Franklin, North Carolina, May, 1848.

The distance from Murphy to this place is reported to be fifty miles. For twenty miles the road runs in full view of Valley river, which is worthy in every particular of the stream into which it empties, the Owassa. It is a remarkbly cold and translucent stream, and looks as if it ought to contain trout, but I am certain that it does not. On inquiring of a homespun angler what fish the river did produce, he replied: “Salmon, black trout, red horse, hog-fish, suckers and cat-fish.” I took the liberty of doubting the gentleman’s word, and subsequently found out that the people, of this section of country call the legitimate pickerel the “salmon,” the black bass the “black trout,” the mullet the “red horse,” and a deformed sucker the “hog-fish.” And now, while I think of it, I would intimate to my friends residing on the Ohio (to which glorious river all the streams of this region pay tribute) that their salmon is none other than the genuine pickerel of the North and South, their white perch only the sheep’s head of the great lakes, and their black perch is but another name for the black or Oswego bass. So much for a piscatorial correction.

The only picture which attracted my particular attention in passing up the fertile but generally neglected bottom lands of Valley river, was a farm of twenty-five hundred acres, one thousand acres being as level as a floor and highly cultivated. The soil seemed exceedingly rich, and it was evident yielded a considerable income to its possessor. I heard, in fact, that the proprietor had been offered twenty-five thousand dollars for this farm. And in what kind of a house does my reader imagine this wealthy man resided? In a miserable log hovel, a decayed and windowless one, which a respectable member of the swine family would hardly deign to occupy. Instances something like to this had already come to my knowledge, and caused me to wonder at the inconsistency and apparent want of common sense manifested by some of the farmers of this country, but this instance capped the climax. But again, the individual alluded to is a white man, and prides himself upon being more intelligent and acute than his neighbors; and yet one of his neighbors is an Indian woman, who raises only about five thousand bushels of potatoes per annum, but occupies a comfortable dwelling and lives like a rational being.

After leaving the above valley, my course lay over two distinct spurs of the Alleghanies, which are divided by the river Nan-ti-ha-lah, and consequently called the Nan-ti-ha-lah Mountains. In ascending the western ridge, I noticed that at the foot and midway up the pass the trees were all arrayed in their summer verdure, and among the forest trees were many chestnut and poplar specimens, which were at least seven or eight feet in diameter; while the more elevated portions of the ridge were covered with scrub and white oak, which were entirely destitute of foliage and not even in the budding condition. No regular cliffs frowned upon me as I passed along, but the mountains on either side were almost perpendicular, and in one or two places were at least twenty-five hundred feet high. In the side of the highest of these mountains, I was informed, is a deep fissure or cave, which extends to the summit of the hill, where the outlet is quite small. When the wind is blowing from the northwest it passes entirely through this long and mysterious cavern, and when issuing from the top comes with such force as to throw out all the smaller stones which one may happen to drop therein. In descending this spur, the road passes directly along the margin of the most gloomy thicket imaginable. It is about a mile wide and somewhat over three miles in length. It is rank with vegetation, and the principal trees are laurel and hemlock. Even at noonday it is impossible to look into it more than a half a dozen yards, and then you but peer into the opening of leafy caves and grottoes which are perpetually cool and very desolate. It is said to abound in the more ferocious of wild animals, and no white man is yet known to have mustered courage enough to explore the jungle. During the existence of the Cherokee difficulties, the Indians were in the habit of encamping on many places on its margin for the purpose of easily eluding their pursuers; and it is reported of one Indian hunter, who once entered the thicket, that he never returned, having, as is supposed, been overpowered by some wild beast. It was upon the margin of this horrible place, too, that the following incident occurred. An Indian woman once happened to be travelling down the mountain, unaccompanied by her husband, but with three young children, two little girls and a papoose. In an unexpected moment an enraged panther crossed their trail, and while it fell upon and destroyed the mother and one child, the elder girl ran for her life, carrying the infant on her back. The little heroine had not gone over a half a mile with her burden before the panther caught up with her, and dragged the infant from her grasp; and while the savage creature was destroying this third victim, the little girl made her escape to a neighboring encampment.

The river Nan-ti-ha-lah, or the Woman’s Bosom, was so named on account of its undulating and narrow valley, and its own intrinsic purity and loveliness. Upon this river is situated a rude but comfortable cabin, which is the only one the traveller meets with in going a distance of twenty miles. On first approaching this cabin, I noticed a couple of sweet little girls playing on the greensward before the door with a beautiful fawn, which was as tame as a lamb. This group, taken in connection with the wildness of the surrounding scene, gave me a most delightful feeling, the contrast was so strange and unexpected. The proprietor of the cabin owns about five thousand acres of land in this wilderness region, and is by profession a grazing farmer. He raises a goodly number of cattle as well as horses and mules, and his principal markets for them are Charleston and Savannah, to which cities he performs a pilgrimage in the autumn of every year. He is one of the “oldest inhabitants” of the region, and as I spent one night under his roof, I took occasion to draw from him a few anecdotes connected with his own experience. On questioning him with regard to the true character of the panther, he replied as follows: “I don’t know much about this animal, but I have had one chance to study their nature which I can’t forget. It was a very dark night, and I was belated on the western ridge, near the Big Laurel ravine. I was jogging along at a slow rate, when my horse made a terrible leap aside, and I saw directly in front of me one of the biggest of panthers. He soon uttered a shriek or scream (which sounded like a woman in distress) and got out of the way, so that I could pass along. Every bone in my horse’s body trembled with fear, and I can tell you that my own feelings were pretty squally. On my way was I still jogging, when the panther again made his appearance, just as he had before, and gave another of his infernal yells. I had no weapon with me, and I now thought I was a gone case. Again did the animal disappear, and again did I continue on my journey. I had not gone more than a hundred yards before I saw, on the upper side of the road, what looked like a couple of balls of fire, and just as I endeavored to urge my horse a little faster, another dreadful scream rang far down the valley. But, to make a long story short, this animal followed me until I got within a half a mile of my house, and, though he ran around me at least a dozen times, and uttered more than a dozen screams, he never touched me, and I got safely home. If you can gather any information from this adventure you are welcome to it; but all I know about the animal is this, that I hate him as I do the devil.”

My host informed me that he was one of the men appointed by the Government to assess the property of the Cherokees at the time of their removal, and was subsequently employed to aid in their coerced removal. With a view of pacifying the Indians, it had been stipulated that the cabin and improvements of each Indian should be assessed, and an equivalent in money should be paid into his hands for said property; and a part of the nation, it will be remembered, including the head chief, were opposed to the treaty of banishment. In fulfilling his duties as a Government officer, my informant endured many hardships, subjected himself to much peril, and met with many touching as well as some ridiculous scenes. In the course of a few months he visited, in connection with his assistant and interpreter, every cabin in the counties of Cherokee and Macon; and, from the numerous adventures which he related to me, I will record two or three.

“At one time,” said my friend, “we arrived at a cabin where we knew resided, ‘solitary and alone,’ an old bachelor Indian. It was night, and very cold and stormy. As we were tying our horses the Indian heard us, and, knowing our business, immediately arose and fastened his door that we should not get in. We remonstrated from without, and told him we were almost frozen, and he must admit us, but never a word would he answer; and this was repeated several times. We finally got mad and knocked down the door and entered. The Indian was lying upon a bench before the fire, and by his side were four dogs. We asked him a number of questions, but still did he keep silent. We had by this time made up our minds to ‘take care of number one,’ and proceeded to cook our bacon. In doing this we had great difficulty on account of the dogs, which were almost starved to death, and were constantly grabbing up our victuals from the coals. They were the ugliest animals that I ever saw, and did not care a pin for the heavy licks that we gave them. And the only way we could get along was for the interpreter to cook the meat, while my assistant and myself seated ourselves at the two corners of the hearth, and as the dogs jumped over the body of the Indian, (who was yet lying on his bench,) we would grab them by the neck and tail and pitch them across the room. So this interesting business continued until the meat was cooked. I then took a slice, put it on a piece of bread, and giving it to the Indian, said to him: ‘Now don’t be a fool, take this meat and be good friends, for we don’t want to injure you.’ Whereupon he got over his resentment, took the meat, and began talking so that we could not stop him.”

But another incident related to me was truly affecting, and occurred at the time of removal. “There was an old Indian,” continued my host, “named Euchellah, who had thrown out the idea that he was a strong man, and never would submit to leave his cabin willingly: those who wanted him to go must take him by force. It was in the forenoon, and a whole posse of officers entered his cabin, and after a pretty severe scuffle we succeeded in fastening the old fellow’s arms and hands with a rope. He now saw that he must go, and told his wife to get ready, and she got ready by going out to feed her pig and the chickens, just as if she was coming back in a few hours. We then started with our prisoners, and just as we were crossing a hill which overlooked the Indian’s cabin, he suddenly wheeled about, and as his eyes fell upon his little garden and his hut, he burst into tears, and I thought the man’s heart would break. And now when people tell me that the Indian never weeps, I tell them it’s no such thing; but, it was true, Euchellah had some reason to feel bad; for he had four children buried near his cabin, and had lived there for fifty years. We continued on our way to the West, but in two days our Indian made his escape with his wife. We hunted for them among the mountains, and though we recaptured Euchellah, we never could find his wife, and afterwards heard that she starved to death on a distant mountain. The Indian was now guarded by four soldiers; but, while crossing a certain gap, he suddenly rose upon his keepers and killed three of them, while the other officer, as well as himself, escaped. The Indian was again taken prisoner, tried by court martial, and sentenced to be executed. When told that he was to be shot down by a rifle ball, he manifested no fear, and, up to the moment that he was shot down, not a tear made its appearance in his eye. He could weep on leaving his home, but he would not weep when he came to die. And the old man was buried on the road side, half way between this place and Murphy.”

“But another removal incident that I remember,” continued my landlord, “was to this effect. It was another old Indian who had a large family and was religious. When we called to take him, he said he only wanted to ask one favor, which was, that we would let him have one more prayer with his wife and children in his old cabin. We of course granted the request, and when he was through out came the old fellow and said that he was ready. But just as we were leaving the little clearing, the Indian called his wife and children to his side, and talked to them in the most poetical and affecting manner about their meager but much-loved possession, which they were about to leave for ever. He then took the lead of our procession, and without uttering a word, marched onward with a firm step. We never heard this man’s voice again until we had passed beyond the Mississippi.”

The scenery lying between the Nan-ti-ha-lah and this place is of the wildest character. From the summit of the pass and along the road as you descend to the eastward, a number of very imposing scenes present themselves, but chief among all the hills rises the rugged peak of Bald Mountain. The prospect from this point is similar to that which I have described from Trail Mountain, but the legend which commemorates the place is quite interesting, and accounts for the baldness of the mountain’s top, which was formerly covered with a dense forest. The Cherokees relate that there once existed among those mountains a very large bird, which resembled in appearance the green-winged hornet, and this creature was in the habit of carrying off the younger children of the nation who happened to wander into the woods. Very many children had mysteriously disappeared in this manner, and the entire people declared a warfare against the monster. A variety of means were employed for his destruction, but without success. In process of time it was determined that the wise men (or medicine men) of the nation should try their skill in the business. They met in council and agreed that each one should station himself on the summit of a mountain, and that, when the creature was discovered, the man who made the discovery should utter a loud halloo, which shout should be taken up by his neighbor on the next mountain, and so continued to the end of the line, that all the men might have a shot at the strange bird. This experiment was tried and resulted in finding out the hiding-place of the monster, which was a deep cavern on the eastern side of the Blue Ridge and at the fountain-head of the river Too-ge-lah. On arriving at this place, they found the entrance to the cavern entirely inaccessible by mortal feet, and they therefore prayed to the Great Spirit that he would bring out the bird from his den, and place him within reach of their arms. Their petition was granted, for a terrible thunder-storm immediately arose, and a stroke of lightning tore away one half of a large mountain, and the Indians were successful in slaying their enemy. The Great Spirit was pleased with the courage manifested by the Cherokees during this dangerous fight, and, with a view of rewarding the same, he willed it that all the highest mountains in their land should thereafter be destitute of trees, so that they might always have an opportunity of watching the movements of their enemies.

As a sequel to this legend, it may be appropriately mentioned, that at the head of the Too-ge-lah is to be found one of the most remarkable curiosities in this mountain-land. It is a granite cliff, with a smooth surface or front, half a mile long, and twelve hundred feet high, and generally spoken of in this part of the country as the White-side Mountain, or the Devil’s Court-house. To think of it is almost enough to make one dizzy, but to see it fills one with awe. Near the top of one part of this cliff is a small cave, which can be reached only by passing over a strip of rock about two feet wide. One man only has ever been known to enter it, and when he performed the deed he met at the entrance of the cave a large bear, which animal, in making its escape, slipped off the rock, fell a distance of near a thousand feet, and was of course killed. When the man saw this, he became so much excited that it was some hours before he could quiet his nerves sufficiently to retrace his dangerous pathway.