little village, than I marched out with my gun and note-book, to judge
for myself of the wealth of the country. After traversing much ground,
and crossing many steep hills, I returned, if not wearied, at least much
disappointed at the extraordinary scarcity of birds. So I bargained to
be carried in a cart to the central parts of the Great Pine Swamp, and,
although a heavy storm was rising, ordered my conductor to proceed. We
winded round many a mountain and at last crossed the highest. The storm
had become tremendous, and we were thoroughly drenched, but, my
resolution being fixed, the boy was obliged to continue his driving.
Having already travelled about fifteen miles or so, we left the
turnpike, and struck up a narrow and bad road, that seemed merely cut
out to enable the people of the Swamp to receive the necessary supplies
from the village which I had left. Some mistakes were made, and it was
almost dark when a post directed us to the habitation of a Mr. Jediah
Irish, to whom I had been recommended. We now rattled down a steep
declivity, edged on one side by almost perpendicular rocks, and on the
other by a noisy stream, which seemed grumbling at the approach of
strangers. The ground was so overgrown by laurels and tall pines of
different kinds that the whole presented only a mass of darkness.
At length we reached the house, the door of which was already opened,
the sight of strangers being nothing uncommon in our woods, even in the
most remote parts. On entering, I was presented with a chair, while my
conductor was shown the way to the stable, and on expressing a wish that
I should be permitted to remain in the house for some weeks, I was
gratified by receiving the sanction of the good woman to my proposal,
although her husband was then from home. As I immediately began to talk
about the nature of the country, and inquired if birds were numerous in
the neighborhood, Mrs. Irish, more _au fait_ in household affairs than
ornithology, sent for a nephew of her husband's, who soon made his
appearance, and in whose favor I became at once prepossessed. He
conversed like an educated person, saw that I was comfortably disposed
of, and finally bade me good-night in such a tone as made me quite
happy.
The storm had rolled away before the first beams of the morning sun
shone brightly on the wet foliage, displaying all its richness and
beauty. My ears were greeted by the notes, always sweet and mellow, of
the Wood Thrush and other songsters. Before I had gone many steps, the
woods echoed to the report of my gun, and I picked from among the leaves
a lovely Sylvia,[52] long sought for, but until then sought for in vain.
I needed no more, and standing still for a while, I was soon convinced
that the Great Pine Swamp harbored many other objects as valuable to me.
The young man joined me, bearing his rifle, and offered to accompany me
through the woods, all of which he well knew. But I was anxious to
transfer to paper the form and beauty of the little bird I had in my
hand; and requesting him to break a twig of blooming laurel, we returned
to the house, speaking of nothing else than the picturesque beauty of
the country around.
A few days passed, during which I became acquainted with my hostess and
her sweet children, and made occasional rambles, but spent the greater
portion of my time in drawing. One morning, as I stood near the window
of my room, I remarked a tall and powerful man alight from his horse,
loose the girth of the saddle, raise the latter with one hand, pass the
bridle over the head of the animal with the other, and move towards the
house, while the horse betook himself to the little brook to drink. I
heard some movements in the room below, and again the same tall person
walked towards the mill and stores, a few hundred yards from the house.
In America business is the first object in view at all times, and right
it is that it should be so. Soon after my hostess entered my room,
accompanied by the fine-looking woodsman, to whom, as Mr. Jediah Irish,
I was introduced. Reader, to describe to you the qualities of that
excellent man were vain; you should know him, as I do, to estimate the
value of such men in our sequestered forests. He not only made me
welcome, but promised all his assistance in forwarding my views.
The long walks and long talks we have had together I can never forget,
nor the many beautiful birds which we pursued, shot, and admired. The
juicy venison, excellent Bear flesh, and delightful trout that daily
formed my food, methinks I can still enjoy. And then, what pleasure I
had in listening to him as he read his favorite poems of Burns, while my
pencil was occupied in smoothing and softening the drawing of the bird
before me! Was not this enough to recall to my mind the early
impressions that had been made upon it by the description of the golden
age, which I here found realized?
The Lehigh about this place forms numerous short turns between the
mountains, and affords frequent falls, as well as below the falls deep
pools, which render this stream a most valuable one for mills of any
kind. Not many years before this date, my host was chosen by the agent
of the Lehigh Coal Company, as their mill-wright, and manager for
cutting down the fine trees which covered the mountains around. He was
young, robust, active, industrious, and persevering. He marched to the
spot where his abode now is, with some workmen, and by dint of hard
labor first cleared the road mentioned above, and reached the river at
the centre of a bend, where he fixed on erecting various mills. The pass
here is so narrow that it looks as if formed by the bursting asunder of
the mountain, both sides ascending abruptly, so that the place where the
settlement was made is in many parts difficult of access, and the road
then newly cut was only sufficient to permit men and horses to come to
the spot where Jediah and his men were at work. So great, in fact, were
the difficulties of access that, as he told me, pointing to a spot about
one hundred and fifty feet above us, they for many months slipped from
it their barrelled provisions, assisted by ropes, to their camp below.
But no sooner was the first saw-mill erected than the axe-men began
their devastations. Trees, one after another, were, and are yet,
constantly heard falling during the days; and in calm nights, the greedy
mills told the sad tale that in a century the noble forests around
should exist no more. Many mills were erected, many dams raised, in
defiance of the impetuous Lehigh. One full third of the trees have
already been culled, turned into boards, and floated as far as
Philadelphia.
In such an undertaking the cutting of the trees is not all. They have
afterwards to be hauled to the edge of the mountains bordering the
river, launched into the stream, and led to the mills over many shallows
and difficult places. Whilst I was in the Great Pine Swamp, I frequently
visited one of the principal places for the launching of logs. To see
them tumbling from such a height, touching here and there the rough
angle of a projecting rock, bouncing from it with the elasticity of a
foot-ball, and at last falling with an awful crash into the river, forms
a sight interesting in the highest degree, but impossible for me to
describe. Shall I tell you that I have seen masses of these logs heaped
above each other to the number of five thousand? I may so tell you, for
such I have seen. My friend Irish assured me that at some seasons, these
piles consisted of a much greater number, the river becoming in those
places completely choked up.
When _freshets_ (or floods) take place, then is the time chosen for
forwarding the logs to the different mills. This is called a _Frolic_.
Jediah Irish, who is generally the leader, proceeds to the upper leap
with his men, each provided with a strong wooden handspike, and a
short-handled axe. They all take to the water, be it summer or winter,
like so many Newfoundland spaniels. The logs are gradually detached,
and, after a time, are seen floating down the dancing stream, here
striking against a rock and whirling many times round, there suddenly
checked in dozens by a shallow, over which they have to be forced with
the handspikes. Now they arrive at the edge of a dam, and are again
pushed over. Certain numbers are left in each dam, and when the party
has arrived at the last, which lies just where my friend Irish's camp
was first formed, the drenched leader and his men, about sixty in
number, make their way home, find there a healthful repast, and spend
the evening and a portion of the night in dancing and frolicking, in
their own simple manner, in the most perfect amity, seldom troubling
themselves with the idea of the labor prepared for them on the morrow.
That morrow now come, one sounds a horn from the door of the
store-house, at the call of which each returns to his work. The sawyers,
the millers, the rafters, and raftsmen are all immediately busy. The
mills are all going, and the logs, which a few months before were the
supporters of broad and leafy tops, are now in the act of being split
asunder. The boards are then launched into the stream, and rafts are
formed of them for market.
During the months of summer and autumn, the Lehigh, a small river of
itself, soon becomes extremely shallow, and to float the rafts would
prove impossible, had not art managed to provide a supply of water for
this express purpose. At the breast of the lower dam is a curiously
constructed lock, which is opened at the approach of the rafts. They
pass through this lock with the rapidity of lightning, propelled by the
water that had been accumulated in the dam, and which is of itself
generally sufficient to float them to Mauch Chunk, after which, entering
regular canals, they find no other impediments, but are conveyed to
their ultimate destination.
Before population had greatly advanced in this part of Pennsylvania,
game of all description found within that range was extremely abundant.
The Elk itself did not disdain to browse on the shoulders of the
mountains near the Lehigh. Bears and the common Deer must have been
plentiful, as, at the moment when I write, many of both are seen and
killed by the resident hunters. The Wild Turkey, the Pheasant, and the
Grouse, are also tolerably abundant, and as to trout in the streams--ah,
reader, if you are an angler, do go there and try for yourself. For my
part, I can only say that I have been made weary with pulling up from
the rivulets the sparkling fish, allured by the struggles of the common
grasshopper.
A comical affair happened with the Bears, which I shall relate to you,
good reader. A party of my friend Irish's raftsmen, returning from Mauch
Chunk one afternoon, through sundry short-cuts over the mountains, at
the season when the huckleberries are ripe and plentiful, were suddenly
apprised of the proximity of some of these animals by their snuffing the
air. No sooner was this perceived than, to the astonishment of the
party, not fewer than eight Bears, I was told, made their appearance.
Each man, being provided with his short-handled axe, faced about, and
willingly came to the scratch; but the assailed soon proved the
assailants, and with claw and tooth drove the men off in a twinkling.
Down they all rushed from the mountain; the noise spread quickly; rifles
were soon procured and shouldered; but when the spot was reached, no
Bears were to be found; night forced the hunters back to their homes,
and a laugh concluded the affair.
I spent six weeks in the Great Pine Forest--Swamp it cannot be
called--where I made many a drawing. Wishing to leave Pennsylvania, and
to follow the migratory flocks of our birds to the South, I bade adieu
to the excellent wife and rosy children of my friend, and to his kind
nephew. Jediah Irish, shouldering his heavy rifle, accompanied me, and
trudging directly across the mountains, we arrived at Mauch Chunk in
good time for dinner. Shall I ever have the pleasure of seeing that
good, that generous man again?[53]
At Mauch Chunk, where we both spent the night, Mr. White, the civil
engineer, visited me, and looked at the drawings which I had made in the
Great Pine Forest. The news he gave me of my sons, then in Kentucky,
made me still more anxious to move in their direction; and long before
daybreak, I shook hands with the good man of the forest, and found
myself moving towards the capital of Pennsylvania,[54] having as my sole
companion a sharp, frosty breeze. Left to my thoughts, I felt amazed
that such a place as the Great Pine Forest should be so little known to
the Philadelphians, scarcely any of whom could direct me towards it. How
much it is to be regretted, thought I, that the many young gentlemen who
are there, so much at a loss how to employ their leisure days, should
not visit these wild retreats, valuable as they are to the student of
nature. How differently would they feel, if, instead of spending weeks
in smoothing a useless bow, and walking out in full dress, intent on
displaying the make of their legs, to some rendezvous where they may
enjoy their wines, they were to occupy themselves in contemplating the
rich profusion which nature has poured around them, or even in procuring
some desiderated specimen for their Peale's Museum, once so valuable,
and so finely arranged! But, alas, no! they are none of them aware of
the richness of the Great Pine Swamp, nor are they likely to share the
hospitality to be found there.
THE LOST ONE
A "LIVE-OAKER" employed on the St. John's River, in East Florida, left
his cabin, situated on the banks of that stream, and, with his axe on
his shoulder, proceeded towards the swamp in which he had several times
before plied his trade of felling and squaring the giant trees that
afford the most valuable timber for naval architecture and other
purposes.
At the season which is the best for this kind of labor, heavy fogs not
unfrequently cover the country, so as to render it difficult for one to
see farther than thirty or forty yards in any direction. The woods, too,
present so little variety that every tree seems the mere counterpart of
every other; and the grass, when it has not been burnt, is so tall that
a man of ordinary stature cannot see over it, whence it is necessary for
him to proceed with great caution, lest he should unwittingly deviate
from the ill-defined trail which he follows. To increase the difficulty,
several trails often meet, in which case, unless the explorer be
perfectly acquainted with the neighborhood, it would be well for him to
lie down, and wait until the fog should disperse. Under such
circumstances, the best woodsmen are not unfrequently bewildered for a
while; and I well remember that such an occurrence happened to myself,
at a time when I had imprudently ventured to pursue a wounded quadruped,
which led me some distance from the track.
The live-oaker had been jogging onwards for several hours, and became
aware that he must have travelled considerably more than the distance
between his cabin and the "hummock" which he desired to reach. To his
alarm, at the moment when the fog dispersed, he saw the sun at its
meridian height, and could not recognize a single object around him.
Young, healthy, and active, he imagined he had walked with more than
usual speed, and had passed the place to which he was bound. He
accordingly turned his back upon the sun, and pursued a different route,
guided by a small trail. Time passed, and the sun headed his course; he
saw it gradually descend in the west; but all around him continued as if
enveloped with mystery. The huge gray trees spread their giant boughs
over him, the rank grass extended on all sides, not a living being
crossed his path; all was silent and still, and the scene was like a
dull and dreary dream of the land of oblivion. He wandered like a
forgotten ghost that had passed into the land of spirits, without yet
meeting one of his kind with whom to hold converse.
The condition of a man lost in the woods is one of the most perplexing
that could be imagined by a person who has not himself been in a like
predicament. Every object he sees, he at first thinks he recognizes, and
while his whole mind is bent on searching for more that may gradually
lead to his extrication, he goes on committing greater errors the
farther he proceeds. This was the case with the live-oaker. The sun was
now setting with a fiery aspect, and by degrees it sunk in its full
circular form, as if giving warning of a sultry morrow. Myriads of
insects, delighted at its departure, now filled the air on buzzing
wings. Each piping frog arose from the muddy pool in which it had
concealed itself; the Squirrel retired to its hole, the Crow to its
roost, and, far above, the harsh, croaking voice of the Heron announced
that, full of anxiety, it was wending its way towards the miry interior
of some distant swamp. Now the woods began to resound to the shrill
cries of the Owl; and the breeze, as it swept among the columnar stems
of the forest trees, came laden with heavy and chilling dews. Alas! no
moon with her silvery light shone on the dreary scene, and the Lost One,
wearied and vexed, laid himself down on the damp ground. Prayer is
always consolatory to man in every difficulty or danger, and the
woodsman fervently prayed to his Maker, wished his family a happier
night than it was his lot to experience, and with a feverish anxiety
waited the return of day.
You may imagine the length of that dull, cold, moonless night. With the
dawn of day came the usual fogs of those latitudes. The poor man started
on his feet, and with a sorrowful heart, pursued a course which he
thought might lead him to some familiar object, although, indeed, he
scarcely knew what he was doing. No longer had he the trace of a track
to guide him, and yet, as the sun rose, he calculated the many hours of
daylight he had before him, and the farther he went, the faster he
walked. But vain were all his hopes; that day was spent in fruitless
endeavors to regain the path that led to his home, and when night again
approached, the terror that had been gradually spreading over his mind,
together with the nervous debility produced by fatigue, anxiety, and
hunger, rendered him almost frantic. He told me that at this moment he
beat his breast, tore his hair, and, had it not been for the piety with
which his parents had in early life imbued his mind, and which had
become habitual, would have cursed his existence. Famished as he now
was, he laid himself on the ground, and fed on the weeds and grasses
that grew around him. That night was spent in the greatest agony and
terror. "I knew my situation," he said to me. "I was fully aware that
unless Almighty God came to my assistance, I must perish in those
uninhabited woods. I knew that I had walked more than fifty miles,
although I had not met with a brook, from which I could quench my
thirst, or even allay the burning heat of my parched lips and bloodshot
eyes. I knew that if I should not meet with some stream I must die, for
my axe was my only weapon, and although Deer and Bears now and then
started within a few yards, or even feet of me, not one of them could I
kill; and although I was in the midst of abundance, not a mouthful did I
expect to procure, to satisfy the cravings of my empty stomach. Sir, may
God preserve you from ever feeling as I did the whole of that day."
For several days after, no one can imagine the condition in which he
was, for when he related to me this painful adventure, he assured me
that he had lost all recollection of what had happened. "God," he
continued, "must have taken pity on me one day, for, as I ran wildly
through those dreadful pine barrens, I met with a tortoise. I gazed upon
it with amazement and delight, and, although I knew that were I to
follow it undisturbed, it would lead me to some water, my hunger and
thirst would not allow me to refrain from satisfying both, by eating its
flesh, and drinking its blood. With one stroke of my axe the beast was
cut in two, and in a few moments I had despatched all but the shell. Oh,
sir, how much I thanked God, whose kindness had put the Tortoise in my
way! I felt greatly renewed. I sat down at the foot of a pine, gazed on
the heavens, thought of my poor wife and children, and again and again
thanked my God for my life; for now I felt less distracted in mind, and
more assured that before long I must recover my way, and get back to my
home."
The Lost One remained and passed the night, at the foot of the same tree
under which his repast had been made. Refreshed by a sound sleep, he
started at dawn to resume his weary march. The sun rose bright, and he
followed the direction of the shadows. Still the dreariness of the woods
was the same, and he was on the point of giving up in despair, when he
observed a Raccoon lying squatted in the grass. Raising his axe, he
drove it with such violence through the helpless animal that it expired
without a struggle. What he had done with the tortoise, he now did with
the Raccoon, the greater part of which he actually devoured at one meal.
With more comfortable feelings he then resumed his wanderings--his
journey, I cannot say--for although in the possession of all his
faculties, and in broad daylight, he was worse off than a lame man
groping his way in the dark out of a dungeon, of which he knew not where
the doors stood.
Days, one after another, passed--nay, weeks in succession. He fed now on
cabbage-trees, then on frogs and snakes. All that fell in his way was
welcome and savory. Yet he became daily more emaciated, until at length
he could scarcely crawl. Forty days had elapsed, by his own reckoning,
when he at last reached the banks of the river. His clothes in tatters,
his once bright axe dimmed with rust, his face begrimed with beard, his
hair matted, and his feeble frame little better than a skeleton covered
with parchment, there he laid himself down to die. Amid the perturbed
dreams of his fevered fancy, he thought he heard the noise of oars far
away on the silent river. He listened, but the sounds died away on his
ear. It was, indeed, a dream, the last glimmer of expiring hope, and now
the light of life was about to be quenched forever. But again the sound
of oars woke him from his lethargy. He listened so eagerly that the hum
of a fly could not have escaped his ear. They were, indeed, the measured
beats of oars. And now, joy to the forlorn soul! the sound of human
voices thrilled to his heart, and awoke the tumultuous pulses of
returning hope. On his knees did the eye of God see that poor man by the
broad, still stream that glittered in the sunbeams, and human eyes soon
saw him too, for round that headland covered with tangled brushwood,
boldly advances the little boat, propelled by its lusty rowers. The Lost
One raises his feeble voice on high; it was a loud, shrill scream of joy
and fear. The rowers pause, and look around. Another, but feebler
scream, and they observe him. It comes, his heart flutters, his sight is
dimmed, his brain reels, he gasps for breath. It comes--it has run upon
the beach, and the Lost One is found.
This is no tale of fiction, but the relation of an actual occurrence,
which might be embellished, no doubt, but which is better in the plain
garb of truth. The notes by which I recorded it were written in the
cabin of the once lost live-oaker, about four years after the painful
incident occurred. His amiable wife, and loving children, were present
at the recital, and never shall I forget the tears that flowed from
their eyes as they listened to it, albeit it had long been more familiar
to them than a tale thrice told. Sincerely do I wish, good reader, that
neither you nor I may ever elicit such sympathy by having undergone such
sufferings, although no doubt, such sympathy would be a rich recompense
for them.
It only remains for me to say that the distance between the cabin and
the live-oak hummock to which the woodsman was bound, scarcely exceeded
eight miles, while the part of the river where he was found was
thirty-eight miles from his house. Calculating his daily wanderings at
ten miles, we may believe they amounted in all to four hundred. He must
therefore have rambled in a circuitous direction, which people generally
do in such circumstances. Nothing but the great strength of his
constitution, and the merciful aid of his Maker, could have supported
him for so long a time.
THE LIVE-OAKERS