"Can we be wrong in further concluding that this work was done under a strong and efficient government? Men have always shown that they do not love hard work, and yet hard work was done persistently here. Are there not evidences on the face of the facts that they were held to their tasks by some strong control?
"It is said that the Roman legion required only a square of seven hundred yards to effect the strongest encampment known to the ancients of Europe or Asia, but within these formidable lines there might be congregated at a moment's notice, fifty or sixty thousand men, with all their materials of war, women, children, and household goods."
"There are two mounds seen just outside of the walls at the upper end. From these mounds two low parallel walls extended in a northeasterly direction some thirteen hundred and fifty feet, their distant ends joining around a small mound. As this mound was not well situated for signal purposes, inasmuch as it did not command a very extensive view, and as the embankments would afford very little protection unless provided with palisades, it seems as if the most satisfactory explanation we have is that it was in the nature of a religious work.
"Mr. Hosea thinks he has found satisfactory evidence that between these walls there was a paved street, as he discovered in one place, about two feet below the present surface, a pavement of flat stones. From this as a hint he eloquently says: 'Imagination was not slow to conjure up the scene which was once doubtless familiar to the dwellers of Fort Ancient. A train of worshippers, led by priests clad in their sacred robes and bearing aloft the holy utensils, pass in the early morning ere yet the mists have arisen in the valley below, on the gently swelling ridge on which the ancient roadway lies. They near the mound, and a solemn stillness succeeds their chanting songs; the priests ascend the hill of sacrifice and prepare the sacred fire. Now the first beams of the rising sun shoot up athwart the ruddy sky, gilding the topmost boughs of the trees. The holy flame is kindled, a curling wreath of smoke arises to greet the coming god; the tremulous hush which was upon all nature breaks into vocal joy, and the songs of gladness burst from the throats of the waiting multitude as the glorious luminary arises in majesty and beams upon his adoring people, a promise of renewed life and happiness. Vain promise, since his rays cannot penetrate the utter darkness which for ages has settled over this people.' Thus imagination suggests, and enthusiasm paints, a scene, but from positive knowledge we can neither affirm nor deny its truth."
The largest of the burial mounds is situated at the junction of Grave Creels and the Ohio river, twelve miles below Wheeling, West Virginia. It measures seventy feet in height and is nearly one thousand feet in circumference. An excavation made from the top downward, and from one side of the base to the center disclosed the fact that the mound contained two sepulchres, one at the base and one near the center of the mound. These chambers had been constructed of logs, and covered with stone. The lower chamber contained two skeletons, one of which is supposed to have been a female. The upper chamber contained but one skeleton. In addition to these, there were found a great number of shell beads, ornaments of mica, and bracelets of copper.
It mast have been indeed a great work for people who had neither metallic tools nor domestic animals to have erected such a great mound. The earth for its construction was probably scraped from the surface and carried to the mound in baskets. A people who could erect such a monument as this, with such scanty means at their command, must have possessed those qualities which would sooner or later have brought them civilization.
Charles Dickens, when visiting America, gives this impression that the Big Grave made upon him "…the host of Indians who lie buried in a great mound yonder—so old that mighty oaks and other forest trees have struck their roots into the earth, and so high that it is a hill, even among the hills that Nature planted around it. The very river, as though it shared one's feelings of compassion for the extinct tribes who lived so pleasantly here in their blessed ignorance of white existence hundreds of years ago, steals out of its way to ripple near this mound, and there are few places where the Ohio sparkles more brightly than in the Big Grave Creek."
Standing here in this lovely region, chosen by a vanished race as their last resting place, we recalled the words of an Ohio poet:
"Lonely and sad it standsThe trace of ruthless handsIs on its sides and summit, and around,The dwellings of the white man pile the ground,And curling in the air,The smoke of thrice a thousand hearths is there:Without, all speaks of life; within,Deaf to the city's echoing din,Sleep well the tenants of that silent Mound,Their names forgot, their memories unrenown'd.
Upon its top I tread,And see around me spreadTemples and mansions, and the hoary hills,Bleak with the labor that the coffer fills,But mars their bloom the while,And steals from nature's face its joyous smile:And here and there, below,The stream's meandering flowBreaks on the view; and westward in the skyThe gorgeous clouds in crimson masses lie.The hammer's clang rings out,Where late the Indian's shoutStartled the wild fowl from its sedgy nest,And broke the wild deer's and the panther's rest.The lordly oaks went downBefore the ax—the canebrake is a town:The bark canoe no moreGlides noiseless from the shore;And, sole memorial of a nation's doom,Amid the works of art rises this lonely tomb.
—Chas. A. Jones.
It is a well known fact that these ancient people chose the most fertile spots along river bottoms for their settlements. The Cahokia Mound is such a stupendous example of the work of the Mound Builders that it well deserves mention here. It is located in one of the most fertile sections in Illinois. It is well watered, and not often overflowed by the Mississippi. It is such a fertile and valuable tract that it has received the name of the "Great American Bottom."
"Dr. Patrick has stated that the area of the base is over fifteen acres. This base is larger than that of the Great Pyramid, which was counted as one of the seven wonders of the world, and we must not lose sight of the fact that the earth for its construction was scraped up and brought thither without the aid of metallic tools or beasts of burden, and yet the earth was obtained somewhere and piled up over an area of fifteen acres, in one place to a height of one hundred feet, and even the lowest platform is fifty feet above the plain. Some have suggested that it might be partly a natural elevation. There seems to be, however, no good reasons for such suggestions.
"Near the site of Hughes High School in Cincinnati stood this prehistoric earthwork. It was originally more than thirty-five feet high, but was entirely levelled in 1841." (footnote Chas. A. Jones.)
The first platform is reached at the height of about fifty feet. This platform has an area of not far from two and four-fifths acres-large enough for quite a number of houses, if such was the purpose for which this mound was erected. The second platform is reached at about the height of seventy-five feet, and contains about one and three-fourths acres. The third platform is elevated ninety-six or ninety-seven feet, while the last one is not far from one hundred feet above the plain. We require to dwell on these facts a moment before we realize what a stupendous piece of work this is.
Why need we go to Egypt to see the Great Pyramid when we know who built it and for what it was used; while we have this great work in our own country by a vanished race whose purpose in erecting it is still unknown? Some writers think that this huge piece of work was performed so that their tribe would have an elevation upon which to place their village, as an elevated site has always been an important factor in defenses. Other writers consider it a temple mound, and it resembles those that the ancient Mexicans raised for both religions purposes and town sites. Others believe that it may have been used to elevate their homes above the level valley in case of floods.
At Miamisburg we have a great mound, rising to a height of sixty- eight feet, which is regarded as one of a chain by which signals were transmitted along the valley. In the Scioto valley, from Columbus to Chillicothe, a distance of about forty miles, twenty mounds may be selected, so placed in respect to each other that it is believed if the country was cleared of forests, signals of fire might be transmitted in a few minutes along the whole line. They may have been used as signal stations by the red man centuries after the disappearance of their original builders.
Several examples of effigy mounds are found in Ohio. The most notable is that known as "Great Serpent Mound," in Adams County. It is the largest and most distinct of this class of mounds in the United States if not in the whole world. Other important Ohio points are the Eagle Mound at Newark and the Alligator or Opossum Mound at Granville.
The morning of our arrival at this remarkable effigy—how shall we describe it? The time was June, and as Lowell phrased it, "What is so rare as a day in June?" We wound among picturesque scenes that were softened by the hazy clouds and reveled in the unsurprising riches of the charming landscape. The road led through thick forests of oaks, linden and maple, through smiling vales and to the crests of hills overlooking long open valleys with wooded heights beyond. Everything seemed to break forth into singing. Even the rippling streams chimed merrily in with the glad exultant songs of red wing black birds and fluting cardinals.
As we entered the park we were greeted by the cheery piping of the Baltimore oriole-a warm, rich welcome from this brilliantly colored bird as he fluttered about the elm like a dash of southern sunshine. Try as we would we found our thoughts straying from the dim days of the dead past to the ever living present, for bees and birds were busy everywhere, telling their joy in melodious and ecstatic notes.
European travelers say that our woods are nearly devoid of birds, and that the songs of such as we have are not to be compared with those about which their poets have written so charmingly. They never were out among our blossoming wilderness while the sun poured his first rays through delicate green leaves and mounds of flowers or they never would have written that way.
When from a rising eminence of land we let our eyes rove over the vast undulating country around us, only the more prominent features impress themselves on our view. The lesser details, the waving grain, the blossoming sumac, the small brooklet, which attract the immediate passerby, are lost in the distance, but the range of forest clad hills, the wide expanse of fertile plain, or the purpling hills in the distance, determine the landscape and claim our attention. So in the light of the present century let us note what we can of these ancient and forgotten people. "Distance lends enchantment to the view," and this is true of distance in time, or culture as well as in space.
In memory we live over again those scenes, when a strange race met in this very spot to worship. In fancy we see again vast multitudes of people who assembled at the head of a victorious warrior-king who returned from the field of battle, to offer sacrifice upon the altar in the center of the oval. The casting off of the old skin of the serpent may have been to these primitive people typical of immortality. "Then a kite, by producing death, would be to them the working of some powerful spirit through that serpent. Its power to destroy life no doubt caused it to be held in great veneration by many primitive tribes. Likewise any striking object in Nature, such as a river, lake, precipitous cliff, with singular shaped stone such as we have here on the crescent shaped plateau rising from Brush Creek, would have been regarded as the abode of some spirit and would be worshipped accordingly. That such objects are worshipped the world over we have abundant testimony, and it will be found in all such cases that there is some peculiarity about the contour of the land on which are placed these objects, that would be sure to catch the eye of a superstitious race."
There has been another serpent mound discovered in Warren County, but space forbids a description of it. Not far from the city of Toronto, Canada, we also find another.
"The Great Serpent Mound" in Adams County has a counterpart in the Old World. In Scotland there is a very remarkable and distinct serpent, constructed of stone. This work has so much in common with the Ohio serpent that we reproduce the description as given by Miss Gordon Cummin in Good Words for March, 1872.
"The mound is situated upon a grassy plain. The tail of the serpent rests near the shore of Loch Nell, and the mound gradually rises seventeen to twenty feet in height and is continued for three hundred feet, forming a double curve like the letter S, and wonderfully perfect in anatomical outline. This we perceive the more perfect on reaching the head, which lies at the western end… The head forms a circular cairn, on which, at the time of a visit there in 1871, there still remained some trace of an altar, which has since wholly disappeared. On excavating the circular cairn, or circle of stones forming the head, a chamber containing burnt bones, charcoal and burnt hazelnuts, and an implement of flint were found. The removal of peat, moss and heather from the back of the reptile showed that the whole length of the spine was carefully constructed, with regularly and symmetrically placed stones at such angles as to throw off rain… The spine is, in fact, a long narrow causeway made of large stones, set like the vertebrae of some huge animal. They form a ridge, sloping off at each side, which is continued downward with an arrangement of smaller stones suggestive of ribs. The mound has been formed in such a position that the worshippers standing at the altar would naturally look eastward, directly along the whole length of the great reptile and across the dark lake to the triple peaks of Ben Cruachan. This position must have been carefully selected, as from no other point are the three peaks visible. General Forlong, in commenting on this, says
"'Here, then, we have an earth-formed snake, emerging in the usual manner from the dark blue water, at the base, as it were, of a triple cone—Scotland's Mount Hermon—just as we so frequently meet snakes and their shrines in the East.'
"Is there not something more than mere coincidence in the resemblance between Loch Nell and the Ohio Serpent, to say nothing of the topography of their respective situations? Each has the head pointing west, and each terminates with a circular enclosure, containing an altar, from which, looking along the most prominent portion of the serpent, the rising sun may be seen. If the serpent of Scotland is the symbol of an ancient faith surely that of Ohio is the same."
Rev. MacLean of Greenville, Ohio, is a well known writer on these topics. During the summer of 1881, while in the employ of the Bureau of Ethnology, visited the place, taking with him a thoroughly competent surveyor, and made a very careful plan of the work for the bureau. All other figures published represent the oval as the end of the works. Prof. Putnam who visited the works in 1883, noticed, between the oval figure and the edge of the ledge a slightly raised, circular ridge of earth, from either side of which a curved ridge extended towards the side of the oval figure. Rev. MacLean's researches and measurements have shown that the ridges last spoken of are but part of what is either a distinct figure or a very important portion of the original. As determined, it certainly bears a very close resemblance to a frog, and such Mr. MacLean concludes it to be.
"The oval mound in front of the Great Serpent effigy would indicate that this was a locality which tradition had fixed upon as a place where some divinity had dwelt. We suggest also in reference to this serpent mound, that possibly the very trend of the hill and the valleys, and the streams on either side of it, may have been given to tradition. The isolation of the spot is remarkable. Two streams which here separate the tongue of land from the adjoining country unite just below the cliff, and form an extensive open valley, which lays the country open for many miles, so that the cliff on which the effigy is found can be seen a great distance. The location of this effigy is peculiar. It is in the midst of a rough, wild region, which was formerly very difficult to approach, and according to all accounts was noted for its inaccessibility.
"The shape of the cliff would easily suggest the idea of a massive serpent, and with this inaccessibility to the spot would produce a peculiar feeling of awe, as if it were a great Manitou which resided there, and so a sentiment of wonder and worship would gather around the locality. This would naturally give rise to a tradition or would lead the people to revive some familiar tradition and localize it. This having been done, the next step would be to erect an effigy on the summit which would both satisfy the superstition and represent the tradition. It would then become a place where the form of the serpent divinity was plainly seen, and where the worship of the serpent, if it could be called worship, would be practiced. Along with this serpent worship, however, there was probably the formality instituted here, and the spot made sacred to them. It was generally 'sacrificing in a high place,' the fires which were lighted would be seen for a great distance down the valley and would cast a glare over the whole region, producing a feeling of awe in the people who dwelt in the vicinity. The shadows of the cliff would be thrown over the valley, but the massive form of the serpent would be brought out in bold relief; the tradition would be remembered and superstition would be aroused, and the whole scene would be full of strange and awful associations."
The various authors who have treated of this serpent mound have maintained that the tradition which found its embodiment here was the old Brahmanic tradition of the serpent and the egg. Even the Indians had their traditions in regard to the meaning of various symbols.
In Longfellow's Song of Hiawatha we have this legend from theIndians:
Thus said Hiawatha, walkingIn the solitary forest,Pondering, musing in the forest,On the welfare of his people.From his pouch he took his colors,Took his paints of different colors.On the smooth bark of a birch treePainted many shapes and figures,Wonderful and mystic figures,And each figure had a meaning,Each some word or thought suggested.
Gitche Manito, the Mighty,He, the Master of Life, was paintedAs an egg, with points projectingTo the four winds of the heavens.Everywhere is the Great Spirit,Was the meaning of the symbol.
Mitche Manito, the Mighty,He the dreaded Spirit of Evil,As a serpent was depicted,As Kenabeek the great serpent.Very crafty, very cunning,Is the creeping Spirit of Evil,Was the meaning of this symbol.
(footnote From "The Egg and Serpent.")
Here while gazing in wonder at this ancient shrine we recalled how in the stillness and fading light of evening we visited the famous cathedral of Antwerp. The last rays of the descending sun fell through the stained glass and darkened the vast aisles. The grandeur and solemn beauty of this noble pile at this time of day touched the imagination most deeply. Then listening to the mellow music falling as it were from the clouds through the tranquil air of evening, we were enchanted. How those light silvery notes filled our imagination with romantic dreams of old Flanders.
Again we recalled our visit to the Great Cathedral of Cologne, the most complete piece of Gothic architecture anywhere to be found. We mounted the steps of one of the gigantic towers which lift their sublime heads to a height of five hundred two feet, the exact length of the cathedral. Here we gazed out over the level plain that stretched away to the marvelous scenic region of the Seven Mountains. The foundation of this beautiful structure was laid two hundred fifty years before the discovery of America and fifty years before the founding of the Turkish Empire. But the last stone was not laid on the south tower until 1880.
As we listened to the deep-toned bells, how we were thrilled with visions of the past! Here lived Colonia Agrippina, the daughter of Germanicus and the mother of Nero. It was from Cologne that Hadrian received his summons to Rome as emperor. Here, too, Vitellius and Silvanus were both proclaimed emperor in this remote northern camp on the left bank of the Rhine.
But you do not dwell long on the past, for here stands this colossal, magnificent cathedral with its incomparable towers to call your attention to the glorious achievements of man. Men were not the only ones to use this noble edifice as a sanctuary, for out and in among its superb towers numerous birds darted to and fro, where they dwelt safely as in a citadel. Pretty falcons circled gracefully about them as though they were crags of some wild mountain; rooks cawed from their lofty stations below the bells; chimney swifts glued their log cabins to rough stone ledges, and in various niches above the doorway pigeons placed their nests and uttered their messages of peace to all who entered. English sparrows, too, had taken possession here and there just as their countrymen had taken possession of the city.
As we entered the cathedral a mingled feeling of awe and devotion came over us. But it was not the blazing shrine of the eleven thousand Virgins, the magnificent windows through which the morning sunbeams filtered, nor yet the choir, perhaps the most wonderful in the world, that produced this feeling of reverence. "We remembered that this glorious structure had been erected to the 'God of Peace' in the midst of strife and bitterness, and by men estranged by the first principle of the Gospel." But here we beheld French officers, Scotch Highlanders, English and American soldiers, scattered among the Germans, reverently kneeling, devout and hushed at the Consecration. Then we thought how "notwithstanding the passions of men and wickedness of rulers, the building up of the Church of God and of the Christian faith, goes steadily on, unrecorded but continuous."
But here among these lovely Ohio hills, where the Master Architect erected and is still building these wonderful temples that never decay, we were more impressed by their solemn grandeur than any work of man could inspire. Here long before the cathedrals of Europe were thought of, a primitive people erected their altars and offered up their sacrifice to their gods. Here as the rays of the sun filtered through the leafy windows of the trees falling upon the richly wrought mosaic of ferns and flowers, where the gorgeous cardinal blossoms flamed from a hundred altars and the bell-like song of the wood thrush rang through all the dim aisles, these ancient people felt the presence of a higher power, and not yet knowing that their god required the sacrifice of noble lives and loving hearts, brought to the altar the best gifts they knew.
Standing alone in this fair solitude, as much alone as if we had been on some fairy isle of a distant sea, we felt that we were surrounded by a strange, mysterious presence, and thoughts and fancies, like weird articulate voices of those ancient people, filled the solemn place. The aged trees sighed in the evening wind, telling over and over their mournful legends, lest they forget. The storm-swept maples repeated their "rhythmical runes of these unremembered ages." We allowed ourselves to sink soothingly beneath deep waves of primitive emotions until we seemed to perceive the sagas that the maples told the elms of a more remote history than that of the Pharaohs or storied Greece.
Darkness began to settle over this lonely spot. Along the silent and gloomy road we seemed to see shadowlike forms that flitted here and there through the blackness of darkest night, a blackness only relieved by a few stars that peered like silent spectators from the dark draperies of clouds. Now a band of people was seen moving not swiftly to the accompaniment of martial music, but slowly and silently to the sighing night wind. As we watched a lurid flame burst from the center of the oval while a strange figure bent over it as he performed his weird mystical rites. Now the light from the red and yellow flames fell upon a vast group of dark figures and a thousand gleaming eyes peered out of the velvety canopy around us. The mournful distressing notes of the ghost bird broke the stillness. The scream of some passing night bird replied as if in answer to their weird calls. A great horned owl made us shiver with his "hoo, hoo, hoo," as the flame shot upward in scarlet circles. The night wind stirred the branches, which sighed audibly, and died away leaving the place lonelier than before. Then the sharp bark of a fox rang out from a neighboring hill. The breeze started up again and a limb of a tree that rubbed against its neighbor produced a wailing sound as of some one in distress. We could see fantastic shapes out among the gnarled tree trunks and ghostly forms appeared in the velvety shadows and vanished again among the trees. The moon rose out over the rim of the eastern hills and seemed almost to pause as if some Oriental Magic was being wrought. A mist arose from the river and hovered over the valley below us; the complaining water of Brush creek mingled with the wailing of the screech owl as the ghostly footfalls sounded more remote. The bullfrog's harsh troonk "ushered in the night" and, imagining one of them as the very one that escaped the serpent and leaped into the creek centuries ago, we left the place to the spirits of that unknown age and the moonlight.
But why this concern over a vanished race? Why all this worry over the Coliseum or Parthenon? Why so eager to learn of these crumbling mounds and broken down embankments in our own land? Then as if we heard a voice from the shadowy past, rising from these silent ruins, we begin to gain their secret at last. The Parthenon and Coliseum call up the sad story with its yet sadder truth that true weal can only come to that nation that plans for the future. Yet each adds something to the onward march of civilization.
In the ancient gardens of France and Italy the nightingale still warbles her divine hymn, all unmindful of Caesar's conquests. The whippoorwill calls in her plaintive notes through the silvery spring nights over the graves of this vanished race of America. Let us concern ourselves about the past only as that past shall contribute to a more glorious future. It is not mounds, pyramids, or bronze tablets we should be building for later generations of archaeologists to puzzle their brains over.
A large and beautiful mound standing in the precincts of the original plat of Columbus, Ohio, was demolished, the clay taken therefrom and used as the material for the bricks with which the first State House was built. Here where a thousand years came and went and the Indian warrior reverently spared the last resting place of these unrecorded dead, another people reared their legislative halls out of their mouldering sepulchres and crumbling bones. O, American Nation, with your wonderful civilization of today, it is well to pause here amid the "steam shriek" career of your harried life with all its getting and spending, to contemplate the ruin of even this once consecrated piece of ground.
Here as you watch, the swift winged swallows dart from their homes in the steep bank of the stream; the kingfisher sounds his discordant rattle and hangs poised in mid air as he gazes into the waters below; the woodbine like a staunch friend still clings round the oak or hangs out its crimson banner in autumn; the meadowlark walks sedately on the vast coils of the serpent calling, "Spring o' the year," or as we fancied, "they are not here," as he did on that first morning. Man, yes, nations pass away and are forgotten, yet the spirit of life is ever perpetuated in a thousand new and lovely forms. At times we are touched by the fluttering of the maple leaves as if we read a mournful prophecy. Even now the petals of the wood rose are lying around us and we see signs where earlier blossoms have faded. Yet will they never bloom again ? Men may return to dust from whence they sprung, but out of the mould will rise new blossoms to make glad the earth, and while some other nation shall wander over the ruins and tread with solemn step over the resting place of those who now wander here, they too shall listen to the liquid notes of the wood thrush through the hushed aisle of some shadowy forest and also learn that nothing dies.
Here crowning the summits of these ancient mounds of an older race of tillers of the soil dwell the peaceful American farmers in their comfortable rural homes all unmindful of that other race who toiled here. How well the secrets of the past are guarded! "Try as we might we could not roll hack the flight of time, even by the aid of ancient history, by whose feeble light we were able to see but dimly the outlines of the centuries that lie back of us; beyond is gloom soon lost in night. It is hidden by a present veil that only thickens as the years roll on."
The encroaching days of the Red men and the ravages of time, as the centuries came and went, have affected but not obliterated these ancient mounds. The vandal hand of conquering man has destroyed or hid from sight many of the monumental works of this primitive people. But there yet remain many mournful ruins here in Ohio which cannot fail to impress us with a sense of a vanished past.
"To think of our own high state of civilization is to imagine for this nation an immortality. We are so great and strong that surely no power can remove us. Let us learn humility from the past; and when, here and there, we come upon some reminder of a vanished people, trace the proofs of a teeming population in ancient times, and recover somewhat of a history as true and touching as any that poets sing, let us recognize the fact that nations as well as individuals pass away and are forgotten."
"There is the moral of all human tales;'Tis but the same rehearsal of the past.First Freedom, and then glory—when that fails,Wealth, vice, corruption,—barbarian at last,And history with its volume vast,Hath but one page."
(footnote NOTE. Many of the quotations given in the above are to be found in "Allan's History of Civilization." We are also indebted to Mr. Randall, State Secretary of the Ohio Archaeological Society, for material used.)
Shenandoah, "the Daughter of Stars," as the Indians have called this lovely valley, lies in the northwestern part of Virginia between the Blue Ridge mountains on the east and the Alleghanies on the west, beginning near Staunton and extending in a northeastern direction to the Potomac Water Gap at Harpers Ferry. Through it runs what was once known as the "Great Valley Pike" and which is now part of the National Highway. Not only its incomparable scenery but its many thrilling campaigns of historical significance make this valley the Mecca for thousands of tourists. It has been the stage of vast scenic beauty on which the bloody drama of war has so often been enacted. How many and varied have been its actors! How sanguine and gruesome the part they played!
"Many and thrilling were the Indian massacres that occurred here; it knew the horrors of the French and Indian War; from it during the Revolution Morgan conducted his vigorous operations against the British; last but not least, it was the scene of Stonewall Jackson's brilliant "Valley Campaign" and Sheridan's Ride made famous by Thomas Buchanan Read.
"What stirring campaigns this broad and beautiful plain, stretching from the foot of the Blue Ridge toward the sea, has known! How like a vast citadel, this Old Dominion above the other confederate states to guard their capital! The parallel rivers made a water barrier on the north where the Federals were compelled to wade to victory; while the western front, a high range of the Blue Ridge, stretched along the sky like a vast wall, its purple ramparts frowning down in defiance, or the nearer hills rising impressively up from the plain, forming in the valley ways between well protected avenues for invading the North." (footnote Shenandoah Valley—Pond.) Ages before any battles transpired here, Nature threw up these beautiful fortifications and arranged the field of battle.
The road approaches the valley through its rocky gateway of Harper's Ferry where the Potomac, after breaking through the vast wall of the Blue Ridge, is joined by the Shenandoah. Here great rocks rise and tower above you and the broad stream is filled with boulders of various sizes, making innumerable cascades, which present a scene of rare beauty. After climbing by many and various curves you finally reach the top of a towering cliff and look down on the wondrous picture spread before you. The confluence of these two rivers is one of the many beauty spots of the valley.
The Gap was of vast strategic importance during the Civil war. In nearly every instance the Confederates were aided by the contour of the land in the "Valley Campaign." A confederate advance here would lead straight toward Washington, while a Union advance south would lead from a straight course to Richmond. The Potomac flows at right angles to the line of the ridge, therefore a Confederate force crossing the valley mouth would be in the rear of the north. One day's march from Cumberland valley would carry the Southern troops into the farmlands of Pennsylvania. Thus did Nature seem to contribute to the aid of the South.
We soon forgot about the conflict for the valley in all its beauty lay before us, and every day was a holiday. So it was not important just then which way the river flowed or in what direction those glorious mountains led. It was the bloom-time of the year in the uplands; the landscapes of the valley were sparkling in the sunlight, the songs of numerous larks rose like incense from every meadow, the vireo filled in every pause with her rapid voluble song, the clear ringing call of the quail resounded through every valley, and the hillsides were so covered with different hued grasses, ferns and flowers that they seemed like vast paintings.
Here the fine automobile road wound among scenes of incomparable loveliness. There were vast sheets of ox-eyed daisies; the rich flaming orange of the butterfly weed, the purple of various mints, the gleaming gold of numerous compositae making the place rich in floral beauty, while an ever-fragrant breeze stirred the grain into golden billows and the meadows into slight undulating waves like an emerald sea.
Slow indeed was our progress through these glorious places and each stop we made on the high ridges overlooking the valleys unfolded a view more beautiful than the last we beheld. Cultivation had been here many years, yet this only served to enhance the loveliness of the scene; and we wandered enchanted from place to place in long wavering curves, knowing that each new turn held a vision of delight. Wander where you will in this valley the Blue Ridge mountains are always in sight wearing those misty blue veils on their graceful forest crowned ridges.
Harper's Ferry was not only of great strategic importance as a gateway for the armies but it will ever be associated with the memory of John Brown, that impulsive but noble soul for whom Freedom was a passion. What matter though he was hanged, the nation shall ever honor his memory. There is a monument marking the site of the old John Brown fort near the railroad station which may he seen from the high-way intersecting the valley.
As we looked at the monument we thought of this poem which, in its majestic sweep of thought, is as stately as the Potomac:
John Brown of Ossawatomie spoke on his dying day:"I will not have to shrive my soul a priest in Slavery's pay,But let some poor slave-mother whom I have striven to free,With her children, from the gallows stair put up a prayerfor me."
John Brown of Ossawatomie, they led him out to die;And lo! a poor slave mother with her little child pressed nigh.Then the bold blue eye grew tender, and the old harsh facegrew mildAs he stooped between the jeering ranks and kissed the Negro'schild.
The shadows of his stormy life that moment fell apart,And they who blamed the bloody hand forgave the loving heart,That kiss from all its guilty means redeemed the good intent,And around the grisly fighter's hair the martyr's aureole bent!
Perish with him the folly that seeks through evil good!Long live the generous purpose unstained by human blood!Not the raid of midnight terror, but the thought whichunderlies;Not the borderer's pride of daring, but the Christian'ssacrifice.
Nevermore may yon Blue Ridges the northern rifle hear,Nor see the light of blazing homes flash on the Negro'sspear,But let the free-winged angel Truth their guarded passesscale,To teach that right is more than might, and justice morethan mail!
So vainly shall Virginia set her battle in array;In vain her trampling squadrons knead the winter snowswith clay.She may strike the pouncing eagle, but she dares notharm the dove;And every gate she bars to Hate shall open wide to Love.
—Whittler.
Lee captured Harper's Ferry with eleven thousand men, seventy- three heavy guns and thirteen thousand small arms. After he beat Hooker at Chancelorsville this valley was his route of invasion. After the battle of Gettysburg he fell back and pitched his camp here. In fact, it witnessed so many captures and defeats that it was known as the "Valley of Humiliation." It had to be wrested from the enemy before the Richmond Campaign could be carried out. General J. F. Johnston, commander of the forces known as the Army of the Shenandoah, was stationed at the outlet of the valley. Jackson, too, began his campaign in 1862. Being checked by Shields, he fell upon Fort Republic, defeated Fremont at Cross Keys, captured the garrison at Front Royal, drove Banks across the Potomac and alarmed Washington by breaking up the junction of McDowell's and McClellan's forces which threatened the capture of Richmond.
Our campaign in search of beauty was a brilliant success, and from many points of vantage did we spy upon the vast expanse of golden grain and fresh green meadows in which cattle were grazing, or ruminating in the shade of friendly elms. Here gush clear springs, whose courses may be traced by tall waving ferns and creeping vines that weave their spell of green. Swift tumbling brooks have worn down the soil and enriched the valley. This valley was called the "Granary of the Confederacy" and a granary it really was, "for it was rich not only in grain but an abundance of fruit and live stock; and what more would the North want for the support of its army? It was in the possession of the Confederates; much wanted by the Federals, and in time came to be a great campaign ground of both armies"—the Belgium of America. What thrilling marching and counter-marching the lower valley might tell! What a history those villages must have had from 1861 to 1865! Perhaps at dawn they sheltered an army of "Yanks," at noon they may have been swarming with men from the South, while night, with her ever-watchful stars, looked down and saw them sleeping beneath the Stars and Stripes! In fact, it was traversed so often that the men from both armies called it, the "Race Course." So many were their journeys over the famous "Valley Pike" that they knew the various springs, houses, and in many instances, the citizens who lived there.
Alas! How many brave sons in the North said farewell to scenes and friends to enter the Union Army in the valley, never to return. How often, too, the gallant sons of the "Sunny South" gazed with tear dimmed eyes for the last time on those purple hills they knew from childhood. How many were the battles fought here! How terrible the scenes of devastation and the toll of life! Waste were the golden fields of grain upon which we gaze with such rapt admiration. Waste, too, were these mills with their whir of industry. The fury of war fell on those sunny acres like a great pestilence, and their usefulness and beauty became desolation. The only grist mill not burned by Sheridan and his men when they went through is still pointed out to the traveler. But Nature has again asserted her right and on this delightful morning the valley smiles beneath its veil of dreamy blue like the peaceful glow that spreads over the countenance of some great and beneficent soul.
The high range of the Blue Ridge was seen stretching along the sky like a vast purple wall, while, nearer, the lower hills rose impressively up from the plain. How clean and pare and shining the woods appear this lovely morning! The glorious old chestnut trees reflect the sunlight and shimmering masses from their shining green leaves, while their creamy white flowers make a grand display amidst the various tinted foliage of all the forest; and the stately basswood, covered with light yellow bloom filled with the hum of innumerable bees, heightens the picture. The shadowy hemlock and fragrant pine swaying in the breeze still tell their age-old songs. The sunbeams spangled on the broad green leaves of the sycamore tree, their tracery of white boughs relieved against the dense groves of evergreens, made studies in light and shade worthy of an Innes; while beneath these grand trees tall ferns and velvety mosses contrasted their various shades of green over which rose spikes of flaming cardinal flowers and blue mists of mints making the picture complete. Then, too, song birds enlivened the fair scene with their notes. In the bushes along the highway Maryland yellow-throats threw back their masked heads and called, "Witchery, witchery, witchery," as if they appreciated their charming home, while nearby, a cardinal appeared like an arrow of flame from the bow of some unseen archer, and whistled several variations that rang through all the woodland. The house wren was fairly bubbling over with music and his rippling notes seemed to express the exuberance of life in all Nature; while the serene song of the woodthrush floated from far, dim forest depths—fit prelude for the Angelic Choir.
Amid such inspiring music and scenes as this, it is not easy to tell much about the topography of the country in reference to its strategic importance. It is enough to know that from the boughs of the elm above hang the orioles' gray castles where the females' beady eyes from their dangling citadels look out on the alien foes who pass beneath or up above where the great hawk swims the aerial blue like a plane without bombs. The spider weaves pontoons from tree to bush and sits in his silvery fortress trying to beguile the unwary flies by his kingly demeanor. The great blue heron, like a French sentinel on duty along the muddy Meuse, awaits in silence any hostile demonstrations from those green-coated Boches among their camouflaged fortresses of spatterdocks and lily pads. The muskrat goes scouring the water, searching for booty near the river's bank or submerges like a submarine when discovered by a noisy convoy of Senegalese boys on the bank. A wily weasel, no doubt considered by those cliff-dwellers, the kingfishers, as one of the "Ladies from Hell," was being hustled out of their dugout at the point of the bayonet. No matter about the "kilts"; if he ever had them they were lost by his hurried flight.
The North, South and Middle rivers join in sisterly union near Port Republic to form the Shenandoah. From Lexington to Harper's Ferry at the foot of the valley the distance is one hundred fifty-five miles. The "Valley's Turnpike" runs northward through Harrisonburg, New Market, Woodstock, Strassburg, and Winchester to Martinsburg. And what a pike it is! And through what superb scenes it leads you! "At Staunton the Virginia Central railroad crosses the valley on the way to Charlottesville. Fifty-five miles north of Staunton an isolated chain of mountains known as the Massanutten range, which is high and abrupt, divides the valley for more than forty miles until at Strassburg it falls again suddenly to the plain. Like the Appalachians it breaks into two ridges—Massanutten and Kells mountain." Between these mountains you will see a narrow and very picturesque valley known as Powell's Fort Valley. Passage creek, a most delightful little stream, winds through it and joins the Shenandoah below. West of Kells may be seen a parallel sub-range containing Peaked Ridge, Three Top and Little Massanutten, which is crossed by a road that connects New Market and Luray.
New Market is a quaint old town on the valley pike eight miles from above Mount Jackson and is joined by the turn-pike which comes from Front Royal. It traverses the Massanutten mountain by the Massanutten Gap. It was of vast military importance, for here Breckenridge and Siegel met. Moore occupied an elevation north of New Market. Now in place of the thundering cannon and rattling musketry we were listening to a medley of bird notes that fell thick as shrapnel around us. The vast hills covered with their leafy verdure of summer; the rich valley spread below us made radiant by the beauty of the descending sun and a light rain; voices rising on the misty air from the valley below—all seemed to unite in weaving a magic spell for the coming scene. As we gazed out over the peaceful valley a rainbow seemed to spring from a wooded hillside and arch the lovely meadow below us, coloring the fields in the most singular beauty; while its second reflection with softer colors arched like a corona above a high wooded hill. Then followed sunset and twilight with the hymn of the thrush. A single star like a great silver lamp trembled above the summit of a hill, where the gathering mist like a thin gossamer film was settling on its sides.
How different that night of inky blackness, in which a pouring rain continued to fall daring the stormy night drenching the Union men under Moore! Just as the gray of the eastern sky announced the approach of dawn, skirmishers were leaving the camp. A few hours later Siegel came up with the rest of his army to accept battle. The night's rain made the march through the sticky mud of the young wheat very toilsome. Moore was sent in advance to break the enemy's onset. With him were the troops from the 18th Connecticut and 123rd Ohio infantry; the 34th Massachusetts brought up the artillery, while one company was detached and thrown out as skirmishers in the woods of the river bank. The line across the rising ground of another slope in front was held by Moore. What a moment of awful suspense it must have been when Breckenridge moved to attack with the veteran brigades of Echols and Whartons! How the mountain must have sent back the roaring echoes as McLaughlin's artillery went into action on a sharp ridge that ran parallel with the pike! Breckenridge overlapping Moore drove him in confusion to the rear and with scarcely a pause came in excellent order against Thoburn's position, but the gallant men of the Union right checked him, whereupon Imboden, who was in command of Breckenridge's cavalry, galloped with all possible haste down Smith creek on the east bank to the bridge on Luray road in order to get on Siegel's left flank. Here the cavalry were routed and retreated hastily up the road, one battery being captured. Moore's troops rallied on Rude's Hill and the 28th and 116th Ohio were brought up from the charge of the wagons. Siegel resumed his retreat up the pike, crossed the Shenandoah river to Jackson, burned the bridge behind him and went into camp behind Cedar creek.
The country which now lies in quiet beauty here was ravaged. Beeves, sheep, and grain were taken; the mills and factories of Staunton were burned, also the railroad bridges and telegraph wires were destroyed. It must have been a most dreadful sight for the inhabitants of this fertile valley to witness the eighteen thousand men under Crook, Averell, and Hunter marching through the fields of luxuriant wheat that half hid them from view. The ground was comparatively level and an army could spread out and march with much greater rapidity although its numbers were large.
Hunter had to retreat from Lynchburg with Early in pursuit. So closely was he pursued that the mules and horses died for want of fodder and rest; cattle were driven along by day and eaten at night; many wagons had to be burned because there were not enough animals to draw them. Such was the cruel fate of war in this lovely and fertile valley.
But you quickly forget scenes like this as you see these glorious mountains clothed in exquisite veils that brood over their serene loveliness, steeping their sunny outlines in infinite gradations of azure and purple hues. The swift flowing streams with their liquid music rising from the distant woods; the graceful forms of hemlock and elm; the dim twilight vistas always cool and soft with emerald mosses redolent with the breath of pine and sweet scented fern—all combine to make this a place of wonderful charm where you are prone to tarry.
We saw men loading hay in the meadows that were bounded by rail fences, and the fragrance from the fields was wafted to us as we passed. As the road wound among fair scenes where beautiful homes reposed among their delightful setting of trees, shrubbery and vines, we noticed hill rising above hill, some covered with fields of grass and grain, others clothed with forest; while the main line of the Blue Ridge rose sharp and clear against the sky with a series of undulating billows of woodland; green fading into gray-green and gray-green into blue where the Alleghanies lifted their rugged crests and divided the Atlantic from the Middle states, blending imperceptibly into the skyline.
The high hill on which we stood, sloped down to the lovely valley. Across it, other hills began to emerge, imperceptibly at first, then plainly in the distance, then became more and more abrupt, until they grew precipitous and climbed high up, printing their faint outline on the azure sky of June. Looking out over the valley we beheld a memorable scene. What wonderful vistas, with unnumbered miles of fields, forests and mountains, with the blue of the sky for a background!
We were forced to take refuge from a heavy rain storm in a garage located in Charles Town, the county seat of Jefferson county, West Virginia. While we lingered, we were told that the old courthouse in which John Brown was tried was located here. He was hanged in this city. Sadly we turned to look at the old courthouse on Main street where he was sentenced to death. Seven miles from here are located Shennondale springs which are said to be very much like those of Baden-Baden. The town was occupied by both Sheridan's and Banks' army during the Civil war. Two and one-half miles southeast of the city is "Washington's Masonic Cave," where it is said George Washington and other prominent men held Masonic meetings.
We soon were passing through Berryville, admiring the beautiful residences and well kept grounds of the old town, dating from the close of the eighteenth and the beginning of the nineteenth centuries. "Greenway Court," the home in which lived Thomas Lord Fairfax, and "Saratoga," the former residence of Daniel Morgan, are located here.
As you near the city of Winchester you see many fine apple orchards with their well cultivated trees extending in long converging lines and "disappearing over the top of some distant hill as if they had no end." It must be a beautiful sight in spring to see the pink and white blossoms of these extensive orchards foretelling an abundant harvest. In June it is one vast expanse of green and gold that lies before you, or stretches away beneath its silvery veils of misty blue. More than three- quarters of a million barrels of apples are shipped from here annually.
But it is not alone for its scenic beauty and bountiful harvests of its valley that we remember Winchester, for north of the city on a high knoll situated in a clump of trees is the remains of the old "Star Fort" which figured in the fiercest engagements in the Civil war.
Winchester is said to have been occupied and abandoned eighty times during the war. It was held by the Confederates until March, 1862, when after Johnston's defeat at Manassas the southern forces withdrew up the Shenandoah valley and the northern forces occupied the city. Two armies surged back and forth over the territory until March 23, 1862, when the Federal forces under General Shields defeated an inferior federate force at Kernstown, four miles south of Winchester. The second battle of Winchester occurred on June 14, 1864, when the Confederates, under General Early, drove the Union troops from the town. The third or most important battle of Winchester occurred on September 19, 1864. This is one of the most memorable battles of the war, for, out of a seeming defeat the magnetic presence of Sheridan brought to the Union men an almost miraculous victory. We shall quote the famous Sheridan's Ride by Thomas Buchanan Read:
Up from the South at break of day,Bringing to Winchester fresh dismayThe affrighted air with a shudder bore,Like a herald in haste to the Chieftain's door,The terrible rumble, grumble and roar,Telling the battle was on once more,And Sheridan twenty miles away.
And wider still those billows of warThundered along the horizon's bar;And louder yet into Winchester roll'dThe road of that red sea uncontroll'd,Making the blood of the listener cold,As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray,And Sheridan twenty miles away.
But there is a road from Winchester town,A good broad highway leading down;And there through the flush of the morning lightA steed as black as the steeds of night,Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight,As if he knew the terrible need;He stretched away with his utmost speed;Hills rose and fell but his heart was gay,With Sheridan fifteen miles away.
Still sprang from those swift hoofs, thundering south;The dust like smoke from the cannon's mouth,Or the trail of a comet sweeping faster and faster,Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster,The heart of the steed and the heart of the masterWere beating like prisoners assaulting their walls,Impatient to be where the battlefield calls;Every nerve of the chargers has strain'd to full play,With Sheridan only ten miles away.
Under his spurning feet, the roadLike an arrowy Alpine river flow'd,And the landscape sped away behindLike an ocean flying before the wind;And the steed like a bark fed with furnace ire;Swept on, with wild eye full of fire.But lo! he is nearing his heart's desire;He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray,With Sheridan only five miles away.
The first that the general saw were the groupsOf stragglers, and then the retreating troops;What was done? What to do? A glance told him both,Then striking his spurs with a terrible oath,He dash'd down the line, 'mid a storm of huzzas,And the wave of retreat, checked his course there,The sight of the master compell'd it to pause.With foam and with dust the black charger was gray;By the flash of his eye, and the red nostrils' playHe seem'd to the whole great army to say,I have brought you Sheridan all the wayFrom Winchester down to save the day.
Hurrah! hurrah for Sheridan!Hurrah! hurrah for horse and man!And when their statues are placed on high,Under the dome of the Union sky,The American Soldiers' Temple of Fame,There with the glorious general's name,Be it said, in letters both bold and bright;Here is the steed that saved the dayBy carrying Sheridan into the fightFrom Winchester—twenty miles away.
Strassburg, a strategical point in the historical Stonewall Jackson valley campaign, is situated at the base of the Massanutten mountain, which rising abruptly as it does and extending parallel with the Blue Ridge divides the valley into two parts. Thus it may readily be seen why the possession of this place was all important to the Union troops, for with Strassburg in the hands of the Confederates, they could have menaced Washington, "either by way of Harper's Ferry over the Valley pike, or by the way of Manassas, over what was then the old Virginia Midland Railway. Flowing through the two parts are the north and south forks of the Shenandoah river, which unite near this point."
Passing through Woodstock, the county seat of Shenandoah county, and its sister towns Edinburg and Mount Jackson, we were impressed by the fine landscape about us. Vast stretches of golden grain extended far up the ridges, whose meadows and oats fields bounded in some places by rail fences made a charming picture. As we journeyed on, the landscape had that luxuriance of foliage that reminded us of the vales and hills of Scotland. We became aware that our observation was correct, for we soon saw in the distance the town of Edinburgh. In Scotland we miss the vast wealth of forest-crowned ridges we have in the Blue Ridge, and the sweep of unfenced grain-clad hills, stretch far away, reaching the very tops except where they are too steep and rocky. As we paused long and often to gaze in admiration at these wonderful pictures we were always thrilled with their indescribable beauty.
Little did it seem that here, where all was peace and contentment, the cruel scourge of war had fallen upon the land with its blighting power, leaving in its wake thousands of widows and orphans. "But here are evidences of gruesome warfare between unknown Indian tribes long before the day of the Pioneer. At Redbanks Farm, north of Mount Jackson, is a great mound filled with the skeletons of a whole tribe exterminated by a war party of Indians from North Carolina," and throughout this part of the valley there have been repeated and bloody massacres and constant warfare that had other causes than that of slavery for their waging.
Under the bright sky of June that was wonderfully clear and deep lay the charmed landscape before us, with its ever-changing scenery as we wound among its glorious hills or swept with varied speed across the fertile plains. The old-fashioned country homes, quaint and peaceful villages, and variety of forest clad hills, all made this scene one that shall long be treasured in memory for the magnificence and grandeur of its beauty.
Far across the cultivated reaches, the smoothly flowing ridges printed their faint outlines along the horizon in gray veils, resembling a far-distant mass of water; nearer, the ranges were blue-gray while those next to them wore a delicate shade of ethereal blue. The peaks still nearer were clothed in a misty veil of deeper blue while high hills ranked themselves on each side of us with their forests of varying shades of green. Hemlock and pine made dark green patches interspersed with the brighter green of maple, tulip, poplar and beech, enlivened with the frosty blossoms of the chestnut and the creamy tints of the basswood; then there was the rich green of the meadows, the silvery bluegreen of the oats fields, and the golden green of the ripening wheat—all so well blended and harmonized by that mysterious illuminating veil of blue that it challenged the admiration of the most critical observer. On such glorious days as these we seem to imbibe the gladness of the hills. Every nerve thrills and vibrates, and the happy songs of the birds, the myriad insect voices, the softly singing pines, make no more music than our own happy hearts.
What a place is this in which to dine, while the noonday sun sends his sweltering rays on the valley below! Away with your grand hotels with their pretentions of cleanliness and comfort, away with your stuffy restaurants with semi-intoxicating odors of beeves long slaughtered and fish long hooked or chicken a-la- King, whose husky voices have long since ceased to awaken the sleeping farm hands. Away with all these, we say, and let us dine in Nature's terraced roof garden at Hotel de Roadside at the Sign of the Running Board or White Pine Bough. Give us some fresh baked buns with country butter and honey, a dish of delicious berries picked by our own hands fresh from the bushes, a drink of sparkling ale from Nature's fountain among the cool fern-clad rocks, and we shall not lament the fact that we are so far removed from the public boarding house! Here in place of soulless melodies issuing from automatic players we have the heavenly notes of the woodthrush, the clear call of the crested titmouse, and the wild ringing notes of the cardinal. A matchless trio, accompanied by the vagrant breezes played upon the tree-harps, seconded by the singing of distant waterfalls. With greater reverence one breaks bread out here where spicy aromatic fragrance drifts by. Here you have become a pilgrim unawares, for before you are stately tulip poplars and graceful hemlocks like long sought shrines, both reflecting the Creator. Our table flowers were the pungent burgamot amid its border of sweet- scented fern, but it would have been useless to tear them from their places so near to our table did they grow. Other travelers pass along the highway and these very ferns and flowers may be to them "another sacred scripture," as Thoreau would phrase it, cheering them along the road of life. If one really loves these mountains with their wealth of ferns and mosses and floral beauty, few, if any, of these children of the mountains are disturbed. Out here in Nature's garden we feed not only the body, but the soul, which hungers and thirsts for the beautiful—which is not the least of our varied repast.
Like the youth in Excelsior one is always glad to accept the invitation or challenge of the mountain to go higher, especially when the heat flows in tremulous waves in the valley and even the breeze seems like a draught of air from an open oven. The intense heat only serves to make the insects more active. The locusts shrill through the long sultry noon, the bees hum with greater industry among the flowers, multitudes of butterflies flit joyfully from place to place, and the turkey-vulture soars high above the forest, for the intense heat only serves to make his dinner more plentiful and for him more palatable. The small animals now seek the shade of the forest and the birds, with bills open and wings drooping, haunt the streams and seem to enjoy the charm of their cool leafy wilderness that every lover of nature finds.
Memory shall always linger fondly about the wonderful drive from Cumberland to Hagerstown, Maryland. Here may be had the loveliest of Blue Ridge views. Cumberland contains about twenty- nine thousand people and is the second city in the state in size. It is most picturesquely situated on the Potomac river, about six hundred and fifty feet above tide water. It is on the edge of the Cumberland Gorges creek coal region, and its rapid growth and prosperity are largely due to the traffic in coal collected here for shipment over the canal. It is also a manufacturing center possessing extensive rolling mills for the manufacture of railroad materials. It has iron foundries and steel shafting works. The city occupies the site of Fort Cumberland, which by order of General Burgoyne at the beginning of the French and Indian war, Braddock constructed as a base for his expedition against Fort Duquesne. After Braddock's defeat and death the remnant of the ill-fated expedition returned to it under command of Washington. Cumberland was the starting point of the great National road often called the Cumberland road, which was an important agent in the settlement of the West.
The route between Cumberland and Hagerstown is grand beyond telling. This route takes you over a section of the old National road. It would be difficult indeed to find another stretch of road sixty-five miles in length that would lead through another country of such varied and picturesque scenery. The road wound through a very hilly, wooded, and farming country. The fields of wheat were a rich gold that sparkled and gleamed in the warm, mellow light. The oat fields wore a light bluish tinge which contrasted with the deep green of the fresh meadows, thickly starred with ox-eye daisies.
Near Cumberland the finest of mountain scenery is spread out before you. Here you see many beds of tilted strata, vast rocks standing on their heads as it were. How vast and immeasurable the forces to bring to these hills their present contour! How wonderful still those forces at work crumbling these rocks, forming new soil for myriads of new plants to gladden the place with their beauty. Beauty lingers all around; there is much knowledge never learned from books and you receive from many sources, invitations to pursue and enjoy it. How one gazes at those glorious hills clad in their many green hues or distant purple outlines lest their beauty be lost! You will need neither notebook nor camera to aid you in the future to recall their loveliness, for those haunting distances, mysterious illuminations and filmy veils will make delicate yet indelible etchings on your memory while those blue barriers, thrusting their graceful and smoothly-flowing outlines into a clear sky, will remain as long as memories of beautiful things last.
>From scene to scene we drifted along, enchanted, now gazing at a broader, more wondrous view from some lofty ridge, now looking upward in mute admiration and wonder from some charming valley, now seeing again and again the wondrous beauty of the trees, flowers and ferns, now gazing far out over some point to streams and woods and softly lighted fields or vast orchards whose straight rows disappear over the edge of some distant hill to reappear upon another. "In the midst of such manifold scenery where all is so marvelously beautiful, he would be a laggard indeed" who was not touched by its import.
Here, along the roadside where the woods started to climb those high rocky hills, grew innumerable ferns and wild flowers. Great Osmundas, the most beautiful fern of all this region, were like palms, so graceful and airy did their broad fronds appear. Here, too, the giant brake with its single umbrella-like frond appeared clad in its bright green robes; then where the shade became more dense the lovely maiden-hair with its fragile, graceful wave-edged leaflets swayed on its delicate dark brown stems, and the ostrich fern stood in vase-like clusters along the mountain side or spread their lovely fronds along some river bank, while the dainty bladder bulblet draped ravines, gorges and steep banks of streams with long feathery fronds whose points overlapped the delicate light green of which formed a vast composite picture in sunlight and shadow. Here we first discovered the lizard's-tail, a tall plant crowned with a terminal spike whose point bent gracefully over, no doubt giving it its name. The stout stalks of elecampane with their large leaves and yellowish brown flowers were seen, and numerous small plants peeped from among their rich setting of vines and mosses. If the ferns are numerous, charming the eye with delicate and graceful beauty, the birds are more so, delighting the ear with their rich and varied melodies. Here one catches the cheerful strain of the Maryland yellow throat, a bird whose nest Audubon never chanced to discover. The Baltimore Oriole now and then favored us with rich notes and displayed his plumage of black and orange, the colors of the coat of arms of Lord Baltimore.
Making our way over such enchanted ground we finally arrived at Hancock, a town of about a thousand inhabitants located in the center of a fruit belt, including one of the most extensive orchard developments in America. To the west may be seen the famous "Tonoloway orchards," also R. S. Dillon's orchard on the state road where the mountain side is covered with nearly a hundred thousand apple trees. This delightful summer resort overlooking three states, as well as the broad Potomac and the Chesapeake and Ohio canal, is worthy of a visit. About eleven miles from Hancock we crossed a long stone bridge over a stream with the unpronounceable name of "Conococheaque creek." This valley was inhabitated by other than the whites in days gone by. Here, where the golden harvest waits to be garnered, the Indian maize grew in abundance; their camps and villages were scattered here and there when the country was a wilderness. The dogwood pitched its white tent here in early spring and the royal color of the redbud shone from the steep hillsides like purple bonfires, the same hepaticas with their blue, pink and white blossoms peeped from among the moss and leaves to gladden their hearts.
One afternoon we saw rolling masses of cumulus clouds rising above the far blue ridges; then as they drifted nearer the bright green of the forest made a background which brought out in relief their finely modeled forms. They seemed to hang motionless there until the sudden crash of thunder burst upon the hushed air with violent explosions, where the cliffs took it up and repeated it to the neighboring hills, and they in turn told it to still others until its far away echoes died among the more distant ridges. For a time the rain came down in torrents, and as we watched its silvery sheets spreading over the hills and through the valley it seemed as if every leaf and flower and grass blade instantly took on new life. How fresh and pure the old trees looked! The fragrance from the pine, sweet-scented fern and numerous mints was more pronounced. "Detached clouds seemed to be continually leaving the main mass like scouts sent out in advance to drop their silver spears on the heads of ferns and flowers on other hills." Some of the detached portions moved up the valley, others rose slowly above the wooded ridges or trailed their tattered fringes near the tree tops that seemed to have torn their edges. Every bush and leaf was saturated with their life-giving elixir. How the wild sweet carols of the birds ascended from every forest! It seemed as if all Nature was sending up a paean of praise for the beneficent rain, and our thoughts took on that same serenity and calm, glad joy and the melody of our hearts joined the universal anthem of praise to the Creator. Amidst these fair scenes we watched the passing clouds that were crossing the distant ridges and the whole mass of verdant hill sides were brought out in fine relief; while the darker mass of clouds seemed to be copying the outlines of the far seen hills like another Blue Ridge range.
New Market is the oldest and most beautifully situated town in the valley. The north fork of the Shenandoah river is seen disappearing behind a range of hills that rises high above the town to the northwest; while to the southeast one sees the meandering mill stream known as Smith's creek, flowing 'round the foot of the Massanutten mountains.
Near this spot the Indians had their camping ground in a ravine, visible from the pike to the north. This ravine is known as Indian Hollow, and well into the nineteenth century the smoke could be seen rising from their numerous tepees, like small clouds of vapor after a summer rain. Here if you look westward you may see the gap in the Massanuttens, through which Stonewall Jackson's army marched to Front Royal, where, by a surprise attack, Banks' left flank was turned, thereby starting a retreat of the Federal army which did not end until it had crossed the Potomac at Harper's Ferry.
In the battle of New Market, which was fought along the northwestern edge of town, occurred an episode of the Civil war so remarkable as to equal the bravery of that of the three hundred Spartans. The V. M. I. Cadets, a battalion of boys, from fourteen to twenty years of age, was ordered from school at Lexington, Virginia, to join Breckenridge's forces. In this desperate crisis of the last months of the war, these brave lads reached New Market at night after a strenuous march of three days. "The early hours of the morning found them in battle line, where for several hours they held their position in spite of a galling fire from the infantry and a heavy destructive fire from the artillery. Just when the Union troops were contemplating a speedy victory at the most decisive moment of the battle, these gallant boys rose as a unit, and charging across an open wheat field, in spite of severe losses in killed and wounded, broke the Federal lines and turned what seemed to be a defeat into a victory."