I was told that the ford there was marked by a row of rocks, occurring at short intervals across the stream; but when I reached the bank, few of them could be seen above the surface of the swift and swollen current. The distance across is about two hundred and fifty yards, and the whole stream flows in a single channel. The passage appeared (as it really was) very dangerous, and I had no guide. As the day was fast waning away, a storm seemed to be gathering, and there was not an inhabitant within a mile, I resolved to venture alone, relying upon the few rocks visible for indications of the safest place for a passage. Taking my port-folio of drawings from my trunk, and placing it beside me on the seat, and then folding my wagon-top, I was prepared to swim, if necessary, and save my sketches, if possible. Charley seemed loth to enter the flood, but once in, he breasted the stream like a philosopher. Twice the wheels ran upon rocks, and the wagon was almost overturned, the water being, in the mean while, far over the hubs; and when within a few yards of the southern shore, we crossed a narrow channel, so deep that my horse kept his feet with difficulty, and the wagon, having a tight body, floated for a moment. The next instant we struck firm ground. I breathed freer as we ascended the bank, and with a thankful heart rode on toward Falls's house of entertainment, away among the hills near the South Carolina line, twenty-six miles from Charlotte.
On account of numerous diverging ways, it was very difficult to keep in the right road from the South Fork to Falls's. I tried to reach there before dark, but the clouds thickened, and night fell suddenly. In the uncertain twilight, I missed a diverging road which I was directed to pursue, and got into the midst of a vast pine forest. Just before entering the woods, I had a glimpse of Crowder s Knob, the highest peak of King's Mountain, estimated to be three thousand feet above the level of the sea.1 It was about twelve miles distant, and loomed up from the wilderness of pines which intervened, like some ancient castle in the dim light. For more than an hour I pursued the forest road, without perceiving the diverging one which I was directed to follow. I stopped to listen for sounds of habitation. All was silent but the moaning of the wind among the pine boughs, the solemn voice of an owl, and the pattering of the rain upon my wagon-top. For almost another hour I rode on in the gloom, without perceiving an opening in the forest, and I began to think I should be obliged to "camp out" for the night. Again I listened, and was cheered by the distant barking of a dog. I gave Charley a loose rein, and in twenty minutes an open field appeared, and the glimmer of a candle. A shout brought the master of the cottage to the door, and, in reply to my solicitation for food and shelter until morning, he informed me that a contagious disease, which had destroyed two of his family, yet prevailed in his house. He could not offer me the hospitalities of his roof and table, but he would mount his horse and guide me to Falls's, which was four miles distant. I was glad to avoid the contagion, and to reward him liberally for his kind pilotage. I ascertained that I had been within a quarter of a mile of Falls's, but, missing the "turn out," had traversed another road several miles back in the direction of Charlotte!
Mr. Falls was the postmaster, and an intelligent man, apparently about sixty years of age. It was the anniversary of the battle of New Orleans, in 1815,Jan. 8 and as the old man had a brother killed in that engagement, it was a day always memorable to him. I was entertained with the frank hospitality so common in the Carolinas, and at my request breakfast was ready at early dawn. A more gloomy morning can not well be conceived. Snow had fallen to the depth of two inches during the night, and when I departed, a chilling east wind, freighted with sleet, was sweeping over the barren country. King's Mountain battle-ground was fourteen miles distant, and I desired to reach there in time to make my notes and sketches before sunset. The roads, except near the water courses, were sandy and quite level, but the snow made the traveling heavy. Six miles from Falls's, I forded Crowder's Creek, a stream about ten yards wide, deep and sluggish, which rises from
* The sides of this peak are very precipitous, and its top is accessible to man only upon one side.
Visit to the King's Mountain Battle ground.—Character of the Locality.—View of the Battle-ground
Crowder's Knob, and, after a course of eighteen miles, falls into the Catawba. A little beyond it, I passed a venerable post oak, which was shivered, but not destroyed, by lightning the previous summer. It there marks the dividing-line between North and South Carolina. At noon the storm ceased; the clouds broke, and at three o'clock, when I reached the plantation of Mr. Leslie, whose residence is the nearest one to the battle-ground, the sun was shining warm and bright, and the snow had disappeared in the open fields.
When my errand was made known, Mr. Leslie brought two horses from his stable, and within twenty minutes after my arrival we were in the saddle and traversing a winding way toward Clarke's Fork of King's Creek. From that stream, to the group of hills among which the battle was fought, the ascent is almost imperceptible. The whole range, in that vicinity, is composed of a series of great undulations, from whose sides burst innumerable springs, making every ravine sparkle with running water. The hills are gravelly, containing a few small bowlders. They are covered with oaks, chestnuts, pines, beaches, gums, and tulip poplars, and an undergrowth of post oaks, laurel, and sour-wood. The large trees stand far apart, and the smaller ones are not very thick, so that the march of an army over those gentle elevations was comparatively easy. Yet it was a strange place for an encampment or a battle; and to one acquainted with that region, it is difficult to understand why Ferguson and his band were there at all.
