supposed Picklesimer, too, had finished his repast, but were deceived. A
minute after, he followed us with a full cup of steaming coffee which he
placed on the window-sill, as it was too hot to hold steadily in his
fingers, and interlarded his remarks with swallows of the liquid. His
charges were one dollar apiece for our lodging, fare, and the stabling
and feed for our horses. We then shook hands and departed. For days his
short figure, with a steam-wreathing coffee-cup in hand, was before my
eyes, and in my ears the words:
“I drinks hit fer stimilation.”
Horse cove lies in the extreme southern part of Jackson county, and
within only three or four miles of the Georgia line. Its name is about
as euphonious as Little Dutch creek, and is applied to this charming
valley landscape for no other reason than that a man’s horse was once
lost in it. Black Rock, with bold, stony, treeless front, looms up on
one border, and on another, Satoola, with precipitous slope,
wood-covered, forms a sheltering wall for the 600 acres of fertile,
level land below. A hotel keeps open-doors in summer within the cove.
The picturesqueness is heightened by the sight of an elegant and
substantial residence, strangely but romantically situated, on the very
brow of Black Rock. It is the property of Mr. Ravenel, a wealthy
Charlestonian.
Through Horse cove there is a road leading to Walhalla, South Carolina,
the nearest railroad depot, twenty-five miles away. It is a decidedly
interesting route to be pursued by a tourist. You will follow the
Chatooga river, into Rabun county, Georgia, along a picturesque course
of falls and rapids, by primitive saw-mills, unworked and decaying,
through a wild and cheerless tract of uncultivated mountain country,
where miserable farm-houses, and none others, but seldom show
themselves, and where the unbroken solitude breeds blockade whisky
stills, in its many dark ravines and pine forests. It would bother any
officer, in penetrating this section, to definitely ascertain when his
feet were on North Carolina, Georgia, or South Carolina soil.
The road, however, which we wish to take the traveler over, leads up the
Blue Ridge, in zigzag course, through the forested aisles of Black Rock.
Three miles and a half is the distance from its base to the hamlet of
Highlands. The engineering of the road is so perfect that, in spite of
the precipitousness of the mountain, the ascent is gradual. Let the man
on horse-back pay particular attention to his saddle-blankets while
ascending or descending a mountain. If he wishes to keep under him a
horse with a sound back, he will have to dismount every few minutes,
unbuckle the girth, and slip the blankets in place. Among the worst of
uncomfortable situations for the horseman, is that of being a hundred
miles from his destination with a sore-backed saddle animal, which will
kick or kneel at every attempt to mount. Imagine yourself, at every
stopping-place, morning and noon, leading that horse to a fence upon
which you, in the manner of a decrepit old fossil, are obliged to climb,
to throw yourself with one leap into the saddle. The rosy-cheeked
mountaineer’s daughter will most assuredly laugh at you, and ascribe to
inactivity the fact of your inability to mount from the ground. A sorry
figure! In every mountain stream forded, your steed will kneel to let
the water lave his back. No chance for dreaming on your part. But worst
of all, how disagreeable must a man’s sensations be, over the knowledge
of the sufferings of the animal under him. Get down and walk would be my
advice.
A word more on the subject of saddles and the beasts they cover. If it
is a mule, see that you have a crupper on him. In descending a mountain
it is impossible to keep a saddle, without the restraint of a crupper,
from running against a mule’s ears. At such times, if you have
objections to straddling a narrow neck which need not necessarily be
kept stiff, you must walk. A breast-strap is often a valuable piece of
harness to have with you for either horse or mule.
On gaining the gap of the mountain the traveler will find himself on a
lofty table-land of the Blue Ridge, about 4,000 feet above ocean level.
Whiteside, Satoola, Fodderstack, Black Rock, and Short-off support it on
their shoulders, while their massive heads rise but little above the
level. From the center of the plateau, such of these mountains as are
visible appear insignificant hills when compared with their stupendous
fronts and azure-lancing summits as seen from the contiguous valleys at
the base of the Blue Ridge. This table-land contains 7,000 acres of rich
land, shaded by forests of hard-wood trees and the sharp
pyramidal-foliaged pines. The streams that drain it are of the color of
topaz, except where sleepless mills have dammed the waters, and, giving
them depth without apparent motion, have left dark, reflecting expanses,
unrippled except when, at your approach, the plunging bull-frog leaves
his widening rings, or a startled muskrat betrays by a silvery wake his
flight to a sequestered home among the roots of the stream-ward-leaning
hemlock.
In the most elevated portion of the center of the plateau is situated a
thriving hamlet of one hundred or more people; a colony, strictly
speaking, above the clouds, and appropriately called Highlands. It was
founded in 1874 by Mr. Kelsey and Mr. Hutchinson, men of the same
enterprising and enthusiastic mould that all founders of towns in
primitive countries are cast in. Our first sojourn at Highlands was with
Mr. Kelsey in 1877. Only a few dwellings and as many green clearings
were to be seen; still, with an arder which to us seemed savoring of
monomania, the projector had already laid out by means of stakes,
streets of an incipient city, and talked as though the imaginary avenues
of the forests were already lined with peaceful homes and shadowed by
the walls and spires of churches. His aspirations are being slowly
realized. The village, with a nucleus of men of the spirit of its
founders, is rapidly assuming respectable proportions. Along the
principal thoroughfare and parallel side streets are many pleasant
dwellings, culminating with one of the cross streets in headquarters
comprising a good hotel kept by a genial landlord, several stores, the
post-office, two churches, and a school-house which is kept open for
full and regular terms. A wide-awake newspaper, on a sound financial
basis, made its first issue in January, 1883.
The farming lands surrounding the village are being settled principally
by northern families. A railroad at no distant day will penetrate this
plateau. A practicable route has been surveyed along the summit of the
Blue Ridge from where the Rabun Gap Short Line crosses at the lowest gap
in the range. A subscription list, in the form of enforceable contracts
wherein each signer has bound himself to grade ready for the ties and
rails certain sections of the route, has been completed. The prospects
for the coming of the iron horse are of an encouraging character. The
most convenient route to reach Highlands for the traveler who has not
already entered the mountains for the summer, is from Walhalla, South
Carolina, distant twenty-eight miles, on the Blue Ridge railroad.
The lofty altitude of this plateau, and the precipitous fronts of its
rimming mountains, bespeak, for its neighborhood, scenes of
grandeur,--waterfalls, gorges, mad streams, crags, and forests which,
when looked upon from above, with their appalling hush, wave back the
observer. Whiteside, a few miles from the village, is a point which no
sojourner in the mountains should fail to visit. A sight down a
precipice’s “headlong perpendicular” of nearly 2,000 feet has something
in it positively chilling. As the observer to secure a fair view lies
flat on the ground with part of his head projected over a space of dread
nothingness, the horrible sensations created, which in some minds
culminate in an overpowering desire to gently slip away and out in air,
are fancifully attributed to the influences of a “demon of the abyss.”
The pure, apparently tangible air of the void, and the soft moss-like
bed of the deep-down forest bordered by a silver stream, have an
irresistible fascination, especially over one troubled with ennui. Get
the guide to hold your feet when you crawl to the verge.
There is a grand mountain prospect from the summit of Whiteside. The
landmarks of four states are crowded within the vision. Mount Yonah,
lifting its head in clouds, is the most marked point in Georgia; a white
spot, known as the German settlement of Walhalla, is visible in the
level plains of South Carolina; the Smoky Mountains bounding Tennessee
line the northwestern horizon, and on all sides lie the valleys and
peaks of the state, in which the feet of Whiteside are rooted.
The falls of Omakaluka creek, three miles west of Highlands, are a
succession of cascades, 400 feet in descent. The most noteworthy
cataract, of the plateau region, is located about four miles from
Highlands, and known as the Dry Fall of the Cullasaja. The name was
given, not for the reason of the fall being dry, but because of the
practicability of a man walking dry-shod between the falling sheet of
water and the cliff over which it plunges. The way to reach it is by the
turnpike wending toward Franklin twenty-two miles from Highlands. This
road is smooth as a floor, and runs for miles through unfenced forests,
principally of oak and hemlock. After pursuing it for three miles, a
sign board will direct you to turn to your left down a slope. You can
ride or walk, as suits your convenience. It is a pleasant ramble along a
wooded ridge, before you reach the laureled bank of the river.
Meanwhile the solemn and tremendous roar of the cataract has been
resounding in your ears; and it is therefore with a faint foreshadowing
of what is to be revealed that you pass between the shorn hedge of
laurel, to the edge of a cliff, below which, between impending cañon
walls, fringed with pines, leaps the waters of the Cullasaja, in a sheer
descent of ninety feet.
[Illustration]
The descent from Highlands into the level valley of the Cullasaja is one
possessing panoramic grandeur to an extent equalled by but few highways
in the Alleghanies.
Six waterfalls lie in its vicinity. Down the wooded slope winds the
road, at times sweeping round points, from which, by simply halting your
horse in his tracks, can be secured deep valley views of romantic
loveliness.
On this descent a series of picturesque rapids and cascades enlivens the
way; and, in a deep gorge, where, on one precipitous side the turnpike
clings, and the other rises abruptly across the void, tumbles the lower
Sugar Fork falls. They are heard, but unseen, from the narrow road. The
descent is arduous, but all difficulties encountered are well repaid by
the sight from the bottom of the cañon.
From the foot of the mountain, on toward Franklin there is little of the
sublime to hold the attention. From this village the traveler _en route_
for iron ways would better travel toward the Georgia state line, which
runs along the low crest of the Blue Ridge. The road winds beside the
Little Tennessee, following it through wide alluvial bottoms until this
stream which, thirty miles below, is a wide and noble river, has
dwindled to an insignificant creek. At Rabun gap you pass out of North
Carolina.
The scenery of the southern slope of the Blue Ridge, in Northern
Georgia, is justly celebrated for its sublimity and wildness. Although
outside the prescribed limit of this volume, its proximity alone to the
picturesque regions of the high plateau of the Alleghanies, should
entitle it to some notice.
From Rabun gap it is four miles to Clayton, a dilapidated village,
consisting of a few houses grouped along a street which runs over a low
hill. On the north it is vision-bounded by the wooded heights of the
Blue Ridge; on the south, a stretch of low land, somewhat broken by
ridges, rolls away. It is the capital of Rabun county.
Twelve miles from Clayton are the cataracts of Tallulah. A comfortable
hotel stands near them. The scenery in their vicinity is of wild
grandeur. Through a cañon, nearly 1,000 feet deep, and several miles
long, the waters of the Tallulah force their way. The character of the
scenery of the chasm is thus described:
“The walls are gigantic cliffs of dark granite. The heavy masses,
piled upon each other in the wildest confusion, sometimes shoot
out, overhanging the yawning gulf, and threatening to break from
their seemingly frail tenure, and hurl themselves headlong into its
dark depths. Along the rocky and uneven bed of this deep abyss, the
infuriated Terrora frets and foams with ever-varying course. Now,
it flows in sullen majesty, through a deep and romantic glen,
embowered in the foliage of the trees, which here and there spring
from the rocky ledges of the chasm-walls. Anon, it rushes with
accelerated motion, breaking fretfully over protruding rocks, and
uttering harsh murmurs, as it verges a precipice--
‘Where, collected all,
In one impetuous torrent, down the steep
It thundering shoots, and shakes the country round:
At first, an azure sheet, it rushes broad;
Then whitening by degrees as prone it falls,
And from the loud-resounding rocks below
Dashed in a cloud of foam, it sends aloft
A hoary mist, and forms a ceaseless shower.’”
The other points of interest are the valley of Nacoochee, Mount Yonah,
the cascades of Estatoa visible from Rabun gap, and the Toccoa Falls,
five or six miles from Tallulah. At Toccoa the journey can be ended by
the traveler striking the Atlanta & Charlotte Air Line.
A ZIGZAG TOUR.
Were there, below, a spot of holy ground
Where from distress a refuge might be found,
And solitude prepare the soul for heaven;
Sure, nature’s God that spot to man had given
Where falls the purple morning far and wide
In flakes of light upon the mountain side;
Where with loud voice the power of water shakes
The leafy wood, or sleeps in quiet lakes.
--_Wordsworth._
[Illustration: A]lthough the Alleghanies south of the Virginia line have
for many years been recognized as a summer resort, they have never
received due appreciation. The recognition has been almost wholly on the
part of Southerners. The people of the North, at the yearly advent of
the hot season, have had their attention turned to the sea shore, the
lakes, and the mountains of Vermont and New Hampshire. To go south in
summer seemed suicidal. Within comparatively late years the dissipation
of this false impression has begun; and other ideas than hot, sultry
skies and oppressive air have been associated in the minds of an
initiated few with the contemplation of a journey to North Carolina. A
knowledge of valleys 3,000 feet high, with mountains around as high
again, situated north of the thirty-fifth parallel north latitude, has
had some effect to bring about this change. The climate in such a
country would naturally be mild, pleasant and invigorating. To avoid
being statistical the figures of mean, extreme and average temperatures
of different seasons taken with accuracy for a number of successive
years, will not be given here; by comparison of the table of mean
temperatures with observations taken throughout the United States and
Europe, the climate of Asheville is found to be similar to that of
Venice, being the same in winter, and varying not more than two degrees
in any of the other seasons. The altitude of the entire mountain
country; the freedom of its air from dust; its excellent drainage; clear
skies; spring water and invigorating breezes recommend it to the notice
of invalids, and particularly to those with pulmonary diseases. The
winters, while more rigorous than those of the neighboring lowlands of
the South, are extremely mild when compared with the temperature of the
states north of this region. The mountain heights are frequently capped
with snow, but the fall in the valleys is light; sometimes the winter
passing without a snow storm.
For tourists from the western, north-western and southern states, the
great line of the East Tennessee, Virginia & Georgia railroad will place
them, at Morristown, in connection with a branch railway penetrating the
heart of the mountains, and after a journey across the state line, via
Warm Springs and the French Broad, will land them in the streets of the
capital of Western North Carolina. Another route for Southerners is the
Spartanburg & Asheville railroad leading up from South Carolina to
within eighteen miles of Asheville. The thoroughfare for travelers from
the eastern and northern states is via the Richmond & Danville system of
railroads to Salisbury, and there changing to the Western North
Carolina railroad, which now crosses the entire breadth of the
Alleghanies.
The traveler over the Western North Carolina railroad is first brought
within view of the dim, waving outline of the Blue Ridge, as the train
rounds a bend just before reaching Hickory--a center of trade, spoken of
in another connection. This village is an agreeable place to spend a few
weeks. Many persons make it the starting place to distant points in the
mountains, while the number amounts to hundreds annually, who take the
stage here _en-route_ to one of the oldest and most popular resorts west
of the Catawba--Sparkling Catawba springs, seven miles distant.
The road leading from Hickory to Catawba Springs, is so level and well
worked that less than an hour need be occupied in the journey. Rolling
fields of corn, cotton and tobacco, alternating with forests of pine,
oak and hickory, line the way. On the right the distant view is bounded
by the horizon obliquely resting upon an undulating surface; on the left
by the ever changing outline of mountain peaks, twenty to forty miles
distant. The stage at last turns, rumbles down a gentle hill, crosses a
bright stream, and stops at the entrance gate of the resort. While the
gate is being opened, there is time for a hurried glance at the
surroundings. The creek just crossed, enters a level plat of
smooth-shorn lawn, shaded by large forest trees, under which, without
order in their arrangement, are several low white building--bath houses,
tenpin alley and spring shelters. Your eye will soon settle upon an
interesting group around and within a low iron railing which guards the
sparkling mineral fountain. There are seen, with cup in hand, old and
middle-aged men and women, heavy-eyed and sallow-faced, drinking the
health-giving water; going to and fro, and mingling with them are the
airy devotees of pleasure--men and women; last but noisiest and most
numerous are the children playing and chasing across the lawn. The
stage goes a few rods further, and then turns into a winding drive,
through the wooded amphitheater shown in the illustration on page 235.
Around the semi-circular summit of the hill up which you have ridden, is
a row of sixteen cottages, containing from two to four rooms each. Half
way round is a three-story hall known among guests as the “Castle.” On
the extreme left are two other large buildings; one containing the
reception rooms, and office on the ground floor, the other the kitchen
and dinning-room, and over them the dancing hall. There is ample
accommodation in these buildings for 300 guests, and nearly that number
has occupied them at one time. The grounds consist of 250 acres--forest,
fields and orchards.
Every resort has its sunrise views, its sunset views, its lover’s walks
and lover’s retreats, flirtation corners and acceptance glens. All these
places at Catawba springs are at proper distances, and conveniently
secluded. The Catawba river is one mile away, and Barrett’s mountain
five. From the summit of the highest peak the entire chain of the Blue
Ridge from Swannanoa gap to Ashe county is in plain view. Lying before
it and jutting into its spurs, is seen the whole valley of the Upper
Catawba.
The altitude of Catawba springs is 1,200 feet. The prevailing winds
being from the north and west over the mountain summits, produce cool
climate. Eighty-nine was the maximum temperature last season.
The principal spring which has given to the place its reputation as a
health resort, contains a variety of minerals in solution. A sparkle is
given to the water by the constant ebullition of phosphoric and carbonic
gases. There are four other springs within a radius of fifty steps, one
of them being pure freestone.
There is nothing of scenic interest between Hickory and Morganton--the
oldest village in the mountain district, having been founded during the
Revolution. It subsequently became the home of the leading spirits among
the western settlers. From a society point of view the town sustains its
ancient reputation for polish and cleverness. The business buildings are
mostly old, but the avenues are pleasant, and the residences inviting.
There are several commanding views of scenery in the vicinity, that from
the dome of the Western Insane asylum surpassing all others in scope. It
is a charming panorama of cultivated fields, winding rivers, and distant
slopes terminating in rugged peaks. The asylum building itself is a
magnificent structure, having a capacity of 400 patients. The grounds
consists of 250 acres, mostly covered by the native forest.
Thirteen miles from Morganton, and two miles off the road to
Rutherfordton, is Glen Alpine. The building, as first seen from the gate
of the lawn, might be taken for the villa of a capitalist, so homelike
is it in appearance. Its capacity is 200 guests, though the façade view
does not indicate a structure half so large. Adjoining are small
buildings for gaming purposes. The terrace on which the hotel is
situated, is surrounded on three sides by slopes stretching from peaks
surmounting the South Mountain range, the highest being Probst’s knob,
in the rear. That elevated summit affords an extended view in all
directions. The South Mountain peaks are within range. Overlooking the
Catawba valley, the Blue Ridge and its spurs are seen in perfect outline
all the way from Hickory Nut gap to Watauga. Above and beyond the Blue
Ridge several peaks of the Blacks may be counted, and far in the
distance on a clear sky will be distinguished the hazy outline of the
Roan. There is a mineral spring in the vicinity of the hotel, which is
the attraction for many people afflicted, but by far the largest number
of guests are pleasure seekers.
Piedmont Springs hotel, about fifteen miles from Morganton in Burke
county, is open for the reception of guests during the summer months.
After leaving Morganton, going west, following the Catawba river, you
have occasional glimpses of Table Rock, Hawk-Bill, and Grandfather, on
the right, and the frowning Blacks in front. Marion is the last town,
east of the Blue Ridge, where traveling equipages can be procured. It is
a pleasantly located village, of something less than 1,000 inhabitants,
having two hotels, a variety of stores, and a newspaper printing office.
It is from this point that most commercial travelers drive to reach
their customers at Burnsville, Bakersville and other points in Yancey
and Mitchell counties. Sightseers, going to the Roan, fishermen and
hunters, to the Toe or Cane river wildernesses, may leave the railroad
at this point with advantage. The base of the Blue Ridge is only five
miles distant.
[Illustration: ON THE BLUE RIDGE.]
Leaving Marion, heavy grades, deep cuts, and a tunnel remind the
traveler that he has entered the mountains. His previous traveling has
been between them, through the broad valley of the Catawba. Henry’s
station, which is merely a hotel and eating-house, stands at the foot of
a long and steep slope. By climbing the bank a short distance, to the
top of a small hill, opposite the building, the observer will, from that
point, see seven sections of railroad track cut off from each other by
intervening hills. If seven sticks, of unequal length, should be tossed
into the air, they could not fall upon the ground more promiscuously
than these seven sections of railroad appear from the point indicated.