Possum Hair Hat

 [From April 3, 2007]

I’d call it an astonishing mystery - on April 3, 1730 in the Cherokee village Nequassee (present Franklin, NC), Sir Alexander Cuming (a Scottish adventurer) orchestrated a ceremony to install Chief Moytoy as the "Emperor of the Cherokees," and won the allegiance of the Cherokees to the King of England. A member of Cuming's party related the event:

April 3. They proceeded this Morning to Nequassee, being. five Miles Distance from Joree, their Company always increasing. Here the Indians met from all Parts of the Settlements, (having received Intelligence of the General Meeting intended) by the Expresses sent from Keeowee. This was a Day of Solemnity the greatest that ever was seen in the Country; there was Singing, Dancing, Feasting, making of Speeches, the Creation of Moytoy Emperor, with the unanimous Consent of all the head Men assembled from the different Towns of the Nation, a Declaration of their resigning their Crown, Eagles Tails, Scalps of their Enemies, as an Emblem of their all owning his Majesty King George’s Sovereignty over them, at the Desire of Sir Alexander Cuming, in whom an absolute unlimited Power was placed, without which he could not be able to answer to his Majesty for their Conduct. The Declaration of Obedience was made on their Knees, in Order to intimate, that a Violation of their Promise then made in so solemn a Manner, would be sufficient to make them no People. Sir Alexander made the Witnesses sign to the Substance of what they saw and heard, in order to preserve the Memory thereof, after Words are forgot. The Witnesses were Sir Alexander Cuming, Eleazar Wiggan, Ludovick Grant, Samuel Brown, William Cooper, Agnus Mackferson, David Dowie, Francis Beaver, Lachlan Mackbain, George Hunter, George Chicken, and Joseph Cooper, Interpreter, besides the Indians.

Cuming anticipated some details of the ceremony, as indicated by one contemporary account:

Sir Alexander had been informed of all the Ceremonies that were used in making a head beloved man, of which there are a great many in this nation. They are called Ouka and as we translate that word King, so we call the Cap he wears upon that occasion his Crown, it resembles a wig and is made of Possum’s hair Dyed Red or Yellow, Sir Alexander was very desirous to see one of them, and there being none at that Town One was sent for to some other Town, He Expressed Great Satisfaction at Seeing of it, and he told the Indians that he would carry it to England and give it to the Great King George.

During the ceremony, Moytoy insisted that Cuming share in the glory of the moment. The Cherokees present lifted Cuming up onto the seat reserved for Moytoy and performed the Eagle Tail Dance that involved stroking him with the tail feathers of 13 golden eagles.

We’re told that Cuming made the trip to the colonies because of his wife’s dream that he would accomplish great things among the Cherokees. Drawn to a place he’d never seen, Cuming left England on September 13, 1729 and arrived in Charleston on December 5.

He was a persuasive confidence man, who wasted no time in swindling Charleston investors and planning an escape on the next ship heading back across the Atlantic. But not before his trip to the Cherokee territory as a self-appointed emissary of the crown.

For guides, Cuming enlisted white traders and Indian fighters familiar with the Cherokee land and people. On March 11, 1730, they set off from Charleston toward the southern mountains. Along the way, the party shot a wild bison in South Carolina, and were warned to avoid Cherokee territory because of the natives' toward the English.

Cuming never hesitated, but sped forward. At that time, there were about 64 Cherokee villages in parts of four present-day states, 30 to 60 houses per town. In an incredibly short time, Sir Alexander visited many of those villages, was greeted with exceptional generosity wherever he went, and forged extensive alliances with Cherokee leaders, culminating with the April 3 ceremony. He must have impressed the Cherokee people, because very soon after his arrival they hailed him as a 'lawgiver, commander, leader and chief' and presented him with the scalps of their enemies.

His whirlwind tour among the Cherokees began in the Lower Villages along the headwaters of the Savannah River, like Keowee, and then proceeded to Nequassee and the other Middle Settlements along the upper part of the Little Tennessee. He crossed the Unicoi Range past Murphy and visited the Overhills Settlements, including Tellico, before starting back to Nequassee.

He somehow convinced seven Cherokees (depicted in the illustration above) to return with him to the royal court as evidence of the agreement he had negotiated with the Cherokees. Cuming and his entourage arrived back in Charleston on April 13, just a month and two days after starting their expedition to the mountains. They boarded a ship on May 4 and landed in Dover, England on June 5, 1730. He was promptly thrown in jail for debt. The Cherokees thought it a counterproductive punishment in that it rendered the debtor unable to repay his debts.

What a day it must have been, 277 years ago today, when Sir Alexander went to Franklin and was crowned with a possum’s hair cap.

One "embellished" book on this episode is William O. Steele’s "The Cherokee Crown of Tannassy" which expands on the contemporary accounts of the expedition.

[The illustration: Seven Cherokee men show off English costumes given to them by King George II on a walk in St. James Gardens, London, summer 1730. Engraving, British Museum.]

A Strange Wailing Sound

In keeping with this week's theme...

[From August 2, 2010]

North Carolina leads the nation in copperhead snake bites:

In 2009, 499 snake bites were reported to Carolinas Poison Center. Of those, 228 were identified as copperhead bites. About 30% of all reported snake bites are “dry,” which means venom is not injected.



Most bites can be treated with wound care and pain management. Some serious bites require antivenom. July and August are the most common months for people to get bitten.

North Carolina has five venomous snakes that cause the majority of snake bite poisonings (copperhead, cottonmouth, eastern diamondback, pygmy, and timber), but it’s the copperhead that causes the most bites. Copperheads are not usually aggressive snakes, but they will bite to protect themselves or to secure food. Children who are playing outdoors and adults who are gardening are especially at risk for snake bites.

( Asheville Citizen Times, 8/2/10, http://www.citizen-times.com/article/20100802/NEWS/308020044 )

The photos are of my 2009 neighborhood copperhead, which I’ve not seen this year. I’d like to think I’m a devout pacifist regarding venomous snakes, but I might make an exception depending on the circumstances.

However, I must say that a story related by James Mooney in Myths of the Cherokee has influenced my response to snake encounters:

58. The Rattlesnake's Vengeance

One day in the old times when we could still talk with other creatures, while some children were playing about the house, their mother inside heard them scream. Running out she found that a rattlesnake had crawled from the grass, and taking up a stick she killed it. The father was out hunting in the mountains, and that evening when coming home after dark through the gap he heard a strange wailing sound. Looking about he found that he had come into the midst of a whole company of rattlesnakes, which all had their mouths open and seemed to be crying. He asked them the reason of their trouble, and they told him that his own wife had that day killed their chief, the Yellow Rattlesnake, and they were just now about to send the Black Rattlesnake to take revenge.

The hunter said he was very sorry, but they told him that if he spoke the truth he must be ready to make satisfaction and give his wife as a sacrifice for the life of their chief. Not knowing what might happen otherwise, he consented. They then told him that the Black Rattlesnake would go home with him and coil up just outside the door in the dark. He must go inside, where he would find his wife awaiting him, and ask her to get him a drink of fresh water from the spring. That was all.

He went home and knew that the Black Rattlesnake was following. It was night when he arrived and very dark, but he found his wife waiting with his supper ready. He sat down and asked for a drink of water. She handed him a gourd full from the jar, but he said he wanted it fresh from the spring, so she took a bowl and went out of the door. The next moment he beard a cry, and going out he found that the Black Rattlesnake had bitten her and that she was already dying. He stayed with her until she was dead, when the Black Rattlesnake came out from the grass again and said his tribe was now satisfied.

He then taught the hunter a prayer song, and said, "When you meet any of us hereafter sing this song and we will not hurt you; but if by accident one of us should bite one of your people then sing this song over him and he will recover." And the Cherokee have kept the song to this day.

In Sacred Formulas, Mooney shares more on the subject, beginning with a Cherokee song used in the treatment of snake bite:

HI´ I´NATÛ YUNISKÛ´LTSA ADANÛ´NWÂTĬ.

1. Dûnu´wa, dûnu´wa, dûnu´wa, dûnu´wa, dûnu´wa, dûnu´wa (song).
Sgĕ! Ha-Walâ´sĭ-gwû tsûnlû´ntani´ga.
2. Dayuha, dayuha, dayuha, dayuha dayuha (song).
Sgĕ! Ha-Usugĭ-gwû tsûn-lûn´-tani´ga.
(Degâ´sisisgû´nĭ).—Kanâgi´ta nâyâ´ga hiă´ dilentisg´ûnĭ. Tă´lĭ igû´nkw’ta‘tĭ, ûlĕ´ talinĕ´ tsutanû´nna nasgwû´ tâ´lĭ igû´nkw’ta‘tĭ´. Tsâ´la aganû´nlieskâĭ´ tsâ´la yikani´gûngû´âĭ´ watsi´la-gwû ganûnli´yĕtĭ uniskûl‘tsû´nĭ. Nû´‘kĭ nagade´stisgâĭ´ aganûnli´esgûnĭ. Akskû´nĭ gadest´a‘tĭ, nûû‘kĭ nagade´ sta hûntsatasgâ´ĭ. Hiă-‘nû´ i´natû akti´sĭ udestâ´ĭ yigû´n‘ka, naski-‘nû´ tsagadû´lăgisgâ´ĭ iyu´stĭ gatgû´nĭ.

Translation.

THIS IS TO TREAT THEM IF THEY ARE BITTEN BY A SNAKE.

1. Dûnu´wa, dûnu´wa, dûnu´wa, dûnu´wa, dûnu´wa, dûnu´wa.
Listen! Ha! It is only a common frog which has passed by and put it (the intruder) into you.
2. Dayuha, dayuha, dayuha, dayuha, dayuha.
Listen! Ha! It is only an Usu´‘gĭ which has passed by and put it into you.

(Prescription.)—Now this at the beginning is a song. One should say it twice and also say the second line twice. Rub tobacco (juice) on the bite for some time, or if there be no tobacco just rub on saliva once. In rubbing it on, one must go around four times. Go around toward the left and blow four times in a circle. This is because in lying down the snake always coils to the right and this is just the same (lit. “means like”) as uncoiling it.

Explanation.

This is also from the manuscript book of Gahuni, deceased, so that no explanation could be obtained from the writer. The formula consists of a song of two verses, each followed by a short recitation. The whole is repeated, according to the directions, so as to make four verses or songs; four, as already stated, being the sacred number running through most of these formulas. Four blowings and four circuits in the rubbing are also specified. The words used in the songs are sometimes composed of unmeaning syllables, but in this case dûnuwa and dayuha seem to have a meaning, although neither the interpreter nor the shaman consulted could explain them, which may be because the words have become altered in the song, as frequently happens.

Dûnu´wa appears to be an old verb, meaning “it has penetrated,” probably referring to the tooth of the reptile. These medicine songs are always sung in a low plaintive tone, somewhat resembling a lullaby. Usu´‘gĭ also is without explanation, but is probably the name of some small reptile or batrachian.

As in this case the cause of the trouble is evident, the Indians have no theory to account for it. It may be remarked, however, that when one dreams of being bitten, the same treatment and ceremonies must be used as for the actual bite; otherwise, although perhaps years afterward, a similar inflammation will appear on the spot indicated in the dream, and will be followed by the same fatal consequences. The rattlesnake is regarded as a supernatural being or ada´wehi, whose favor must be propitiated, and great pains are taken not to offend him.

In consonance with this idea it is never said among the people that a person has been bitten by a snake, but that he has been “scratched by a brier.” In the same way, when an eagle has been shot for a ceremonial dance, it is announced that “a snowbird has been killed,” the purpose being to deceive the rattlesnake or eagle spirits which might be listening.

The assertion that it is “only a common frog” or “only an Usu´‘gĭ” brings out another characteristic idea of these formulas. Whenever the ailment is of a serious character, or, according to the Indian theory, whenever it is due to the influence of some powerful disease spirit the doctor always endeavors to throw contempt upon the intruder, and convince it of his own superior power by asserting the sickness to be the work of some inferior being, just as a white physician might encourage a patient far gone with consumption by telling him that the illness was only a slight cold.

Sometimes there is a regular scale of depreciation, the doctor first ascribing the disease to a rabbit or groundhog or some other weak animal, then in succeeding paragraphs mentioning other still less important animals and finally declaring it to be the work of a mouse, a small fish, or some other insignificant creature. In this instance an ailment caused by the rattlesnake, the most dreaded of the animal spirits, is ascribed to a frog, one of the least importance.

In applying the remedy the song is probably sung while rubbing the tobacco juice around the wound. Then the short recitation is repeated and the doctor blows four times in a circle about the spot. The whole ceremony is repeated four times. The curious directions for uncoiling the snake have parallels in European folk medicine.

http://www.gutenberg.org/files/26568/26568-h/sacred.html 

Cherokee Snakebite Remedies

 Just yesterday, I was reading "my kind of article,"  Cherokee Snakebite Remedies, by David Cozzo.  What I like about it is that the author compiles a number of historic documents that address the topic, and provides helpful context for those documents.  That is pretty much the formula I use for many of the posts on this site.  When something is done so well, as with Cozzo's article, I don't see any need to reinvent or recreate the good work.  In reading the article, though, there was one thing missing:  a summary list or index of the many plants mentioned as possible remedies. And that is the point of today's post.

This beauty, stationed in the middle of Wolf Ridge Trail (Great Smoky Mountains National Park), greeted us as we descended from Gregory Bald on June 16, 2013.

I highly recommend Cozzo's article and I think my contribution adds to its value.  My initial reaction to the article was "Yes, it is interesting to read these old accounts of medicinal plants, but in a crisis would I count on them?"  I'll admit that I would be calling 911 during a snakebite emergency.  On the other hand, such an event would likely occur deep in the woods somewhere.  I would stand a good chance of putting my hands on one or more of these plants long before the arrival of paramedics.  So, as a practical matter and not just cultural trivia, the article warrants more study.

These lists could be improved upon.  I suspect the taxonomy needs to be cleaned up.  The popular names of plants are so often interchangeable, and even the scientific names change over time.  Many of the accounts cited by Cozzo are from the 18th and 19th centuries and therefore the listings might not reflect current botanical nomenclature.  

Plants Mentioned in Cozzo article, alphabetical by scientific name:

Ageratina altissima	White Snakeroot
Amphicarpa bracteata	Hog Peanut
Angelica venenosa	Hairy Angelica
Aristolochia serpentaria	Virginia Snakeroot
Asplenium rhizophyllum	Snake’s Tongue
Botrychium virginianum	Rattlesnake Fern
Cacalia atriplicifolia	Pale Indian Plantain
Cicuta maculata	Wild Parsnip
Coronilla varia	Crown Vetch
Cunila origanoides	Mountain Dittany
Eryngium yuccafolium	Rattlesnake Master
Gentiana villosa	Sampson Snakeroot
Helianthus annuus	Sunflower
Hepatica acutiloba	Hepatica
Hypericum gentioides	Pineweed
Hypericum hypericoides	St. Andrew’s Cross
Juncus effusus	Soft Rush
Liriodendron tulipifera	Tulip Poplar
Lobelia inflata	Indian Tobacco
Lycopus virginicus	Water Hoarhound
Pedicularis canadensis	Lousewort
Plantago major	Common Plantain
Polygala senega	Seneca Snakeroot
Prenanthes alba	Rattlesnake Root
Prunella vulgaris	Heal-all
Rhus radicans	Poison Ivy
Rudbeckia fulgida	Black-eyed Susan
Sanicula canadensis	Black Snakeroot
Schoenoplectus tabernaemontani	Soft-stemmed Bulrush
Silene stellata	Starry Campion
Spiraea trifoliata	Indian Physic
Thalictrum dioicum	Early Meadow Rue
Tilia americana	Basswood
Vicia caroliniana	Wood Vetch
Xanthium strumarium	Cocklebur

Plants Mentioned in Cozzo article, alphabetical by common name:

Basswood	Tilia americana
Black Snakeroot	Sanicula canadensis
Black-eyed Susan	Rudbeckia fulgida
Cocklebur	Xanthium strumarium
Common Plantain	Plantago major
Crown Vetch	Coronilla varia
Early Meadow Rue	Thalictrum dioicum
Hairy Angelica	Angelica venenosa
Heal-all	Prunella vulgaris
Hepatica	Hepatica acutiloba
Hog Peanut	Amphicarpa bracteata
Indian Physic	Spiraea trifoliata
Indian Tobacco	Lobelia inflata
Lousewort	Pedicularis canadensis
Mountain Dittany	Cunila origanoides
Pale Indian Plantain	Cacalia atriplicifolia
Pineweed	Hypericum gentioides
Poison Ivy	Rhus radicans
Rattlesnake Fern	Botrychium virginianum
Rattlesnake Master	Eryngium yuccafolium
Rattlesnake Root	Prenanthes alba
Sampson Snakeroot	Gentiana villosa
Seneca Snakeroot	Polygala senega
Snake’s Tongue	Asplenium rhizophyllum
Soft Rush	Juncus effusus
Soft-stemmed Bulrush	Schoenoplectus tabernaemontani
St. Andrew’s Cross	Hypericum hypericoides
Starry Campion	Silene stellata
Sunflower	Helianthus annuus
Tulip Poplar	Liriodendron tulipifera
Virginia Snakeroot	Aristolochia serpentaria
Water Hoarhound	Lycopus virginicus
White Snakeroot	Ageratina altissima
Wild Parsnip	Cicuta maculata
Wood Vetch	Vicia caroliniana

Citation for original article:

Cozzo, David (2013) "Cherokee Snakebite Remedies," Proceedings of the annual meeting of the Southern Anthropological Society: Vol. 41: No. 1, Article 5.
DOI: 10.56702/MPMC7908/saspro4101.4
Available at: https://egrove.olemiss.edu/southernanthro_proceedings/vol41/iss1/5

'Little People' Guarded Hickory Nut Gorge

 [Here's one of the stories I wrote for Smoky Mountain Living.  The article appeared in the April 2018 edition of the magazine.]

Hickory Nut Gap was one of the few passes to the east for the Cherokee, a gateway they believed was guarded by magical little people.

Geology and hydrology go a long way toward explaining the rugged landscape of the Hickory Nut Gorge, southeast of Asheville. But science can only go so far toward helping us understand the mystique of that area.

When the writer and artist Charles Lanman traveled the Southern Appalachians in 1848, he spent time among the Cherokee.  From them, he learned how the ancients brought back tobacco through the Hickory Nut Gorge. Said Lanman, “I heard it from the lips of a chief who glories in the two names of All Bones and Flying Squirrel, and occupied no less than two hours in telling the story.”

Long, long ago, a wandering stranger from the east introduced tobacco to the Cherokee. They grew quite fond of smoking the sacred herb from their large stone pipes. When the supply dwindled, they were anxious to obtain more tobacco. This herb of the distant past was not the common tobacco of commerce in later times, Nicotiana tabacum, but a wild form, Nicotiana rustica. The Cherokee used the plant for many ritual and medicinal purposes, as a sacred incense, as a guarantee of any solemn oath, and as a means of seeking omens or driving away witches and evil spirits.

Traveling from the mountains to the flatlands where tobacco grew in abundance was no easy task. Hickory Nut Gap was one of the few passes to the east, gateway to the most direct route for finding the plant.

Unfortunately, the gap and the gorge were constantly guarded by a multitude of Little People and other spirit beings. Whatever Chief Flying Squirrel might have said about the Little People, Lanman omitted from his retelling. Ethnographer James Mooney, in the course of his work among the Cherokee decades later, collected many accounts of the Little People. These creatures, known as Yunwi Tsunsdi in the Cherokee language, lived in rock caves on the sides of mountains. Small of stature, they barely reached up to a man’s knee, they were well-proportioned and they had hair so long it almost touched the ground. With a strong affection for music, they spent half their time drumming and dancing.

Ordinarily, they were helpful and generous, and had been known to lead lost children back to their parents. But the Little People did not like to be disturbed at home and would cast spells over strangers who discovered their habitations. The hapless intruders, bewitched and bewildered, were doomed to wander about in a daze forever after.

Hickory Nut Gorge was one of the places the Little People considered their own, and they wielded many magical powers to expel trespassers. For the Cherokee, a journey through the gorge was essential for bringing back the tobacco they craved. The wise men of the nation held council to discuss the challenge, knowing that extreme peril faced anyone bringing even a knapsack full of tobacco through the gorge.

One young man, determined to prove himself, stepped forward to volunteer for the mission. Full of confidence, the young warrior departed, never to return.

With their stores of tobacco almost exhausted, the elders reconvened. This time a clever magician rose to offer his services, promising that he would find a way to bring back the tobacco and satisfy the demand for the weed.

The magician turned himself into a mole, a ploy which almost succeeded, until the guardian spirits detected his tunneling and chased him back home without any spoil.

Changing form again, the magician turned himself into a hummingbird, threading his way through the gorge. As a mere hummingbird, though, he could only carry a tiny amount of treasure.

His friends back home were at the point of death for want of tobacco. The magician filled a pipe with the small portion he had smuggled through, he blew the smoke into their nostrils, and they were all revived and happy.

The magician was quite certain he could do better. He vowed to avenge the loss of the young warrior and to gain sole possession of the tobacco growing beyond the gorge. This time he turned himself into a whirlwind. Spinning violently through Hickory Nut Gorge, the whirlwind stripped the trees and shrubs from the mountainsides, scattered huge boulders up and down the rivers and streams, and exposed the rock cliffs still visible from Hickory Nut Gap to Chimney Rock and Lake Lure.

The storm was so intense that all the Little People fled. Free from the interference of the spirit guards, the magician searched and searched until he found the bones of the young warrior in the river bed and brought him back to life. The two of them returned home to the mountains heavily laden with tobacco. Ever since that time, tobacco has been plentiful throughout the land of the Cherokee, and Hickory Nut Gorge has never been the same.

[Addendum – Immediately after re-posting this article, I came across additional information which deserves mention.]

The observation of “little people’ was not unique to the Cherokee, but was spoken of by native people and European settlers in many parts of North America.  To cite one example, the Crow Indians spoke of little people in Montana’s Pryor Mountains.  These were fierce beings who guarded the mountain passes and had a strong craving for tobacco. 

While in South Dakota in August of 1804, the Lewis and Clark expeditioners were cautioned to avoid the little people who inhabited that area.  William Clark wrote:  

In my absence the Boat Passed a Small river Called by the Indians White Stone River [Vermillion River].  This river is about 30 yards wide and runs thro: a Plain & Prarie in its whole Course    In a northerley direction from the mouth of this Creek in an imence Plain a high Hill is Situated, and appears of a Conic form and by the different nations of Indians in this quarter is Suppose to be the residence of Deavels.    

That they are in human form with remarkable large heads and about 18 Inches high, that they are Very watchfull, and are arm'd with Sharp arrows with which they Can Kill at a great distance; they are Said to Kill all persons who are So hardy as to attempt to approach the hill; they State that tradition informs them that many Indians have Suffered by those little people and among others three Mahar men fell a Sacrefise to their murceyless fury not many years Since—    So much do the Maha, Souis, Ottoes and other neighbouring nations believe this fable that no Consideration is Suffecient to induce them to approach the hill.

A paper on the folklore of Canada’s Metis people  includes this note:

Albert Lightning says: “I have heard stories and read about the May-may-quay-so-wuk, known to the Cree as little people who live far under the ground, among rocky places, and under the water in marshy areas… Some say it was the task of the little people to record history and that their writings can be seen on rocks in the wilderness, yet no one can read them anymore.” In Diane Meili, Those Who Know: Profiles of Alberta’s Native Elders. Edmonton: NeWest Press, 1991: 80-81

Tsatugi Afternoon

 [From October 24, 2008]

Call me greedy, but I’m getting to the point where I don’t want to talk about my favorite places in the mountains. Some things are best kept secret, lest throngs of visitors descend upon them. But at the risk of contributing to that traffic in some tiny way, I can’t resist talking about the Chattooga River.

I’ve not had a particularly successful season of fall photography. When the pictures turn out "blah" I can always resort to my standard, "The light just wasn’t quite right that day." That’s a lot easier than acknowledging my creative and technical deficiencies. So, on this rainy October afternoon, I decided to go for as close to a sure thing as I know: the Bullpen bridge across the Chattooga River. I arrived there under my favorite lighting conditions, a steady drizzle, and commenced to shooting. (Apologies to my poor mistreated Nikon.)

The Chattooga is gorgeous any time of year. The Chattooga has a spirit to it that I won’t even attempt to describe. And the recorded history of the Chattooga is endlessly fascinating.

Intending to pluck out some tidbit of Chattooga lore to accompany these photos, I turned to James Mooney and what I have touted (ad nauseum) as the most indispensable book ever written about the place we inhabit, his Myths of the Cherokee.

Once again, Mooney came through, with his reference to Tsatugi as the name commonly written Chattooga or Chatuga. Mooney offered possible Cherokee derivations:

From words signifying respectively "he drank by sips," from gatugia…or "he has crossed the stream and come out on upon the other side," from gatugi.


But according to Mooney, Tsatugi was a name of foreign origin, specifically from the Creeks who laid claim to at least a portion of the Chattooga River during the first half of the eighteenth century. More often than not, the Cherokees contested the claims of the Creeks in North Georgia and Western North Carolina:

The ordinary condition between the two tribes was one of hostility, with occasional intervals of good will.


Mooney listed several place names reflecting the former presence of Creeks, among them Coweeta, Tomatola, Coosa, and Chattooga. All this time I had never thought that Chattooga, or those other names, might be anything other than Cherokee.

So much for today’s toponymy lesson. While perusing this topic, I discovered another bit of Chattooga trivia. In June 2002, some Atlantans travelling the Chattooga made a remarkable discovery. An odd-shaped log protruding from the riverbank was, in fact, a 32-foot long dugout canoe constructed in the Cherokee style, but with metal tools. Carbon dating of the yellow pine canoe suggests it was crafted around 1760. The ancient canoe is on display at the Oconee Heritage Center in Walhalla, South Carolina. Now that I’ve learned about the old canoe, it’s gone straight to the top of my list of things to see in Walhalla.

Stonepile Gap and a Fountain of Youth

 [Here's the first of three stories I wrote for Smoky Mountain Living.  The article appeared in the August 2017 edition of the magazine,]

Two hundred years ago, early explorers of the Southern Appalachians pondered the piles of stone they encountered at “all the gaps in the mountains.”

While most of those cairns have disappeared, they remain a mystery. One such rock pile has survived, though, at the middle of a highway intersection in Lumpkin County, Georgia. Where U.S. 19 and GA 60 cross, 10 miles north of Dahlonega, a state historic marker designates the grave of a Cherokee princess, Trahlyta.

As it was with other Cherokee princess legends, a thwarted romance led to a tragic ending. The Trahlyta tale has one added twist: A fountain of youth conferring ageless beauty upon those who drink its waters. Trahlyta and her people lived on nearby Cedar Mountain. The resident sorcerer, now known as the Witch of Cedar Mountain, guided Trahlyta down a winding forest path to a freshwater spring. The Witch of Cedar Mountain instructed Trahlyta to drink the water and make a wish to never grow old. “You will become more beautiful with each sip,” the witch promised Trahlyta.

Sure enough, the magical waters had the intended effect. As news of Trahlyta’s radiant beauty passed from village to village, eager suitors made their way to Cedar Mountain. Trahlyta refused them all, but the Cherokee warrior Wahsega would not take “no” for an answer. He kidnapped the princess and took her back to his home far away.

Trahlyta longed for her family and friends on Cedar Mountain and begged for her freedom, but Wahsega showed no mercy. Day by day, Trahlyta’s strength ebbed, her beauty faded and her despair deepened. Crying tears of gold, knowing the end was near, she made one final request—to be buried near her idyllic mountain home, and that passersby drop a stone on her grave for good fortune.

“The Song of Trahlyta” commemorates the princess and her dying wish: 

Pass not by, Stranger! Stop! Silently bare your head, drop a stone upon her grave, and make a wish straight from her heart. The Spirit of Eternal Youth and Happiness hovers near to grant the wishes of all who love the hills and valleys of her native home. 

Seekers of good fortune, dropping one rock at a time, have turned Trahlyta’s grave into a prominent landmark at Stonepile Gap. It endures thanks to another legend, that anyone taking a stone from the pile will incur the wrath of the Witch of Cedar Mountain.

The curse packs a mighty wallop, depending on who you talk to. Some say the Georgia Department of Highways set out to relocate the grave, twice, to make road construction more convenient. On both occasions, fatal accidents occurred during attempts to move the pile of rocks.  So today the roads barely skirt the memorial and the stone cairn still stands. Even without leaving their cars, travelers can chunk another stone on the pile.  Each year, hundreds do. Or they leave other tokens and trinkets to appeal to the “Spirit of Eternal Youth and Happiness.” 

But what about that fountain of youth which proved to be a mixed blessing, at best, for poor Trahlyta? The springs, now known as Porter Springs, are located about three-quarters of a mile northeast of Trahlyta’s grave. Some folks contend that Hernando de Soto heard about the fountain’s powers in 1540 and sent his conquistadors to investigate. Reports of a Spanish helmet found close by the spring have been offered as evidence of this early search for the magical waters. 

Joseph H. McKee, a Methodist preacher who also dabbled in real estate, took note of the springs in the 1860s. Upon testing the water, he found that it contained abundant quantities of therapeutic minerals. McKee publicized his findings and people seeking cures for rheumatism, dyspepsia, dropsy and other ailments flocked to Porter Springs. They would camp nearby, bathe in the waters and take home gallons of the liquid, convinced (or at least hopeful) of its healing powers.  

Before long, a hotel was constructed to accommodate the many visitors to Porter Springs, and it became a thriving resort. Around this same time the tale of Trahlyta circulated widely, adding to the allure of the mountain spa. Though the hotel burned to the ground in the early 1900s, the spring waters continue to flow. Modern explorers, inspired by a visit to the stone pile at Trahlyta’s grave, sometimes set off to find the spring and to see for themselves if its mysterious waters still provide the gift of ageless youth and beauty.

Maybe the Witch of Cedar Mountain was right. Thanks to that legendary sip from the fountain of youth, Trahlyta will always be young and beautiful in the minds of those who hear her story or add a rock to her monument at Stonepile Gap.  

The Presence of the Past

[From September 8, 2009]

 

It is possible to roam these mountains without feeling the presence of the past. It is not possible for me, though.

Yesterday, I was sitting on a front porch in Webster, North Carolina, the same front porch that was mentioned in the New York Times almost 120 years ago. But that is another story for another time.

In September of 1776, General Griffith Rutherford led a frontier militia of 2,400 men on an expedition against the Cherokees. The army departed from Old Fort on September 1, and followed the Swannanoa River, Hominy Creek and Richland Creek as they made their way west in the following days. They sighted their first Indians on September 6, not long before they crossed Balsam Gap.

Some years later, David Swain wrote about the events that occurred west of the Balsams, on Scott’s Creek:

The latter stream obtains its name from John Scott, a trader among the Cherokees – a negro of whom was shot by Rev. James Hall, the Chaplain [of the expedition], as he ran, mistaking him for an Indian.

One week later, the same Rev. Hall would deliver a sermon from atop the Nuquassee (Nikwasi) mound in present-day Franklin.

September 7, 2009 was a quiet and pleasant day in Webster. Had I been occupying the same spot on September 7, 1776, I would have seen something remarkable. One thousand of Rutherford’s soldiers marched through what is now Webster. They forded the Tuckasegee and continued up Savannah Creek. As they ascended the Cowee Mountains, they encountered a small party of Cherokees waiting in ambush.

In his diary, Lieutenant William Lenoir recorded:

[We] marcht to a little Town on Tuckeyseagey River [and] 8 miles from thence towards watauger [Watauga] saw some indians walking up a mountain & we was attacked by about 20 indians on the top of the mountain at 3 o’clock within about 7 miles of said Town. William Alexander was wounded in the foot and no visible Dammage done to the Indians only a few kettles taken & c. then marcht within 2 miles of the said Town and lay on a small Emanance – 20 [miles marched that day].

The village and mound of Watauga were located along the Little Tennessee River near where you would find Lake Emory today. But when the militia arrived there September 8, the town was already deserted. The systematic destruction of Cherokee villages on the Little Tennessee was about to begin.

On September 10, the violence intensified:

A detachment of 300 men was sent to destroy a town called Sugartown immediately above the junction of the [Little] Tennessee & Sugartown [Cullasaja] rivers. The ground on which the town was situated was flanked on 2 sides by the rivers in the form of a triangle, & the remaining angle on the third side was enclosed by a strong work of brush and timber. When the soldiers had finally entered the town a fire was opened upon them by the indians from the riverbanks and the brush works, & finding themselves surrounded by a invisible foe they took shelter in the cabins and remained there for about 3 hours, at which time they were relieved by a strong detachment from the main army from about 4 miles below, where the firing of the small army had been distantly heard. The detachment lost 18 men killed and 22 wounded. The indians did not sustain any loss that was discovered.

A prisoner, whom they had taken, upon the promise of his life, proposed to lead the army to what was called the hidden town, where their women, children, & a large number of cattle were collected. This was 7 miles distant from Nuquassee in a narrow valley on the Sugartown river and surrounded at all points by mountains and was very difficult to approach from the fact that the mountains jutted in abruptly upon the river, in many places leaving scarcely room for a foot path.

However, on reaching the town there was not an indian to be found save a few very old & decreped men and women, the other indians being discovered some hundreds of feet above them on the crests of the mountains apparently looking down & taking a calm survey of them from their secure situations. They achieved nothing but the destruction of this town & some few beef cattle by that day’s adventures.

[This account of the Sugartown excursion was based on an 1850 letter from Silas McDowell, who lived in the Cullasaja Valley just down river from the gorge. The details he had heard and subsequently shared in his letter contradict other reports. According to some histories of the Rutherford expedition, the militia suffered only a few casualties.]

Robbing the Land of its Memory

 [From August 27, 2007]

"Who controls the present controls the past; who controls the past controls the future." The Ministry of Truth, in George Orwell’s 1984.

After a long day’s ride down the Valley River Valley, nothing hits the spot like a bottle of Moet’s Champagne. 

That’s what one old geologist would tell you. 

During the summer of 1837 George Featherstonhaugh meandered around the mountains of Western North Carolina. On the morning of August 26, he left Franklin and took a difficult trail across the Nantahalas. Eventually he reached the Valley River Valley near present-day Andrews:

At sunset we stopped at a very indifferent place called Whitakers about thirty-two miles from Franklin. Here we got a very humble supper, about which I was less anxious than to get a mattrass to myself. The setting in of night always brings its anxieties on this point to me, my travelling companions were more sympathetic, and seemed to prefer "turning in" in pairs.

Featherstonhaugh awoke the next day and continued down the Valley River:

August 27.--A most beautiful morning found me at early dawn dipping water out of the stream to make my ablution saperto cielo, preparatory to a very scrubby breakfast. The method the Indians adopt of taking fish in this stream is a very destructive one. They cut a channel parallel to the stream, and damming this last up, turn the water into the new channel, seizing all the fish that are left in the shallow pools of the old bed. We continued our course S.W. down the valley on the right bank of the stream, the valley enlarging to a mile of rich bottom land surrounded by lofty and picturesque hills covered with fine woods.

This was the Paradise of the Cherokees, their wigwams being built on graceful knolls rising above the level of the river bottom, each of them having its patch of Indian corn with indigenous beans climbing to the top of each plant, and squashes and pumpkins growing on the ground. The valley now contracted as we advanced, but contained a great many thousand acres of the most fertile land. Any thing much more beautiful than this fine scene can scarcely be imagined; two noble lines of mountains enclosing a fertile valley with a lovely stream running through it. The whole vale has formerly been a lake.

I’ve read Featherstonhaugh’s account several times in the past without giving much thought to his statement that the whole valley had formerly been a lake. Featherstonhaugh was a geologist and it may be that any student of geology would recognize that the valley had contained a lake many thousands of year ago. I just don’t know, and my cursory research on the matter hasn’t provided an answer.

"The whole vale has formerly been a lake." Did he hear this from the same sources that told of Spanish gold mines in the mountains? Unfortunately, Featherstonhaugh left no other clues to explain the remark.

In an archaeological study of the Valley River Valley, Trawick Ward observed the valley’s modern farmers growing corn and soybeans and hay:

Obviously this environment represents a drastic alteration of prehistoric conditions by modern man. Prior to these modifications, areas within the valley floor that were subject to intermittent flooding were most likely ensconced by willows, cottonwoods, sycamores, silver maple, boxelder, and sugarberry…From ethnohistoric accounts and the archaeological record, it is evident that the animals occupying these habitats were not only plentiful but also varied, including some species that are locally extinct, e.g. elk, wolf, mountain lion, and bison.

But, alas, no word on any possible lake. Ward studied the Valley River floodplain in the 1970s after construction had begun on a new route for Highway 19-129 between Andrews and Murphy. Ward and his fellow researchers identified 23 sites that were partially or wholly within the highway right-of-way. The sites represented human occupation from the Early Archaic through the Late Woodland Period. 

Before detailed archaeological surveys could be completed, though, road builders disturbed or destroyed or paved over all of the sites, spanning an area 160 feet wide and fifteen miles long.

Thirty years ago, Trawick Ward watched the evidence of ancient civilizations bulldozed away in the name of progress. One hundred seventy years ago today, George Featherstonhaugh traveled the same route and witnessed the preparations for the impending removal of the Cherokees:

Leaving the river, we met in a defile, at no great distance, a company of mounted Franklin volunteers moving to the mouth of the Nantayáyhlay, a part of the North Carolina State troops employed in a surveillance over the Cherokees until their evacuation of the country should take place. They would have been perfectly in character in the uplands beyond Terracina, on the road to Naples, for I never saw any fellows in my life that came so thoroughly up to the notion entertained of banditti. …

About 2 P.M., we ascended a hill to Fort Butler [near Murphy], a temporary camp with a block-house built for the State troops upon this occasion: from hence we rode a mile to Hunter's, a tavern kept by a person of that name who had been long in the Cherokee country; it was most beautifully situated upon an eminence commanding a view of the Hiwassee, gracefully winding through the hills, and of the lovely country around. There was a clever little hut in a retired part of the garden belonging to this house, and beds being placed in it, it was assigned to us exclusively, so that we had some prospect of comfort. Perceiving some ladies in the house, one of whom was the wife of an officer of the United States army, we made our toilette rather more carefully.

The dinner was excellent, good soup, and a fine large trout from the river. We seemed restored to civilization, an idea that lost nothing by the introduction of a capital bottle of champagne, of which Hunter had brought a basket from Augusta, thinking the officers of the State troops would not sneeze at it; but either the price or something about it did not please them, and there Monsieur Moet was likely to have remained for some time "unknowing and unknown" but for our appearance. As it is not every day that Moet's champagne, and in the finest order, can be drank on the banks of the Hiwassee, in the Cherokee country, we formed the virtuous resolution of appropriating the whole basket to ourselves, and lost no time in putting a taboo upon it.

I don’t know how ceremoniously George Featherstonhaugh lifted a glass, but he could have dedicated this old Irish toast to any who would rob the land of its memory:

May you have the hindsight to know where you've been,
The foresight to know where you are going,
And the insight to know when you have gone too far.

George William Featherstonhaugh was a geologist and linguist who traveled through the mountains of Tennessee, Georgia and North Carolina and compiled A Canoe Voyage up the Minnay Sotor based on his diaries.