THE FUTURE FOR THE DISMAL SWAMP.
The Dismal Swamp in Virginia is the only place where a death from
disease has never occurred. Railroads, like hog paths, are being run
in every direction, and the time is not far distant when a railroad
will be run direct to the beautiful Lake of the Dismal Swamp, and
Northern invalids will flock to its beautiful shores, there to bathe
in its juniper water and be healed from all diseases. True, at this
time it is in a rude and wild condition, but with the Suffolk and
Carolina Grand Trunk Railroad stretching across its western front,
civilization must tend toward it, and when a communication direct is
opened a city, Cincinnatus like, will spring along its shores, and its
inhabitants can, by the light of the glow worm of fire fly, watch the
paddling of the white canoe, so beautifully described by Moore in his
poem. Another very interesting place near the Swamp is a farm which at
one time belonged to General Washington. It is at the extreme south,
and is now owned by Mrs. John Trotman, and she has in her possession
the original title deeds of every person who has owned the place at
various times, from Washington down to the last purchaser, who was
Burrell Brothers, Esq., of Gates county, N. C., and an uncle of the
above-named lady. At his death it fell to his widow, who gave it to
Mrs. John Trotman, its present owner. I have visited the place several
times, and the cellars can now be seen where stood the first house. It
is very certain that it was settled many years ago, from the fact that
I saw a tombstone of a doctor from Waterbury, Connecticut, who died
there in 1800. This stone has been seen by many persons. There is
another place of some note that adjoins the Washington farm, it is
known as Hamburgs. At this place a ditch or canal was dug, running
east to the northwest Lock of the Dismal Swamp Canal, through which a
vast quantity of grain and other produce raised by the farmers of
Gates county, was shipped to Norfolk. An extensive mercantile business
was carried on at Hamburg by Col. T. W. Smith, so well known, who
afterwards removed to and now resides in Suffolk, Va. It was at
Hamburg that so many refugees ran the blockade during the late war
from Norfolk and other places, and a number of incidents could be
related of persons that sought that place to get in and out of the
Confederate lines. Hamburg is a beautiful place and is owned by Mrs.
S. C. Voight, who resides upon the premises. It was at this place that
Beast Butler, of the Federal Army, carried on a very extensive barter
trade with the Rebs. It adjoins the Washington farm, as I said before,
and may have been at one time a part of it. I knew nothing of the
first settlement of the place. It has the appearance of being very
ancient--no doubt dates back many years before the Revolution, or it
may have been the headquarters of a roving tribe of Indians, as many
arrow points and tomahawks have been ploughed up on the place. To my
friend, T. H. Lassiter, Esq., of Gates county, North Carolina, I am
indebted for much of the information gained of that locality, and I
could relate a good deal told me by that gentleman which might be very
interesting. Mr. Lassiter lives at a beautiful farm, on the main
Edenton road, near the Silver Spring, a place of great resort for
persons living in that part of the county.
I will relate a very interesting conversation which I had with a very
old colored man that I met in the road near the Orapeake Mill, in
Gates county, North Carolina, when on my way to Suffolk, Va., and not
far from the beautiful village of Jonesville, lying on both sides of
the Suffolk and Carolina Short Line or Grand Trunk Railroad. I said to
the old man, "Uncle, where do you live?" "Boss, you ax me a hard
question," replied the old man. "Git off your hoss an sot down, I'm
gwine tell you sumfin. Do you smoke de pipe, boss?" I replied that I
did, and handed him my bag of tobacco. He took from his pocket what I
supposed he called a pipe. It was the butt end of a corn cob hollowed
out, with something protruding at a right angle, which he called a
stem. What it really was, I could not tell. He filled it with tobacco.
I then handed him a match, when thanking me very kindly, he lighted
his pipe, drawing it a few times to see that it was well lighted,
said: "Boss, I will now tol you sumfin dat happen many years ago. Do
you see dat mill pon' yonder?" alluding to the Orapeake. I replied
that I did. "Well, boss, dat pon' was de cause of my trouble. One dark
nite I was in dar strikin' at fish. I had just hit a large chub, when
a white man, who was in dar strikin', cum up and sed: 'Boy, dat is my
fish.' I tole him dat I kilt de fish, an dat it was mine. 'Bout dat
time he was gwine to take de fish, an den I took up my hatchet dat I
had in de bote, whar I split liteard wid and hit him on de head. He
drapped down in de bote, and I seed dat I had done sumfin bad. De man
was dead, and I wood be hung if dey cotched me. So I drug de man ober
de side of de bote into the water, and mashed him down in the mud, an
dat man never cum up any more. I didn't go home any more. An arter a
while de white man was missin', an de peple gin to talk, an I gin to
git skared. Do you see dat house up dar?" I said I did. "Well, Marse
Luke Sumner libbed dar. De big house dat he libbed in is done torn
down, and de small one made outen it. He is done ded now, and when he
libbed dar is mor'n a hundred years ago. His gran-son, Marse Joe
Riddick, now own de place and libs at it. He mus be ni eighty year
old. Well, dey fine de white man was done missin, an it bin dat I was
strikin' fish in de mill pon' de same nite, dey 'gin to look for me,
an my daddy tole me dat I had better go into the desart, which was de
Dismal Swamp. I took his 'vice and lef. De runaway ketchers cum in dar
to look for me, but didn't get me. I staid dar 'til de war was ober. I
cum out and hab been lookin' 'bout dis place to see if I node anybody,
but dey all gone ded, an nobody nose me. I tell you, boss, when you
git in de desart ef nobody ses nuffin, de runaway ketchers can't kotch
you. I am berry ole now, and my home folks are all ded an gone an I no
nobody. De ghost ob de white man dat I kilt hants me all de time,
wharebber I go, an I is a misable man. I am now on my way to de desart
to hide myself an die." I asked him who he belonged to at the time he
committed the murder. Replying, he said: "I longed to Capt. Richard
Brothers, in de desert." "Well," I said, "did he ever know what became
of you?" "I nebber heard any more from him arter I got in the desart.
I heard dat he dide in 1817 ob de cole plague, or black tongue." "You
are correct in what you have said, uncle," I replied. "I do not wish
to interview you any longer on that subject. He was my grandfather and
lived at the place mentioned by you. I hear the old people speak of
the circumstances. You were his carriage driver at the time, and your
name is 'Long Davy.'" "Yas, sar, dat is my name, but don't tell
anybody 'bout it. I had a brudder libbing in de low parrish of
Nansemond county, but he is ded. His name was George." I said, "Uncle
Davy, you are correct. On one occasion, being at Driver's Store, in
lower parrish of Nansemond, I saw a tall and very polite colored man
drive up. I was struck with his appearance, and asking him his name,
he said George W. Coston, sir. Then you are from Sunsbury, Gates
county, North Carolina." "I was from that place," he replied, "but
have been living in the lower parish since the breaking out of the
war." "Were you a slave or free-born," I inquired. "I was a slave," he
responded. "Who was your first owner that you recollect." "Capt.
Richard Brothers, on the desart road, Nansemond county, Va., who died
with the cold plague in 1817," he readily answered. He appeared to be
very much pleased when I told him that his first master was my
grandfather. He looked at me very straight and asked me my mother's
name, and upon my answering Margaret, he said he thought he could see
a family likeness, and said my mother was the first mistress he ever
had, she "drawing" him in the division of my grandfather's property. I
left him at Driver's Store and never saw him again. I have since heard
that he was dead. I often thought of the circumstances of the meeting.
Such frequently occurs and brings up recollections that are buried in
oblivion. The corroborative testimony of George satisfied me that
"Davy" was true in what he related to me about what happened at
Orapeake Mill Pond, in Gates county, North Carolina, near the
beautiful village of Jonesville, on the Grand Trunk Railroad.
That the Lake of the Dismal Swamp is to become the great centre of
attraction there can be no reasonable doubt. Recent demonstrations in
that direction go to prove beyond cavil the fact. The visit of John
Boyle O'Reilly, editor of the Boston Herald, Mr. Mosely, of
Washington, and several other distinguished persons, go to prove the
fact. Contiguous as it is to the celebrated Magnolia Springs, with its
vast hunting grounds, will be a sufficient inducement to invite
sportsmen from all sections. It is certain that a railroad will be
surveyed and constructed, commencing at or near Magnolia Springs,
which will tap the Lake near the famous apple tree, and as a grand
hotel will be constructed at the Lake visitors will have the privilege
of stopping there or at the Springs. A sufficient amount of capital
can be had for all purposes necessary, and as the hotel will be built
about one mile from the shore of the Lake, it will be free from yellow
flies, fleas, mosquitos, snakes, alligators, bears, pole cats and
other annoyances which more or less infest the hotel. The hotel being
built on piles out in the Lake, could be reached by a bridge starting
from the shore, with a sufficient number of draws, which, if left open
at night, would prevent snakes, bears, alligators, pole cats, etc.,
from entering the hotel. A strict watch will be kept, and if by
accident the draws should be left closed and an alligator, bear or
snake should enter the hotel, or should a snake be found coiled up in
bed with some sleeper, no alarm should be given, it might cause some
nervous person to jump overboard and be devoured by alligators,
snakes, etc. By giving notice at the office of the hotel these
annoyances would be removed with but little or no excitement. The
object of the company is to direct the attention of Northern invalids
to Lake Drummond and Magnolia Springs, the medicinal qualities of
whose waters have been tested and are pronounced to be superior to any
known in this country. After drinking of these waters all that you
have to do is to go to Lake Drummond, bathe in its waters and be
healed. You will then be prepared to hunt bears, quail, deer, etc., at
the Springs, and your sport will then commence. Before entering into
the hunt you will supply yourself with a pole cat arrangement, which
is furnished free by the company and will probably be of service to
you. It is not expected that you will engage in any bear hunt on your
first arrival, but will wait until you know something about the mode
of hunting them. It frequently happens on the hunt that you come in
contact with a rattlesnake. He will give you timely notice by
springing his rattles, which you will do well to heed. It is a
well-known fact that Northern invalids are not afraid of alligators,
bears, snakes, pole cats or any of the poisonous insects that infest
the Swamp and Lake. There are a few timid persons living near the
Lake, on the edge of the Swamp, who are sometimes driven out of their
houses by the appearance of bears and snakes, but they are few in
number, and seldom or ever visit the Lake. The great bug bear that
deter most of the visitors is the fear of snakes falling in the
gondola, as she passes along, from overhanging limbs of trees. If
passengers would keep in their state-rooms on the gondola, snakes
might fall into it and they would know nothing about it, as they would
be thrown out as soon as found. Lizzards sometimes run up the
pantaloons leg of some who are not on the lookout for such things; but
that causes a fellow to run out of his trousers so quick that very few
ever get bitten.
I have visited the Lake at various times and under different
circumstances, but do not recollect that anything unaccountable
happened to me but once, which I will relate: On one occasion as I was
going down the canal, toward the Lake, the driver of the skiff
exclaimed, "Boss, did you see dat?" "No," I exclaimed; "What was it?"
"It was a ball of fire." "A what?" I said. "A jack-mer-lantern," said
he. "And what is that?" I asked. "It's a sperit. I ceed dem ebery
nite, an' when I go to kotch one dey ain't nobody." "Then you believe
in spirits?" "Yes, sar; dat I dus. When I pass Paradise Old Field I
kin always see dem." "Have you ever been told anything about the ball
of fire and Jack-mer-lantern, as you call them?" "Yes, sir; dat I
hab." "Then let me hear what you have been told." "Yes, sir; Boss,
I'se gwine tu tell you de God's trufe." "Well, proceed." "Boss, I'm
gwine to tole you dey tole me dat long time 'go dat a man by de name
of Pluter was come up dar in dat field wid a 'omun, an' dat dey loss
demselves, an' hab neber bin seed since; and dat ebery nite wen you go
by dar you kin see somfin. One nite as I was gwine 'long I thort dat
a ball of fire wus gwine tu hit me in de face. I axed who wus dat;
nobody said nuffin. I hit at it an' it turned to a Jack-mer-lantern."
"And what was that," I asked. "I 'spec dat it wus dat man Pluter, an'
de ball ob fire wus de 'omun dat wus wid him." "And they are what you
call 'sperits?' Then you are a natural born fool; if you do not shove
this boat along I will break your head with this pole." "Boss, I shall
always blebe in dem sperits."
It is very true that some very mysterious and unaccountable things
were seen when passing Paradise Old Field, by the side of the canal,
by persons on their way to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp, but in very
few instances, and then only by nervous persons of diseased minds. You
might travel up and down the canal as often as you choose and outside
of snakes and pole cats nothing would ever appear. Do not let snake
stories deter you from visiting this wonderful and beautiful place,
the Lake of the Dismal Swamp. As the boat was being driven along, the
driver said: "Boss, did I nebber told you about de big watermillion
that Mars. Caleb Busby foun' near dis place?" "No; let me hear
something about it." "Well, sir, I will tole you. One day as Mars.
Busby was gwine tu de Lake, an' wen he got rite here he ceed on de
side ob de cunnel a big snake trien tu swallow a raccoon. He tuk up
sumfin' to flro at de snake, an' jes' den he ceed in de bushes a nale
keg, an' wus glad dat he had foun' a keg ob nales. But wen he got dar
it was a watermillion." "How do you suppose that melon came to grow
there?" I asked. "My 'pinion 'bout dat, Boss, dat some nigger stole a
watermillion frum sum farmer's patch, an' wen he got here he busted it
gin a tree. Sum ob de seed fell on de ground an' de watermillion gru
dar." "That is very probable. What did Mr. Busby do with it?" "He
karid it home, planted sum ob de seed and his million weighed ober
fifty pounds. He sole sum ob de seed, an' frum dem seed farmers rose
de biggest watermillions ob eny in dis kintry." "Dat will do pretty
well for you; drive the boat along." "Dus yu think dat I tole yu a
story, Boss?" "Oh, no; I only thought that one of your
'Jack-mer-lanterns' had been after you, or that somebody had been
throwing a 'ball of fire' at your head."