One more visit remained to be paid this day. We had promised to look in upon some friends who were not at the ball, in order to try the charms and virtues of egg-nogg, which had been lauded to us by an eminent statesman, who has had opportunity, during his diplomatic missions, to learn what there is best in this world. The egg-nogg having been duly enjoyed, we at length went home, to write letters as long as we could hold up our heads, after so extremely busy a day:—a day which may be considered a fair specimen of life at the White Sulphur Springs.
One of the personages whom I referred to as low company, at the beginning of my story, declared himself in the stage-coach to be a gambler, about to visit the Springs for professional purposes. He said to another man, who looked fit company for him, that he played higher at faro than any man in the country but one. These two men slept while we were mounting to the Hawk's Nest. People who pursue their profession by night, as such people do, must sleep in the day, happen what may. They were rather self-important during the journey; it was a comfort to see how poor a figure they cut at the Springs. They seemed to sink into the deepest insignificance that could be desired. Such persons are the pests of society in the south and west; and they are apt to boast that their profession is highly profitable in the eastern cities. I fear this is no empty vaunt.
We left the White Sulphur Springs, a party of six, in "an extra exclusive return stage," and with two saddle horses. Nothing could be more promising. The stage was perfectly new, having been used only to bring General C—— and his lady from Philadelphia to the Springs. We had a shrewd and agreeable Yankee driver, for the whole way. The weather was as fine as July weather ought to be; and as cool as is its wont near the tops of mountains: the very weather for the saddle, or for having the stage open on all sides; or for walking. The alternations were frequently tried. Roses and mountain laurels adorned our road; the breezy woods cast their shadows over us; and we remembered what waters were springing beneath us;—that we were passing over the sources of the mighty rivers of the West, which we had lately navigated with deep awe and delight. The few dwellings we passed were almost all houses of entertainment; but nothing could be more quiet than their air, nestling as they did in the most enviable situations, and resembling more the lodges in the avenues of the parks of English gentry than the hotels of the high road.
We reached the Sweet Springs, twelve miles, I believe, from the White Sulphur, at half-past two. We were as hungry as mountain travellers should be, and dinner was over. However, we were soon set down to hot stewed venison, beet, hominy, ham, and fruit pies; and, thus reinforced, we issued forth to examine the place. The spring at the bathhouse looked so tempting, that I resolved to bathe at sun-down, which, in this valley, would be at five o'clock. The establishment here is inferior to the one we had left. The green was not paled in; the cabins were more shabby; the dining-room smaller. We had it almost to ourselves. The season had not begun, few having been yet sufficiently sulphured and bathed elsewhere to come here to be braced. The water is a little warm; it has a slight briskness; and bubbles up prettily in its well under the piazza. The luxury is to have nothing to do with its disagreeable taste, but to bathe in it, as it gushes, tepid, from its spout. It would be worth while, if there were nothing but trouble in crossing the mountains to get to it. The Sweet Springs lie in one of the highest valleys of the Alleghanies, and one of the fairest. Five times that afternoon did I climb the steep breezy slope behind our cabin, bringing first one of our party, then another, to look abroad; and then returning to enjoy the sun-set alone. The crowds of blue peaks, the bright clearings, the clumps of forest trees, lilac in the sunset with the shepherds lying in their shadow, and the sheep grazing on the sunny slopes, the cluster of cabins below, with their thin smokes rising straight into the golden air,—the whole looked as if the near heavens had opened to let down a gush of their inner light upon this high region. Never shall I forget those tufty purple hills. Cold twilight came on; and we sat round a blazing wood fire, telling ghost and murder stories till we could have declared it was a Christmas night.
At supper, I observed a hale, brisk, intellectual-looking gentleman who satisfied himself with a basin of liquid; as he did at breakfast the next morning; and as he may be seen to do at every meal he takes. He told us his story. Twenty years before, he nearly closed his œsophagus by taking too powerful an emetic. For twenty years, he has had no illness; he rises at dawn all the year round, and has never been known to be low-spirited for two minutes. We all began to think of living upon liquids; but I have not heard of any of the party having proceeded beyond the suggestion.
We rose at five, the next morning, having thirty mountain miles to go during the day, with the same horses. It must not be supposed that this mountain travelling is scrambling among craggy peaks, piercing through dark defiles, and so forth. The roads wind so gently among the slopes, that a sleeping or blind traveller would not discover that the carriage was not, for the greater part of the time, proceeding on level ground. Woody slopes at hand, and a crowd of blue summits afar, are the most characteristic features of the scenery. A white speck of a house, on its tiny green clearing, comes into sight, high up among the hills, from a turn in the road, and the traveller says to himself, "What a perch to live on!" In two hours, he stops at that very house to dine, not being aware how he has got up to it, and looking round with wonder on the snug comforts of the homestead.
Our thirty miles of this day were delicious. Having breakfasted, we bade adieu, at half-past six, to the Sweet Springs, steaming in the bitter cold morning air, and followed a gentleman of our party who had proceeded on foot to the top of the first ridge. There we found him, sitting under a tree, having succeeded in warming himself by the walk. Up the second ridge, the whole party walked, I having started off, ahead of the rest. It was warm, and I stopped, here and there, to rest and gather wild flowers. The rhododendrons and kalmias grew in profusion; and there were plenty of roses, the fine orange columbine of the hills, vetches, and a few splendid scarlet lilies. The peeps down into abysses of foliage were glorious; and, yet more, the cloudlike expanse of mountain tops, growing bluer and fainter till they faded quite away. A steep road on an opposite mountain was the only sign of humanity being near. On the summit, however, there was a small farm. In it lived an elderly woman, who had never been further from the spot than eight miles. If she was born to travel no further than eight miles, no better dwelling place could have been assigned her; for hence she sees more at a glance, any sunset, than some, with all means of locomotion, have ever beheld.
It was a strange feeling, the beginning to descend. It was strange to cross, soon after, the path of the tornado. I had seen something of its ravages before, on the banks of the Cumberland river: the stoutest forest-trees wrenched and twisted, like red-hot iron in the vice of the blacksmith; and snapped off, all at the same height; so that the forest looked like a gigantic scorched stubble-field. Here, a similar desolation was seen in immediate contrast with the rich fertility of the little valley beneath. The hurricane had seared a path for itself up the mountain side, passing over the lowly roofs in the depths. We arrived to dinner at a house on Barber Creek, where we entreated to be fed without delay, on anything whatsoever that was eatable; as time was precious, this day. Yet were we kept waiting two hours and a half. I found much to do by the creek side watching the minnows making their way up against the current; watching two girls who had set up their washing establishment in pretty style under a tree beside the water; their wood fire, black cauldron, and stand of tubs; while the bushes stood round about to be used as drying horses. I also actually saw a hog voluntarily walk three times through the clear water; and the delay of the dinner afforded time for speculation whether the race was not improving. When the dinner was on the table, no one of us could tell what it consisted of. The dish from which I ate was, according to some, mutton; to others, pork: my own idea is that it was dog. Whatever it was, it was at last done with, and paid for, and I was in my saddle, listening to the creek as it rattled under the grey rocks. Having crossed one mountain top on foot, in the morning, I was about to pass another on my horse this afternoon. There is no describing what it is to be pacing upwards, on the extreme edge of the steep road, with one's feet hanging over the green abyss; the shadowy mountains retreating, advancing, interlacing, opening, to disclose a low far-off bit of meadow, with a diminutive dwelling, quiet as a lonely star. What blessed work road-making must be in such places! It was with no little pleasure that, after fourteen miles from Barber Creek, I saw a fine house on an eminence; and then the town of Fincastle, spread out below us, on some rising grounds.
The scenes of the day left me little disposed for sociability in the evening. We were kept waiting long for supper, by the arrival of a party of New Yorkers; to avoid an introduction to whom, some of us pretended to read, and some to be asleep, while others did our duty, talk. The night closed in worthily. From the balcony of my chamber, I saw how modestly the young moon eyed with me the region which will be spread before her for ever, but which I was looking back upon for the last time.