Perhaps It Was The Fascination Of Big Tom, Perhaps The Representation
That We Were Already Way Off The Big Ivy
Route, and that it would, in
fact, save time to go over the mountain and we could ride all the
Way, that made the Professor acquiesce, with no protest worth
noticing, in the preparations that went on, as by a natural
assumption, for going over Mitchell. At any rate, there was an early
breakfast, luncheon was put up, and by half-past seven we were riding
up the Caney, - a half-cloudy day, - Big Tom swinging along on foot
ahead, talking nineteen to the dozen. There was a delightful
freshness in the air, the dew-laden bushes, and the smell of the
forest. In half an hour we called at the hunting shanty of Mr.
Murchison, wrote our names on the wall, according to custom, and
regretted that we could not stay for a day in that retreat and try
the speckled trout. Making our way through the low growth and bushes
of the valley, we came into a fine open forest, watered by a noisy
brook, and after an hour's easy going reached the serious ascent.
From Wilson's to the peak of Mitchell it is seven and a half miles;
we made it in five and a half hours. A bridle path was cut years
ago, but it has been entirely neglected. It is badly washed, it is
stony, muddy, and great trees have fallen across it which wholly
block the way for horses. At these places long detours were
necessary, on steep hillsides and through gullies, over treacherous
sink-holes in the rocks, through quaggy places, heaps of brush, and
rotten logs. Those who have ever attempted to get horses over such
ground will not wonder at the slow progress we made. Before we were
halfway up the ascent, we realized the folly of attempting it on
horseback; but then to go on seemed as easy as to go back. The way
was also exceedingly steep in places, and what with roots, and logs,
and slippery rocks and stones, it was a desperate climb for the
horses.
What a magnificent forest! Oaks, chestnuts, Poplars, hemlocks, the
cucumber (a species of magnolia, with a pinkish, cucumber-like cone),
and all sorts of northern and southern growths meeting here in
splendid array. And this gigantic forest, with little diminution in
size of trees, continued two thirds of the way up. We marked, as we
went on, the maple, the black walnut, the buckeye, the hickory, the
locust, and the guide pointed out in one section the largest
cherry-trees we had ever seen; splendid trunks, each worth a large sum
if it could be got to market. After the great trees were left behind,
we entered a garden of white birches, and then a plateau of swamp,
thick with raspberry bushes, and finally the ridges, densely crowded
with the funereal black balsam.
Halfway up, Big Tom showed us his favorite, the biggest tree he knew.
It was a poplar, or tulip. It stands more like a column than a tree,
rising high into the air, with scarcely a perceptible taper, perhaps
sixty, more likely a hundred, feet before it puts out a limb.
Its girth six feet from the ground is thirty-two feet! I think it
might be called Big Tom. It stood here, of course, a giant, when
Columbus sailed from Spain, and perhaps some sentimental traveler
will attach the name of Columbus to it.
In the woods there was not much sign of animal life, scarcely the
note of a bird, but we noticed as we rode along in the otherwise
primeval silence a loud and continuous humming overhead, almost like
the sound of the wind in pine tops. It was the humming of bees! The
upper branches were alive with these industrious toilers, and Big Tom
was always on the alert to discover and mark a bee-gum, which he
could visit afterwards. Honey hunting is one of his occupations.
Collecting spruce gum is another, and he was continually hacking off
with his hatchet knobs of the translucent secretion. How rich and
fragrant are these forests! The rhododendron was still in occasional
bloom' and flowers of brilliant hue gleamed here and there.
The struggle was more severe as we neared the summit, and the footing
worse for the horses. Occasionally it was safest to dismount and
lead them up slippery ascents; but this was also dangerous, for it
was difficult to keep them from treading on our heels, in their
frantic flounderings, in the steep, wet, narrow, brier-grown path.
At one uncommonly pokerish place, where the wet rock sloped into a
bog, the rider of Jack thought it prudent to dismount, but Big Tom
insisted that Jack would "make it" all right, only give him his head.
The rider gave him his head, and the next minute Jack's four heels
were in the air, and he came down on his side in a flash. The rider
fortunately extricated his leg without losing it, Jack scrambled out
with a broken shoe, and the two limped along. It was a wonder that
the horses' legs were not broken a dozen times.
As we approached the top, Big Tom pointed out the direction, a half
mile away, of a small pond, a little mountain tarn, overlooked by a
ledge of rock, where Professor Mitchell lost his life. Big Tom was
the guide that found his body. That day, as we sat on the summit, he
gave in great detail the story, the general outline of which is well
known.
The first effort to measure the height of the Black Mountains was
made in 1835, by Professor Elisha Mitchell, professor of mathematics
and chemistry in the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.
Mr. Mitchell was a native of Connecticut, born in Washington,
Litchfield County, in 1793; graduated at Yale, ordained a
Presbyterian minister, and was for a time state surveyor; and became
a professor at Chapel Hill in 1818.
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