60. CHAPTER LX.
THE DEVIL'S GARDEN.
IT is the evening succeeding the scenes which have
just been related.
The sun is near its setting.
A stream of crimson light, as red as blood,
bathes the valleys and mountains, coloring tree trunks,
and mossy rocks and flowing streams, with its ruddy splendor.
As the day declines, the deep flush ascends the trees, and
creeps up the precipices—with a stealthy crawl, like some
variegated wild animal, disappearing in the depths of the
gorges.
Finally it raises the golden crown from the top of the
Blue Ridge—fades from the pines of the wave-like Massinutton,
and lingers for an instant on the Great North Mountain,
and those serried ranges which extend, like the huge ribs of
some prostrate giant, through the region which is watered
by Lost River.
One pinnacle only at last remains illuminated. It raises
its mighty head abruptly from the valley, at a point not
many miles south of the spot where Lost River sinks and
disappears at the base of the mountain, which vainly seeks
to bar its advance.
There is something no less curious than majestic about
this vast pile, which is appropriately styled, by one who has
described it, a “truly wonderful work of Nature.”
Between two ranges of the bristling mountain, a strip of
ground, about half a mile wide, commences ascending from
the head of “Trout Run,” and continues to mount gradally
for the distance of three miles. Then it suddenly terminates
in a dizzy precipice—a vast Titanic pile of dark granite,
such as the giants who warred against the gods might have
heaped up as a memorial of one of their slain brethren.
The immense mass is entirely separate from the surrounding
mountains—yawning chasms upon each hand present an
impassable gulf—in front the precipice descends as straight
as an arrow to the depth of five hundred feet.
The details of this singular natural wonder, are no less
striking than the object itself.
A portion of the summit is covered with flat rocks, forming
a natural pavement—interrupted here and there by fissures,—and
on the eastern edge stands a gigantic bust in
granite—the head, neck and shoulders, clearly defined:—
the whole presenting to the eye “a frowning and terrific appearance.”
Near this figure, which gives its name to the
peak, formerly stood a granite pillar, ten or twelve feet high
—two or more feet in diameter, and four-square. This pillar
has been broken from its base by some convulsion of the
earth or the elements, and reclines in the form of an arch
across one of the fissures of which we have spoken.
This is the summit. But the strange details of the peak
are not exhausted. About a hundred feet below the base of
the statue a door leads into deep caverns in the rock. After
leaving the entrance, the explorer finds himself in an apartment
with level floor and ceiling—from which a flight of
stone steps ascend to another still larger. In like manner
twelve flights of steps give access to twelve apartments—the
last of which is just beneath the pavement of the summit,
and is lighted by one of the fissures already described.[1]
Such is “The Devil's Garden.” And to this wild scene
we now beg the reader to accompany us.
For a time no living thing is seen, except some huge eagle,
sailing by on broad wings, above Lost River, a flying fallow
deer, or a bear, slowly shaking his black head, and vanishing
in the tangled thickets of the mountain side.
The sun slowly sinks, and his last beams linger on the
weird-looking statue, and the vast mass of piled up granite
which soars above.
The wild scene, with its billowy ranges, and glimmering
torrents grows wilder—the denizens of the night begin to
wake in their lairs and prowl abroad to seek their prey—
over the immense horizon, all bristling with jagged peaks
and precipices, the solemn grandeur, and rude magnificence
slowly yield to a brooding gloom,—the scene is an overturned
world, convulsed and shattered—the very genius of
desolation descends and reigns, on his blood-red throne of
mountains.
The blazing shield at last sinks beneath the horizon, and
night stretches its broad pall, prepared to throw it over the
whole.
At this moment a slight rustling might have been heard
at the entrance to the caverns, on the declivity of the peak,
and a swarthy face appeared at the opening, followed ere
long by a strange and repulsive-looking figure, which remained
for a time motionless in the gathering gloom.
