The river at the ford is about eight hundred yards wide, and upon the firm pathway, which has been constructed at considerable expense, in this vicinity, that it is quite unnavigable, except in a few places.
Soon after leaving the ford, I passed through a gorge of a spur of King's Mountain, which here comes down in a precipitous ridge to the Broad River. The scenery within this gorge was the most romantic I had observed in the Southern country.
From a ravine, just wide enough for the passage of a small stream and the high-way, the hills rise almost perpendicularly to a considerable altitude. They were covered with the various evergreens which give beauty to Southern forests in winter; and from the fissures of the rocks, where the water-fountains were bursting forth, hundreds of icicles were glittering in prismatic beauty wherever the sun shed its rays upon them. It was truly a gorgeous scene. Along this sinuous mountain stream, rock-bound on either side, the road continued to an iron establishment, where it ascends the steep margins of the hills, presenting a surface of deep adhesive red earth. Descending the eastern side of the eminence, I crossed King's Creek, a dozen miles below the place where I passed it two days before when on my way to the Cowpens. Soon again I was among the rough hills, and so bad was the road, that at sunset I had traveled only ten miles from the Cherokee Ford.
The average depth of water did not exceed one foot. Unless the river is much swollen, the ford is perfectly safe. A strong dam, owned by the proprietors of the iron-works, crosses the river an eighth of a mile above; and so shallow and rapid is the current, and so rocky the bed of the river, for many miles
* This view is from the east bank of the river. Toward the extreme right is seen the dam, made to supply water-power for the iron-works delineated toward the left of the picture. The fording-place, which crosses a small island in the middle of the stream, is indicated by the slight fall toward the left.
A Night on the Mountains.—Contentment.—Mule Driving.—Yorkville.—Catawba Indians.
I discovered that the temporary repairs of my wagon had not been sufficient to withstand the rough usage of the way, and that more thorough work was necessary before I could pursue my journey with safety. Yorkville, the nearest place In advance where a smith could be found, was fourteen miles distant, so I was compelled to halt for the night at a small log-house, of forbidding aspect, among the mountains. The food and shelter was of the plainest kind imaginable. There was no "light in the dwelling," except the blaze of pine wood upon the hearth, and I wrote a letter by the glare of a resinous knot, brought from the "wood pile" for the purpose. Lying in bed, I could count the stars at the zenith; while the open floor below afforded such ample ventilation, that my buffalo robe, wrapped around me, was not uncomfortable on that keen frosty night. But generous, open-handed hospitality was in that humble cabin, which made amends for trifling discomforts, and I felt satisfied.