Letters from the Alleghany Mountains

by Charles Lanman

On the day of my arrival in this village, a negro teamster met with an accident while passing over a neighboring mountain, which resulted in his losing one of his four horses, which happened to step over a log, and, on being cut loose, fell down a precipice of forty feet into a pool of water. On being questioned as to the manner in which the animal fell, the negro briefly but tellingly replied, “Ka wallup, ka wallup, ka wallup, ka swash!” I thought this a most forcible description, and could not but admire the man’s ingenuity in representing each somerset by a single word.

Within a few days past I have become acquainted with two insects which I have never seen described, but which are found in abundance throughout the South. I allude to the dirt-dauber and the stump-stinger. In their general appearance they both resemble the wasp. The first lives in a cell, which it builds on the inner side of a shed or piazza. It is a noted enemy of the spider, and possesses the art and the habit of killing that insect in great numbers. But what is really remarkable, they have a fashion of stowing away the carcasses of their slaughtered enemies in their dwellings, as if for future use; and after the cell is full, they close it with mud, and proceed to build another cell, so that the opulence of one of them may be calculated by the number of his closed dwellings. The stump-stinger is remarkable for having attached to the middle of his body a hard and pointed weapon, with which he can dig a hole one inch in depth in the body of even a hickory tree. This weapon he usually carries under his tail, but when about to be used makes him resemble a gimlet in form. The instrument is very hard, and composed of two pieces, which he works up and down, like a pair of chisels. It is supposed that he makes this hole for the purpose of depositing an egg, and it is alleged that the tree upon which he once fastens himself always falls to decay.

But this allusion to insects reminds me of an incident connected with the ant which I lately noticed in one of my mountain rambles. While watching an ant-hill, I discovered that the little creatures were busily engaged in enlarging the hole of their miniature cavern. While watching their movements with intense interest, my eyes chanced to fall upon another detachment of the same insect, who were approaching the hole in question with the dead body of a grasshopper. The moment this party was discovered by those at the hole, the whole multitude fell to work and tumbled their dead booty along at a more rapid rate than before. On reaching the hole an attempt was made to drag the grasshopper into it, but without success, for it was too small. A movement to enlarge the hole was then immediately made, and in a very few moments the slain creature was out of my sight, and I could almost fancy that I saw the ants clapping their tiny hands and congratulating themselves upon the feat they had accomplished. Upon the whole it was one of the most interesting little incidents that I ever witnessed, and I left the spot feeling that I understood the words of Scripture which say, “Go to the ant, thou sluggard, and be wise!”

And now, as the desultory character of this letter will probably fully satisfy my readers, I will bring it to a close, promising to be somewhat more circumspect in the future.

LETTER XI.

Qualla Town, North Carolina, May, 1848.

In coming from Franklin to this place, a distance of thirty miles, I travelled over a wild, mountainous, and thinly settled country, where I was pained to witness the evil effects of intemperance, and made happy by following the windings of a beautiful river. Having been overtaken by a thunder-storm, I found shelter in a rude and comfortless cabin, which was occupied by a man and his wife and eight children. Every member of the family was barefooted, and one or two of the children almost destitute of clothing; not one of the children, though one or two of them were full-grown girls, could read a single word; the mother was sickly and haggard in her appearance, and one of the little boys told me that he had not eaten a hearty meal for ten days. I subsequently learned that the head of this household was a miserable drunkard.

The river to which I alluded is the Tuck-a-se-ja, which empties into the Tennessee. It is a very rapid stream, and washes the base of many mountains, which are as wild as they were a century ago. Whenever there occurs any interval land, the soil is very rich, and such spots are usually occupied. The mountains are all covered with forest, where wild game is found in abundance. The fact is, the people of this whole region devote more of their time to hunting than they do to agriculture, which fact accounts for their proverbial poverty. You can hardly pass a single cabin without being howled at by half a dozen hounds, and I have now become so well educated in guessing the wealth of a mountaineer, that I can fix his condition by ascertaining the number of his dogs. A rich man seldom has more than one dog, while a very poor man will keep from ten to a dozen. And this remark with regard to dogs, strange as it may seem, is equally applicable to the children of the mountaineers. The poorest man, without any exception, whom I have seen in this region, lives in a log cabin with two rooms, and is the father of nineteen children, and the keeper of six hounds.

On my arrival in this place, which is the home of a large number of Cherokee Indians, (of whom I shall have much to say in future letters,) I became the guest of Mr. William H. Thomas, who is the “guide, counsellor, and friend” of the Indians, as well as their business agent. While conversing with this gentleman, he excited my curiosity with regard to a certain mountain in his vicinity, and, having settled it in his own mind that I should spend a week or two with him and his Indians, proposed (first excusing himself on account of a business engagement) that I should visit the mountain in company with a gentleman in his employ as surveyor. The proposed arrangement was carried out, and thus was it that I visited Smoky Mountain.

This mountain is the loftiest of a large brotherhood which lie crowded together upon the dividing line between North Carolina and Tennessee. Its height cannot be less than five thousand feet above the level of the sea, for the road leading from its base to its summit is seven and a half miles long. The general character of the mountain is similar to that already given of other Southern mountains, and all that I can say of its panorama is, that I can conceive of nothing more grand and imposing. It gives birth to a pair of glorious streams, the Pigeon river of Tennessee, and the Ocono lufty of North Carolina, and derives its name from the circumstance that its summit is always enveloped, on account of its height, in a blue or smoky atmosphere.