The Chimney Rock Files - A Cliffhanger for Silas

 

Silas McDowell (1795-1879) was the Renaissance Man of the Cullasaja. I’ve seen him identified as “tailor, farmer, court clerk, scientific observer, and writer” but that hardly seems adequate to describe the gentleman who has been my main mentor, of sorts, for the past 40 years.

From what I know he was a tad quirky and eccentric, but in a way that brought smiles from the people around him. Wry humor emerges from his recounting of a trip to Chimney Rock, where he intended to debunk the tradition of a spectral cavalry.

The earliest published accounts of such a sighting came in 1806. McDowell described a similar episode as occurring in 1811. His visit to Chimney Rock was in 1831 and he was recollecting the events in 1878.

McDowell claimed that the 1811 sightings was reported in Niles’ Weekly Register in October 1811. However, I perused every page of Niles’ for all of 1811 and found no mention. McDowell also obliquely referred to contemporary newspaper accounts, but the only ones I found related to the 1806 sighting.

A 1903 photograph of the cliff (in the distance) where Silas McDowell almost met his demise

Regardless, during his 1831 visit to the gorge, Silas McDowell was intemperate with his derision of the old woman who “concocted” a story of spectral visions. He discovered, quite abruptly, that he had insulted the Grandmother of his very guide.

And at that point, the story becomes a literal cliffhanger...

A Spectre Cavalry Fight At Chimney Rock Pass, Blue Ridge N. C.

Old Bald Mountain of North Carolina, may, shake, crack, and yawn into chasms, attracting News paper Reporters, Yet will never get up a sensational story to equal that, of, the Spectre Cavalry fight, of the Chimney Rock Pass, in Rutherford County N. Carolina Nearly seventy years ago. The year 1811 was, the most sensational period, that our country has ever known, and, from these causes:

Early in that year, our continent was shaken by the earthquake, that sank New Madrid, a town on the bank of the Mississippi river. And, it was also in that year the Heavens were swept, by the luminous tail of a comet, reaching from the horizon to the top of the, ethereal vault. And to give, intensity to the excitement of superstitious minds, a fanatic, named Nimrod Hughes circulated a pamphlet; announcing, that the comet would strike the Earth, set it on fire, then the drama, of Time would end, amid a great noise. We must not forget, that seventy years ago the Press had done but little toward, enlightening the public mind, and that, Superstition run rampant, over the land. It was, under these circumstances that the Story of the Spectre Cavalry fight, at the Chimney Rock Pass, took its start, and was published in all the newspapers of the States.

At that time I was, in my sixteenth year, and lived in the town of Rutherfordton, only twenty miles from, the locality of this great excitement, —But, as the tale to be narrated is located at, Chimney Rock, Pass, I had better tell what that place was, and is. It is a deep ravine, four miles in length, and an half mile wide, that Time has scooped out of the east side of the Blue Ridge, around which, we fancy in the "Long ago," the Titans built a wall of, rock, varying in height from one thousand to fifteen hundred feet, with an open space at its, east entrance. And at that opening, stands a rough column shaped rock, three hundred feet high, crowned with a coronet of pine trees. This is "Chimney Rock," and its name attached, to the Ravine, and at the date referred to, was named, "Chimney Rock Pass." The ravine, was used as Summer pasture for cattle, salted and herded by an old man and his wife, the only residents of the ravine.

Chimney Rock Pass is one of Nature's sublimest poems, where the objects are so weird, beautiful, and grand, that words cannot translate them, and they can only be seen, and felt, when we look, wonder, and admire, in dumb amazement.

I am through with this digression, which the reader can skip, if he is impatient for the story, of the Spectre Battle, which is this—Early in the month of Sept, 1811 several Mountaineers from the Blue Ridge, came to town, and narrated the exciting story of the Spectre battle of Chimney Rock Pass, and the tale spread in all directions as if borne by the winds.

Farmers quit their fields, and rushed to town to hear the wonderful Story. A public meeting was called and a delegation selected, headed by Gen'ls Miller and Walton, with a Magistrate and Clerk to repair to the place of the reported battle, examine Witnesses, and record testimony.

They went, and returned, with the Spectre phenomenon, of which this is the substance to wit—The old man and his wife, who lived in the deepest part of the ravine, opposite the "High-falls," were seated in their yard, after the sun had sunk behind the Blue Ridge, noticing how fast the shadow of the cliffs darkened the ravine below, while the Sun's rays still lingered on the tops of the cliffs, when their attention was arrested by the astounding spectacle, to wit—two opposing armies of horse-men, high up in the air all mounted on winged horses, and preparing for combat.

At length (the old man was deaf) the old woman heard, the word "Charge!!" when the two armies, dashed into each-other, cutting thrusting and hacking, and she distinctly heard the ring of their swords, and saw the glitter of their blades, flashing in the Sun's rays. Thus they fought for about ten minutes, when one army was routed, and left the field, and then, she plainly heard the shouts of the victors, and wails of the defeated.

Soon after which; darkness, hid both armies from their view. On subsequent evenings they had seen these Spectre troopers, but not in battle, and the latter statement was confirmed, by three, respectable men who had been at their house, and witnessed the same phenomenon.

In less than a month, subsequent to this, the Story of the Spectre Cavalry fight, at Chimney Rock Pass was circulated in all the journals of the United States, and may be found, in Nile's Weekly Register of that date, (Oct 1811.).

For the next ensuing twenty years I rated the story, as the very best sensational story I had ever read, and its concoctors, (particularly the old woman) as shrewd, but perjured, and without motive, save notoriety. But in the year 1831, I spent near a week in the ravine, and then was satisfied, that, at times, there is an illusive phenomenon, seen there that would lead astray the judgement of any one who was not a philosopher, and its explanation, shall be the subject of another chapter.

Against the year 1831, a Road company had knocked all poetry out of the name, "Chimney Rock Pass," by constructing a public road through the ravine, and calling it "Hickory Nut Gap." Yet its scores of wild and weird objects were untouched. Chimney Rock was unchanged, and still stood sentinel at the entrance, of the ravine, towering in its crown of pines. The limpid pool more than fifty feet in depth, in a solid rock basin, still remained, while above it down the smooth clear face of the cliff ran a crystal brook, which at regular intervals of fifty paces was broken into three cascades, of snowy spray, each lightly plashing into its rock basin, all three rising one above the other on the rock, they constitute a picture undescribably lovely. Each cascade is on the same height, fifteen feet. A mile away, up the ravine is, seen pitching from the top of a cliff, the snow white waters of "Falling creek," as it makes its single leap of, seven-hundred (700) feet. Moreover the ravine is still drained by the lovely little river, fed by a thousand mountain springs, and dancing merrily as it brawls over pebbles, or sleeps in shadowy pools. What's in a name? That of Hickory Nut Gap, even, has not faded out the wild romantic beauty of this ravine.

I will now dash into my story. In September 1831 I engaged lodging for a week with Washington Harris, who kept a small Hotel in the ravine, and employed a strong muscular youth who knew every nook in the glen to accompany me, and at tight places help me up the cliffs.

The recesses of the ravine were as familiar to him as a book, and he showed me every thing and informed me of all the secret nooks of the mountains, for miles around. And I was surprised at the intelligent way in which he traced effect up to its cause in accounting for, the deep pools in solid rock. No Geologist could have spoken more learnedly on that subject. Rocks, their Strata, dip and Strike, he was perfectly, familiar with the entire subject. If I have ever, seen another youth of as much native, mental force I am not aware of it—But, in temper he was a tiger, and I had one small evidence of it before we parted.

The incident transpired during our last days ramble, in the ravine. We had climbed to the top of the South cliff and walked upon its lofty crest, until we reached the point, where Fall creek makes its clear leap down the rock for seven hundred feet. By holding on to the shrubs, and leaning our bodies over the cliff, we could see the white sheet of water in its entire descent, until it struck the rock below, then for six hundred feet further it dashed among loose boulder-rocks to the river. From this point of view, the entire ravine is seen as a grand panoramic picture, and, I think, the world cannot show a better. It occupied an entire hour, to examine it in all its details.

At length, below us in the ravine I espied the house; where, twenty years before lived the old couple, who had fabricated the Story of the "Spectre Cavalry fight at Chimney Rock Pass." Pointing down to the old building I observed to the youth, "In yonder old house just twenty years, ago, lived an old couple, man and wife, and they had the strong brain to fabricate, and wicked heart, to swear to, the most sensational falsehood, I ever read, but in my opinion, it was the old woman who concocted and managed the whole affair. She must have been an old hag!—A devil in petticoats."

The youth at this suddenly became transformed; his keen grey eyes glowed like coals of fire, while his breast heaved with the fury of a tiger, he sprang at me. I was as powerless as a child in his powerful arms, and holding me at arms length, over the yawning abyss of one thousand four hundred feet, he exclaimed "Villain! You shall take back or qualify your utterances against my Grand-Mother, or I'll hurl you to the bottom of this cliff"

"Hold on young man for Heaven's sake" I cried, "and I will qualify, take back, or do any thing you wish."

He at once grew composed, and bore me in his arms, from the brink of the cliff, and seated me on a rock. I thought the youth crazed, and that it would best, to conciliate him, in regard to what I had said against his Grand-Mother but he bade me not proceed with the subject, that if, an apology was due, it was from him to me, as he, had acted like a fool, in suffering his anger to overcome his judgement, That from my point of view, my estimation of this Grand Mother, was a natural result, and that my conclusions were what his would have been in like circumstances.

"But, —he continued—I have made the phenomenon of the Spectre troopers, seen in this ravine, the grand study of my life, and have, for years, accounted for the phenomenon on philosophic principles, and in this way. Some years, in Autumn, when the atmosphere is clear, before a change in weather, the lower atmosphere, in the ravine is surcharged, with vapor, and to all objects in the upper atmosphere, seen through this medium, this vapor acts with telescopic effect, and swells in size a bunch of gnats when at play in the sun's rays to the appearance of a squadron of winged-horse."

"What about the riders?" I questioned.

"Each gnat has a hunch on its back that does look like a rider" he replied.

"But, I continued, "Your Grand Mother saw their swords flashing?"

"That was the glitter of their wings" he answered.

"Your Grand-Mother's hearing must have been extraordinary. She heard the command of officers, and when, one army was routed, the shout of victory and wail of defeat, What about that?"

The young man made no reply but looked, perplexed and impatient and I again saw the glint of devil, in his luminous grey eyes, but he controlled his passion, and at length observed. "Sir I am aware that a long cherished opinion requires, plain demonstration to remove it."

"But could you have been at the old cabin, down yonder, on some still evening, about sunset, with a score of cattle-bells sounding in the ravine, and of different tone, and then heard the echoes, return from these tall cliffs, you would not have thought it strange that my Grand Mother had interpreted, these sounds as words, shouts, and wails.

I grasped the young madman's hand (he was nothing else) and exclaimed, "Young man you have made out a plain and beautiful case, and I heartily take back, all my unkind utterances against your good old Grand-Mother."

Since that day it is now forty seven years, and from then 'till now I have been, occasionally, haunted with "night mare" dreams, in which this crazed youth is hurling me from the top of some tall cliff.

July 1878
Silas McDowell

The Swannanoa Files - Poetic Inspiration

 

Millions upon millions had never heard of Swannanoa until this week. But images of catastrophe don’t tell the whole story. That river in the Land of the Sky has captivated many a soul. Given my curiosity about toponymy AND obscure 19th century Southern writers, I’ve gathered a trove of poems about place, and a handful inspired by the Swannanoa.

I.

The first of today’s selections is the best known of the five. The identity of the poet has been an ongoing source of confusion, if not mystery, which I will explain by the end of this page. The poem was anthologized starting in the 1850s and was a textbook staple for generations of Tar Heel school children.

SWANNANOA.

[This beautiful stream rises in the Black Mountains and after a rollicking rapid, laughing course of about 20 miles, buries its beautiful form in the French Broad, two miles south of Asheville.]

Swannanoa, nymph of beauty,

I would woo thee in my rhyme ;

Wildest, brightest, loveliest river,

Of our sunny, Southern clime!

Swannanoa, well they named thee

In the mellow Indian tongue

Beautiful - thou art most truly,

And right worthy to be sung.

Through the laurels and the beeches,

Bright thy silvery current shines,

Sleeping now in granite basins,

Overhung by trailing vines;

And, anon, careering onward,

In the maddest, frolic mood,

Waking, with its sea-like voices,

Fairy echoes in the wood.

Peaceful sleep thy narrow valleys,

In the shadow of the hills;

And thy flower-enameled border

All the air with fragrance fills.

Wild luxuriance-generous tillage

Here alternate meet the view;

Every turn throughout the windings

Still revealing something new.

\Vhere, oh! graceful Swannanoa,

Are the warriors who of old

Sought thee at thy mountain sources,

Where the springs are icy cold-

\Vhere the dark-browed Indian maidens,

Who their limbs were wont to lave,

(Worthy bath for fairer beauty)

In thy cool and limpid wave?

Gone forever from thy borders,

But immortal in thy name

Are the red men of the forest !

Be thou keeper of their fame !

Paler faces dwell beside thee Celt and Saxon till thy lands,

Wedding use into thy beauty Linking over thee their hands.



II.

A Sardonic Parody

One local paper acknowledged receipt of a barbed re-working of the popular poem:

March 31, 1887

"Nymph of Beauty"

A letter writer, evidently more used to mud than rocks, better trained to wade through sands than climb the mountains, worn out, hungry, and ill humored, thus slanders the Swannanoa in the following parody. The letter is addressed to the Wilmington Review, and the maid of the mountain is thus travestied;

Swannanoa, Swannanoa, flush and ugly,

I would curse thee in my rhyme;

Nastiest, muddiest little river

In our sunny, southern clime.

Swannanoa, well they named thee,

In the cursed Indian tongue;

Treacherous thou art, most truly,

And unworthy to be sung.

[The editor of the newspaper added:] But we have seen the beauty in unamiable moods, as it is the right of beauty to be.

III

Around the turn of the 20th century, a gentler versification came from the pen of Marie Batterham Lindesay, English born Asheville resident and prolific writer.

--

By the placid Swanannoa

Lived the red man years gone by,

Fished and hunted, smoked and slumbered,

Sheltered by the mountains high.

In his wigwam, by the streamlet,

Dwelt his squaw of dusky face,

Reared his young ones, lithe and active,

For the field and for the chase.

Little reck'd he of the rumors

Of another day to be,

Of a strange and wondrous pale-face

Coming o'er the mighty sea. 

Fished and hunted, smoked and slumbered,

While the river murmured on,

Careless as its peaceful waters,

Till his fleeting day was gone.

By the placid Swanannoa

Lives another race to-day:

Red man, wigwam, squaw, and papoose

Into silence passed away.


IV.

The next poet, Mary Finch (1907- 2002) grew up in the historic Chinquapin Lodge, Montreat, NC, not far from the Swannanoa.

Photo of Mary Martin cottage, “Chinquapin”, c. 1916– Presbyterian Heritage Center at Montreat, PO Box 207, Montreat, NC 28757. Caption by Dale Slusser.

The Swannanoa

I've seen the Hudson River

And the Schulkill wandering by

So turgidly, forever

Beneath a northern sky.

I've seen the Mississippi

That rolls with gathering might.

The fount of Aganippi

Is not a fairer sight.

And yet my thoughts are turning

To one clear lovely stream

That through the vales is churning

Its silver falls to cream.

It is the Swannanoa

That winsome water nymph.

It flows where the Rhodora

Flames from the mountain's rift.

O crystal spring of water,

O maiden in full bloom

O lovely mountain daughter

Sprung from the mountain's womb

O, give back Swannanoa

The joys of yesterday

That wrought a mystic aura

About your winding way.

And not the Mississippi

In all its wild career

Nor fount of Aganippi

Can ever be your peer.

© by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes


And for a splendid article on the architecture of the rustic Montreat cottages:

https://psabc.org/renewal-respite-and-the-rustic-style-the-early-cottages-and-cottagers-of-montreat/

V.


The authorship of today's first selection, Swannanoa (Nymph of Beauty) is a point of confusion, often ascribed to the respective editors of various poetry collections and textbooks. But that’s incorrect. I did follow one lead where the poet was described as a “gentleman from Charleston.” William Gilmore Simms  (1806-1870) seemed a likely candidate.  Simms was a novelist, poet and editor, famed for his role with the Southern Literary Messenger. I was almost on target with that guess.  The poet was actually Daniel Harrison Jacques (1825-1877) an aide and associate to Simms.  Jacques wrote numerous works that could be described as homesteading how-to  and self-help books, but his best known creation was that poem about the Swannanoa.  

Simms made his own contribution to the Swannanoa canon, albeit with a different spelling:

By the Swanannoa

by William Gilmore Simms

Is it not lovely, while the day flows on

Like some unnoticed water through the vale,

Sun-sprinkled, — and, across the fields, a gale,

Ausonian, murmurs out an idle tale,

Of groves deserted late, but lately won?

How calm the silent mountains, that, around,

Bend their blue summits, as if group'd to hear

Some high ambassador from foreign ground, —

To hearken, and, most probably, confound!

While, leaping onward, with a voice of cheer,

Glad as some schoolboy ever on the bound,

The lively Swanannoa sparkles near; —

A flash and murmur mark him as he roves,

Now foaming white o'er rocks, now glimpsing soft through groves.

The Chimney Rock Files - Spectres on the Cliffs

 

For centuries, the Chimney Rock region has been the site of strange apparitions. To my knowledge, no other part of the Southern Appalachians has been the locate for as many unexplained phenomena. One of the earliest documented accounts, in the summer of 1806, told of a multitude of ghostly figures appearing on the cliffs overlooking the gorge.

An 1808 issue of The Wonderful Magazine* reprinted the story of Patsy Reaves and corroboration from other observers. Her description of the spectral forms is remarkably detailed. And in the second section of the reprint, a respondent provides a thorough compendium of similar phenomena seen around the world.

[I]

EXTRAORDINARY PHENOMENON.

THE following account of an extraordinary phenomenon, that appeared to a number of people in the county of Rutherford, state of North Carolina, was made, the 7th of August 1806, in presence of David Dickle, Esq, of county and state aforesaid, Jesse Anderson, and the Rev. George Newton, of the county of Buncombe, and Miss Betsey Newton of the state of Georgia, who unanimously agreed, with the relators, that Mr. Newton, should communicate it to Mr. J. Gales, Editor of the Raleigh Register and State Gazette.

Patsey Reaves, a widow woman, who lives near the Apalachian mountain, declares, that on the 31st of July last about, 6 o'clock P. M. her daughter Elizabeth, about eight years old, was, in the cotton-field, about ten poles from the dwelling house, which stands by computation, six furlongs, from the Chimney mountain, and that Elizabeth told her brother Morgan, aged eleven years that there was a man on the mountain. Morgan was incredulous at first; but the little girl affirmed it, and said she saw him rolling rocks or picking up sticks, adding that she saw a heap of people. Morgan then went to the place where she was, and calling out, said that he saw a thousand or ten thousand things flying in the air. On which Polly, daughter of Mrs. Reaves aged fourteen years, and a negro woman, ran to the children, and called to Mrs. Reaves to come and see what a sight yonder was:-

Mrs. Reaves says, she went about three poles towards them, and, without any sensible alarm or fright, she turned towards the Chimney mountain, and discovered a very numerous crowd of beings resembling the human species; but could not discern any particular members of the human body, nor distinction of sex: that they were every size, from the tallest men down to the least infants; that there were more of the small than of the full grown, that they were all clad with brilliant white raiment, but could not describe any form of their raiment; that they appeared to rise off the side of the mountain, south of said rock, and about as high; that a considerable part of the mountain's top was visible above this shining host, that they moved in a northern direction, and collected about the Chimney rock.

When all but a few had reached said rock, two seemed to rise together, and behind them about two feet a third rose. three moved with great agility towards the crowd, and had the nearest resemblance to men of any before seen. While beholding these three, her eyes were attracted by three more rising nearly from the same place, and moving swiftly in the same order and direction. After these, several others rose and went towards the rock.

During this view, which all the spectators thought lasted upwards of an hour, she sent for Mr. Robert Siercy, who did not come at first; on a second message, sent about fifteen minutes after the first, Mr. Siercy came, and being now before us, he gives the following relation to the substance of which Mrs. Reaves agrees.

Mr. Siercy said, when he was coming, he expected to see nothing extraordinary, and when come, being asked if he saw those people on the mountain, he answered, no; but on looking a second time, he saw more glittering white appearances of human kind than ever he had seen of men at any general review; that they were of all sizes from that of men to infants; that they moved in the Chimney rock; they were about the height of the Chimney rock and moved in a semicircular course, between him and the rock, and so passed along in a southern course between him and the mountain, to the place where Mrs. Reaves said they rose; and that two of a full size went before the general crowd about the space of twenty yards; and as they respectively came to this place, they vanished out of sight, leaving a solemn and pleasing impression, on the mind, accompanied with a diminution of bodily strength.

Whether the above be accountable on philosophical principles, or whether it be a prelude to the descent of the Holy City, I leave to the impartially curious to judge. GEORGE NEWTON.

P. S. The above subscriber has been informed, that on the same evening, and about the same time in which the above phenomenon appeared, there was seen, by a gentleman of character, who was several miles distant from the place, a bright rain-bow, apparently near the then in the west, where there was no appearance of either clouds or rain; but a haze in the atmosphere. The public are therefore at liberty to judge, whether the phenomenon had any thing supernatural in it, or whether it was some unusual exhalation or moist vapor from the side of the mountain, which exhibited such an unusual rain-bow.

G. N.

[II]

Remarks on an extraordinary Phenomenon seen in the County of Rutherford, State of North Carolina, on the 7th of August, 1806.

MR. EDITOR,

Having observed in your paper of September 23d, an account of a phenomenon seen in North Carolina in July last, and which has no doubt, excited the attention of many persons as an extraordinary circumstance, I have taken the liberty of making some remarks upon it. Mankind in general are fond of whatever appears to be of the marvellous, and many good people who are unacquainted with the various phenomena of nature are apt to ascribe, whatever they cannot account for, to supernatural causes. The writer of the account alluded to, seems to entertain an idea that it may be something more than the simple operation of the laws of Nature, where he says, "whether the above be accountable on "philosophical principles, or whether it be a prelude "to the descent of the Holy City, I leave to the impartially curious to judge."

Some will not give credit to the truth of the relation at all: some will ascribe it to a supernatural cause, and some to a cause purely natural. For my part I do not hesitate to give full credit to the account, and at the same time to ascribe it to the refraction, or reflection of light from the vapour arising out of the side of the mountain. In this opinion I am the more confirmed from well authenticated accounts, heretofore published, of such kinds of optical illusion, seen in divers places at different periods. See Tilloch's Philosophical Magazine.

Though these curious and elegant phenomena are not peculiar to any age or country, they are now frequently seen on sea-coasts; and though in some respects common in such situations, they have hitherto been so little noticed by the intelligent part of mankind as to be scarce known to exist. Those which seem lately, to have more particularly attracted the attention of the curious, are those frequently seen during the summer season, on the southern coasts of Italy, near the ancient city of Rhegieum, which the peasants, in their native tongue, call Fata-Morgana; an account of which may be seen in Swinburn's Travels.

They are, however, frequently noticed by the English, Erse, and Irish peasants, and denominated Sea-Faries, and FairyCastles. The Erse fishermen among the western isles of Scotland, frequently see represented in barren heaths and on naked rocks, beautiful fields, woods and castles, with numerous flocks and herds grazing, and multitudes of people of both sexes, in various attitudes and Occupations. These, as they know no such objects really exist, they constantly attribute to enchantment and fairies.

They are also frequently seen on the coasts of Norway, Iceland and Greenland; on the eastern and western coast of South America, and even on the highest summit of the Andes. Some of these phenomena were seen near the town of Youghal in the county of Cork in Ireland, in the years 1796, 1797, and 1801. The first was seen on the 21st of October 1796, about four o'clock in the afternoon, the sun clear: it appeared on a hill on the county of Waterford side of the river, to a number of spectators; and seemed a walled town with a round tower, and a church with a spire, the houses perfect and the windows distinct.

Behind the houses appeared the mast of a ship, and in front a single tree, near which was a cow grazing; whilst the Waterford hills appeared distinctly behind. In the space of about half an hour the spire and round tower, became a broken turret. Soon after this change, all the houses became ruins, and their fragments seemed scattered in the fields near the walls: the whole in about an hour disappeared, and the hill on which it stood sunk to the level of a real field. The hill and the trees appeared of a bright green; the houses and towers of a clear brown, with their roofs blue.

That the phenomenon seen in North Carolina, on the Chimney Mountain, was one of those Fata-Morgana, and occasioned by reflection in a dense vapour strongly illuminated by the sun, I have no doubt. This seems to be confirmed, by the circumstance of a rainbow having appeared in the same place to another person at a distance, their being a haze in the atmosphere.

We may conclude, from the whole, that the little girl who first imagined she saw a man on the mountain, saw her own image indistinctly reflected, and when her brother came, they not only saw both their images, but probably, the vapor forming different angles, upon the principle of the Polyhedion, exhibited their images so multiplied as to appear like an army, which was proportionably increased by each accession of new spectators.

That the images should appear of different sizes, might arise from the surfaces of certain portions of the reflecting vapour assuming a convex form, more or less and the confused indistinct appearances from some irregularity in the same. Their shining appearance might arise from the quality of the reflecting medium, and the strong illuminating rays of the sun falling on it in a particular manner: and the apparent motion of the images, for a change of position in those natural specula.

Whether my hypothesis is just or not, I will not positively affirm; but think it much more rational than to ascribe it to a supernatural agency. Although the author of our existence and creator of all worlds, can work, should it seem meet to him, by supernatural means, and even render visible the celestial vehicle of spiritual existences to our natural organs of vision, yet it is safest never to recur to miracles where phenomena can be accounted for upon natural principles. Whilst, therefore, I would devoutly wish that the enlightened citizens may embrace; without one sceptical doubt, the sublime mysteries of the Gospel; I would desire them to be free from those superstitious notions which influence the ignorant and illiterate of the old world, to ascribe all uncommon or apparently mysterious occurrence to miracle, magic or witchcraft.

B. A.

*[For the record, here is the complete title page for the magazine that published these stories; a wonderful magazine indeed!]

THE WONDERFUL MAGAZINE, AND Extraordinary Museum, BEING A COMPLETE REPOSITORY OF THE WONDERS, CURIOSITIES, AND RARITIES OF NATURE AND ART, COMPREHENDING A VALUABLE COLLECTION, (ALL WELL ATTESTED, AND FROM RESPECTABLE AUTHORITIES) Of Authentic and Entertaining Descriptions of the most Wonderful, Remarkable, and Surprising Volcanos, Cataracts, Caverns, Waterfalls, Whirlpools, and other Stupendous Phenomena of the Earth, resulting from Earthquakes and the general Deluge; strange Customs, peculiar Manners of remote countries, wonderful occurrences, singular Events, heroic Adventures, absurd Characters, remarkable for eating, drinking, fasting, walking &c. memorable exploits, amazing Deliverances from Death, and various other Dangers, strange Accidents, extraordinary Memoirs, astonishing Revolutions, &c. MEMOIRS OF THE MOST SINGULAR AND REMARKABLE PERSONS OF BOTH SEXES, IN EVERY WALK OF HUMAN LIFE. Consisting of a great Variety of very eccentric Characters famous for long Life, Courage, Cowardice, extraordinary Strength, Avarice, astonishing Fortitude, as well as genuine Narrations of Giants, Dwarfs, Misers, Impostors; singular Vices and Virtues; uncommon Eclipses, Storms, remarkable Providences, heroic Atchievements, supernatural Occurrences, strange Discoveries of long-concealed Murders, &c. &c. FORMING ALTOGETHER A NEW AND MOST COMPLETE HISTORY OF THE EXTRAORDINARIES AND WONDERS OF THE WORLD. The whole selected from the most approved and celebrated Historians, Voyagers, Travellers, Philosophers, Physicians and other eminent and distinguished Persons of every Age and Country, and from the most expensive Works and Manuscripts….

The Chimney Rock Files - Lanman's 1848 Visit

Chimney Rock and Lake Lure had been on my mind, even prior to Helene. Now, with so much gone, I'm contemplating how it used to be. But that's a given anytime and anywhere I take a jaunt through these mountains. I've observed a few of the big changes myself and gathered eyewitness accounts for many more. Revisiting my files this week, I’m reminded of the fabulous narratives from the vicinity of Hickory Nut Gap Bat Cave, Chimney Rock Village and other locations along the Rocky Broad River. So I will be sharing those in the days ahead.

Let’s open with a passage from one of my favorite books, “Letters from the Alleghany Mountains.” The author and artist Charles Lanman visited the area in May 1848. While en route from the Oconaluftee River and Cherokee, Lanman stopped off in Asheville, where he crossed paths with a disgruntled horse trader and watched a duel narrowly averted:

The distance from Qualla Town to this place is sixty miles. The first half of the route is exceedingly mountainous and almost entirely uncultivated, but the valley of Pigeon river, down which you have to travel for a considerable distance, is very fertile and well cultivated. A pastoral charm seems to rest upon the scenery, and in this particular forcibly reminded me of the upper valley of the Mohawk.

I occupied the most of two days in performing this trip, and the only incident that I met with which was at all unique, was upon this wise. I had stopped at a farm-house to take my dinner. It so happened that my host was about to erect a new barn, and some twenty of his neighbors were assembled for the purpose of raising the framework to its proper position.

An abundance of whiskey had already been imbibed by a few of this rustic company, and among these was one individual who had recently been grossly cheated in purchasing a horse from a Tennessee horse-dealer. He had given a mule and twenty dollars for the stranger’s gelding, and, though the animal was quite respectable in appearance, it had turned out to be old, unsound, and almost without a redeeming quality. The individual in question was noted for making a fool of himself when intoxicated, and on this occasion he was determined to prove true to himself.

At this time his horse speculation seemed to weigh heavily upon his mind, and in his vehement remarks he took particular pains to curse the entire State of Tennessee, including President Polk. The poor man finally became so completely excited that he swore he would whip the first man he met on the road who happened to be from Tennessee; and so the matter rested.

In about thirty minutes thereafter, as fortune would have it, a man made his appearance on the road, apparently from the West; and in jeering their noisy companion, the farmers remarked that “now he would have a chance to revenge himself.” The excitement of the horse-bitten speculator was consequently greatly increased, and when the stranger reached the hilltop he was accosted as follows:

“May I ask you, sir, if you come from Tennessee?”

“I do. What will you have?” replied the stranger.

The Carolinian then related his trading story, which he concluded by carefully reiterating the determination he had made. The stranger laughed at the idea, and was about to resume his journey, when the reins of his horse were seized, and he found that it was indeed necessary for him to fight his way out of the queer scrape.

All remonstrance on his part was in vain; but at the very moment the fight was to commence, another horseman rode up, who was also interrogated as to his native State. His presence had a tendency to suspend hostilities; but when it was ascertained that he was only a Kentuckian, the Carolinian insisted upon going on with his business. The feelings of the Kentuckian were now enlisted, and he declared his intention of regulating the fight; whereupon he made a large ring, and taking out of his pocket a couple of pistols, he told the combatants “to go ahead,” and at the same time warned the bystanders that he would shoot the first man that interfered. The conclusion of the whole matter was, that the intoxicated man received a cruel thrashing for his ridiculous conduct, and the two gentlemen from the West quietly resumed their several journeys.

On my way to this place, I stopped for a few hours at Deaver’s Sulphur Springs, which are about four miles from the French Broad river, on the road to Clarksville, Georgia. This is one of the most popular watering-places in the South, not only on account of the medicinal qualities of the water, but on account of the surrounding scenery, which is remarkably interesting, and also for the additional reason that the style in which people are entertained is well worthy of even such places as Saratoga.

The several buildings connected with the establishment usually accommodate about two hundred families during the summer months, and they are chiefly from the cities of Charleston and Savannah. The people of Eastern North Carolina do not seem to know that they have such a delightful retreat within their borders which, to a man of genuine taste, is as far ahead of Saratoga as a mountain stream is ahead of a canal.

With regard to Ashville, I can only say that it is a very busy and pleasant village, filled with intelligent and hospitable inhabitants, and is the centre of a mountain land, where Nature has been extremely liberal and tasteful in piling up her mighty bulwarks for the admiration of man. Indeed, from the summit of a hill immediately in the vicinity of the village, I had a southwestern view which struck me as eminently superb. It was near the sunset hour, and the sky was flooded with a golden glow, which gave a living beauty to at least a hundred mountain peaks, from the centre of which loomed high towards the zenith Mount Pisgah and the Cold Mountain, richly clothed in purple, which are from twenty to thirty miles distant, and not far from six thousand feet in height.

The middle distance, though in reality composed of wood-crowned hills, presented the appearance of a level plain or valley, where columns of blue smoke were gracefully floating into the upper air, and whence came the occasional tinkle of a bell, as the cattle wended their way homeward, after roaming among the unfenced hills. Directly at my feet lay the little town of Ashville, like an oddly-shaped figure on a green carpet; and over the whole scene dwelt a spirit of repose, which seemed to quiet even the common throbbings of the heart.

My first expedition on arriving here was to a gorge in the Blue Ridge called the Hickory Nut Gap. How it came by that name I cannot imagine, since the forests in this particular region, so far as I could ascertain, are almost entirely destitute of the hickory tree. It is true that for a distance of four miles the gorge is watered by a brook called after the hickory nut, but I take it that this name is a borrowed one.

The entire length of the gap is about nine miles, and the last five miles are watered by the Rocky Broad River. The upper part of this stream runs between the Blue Ridge proper and a spur of the Blue Ridge, and at the point where it forces a channel through the spur its bed is exceedingly rocky, and on either hand, until it reaches the middle country of the State, it is protected by a series of mountain bluffs. That portion of the gorge which might be called the gateway is at the eastern extremity. From any point of view this particular spot is remarkably imposing, the gap being not more than half a mile wide, though appearing to narrow down to a few hundred yards.

The highest bluff is on the south side, and, though rising to the height of full twenty-five hundred feet, it is nearly perpendicular, and midway up its front stands an isolated rock, looming against the sky, which is of a circular form, and resembles the principal turret of a stupendous castle. The entire mountain is composed of granite, and a large proportion of the bluff in question positively hangs over the abyss beneath, and is as smooth as it could possibly be made by the rains of uncounted centuries. Over one portion of this superb cliff, falling far down into some undiscovered and apparently unattainable pool, is a stream of water, which seems to be the offspring of the clouds; and in a neighboring brook near the base of this precipice are three shooting waterfalls, at the foot of which, formed out of the solid stone, are three holes, which are about ten feet in diameter and measure from forty to fifty feet in depth. But, leaving these remarkable features entirely out of the question, the mountain scenery in this vicinity is as beautiful and fantastic as any I have yet witnessed among the Alleghanies.

At a farm-house near the gap, where I spent a night, I had the pleasure of meeting an English gentleman and tourist, and he informed me that, though he had crossed the Alps in a number of places, yet he had never seen any mountain scenery which he thought as beautiful as that of the Hickory Nut Gap. My best view of the gorge was from the eastward, and just as the sun, with a magnificent retinue of clouds, was sinking directly in the hollow of the hills, and as I gazed upon the prospect, it seemed to me, as was in reality the case, that I stood at the very threshold of an almost boundless wilderness of mountains….

[ Note: An earlier story regarding Hickory Nut Gorge included a continuation of this report from Lanman: https://heartofthecowees.blogspot.com/2024/03/little-people-guarded-hickory-nut-gorge.html ]

A Gathering of Hermits

[From September 12, 2009]

 The instinctive act of humankind was to stand and listen, and learn how the trees on the right and the trees on the left wailed or chaunted to each other in the regular antiphonies of a cathedral choir; how hedges and other shapes to leeward then caught the note, lowering it to the tenderest sob; and how the hurrying gust then plunged into the south, to be heard no more.

-Thomas Hardy, Far From the Madding Crowd


Robert Harrill, The Fort Fisher Hermit

1

I’ve just finished reading a novel that will hit the shelves next month, and I can already anticipate the withering reviews. Years ago, a critic who read the manuscript described the “banality and triteness” of the work.

I must confess that I enjoyed it.

Admittedly, my taste in fiction is unsophisticated. Forthcoming reviews of the trite and banal novel will condemn its one-dimensional characters and contrived plot, but it had enough going for it to keep me turning the pages.

That’s just me, though. I’ll pick up ten books of essays before I’ll pick up one novel. And I can stay up half the night reading newspapers from the 1850s, when a work of fiction would put me to sleep after two pages. This unworthy novel was an exception. The author set the story in 1920s Swain County, creating a world where I felt surprisingly at home. To me, it was far more recognizable, hospitable and comprehensible than America 2009 spinning frenetically all around me.

Observing contemporary culture and considering myself in relation to it, I can only conclude that one of us is sane and the other is not. I would not presume to say which is which.

It might be more than coincidence that the author of the novel had fled from the mainstream normality of his own time to find a home, and to find himself, in these mountains. His well-known account of that process resulted in a (non-fiction) book that remains controversial a century later for reasons I don’t fully understand.

The soon-to-be-published novel and the old classic both reveal a great deal about their creator. He was, at times, what you might call a hermit. He had tried to live in a world where he did not belong. He had tried, unsuccessfully, to live with one foot in that world and one foot in a world that made sense to him.

Eventually, it was impossible for him to do anything but leave that divided existence behind and start anew in the Smokies. Whatever the rewards he found here, he continued to struggle with the pain and the complications of his chosen path (if you can even call it a matter of choice).

He had exchanged the impossible for the extremely difficult.



The Hermit (Tarot)


2

I grew up hearing vague legends about the “Hermit of the Uwharries.” And while hiking the many trails that snaked around near the Yadkin River, I would often imagine him lurking in the woods and, perhaps, watching me from a safe distance until I passed by. That could be ME up there on the hill, I would say to myself, cultivating a rosy view of the hermit’s life. I was young and naive back then.

In his account of the Hermit of the Uwharries, Fred Morgan reports:

The Hermit had a message for the world, but he froze to death not far from his shack before he could give it.

3

Over in Madison County lives a couple I know only from their website, where they’ve posted this statement:

Raven’s Bread Ministries is dedicated to serving the needs of a small but growing band of people who are dedicating themselves to an ancient calling - that of the spiritual solitary or hermit. In the 1950’s, a revival of the eremitic life began as more and more people discovered their need to live a life of dedication in silence, solitude and simplicity. Seeking the solace of God to counteract the fragmentation of modern life, one by one, individuals began to withdraw from the “madding crowd”. Some dared to call themselves hermits; others simply followed the attraction of the Spirit luring them into a lifestyle which healed their hearts and nourished their spirits. Many feel they are the only person in the world to find the noise, confusion and stress of present-day culture unbearable. They are not - in truth, they are part of an ever-expanding company of people who are embracing eremitical life.

I have nothing but admiration for Raven’s Bread and those who contribute to the journal. They exemplify spirituality, rather than religiosity. Yes, many of us “find the noise, confusion and stress of present-day culture unbearable”...but finding a lifestyle that would heal the heart and nourish the spirit? Ah, there’s the rub!



Peter the Hermit Meeting the Byzantine Emperor

4

The life of a hermit is a tough life. Take the case of a Pennsylvania hermit, Matthias Berger. On July 20, 1890, the New York Times published a story under the headline “An Old Hermit Murdered – The Recluse First Robbed and Then Killed Near His Cabin.” One sentence jumped out at me:

He was a frequent visitor to Reading and Hamburg, and many people here predicted that he would meet with a tragic end if he persisted in remaining a hermit on the mountain.

In recent years, Charles J. Adams has written about “The Hermit of Hawk Mountain,” calling him:

…an original and an enigma. He was fluent in German and English, known to be skilled in old German calligraphy, and was a fine carpenter…he was a voracious reader and, by all accounts, hardly anti-social.

Matthias was, by all accounts, a gentle and congenial man. When they reached the roughly 60-feet square clearing in the woods and called on the mud hut, they found Matthias Berger quite eager for the visit.

His hovel was about 7 feet square, and as many feet high. A wood stove, a bunk just large enough to accommodate Matthias’ 5-foot-6-inch frame, and a small chest were all the furnishings. Books and various papers were filed in every crack and crevice of the structure, and some tools and utensils were grouped in one corner.

As the visitors marveled at Matthias’ humble abode, their host told them how he had left his native Germany in 1846 after both of his parents had died, how he had hoped to ply his trade as a carpenter in America, and how he found no such work here.

He was unclear about the specific reason he decided to shun society and live a solitary existence on that particular mountain, but he did know and tell that it was Aug. 5, 1861, when he arrived at what would become his home in the thick mountainside forest.

Matthias baked his own breads, gathered fruits and herbs from the woods, and carted fresh water from the nearest spring, a quarter-mile away.

He made friends in the city, but was quick to return to his mountain because the noise in the city gave him headaches.

Despite all that, his killing in the summer of 1890 came as no great surprise to the townspeople.

5

In North Carolina, Robert Harrill became known as “The Hermit of Fort Fisher” in the 1960s. And while Harrill attracted thousands of visitors, he was also the victim of occasional beatings and other harassment.




Born in Gaffney, SC in 1893, Harrill worked at various jobs in the Carolinas, married and raised a family, but after his wife left him, he was admitted to the state mental hospital in Morganton. While there, he discovered the writings of Dr. William Marcus Taylor, who taught “Bio-Psychology” courses in Spruce Pine, NC. Dr. Taylor’s teachings convinced him to start a new life and, in 1955, he found his way to the marshes near Fort Fisher. He moved into an abandoned ammo storage building, gathered seafood, raised a small garden and conducted sessions of his “School of Common Sense.”

In a 1968 interview, Harrill explained his popularity:

Everybody ought to be a hermit for a few minutes to an hour or so every 24 hours, to study, meditate, and commune with their creator...millions of people want to do just what I'm doing, but since it is much easier thought of than done, they subconsciously elect me to represent them, that's why I'm successful.

The Fort Fisher Hermit was found dead in June 1972, under mysterious circumstances. Although the evidence suggested that he had been beaten, or was the victim of a cruel prank, officials ruled the cause of his death a heart attack.

The epitaph on his grave marker - “He Made People Think.”

Not a bad legacy for any hermit.