Tallulah Falls, Georgia, April, 1848.
The subject of my present letter is Adam Vandever, “the Hunter of
Tallulah.” His fame reached my ears soon after arriving at this
place, and, having obtained a guide, I paid him a visit at his
residence, which is planted directly at the mouth of the Tallulah
chasm. He lives in a log-cabin, occupying the centre of a small
valley, through which the Tallulah river winds its wayward course.
It is completely hemmed in on all sides by wild and abrupt
mountains, and one of the most romantic and beautiful nooks
imaginable. Vandever is about sixty years of age, small in stature,
has a regular built weasel face, a small gray eye, and wears a long
white beard. He was born in South Carolina, spent his early manhood
in the wilds of Kentucky, and the last thirty years of his life in
the wilderness of Georgia. By way of a frolic, he took a part in the
Creek war, and is said to have killed more Indians than any other
white man in the army. In the battle of Ottassee alone, he is
reported to have sent his rifle-ball through the hearts of twenty
poor heathen, merely because they had an undying passion for their
native hills, which they could not bear to leave for an unknown
wilderness. But Vandever aimed his rifle at the command of his
country, and of course the charge of cold-blooded butchery does not
rest upon his head. He is now living with his _third_ wife, and
claims to be the father of _over thirty children_, only five of
whom, however, are living under his roof, the remainder being dead
or scattered over the world. During the summer months he tills, with
his own hand, the few acres of land which constitute his domain. His
live stock consists of a mule and some half dozen of goats, together
with a number of dogs.
On inquiring into his forest life, he gave me, among others, the
following particulars. When the hunting season commences, early in
November, he supplies himself with every variety of shooting
materials, steel-traps, and a comfortable stock of provisions, and,
placing them upon his mule, starts for some wild region among the
mountains, where he remains until the following spring. The shanty
which he occupies during this season is of the rudest character,
with one side always open, as he tells me, for the purpose of having
an abundance of fresh air. In killing wild animals he pursues but
two methods, called “fire-lighting” and “still-hunting.” His
favorite game is the deer, but he is not particular, and secures the
fur of every four-legged creature which may happen to cross his
path. The largest number of skins that he ever brought home at one
time was six hundred, among which were those of the bear, the black
and gray wolf, the panther, the wild-cat, the fox, the coon, and
some dozen other varieties. He computes the entire number of deer
that he has killed in his lifetime at four thousand. When spring
arrives, and he purposes to return to his valley home, he packs his
furs upon his old mule, and, seating himself upon the pile of
plunder, makes a bee-line out of the wilderness. And by those who
have seen him in this homeward-bound condition, I am told that he
presents one of the most curious and romantic pictures imaginable.
While among the mountains, his beast subsists upon whatever it may
happen to glean in its forest rambles, and, when the first supply of
his own provisions is exhausted, he usually contents himself with
wild game, which he is often compelled to devour unaccompanied with
bread or salt. His mule is the smallest and most miserable looking
creature of the kind that I ever saw, and glories in the singular
name of “The Devil and Tom Walker.” When Vandever informed me of
this fact, which he did with a self-satisfied air, I told him that
the first portion of the mule’s name was more applicable to himself
than to the dumb beast; whereupon he “grinned horribly a ghastly
smile,” as if I had paid him a compliment. Old Vandever is an
illiterate man, and when I asked him to give me his opinion of
President Polk, he replied: “I never seed the Governor of this
State; for, when he came to this country some years ago, I was off
on ’tother side of the ridge, shooting deer. I voted for the
General, and that’s all I know about him.” Very well! and this,
thought I, is one of the freemen of our land, who help to elect our
rulers!
On questioning my hunter friend with regard to some of his
adventures, he commenced a rigmarole narrative, which would have
lasted a whole month had I not politely requested him to keep his
mouth closed while I took a portrait of him in pencil. His stories
all bore a strong family likeness, but were evidently to be relied
on, and proved conclusively that the man knew not what it was to
fear.
As specimens of the whole, I will outline a few. On one occasion he
came up to a large gray wolf, into whose head he discharged a ball.
The animal did not drop, but made its way into an adjoining cavern
and disappeared. Vandever waited awhile at the opening, and as he
could not see or hear his game, he concluded that it had ceased to
breathe, whereupon he fell upon his hands and knees, and entered the
cave. On reaching the bottom, he found the wolf alive, when a
“clinch fight” ensued, and the hunter’s knife completely severed the
heart of the animal. On dragging out the dead wolf into the
sunlight, it was found that his lower jaw had been broken, which was
probably the reason why he had not succeeded in destroying the
hunter.
At one time, when he was out of ammunition, his dogs fell upon a
large bear, and it so happened that the latter got one of the former
in his power, and was about to squeeze it to death. This was a sight
the hunter could not endure, so he unsheathed his huge hunting-knife
and assaulted the black monster. The bear tore off nearly every rag
of his clothing, and in making his first plunge with the knife he
completely cut off two of his own fingers instead of injuring the
bear. He was now in a perfect frenzy of pain and rage, and in making
another effort succeeded to his satisfaction, and gained the
victory. That bear weighed three hundred and fifty pounds.
On another occasion he had fired at a large buck near the brow of a
precipice some thirty feet high, which hangs over one of the pools
in the Tallulah river. On seeing the buck drop, he took it for
granted that he was about to die, when he approached the animal for
the purpose of cutting its throat. To his great surprise, however,
the buck suddenly sprung to his feet and made a tremendous rush at
the hunter with a view of throwing him off the ledge. But what was
more remarkable, the animal succeeded in its effort, though not
until Vandever had obtained a fair hold of the buck’s antlers, when
the twain performed a somerset into the pool below. The buck made
its escape, and Vandever was not seriously injured in any
particular. About a month subsequent to that time he killed a buck,
which had a bullet wound in the lower part of its neck, whereupon he
concluded that he had finally triumphed over the animal which had
given him the unexpected ducking.
But the most remarkable escape which old Vandever ever experienced
happened on this wise. He was encamped upon one of the loftiest
mountains in Union county. It was near the twilight hour, and he had
heard the howl of a wolf. With a view of ascertaining the direction
whence it came, he climbed upon an immense boulder-rock, (weighing
perhaps fifty tons,) which stood on the very brow of a steep hill
side. While standing upon this boulder he suddenly felt a swinging
sensation, and to his astonishment he found that it was about to
make a fearful plunge into the ravine half a mile below him. As
fortune would have it, the limb of an oak tree drooped over the
rock; and, as the rock started from its tottlish foundation, he
seized the limb, and thereby saved his life. The dreadful crashing
of the boulder as it descended the mountain side came to the
hunter’s ear while he was suspended in the air, and by the time it
had reached the bottom he dropped himself _on the very spot_ which
had been vacated by the boulder. Vandever said that this was the
only time in his life when he had been really frightened; and he
also added, that for one day after this escape he did not care a
finger’s snap for the finest game in the wilderness.
While on my visit to Vandever’s cabin, one of his boys came home
from a fishing expedition, and on examining his fish I was surprised
to find a couple of _shad_ and three or four _striped bass_ or
_rock-fish_. They had been taken in the Tallulah just below the
chasm, by means of a wicker-net, and at a point distant from the
ocean at least two hundred and fifty miles. I had been informed that
the Tallulah abounded in trout, but I was not prepared to find
salt-water fish in this remote mountain wilderness.
Since I have introduced the above youthful Vandever to my readers, I
will record a single one of his deeds, which ought to give him a
fortune, or at least an education. The incident occurred when he was
in his twelfth year. He and a younger brother had been gathering
berries on a mountain side, and were distant from home about two
miles. While carelessly tramping down the weeds and bushes, the
younger boy was bitten by a rattlesnake on the calf of his leg. In a
few moments thereafter the unhappy child fell to the ground in great
pain, and the pair were of course in unexpected tribulation. The
elder boy, having succeeded in killing the rattlesnake, conceived
the idea, as the only alternative, of carrying his little brother
home upon his back. And this deed did the noble fellow accomplish.
For two long miles did he carry his heavy burden, over rocks and
down the water-courses, and in an hour after he had reached his
father’s cabin the younger child was dead; and the heroic boy was in
a state of insensibility from the fatigue and heat which he had
experienced. He recovered, however, and is now apparently in the
enjoyment of good health, though when I fixed my admiring eyes upon
him it seemed to me that he was far from being strong, and it was
evident that a shadow rested upon his brow.