University of Virginia Library

1. GUY RIVERS.
VOL. I.

CHAPTER I.

In the upper part of the State of Georgia, extending
into the country of the Cherokee Indians—
a region, at this period, fruitful of dispute—lying
at nearly equal distances between the parallel
waters of the Chatahoochie river, and that branch
of it which bears the name of the Chestatee, from a
now almost forgotten but once formidable tribe—
will be found a long reach of comparatively barren
lands, interspersed with hills, which occasionally
aspire to a more elevated title, and garnished only
here and there with a dull, half-withered shrubbery,
relieved at intervals, though even then but imperfectly,
by small clumps of slender pines that fling
out their few and skeleton branches ruggedly and
abruptly against the sky. The entire face of the
scene, if not absolutely desolate, has, at least, a
dreary and melancholy expression, which can

not fail to elicit, in the bosom of the most indifferent
spectator, a feeling of gravity and even gloom.
The sparse clusters of ragged woods, and thin
undergrowth of shrivelled herbage, gave token of
the generally steril character of that destiny,
which seemed to have taken up its abode immediately
within, while presiding over, the place.
All around, as far as the eye could reach, a continual
recurrence of the same objects and outline
arrested and fatigued the gaze; which finally sickened
of long levels of sand, broken with rude hills
of a dull species of rock, and a low shrubbery from
which all living things had taken their departure.
Though thus barren to the eye, this region was not,
however, utterly deficient in resources; and its possessions
were those of a description not a little
attractive to the great majority of mankind. It
was the immediate outpost—the very threshold of
the gold country, now so famous for the prolific
promise of the precious metal; far exceeding, in
the contemplation of the knowing, the lavish abundance
of Mexico and of Peru, in the days of their
palmiest and most prosperous condition. Nor,
though only the frontier and threshold as it were
to these swollen treasures, was the portion of country
now under our survey, though bleak, steril
and to the eye uninviting, wanting in attractions
of its own; it contained the signs and indications
which denoted the fertile regions, nor was it entirely
deficient in the precious mineral itself. Much gold
had been gathered already, with little labour, and
almost upon its surface; and it was perhaps only
because of the little knowledge then had of its
wealth, and of its close proximity to a more productive
territory, that it had been suffered to remain
unexamined and unexplored. Nature, thus,
we may remark, in a section of the world seemingly
unblessed with her bounty, and all ungarnished
with her fruits and flowers, appeared desirous,
however, of redeeming it from the curse
of barrenness, by storing its bosom with a product,
which, only of use to the world in its conventional
necessities, has become, in accordance
with the self-creating wants of society, a necessity
itself; and however the bloom and beauty of her
summer decorations may refresh the eye of the
enthusiast, it would here seem, that, with an extended
policy, she had created another, and perhaps
a larger class, which, in the attainment of those
spoils which are of less obvious and easy acquisition,
would even set at nought those which have
at all times been the peculiar delight and felicity
of the former. Nothing is entirely barren in her
dominions; and, to some spirits, her very solitude
and sterility seem as inviting and grateful, as to
others may appear her rich landscapes and voluptuous
flowers.

It is towards the sunset of a fine afternoon in
the month of May, that we would make our reader
more particularly acquainted with the scene we
have endeavoured to place before him. A rich
summer sun—such as is the peculiar property of a
southern region—of sufficient power, even in the
moment of his decline, to convert into tributary
glories the clouds which gathered around him, threw
over all the scene his incomparable splendours, burnishing
the earth with hues more richly golden, if
not so valuable in the estimation of mankind, as the
wealth which lay concealed within its bosom. The
picturesque guise of the solitude, thus gloriously
invested, was beautiful beyond description. Its
charms became duly exaggerated to the mind,
when coupled with the consciousness that the hand

of the mighty artist had been employed in the
adornment of a prospect of itself totally uninviting
and utterly unlovely. The solitary pine
that, here and there, touched by the sunbeams,
shone up like some burning spire—the undulating
hills, catching in different gradations of shade and
fulness, in a like manner, from the same inimitable
gilder of creation, a similar garment—the dim outlines
of the low and stunted shrubbery, sparingly
distributing its green foliage over the picture, mingled
here and there with a stray beam, dashed
hurriedly, as it were, from the palette of the same
artist—presented to the eye an outline perfectly
unique in itself, and singularly characteristic of
that warm sadness of sentiment (not to adopt too
much of an oriental phraseology) with which, alone,
it could have been properly contemplated.

At this point in our narration, a single traveller
might have been seen emerging from the confines
of the evening horizon, where the forest, such as it
was, terminated the prospect. He travelled on
horseback—the prevailing and preferable mode, in
that region, where bad roads and crazy vehicles
make every other not merely precarious but hazardous.
The animal he rode might have been
considered, even in the south, one of a choice
parentage. He was large, broad-chested, and high
—trod the earth with the firm pace of an elephant;
and, though exhibiting the utmost docility and obedience
to the rein, proceeding on his way with as
much ease and freedom as if he bore not the
slightest burden on his unconscious back. Indeed,
he carried but little weight, for a single and small
portmanteau contained the wardrobe of the rider.
Beyond this he had few incumbrances; and, to
those accustomed only to the modes of travel in a
more settled and civilized country—with bag and

baggage—the traveller might have appeared—but
for a pair of moderately-sized twisted barrels, which
we see pocketed on the saddle,—rather as a gentleman
of leisure taking his morning ride, than one
already far from home and increasing at every
step the distance between it and himself. From
our privilege we make bold to mention, that, strictly
proportioned to their capacities, the last named
appurtenances carried each a charge, which might
have rendered awkward any interruption; and, it
may not be saying too much if we add, that it is
not improbable, to this portion of his equipage our
traveller was indebted for that security which had
heretofore obviated all necessity for their use.
They were essentials which might or might not, in
that wild region, have been put in requisition; and
the prudence of all experience, in that quarter, is
seldom found to neglect such companionship.

To proceed in our detail—the personage to whom
the reader has just been introduced, was, in appearance,
a mere youth. He had, perhaps, seen some
twenty summers or thereabouts—certainly, but few
more; his person was tall, manly, and symmetrical;
his face, not so round as full, presented a
perfect oval to the eye; his forehead was broad,
high, and intellectual—purely and perfectly white;
and shadowed partially by clustering, but not
thick ringlets of the deepest brown; his eyes
were dark and piercing, but small, and were overhung
by large, projecting, and bushy brows, which
gave a commanding, and at times, a fierce expression
to his countenance; his lips were small but
full—most exquisitely rounded, and of a ripe, rich
colour. He might have been considered a fine
specimen of masculine beauty, but for the smallness
of his eyes, which, though quick and speaking,
failed to sustain, with due proportion, the otherwise

highly attractive outline of a countenance strongly
marked with mind and character. We have
dwelt thus long upon the person of our new acquaintance,
as it is more than probable he will have
much to perform, in the presence of the reader, during
the progress of our narrative. It may be well
to add, in order to the omission of nothing hereafter
important, that he rode with the ease and
grace common to the people of the southern
states, though with a seeming indolence—not so
much a peculiarity with the same class on horseback
as on foot—which indicated perhaps something
of his usual habit and temper. His habiliments
were strictly suited to the condition and
custom of the country—a variable climate—rough
roads—and, not unfrequently, villanous weather.
They consisted of a blue stuff, not so fine as strong,
well made, happily adjusted to the figure, yet
with sufficient freedom for all the purposes and requisitions
of travel. He was booted and spurred;
and his legs, from above the knee down to the ancle,
were closely wrapped in a thick and somewhat
fantastically-wrought pair of buckskin leggings, a
feature of dress which the early settlers have
borrowed from the Indian habit. A huge cloak,
strapped compactly over his saddle, completes the
outline; and thus caparisoned, with possibly a
fox-skin cap in place of the fashionable beaver, and a
pair of monstrous saddle-bags in lieu of the portmanteau,
the reader has, in most respects, a fair
sample of the traveller generally in the southern
and south-western forests, to whom all the contingencies
of wilderness and weather have been made
familiar by a rugged experience.

Our new acquaintance had, by this time,
emerged from the spot in which we first encountered
him, into one of those circuits of brown, barren,

ridgy heath, which, interspersed as they are with
waste and forest, in not unequal divisions, may not
improperly be considered a prevailing outline of feature
in the poorer sections of our southern country.
Though broken here and there by an abrupt line
of crags, it was a monotonous and weary waste,
thinly scattered with foliage, and rather saddened
than relieved by the occasional skeleton of some
decayed tree, peeled by the storms of its bark and
verdure, hanging out its ragged and sapless branches
in the air, and giving an added melancholy to a
scene, in the absence of all other associations, sufficiently
so in itself. Here our traveller fell into a
narrow footpath, and being naturally of a musing
and dreamy spirit, pursued unconsciously, and
without seeming observation, the way which it
pointed out. His thoughts were seemingly in full
unison with the almost grave-like stillness and solemn
hush of every thing around him. His spirit
appeared to luxuriate in the mournful barrenness
and uninviting associations from which all but himself,
birds and beasts, and the very insects, seemed
utterly to have departed. The faint hum of a single
woodchuck, which from its confused motions,
appeared to have wandered into an unknown territory,
and by its uneasy action and frequent chirping,
seemed to indicate a perfect knowledge of the
fact, was the only object which at intervals broke
through the spell of silence which hung so heavily
upon the sense. The air of the traveller was that
of one who appeared unable, however desirous he
might be, to avoid the train of sad thought which
such a scene was so eminently calculated to inspire;
and, of consequence, who seemed disposed
for this object to call up some of those internal
resources of one's own mind and memory,
which so mysteriously bear us away from the
present, whatever its powers, its pains, or its pleasures,
and carry us into a territory of the heart's
own selection. But whether the past, in his case,
was more to be dreaded than the present; or
whether, to the contemplative mind, there was
something in the immediate prospect around him
calculated to afford it a not ungrateful employment,
we may not determine; but the wayfarer,
after a while, appeared disposed to resign himself
wholly to the mood of mind so imperatively demanded
by the nature of the objects which encompassed
him. The bridle fell at length from his
hand upon the neck of his steed; and it was only
when the noble animal, aroused to consciousness
by the seeming stupor of his rider, suddenly and
absolutely came to a stand, that the youth grew
aware of the precise nature of his situation. The
space now began greatly to narrow around him,
and the trees to thicken. The horizon, as well from
the decline of the sun-light as from the increased
vigour of the forest, became more circumscribed.
The trees waved over him more frequently and
freely; and, at length converging to a centre,
brought him within the shadow and shelter of a
thickly umbrageous wood. Here the path, which
he had taken unwittingly at first, and still continued
to pursue, failed him entirely, and was now no longer
discernible; and for the first time, after fruitlessly
seeking for an outlet, our traveller grew apprehensive
that his meditations of the last half hour
had tended in no very great degree, to enlighten
him on the subject of the route he was pursuing.
In sober earnest, he found out that he had mistaken
his route, whatever that might have been; and was
now compelled to hold a council of war with the
good steed he rode, and which appeared just as
well as his master to comprehend their mutual predicament.
Silently dismounting, therefore, and
leading his horse after him, he put himself at some
trouble to trace, if possible, some human pathway
other than that by which he had been deceived.
In spite of the somewhat reckless air which his
looks wore on this occasion, a close observer might
have beheld in his eye a still, but anxious, expression.
His unconscious wanderings and vacant
glances indicated correctly the doubting and dissatisfied
spirit, lurking under, and poorly concealed
by the careless gesture and rather philosophic
swing of his graceful and manly person, as plying
his way through this or that clump of trees and
bushes, he sought to discover the track which
he had lost, and which now nowhere met his eye.
Though bold of heart, and well aware of the mode
of procedure in such cases, our traveller was in
no mood for a lodge through the night in that “vast
contiguity of shade.” He could have borne the
necessity as well as any other man; but he had no
love for a “grassy couch,” and a “leafy bower,”
and all those rural felicities about which the poets,
who know least, prate most; and persevering in
the search, while a prospect of success remained,
he went on, till utterly fatigued and hopeless, he
remounted his steed, and throwing the bridle upon
his neck, with something of the indifference of despair,
he plied his spurs, suffering the animal to
adopt his own course, which we shall see was
nevertheless interrupted by the appearance of another
party upon the scene, whose introduction
we reserve for another chapter.