We had rode about a mile, when my guide said, that if I was willing to
go a hundred yards out of the way, he could show me something worth
seeing. I no sooner assented to this, than he cast around him his keen
woodsman's glance, and then, turning his horse in a direction slightly
diverging from the road, struck into the woods. I followed, and
presently observed that we were pursuing a course nearly parallel to
what seemed to be a precipice, beyond the verge of which I caught
glimpses of a vast extent of country. Without allowing me time to see
any thing distinctly, my guide pushed on, and, spurring to the top of
an Indian barrow, placed himself and me at the desired point of view.
We were on the spot that overlooks the confluence of Salt River with
the Mississippi. Having once travelled an hundred miles to see the
Natural Bridge, and having heard from Mr. Jefferson that that sight was
worthy of a voyage across the Atlantic, I certainly did not grudge the
price I had paid for the view that opened on me.
The confluence of the rivers is nearly at right angles. The hill
descends with equal abruptness towards each, and, at first glance, the
apex seems to overhang the water of each. But this is not so. The
descent, perhaps, wants two or three degrees of perpendicularity, and,
at the bottom, there is a narrow border of low-ground, fringing the
banks with lofty trees. The appearance of these trees gave the only
measure of the height of the hill. To the eye they might be bushes. My
guide assured me they were of the tallest growth.
To the East, across the Mississippi, lay what is called _Howard's
bottom_. This is, as its name imports, a body of low ground. Its width
is said to be, in some places, not less than six miles, and to be
nearly uniform for a distance of sixty. Of this I could not judge. It
seemed that it might be so. I was nearly opposite the middle of it, and
overlooking the whole. Next the water was a border of the most
luxuriant forest, apparently some half a mile in width, and beyond
this, a Prairie reaching to the foot of the hills, interspersed with
masses of forest, and groves, and stumps, and single trees, among
which, here and there, were glittering glimpses of the _Chenaille
ecartee_, which traverses the whole length of it. You, who know the
vesture in which nature clothes these fertile plains, need not be told
how rich and soft was the beautiful picture thus spread beneath my
feet. Its _setting_ was not less remarkable. This was a perpendicular
wall of limestone, two or three hundred feet high, which bounds the
valley on the East. An occasional gap, affording an outlet to the
country beyond, alone broke the continuity of this barrier. To the
North, lay the extensive plain through which Salt River winds. I have
no idea of its extent. It is a vast amphitheatre, surrounded by lofty
and richly-wooded hills. The plain itself is of wood and Prairie
interspersed, and so blended, that every tree seems placed for effect.
You are not to suppose, because I do not launch out in florid
declamation about the beauty, and grandeur, and magnificence, and all
that, of this scene, that it was less striking than you would naturally
suppose it must be. You know that I have neither talent nor taste for
_fine writing_, so you must take the picture as I give it, and draw on
your own imagination for the garniture. I have said nothing of the
rivers, but to tell you they were there, and flowing through a
landscape of many hundred thousand acres of the richest land on earth,
with the most beautifully variegated surface, all spread out under my
feet. I felt that the scene was sublime; and it is well for your
patience, that I have learned that sublime things are best described in
fewest words. It is certainly the finest I ever saw. There may be
others equal to it, but the earth does not afford _room_ for _many_
such. What will it be, when it becomes "a living landscape of groves
and corn-fields, and the abodes of men?" As it is, if the warrior, on
whose tomb I stood, could raise his head, he would see it in nothing
changed from what it was when his last sun set upon it.