The Mountain Scenery In Virginia (Part 1)
Our people have been so long accustomed to go abroad for their amusements, that they are oblivious to the wonders and beauties of nature exhibited in the States, which are embraced within the limits of our own Confederacy. In the hope of arousing some new interest in the grand and sublime scenery to be found within our own borders, I have decided to jot down some reminiscences of a recent trip among the mountains of Virginia.
Our party of seven, all cold, including baby and carvant, left Richmond in one of the packets on the canal, which runs along by the side of, and occasionally mingles with, the waters of the James river; its bed, at such times, forming a channel for the boats, and it bank constituting a tow-path for the horses. We had heard many tales of the discomforts connected with this mode of traveling, and had some dim foreshadowings of two or three days martyrdom, packed in close quarters, with all sorts of people and brought into contact with the filth which would naturally accrue about such a crowd, but we were most agreeably disappointed.
The boat was not crowded at all crowded with passengers, while they were, for the most part, people in whose society we found interest and pleasure, and the gentlemanly and attentive officers of the boat, the obliging servants, the particularly patient and cheerful chambermaid, all conspired to make our stay on board agreeable. Not least among our comforts, was the abundance of ice water, with which we were constantly supplied, and which the hot weather made peculiarly grateful to us, while as far as the table comforts were concerned all agreed that they had fully all, if not more, than they paid for; for the moderate charge would not justify luxurious living, if indeed the markets would supply it. Thrown into such close proximity with the people we could not help of course from being more or less interested in them.
There was a Dr.___ and his wife, who were installed opposite our party, at the head of the boat, who came in for a large share of our attention. He had been connected with the old Navy, but resigned when his State (Virginia) seceded and entered into the service of the young Confederacy. His wife was a frail, delicate, but still pretty woman, though approaching middle life—so feeble as to be almost helpless, from months of sickness and confinement to her chamber. They were on their way to Alleghany Springs, and his untiring devotion to her, as she lay in her winsome helplessness, the thoughtful kindness with which he anticipated her wishes, the tenderness with which he lifted her about and arranged her pillows, and administered her medicines and tried to tempt her appetite, elicited our constant admiration, while she clung to him with equal devotion and pride. We shared her sadness, in having him exiled from her couch during the long hours of the night, which to her proved sleepless ones, and her gladness when the curtains were undrawn in the morning, and he was again admitted to our apartment, feeling when he took his seat, at her head, as if he had brought a flood of sunlight into our contracted dormitory, so radiant was her face and his with pleasure at meeting again.
We became deeply interested in them and their sons, of whom she talked much; one of them already in the Navy, and the other longing for the time to come when he should be old enough to go; and we parted from them at Lynchburg, with regret, each to go our several ways. We spent a large portion of our time on deck, admiring the beautiful scenery. The sluggish stream, over which we were passing, frequently assumed an air of beauty, as it wound its thread-like way onward among the sunny hillsides and smiling valleys of the James, while the bright waters of that river were, nearly all the time in sight, dancing on in their joyous beauty, now sparking in the broad sunlight, and anon, clothed in a dark and sombre hue, reflected from some o'ershadowing cliff; or clad in a rich robe of green, borrowed from the trees and shrubs overhanging its banks. The woodland scene was varied with fine farms, occasional cottage homes, and now and then a picturesque looking mill. There were some villages upon the banks, but with slight pretensions to taste or beauty.
All that we saw of loveliness, was nature's own handiwork.
After passing Lynchburg, the scenery became bolder and more magnificent. Piles upon piles of towering mountains rise before us in illimitable grandeur—sometimes we were so enclosed in them, that it seemed as if there was no possible outlet for our boat. They assumed a thousand shapes of beauty, and their outline, painted against the broad sky, was ever varying to our vision as we passed onward, presenting different aspects at every point from which we viewed them.
Occasionally they would fall in gentle slopes to a broad table land, which would be graced by some rude cabins, in themselves considered, amounting only to blemishes, but nestled among the hills, gave beauty to the scone, because we knew them to be the abodes of men. We scanned the mountain paths which led to these humble homes, and gave to the occupants egress to the outside world. We thought of the snows which must make them bleak in the winter, and these roads at times impassable, and we could fancy that the denizens led almost the life of hermits, but little time is given to speculate upon who or what they are; we move forward, and our eyes are still fascinated, and our senses charmed with the new beauties which spread out on every side. How glorious the panorama! We snuff the pare mountain air, redolent with the perfume of the grape blossoms, hanging from the vines, whose rank, luxuriant growth are binding together those huge forest trees, and whose clasping tendrils so overspread the shrubs, and brush, and undergrowth of the woods, that it is in some spots one dense mass of foliage, through which even heaven’s sun beams cannot penetrate. The occasions become still more frequent, when the water of the canal merge in those of the river, and, perhaps, for miles, we are in a broad expanse of water. Just before entering the James, at one point, a gentle man left the boat at a lock, for a walk on the towpath—meantime the towpath changes to the opposite bank, and at length our boat is thrown into the stream.
Our pedestrian, intent upon the exercise he was seeking, is all unconscious of the changes and travels briskly forward, until all at once he finds himself at the end of his path, and at a steep rugged hill, which descends to the water's edge, he just scale its base in order to keep up with the passing boat—he finds, to his surprise, that the opposite shore, to which our craft is clinging, is quite remote from the bank, along which he is making his way with so much difficulty, and he commences shouting at the top of his voice for it to stop and take him on. We wonder where the voice comes from, and are still more surprised when we ascertain that someone is at the foot of that rugged and almost perpendicular mountain side; how could he have got there? Is the exclamation! And how can he get away? He must bide his time, and struggle on as best he can, to get along over the steep and slippery way, until the stream is narrower, and our boat, by this means, enabled to come to his relief. He clings to the limbs and shrubs, to maintain a steadier footing, and threads his way along; sometimes is close to the water's edge, and in full view of us, and again hidden from our sight; for he is obliged to zigzag up and down and find a foothold where he can, until at length we are enabled to swing the packet around to the shore he was clamoring along, and receive him on board; he came panting and puffing from his unusual exertions, and with the perspiration pouring from his reddened face. The amusement caused by his awkward predicament, forms quite an episode in the monotony of our boating.
This essay first appeared in The Southern Literary Messenger in 1863.