Tallulah Falls, Georgia, April, 1848.
As a natural curiosity theFalls of Tallulahare 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 wordTallulahorTarrurahsignifiesthe 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, itsettles 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 christenedLodora,Tempesta,Oceana,Honcon, andthe 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 inthe 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 Pulpitis 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.
TheDevil’s Dwellingis 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 notbelievethis story, and cannot therefore endorse the prevailing opinion.
TheEagle’s Nestis a rock which projects from thebrow 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 lamentedCole, and by a kindred genius alone can it ever be placed on the canvas.
TheDeer Leapis 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 Poolderives its name from the fact that in its apparently soundless waters a young and accomplished English clergyman lost his life while bathing; andHanck’s Sliding Placeis 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 sawa 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 moreclosely 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 oflittle 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 littlepeople, 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:—
But hark! beneath yon hoary precipice,The rush of mightier waters, as they pourIn foaming torrents through the dark abyssWhich 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 calledTHE TERRIBLE!
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 calledTHE TERRIBLE!
In vain o’er thee shall glow with wild delight,The painter’s eye, and voiceless still shall beThe poet’s tongue, who from this giddy heightShall kindle in thine awful minstrelsy!Thou art too mighty in thy grandeur—weToo 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!
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 breastOf 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!
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 seemOnce more to see upon yon heights that rearTheir 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 hearFrom yonder precipice his whoop and call,That mingle fiercely with the roaring water-fall!
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 seestheenow,Dread cataract!—he stands entranced—his yellIs hushed; appalled he looks where far below,Thy waters boil with a tumultuous swell.Thou glorious orator of Nature! wellMay his rude bosom own the majestyOf thy dread eloquence; he hears the knellOf human things—he bends the suppliant knee,To the Great Spirit ofTHE TERRIBLEin thee.
But lo! he pauses, for he seestheenow,
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 ofTHE TERRIBLEin thee.
Once more I look!—the dusky form has gone—Passed with the onward course of time, and passedTo come no more; perhaps a king uponYon height he sleeps, rocked by the winter’s blastIn couch all regal, where dead hands have castHis 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.
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 raceHave made these hills their own, and they draw nearWith kindling spirits, yet with cautious pace;Youth, age and wisdom, with his brow of care,And joyous beauty, that has never wept a tear.
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 theyShall come; year after year to thee shall bringThe searcher after knowledge, and the gayWho sport through life as though a morn in spring;And tears shall fall, and the light laugh shall ringBeside thee, and the lonely heart shall seekRelief from its eternal sorrowing—And all shall feel upon their spirits break,Thoughts wonderful; emotions which they may not speak.
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 hearThe voice of a great people which shall dwellAmong these mountains, free as their own air,And chainless as thy current’s ceaseless swell.Behold them growing into power! They fellThe old primeval forests which have stoodFor ages in the valleys; they dispelThe shades from Nature’s face, and thickly strewed,Their villages spring up amid the solitude.
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 faneSinks into dust; he weeps above the tombOf human pride, and feels that it is vain;Yet shall thy voice arise amid the gloomOf silent hearths and cities, scornful of their doom.
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 shotHer 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 vastAnd melancholy wilderness o’er all is cast.
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’enHis lonely place, and hears the solitudeReturn 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.
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 trodOn human dust. The oak that o’er him wavesSo proudly, tells him not how, through the sod,Its roots sucked nourishment from human graves.The renovated stream its channel lavesBeside his feet as freshly as of old;Its moist bank not a lingering record savesOf those who dried its sources; flowers unfoldTheir tints, nor tell how they have fed on human mould.
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 kneesOf millions of God’s humbled creatures—seekThy favorites now, who strode through bloody seasTo thrones, it may be, and upon the weak,Bade human passion all her vengeance wreak!
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 placeFrom the broad waste, to greet the gazer’s sightWith bright insignia, which in life did graceThe 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?
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!
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 highAnd holy things; to him the earth is young—The heavens are young; in joyous infancyA nation buds around—to whom belongNo past, no memories, but a future bright and strong.
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.
Tallulah Falls, Georgia, April, 1848.
The subject of my present letter isAdam 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.Vandeveris 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 hishead. He is now living with histhirdwife, and claims to be the father ofover 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 hepresents 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 somersetinto 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 himselfon the very spotwhich 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 ofshadand three or fourstriped bassorrock-fish. They had been taken in theTallulah 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.
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, MajorEdward 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 tostop 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 Mountainwas so named by the Cherokees, from the fact that they once had a number oftrailsleading 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.
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 wanderedfrom 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 pathlike 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 signifiesthe main river, or the largest of the tributaries: and the paraphrase of this name intoHiowasseeby the map-makers is only a ridiculous blunder. So I have been informed, at any rate, by one of the oldest Cherokees now living. The Owassa is a tributary of the noble Tennessee, and is as clear, beautiful, rapid and picturesque a mountain river as I have ever seen. At Wiley’s cottage it is perhaps one hundred feet wide, and at this point it is not far from one hundred and fifty yards. It is quite circuitous in its course, and the valley through which it runs is narrow, but very fertile and pretty well cultivated. The people live almost exclusively in log cabins, and appear to be intelligent and moral, though apparently destitute of all enterprise.
The only novelty that I noticed on the road to this place was the spot known asFort Embree. The only evidences that there ever was a fortification here are a breastwork of timber, a lot of demolished pickets, and two or three block-houses, which are now in a dilapidated condition.The site is a commanding one, and takes in some of the grandest mountain outlines that I have yet seen. This fort, so called, was made by the General Government for the purpose of herding the poor Cherokees previous to their final banishment into exile—a most humane and christian-like work, indeed! How reluctant the Indians were to leave this beautiful land may be shown by the fact, that a number of women destroyed themselves within this very fort rather than be driven beyond the Mississippi. And a gentleman who saw the Indians, when they were removed, tells me that they were actually driven along the road like a herd of wild and unruly animals, a number of them having been shot down in the vicinity of this place. All these things may have been published, but I have never seen them in print; and I now put them in print with the view of shaming our heartless and cruel Government for its unnatural conduct in times past. The Cherokees were a nation of mountaineers, and, had a wise policy been pursued with regard to them, they might now be chasing the deer upon these mountains, while all the valleys of the land might have been in a state of cultivation, even as they are now. Not only would they have had the happiness of hunting their favorite game upon their native hills, but they might have been educated with more real satisfaction to themselves than they can be in the Far West. In proof of the opinion that they might have lived here in honor and comfort, it may be mentioned that the few Cherokees who were permitted to remain in Carolina, are now considered the most polite and inoffensive of the entire population; and the United States District Attorney residing in Cherokee county informs me, that of five hundred individuals whom he has had to prosecute within the last five years,only one of them was an Indian, and he was led into his difficulty by a drunken white man. But this is a theme that I could write upon for days, so I will turn to something more germain to my present purpose.
In coming down the valley of Owassa I met with a number of incidents which I fancy worth mentioning. For example, in passing along a certain road in Union county, Georgia, I approached a ricketty log cabin, and was surprised to see the family and all the dogs vacate the premises, as if I had been a personified plague. I was subsequently informed that this was a common habit with the more barbarous people of this region when they see a stranger passing along the road.
Among the characteristic travelling establishments that I met in the above country, was the following: a very small covered wagon, (drawn by one mule and one deformed horse,) which was laden with corn-husks, a few bedclothes, and several rude cooking utensils. Behind this team marched a man and his wife, five boys, and eight girls, and in their rear the skeleton of a cow and four hungry-looking dogs. They had been farming in Union county, but were now on their way into Habersham county in search of a new location. The youngest daughter belonging to this family, as I casually found out by giving her a small piece of money, wasDorcas Ann Eliza Jane Charlotte——. On hearing this startling information I could not wonder that the family were poor, and had a thorny road to pursue through life.
But the most unique incident that I picked up on the day in question may be narrated as follows: I was quietly jogging along the road, when I was startled by the dropping of a snake from a small tree. I stopped to see whatwas the matter, and discovered it to be a black snake or racer, and that he had in his mouth the tail end of a scarlet lizard about five inches long. It was evident the snake had some difficulty in swallowing the precious morsel, and while he seemed to be preparing for another effort, I saw the lizard twist its body and bite the snake directly on the back of the head, which caused the latter to loosen his hold. Again did I see the snake attack the lizard, and a second time did the lizard bite the snake, whereupon the serpent gave up the fight, and, while I was hunting for a stick to kill the serpent, both of the reptiles made their escape.
The little village ofMurphy, whence I date this letter, lies at the junction of the Owassa and Valley rivers, and in point of location is one of the prettiest places in the world. Its Indian name wasKlausuna, or theLarge Turtle. It was so called, says a Cherokee legend, on account of its being thesunningplace of an immense turtle which lived in its vicinity in ancient times. The turtle was particularly famous for itsrepellingpower, having been known not to be at all injured by a stroke of lightning. Nothing on earth had power to annihilate the creature; but, on account of the many attempts made to take its life, when it was known to be a harmless and inoffensive creature, it became disgusted with this world, and burrowed its way into the middle of the earth, where it now lives in peace.
In connection with this legend, I may here mention what must be considered a remarkable fact in geology. Running directly across the village of Murphy is a belt of marble, composed of the black, gray, pure white and flesh-colored varieties, which belt also crosses the Owassa river.Just above this marble causeway the Owassa, for a space of perhaps two hundred feet, is said to be over one hundred feet deep, and at one point, in fact, a bottom has never been found. All this is simple truth, but I have heard the opinion expressed that there is a subterranean communication between this immense hole in Owassa and the river Notely, which is some two miles distant. The testimony adduced in proof of this theory is, that a certain log was once marked on the Notely, which log was subsequently found floating in the pool of the Deep Hole in the Owassa.