Letters from the Alleghany Mountains
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Title: Letters from the Alleghany Mountains
Author: Charles Lanman
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Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LETTERS FROM THE ALLEGHANY MOUNTAINS ***
LETTERS
FROM
THE ALLEGHANY MOUNTAINS.
BY
CHARLES LANMAN,
AUTHOR OF “A TOUR TO THE RIVER SAGUENAY,” “A SUMMER IN THE WILDERNESS,”
AND “ESSAYS FOR SUMMER HOURS.”
NEW-YORK:
GEO. P. PUTNAM, 155 BROADWAY.
1849.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1849, by
GEO. P. PUTNAM,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the
Southern District of New-York.
TO
JOSEPH GALES, ESQ.,
Mr Dear Sir,—
I have two reasons for embellishing this little volume with your
distinguished and honored name. In the first place, the material of
which it is composed, was originally published in the _National
Intelligencer_; and in the second place, I desire to record the fact,
that for many years past, in all matters appertaining to my pen you have
been to me an invaluable counsellor and friend.
In love and gratitude,
Very sincerely yours,
Charles Lanman.
Washington, D. C., August, 1849.
CONTENTS.
LETTER I.
PAGE
Dahlonega, 9
LETTER II.
Trip to Track Rock, 20
LETTER III.
Valley of the Nacoochee, 25
LETTER IV.
Cascade of Tuccoah, 31
LETTER V.
The Falls of Tallulah, 36
LETTER VI.
The Hunter of Tallulah, 47
LETTER VII.
Trail Mountain, 53
LETTER VIII.
Down the Owassa, 58
LETTER IX.
Across the Mountains, 65
LETTER X.
Notes on the Little Tennessee, 75
LETTER XI.
The Smoky Mountain, 84
LETTER XII.
The Cherokees of Carolina, 93
LETTER XIII.
Cherokee Customs, 100
LETTER XIV.
Cherokee Characters, 106
LETTER XV.
Hickory Nut Gap, 115
LETTER XVI.
Down the French Broad, 122
LETTER XVII.
Trip to Black Mountain, 131
LETTER XVIII.
The Catawba Country, 139
LETTER XIX.
The Mountains and their People, 151
LETTER XX.
The Nameless Valley, 157
LETTER XXI.
The Valley of Virginia, 166
ADDENDA.
Geology of the Alleghany Mountains, 173
Soil of the Alleghany Mountains, 182
Minerals of the Alleghany Mountains, 186
Miscellaneous Remarks on the Alleghany Mountains, 192
LETTERS FROM THE ALLEGHANY MOUNTAINS.
LETTER I.
Dahlonega, Georgia, April, 1848.
The Cherokee word Dah-lon-e-ga signifies _the place of yellow
metal_; and is now applied to a small hamlet at the foot of the
Alleghany Mountains, in Lumpkin county, Georgia, which is reputed to
be the wealthiest gold region in the United States. It is recorded
of De Soto and his followers that, in the sixteenth century, they
explored this entire Southern country in search of gold, and
unquestionable evidences of their work have been discovered in
various sections of the State. Among these testimonials may be
mentioned the remains of an old furnace, and other works for mining,
which have been brought to light by recent explorations. But the
attention of our own people was first directed to this region while
yet the Cherokees were in possession of the land, though the digging
of gold was not made a regular business until after they had been
politely banished by the General Government. As soon as the State of
Georgia had become the rightful possessor of the soil (according to
_law_), much contention and excitement arose among the people as to
who should have the best opportunities for making fortunes; and, to
settle all difficulties, it was decided by the State Legislature
that the country should be surveyed and divided into lots of forty
and one hundred and sixty acres, and distributed to the people by
lottery. For several years subsequent to that period, deeds of wrong
and outrage were practised to a very great extent by profligate
adventurers who flocked to this El Dorado. In the year 1838,
however, the Government established a branch Mint at this place,
since which time a much better state of things has existed in
Dahlonega.
The appearance of this village, though not more than a dozen years
old, is somewhat antiquated, owing to the fact that the houses are
chiefly built of logs, and, having never been painted, are
particularly dark and dingy, but uncommonly picturesque in form and
location. The population of the place is about five hundred. It is
located upon a hill, and though the country around is quite uneven,
having been deeply ravined by atmospheric agents, when viewed in
connection with the mountains, (some ten or fifteen miles off,)
which seem to hem it on three sides, presents the appearance of a
pit to a magnificent amphitheatre. On approaching Dahlonega I
noticed that the water-courses had all been mutilated with the spade
and pickaxe, and that their waters were of a deep yellow; and having
explored the country since then, I find that such is the condition
of all the streams within a circuit of many miles. Large brooks (and
even an occasional river) have been turned into a new channel, and
thereby deprived of their original beauty. And of all the hills in
the vicinity of Dahlonega which I have visited, I have not yet seen
one which is not actually riddled with shafts and tunnels. The soil
is of a primitive character, quite yellowish in color, composed of
sand and clay, and uncommonly easy to excavate with the spade.
Heretofore the gold ore of Lumpkin county has been obtained from
what is called the deposit beds, but the miners are now beginning to
direct their attention to the veined ore, which is supposed to be
very abundant in all directions. It is generally found in quartz and
a species of slate stone. The gold region of Georgia, strictly
speaking, is confined to a broad belt, which runs in a northeastern
and southwestern direction from Dahlonega, which may be considered
its centre. Several auriferous veins traverse the town, and it is
common after a rain to see the inhabitants busily engaged in
_hunting_ for gold in the streets. That huge quantities are thus
accumulated in _these_ days I am not ready to believe, whatever may
have been done in former years. I know not that any very remarkable
specimens of gold ore have been found in the immediate vicinity of
Dahlonega, but an idea of the wealth of the State in this particular
may be gathered from the fact, that several lumps have heretofore
been found in different sections, which were worth from five hundred
to one thousand dollars. More valuable specimens have been found in
North Carolina; but while Virginia, the Carolinas, and Alabama have
all produced a goodly amount of gold, I have heard it conceded that
Georgia has produced the largest quantity and decidedly the best
quality.
And now with regard to the fortunes that have been made in this
region. They are very few and far between. But, by way of
illustration, I will give two or three incidents which have come to
my knowledge. In passing, however, I may repeat the remark made to
me by an intelligent gentleman, that the expenses of digging out the
gold in this section of country have ever exceeded the gain by about
one hundred per cent. Immense amounts of labor as well as money have
been expended, and, generally speaking, the condition of the people
has not been improved; the very wealth of the country has caused the
ruin of many individuals. The following story is a matter of popular
history. After the State Legislature had divided the Cherokee
Purchase into lots and regularly numbered them, it was rumored about
the country that lot No. 1052 was a great prize, and every body was
on tiptoe with regard to its distribution by the proposed lottery.
At that time 1052 _figured_ in the dreams of every Georgian, and
those figures were then far more _popular_ than the figures 54 40
have been in these latter days. Among the more crazy individuals who
attended the lottery was one Mosely, who had determined either to
draw the much talked of prize _or purchase it of the winner_, even
though it should be at the cost of his entire property, which was
quite large. The drawing took place, and 1052 came into the
possession of a poor farmer named Ellison. Mosely immediately
mounted his horse and hastened to Ellison’s farm, where he found the
child of fortune following his plough. The would-be purchaser made
known the object of his visit, and Ellison only laughed at the
impetuosity of his impatient friend. Ellison said he was not anxious
to sell the lot, but if Mosely _must_ have it, he _might_ have it
for $30,000. Mosely acceded to the terms, and in paying for the lot
sacrificed most of his landed and personal property. The little
property which was left him he was compelled to employ in working
his mines; he labored with great diligence for several years, but he
could never make both ends meet, for his mines were not at all
distinguished for their richness. In process of time he was
compelled to sell 1052 for what it would bring, and having
squandered that remnant of his former wealth, he left the country
for parts unknown, a veritable beggar. But, what is more singular
than all, the present proprietor of 1052 is that identical man
Ellison, who is annually realizing a handsome sum of money from the
newly-discovered gold ore found in the bowels of his lottery lot.
Another instance of good fortune, unattended with any _alloy_, is as
follows: Five years ago a couple of brothers, who were at work upon
the Georgia railroad, took it into their heads to visit Dahlonega
and try their luck in the mining business. They were hardworking
Irishmen, and understood the science of digging to perfection. They
leased one or two lots in this vicinity, and are now reputed to be
worth $15,000.
And now that it has come into my mind, I will mention another
_lottery_ anecdote, which was related to me by an old resident. By
way of introduction, however, I ought here to mention that this
region is famous for the number and size of its rattlesnakes, and
that our hero had an utter abhorrence of the reptile. Among those
who obtained prizes at the great drawing, before alluded to, was an
individual from the southern part of the State, who drew a lot in
this vicinity. In process of time he came to the north to explore
his property, and had called at the house of a farmer near his land,
for the purpose of obtaining a guide. In conversing with the farmer,
he took occasion to express his dislike to the rattlesnake;
whereupon the farmer concluded that he would attempt a speculation.
Remembering that in going to the stranger’s land he might (if he
chose to do so) pass through an out-of-the-way ravine which abounded
in the dreaded snake, the farmer beckoned to the stranger, and they
took their way towards the ravine. After they had arrived at the
spot, hardly a rod did the pedestrians pass without hearing the hiss
of a snake or seeing its fiery tongue, and the stranger was as
completely frightened as any one could possibly be by a similar
cause. In his despair he turned to his companion and said:
“Are snakes as plenty as this _all_ over the country?”
“I can’t say about that, stranger, but one of my neighbors killed
about a hundred last year, and I’ve hearn tell that your land is
very rich in snakes.”
“Now I ain’t a going any further in this infernal region, and I want
to know if you have a horse that you’ll give me for my land—gold
ore, snakes, and all.”
“I have, and a first-rate horse too.”
“It’s a bargain.”
On the following morning, the stranger, like the hero of a novel,
might be seen mounted on a Dahlonega steed, pursuing his devious
pathway along a lonely road towards the south pole.
Of the uncounted gold mines which are found in this region, the most
fruitful at the present times lies about twenty-five miles from
here, in a northerly direction, and is the property of Mr. Lorenzo
Dow Smith. And the success which has ever attended Lorenzo is worth
recording. In a conversation that I had with him in this place,
where he is now staying, I remarked that I should like to embody his
history in a paragraph of my note-book, and he replied to me as
follows:
“I was born in Vermont; I came into this Southern country
twenty-four years ago as a clock-pedler, where I drove a good
business. I used to spend my summers among the mountains of the
Cherokee country, partly for the purpose of keeping away from the
fever, and partly with a view of living over again the days of my
boyhood, which were spent among the Green Mountains. I made some
money, and when the gold fever commenced I took it and went to
speculating in gold lots, though I spent many years without finding
lots of gold. I associated with bear hunters, and explored every
corner and stream of this great mountain land, away to the north,
and have seen more glorious scenery than any other live man. I’m
forty years old, unmarried, love good liquor, and go in for having
fun. ’Bout four years ago, it came into my thinking mug that there
must be plenty of gold in the bed of Coosa creek, which runs into
Coosa river. I traded for a lot there, and went to work. I found a
deposit, gave up work, and went to leasing small sections, which are
now worked by a good many men, and give me a decent living. I have
had all sorts of luck in my day—good luck and bad luck. When I’m
prosperous I always hope to be more prosperous still, and when I
have bad luck, I always wish for worse luck—if it’ll only come. I
never allow myself to be disappointed. The longer I live the more
anxious am I to do some good to my fellow-men. I’ve passed the
blossom of my life, and I don’t expect to live many years longer; I
haven’t lived as I ought to have lived, but I hope it’ll be well
with me when I come to take my final sleep. But enough. I’m going
out to my mine on a visit to-morrow, and if you’ll go with me, I’ll
show you some real Vermont trout, and mountain peaks which would
shame the camel’s hump of old Yankee land.”
I did not accept Lorenzo’s tempting invitation, but I made up my
mind that he was an original. Some of the scenery to which he
alluded I shall visit in due time.
In former times, as before intimated, the miners of this region were
mostly foreigners, and an abandoned race, but the principal deposits
and veins are now worked by native Georgians, who are a very
respectable class of people. Among them are many young men, who
labor hard and are intelligent. The dangers of mining in this region
are rather uncommon, owing principally to the lightness of the soil.
Many of the accidents which occur, however, are the result of
carelessness; and the most melancholy one I have heard of is as
follows: A man named Hunt, together with his son and another man
named Smith, were digging for gold on the side of a neighboring
hill. At the end of a tunnel, which was some thirty feet long, they
excavated a large cave or hall, which they had neglected to support
in the usual manner. They apprehended no danger, but were told by a
neighbor that their conduct was imprudent. The elder Hunt thought he
would be on the safe side, and on a certain afternoon went into the
woods to cut the necessary timber, while his son and Smith continued
their labors in the cave. Night came on, and the father, having
accomplished his task, retired to his home. On taking his seat at
the supper table it came into his mind that his son and Smith were
somewhat later in coming home than usual. He waited awhile, but
becoming impatient set out for the cave, and, on reaching it, to his
utter astonishment and horror, he found that the roof of the cave
had fallen in. The alarm was given, and the whole village was
assembled to extricate the unfortunate miners, and by the aid of
torches the bodies were recovered. The boy was found in a running
attitude, as if overtaken while endeavoring to escape, and the man
Smith was found clinging to a single post, which had been vainly
used to prop the ceiling of the cave.
With regard to the means employed by the miners I have but one word
to say. The deposit gold is extracted from the gravel by means of a
simple machine called a rocker, which merely shifts and washes out
the metal. The vein gold is brought to light by means of what is
called a pounding mill, which reduces the rock to the consistency of
sand, when the ore is separated by the use of quick-silver. In this
particular department of their business the Dahlonega miners confess
themselves to be comparatively ignorant; and what proves this to be
the case is the fact, that some of their ore has frequently been
worked over a second time with considerable profit.
But the prominent attraction of Dahlonega, I have not yet touched
upon—I allude to the _Mint Establishment_. The building itself,
which is quite large, has a commanding appearance. It was erected in
1837, at an expense of $70,000, and the machinery which it contains
cost $30,000. It is built of brick, but stuccoed so as to resemble
stone. It gives employment to nine men, who receive for their
services, collectively, the sum of $12,000. The Superintendent, who
also acts as Treasurer, is J. F. Cooper, (son, by the way, of the
famous actor of that name;) the Coiner is D. H. Mason, who has a
very interesting cabinet of minerals, and the Assayer is J. L. Todd.
The Dahlonega Branch Mint and the one located at Charlottsville,
North Carolina, are the only ones in the United States which coin
the gold on the very spot where it is found. The New Orleans Branch,
as well as the mother Mint in Philadelphia, are chiefly occupied
with foreign ores. Of the two first mentioned, Dahlonega has thus
far been the most successful, the coinage in one year having
amounted to $600,000. At the present time, however, the business of
this Mint is said to be on the wane. The coinage of the three branch
Mints mentioned above is uniform with that of the mother Mint, and
it is all systematically tested there for approval. It thus appears
that the whole establishment is a branch of the Treasury Department
of the United States, and under the supervision of the Secretary of
the Treasury, and an account of the progress and condition of the
bureau is annually given to Congress.
The smallest amount of gold ore received at the Dahlonega Mint by
law has to be worth one hundred dollars. When the miner has obtained
a sufficient amount, he takes it to the Mint and delivers it to the
Superintendent. That officer takes an account of it, and passes it
over to the Assayer, who fixes its value, when the miner receives
the allotted sum of money. The operation of coining is performed by
the power of steam, and may be briefly described by the words
rolling, drawing, cutting, and stamping. Some of the Dahlonega gold
is said to be as pure as any in the world, but it is commonly
alloyed with silver. One or two specimens were shown me, which were
just one half silver: and yet it is said that _silver ore_ is
nowhere found in this section of country. The value of pure gold is
one dollar per pennyweight: and I have learned since I came here
that every genuine American eagle is made by law to contain
one-twentieth of silver and one-twentieth of copper. The word
_bullion_, which we hear so often mentioned among commercial men, is
a misnomer, for it is legitimately applied only to unwrought gold,
washed grains or gold dust, amalgamated cakes and balls, and melted
bars and cakes; and the word _ingot_ is applied to a bar of gold,
which may be manufactured into two hundred half eagles, or one
thousand dollars. To give a scientific account of what I have seen
in the Dahlonega Mint would probably please my scientific readers,
but, as I am not writing for them, they must excuse me. “What is
writ, is writ; would it were worthier!”
LETTER II.
Logan’s Plantation, Georgia, April, 1848.
During my stay at Dahlonega I heard a good deal said about a native
wonder, called “Track Rock,” which was reported to be some thirty
miles off, on the northwestern side of the Blue Ridge Mountains. On
revolving the information in my mind, I concluded that this rock was
identical with one which had been mentioned to me by Professor James
Jackson, of the University of Georgia, and I also remembered that
the Professor had shown me a specimen of the rock he alluded to,
which contained the imprint or impression of a human foot. My
curiosity was of course excited, and I resolved to visit the natural
or artificial wonder. I made the pilgrimage on foot, and what I saw
and heard of peculiar interest on the occasion the reader will find
recorded in the present letter.
In accomplishing the trip to “Track Rock” and back again to this
place I was two days. On the first day I walked only twenty miles,
having tarried occasionally to take a pencil sketch or hear the
birds, as they actually filled the air with melody. My course lay
over a very uneven country, which was entirely uncultivated,
excepting some half dozen quiet vales, which presented a cheerful
appearance. The woods were generally composed of oak and chestnut,
and destitute to a considerable extent of undergrowth; the soil was
composed of clay and sand, and apparently fertile; and clear
sparkling brooks intersected the country, and were the first that I
had seen in Georgia. I had a number of extensive mountain views,
which were more beautiful than imposing; and among the birds that
attracted my attention were the red-bird, mocking-bird, quail, lark,
poke, woodpecker, jay, king-bird, crow, blue-bird, and dove,
together with a large black-bird, having a red head, (apparently of
the woodpecker genus,) and another smaller bird, whose back was of a
rich black, breast a bright brown, with an occasional white feather
in its wing, which I fancied to be a species of robin. Since these
were my companions, it may be readily imagined that “pleasantly the
_hours_ of Thalaba went by.”
I spent the night at a place called “Tesantee Gap,” in the cabin of
a poor farmer, where I was most hospitably entertained. My host had
a family of nine sons and three daughters, not one of whom had ever
been out of the wilderness region of Georgia. Though the father was
a very intelligent man by nature, he told me that he had received no
education, and could hardly read a chapter in the Bible. He informed
me, too, that his children were but little better informed, and
seemed deeply to regret his inability to give them the schooling
which he felt they needed. “I have always desired,” said he, “that I
could live on _some public road_, so that my girls might
occasionally _see_ a civilized man, since it is fated that they will
never meet with them in society.” I felt sorry for the worthy man,
and endeavored to direct his attention from himself to the
surrounding country. He told me the mountains were susceptible of
cultivation even to their summits, and that the principal
productions of his farm were corn, wheat, rye, and potatoes; also,
that the country abounded in game, such as deer, turkeys, and bears,
and an occasional panther. Some of the mountains, he said, were
covered with hickory, and a peculiar kind of oak, and that on said
mountains gray squirrels were very abundant. The streams, he
informed me, were well supplied with _large minnows_, by which I
afterwards ascertained he meant the brook trout.
While conversing with my old friend, an hour or so before sunset, we
were startled by the baying of his hounds, and on looking up the
narrow road running by his home, we saw a fine-looking doe coming
towards us on the run. In its terror the poor creature made a sudden
turn, and scaling a garden fence was overtaken by the dogs on a spot
near which the wife of my host was planting seeds, when she
immediately seized a bean-pole, and by a single blow deprived the
doe of life. In a very few moments her husband was on the ground,
and, having put his knife to the throat of the animal, the twain
re-entered their dwelling, as if nothing had happened out of the
common order of events. This was the first deer that I ever knew to
be killed by a woman. When I took occasion to compliment the dogs of
my old friend, he said that one of them was a “powerful runner; for
he had known him to follow a deer for three days and three nights.”
Having in view my future rambles among the mountains, I questioned
my companion about the snakes of this region, and, after remarking
that they were “very plenty,” he continued as follows: “But of all
the snake stories you ever heard tell of, I do not believe you ever
heard of a _snake fight_. I saw one, Monday was a week, between a
black-racer and a rattlesnake. It was in the road, about a mile from
here, and when I saw them the racer had the other by the back of the
head, and was coiling his body all around him, as if to squeeze him
to death. The scuffle was pretty severe, but the racer soon killed
the fellow with rattles, and I killed the racer. It was a queer
scrape, and I reckon you do not often see the like in your country.”
I should have obtained some more mites of information from my host
had not a broken tooth commenced aching, and hurried me off to bed.
I left the habitation of my mountain friend immediately after
breakfast the following morning, and “ne’er repassed that hoary
threshold more.”
On the following day I passed through the Blue Ridge, and visited
the Mecca of my pilgrimage, and was—disappointed. I was piloted to
it by a neighboring mountaineer, who remarked, “This is Track Rock,
and it’s no great shakes after all.” I found it occupying an
unobtrusive place by the road side. It is of an irregular form and
quite smooth, rises gradually from the ground to the height of
perhaps three feet, and is about twenty feet long by the most
liberal measurement. It is evidently covered with a great variety of
tracks, including those of men, bears or dogs, and turkeys, together
with indistinct impressions of a man’s hand. Some of the impressions
are half an inch thick, while many of them appear to be almost
entirely effaced. The rock seemed to be a species of slate-colored
soapstone. The conclusion to which I have arrived, after careful
examination, is as follows: This rock is located on what was once an
Indian trail, and, having been used by the Cherokees as a resting
place, it was probably their own ingenuity which conceived and
executed the characters which now puzzle the philosophy of many men.
The scenery about Track Rock is not remarkable for its grandeur,
though you can hardly turn the eye in any direction without
beholding an agreeable mountain landscape. In returning through
Tesantee Gap and the valley below, I met with no adventures worth
recording, and will therefore conclude my present epistle with a
paragraph concerning the plantation where I am now tarrying.
The proprietor is an intelligent and worthy gentleman, who is
reputed to be the nabob of this region. He acquired a portion of his
wealth by digging gold, but is now chiefly devoting himself to
agriculture. He complains of the little advancement which the people
of Northern Georgia are making in the arts of husbandry, and thinks
that it would be much better for the State if the people could be
persuaded to follow the plough, instead of wasting their time and
money in searching for gold, which metal, he seems to think, is
nearly exhausted in this section of country. Among the curious
things which I have seen under his roof, is a small but choice
collection of minerals, fossil remains, and Indian relics, belonging
to his eldest son. Among the latter may be mentioned a heavy stone
pipe, made in imitation of a duck, which was found in Macon county,
North Carolina, fifteen feet below the surface; and also a small
cup, similar to a crucible, and made of an unknown earthy material,
which was found in this county about nine feet below the surface,
and directly under a large tree. But the mail boy’s horn is blowing
and I must close.
LETTER III.
Valley of Nacoochee, Georgia, April, 1848.
I now write from the most charming valley of this southern
wilderness. The river Nacoochee is a tributary of the Chattahooche,
and, for this country, is a remarkably clear, cold, and picturesque
stream. From the moment that it doffs the title of brook and
receives the more dignified one of river, it begins to wind itself
in a most wayward manner through a valley which is some eight or ten
miles long, when it wanders from the vision of the ordinary
traveller and loses itself among unexplored hills. The valley is
perhaps a mile wide, and, as the surrounding hills are not lofty, it
is distinguished more for its beauty than any other quality; and
this characteristic is greatly enhanced by the fact, that while the
surrounding country remains in its original wilderness the valley
itself is highly cultivated, and the eye is occasionally gratified
by cottage scenes which suggest the ideas of contentment and peace.
Before the window where I am now writing lies a broad meadow, where
horses and cattle are quietly grazing, and from the neighboring
hills comes to my ear the frequent tinkling of a bell, which tells
me that the sheep or goats are returning from their morning rambles
in the cool woods.
And now for the associations connected with the valley of Nacoochee.
Foremost among them all is a somewhat isolated mountain, the summit
of which is nearly three miles distant from the margin of the
valley. It occupies a conspicuous position in all the views of the
surrounding country, and from one point partially resembles the
figure of a crouching bear, from which circumstance it was named the
_Yonah_ Mountain—yonah being the Cherokee for bear. The mountain
bear seems to be proud of his exalted position, and well he may, for
he is the natural guardian of one of the sweetest valleys in the
world. Its height is nearly two thousand feet above the water in its
vicinity.
But the artificial memorials of Nacoochee are deserving of a passing
notice. On the southern side of the valley, and about half a mile
apart, are two mounds, which are the wonder of all who see them.
They are perhaps forty feet high, and similar in form to a half
globe. One of them has been cultivated while the other is covered
with grass and bushes, and surmounted, directly on the top, by a
large pine tree. Into one of them an excavation has been made, and,
as I am informed, pipes, tomahawks, and human bones were found in
great numbers. Connected with these is an Indian legend, which I
will give my readers presently.
Many discoveries have been made in the valley of Nacoochee
corroborating the general impression, that De Soto or some other
adventurer in the olden times performed a pilgrimage through the
northern part of Georgia in search of gold. Some twelve years ago,
for example, half a dozen log cabins were discovered in one portion
of the valley, lying upwards of ten feet below the surface; and, in
other places, something resembling a furnace, together with iron
spoons, pieces of earthenware, and leaden plates were disinterred,
and are now in the possession of the resident inhabitants. In this
connection might also be mentioned the ruin of an old fort, which
may now be seen a few miles north of Nacoochee valley. It is almost
obliterated from the face of the earth, but its various ramparts can
be easily traced by the careful observer. Its purpose we can easily
divine, but with regard to its history even the Indians are entirely
ignorant.
Connected with the valley of Nacoochee are the following legends,
which were related to me by the “oldest inhabitant” of this region.
In this valley, in the olden times, resided _Kostoyeak_, or the
“Sharp Shooter,” a chief of the Cherokee nation. He was renowned for
his bravery and cunning, and among his bitterest enemies was one
_Chonesta_, or the “Black Dog,” a chief of the Tennessees. In those
days there was a Yemassee maiden residing in the low country, who
was renowned for her beauty in all the land, and she numbered among
her many suitors the famous Kostoyeak and four other warriors, upon
each of whom she was pleased to smile; whereupon she discarded all
the others, and among them the Tennessee chief Chonesta. On
returning to his own country he breathed revenge against Kostoyeak,
and threatened that if he succeeded to the hand of the Yemassee
beauty the Cherokee’s tribe should be speedily exterminated. The
merits of the four rival chiefs was equal, and the Yemassee chief
could not decide upon which to bestow his daughter. Kostoyeak was
her favorite, and in order to secure a marriage with him, she
proposed to her father that she should accept that warrior who could
discover where the waters of the Savannah and those of the Tennessee
took their rise among the mountains. Supposing that no such place
existed the father gave his consent, and the great hunt was
commenced. At the end of the first noon Kostoyeak returned with the
intelligence that he had found a gorge—now called the gap of the
Blue Ridge as well as Rabun Gap—where the two great rivers “shake
hands and commence their several journeys, each singing a song of
gladness and freedom.” In process of time the Yemassee chief was
convinced that Kostoyeak told a true story, and he was, therefore,
married to the long-loved maiden of his choice.
Enraged at these events, Chonesta assembled his warriors, and made
war upon the fortunate Cherokee and his whole tribe. The Great
Spirit was the friend of Kostoyeak, and he was triumphant. He slew
Chonesta with his own hand and destroyed his bravest warriors, and
finally became the possessor of half the entire Tennessee valley.
Years rolled on and Kostoyeak as well as his wife were numbered
among the dead. They were buried with every Indian honor in the
valley of Nacoochee, and, to perpetuate their many virtues in after
years, their several nations erected over their remains the _mounds_
which now adorn a portion of the valley where they lived.
The other legend to which I have alluded is as follows: The meaning
of the Indian word Nacoochee is the “Evening Star,” and was applied
to a Cherokee girl of the same name. She was distinguished for her
beauty and a strange attachment for the flowers and the birds of her
native valley. She died in her fifteenth summer, and at the twilight
hour of a summer day. On the evening following her burial a
newly-born star made its appearance in the sky, and all her kindred
cherished the belief that she whom they had thought as lovely as the
star, had now become the brightest of the whole array which looked
down upon the world, and so she has ever been remembered (as well as
the valley where she lived) as Na-coo-chee; or the Evening Star. The
spot of earth where the maiden is said to have been buried is now
covered with flowers, and the waters of the beautiful Nacoochee seem
to be murmuring a perpetual song in memory of the departed.
That my letter may leave a permanent impression upon my reader’s
mind, I will append to it the following poem written by a Georgia
poet, Henry R. Jackson, Esq.
Mount Yonah—Vale of Nacoochee.
Before me, as I stand, his broad, round head
Mount Yohah lifts the neighboring hills above,
While, at his foot, all pleasantly is spread
Nacoochee’s vale, sweet as a dream of love.
Cradle of Peace! mild, gentle as the dove
Whose tender accents from yon woodlands swell,
Must she have been who thus has interwove
Her name with thee, and thy soft, holy spell,
And all of peace which on this troubled globe may dwell!
Nacoochee—in tradition, thy sweet queen—
Has vanished with her maidens: not again
Along thy meadows shall their forms be seen;
The mountain echoes catch no more the strain
Of their wild Indian lays at evening’s wane;
No more, where rumbling branches interwine,
They pluck the jasmine flowers, or break the cane
Beside the marshy stream, or from the vine
Shake down, in purple showers, the luscious muscadine.
Yet round thee hangs the same sweet spirit still!
Thou art among these hills a sacred spot,
As if shut out from all the clouds of ill
That gloom so darkly o’er the human lot.
On thy green breast the world I quite forgot—
Its stern contentions—its dark grief and care,
And I breathed freer, deeper, and blushed not
At old emotions long, long stifled there,
Which sprang once more to life in thy calm, loving air.
I saw the last bright gleam of sunset play
On Yonah’s lofty head: all quiet grew
Thy bosom, which beneath the shadows lay
Of the surrounding mountains; deeper blue
Fell on their mighty summits; evening threw
Her veil o’er all, and on her azure brow
A bright star shone; a trusting form I drew
Yet closer to my side; above, below,
Within were peace and hope life may not often know!
Thou loveliest of earth’s valleys! fare thee well!
Nor is the parting pangless to my soul.
Youth, hope and happiness with thee shall dwell,
Unsullied Nature hold o’er thee control,
And years still leave thee beauteous as they roll.
Oh! I could linger with thee! yet this spell
Must break, e’en as upon my heart it stole,
And found a weakness there I may not tell—
An anxious life, a troubled future claim me! fare thee well!
LETTER IV.
Clarksville, Georgia, April, 1848.
The little village where I am now staying is decidedly the most
interesting in the northern part of Georgia. There is nothing
particularly fine about its buildings, and it only contains some
three hundred inhabitants, but it commands a magnificent prospect of
two ranges of the Alleghany Mountains. It is remarkable for the
healthfulness of its climate, and is the summer resort of between
forty and fifty of the most wealthy and accomplished families of
Georgia and South Carolina, a number of whom have erected and are
erecting elegant country seats in its immediate vicinity. It
contains a mineral spring, which is said to have saved the lives of
many individuals; and it patronizes two hotels, where the tourist
may obtain all the luxuries of the North as well as the South, and
in a style which must gratify and astonish him, when he remembers
that he has reached the end of carriage travelling, and is on the
confines of an almost impassable wilderness. The water-power in its
neighborhood would supply at least fifty factories, and it yields
more than a sufficient quantity of iron ore to furnish constant
employment to an extensive smelting establishment and furnace. Its
soil is of the best quality, and yields in great abundance every
variety of produce peculiar to a temperate climate. But the chief
attraction of Clarksville is, that it is the centre of some of the
most romantic scenery in the world, and the stopping-place for all
those who visit Nacoochee Valley, Yonah Mountain, the Tuccoah
Cascade, Tallulah Falls, and Tray Mountain. The first two
curiosities alluded to have already been described, and I now
purpose to introduce to my reader the peculiar and beautiful Cascade
of Tuccoah, reserving the two other marvels of nature for future
letters.
The Tuccoah is a very small stream—a mere brooklet, and for the most
part is not at all distinguished for any other quality than those
belonging to a thousand other sparkling streams of this region; but,
in its oceanward course, it performs one leap which has given it a
reputation. On account of this leap the aborigines christened it
with the name of _Tuccoah_, or _the beautiful_. To see this cascade,
in your mind’s eye, (and I here partly quote the language of one who
could fully appreciate its beauty,) imagine a sheer precipice of
gray and rugged rock, one hundred and eighty-six feet high, with a
little quiet lake at its base, surrounded by sloping masses of
granite and tall shadowy trees. From the overhanging lips of this
cliff, aloft, between your upturned eyes and the sky comes a softly
flowing stream. After making a joyous leap it breaks into a shower
of heavy spray, and scatters its drops more and more widely and
minute, until, in little more than a drizzling mist, it scatters the
smooth, moss-covered stones lying immediately beneath. All the way
up the sides of this precipice cling, wherever space is afforded,
little tufts of moss and delicate vines and creepers, contrasting
beautifully with the solid granite. There is no stunning noise of
falling waters, but only a dripping, pattering, plashing in the
lake; a murmuring sound, which must be very grateful during the
noontide heat of a summer day. There comes also a soft cool breeze,
constantly from the foot of the precipice, caused by the falling
shower, and this ripples the surface of the pool and gently agitates
the leaves around and overhead.
Connected with the Cascade of Tuccoah is an Indian tradition, which
was related to me by a gentleman connected with the Georgia
University, who obtained it from a Cherokee Chief. The occurrence is
said to be well authenticated, and runneth in this wise: A short
time previous to the Revolution, the Cherokees were waging a very
bitter warfare against a powerful tribe of Indians who dwelt in the
country of the Potomac. During one of their pitched battles, it so
happened that the Cherokees made captive about a dozen of their
enemies, whom they brought into their own country safely bound.
Their intention was to sacrifice the prisoners; but, as they wished
the ceremony to be particularly imposing, on account of the fame of
the captives, it was resolved to postpone the sacrifice until the
following moon. In the meantime the Cherokee braves went forth to
battle again, while the prisoners, now more securely bound than
ever, were left in a large wigwam near Tuccoah, in the especial
charge of an old woman, who was noted for her savage patriotism.
Day followed day, and, as the unfortunate enemies lay in the lodge
of the old woman, she dealt out to them a scanty supply of food and
water. They besought the woman to release them, and offered her the
most valuable of Indian bribes, but she held her tongue and remained
faithful to her trust. It was now the morning of a pleasant day,
when an Indian boy called at the door of the old woman’s lodge and
told her that he had seen a party of their enemies in a neighboring
valley, and he thought it probable that they had come to rescue
their fellows. The woman heard this intelligence in silence, but bit
her lip in anger and defiance. On re-entering her lodge another
appeal for freedom was made, and the prisoners were delighted to see
a smile playing upon the countenance of their keeper. She told them
she had relented, and was willing to let them escape their promised
doom, but it must be on certain conditions. They were first to give
into her hands all their personal effects, which she would bury
under the lodge. She did not wish to be discovered, and they must
therefore depart at the dead of night. She did not wish them to know
how to find their way back to the lodge, whence they might see fit
to take away her reward, and she therefore desired that they should
be blindfolded, and consent to her leading them about two miles
through a thick wood, into an open country, when she would release
them. The prisoners gladly consented; and, while they were suffering
themselves to be stripped of their robes and weapons, a heavy cloud
canopied the sky, as if heralding a storm. At the hour of midnight
loud peals of thunder bellowed through the firmament, and terribly
flashed the lightning. The night and the contemplated deed were
admirably suited, thought the warriors, and so thought the woman
also. She placed leathern bands around the eyes of her captives;
and, having severed the thongs which confined their feet, bade them
follow whither she might lead. They were connected with each other
by iron withes; and so the woman led them to their promised freedom.
Intricate, and winding, and tedious was the way; but not a murmur
was uttered, nor a word spoken. Now has the strange procession
reached a level spot of earth, and the men step proudly on their
way. Now have they reached the precipice of Tuccoah; and, as the
woman walks to the very edge, she makes a sudden wheel, and, one
after the other, are the poor captives launched into the abyss
below. A loud wail of triumph echoes through the air from the lips
of the woman-fiend, and, with the groans of the dying in her ears,
and the very lightning in her path, does she retrace her steps to
her lodge to seek repose, and then on the morrow to proclaim her
cruel and unnatural deed.
In the bottom of the Tuccoah pool may now be gathered small
fragments of a white material, resembling soapstone, and many people
allege that these are the remains of the Indian captives who
perished at the foot of the precipice.
LETTER V.
Tallulah Falls, Georgia, April, 1848.
As a natural curiosity the _Falls of Tallulah_ are on a par with the
River Saguenay and the Falls of Niagara. They had been described to
me in the most glowing and enthusiastic manner, and yet the reality
far exceeds the scene which I had conceived. They have filled me
with astonishment, and created a feeling strong enough almost to
induce me to remain within hearing of their roar forever.
The Cherokee word _Tallulah_ or _Tarrurah_ signifies _the terrible_,
and was originally applied to the river of that name on account of
its fearful falls. This river rises among the Alleghany mountains,
and is a tributary of the Savannah. Its entire course lies through a
mountain land, and in every particular it is a mountain stream,
narrow, deep, clear, cold, and subject to every variety of mood.
During the first half of its career it winds among the hills as if
in uneasy joy, and then for several miles it wears a placid
appearance, and you can scarcely hear the murmur of its waters.
Soon, tiring of this peaceful course, however, it narrows itself for
an approaching contest, and runs through a chasm whose walls, about
four miles in length, are for the most part perpendicular; and,
after making within the space of half a mile a number of leaps as
the chasm deepens, it settles into a turbulent and angry mood, and
so continues for a mile and a half further, until it leaves the
chasm and regains its wonted character. The Falls of Tallulah,
properly speaking, are five in number, and have been christened
_Lodora_, _Tempesta_, _Oceana_, _Honcon_, and _the Serpentine_.
Their several heights are said to be forty-five feet, one hundred,
one hundred and twenty, fifty, and thirty feet, making, in
connection with the accompanying rapids, a descent of at least four
hundred feet within the space of half a mile. At this point the
stream is particularly winding, and the cliffs of solid granite on
either side, which are perpendicular, vary in height from six
hundred to nine hundred feet, while the mountains which back the
cliffs reach an elevation of perhaps fifteen hundred feet. Many of
the pools are very large and very deep, and the walls and rocks in
their immediate vicinity are always green with the most luxuriant of
mosses. The vegetation of the whole chasm is in fact particularly
rich and varied; for you may here find not only the pine, but
specimens of every variety of the more tender trees, together with
lichens, and vines, and flowers, which would keep the botanist
employed for half a century. Up to the present time, only four paths
have been discovered leading to the margin of the water, and to make
either of these descents requires much of the nerve and courage of
the samphire-gatherer. Through this immense gorge a strong wind is
ever blowing, and the sunlight never falls upon the cataracts
without forming beautiful rainbows, which contrast strangely with
the surrounding gloom and horror; and the roar of the waterfalls,
eternally ascending to the sky, comes to the ear like the voice of
God calling upon man to wonder and admire.
Of the more peculiar features which I have met with in the Tallulah
chasm the following are the only ones which have yet been
christened, viz.: the Devil’s Pulpit, the Devil’s Dwelling, the
Eagle’s Nest, the Deer Leap, Hawthorn’s Pool, and Hanck’s Sliding
Place.
_The Devil’s Pulpit_ is a double-headed and exceedingly ragged
cliff, which actually hangs over the ravine, and estimated to be
over six hundred feet high. While standing upon the brow of this
precipice I saw a number of buzzards sitting upon the rocks below,
and appearing like a flock of blackbirds. While looking at them the
thought came into my mind that I would startle them from their
fancied security by throwing a stone among them. I did throw the
stone, and with all my might too, but, instead of going across the
ravine, as I supposed it would, it fell out of my sight, and
apparently at the very base of the cliff upon which I was standing.
This little incident gave me a realizing sense of the immense width
and depth of the chasm. While upon this cliff also, with my arms
clasped around a small pine tree, an eagle came sailing up the chasm
in mid air, and, as he cast his eye upward at my insignificant form,
he uttered a loud shriek as if in anger at my temerity, and
continued on his way, swooping above the spray of the waterfalls.
The _Devil’s Dwelling_ is a cave of some twenty feet in depth, which
occupies a conspicuous place near the summit of a precipice
overlooking the Honcon Fall. Near its outlet is a singular rock,
which resembles (from the opposite side of the gorge) the figure of
a woman in a sitting posture, who is said to be the wife or
better-half of the devil. I do not _believe_ this story, and cannot
therefore endorse the prevailing opinion.
The _Eagle’s Nest_ is a rock which projects from the brow of a cliff
reputed to be seven hundred feet high, and perpendicular. The finest
view of this point is from the margin of the water, where it is
grand beyond compare. To describe it with the pen were utterly
impossible, but it was just such a scene as would have delighted the
lamented Cole, and by a kindred genius alone can it ever be placed
on the canvas.
The _Deer Leap_ is the highest cliff in the whole chasm, measuring
about nine hundred feet, and differs from its fellows in two
particulars. From summit to bottom it is almost without a fissure or
an evergreen, and remarkably smooth; and over it, in the most
beautiful manner imaginable, tumbles a tiny stream, which scatters
upon the rocks below with infinite prodigality; the purest of
diamonds and pearls appearing to be woven into wreaths of foam. It
obtained its name from the circumstance that a deer was once pursued
to this point by a hound, and in its terror, cleared a pathway
through the air, and perished in the depths below.
_Hawthorn’s Pool_ derives its name from the fact that in its
apparently soundless waters a young and accomplished English
clergyman lost his life while bathing; and _Hanck’s Sliding Place_
is so called because a native of this region once slipped off of the
rock into a sheet of foam, but by the kindness of Providence he was
rescued from his perilous situation not much injured, but immensely
frightened.
But of all the scenes which I have been privileged to enjoy in the
Tallulah chasm, the most glorious and superb was witnessed in the
night time. For several days previous to my coming here the woods
had been on fire, and I was constantly on the watch for a night
picture of a burning forest. On one occasion, as I was about
retiring, I saw a light in the direction of the Falls, and concluded
that I would take a walk to the Devil’s Pulpit, which was distant
from my tarrying place some hundred and fifty yards. Soon as I
reached there I felt convinced that the fire would soon be in plain
view, for I was on the western side of the gorge, and the wind was
blowing from the eastward. In a very few moments my anticipations
were realized, for I saw the flame licking up the dead leaves which
covered the ground, and also stealing up the trunk of every dry tree
in its path. A warm current of air was now wafted to my cheek by the
breeze, and I discovered with intense satisfaction that an immense
dead pine which hung over the opposite precipice (and whose dark
form I had noticed distinctly pictured against the crimson
background) had been reached by the flame, and in another moment it
was entirely in a blaze. The excitement which now took possession of
my mind was absolutely painful; and, as I threw my arms around a
small tree, and peered into the horrible chasm, my whole frame shook
with an indescribable emotion. The magnificent torch directly in
front of me did not seem to have any effect upon the surrounding
darkness, but threw a ruddy and death-like glow upon every object in
the bottom of the gorge. A flock of vultures which were roosting far
down in the ravine were frightened out of their sleep, and in their
dismay, as they attempted to rise, flew against the cliffs and
amongst the trees, until they finally disappeared; and a number of
bats and other winged creatures were winnowing their way in every
direction. The deep black pools beneath were enveloped in a more
intense blackness, while the foam and spray of a neighboring fall
were made a thousand-fold more beautiful than before. The vines, and
lichens, and mosses seemed to cling more closely than usual to their
parent rocks; and when an occasional ember fell from its great
height far down, and still further down into the abyss below, it
made me dizzy and I retreated from my commanding position. In less
than twenty minutes from that time the fire was exhausted, and the
pall of night had settled upon the lately so brilliant chasm, and no
vestige of the truly marvellous scene remained but an occasional
wreath of smoke fading away into the upper air.
During my stay at the Falls of Tallulah I made every effort to
obtain an Indian legend or two connected with them, and it was my
good fortune to hear one which has never yet been printed. It was
originally obtained by the white man who first discovered the Falls
from the Cherokees, who lived in this region at the time. It is in
substance as follows: Many generations ago it so happened that
several famous hunters, who had wandered from the West towards what
is now the Savannah river, in search of game, never returned to
their camping grounds. In process of time the curiosity as well as
the fears of the nation were excited, and an effort was made to
ascertain the cause of their singular disappearance. Whereupon a
party of medicine-men were deputed to make a pilgrimage towards the
great river. They were absent a whole moon, and, on returning to
their friends, they reported that they had discovered a dreadful
fissure in an unknown part of the country, through which a mountain
torrent took its way with a deafening noise. They said that it was
an exceedingly wild place, and that its inhabitants were a species
of _little men and women_, who dwelt in the crevices of the rocks
and in the grottoes under the waterfalls. They had attempted by
every artifice in their power to hold a council with the little
people, but all in vain; and, from the shrieks they frequently
uttered, the medicine-men knew that they were the enemies of the
Indian race; and, therefore, it was concluded in the nation at large
that the long lost hunters had been decoyed to their death in the
dreadful gorge which they called Tallulah. In view of this little
legend, it is worthy of remark that the Cherokee nation, previous to
their departure for the distant West, always avoided the Falls of
Tallulah, and were seldom found hunting or fishing in their
vicinity.
P. S. Since writing the above, I have met with another local poem by
Henry R. Jackson, Esq., which contains so much of the true spirit of
poetry, that I cannot refrain from giving it to my readers. It was
inspired by the roar of Tallulah, and is as follows:—
Tallulah.
But hark! beneath yon hoary precipice,
The rush of mightier waters, as they pour
In foaming torrents through the dark abyss
Which echoes back the thunders of their roar.
Approach the frightful gorge! and gazing o’er,
What mad emotions through their bosoms thrill!
Hast ever seen so dread a sight before?
Tallulah! by that name we hail thee still,
And own that thou art rightly called THE TERRIBLE!
In vain o’er thee shall glow with wild delight,
The painter’s eye, and voiceless still shall be
The poet’s tongue, who from this giddy height
Shall kindle in thine awful minstrelsy!
Thou art too mighty in thy grandeur—we
Too weak to give fit utterance to the soul!
Thy billows mock us with their tempest glee,
As thundering on, while countless ages roll,
Thou scornest man’s applause alike with man’s control!
Yet standing here where mountain eagles soar,
Among these toppling crags, to plant their nest,
I catch an inspiration from thy roar,
Which will not let my spirit be at rest.
I cast me down upon the massive breast
Of this huge rock, that lifts to meet the blast,
Far, far above thy foam, his granite crest,
And eager thoughts come gathering thick and fast,
The voices of the future blending with the past!
I gaze across the yawning gorge and seem
Once more to see upon yon heights that rear
Their summits up to catch the sunset gleam,
The red man of the wilderness appear,
With bounding step, and bosom broad and bare,
And painted face, and figure lithe and tall,
Wild as surrounding nature; and I hear
From yonder precipice his whoop and call,
That mingle fiercely with the roaring water-fall!
But lo! he pauses, for he sees _thee_ now,
Dread cataract!—he stands entranced—his yell
Is hushed; appalled he looks where far below,
Thy waters boil with a tumultuous swell.
Thou glorious orator of Nature! well
May his rude bosom own the majesty
Of thy dread eloquence; he hears the knell
Of human things—he bends the suppliant knee,
To the Great Spirit of THE TERRIBLE in thee.
Once more I look!—the dusky form has gone—
Passed with the onward course of time, and passed
To come no more; perhaps a king upon
Yon height he sleeps, rocked by the winter’s blast
In couch all regal, where dead hands have cast
His glorious bones the nearest to the stars,
And left him there to rest in peace at last,
Forgetful of his glory, scalps and scars—
The unsung Hector of a hundred bloody wars.
Again I gaze, and other forms appear,
Of milder mien and far more gentle grace,
And softer tones are falling on my ear;
And yet, methinks, less kindred with the place.
Another, and (it may be) nobler race
Have made these hills their own, and they draw near
With kindling spirits, yet with cautious pace;
Youth, age and wisdom, with his brow of care,
And joyous beauty, that has never wept a tear.
And through the lapse of many ages they
Shall come; year after year to thee shall bring
The searcher after knowledge, and the gay
Who sport through life as though a morn in spring;
And tears shall fall, and the light laugh shall ring
Beside thee, and the lonely heart shall seek
Relief from its eternal sorrowing—
And all shall feel upon their spirits break,
Thoughts wonderful; emotions which they may not speak.
I turn towards the coming time and hear
The voice of a great people which shall dwell
Among these mountains, free as their own air,
And chainless as thy current’s ceaseless swell.
Behold them growing into power! They fell
The old primeval forests which have stood
For ages in the valleys; they dispel
The shades from Nature’s face, and thickly strewed,
Their villages spring up amid the solitude.
I look again, and I behold them not;
Silence resumes once more her ancient reign.
A solitary form stands on the spot,
Where mine had stood; around on hill and plain,
The palace crumbles, and the gorgeous fane
Sinks into dust; he weeps above the tomb
Of human pride, and feels that it is vain;
Yet shall thy voice arise amid the gloom
Of silent hearths and cities, scornful of their doom.
I look once more: behold ’tis changed again,
And yet ’tis unchanged! Earth has upward shot
Her twigs from naked mountain, vale and plain;
How rankly have they grown above the spot,
Where cities crumble, and their builders rot!
Again the forest moans beneath the blast,
The eagle finds on mountain, cliff and grot,
Once more his eyrie undisturbed; the vast
And melancholy wilderness o’er all is cast.
And lo! upon the spot where I had stood,
A second form—how like to mine! has ta’en
His lonely place, and hears the solitude
Return thy stunning anthem back again,
Like distant roarings of some mighty main;
The earth around lies in her primal dress:
And far above, just entering on her wane,
The full round moon with not a ray the less,
Looks calmly forth as now, upon the wilderness.
He treads the earth, nor dreams that he has trod
On human dust. The oak that o’er him waves
So proudly, tells him not how, through the sod,
Its roots sucked nourishment from human graves.
The renovated stream its channel laves
Beside his feet as freshly as of old;
Its moist bank not a lingering record saves
Of those who dried its sources; flowers unfold
Their tints, nor tell how they have fed on human mould.
Now from the broad expanse his eye surveys,
Ambition! summon forth thy votaries!
Whose eagle vision drank the noontide blaze,
Whose eagle pinions fanned the highest breeze.
Power! thou that gloried’st in the bending knees
Of millions of God’s humbled creatures—seek
Thy favorites now, who strode through bloody seas
To thrones, it may be, and upon the weak,
Bade human passion all her vengeance wreak!
Bid them arise! stand forth! each in his place
From the broad waste, to greet the gazer’s sight
With bright insignia, which in life did grace
The brow, or give the bounding heart delight.
Arise! each to the stature of his might,
And tell of how he lived and how he died!
Say! comes a single voice upon the night?
Rises a single form above the common tide?
Ambition! Glory! Power! oh! where do ye abide?
Speak, Suffering! call thy pallid sons!
And Poverty! thy millions marshal forth!
Thy starving millions, with their rags and groans,
Who knew hell’s tortures on God’s smiling earth!
Name o’er thy thoughtless legions, reckless Mirth?
And Disappointment! with thy sable brow,
Summon thy slaves of great or little worth!
And Suicide! thou child of darkest woe,
Speak to thy bleeding victims, thou, who laid’st them low!
Behold they come not! Still he stands alone—
He gazes upward to the midnight sky,
The same dim vault where orbs as brightly shone,
When watched by the Chaldean’s wakeful eye,
As now they shine; his dreamings are of high
And holy things; to him the earth is young—
The heavens are young; in joyous infancy
A nation buds around—to whom belong
No past, no memories, but a future bright and strong.
LETTER VI.
Tallulah Falls, Georgia, April, 1848.
The subject of my present letter is Adam Vandever, “the Hunter of
Tallulah.” His fame reached my ears soon after arriving at this
place, and, having obtained a guide, I paid him a visit at his
residence, which is planted directly at the mouth of the Tallulah
chasm. He lives in a log-cabin, occupying the centre of a small
valley, through which the Tallulah river winds its wayward course.
It is completely hemmed in on all sides by wild and abrupt
mountains, and one of the most romantic and beautiful nooks
imaginable. Vandever is about sixty years of age, small in stature,
has a regular built weasel face, a small gray eye, and wears a long
white beard. He was born in South Carolina, spent his early manhood
in the wilds of Kentucky, and the last thirty years of his life in
the wilderness of Georgia. By way of a frolic, he took a part in the
Creek war, and is said to have killed more Indians than any other
white man in the army. In the battle of Ottassee alone, he is
reported to have sent his rifle-ball through the hearts of twenty
poor heathen, merely because they had an undying passion for their
native hills, which they could not bear to leave for an unknown
wilderness. But Vandever aimed his rifle at the command of his
country, and of course the charge of cold-blooded butchery does not
rest upon his head. He is now living with his _third_ wife, and
claims to be the father of _over thirty children_, only five of
whom, however, are living under his roof, the remainder being dead
or scattered over the world. During the summer months he tills, with
his own hand, the few acres of land which constitute his domain. His
live stock consists of a mule and some half dozen of goats, together
with a number of dogs.
On inquiring into his forest life, he gave me, among others, the
following particulars. When the hunting season commences, early in
November, he supplies himself with every variety of shooting
materials, steel-traps, and a comfortable stock of provisions, and,
placing them upon his mule, starts for some wild region among the
mountains, where he remains until the following spring. The shanty
which he occupies during this season is of the rudest character,
with one side always open, as he tells me, for the purpose of having
an abundance of fresh air. In killing wild animals he pursues but
two methods, called “fire-lighting” and “still-hunting.” His
favorite game is the deer, but he is not particular, and secures the
fur of every four-legged creature which may happen to cross his
path. The largest number of skins that he ever brought home at one
time was six hundred, among which were those of the bear, the black
and gray wolf, the panther, the wild-cat, the fox, the coon, and
some dozen other varieties. He computes the entire number of deer
that he has killed in his lifetime at four thousand. When spring
arrives, and he purposes to return to his valley home, he packs his
furs upon his old mule, and, seating himself upon the pile of
plunder, makes a bee-line out of the wilderness. And by those who
have seen him in this homeward-bound condition, I am told that he
presents one of the most curious and romantic pictures imaginable.
While among the mountains, his beast subsists upon whatever it may
happen to glean in its forest rambles, and, when the first supply of
his own provisions is exhausted, he usually contents himself with
wild game, which he is often compelled to devour unaccompanied with
bread or salt. His mule is the smallest and most miserable looking
creature of the kind that I ever saw, and glories in the singular
name of “The Devil and Tom Walker.” When Vandever informed me of
this fact, which he did with a self-satisfied air, I told him that
the first portion of the mule’s name was more applicable to himself
than to the dumb beast; whereupon he “grinned horribly a ghastly
smile,” as if I had paid him a compliment. Old Vandever is an
illiterate man, and when I asked him to give me his opinion of
President Polk, he replied: “I never seed the Governor of this
State; for, when he came to this country some years ago, I was off
on ’tother side of the ridge, shooting deer. I voted for the
General, and that’s all I know about him.” Very well! and this,
thought I, is one of the freemen of our land, who help to elect our
rulers!
On questioning my hunter friend with regard to some of his
adventures, he commenced a rigmarole narrative, which would have
lasted a whole month had I not politely requested him to keep his
mouth closed while I took a portrait of him in pencil. His stories
all bore a strong family likeness, but were evidently to be relied
on, and proved conclusively that the man knew not what it was to
fear.
As specimens of the whole, I will outline a few. On one occasion he
came up to a large gray wolf, into whose head he discharged a ball.
The animal did not drop, but made its way into an adjoining cavern
and disappeared. Vandever waited awhile at the opening, and as he
could not see or hear his game, he concluded that it had ceased to
breathe, whereupon he fell upon his hands and knees, and entered the
cave. On reaching the bottom, he found the wolf alive, when a
“clinch fight” ensued, and the hunter’s knife completely severed the
heart of the animal. On dragging out the dead wolf into the
sunlight, it was found that his lower jaw had been broken, which was
probably the reason why he had not succeeded in destroying the
hunter.
At one time, when he was out of ammunition, his dogs fell upon a
large bear, and it so happened that the latter got one of the former
in his power, and was about to squeeze it to death. This was a sight
the hunter could not endure, so he unsheathed his huge hunting-knife
and assaulted the black monster. The bear tore off nearly every rag
of his clothing, and in making his first plunge with the knife he
completely cut off two of his own fingers instead of injuring the
bear. He was now in a perfect frenzy of pain and rage, and in making
another effort succeeded to his satisfaction, and gained the
victory. That bear weighed three hundred and fifty pounds.
On another occasion he had fired at a large buck near the brow of a
precipice some thirty feet high, which hangs over one of the pools
in the Tallulah river. On seeing the buck drop, he took it for
granted that he was about to die, when he approached the animal for
the purpose of cutting its throat. To his great surprise, however,
the buck suddenly sprung to his feet and made a tremendous rush at
the hunter with a view of throwing him off the ledge. But what was
more remarkable, the animal succeeded in its effort, though not
until Vandever had obtained a fair hold of the buck’s antlers, when
the twain performed a somerset into the pool below. The buck made
its escape, and Vandever was not seriously injured in any
particular. About a month subsequent to that time he killed a buck,
which had a bullet wound in the lower part of its neck, whereupon he
concluded that he had finally triumphed over the animal which had
given him the unexpected ducking.
But the most remarkable escape which old Vandever ever experienced
happened on this wise. He was encamped upon one of the loftiest
mountains in Union county. It was near the twilight hour, and he had
heard the howl of a wolf. With a view of ascertaining the direction
whence it came, he climbed upon an immense boulder-rock, (weighing
perhaps fifty tons,) which stood on the very brow of a steep hill
side. While standing upon this boulder he suddenly felt a swinging
sensation, and to his astonishment he found that it was about to
make a fearful plunge into the ravine half a mile below him. As
fortune would have it, the limb of an oak tree drooped over the
rock; and, as the rock started from its tottlish foundation, he
seized the limb, and thereby saved his life. The dreadful crashing
of the boulder as it descended the mountain side came to the
hunter’s ear while he was suspended in the air, and by the time it
had reached the bottom he dropped himself _on the very spot_ which
had been vacated by the boulder. Vandever said that this was the
only time in his life when he had been really frightened; and he
also added, that for one day after this escape he did not care a
finger’s snap for the finest game in the wilderness.
While on my visit to Vandever’s cabin, one of his boys came home
from a fishing expedition, and on examining his fish I was surprised
to find a couple of _shad_ and three or four _striped bass_ or
_rock-fish_. They had been taken in the Tallulah just below the
chasm, by means of a wicker-net, and at a point distant from the
ocean at least two hundred and fifty miles. I had been informed that
the Tallulah abounded in trout, but I was not prepared to find
salt-water fish in this remote mountain wilderness.
Since I have introduced the above youthful Vandever to my readers, I
will record a single one of his deeds, which ought to give him a
fortune, or at least an education. The incident occurred when he was
in his twelfth year. He and a younger brother had been gathering
berries on a mountain side, and were distant from home about two
miles. While carelessly tramping down the weeds and bushes, the
younger boy was bitten by a rattlesnake on the calf of his leg. In a
few moments thereafter the unhappy child fell to the ground in great
pain, and the pair were of course in unexpected tribulation. The
elder boy, having succeeded in killing the rattlesnake, conceived
the idea, as the only alternative, of carrying his little brother
home upon his back. And this deed did the noble fellow accomplish.
For two long miles did he carry his heavy burden, over rocks and
down the water-courses, and in an hour after he had reached his
father’s cabin the younger child was dead; and the heroic boy was in
a state of insensibility from the fatigue and heat which he had
experienced. He recovered, however, and is now apparently in the
enjoyment of good health, though when I fixed my admiring eyes upon
him it seemed to me that he was far from being strong, and it was
evident that a shadow rested upon his brow.
LETTER VII.
Trail Mountain, Georgia, May, 1848.
I now write from near the summit of the highest mountain in Georgia.
I obtained my first view of this peak while in the village of
Clarksville, and it presented such a commanding appearance, that I
resolved to surmount it, on my way to the North, although my
experience has proven that climbing high mountains is always more
laborious than profitable. I came here on the back of a mule, and my
guide and companion on the occasion was the principal proprietor of
Nacoochee valley, Major Edward Williams. While ascending the
mountain, which occupied about seven hours, (from his residence,)
the venerable gentleman expatiated at considerable length on the
superb scenery to be witnessed from its summit, and then informed me
that he had just established a dairy on the mountain, which, it was
easy to see, had become his hobby. He described the “ranges” of the
mountains as affording an abundance of the sweetest food for cattle,
and said that he had already sent to his dairy somewhere between
fifty and eighty cows, and was intending soon to increase the number
to one hundred. He told me that his dairyman was an excellent young
man from Vermont, named Joseph E. Hubbard, to whom he was indebted
for the original idea of establishing the dairy. While journeying
through this region the young man chanced to stop at the major’s
house, and though they were perfect strangers, they conversed upon
matters connected with farming, and soon became acquainted; and the
stranger having made known the fact that he knew how to make butter
and cheese, a bargain was struck, which has resulted in the
establishment already mentioned. The Williams dairy is said to be
the only one in the entire State of Georgia, and it is worthy of
remark, in this connection, that Major Williams (as well as his
dairyman) is a native of New-England. He has been an exile from
Yankee land for upwards of twenty years, and though nearly seventy
years of age, it appears that his natural spirit of enterprise
remains in full vigor.
_Trail Mountain_ was so named by the Cherokees, from the fact that
they once had a number of _trails_ leading to the summit, to which
point they were in the habit of ascending for the purpose of
discovering the camp-fires of their enemies during the existence of
hostilities. It is the king of the Blue Ridge, and reported to be
five thousand feet above the waters of the surrounding country, and
perhaps six thousand feet above the level of the ocean. A carpet of
green grass and weeds extends to the very top, and as the trees are
small, as well as “few and far between,” the lover of extensive
scenery has a fine opportunity of gratifying his taste. I witnessed
a sunset from this great watch-tower of the South, and I know not
that I was ever before more deeply impressed with the grandeur of a
landscape scene. The horizon formed an unbroken circle, but I could
distinctly see that in one direction alone (across South Carolina
and part of Georgia) extended a comparatively level country, while
the remaining three-quarters of the space around me appeared to be a
wilderness of mountains. The grandest display was towards the north,
and here it seemed to me that I could count at least twenty distinct
ranges, fading away to the sky, until the more remote range melted
into a monotonous line. No cities or towns came within the limit of
my vision; no, nor even an occasional wreath of smoke, to remind me
that human hearts were beating in the unnumbered valleys. A crimson
hue covered the sky, but it was without a cloud to cheer the
prospect, and the solemn shadow which rested upon the mountains was
too deep to partake of a single hue from the departing sun. Grandeur
and gloom, like twin spirits, seemed to have subdued the world,
causing the pulse of nature to cease its accustomed throb. “At one
stride came the dark,” and, as there was no moon, I retreated from
the peak with pleasure, and sought the rude cabin, where I was to
spend the night. While doing this, the distant howl of a wolf came
to my ear, borne upward on the quiet air from one of the deep
ravines leading to the base of the mountain.
As I was the guest of my friends Williams and Hubbard, I whiled away
the evening in their society, asking and answering a thousand
questions. Among the matters touched upon in our conversation was a
certain mysterious “water-spout,” of which I had heard a great deal
among the people in my journeying, and which was said to have fallen
upon Trail Mountain. I again inquired into the particulars, and
Major Williams replied as follows:
“This water-spout story has always been a great botheration to me.
The circumstance occurred several years ago. A number of hunters
were spending the night in the very ravine where this shanty now
stands, when, about midnight, they heard a tremendous roaring in the
air, and a large torrent of water fell upon their camp and swept it,
with all its effects and its inmates, about a dozen yards from the
spot where they had planted their poles. There were three hunters,
and one of them was severely injured on the head by the water, and
all of them completely drenched. They were of course much alarmed at
the event, and concluded that a spring farther up the mountain had
probably broken away; but when morning came they could find no
evidences of a spring, and every where above their camping place the
ground was perfectly dry, while on the lower side it was completely
saturated. They were now perplexed to a marvellous degree, and
returned to the lower country impressed with the idea that a
water-spout had burst over their heads.”
I of course attempted no explanation of this phenomenon, but Mr.
Hubbard gave it as his opinion that if the affair actually did
occur, it originated from a whirlwind, which might have taken up the
water from some neighboring river, and dashed it by the merest
accident upon the poor hunters. But this reasoning seemed to me like
getting “out of the frying pan into the fire;” whereupon I concluded
to “tell the tale as ’twas told to me,” for the especial benefit of
Professor Espy.
But to return to the dairy, which is unquestionably the chief
attraction (though far from being a romantic one) connected with
Trail Mountain. Heretofore a cheese establishment has been
associated in my mind with broad meadow lands, spacious and
well-furnished out-houses, and a convenient market. But here we have
a dairy on the top of a mountain, distant from the first farm-house
some fifteen miles, and inaccessible by any conveyance but that of a
mule or well-trained horse. The bells of more than half a hundred
cows are echoing along the mountain side; and, instead of clover,
they are feeding upon the luxuriant weed of the wilderness; instead
of cool cellars, we have here a hundred tin pans arranged upon
tables in a log cabin, into which a cool spring pours its refreshing
treasure; instead of a tidy and matronly housewife to superintend
the turning of the curd, we have an enterprising young Yankee, a
veritable Green Mountain boy; and instead of pretty milkmaids, the
inferiors of this establishment are huge negroes, and all of the
masculine gender. And this is the establishment which supplies the
people of Georgia with cheese, and the material out of which the
scientific caterer manufactures the palatable Welsh Rabbit.
LETTER VIII.
Murphy, North Carolina, May, 1848.
The distance from Hubbard’s Cabin, on Trail Mountain, to the Owassa
river, in a direct line, is eight miles, but by the ordinary
mule-route it is thirteen. In coming to this river I took the direct
route, albeit my only guide was an ancient Indian trail. My friend
Hubbard doubted whether I could make the trip alone, but I was
anxious to save time and labor, so I determined on trying the
experiment. I shouldered my knapsack and started immediately after
an early breakfast, and for a distance of two miles every thing
turned out to my entire satisfaction. I was now standing upon the
extreme summit of the Blue Ridge, and within a stone’s throw of two
springs which empty their several waters into the Gulf of Mexico and
the Ohio river. While stopping here to obtain a little breath, I
discovered a large spot of bare earth, which I took to be a deer
yard, and directly across the middle of it the fresh tracks of a
large wolf. I had no gun with me, and this discovery made me a
little nervous, which resulted, as I proceeded on my journey, in my
losing the trail upon which I had started. I soon came to a brook,
however, which rushed down an immense ravine at an angle of
forty-five degrees, and I continued my way feeling quite secure. My
course lay down, down, down, and then, as I wandered from the brook,
it was up, up, up. At the rate that I travelled I knew that I ought
to reach my place of destination in at least one hour, but four
hours elapsed and I reluctantly came to the conclusion that I was
most decidedly lost, and that, too, among what I fancied to be the
wildest and most lonely mountains on the face of the earth. Then
came the thought of spending the night in the wilderness, alone and
unprotected, to be destroyed by the wild animals or to be starved to
death. I resolved, however, to continue along the brook, knowing
that it must come out “somewhere;” and, as I was by this time in a
most painful state of excitement, I clambered up the cliffs and ran
down the hills at what now appears to me to have been a fearful
rate. The sun was excessively hot, and at every rivulet that I
crossed I stopped to slake my thirst. The brook was constantly
making a new turn, and leaping over ledges of rocks more than a
hundred feet high, and every new bluff that I saw (and there seemed
to be no end to them) began to shoot a pang to my bewildered brain.
At one time I startled a herd of deer from a cool ravine, where they
were spending the noontide hours; and on one occasion I was within a
single foot of stepping on a rattlesnake, and when I heard his
fearful rattle I made a leap which would have astonished even Sands,
Lent & Co., or any other circus magicians. It was now the middle of
the afternoon, and my blood seemed to have reached the temperature
of boiling heat; my heart began to palpitate, and I came to the
conclusion that the critics would never again have an opportunity of
doubting my adventures in the wilderness. Just in the nick of time,
however, I heard the howling music of a pack of hounds, and in a few
moments a beautiful doe and some half a dozen dogs shot across my
path like a “rushing mighty wind.” This little incident led me to
believe that I was not very far from a settlement, and had a
tendency to revive my spirits. The result was that I reached the
cottage of an old gentleman named Riley, in the valley of Owassa,
just as the sun was setting, where I was treated with the utmost
kindness by his consort—having travelled at least twenty miles on
account of my mishap. I had lost my appetite, but was persuaded to
drink two cups of coffee and then retire to bed. I slept until
daybreak, without being visited by an unpleasant dream, and arose on
the following morning a new man. On the following day I travelled
down the Owassa valley a distance of thirty miles, until I reached
the very pretty place where I am now tarrying. The Cherokee word
Owassa signifies _the main river, or the largest of the
tributaries_: and the paraphrase of this name into _Hiowassee_ by
the map-makers is only a ridiculous blunder. So I have been
informed, at any rate, by one of the oldest Cherokees now living.
The Owassa is a tributary of the noble Tennessee, and is as clear,
beautiful, rapid and picturesque a mountain river as I have ever
seen. At Wiley’s cottage it is perhaps one hundred feet wide, and at
this point it is not far from one hundred and fifty yards. It is
quite circuitous in its course, and the valley through which it runs
is narrow, but very fertile and pretty well cultivated. The people
live almost exclusively in log cabins, and appear to be intelligent
and moral, though apparently destitute of all enterprise.
The only novelty that I noticed on the road to this place was the
spot known as _Fort Embree_. The only evidences that there ever was
a fortification here are a breastwork of timber, a lot of demolished
pickets, and two or three block-houses, which are now in a
dilapidated condition. The site is a commanding one, and takes in
some of the grandest mountain outlines that I have yet seen. This
fort, so called, was made by the General Government for the purpose
of herding the poor Cherokees previous to their final banishment
into exile—a most humane and christian-like work, indeed! How
reluctant the Indians were to leave this beautiful land may be shown
by the fact, that a number of women destroyed themselves within this
very fort rather than be driven beyond the Mississippi. And a
gentleman who saw the Indians, when they were removed, tells me that
they were actually driven along the road like a herd of wild and
unruly animals, a number of them having been shot down in the
vicinity of this place. All these things may have been published,
but I have never seen them in print; and I now put them in print
with the view of shaming our heartless and cruel Government for its
unnatural conduct in times past. The Cherokees were a nation of
mountaineers, and, had a wise policy been pursued with regard to
them, they might now be chasing the deer upon these mountains, while
all the valleys of the land might have been in a state of
cultivation, even as they are now. Not only would they have had the
happiness of hunting their favorite game upon their native hills,
but they might have been educated with more real satisfaction to
themselves than they can be in the Far West. In proof of the opinion
that they might have lived here in honor and comfort, it may be
mentioned that the few Cherokees who were permitted to remain in
Carolina, are now considered the most polite and inoffensive of the
entire population; and the United States District Attorney residing
in Cherokee county informs me, that of five hundred individuals whom
he has had to prosecute within the last five years, only one of them
was an Indian, and he was led into his difficulty by a drunken white
man. But this is a theme that I could write upon for days, so I will
turn to something more germain to my present purpose.
In coming down the valley of Owassa I met with a number of incidents
which I fancy worth mentioning. For example, in passing along a
certain road in Union county, Georgia, I approached a ricketty log
cabin, and was surprised to see the family and all the dogs vacate
the premises, as if I had been a personified plague. I was
subsequently informed that this was a common habit with the more
barbarous people of this region when they see a stranger passing
along the road.
Among the characteristic travelling establishments that I met in the
above country, was the following: a very small covered wagon, (drawn
by one mule and one deformed horse,) which was laden with
corn-husks, a few bedclothes, and several rude cooking utensils.
Behind this team marched a man and his wife, five boys, and eight
girls, and in their rear the skeleton of a cow and four
hungry-looking dogs. They had been farming in Union county, but were
now on their way into Habersham county in search of a new location.
The youngest daughter belonging to this family, as I casually found
out by giving her a small piece of money, was _Dorcas Ann Eliza Jane
Charlotte_ ——. On hearing this startling information I could not
wonder that the family were poor, and had a thorny road to pursue
through life.
But the most unique incident that I picked up on the day in question
may be narrated as follows: I was quietly jogging along the road,
when I was startled by the dropping of a snake from a small tree. I
stopped to see what was the matter, and discovered it to be a black
snake or racer, and that he had in his mouth the tail end of a
scarlet lizard about five inches long. It was evident the snake had
some difficulty in swallowing the precious morsel, and while he
seemed to be preparing for another effort, I saw the lizard twist
its body and bite the snake directly on the back of the head, which
caused the latter to loosen his hold. Again did I see the snake
attack the lizard, and a second time did the lizard bite the snake,
whereupon the serpent gave up the fight, and, while I was hunting
for a stick to kill the serpent, both of the reptiles made their
escape.
The little village of _Murphy_, whence I date this letter, lies at
the junction of the Owassa and Valley rivers, and in point of
location is one of the prettiest places in the world. Its Indian
name was _Klausuna_, or the _Large Turtle_. It was so called, says a
Cherokee legend, on account of its being the _sunning_ place of an
immense turtle which lived in its vicinity in ancient times. The
turtle was particularly famous for its _repelling_ power, having
been known not to be at all injured by a stroke of lightning.
Nothing on earth had power to annihilate the creature; but, on
account of the many attempts made to take its life, when it was
known to be a harmless and inoffensive creature, it became disgusted
with this world, and burrowed its way into the middle of the earth,
where it now lives in peace.
In connection with this legend, I may here mention what must be
considered a remarkable fact in geology. Running directly across the
village of Murphy is a belt of marble, composed of the black, gray,
pure white and flesh-colored varieties, which belt also crosses the
Owassa river. Just above this marble causeway the Owassa, for a
space of perhaps two hundred feet, is said to be over one hundred
feet deep, and at one point, in fact, a bottom has never been found.
All this is simple truth, but I have heard the opinion expressed
that there is a subterranean communication between this immense hole
in Owassa and the river Notely, which is some two miles distant. The
testimony adduced in proof of this theory is, that a certain log was
once marked on the Notely, which log was subsequently found floating
in the pool of the Deep Hole in the Owassa.
LETTER IX.
Franklin, North Carolina, May, 1848.
The distance from Murphy to this place is reported to be fifty
miles. For twenty miles the road runs in full view of Valley river,
which is worthy in every particular of the stream into which it
empties, the Owassa. It is a remarkbly cold and translucent stream,
and looks as if it ought to contain trout, but I am certain that it
does not. On inquiring of a homespun angler what fish the river did
produce, he replied: “Salmon, black trout, red horse, hog-fish,
suckers and cat-fish.” I took the liberty of doubting the
gentleman’s word, and subsequently found out that the people, of
this section of country call the legitimate _pickerel_ the “salmon,”
the _black bass_ the “black trout,” the _mullet_ the “red horse,”
and _a deformed sucker_ the “hog-fish.” And now, while I think of
it, I would intimate to my friends residing on the Ohio (to which
glorious river all the streams of this region pay tribute) that
_their_ salmon is none other than the genuine pickerel of the North
and South, their white perch only the sheep’s head of the great
lakes, and their black perch is but another name for the black or
Oswego bass. So much for a piscatorial correction.
The only _picture_ which attracted my particular attention in
passing up the fertile but generally neglected bottom lands of
Valley river, was a farm of twenty-five hundred acres, one thousand
acres being as level as a floor and highly cultivated. The soil
seemed exceedingly rich, and it was evident yielded a considerable
income to its possessor. I heard, in fact, that the proprietor had
been offered twenty-five thousand dollars for this farm. And in what
kind of a _house_ does my reader imagine this wealthy man resided?
In a miserable log hovel, a decayed and windowless one, which a
respectable member of the _swine_ family would hardly deign to
occupy. Instances something like to this had already come to my
knowledge, and caused me to wonder at the inconsistency and apparent
want of common sense manifested by some of the farmers of this
country, but this instance capped the climax. But again, the
individual alluded to is a _white man_, and prides himself upon
being more intelligent and acute than his neighbors; and yet one of
his neighbors is an _Indian woman_, who raises _only_ about _five
thousand_ bushels of potatoes per annum, but occupies a comfortable
dwelling and lives like a rational being.
After leaving the above valley, my course lay over two distinct
spurs of the Alleghanies, which are divided by the river
Nan-ti-ha-lah, and consequently called the Nan-ti-ha-lah Mountains.
In ascending the western ridge, I noticed that at the foot and
midway up the pass the trees were all arrayed in their summer
verdure, and among the forest trees were many chestnut and poplar
specimens, which were at least seven or eight feet in diameter;
while the more elevated portions of the ridge were covered with
scrub and white oak, which were entirely destitute of foliage and
not even in the budding condition. No regular cliffs frowned upon me
as I passed along, but the mountains on either side were almost
perpendicular, and in one or two places were at least twenty-five
hundred feet high. In the side of the highest of these mountains, I
was informed, is a deep fissure or cave, which extends to the summit
of the hill, where the outlet is quite small. When the wind is
blowing from the northwest it passes entirely through this long and
mysterious cavern, and when issuing from the top comes with such
force as to _throw out_ all the smaller stones which one may happen
to drop therein. In descending this spur, the road passes directly
along the margin of the most gloomy thicket imaginable. It is about
a mile wide and somewhat over three miles in length. It is rank with
vegetation, and the principal trees are laurel and hemlock. Even at
noonday it is impossible to look into it more than a half a dozen
yards, and then you but peer into the opening of leafy caves and
grottoes which are perpetually cool and very desolate. It is said to
abound in the more ferocious of wild animals, and no white man is
yet known to have mustered courage enough to explore the jungle.
During the existence of the Cherokee difficulties, the Indians were
in the habit of encamping on many places on its margin for the
purpose of easily eluding their pursuers; and it is reported of one
Indian hunter, who once entered the thicket, that he never returned,
having, as is supposed, been overpowered by some wild beast. It was
upon the margin of this horrible place, too, that the following
incident occurred. An Indian woman once happened to be travelling
down the mountain, unaccompanied by her husband, but with three
young children, two little girls and a papoose. In an unexpected
moment an enraged panther crossed their trail, and while it fell
upon and destroyed the mother and one child, the elder girl ran for
her life, carrying the infant on her back. The little heroine had
not gone over a half a mile with her burden before the panther
caught up with her, and dragged the infant from her grasp; and while
the savage creature was destroying this third victim, the little
girl made her escape to a neighboring encampment.
The river Nan-ti-ha-lah, or the _Woman’s Bosom_, was so named on
account of its undulating and narrow valley, and its own intrinsic
purity and loveliness. Upon this river is situated a rude but
comfortable cabin, which is the only one the traveller meets with in
going a distance of twenty miles. On first approaching this cabin, I
noticed a couple of sweet little girls playing on the greensward
before the door with a beautiful fawn, which was as tame as a lamb.
This group, taken in connection with the wildness of the surrounding
scene, gave me a most delightful feeling, the contrast was so
strange and unexpected. The proprietor of the cabin owns about five
thousand acres of land in this wilderness region, and is by
profession a grazing farmer. He raises a goodly number of cattle as
well as horses and mules, and his principal markets for them are
Charleston and Savannah, to which cities he performs a pilgrimage in
the autumn of every year. He is one of the “oldest inhabitants” of
the region, and as I spent one night under his roof, I took occasion
to draw from him a few anecdotes connected with his own experience.
On questioning him with regard to the true character of the panther,
he replied as follows: “I don’t know _much_ about this animal, but I
have had one chance to study their nature which I can’t forget. It
was a very dark night, and I was belated on the western ridge, near
the Big Laurel ravine. I was jogging along at a slow rate, when my
horse made a terrible leap aside, and I saw directly in front of me
one of the biggest of panthers. He soon uttered a shriek or scream
(which sounded like a woman in distress) and got out of the way, so
that I could pass along. Every bone in my horse’s body trembled with
fear, and I can tell you that my own feelings were pretty squally.
On my way was I still jogging, when the panther again made his
appearance, just as he had before, and gave another of his infernal
yells. I had no weapon with me, and I now thought I was a gone case.
Again did the animal disappear, and again did I continue on my
journey. I had not gone more than a hundred yards before I saw, on
the upper side of the road, what looked like a couple of balls of
fire, and just as I endeavored to urge my horse a little faster,
another dreadful scream rang far down the valley. But, to make a
long story short, this animal followed me until I got within a half
a mile of my house, and, though he _ran around_ me at least a dozen
times, and uttered more than a dozen screams, he never touched me,
and I got safely home. If you can gather any information from this
adventure you are welcome to it; but all I know about the animal is
this, that I hate him as I do the devil.”
My host informed me that he was one of the men appointed by the
Government to assess the property of the Cherokees at the time of
their removal, and was subsequently employed to aid in their coerced
removal. With a view of pacifying the Indians, it had been
stipulated that the cabin and improvements of each Indian should be
assessed, and an equivalent in money should be paid into his hands
for said property; and a part of the nation, it will be remembered,
including the head chief, were opposed to the treaty of banishment.
In fulfilling his duties as a Government officer, my informant
endured many hardships, subjected himself to much peril, and met
with many touching as well as some ridiculous scenes. In the course
of a few months he visited, in connection with his assistant and
interpreter, every cabin in the counties of Cherokee and Macon; and,
from the numerous adventures which he related to me, I will record
two or three.
“At one time,” said my friend, “we arrived at a cabin where we knew
resided, ‘solitary and alone,’ an old bachelor Indian. It was night,
and very cold and stormy. As we were tying our horses the Indian
heard us, and, knowing our business, immediately arose and fastened
his door that we should not get in. We remonstrated from without,
and told him we were almost frozen, and he must admit us, but never
a word would he answer; and this was repeated several times. We
finally got mad and knocked down the door and entered. The Indian
was lying upon a bench before the fire, and by his side were four
dogs. We asked him a number of questions, but still did he keep
silent. We had by this time made up our minds to ‘take care of
number one,’ and proceeded to cook our bacon. In doing this we had
great difficulty on account of the dogs, which were almost starved
to death, and were constantly grabbing up our victuals from the
coals. They were the ugliest animals that I ever saw, and did not
care a pin for the heavy licks that we gave them. And the only way
we could get along was for the interpreter to cook the meat, while
my assistant and myself seated ourselves at the two corners of the
hearth, and as the dogs jumped over the body of the Indian, (who was
yet lying on his bench,) we would grab them by the neck and tail and
pitch them across the room. So this interesting business continued
until the meat was cooked. I then took a slice, put it on a piece of
bread, and giving it to the Indian, said to him: ‘Now don’t be a
fool, take this meat and be good friends, for we don’t want to
injure you.’ Whereupon he got over his resentment, took the meat,
and began talking so that we could not stop him.”
But another incident related to me was truly affecting, and occurred
at the time of removal. “There was an old Indian,” continued my
host, “named _Euchellah_, who had thrown out the idea that he was a
strong man, and never would submit to leave his cabin willingly:
those who wanted him to go must take him by force. It was in the
forenoon, and a whole posse of officers entered his cabin, and after
a pretty severe scuffle we succeeded in fastening the old fellow’s
arms and hands with a rope. He now saw that he must go, and told his
wife to get ready, and she got ready _by going out to feed her pig
and the chickens_, just as if she was coming back in a few hours. We
then started with our prisoners, and just as we were crossing a hill
which overlooked the Indian’s cabin, he suddenly wheeled about, and
as his eyes fell upon his little garden and his hut, he burst into
tears, and I thought the man’s heart would break. And now when
people tell me that the Indian never weeps, I tell them it’s no such
thing; but, it was true, _Euchellah_ had some reason to feel bad;
for he had four children buried near his cabin, and had lived there
for fifty years. We continued on our way to the West, but in two
days our Indian made his escape with his wife. We hunted for them
among the mountains, and though we recaptured Euchellah, we never
could find his wife, and afterwards heard that she starved to death
on a distant mountain. The Indian was now guarded by four soldiers;
but, while crossing a certain gap, he suddenly rose upon his keepers
and killed three of them, while the other officer, as well as
himself, escaped. The Indian was again taken prisoner, tried by
court martial, and sentenced _to be executed_. When told that he was
to be shot down by a rifle ball, he manifested no fear, and, up to
the moment that he was shot down, not a tear made its appearance in
his eye. He could weep on leaving his home, but he would not weep
when he came to die. And the old man was buried on the road side,
half way between this place and Murphy.”
“But another removal incident that I remember,” continued my
landlord, “was to this effect. It was another old Indian who had a
large family and was religious. When we called to take him, he said
he only wanted to ask one favor, which was, that we would let him
_have one more prayer with his wife and children in his old cabin_.
We of course granted the request, and when he was through out came
the old fellow and said that he was ready. But just as we were
leaving the little clearing, the Indian called his wife and children
to his side, and talked to them in the most poetical and affecting
manner about their meager but much-loved possession, which they were
about to leave for ever. He then took the lead of our procession,
and without uttering a word, marched onward with a firm step. We
never heard this man’s voice again until we had passed beyond the
Mississippi.”
The scenery lying between the Nan-ti-ha-lah and this place is of the
wildest character. From the summit of the pass and along the road as
you descend to the eastward, a number of very imposing scenes
present themselves, but chief among all the hills rises the rugged
peak of _Bald Mountain_. The prospect from this point is similar to
that which I have described from Trail Mountain, but the legend
which commemorates the place is quite interesting, and accounts for
the baldness of the mountain’s top, which was formerly covered with
a dense forest. The Cherokees relate that there once existed among
those mountains a very large bird, which resembled in appearance the
green-winged hornet, and this creature was in the habit of carrying
off the younger children of the nation who happened to wander into
the woods. Very many children had mysteriously disappeared in this
manner, and the entire people declared a warfare against the
monster. A variety of means were employed for his destruction, but
without success. In process of time it was determined that the wise
men (or medicine men) of the nation should try their skill in the
business. They met in council and agreed that each one should
station himself on the summit of a mountain, and that, when the
creature was discovered, the man who made the discovery should utter
a loud halloo, which shout should be taken up by his neighbor on the
next mountain, and so continued to the end of the line, that all the
men might have a shot at the strange bird. This experiment was tried
and resulted in finding out the hiding-place of the monster, which
was a deep cavern on the eastern side of the Blue Ridge and at the
fountain-head of the river Too-ge-lah. On arriving at this place,
they found the entrance to the cavern entirely inaccessible by
mortal feet, and they therefore prayed to the Great Spirit that he
would bring out the bird from his den, and place him within reach of
their arms. Their petition was granted, for a terrible thunder-storm
immediately arose, and a stroke of lightning tore away one half of a
large mountain, and the Indians were successful in slaying their
enemy. The Great Spirit was pleased with the courage manifested by
the Cherokees during this dangerous fight, and, with a view of
rewarding the same, he willed it that all the highest mountains in
their land should thereafter be destitute of trees, so that they
might always have an opportunity of watching the movements of their
enemies.
As a sequel to this legend, it may be appropriately mentioned, that
at the head of the Too-ge-lah is to be found one of the most
remarkable curiosities in this mountain-land. It is a granite cliff,
with a smooth surface or front, half a mile long, and twelve hundred
feet high, and generally spoken of in this part of the country as
the _White-side Mountain_, or _the Devil’s Court-house_. To think of
it is almost enough to make one dizzy, but to see it fills one with
awe. Near the top of one part of this cliff is a small cave, which
can be reached only by passing over a strip of rock about two feet
wide. One man only has ever been known to enter it, and when he
performed the deed he met at the entrance of the cave a large bear,
which animal, in making its escape, slipped off the rock, fell a
distance of near a thousand feet, and was of course killed. When the
man saw this, he became so much excited that it was some hours
before he could quiet his nerves sufficiently to retrace his
dangerous pathway.
LETTER X.
Franklin, North Carolina, May, 1848.
The little village of Franklin is romantically situated on the
Little Tennessee. It is surrounded with mountains, and as quiet and
pretty a hamlet as I have yet seen among the Alleghanies. On the
morning after entering this place, I went to the post office, for
the purpose of obtaining a peep at the last number of the National
Intelligencer, whereupon the officiating gentleman informed me that
I should find it at the office of a young lawyer whom he named. I
called upon the legal gentleman, and found him, like all the
intelligent people of the country, very polite and well informed. In
speaking of the surrounding pictorial associations he alluded to a
certain waterfall, and added that the gentleman who referred me to
him owned a plantation near the falls, on a famous trout-stream, and
was an _angler_. On this hint I sent a couple of handsome flies, as
a present, to my post-office friend, and in less than twenty minutes
thereafter he made his appearance at my lodgings, and insisted that
we should go upon a fishing excursion, and that the lawyer should
accompany us. Horses were immediately procured, and having rode a
distance of ten miles along a very beautiful stream called
_Kul-la-sa-jah_, or _the Sugar Water_, we came to the chasm leading
to the falls. Here we tied our horses, and while my companions
commenced throwing the fly, I proceeded to the more profitable
employment of taking sketches.
The chasm of the Sugar Water Falls is about half a mile long, and
immediately below the precipices are perpendicular and very
imposing, reaching an elevation of at least one thousand feet. The
falls themselves are three in number—the first and principal one
being about sixty feet high. Emptying into the Sweet Water, directly
at the lower end of the chasm, is a tiny brook without a name, upon
which I found a cascade of great beauty. The water falls near forty
feet, but sings its eternal song in a shadowy recess, where hoary
trees, mossy rocks, and exquisite vines, of every variety peculiar
to the country, remain in their original wildness. As I clambered up
the ravine leading to this cascade, I startled a doe from the green
couch where she had been spending the noontide hours. I added a
number of sketches to my portfolio, and after spending “alone in my
glory” the whole afternoon, wandering from one chasm to another, I
left the delightful valley with reluctance, musing upon the
marvellous beauty of every thing in the world formed by the hand of
God.
On arriving at the spot where our horses were tied, I found my
companions both wearing uncommonly long faces, for they had not
succeeded in killing a single trout. I joked my post-office friend
about his “famous trout-stream,” and then, remounting our horses, we
paid a visit to his plantation, where we enjoyed a comfortable
supper, and continued on our way home by the light of the moon.
Under any circumstances this would have been an agreeable ride, but
on the present occasion my companions did all the talking, and the
substance of two of their stories I herewith subjoin merely as
specimens:
“I can’t account for our bad luck in catching trout today,” said my
post-office friend; “but I do assure you that a couple of young men
named Hyatt, and myself, once went a fishing in the Sweet Water, and
we took one hundred and seventy-five trout. But this is not to the
purpose. On that occasion we fished up the stream; and when we came
to the mouth of the chasm, we saw a big buck, which we frightened
towards the falls as we ascended. When we came near the falls, one
of the Hyatts and myself stopped fishing, and went to work to corner
the buck, and see if we could kill him with stones, or cause him to
drown himself. There was no way for him to make his escape, except
by running directly over us, and this we did not suppose he would
dare attempt. He made many desperate efforts to get away, and at one
time managed to climb an almost perpendicular wall of rock to the
height of some twenty feet, when he lost his foothold and fell into
the pool below. He now became very much enraged, but we continued to
pelt him with stones, though without effecting any serious injury.
After bothering him for at least half an hour, the creature finally
got upon the rocks at the lower part of the pool, when he swept by
us with great fury, and started down the chasm, making some of the
most fearful leaps that I ever saw. And now it so happened that we
saw the younger Hyatt standing upon a rock and casting his fly upon
a pool, where we thought the deer must pass in his downward course,
and we immediately shouted to the angler to ‘look out.’ He did so,
and immediately drew out a hunting-knife which he had in his pocket,
and as the deer tumbled into the pool, young Hyatt actually _jumped
upon his back, and succeeded in giving him a fatal stab_, so that
the animal merely crawled upon the rocks to die. It was quite late
in the evening before we started for home, and we only brought the
skin along with us; but as we left the chasm, we saw a large panther
descending one of the cliffs of the gorge, as if hastening to have a
feast upon the dead deer.”
The “story” of my lawyer friend, or rather a fragment of his
entertaining conversation was as follows: “As it is important, Mr.
Lanman, that you should not leave our country without learning
something of our great personages, and as our companion here is a
modest man, I will give you a brief sketch of his character. He is a
gentleman of some property, for he not only owns the plantation
where we took supper, but one or two others of equal value. He is
one of the oldest residents in this mountain region—a gentleman of
fine moral character, and with a heart as guileless as that of a
child. He is a passionate lover of scenery, and has probably
explored the beauties of this mountain land more thoroughly than any
other man now living; he is also a great lover of botany, geology,
insectology, and a dozen other ologies, and I believe has made a
number of discoveries in all his favorite studies. As you have
heard, he tells a capital story, and, as you may see by looking into
some of our southern newspapers, he uses the pen with ease and a
degree of elegance. He cherishes a love for the ‘angle art,’ and I
must say usually succeeds in his fishing exploits much better than
he has to-day. By profession he is a knight of the needle; but,
being somewhat advanced in years, he amuses himself by fulfilling
the duties of deputy postmaster in the village of Franklin.”
The lawyer was here interrupted by the _hero_ of his story, who
_insisted_ upon his changing the “subject theme,” and the
consequence is, my readers will be disappointed in obtaining any
more information respecting the scientific deputy postmaster of the
Alleghany mountains.
But, leaving the intellectual out of view, the most interesting
character whom I have seen about Franklin is an old Cherokee Indian.
His name is _Sa-taw-ha_, or _Hog-Bite_, and he is upwards of one
hundred years of age. He lives in a small log hut among the
mountains, the door of which is so very low that you have to crawl
into it upon your hands and knees. At the time the greater part of
his nation were removed to the Far West, the “officers of _justice_”
called to obtain his company. He saw them as they approached, and,
taking his loaded rifle in hand, he warned them not to attempt to
lay their hands upon him, for he would certainly kill them. He was
found to be so resolute and so very old, that it was finally
concluded by those in power that the old man should be left alone.
He lives the life of a hermit, and is chiefly supported by the
charity of one or two Indian neighbors, though it is said he even
now occasionally manages to kill a deer or turkey. His history is
entirely unknown, and he says he can remember the time when the
Cherokee nation lived upon the shores of a great ocean, (the
Atlantic,) and the color of a white man’s face was unknown.
In the immediate vicinity of this place may be seen another of those
mysterious Indian mounds which we find beautifying nearly all the
valleys of this land. And here it may not be out of place for me to
introduce the opinions concerning their origin which prevail among
the Indian tribes of the South. By some they are said to have been
built by a race of people who have become extinct, and were formerly
used by the Cherokees merely as convenient places to have their
dances and their games. A superstition also prevails, that in the
ancient days every Indian brought to a certain place a small bark
full of the soil which he cultivated, as a tribute to the Great
Spirit, who in return sent them a plenteous harvest. Some allege
that they were the burial places of great warriors and hunters; some
that they were erected as trophies of remarkable victories; others
that they were built as fortresses; and others still that upon them
were performed the more sacred of religious rites. There is also a
tradition existing among the Cherokees that these mounds formerly
contained a species of sacred fire; and it is well known that an
Indian has never been known to deface one of them, and to see them
defaced by the white man always seems to make them unhappy. The only
light (in the way of opinion) that I can throw upon these mounds is,
that they owe their origin to some aboriginal custom similar to that
which has brought together the huge piles of stones which the
traveller meets with in various portions of the southern country.
But all this information is traditionary, the builders of these
mounds are unknown, and all that even the wise of the present
generation can do is to look upon them in silence and wonder.
The gentleman upon whose property the above mentioned mound is
situated is the nabob of the place, an intelligent man, and an old
resident. I am now his guest and he lives in comfortable style, his
dwelling being surrounded with a score or two of out-houses. He
carries on an extensive farming business, and is the owner of a
goodly number of tidy, respectful, and industrious slaves. Though
situated almost within rifle-shot of an impassable mountain, his
residence is associated with clover-fields, a well-managed garden
filled with flowers and vines, ancient trees where sing the katydids
in the evening hours, and above which swoop the joyous and noisy
martin and the beautiful dove; and also with meadow-fields, where
horses and cattle graze during the long summer day. But there is one
association connected with this farm-house which is still ringing in
my ears: I allude to a perpetual chorus of an everlasting quantity
of jackasses, peacocks, and guinea-hens. My host seems to have a
passion for these apparently accidental or unfinished specimens of
natural history; and I must say that I have never before been
privileged to enjoy such unearthly music as I have on his
plantation. The painful braying of a jackass awakens his household
from their slumbers, and the same braying, accompanied by the
screams of the peacock and guinea-hen, continues without ceasing
until the twilight hour, when the whippoorwill takes up her evening
lay, and the world lapses into its nightly repose.
Having spent a Sabbath in Franklin, I obtained a little information
with regard to the religious condition of the people in this section
of country. The only denominations who have preaching here are the
Methodists and Baptists. Among the latter class, the Bible custom of
_washing feet_ is still kept up with rigor. The preachers of both
denominations are itinerants, and, so far as I have seen, are worthy
upright, and sensible men. They seem to think more of preaching the
_doctrines of Christ_ than proclaiming their own learning or
advocating their own opinions, and it is therefore always a pleasure
to hear them; they know their duties, and faithfully fulfil them,
and I believe accomplish much good. The people attend the Sunday
meetings from a distance of ten and fifteen miles; and, as the men
and women all ride on horseback, and as they often come in parties,
their appearance on approaching the church is often exceedingly
picturesque.
On the day of my arrival in this village, a negro teamster met with
an accident while passing over a neighboring mountain, which
resulted in his losing one of his four horses, which happened to
step over a log, and, on being cut loose, fell down a precipice of
forty feet into a pool of water. On being questioned as to the
manner in which the animal fell, the negro briefly but _tell_ingly
replied, “_Ka wallup, ka wallup, ka wallup, ka swash!_” I thought
this a most forcible description, and could not but admire the man’s
ingenuity in representing each somerset by a single word.
Within a few days past I have become acquainted with two insects
which I have never seen described, but which are found in abundance
throughout the South. I allude to the dirt-dauber and the
stump-stinger. In their general appearance they both resemble the
wasp. The first lives in a cell, which it builds on the inner side
of a shed or piazza. It is a noted enemy of the spider, and
possesses the art and the habit of killing that insect in great
numbers. But what is really remarkable, they have a fashion of
stowing away the carcasses of their slaughtered enemies in their
dwellings, as if for future use; and after the cell is full, they
close it with mud, and proceed to build another cell, so that the
opulence of one of them may be calculated by the number of his
closed dwellings. The stump-stinger is remarkable for having
attached to the middle of his body a hard and pointed weapon, with
which he can dig a hole one inch in depth in the body of even a
hickory tree. This weapon he usually carries under his tail, but
when about to be used makes him resemble a gimlet in form. The
instrument is very hard, and composed of two pieces, which he works
up and down, like a pair of chisels. It is supposed that he makes
this hole for the purpose of depositing an egg, and it is alleged
that the tree upon which he once fastens himself always falls to
decay.
But this allusion to insects reminds me of an incident connected
with the ant which I lately noticed in one of my mountain rambles.
While watching an ant-hill, I discovered that the little creatures
were busily engaged in enlarging the hole of their miniature cavern.
While watching their movements with intense interest, my eyes
chanced to fall upon another detachment of the same insect, who were
approaching the hole in question with the dead body of a
grasshopper. The moment this party was discovered by those at the
hole, the whole multitude fell to work and tumbled their dead booty
along at a more rapid rate than before. On reaching the hole an
attempt was made to drag the grasshopper into it, but without
success, for it was too small. A movement to enlarge the hole was
then immediately made, and in a very few moments the slain creature
was out of my sight, and I could almost fancy that I saw the ants
clapping their tiny hands and congratulating themselves upon the
feat they had accomplished. Upon the whole it was one of the most
interesting little incidents that I ever witnessed, and I left the
spot feeling that I understood the words of Scripture which say, “Go
to the ant, thou sluggard, and be wise!”
And now, as the _desultory_ character of this letter will probably
fully satisfy my readers, I will bring it to a close, promising to
be somewhat more circumspect in the future.
LETTER XI.
Qualla Town, North Carolina, May, 1848.
In coming from Franklin to this place, a distance of thirty miles, I
travelled over a wild, mountainous, and thinly settled country,
where I was pained to witness the evil effects of intemperance, and
made happy by following the windings of a beautiful river. Having
been overtaken by a thunder-storm, I found shelter in a rude and
comfortless cabin, which was occupied by a man and his wife and
eight children. Every member of the family was barefooted, and one
or two of the children almost destitute of clothing; not one of the
children, though one or two of them were full-grown girls, could
read a single word; the mother was sickly and haggard in her
appearance, and one of the little boys told me that he had not eaten
a hearty meal for ten days. I subsequently learned that the head of
this household was a miserable drunkard.
The river to which I alluded is the Tuck-a-se-ja, which empties into
the Tennessee. It is a very rapid stream, and washes the base of
many mountains, which are as wild as they were a century ago.
Whenever there occurs any interval land, the soil is very rich, and
such spots are usually occupied. The mountains are all covered with
forest, where wild game is found in abundance. The fact is, the
people of this whole region devote more of their time to hunting
than they do to agriculture, which fact accounts for their
proverbial poverty. You can hardly pass a single cabin without being
howled at by half a dozen hounds, and I have now become so well
educated in guessing the wealth of a mountaineer, that I can fix his
condition by ascertaining the number of his dogs. A rich man seldom
has more than one dog, while a very poor man will keep from ten to a
dozen. And this remark with regard to dogs, strange as it may seem,
is equally applicable to the _children_ of the mountaineers. The
poorest man, without any exception, whom I have seen in this region,
lives in a log cabin with two rooms, and is the father of _nineteen
children_, and the keeper of _six hounds_.
On my arrival in this place, which is the home of a large number of
Cherokee Indians, (of whom I shall have much to say in future
letters,) I became the guest of Mr. William H. Thomas, who is the
“guide, counsellor, and friend” of the Indians, as well as their
business agent. While conversing with this gentleman, he excited my
curiosity with regard to a certain mountain in his vicinity, and,
having settled it in his own mind that I should spend a week or two
with him and his Indians, proposed (first excusing himself on
account of a business engagement) that I should visit the mountain
in company with a gentleman in his employ as surveyor. The proposed
arrangement was carried out, and thus was it that I visited _Smoky
Mountain_.
This mountain is the loftiest of a large brotherhood which lie
crowded together upon the dividing line between North Carolina and
Tennessee. Its height cannot be less than five thousand feet above
the level of the sea, for the road leading from its base to its
summit is seven and a half miles long. The general character of the
mountain is similar to that already given of other Southern
mountains, and all that I can say of its panorama is, that I can
conceive of nothing more grand and imposing. It gives birth to a
pair of glorious streams, the _Pigeon river_ of Tennessee, and the
_Ocono lufty_ of North Carolina, and derives its name from the
circumstance that its summit is always enveloped, on account of its
height, in a blue or smoky atmosphere.
But the chief attraction of Smoky Mountain is a singular cliff known
throughout this region as the _Alum Cave_. In reaching this spot,
which is on the Tennessee side, you have to leave your horses on the
top of the mountain, and perform a pedestrian pilgrimage of about
six miles up and down, very far up and ever so far down, and over
every thing in the way of rocks and ruined vegetation which Nature
could possibly devise, until you come to a mountain side, which is
only two miles from your starting place at the peak. Roaring along
at the base of the mountainside alluded to is a small stream, from
the margin of which you have to climb a precipice, in a zigzag way,
which is at least two thousand feet high, when you find yourself on
a level spot of pulverized stone, with a rocky roof extending over
your head a distance of fifty or sixty feet. The length of this
hollow in the mountain, or “cave,” as it is called, is near four
hundred feet, and from the brow of the butting precipice to the
level below the distance is perhaps one hundred and fifty feet. The
top of the cliff is covered with a variety of rare and curious
plants, and directly over its centre trickles a little stream of
water, which forms a tiny pool, like a fountain in front of a
spacious piazza. The principal ingredients of the rock composing
this whitish cliff are alum, epsom salts, saltpetre, magnesia, and
copperas, and the water which oozes therefrom is distinguished for
its strong medicinal qualities. This strange and almost
inaccessible, but unquestionably very valuable cave, belongs to a
company of neighboring Carolinians, who have already made some money
out of the alum, but have not yet accomplished much in the way of
purifying and exporting the various products in which it abounds.
The scenery upon which this cave looks down, however, interested me
quite as much as the cave itself. From the most comprehensive point
of view two mountains descend abruptly into a kind of amphitheatre,
where the one on the right terminates in a very narrow and ragged
ridge, which is without a particle of vegetation, while far beyond,
directly in front of the cave, rises a lofty and pointed mountain,
backed by some three or four of inferior magnitude. The ridge which
I have mentioned is itself very high, but yet the cave looks down
upon it, and it is so fantastic in its appearance that from
different points of view you may discover holes leading like windows
entirely through it, while from other places you might fancy that
you looked upon a ruined castle, a decayed battlement, or the
shattered tower of an old cathedral. To gaze upon this prospect at
the sunset hour, when the mountains were tinged with a rosy hue, and
the immense hollow before me was filled with a purple atmosphere,
and I could see the rocky ledge basking in the sunlight like a huge
monster on the placid bosom of a lake, was to me one of the most
remarkable and impressive scenes that I ever witnessed; and then
remember, too, that I looked upon this wonderful prospect from a
framework of solid rock, composed of the stooping cliff. It was a
glorious picture, indeed, and would have amply repaid one for a
pilgrimage from the remotest corner of the earth.
The ordinary time required to visit the Alum Cave is two days; but,
owing to bad weather, my friend and myself occupied the most of four
days in performing the same trip. To give a minute account of all
that we met with would occupy too much time, and I will therefore
only record in this place the incidents which made the deepest
impression on my own mind.
Our first night from home we spent in the cabin of a man who treated
us with the utmost kindness, and would not receive a penny for his
pains. So much for mountain hospitality. And now, to prove that our
friend was an intelligent man, it may be mentioned that he is an
adept in the following professions and trades, viz. those of
medicine, the law, the blacksmith, the carpenter, the hunter, the
shoemaker, the watchmaker, the farmer, and he also seemed to possess
an inkling of some half dozen sciences. Now, I do not exactly mean
to assert that the gentleman is a master practitioner in all these
departments of human learning and industry; but if you were to judge
of his ability by his use of technical words, you would not for a
moment imagine he could have a competitor. But so it is in this wild
region, one man has to perform the intellectual labor of a whole
district; and, what is really a hard case, the knowledge which is
thus brought to so good a market is nearly always the fruit of a
chance education, and not of a systematic one.
Among those who spent the night with us under the roof of the above
accomplished man, was one of the idle vagabonds of the country. This
individual, it appears, had met with a singular accident on the day
previous, and amused us by relating it. I regret that I cannot
remember all the singular epithets that he employed, but I will do
my best to report him faithfully:
“Now, the way the thing happened was this, and I reckon you never
heard sich like afore. A lot of us fellers was out in ‘Squire
Jones’s millpond a washing ourselves and swimming. Now, I allow this
pond, in a common way, is nigh on to half a mile long; but at this
time they were draining the pond, and it warnt so very large. Wall,
there was one spot, well nigh the middle—no, not exactly; I reckon
it was a little to the left—where the water poured out into a rale
catarock. The fellers I was with got the devil in ’em, and offered
to bet the tobaccer that I couldn’t swim near the big hole in the
dam without going through. I agreed, for I always counted myself a
powerful swimmer. I made one try, and just touched the outside of
the whirlpool. The fellers laughed at me and said I couldn’t come
it. I knew they said what was not so, and I got mad. I tried it
again, and went a bit nearer, when they yelled out again and said it
was no go. By this time I was considerable perplexed, but I swore to
myself I would have the tobaccer, and I made one more try. But this
time I got into the whirlpool, and couldn’t get out; and, in less
than no time, the water wheeled my head round to the hole, and in I
went quick as a streak. I went through the hole, ’bout four or six
feet long—no, I allow ’twas seven feet—and fell into the surge
below, and, in five minutes or so—perhaps six—I was on dry land,
sound as a button. The joke was on the fellers then, and when I told
’em to hand over my plunder, they said they would, and told me I
looked like a big frog when I come out of the hole into the pool
below the dam.”
On the following morning we travelled to the foot of Smoky Mountain,
and having obtained a guide, who happened to be one of the
proprietors of Alum Cave, we resumed our journey. In the immediate
vicinity of the cave we came across an Indian camp, where were two
Indians who were out bear-hunting. We were admitted under their bark
roof, and with them spent the night, sleeping upon the ground. We
remained a sufficient length of time to enjoy one supper and one
breakfast; the first was composed of corn bread and bear meat, and
the second of trout (caught in a neighboring stream) and a corn cake
fried in the fat of a bear.
On questioning our Indian landlords, as we sat around our watch
fire, with regard to the Alum Cave, I could only gather the fact
that it was originally discovered by the famous chief Yo-na-gus-ka,
who happened in his youth to track a bear to one of its corners,
where he had a den. Disappointed on this score, I then turned to our
guide to see what he could tell me about the cave that was not
connected with its minerals, and the substance of his narrative was
as follows:
I hav’n’t much to say about the cave that I knows of, excepting one
or two little circumstances about myself and another man. The first
time I come here it was with my brother and two Indians. The sight
of this strange gash in the mountain and the beautiful scenery all
around made me very excited, and I was for climbing on top, and no
mistake. The Indians and my brother started with me up the ledge at
the north end of the cave, but when we got up about half way, just
opposite to an eagle’s nest, where the creatures were screaming at a
fearful rate, they all three of ’em backed down, and said I must not
keep on. I told ’em I was determined to see the top, and I would. I
did get on top, and, after looking round a while and laughing at the
fellows below, I began to think of going down again. And then it was
that I felt a good deal skeered. I found I couldn’t get down the way
I got up, so I turned about for a new place. It was now near
sundown, and I hadn’t yet found a place that suited me, and I was
afraid I’d have to sleep out alone and without any fire. And the
only way I ever got down was to find a pine tree that stood pretty
close to a low part of the ledge, some three hundred yards from the
cave, when I got into its top, and so came down among my friends,
who said it was a wonder I hadn’t been killed.
“I generally have had to pilot all strangers to the cave since that
time, and I remember one circumstance that happened to a Tennessee
lawyer, who caused us a good deal of fun; for there was a party of
young gentlemen there at the time. We had a camp right under the
cave, where it’s always dry, and about midnight the lawyer I
mentioned suddenly jumped up as we were all asleep, and began to
yell in the most awful manner, as if something dreadful had
happened. He jumped about as if in the greatest agony, and called on
God to have mercy on him, for he knew he would die. O, he did carry
on at a most awful rate, and we thought he must have been bitten by
some snake or was crazy, so we tore off his clothes to see what was
the matter; and what do you suppose we found? Nothing but a harmless
little lizard, that had run up the poor man’s legs, all the way up
to his arm-pits, thinking, I suppose, that his clothes was the bark
of a dead tree. After the trouble was all over, the way we laughed
at the fellow was curious.”
Our second day at the Alum Cave (and third one from home) was a
remarkably cheerless one; for a regular snowstorm set in, mingled
with hail, and, before we could reach our horses and descend the
Smoky Mountain, some three or four inches of snow had fallen. We
spent that night under the roof of our good friend and worthy man,
the guide, and it was with difficulty that we could induce him to
receive a quarter eagle for all his trouble in piloting us and
treating us to his best fare. On that night we ate our supper at
nine o’clock, and what rendered it somewhat peculiar was the fact
that his two eldest daughters, and very pretty girls besides, waited
upon us at table, holding above our heads a couple of torches made
of the fat pine. That was the first time that I was ever waited upon
in so regal a style, and more than once during the feast did I long
to retire in a corner of the smoky and dingy cabin to take a sketch
of the romantic scene. At sunrise on the following morning my
companion and myself remounted our horses, and in three hours were
eating our breakfast in Qualla Town.
LETTER XII.
Qualla Town, North Carolina, May, 1848.
_Qualla Town_ is a name applied to a tract of seventy-two thousand
acres of land, in Haywood county, which is occupied by about eight
hundred Cherokee Indians and one hundred Catawbas. Their district is
mountainous from one extremity to the other, and watered by a number
of beautiful streams, which abound in fish; the valleys and slopes
are quite fertile, and the lower mountains are well adapted to
grazing, and at the same time are heavily timbered and supplied with
every variety of game. This portion of a much larger multitude of
aborigines, in consideration of their rank and age, and of valuable
services rendered to the United States, were permitted by the
General Government to remain upon their native soil, while the great
body of the Cherokee nation were driven into exile. They (the
exiles) amounted in all to more than sixteen thousand souls,
_eighteen hundred and fifty_ having died on their way to the
“_promised land_” beyond the Mississippi. And here it may with
propriety be added, that since the removal those in the West have
gradually decreased in numbers, while the remaining portion have
steadily increased by births at the rate of four per cent. per
annum. In addition to the Indians above mentioned, it ought to be
stated that there is a remnant of two hundred still remaining in the
county of Cherokee; of those, however, I know but little, and
therefore purpose to confine my remarks to those of Qualla Town
alone.
The Indians of this district, having formed themselves into a
regular company, with appropriate regulations, they elected an old
friend of theirs, named William H. Thomas, (mentioned in my last
letter,) to become their business chief, so that the connection now
existing between the two parties is that of father and children.
What the result of this arrangement has been will be fully
understood when I come to speak of the advance which the Indians
have made in the march of civilization. As they are organized at the
present time, the Qualla Town people are divided into seven clans,
and to each clan is assigned what is called a town, over each of
which presides a regular chief. The Cherokee nation was originally
divided into seven clans, which were probably descended from certain
noted families, and the old party feeling is still preserved with
jealous care among their descendants in this vicinity. The names of
the clans are: In-e-chees-quah, or Bird Clan; In-egil-lohee, or
Pretty-faced Clan; In-e-wo-tah, or Paint Clan; In-e-wah-he-yah, or
Wolf Clan; In-e-se-ho-nih, or Blue Clan; In-e-co-wih, or Deer Clan;
and In-e-eo-te-ca-wih, the meaning of which is not known. And among
the customs which prevail among these clans is one which prevents
their marrying among themselves, so that they have to select their
wives from a neighboring fraternity. Formerly such marriages were
prohibited by penalty of death.
With regard to the extent of their civilization and their existing
manner of life, the following may be looked upon as a comprehensive
summary: About three-fourths of the entire population can read in
their own language, and, though the majority of them understand
English, a very few can speak the language. They practise, to a
considerable extent, the science of agriculture, and have acquired
such a knowledge of the mechanic arts as answers them for all
ordinary purposes, for they manufacture their own clothing, their
own ploughs, and other farming utensils, their own axes, and even
their own guns. Their women are no longer treated as slaves, but as
equals; the men labor in the fields, and their wives are devoted
entirely to household employments. They keep the same domestic
animals that are kept by their white neighbors, and cultivate all
the common grains of the country. They are probably as temperate as
any other class of people on the face of the earth, honest in their
business intercourse, moral in their thoughts, words, and deeds, and
distinguished for their faithfulness in performing the duties of
religion. They are chiefly Methodists and Baptists, and have
regularly ordained ministers, who preach to them on every Sabbath,
and they have also abandoned many of their mere senseless
superstitions. They have their own courts and try their criminals by
a regular jury. Their judges and lawyers are chosen from among
themselves. They keep in order the public roads leading through
their settlement. By a law of the State they have the right to vote,
but seldom exercise that right, as they do not like the idea of
being identified with any of the political parties. Excepting on
festive days, they dress after the manner of the white man, but far
more picturesquely. They live in small log houses of their own
construction, and have every thing they need or desire in the way of
food. They are, in fact, the happiest community that I have yet met
with in this Southern country, and no candid man can visit them
without being convinced of the wickedness and foolishness of that
policy of the Government which has always acted upon the opinion
that the red man could not be educated into a reasonable being.
By way of giving my readers a correct idea of the present condition
of the Carolina Cherokees I will describe a visit that I paid to one
of their churches on the Sabbath. I was anxious to see how far they
were advanced in the ways of Christian instruction, and, though I
noticed many little eccentricities, I was, upon the whole, very much
pleased with what I saw and heard. I was accompanied by Mr. Thomas,
and we reached the rude but spacious log meeting-house about eleven
o’clock. The first hour was devoted to instructing the children from
a Cherokee Catechism, and the chiefs of the several clans were the
officiating teachers. At twelve o’clock a congregation of some one
hundred and fifty souls was collected, a large proportion of whom
were women, who were as neatly dressed as could be desired, with
tidy calico gowns, and fancy handkerchiefs tied over their heads.
The deportment of all present was as circumspect and solemn as I
have ever witnessed in any New England religious assembly. When a
prayer was offered they all fell upon their knees, and in singing
all but the concluding hymn they retained their seats. Their form of
worship was according to the Methodist custom, but in their singing
there was a wild and plaintive sweetness which was very impressive.
The women and children as well as the men participated in this
portion of the ceremony, and some of the female voices reminded me
of the caroling of birds. They sung four hymns; three prayers were
offered by several individuals, and two sermons or exhortations were
delivered. The prayers were short and pointed, and, as the shortest
might be considered a fair specimen of the others, I will transcribe
it for the edification of my readers:
“Almighty Lord, who art the father of the world, look down from
heaven on this congregation. Bless the Indians, and supply them with
all the food and clothing they may want; bless, also, the white men,
and give them every thing they may need. Aid us all, O Lord, in all
our good works. Take care of us through life, and receive us in
heaven when the world shall be burnt up. We pray thee to take care
of this young white man who has come to this Indian meeting. Protect
him in all his travels, and go with him to his distant home, for we
know by his kind words that he is a friend of the poor, ignorant,
and persecuted Indian. Amen!”
The first preacher who addressed the meeting was a venerable man,
_Big Charley_, and he took for his text the entire first chapter of
John; but, before proceeding with his remarks, he turned to Mr.
Thomas and wished to know if he should preach with the
“_linguister_,” or interpreter, for the benefit of the young
stranger. I told him no; but requested Mr. Thomas to take notes,
and, through his kindness, it is now my privilege to print the
substance of that Cherokee sermon. It was as follows:
“In the beginning of creation, the world was covered with water. God
spake the word and the dry land was made. He next made the day and
the night; also, the sun, moon, and stars. He then made all the
beasts and birds and fishes in the world, and was much pleased. He
wanted some one to take care of all these creatures, and so he made
man, and from his body a woman, to help him and be his companion. He
put them into a beautiful garden, which was filled with all kinds of
good things to eat, but told them that there was one fruit they must
not touch. That fruit was an apple, I believe. The woman was not
grateful to God, and when a wicked serpent told her she might eat of
the beautiful fruit which she was so curious to taste, she did eat
of it, and gave some to the man, and he took some too. God talked
with the man about his wicked conduct, and told him that he and his
children should always have to work very hard for all they had to
eat, so long as they lived in the world; and to the woman, God said,
she must always suffer very much when she had children, and that the
man should be her master. The man and woman were then turned out of
the beautiful garden, and they were the father and mother of all the
Indians in the world, as well as the white men and the black men.
They had a great many children, and the world was very full of
people. The people were very wicked, and God warned a good man that
he intended to destroy the world by covering it all with water, and
that this good man must build a large boat like a house, and get
into it with his family, that they might not perish. The people
laughed at this good man for believing such a story; but he took
into his house two kinds of all the animals in the world, and the
waters came; so the world was destroyed. After many days the good
man sent out a dove to find some land, but it could not find any and
came back. He sent it out again, and it never returned, and soon the
great house rested on the top of a high mountain. Another race of
people then covered the earth; and a great many good men lived upon
the earth. One of the greatest of them it was who received from God
the _ten commandments_, which direct all men how to be good and
happy; but the world was yet very wicked. Long after this, God sent
into the world his only Son, whose name was Jesus Christ. This
wonderful being it was who gave up his own life that all the wicked
of the world might be saved, and the justice of God be satisfied;
and so it is, that all the Indians, as well as the white men, who
live like Jesus Christ, can get to heaven when they die.”
In delivering his sermon the preacher occupied about thirty minutes;
and the above facts were cemented together by a great number of
flowery expressions, which made it quite poetical. His manner was
impressive, but not particularly eloquent. After he had taken his
seat, and a hymn had been sung, a young man stepped into the rude
pulpit, who has distinguished himself by his eloquence. His name is
Tekin-neb, or the Garden of Eden. He spoke from the same text, and
his remarks bore chiefly on the redemption by Christ. At the
conclusion of his address he gave a sketch of his own religious
experience, and concluded by a remarkably affecting appeal to his
hearers. His voice, emphasis, and manner were those of a genuine
orator, and his thoughts were poetical to an uncommon degree. In
dwelling upon the marvellous love of the Saviour, and the great
wickedness of the world, he was affected to tears, and when he
concluded there was hardly a dry eye in the house.
After the benediction had been pronounced, Mr. Thomas delivered a
short address to the meeting on Temperance and a few secular
matters, when the Indians quietly dispersed to their several homes.
I retired to my own temporary home, deeply impressed by what I had
seen and heard, for my pride had been humbled while listening to the
rude savage, whose religious knowledge was evidently superior to my
own.
LETTER XIII.
Qualla Town, North Carolina, May, 1848.
The plan adopted for the civilization of the Carolina Cherokees
differs materially from any others adopted in the United States.
Their amusements are not interfered with, excepting when found to
have an immoral or unhappy tendency. A goodly number of their more
ridiculous games, however, they have abandoned of their own accord,
but the manly game of _ball-playing_ is still practised after the
ancient manner, with one or two restrictions. In the first place,
they are not allowed to wager their property on the games, as of
old, unless it be some trifle in the way of a woollen belt or cotton
handkerchief, and they are prohibited from choking each other, and
breaking their heads and legs, when excited, as was their habit in
former times. Since my arrival here the Indians have had one of
their ball games, and as it was gotten up especially for my
edification, I made it a point of etiquette to be present at the
preparatory dance and the game, as well as at the concluding
ceremony, and these I will now endeavor to describe.
The preparatory or training dance took place on the night preceding
the game, and none participated in it who were not to play on the
following day. There were sixty young men present, besides the
spectators, and they met on a grassy plot formed by a bend of a
neighboring stream called Soco Creek. The dancers were stripped of
every particle of clothing but their waistbands; they made their own
music, which was composed merely of a rapid succession of whoops and
shouts; and they danced round a large blazing fire. The night in
question was very beautiful, and when this strange group was looked
upon by the light of the full moon, and the wild mountain scenery on
every side, they presented a most romantic appearance indeed. They
kept up the dance for over an hour, and, when it was concluded, all
the men immediately ran towards a deep pool in the ice-cold stream,
and without waiting for the perspiration to cool, plunged into the
water, and, having finally emerged, started for their several homes.
This dance, I am informed, had its origin in an ancient custom,
which compelled all the candidates for a game of ball to inure
themselves to every hardship for ten days before the game took
place, and during all that time they were to eat but little food,
and were to refrain from gratifying any of their sensual appetites.
On the morning of the game a large plain, lying between two hills
and directly in front of the Indian Courthouse, (a large circular
lodge, built of logs,) was divested of every stone and stick on its
surface, and at ten o’clock the spectators began to assemble. These
were composed of the old men of the nation, a large number of boys,
and a still larger number of women and children. They were all
dressed in their holiday attire, so that feathers, shawl turbans,
scarlet belts, and gaudy hunting shirts were quite abundant; and,
scattered as they were in groups of from five to fifty on the hill
sides and under the shadow of the trees, they presented a most
picturesque appearance. During all this time the players had kept
out of sight, and it was understood that the two parties were among
the bushes, at the two ends of the plain, preparing themselves for
the game. Under the direction of the presiding chief or
game-director, two poles were now erected about six hundred yards
apart, on either side of a given centre, and in this centre was
placed the ball. From this point was the ball to be given to the
players, and the party which first succeeded in throwing it outside
of the pole belonging to their opponents to the number of twelve
times were to be considered the winners.
Every thing being ready, a shrill whoop was given from one end of
the plain, and immediately answered by the opposing party, when they
all made their appearance, marching slowly to the centre, shouting
and yelling as they passed along. Each party consisted of thirty
splendidly formed young men, who were unincumbered by any clothing,
(save their common waistband,) and every individual carried in his
hand a pair of ball sticks, made with a braided bag at one end. As
the parties approached the centre, the lady-loves of the players ran
out upon the plain and gave their favorite champions a variety of
articles, such as belts and handkerchiefs, which they were willing
to wager upon the valor of their future husbands. This little
movement struck me as particularly interesting, and I was greatly
pleased with the bashfulnesss and yet complete confidence with which
the Indian maidens manifested their preferences.
When the several parties were assembled at the centre of the plain,
each man selected his particular antagonist by placing his sticks at
his rival’s feet, after which the game-director delivered a long
speech, wherein he warned them to adhere to the existing
regulations; and, throwing the ball high up in the air, made his
escape to one side of the plain, and the game commenced. As it
proceeded, the players became greatly excited, and I noticed that
the ball was never taken in hand until after it had been picked up
by the _spoony_ stick, but the expertness with which these movements
were performed was indeed surprising. At one time the whole crowd of
players would rush together in the most desperate and fearful
manner, presenting, as they struggled for the ball, the appearance
of a dozen gladiators, striving to overcome a monster serpent; and
then again, as one man would secure the ball and start for the
boundary line of his opponent, the races which ensued were very
beautiful and exciting. Wrestling conflicts also occurred quite
frequently, and it often seemed as if the players would break every
bone in their bodies as they threw each other in the air, or dragged
each other over the ground; and many of the leaps, which single
individuals performed, were really superb. The exercise was of a
character that would kill the majority of white men. The game lasted
for about two hours, and the moment it was finished the entire body
of players, while yet panting with excessive fatigue, made a rush
for the neighboring river, and in a short time appeared on the plain
in their usual garb, and the old chief who had held the stakes
awarded the prizes to the winning party. A short time afterwards the
boys stripped themselves, and went through the same routine of
playing as already described, when the ball-playing was at an end,
and the people began to disperse with a view of getting ready for
the evening dance.
I employed the intervening time by going home with one of the
chiefs, and eating a comfortable supper in his log cabin. The
habitation of this chief was made of hewn logs, and occupied a farm
of twenty acres on the mountain side, about one-fourth of which was
in a state of cultivation, and planted with corn and potatoes. He
had a tidy wife and several children, and his stock consisted of a
pony, a cow, and some ten or a dozen sheep. At nine o’clock, I was
again in the midst of a crowd of Indians, assembled at the
court-house of the town. The edifice, so called, is built of hewn
logs, very large and circular, without any floor but that of solid
earth, and without any seats but one short bench intended for the
great men of the nation. In the centre of this lodge was a large
fire, and the number of persons who figured in the several dances of
the evening, was perhaps two hundred, all fantastically dressed, and
including men, women, and boys. Each dancer made his own music, and,
with one exception, the dances were of the common Indian sort. The
exception alluded to was particularly fantastic, and called “the
Pilgrim Dance.” They came in with packs on their backs, with their
faces strangely painted, and with gourds hanging at their sides, and
the idea seemed to be to represent their hospitality towards all
strangers who visited them from distant lands. The dancing continued
until midnight, when the presiding chief addressed the multitude on
the subject of their duties as intelligent beings, and told them to
return to their several homes and resume their labors in the field
and in the shops. He concluded by remarking that he hoped I was
pleased with what I had witnessed, and trusted that nothing had
happened which would make the wise men of my country in the East
think less of the poor Indian than they did at the present time: and
he then added that, according to an ancient custom, as I was a
stranger they liked, the several chiefs had given me a name, by
which I should hereafter be remembered among the Carolina Cherokees,
and that name was _Ga-taw-hough No-que-sih_, or _The Wandering
Star_.
LETTER XIV.
Qualla Town, North Carolina, May, 1848.
In the present letter I purpose to give you a brief historical
account of certain celebrated Cherokee Indians, who are deservedly
considered as among the bright particular stars of their nation.
Some of them are dead, and some still living, but they were all born
in this mountain land, and it is meet that I should award to each a
“passing paragraph of praise.”
The first individual that I would mention is Yo-na-gus-ka, or the
_Drowning Bear_. He was the principal chief of the Qualla Indians,
and died in the year 1838, in the seventy-fifth year of his age.
When the Cherokees were invited to remove west of the Mississippi in
1809, he petitioned President Jefferson that he might be permitted
to remain with his followers, among his native mountains, and his
prayer was granted. He was eminently a peace chief, but obstinately
declined every invitation of the Government to emigrate, and would
probably have shed his blood and that of all his warriors in
defending his rights. When about sixty years of age he had a severe
fit of sickness, which terminated in a trance; this apparent
suspension of all his faculties lasted about twenty-four hours,
during which period he was supposed to be dead. It so happened,
however, that he recovered, and on resuming his speech, told his
attendants that he had been to the spirit land, and held communion
with his friends who had been long dead, that they were all very
happy. He also stated that he had seen many white men, and that some
of them appeared to be unhappy. The Great Spirit talked with him,
and told him his time was not yet come to leave the world; that he
had been a good and honest man, and that he must return to his
people, and govern them with great care and affection, so that he
might finally come and live with the Great Spirit for ever.
Subsequently to that time his people gave him a new name, which was
Yon-na-yous-ta, or _How like an Indian_. He governed his people like
a father, and was universally beloved. It was at his suggestion that
Mr. Thomas was adopted into the Cherokee nation; the prominent
reasons assigned for such a desire on his part being that Thomas had
proved himself to be the Indian’s friend, and was alone in the
world, having no father or brother. Mr. Thomas exerted a great
influence over him, and among the measures which the former
recommended was the adoption of a temperance society for the
improvement of himself and people, who were all addicted to the
intoxicating bowl. He was a true patriot at heart, and on being
reasoned into a correct state of mind, he expressed his
determination to create a reform. He first reformed himself, and
then summoned a council of all his people, ostensibly but secretly,
for the purpose of establishing a temperance society. At this
council he made a speech to the effect that they knew he had been an
intemperate man, and had discouraged the use of strong drink, which
he was confident was rapidly annihilating his nation; he expected to
be with his people but a short time, and to extricate them from the
great evil he had mentioned was the real purpose of the Great Spirit
in prolonging his life; he also spoke of the many evils to families
and individuals resulting from intemperance; and when he concluded,
it is said that his entire audience were in tears. Taking advantage
of this triumph, he called his scribe, (for he himself was an
illiterate man,) and requested him to write these words upon a sheet
of paper: “The undersigned drink no more whiskey;” to which pledge
he requested that his name should be attached. Every member of the
council appended his name to the paper, and thus was established the
first temperance society among the Cherokees, which has already
accomplished wonders. Among the regulations which he afterwards
proclaimed, was one that each Indian should pay a fine of two
shillings for every offence committed in breaking the pledge, and
that the money thus collected should be expended in extending the
boundaries of their territory. And here it may be well to mention
the fact, that though this “father of temperance” among the Indians
had been extremely dissipated during a period of thirty years, he
was never known, even in _the way of medicine_, to touch a drop of
spirits after his first temperance speech.
The reputation of Yo-na-gus-ka as an orator was co-extensive with
his entire nation. He not only understood the art of working upon
the feelings and clothing his thoughts in the most appropriate
imagery, but the thoughts themselves were invariably sound, and his
arguments unanswerable. From many examples of his reasoning I select
one. When once invited by the officers of Government to remove
westward, even after he and his people had become citizenized, he
was informed that in the West he would have an abundance of the most
fertile land, with plenty of game; also a government of his own;
that he would be undisturbed by the whites, and that the United
States Government would ever protect him from future molestation. In
replying to this invitation, as he stood in the midst of armed
soldiers, he remarked in substance as follows: “I am an old man, and
have counted the snows of almost eighty winters. My hair, which is
now very white, was once like the raven’s wing. I can remember when
the white man had not seen the smoke of our cabins westward of the
Blue Ridge, and I have watched the establishment of all his
settlements, even to the Father of Waters. The march of the white is
still towards the setting sun, and I know that he will never be
satisfied until he reaches the shore of the great water. It is
foolish in you to tell me that the whites will not trouble the poor
Cherokee in the Western country. The white man’s nature and the
Indian’s fate tell a different story. Sooner or later one Government
must cover the whole continent, and the red people, if not scattered
among the autumn leaves, will become a part of the American nation.
As to the white man’s promises of protection, they have been too
often broken; they are like the reeds in yonder river—they are all
lies. North Carolina had acknowledged our title to these lands, and
the United States had guarantied that title; but all this did not
prevent the Government from taking away our lands by force; and, not
only that, but sold the very cow of the poor Indian and his gun, so
as to compel him to leave his country. Is this what the white man
calls justice and protection? No, we will not go to the West. We
wanted to become the children of North Carolina, and she has
received us as such, and passed a law for our protection, and we
will continue to raise our corn in this very land. The people of
Carolina have always been very kind to us, and we know they will
never oppress us. You say the land in the West is much better than
it is here. That very fact is an argument on our side. The white man
must have rich land to do his great business, but the Indian can be
happy with poorer land. The white man must have a flat country for
his plough to run easy, but we can get along even among the rocks on
the mountains. We never shall do what you want us to do. I don’t
like you for your pretended kindness. I always advise my people to
keep their backs for ever turned towards the setting sun, and never
to leave the land of their fathers. I tell them they must live like
good citizens; never forget the kindness of North Carolina, and
always be ready to help her in time of war. I have nothing more to
say.”
When Yo-na-gus-ka was about to die, he summoned his chiefs and
warriors by his bed-side, and talked to them at great length upon
the importance of temperance, and in opposition to the idea of their
emigrating to the West, and made them swear that they would never
abandon the graves of their fathers, or his own grave, which is now
marked by a pile of stones on the margin of the Soco. In personal
appearance he was very handsome, and left two wives. He was the
owner of considerable property, and among his possessions was an old
negro named _Cudjo_. This man is now living, and on questioning him
about his former master he replied: “If Yo-na-gus-ka had had
larning, I b’lieve he’d been a very great man. He never allowed
himself to be called _master_, for he said Cudjo was his brother,
and not his slave. He was a great friend o’ mine, and when he died,
I felt as if I didn’t care about living any longer myself; but
Yo-na-gus-ka is gone, and poor old Cudjo is still alive and well.”
The second character that I will introduce to my readers is now
living in Qualla Town. His name is _Salola_, or the _Squirrel_. He
is quite a young man, and has a remarkably thoughtful face. He is
the blacksmith of his nation, and with some assistance supplies the
whole of Qualla Town with all their axes and ploughs; but what is
more, he has manufactured a number of very superior rifles and
pistols, including stock, barrel, and lock; and he is also the
builder of grist-mills, which grind all the corn which his people
eat. A specimen of his workmanship, in the way of a rifle, may be
seen at the Patent-Office, in Washington, where it was deposited by
Mr. Thomas; and I believe Salola is the first Indian who ever
manufactured an entire gun. But, when it is remembered that he never
received a particle of education in any of the mechanic arts, but is
entirely self-taught, his attainments must be considered truly
remarkable.
That he labors under every disadvantage in his most worthy calling,
may be shown by the fact that he uses a _flint-stone_ for an anvil,
and a _water-blast_ for a bellows. In every particular he is a most
worthy man, and though unable to speak the English tongue, is a very
good scholar in his own language. He is the husband of a Catawba
woman, whom he married _before he could speak one word of her own
tongue, or she could speak Cherokee_; but they have now established
a language of their own, by which they get along very well. Salola,
upon the whole, is an honor to the country, and one whose services
in some iron or steel establishment of the eastern cities would be
of great value. Is there not some gentleman in Philadelphia or
New-York who would take pleasure in patronizing this mechanical
prodigy of the wilderness?
Another of the characters I intended to mention is named _Euchella_.
He is a very worthy chief, and now in the afternoon of his days. He
is quite celebrated among his people as a warrior, but is
principally famous for important services rendered by him to the
United States Government during the Cherokee troubles. He, and a
band of one hundred followers, first attracted public attention by
evading, for upwards of a whole year, the officers of Government who
had been commanded to remove the party beyond the Mississippi. It
having been ascertained, however, that Euchella could not easily be
captured, and would never submit to leave his country, it was
determined that an overture should be made, by which he and his
brotherhood of warriors could be secured to assist the whites in
their troublesome efforts to capture three Indians who had murdered
a number of soldiers. The instrument employed to effect a
reconciliation was the Indian trader, Mr. Thomas, who succeeded in
appointing a meeting with Euchella on a remote mountain-top.
During this interviev, Mr. Thomas remonstrated with Euchella, and
told him that, if he would join the whites, he might remain in
Carolina, and be at peace. “I cannot be at peace,” replied the
warrior, “because it is now a whole year that your soldiers have
hunted me like a wild deer. I have suffered from the white man more
than I can bear. I had a wife and a little child—a brave,
bright-eyed boy—and because I would not become your slave, they were
left to starve upon the mountains. Yes; and I buried them with my
own hand, at midnight. For a whole week at a time have I been
without bread myself, and this in my own country too. I cannot bear
to think upon my wrongs, and I scorn your proposition.” It so
happened, however, that he partially relented, and having submitted
the proposition to his warriors, whom he summoned to his side by a
whoop, they agreed to accept it, and from that time Euchella became
an ally of the army. It was by the efforts of Euchella and his band
that the _murderers_ already mentioned were arrested and punished.
They had been condemned by a court martial, and sentenced to be
shot, and the scorn of death manifested by one of them, named
Charley, is worth recording. He had been given into the hands of
Euchella, and when he was tied to the tree, by one arm, where he was
to die, (to which confinement he submitted without a murmur,) he
asked permission to make a few remarks, which was of course granted,
and he spoke as follows: “And is it by your hands, Euchella, that I
am to die? We have been brothers together; but Euchella has promised
to be the white man’s friend, and he must do his duty, and poor
Charley is to suffer because he loved his country. O, Euchella! if
the Cherokee people now beyond the Mississippi carried my heart in
their bosoms, they never would have left their beautiful native
land—their own mountain land. I am not afraid to die; O, no, I want
to die, for my heart is very heavy, heavier than lead. But,
Euchella, there is one favor that I would ask at your hands. You
know that I had a little boy, who was lost among the mountains. I
want you to find that boy, if he is not dead, and tell him that the
last words of his father were that he must never go beyond the
Father of Waters, but die in the land of his birth. It is sweet to
die in one’s own country, and to be buried by the margin of one’s
native stream.” After the bandage had been placed over his eyes, a
little delay occurred in the order of execution, when Charley gently
raised the bandage, and saw a dozen of Euchella’s warriors in the
very act of firing; he then replaced the cloth, without manifesting
the least anxiety or moving a muscle, and in a moment more the poor
savage was weltering in his blood. And so did all three of the
murderers perish.
Another name, famous in the unwritten annals of Cherokee history, is
that of an Indian named _Guess_, who was the inventor of the
Cherokee alphabet. This alphabet contains eighty-six characters,
each one of which represents a distinct sound. It can be acquired,
by an apt scholar, in the course of ten days, and is now the
foundation of the Cherokee literature. Guess died at the West in the
year 1842.
The individual who translated the New Testament was an educated
Indian, named _Elias Boudinot_, who lost his life by the hand of an
Indian assassin. At the time of his death he was engaged upon a
translation of the Bible, and was cut down in the midst of his
usefulness, in 1839, merely because he had the fearlessness and the
honesty to disagree with a majority of the Arkansas Cherokees in
regard to a certain treaty. _John Ridge_, also an educated Indian,
and his father, Major _Ridge_, were brave and honorable men, who
were the friends of Boudinot, and like him perished by the hands of
assassins, at the same time and for the same cause. The elder
_Ridge_ acted a conspicuous part in the battle of the Horse-Shoe, in
the Creek war; while the younger _Ridge_ was mainly distinguished
for his intelligence and the happy influence of his life and good
works.
LETTER XV.
Ashville, North Carolina, May, 1848.
The distance from Qualla Town to this place is sixty miles. The
first half of the route is exceedingly mountainous and almost
entirely uncultivated, but the valley of Pigeon river, down which
you have to travel for a considerable distance, is very fertile and
well cultivated. A pastoral charm seems to rest upon the scenery,
and in this particular forcibly reminded me of the upper valley of
the Mohawk. I occupied the most of two days in performing this trip,
and the only incident that I met with which was at all unique, was
upon this wise. I had stopped at a farm-house to take my dinner. It
so happened that my host was about to erect a new barn, and some
twenty of his neighbors were assembled for the purpose of raising
the framework to its proper position. An abundance of whiskey had
already been imbibed by a few of this rustic company, and among
these was one individual who had recently been grossly cheated in
purchasing a horse from a Tennessee horse-dealer. He had given a
mule and twenty dollars for the stranger’s gelding, and, though the
animal was quite respectable in appearance, it had turned out to be
old, unsound, and almost without a redeeming quality. The individual
in question was noted for making a fool of himself when intoxicated,
and on this occasion he was determined to prove true to himself. At
this time his horse speculation seemed to weigh heavily upon his
mind, and in his vehement remarks he took particular pains to curse
the entire State of Tennessee, including President Polk. The poor
man finally became so completely excited that he swore he would whip
the first man he met on the road who happened to be from Tennessee;
and so the matter rested. In about thirty minutes thereafter, as
fortune would have it, a man made his appearance on the road,
apparently from the West; and in jeering their noisy companion, the
farmers remarked that “now he would have a chance to revenge
himself.” The excitement of the horse-bitten speculator was
consequently greatly increased, and when the stranger reached the
hilltop he was accosted as follows:
“May I ask you, sir, if you come from Tennessee?”
“I do. What will you have?” replied the stranger.
The Carolinian then related his trading story, which he concluded by
carefully reiterating the determination he had made. The stranger
laughed at the idea, and was about to resume his journey, when the
reins of his horse were seized, and he found that it was indeed
necessary for him to fight his way out of the queer scrape. All
remonstrance on his part was in vain; but at the very moment the
fight was to commence, another horseman rode up, who was also
interrogated as to his native State. His presence had a tendency to
suspend hostilities; but when it was ascertained that he was _only_
a Kentuckian, the Carolinian insisted upon going on with his
business. The feelings of the Kentuckian were now enlisted, and he
declared his intention of regulating the fight; whereupon he made a
large ring, and taking out of his pocket a couple of pistols, he
told the combatants “to go ahead,” and at the same time warned the
bystanders that he would shoot the first man that interfered. The
conclusion of the whole matter was, that the intoxicated man
received a cruel thrashing for his ridiculous conduct, and the two
gentlemen from the West quietly resumed their several journeys.
On my way to this place, I stopped for a few hours at _Deaver’s
Sulphur Springs_, which are about four miles from the French Broad
river, on the road to Clarksville, Georgia. This is one of the most
popular watering-places in the South, not only on account of the
medicinal qualities of the water, but on account of the surrounding
scenery, which is remarkably interesting, and also for the
additional reason that the style in which people are entertained is
well worthy of even such places as Saratoga. The several buildings
connected with the establishment usually accommodate about two
hundred families during the summer months, and they are chiefly from
the cities of Charleston and Savannah. The people of Eastern North
Carolina do not seem to know that they have such a delightful
retreat within their borders which, to a man of genuine taste, is as
far ahead of Saratoga as a mountain stream is ahead of a canal.
With regard to Ashville, I can only say that it is a very busy and
pleasant village, filled with intelligent and hospitable
inhabitants, and is the centre of a mountain land, where Nature has
been extremely liberal and tasteful in piling up her mighty bulwarks
for the admiration of man. Indeed, from the summit of a hill
immediately in the vicinity of the village, I had a southwestern
view which struck me as eminently superb. It was near the sunset
hour, and the sky was flooded with a golden glow, which gave a
living beauty to at least a hundred mountain peaks, from the centre
of which loomed high towards the zenith _Mount Pisgah_ and the _Cold
Mountain_, richly clothed in purple, which are from twenty to thirty
miles distant, and not far from six thousand feet in height. The
middle distance, though in reality composed of wood-crowned hills,
presented the appearance of a level plain or valley, where columns
of blue smoke were gracefully floating into the upper air, and
whence came the occasional tinkle of a bell, as the cattle wended
their way homeward, after roaming among the unfenced hills. Directly
at my feet lay the little town of Ashville, like an oddly-shaped
figure on a green carpet; and over the whole scene dwelt a spirit of
repose, which seemed to quiet even the common throbbings of the
heart.
My first expedition on arriving here was to a gorge in the Blue
Ridge called the _Hickory Nut Gap_. How it came by that name I
cannot imagine, since the forests in this particular region, so far
as I could ascertain, are almost entirely destitute of the hickory
tree. It is true that for a distance of four miles the gorge is
watered by a brook called after the hickory nut, but I take it that
this name is a borrowed one. The entire length of the gap is about
nine miles, and the last five miles are watered by the Rocky Broad
River. The upper part of this stream runs between the Blue Ridge
proper and a spur of the Blue Ridge, and at the point where it
forces a channel through the spur its bed is exceedingly rocky, and
on either hand, until it reaches the middle country of the State, it
is protected by a series of mountain bluffs. That portion of the
gorge which might be called the gateway is at the eastern extremity.
From any point of view this particular spot is remarkably imposing,
the gap being not more than half a mile wide, though appearing to
narrow down to a few hundred yards. The highest bluff is on the
south side, and, though rising to the height of full _twenty-five
hundred feet_, it is nearly perpendicular, and midway up its front
stands an isolated rock, looming against the sky, which is of a
circular form, and resembles the principal turret of a stupendous
castle. The entire mountain is composed of granite, and a large
proportion of the bluff in question positively hangs over the abyss
beneath, and is as smooth as it could possibly be made by the rains
of uncounted centuries. Over one portion of this superb cliff,
falling far down into some undiscovered and apparently unattainable
pool, is a stream of water, which seems to be the offspring of the
clouds; and in a neighboring brook near the base of this precipice
are three shooting waterfalls, at the foot of which, formed out of
the solid stone, are three holes, which are about ten feet in
diameter and measure from forty to fifty feet in depth. But, leaving
these remarkable features entirely out of the question, the mountain
scenery in this vicinity is as beautiful and fantastic as any I have
yet witnessed among the Alleghanies. At a farm-house near the gap,
where I spent a night, I had the pleasure of meeting an English
gentleman and tourist, and he informed me that, though he had
crossed the Alps in a number of places, yet he had never seen any
mountain scenery which he thought as beautiful as that of the
Hickory Nut Gap. My best view of the gorge was from the eastward,
and just as the sun, with a magnificent retinue of clouds, was
sinking directly in the hollow of the hills, and as I gazed upon the
prospect, it seemed to me, as was in reality the case, that I stood
at the very threshold of an almost boundless wilderness of
mountains.
Before visiting this remarkable passage through the mountains, I
endeavored to ascertain, from the Cherokees of Qualla Town, its
original Indian name, but without succeeding. It was my good
fortune, however, to obtain a romantic legend connected therewith. I
heard it from the lips of a Chief who glories in the two names of
_All Bones_ and _Flying Squirrel_, and, though he occupied no less
than two hours in telling the story, I will endeavor to give it to
my readers in about five minutes.
There was a time when the Cherokees were without the famous
_Tso-lungh_, or tobacco weed, with which they had previously been
made acquainted by a wandering stranger from the far East. Having
smoked it in their large stone pipes, they became impatient to
obtain it in abundance. They ascertained that the country where it
grew in the greatest quantities was situated on the big waters, and
that the gateway to that country (a mighty gorge among the
mountains) was perpetually guarded by an immense number of little
people or spirits. A council of the bravest men in the nation was
called, and, while they were discussing the dangers of visiting the
unknown country, and bringing therefrom a large knapsack of the
fragrant tobacco, a young man stepped boldly forward and said that
he would undertake the task. The young warrior departed on his
mission and never returned. The Cherokee nation were now in great
tribulation, and another council was held to decide upon a new
measure. At this council a celebrated magician rose and expressed
his willingness to relieve his people of their difficulties, and
informed them that he would visit the tobacco country and see what
he could accomplish. He turned himself into a mole, and as such made
his appearance eastward of the mountains; but, having been pursued
by the guardian spirits, he was compelled to return without any
spoil. He next turned himself into a humming-bird, and thus
succeeded, to a very limited extent, in obtaining what he needed. On
returning to his country, he found a number of his friends at the
point of death, on account of their intense desire for the fragrant
weed; whereupon he placed some of it in a pipe, and, having blown
the smoke into the nostrils of those who were sick, they all revived
and were quite happy. The magician now took it into his head that he
would revenge the loss of the young warrior, and at the same time
become the sole possessor of all the tobacco in the unknown land. He
therefore turned himself into a whirlwind, and in passing through
the Hickory Nut Gorge he stripped the mountains of their vegetation,
and scattered huge rocks in every part of the narrow valley;
whereupon the little people were all frightened away, and he was the
only being in the country eastward of the mountains. In the bed of a
stream he found the bones of the young warrior, and having brought
them to life, and turned himself into a man again, the twain
returned to their own country heavily laden with tobacco; and ever
since that time it has been very abundant throughout the entire
land.
LETTER XVI.
Ashville, North Carolina, May, 1848.
I have just returned from an excursion down the French Broad River
to _Patton’s Warm Springs_, and the neighboring curiosities, and I
now purpose to describe the “wonders I have seen.” The original
Indian name of the French Broad was _Pse-li-co_, the meaning of
which I have not been able to ascertain. Its English name was
derived from a famous hunter named _French_. It is one of the
principal tributaries of the Tennessee, about one hundred miles
long, from one to two hundred yards wide, and, taking its rise in
the Blue Ridge near the border of South Carolina, runs in a
northwestern direction. Judging of the whole, by a section of fifty
miles, lying westward of Ashville, it must be considered one of the
most beautiful rivers in this beautiful land. In running the
distance above mentioned it has a fall of nearly fifteen hundred
feet, and its bed seems to be entirely composed of solid rock. In
depth it varies from five to fifteen feet, and, generally speaking,
is quite clear, abounding in a great variety of plebeian fish. Its
shores are particularly wild and rocky, for the most part nearly
perpendicular, varying from one to four hundred feet in height, and,
though usually covered with vegetation, they present frequent cliffs
of granite, freestone, and blue limestone, which actually droop over
the rushing waters and present a most imposing appearance. With
regard to its botanical curiosities, it can safely be said that a
more fruitful and interesting valley can nowhere be found in the
Union. Here we have not only every variety of American forest trees,
but bushes, plants, flowers, and vines in the greatest profusion,
and of the most vigorous growth; many of the grape vines, which
weigh down the mighty sycamore, seem to be long enough, and strong
enough, to link together a hundred ships of war. When it is
remembered, too, that the air is constantly heavy with the fragrance
of flowers, and tremulous with the perpetual roar of the stream, it
may be readily imagined that a ride down the French Broad is a
unique pleasure. Back of the river on either side the country is
hilly and somewhat cultivated, but its immediate valley contains
nothing that smacks of civilization but a turnpike road, and an
occasional tavern. This road runs directly along the water’s edge
nearly the entire distance, and, on account of the quantity of
travel which passes over it, is kept in admirable repair. It is the
principal thoroughfare between Tennessee and South Carolina, and an
immense number of cattle, horses, and hogs are annually driven over
it to the seaboard markets. Over this road also quite a large amount
of merchandise is constantly transported for the merchants of the
interior, so that mammoth wagons, with their eight and ten horses,
and their half-civilized teamsters, are as plenty as blackberries,
and afford a romantic variety to the stranger.
In riding down the French Broad, I overtook a gentleman on
horseback, who accompanied me about twenty miles. Immediately after
the first salutation was passed, and he had ascertained that I was
from the eastward, he questioned me with regard to _the latest news
from China_. I was surprised at the question, and after telling him
I had none to communicate, I could not refrain from asking him what
was the secret of his interest in that remote Empire. He replied
that he resided on the French Broad, and was a dealer in ginseng. I
had heard of the article before, and knew that it was found in
abundance throughout this mountain region. My friend described it as
a beautiful plant, with one stem and some twenty leaves at the top,
and growing to the height of eighteen inches. That portion of it,
however, which is prepared for market is the root. The Chinese are
the only people in the world who make any use of it whatever; but
with them it has been an article of commerce from time immemorial.
It is said to be associated in some way or other with an unexplained
superstition. Formerly it was obtained exclusively from Tartary, and
the Tartars were in the habit of saying that they could never find
it, excepting by shooting a magic arrow, which invariably fell where
the plant was abundant. It is not thought to possess any valuable
medicinal quality, and only has the effect of strengthening the
sensual appetite. It is used in the same manner that we use tobacco,
and to the tongue it is an agreeable bitter. It has been an article
of export from this country for half a century, and the most
extensive American shippers reside in Philadelphia. It is sold for
about sixty cents the pound, and my travelling companion told me
that his sales amounted to about forty thousand dollars per annum.
What an idea! that even the celestials are dependent upon the United
States for one of their cherished luxuries, and that luxury a common
unnoticed plant of the wilderness! Ours is, indeed, “a great
country.”
I come now to speak of the Warm Springs, which are thirty-six miles
from Ashville, and within six of the Tennessee line. Of the Springs
themselves there are some half dozen, but the largest is covered
with a house, and divided into two equal apartments, either one of
which is sufficiently large to allow of a swim. The temperature of
the water is 105 degrees, and it is a singular fact that rainy
weather has a tendency to increase the heat, but it never varies
more than a couple of degrees. All the springs are directly on the
southern margin of the French Broad; the water is clear as crystal,
and so heavy that even a child may be thrown into it with little
danger of being drowned. As a beverage the water is quite palatable,
and it is said that some people can drink a number of quarts per
day, and yet experience none but beneficial effects. The diseases
which it is thought to cure are palsy, rheumatism, and cutaneous
affections; but they are of no avail in curing pulmonic or dropsical
affections. The Warm Springs are annually visited by a large number
of fashionable and sickly people from all the Southern States, and
the proprietor has comfortable accommodations for two hundred and
fifty people. His principal building is of brick, and the ballroom
is 230 feet long. Music, dancing, flirting, wine-drinking, riding,
bathing, fishing, scenery-hunting, bowling, and reading, are all
practised here to an unlimited extent; but, what is more exciting
than all these pleasures put together, is the rare sport of
deer-hunting; and hereby “hangs a tale” to which I must devote a
separate paragraph.
My polite landlord had intimated his intention of affording me a
little sport, and immediately after a twelve o’clock dinner, on a
certain day, he stepped out upon his piazza and gave two or three
blasts with a small horn, the result of which was, that, in about
fifteen minutes, a negro mounted on a handsome horse made his
appearance, accompanied by some twenty yelping hounds. The horn was
next handed to the negro, and he was requested to go to a certain
spot on the mountains, about three miles off, and put the dogs out
after a deer. Two hours having elapsed, the landlord, his son, and
myself each took a rifle, and, after riding some three miles up the
French Broad, we stationed ourselves at different points for the
purpose of welcoming the deer, which was expected to take to the
water on the opposite side. We had scarcely been ten minutes in our
hiding places before the loud baying of the hounds was heard, as
they were coming down one of the mountain ravines, and in another
instant a very large buck (with his horns as yet only about a foot
long) plunged into the rapid stream. Instead of crossing the water,
however, he made his way directly down the river, now swimming and
now leaping, with the entire pack of hounds directly in his foamy
wake. It was evident that he considered himself hard pressed, and,
though now approaching a very rocky fall in the stream, he gave
himself to the current and went over, and it seemed as if he must
inevitably perish. But another call was immediately made upon our
sympathies, for we discovered the entire pack of hounds passing into
the same hell of waters. We remained in suspense, however, but a few
moments, for we saw the pursued and the pursuers all emerge from the
foam entirely unharmed, and still struggling in the race. Now the
deer took to an island, and then to another, and now again to the
water, and away did the whole pack speed down the river. By this
time the buck was evidently becoming tired, and certain of being
overtaken; and, having reached a shallow place in the river, he
turned upon the dogs and stood at bay. His movements during this
scene were indeed superb, and I could not but pity the noble
fellow’s condition. His sufferings, however, were of short duration,
for, while thus standing in full front of his enemies, the
landlord’s son sent a ball through his heart from the shore, and
with one frightful leap the monarch of the mountains was floating in
a crimson pool. The mounted negro now made his appearance, as if by
magic, and, having waded and swam his horse to the dead deer, took
the creature in tow, brought him to the land, threw him upon his
horse, and so ended the afternoon deer-hunt.
About six miles from the Warm Springs, and directly on the Tennessee
line, are located a brotherhood of perpendicular cliffs, which are
known as _the Painted Rocks_. They are of limestone, and rise from
the margin of the French Broad to the height of two, three and four
hundred feet. They are of a yellowish cast, owing to the drippings
of a mineral water, and in form as irregular and fantastic as can
well be imagined. They extend along the river nearly a mile, and at
every step present new
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