Elizabethton, Tennessee, June, 1848.
The prominent circumstance attending my journey from the North Cove to this place was, that it brought me out of the great mountain wilderness of Georgia and North Carolina into a well-cultivated and more level country. For two months past have I spent my days on horseback, and the majority of my nights in the rudest of cabins; and as I am now to continue my journey in a stagecoach, it is meet that I should indite a general letter, descriptive of the region through which I have passed. In coming from Dahlonega to this place, I have travelled in a zigzag course upwards of four hundred miles, but the intervening distance, in a direct line, would not measure more than two hundred. The entire country is mountainous, and for the most part remains in its original state of nature. To the botanist and the geologist, this section of the Union is unquestionably the most interesting eastward of the Mississippi, for we have here nearly every variety of forest trees known in the land, as well as plants and flowers in the greatest abundance, while the mountains, which are of a primitive formation, abound in every known variety of minerals. That the scenery of this region is highly interesting, I hope my readers have already been convinced. More beautiful streams can nowhere be found on the faceof the earth. But, when we come to speak of lake scenery, the South must yield the palm to the North. Not a single sheet of water deserving the name of lake have I yet seen in this Southern land, and yet every mountain seems to be well supplied with the largest and the coldest of springs. I know not but this fact has been explained by our scientific men, but to me it is indeed a striking peculiarity. The valleys, too, of this region, are remarkably narrow, and the majority of them might with more propriety be called immense ravines. The skies, however, which canopy this Alpine land, appeared to me to be particularly blue, and as to the clouds which gather around the mountains at the sunset hour, they are gorgeous beyond compare.
With regard to climate, I know of no section of country that can be compared with the highlands of Georgia and North Carolina. It is but seldom that a foot of snow covers the earth even in the severest winters; and, though the days of midsummer are very warm, they are seldom sultry, and the nights are invariably sufficiently cool to make one or two blankets comfortable. Fevers and other diseases peculiar to the sea-side of the Alleghanies are hardly known among their inhabitants, and heretofore the majority of people have died of old age. I would not intimate that they are afflicted with an epidemic at the present time, but I do say that there are many households in this region, which have been rendered very desolate by the Mexican war. When ourkinglyPresident commanded the American people to leave the plough in the furrow and invade a neighboring republic, the mountaineers of Georgia and the Carolinas poured down into the valley almost without bidding their mothers, and wives, and sisters a final adieu; and the bones of at least one half of these brave men arenow mouldering away on the desert sands of the far South.
Generally speaking, the soil of this country is fertile, yielding the best of corn, potatoes, and rye, but only an average quality of wheat, on account of the late frosts. In some of the more extensive valleys, the apple and the peach arrive at perfection; and while the former are manufactured into cider, out of the latter the mountaineers make a very palatable brandy. The principal revenue of the people, however, is derived from the business of raising cattle, which is practised to a considerable extent. The mountain ranges afford an abundance of the sweetest grazing food, and all that the farmer has to do in the autumn is to hunt up his stock, which have now become excessively fat, and drive them to the Charleston or Baltimore market. The only drawback to this business consists in the fact that the cattle in certain sections of the country are subject to what is called the milk sickness. This disease is supposed to be caused by a poisonous dew which gathers on the grass, and is said not only to have destroyed a great many cattle in other years, but frequently caused the death of entire families who may have partaken of the unwholesome milk. It is a dreaded disease, and principally fatal in the autumn. From the foregoing remarks it will be seen that a mountain farmer may be an agriculturist, and yet have an abundance of time to follow any other employment that he has a passion for; and the result of this fact is, that he is generally a faithful disciple of the immortal Nimrod.
All the cabins that I have visited have been ornamented by at least one gun, and more than one-half of the inhabitants have usually been hounds. That the mountaineers arepoor, is a matter of course, and the majority of their cabins are cheerless places indeed to harbor the human frame for life; but the people are distinguished for their hospitality, and always place before the stranger the choicest of their store. Bacon, game, and milk are their staple articles of food, and honey is their principal luxury. In religion, generally speaking, they are Methodists and Baptists, and are distinguished for their sobriety. They have but few opportunities of hearing good preaching, but I have never entered more than three or four cabins where I did not see a copy of the Bible. The limited knowledge they possess has come to them directly from Heaven as it were, and, from the necessity of the case, their children are growing up in the most deplorable ignorance. Whenever one of these poor families happened to learn from my conversation that I was a resident of New-York, the interest with which they gazed upon me and listened to my every word, was both agreeable and painful. It made me happy to communicate what little I happened to know, but pained me to think upon their isolated and uncultivated manner of life. Give me the wilderness for a day or month, but for life I must be amid the haunts of refinement and civilization. As to the slave population of the mountain districts, it is so limited that I can hardly express an opinion with regard to their condition. Not more than one white man in ten (perhaps I ought to say twenty) is sufficiently wealthy to support a slave, and those who do possess them are in the habit of treating them as intelligent beings and in the most kindly manner. As I have found it to be the case on the sea-board, the slaves residing among the mountains are the happiest and most independent portion of the population;and I have had many a one pilot me over the mountains who would not have exchanged places even with his master. They have a comfortable house and no debts to pay: every thing they need in the way of clothing and wholesome food is ever at their command, and they have free access to the churches and the Sunday schools of the land. What more do the poor of any country possess that can add to their temporal happiness?
Another, and of course the most limited portion of the population occupying this mountain country, is what might be called the aristocracy or gentry. Generally speaking, they are descended from the best of families, and moderately wealthy. They are fond of good living, and their chief business is to make themselves as comfortable as possible. They esteem solid enjoyment more than display, and are far more intelligent (so far as books and the world are concerned) than the same class of people at the North. The majority of Southern gentlemen, I believe, would be glad to see the institution of slavery abolished, if it could be brought about without reducing them to beggary. But they hate apoliticalAbolitionist as they do the very—Father of Lies; and for this want of affection I do not see that they deserve to be blamed. The height of a Southern man’s ambition is to be a gentleman in every particular—in word, thought, and deed; and to be a perfect gentleman, in my opinion, is to be a Christian. And with regard to the much-talked-of hospitality of the wealthier classes in the South, I can only say that my own experience ought to make me very eloquent in their praise. Not only does the genuine feeling exist here, but a Southern gentleman gives such expression to his feeling by his home-like treatment ofyou, that to be truly hospitable you might imagine had been the principal study of his life.
But the music of the “mellow horn” is ringing in my ear, and in an hour from this time I shall have thrown myself into a stagecoach, and be on my way up the long and broad valley of Virginia.
The Nameless Valley, Virginia, June, 1848.
Since my last letter was written, my course of travel has led me towards the fountain-head of the Holston river, whose broad and highly cultivated valley is bounded on the northwest by the Clinch Mountains, and on the southeast by the Iron Mountains. The agricultural and mineral advantages of this valley are manifold, and the towns and farms scattered along the stage-road all present a thriving and agreeable appearance. Along the bed of the Holston agates and cornelians are found in considerable abundance; and though the scenery of its valley is merely beautiful, I know of no district in the world where caves and caverns are found in such great numbers. A zigzag tour along this valley alone will take the traveller to at least one dozen caves, many of which are said to be remarkably interesting. From my own observation, however, I know nothing about them; and so long as I retain my passion for the revealed productions of nature, I will leave the hidden ones to take care of themselves.
On reaching the pleasant little village of Abingdon, in Washington county, a friend informed me that I must not fail to visit the salt-works of Smythe county. I did so, and the following is my account of Saltville, which is the proper name for the place in question: Its site was originally a salt-lick, to which immense herds of elk, buffalo, and deer,were in the habit of resorting; subsequently, the Indians applied the privilege to themselves, and then an occasional hunter came here for his supplies; but the regular business of transforming the water into salt did not commence until the year 1790. Saltville is located at the head of a valley near the base of the Clinch Mountains, and about one mile from the Holston river. All the population of the place, numbering perhaps three hundred inhabitants, are engaged in the manufacture of salt. The water here is said to be the strongest and purest in the world. When tested by a salometer, graded for saturation at twenty-five degrees, it ranges from twenty to twenty-two degrees, and twenty gallons of water will yield one bushel of salt, which weighs fifty pounds, (and not fifty-six as at the North,) and is sold at the rate of twenty cents per bushel, or one dollar and twenty cents per barrel. The water is brought from a depth of two hundred and twenty feet by means of three artesian wells, which keep five furnaces or salt-blocks, of eighty-four kettles each, in constant employment, and produce about two thousand bushels per day. The water is raised by means of horse-power, and twenty-five teams are constantly employed in supplying the furnaces with wood. The salt manufactured here is acknowledged to be superior in quality to that made on the Kanawha, in this State, or at Syracuse, in New-York, but the Northern establishments are by far the most extensive. The section of country supplied from this quarter is chiefly composed of Tennessee and Alabama; generally speaking, there is but one shipment made during the year, which is in the spring, and by means of flat-boats built expressly for the purpose. A dozen or two of these boats are always ready for business, and when the Holston is swollen by a freshet they areloaded and manned at the earliest possible moment, and away the singing boatmen go down the wild, winding, and narrow but picturesque stream, to their desired havens. The section of country supplied by the Kanawha is the northwest and the extreme south, while Syracuse, Liverpool, and Turk’s Island supply the Atlantic seaboard. The Saltville reservoir of water seems to be inexhaustible, and it is supposed would give active employment to at least a dozen new furnaces. As already stated, the yielding wells are somewhat over two hundred feet deep; but within a stone’s throw of these, other wells have been sunk to the depth of four, five, and six hundred feet, without obtaining a particle of the valuable liquid. The business of Saltville is carried on by private enterprise altogether, and the principal proprietor and director is a gentleman who comes from that noble stock which has given to this country such men as Patrick Henry and William H. Preston. I am at present the guest of this gentleman, and therefore refrain from giving his name to the public; but as his plantation is decidedly the most beautiful that I have seen in the whole Southern country, I must be permitted to give a particular description for the edification of my readers.
This heretofore nameless nook of the great world I have been permitted to designate asThe Nameless Valley, and if I succeed in merely enumerating its charming features and associations, I feel confident that my letter will be read with pleasure. It is the centre of a domain comprising eight thousand acres of land, which covers a multitude of hills that are all thrown in shadow at the sunset hour by the Clinch Mountains. The valley in question is one mile by three-quarters of a mile wide, and comprises exactly three hundred and thirty-three acres of greenmeadow land, unbroken by a single fence, but ornamented by about a dozen isolated trees, composed of at least half a dozen varieties, and the valley is watered by a tiny stream of the clearest water. It is completely surrounded with cone-like hills, which are nearly all highly cultivated half way up their sides, but crowned with a diadem of the most luxuriant forest trees. A little back of the hills, skirting the western side of the valley, are the picturesquely broken Clinch Mountains, whose every outline, and cliff, and fissure, and ravine, may be distinctly seen from the opposite side of the valley, where the spacious and tastefully porticoed mansion of the proprietor is located. Clustering immediately around this dwelling, but not so as to interrupt the view, are a number of very large willows, poplars, and elms, while the inclosed slope upon which it stands is covered with luxuriant grass, here and there enlivened by a stack of roses and other flowers. The numerous outhouses of the plantation are a little back of the main building, and consist of neatly painted cabins, occupied by the negroes belonging to the estate, and numbering about one hundred souls; then come the stables, where no less than seventy-five horses are daily supplied with food; then we have a pasture on the hill side, where thirty or forty cows nightly congregate to be milked, and give suck to their calves; and then we have a mammoth spring, whose waters issue out of the mountain, making only about a dozen leaps, throwing themselves upon the huge wheel of an old mill, causing it to sing a kind of circling song from earliest dawn to the twilight hour. In looking to the westward from the spacious porticoes of the mansion, the eye falls upon only two objects which are at all calculated to destroy the natural solitude of the place, viz. a roadwhich passes directly by the house at the foot of the lawn, and one small white cottage situated at the base of a hill on the opposite side of the valley. Instead of detracting from the scene, however, these objects actually make it more interesting, when the facts are remembered that in that cottage did the proprietor of this great estate first see the light, and that by its side are deposited the remains of five generations of his ancestors; and as to the road, the people who travel it all appear and move along just exactly as a poet would desire.
But to give my readers a more graphic idea of this truly delightful valley, I will enumerate the living pictures which attracted my attention from the book I was attempting to read on a single afternoon. I was in a commanding corner of the porch, and had closed the volume just as the sun was sinking behind the mountain. The sky was of a soft silvery hue, and almost cloudless, and the entire landscape was bathed in an exquisitely soft and delightful atmosphere. Not a breeze was stirring in the valley, and the cool shadows of the trees were twice as long as the trees themselves. The first noise that broke the silence of the scene was a slow thumping and creaking sound away down the road, and on casting my eyes in the right direction I discovered a large wain, or covered wagon, drawn by seven horses, and driven by a man who amused himself as he lazily moved along, by snapping his whip at the harmless plants by the road-side. I know not whence he came or whither he was going, but twenty minutes must have flown before he passed out of my view. At one time a flood of discord came to my ear from one of the huge poplars in the yard, and I could see that there was a terrible dispute going on between a lot of resident and stranger blackbirds; and,after they had ceased their noise, I could hear the chirping of the swallows, as they swooped after the insects, floating in the sunbeams, far away over the green valley. And now I heard a laugh and the sound of talking voices, and lo! a party of ten negroes, who were returning from the fields where they had been cutting hay or hoeing corn. The neighing and stamping of a steed now attracted my attention, and I saw a superb blood horse attempting to get away from a negro groom, who was leading him along the road. The mellow tinkling of a bell and the lowing of cattle now came trembling on the air, and presently, a herd of cows made their appearance, returning home from the far-off hills with udders brimming full, and kicking up a dust as they lounged along. Now the sun dropped behind the hills, and one solitary night-hawk shot high up into the air, as if he had gone to welcome the evening star, which presently made its appearance from its blue watchtower; and, finally, a dozen women came trooping from the cow-yard into the dairy house, with well-filled milk-pails on their heads, and looking like a troop of Egyptic water damsels. And then for one long hour did the spirits of repose and twilight have complete possession of the valley, and no sound fell upon my ear but the hum of insect wings.
But I was intending to mention the curiosities of the Nameless Valley. Foremost among these I would rank a small cave, on the south side, in which are deposited a curious collection of human bones. Many of them are very large, while others, which were evidently full-grown, are exceedingly small. Among the female skulls I noticed one of a female that seemed to be perfectly beautiful, but small enough to have belonged to a child. The most curiousspecimen, however, found in this cave, is the skull of a man. It is entirely without a forehead, very narrow across the eyes, full and regularly rounded behind, and from the lower part of the ears are two bony projections, nearly two inches in length, which must have presented a truly terrible appearance when covered with flesh. The animal organs of this skull are remarkably full, and it is also greatly deficient in all the intellectual faculties. Another curiosity in this valley is a bed of plaster which lies in the immediate vicinity of a bed of slate, with a granite and limestone strata only a short distance off, the whole constituting a geological conglomeration that I never heard of before. But what is still more remarkable is the fact, that within this plaster bed was found the remains of an unknown animal, which must have been a mammoth indeed. A grinder tooth belonging to this monster I have seen and examined. It has a blackish appearance, measures about ten inches in length, weighs four pounds and a half, and was found only three feet from the surface. This tooth, as well as the skull already mentioned, were discovered by the proprietor of the valley, and, I am glad to learn, are about to be deposited by him in the National Museum at Washington. But another attractive feature in the Nameless Valley consists of a kind of Indian Herculaneum, where, deeply imbedded in sand and clay, are the remains of a town, whence have been brought to light a great variety of earthen vessels and curious utensils. Upon this spot, also, many shells have been found, which are said never to have been seen excepting on the shore of the Pacific. But all these things should be described by the antiquarian, and I only mention them for the purpose of letting the world know that there is literally no end to the wonders of our beautiful land.
I did think of sketching a few of the many charming views which present themselves from the hills surrounding the Nameless Valley, but I am not exactly in the mood just now, and I will leave them “in their glory alone.” Connected with a precipice on one of them, however, I have this incident to relate. For an hour or more had I been watching the evolutions of a superb bald-headed eagle above the valley, when, to my surprise, he suddenly became excited, and darted down with intense swiftness towards the summit of the cliff alluded to, and disappeared among the trees. A piercing shriek followed this movement, and I anticipated a combat between the eagle and a pair of fishhawks which I knew had a nest upon the cliff. In less than five minutes after this assault, the eagle again made his appearance, but uttered not a sound, and, having flown to the opposite side of the valley, commenced performing a circle, in the most graceful manner imaginable. Presently the two hawks also made their appearance high above their rocky home, and proceeded to imitate the movements of the eagle. At first the two parties seemed to be indifferent to each other, but on observing them more closely it was evident that they were gradually approaching each other, and that their several circles were rapidly lessening. On reaching an elevation of perhaps five thousand feet, they finally interfered with each other, and, having joined issue, a regular battle commenced, and as they ascended, the screams of the hawks gradually became inaudible, and in a short time the three royal birds were entirely lost to view in the blue zenith.
Before closing this letter, I wish to inform my readers of a natural curiosity lying between the Clinch and CumberlandMountains, and distant from this place only about a day’s journey. I allude to what is called the Natural Tunnel. It is in Scott county, and consists of a subterranean channel through a ragged limestone hill, the entire bed of which is watered by a running stream about twenty feet wide. The cavern is four hundred and fifty feet long, from sixty to eighty feet in height, about seventy in width, and of a serpentine form. On either side of the hill through which this tunnel passes are perpendicular cliffs, some of which are three hundred feet high and exceedingly picturesque. The gloomy aspect of this tunnel, even at mid-day, is very imposing; for when standing near the centre neither of its outlets can be seen, and it requires hardly an effort of the fancy for a man to deem himself for ever entombed within the bowels of the earth.
Harper’s Ferry, June, 1848.
Since the date of my last letter, I have been travelling through a very beautiful but thickly-settled portion of the Alleghany country, whose natural curiosities are as familiar to the world as a thrice-told tale. For this reason, therefore, I shall be exceedingly brief in describing what I have seen in the Valley of Virginia. That portion of the “Ancient Dominion” known by the above name is about two hundred miles long, ranging in width from thirty to forty miles. It is bounded on the north by the Potomac, on the east by the Blue Ridge, on the west by a spur of the Alleghanies called the North Mountains, and on the south by the New River, or Kanawha, as it should be called. Its principal streams are the Shenandoah, the James River, and the Cacapon, which are in every way worthy of their parent country. In ascending to the north, I was tempted to perform a pilgrimage down the Kanawha, but my map told me that I could not see the whole of its valley without travelling at least two hundred miles, and I therefore concluded that its charming scenery, its famous salt-works, and the still more celebrated White Sulphur Springs, should remain undescribed by my pen. In fact, to visit all the interesting objects among the Alleghany Mountains would occupy a number of summers, and therefore, in making a singletour, I have found it important to discriminate as I passed along. But it is time that I should turn my attention to the prominent attractions of the great Virginia Valley. They are as follows, and I shall speak of them in the order in which I visited them, viz.: the Peaks of Otter, the Natural Bridge, Wyer’s Cave, Cyclopean Towers, the Shenandoah, and Harper’s Ferry.
The Peaks of Otter are situated upon the line which separates the counties of Bedford and Bottetourt, and are the two highest mountains on the Blue Ridge range, and therefore the highest in Virginia. They derive their name from the fact that, at a very early period in the history of our country, the otter was found in great abundance in the smaller streams at their base. In appearance they resemble a pair of regularly formed haystacks, and reach an elevation of about five thousand feet above the level of the ocean. Owing to the circumstance that the country on one side is nearly level, and that the surrounding mountains are comparatively low, their appearance is exceedingly imposing. The summits of these watchtowers are destitute of vegetation, but crowned with immense rocks, which have been scattered about in the most incomprehensible confusion. And hereby hangs a story. About one year ago, a number of persons ascended the highest peak in question, and having discovered an immense rock, which appeared to be in a tottleish position, they took into their heads to give it a start down the mountain side, and see what would be the result. They accomplished their purpose and something more, for it so happened that the rock travelled much further than they expected, and having fallen into a very large spring at the foot of the mountain, caused it to disappear from the face of the earth. The owner of the spring felthimself injured by this circumstance, and went to law about it, and the offending parties, as I have been informed, were compelled to pay a heavy bill of damages. That the sunrise and sunset prospects from the Peaks of Otter are superb may readily be imagined. Those which present themselves on the north, west, and south, seem to comprise the entire Appalachian chain of mountains, but the oceanward panorama is unique and particularly impressive. In this direction the whole eastern portion of Virginia resembles a boundless plain, where even the most extensive plantations appear no larger than the squares upon a chessboard; and now that I have employed that figure, it strikes me as particularly appropriate; for where is there a man on the face of the earth who is not playing a game for the attainment of happiness? From their position, the Peaks of Otter look down upon all the fogs and vapors born of the sea breezes, and, by those who have frequently beheld their fantastic evolutions, I am told that they surpass even the wildest flights of poetry. Few mountains in this country have been visited by so many distinguished men as the Peaks of Otter; and it is said that it was while standing on their loftiest pinnacle that John Randolph first had a realizing sense of the existence and the power of God. To some minds a mountain peak may be a thousand-fold more eloquent than the voice of man; and when I think of the highly moral condition of the people in Central Virginia, I am constrained to award a mite of praise even to the Peaks of Otter for their happy influences.
It was a thousand years ago, and a mighty caravan of mammoths were travelling across the American continent. Midway between two ranges of mountains they came to a great ravine, over which they could not find a passage, andthey were in despair. The Great Spirit took pity upon the animals, and having brought a deep sleep upon them, threw a mass of solid rock completely across the ravine, and so, according to an almost forgotten Indian legend, came into existence the Natural Bridge of Virginia. The chasm over which this magnificent limestone arch has been formed varies from sixty to ninety feet in width, the surrounding precipices are nearly two hundred and fifty feet high and perpendicular, and the lower line of the narrow arch itself is two hundred feet above the stream which passes through the gorge. The bridge and its cliff-like abutments are all crowned with a luxuriant diadem of trees, which lends them an indescribable charm, and directly on the north side of the former stands an exceedingly picturesque gallery or parapet of solid rock, which seems to have been formed by Nature for the especial purpose of affording the most imposing prospect into the dell. From every elevated point of view the eye falls into an abyss, which one might easily fancy to be the birthplace of all the shadows in the world, the gray and green gloom is so deep, so purely beautiful, and so refreshing, even at the hour of noon; but from every point of view at the bottom of the dell, the stupendous arch, as some writer has finely said, “seems to offer a passage to the skies,” and the massive masonry of Nature stands boldly out against the blue heavens, thereby producing a most unique and poetical contrast. But the location of this bridge is not less beautiful than its structure. It is completely surrounded with hills, which seem to cluster around the rare spectacle, as if to protect it from sacrilege; and from the hills in question the eye is every where delighted with mountain landscapes of uncommon loveliness.
Wyer’s Cave is in Augusta county, and the entranceto it is from the side of a limestone hill, which commands a very charming prospect of the highly cultivated Valley of the Shenandoah. It was originally discovered by one Bernard Wyer in the year 1804, whose fortune it was to capture a bear within a few paces of its entrance. Its entire length is not far from one thousand yards, so that its size is not to be wondered at; but when you come to speak of its beauty, the variety, number, and imposing appearance of its apartments, the novelty of its concretions, its fantastic projections, its comparative freedom from dampness, and the whiteness of its walls, I suppose it must be considered as unsurpassed by any thing of the kind in the country, excepting the Cave of Kentucky. But the pleasure of roaming about this darksome emblem of perdition is greatly enhanced by the huge pine torches which you and your guide have to carry over your heads, and then if you can possibly bribe your friendnotto utter a single one of the abominably classical names with which all the nooks and corners of the cave have been christened, your gratification will indeed be real, and your impressions strange, unearthly, and long-to-be-remembered in your dreams. To enjoy a visit to this cave, as it ought to be enjoyed, a man ought to have an entire summer day at his disposal; ought to be alone, should have a torch that should need no trimming, and under his arm a well-printed copy of Dante. Thus prepared, his enjoyment would be truly exquisite.
The Cyclopean Towers are also in Augusta county, and were so called on account of their resemblance to the Cyclopean walls of the ancients. They are formed of limestone, and as they stand at the outlet of a valley, through which it is probable a mighty river once flowed, they were evidently formed by the water while forcing its way aroundthe point of the neighboring hill. There are five or six of them, and they vary from forty to ninety feet from base to summit, and are covered with trees. When viewed at the twilight hour they appear like the mouldering ruins of a once magnificent castle, and the wildness of the surrounding scenery is not at all calculated to dissipate this illusion.
With regard to the Valley of the Shenandoah, I can only say that a more beautiful section of country I have never seen. The soil is exceedingly rich and highly cultivated; its yeomanry are descended from the German population of the older times; and throughout all its borders, I am certain that peace and plenty abound. As to the river itself, I can only say that it is worthy of its vague but poetical and melodious Indian name, the interpretation of which is said to beDaughter of the Stars.
And now a single word in regard to Harper’s Ferry. When I close my eyes and bring the scenery of this portion of the Potomac before my mind, I am disposed to agree, in every particular, with all those writers who have sung the praises of this remarkable gorge; but when I look upon it as it now appears, despoiled by the hand of civilization of almost every thing which gives a charm to the wilderness, I am troubled with an emotion allied to regret, and I again instinctively close my eyes, that I may look into the past, and once more hear the whoop of the Indian hunter following the fleet deer.
[The following highly interesting and valuable communications, are reprinted in this place by permission of the several writers, and for the purpose of concluding my little volume with an appropriate climax. The first was addressed to the Editors of theNational Intelligencer, and published in that journal subsequently to the appearance of my “Letters from the Alleghany Mountains.” The second was addressed to J. S. Skinner, Esq., but also published in the Intelligencer; and the third, introducing a letter from Professor C. U. Shepard, was originally addressed to the Editor of theHighland Messenger, (Ashville, N. C.) in which paper it made its first appearance: and the fourth communication, by Professor E. Mitchell, addressed to the Hon. Mr. Clingman, was published in the New-York Albion.]
C. L.
Ashville, North Carolina, October, 1848.
Gentlemen: As you have recently been publishing a series of letters in relation to that portion of the Alleghany range which is situated in North Carolina, you may, perhaps, find matter of interest in the subject of this communication. My purpose in making it is not only to present to the consideration of those learned or curious in geology facts singular and interesting in themselves, but also, by means of your widely disseminated paper, to stimulate an inquiry as to whether similar phenomena have been observed in any other parts of the Alleghany range.
A number of persons had stated to me that at different periods, within the recollection of persons now living, a portion of a certain mountain in Haywood county had been violently agitated and broken to pieces. The first of these shocks remembered by any person whom I have seen, occurred just prior to the last war with England, in the year 1811 or 1812. Since then some half a dozen or more have been noticed. The latest occurred something more than three years ago, on a clear summer morning. These shocks have usually occurred, or at least been more frequently observed, in calm weather. They have generally been heard distinctly by persons in the town of Waynesville, some twenty miles off. The sound is described as resembling the rumbling of distant thunder, but no shaking of the earth is felt at that distance. In the immediate vicinity of the mountain, and for four or five miles around, this sound is accompanied by a slight trembling of the earth, which continues as long as the sound lasts—that is, for one or two minutes. After each of these shocks the mountain was found to be freshly rent and broken in various places.
Having an opportunity afforded me a few days since, I paid a visit to the locality, and devoted a few hours to a hurried examination. It is situated in the northeastern section of Haywood county, near the head of Fine’s creek. The bed of the little creek at the mountain is probably elevated some twenty-six or seven hundred feet above the level of the ocean. The valley of the French Broad, at the Warm Springs, some fifteen miles distant, is twelve hundred feet lower. They are separated, however, by a mountain ridge of more than four thousand feet elevation above the sea, and there are high mountains in all directions around the locality in question. The immediate object of interest is the western termination of a mountain ridge nearly half a mile to the east of the house of Mr. Matthew Rogers. The top of this ridge, at the place where it has been recently convulsed, is some three or four hundred feet above the creek, at its western extremity, but it rises rapidly for some distance as it goes off to the eastward towards the higher mountain range. The northern side of this ridge I had not time to examine, but the marks of violence are observable at the top of the ridge, and extend in a direction nearly due south, down the side of the mountain four or five hundred yards, to a little branch; thence across it, over a flat or gentle slope, and up the side of the next ridge as far as I went, being for three or four hundred yards. The tract of ground examined by me was perhaps half a mile in length from north to south. The breadth of the surface subjected to violence was nowheremore than two hundred yards, and generally rather less than one hundred. Along this space the ground has been rent in various places. The fissures or cracks most frequently run in a northern and southern direction, and towards the tops of the mountains, but they are often at right angles to these, and in fact some may be found in all directions. While some of them are so narrow as to be barely visible, others are three or four feet in width. The annual falling of the leaves and the washing of the rains has filled them so that at no place are they more than five or six feet in depth. Along this tract all the large trees have been thrown down, and are lying in various directions, some of them six feet in diameter. One large poplar, which stood directly over one of the fissures, was cleft open, and one half of the trunk, to the height of more than twenty feet, is still standing. Though the fissure, which passed directly under its centre, is not more than an inch in width, it may be observed for nearly a hundred yards. All the roots of trees which crossed the lines of fracture are broken. The rocks are also cloven by these lines. The top of the ridge, which seems originally to have been an entire mass of granite, is broken in places. Not only have those masses of rock, which are chiefly under ground, been cleft open, but fragments lying on the surface have been shattered. All those persons who have visited it immediately after a convulsion, concur in saying that every fallen tree and rock has been moved. The smallest fragments have been thrown from their beds as though they had been lifted up. In confirmation of this statement I observed that a large block of granite, of an oblong form, which, from its size, must have weighed not less than two thousand tons, had been broken into three pieces of nearly equal size. This mass was lying loosely on the top of the ground, in a place nearly level, and there were no signs of its having rolled or slidden. The fragments were separated only a few inches, rendering it almost certain that it had been broken by a sudden shock or jar, which did not continue long enough to throw the pieces far apart.
Some parts of the surface of the earth have sunk down irregularly a few feet, other portions have been raised. There are a number of little elevations or hillocks, some of a few feet only in extent, and others twenty and thirty yards over. The largest rise at the centre to the height of eight or ten feet, and slope gradually down; some of these have been surrounded on all sides by a fissure, which is not yet entirely filled up. In some instances the trees on their sides, none of them large, are bent considerably from the perpendicular, showing that they had attained some size before the change of level took place on the surface where they grow.
The sides of the mountain generally are covered by a good vegetable mould, not particularly rocky, and sustaining trees of large size. But along the belt of convulsion the rocks are much more abundant, and there are only young trees growing, the elasticity of which enabled them to stand during the shocks.
With reference to the mineral structure of the locality, it may be remarked that that entire section seems to constitute a hypogene formation. It consists of granites, gneiss, sometimes porphyritic, hornblende rock, micaceous schists, clay slate, and various other metamorphic strata. The nearest aqueous rocks that I know of are the conglomerate sandstone and sedimentary limestone, in the vicinity of the Warm Springs, fifteen miles distant in a direct line. If any volcanic rock has been found in hundreds of miles I am not aware of it. The mountain itself bears the most indubitable marks of plutonic origin. It consists mainly of a grayish white granite, in which the felspar greatly predominates, but it is sometimes rendered dark by an excess of mica in minute black scales. This latter mineral I saw also there in small rather irregular crystals. Some portions of the rock contained, however, its three ingredients, in nearly equal proportions; the quartz, in color, frequently approaching ash gray. In several places I observed that the granite was cut vertically by veins of gray translucent quartz, of from one to six inches in thickness. There were also lying in places on the ground lumps of common opaque white quartz, intersected by narrow veins, not exceeding half an inch in thickness, of specular iron, of the highest degree of brilliancy and hardness that that mineral is capable of possessing. It may be remarked that there are, in different directions within two miles of the locality, two considerable deposits of magnetic iron ore. The only rock which I observed there possessing any appearance of stratification seems to consist of mica, hornblende and a little felspar, in a state of intimate mixture. Having but a few hours to remain there, I do not pretend that there are not many other minerals at the locality; but I have no doubt but that the predominating character of the formation is such as I have endeavored to describe it, and I have been thus minute, in order that others may be able to judge more accurately in relation to the cause of the disturbances.
Before visiting the locality I supposed that the phenomena might be produced by the giving way of some part of the base of the mountain, so as to produce a sinking or sliding of the parts; but a moment’s examination was decisive on this point. It not unfrequently happens that aqueousrocks rest on beds of clay, gravel, &c., which may be removed from underneath them by the action of running water or other causes. Cavities are thus produced, and it sometimes happens that considerable bodies of secondary limestone and other sedimentary strata sink down with a violent shock. This, however, is found to be true only of such strata as are deposited from water. But at the locality under consideration the rocks are exclusively of igneous origin, and, I may add, two of the class termedhypogeneor “netherformed.” For though felspar and hornblende have been found in the lower parts of some of the lavas, where the mass had been subjected to great pressure and cooled slowly, yet quartz and mica have never been found as constituents of any volcanic rock, not even in the basaltic dikes and injected traps, where there must have been a pressure equal to several hundred atmospheres. It is universally conceded by geologists that those rocks of which these minerals constitute a principal part, have been produced at great depths in the earth, where they were subjected to enormous pressure during their slow cooling and crystallization. Prior, therefore, to the denudation which has exposed these masses of granite to our view, they must have been overlaid and pressed down while in a fluid state by superincumbent strata of great thickness and vast weight. It is not probable, therefore, that any cavities could exist, nor, even if it were possible that such could be the case, is it at all likely that a granite arch which once upheld such an immense weight would in our day give way under the simple pressure of the atmosphere; or, even if we were to adopt the improbable supposition that the mass of granite composing this mountain had been formed at a great depth below the present surface of the earth, and forced upbodilyby plutonic action, there is as little reason to believe that any cavities could exist. In fact, they are never found under granites. On looking at the surface of the ground at this place there is no appearance to indicate any general sinking of the mass. At the top of the ridge, where the fractures are observable across it, there is no variation in the slope of the surface or depression of the broken parts. Immediately below it, where the mountain has great steepness, equal at least to an inclination of forty-five degrees, where the line of fracture is parallel to the direction of the ridge, the surface is sunk suddenly ten or fifteen feet. This state of things, however, would inevitably be produced at such an inclination by the force of gravity alone, causing the parts separated by the shock to sink somewhat as they descend the mountain side. Lower down, where the steepness is not so great, the elevations much exceedthe depressions. The same is true of the appearances on the south side of the branch, where the surface is almost level for several hundred yards; and I think that any one surveying the whole of the disturbed ground will be brought to the conclusion that there has been a general upheaval rather than a depression, and that the irregularities now observable are due to a force acting from below, which has, during the shocks, unequally raised different parts of the surface. One of the earlier geologists, while this science was in its infancy, would probably have ascribed these phenomena to the presence underneath the surface of a bed of pyrites, bituminous shale, or some other substances capable of spontaneous combustion, which had taken fire from being penetrated by a stream of water or some other accidental cause. If such a combustion were to take place at a considerable depth below the surface, and should to a great extent heat the strata above, they would thereby be expanded and thickened so as to be forced upward. Such an expansion, though it would be less in granite than in some other strata, as shown by your fellow-townsman, Col. Totten, would nevertheless, if the heated mass were thick and the elevation of temperature considerable, be sufficient to raise the surface as much as it appears to have been elevated; such expansion, however, being necessarily from its nature very gradual, would not account for the various violent shocks nor for the irregular action at the surface. On the other hand, if the burning mass were near the surface, so as to cause explosion by means of gases generated from time to time, it is scarcely conceivable that such gases, while escaping through fissures of the rock above, should fail to be observed, inasmuch as a great volume would be necessary to supply the requisite amount of force, nor is it at all probable that such a state of things would not be accompanied by a sensible change of temperature at the surface. The difficulty in the way of such a supposition is greatly increased when we consider the form of the long narrow belt acted on, and from the recurrence of the sudden violent shocks after long intervals of quiet. Such a hypothesis in fact I do not regard as entitled to more respect than another one which was suggested to me at the place. As it has no other merit than that oforiginality, I should not have thought it worth repeating but for the statement of fact made in support of it. While I was observing the locality, my attention was directed to an elderly man who was gliding with a stealthy step through the forest, carrying on his left shoulder a rifle, and in his right hand a small hoe, such as the diggers of ginseng use. His glances, alternating between the distant ridges andthe plants about his feet, showed that while looking for deer he was not unmindful of the wants of the inhabitants of the Celestial Empire. On my questioning him in relation to the appearances, he said that he had observed them often after the different shocks; that the appearances were changed each time at the surface; that I ought to see it just after a shock, before the rain and leaves had filled the cracks, adding that it did “not show at all now.” He expressed a decided opinion that the convulsions were produced bysilverunder the surface. On my remarking that though I knew that that metal, in the hands of men, was an effective agent in cleaving rocks and excavating the earth, yet I had not supposed it could exert such an influence when deeply buried under ground, he stated in support of his opinion, that one of his neighbors had, on the north side of the mountain, found a spring hot enough to boil an egg. He also added that some three years since he had seen on the mountain, two miles to the north of this one, but in the direction seemingly of the line of force, a blazing fire for several hours, rising up sometimes as high as the tops of the trees, and going out suddenly for a moment at a time at frequent intervals. He declared that at the distance of a mile from where he was, the brightness was sufficient to enable him to see small objects. Several other persons in the vicinity I found subsequently professed to have seen the same light from different points of view, and described it in a similar manner. As no one of them seems to have thought enough of the matter to induce him to attempt to approach the place, though some persons represented that they had subsequently found a great quantity of “cinder” at the point, the statement of fact is not perhaps entitled to more weight than the hypothesis it was intended to support.
It is probable, however, that some difficulty will attend any explanation that can be offered in relation to the phenomena at this place. We know that the elevation of the surface of the earth is at many places undergoing a change, so gradual as not to be observed at any one time. Some of the northwestern parts of Europe, for example, are experiencing a slow upheaval equal to five or six feet in a century, while on the coast of Greenland thesubsidence, or depression, is such that even the ignorant inhabitants have learned that it is not prudent for them to build their huts near the edge of the water. Similar changes are observed in various other places, but they obviously bear no analogy to the facts under consideration. Again, it is well known that earthquakes from time to time agitate violently portions of the earth’s surface, of greater or less extent; thatwhile one single shock has permanently raised two or three feet the coast of Chili for several hundred miles, others have elevated or depressed comparatively small spaces. It usually happens, however, that when the shock is so forcible at one point as to break the solid strata of the globe, the surrounding parts are violently agitated for a considerable distance. In the present instance, however, the shock for half a mile at least in length, and for the breadth of one hundred yards, is such as to cleave a mass of granite of seemingly indefinite extent, and so quick and sudden as to displace the smallest fragments on the surface; and yet at the house of Mr. Rogers, less than half a mile distant, a slight trembling only is felt, not sufficient to excite alarm, while at the distance of a few miles, though the sound is heard, no agitation of the ground is felt. Should we adopt the view of those who maintain that all the central parts of the earth are in a state of fusion, and that violent movements of parts of the melted mass give rise to the shocks which are felt at the surface, the explanation of this and similar phenomena is still not free from difficulty. Upon the supposition that the solid crust of the globe has no greater thickness than that assumed by Humboldt, some twenty-odd miles, it would scarcely seem that such a crust, composed of rocky strata, would have the requisite degree of elasticity to propagate a violent shock to so small a surface, without a greater agitation of the surrounding parts than is sometimes observed. Volcanic eruptions, however, take place through every variety of strata; but these volcanoes are rarely if ever isolated; on the contrary, not only the volcanoes now active, but such as have been in a state of rest from the earliest historic era, are distributed along certain great lines of force, or belts, the limits of which seem to have been pretty well defined by geologists. But I am not aware of there being any evidence afforded of volcanic action, either in recent or remote geological ages, within hundreds of miles of this locality. Even if such exist beneath the sea, it must be at least two hundred miles distant. If then we attribute these convulsions to the same causes which have elsewhere generated earthquakes and volcanoes, is it probable that this is the only point in the Alleghany range thus acted on? The fact that nothing else of the kind has been, as far as I know, published to the world, is by no means conclusive, since the disturbances here have not only been unnoticed by writers, but are even unknown to nine-tenths of those persons living within fifty miles of the spot. Is it then improbable that different points of the great mountain range are sensibly acted on from year to year? It is true that this maybe the only locality affected. It might be supposed that there is at this place a mass of rock, separated wholly or partially from the adjoining strata, reaching to a great depth, and resting on a fluid basin, the agitation of which occasionally would give a shock to the mass. Though such be not at all probable, yet it is conceivable that such a mass might possess the requisite shape; and if at the top, instead of being a single piece, it should have a number of irregular fragments resting on it below the surface, then it might be capable of producing inequalities observable after each successive convulsion. From the form, however, of the belt acted on, as well as from other considerations, such a hypothesis is only possible, not probable. It would perhaps more readily be conceded that there was in the solid strata below an oblong opening, or wide fissure, connected with the fluid basin below, and filled either with melted lava, or more probably with elastic gas, condensed under vast pressure, so that the occasional agitations below would be propagated to the surface at this spot. Or if we suppose that steam, at a high heat, or some of the other elastic gaseous substances, should escape through fissures from the depths below, but have their course obstructed near the surface, so as to accumulate from time to time, until their force was sufficient to overpower the resistance, then a succession of periodic explosions might occur. Such a state of things would be analogous to the manner in which Mr. Lyell accounts for the Geysers, or Intermittent Hot Springs, in Iceland, except that the intervals between the explosions in this instance are much greater than in the other. It is easy to conceive that the shocks of some former earthquakes may have produced the requisite condition in the strata at that place.
Or, should we reject all such suppositions, it might be worth while to inquire whether this and similar phenomena may not be due to electricity? The opinion seems to have become general with men of science, that there are great currents of electricity circulating in the shell of the globe, mainly if not entirely in directions parallel to the magnetic equator. The observations and experiments of Mr. Fox have, in the opinion of a geologist so eminent as Mr. Lyell, established the fact that there are electro-magnetic currents along metalliferous veins. Taking these things to be true, it may well be that the electricity in its passage should be collected and concentrated along certain great veins. During any commotion in the great ocean of electricity, the currents along such lines, or rather where they are interrupted, might give rise to sensible shocks. The exceedingly quick vibratory motion, often observed on such occasions, seems analogousto some of the observed effects of electricity. In the present instance the line of force appears to coincide with the direction of the magnetic needle. It is also represented that the sound accompanying the convulsions is heard more distinctly at Waynesville, twenty miles south, than it is within two or three miles to the east or west of the locality, seeming to imply that the force may be exerted in a long line, though it is more intense at a particular point. In adverting, however, to the manner in which the phenomena observed at this place might possibly be accounted for, it is not my expectation to be able to arrive at their cause. One whose attention is mainly directed to political affairs, and who at most gets but an occasional glimpse of a book of science, ought neither to assume, nor to be expected to accomplish this. I have adopted the above mode of making suggestions as to the causes, solely to enable me to explain the facts observed in a more intelligible manner than I could do by a mere detail of the appearances and events as narrated. Perhaps those whose minds are chiefly occupied with the consideration of such subjects will find an easy solution of these phenomena. Should this letter be instrumental in eliciting information in relation to similar disturbances elsewhere in the Alleghany range, then its publication may answer some valuable purpose.
Very respectfully, yours,T. L. CLINGMAN.