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.