“It is barely half a-mile distant,” said Charlie. “Are you going to see it?”
“Yes, by all means,” I replied.
“It is just outside the city. You go to the upper end of the city, and—however, I was just thinking of taking a walk myself, and I will accompany you, if you desire.”
“I shall be pleased with your company,” said I, “and I thank you.”
We were friends from that moment. Charlie arose, and we left the hotel and walked up the street. Emerging from the upper end of the city we followed a pike for a few hundred yards, which led us to a considerable elevation, where I found laid before me about as grand a scene as I ever beheld.
“Here,” said Charlie, “is where McCulloch rode down.” We were standing with our faces toward the east; behind us, deep among the tall hills, flowed the Ohio river, and before us was a valley of great depth, through which Wheeling creek wound its way. This stream flowed directly toward the Ohio river, till it reached the base of the declivity immediately beneath us; then turning about, guarded away from the river, as it were, by the long, steep, intervening ridge, it flowed clear around Wheeling, and emptied into the river below. That portion of the creek which we could see, hemmed in by a semicircular range of hills on its right side, formed a path similar in shape to a horse-shoe; only its principal curve was more abrupt.
It was at this abrupt curve that the daring McCulloch plunged down the declivity. He had been pursued from a northerly direction, by the Indians, and intended to gallop along the verge of the descent, and turn toward the east, as the creek turned far below. But just here he found himself intercepted by another band of savages, and retreat in that direction cut off. Behind him lay the Ohio river, three hundred feet below, on either hand was a horde of howling bloodthirsty savages, and before him was a steep descent of several hundred feet, whose face was interrupted by several perpendicular ledges of rock; and, in this terrible exigence, he clutched his reins tightly, and spurred his horse quickly over the brink and down the fearful declivity. It is not really so steep as some who have read the account suppose, for a line drawn from the summit to the base, where the creek flows, would form an angle with the horizon of only between forty and forty-five degrees; but at intervals there are precipitous ledges of rock, quite perpendicular, of from ten to twenty feet in height. That the horse and rider plunged down over them in safety, seems little less than a miracle.
This range of hills, or rather this ridge, is higher and even steeper in some places than at the point where McCulloch plunged down. Charlie and I walked along the verge of the precipice, ascending gradually, till we came to a point over four hundred feet above the high-water mark of the river. From this point, we could see over many miles of Ohio landscape beyond the river.
It was at this highest point that, a few years ago, a man named Wheat, a citizen of Wheeling, actually drove over the precipice in a two-horse sleigh. Two other persons were in the sleigh with him, riding along the summit of the ridge, and on his declaring that he was going to eclipse McCulloch, they jumped out, and the fool actually touched up his horses and drove down the precipice. His name was Wheat, as I stated; but Charlie told me that rye had more to do with it than any one else.
Down tumbled Wheat, the sleigh and two horses; and only that good luck that ever seems to attend an intoxicated man could have saved him from a violent and speedy death. While the sleigh was dashed to splinters, and both the horses precipitated into Wheeling creek and killed, Mr. Wheat lodged among some stunted trees, about half-way down—badly bruised and “stove up,” it is true, but still alive and in moderate spirits. He is still living, but has been a cripple ever since his mad and daring sleigh-ride.