Logan’s Plantation, Georgia, April, 1848.
During my stay at Dahlonega I heard a good deal said about a native
wonder, called “Track Rock,” which was reported to be some thirty
miles off, on the northwestern side of the Blue Ridge Mountains. On
revolving the information in my mind, I concluded that this rock was
identical with one which had been mentioned to me by Professor James
Jackson, of the University of Georgia, and I also remembered that
the Professor had shown me a specimen of the rock he alluded to,
which contained the imprint or impression of a human foot. My
curiosity was of course excited, and I resolved to visit the natural
or artificial wonder. I made the pilgrimage on foot, and what I saw
and heard of peculiar interest on the occasion the reader will find
recorded in the present letter.
In accomplishing the trip to “Track Rock” and back again to this
place I was two days. On the first day I walked only twenty miles,
having tarried occasionally to take a pencil sketch or hear the
birds, as they actually filled the air with melody. My course lay
over a very uneven country, which was entirely uncultivated,
excepting some half dozen quiet vales, which presented a cheerful
appearance. The woods were generally composed of oak and chestnut,
and destitute to a considerable extent of undergrowth; the soil was
composed of clay and sand, and apparently fertile; and clear
sparkling brooks intersected the country, and were the first that I
had seen in Georgia. I had a number of extensive mountain views,
which were more beautiful than imposing; and among the birds that
attracted my attention were the red-bird, mocking-bird, quail, lark,
poke, woodpecker, jay, king-bird, crow, blue-bird, and dove,
together with a large black-bird, having a red head, (apparently of
the woodpecker genus,) and another smaller bird, whose back was of a
rich black, breast a bright brown, with an occasional white feather
in its wing, which I fancied to be a species of robin. Since these
were my companions, it may be readily imagined that “pleasantly the
_hours_ of Thalaba went by.”
I spent the night at a place called “Tesantee Gap,” in the cabin of
a poor farmer, where I was most hospitably entertained. My host had
a family of nine sons and three daughters, not one of whom had ever
been out of the wilderness region of Georgia. Though the father was
a very intelligent man by nature, he told me that he had received no
education, and could hardly read a chapter in the Bible. He informed
me, too, that his children were but little better informed, and
seemed deeply to regret his inability to give them the schooling
which he felt they needed. “I have always desired,” said he, “that I
could live on _some public road_, so that my girls might
occasionally _see_ a civilized man, since it is fated that they will
never meet with them in society.” I felt sorry for the worthy man,
and endeavored to direct his attention from himself to the
surrounding country. He told me the mountains were susceptible of
cultivation even to their summits, and that the principal
productions of his farm were corn, wheat, rye, and potatoes; also,
that the country abounded in game, such as deer, turkeys, and bears,
and an occasional panther. Some of the mountains, he said, were
covered with hickory, and a peculiar kind of oak, and that on said
mountains gray squirrels were very abundant. The streams, he
informed me, were well supplied with _large minnows_, by which I
afterwards ascertained he meant the brook trout.
While conversing with my old friend, an hour or so before sunset, we
were startled by the baying of his hounds, and on looking up the
narrow road running by his home, we saw a fine-looking doe coming
towards us on the run. In its terror the poor creature made a sudden
turn, and scaling a garden fence was overtaken by the dogs on a spot
near which the wife of my host was planting seeds, when she
immediately seized a bean-pole, and by a single blow deprived the
doe of life. In a very few moments her husband was on the ground,
and, having put his knife to the throat of the animal, the twain
re-entered their dwelling, as if nothing had happened out of the
common order of events. This was the first deer that I ever knew to
be killed by a woman. When I took occasion to compliment the dogs of
my old friend, he said that one of them was a “powerful runner; for
he had known him to follow a deer for three days and three nights.”
Having in view my future rambles among the mountains, I questioned
my companion about the snakes of this region, and, after remarking
that they were “very plenty,” he continued as follows: “But of all
the snake stories you ever heard tell of, I do not believe you ever
heard of a _snake fight_. I saw one, Monday was a week, between a
black-racer and a rattlesnake. It was in the road, about a mile from
here, and when I saw them the racer had the other by the back of the
head, and was coiling his body all around him, as if to squeeze him
to death. The scuffle was pretty severe, but the racer soon killed
the fellow with rattles, and I killed the racer. It was a queer
scrape, and I reckon you do not often see the like in your country.”
I should have obtained some more mites of information from my host
had not a broken tooth commenced aching, and hurried me off to bed.
I left the habitation of my mountain friend immediately after
breakfast the following morning, and “ne’er repassed that hoary
threshold more.”
On the following day I passed through the Blue Ridge, and visited
the Mecca of my pilgrimage, and was—disappointed. I was piloted to
it by a neighboring mountaineer, who remarked, “This is Track Rock,
and it’s no great shakes after all.” I found it occupying an
unobtrusive place by the road side. It is of an irregular form and
quite smooth, rises gradually from the ground to the height of
perhaps three feet, and is about twenty feet long by the most
liberal measurement. It is evidently covered with a great variety of
tracks, including those of men, bears or dogs, and turkeys, together
with indistinct impressions of a man’s hand. Some of the impressions
are half an inch thick, while many of them appear to be almost
entirely effaced. The rock seemed to be a species of slate-colored
soapstone. The conclusion to which I have arrived, after careful
examination, is as follows: This rock is located on what was once an
Indian trail, and, having been used by the Cherokees as a resting
place, it was probably their own ingenuity which conceived and
executed the characters which now puzzle the philosophy of many men.
The scenery about Track Rock is not remarkable for its grandeur,
though you can hardly turn the eye in any direction without
beholding an agreeable mountain landscape. In returning through
Tesantee Gap and the valley below, I met with no adventures worth
recording, and will therefore conclude my present epistle with a
paragraph concerning the plantation where I am now tarrying.
The proprietor is an intelligent and worthy gentleman, who is
reputed to be the nabob of this region. He acquired a portion of his
wealth by digging gold, but is now chiefly devoting himself to
agriculture. He complains of the little advancement which the people
of Northern Georgia are making in the arts of husbandry, and thinks
that it would be much better for the State if the people could be
persuaded to follow the plough, instead of wasting their time and
money in searching for gold, which metal, he seems to think, is
nearly exhausted in this section of country. Among the curious
things which I have seen under his roof, is a small but choice
collection of minerals, fossil remains, and Indian relics, belonging
to his eldest son. Among the latter may be mentioned a heavy stone
pipe, made in imitation of a duck, which was found in Macon county,
North Carolina, fifteen feet below the surface; and also a small
cup, similar to a crucible, and made of an unknown earthy material,
which was found in this county about nine feet below the surface,
and directly under a large tree. But the mail boy’s horn is blowing
and I must close.