Murphy, North Carolina, May, 1848.

The distance from Hubbard’s Cabin, on Trail Mountain, to the Owassa river, in a direct line, is eight miles, but by the ordinary mule-route it is thirteen. In coming to this river I took the direct route, albeit my only guide was an ancient Indian trail. My friend Hubbard doubted whether I could make the trip alone, but I was anxious to save time and labor, so I determined on trying the experiment. I shouldered my knapsack and started immediately after an early breakfast, and for a distance of two miles every thing turned out to my entire satisfaction. I was now standing upon the extreme summit of the Blue Ridge, and within a stone’s throw of two springs which empty their several waters into the Gulf of Mexico and the Ohio river. While stopping here to obtain a little breath, I discovered a large spot of bare earth, which I took to be a deer yard, and directly across the middle of it the fresh tracks of a large wolf. I had no gun with me, and this discovery made me a little nervous, which resulted, as I proceeded on my journey, in my losing the trail upon which I had started. I soon came to a brook, however, which rushed down an immense ravine at an angle of forty-five degrees, and I continued my way feeling quite secure. My course lay down, down, down, and then, as I wandered from the brook, it was up, up, up. At the rate that I travelled I knew that I ought to reach my place of destination in at least one hour, but four hours elapsed and I reluctantly came to the conclusion that I was most decidedly lost, and that, too, among what I fancied to be the wildest and most lonely mountains on the face of the earth. Then came the thought of spending the night in the wilderness, alone and unprotected, to be destroyed by the wild animals or to be starved to death. I resolved, however, to continue along the brook, knowing that it must come out “somewhere;” and, as I was by this time in a most painful state of excitement, I clambered up the cliffs and ran down the hills at what now appears to me to have been a fearful rate. The sun was excessively hot, and at every rivulet that I crossed I stopped to slake my thirst. The brook was constantly making a new turn, and leaping over ledges of rocks more than a hundred feet high, and every new bluff that I saw (and there seemed to be no end to them) began to shoot a pang to my bewildered brain. At one time I startled a herd of deer from a cool ravine, where they were spending the noontide hours; and on one occasion I was within a single foot of stepping on a rattlesnake, and when I heard his fearful rattle I made a leap which would have astonished even Sands, Lent & Co., or any other circus magicians. It was now the middle of the afternoon, and my blood seemed to have reached the temperature of boiling heat; my heart began to palpitate, and I came to the conclusion that the critics would never again have an opportunity of doubting my adventures in the wilderness. Just in the nick of time, however, I heard the howling music of a pack of hounds, and in a few moments a beautiful doe and some half a dozen dogs shot across my path like a “rushing mighty wind.” This little incident led me to believe that I was not very far from a settlement, and had a tendency to revive my spirits. The result was that I reached the cottage of an old gentleman named Riley, in the valley of Owassa, just as the sun was setting, where I was treated with the utmost kindness by his consort—having travelled at least twenty miles on account of my mishap. I had lost my appetite, but was persuaded to drink two cups of coffee and then retire to bed. I slept until daybreak, without being visited by an unpleasant dream, and arose on the following morning a new man. On the following day I travelled down the Owassa valley a distance of thirty miles, until I reached the very pretty place where I am now tarrying. The Cherokee word Owassa signifies the main river, or the largest of the tributaries: and the paraphrase of this name into Hiowassee by the map-makers is only a ridiculous blunder. So I have been informed, at any rate, by one of the oldest Cherokees now living. The Owassa is a tributary of the noble Tennessee, and is as clear, beautiful, rapid and picturesque a mountain river as I have ever seen. At Wiley’s cottage it is perhaps one hundred feet wide, and at this point it is not far from one hundred and fifty yards. It is quite circuitous in its course, and the valley through which it runs is narrow, but very fertile and pretty well cultivated. The people live almost exclusively in log cabins, and appear to be intelligent and moral, though apparently destitute of all enterprise.

The only novelty that I noticed on the road to this place was the spot known as Fort Embree. The only evidences that there ever was a fortification here are a breastwork of timber, a lot of demolished pickets, and two or three block-houses, which are now in a dilapidated condition. The site is a commanding one, and takes in some of the grandest mountain outlines that I have yet seen. This fort, so called, was made by the General Government for the purpose of herding the poor Cherokees previous to their final banishment into exile—a most humane and christian-like work, indeed! How reluctant the Indians were to leave this beautiful land may be shown by the fact, that a number of women destroyed themselves within this very fort rather than be driven beyond the Mississippi. And a gentleman who saw the Indians, when they were removed, tells me that they were actually driven along the road like a herd of wild and unruly animals, a number of them having been shot down in the vicinity of this place. All these things may have been published, but I have never seen them in print; and I now put them in print with the view of shaming our heartless and cruel Government for its unnatural conduct in times past. The Cherokees were a nation of mountaineers, and, had a wise policy been pursued with regard to them, they might now be chasing the deer upon these mountains, while all the valleys of the land might have been in a state of cultivation, even as they are now. Not only would they have had the happiness of hunting their favorite game upon their native hills, but they might have been educated with more real satisfaction to themselves than they can be in the Far West. In proof of the opinion that they might have lived here in honor and comfort, it may be mentioned that the few Cherokees who were permitted to remain in Carolina, are now considered the most polite and inoffensive of the entire population; and the United States District Attorney residing in Cherokee county informs me, that of five hundred individuals whom he has had to prosecute within the last five years, only one of them was an Indian, and he was led into his difficulty by a drunken white man. But this is a theme that I could write upon for days, so I will turn to something more germain to my present purpose.

In coming down the valley of Owassa I met with a number of incidents which I fancy worth mentioning. For example, in passing along a certain road in Union county, Georgia, I approached a ricketty log cabin, and was surprised to see the family and all the dogs vacate the premises, as if I had been a personified plague. I was subsequently informed that this was a common habit with the more barbarous people of this region when they see a stranger passing along the road.

Among the characteristic travelling establishments that I met in the above country, was the following: a very small covered wagon, (drawn by one mule and one deformed horse,) which was laden with corn-husks, a few bedclothes, and several rude cooking utensils. Behind this team marched a man and his wife, five boys, and eight girls, and in their rear the skeleton of a cow and four hungry-looking dogs. They had been farming in Union county, but were now on their way into Habersham county in search of a new location. The youngest daughter belonging to this family, as I casually found out by giving her a small piece of money, was Dorcas Ann Eliza Jane Charlotte ——. On hearing this startling information I could not wonder that the family were poor, and had a thorny road to pursue through life.

But the most unique incident that I picked up on the day in question may be narrated as follows: I was quietly jogging along the road, when I was startled by the dropping of a snake from a small tree. I stopped to see what was the matter, and discovered it to be a black snake or racer, and that he had in his mouth the tail end of a scarlet lizard about five inches long. It was evident the snake had some difficulty in swallowing the precious morsel, and while he seemed to be preparing for another effort, I saw the lizard twist its body and bite the snake directly on the back of the head, which caused the latter to loosen his hold. Again did I see the snake attack the lizard, and a second time did the lizard bite the snake, whereupon the serpent gave up the fight, and, while I was hunting for a stick to kill the serpent, both of the reptiles made their escape.

The little village of Murphy, whence I date this letter, lies at the junction of the Owassa and Valley rivers, and in point of location is one of the prettiest places in the world. Its Indian name was Klausuna, or the Large Turtle. It was so called, says a Cherokee legend, on account of its being the sunning place of an immense turtle which lived in its vicinity in ancient times. The turtle was particularly famous for its repelling power, having been known not to be at all injured by a stroke of lightning. Nothing on earth had power to annihilate the creature; but, on account of the many attempts made to take its life, when it was known to be a harmless and inoffensive creature, it became disgusted with this world, and burrowed its way into the middle of the earth, where it now lives in peace.

In connection with this legend, I may here mention what must be considered a remarkable fact in geology. Running directly across the village of Murphy is a belt of marble, composed of the black, gray, pure white and flesh-colored varieties, which belt also crosses the Owassa river. Just above this marble causeway the Owassa, for a space of perhaps two hundred feet, is said to be over one hundred feet deep, and at one point, in fact, a bottom has never been found. All this is simple truth, but I have heard the opinion expressed that there is a subterranean communication between this immense hole in Owassa and the river Notely, which is some two miles distant. The testimony adduced in proof of this theory is, that a certain log was once marked on the Notely, which log was subsequently found floating in the pool of the Deep Hole in the Owassa.