University of Virginia Library

LIFE IN WESTERN VIRGINIA.

Much of Western Virginia is yet a new country, and thinly settled; and in some of
the more remote and inaccessible counties, the manner of living and the habits of the
people are quite primitive. Many of these mountain counties are so far from markets,
that it is a common saying among the inhabitants that they can only sell those things
which will "walk away"—meaning cattle, horses, swine, &c. Of the latter, immense
droves are sent to the east annually from this country, and Tennessee, Kentucky, and
Ohio. The feeding of the swine, as they pass through the country in the autumn of
each year, supplies a market for much of the corn which is produced. Aside from this,
there is but little inducement for each one to raise more grain than his own family will
consume; and consequently, there is but little room for enterprise on the part of the agriculturist.
His products, when they sell at all, bring but a trivial sum. For instance,
corn, the chief product, brings but from 17 to 25 cents per bushel; oats, 12 1-2 cts. do.;
pork, beef, and venison, $2 to $2 50 neat per 100 lbs.; and other things in proportion.
This pay, too, is frequently in store-goods, on which the merchant, owing to his small
amount of custom, charges heavy profits. For foreign luxuries, the agriculturist pays
the highest prices,—the expense of transportation from the north—where they are usually
purchased by the merchant—to the wild parts of Western Virginia, being 3 or 4
cents per pound: so for bulky articles, as sugar, coffee, &c., the consumer is obliged to
pay several cents a pound more than an inhabitant of the older portions of the state.
He, however, graduates his wants to his means; and although he may not have the
fine house, equipage, dress, &c., of the wealthy planter, yet he leads a manly life, and
breathes the pure air of the hills with the contented spirit of a freeman. Living

The inhabitants of the mountain counties are almost perfectly independent. Many a
young man with but a few worldly goods, marries, and, with an axe on one shoulder
and a rifle on the other, goes into the recesses of the mountains, where land can be had
for almost nothing. In a few days he has a log-house and a small clearing. Visit him
some fine day thirty years afterwards, and you will find he has eight or ten children—
the usual number here—a hardy, healthy set; forty or fifty acres cleared, mostly cultivated
in corn; a rude square log bin, built in cob-house fashion, and filled with corn in
the cob, stands beside his cabin; near it is a similar structure, in which is a horse; and
scattered about are half a dozen hay-ricks; an immense drove of hogs, and some cattle,
are roaming at large in the adjoining forest. And if it is what is called "mast year"
—that is, if the forests abound in nuts, acorns, &c.—these animals will be found to be
very fat, and display evidence of good living.

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LIFE IN EASTERN VIRGINIA.

The Home of the Planter.

LIFE IN WESTERN VIRGINIA.

The Home of the Mountaineer.

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Enter the dwelling. The lady of the house, and all her children, are attired in homespun.
Her dress is large, of convenient form, and entirely free from the fashionable
lacing universal elsewhere. It is confined together with buttons, instead of hooks and
eyes. She looks strong and healthy—so do her daughters—and as rosy and blooming as
"flowers by the way-side." Her sons, too, are a sturdy-looking set, who soon (if not
now) will be enabled to fell a tree or shoot a deer with facility. The house and furniture
are exceedingly plain and simple, and, with the exception of what belongs to the
cupboard, principally manufactured in the neighborhood. The husband is absent, hunting.
At certain seasons of the year, what time he can spare from his little farm he
passes in the excitement of the chase, and sells the skins of his game.

Soon he enters with a buck or bear he has shot, (for he is a skilful marksman,) or perhaps
some other game. He is fifty years of age, yet in his prime—a stout, athletic man;
his countenance is bronzed by exposure, and his frame seems almost of iron; he is
robed in a hunting-shirt of picturesque form, made, too, of homespun, and ornamented
with variegated fringe; and a pair of moccasins are on his feet. He receives you with
a blunt, honest welcome, and as he gives you his hand, his heart goes with it; for
he looks upon you as a friend; he has passed his life among the mountains, in the midst
of a simple-hearted people, who have but little practical knowledge of the deceit which
those living in densely-populated communities, among the competitive avocations of society,
are tempted to practice. His wife prepares dinner. A neat white cloth is spread,
and soon the table is covered with good things. On it is a plate of hot corn-bread, preserves
of various kinds, bacon, venison, and more than probable three varieties of meat.
Your host may ask a blessing—thanks to the itinerating system of the Methodists,
which has even reached this remote spot—his wife pours you out a "dish of coffee,"
the great luxury of the country, and frequently used at every meal: it is thickened with
cream—not milk—and sweetened with sugar from the maple grove just front of the
house. The host bids you help yourself, and, if not squeamish, you "go into it," and
enjoy that plain, substantial meal better than you ever did a dinner at Astor's.

Now mount your nag and be off! As you descend the mountain-path faintly discerned
before you, and breathe the pure, fresh air of the bills, cast your eyes upon the
most impressive of scenes, for Nature is there in all her glory. Far down in the valley,
to the right, winds a lovely stream; there hid by the foliage overarching its bright waters
—anon it appears in a clearing—again, concealed by a sweep of the mountain you are
descending—still beyond, it seems diminished to a silvery thread. To the right and
front is a huge mountain, in luxuriant verdure, at places curving far into the plain,—and
at those points, and at the summits, bathed in a sea of golden light,—at others, receding,
thrown into dark, sombre, forbidding shades. Beyond are mountains piled on mountains,
like an uptossed sea of ridges, until they melt away in distance, and imagination
fancies others still farther on. High in blue ether float yon clouds of snowy white, and
far above them, in majestic flight, sails the bird of the mountain, with an air as wild, as
free, as the spirit of liberty. How every thing is rejoicing all around! Innumerable
songsters are warbling sweetest music; those wild flowers, with scarce the morning dew
from off their lips, are opening their bright cheeks to the sun; and even the tiny insects
flitting through the air, join in the universal hallelujah! Now fast losing the scene,
you are entering the dark, solemn forest, densely matted above with vines, almost excluding
the light of day. You are soon at the base of the mountains, and from the copse
before you out starts a deer! the graceful animal pricks up its ears, distends its nostrils
in fear, and, gathering its slender limbs ready for a spring, then bounds away, over hillocks
and through ravines, and is seen no more. The stream, broad and shallow, is
wending its way across your road with gentle murmurings,—splash! splash! goes your
horse's feet into the water; forty times in ten miles does it cross your road, and in various
places for many hundred yards your course is directly through it. There are no
bridges upon it: there are comparatively few in Western Virginia.

The above picture of a mountaineer, with a sketch of the wild and romantic scenery
among which he lives, is a common, though not a universal one; but between him and
the wealthy inhabitant of a large village, who lives in the enjoyment of every blessing,
are all grades. Many cannot read or write, and many that can, know nothing of geography
and other branches. The country is too thinly settled to carry out a system of
common schools, although the state makes liberal appropriations for that purpose. The
mountaineer who lives not within half a day's travel of a school-house, cannot afford,
like the wealthy lowland planter, to hire a private instructor, and pay him a heavy
salary.

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Among these mountain fastnesses is much latent talent, which requires only an opportunity
for its development. Many of the people are of Scotch-Irish descent, and
possess the bravery and other noble traits of their ancestry. Almost entirely isolated
from the world, fashion, with her iron sway, has not stereotyped manners, modes of
thought, and expression; and, therefore, an amusing originality and ingenuity in metaphor
is frequently displayed. The educated of this mountain region are often men of
high intelligence, fine address, and are possessed of all that which gives zest to social
intercourse.

To further illustrate the subject we are upon, the manners and customs of the mountaineers,
we will introduce an article—already elsewhere published by us—giving our adventures
in one of the wildest counties in the state:

A Religious Encampment in a Forest.

Towards the close of an autumnal day, while travelling through this thinly-settled region,
I came up with a substantial looking farmer, leaning on a fence by the road-side.
I accompanied him to his house to spend the night. It stood in a field, a quarter of a
mile from the road, and was one of the better sort of log-dwellings, inasmuch as it had
two stories and two or three small windows. In its rear was a small log structure, about
fifteen feet square, the weaving-shop of the family. On entering the house, I found a
numerous family, all clothed in substantial garments of their own manufacture. The
floor was unadorned by a carpet, and the room devoid of superfluous furniture; yet all
that necessity required to make them comfortable. One needs but little experience like
this to discover how few are our real wants, how easily most luxuries of dress, equipage,
and furniture can be dispensed with. After my arrival, two or three chickens were
knocked down in the yard, and ere long supper was ready. It consisted of chickens,
bacon, hoe-cake, and buckwheat cakes. Our beverage was milk, which is used at all
meals in Virginia, and coffee thickened with cream and sweetened by maple sugar.

Soon as it grew dark, my hostess took down a small candle-mould for three candles,
hanging from the wall on a frame-work just in front of the fire-place, in company with
a rifle, long strings of dried pumpkins, and other articles of household property. With
this, she "run" her lights for the evening. On retiring, I was conducted to the room
overhead, to which I ascended by stairs out of doors. My bed-fellow was the county
sheriff, a young man of about my age; and as we lay together, a fine field was had for
astronomical observations through the chinks of the logs. On my informing him that
this was one of the first log dwellings in which I had ever spent a night, he regarded
me with astonishment, and proceeded to enlighten me upon life in the backwoods, giving

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After breakfast, through the persuasion of the sheriff, who appeared to have taken a
sort of fancy to me, I agreed to go across the country by his house. He was on horseback—I
on foot. For six miles, our route lay through a pathless forest, on leaving which
we passed through "the Court-House," the only village in the county, composed of
about a dozen houses, mostly log, and a brick court-house. A mile beyond, my companion
pointed to a small log structure as the place where he was initiated into the mysteries
of reading and writing. It was what is called, in Virginia, "an old field schoolhouse,"
an expression, originating in the circumstance that these buildings, in the older
portions of the state, are erected upon worn-out lands. Soon after, we came to a Methodist
encampment. The roads are here too rude to transport tents, hence the Methodists
and Baptists, in this country, build log structures which stand from year to year, and
afford much better shelter than tents. This encampment was formed of three continuous
lines, each occupying a side of a square, and about one hundred and fifty feet in
length. Each row was divided into six or eight cabins, with partitions between. The
height of the rows on the inner side of the enclosed area, was about ten feet; on the
outer about six, to which the roof sloped shed-like. The door of each cabin opened on
the inner side of the area, and at the back was a log chimney, which came up even
with the roof. At the upper extremity of the enclosure formed by these three lines of
cabins, was a shed, say thirty by fifty feet, in which was a coarse pulpit and log seats;
a few tall trees were standing in the area, and many stumps scattered here and there.
The whole establishment was in the depth of a forest, and wild and rude as can well be
imagined. Religious pride would demand a more elegant temple; but where could the
humble more appropriately worship? We read that

In many of these sparsely-inhabited counties, there are no settled clergymen, and rarely
do the people hear any other than the Methodist and Baptist preachers. Here is the
itinerating system of Wesley exhibited in its full usefulness. The circuits usually are of
three weeks duration, in which the clergymen preach about every day: so it rarely happens,
in some neighborhoods, when they have public worship, that it is on the Sabbath.
Most of these preachers are men of indefatigable energy, and often endure great privations.

After sketching the encampment, I came in a few minutes to the dwelling of the
sheriff. Close by it, were about a dozen mountaineers, and several highland lassies,
seated around a log corn-bin, twelve feet square, ten high, and open at the top, into
which these neighbors of my companion were casting ears of corn, fast as they could
husk them. Right merrily did they perform the task. The men were large and hardy,
—the damsels plump and rosy, dressed in good, warm, homespun garments, which, instead
of being hooked and eyed, were buttoned up behind. The sheriff informed me
that he owned about two thousand acres of land around his dwelling, and that its whole
value was about one thousand dollars, or fifty cents per acre! I entered his house, which
was of logs, one story in height, about twenty feet square, and divided into two small
rooms, without any windows or openings for them, and no place to let in light, except
by a door in its front, and one in the rear. I soon partook of a meal, in which we had
quite a variety of luxuries, among which was bear's meat. A blessing was asked at
table by one of the neighbors. After supper, the bottle, as usual at corn-huskings, was
circulated. The sheriff learning I was a Washingtonian, with the politeness of one of
nature's gentlemen, refrained from urging me to participate. The men drank very moderately.
Indeed, in my travels over nearly the whole of Virginia, I have seen far less
intemperance than in my similar wanderings at the north. We all drew around the
fire, the light of which was the only one we had. Hunting stories, and kindred topics,
served to talk down the hours until bed-time. There were in the room two beds. One
was occupied by a married couple the other by myself; but there were no curtains between.

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On awaking in the morning, I saw two ladies cooking breakfast in my bed-room, and
three gentlemen seated over the fire, watching that interesting operation.

Having completed my toilet, my host, from a spring hard by, dipped a pitcher and
poured the water into my hands, for me to wash myself. After breakfast, I bade the
sheriff farewell, buckled on my knapsack, and left. He was a generous, warm-hearted
man, and on my offering a remuneration, he replied, "you are welcome; call again
when this way."

In the course of two hours, I came to a cabin by the way-side. There being no gate,
I sprang over the fence, entered the open door, and was received with a hearty welcome.
It was a humble dwelling, the abode of poverty. There was a neatness in the arrangement
of the few articles of furniture extremely pleasing. In a corner stood two beds,
one hung with curtains, and both spread with coverlets of snowy white, forming a contrast
to the dingy log walls, rude furniture, and rough boarded floor of this, the only
room of the dwelling. Around a cheerful fire was seated an interesting family group.
In one corner, on the hearth, sat the mother, who had given up her chair to me, smoking
a pipe. Next to her was a little girl, in a little chair, holding a little kitten. In the
opposite corner sat the father, a venerable old man of Herculean stature, robed in a
hunting-shirt, and with a countenance as majestic and impressive as a Roman senator.
In the centre of the group was a young maiden, about eighteen, modest and retiring,
not beautiful, except in that moral beauty virtue gives. She was reading to them from
a little book. She was the only one in the family who could read, and she could do so
but imperfectly. In that book, which cost perhaps two shillings, was the whole secret
of the neatness and happiness found in this lowly cot. That little book was the New
Testament!

I conversed with the father. He was, he said, "a poor mountaineer, ignorant of the
world." He was, it is true; but he had the independence of a man—the humility of a
Christian. As I left the cottage, the snow-flakes were slowly falling, and I pursued my
lonely way through the forest, with buoyant feelings, reflecting upon this beautiful exhibition
of the religion of the meek and lowly One. How exquisite are these lines, as applied
to a similar scene: