Appalachian Summit
42. No Country Better Timbered
With the end of the Civil War, travelers returned to the mountains. Some of the visitors came to fish and hunt, others just to explore and enjoy the physical beauty. The North Carolina Land Company, based in Raleigh and New York, was also interested in western North Carolina. “This Company has been established in this city for the purpose of aiding in the transportation and location of Northern and European settlers coming to North Carolina, and for the sale of lands of all descriptions, suited to the wants of the agriculturist, the vine and fruit grower, the truck farmer, the miner and manufacturer, as well as the sale of improved and unimproved lots in the towns and cities of the State, and to render all possible assistance to persons who desire to invest their funds in this State, judiciously.”, read their circular. The postbellum period would be a time of tourism and land exploitation.
To the North Carolina Land Company
Raleigh, N. C., April 7,1869
In compliance with your request, I proceed to give you a concise statement in relation to the western part of our State, viz: that elevated table land extending from the Blue Ridge to the Tennessee State line. Almost all of it was embraced in the Congressional district which I represented for more than a dozen years, and even after I became a Senator, I was frequently passing over it. In fact, I have ascended almost all the principal mountains, and, for the purpose of observing the geological and mineralogical features, visited most of its valleys. Its length, extending as it does, from Virginia to Georgia, is not less than two hundred and fifty miles, while its breadth varies from thirty to sixty miles, averaging probably fifty or thereabouts.
It has along its eastern border the Blue Ridge, by which name in - North Carolina is designated the mountain chain which divides the waters falling into the Atlantic from those of the Mississippi valley. Its western boundary is the great ledge of mountains called in different portions of its course, Smoky, Iron, Unaka, &c. Though this range is cut through by streams running to the west, yet it not has many points higher than any along the blue Ridge, but its general elevation and mass are greater. There are also a number of cross chains of mountains, the most elevated of which are the Black and Balsam ranges. There are many points exceeding six thousand feet in altitude above the sea, while the lower valleys or beds of the principal streams in the central parts of the plateau, are from two thousand to twenty-five hundred feet above tide-water. To give one an idea of the general elevation of the surface, it may be stated that nineteen-twentieths of the land will be found between the elevations of eighteen hundred and thirty-five hundred feet above the level of the ocean. It presents therefore, a delightful summer climate, surpassing, I think, that of any part of Switzerland. The range of the thermometer in summer is from twelve to fifteen degrees Fahrenheit, below that of the northern cities, rarely going up to eighty-five degrees in the shade at any hour of the warmest days. The air is almost always bracing and exhilarating in a high degree, while no country is more healthy, being not only free from all miasmatic diseases, but favorable even in winter. Having a southern latitude and surrounded on all sides by lower and warmer regions, its winter climate is much milder than that of northern Virginia or Pennsylvania. It is unusual for the ground to be covered with snow for as much as a week at a time, and the deepest snows commonly disappear in two or three days on all those portions of the ground exposed to the sunshine.
In many instance persons threatened with consumption have found the climate of Buncombe, about Asheville, both in winter and summer, very favorable to them. A gentleman who has passed several winters both at Asheville and in Minnesota, says that the climate of the former place is quite as dry at that of the latter and much milder.
The geological formation belongs chiefly to the older series of rocks, and they are generally well disintegrated. There is one remarkable exception, however, in a belt of country extending from the Grandfather Mountain southerly, embracing the Linville and Table Mountain ridges. This consists mainly of strata of a more recent origin, quartzite, elastic sandstone, (the Itacolumite or diamond bearing rock of Brazil) and certain slates. The soil over this belt is thin, and covered chiefly with white pine, and such shrubs and plants as are found in poor, silicious soils. Outside of this comparatively small tract, the soil of the mountain region is remarkable for its fertility. The gneiss, mica, slate, syenite, and other honblendic and ferruginous rocks are well decomposed and have liberated in great abundance fertilizing ingredients. While no part of the section would be termed rocky in comparison with the New England States, yet there is more rock visible on the eastern border of the belt than on the side next to the State of Tennessee. In general the disintegration seems deeper and the soil richer as one approaches the western border. The Yellow and Roan Mountains in Mitchell, and the great Smoky Mountain in Haywood, Jackson and Macon, furnish striking examples of this fact. On those mountains, at an elevation of six thousand feet, a horse will oftern sink to his fetlocks in a thick, black, vegetable mould, and the growth, whether timber, grass. or weeds, appears to be as luxuriant as in the swamps of the low country. Even the balsam fir tree, which is usually no great height, attains an altitude of one hundred-and--fifty-feet on the southern side of the great Smoky, a mountain which from its bulk and general altitude, has been designated by Professor Guyot as “the culminating point of the Alleghenies.” The fact that the mountains usually become richer as we ascend them, is doubtless due to the circumstances that being often enveloped by clouds, and kept cool and moist, the vegetable matter slowly decays, and is incorporated with the soil, as usually seen on the north or shady side of a hill.
There is no country of equal extent perhaps better timbered than this. Along some of the streams a good deal of white pine and hemlock are to be found, but the forests chiefly consist of hard wood. All the varieties of the oak are abundant and attain a great size. The white oaks in many p1aces an especially large. So are the chestnut, hickory, maple, poplar, or tulip trees, black walnut, locust, and in fact probably every known tree that grows in the Middle and Northern States of the Union. There are a few treeless tracts on the tops of several of the higher mountains (covered, however, with luxuriant grasses) which the aboriginal inhabitants regarded as the foot-prints of the evil one, as he stepped from mountain to mountain.
Among the most beautiful valleys are the upper French Broad and Mills river valleys of Henderson and Transylvania. The Swannanoa, in Buncombe, the Pigeon river, Richland, and Jonathan’s creek flat lands in Haywood, and those of the Valley river and Hiawassee in Cherokee and portions of the upper Linville in Mitchell.
While all the counties contain large bodies of fertile land, perhaps the soil of Yancey and Mitchell is most generally rich, though the lands are more commonly hilly or rolling than they are in several of the other counties. For its valleys and its fertile mountains combined, none of the counties perhaps surpass Haywood.
There are few of the lands of this whole region too steep for cultivation. They produce good crops of Indian corn, wheat, oats and rye. In contests for prizes in agricultural fairs in Buncombe, from one hundred to one hundred and fifty bushels of the former grain have been produced. The Irish potato and the turnip will probably do as well as in any country whatever, and no region surpasses it for grasses. Timothy and orchard grass perhaps do best, but clover, red top, and blue grass thrive well. This region seems to surpass all others for the production of the apple, both as to size and flavor. Peach trees do well and bear abundantly of fine sized fruit, but they rather resemble such as are grown in New Jersey for example, and are inferior in flavor to those that are produced on the east of the mountains in this State. The same may be said of melons. The grape is thrifty and grows abundantly. Besides the Catawba, a native of Buncombe, there are many other native varieties, some of which are of good size and delicious flavor. As these different kinds do not ripen simultaneously, it would be easy to make such selections for cultivation as to lengthen the period of vintage and thus increase its product.
All kinds of livestock can be raised with facility. Sheep in flocks of fifty or sixty browse all winter in good conditions. I never saw larger sheep anywhere than some I noticed in Hamburg valley, Jackson county, the owner of which told me that be had not for twelve years past fed his sheep beyond giving them salt to prevent their straying away. He said that he had on his first settling there, tried feeding them in winter, but observed that this made them very lazy, and therefore he had abandoned this practice. The sixty I saw were quite as large as any of the sheep I observed once in Regent’s Park, London, which were said to be the property of Prince Albert.
Horses and horned cattle are usually driven out into the mountains about the first of April and are brought back in November. Within six weeks after they have thus been “put into range” they become exceedingly fat and sleek. There are, however, on the tops and along the sides of the higher mountains, evergreen or winter grasses on which the horses and horned cattle live well through the entire winter. Such animals are often foaled and reared there until fit for market, without ever seeing a cultivated plantation.
Very little has yet been done with the minerals of this region. There are narrow belts of limestone and marble which are sufficient for the wants of the inhabitants. Iron ores exist in great abundance in many places. The magnetite is found in quantity at many points, and where it is being worked at Cranberry Forge, in Mitchell, it yields an iron equal to the best Swede. There is in Cherokee county a vein of hematite which runs by the side of a belt of marble for forty miles, and is in many places from fifty to one hundred feet thick. It is easily worked and affords good iron. Copper ores are found in many of the counties, and where the veins have been cut in Jackson county, they are large and very promising. Gold has been profitably mined, in Cherokee, Macon and Jackson, and lead, silver and zinc are found at certain points. After the completion of the railroads now in course of construction, the chrome ores and barytes may acquire value.
No country is better supplied with water power than this. The streams attain a sufficient size in the higher valleys, and before they escape in the State of Tennessee they have a descent of a thousand feet. The French Broad at Asheville is larger than the Merrimac at Lowell, and falls six hundred feet in the distance of thirty odd miles and will soon have a railroad along its banks. Every neighborhood has its waterfalls sufficient for all practical purposes.
The prices of land throughout this entire section are very moderate compared with those of similar lands in the Northern States, while the population, though sparse, is quiet, orderly and moral. The negroes, not constituting one-tenth of the entire population, are scarcely an appreciable element. Emigrants with little capital can easily obtain the necessaries of life, and may at once commence the business of stock raising and cheese, butter and wool, and such agricultural productions as will best bear transportation. Manufacturing and milling operations will soon follow these branches of industry. I have no doubt if the people of the Northern States knew this region as I do they would move down in large bodies immediately to take possession of it. The pleasant climate, good soil and beautiful scenery make it one of the most attractive countries in the world. The wealthy citizen will find the greatest inducements to place there his charming villa, while to the industrious it will afford a comfortable home.
Very respectfully, &c., T. L. CLINGMAN. [1]
Randolph Abbot Shotwell –
In company with J. E., the foreman of my office, and equipped
with blankets, and guns, I marched thirty miles into the wilds of the
Transylvania forests. Our destination was the Pink Bed Valley. The night of the
19th July, we sojourned—with G. W. (“Wash”) Holden, a brother or
nephew of Gov. Holden; living at Hominy Creek, at the foot of ------ Mountain in Hominy Valley. “He owns a fine
bottom-land farm, saw mill, store, ect. and is in thrifty circumstances. He is
a decided Democrat, and accounts for his dissimilarity of opinions with his
brother by saying that Bill (W. W. Holden) is carpet-bagger, as he was born in
South Carolina, and began to change his residence and his politics about the
the same period.” Mr. Holden entertained us handsomely, engaged to escort us
across the mountain into the Beds.” The following day was entirely taken up in
the trip—for though only seven or eight miles in. distance, the continual climbing
step, under the extreme heat of the day, with water only at long intervals,
added to our exhaustion from the thirty miles tramp of the previous day, on
unaccustomed legs, utterly exhausted us. The descent into the valley by a
slippery, rocky, irregular path was no less fatiguing than the ascent. So that
on reaching the Hunter’s Cabin near the middle of the Pink Beds, we took leave
of our guide, and spreading our blankets, instantly fell asleep. On the morrow
we found ourselves in a narrow valley, two or three miles wide, and a dozen
long, surrounded by lofty mountains with conical peak of Mt. Pisgah rising [5,757]
feet in the air, far above the surrounding ranges, like a single sentinel above
a host; of sleeping giants.! The Valley is cal1ed the Pink Beds because the
rich alluvial pain – crumbling in vegetable loam —abounds, nay is fairly carpeted, with a species of wild flower, of pinkish hue—I know not the name. Above these grow immense
beds of Whortle berries, studded with laurel blossoms, and the sweet scented
honey-suckle. The forest timber, which covers the most
part of the valley is lofty and vigorous, beyond
anything I have seen in Western Carolina. A single
trunk of a monster pine, I recollect as above five feet through at the distance of 30 feet from its stump, and might have served as a rampart for a regiment as it lay at length. There are only a few acres of cleared laud in the
valley, occupied by a single lone squatter, Mr. C. S.
Pack, of South Carolina. He lived in a newly built double cabin, at the foot of a rocky ledge, on one side of the Valley, with his little family, consisting of his wife, his two little sons and two big
daughters, one of the latter weighing fully 200, though scarcely 19 years of age. They were
people of more cultivation than I should have looked
for in that region—much less in the voiceless,
roadless isolation of this valley. The sight of six tooth brushes each in its bracket under the eaves of the Spring-house shelter was the first intimation of the civilization I had not
at all looked for in approaching the cabin. Mr. Pack
proved to be an intelligent hard working man, formerly depot agent at Manning, S.
C., and evidently accustomed to better circumstances.
He subsequently acquainted us with the story of his
wanderings from his low country home in search of
healthier climate, and to escape the negro-cursed condition of things then prevailing at Manning; how he
had been treated at Hendersonville with
such kindness while sick, that he concluded to halt
there; how he had lost everything by sharp-dealing
of a certain party. and was eventually forced to seek such shelter as this rude hermit home offered; etc., etc. It was a sad story, and I pitied the
faithful little woman, a daughter or niece of Attorney General
______ , who sat with us, in the twilight of the slow-fading summer day,
listening to the conversation. Truly, they led a hermit
life. There are no neighbors,
schools, churches, or post office within a day’s travel! The valley is inaccessible to vehicles of any sort in all directions except one, and as several
hundred dollars worth of chopping would be necessary to open up even this route it will not be done until some one buys the entire valley and locates a colony therein; when, it is
destined, to become the “Happy Valley” of Carolina. For no section of the land can compare with it in the fertility of soil, excellence of timber, number
and icy coldness of its streams, beauty of
scenery and many other advantages. At
present it is the unrestricted abode of wild and tame cattle, hogs, and sheep; deer, bear, foxes, and rattlesnakes. Of the latter, we on a single day slew fifteen! Every rocky ledge had its “nest” of them. Our success in taking the nimble-footed deer, was less marked though we occasionally captured a “saddle” for our camp. Mr. Pack, who kept a pack of hounds, drew a large portion of his table-supply from the “game” of the wild wood. The coldness of the soil, shaded as it was, and permeated by numerous springs, almost precluded the raising of corn, potatoes, etc. They were stunted, and imperfect.
Our own cabin had been erected for the use of the
hunters and cattle-hunters. It was a mere log hut, with a slab floor and gigantic chimney.
The equipment comprised a slab bench, plank
table, coffee pot, frying pan, tin cup, and cask of salt (to be issued to the cattle at stated seasons); “only this and nothing more.” We supplemented
the furniture with a “bunk” made of dried ferns—which everywhere abound, a wooden spit for
roasting , a shaving shelf, etc. Our life began at sunrise when we arose, and sought the adjacent brook whose purling splash lulled us to sleep. Then a fire--cup of coffee--broil of young pig--slap jacks of corn
meal, fried in the frying pan, etc. Then a lazy smoke and chat —wherein, as I used nothing of tobacco shape, John
smoked and I talked, or mused in silence, looking up at the bald outlines
towering far above us, with the sunlight gleaming
atop. About 9 A. M. began the day’s hunting or fishing tour. Mills’ River takes its rise in
numerous smaller streams in this valley; and all
are renowned for their abundance of speckled, or “mountain trout”, the handsomest and most delightful of the finny tribe. These are so little harassed by sportsmen that they may be caught
with ease even when the pretty victim plainly sees the
executioner standing in full view scarcely arm’s length distant. Indeed, we more than once took a full breakfast
supply of delicious six-inch trout from a noisy
rivulet, not far from the cabin, across whose channel a child might step. Mills’ river we found so lined with
overhanging laurel that its best fishing places could be reached only by getting into the middle of the stream, and allowing our boat to float with the current before us. Many days we spent thus in the lovely bed of the river, which was so clear that even at the
depth of five feet, the movements of the speckled beauties could be seen as plainly as in a crystal aquarium; our only clothing a shirt, pair of drawers rolled to the thigh, and a pair of rude sandals, made of old boot tops, tied
with strings to shield the bottom of the foot,
only. The trout when fried, in grease,
and. sprinkled with corn-meal batter, with a good appetite to begin with, were
a luxury for princes, as the single
backbone gave none of the bother of eliminating the
small bones which destroys the pleasure of eating the majority of the finny
creation.
Unfortunately there were many rainy days, when the incongeniality of our companionship would reveal itself. Having neither books, paper, nor knowledge of what was
transpiring in the outside
world, we soon reached the cud of our
conversational rope; and as my companion cared nothing for intellectual or literary topics, we found the time hang heavily.
We concluded to make a trip through the mountains to Brevard. It was a
journey of eighteen miles
through one of the most rugged and dreary regions I ever traversed. It seemed
surprising that people could be willing to thus bury themselves from the outside civilized creation.
On the 21st of August, we broke up our camp at the Pink Bed Cabin and bidding goodbye to the Packs— whose desolated life it seemed to me must have been rendered doubly oppressive by our occasional companionship—we set out upon our return to Asheville. But first we climbed to the pinnacle of Mount Pisgah — 4000 feet above the Sea, and affording a view of some thirty miles extent in every direction. The scenery from the top of Pisgah has been often described.
The actual summit of the pinnacle is only a dozen, or two feet in area; but there is a lower level or plateau, where large gatherings or camp meetings are sometimes held by the Methodists and Baptists of the adjacent counties; people riding twenty or thirty miles to attend them. It is also quite common for picnic parties to come out from Asheville, and spend the night on top of the Mountain, to see the sun rise in the morning. A party fifteen ladies, and the Episcopal clergyman, went on such an excursion while I was at Asheville.
On this particular Sabbath, however, the bald brow of
Pisgah was lovely and still beyond anything that can be
imagined. The sky was rather cloudy, but there were
openings that showed the full effect of the silent
ridges, and solitary peaks, whose changing shadows
seemed to be the only animate or
moving thing under all the range of vision. Absence of
vegetation save the sedge, and whortleberry plants,
accounts for the absence of the song of the woodland
tribe, the chirp of the squirrel, and he drumming of the pheasants, and I suppose there was no living soul within a dozen miles in any direction from us, as we reclined at full length on the cliff,
looking toward Asheville, occasionally tossing a stone that ceased not its tumbling for
nearly a mile of precipitate descent. No “living soul’’, I said: but for all the lack of birds and game and companions, we found
one denizen of the ‘Mount’ who would seem to demand our authority for thus ascending into Pisgah’s heights. Twenty paces
from the top, just as we had ceased to slide down the
moss covered surface of a shelving rock—ten or more feet in width, -we
found ourselves confronted by an enormous rattlesnake,
four feet, eight inches in length, and as thick as a man’s arm at the shoulder. The hideous reptile had seen our
rapid descent, and swiftly reared itself above the low huckleberry bushes, and stood in our only path, as high as my waist, with its neck slightly
bent, eyes glistening and red tongue quivering like
forked lightning! I suspect we also quaked for the
moment as the impetus of descent
upon the slippery rock carried us nearly
against this formidable barrier in the narrow path, before we could check up. And a single stroke of the poisonous fangs would have suffice for either of us; since at
that distance from human habitation
-- and Whiskey, the only sure cure --we must have fallen by the way side.
Could this have happened ere I was aware, I should
have hailed it with relief from all the dark thoughts and prospects and retrospects in my mind. But seeing the danger, we quickly secured large stones, and pelted the
foe into submission; then finished him with our alpenstocks. My companion then erected a rude cross; or stake with spilt top and a branch of a sapling laid across, and tied the snake thereon in such manner that the first thing any after-comer would see would be his Reptilecy
‘s grinning tongue and fangs. We also inscribed our
names, and date, on the smooth face a large rock, with a legend that Sir Rattle had met his fate on this identical spot.
It was considered an unusual thing for the snake
to be found so near the top of the Ridge.
During the afternoon we gradually descended
into Hominy Valley and again were kindly
entertained by ‘‘Wash’’ Holden and family.
Here, seeing his sawmill in motion, we remarked that it was strange how many
people we saw at work, as we came across the valley. Great was our surprise, and
also the mirth of entertainers , on learning that after hunting all day Sunday, we had rested most of Monday, and had washed our shirts, and “cleaned
up” as much as our limited wardrobe would admit of. under the impression that we were observing the Sabbath, to the best of our ability! Strange to say, neither of us had the least doubt about it being Sunday! We had lost a day in some way, though
how, is yet unexplained.
On the route down the Hominy Valley we were
kindly entertained by the “Widow Young,” and her
pretty daughters, and by Dr. Thrash on the
Waynesville turnpike We reached Asheville at dusk, and with a feeling of utter despondency and prostration on my part.
Indeed I should not have returned at all, had I not left my trunk there and in it the letters of certain lady, and other friends, whom I felt bound in honor to save from the consequences of exposure, which would probably ensue if I failed to return and place the trunk in the hands of some reliable person, or destroy the letters.
This circumstance caused my abandonment of the I reckless plans I had vaguely in view. For at Asheville I learned that my father had come for me in his carriage, and was very anxious to have me return home, and resume my studies for a profession. At Bencinni’s hotel, where I had left my trunk, the scant courtesy shown me showed plainly that I was supposed to have no money, and this, with some other unhappy experiences, almost—.
However, I paid Bencinni for the supper and bed, I had used—not enjoyed—and had not one penny left after doing so. Under different circumstances I should have asked for the loan of a vehicle, or money to hire one; but far rather should I have perished by the road side than do so. In truth I vaguely expected to break down under the sultry August sun, and was not sorry of the prospect.
All the long morning of August 24th, I trudged wearily, and half lamed by my mountain marching, out across Swannanoa Bridge and Va1ley—fording up streams, up hill, down dale—more than 20 miles. But constant draughts of the mountain water, from the rivulets that danced across the road every stone’s cast or less, added to the intense heat, finally set the world to whirling in black rings before my eyes, and at four o ‘clock I had only sufficient. strength to “fall by the wayside”—among the rocks that line the narrow roadway through the far famed Hickory Nut Gorge. Luckily the road for above six miles winds along the banks of Broad river, and I fell within less than my own length of cool and noisy waters. Even as I lay I could cast the end of my handkerchief into the edge of the stream, and after bathing my head, and resting a few moments, I managed to crawl to the sloping bank on the other side of the road, where was an immense bed of moss canopied by spruce and hemlock trees, and perfumed by wild honeysuckle—a sunless dell, directly under the cliff of Bald Mountain. Even as I lay upon my back I could see the massive, rugged pile, with its variegated strata of brown granite, towering to the skies above me, and so precipitately that the overhanging cliffs seemed momentarily dropping upon me. The Gap itself is only a few hundred feet wide, and its walls rise almost perpendicularly, for above a thousand feet in many places, composing perhaps the most remarkable ravine in the Atlantic slope. The road and the river are of about equal width, and for several miles run side by side, dividing the bottom of the gorge between them. The River is called “Broad”, but here, is only some twenty feet wide or less, and so contorted and broken by huge rocks, that its waters are as wild and resounding as the “water that came down at Lodore,” curveting, lashing, splashing, dashing, now in rage, now in glee, ever singing the carol of perpetual motion. No wilder spot could have been chosen for a lonely bivouac, and yet so romantically beautiful were nature’s majestic aspects, that one in other circumstances might enjoy the very solitude and isolation of the surroundings. I knew that there were persons living at the “Old Harris House” one and a half or two miles down the valley; but they were Radicals, and I could not solicit food and shelter from such as they, even had I been able to crawl that distance, which is doubtful. In a very few minutes after I reached the shelter of the cedars and became cooler, my limbs grew stiff, and so sore that I felt unable even to cross the road to again slake my thirst. All I could do was to draw off my coat, and spread it (with my handkerchief over a stone as a pillow) for my nightly couch; hoping that the dews of night would cool my burning fever, and strengthen me for the 20 miles yet to walk on the morrow. It was now the sunset hour, and the scenery in this romantic gorge never seemed more wildly, grandly picturesque. Above me, the massive face of Bald Mountain, illuminated by the dying blushes of the sun appeared one vast wall of copper stretching for miles, perpendicular, and impassable. Across the gorge ran a similar wall, but it was entirely in the shadow— gloomy, rugged, silent as the tomb! But the flat top of Chimney Rock Mountain was glowing in the same sun glory that gilded the crags and cliffs of old Bald, the brightness of the sky behind contrasting the more vividly from the shaded wall on the side confronting me. Over the brow of this halo-crowned cliff descended the wonderful “Bridal Veil Falls”, a precipitate descent of nine hundred (950) and fifty feet! The little Hickory Nut creek after running a mile or more along the top of the mountain suddenly turns and leaps madly down upon the tree tops of the wild gorge beneath! Speedily the winds and fall lash the water into white spray which trembles and flutters until it is easy to imagine that a long strip of white ribbon or a bridal veil, is waving from the cliff side!
But darkness descends, and twilight shades settle over all the silent, solemn mountain rampart, which shut out even the ruddy glow of the departed orb of Day. The valleys, and little, bush-grown dells, and rocky terraces, have all settled from shadow into gloom; and only the outlines of the giant trees, and fantastic crags and the distant peaks are visible; Night is wrapping from sight this mighty panorama of Nature’s convulsions, although there is but one human spectator, and he prostrate, exhausted, fevered, and wretchedly oblivious to all the beauties of the Earth, were they visible. I was not insensible; for I recall the nosiness of the roaring river, as it rushed, and tumbled, and clamored down its rocky pathway, just across the road from me; and I remember watching the overhanging crags of “Old Bald” as their forms grew indistinct in the twilight, and I remember thinking of the romantic story of Gen. Leventhorpe ‘s search for the “Spanish Silver Mine” among these same mountains.
Several times during the night I awoke, full of fever and pain, to find myself strangely guarded by the giant peaks which loomed fairly “among the stars” when viewed from the depth of the Gorge and seen in the uncertain light. And the increased stillness of the night awakened every echo of the roaring, tumbling river which at times seemed to call with almost human tones, as if the mermaids had arisen from the never- found bottom of the three mysterious pools, or the gnomes had issued from the wonderful “caves of the winds,” and “of the Bats,” both of which were within gunshot of my wild couch. Did you ever, on a summer’s day, lie upon the grass in a quiet grove, or on the brow of a cliff, and listen to the purling of a stream, or a water fall? And have you not been often startled by the sound of ta1king, whispering, voices calling to you? I have. Many times in the Pink Bed Valley, while sitting by the side of the mountain brooks, noisy as a mill wheel, I have suddenly sprung to my feet imagining I heard the sound of talking, or a distant halloo; although I knew there were probably none but my companion and Mr. Pack’s people within half a store of miles!
So on this midnight, the ever-changing roar of the maddened river, as it plunged over, or swept around, or leaped down upon, its innumerable rocky barriers, seemed full of human tones and was all the lovelier because of them. Yet had I been well I should have enjoyed the solitude and grandeur of the spot; for such scenes arid surroundings have ever had a fascination for me
Morning found me really ill, and greatly enfeebled. By painful effort I walked five miles; then fell as before, and for hours lay in a comatose condition, barely conscious of. my situation. Subsequently I walked one or two miles farther to a deserted house near the road side, where I knew was a cool spring. Here I spent the day, seeing nothing, eating nothing, caring for nothing, unless it were an everlasting unconsciousness. Constant bathing of my head and saturating my hat, etc., etc., eventually revived me sufficiently for me to reach home a late hour in the night. Then, of course, I had proper care and soon recovered my physical health; though utterly broken down, and disheartened in prospects. [2]
Appleton's Journal
October 15, 1870
Lenoir, Caldwell County, N.C., August 20, 1870
To the Editor of the Journal
Let me say a few words more on the subject of the North Carolina mountains, and try to make them of "practical value" to those interested. Your correspondent from Cambridgeport, Mass., gives your readers directions how to reach Asheville; I would like to tell them how to get to Lenoir. I am willing to accede all that your correspondent claims for Asheville; but still, I think we have some advantages here that are not to be despised.
Take, then, a through ticket from New York to Salisbury, N.C., by way of Washington, Aquia Creek, Richmond, Danville and Greensborough. From Salisbury take the Western North Carolina Railroad; but to not go so far as Morgantown. Stop at Hickory Station. From thence it is only nineteen miles to our little mountain town. (Your correspondent is mistaken in regard to the distance from Morgantown to Asheville; instead of forty, it is full sixty miles, over a terrible road). From this point the finest localities of all this region are within easy distance. We hope yet to see this a center from which tourists and artists may start out on their mountain excursions.
The small mountain--small that is, for this country, of which I spoke in my former letter-- "Hibriton" had, before the war, a fine, graded road to the very top. Of course this road is now out of repair; but it is by no means a very bad one. I rode over it a short time ago, and found it much better than some roads that are more traveled. It is only five miles by carriage and, to walk by a shorter path, not much more than three form the middle of the town to the summit. I told you before of the exquisite view.
To go on to the "Grandfather" is only a little more than a day's journey. Starting from Lenoir in the morning, you can go to the top of the Blue Ridge long before nightfall; some very fine lookouts, by the way, already rewarding the traveler. One especially, from a point called the "Blowing Rock," is peculiarly interesting. A high bluff of rock juts out from the top of the mountain, and the formation of the valley below is such that a continual stream of air is every rushing up this precipice, and curving over the rock at the top. It is a favorite amusement with visitors to throw their hats down in the yawning gulf beneath, and see them tossed back again by the ever ascending current of air. You realize how deep the valley is as you see the John's River as it flows on through a heavily-timbered country, looking like a little brown snake crawling among huckleberry-bushes--so the great distance down dwarfs everything. Resting for the night at one of the several houses at which travelers can be entertained at a very cheap rate, in the morning you can start fresh and ascend the grand old "Grandfather." This mountain, as seen from this side has the profile of a giant face--the forehead, nose, mouth and flowing beard strongly defined; and there it lieth, ever looking up to the sky in calm and passionless repose.
The very finest and most extensive views of all are to obtained from the "Roan." The top of this mountain is perfectly bare; no trees are there as an obstruction on any side. It is between six and seven thousand feet high of imposing and peculiar formation, and covered with rich pastures. You can ride it on horseback; and there who desire to do so can remain during the night on the summit, as there is a fine spring of water there and plenty of food for the horses. This is a mountain that no tourist can afford to overlook. And the "Linville" with its magnificent falls, frowning rocks and wonderful ravines! The river dashes down, with two leaps, a distance of one hundred and twenty feet into a deep basin, and thence it runs on through a wild gorge for over thirteen miles. Oh, what a wealth of study and enjoyment is here for the artist and the lover of Nature! This scenery cannot be reached from Asheville without a long circuitous travel. Asheville lies, from here, far off on the other side of the Blue Ridge....
I cannot say a great deal about our hotel accommodations, still, I can always promise a comfortable bed, and good, substantial fare. Many of our families, reduced by the war, will receive boarders. The average price of broad is sixteen dollars per month.
We have many cultivated and refined people here, who are ready to extend a friendly greeting to any one who comes to enjoy with the the beauty which the beneficent All-Father has lavished on this lovely land. If the tide of travel should bring you this way, the demand will create the supply, and our roads, conveniences, and hotels, soon be equal to the needs of the public.
For the artists, I am particularly anxious that they could see this country. We have been gladdened, during the past few weeks by the presence among us of a French gentleman, a landscape artist of ability, unknown in America, but who will yet be heard from. His works, which are thoroughly studied, and distinguished for their depth and richness of color. He is talking of making Lenoir his permanent residence. To those who have an eye for color especially, this region has abundant charms; this indescribable atmosphere; has a golden glow-- words can only utterly fail to give any idea of it alone can, and that only approximately.
An Artist's Wife.
Appleton's Journal
December 27, 1873
Many of our readers have learned, from the careful measurements of Professor Arnold Guyot, of Princeton-prosecuted as they were through three summers-that there are in North Carolina about thirty designated mountain-peaks that surpass in altitude Mount Washington, of New Hampshire. The elevated area of North Carolina is more than two hundred miles in length, by an average breadth of fifty miles. Its eastern boundary is the Blue Ridge, which separates the waters of the Atlantic from those falling into the Mississippi. It attains its greatest elevation at the Grandfather Mountain. The western boundary of this plateau is the great Alleghany chain, which, though cut by the rivers through several passes, has a greater general elevation, and many higher peaks, than any in the Blue Ridge.
Through North Carolina this range is known in its course by the several names of Roane, Unaka, Iron, and Smoky. The last name indicates that portion which, from its extent, large mass, great altitude, and the number and height of the ridges connected with it, has been pronounced by Professor Guyot the culminating point of the Alleghanies. Its highest peak, as measured and named by him, appears on the maps of the Coast Survey as Clingman's Dome.
Besides these great ranges, there are a number of cross-chains, the most prominent of which are the Black and the Balsam. The last of these, from its extent, and general altitude, and the great number of its peaks, surpassed only by those of the Black and Smoky, is the most important of all the cross-chains. It extends from the Smoky, across the State, to the border of South Carolina, and, for the distance of nearly fifty miles, it is covered by the balsam -trees from which it takes its name.
On some of the old maps, at a point in its course, one may see marked "Devil's Old Field." This spot must not be confounded with the "Devil's Supreme Court-House," in which the devil, according to Cherokee lore, was to try all mankind at the last day. This Devil's Court-House, situated twenty miles west, on the border of Jackson and Macon Counties, is an immense precipice, nearly a mile long, and eighteen hundred feet high, being so curved as to form a part of the arc of a circle. When one in front looks at its concave surface, he sees, half-way up, an immense opening, which constitutes the throne of the author of evil, where bad spirits are to hear their doom.
But the Devil's Old Field is an opening of several hundred acres on the top of the Balsam range. The Cherokees regard the treeless tracts, at various points on the mountains, as the footprints of Satan, as he stepped from mountain to mountain. This old field, however, being his favorite resting - place, was more extensive than were his mere footprints. In fact, this was his chosen sleeping-place. Once, on a hot summer day, a party of irreverent Indians, rambling through the dense forests of balsam and rhododendrons, suddenly came into the edge of the open ground, and, with their unseemly chattering, woke his majesty from his siesta. Being irritated, as people often are when disturbed before their nap is out, he suddenly, in the form of an immense serpent, swallowed fifty of them before they could get back into the thicket. Ever after this sad occurrence, the Cherokees, as the sailors say, gave this locality a wide berth.
After the whites got into the country, a set of hunters, known by the name of Q_____, either by daring or diplomacy got on better terms with the old fellow. As their reputation was any thing but good, envious people used to say that they escaped injury at the hands of Satan upon the same principle that prevents a sow from eating her own pigs. These Q_____s spoke in favorable terms of the personal cleanliness of his majesty, and his regard for comfort, asserting that they had often gone to the large, overhanging rock, in the ceitre of the field, where he slept, and, out of mischief, in the evening had thrown rocks and brushwood off his bed, and that next morning the place was invariably as clean as if it had been brushed with a bunch of feathers. Of late years no one has seen him in those parts, and it is believed that, either tired of the loneliness of the place, or because he could do better elsewhere, he has emigrated.
Near the southern end of the Balsam Mountain, two spurs leave it on the east side and run out for a dozen miles toward the north. As one goes along the most westerly of the two, he comes to the Shining Rock, an immense mass of quartz so white as to resemble loaf-sugar. Though the lightning for thousands of years has with furious anger launched its bolts against it, the mass, standing like an immense edifice of snowy marble, glitters in the distance, and is not unaptly termed the Shining Rock. A few miles farther along, the ridge rises into an angular eminence more than six thousand feet high, and known as the Cold Mountain. The name was applied on account of this occurrence: Several hunters were on the top of the mountain when it was covered by a thick sleet. The heels of one of them, to use a skater's phrase, "flew up," causing him to sit down very suddenly. Instead, however, of his remaining quietly thus at rest, the merciless action of the force of gravity, conspiring with the inclination of the ground, caused him to slide rapidly for a couple of hundred yards down the mountain-side. When finally he did bring up in a bank of snow, he was decidedly of opinion that this mountain was the coldest one he had ever seen. In fact, when afterward questioned if he was not very cold, he said: "Yes, as cold as Cicero in his coldest moment!" He had doubtless heard some local orator pronounced as eloquent as Cicero, and thus concluded that the old Roman was a man of superlatives generally. Since that day the peak has rejoiced in the name of Cold Mountain.
The twin-ridge, which, leaving the Balsam near the same locality, gradually diverges to the east, terminates in the beautiful peak, Mount Pisgah, of which we give a view. It stop, five thousand seven hundred and fifty-seven feet above the sea, is a triangular-shaped pyramid. Standing alone as it does, it affords a magnificent view for a hundred miles around. It forms the corner of the four counties of Buncombe, Henderson, Transylvania, and Haywood.
The view presented is from the valley of Hommeny Creek, at a point a little to the east of north from the mountain. From whatever direction it is seen, its outline is not less pointed than it is in this picture, and is always a striking object before the eye of the spectator. Though one must travel twenty two miles from Asheville to reach its summit, its distance in a direct line is under fifteen. Its beautiful blue on a summer evening is sometimes changed into a rich purple by the rays of a red cloud thrown over it at sunset. In winter it is even a still more striking object. Covered by a fresh snow in the morning, its various ridges present their outlines so sharply that it seems as if they had been carved by a chisel into innumerable depressions and elevations. After one or two days' sunshine, the snow disappears on the ridges, but remains in the valleys. The mountain then seems covered from summit to base with alternate bands of virgin white, and a blue more intense and beautiful than the immortal sky itself presents.
While there are many views to be seen from Asheville and its vicinity, that from McDowell's Hill, two miles south, is the best. When there, one sees in the west Pisgah, the Cold Mountain, and some of the highest peaks of the Balsam, with many intervening ranges; while to the northeast rises the great mass of Craggy, with its numerous spurs crowned by its pyramid and dome, and the southern point of the Black in the distance. The beautiful Swannanoa makes a handsome curve as it passes through the green carpet, two hundred feet below, to unite with the French Broad, which seems to come afar from the base of Pisgah. One who has not been there, has yet to see the finest scene in North Carolina, probably not equaled by any east of the Mississippi.
Thomas Lanier Clingman