Departure for the mountains in the Stage—Scenery of the
Alleghany—Haggerstown
The weather was bleak and disagreeable during the two days we were
obliged to remain at Wheeling. I had got heartily tired of my gifted
friend; we had walked up every side of the rugged hill, and I set off
on my journey towards the mountains with more pleasure than is
generally felt in quitting a pillow before daylight, for a cold corner
in a rumbling stage-coach.
This was the first time we had got into an American stage, though we
had traversed above two thousand miles of the country, and we had all
the satisfaction in it, which could be derived from the conviction that
we were travelling in a foreign land. This vehicle had no step, and we
climbed into it by a ladder; when that was removed I remembered, with
some dismay, that the females at least were much in the predicament of
sailors, who, “in danger have no door to creep out,” but when a
misfortune is absolutely inevitable, we are apt to bear it remarkably
well; who would utter that constant petition of ladies on rough roads,
“let me get out,” when compliance would oblige the pleader to make a
step of five feet before she could touch the ground?
The coach had three rows of seats, each calculated to hold three
persons, and as we were only six, we had, in the phrase of Milton, to
“inhabit lax” this exalted abode, and, accordingly, we were for some
miles tossed about like a few potatoes in a wheelbarrow. Our knees,
elbows, and heads required too much care for their protection to allow
us leisure to look out of the windows; but at length the road became
smoother, and we became more skilful in the art of balancing ourselves,
so as to meet the concussion with less danger of dislocation.
We then found that we were travelling through a very beautiful country,
essentially different in its features from what we had been accustomed
to round Cincinnati: it is true we had left “_la belle rivière_” behind
us, but the many limpid and rapid little streams that danced through
the landscape to join it, more than atoned for its loss.
The country already wore an air of more careful husbandry, and the very
circumstance of a wide and costly road (though not a very smooth one),
which in theory might be supposed to injure picturesque effect, was
beautiful to us, who, since we had entered the muddy mouth of the
Mississippi, had never seen any thing except a steam-boat and the
_levee_ professing to have so noble an object as public accommodation.
Through the whole of the vast region we had passed, excepting at New
Orleans itself, every trace of the art of man appeared to be confined
to the individual effort of “getting along,” which, in western phrase,
means contriving to live with as small a portion of the incumbrances of
civilized society as possible.
This road was made at the expense of the government as far as
Cumberland, a town situated among the Alleghany mountains, and, from
the nature of the ground, must have been a work of great cost. I
regretted not having counted the number of bridges between Wheeling and
Little Washington, a distance of thirty-four miles; over one stream
only there are twenty-five, all passed by the road. They frequently
occurred within a hundred yards of each other, so serpentine is its
course; they are built of stone, and sometimes very neatly finished.
Little Washington is in Pennsylvania, across a corner of which the road
runs. This is a free state, but we were still waited upon by Negroes,
hired from the neighbouring state of Virginia. We arrived at night, and
set off again at four in the morning; all, therefore, that we saw of
Little Washington was its hotel, which was clean and comfortable. The
first part of the next day’s journey was through a country much less
interesting: its character was unvaried for nearly thirty miles,
consisting of an uninterrupted succession of forest-covered hills. As
soon as we had wearily dragged to the top of one of these, we began to
rumble down the other side as rapidly as our four horses could trot;
and no sooner arrived at the bottom than we began to crawl up again;
the trees constantly so thick and so high as to preclude the
possibility of seeing fifty yards in any direction.
The latter part of the day, however, amply repaid us. At four o’clock
we began to ascend the Alleghany mountains: the first ridge on the
western side is called Laurel Hill, and takes its name from the profuse
quantity of evergreens with which it is covered; not any among them,
however, being the shrub to which we give the name of laurel.
The whole of this mountain region, through ninety miles of which the
road passes, is a garden. The almost incredible variety of plants, and
the lavish profusion of their growth, produce an effect perfectly
enchanting. I really can hardly conceive a higher enjoyment than a
botanical tour among the Alleghany mountains, to any one who had
science enough to profit by it.
The magnificent rhododendron first caught our eyes; it fringes every
cliff, nestles beneath every rock, and blooms around every tree. The
azalia, the shumac, and every variety of that beautiful mischief, the
kalmia, are in equal profusion. Cedars of every size and form were
above, around, and underneath us; firs more beautiful and more various
than I had ever seen, were in equal abundance, but I know not whether
they were really such as I had never seen in Europe, or only in
infinitely greater splendour and perfection of growth; the species
called the hemlock is, I think, second to the cedar only, in
magnificence. Oak and beech, with innumerable roses and wild vines,
hanging in beautiful confusion among their branches, were in many
places scattered among the evergreens. The earth was carpeted with
various mosses and creeping plants, and though still in the month of
March, not a trace of the nakedness of winter could be seen. Such was
the scenery that shewed us we were indeed among the far-famed Alleghany
mountains.
As our noble terrace-road, the Semplon of America, rose higher and
higher, all that is noblest in nature was joined to all that is
sweetest. The blue tops of the higher ridges formed the outline; huge
masses of rock rose above us on the left, half hid at intervals by the
bright green shrubs, while to the right we looked down upon the tops of
the pines and cedars which clothed the bottom.
I had no idea of the endless variety of mountain scenery. My notions
had been of rocks and precipices, of torrents and of forest trees, but
I little expected that the first spot which should recall the garden
scenery of our beautiful England would be found among the moutains: yet
so it was. From the time I entered America I had never seen the
slightest approach to what we call pleasure-grounds; a few very
worthless and scentless flowers were all the specimens of gardening I
had seen in Ohio; no attempt at garden scenery was ever dreamed of, and
it was with the sort of delight with which one meets an old friend,
that we looked on the lovely mixture of trees, shrubs, and flowers,
that now continually met our eyes. Often, on descending into the narrow
vallies, we found a little spot of cultivation, a garden or a field,
hedged round with shumacs, rhododendrons, and azalias, and a cottage
covered with roses. These vallies are spots of great beauty; a clear
stream is always found running through them, which is generally
converted to the use of the miller, at some point not far from the
road; and here, as on the heights, great beauty of colouring is given
to the landscape, by the bright hue of the vegetation, and the sober
grey of the rocks.
The first night we passed among the mountains recalled us painfully
from the enjoyment of nature to all the petty miseries of personal
discomfort. Arrived at our inn, a forlorn parlour, filled with the
blended fumes of tobacco and whiskey, received us; and chilled, as we
began to feel ourselves with the mountain air, we preferred going to
our cold bedrooms rather than sup in such an atmosphere. We found linen
on the beds which they assured us had only been used _a few nights_;
every kind of refreshment we asked for we were answered, “We do not
happen to have that article.” We were still in Pennsylvania, and no
longer waited upon by slaves; it was, therefore, with great difficulty
that we procured a fire in our bedrooms from the surly-looking _young
lady_ who condescended to officiate as chambermaid, and with much more,
that we extorted clean linen for our beds; that done, we patiently
crept into them supperless, while she made her exit muttering about the
difficulty of “fixing English folks.”
The next morning cheered our spirits again; we now enjoyed a new kind
of alpine witchery; the clouds were floating around, and below us, and
the distant peaks were indistinctly visible as through a white gauze
veil, which was gradually lifted up, till the sun arose, and again let
in upon us the full glory of these interminable heights.
We were told before we began the ascent, that we should find snow four
inches deep on the road; but as yet we had seen none, and indeed it was
with difficulty we persuaded ourselves that we were not travelling in
the midst of summer. As we proceeded, however, we found the northern
declivities still covered with it, and at length, towards the summit,
the road itself had the promised four inches. The extreme mildness of
the air, and the brilliant hue of the evergreens, contrasted strangely
with this appearance of winter; it was difficult to understand how the
snow could help melting in such an atmosphere.
Again and again we enjoyed all the exhilarating sensations that such
scenes must necessarily inspire, but in attempting a continued
description of our progress over these beautiful mountains, I could
only tell again of rocks, cedars, laurels, and running streams, of blue
heights, and green vallies, yet the continually varying combinations of
these objects afforded us unceasing pleasure. From one point,
pre-eminently above any neighbouring ridge, we looked back upon the
enormous valley of the West. It is a stupendous view; but having gazed
upon it for some moments, we turned to pursue our course, and the
certainty that we should see it no more, raised no sigh of regret.
We dined, on the second day, at a beautiful spot, which we were told
was the highest point on the road, being 2,846 feet above the level of
the sea. We were regaled luxuriously on wild turkey and mountain
venison; which latter is infinitely superior to any furnished by the
forests of the Mississippi, or the Ohio. The vegetables also were
extremely fine, and we were told by a pretty girl, who superintended
the slaves that waited on us, (for we were again in Virginia), that the
vegetables of the Alleghany were reckoned the finest in America. She
told us also, that wild strawberries were profusely abundant, and very
fine; that their cows found for themselves, during the summer, plenty
of flowery food, which produced a copious supply of milk; that their
spring gave them the purest water, of icy coldness in the warmest
seasons; and that the climate was the most delicious in the world, for
though the thermometer sometimes stood at ninety, their cool breeze
never failed them. What a spot to turn hermit in for a summer! My
eloquent mountaineer gave me some specimens of ground plants, far
unlike any thing I had ever seen. One particularly, which she called
the ground pine, is peculiar as she told me, to the Alleghany, and in
some places runs over whole acres of ground; it is extremely beautiful.
The rooms were very prettily decorated with this elegant plant, hung
round it in festoons.
In many places the clearing has been considerable; the road passes
through several fine farms, situated in the sheltered hollows; we were
told that the wolves continue to annoy them severely, but that
panthers, the terror of the West, are never seen, and bears very
rarely. Of snakes, they confessed they had abundance, but very few that
were considered dangerous.
In the afternoon we came in sight of the Monongehala river; and its
banks gave us for several miles a beautiful succession of wild and
domestic scenery. In some points, the black rock rises perpendicularly
from its margin, like those at Chepstow; at others, a mill, with its
owner’s cottage, its corn-plat, and its poultry, present a delightful
image of industry and comfort.
Brownsville is a busy looking little town built upon the banks of this
river; it would be pretty, were it not stained by the hue of coal. I do
not remember in England to have seen any spot, however near a coal
mine, so dyed in black as Wheeling and Brownsville. At this place we
crossed the Monongehala, in a flat ferry-boat, which very commodiously
received our huge coach and four horses.
On leaving the black little town, we were again cheered by abundance of
evergreens, reflected in the stream, with fantastic piles of rock, half
visible through the pines and cedars above, giving often the idea of a
vast gothic castle. It was a folly, I confess, but I often lamented
they were not such; the travelling for thousands of miles, without
meeting any nobler trace of the ages that are passed, than a mass of
rotten leaves, or a fragment of fallen rock, produces a heavy, earthly
matter-of-fact effect upon the imagination, which can hardly be
described, and for which the greatest beauty of scenery can furnish
only an occasional and transitory remedy.
Our second night in the mountains was past at a solitary house of
rather forlorn appearance; but we fared much better than the night
before, for they gave us clean sheets, a good fire, and no scolding. We
again started at four o’clock in the morning, and eagerly watched for
the first gleam of light that should show the same lovely spectacle we
had seen the day before; nor were we disappointed, though the show was
somewhat different. The vapours caught the morning ray, as it first
darted over the mountain top, and passing it to the scene below, we
seemed enveloped in a rainbow.
We had now but one ridge left to pass over, and as we reached the top,
and looked down on the new world before us, I hardly knew whether most
to rejoice that
“All the toil of the long-pass’d way”
was over, or to regret that our mountain journey was drawing to a
close.
The novelty of my enjoyment had doubtless added much to its keenness. I
have never been familiar with mountain scenery. Wales has shewn me all
I ever saw, and the region of the Alleghany Alps in no way resembles
it. It is a world of mountains rising around you in every direction,
and in every form; savage, vast, and wild; yet almost at every step,
some lovely spot meets your eye, green, bright and blooming, as the
most cherished nook belonging to some noble Flora in our own beautiful
land. It is a ride of ninety miles through kalmies, rhododendrons,
azalias, vines and roses; sheltered from every blast that blows by vast
masses of various coloured rocks, on which
“Tall pines and cedars wave their dark green crests.”
while in every direction you have a background of blue mountain tops,
that play at bo-peep with you in the clouds.
After descending the last ridge we reached Haggerstown, a small neat
place, between a town and a village; and here by the piety of the
Presbyterian coach-masters, we were doomed to pass an entire day, and
two nights, “as the accommodation line must not run on the sabbath.”
I must, however, mention, that this day of enforced rest was _not_
Sunday. Saturday evening we had taken in at Cumberland a portly
passenger, whom we soon discovered to be one of the proprietors of the
coach. He asked us, with great politeness, if we should wish to travel
on the sabbath, or to delay our journey. We answered that we would
rather proceed; “The coach, then, shall go on tomorrow,” replied the
liberal coach-master, with the greatest courtesy; and accordingly we
travelled all Sunday, and arrived at Haggerstown on Sunday night. At
the door of the inn our civil proprietor left us; but when we enquired
of the waiter at what hour we were to start on the morrow, he told us
that we should be obliged to pass the whole of Monday there, as the
coach which was to convey us forward would not arrive from the east,
till Tuesday morning.
Thus we discovered that the waiving the sabbath-keeping by the
proprietor, was for his own convenience, and not for ours, and that we
were to be tied by the leg for four-and-twenty hours notwithstanding.
This was quite a Yankee trick.
Luckily for us, the inn at Haggerstown was one of the most comfortable
I ever entered. It was there that we became fully aware that we had
left Western America behind us. Instead of being scolded, as we
literally were at Cincinnati, for asking for a private sitting-room, we
here had two, without asking at all. A waiter, quite _comme il faut_,
summoned us to breakfast, dinner, and tea, which we found prepared with
abundance, and even elegance. The master of the house met us at the
door of the eating-room, and, after asking if we wished for any thing
not on the table, retired. The charges were in no respect higher than
at Cincinnati.
A considerable creek, called Conococheque Creek, runs near the town,
and the valley through which it passes is said to be the most fertile
in America.
On leaving Haggerstown we found, to our mortification, that we were not
to be the sole occupants of the bulky accommodation, two ladies and two
gentlemen appearing at the door ready to share it with us. We again
started, at four o’clock, by the light of a bright moon, and rumbled
and nodded through the roads considerably worse than those over the
mountains.
As the light began to dawn we discovered our ladies to be an old woman
and her pretty daughter.
Soon after daylight we found that our pace became much slower than
usual, and that from time to time our driver addressed to his companion
on the box many and vehement exclamations. The gentlemen put their
heads out, to ask what was the matter, but could get no intelligence,
till the mail overtook us, when both vehicles stopped, and an animated
colloquy of imprecations took place between the coachmen. At length we
learnt that one of our wheels was broken in such a manner as to render
it impossible for us to proceed. Upon this the old lady immediately
became a principal actor in the scene. She sprung to the window, and
addressing the set of gentlemen who completely filled the mail,
exclaimed “Gentlemen! can’t you make room for two? only me and my
daughter?” The naive simplicity of this request set both the coaches
into an uproar of laughter. It was impossible to doubt that she acted
upon the same principle as the pious Catholic, who addressing heaven
with a prayer for himself alone, added “_pour ne pas fatiguer ta
miséricorde._” Our laugh, however, never daunted the old woman, or
caused her for a moment to cease the reiteration of her request, “only
for two of us, gentlemen! can’t you find room for two?”
Our situation was really very embarrassing, but not to laugh was
impossible. After it was ascertained that our own vehicle could not
convey us, and that the mail had not even room for two, we decided upon
walking to the next village, a distance, fortunately, of only two
miles, and awaiting there the repair of the wheel. We immediately set
off, at the brisk pace that six o’clock and a frosty morning in March
were likely to inspire, leaving our old lady and her pretty daughter
considerably in the rear; our hearts having been rather hardened by the
exclusive nature of her prayer for aid.
When we had again started upon our new wheel, the driver, to recover
the time he had lost, drove rapidly over a very rough road, in
consequence of which, our self-seeking old lady fell into a perfect
agony of terror, and her cries of “we shall be over! oh, Lord! we shall
be over! we must over! we shall be over!” lasted to the end of the
stage which with laughing, walking, and shaking, was a most fatiguing
one.