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CHOCORUA'S CURSE.
The rocky county of Strafford, New-Hampshire,
is remarkable for its wild and
broken scenery. Ranges of hills towering
one above another, as if eager to look upon
the beautiful country, which afar off lies
sleeping in the embrace of heaven; precipices,
from which the young eagles take their
flight to the sun; dells rugged and tangled as
the dominions of Roderick Vich Alpine, and
ravines dark and deep enough for the death
scene of a bandit, form the magnificent characteristics
of this picturesque region.
A high precipice, called Chocorua's Cliff,
is rendered peculiarly interesting by a legend
which tradition has scarcely saved from utter
oblivion. Had it been in Scotland, perhaps
the genius of Sir Walter would have hallowed
it, and Americans would have crowded
there to kindle fancy on the altar of memory.
scenery, it is little known, and less visited;
for the vicinity is as yet untraversed by railroads
or canals, and no “Mountain House,”
perched on these tremendous battlements,
allures the traveller hither to mock the majesty
of nature with the insipidities of fashion.
Our distinguished artist, Mr. Cole, found the
sunshine and the winds sleeping upon it in
solitude and secresy; and his pencil has
brought it before us in its stern repose.
In olden time, when Goffe and Whalley
passed for wizards and mountain spirits
among the superstitious, the vicinity of the
spot we have been describing was occupied
by a very small colony, which, either from
discontent or enterprise, had retired into this
remote part of New-Hampshire. Most of
them were ordinary men, led to this independent
mode of life from an impatience of
restraint, which as frequently accompanies
vulgar obstinacy as generous pride. But
there was one master spirit among them,
who was capable of a higher destiny than he
ever fulfilled. The consciousness of this had
face of Cornelius Campbell; something of a
haughty spirit, strongly curbed by circumstances
he could not control, and at which
he scorned to murmur. He assumed no
superiority; but unconsciously he threw
around him the spell of intellect, and his
companions felt, they knew not why, that
he was “among them, but not of them.”
His stature was gigantic, and he had the
bold, quick tread of one who had wandered
frequently and fearlessly among the terrible
hiding-places of nature. His voice was
harsh, but his whole countenance possessed
singular capabilities for tenderness of expression;
and sometimes, under the gentle influence
of domestic excitement, his hard features
would be rapidly lighted up, seeming like the
sunshine flying over the shaded fields in an
April day.
His companion was one peculiarly calculated
to excite and retain the deep, strong
energies of manly love. She had possessed
extraordinary beauty; and had, in the full
maturity of an excellent judgment, relinquished
her father's displeasure, for the sake of Cornelius
Campbell. Had political circumstances
proved favourable, his talents and ambition
would unquestionably have worked out
a path to emolument and fame; but he had
been a zealous and active enemy of the Stuarts,
and the restoration of Charles the
Second was the death-warrant of his hopes.
Immediate flight became necessary, and
America was the chosen place of refuge.
His adherence to Cromwell's party was not
occasioned by religious sympathy, but by
political views, too liberal and philosophical
for the state of the people; therefore Cornelius
Campbell was no favourite with our forefathers,
and being of a proud nature, he
withdrew with his family to the solitary place
we have mentioned.
It seemed a hard fate for one who had
from childhood been accustomed to indulgence
and admiration, yet Mrs. Campbell
enjoyed more than she had done in her days
of splendour; so much deeper are the sources
of happiness than those of gaiety. Even her
The bloom on her cheek, which in
youth had been like the sweet-pea blossom,
that most feminine of all flowers, had, it is
true, somewhat faded; but her rich, intellectual
expression, did but receive additional
majesty from years; and the exercise of quiet
domestic love, which, where it is suffered to
exist, always deepens and brightens with
time, had given a bland and placid expression,
which might well have atoned for the absence
of more striking beauty. To such a woman
as Caroline Campbell, of what use would
have been some modern doctrines of equality
and independence?
With a mind sufficiently cultivated to appreciate
and enjoy her husband's intellectual
energies, she had a heart that could not have
found another home. The bird will drop
into its nest though the treasures of earth
and sky are open. To have proved marriage
a tyranny, and the cares of domestic life a
thraldom, would have affected Caroline
Campbell as little, as to be told that the
pure, sweet atmosphere she breathed, was
square inch! Over such a heart, and such
a soul, external circumstances have little
power; all worldly interest was concentrated
in her husband and babes, and her spirit was
satisfied with that inexhaustible fountain of
joy which nature gives, and God has blessed.
A very small settlement, in such a remote
place, was of course subject to inconvenience
and occasional suffering. From the Indians
they received neither injury nor insult. No
cause of quarrel had ever arisen; and, although
their frequent visits were sometimes
troublesome, they never had given indications
of jealousy or malice. Chocorua was
a prophet among them, and as such an object
of peculiar respect. He had a mind
which education and motive would have
nerved with giant strength; but growing up
in savage freedom, it wasted itself in dark,
fierce, ungovernable passions. There was
something fearful in the quiet haughtiness of
his lip—it seemed so like slumbering power,
too proud to be lightly roused, and too implacable
to sleep again. In his small, black,
beautiful snake. The white people knew
that his hatred would be terrible; but they
had never provoked it, and even the children
became too much accustomed to him to fear
him.
Chocorua had a son, about nine or ten
years old, to whom Caroline Campbell had
occasionally made such gaudy presents as
were likely to attract his savage fancy. This
won the child's affections, so that he became
a familiar visitant, almost an inmate of their
dwelling; and being unrestrained by the
courtesies of civilized life, he would inspect
everything, and taste of everything which
came in his way. Some poison, prepared
for a mischievous fox, which had long troubled
the little settlement, was discovered and
drunk by the Indian boy; and he went home
to his father to sicken and die. From that
moment jealousy and hatred took possession
of Chocorua's soul. He never told his suspicions—he
brooded over them in secret, to
nourish the deadly revenge he contemplated
against Cornelius Campbell.
The story of Indian animosity is always
the same. Cornelius Campbell left his hut
for the fields early one bright, balmy morning
in June. Still a lover, though ten years a
husband, his last look was turned towards his
wife, answering her parting smile—his last
action a kiss for each of his children. When
he returned to dinner, they were dead—all
dead! and their disfigured bodies too cruelly
showed that an Indian's hand had done the
work!
In such a mind grief, like all other emotions,
was tempestuous. Home had been to
him the only verdant spot in the wide desert
of life. In his wife and children he had garnered
up all his heart; and now they were
torn from him, the remembrance of their love
clung to him like the death-grapple of a
drowning man, sinking him down, down, into
darkness and death. This was followed
by a calm a thousand times more terrible—
the creeping agony of despair, that brings
with it no power of resistance.
The icy worm around him steal.”
Such, for many days, was the state of
Cornelius Campbell. Those who knew and
reverenced him, feared that the spark of
reason was forever extinguished. But it rekindled
again, and with it came a wild, demoniac
spirit of revenge. The death-groan
of Chocorua would make him smile in his
dreams; and when he waked, death seemed
too pitiful a vengeance for the anguish that
was eating into his very soul.
Chocorua's brethern were absent on a
hunting expedition at the time he committed
the murder; and those who watched his
movements observed that he frequently
climbed the high precipice, which afterward
took his name, probably looking out for indications
of their return.
Here Cornelius Campbell resolved to effect
his deadly purpose. A party was formed
under his guidance, to cut off all chance
of retreat, and the dark-minded prophet was
to be hunted like a wild beast to his lair.
The morning sun had scarce cleared away
the fogs when Chocorua started at a loud
voice from beneath the precipice, commanding
below. He knew the voice of his enemy,
and replied with an Indian's calmness,
“The Great Spirit gave life to Chocorua;
and Chocorua will not throw it away at the
command of a white man.” “Then hear
the Great Spirit speak in the white man's
thunder!” exclaimed Cornelius Campbell,
as he pointed his gun to the precipice. Chocorua,
though fierce and fearless as a panther,
had never overcome his dread of fire-arms.
He placed his hand upon his ears to shut out
the stunning report; the next moment the
blood bubbled from his neck, and he reeled
fearfully on the edge of the precipice. But
he recovered himself, and, raising himself on
his hands, he spoke in a loud voice, that
grew more terrific as its huskiness increased,
“A curse upon ye, white men! May the
Great Spirit curse ye when he speaks in the
clouds, and his words are fire! Chocorua
had a son—and ye killed him while his eye
still loved to look on the bright sun, and the
green earth! The Evil Spirit breathe death
upon your cattle! Your graves lie in the war
wolves fatten over your bones! Chocorua
goes to the Great Spirit—his curse stays with
the white men!”
The prophet sunk upon the ground, still
uttering inaudible curses—and they left his
bones to whiten in the sun. But his curse
rested on the settlement. The tomahawk
and scalping knife were busy among them,
the winds tore up trees and hurled them at
their dwellings, their crops were blasted,
their cattle died, and sickness came upon
their strongest men. At last the remnant of
them departed from the fatal spot to mingle
with more populous and prosperous colonies.
Cornelius Campbell became a hermit, seldom
seeking or seeing his fellow men; and two
years after he was found dead in his hut.
To this day the town of Burton, in New-Hampshire,
is remarkable for a pestilence
which infects its cattle; and the superstitious
think that Chocorua's spirit still sits enthroned
upon his precipice, breathing a curse upon
them.
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