The leader had a voice like the pleasant droning of a bag-pipe, and the faculty of emitting a continuous note like that instrument, without stopping to breathe.It went on and on like a Bach fugue, winding and whining its way, turning the corners of the lines of the catch without a break.The effect was soon visible in the emotional crowd: feet began to move in a regular cadence and voices to join in, with spurts of ejaculation; and soon, with an air of martyrdom, the members began to leave their seats and pass before the table and deposit their contributions.It was a cent contribution, and we found it very difficult, under the contagious influence of the hum from the Amen corner, not to rise and go forward and deposit a cent.
If anything could extract the pennies from a reluctant worldling, it would be the buzzing of this tune.It went on and on, until the house appeared to be drained dry of its cash; and we inferred by the stopping of the melody that the preacher's salary was secure for the time being.On inquiring, we ascertained that the pecuniary flood that evening had risen to the height of a dollar and sixty cents.
All was ready for the start.It should have been early in the morning, but it was not; for Virginia is not only one of the blessed regions where one can get a late breakfast, but where it is almost impossible to get an early one.At ten A.M.the two horsemen rode away out of sight of the Abingdon spectators, down the eastern turnpike.The day was warm, but the air was full of vitality and the spirit of adventure.It was the 22d of July.The horses were not ambitious, but went on at an easy fox-trot that permits observation and encourages conversation.It had been stipulated that the horses should be good walkers, the one essential thing in a horseback journey.Few horses, even in a country where riding is general, are trained to walk fast.We hear much of horses that can walk five miles an hour, but they are as rare as white elephants.Our horses were only fair walkers.We realized how necessary this accomplishment is, for between the Tennessee line and Asheville, North Carolina, there is scarcely a mile of trotting-ground.
We soon turned southward and descended into the Holston River Valley.
Beyond lay the Tennessee hills and conspicuous White-Top Mountain (5530 feet), which has a good deal of local celebrity (standing where the States of Virginia, Tennessee, and North Carolina corner), and had been pointed out to us at Abingdon.We had been urged, personally and by letter, to ascend this mountain, without fail.
People recommend mountains to their friends as they do patent medicines.As we leisurely jogged along we discussed this, and endeavored to arrive at some rule of conduct for the journey.The Professor expressed at once a feeling about mountain-climbing that amounted to hostility,--he would go nowhere that he could not ride.
Climbing was the most unsatisfactory use to which a mountain could be put.As to White-Top, it was a small mountain, and not worth ascending.The Friend of Humanity, who believes in mountain-climbing as a theory, and for other people, and knows the value of being able to say, without detection, that he has ascended any high mountain about which he is questioned,--since this question is the first one asked about an exploration in a new country,--saw that he should have to use a good deal of diplomacy to get the Professor over any considerable elevation on the trip.And he had to confess also that a view from a mountain is never so satisfactory as a view of a mountain, from a moderate height.The Professor, however, did not argue the matter on any such reasonable ground, but took his stand on his right as a man not to ascend a mountain.With this appeal to first principles,--a position that could not be confuted on account of its vagueness (although it might probably be demonstrated that in society man has no such right), there was no way of agreement except by a compromise.It was accordingly agreed that no mountain under six thousand feet is worth ascending; that disposed of White-Top.It was further agreed that any mountain that is over six thousand feet high is too high to ascend on foot.
With this amicable adjustment we forded the Holston, crossing it twice within a few miles.This upper branch of the Tennessee is a noble stream, broad, with a rocky bed and a swift current.Fording it is ticklish business except at comparatively low water, and as it is subject to sudden rises, there must be times when it seriously interrupts travel.This whole region, full of swift streams, is without a bridge, and, as a consequence, getting over rivers and brooks and the dangers of ferries occupy a prominent place in the thoughts of the inhabitants.The life necessarily had the "frontier"quality all through, for there can be little solid advance in civilization in the uncertainties of a bridgeless condition.An open, pleasant valley, the Holston, but cultivation is more and more negligent and houses are few and poorer as we advance.
