After the Revolutionary War, the government mapped and surveyed this area into military lots to be used for payment to the soldiers who had fought in the war. Many of the soldiers sold and traded their land without ever stepping foot on their bounty. What follows is a fictionalized account of the first settler in Cato, Samson Lawrence who died here in 1821. Samson and his wife, Patience, are buried in Leland Cemetery on Bonta Bridge Road. His land was on the northwest corner of Bonta Bridge Road and Jorolemon Road. Many early settlers in this area came by boat as there were no roads yet; only Indian trails traversed the thickly wooded area by land. A common boat for the transport of man and goods was called a bateaux. This was a flat bottomed wooden boat that was large enough to accommodate the boatman and a family of early settlers including their ox. Before the dams were installed on the waterways, the water level was lower than what exists today. If the boat became stuck in shallow river bottom, the ox would be used to pull the boat out and the group would continue on.

March 1800. I am traveling from my native county, Saratoga, to my newly acquired land in the western part of the state. The name of the county I am headed to is Cayuga in the town of Aurelius (now Cato). My name is Sampson Lawrence and I have left my wife and daughter on the old homestead until such time that I may retrieve them and bring them hither. My few possessions I carry on my ox include two weeks of sustenance, an ax, a rope, some crockery and a knife. I have been traveling for 11 days now stopping only long enough to sleep on a bed of willow boughs or under a white pine tree, when one could be found. My route took me by bateaux from Albany to Utica on the Mohawk River, thence from Utica to Lake Oneida by various water and land travels, then by way of the Oswego and Seneca Rivers where I am presently. The water here is teeming with bass, pickerel, catfish and carp. I have left the water on only a few occasions, besides sleep, where the water route was impassable. On those occasions I traveled along various Indian trails until the water route could be picked up again. I am told that summer travel is adverse due to shallow waters and the dreaded mosquito.

Up ahead is an opening that my guide tells me is Cross Lake. The river intersects it at the southern end. There is very little current in the lake, not like Lake Oneida where our craft took on water. I see a small island covered with osprey.

The terrain here consists of drumlins that rise 50 feet or more above the numerous swamps. The trees are mostly chestnut, sugar maple, white pine, elm, hickory and oak with some underbrush consisting of sumac and elderberry. I understand that the American chestnut is the largest tree in the area and towers above all the other trees of the forest. I have seen these trees upwards of 100 feet in height and as broad as a Dutch cottage at the base. The chestnut does not exist in the Valley of the Hudson, though I had heard about their impressive size. I have been told that a chestnut tree, when hollow and lying on the forest floor, makes suitable living quarters.

Here at the end of my water journey are swamp-growing plants such as skunk cabbage, ferns and rush. It feels good to be back on dry land knowing I am so close to my new homestead. My guide tells me to follow the Indian trail due north one furlong then make my way west along another trail until I reach my land in about one league.

I make my way west, walking toward the sun which is low in the horizon. Along the path I noticed wolf tracks intermixed with the footprints of deer. Further ahead is the wolf with its kill #- a fawn still wearing its spots. Upon seeing me the wolf pulls its meal off the trail into the thick underbrush.

Up ahead are the markings of the beginning of my lot; number 32 of the Military Tract. I have just enough time to build a small fire before retiring for the night. The air is alive with the howling of the wolves and, in spite of my exhaustion; I am wide awake and recall the warning given to me about the beasts of the forest. I was informed that there are bear and panther that inhabit these woods. Neither are said to be numerous but both are a threat to a man sleeping in the out of doors at night.

Dawn has come and after sleeping with one eye open, I untie my ox from a tree and begin the day#'s adventure. Sending the ox ahead of me to flatten the path, I head away from the sun to find the creek that I was told was to the west of my lot.

This was found to be a sluggish stream inhabited by muskrat and beaver. The water is not swift enough for a mill but I hear that muskrat and beaver pelt are good for trade.

May 1800. It has been two months since I have arrived and my homestead is taking shape. I felled trees on high ground and built a log house with a peeled elm bark roof. The windows are oiled paper and a bear skin serves for a door. My chimney is now a hole in the roof but this will be improved with one of fieldstone.

My breeches are torn and tattered but no one is the wiser save the mosquito who seem to find the smallest morsel of bare flesh to assault. By winter I hope to have buckskin breeches.

I have observed the Indians as they navigate the lake. They boat up the Seneca River to Onondaga Lake where they trade skins for salt which they use to preserve their meat. I have watched the aborigines high above the Cross Lake with their fires burning and feasting on fresh fish. By forenoon they leave for their long house along Lake Cayuga, returning here again to hunt as the need arises.

Andrew Stockwell has settled here from Whitehall. He states that excess logs, when burned to ash, are an ingredient used in glass making. He further states that this #“potash#” can be traded for goods in distant markets.

Feb. 1801. It is winter now and I am in process of producing maple syrup with the help of my wife who I retrieved, along with my daughter, in the fall. The maple trees here produce a large quantity of sap, more so than from my native land.

I will keep some syrup for myself and trade the rest for next years crop of corn and wheat which I will plant here on land cleared by me over the summer. I should also be able to procure some chickens, sheep and a cow, from my plentiful store of potash and furs.

My ox has served me well and is content to forage on the greens of the woods.

In my early days here I survived on berries, nuts and fish. Both myself and my ox devoured the chestnut and apple with an ample supply of each stored for winter.

Eva Taylor Sholes is the town of Cato historian and can be reached at 834-6306