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 CONESUS LAKE IN HISTORY 
 
 Read before the Livingston County, New York, Historical Society at 
 
 the Summer Meeting, Maple Beach, Conesus Lake, 
 
 August 27th, 1914, by H. W. DeLong. 
 
 One hundred and thirty-five years ago next month had we been 
 standing, on a certain morning where we are gathered here today, we 
 could have distinctly heard that volley of rifles that sealed the fate of 
 Sullivan's scouting party on Groveland hill but a short half mile away, 
 and had we looked above that fringe of trees at the head of the lake, 
 many of them still standing — we might have seen the smoke of the 
 army's camp fires curling upward. The theme is an interesting one, 
 and from an historical viewpoint marks an epoch in the building of this 
 great commonwealth, second to none other. I regret that a better 
 hand than mine is not here today to paint the glorious picture. 
 
 Conesus, fairest of that peerless string 
 
 Of lakes that gem the western Empire State 
 Of thy past history let the poet sing 
 
 Thy tragedy of war and savage hate. 
 
 To see thee dimpling in these latter days 
 
 Serene and smiling twixt the peaceful hills 
 With well tilled farmlands bordering thy bays 
 
 And summer homes, and groves where wildbird trills 
 
 'Tis hard to think that once this happy shore 
 Harked back the rifles' echo and the dreaded yell 
 
 Of painted savage, while the cannons roar 
 Turned back each wild thing to it's quiet dell. 
 
Yet so it was, the Seneca laid claim 
 To all the region roundabout this lake 
 
 Here was his hunting ground, his council flame 
 His home, his heritage, that no foe could take. 
 
 For many years the western Longhouse door 
 Had been his place to guard, his trust to keep 
 
 He held it 'gainst all comers o'er and o'er 
 No wily foe e'er found the tribe asleep. 
 
 And thus it was until the white man came 
 With white men's vices, lust for land and pelf 
 
 He bribed the savage, taught him war's fierce game 
 Stirred him to rapine, took the gains himself. 
 
 Under the spur of British greed and gold 
 The Seneca, remorseless as the grave 
 
 Swooped on the frontier, sparing young nor old 
 Choosing the helpless, those with none to save. 
 
 On Susquehanna's shore the war cry pealed, 
 And burning cabins flared the evening skies, 
 
 The helpless settler working in his field, 
 Falls like the clod that in his furrow lies. 
 
 Driven from their homes and forced the land to flee 
 These hapless people goaded to despair, 
 
 Appealed to Congress in humanity 
 For help their ruined region to repair. 
 
 The nation fighting for her very life, 
 Resourceless, weakened by a skillful foe, 
 
 Keeping up as best she could unequal strife, 
 Gave heed at last and planned a telling blow. 
 
 A force was raised at Washington's command 
 Five thousand strong, with Sullivan their head 
 
 With orders to invade the Seneca's home land 
 Ply fire and sword and devastation spread. 
 
 Up from Tioga marched this sturdy band 
 
 Of Pennsylvania and Yankee men 
 With veterans Clinton, Maxwell, Poor and Hand 
 
 To lead the way through forest glade and fen. 
 
 2 
 
Ruthlessly each Indian town they sacked, 
 Burning the wigwams, trampling down the grain. 
 
 Forcing the red men who were strongly backed 
 By Tory aid, to fight and flee again. 
 
 Relentless on they pressed, this gallant band, 
 Through swamp and defile never trod before 
 
 By white man's foot; then crossing higher land 
 They came at length to Kan-an-dai-gua's shore. 
 
 An Indian village here was sacked and burned, 
 Orchards in fruitage leveled with the plain, 
 
 Great fields of corn the troopers' horses spurned, 
 A rest, a feast, and on they fared again. 
 
 Southwestward on they marched to Honeoye, 
 Where stores and invalids were left in care 
 
 Of guards whose mission was to burn, destroy, 
 And the rich acres of these flats lay bare. 
 
 Still further in the west the troops marched on, 
 Deploying scouts who scanned each rock and tree 
 
 For savage foeman, for they knew anon, 
 They'd near the Castle of the Genesee. 
 
 Rising a gentle ridge, a vista opened wide, 
 A verdant valley, rich with grass and brake, 
 
 And lying just beyond in sparkling pride 
 The calm, clear waters of Conesus lake. 
 
 A halt was called, and on a green plateau 
 The camp was pitched with military care, 
 
 Sentries were posted pacing to and fro, 
 And campfires scented the September air. 
 
 Calling his leaders to the council tent 
 The Chief, resolved upon a telling blow, 
 
 Suggested that a group of scouts be sent 
 To find the stronghold of the wary foe. 
 
 With Sullivan's idea they all concurred 
 And free discussion soon matured a plan, 
 
 And each one tendering his final word 
 It but remained to designate the man 
 
Whose foresight, bravery and woodland skill 
 Would make him worthy for the task employed, 
 
 They scanned the roster, checking all until, 
 Their judgment centered on Lieutenant Boyd. 
 
 Boyd was a youngster of the yeoman type, 
 A Pennsylvania man, with a clean strain 
 
 Of steadfast bravery that made him ripe 
 For all the risks of Indian Campaign. 
 
 Gladly he listened to the task assigned— 
 To take a score of men and make his way, 
 
 Reporting to the army left behind 
 Just where the looked for Indian village lay. 
 
 Out in the dusk he led his little band, 
 A tried Oneida showing them the trail, 
 
 Cautiously each foot of way was scanned, 
 For cunning must match cunning to prevail 
 
 In border warfare, and at break of day 
 They reached a village on the Genesee 
 
 Empty and silent all the wigwams lay, 
 No sign of life save lodge fires burning free. 
 
 The scouts presuming this the looked for town, 
 Sent four men back to camp with a report 
 
 To Sullivan, then each man settled down 
 To breakfast, and a needed rest to court. 
 
 While resting thus, one private Murphy, saw 
 Two skulking red men hovering in the glade, 
 
 On impulse he his trusty piece did draw 
 And made a kill before his hand was stayed. 
 
 The victim's fellow darted quick away 
 With sinuous doublings like a startled deer 
 
 And disappearing through the forest gray 
 
 Boyd knew he now had deepest cause for fear. 
 
 Murphy securing his victim's scalp and gun 
 Laughed at his leader's sudden serious mien, 
 
 Upheld his blunder with, "It must be done" 
 
 Then notched his gun stock, saying "seventeen." 
 
Sure they were in jeopardy 
 
 Boyd ordered a retreat 
 Back to the army camped 
 
 Eight miles away, 
 A wilderness between 
 
 And a foe both strong and fleet 
 Straining to head them off 
 
 lusting to slay. 
 On sped the little band 
 
 threading the path 
 Swiftly and silently 
 
 Coolly and steady, 
 Bound to elude 
 
 the red foeman's wrath 
 Fingers on trigger guards 
 
 every man ready, 
 Safely they traveled 
 
 six miles of the distance, 
 Hope sprang afresh 
 
 In the hearts of these boys. 
 They would soon meet the pickets 
 
 There would be no resistance 
 "Hurrah! we're near camp 
 
 with its safety and joys." 
 The trail was now trending 
 
 down into the valley 
 On toward the stream 
 
 that fed the bright lake, 
 They sauntered along 
 
 with no thought of a rally 
 When a volley of rifles 
 
 the forest did wake. 
 A dozen young fellows 
 
 some dead and some wounded, 
 Went down at that fire 
 
 on green Groveland hill, 
 The survivors discovered 
 
 that they were surrounded 
 'Twas each man for himself 
 
 "cut your way with a will." 
 Just seven reached camp 
 
 how they did was a wonder 
 
Boyd, and Parker a sergeant, 
 
 both captive were made, 
 The foe scalped the dead 
 
 and securing the plunder 
 Back to Littlebeardstown 
 
 a swift march was made. 
 To Brandt the great chieftain 
 
 the young men were taken 
 And safety was promised 
 
 to Boyd by the sign 
 Of the order that ne'er 
 
 leaves a brother forsaken 
 But holds all it's members 
 
 in friendship benign. 
 A call from a courier 
 
 led Brandt from the village, 
 When Butler the Tory 
 
 took Boyd's case in hand 
 Incensed and chagrined 
 
 at Sullivan's pillage 
 He brutally questioned 
 
 and made a demand. 
 That the captives should tell him 
 
 the army's intention, 
 Give the number of men, 
 
 of cannon, of horse, 
 And, failing to tell 
 
 there'd be no intervention 
 Twixt them and the stake 
 
 without slightest remorse. 
 Thay-en-dan-egea's promise 
 
 gave Boyd full reliance, 
 Not the least information 
 
 could Butler obtain, 
 His questions and threats 
 
 were met with defiance, 
 And the proud Tory leader 
 
 repeated again 
 His warning to give up the scouts 
 
 to his warriors 
 Who thirsted for vengeance 
 
 and longed for the chance 
 
To wreak on the captives 
 
 those fierce primal horrors 
 The stake and the faggot 
 
 the death song and dance. 
 Boyd and Parker still clung 
 
 to the hope of protection 
 With confidence born 
 
 of the heyday of youth 
 Their patriot blood 
 
 likewise felt the injection 
 Of fealty to country 
 
 to comrades, to truth. 
 
 True to his nature, to his threatenings true 
 
 The Tory chief as heartless as the "brave" 
 Who, watching for the sign that was his clue, 
 
 Saw Butler make it, then a whoop he gave. 
 
 The waiting red men with triumphant shouts 
 Rushed on their victims like a mighty scourge 
 
 Dragged to their fire the intrepid scouts 
 And made their torture song their funeral dirge. 
 
 They met their death (and such a death) 
 
 Like brave men fighting side by side, 
 And history speaks low with bated breath 
 
 When she recounts how Boyd and Parker died. 
 
 This was the end of Sullivan's campaign, 
 
 It marked an epoch in our nation's life, 
 Peace on the border quietly did reign, 
 
 And chance was given for the greater strife. 
 
 When peace at last spread cut her generous wings 
 
 O'er all the nation, a republic free, 
 Back came these men of war with wives and household things 
 
 And settled in this country of the Genesee. 
 
 Today their prosperous descendants make 
 
 A virile host, a power in the land, 
 The Seneca is gone, but sweet Conesus lake 
 
 Is just the same, with hills, and woods, and strand. 
 
 As when, upon that bright September morn 
 
 Along the slope above her waters head 
 That little band of scouts, ensnared, forlorn 
 
 Gave up the quota of their country's dead. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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nSSS! 0F C0NGRESS 
 
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 Hollinger Corp.