CHAPTER V
Another traveller—The middle mountain—Fannetsburgh—Good effect of hunger in destroying fastidiousness—Tuscarora mountain and fine view—Ramsey’s—Change my mode of travelling—Hull’s—Fall from my horse—Sideling hill—Coyle’s good tavern—Curious scene at another tavern—Ray’s hill—River Juniata—Bloody run—Bedford.
Another traveller—The middle mountain—Fannetsburgh—Good effect of hunger in destroying fastidiousness—Tuscarora mountain and fine view—Ramsey’s—Change my mode of travelling—Hull’s—Fall from my horse—Sideling hill—Coyle’s good tavern—Curious scene at another tavern—Ray’s hill—River Juniata—Bloody run—Bedford.
On the morning of the 27th January, I took leave of my friendly host Skinner, and passing his brothers about a mile distant, I was joined by another pedestrian traveller, who had left Strasburgh that morning, and had stopped here to rest previous to ascending the middle mountain. He walked on stoutly, and I limped after him, my foot paining me very much. He was a plain countryman from Downpatrick in the north of Ireland, who had formerly {40} resided near Carlisle, from whence he had removed to the western part of the state, where his health having suffered through a general debility, he had returned two hundred miles to his former residence for medical aid, had remained there since the fall under a course of medicine and diet, and his health being now re-established, he was again going to the western country.
When on the top of the middle mountain about two miles from Skinner’s, our eyes were regaled with a charming birds-eye view of some fine cultivated farms in Path valley just below us, with the village of Fannetsburgh of thirty houses in the midst, watered by a fine mill stream called the Conogocheaque in its southerly course towards the Potomack.
The scenery here reminded me of some of the vales of Switzerland, but appetite for breakfast urging me on towards the village below, I did not bestow much time in contemplating it.
I now proved that “hunger is a good sauce,” for I made a hearty meal at M’Callum’s, spite of a dirty room, a sickly woman, and bad tea, which last even when good, I disapprove of, especially for breakfast, but having always had coffee hitherto, without ordering it, I had neglected doing so now, and I was too hungry and too scrupulous of giving trouble to direct or await a change. This was the second sickly landlady I had seen amongst these mountains, which has impressed me with an idea, that the air is too keen and trying for delicate constitutions.
When I returned into the bar room, from the breakfast parlour, if a small dirty room with a bed in it deserves that appellation, I found a traveller in it, who had two horses at the door, the use of one of which he had offered to my fellow pedestrian (who, as he carried provision in a knapsack, had not breakfasted with me,) on condition of his being at the expence of feeding him on the road. He was {41} just declining the offer as I entered, so I embraced it gladly, and the young man agreed to take me up as soon as he should overtake me on the road, as he had to await his brother who was to accompany him, and I expressed a wish to walk before over the Tuscarora mountain, both to enjoy the scenery, and to avoid the danger of riding over it three miles, with the road in many parts like glass, from the freezing of the snow after a partial thaw. I set off with my former companion, who I had regaled with a gill of whiskey, but as I occasionally stopped to admire the beauties of nature in that mountainous and romantick district, he not being equally struck with them, preferred making the best of his way, so walked on before, and separated from me without ceremony, which I was not sorry for, as it left me more at liberty and leisure to proceed as I pleased.
As I ascended, the views of the valley behind were veryfine, through and over the large heavy pines which cover the face of the mountain; but when near the top, the prospect to the southward was really sublime, of the valley in its whole length that way, finely cultivated and watered, bounded by distant pyramidal mountains, isolated and unconnected with either of the ridges divided by the valley in a long vista, about two miles wide. From the summit of the Tuscarora ridge, the view to the westward, though extensive, was cheerless and gloomy, over a broken and mountainous or rather hilly country, covered with forests, chiefly of the dark and sombre pine, which would have rendered me quite dispirited, if I had not anticipated a speedy journey through it on horseback.
At the western foot of the mountain I stopped at Ramsey’s, an innkeeper, farmer, saddler and distiller, who has a fine farm, and a good house (I mean literally, but not as a tavern)—It was noon, Mr. Ramsey with a stranger, seated himself to dinner, while {42} his wife in the patriarchal mode, very common in this country, attended table. I contented myself with a tumbler of egg punch, which I had just swallowed, as my horsemen rode past, calling out that they would await me at the distillery, where I accordingly joined them, drank a dram of new whiskey with the hospitable distiller, mounted my mare, threw away my cudgel, and trotted off briskly with my new companions.
The road was good, but the country broken, thinly inhabited and poor; pine woods on each hand—a red gravelly soil, and a wretched looking log hut at every two or three miles with a few acres cleared round it, but the stumps, or girdled trees still standing. We stopped to feed our horses at one, about six miles from Ramsey’s, which was the residence of an old man named Hull, who had removed here from Lancaster a few years ago. The large fire, cleanliness, and air of plenty, which I found within, was the moreenjoyed, from the contrast with the wretched appearance without.
On remounting, my mare started, and a bag of rye and corn for provender which was on the saddle under me, falling off, I fell with it. One of my companions checked his horse suddenly and threw himself off to assist me, and I was under both horses’ feet for some seconds; but seizing the forefeet of the horse from which I apprehended the greatest danger, I pulled them towards me, threw him down, and at the same time scrambling from under him, I providentially escaped with only a slight bruise on my left leg, and a rent in my pantaloons. My gun which was loaded, and which I carried slung at my back, was thrown some distance from me without injury.
We soon after overtook my late foot companion, who I believe now regretted that he had not prevented my ride, as he seemed a good deal fatigued. We advised him to bargain for a ride with a packer with {43} two light horses, who we had past a little way behind, and we pushed on to a mountain called Sideling-hill, eight miles from Hull’s; which we ascended a mile, and then put up for the night, at a very good tavern, kept by Daniel Coyle, who also owns a fine farm between the ridges of the mountain.
I got an excellent supper alone, my fellow travellers carrying their provisions with them: I had also a good bed with sheets, but the pain of my blistered foot, which had been augmented by hanging from the saddle in riding, prevented my closing my eyes to sleep until three o’clock, when as exhausted nature was just beginning to induce a temporary oblivion of pain, James Wilson the oldest of my fellow travellers called us to horse, as he said, we must this day make a journey of upwards of forty miles. His brother William, who like myself had never travelled that roadbefore, was obliged to acquiesce, though unwillingly, so rather than lose my horse I complied also, and we were on the road in half an hour after.
After riding four miles on a continued ridge of Sideling-hill, we stopped at a log tavern to pick up the old soldier Wagstaff, whose stories had amused me so much at Skinner’s in Horse valley, and who was a neighbour of Wilson’s. He had the hog-driving lad still with him, and one horse between them which they rode alternately.
It was not yet day, and the scene in the tavern was, to me, truly novel. It was a large half finished log house, with no apparent accommodation for any traveller who had not his own bed or blanket. It was surrounded on the outside by wagons and horses, and inside, the whole floor was so filled with people sleeping, wrapped in their blankets round a large fire, that there was no such thing as approaching it to get warm, until some of the travellers who had awoke at our entrance, went out to feed their horses, after doing which, they returned, drank whiskey under {44} the name of bitters, and resumed their beds on the floor—singing, laughing, joking, romping, and apparently as happy as possible. So much for custom.
About four miles from hence, we descended the western side of Sideling-hill mountains, here called Rays-hill, at the foot of which we forded the river Juniata, a beautiful stream, about sixty yards wide, which after meandering in a wonderful manner through this mountainous part of the country upwards of 200 miles, through a space of not more than 100 of a direct line, falls into the Susquehannah about twenty miles above Harrisburgh; in all which distance it is navigable for large flat boats, of which considerable numbers are employed transporting the abundant produce of those remote regions to the Susquehannah, and down thatriver to Baltimore, from whence it finds its way to Europe, destined to assist in feeding those countries, which gave birth to the ancestors of the cultivators of this.
After crossing the Juniata, we pursued our road through a broken country, very hilly, with the river almost always in sight, sometimes on one hand and sometimes on the other, as its bends approached or receded from the road, and sometimes directly under us at the foot of terrifick precipices, down one of which, about twenty years ago, a wagon was carried by the horses, falling 3 or 400 feet perpendicular—The wagonner and horses were killed, and the wagon was dashed to pieces.
At three miles and a half from the ford, we stopped to feed our horses at a small log tavern, where was a large family, with three or four very pretty girls, who forfeited the admiration they would otherwise have commanded, by being covered with the itch, which made me cautious how I ordered any thing to eat or drink, although I could have done justice to a good breakfast.
The same kind of country continues to Bedford, {45} the road leading through two remarkable defiles between the mountains, which as well as the river sometimes approach and sometimes recede, the country gradually improving both in population and quality of soil as we advanced.
At three miles from where we fed our horses, we passed through a village of a dozen houses, called Bloody run, in memory of a massacre by the Indians of about 250 militia, while escorting a convoy of provisions to the western frontier, soon after Braddock’s defeat near Pittsburgh.[18]
Three miles further, we passed a hamlet of three or four houses, called Snake-spring, from an immense number of snakes discovered there in a hole and killed: And in four miles more, at 11 o’clock, we entered Bedford, crossing two bridges half a mile from the town, one over Crooked creek, and the other over the west or Raystown branch, which uniting a little below, form the Juniata.
We put up at Fleming’s and fed the horses while I breakfasted. When ready to proceed, I mounted, but found my mare so lame, that I was obliged to remain behind, while my companions endeavoured to get her along by driving her before them.
FOOTNOTES:[18]Jones,History of Juniata Valley(Philadelphia, 1856) gives a different origin for the term “Bloody Run.” He derives it from the attempt of the inhabitants, in the spring of 1765, to arrest a convoy that was being sent by the Pennsylvania authorities to Pittsburg with presents for the Indians. An English officer reporting the action, said that the creek “ran with blood.” For the effect of this affair on the pacification of the Indians, seeNew York Colonial Documents, vii, p. 716. For the history of Bedford, see Post’sJournals, vol. i of this series, p. 240, note 81.—Ed.
[18]Jones,History of Juniata Valley(Philadelphia, 1856) gives a different origin for the term “Bloody Run.” He derives it from the attempt of the inhabitants, in the spring of 1765, to arrest a convoy that was being sent by the Pennsylvania authorities to Pittsburg with presents for the Indians. An English officer reporting the action, said that the creek “ran with blood.” For the effect of this affair on the pacification of the Indians, seeNew York Colonial Documents, vii, p. 716. For the history of Bedford, see Post’sJournals, vol. i of this series, p. 240, note 81.—Ed.
[18]Jones,History of Juniata Valley(Philadelphia, 1856) gives a different origin for the term “Bloody Run.” He derives it from the attempt of the inhabitants, in the spring of 1765, to arrest a convoy that was being sent by the Pennsylvania authorities to Pittsburg with presents for the Indians. An English officer reporting the action, said that the creek “ran with blood.” For the effect of this affair on the pacification of the Indians, seeNew York Colonial Documents, vii, p. 716. For the history of Bedford, see Post’sJournals, vol. i of this series, p. 240, note 81.—Ed.