cemented so strongly together, that they appear but as one. This mass,
it is to be supposed, at the time that the hill was rent asunder, was
drawn across the fissure from adhering closely to one side, and being
loosened from its bed of earth at the opposite one. It seems as
probable, I think, that the mass of stone forming the arch was thus
forcibly plucked from one side, and drawn across the fissure, as that
the hill should have remained disunited at this one spot from top to
bottom, and that a passage should afterwards have been forced through it
by water. The road leading to the bridge runs through a thick wood, and
up a hill, having ascended which, nearly to the top, you pause for a
moment at finding a sudden discontinuance of the trees at one side; but
the amazement which fills the mind is great indeed, when, on going a few
paces towards the part which appears thus open, you find yourself on the
brink of a tremendous precipice. You involuntarily draw back, stare
around, then again come forward to satisfy yourself that what you have
seen is real, and not the illusions of fancy. You now perceive, that you
are upon the top of the bridge, to the very edge of which, on one side,
you may approach with safety, and look down into the abyss, being
protected from falling by a parapet of fixed rocks. The walls, as it
were, of the bridge at this side are so perpendicular, that a person
leaning over the parapet of rock might let fall a plummet from the hand
to the very bottom of the chasm. On the opposite side this is not the
case, nor is there any parapet; but from the edge of the road, which
runs over the bridge, is a gradual slope to the brink of the chasm, upon
which it is somewhat dangerous to venture. This slope is thickly covered
with large trees, principally cedars and pines. The opposite side was
also well furnished with trees formerly, but all those that grew near
the edge of the bridge have been cut down by different people, for the
sake of seeing them tumble to the bottom. Before the trees were
destroyed in this manner, you might have passed over the bridge without
having had any idea of being upon it; for the breadth of it is no less
than eighty feet. The road runs nearly in the middle, and is frequented
daily by waggons.
At the distance of a few yards from the bridge, a narrow path appears,
winding along the sides of the fissure, amidst immense rocks and trees,
down to the bottom of the bridge. Here the stupendous arch appears in
all its glory, and seems to touch the very skies. To behold it without
rapture, indeed, is impossible; and the more critically it is examined,
the more beautiful and the more surprising does it appear. The height of
the bridge to the top of the parapet is two hundred and thirteen feet by
admeasurement with a line, the thickness of the arch forty feet, the
span of the arch at top ninety feet, and the distance between the
abutments at bottom fifty feet. The abutments consist of a solid mass of
limestone on either side, and, together with the arch, seem as if they
had been chiseled out by the hand of art. A small stream, called Cedar
Creek, running at the bottom of the fissure, over bed of rocks, adds
much to the beauty of the scene.
The fissure takes a very sudden turn just above the bridge, according to
the course of the stream, so that when you stand below, and look under
the arch, the view is intercepted at the distance of about fifty yards
from the bridge. Mr. Jefferson’s statement, in his Notes, that the
fissure continues strait, terminating with a pleasing view of the North
Mountains, is quite erroneous. The sides of the chasm are thickly
covered in every part with trees, excepting where the huge rocks of
limestone appear.
[Sidenote: MADDISON’S CAVE.]
Besides this view from below, the bridge is seen to very great advantage
from a pinnacle of rocks, about fifty feet below the top of the fissure;
for here not only the arch is seen in all its beauty, but the spectator
is impressed in the most forcible manner with ideas of its grandeur,
from being enabled at the same time to look down into the profound gulph
over which it passes.
About fifty miles to the northward of the Rock Bridge, and also behind
the Blue Mountains, there is another very remarkable natural curiosity;
this is a large cavern, known in the neighbourhood by the name of
Maddison’s Cave. It is in the heart of a mountain, about two hundred
feet high, and which is so deep on one side, that a person standing on
the top of it, might easily throw a pebble into the river, which flows
round the base; the opposite side of it is, however, very easy of
ascent, and on this side the path leading to the cavern runs, excepting
for the last twenty yards, when it suddenly turns along the steep part
of the mountain, which is extremely rugged, and covered with immense
rocks and trees from top to bottom. The mouth of the cavern, on this
steep side, about two thirds of the way up, is guarded by a huge pendent
stone, which seems ready to drop every instant, and it is hardly
possible to stoop under it, without reflecting with a certain degree of
awe, that were it to drop, nothing could save you from perishing within
the dreary walls of that mansion to which it affords an entrance.
Preparatory to entering, the guide, whom I had procured from a
neighbouring house, lighted the ends of three or four splinters of pitch
pine, a large bundle of which he had brought with him: they burn out
very fast, but while they last are most excellent torches. The fire he
brought along with him, by means of a bit of green hiccory wood, which,
when once lighted, will burn slowly without any blaze till the whole is
consumed.
[Sidenote: MADDISON’S CAVE.]
The first apartment you enter is about twenty-five feet high, and
fifteen broad, and extends a considerable way to the right and left, the
floor ascending towards the former; here it is very moist, from the
quantity of water continually trickling from the roof. Fahrenheit’s
thermometer, which stood at 67° in the air, fell to 61° in this room. A
few yards to the left, on the side opposite to you on entering, a
passage presents itself, which leads to a sort of anti-chamber as it
were, from whence you proceed into the sound room, so named from the
prodigious reverberation of the sound of a voice or musical instrument
at the inside. This room is about twenty feet square; it is arched at
top, and the sides of it, as well as of that apartment which you first
enter, are beautifully ornamented with stalactites. Returning from hence
into the antichamber, and afterwards taking two or three turns to the
right and left, you enter a long passage about thirteen feet wide, and
perhaps about fifteen in height perpendicularly; but if it was measured
from the floor to the highest part of the roof obliquely, the distance
would be found much greater, as the walls on both sides slope very
considerably, and finally meet at top. This passage descends very
rapidly, and is, I should suppose, about sixty yards long. Towards the
end it narrows considerably, and terminates in a pool of clear water,
about three or four feet deep. How far this pool extends it is
impossible to say. A canoe was once brought down by a party, for the
purpose of examination, but they said, that after proceeding a little
way upon the water the canoe would not float, and they were forced to
return. Their fears, most probably, led them to fancy it was so. I fired
a pistol with a ball over the water, but the report was echoed from the
after part of the cavern, and not from that part beyond the water, so
that I should not suppose the passage extended much farther than could
be traced with the eye. The walls of this passage consist of a solid
rock of limestone on each side, which appears to have been separated by
some convulsion. The floor is of a deep sandy earth, and it has
repeatedly been dug up for the purpose of getting saltpetre, with which
the earth is strongly impregnated. The earth, after being dug up, is
mixed with water, and when the grosser particles fall to the bottom, the
water is drawn off and evaporated; from the residue the saltpetre is
procured. There are many other caverns in this neighbourhood, and also
farther to the westward, in Virginia; from all of them great quantities
of saltpetre are thus obtained. The gunpowder made with it, in the back
country, forms a principal article of commerce, and is sent to
Philadelphia in exchange for European manufactures.
[Sidenote: MADDISON’S CAVE.]
About two thirds of the way down this long passage, just described, is a
large aperture in the wall on the right, leading to another apartment,
the bottom of which is about ten feet below the floor of the passage,
and it is no easy matter to get down into it, as the sides are very
steep and extremely slippery. This is the largest and most beautiful
room in the whole cavern; it is somewhat of an oval form, about sixty
feet in length, thirty in breadth, and in some parts nearly fifty feet
high. The petrifactions formed by the water dropping from above are most
beautiful, and hang down from the ceiling in the form of elegant
drapery, the folds of which are similar to what those of large blankets
or carpets would be if suspended by one corner in a lofty room. If
struck with a stick a deep hollow sound is produced, which echoes
through the vaults of the cavern. In other parts of this room the
petrifactions have commenced at the bottom, and formed in pillars of
different heights; some of them reach nearly to the roof. If you go to a
remote part of this apartment, and leave a person with a lighted torch
moving about amidst these pillars, a thousand imaginary forms present
themselves, and you might almost fancy yourself in the infernal regions,
with spectres and monsters on every side. The floor of this room slopes
down gradually from one end to the other, and terminates in a pool of
water, which appears to be on a level with that at the end of the long
passage; from their situation it is most probable that they communicate
together. The thermometer which I had with me stood, in the remotest
part of this chamber, at 55°. From hence we returned to the mouth of the
cavern, and on coming into the light it appeared as if we really had
been in the infernal regions, for our faces, hands, and clothes were
smutted all over, every part of the cave being covered with soot from
the smoke of the pine torches which are so often carried in. The smoke
from the pitch pine is particularly thick and heavy. Before this cave
was much visited, and the walls blackened by the smoke, its beauty, I
was told by some of the old inhabitants, was great indeed, for the
petrifactions on the roof and walls are all of the dead white kind.
The country immediately behind the Blue Mountains, between Bottetourt
County and the Patowmac River, is agreeably diversified with hill and
dale, and abounds with extensive tracts of rich land. The low grounds,
bordering upon the Shenandoah River, which runs contiguous to the Blue
Ridge for upwards of one hundred miles, are in particular distinguished
for their fertility. These low grounds are those which, strictly
speaking, constitute the Shenandoah Valley, though in general the
country lying for several miles distant from the river, and in some
parts very hilly, goes under that name. The natural herbage is not so
fine here as in Bottetourt County, but when clover is once sown it grows
most luxuriantly; wheat also is produced in as plentiful crops as in any
part of the United States. Tobacco is not raised excepting for private
use, and but little Indian corn is sown, as it is liable to be injured
by the nightly frosts, which are common in the spring.
[Sidenote: LANDSCAPES.]
The climate here is not so warm as in the lower parts of the country, on
the eastern side of the mountains; but it is by no means so temperate as
in Bottetourt County, which, from being environed with ridges of
mountains, is constantly refreshed with cooling breezes during summer,
and in the winter is sheltered from the keen blasts from the north west.
The whole of this country, to the west of the mountains, is increasing
most rapidly in, population. In the neighbourhood of Winchester it is so
thickly settled, and consequently so much cleared, that wood is now
beginning to be thought valuable; the farmers are obliged frequently to
send ten or fifteen miles even for their fence rails. It is only,
however, in this particular neighbourhood that the country is so much
improved; in other places there are immense tracts of woodlands still
remaining, and in general the hills are all left uncleared. The hills
being thus left covered with trees is a circumstance which adds much to
the beauty of the country, and intermixed with extensive fields clothed
with the richest verdure, and watered by the numerous branches of the
Shenandoah River, a variety of pleasing landscapes are presented to the
eye in almost every part of the route from Bottetourt to the Patowmac,
many of which are considerably heightened by the appearance of the Blue
Mountains in the back ground.
With regard to these landscapes however, and to American landscapes in
general, it is to be observed, that their beauty is much impaired by the
unpicturesque appearance of the angular fences, and of the stiff wooden
houses, which have at a little distance a heavy, dull, and gloomy
aspect. The stumps of the trees also, on land newly cleared, are most
disagreeable objects, wherewith the eye is continually assailed. When
trees are felled in America, they are never cut down close to the
ground, but the trunks are left standing two or three feet high; for it
is found that a woodman can cut down many more in a day, standing with a
gentle inclination of the body, than if he were to stoop so as to apply
his axe to the bottom of the tree; it does not make any difference
either to the farmer, whether the stump is left two or three feet high,
or whether it is cut down level with the ground, as in each case it
would equally be a hindrance to the plough. These stumps usually decay
in the course of seven or eight years; sometimes however sooner,
sometimes later, according to the quality of the timber. They never
throw up suckers, as stumps of trees would do in England if left in that
manner.
[Sidenote: TOWNS.]
The cultivated lands in this country are mostly parcelled out in small
portions; there are no persons here, as on the other side of the
mountains, possessing large farms; nor are there any eminently
distinguished by their education or knowledge from the rest of their
fellow citizens. Poverty also is as much unknown in this country as
great wealth. Each man owns the house he lives in and the land which he
cultivates, and every one appears to be in a happy state of mediocrity,
and unambitious of a more elevated situation than what he himself
enjoys.
The free inhabitants consist for the most part of Germans, who here
maintain the same character as in Pennsylvania and the other states
where they have settled. About one sixth of the people, on an average,
are slaves, but in some of the counties the proportion is much less; in
Rockbridge the slaves do not amount to more than an eleventh, and in
Shenandoah County not to more than a twentieth part of the whole.
Between Fincastle and the Patowmac there are several towns, as
Lexington, Staunton, Newmarket, Woodstock, Winchester, Strasburgh, and
some others. These towns all stand on the great road, running north and
south behind the Blue Mountains, and which is the high road from the
northern states to Kentucky.
[Sidenote: LEXINGTON.]
As I passed along it, I met with great numbers of people from Kentucky
and the new state of Tennessee going towards Philadelphia and Baltimore,
and with many others going in a contrary direction, “to explore,” as
they call it, that is, to search for lands conveniently situated for new
settlements in the western country. These people all travel on
horseback, with pistols or swords, and a large blanket folded up under
their saddle, which last they use for sleeping in when obliged to pass
the night in the woods. There is but little occasion for arms now that
peace has been made with the Indians; but formerly it used to be a very
serious undertaking to go by this route to Kentucky, and travellers were
always obliged to go forty or fifty in a party, and well prepared for
defence. It would be still dangerous for any person to venture singly;
but if five or six travel together, they are perfectly secure. There are
houses now scattered along nearly the whole way from Fincastle to
Lexington in Kentucky, so that it is not necessary to sleep more than
two or three nights in the woods in going there. Of all the uncouth
human beings I met with in America, these people from the western
country were the most so; their curiosity was boundless. Frequently have
I been stopped abruptly by one of them in a solitary part of the road,
and in such a manner, that had it been in another country, I should have
imagined it was a highwayman that was going to demand my purse, and
without any further preface, asked where I came from? if I was
acquainted with any news? where bound to? and finally, my name?—“Stop,
Mister! why I guess now you be coming from the new state.” “No,
Sir,”—“Why then I guess as how you be coming from Kentuc[25].” “No,
Sir.”—“Oh! why then, pray now where might you be coming from?” “From the
low country.”—“Why you must have heard all the news then; pray now,
Mister, what might the price of bacon be in those parts?” “Upon my word,
my friend, I can’t inform you.”—“Aye, aye; I see, Mister, you be’n’t one
of us; pray now, Mister, what might your name be?”—A stranger going the
same way is sure of having the company of these worthy people, so
desirous of information, as far as the next tavern, where he is seldom
suffered to remain for five minutes, till he is again assailed by a
fresh set with the same questions.
Footnote 25:
Kentucky.
The first town you come to, going northward from Bottetourt County, is
Lexington, a neat little place, that did contain about one hundred
houses, a court-house, and gaol; but the greater part of it was
destroyed by fire just before I got there. Great numbers of Irish are
settled in this place. Thirty miles farther on stands Staunton. This
town carries on a considerable trade with the back country, and contains
nearly two hundred dwellings, mostly built of stone, together with a
church. This was the first place on the entire road from Lynchburgh, one
hundred and fifty miles distant, and which I was about ten days in
travelling, where I was not able to get a bit of fresh meat, excepting
indeed on passing the Blue Mountains, where they brought me some venison
that had been just killed. I went on fifty miles further, from Staunton,
before I got any again. Salted pork, boiled with turnip tops by way of
greens, or fried bacon, or fried salted fish, with warm sallad, dressed
with vinegar and the melted fat which remains in the frying-pan after
dressing the bacon, is the only food to be got at most of the taverns in
this country; in spring it is the constant food of the people in the
country; and indeed, throughout the whole year, I am told, salted meat
is what they most generally use.
In every part of America a European is surprised at finding so many men
with military titles, and still more so at seeing such numbers of them
employed in capacities apparently so inconsistent with their rank; for
it is nothing uncommon to see a captain in the shape of a waggoner, a
colonel the driver of a stage coach, or a general dealing out penny
ribbon behind his counter; but no where, I believe, is there such a
superfluity of these military personages as in the little town of
Staunton; there is hardly a decent person in it, excepting lawyers and
medical men, but what is a colonel, a major, or a captain. This is to be
accounted for as follows: in America, every freeman from the age of
sixteen to fifty years, whose occupation does not absolutely forbid it,
must enrol himself in the militia. In Virginia alone, the militia
amounts to about sixty-two thousand men, and it is divided into four
divisions and seventeen brigades, to each of which there is a general
and other officers. Were there no officers therefore, excepting those
actually belonging to the militia, the number must be very great; but
independent of the militia, there are also volunteer corps in most of
the towns, which have likewise their respective officers. In Staunton
there are two of these corps, one of cavalry, the other of artillery.
These are formed chiefly of men who find a certain degree of amusement
in exercising as soldiers, and who are also induced to associate, by the
vanity of appearing in regimentals. The militia is not assembled oftener
than once in two or three months, and as it rests with every individual
to provide himself with arms and accoutrements, and no stress being laid
upon coming in uniform, the appearance of the men is not very military.
Numbers also of the officers of these volunteer corps, and of the
militia, are resigning every day; and if a man has been a captain or a
colonel but one day either in the one body or the other, it seems to be
an established rule that he is to have nominal rank the rest of his
life. Added to all, there are several officers of the old continental
army neither in the militia nor in the volunteer corps.
Winchester stands one hundred miles to the northward of Staunton, and is
the largest town in the United States on the western side of the Blue
Mountains. The houses are estimated at three hundred and fifty, and the
inhabitants at two thousand. There are four churches in this town,
which, as well as the houses, are plainly built. The streets are
regular, but very narrow. There is nothing particularly deserving of
attention in this place, nor indeed in any of the other small towns
which have been mentioned, none of them containing more than seventy
houses each.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
+LETTER + XVIII.
_Description of the Passage of Patowmac and Shenandoah Rivers through a
Break in the Blue Mountains.—Some Observations on Mr. Jefferson’s
Account of the Scene.—Summary Account of Maryland.—Arrival at
Philadelphia.—Remarks on the Climate of the United States.—State of
the City of Philadelphia during the Heat of Summer.—Difficulty of
preserving Butter, Milk, Meat, Fish, &c.—General Use of Ice.—Of the
Winds.—State of Weather in America depends greatly upon them._
Philadelphia, June.
HAVING traversed, in various directions, the country to the west of the
Blue Mountains in Virginia, I came to the Patowmac, at the place where
that river passes through the Blue Ridge, which Mr. Jefferson, in his
Notes upon Virginia, has represented as one of the soft “stupendous
scenes in nature, and worth a voyage across the Atlantic.” The approach
towards the place is wild and romantic. After crossing a number of small
hills, which rise one above the other in succession, you at last
perceive the break in the Blue Ridge; at the same time the road suddenly
turning, winds down a long and deep hill, shaded with lofty trees, whose
branches unite over your head. On one side of the road there are large
heaps of rocks above you, which seem to threaten destruction to any one
that passes under them; on the other, a deep precipice presents itself,
at the bottom of which is heard the roaring of the waters, that are
concealed from the eye by the thickness of the foliage. Towards the end
of this hill, about sixty feet above the level of the water, stands a
tavern and a few houses, and from some fields in the rear of them the
passage of the river through the mountain is, I think, seen to the best
advantage.
[Sidenote: PASSAGE OF RIVERS.]