It was on a bright autumnal morning that, with pack on back, and staff in hand, he started for the heights of Cove Mountain, towards the west country. On the way he passed a small roadside tavern, in front of which a few years before had played a little yellow-haired boy, with a turkey bell suspended around his neck so that he could not get lost. The German drovers who lolled in front of the hostelry were fond of teasing the lad, calling him “Jimmy mit the bells on,” much to the youngster’s displeasure. His mother was a woman of some intellectual attainments, and occasionally would edify the society folk of Mercersburg by reciting the whole of Milton’s “Paradise Lost.”
In time this boy became known as James Buchanan, the only Pennsylvanian to occupy the Presidential chair.
There were many taverns along the road, considering the wildness of the country, and The Viscount thought how much history and tradition was being made about their inglenooks and home-garths.[home-garths.] The forests of chestnuts, yellow pine and rock oak, the grand scenery of distant valleys and coves, interested him more, and the occasional meetings with the mountain people along the way, whom he enjoyed conversing with, about the local folk-lore, game and Indians. On many of the log barns and sheds were nailed bear paws, deer horns and wolf hides, and the hieroglyphics and signs, to ward off witches, were keenly interesting to his inquiring gaze.
It was amazing how the road wound in serpentine fashion among the mountains; the distance could have been much shortened, he thought.
One morning a backwoodsman with a black beard that hung almost to his feet, explained to him the “short cuts,” or paths that went down the steep slopes of the mountains, lessening the distance of the regular roads followed by the packers around the elbows of the mountain ravines.
The Viscount Adare enjoyed these “short cuts” hugely. They reminded him of his Alpining days, and they led him right through the forests, under the giant oaks and pines where he saw many unusual looking birds, such as Pileated Woodpeckers and Carolina Paraquets, while occasionally a Deer or Gray Fox crossed his path. He had reached the bottom of a ravine where a stream headed at a big spring, while taking one of these “short cuts,” when he came in sight of a clearing which contained a corn field, a pasture lot or commons, a log house, log barn, and a smaller log cabin, that looked like a smoke-house. Smoke was issuing from an opening in the roof of the tiny structure, which might have passed for a child’s play house, modelled after the larger log dwelling. As he neared the little hut, which reminded him of an Alpine baracq, and which stood close to the path, the door opened and two most curious looking figures emerged. In old England he had seen sweeps, but these were more grotesque and grimier than any he could recall. As he drew nearer, he perceived that while one appeared to be a man, the other was a young woman. Both were entirely unclad, save that the woman’s locks were covered by a homespun cap of the tam o’shanter[o’shanter] pattern. Both were literally black, from head to foot.
When they saw the traveler, the woman ran back into the cabin, pulling the door shut, while the “Jim Crow” man waited in the path until joined by the surprised[surprised] Viscount.
“What is all this, my good man,” he queried, “been cleaning your chimney and fallen through it into a barrel of tar?”
“Oh, no,” said the grimy mountaineer, smiling, his teeth looking very white against his swarthy visage. “My business is to make lamp black, and my friend and I have been sweeping down the walls, collecting the output this morning, and boxing it, and had just finished when you appeared in sight.”
The fellow made no attempt to apologize for his outlandish appearance, but stood there in the sunlight like an imp of darkness, chatting with the Englishman.