"Yas, sar," replied the old man. "He tole me dat he had trabbled an' seen sites, but dat he nebber was so 'stonish befo'; he did not spec' to see at de end ob de kunel such a putty place; an' dat I wud hear som time what he was gwine tu say 'bout it." "That was Tom Moore, the Irish poet," said Mr. W. "De who?" interrupted Tony. "He came to this country," continued Mr. W. "to visit the Lake, as being one of the wonders of nature, and you were fortunate in having to wait on such a distinguished person."
Tom Moore, after he had arrived in this country, no doubt heard of the Lake of the Dismal Swamp, and when he reached Norfolk, Va., and the story of the fair maiden and her lover being fresh, might have induced him to visit it, and it was on that occasion that he penned the following lines:
"They made her a grave that was too cold and damp,
For a soul so warm and true."
His poem on the "Lake of the Dismal Swamp," no doubt, is familiar with every person of ordinary information, and can be found in every library, and should be read by every person who has never done so.
CHAPTER VI.
PORTE CRAYON'S VISIT, INCIDENTS, ETC.
At a much later date the Lake was visited by Porte Crayon, who was at that time writing for Harper's Monthly. The account given of his trip, with his illustrations, are very life-like and interesting, and in the February or March number of that valuable book, for the year 1857, you will be greatly amused at the description there given. Two darkies, Eli Chalk and Jim Pearce, were the drivers of the pleasure boat furnished by W. S. Riddick, Esq., the then agent of the Dismal Swamp Land Company, in which he was carried to the Lake. He was there some two or three days, and his writings should be read to be appreciated. It was at the Lake that we saw Uncle "Alek," of whom a fac-simile likeness is given in the book above referred to. Uncle "Alek" was a superanuated old colored man, belonging to the Reverend Jacob Keeling, Rector of the Episcopal Churches in Nansemond county, Virginia. He was quite old, and retained his memory to a remarkable degree. He was called the "Bee Hunter" of the Dismal Swamp, and, if I am not mistaken, had a bag of bees in his hand when Porte first met him. He would follow bees for a long distance, cutting his way through the reeds for miles in a straight line, until he came to the tree in which was the hollow. Then he would take out the bees, put them into a bag and bring them out. In going to the Lake you could see numberless paths cut by Uncle Alek for that purpose. The opening through the reeds would look to be about two feet wide and ten feet high, which was almost the length of the reeds. Uncle Alek worked in the swamp nearly all his life, was a faithful hand, and in his old age the company gave him a house and a piece of land, as a home during his natural life. A mule was also given to him by the company, which mule I had the honor of riding at a tournament at Suffolk, Va., in 1860. How old he was no one could tell at that time. No account is given of any mules being in the Ark at the time that she settled on dry land, and where that mule came from will never be known. It is very certain that he appeared on this mundane sphere at some period after the flood. If he is dead I have heard nothing of it. He may be wandering about the Dismal Swamp. Old Uncle Alek and his mule were great curiosities, and whenever he came to town on his mule they attracted a great deal of attention. He was an exhorter in the Methodist Churches for colored people, and always had in his pocket a Testament or hymn book. He was perfectly conversant with the Bible, and could refer readily to any passage of Scripture that you might mention. He was born in 1783, and died a few years ago, having attained the age of one hundred years, his mind being as vivid and active as at any time. We shall never forget Uncle Alek and his mule. They were things of our earliest recollection, and, like many of the landmarks at the "Lake of the Dismal Swamp," have been washed away. I have been to it frequently since my first visit, and would notice the changes made by the rude hand of time.
I have examined several writers that have written about "Uncle Alek's Mule," and am satisfied that it was the same one that "Nat Turner" rode when on his raid of murder in Southampton county, Va., in 1831. Looking over the diary of Colonel Godfrey for thirty years, we notice that he said "Nat Turner," when he appeared in the avenue of Dr. Blount, on that fatal night, he rode at the head of the column, mounted on a sorrel mule, with flax mane and tail. But the question arises, how that mule got into the Dismal Swamp, and how he came in possession of the Dismal Swamp Land Company. Col. Godfrey states that there were several guns in the house of Dr. Blount, and several visitors there at the time; that the young Blount loaded the guns, and that a strong fire was kept up on the advancing column. Nat Turner was thrown from his mule, then they became panic-stricken, and were dispersed. For the bravery displayed by young Blount on that occasion, he received a midshipman's warrant in the United States Navy. I will now quote from G. P. R. James' book, called the "Old Dominion," in which he states that a "young mother with her infant fled to the Dismal Swamp for safety." It was several miles away, and it may be that she drove that same mule, and the probability is that she left the mule in the Swamp, and that he wandered about until he found Jack's Camp, where he was secured and became the property of the Dismal Swamp Land Company. How long the company worked him before he became the property of Uncle Alek, I do not know, but am satisfied that it was several years, and that his wind was injured by overloading. I have the testimony of a gentleman well-known in Suffolk, now living, who stated that he saw a cymling vine at jack's Camp which was of spontaneous growth, and which covered more juniper trees than he could count, and from that vine there was gathered two hundred and fifty cart loads of cymlings. It may be that the hauling away of these cymlings so injured the mule that he was no longer of service to the company. There is no doubt he was turned over to Uncle Alek, which must have been during the year 1832. I was in the Swamp during that year and saw the cymling vine above alluded to, and no one could tell how it came to grow there. It will be impossible for me to tell how old Uncle Alek's mule was or what became of him. I have never heard that he died or was killed. He was no doubt the most remarkable mule that ever lived. The last that I heard from him was related by Uncle Alek himself, and which was no doubt true. I will relate as near as I can what the old man told me. He came to Suffolk one day and I noticed that he was very much excited. I said to him: "Uncle Alek, what has happened to you?" He answered: "Marse Robert I neber was in sich a fix befo' in all my life. I hav' fit bars, rattlesnakes, wild cats and bees, but I tell you sumfin' has happened to me to-day dat neber bin known to befall any one." "What was that Uncle Alek?" I inquired. "I'm terribly upsot, and I dunno what to do. I shall hab to mov' 'way frum my place; a whirlwind struc' my well dis mornin' an' has twisted it so dat I can't git de bucket down in de well, an' I can't git no water, an' what is wuss den all, my mule has bin translated. He wus a good mule, and his loss ruins me." I saw Uncle Alek some time after that, when he told me that he was out in the Swamp hunting bees, when lo and behold! he heard his mule bray. He cast his eyes up and saw him lodged in the forks of a large tree. There was no way by which he could get him down, and left him as he thought to die. But his surprise can be imagined when he heard nuzzling at the door one morning, when, upon opening, what should he see but his mule. How he came down he could not tell, but said he should always believe that his mule could climb a tree. I said it must have been a Providential interference, and that the same Power which landed him in the tree was able to lift him out. "Dat is so," said the old man, "an' I will nebber agin' complain at de ways ob an Over-Rulin' Providence." I often think of Col. Godfrey and his remark, when he said that what best conduces to the happiness of mankind is right. Uncle Alek, knowing that his mule was at home with his head well in the crib, and he in the Swamp fighting bears and bees, was perfectly happy. Uncle Alek and his mule are both now dead, and I shall always have a lively recollection of them. I often think of them, and that I rode Uncle Alek's mule as Knight of the Dismal Swamp at a tournament, won the first honor, and was ruled out on account of my mule not making time, much to the mortification of Uncle Alek. As Uncle Alek and his mule will appear again, I will leave them for the present and relate an interesting conversation with Mr. Richard Hosier, who now lives in Suffolk, and who is as well acquainted with the Dismal Swamp as any one now living. He is perfectly familiar with every part of it, and is, no doubt, correct in many of his statements. He informed me that long before the Lake was discovered by Drummond, two gentlemen from Elizabeth City, N. C., left for the Dismal Swamp on a hunting expedition, and having lost their way, wandered about until they came to what they discovered to be a large body of water. From it they traveled a due west course and came out at a farm on the Desert road, known as Mossy Swamp, and one of the men was taken sick and died; the other one returned to Elizabeth City. Mr. Hosier did not state when this was, but said it was long before Drummond made known that he had discovered a lake in the Dismal Swamp. It will be remembered that Mr. Hosier was arrested in Norfolk in 1863 by order of the Federal general then commanding that department, and was being carried toward the Indian Pole Bridge to be put to work on the defences of Norfolk. He was not disposed to do work in that way, and when well out from Norfolk he eluded the guard that had him, and directed his steps toward the Southern Branch of the Elizabeth river. On his arrival, seeing boats passing up and down, he secreted himself until the darkness of night had fallen, then making a bundle of his clothes and placing it on his head, he entered the river and swam to the other shore. He then pursued his way to the Deep Creek Canal, which he forded. Arriving at the "Feeder," he was not far from the Lake, and was at a place with which he was well acquainted, and out of the reach of all danger of being recaptured. Resting himself a while, he then started for the Lake, and it was at that place he performed his great feat. He could not procure a boat, and the prospect before him was gloomy indeed. If he remained there he would, in all probability, have been devoured by bears and other wild animals in the Swamp, or perhaps, starve. Not being in the least daunted, he prepared himself to reach the western shore, which could only be done by swimming. It was seven miles across, but he nerved himself to the accomplishment of his object. He prepared himself as before by making a bundle of his clothes, which he placed on the top of his head, and was then ready to swim across or perish in the attempt. When he was about half-way across he was attacked by a large serpent, and had it not been for a school of gars that was following him, he would no doubt have been devoured. He reached the shore only to meet a more formidable enemy. It was a large black bear. In his scuffle with the serpent he had lost his bundle of clothes and had nothing but a large knife, which was buckled around his waist. Drawing his knife, he rushed forward and was met by the bear, when a regular hand-to-hand fight was commenced. He did not wrestle long before he found an opportunity to use his knife, and plunging it up to the hilt, he soon had the bear lying prostrate at his feet. Having lost all his clothes, it became necessary that he should do something in his nude state. The bear's skin was the only thing that he could get, so with his knife he skinned him, and getting inside the skin, he started to find some settlement. But his condition was as bad as before. The idea of his being able to get near enough to any person to tell of his condition was absurd. The very sight of him would scare every man, woman and child off the plantation. He could not get a living soul to come to him, and it was not until he had reached his own home, some few miles from Suffolk, that he could present himself as Mr. Hosier. I could write many very interesting incidents connected with the life of Mr. Hosier, which, in many instances, are thrilling. But as we are writing our own recollections, I shall only notice in a few cases what I have been told by others.