Part 10

Between Cheat river, at the fertile bottom called the Horse-shoe, and the summit of the mountain which divides the Western from the Atlantic waters, the country is thinly peopled, and only cultivated in the largest tributary vallies: the long spurs of the Backbone being too sterile to serve any other purpose than ranges for cattle and animals of the chase. The approach to the Great Backbone of the Alleghany region is here, as elsewhere on the western side, characterized by a broad and gentle acclivity, covered almost entirely with loose rocks of various sizes, many of them of the species of agglomerated quartz, familiar to the west under the name of country mill-stone, and valuable for the domestic molendinary uses of the simple and hardy race inhabiting those regions.

There is little timber of large size, the growth being chiefly chestnut oak and small moss-grown white oaks, exhibiting upon their blackened roots the scathing effects of flames, which, through the negligence of hunters in firing the dry leaves, have often and fiercely swept down the mountain side. The more recent inroads of fire are denoted by large tracts of underwood, black and denuded of leaves, and so stiffened by scorching as to present vexatious obstacles to progress, independent of the minor, though, in that place, unimportant annoyance of soiled clothes and person.

Large pine and birch trees, and a thicker undergrowth--detached blocks of stratified sandstone, some of them of huge size--and an increasing wildness and desolation in the aspect of the scenery, inform the traveller who may have ventured so far, that he is on the confines of the Alleghany wilderness.

The mountain top, near Lord Fairfax's stone, is crowned with a bold irregular precipice, which the hunters belonging to the exploring party of which the writer of this article was a member, termed the Bear-holeing, from its being the winter abode of great numbers of those animals,--the numerous cavities of the rocks, and the tangled laurel thickets, affording them a secure refuge from foes, whether biped or canine.

We were not without hope of being treated to the novelty of a bear hunt, our guides being veterans of the rifle, and accompanied by fine dogs, one of them as his master informed us, having engaged Sir Bruin more than fifty times.

The perils of this sport may well give a reputation for boldness and hardihood to our western yeomanry, when we consider that these encounters always occur in most intricate thickets of stubborn tangled laurel, in which the bear must have greatly the advantage in progression,--the sharp form of his head, and its close proximity to the ground, making it perform, in relation to his huge muscular body, the office, it might be said, of the coulter to a plough. But few of them are killed without the sacrifice of one or more of man's zealous confederates in this dangerous sport; and the rescue of the faithful brutes, (such is the inexpugnable nature of the foe and his extraordinary vital energy, which seems often to defy even the rifle,) obliges the hunter, with a personal daring not inferior to that of the Roman gladiators, to terminate the conflict with his hunting knife;--he dies invariably biting the ground or whatever else may be within his reach; showing to the very last the propensity to combat, which he exhibits even while a cub.

The range of precipice of which we have spoken, either terminates, or is interrupted for some distance north of this point--whence, for more than thirty miles, the country is totally without human inhabitant, and will probably for a long time, if not always, so remain.

The land may be said to lie in lofty tables, though the vallies are of great depth--the latter circumstance alone reminding the traveller that he has descended a mountain,--the seemingly interminable tract of flat forest land impressing, most forcibly, the idea of a lower situation, though these are without doubt among the very highest lands in Virginia. They are called by the hunters and settlers upon their outskirts, the Alleghany Levels. In them are the principal sources of all the great waters of Virginia. The North and South Branches of Potomac, Jackson's river, and the Shenandoah, Greenbrier and Gauley, Cheat and Tygart's Valley--which flow north, east, west and south, seeking by long and winding courses, the Ohio or the Atlantic Ocean.

The greatest singularity of this country consists in its primeval appearance: the ground is carpeted throughout with an elastic and verdant moss; black spruce and hemlock pines, of dark funereal aspect, tower above the soil like an army of Titans,--the interlacing of their umbrageous arms converting the noonday into seeming twilight. Under its mossy covering, the surface of the ground is completely reticulated with roots of trees--nature seeming to compensate in numbers for the defective character of her supports, as large trees may be often observed whose roots do not enter the ground for some feet below the trunk, being previously contorted and spread out like the arms of a polypous, and clothed in the same mantle of moss which overspreads rocks, trees and earth, in this fantastic region.

This moss may be stripped from the soil in sheets of any desirable size, and, when not previously saturated with rain, affords a most comfortable substitute for a mattrass, as in our bivouacs we more than once experienced.

The underwood is mostly streaked maple or elkwood, (the _Acer Striatum_ of Michaux,) diversified with immense tracts of the _Kalmia Latifolia_ and the large rose-bay-tree, (_Rhododendron Maximum_,) more popularly known as the "little and big laurels." The last named plant, when in flower, is the ornament of the wilderness. Those who have never seen it, may have some conception of its appearance, if they imagine tall bushes, from eight to twenty feet in height, with dark evergreen leaves, (not unlike in form and color to those of the magnolia grandiflora,) bearing clusters of full blown peonies, or large double damask and cinnamon roses, the intensity of the color seeming to vary with situation.

It is to be feared that this beautiful plant cannot easily be naturalized in this climate--an attempt made by the writer of this article, possibly from a too warm or not sufficiently humid exposure, having failed.

The geographical position of these "laurel beds" is a necessary part of the hunter's lore. Frequent instances are narrated of persons bewildered in them many days, and some are said to have perished. A farmer, born and residing on Stony river, five miles north of this wild, by whom we were supplied with provisions, accompanied us to the skirt of the forest, but could by no entreaty be induced to proceed farther.

These laurel thickets are most frequent in approaching vallies, which are as before remarked, of great depth; the descent is sudden, in general by what resembles a rude flight of steps, moss grown and ruined. To casual observation there would appear to be no water at the bottom; but a subterraneous rumbling, and occasional flashes through the interstices of the fragments on which he steps, inform the passenger that a stream of volume and power is beneath him.

The largest streams however, as in other regions, flow in open channels, their waters having a dark ferruginous tinge, derived it is said, from the laurel roots, but more probably from deposites of ore through which they flow.

The wild animals are no doubt many, as well as various, though the noise attending our own operations kept them from our sight. We daily saw tracks of bears, deer and elk; of the latter, a drove of some threescore is said still to inhabit these almost inaccessible wilds. Of birds, we saw none living except a few silent and melancholy snow birds; but our nightly lullaby was the whooping of owls, which here abound in great numbers.

To the reputed wonders of rattlesnake dens, where these reptiles lie in monstrous cumuli, refusing to uncoil until the whole mass has been many times assailed with rifle balls and other missiles, we cannot testify, having never, though very desirous of so doing, the fortune to find one.

The soil is a cold argillaceous loam, unsuited to the production of the nobler grains, but susceptible of becoming, under proper culture, good grazing land, and no doubt proper for rye, oats and potatoes,--the invariable products of the whole mountain region.

The botany of the wilderness proper, is confined chiefly to the two species of pine before mentioned, the hemlock pine (_Pinus Canadensis_,) and the black spruce (_Pinus Nigra_ of Lambert.) Some stately specimens of the wild cherry and scattering patches of red beach complete the list.

On emerging from the wilderness, the customary variety of oak, ash maple and hickory presents itself, mingled with the cucumber tree (_Magnolia Acuminata_,) and that invaluable treasure to western housewives, the sugar tree,--announcing the neighborhood of cultivation.

This dreary expanse of forest terminates on the summit of the Eastern Front Ridge, at the head of the North Fork of Patterson's creek, itself an inconsiderable tributary of Potomac, but deserving celebrity for the grandeur of its scenery. It appears to have cut its way through three lofty mountains in succession, affording a more sublime exhibition of river gap landscapes than I have witnessed in any other part of the state,--the boasted grandeur of Harper's Ferry fading into insignificance when compared with it.

At the first farm east of the wilderness,--in the homely but comfortable dwelling of one of the worthy Dutch farmers, our little party enjoyed the unwonted luxury of beds, and were able to breakfast without performing for ourselves the office, which has occasioned our species to be so properly designated as "cooking animals."

C. B. S.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

THE CYCLOPEAN TOWERS, IN AUGUSTA COUNTY, VA.

On a fine morning in September 1834, a party of which the writer was one, consisting for the most part of gentlemen who had met together in the town of Staunton from various sections of the Union, resolved on a visit to certain remarkable NATURAL STRUCTURES which lay in the neighborhood of the Augusta Springs, and about twenty miles distant from the place of their departure.

After passing over a hilly and picturesque country, the road opened upon a fertile valley, which though in places narrow, was of considerable length,--and when seen from an elevated position, appeared like the bed of an ancient lake, or as it really is, the alluvial border of a flowing stream. The strata of limestone hills, followed their usual order of parallel lines to the great mountains of our continent, as though a strong current had once swept through this magnificent valley,--forming in its course islands and promontories,--which are now discoverable in numerous short hills and rocky bluffs, that are either naked and barren, or covered with a growth of stately trees. It was at such a projection, that we first descried the gray summits of what seemed a ruinous castle,--resembling those which were raised in feudal times to guard the passes of the Rhine, or like such as are still seen in mouldering majesty on many an Alpine rock. These summits or towers, of which there are seven, lifted their heads above the lofty elms, like so many antique chimnies in the midst of a grove; but, on approaching them nearer, our pleasure was greatly increased, to find them rise almost perpendicularly from the bed of a small stream, which winding around their base, serves as a natural moat to a building not made with mortal hands. The southern front of this colossal pile, presents a wall of about sixty feet elevation, terminating in three towers of irregular height, and perforated at its base by a cavern,--which, by an apt association, was denominated "_Vulcan's Forge_." The tower on the extreme right, was unanimously called "_Cocke's Tower_"--in honor of one of our party who ascended it. On the left, are two other isolated towers,--of which the centre or smaller one was distinguished as the "_Hymenial Altar_,"--a name which had its origin partly in a _jeu d'esprit_, and partly on account of a shady bower in its rear, which seemed an appropriate shade to mantle maiden's blushes. The furthest and tallest, received the title of the "_Tower of Babel_." This is also the most perpendicular of all these rocky structures; an archway passes through it, by which there is an easy ascent to the remaining two, which stand on the acclivity of the hill,--and though of less altitude, are not of inferior beauty to the rest. One of them, which is of a round form, and flat at the top, and on that account received the appellation of the "_Table Rock_"--affords from its summit a splendid view of the whole; the other, and last of the five, we distinguished as "_Shelton's Rock_"--from one of our party.

These rocks in their formation resemble the palisades on the Hudson river--but are more regular in their strata,--which appear to have been arranged in huge masses of perfect workmanship--with projections like cornices of Gothic architecture, in a state of dilapidation. Those who are acquainted with the structure of the Cyclopean walls of the ancients, would be struck with the resemblance,--which suggested the name at the head of this article.

We pause to inquire why these primeval fragments of the world have remained so long unnoticed? Why is it that men are so easily awakened to the liveliest interest in distant objects, and yet neglect those which are nearer and more accessible? "A prophet" it hath been said on high authority, "hath honor save in his own country,"--and to that strange propensity of the mind to contemn whatever is familiar, must be attributed the neglect of many of the richest treasures at our own door, which frequently impart both wealth and distinction to foreign enterprise. For many years these towers have been known in the surrounding country, by the homely appellation of "THE CHIMNEYS,"--but no one has ever stopped to examine them, or to inquire how nature formed so curious a pile in such a spot. Imagination may indeed conceive that this noble structure was once the _Scylla_ of a narrow strait connecting the waters of the north and the south, until their accumulated pressing burst through the blue ridge at Harper's Ferry, and left in their subsidence these towers, as a perpetual memorial of their former dominion.

G. C.

[We do not remember where or when the following _Sonnet to Lord Byron_ was published. All we know is that it has been in print before, and has been ascribed to the pen of the Hon. R. H. Wilde, of Georgia.]

ORIGINAL SONNET TO LORD BYRON.

Byron! 'twas thine alone on eagle's pinions, In solitary strength and grandeur soaring, To dazzle and delight all eyes, out-pouring The electric blaze on tyrants and their minions; Earth, sea and air, and Powers and Dominions, Nature--man--time--the universe exploring, And from the wreck of worlds, thrones, creeds, opinions, Thought, beauty, eloquence, and wisdom storing. O! how I love and envy thee thy glory! To every age and clime alike belonging; Linked by all tongues with every nation's story, Thou TACITUS of song!--whose echoes thronging O'er the Atlantic, fill the mountains hoary And forests with a name which thus I'm wronging.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

MUSINGS III--_By the Author of Vyvyan_.

JAMESTOWN.

Yet could I seat me by this ivied stone Til I had bodied forth the heated mind Forms from the floating wreck which ruin leaves behind. _Childe Harold's Pilgrimage_, _Canto_ iv. _Stanza_ civ.

Tawnor nehiegh Powhatan. _Salvage dialect_, _apud Capt. Smith_.

I stand on hallowed ground--the sacred sod Which once an ill-starred people bravely trod In native freedom, ere the wanderer crost The broad Atlantic waters and love lost The fair reward of labor, ill repaid By base desertion--country--friends betrayed-- Misery and exile from a native land, Ending in death upon a foreign strand.

* * * * *

My spirit falls into a deeper mood And thought goes darkly forth to gather food For bitter contemplation;--for I trace Some record of the spoilers of that race Most gallant, wheresoe'er I turn mine eyes,-- While of the exiled--neath their native skies Is scarce a token left--save what belongs To a sad history of unnumbered wrongs. Methinks the very sun's departing rays With melancholy meaning seem to gaze Upon the hostile monuments of yore,-- Yon ruined arch with ivy overgrown-- Those shattered tombs of moss-discolored stone-- That slowly moulder by the silent shore.

* * * * *

Might I the Genius of Old Time invoke, This were the hour--the place--where many an oak Tosses its arms and points to ancient graves Beside the aisleless tower, which o'er the waves Shall no more send its voice upon the air, To call to matin or to vesper prayer. Alone, it stands, like some grim sentinel And in stern silence bids the world farewell!

* * * * *

Lift we the veil of vanished centuries-- Beneath the shade and shelter of these trees The careless Indian smoked his calumet-- (The CHRISTIAN had not crost the ocean yet)-- Without a thought to mar his musing, save To strand his light canoe beyond the wave Or fasten it with sedgy rope secure, Lest the next tide should steal it from the shore. But lo! one evening as he lay beside The margin where his native waters glide, A sight of wonder on his vision broke; And the deep voice of flame in thunder spoke The doom of wo to him and all his race. Yet fear, which might have blanched a paler face, Quenched not the flashings of his dauntless eye, Nor for an instant quelled that bearing high Which best became the warrior of the wild-- The Hunter bold--the Forests' lordly child! Ay! tho' the evil spirit of his sky, For such well might his inexperienced eye Have deemed it, lurked within the snow-white mist That brooded o'er the silent river's breast, And spoke in accents of the dark storm-cloud, From out the folding of its gleaming shroud, He stood prepared to meet the worst--like one Who hath no fear of aught beneath the sun. Methinks I see him watching by the shore, With strained eye, intently gazing o'er The river's course. Well may he clasp his brow In doubt and wonder--is he dreaming now?-- The cloud seems gathering up its folds of snow, And straight spars glitter in the sunset glow, Far loftier than the loftiest pine that rears Its stately crest above its tall compeers: Beneath--a huge dark mass is seen to glide With stealthy motion o'er the heaving tide, Crowded with moving forms of human mould, But of an aspect well might daunt the bold, Gazing the first time on that pallid crew, So foreign and so ghastly in their hue! But hark!--the distant shout that wildly pours Its thousand echoes on the strand, assures-- Swift to the Chiefs he speeds--the wise--the bold In council meet--his tale is briefly told; Then far and near they gathered in their might And 'gainst the invader battled for their right, As valiant men should for the altars reared By their forefathers and the homes endeared By thousand ties and recollections past To which the heart clings warmly to the last. But not to lengthen out a thrice told tale-- The Red Man never yielded to the Pale, Though forced by foreign fire to wander far, Homeless and houseless, neath the evening star. Slowly and sad, the western hills they climb, Yet find no rest beyond for wearied limb And aching heart--no single spot of earth, Of all the wide spread land that gave them birth, Is theirs. They gaze upon the setting sun And feel their course like his must soon be run-- They hear their requiem in the deepening roar Of waves that dash upon the distant shore-- But they must wander on unceasingly So long as space remains for footing free, Til hemmed at last twixt ocean and the foe They turn to bay _once more_ and perish so.

* * * * *

Oh! little dreamed the tender hearted maid, By love and her own gentleness betrayed, That death and desolation's fellest wrath So surely followed--in the very path Of good intent--to whelm her race with woes She would have warded even from her foes. Where yonder temporary structure frail[1] Extends across the strait its slender rail, The shallow waves at flood scarce overflow The sandy bar the ebb reveals below-- 'Twas there the royal daughter crost to save The pilgrim strangers from an early grave. Who that had seen her on that fatal night, Swift gliding, like a startled water sprite, To that lone Island-Fort where calmly slept The dreaming foe, in fancied safety wrapt-- Who could have aimed at such a breast the shaft? Tho' well apprised no other means were left To baffle treason--not as such designed In the simplicity of her guileless mind. Had she been only destined to inherit A portion of that fierce determined spirit And deep prophetic hate--like vestal fire Nursed in the bosom of her royal sire, A nation's doom had not been rashly sealed By mercy thus so erringly revealed-- But it is done--and lo! the love which hurled An ancient race to ruin--GAINED A WORLD!!

[Footnote 1: Alluding to the new bridge erected by Collier Minge, Esq. affording passage from the main land to the island, where a wharf has been built for the accommodation of steamboat travellers.]

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

THE FATED CITY.

'Twas evening, and the sinking sun Streamed brightly in the sky, And cast his farewell beams abroad, Like smiles of an approving god, O'er plain, and mountain high-- O'er waving fields of floating gold That, round his gorgeous pyre, were rolled, And o'er the city's glistening spires, That flashed beneath his blazing fires.

There lay that city;--wealth and pride Had built their temples there, And swift-winged commerce there had brought, From many a clime, her trophies caught:-- From Indian isles afar, The pearl, the beryl and the gem;-- But treasures, far outvieing them, Were with that city's wealth combined-- The priceless treasures of the mind!

The sun went down, and night came o'er That city's winding walls; The white moon rose along the sky, And looked down calm, and silently, Upon the shouting halls, Where music rang, and laughter went, From lip to lip, in merriment;-- Where all was careless, heedless, light, Besporting on that festal night!

An hour passed on;--what cry was that, Which thrilled that city so? What shrieks are those,--what means yon cloud That wraps the temple, like a shroud, And fills the breast with wo?-- What mean yon flames, that blazing, run Along that mountain dark and dun?-- Why quakes the land,--why heaves the sea-- Why peal the heavens dreadfully?

Night left the earth;--the sun arose, As wont, above the sky, And looked,--not on that city bright, Which he had left before the night, With turrets gleaming high; But on a black and blasted waste, Dread desolation's hand had traced,-- Upon a flood of _lava_, where Once proudly stood POMPEII fair!

A. B. M.

_Tuscaloosa, Alabama_.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

HYMN TO THE STARS.

BY D. MARTIN, _of Mobile_.

Ye burning blazonry of God! Ye glittering lights that never die! That pace the realms by seraphs trod! And hold untiring watch on high! And circling heaven's eternal king, Ye dwell--His glorious fashioning!