Crossing the Cumberland Mountains
I had climbed but a short distance when I was overtaken by a young man
on horse-back, who soon showed that he intended to rob me if he should
find the job worth while. After he had inquired where I came from, and
where I was going, he offered to carry my bag. I told him that it was
so light that I did not feel it at all a burden; but he insisted and
coaxed until I allowed him to carry it. As soon as he had gained
possession I noticed that he gradually increased his speed, evidently
trying to get far enough ahead of me to examine the contents without
being observed. But I was too good a walker and runner for him to get
far. At a turn of the road, after trotting his horse for about half an
hour, and when he thought he was out of sight, I caught him rummaging
my poor bag. Finding there only a comb, brush, towel, soap, a change of
underclothing, a copy of Burns’s poems, Milton’s Paradise Lost, and a
small New Testament, he waited for me, handed back my bag, and returned
down the hill, saying that he had forgotten something.
I found splendid growths of shining-leaved _Ericaceæ_ (heathworts) for
which the Alleghany Mountains are noted. Also ferns of which _Osmunda
cinnamomea_ [Cinnamon Fern] is the largest and perhaps the most
abundant. _Osmunda regalis_ [Flowering Fern] is also common here, but
not large. In Wood’s[1] and Gray’s Botany _Osmunda cinnamomea_ is said
to be a much larger fern than _Osmunda claytoniana_. This I found to be
true in Tennessee and southward, but in Indiana, part of Illinois, and
Wisconsin the opposite is true. Found here the beautiful, sensitive
_Schrankia_, or sensitive brier. It is a long, prickly, leguminous
vine, with dense heads of small, yellow fragrant flowers.
[1] Alphonso Wood, _Class-book of Botany, with a Flora of The United
States and Canada._ The copy of this work, carried by Mr. Muir on his
wanderings, is still extant. The edition is that of 1862.
Vines growing on roadsides receive many a tormenting blow, simply
because they give evidence of feeling. Sensitive people are served in
the same way. But the roadside vine soon becomes less sensitive, like
people getting used to teasing—Nature, in this instance, making for the
comfort of flower creatures the same benevolent arrangement as for man.
Thus I found that the _Schrankia_ vines growing along foot-paths
leading to a backwoods schoolhouse were much less sensitive than those
in the adjacent unfrequented woods, having learned to pay but slight
attention to the tingling strokes they get from teasing scholars.
It is startling to see the pairs of pinnate leaves rising quickly out
of the grass and folding themselves close in regular succession from
the root to the end of the prostrate stems, ten to twenty feet in
length. How little we know as yet of the life of plants—their hopes and
fears, pains and enjoyments!
Traveled a few miles with an old Tennessee farmer who was much excited
on account of the news he had just heard. “Three kingdoms, England,
Ireland, and Russia, have declared war agin the United States. Oh, it’s
terrible, terrible,” said he. “This big war comin’ so quick after our
own big fight. Well, it can’t be helped, and all I have to say is,
Amerricay forever, but I’d a heap rather they didn’t fight.”
“But are you sure the news is true?” I inquired. “Oh, yes, quite sure,”
he replied, “for me and some of my neighbors were down at the store
last night, and Jim Smith can read, and he found out all about it in a
newspaper.”
Passed the poor, rickety, thrice-dead village of Jamestown, an
incredibly dreary place. Toward the top of the Cumberland grade, about
two hours before sundown I came to a log house, and as I had been
warned that all the broad plateau of the range for forty or fifty miles
was desolate, I began thus early to seek a lodging for the night.
Knocking at the door, a motherly old lady replied to my request for
supper and bed and breakfast, that I was welcome to the best she had,
provided that I had the necessary change to pay my bill. When I told
her that unfortunately I had nothing smaller than a five-dollar
greenback, she said, “Well, I’m sorry, but cannot afford to keep you.
Not long ago ten soldiers came across from North Carolina, and in the
morning they offered a greenback that I couldn’t change, and so I got
nothing for keeping them, which I was ill able to afford.” “Very well,”
I said, “I’m glad you spoke of this beforehand, for I would rather go
hungry than impose on your hospitality.”
As I turned to leave, after bidding her good-bye, she, evidently
pitying me for my tired looks, called me back and asked me if I would
like a drink of milk. This I gladly accepted, thinking that perhaps I
might not be successful in getting any other nourishment for a day or
two. Then I inquired whether there were any more houses on the road,
nearer than North Carolina, forty or fifty miles away. “Yes,” she said,
“it’s only two miles to the next house, but beyond that there are no
houses that I know of except empty ones whose owners have been killed
or driven away during the war.”
Arriving at the last house, my knock at the door was answered by a
bright, good-natured, good-looking little woman, who in reply to my
request for a night’s lodging and food, said, “Oh, I guess so. I think
you can stay. Come in and I’ll call my husband.” “But I must first warn
you,” I said, “that I have nothing smaller to offer you than a
five-dollar bill for my entertainment. I don’t want you to think that I
am trying to impose on your hospitality.”
She then called her husband, a blacksmith, who was at work at his
forge. He came out, hammer in hand, bare-breasted, sweaty, begrimed,
and covered with shaggy black hair. In reply to his wife’s statement,
that this young man wished to stop over night, he quickly replied,
“That’s all right; tell him to go into the house.” He was turning to go
back to his shop, when his wife added, “But he says he hasn’t any
change to pay. He has nothing smaller than a five-dollar bill.”
Hesitating only a moment, he turned on his heel and said, “Tell him to
go into the house. A man that comes right out like that beforehand is
welcome to eat my bread.”
When he came in after his hard day’s work and sat down to dinner, he
solemnly asked a blessing on the frugal meal, consisting solely of corn
bread and bacon. Then, looking across the table at me, he said, “Young
man, what are you doing down here?” I replied that I was looking at
plants. “Plants? What kind of plants?” I said, “Oh, all kinds; grass,
weeds, flowers, trees, mosses, ferns,—almost everything that grows is
interesting to me.”
“Well, young man,” he queried, “you mean to say that you are not
employed by the Government on some private business?” “No,” I said, “I
am not employed by any one except just myself. I love all kinds of
plants, and I came down here to these Southern States to get acquainted
with as many of them as possible.” “You look like a strong-minded man,”
he replied, “and surely you are able to do something better than wander
over the country and look at weeds and blossoms. These are hard times,
and real work is required of every man that is able. Picking up
blossoms doesn’t seem to be a man’s work at all in any kind of times.”
To this I replied, “You are a believer in the Bible, are you not?” “Oh,
yes.” “Well, you know Solomon was a strong-minded man, and he is
generally believed to have been the very wisest man the world ever saw,
and yet he considered it was worth while to study plants; not only to
go and pick them up as I am doing, but to study them; and you know we
are told that he wrote a book about plants, not only of the great
cedars of Lebanon, but of little bits of things growing in the cracks
of the walls.[2]
[2] The previously mentioned copy of Wood’s Botany, used by John Muir,
quotes on the title page 1 Kings iv, 33: “He spake of trees, from the
cedar of Lebanon even unto the hyssop that springeth out of the wall.”
“Therefore, you see that Solomon differed very much more from you than
from me in this matter. I’ll warrant you he had many a long ramble in
the mountains of Judea, and had he been a Yankee he would likely have
visited every weed in the land. And again, do you not remember that
Christ told his disciples to ‘consider the lilies how they grow,’ and
compared their beauty with Solomon in all his glory? Now, whose advice
am I to take, yours or Christ’s? Christ says, ‘Consider the lilies.’
You say, ‘Don’t consider them. It isn’t worth while for any
strong-minded man.’”
This evidently satisfied him, and he acknowledged that he had never
thought of blossoms in that way before. He repeated again and again
that I must be a very strong-minded man, and admitted that no doubt I
was fully justified in picking up blossoms. He then told me that
although the war was over, walking across the Cumberland Mountains
still was far from safe on account of small bands of guerrillas who
were in hiding along the roads, and earnestly entreated me to turn back
and not to think of walking so far as the Gulf of Mexico until the
country became quiet and orderly once more.
I replied that I had no fear, that I had but very little to lose, and
that nobody was likely to think it worth while to rob me; that, anyhow,
I always had good luck. In the morning he repeated the warning and
entreated me to turn back, which never for a moment interfered with my
resolution to pursue my glorious walk.
_September 11._ Long stretch of level sand-stone plateau, lightly
furrowed and dimpled with shallow groove-like valleys and hills. The
trees are mostly oaks, planted wide apart like those in the Wisconsin
woods. A good many pine trees here and there, forty to eighty feet
high, and most of the ground is covered with showy flowers. Polygalas
[milkworts], solidagoes [goldenrods], and asters were especially
abundant. I came to a cool clear brook every half mile or so, the banks
planted with _Osmunda regalia, Osmunda cinnamomea_, and handsome
sedges. The few larger streams were fringed with laurels and azaleas.
Large areas beneath the trees are covered with formidable green briers
and brambles, armed with hooked claws, and almost impenetrable. Houses
are far apart and uninhabited, orchards and fences in ruins—sad marks
of war.
About noon my road became dim and at last vanished among desolate
fields. Lost and hungry, I knew my direction but could not keep it on
account of the briers. My path was indeed strewn with flowers, but as
thorny, also, as mortal ever trod. In trying to force a way through
these cat-plants one is not simply clawed and pricked through all one’s
clothing, but caught and held fast. The toothed arching branches come
down over and above you like cruel living arms, and the more you
struggle the more desperately you are entangled, and your wounds
deepened and multiplied. The South has plant fly-catchers. It also has
plant man-catchers.
After a great deal of defensive fighting and struggling I escaped to a
road and a house, but failed to find food or shelter. Towards sundown,
as I was walking rapidly along a straight stretch in the road, I
suddenly came in sight of ten mounted men riding abreast. They
undoubtedly had seen me before I discovered them, for they had stopped
their horses and were evidently watching me. I saw at once that it was
useless to attempt to avoid them, for the ground thereabout was quite
open. I knew that there was nothing for it but to face them fearlessly,
without showing the slightest suspicion of foul play. Therefore,
without halting even for a moment, I advanced rapidly with long strides
as though I intended to walk through the midst of them. When I got
within a rod or so I looked up in their faces and smilingly bade them
“Howdy.” Stopping never an instant, I turned to one side and walked
around them to get on the road again, and kept on without venturing to
look back or to betray the slightest fear of being robbed.
After I had gone about one hundred or one hundred and fifty yards, I
ventured a quick glance back, without stopping, and saw in this flash
of an eye that all the ten had turned their horses toward me and were
evidently talking about me; supposedly, with reference to what my
object was, where I was going, and whether it would be worth while to
rob me. They all were mounted on rather scrawny horses, and all wore
long hair hanging down on their shoulders. Evidently they belonged to
the most irreclaimable of the guerrilla bands who, long accustomed to
plunder, deplored the coming of peace. I was not followed, however,
probably because the plants projecting from my plant press made them
believe that I was a poor herb doctors a common occupation in these
mountain regions.
About dark I discovered, a little off the road, another house,
inhabited by negroes, where I succeeded in obtaining a much needed meal
of string beans, buttermilk, and corn bread. At the table I was seated
in a bottomless chair, and as I became sore and heavy, I sank deeper
and deeper, pressing my knees against my breast, and my mouth settled
to the level of my plate. But wild hunger cares for none of these
things, and my curiously compressed position prevented the too free
indulgence of boisterous appetite. Of course, I was compelled to sleep
with the trees in the one great bedroom of the open night.
_September 12._ Awoke drenched with mountain mist, which made a grand
show, as it moved away before the hot sun. Passed Montgomery, a shabby
village at the head of the east slope of the Cumberland Mountains.
Obtained breakfast in a clean house and began the descent of the
mountains. Obtained fine views of a wide, open country, and distant
flanking ridges and spurs. Crossed a wide cool stream [Emory River], a
branch of the Clinch River. There is nothing more eloquent in Nature
than a mountain stream, and this is the first I ever saw. Its banks are
luxuriantly peopled with rare and lovely flowers and overarching trees,
making one of Nature’s coolest and most hospitable places. Every tree,
every flower, every ripple and eddy of this lovely stream seemed
solemnly to feel the presence of the great Creator. Lingered in this
sanctuary a long time thanking the Lord with all my heart for his
goodness in allowing me to enter and enjoy it.
Discovered two ferns, _Dicksonia_ and a small matted polypod on trees,
common farther South. Also a species of magnolia with very large leaves
and scarlet conical fruit. Near this stream I spent some joyous time in
a grand rock-dwelling full of mosses, birds, and flowers. Most heavenly
place I ever entered. The long narrow valleys of the mountainside, all
well watered and nobly adorned with oaks, magnolias, laurels, azaleas,
asters, ferns, Hypnum mosses, Madotheca [Scale-mosses], etc. Also
towering clumps of beautiful hemlocks. The hemlock, judging from the
common species of Canada, I regarded as the least noble of the
conifers. But those of the eastern valleys of the Cumberland Mountains
are as perfect in form and regal in port as the pines themselves. The
latter abundant. Obtained fine glimpses from open places as I descended
to the great valley between these mountains and the Unaka Mountains on
the state line. Forded the Clinch, a beautiful clear stream, that knows
many of the dearest mountain retreats that ever heard the music of
running water. Reached Kingston before dark. Sent back my plant
collections by express to my brother in Wisconsin.
_September 13._ Walked all day across small parallel valleys that flute
the surface of the one wide valley. These flutings appear to have been
formed by lateral pressure, are fertile, and contain some fine forms,
though the seal of war is on all things. The roads never seem to
proceed with any fixed purpose, but wander as if lost. In seeking the
way to Philadelphia [in Loudon County, Tennessee], I was told by a
buxom Tennessee “gal” that over the hills was much the nearer way, that
she always went that way, and that surely I could travel it.
I started over the flint-ridges, but soon reached a set of enchanted
little valleys among which, no matter how or in what direction I
traveled, I could not get a foot nearer to Philadelphia. At last,
consulting my map and compass, I neglected all directions and finally
reached the house of a negro driver, with whom I put up for the night.
Received a good deal of knowledge which may be of use should I ever be
a negro teamster.
_September 14._ Philadelphia is a very filthy village in a beautiful
situation. More or less of pine. Black oak most abundant. _Polypodium
hexagonopterum_ and _Abspidium acrostichoides_ [Christmas Fern] most
abundant of ferns and most generally distributed. _Osmunda claytoniana_
rare, not in fruit, small. _Dicksonia_ abundant, after leaving the
Cumberland Mountains. _Asplenium ebeneum_ [Ebony Spleenwort] quite
common in Tennessee and many parts of Kentucky. _Cystopteris_ [Bladder
Fern], and _Asplenium filix-fœmina_ not common through the same range.
_Pteris aquilina_ [Common Brake] abundant, but small.
Walked through many a leafy valley, shady grove, and cool brooklet.
Reached Madisonville, a brisk village. Came in full view of the Unaka
Mountains, a magnificent sight. Stayed over night with a pleasant young
farmer.
_September 15._ Most glorious billowy mountain scenery. Made many a
halt at open places to take breath and to admire. The road, in many
places cut into the rock, goes winding about among the knobs and
gorges. Dense growth of asters, liatris[3], and grapevines.
[3] Wood’s Botany, edition of 1862, furnishes the following interesting
comment on _Liatris odoratissima_ (Willd.), popularly known as Vanilla
Plant or Deer’s Tongue: “The fleshy leaves exhale a rich fragrance even
for years after they are dry, and are therefore by the southern
planters largely mixed with their cured tobacco, to impart its
fragrance to that nauseous weed.”
Reached a house before night, and asked leave to stop. “Well, you’re
welcome to stop,” said the mountaineer, “if you think you can live till
morning on what I have to live on all the time.” Found the old
gentleman very communicative. Was favored with long “bar” stories, deer
hunts, etc., and in the morning was pressed to stay a day or two.
_September 16._ “I will take you,” said he, “to the highest ridge in
the country, where you can see both ways. You will have a view of all
the world on one side of the mountains and all creation on the other.
Besides, you, who are traveling for curiosity and wonder, ought to see
our gold mines.” I agreed to stay and went to the mines. Gold is found
in small quantities throughout the Alleghanies, and many farmers work
at mining a few weeks or months every year when their time is not more
valuable for other pursuits. In this neighborhood miners are earning
from half a dollar to two dollars a day. There are several large quartz
mills not far from here. Common labor is worth ten dollars a month.
_September 17._ Spent the day in botanizing, blacksmithing and
examining a grist mill. Grist mills, in the less settled parts of
Tennessee and North Carolina, are remarkably simple affairs. A small
stone, that a man might carry under his arm, is fastened to the
vertical shaft of a little home-made, boyish-looking back-action
water-wheel, which, with a hopper and a box to receive the meal, is the
whole affair The walls of the mill are of undressed poles cut from
seedling trees and there is no floor, as lumber is dear. No dam is
built. The water is conveyed along some hillside until sufficient fall
is obtained, a thing easily done in the mountains.
On Sundays you may see wild, unshorn, uncombed men coming out of the
woods, each with a bag of corn on his back. From a peck to a bushel is
a common grist. They go to the mill along verdant footpaths, winding up
and down over hill and valley, and crossing many a rhododendron glen.
The flowers and shining leaves brush against their shoulders and knees,
occasionally knocking off their coon-skin caps. The first arrived
throws his corn into the hopper, turns on the water, and goes to the
house. After chatting and smoking he returns to see if his grist is
done. Should the stones run empty for an hour or two, it does no harm.
This is a fair average in equipment and capacity of a score of mills
that I saw in Tennessee. This one was built by John Vohn, who claimed
that he could make it grind twenty bushels a day. But since it fell
into other hands it can be made to grind only ten per day. All the
machines of Kentucky and Tennessee are far behind the age. There is
scarce a trace of that restless spirit of speculation and invention so
characteristic of the North. But one way of doing things obtains here,
as if laws had been passed making attempts at improvement a crime.
Spinning and weaving are done in every one of these mountain cabins
wherever the least pretensions are made to thrift and economy. The
practice of these ancient arts they deem marks of advancement rather
than of backwardness. “There’s a place back heah,” said my worthy
entertainer, “whar there’s a mill-house, an’ a store-house, an’ a
still-house, an’ a spring-house, an’ a blacksmith shop—all in the same
yard! Cows too, an’ heaps of big gals a-milkin’ them.”
This is the most primitive country I have seen, primitive in
everything. The remotest hidden parts of Wisconsin are far in advance
of the mountain regions of Tennessee and North Carolina. But my host
speaks of the “old-fashioned unenlightened times,” like a philosopher
in the best light of civilization. “I believe in Providence,” said he.
“Our fathers came into these valleys, got the richest of them, and
skimmed off the cream of the soil. The worn-out ground won’t yield no
roastin’ ears now. But the Lord foresaw this state of affairs, and
prepared something else for us. And what is it? Why, He meant us to
bust open these copper mines and gold mines, so that we may have money
to buy the corn that we cannot raise.” A most profound observation.
_September 18_. Up the mountain on the state line. The scenery is far
grander than any I ever before beheld. The view extends from the
Cumberland Mountains on the north far into Georgia and North Carolina
to the south, an area of about five thousand square miles. Such an
ocean of wooded, waving, swelling mountain beauty and grandeur is not
to be described. Countless forest-clad hills, side by side in rows and
groups, seemed to be enjoying the rich sunshine and remaining
motionless only because they were so eagerly absorbing it. All were
united by curves and slopes of inimitable softness and beauty. Oh,
these forest gardens of our Father! What perfection, what divinity, in
their architecture! What simplicity and mysterious complexity of
detail! Who shall read the teaching of these sylvan pages, the glad
brotherhood of rills that sing in the valleys, and all the happy
creatures that dwell in them under the tender keeping of a Father’s
care?
_September 19_. Received another solemn warning of dangers on my way
through the mountains. Was told by my worthy entertainer of a wondrous
gap in the mountains which he advised me to see. “It is called Track
Gap,” said he, “from the great number of tracks in the rocks—bird
tracks, bar tracks, hoss tracks, men tracks, all in the solid rock as
if it had been mud.” Bidding farewell to my worthy mountaineer and all
his comfortable wonders, I pursued my way to the South.
As I was leaving, he repeated the warnings of danger ahead, saying that
there were a good many people living like wild beasts on whatever they
could steal, and that murders were sometimes committed for four or five
dollars, and even less. While stopping with him I noticed that a man
came regularly after dark to the house for his supper. He was armed
with a gun, a pistol, and a long knife. My host told me that this man
was at feud with one of his neighbors, and that they were prepared to
shoot one another at sight. That neither of them could do any regular
work or sleep in the same place two nights in succession. That they
visited houses only for food, and as soon as the one that I saw had got
his supper he went out and slept in the woods, without of course making
a fire. His enemy did the same.
My entertainer told me that he was trying to make peace between these
two men, because they both were good men, and if they would agree to
stop their quarrel, they could then both go to work. Most of the food
in this house was coffee without sugar, corn bread, and sometimes
bacon. But the coffee was the greatest luxury which these people knew.
The only way of obtaining it was by seizing skins, or, in particular,
“sang,” that is ginseng,[4] which found a market in far-off China.
[4] Muir’s journal contains the following additional note: “M. County
produces $5000 worth a year of ginseng root, valued at seventy cents a
pound. Under the law it is not allowed to be gathered until the first
of September.”
My path all to-day led me along the leafy banks of the Hiwassee,[5] a
most impressive mountain river. Its channel is very rough, as it
crosses the edges of upturned rock strata, some of them standing at
right angles, or glancing off obliquely to right and left. Thus a
multitude of short, resounding cataracts are produced, and the river is
restrained from the headlong speed due to its volume and the
inclination of its bed.
[5] In his journal Muir spells the name “Hiawassee,” a form which
occurs on many of the older maps. The name probably is derived from the
Cherokee Indian “Ayuhwasi,” a name applied to several of their former
settlements.
All the larger streams of uncultivated countries are mysteriously
charming and beautiful, whether flowing in mountains or through swamps
and plains. Their channels are interestingly sculptured, far more so
than the grandest architectural works of man. The finest of the forests
are usually found along their banks, and in the multitude of falls and
rapids the wilderness finds a voice. Such a river is the Hiwassee, with
its surface broken to a thousand sparkling gems, and its forest walls
vine-draped and flowery as Eden. And how fine the songs it sings!
In Murphy [North Carolina] I was hailed by the sheriff who could not
determine by my colors and rigging to what country or craft I belonged.
Since the war, every other stranger in these lonely parts is supposed
to be a criminal, and all are objects of curiosity or apprehensive
concern. After a few minutes’ conversation with this chief man of
Murphy I was pronounced harmless, and invited to his house, where for
the first time since leaving home I found a house decked with flowers
and vines, clean within and without, and stamped with the comforts of
culture and refinement in all its arrangements. Striking contrast to
the uncouth transitionist establishments from the wigwams of savages to
the clumsy but clean log castle of the thrifty pioneer.
_September 20_. All day among the groves and gorges of Murphy with Mr.
Beale. Was shown the site of Camp Butler where General Scott had his
headquarters when he removed the Cherokee Indians to a new home in the
West. Found a number of rare and strange plants on the rocky banks of
the river Hiwassee. In the afternoon, from the summit of a commanding
ridge, I obtained a magnificent view of blue, softly curved mountain
scenery. Among the trees I saw _Ilex_ [Holly] for the first time. Mr.
Beale informed me that the paleness of most of the women in his
neighborhood, and the mountains in general hereabouts, was caused
chiefly by smoking and by what is called “dipping.” I had never even
heard of dipping. The term simply describes the application of snuff to
the gum by means of a small swab.
_September 21_. Most luxuriant forest. Many brooks running across the
road. Blairsville [Georgia], which I passed in the forenoon, seems a
shapeless and insignificant village, but grandly encircled with banded
hills. At night I was cordially received by a farmer whose wife, though
smart and neat in her appearance, was an inveterate smoker.
_September 22_. Hills becoming small, sparsely covered with soil. They
are called “knob land” and are cultivated, or scratched, with a kind of
one-tooth cultivator. Every rain robs them of their fertility, while
the bottoms are of course correspondingly enriched. About noon I
reached the last mountain summit on my way to the sea. It is called the
Blue Ridge and before it lies a prospect very different from any I had
passed, namely, a vast uniform expanse of dark pine woods, extending to
the sea; an impressive view at any time and under any circumstances,
but particularly so to one emerging from the mountains.
Traveled in the wake of three poor but merry mountaineers—an old woman,
a young woman, and a young man—who sat, leaned, and lay in the box of a
shackly wagon that seemed to be held together by spiritualism, and was
kept in agitation by a very large and a very small mule. In going down
hill the looseness of the harness and the joints of the wagon allowed
the mules to back nearly out of sight beneath the box, and the three
who occupied it were slid against the front boards in a heap over the
mules’ ears. Before they could unravel their limbs from this unmannerly
and impolite disorder, a new ridge in the road frequently tilted them
with a swish and a bump against the back boards in a mixing that was
still more grotesque.
I expected to see man, women, and mules mingled in piebald ruin at the
bottom of some rocky hollow, but they seemed to have full confidence in
the back board and front board of the wagon-box. So they continued to
slide comfortably up and down, from end to end, in slippery obedience
to the law of gravitation, as the grades demanded. Where the jolting
was moderate, they engaged in conversation on love, marriage, and
camp-meeting, according to the custom of the country. The old lady,
through all the vicissitudes of the transportation, held a bouquet of
French marigolds.
The hillsides hereabouts were bearing a fine harvest of asters. Reached
Mount Yonah in the evening. Had a long conversation with an old
Methodist slaveholder and mine owner. Was hospitably refreshed with a
drink of fine cider.