A MOUNTAIN TRAMP— II. 



T WAS morning on the moun- 

 tain. Oh ! You who Hve in 

 town, do you know what morn- 

 ing means ? When the night 

 roils away and reveals the 

 world, have you ever beheld 

 the scene new-set, new-set al- 



beit the same was spread before your eyes yester- 

 day, and for countless yesterdays ? 



Dimly conscious that day was breaking, I strug- 

 gled to waken. I was very tired, and sleep would 

 not depart from my eyes. Although I had promised 

 myself the pleasure of watching the dawn, it now 

 needed more than my love of nature to call me forth. 

 This want was soon supplied. About our door was 

 heard the squealing and grunting of swine, accom- 

 panied by the yelping of dogs. Sleep was no lon- 

 ger possible, and we went out into the new day. In 

 the street a sorry collection of porkers was gathered, 

 waiting for their morning meal. They were of the 

 native, razor-back variety — gaunt, long-limbed and 

 long-jawed. For each pig there was at least one 

 of the omnipresent yellow dogs, long of body and 

 short of limb. The poverty of a Tennessee moun- 

 taineer may often be reckoned in direct proportion 

 to the number of his dogs — the poorer the man the 

 more curs about him. 



The town we saw to be literally ' ' founded upon a 

 rock." We saw the out-cropping — the western edge 

 of the upper strata of the coal measures. We trod 

 immediately upon the rough surface of the sand- 

 stone conglomerate ; such scant soil as there was 

 above it was only the sand worn from the rock by 

 attrition, by the lapse of time, by the processes of 

 nature. 



This is the county-town. It is almost as old 

 as the century, and looks as though it might never 

 have changed since first it dropped down there, to 

 live or die as chance might decree. In the center 

 stands the brick court-house, plain, square, homely, 

 weather-stained, dilapidated. Around three sides 

 of the square are small, weather-stained log and 

 frame buildings. Beyond we note some small clear- 

 ings where the timber has been cut for fuel, and 

 where such soil as there is, is cultivated to pro- 

 duce a little corn and potatoes. Beyond these 

 patches, and always within a stone's throw from 

 the "square" are the woods. What reason the 

 people have for existing, I found it hard to see. 



I watched the awakening of the village with 

 no little interest. First a ccjuple of children came 

 out and began to play in the sand, then the owner 

 of the hogs brought a basket of corn and fed them 

 in front of the temple of justice. There was just 

 enough corn to whet their appetites for more, and 

 the squealing went on all the more shrilly there- 

 after. A man came out with some rats in a trap, 

 and the dogs began to battle for them. The one 

 merchant opened the door of his store and sat 

 down to wait for customers, who, apparently, never 

 came. The postmaster bustled about and sent a 

 boy galloping off, thirty miles to the railway, with 

 a lank mail bag. The one lawyer went over to the 

 court-house and resumed his examination of land- 

 titles — the only genuinely flourishing industry of 

 the village. 



This was the boyhood home of a noted American 

 humorist, and some of his best characters are said 

 to be faithful portraits of the natives hereabouts. 

 A special reminder is to be found of him in the 

 records of the present court in the title of a land 

 claim now in dispute, — "The Gilded Age" tract. 

 This tract comprises some 50,000 acres of valuable 

 timber land. It was originally included, or was 

 supposed to have been included, in an old survey 

 and grant, which gave as its eastern limit and bound- 

 ary "the foot of the mountain and thence north- 

 ward with the meanders thereof." In the course 

 of time another grant was issued by the State, for 

 a tract of land which was to run over the mountain 

 from the east, and have as its western boundary 

 "the foot of the mountain and thence southward 

 with the meanders thereof." 



As the land became more valuable, with the 

 nearer approach of railroads and civilization, it be- 

 came more and more difficult to precisely locate 

 "the foot of the mountain," and to define its 

 "meanders." 



Under the careful nursing of vigilant attorneys, 

 the dispute waxed hotter and hotter and the "foot" 

 grew apace, until it covered this 50,000 acres. 

 "There's millions in it," for the lawyers. 



I did not find the village attractive enough to war- 

 rant a longer stay, so when the Colonel was ready 

 to retrace his steps, I said farewell, and went for- 

 ward alone. At the "settlement" the veneering of 

 civilization was just enough to be distasteful. I 

 preferred the mountain, pure and simple. 



