Pit Hole Revisited

by John J. McLaurin, The Oil City Times newspaper
-found in the book "Oil Wells in the Woods" by John O'Day, 1905

Not a sound was heard, not a shrill whistle's scream,
As our footsteps through Pit Hole we hurried;
Not a well was discharging an unctuous stream
Where the hopes of the oil-men lay burried!

We walked the dead city till far in the night -
Weeds growing where wheels once were turning -
While seeking to find by the struggling moonlight
Some symptoms of gas dimly burning.

No useless regret should encumber man's breast,
Though dry-holes and "Pit holes" may bound him;
So we lay like a warrior taking his rest,
Each with his big overcoat 'round him.

Few and short were the prayers we said,
We spoke not a sentence of sorrow,
But steadfastly gazed on the place that was dead
And bitterly longed for the morrow!

We thought as we lay on our primitive bed,
An old sand-pump-reel for a pillow,
How friends, foes, and strangers were heartily bled
And ruin swept on like a billow!

Lightly we slept, for we dreamt of the scamp,
And in fancy began to upbraid him,
Who swindled us out of our very best stamp -
In the grave we could gladly have laid him!

We rose half an hour in advance of the sun,
But little refreshed for retiring!
And feeling as stiff as a son of a gun,
Set off on a hunt for some firing.

Slowly and sadly our hard-tack went down,
Then we wrote a brief sketch of our story
And struck a bee-line for Oil City's fair town,
Leaving Pit Hole alone in its glory!