Solitaires

Among the most interesting personages in the United States,are the Solitaries;--solitary families, not individuals.Europeans, who think it much to lodge in a country cottage forsix weeks in the summer, can form little idea of the life of asolitary family in the wilds. I did not see the most sequestered,as I never happened to lose my way in the forests or on theprairies: but I witnessed some modes of life which realized all Ihad conceived of the romantic, or of the dismal.

One rainy October day, I saw a settler at work in the forest,on which he appeared to have just entered. His clearing looked,in comparison with the forest behind him, of about the size of apin-cushion. He was standing, up to the knees in water, among thestubborn stumps, and charred stems of dead trees. He was notchinglogs with his axe, beside his small log-hut and stye. There wasswamp behind, and swamp on each side;--a pool of mud around eachdead tree, which had been wont to drink the moisture. There was asemblance of a tumble-down fence: no orchard yet; no grave-yard;no poultry; none of the graces of fixed habitation had grown up.On looking back to catch a last view of the scene, I saw twolittle boys, about three and four years old, leading a horse homefrom the forest; one driving the animal behind with an armful ofbush, and the other reaching up on tiptoe to keep his hold of thehalter; and both looking as if they would be drowned in theswamp. If the mother was watching from the hut, she must havethought this strange dismal play for her little ones. Thehard-working father must be toiling for his children; for thesuccess of his after life can hardly atone to him for such adestitution of comfort as I saw him in the midst of. Many suchscenes are passed on every road in the western parts of theStates. They become cheering when the plough is seen, or a fewsheep are straggling on the hill side, seeming lost in space.

One day, at Niagara, I had spent hours at the Falls, till,longing for the stillness of the forest, I wandered deep into itswild paths, meeting nothing but the belled heifer, grazing, andthe slim, clean swine which live on the mast and roots they canfind for themselves. I saw some motion in a thicket, a little wayfrom the path, and went to see what it was. I found a little boyand girl, working away, by turns, with an axe, at the branches ofa huge hickory, which had been lately felled. "Father"had felled the hickory the day before, and had sent the childrento make faggots from the branches. They were heated and out ofbreath. I had heard of the toughness of hickory, and longed toknow what the labour of wood-cutting really was. Here was anirresistible opportunity for an experiment. I made the childrensit down on the fallen tree, and find out the use of myear-trumpet, while I helped to make their faggot. When I had hewnthrough one stout branch, I was quite sufficiently warmed, andglad to sit down to hear the children's story. Their father hadbeen a weaver and a preacher in England. He had brought out hiswife and six children. During the week, he worked at his land,finding some employment or another for all of his children whocould walk alone; and going some distance on Sundays to preach.This last particular told volumes. The weaver has not lost heartover his hard field-labour. His spirit must be strong and lively,to enable him to spend his seventh day thus, after plying the axefor six. The children did not seem to know whether they likedManchester or the forest best; but they looked stout and rosy.

They, however, were within reach of church and habitation;buried, as they appeared, in the depths of the woods. I saw, inNew Hampshire, a family who had always lived absolutely alone,except when an occasional traveller came to their door, duringthe summer months. The old man had run away with his wife,forty-six years before, and brought her to the Red Mountain, nearthe top of which she had lived ever since. It was well that shemarried for love, for she saw no one but her husband andchildren, for many a long year after she jumped out of herwindow, in her father's house, to run away.

Our party, consisting of four, was in the humour to be struckwith the romance of the domestic history of the old man of themountain, as the guide is called. We had crossed LakeWinnepisseogee, the day before, and watched from our piazza, atCentre Harbour, the softening of the evening light over the broadsheet of water, and the purple islands that rested upon it. Afterdark, fires blazed forth from the promontories, and glimmered inthe islands; every flaming bush and burning stem being distinctlyreflected in the grey mirror of the waters. These fires weresigns of civilization approaching the wild districts on which wewere entering. Land on the lake shores has become very valuable;and it is being fast cleared.

We were to have set off very early on our mountain expedition,next day; but the morning was misty, and we did not leave CentreHarbour till near eight;--nearly an hour and a half afterbreakfast. We were in a wagon, drawn by the horses on which thetwo ladies were to ascend the mountain from the guide's house.The sky was grey, but promising; for its curtains were rising atthe other end of the lake, and disclosing ridge after ridge ofpines on the mountain side. The road became very rough as webegan to ascend; and it was a wonder to me how the wagon could belifted up, as it was, from shelf to shelf of limestone. One shelfsloped a little too much, even for our wagon. Its line ofdirection was no longer within the base, as children are taughtat school that it should be. All the party, except myself, rolledout. The driver, sprawling on his back on a terribly sharpeminence of limestone, tugged manfully at the reins, and shouted,"Whoi-ee" as cheerfully as if he had been sitting on acushion, in his proper place. He was not a man to desert his dutyin an extremity. He was but little hurt, and nobody else at all.

The wagon was left here, and we ascended a mile, a steep path,among woods and rocks, to the guide's little farm; plunging intoa cloud, just before we reached the house. It was baking day; andwe found the old dame, with a deaf and dumb daughter;--one ofthree deaf,--busy among new bread, pies, and apples. Strings ofapples hung against the walls; and there was every symptom ofplenty and contentment within and without doors. The old damemight have been twin sister to Juliet's nurse. She was delightedto have an opportunity of using her tongue, and was profuse inher invitations to us to stay,--to come again,--to be sociable.The exercise she takes in speaking must be one cause of her buxomhealth. Out of a pantomime, I never saw anything so energetic asher action; the deafness of her children being no doubt the causeof this. She seemed heartily proud of them; the more, evidently,on account of their singularity. She told us that the daughternow at home had never left it. "Her father could not spareher to school; but I could have spared her." What a life oflittle incidents magnified must their's be! As one of mycompanions observed, the bursting of a shoe, or the breaking of aplate, must furnish talk for a week. The welcome discovery wasmade that we had a mutual acquaintance. A beloved friend of minehad ascended the mountain some weeks before, and had followed herusual practice of carrying away all the hearts she found there.The old dame spoke lovingly of her as "that Liza;" andshe talked about her till she had seen my foot into the stirrup,and given me her blessing up the mountain.

The path was steep, and the summit bare. There was an openingfor a single moment on our arrival; the mist parted and closedagain, having shown us what a view there was beneath us of greenmountains, and blue ponds, and wooded levels. We were entertainedfor some time with such glimpses; more beautiful perhaps than anunrestricted vision. Such revelations take away one's breath.When all was misty again, we amused ourselves with gatheringblue-berries, which grew profusely under foot. The old man, too,was ready with any information we desired about himself; and withabundance of anecdotes of summer travellers, to whom he had actedas guide.

He was a soldier of the revolution; and at its close, retiredhither, with his bride, among bears-and deer. There are no deerleft; and he killed nineteen bears with his own hand: the last,thirty-five years before. One of them was nearly the death ofhim. A shot which he intended to be mortal was not so. Thewounded bear chased him; and there was nothing to be done but torun round and round a tree, loading his gun, while the bear wasat his heels, blowing foam and blood upon him. He fired over hisshoulder, and dispatched his pursuer. He told us, when thecurtain of mist finally drew up, the opinions of learned men whomhe had conducted hither, about this mountain having once been anisland in the midst of a vast lake. He pointed out how it is,even now, nearly surrounded by waters; Long Pond, LakeWinnepisseogee, and Squam Lake. The two last are so crowded withislands that the expression of the water is broken up. Theislands lie in dark slips upon the gleamy surface, dividing itinto too many pond-like portions. But the mountain horizon wasaltogether beautiful. Some had sharp peaks, some notched; thesides of some were bare, with traces of tremendous slides:others, green as the spring, with wandering sun gleams and cloudshadows. I found myself much mistaken in my fancy that I did notcare for bird's-eye views.

The dame was looking out for us when we descended, anxious todetain us for more talk, and to make us bearers of a present to"that Liza." She hung some strings of her drying applesover the arm of a gentleman of the party, with the utmost faiththat he would take care of them all the way to Boston. He kindlyreceived them; and I can testify that he did his best to makethem reach their destination. It was kindness well bestowed; forno doubt it was a winter luxury of the good dame's to fancy ourmutual friend enjoying her Red Mountain applesauce. The sending apresent to Boston must be a rare event to dwellers in such asolitude.

Not many miles from this place, stands a deserted dwellingwhose inhabitants lived in a deeper solitude, and perished all inone night, far from human aid. No house stands within many milesof it, even now. I had heard the story before I saw the place;but I had no idea of the difference between listening to a sadtale, and seeing the spot of which it is told. In a deep narrowvalley among the White Mountains, lived a family of the name ofWilley. Their dwelling was a comfortable loghouse, on a greenplatform, at the foot of one of the steepest mountains. Therewere but few travellers among these mountains in their day; butthose few were kindly welcomed: and the cheerful host andhostess, and their comely children, were always well spoken of.On a stormy August night, 1826, a tremendous slide came crashingdown the mountain side, at the rear of the house. If the familyhad remained in their chambers, they would have been safe: a rockat the edge of the green platform, behind the dwelling, partedthe slide, so that the grassy plot remained untouched,--a brightisland in the midst of the desolation. The family, to the numberof nine, were overwhelmed, and all perished. The bodies of sevenwere found. The bones of the other two are doubtless buried underthe slide, where rank verdure and young trees are growing up, asif trying to efface the horrors of the wreck. The scene must havebeen dreadful to those who first arrived at the spot, after theevent. The house, safe on its grass plot; its door standing wide;the beds and clothes of the family showing that they had sprungup from sleep, and so fled from the only place where they wouldhave been safe; no one there; a deadly silence brooding over thequiet spot, and chaotic desolation around;--it is no wonder thatthe house remains deserted, and the valley untenanted.

Some miles further on, the traveller may witness whatcomfortable cheer may be afforded by dwellers in the wilderness.All travellers in the White Mountains know Ethan A. Crawford'shospitality. He cannot be said to live in solitude, inasmuch asthere is another house in the valley: but everybody is aware howlittle sociability there is between two dwellers in a lonelyplace. One may enjoy life there; and several may get on well; buttwo never: and Ethan Crawford's is a virtual solitude, except forthree months in the year. The fate of the Willeys was uppermostin our minds when we arrived; and we were little prepared forsuch entertainment as we found. After a supper of fine laketrout, a son of our host played to us on a nameless instrument,made by the joiners who put the house together, and highlycreditable to their ingenuity. It was something like theharmonica in form, and the bagpipes in tone; but, well-played asit was by the boy, it was highly agreeable. Then Mr. Crawforddanced an American jig, to the fiddling of a relation of his. Thedancing was somewhat solemn; but its good faith made up for anywant of mirth. He had other resources for the amusement of hisguests: a gun wherewith he was wont to startle the mountainechoes, till, one day, it burst: (leaving nothing for us to dobut to look at the fragments:) also, a horn, which, blown on acalm day, brings a chorus of sweet responses from the far hillsides. Retirement in such a valley, and with such resources asEthan Crawford's, is attractive enough to the passing traveller;and, to judge by the countenance of the host, anything butdispiriting to those who have made trial of it.

No solitude can be more romantic than that at the mouth of theMammoth Cave in Kentucky; so called, not because anymammoth-bones have been found there, but because it is thelargest explored cave in the world. I was told, not only by theguides, but by a gentleman who is learned in caves, that it canbe travelled through, in different directions, to the extent ofsixty miles. We could not think of achieving the entireunderground journey; but we resolved to see all we could; and,for that purpose, preferred devoting the half of two days to theobject, to one entire day, the weariness of which would probablycurtail our rambles. After a most interesting and excitingjourney of nearly two nights and a day from Nashville, Tennessee,our party, consisting of four, arrived at Bell's hotel, twelvemiles from the cave, at half-past seven, on a bright May morning.We slept till one o'clock, and then set off in a stage and fourfor the cave. My expectations had been so excited, that everyobject on the road seemed to paint itself on my very spirit; andI now feel as if I saw the bright hemp fields, the oak copses,the gorgeous wild flowers, and clear streams, running over theirlimestone beds, that adorned our short journey.

The house at the cave stands on the greenest sward that earthand dews can produce; and it grows up to the very walls of thedwelling. The well, with its sweep,--a long pole, with a rope andbucket at one end, laid across the top of a high post, --thisprimitive well, on the same plot of turf, and the carriage inwhich two travellers--young men--had just arrived, were the onlyoccupiers of the grass, besides the house. We lost no time inproceeding to the cave. The other party of travellers and theguides carried lamps, and grease to trim them with; an amplesupply of both; for the guides know something of the horrors ofbeing left in darkness in the mazes of a cave. We went down asteep path into a glen, from which the golden sunlight seemedreflected, as from water; so bright was the May verdure.The guides carried our cloaks; which seemed to us veryridiculous; for we were panting with the heat. But, when we hadwound down to the yawning, shadowy cave, with its diamond dripsand clustering creepers about the entrance, a blast of wintrywind gushed from it, and chilled our very hearts. I found itpossible to stand on one foot, and be in the midst of meltingheat; and leaning forward on the other, to feel half frozen. Thehumming birds must be astonished, when they flit across theentrance, to meet winter in the middle of the glen, and emergeinto summer again on the other side.

The entrance of the cave serves as an ice-house to the familyof the guide. They keep their meat there, and go to refreshthemselves when relaxed by the heat. The temperature isdelightful, after the first two or three minutes; and we wereglad to leave our cloaks by the way side. The ladies tiedhandkerchiefs over their heads, and tucked up their gowns for thescramble over the loose limestone; looking thereby verypicturesque, and not totally unlike the witches in Macbeth. Thegloom, the echo of the footsteps, the hollow sound of voices, thestartling effect of lights seen unexpectedly in a recess, in acrevice, or high overhead,--these impressions may be recalled inthose who have wandered in caves, but can never be communicatedto those who have not. It is in vain to describe a cave. Call ita chaos of darkness and rocks, with wandering and inexplicablesounds aud motions, and all is done. Everything appears alive:the slowly growing stalactites, the water ever dropping into theplashing pool, the whispering airs,--all seem conscious. Thecoolness, vastness, suggestions of architecture, and dimdisclosures, occasion different feelings from any that are knownunder the lights of the sky. The air in the neighbourhood of thewaterfall was delicious to breathe; and the pool was so clearthat I could not, for some time, see the water, in a pretty fulllight. That Rembrandt light on the drip of water, on the piledrocks, and on our figures,--light swallowed up before it couldreach the unseen canopy under which we stood, can never beforgotten. Milton's lake of fire might have brought the roof intoview:--nothing less.

The young guides, brothers, were fine dashing youths, asKentucky youths are. They told us some horrible tales, and onevery marvellous story about darkness and bewilderment in thelabyrinth of the cave. They told us (before they knew that any ofus were English) that "all the lords and lights of Englandhad been to see the cave, except the king." While they wereabout it, they might as well have included his majesty. Perhapsthey have, by this time; good stories being of very rapid growth.They reported that ladies hold on in the cave better thangentlemen. One of the party supposed this was because they werelighter; but the guide believed it was owing to their having morecuriosity.

I was amused at their assurances about the number of milesthat we had walked; and thought it as good a story as any theyhad told us: but, to my utter amazement, I found, on emergingfrom the cave, that the stars were shining resplendently downinto the glen, while the summer lightning was quiveringincessantly over the "verdurous wall" which sprang upto a lofty height on either hand. There seemed to be none of thecoolness of night abroad. A breathless faintness came over us onquitting the freshness of the cave, and taught us the necessarycaution of resting awhile at the entrance.

Supper was ready when we returned; and then the best room wasassigned to the three ladies, while the gentlemen were to havethe loft. We saw the stars through chinks in our walls; but itwas warm May, and we feared no cold. Shallow tin-pans,--milkpans,I believe,--were furnished to satisfy our request for ewer andbasin. The windows had blinds of paper-hanging; a common sort ofwindow-blind at hotels, and in country places. Before it waslight, I was wakened by a strong cold breeze blowing upon me; andat dawn, I found that the entire lower half of the window wasabsent. A deer had leaped through it, a few weeks before; andthere had been no opportunity of mending it. But everything wasclean; everybody was obliging; the hostess was motherly; and theconclusion that we came to in the morning was that we had allslept well, and were ready for a second ramble in the cave.

We saw, this day, the Grotto and the Deserted Chamber. Fewvisitors attempt the grotto, the entrance to it being in one partonly a foot and a half high. We were obliged, not only to go onhands and knees, but to crawl lying flat. It is a sensation worthknowing, to feel oneself imprisoned in the very heart of amountain, miles from the sun-light, and with no mode of escapebut the imperceptible hole which a child might block up in fiveminutes. Never was there a more magnificent prison or sepulchre.Whether the singularity of our mode of access magnified to oureyes the beauties we had thereby come into the midst of, orwhether Nature does work most con amore in retired places,this grotto seemed to us all by far the most beautiful part ofthe cave. The dry sandy floor was pleasant to the tread, afterthe loose limestone; the pillars were majestic; the freaks ofnature most wild and elegant. The air was so fresh and cool that,if only a Rosicrucian lamp could be hung in this magnificentchamber, it would be the place of all others in which to spendthe sultry summer's day,--entering when the beauties of thesunrise had given place to glare, and issuing forth at the risingof the evening star.

On our way to the Deserted Chamber, we cut off half a mile bya descent through a crevice, and a re-ascent by another. We werepresently startled by the apparition of two yellow stars, at whatappeared an immeasurable distance. In this cave, I was remindedafter a total forgetfulness of many years, of the night-marevisitations of my childhood; especially of the sense of infinitedistance, which used to terrify me indescribably. Here, too, thesenses and the reason were baulked. Those two yellow stars mighthave been worlds, many millions of miles off in space, or,--whatthey were,--two shabby lamps, fifty yards off. A new visitor hadarrived; and the old man of the solitary house had brought himdown, in hopes of meeting our larger party. One of the gentlemenpresently slipped on the loose stones, and fell into a hole, withhis back against a sharp rock; and he seemed at first unable torise. This was the only misadventure we had; and it did not provea serious one. He was somewhat shaken and bruised, and renderedunwilling to go with the rest to the Bottomless Pit: but therewas no eventual injury. He and I staid in the Deserted Chamber,while our companions disappeared, one by one, through a crevice,on their way to the pit. The dead silence, and the glimmer of oursingle lamp, were very striking; and we were more disposed tolook round upon the low-roofed apartment, piled with stones asfar as the eye could reach, than to talk. I tried to swallow apiece of bread or cake, very like a shoe-sole, and speculatedupon these piles of stones;--by whose hand they were reared, andhow long ago. There is much cane--doubtless, once used forfuel--scattered about the deeper recesses of the cave; and thesestones were evidently heaped up by human hands; and those notIndian. It is supposed that this cave was made use of by thatmysterious race which existed before the Indians, and of which somany curious traces remain in the middle States of the West; arace more civilized, to judge by the works of their hands, thanthe Indians have ever been; but of which no tradition remains.

Our party returned safe, and refreshed by a draught of water,better worth having than my luncheon of bread. When we left thecave, our guides insisted upon it that we had walked, thismorning, ten or eleven miles. I pronounced it four. Others of theparty said seven; and the point remains unsettled. We all agreedthat it was twice as much as we could have accomplished in theheat above ground; and perhaps the most remarkable walk we hadever taken in our lives. Our hostess was with us the whole time;and it was amusing to see in her the effect of custom. She trodthe mazes of this cave just as people do the walks of their owngarden.

The gush of sun-light pouring in at the mouth of the cave,green and soft, as we emerged from the darkness, was exquisitelybeautiful. So was the foliage of the trees, after the rigid formswhich had been printing themselves upon our eye-sight for so manyhours. As we sat at the entrance, to accustom ourselves to thewarm outward air, I saw, growing high in the steep woods, therichest of kalmias, in full bloom. One of the gentlemen ran tobring me some; and when it came, it was truly a feast to the eye.How apt are we to look upon all things as made for us! How manyseasons has this kalmia bloomed?

We were truly sorry to bid farewell to our motherly hostess,and her "smart" sons. Theirs is a singular mode oflife; and it left nearly as vivid an impression on our minds astheir mighty neighbour, the cave. If any of us should ever happento be banished, and to have a home to seek, I fancy we shouldlook out for a plot of green sward, among flowering kalmias, nearthe mouth of an enormous cave, with humming birds flitting aboutit by day, and fire-flies and summer lightning by night.

From Harriet Martineau, Society in America, VolumeI, Part II, - Economy, (Section I) - "Solitaires."London: Saunders and Otley, 1837, pp. 217-236.

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