Letter V- The Falls of Tallulah
LETTER V
Tallulah Falls, Georgia, April, 1848.
As a natural curiosity the Falls of Tallulah are on a par with the River Saguenay and the Falls of Niagara. They had been described to me in the most glowing and enthusiastic manner, and yet the reality far exceeds the scene which I had conceived. They have filled me with astonishment, and created a feeling strong enough almost to induce me to remain within hearing of their roar forever.
The Cherokee word Tallulah or Tarrurah signifies the terrible, and was originally applied to the river of that name on account of its fearful falls. This river rises among the Alleghany mountains, and is a tributary of the Savannah. Its entire course lies through a mountain land, and in every particular it is a mountain stream, narrow, deep, clear, cold, and subject to every variety of mood. During the first half of its career it winds among the hills as if in uneasy joy, and then for several miles it wears a placid appearance, and you can scarcely hear the murmur of its waters. Soon, tiring of this peaceful course, however, it narrows itself for an approaching contest, and runs through a chasm whose walls, about four miles in length, are for the most part perpendicular; and, after making within the space of half a mile a number of leaps as the chasm deepens, it
settles into a turbulent and angry mood, and so continues for a mile and a half further, until it leaves the chasm and regains its wonted character. The Falls of Tallulah, properly speaking, are five in number, and have been christened Lodora, Tempesta, Oceana, Honcon, and the Serpentine. Their several heights are said to be forty-five feet, one hundred, one hundred and twenty, fifty, and thirty feet, making, in connection with the accompanying rapids, a descent of at least four hundred feet within the space of half a mile. At this point the stream is particularly winding, and the cliff's of solid granite on either side, which are perpendicular, vary in height from six hundred to nine hundred feet, while the mountains which back the cliffs reach an elevation of perhaps fifteen hundred feet. Many of the pools are very large and very deep, and the walls and rocks in their immediate vicinity are always green with the most luxuriant of mosses. The vegetation of the whole chasm is in fact particularly rich and varied; for you may here find not only the pine, but specimens of every variety of the more tender trees, together with lichens, and vines, and flowers, which would keep the botanist employed for half a century. Up to the present time, only four paths have been discovered leading to the margin of the water, and to make either of these descents requires much of the nerve and courage of the samphire-gatherer. Through this immense gorge a strong wind is ever blowing, and the sunlight never falls upon the cataracts without forming beautiful rainbows, which contrast strangely with the surrounding gloom and horror; and the roar of the waterfalls, eternally ascending to the sky, comes to the ear like the voice of God calling upon man to wonder and admire.
Of the more peculiar features which I have met with in
the Tallulah chasm the following are the only ones which have yet been christened, viz.: the Devil's Pulpit, the Devil's Dwelling, the Eagle's Nest, the Deer Leap, Hawthorn's Pool, and Hanck's Sliding Place.
The Devil's Pulpit is a double-headed and exceedingly ragged cliff, which actually hangs over the ravine, and estimated to be over six hundred feet high. While standing upon the brow of this precipice I saw a number of buzzards sitting upon the rocks below, and appearing like a flock of blackbirds. While looking at them the thought came into my mind that I would startle them from their fancied security by throwing a stone among them. I did throw the stone, and with all my might too, but, instead of going across the ravine, as I supposed it would, it fell out of my sight, and apparently at the very base of the cliff upon which I was standing. This little incident gave me a realizing sense of the immense width and depth of the chasm. While upon this cliff also, with my arms clasped around a small pine tree, an eagle came sailing up the chasm in mid air, and, as he cast his eye upward at my insignificant form, he uttered a loud shriek as if in anger at my temerity, and continued on his way, swooping above the spray of the waterfalls.
The Devil's Dwelling is a cave of some twenty feet in depth, which occupies a conspicuous place near the summit of a precipice overlooking the Honcon Fall. Near its outlet is a singular rock, which resembles (from the opposite side of the gorge) the figure of a woman in a sitting posture, who is said to be the wife or better-half of the devil. I do not believe this story, and cannot therefore endorse the prevailing opinion.
The Eagle's Nest is a rock which projects from the
brow of a cliff reputed to be seven hundred feet high, and perpendicular. The finest view of this point is from the margin of the water, where it is grand beyond compare. To describe it with the pen were utterly impossible, but it was just such a scene as would have delighted the lamented Cole, and by a kindred genius alone can it ever be placed on the canvas.
The Deer Leap is the highest cliff in the whole chasm, measuring about nine hundred feet, and differs from its fellows in two particulars. From summit to bottom it is almost without a fissure or an evergreen, and remarkably smooth; and over it, in the most beautiful manner imaginable, tumbles a tiny stream, which scatters upon the rocks below with infinite prodigality; the purest of diamonds and pearls appearing to be woven into wreaths of foam. It obtained its name from the circumstance that a deer was once pursued to this point by a hound, and in its terror, cleared a pathway through the air, and perished in the depths below.
Hawthorn's Pool derives its name from the fact that in its apparently soundless waters a young and accomplished English clergyman lost his life while bathing; and Hanck's Sliding Place is so called because a native of this region once slipped off of the rock into a sheet of foam, but by the kindness of Providence he was rescued from his perilous situation not much injured, but immensely frightened.
But of all the scenes which I have been privileged to enjoy in the Tallulah chasm, the most glorious and superb was witnessed in the night time. For several days previous to my coming here the woods had been on fire, and I was constantly on the watch for a night picture of a burning forest. On one occasion, as I was about retiring, I saw
a light in the direction of the Falls, and concluded that I would take a walk to the Devil's Pulpit, which was distant from my tarrying place some hundred and fifty yards. Soon as I reached there I felt convinced that the fire would soon be in plain view, for I was on the western side of the gorge, and the wind was blowing from the eastward. In a very few moments my anticipations were realized, for I saw the flame licking up the dead leaves which covered the ground, and also stealing up the trunk of every dry tree in its path. A warm current of air was now wafted to my cheek by the breeze, and I discovered with intense satisfaction that an immense dead pine which hung over the opposite precipice (and whose dark form I had noticed distinctly pictured against the crimson background) had been reached by the flame, and in another moment it was entirely in a blaze. The excitement which now took possession of my mind was absolutely painful; and, as I threw my arms around a small tree, and peered into the horrible chasm, my whole frame shook with an indescribable emotion. The magnificent torch directly in front of me did not seem to have any effect upon the surrounding darkness, but threw a ruddy and death-like glow upon every object in the bottom of the gorge. A flock of vultures which were roosting far down in the ravine were frightened out of their sleep, and in their dismay, as they attempted to rise, flew against the cliffs and amongst the trees, until they finally disappeared; and a number of bats and other winged creatures were winnowing their way in every direction. The deep black pools beneath were enveloped in a more intense blackness, while the foam and spray of a neighboring fall were made a thousand-fold more beautiful than before. The vines, and lichens, and mosses seemed to cling more
closely than usual to their parent rocks; and when an occasional ember fell from its great height far down, and still further down into the abyss below, it made me dizzy and I retreated from my commanding position. In less than twenty minutes from that time the fire was exhausted, and the pall of night had settled upon the lately so brilliant chasm, and no vestige of the truly marvellous scene remained but an occasional wreath of smoke fading away into the upper air.
During my stay at the Falls of Tallulah I made every effort to obtain an Indian legend or two connected with them, and it was my good fortune to hear one which has never yet been printed. It was originally obtained by the white man who first discovered the Falls from the Cherokees, who lived in this region at the time. It is in substance as follows: Many generations ago it so happened that several famous hunters, who had wandered from the West towards what is now the Savannah river, in search of game, never returned to their camping grounds. In process of time the curiosity as well as the fears of the nation were excited, and an effort was made to ascertain the cause of their singular disappearance. Whereupon a party of medicine-men were deputed to make a pilgrimage towards the great river. They were absent a whole moon, and, on returning to their friends, they reported that they had discovered a dreadful fissure in an unknown part of the country, through which a mountain torrent took its way with a deafening noise. They said that it was an exceedingly wild place, and that its inhabitants were a species of little men and women, who dwelt in the crevices of the rocks and in the grottoes under the waterfalls. They had attempted by every artifice in their power to hold a council with the lit-
tie people, but all in vain; and, from the shrieks they frequently uttered, the medicine-men knew that they were the enemies of the Indian race; and, therefore, it was concluded in the nation at large that the long lost hunters had been decoyed to their death in the dreadful gorge which they called Tallulah. In view of this little legend, it is worthy of remark that the Cherokee nation, previous to their departure for the distant West, always avoided the Falls of Tallulah, and were seldom found hunting or fishing in their vicinity.
P. S. Since writing the above, I have met with another local poem by Henry R. Jackson, Esq., which contains so much of the true spirit of poetry, that I cannot refrain from giving it to my readers. It was inspired by the roar of Tallulah, and is as follows :—
Tallulah
But hark! beneath yon hoary precipice,
The rush of mightier waters, as they pour
In foaming torrents through the dark abyss
Which echoes back the thunders of their roar.
Approach the frightful gorge ! and gazing o'er,
What mad emotions through their bosoms thrill!
Hast ever seen so dread a sight before?
Tallulah ! by that name we hail thee still,
And own that thou art rightly called the terrible !
In vain o'er thee shall glow with wild delight,
The painter's eye, and voiceless still shall be
The poet's tongue, who from this giddy height
Shall kindle in thine awful minstrelsy !
Thou art too mighty in thy grandeur—we
Too weak to give fit utterance to the soul!
Thy billows mock us with their tempest glee,
As thundering on, while countless ages roll,
Thou scornest man's applause alike with man's control!
Yet standing here where mountain eagles soar,
Among these toppling crags, to plant their nest,
I catch an inspiration from thy roar,
Which will not let my spirit be at rest.
I cast me down upon the massive breast
Of this huge rock, that lifts to meet the blast,
Far, far above thy foam, his granite crest,
And eager thoughts come gathering thick and fast,
The voices of the future blending with the past!
I gaze across the yawning gorge and seem
Once more to see upon yon heights that rear
Their summits up to catch the sunset gleam,
The red man of the wilderness appear,
With bounding step, and bosom broad and bare,
And painted face, and figure lithe and tall,
Wild as surrounding nature; and I hear
From yonder precipice his whoop and call,
That mingle fiercely with the roaring water-fall !
But lo! he pauses, for he sees thee now,
Dread cataract!—he stands entranced—his yell
Is hushed; appalled he looks where far below,
Thy waters boil with a tumultuous swell.
Thou glorious orator of Nature! well
May his rude bosom own the majesty
Of thy dread eloquence; he hears the knell
Of human things—he bends the suppliant knee,
To the Great Spirit of the terrible in thee.
Once more I look !—the dusky form has
gone—
Passed with the onward course of time, and passed
To come no more ; perhaps a king upon
Yon height he sleeps, rocked by the winter's blast
In couch all regal, where dead hands have cast
His glorious bones the nearest to the stars,
And left him there to rest in peace at last,
Forgetful of his glory, scalps and scars—
The unsung Hector of a hundred bloody wars.
Again I gaze, and other forms appear,
Of milder mien and far more gentle grace,
And softer tones are falling on my ear ;
And yet, methinks, less kindred with the place.
Another, and (it may be) nobler race
Have made these hills their own, and they draw near
With kindling spirits, yet with cautious pace;
Youth, age and wisdom, with his brow of care,
And joyous beauty, that has never wept a tear.
And through the lapse of many ages they
Shall come; year after year to thee shall bring
The searcher after knowledge, and the gay
Who sport through life as though a morn in spring ;
And tears shall fall, and the light laugh shall ring
Beside thee, and the lonely heart shall seek
Relief from its eternal sorrowing—
And all shall feel upon their spirits break,
Thoughts wonderful; emotions which they may not speak.
I turn towards the coming time and hear
The voice of a great people which shall dwell
Among these mountains, free as their own air,
And chainless as thy current's ceaseless swell.
Behold them growing into power! They fell
The old primeval forests which have stood
For ages in the valleys ; they dispel
The shades from Nature's face, and thickly strewed,
Their villages spring up amid the solitude.
I look again, and I behold them not;
Silence resumes once more her ancient reign.
A solitary form stands on the spot,
Where mine had stood; around on hill and plain,
The palace crumbles, and the gorgeous fane
Sinks into dust; he weeps above the tomb
Of human pride, and feels that it is vain ;
Yet shall thy voice arise amid the gloom
Of silent hearths and cities, scornful of their doom.
I look once more : behold 'tis changed again,
And yet 'tis unchanged !
Earth has upward shot
Her twigs from naked mountain, vale and plain;
How rankly have they grown above the spot,
Where cities crumble, and their builders rot!
Again the forest moans beneath the blast,
The eagle finds on mountain, cliff and grot,
Once more his eyrie undisturbed; the vast
And melancholy wilderness o'er all is east.
And lo ! upon the spot where I had stood,
A second form—how like to mine! has ta'en
His lonely place, and hears the solitude
Return thy stunning anthem back again,
Like distant roarings of some mighty main;
The earth around lies in her primal dress:
And far above, just entering on her wane,
The full round moon with not a ray the less,
Looks calmly forth as now, upon the wilderness.
He treads the earth, nor dreams that he has trod
On human dust. The oak that o'er him waves
So proudly, tells him not how, through the sod,
Its root? sucked nourishment from human graves.
The renovated stream its channel laves
Beside his feet as freshly as of old ;
Its moist bank not a lingering record saves
Of those who dried its sources; flowers unfold
Their tints, nor tell how they have fed on human mould,
Now from the broad expanse his eye surveys,
Ambition ! summon forth thy votaries!
Whose eagle vision drank the noontide blaze,
Whose eagle pinions fanned the highest breeze.
Power! thou that gloried'st in the bending knees
Of millions of God's humbled creatures—seek
Thy favorites now, who strode through bloody seas
To thrones, it may be, and upon the weak,
Bade human passion all her vengeance wreak!
Bid them arise ! stand forth ! each in his place
From the broad waste, to greet the gazer's sight
With bright insignia, which in life did grace
The brow, or give the bounding heart delight.
Arise ! each to the stature of his might,
And tell of how he lived and how he died!
Say ! comes a single voice upon the night ?
Rises a single form above the common tide?
Ambition ! Glory! Power! oh! where do ye abide?
Speak, Suffering! call thy pallid sons!
And Poverty! thy millions marshal forth!
Thy starving millions, with their rags and groans,
Who knew hell's tortures on God's smiling earth!
Name o'er thy thoughtless legions, reckless Mirth?
And Disappointment! with thy sable brow,
Summon thy slaves of great or little worth!
And Suicide! thou child of darkest woe,
Speak to thy bleeding victims, thou, who laid'st them low!
Behold they come not! Still he stands alone—
He gazes upward to the midnight sky,
The same dim vault where orbs as brightly shone,
When watched by the Chaldean's wakeful eye,
As now they shine; his dreamings are of high
And holy things; to him the earth is young—
The heavens are young; in joyous infancy
A nation buds around—to whom belong
No past, no memories, but a future bright and strong.
