trial came off
at Clarion.
It took almost a year to reach the case. During
that time I had to "keep in the middle of the road" and travel
by daylight only, as the gang gave it out that they would put me away
before the trial was reached. I was obliged, however, on one occasion,
to visit Oil City, and thinking it quite safe to return by the night train,
I boarded it. As I neared Foxburg I took the precaution to walk
through the cars and in the last seat of the last car I saw Clayton
and McCabe, trying to hide themselves. They had
followed me from Oil City and had planned to catch me on the walk of three
miles from Foxburg to 'Petersburg. I knew there was a siding on
the track at a place called Fullerton, about two miles this side of Foxburg,
where there was an iron receiving tank and a telegraph operator's office.
I quickly found the train conductor, and urged him to stop at the
siding and let me off. I told him I had good reasons for making
the request, and that I would drop off before the train came to a standstill.
He pulled his bell, I landed safely on the platform, and the train
went on without stopping. I knew the telegraph operator, and borrowing
his revolver, I set out on the path that led through the woods to 'Petersburg.
St. Petersburg during the oil excitement was lit all
night by natural gas, and none of the public places there closed, as the
drillers coming off their "tours" at midnight kept things moving
till daylight; so when I walked into the hotel at three a.m. it was crowded,
and there I found Clayton and McCabe
ahead of me. I stepped up to them with a bold front, and said: "Boys,
won't you take a drink after your long walk?"
Clayton replied, "No, sir; the
wine's on us, and you can have the best in the house at our expense on
this occasion."
And so the second chapter of the incident was closed.
At the trial I employed the late Judge
James Campbell as my counsel, and the enemy retained
Bill Corbett, a celebrated criminal lawyer, now also
dead. Judge Trunkey, late Chief Justice of the
Supreme Court of Pennsylvania, presided. The defense was so ridiculous
that the Judge practically took the case away from the jury; it was that
I had sold Clayton & McCabe the
jars at a low price under a bond of secrecy, and then had them arrested
for the purpose of blackmailing them under the pretense that they had
stolen the tools.
An absurd incident occurred during the trial. Clarion
was a new oil field, and the jurors knew nothing at all about the oil
business. The word "jars" was in constant use, and the
foreman in order to distinguish himself, jumped up and said: "Your
Honor, Mr. Bayne has not told this jury what kind of
fruit was in the jars."
The Judge, in convulsions of laughter, replied: Mr.
Foreman, the steel jars in question are lying out on the Court House green,
and if the jury will go out and bring them into court, we shall all be
able to see what they are like."
They were not prepared to see an enormous steel tool,
but eight of them got some cross-bars and by a supreme effort dragged
the jars into the court room. As they were lowering them to the
floor, the foreman caught his finger between the sharp steel links and
had it nipped off, and the case was stopped till a surgeon had dressed
his hand.
Clayton was finally found guilty,
and McCabe escaped.
The calendar being crowded, court was again held after
supper and Clayton was to be sentenced at the evening
session. I went over to the Loomis House to get my supper, and after
I had finished I went up to my room to avoid the mob, but I had hardly
lit a cigar when I was obliged to answer a knock at the door. What
was my surprise to find Lawyer Corbett with Mrs.
Clayton and nine children in the hall, the latter ranging from
a babe in arms to a lad of fourteen. (Had our worthy President been
there the scene would have de-lighted him, and he would undoubtedly have
extended a helping hand.)
I invited them in and asked what they wanted, whereupon
most of the children and Mrs. Clayton began to cry copiously.
Between sobs she explained that if Charley, her
husband, was sent to the penitentiary for a term they would starve till
he got out. I asked what she wanted me to do, and then Mr.
Corbett suggested that I appeal to the Court for a commutation
of the long sentence in the penitentiary to imprisonment for one year
in the county jail. I agreed to do this.
When I adjourned to the Court House I found it crowded.
It was insisted that I should address the Court personally. This
was rather hard on me and I had a bad attack of stage fright, for at that
time I was only twenty-five, but I managed to enlist the sympathies of
Judge Trunkey, and Clayton was sentenced
to a year in the county jail. After it was all over an enthusiastic
crowd tried to carry me to the hotel on their shoulders, but I escaped
with disheveled clothing.
One might suppose that this would end the tale, but
it doesn't. The Claytons were popular idols that
night in Clarion. They had got out of a tight place, and Mrs.
Clayton had no difficulty in persuading Sheriff Beck
to allow her to take to her husband in his cell a large basket of choice
food, beer and cigars, as a sort of cocktail before his long sojourn in
the "stone jug." But the jailers missed Charley
in the morning. His wife had filled the basket with burglar's tools,
a line and some large spikes, topped off with bananas and apples. Clayton
managed to cut the bars of his cell during the night, drove the spikes
into the unpointed joints of the old jail wall (which he had counted on
being able to do), and with the aid of these and the line, dropped on
the grass on the other side and regained his liberty long before the sun
was up. Being an expert woodsman in perfect training, who carried
his six feet four without an effort, he had no difficulty in making his
way through the woods to the Ohio river, where he obtained a job on a
raft bound for New Orleans. It was reported afterward that he had
a quarrel on the raft, and fearing he had killed his man, he jumped overboard
and swam ashore somewhere below Memphis. Some time after this he
arranged with his former partner, McCabe, to meet him
at night at a certain selected point in Turkey run, Clarion county, to
have a settlement of their contracting business. They met there,
and with the aid of a crude oil derrick lamp and a large pine stump for
a table, adjusted their affairs. It was a strenuous settlement,
as Clayton afterwards explained that each stuck his bowie
knife into the stump beside them as an evidence of good faith.
Nothing was heard of either of the men for some time
after that, but one moonlight night as I was returning home on horseback
through a belt of woods on the Heeter farm, a horseman
rode up behind me. It was Charley Clayton. I
thought my time had come, as I was not armed, but he said:
"Don't be alarmed, Mr. Bayne;
I'm the last man in the world to hurt you. But I want to ask you
a question: I know you can have me arrested for breaking jail, but
will you do it, or will you give me a chance to start life again and behave
myself?"
I gave him my word that I would not cause him any
annoyance, and in shaking hands with me he said: "If they ever
steal anything from you again let me know it and I will either find the
stuff or pay its value."
Clayton afterward made a snug fortune
in the oil business, and became a quiet and respected citizen.
Donated by
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and transcribed by Billie McNamara. |
About Clarion County 
