Clarksville, Georgia, April, 1848.
The little village where I am now staying is decidedly the most
interesting in the northern part of Georgia. There is nothing
particularly fine about its buildings, and it only contains some
three hundred inhabitants, but it commands a magnificent prospect of
two ranges of the Alleghany Mountains. It is remarkable for the
healthfulness of its climate, and is the summer resort of between
forty and fifty of the most wealthy and accomplished families of
Georgia and South Carolina, a number of whom have erected and are
erecting elegant country seats in its immediate vicinity. It
contains a mineral spring, which is said to have saved the lives of
many individuals; and it patronizes two hotels, where the tourist
may obtain all the luxuries of the North as well as the South, and
in a style which must gratify and astonish him, when he remembers
that he has reached the end of carriage travelling, and is on the
confines of an almost impassable wilderness. The water-power in its
neighborhood would supply at least fifty factories, and it yields
more than a sufficient quantity of iron ore to furnish constant
employment to an extensive smelting establishment and furnace. Its
soil is of the best quality, and yields in great abundance every
variety of produce peculiar to a temperate climate. But the chief
attraction of Clarksville is, that it is the centre of some of the
most romantic scenery in the world, and the stopping-place for all
those who visit Nacoochee Valley, Yonah Mountain, the Tuccoah
Cascade, Tallulah Falls, and Tray Mountain. The first two
curiosities alluded to have already been described, and I now
purpose to introduce to my reader the peculiar and beautiful Cascade
of Tuccoah, reserving the two other marvels of nature for future
letters.
The Tuccoah is a very small stream—a mere brooklet, and for the most
part is not at all distinguished for any other quality than those
belonging to a thousand other sparkling streams of this region; but,
in its oceanward course, it performs one leap which has given it a
reputation. On account of this leap the aborigines christened it
with the name of _Tuccoah_, or _the beautiful_. To see this cascade,
in your mind’s eye, (and I here partly quote the language of one who
could fully appreciate its beauty,) imagine a sheer precipice of
gray and rugged rock, one hundred and eighty-six feet high, with a
little quiet lake at its base, surrounded by sloping masses of
granite and tall shadowy trees. From the overhanging lips of this
cliff, aloft, between your upturned eyes and the sky comes a softly
flowing stream. After making a joyous leap it breaks into a shower
of heavy spray, and scatters its drops more and more widely and
minute, until, in little more than a drizzling mist, it scatters the
smooth, moss-covered stones lying immediately beneath. All the way
up the sides of this precipice cling, wherever space is afforded,
little tufts of moss and delicate vines and creepers, contrasting
beautifully with the solid granite. There is no stunning noise of
falling waters, but only a dripping, pattering, plashing in the
lake; a murmuring sound, which must be very grateful during the
noontide heat of a summer day. There comes also a soft cool breeze,
constantly from the foot of the precipice, caused by the falling
shower, and this ripples the surface of the pool and gently agitates
the leaves around and overhead.
Connected with the Cascade of Tuccoah is an Indian tradition, which
was related to me by a gentleman connected with the Georgia
University, who obtained it from a Cherokee Chief. The occurrence is
said to be well authenticated, and runneth in this wise: A short
time previous to the Revolution, the Cherokees were waging a very
bitter warfare against a powerful tribe of Indians who dwelt in the
country of the Potomac. During one of their pitched battles, it so
happened that the Cherokees made captive about a dozen of their
enemies, whom they brought into their own country safely bound.
Their intention was to sacrifice the prisoners; but, as they wished
the ceremony to be particularly imposing, on account of the fame of
the captives, it was resolved to postpone the sacrifice until the
following moon. In the meantime the Cherokee braves went forth to
battle again, while the prisoners, now more securely bound than
ever, were left in a large wigwam near Tuccoah, in the especial
charge of an old woman, who was noted for her savage patriotism.
Day followed day, and, as the unfortunate enemies lay in the lodge
of the old woman, she dealt out to them a scanty supply of food and
water. They besought the woman to release them, and offered her the
most valuable of Indian bribes, but she held her tongue and remained
faithful to her trust. It was now the morning of a pleasant day,
when an Indian boy called at the door of the old woman’s lodge and
told her that he had seen a party of their enemies in a neighboring
valley, and he thought it probable that they had come to rescue
their fellows. The woman heard this intelligence in silence, but bit
her lip in anger and defiance. On re-entering her lodge another
appeal for freedom was made, and the prisoners were delighted to see
a smile playing upon the countenance of their keeper. She told them
she had relented, and was willing to let them escape their promised
doom, but it must be on certain conditions. They were first to give
into her hands all their personal effects, which she would bury
under the lodge. She did not wish to be discovered, and they must
therefore depart at the dead of night. She did not wish them to know
how to find their way back to the lodge, whence they might see fit
to take away her reward, and she therefore desired that they should
be blindfolded, and consent to her leading them about two miles
through a thick wood, into an open country, when she would release
them. The prisoners gladly consented; and, while they were suffering
themselves to be stripped of their robes and weapons, a heavy cloud
canopied the sky, as if heralding a storm. At the hour of midnight
loud peals of thunder bellowed through the firmament, and terribly
flashed the lightning. The night and the contemplated deed were
admirably suited, thought the warriors, and so thought the woman
also. She placed leathern bands around the eyes of her captives;
and, having severed the thongs which confined their feet, bade them
follow whither she might lead. They were connected with each other
by iron withes; and so the woman led them to their promised freedom.
Intricate, and winding, and tedious was the way; but not a murmur
was uttered, nor a word spoken. Now has the strange procession
reached a level spot of earth, and the men step proudly on their
way. Now have they reached the precipice of Tuccoah; and, as the
woman walks to the very edge, she makes a sudden wheel, and, one
after the other, are the poor captives launched into the abyss
below. A loud wail of triumph echoes through the air from the lips
of the woman-fiend, and, with the groans of the dying in her ears,
and the very lightning in her path, does she retrace her steps to
her lodge to seek repose, and then on the morrow to proclaim her
cruel and unnatural deed.
In the bottom of the Tuccoah pool may now be gathered small
fragments of a white material, resembling soapstone, and many people
allege that these are the remains of the Indian captives who
perished at the foot of the precipice.