the john muir exhibit - writings - a_thousand_mile_walk_to_the_gulf - chapter 1
Chapter 1
Kentucky Forests and Caves
![[Map showing route of walk to the Gulf]](graphics/map_small.gif)
I Had long been looking from the wildwoods and gardens of the Northern
States to those of the warm South, and at last, all draw-backs overcome,
I set forth [from Indianapolis] on the first day of September, 1867,
joyful and free, on a thousand-mile walk to the Gulf of Mexico. [The trip
to Jeffersonville, on the banks of the Ohio, was made by rail.] Crossing
the Ohio at Louisville [September 2], I steered through the big city by
compass without speaking a word to any one. Beyond the city I found a road
running southward, and after passing a scatterment of suburban cabins and
cottages I reached the green woods and spread out my pocket map to rough-hew
a plan for my journey.
My plan was simply to push on in a general
southward direction by
the wildest, leafiest, and least trodden way I could find, promising the
greatest extent of virgin forest. Folding my map, I shouldered my little
bag and plant press and strode away among the old Kentucky oaks, rejoicing
in splendid visions of pines and palms and tropic flowers in glorious array,
not, however, without a few cold shadows of loneliness, although the great
oaks seemed to spread their arms in welcome.
I have seen oaks of many species in many kinds of exposure and soil,
but those of Kentucky excel in grandeur all I had ever before beheld. They
are broad and dense and bright green. In the leafy bowers and caves of
their long branches dwell magnificent avenues of shade, and every tree
seems to be blessed with a double portion of strong exulting life. Walked
twenty miles, mostly on river bottom, and found shelter in a rickety tavern.
September 3.
Escaped from the dust and squalor of my garret bedroom
to the glorious forest. All the streams that I tasted hereabouts
are
salty and so are the wells. Salt River was nearly dry. Much of my way this
forenoon was over naked limestone. After passing the level ground that
extended twenty-five or thirty miles from the river I came to a region
of rolling hills called Kentucky Knobs
-- hills of denudation covered with
trees to the top. Some of them have a few pines. For a few hours I followed
the farmers' paths, but soon wandered away from roads and encountered many
a tribe of twisted vines difficult to pass.
Emerging about noon from a grove of giant sunflowers, I found myself
on the brink of a tumbling rocky stream [Rolling Fork]. I did not expect
to find bridges on my wild ways, and at once started to ford, when a negro
woman on the opposite bank earnestly called on me to wait until she could
tell the "men folks" to bring me a horse
-- that the river was too
deep and rapid to wade and that I would "sartain be drowned"
if I attempted to cross. I replied that my bag and plants would ballast
me; that the water did not appear to be
deep, and that if I were carried
away, I was a good swimmer and would soon dry in the sunshine. But the
cautious old soul replied that no one ever waded that river and set off
for a horse, saying that it was no trouble at all.
In a few minutes the ferry horse came gingerly down the bank through
vines and weeds. His long stilt legs proved him a natural wader. He was
white and the little sable negro boy that rode him looked like a bug on
his back. After many a tottering halt the outward voyage was safely made,
and I mounted behind little Nig. He was a queer specimen, puffy and jet
as an India rubber doll and his hair was matted in sections like the wool
of a merino sheep. The old horse, overladen with his black and white burden,
rocked and stumbled on his stilt legs with fair promises of a fall. But
all ducking signs failed and we arrived in safety among the weeds and vines
of the rugged bank. A salt bath would have done us no harm. I could swim
and little Afric looked as if he might float like a bladder.
I called at the homestead where my ferryman informed me I would find
"tollable" water. But, like all the water of this section that
I have tasted, it was intolerable with salt. Everything about this old
Kentucky home bespoke plenty, unpolished and unmeasured. The house was
built in true Southern style, airy, large, and with a transverse central
hall that looks like a railway tunnel, and heavy rough outside chimneys.
The negro quarters and other buildings are enough in number for a village,
altogether an interesting representative of a genuine old Kentucky home,
embosomed in orchards, corn fields and green wooded hills.
Passed gangs of woodmen engaged and hewing the grand oaks for market.
Fruit very abundant. Magnificent flowing hill scenery all afternoon. Walked
southeast from Elizabethtown till wearied and lay down in the bushes by
guess.
September 4.
The sun was gilding the hill-tops when I was awakened
by the alarm notes of birds whose dwelling in a hazel thicket I had
disturbed. They flitted excitedly close to my head, as if scolding or asking
angry questions, while several beautiful plants, strangers to me, were
looking me full in the face. The first botanical discovery in bed! This
was one of the most delightful camp grounds, though groped for in the dark,
and I lingered about it enjoying its trees and soft lights and music.
Walked ten miles of forest. Met a strange oak with willow-looking leaves.
Entered a sandy stretch of black oak called "Barrens," many of
which were sixty or seventy feet in height, and are said to have grown
since the fires were kept off, forty years ago. The farmers hereabouts
are tall, stout, happy fellows, fond of guns and horses. Enjoyed friendly
chats with them. Arrived at dark in a village that seemed to be drawing
its last breath. Was guided to the "tavern" by a negro who
was extremely accommodating. "No trouble at all," he said.
September 5.
No bird or flower or friendly tree above me this
morning; only squalid garret
rubbish and dust. Escaped to the woods.
Came to the region of caves. At the mouth of the first I discovered, I
was surprised to find ferns which belonged to the coolest nooks of Wisconsin
and northward, but soon observed that each cave rim has a zone of climate
peculiar to itself, and it is always cool. This cave had an opening about
ten feet in diameter, and twenty-five feet perpendicular depth. A strong
cold wind issued from it and I could hear the sounds of running water.
A long pole was set against its walls as if intended for a ladder, but
in some places it was slippery and smooth as a mast and would test the
climbing powers of a monkey. The walls and rim of this natural reservoir
were finely carved and flowered. Bushes leaned over it with shading leaves,
and beautiful ferns and mosses were in rows and sheets on its slopes and
shelves. Lingered here a long happy while, pressing specimens and printing
this beauty into memory.
Arrived about noon at Munfordville; was soon discovered and examined
by Mr. Munford
himself, a pioneer and father of the village. He is
a surveyor
-- has held all country offices, and every seeker of roads and
lands applies to him for information. He regards all the villagers as his
children, and all strangers who enter Munfordville as his own visitors.
Of course he inquired my business, destination, et cetera, and invited
me to his house.
After refreshing me with "parrs" he complacently covered
the table with bits of rocks, plants, et cetera, things new and old which
he had gathered in his surveying walks and supposed to be full of scientific
interest. He informed me that all scientific men applied to him for information,
and as I was a botanist, he either possessed, or ought to possess, the
knowledge I was seeking, and so I received long lessons concerning roots
and herbs for every mortal ill. Thanking my benefactor for his kindness,
I escaped to the fields and followed a railroad along the base of a grand
hill ridge. As evening came on all the dwellings I found seemed to repel
me, and I could not muster courage
enough to ask entertainment at any
of them. Took refuge in a log schoolhouse that stood on a hillside beneath
stately oaks and slept on the softest looking of the benches.
September 6.
Started at the earliest bird song in hopes of seeing
the great Mammoth Cave before evening. Overtook an old negro driving an
ox team. Rode with him a few miles and had some interesting chat concerning
war, wild fruits of the woods, et cetera. "Right heah," said
he, "is where the Rebs was a-tearin' up the track, and they all a
sudden thought they seed the Yankees a-comin', obah dem big hills dar,
and Lo'd, how dey run." I asked him if he would like a renewal of
these sad war times, when his flexible face suddenly calmed, and he said
with intense earnestness, "Oh, Lo'd, want no mo wa, Lo'd no."
Many of these Kentucky negroes are shrewd and intelligent, and when warmed
upon a subject that interests them, are eloquent in no mean degree.
Arrived at Horse Cave, about ten miles from the great cave. The entrance
is by a long easy
slope of several hundred yards. It seems like a noble
gateway to the birthplace of springs and fountains and the dark treasuries
of the mineral kingdom. This cave is in a village [of the same name] which
it supplies with an abundance of cold water, and cold air that issues from
its fern-clad lips. In hot weather crowds of people sit about it in the
shade of the trees that guard it. This magnificent fan is capable of cooling
everybody in the town at once.
Those who live near lofty mountains may climb to cool weather in a day
or twos but the overheated Kentuckians can find a patch of cool climate
in almost every glen in the State. The villager who accompanied me said
that Horse Cave had never been fully explored, but that it was several
miles in length at least. He told me that he had never been at Mammoth
Cave
-- that it was not worth going ten miles to see, as it was nothing but
a hole in the ground, and I found that his was no rare case. He was one
of the useful, practical men
-- too wise to waste
precious time with
weeds, caves, fossils, or anything else that he could not eat.
Arrived at the great Mammoth Cave. I was surprised to find it in so
complete naturalness. A large hotel with fine walks and gardens is near
it. But fortunately the cave has been unimproved, and were it not for the
narrow trail that leads down the glen to its door, one would not know that
it had been visited. There are house-rooms and halls whose entrances give
but slight hint of their grandeur. And so also this magnificent hall in
the mineral kingdom of Kentucky has a door comparatively small and unpromising.
One might pass within a few yards of it without noticing it. A strong cool
breeze issues constantly from it, creating a northern climate for the ferns
that adorn its rocky front.
I never before saw Nature's grandeur in so abrupt contrast with paltry
artificial gardens. The fashionable hotel grounds are in exact parlor taste,
with many a beautiful plant cultivated to deformity, and arranged in strict
geometrical beds, the whole pretty affair a laborious failure side
by side with Divine beauty. The trees around the mouth of the cave are
smooth and tall and bent forward at the bottom, then straight upwards.
Only a butternut seems, by its angular knotty branches, to sympathize with
and belong to the cave, with a fine growth of
Cystopteris
and
Hypnum.
Started for Glasgow Junction. Got belated in the hill woods. Inquired
my way at a farm-house and was invited to stay overnight in a rare, hearty,
hospitable manner. Engaged in familiar running talk on politics, war times,
and theology. The old Kentuckian seemed to take a liking to me and advised
me to stay in these hills until next spring, assuring me that I would find
much to interest me in and about the Great Cave; also, that he was one
of the school officials and was sure that I could obtain their school for
the winter term. I sincerely thanked him for his kind plans, but pursued
my own.
September 7.
Left the hospitable Kentuckians
with their
sincere good wishes and bore away southward again through the deep green
woods. In noble forests all day. Saw mistletoe for the first time. Part
of the day I traveled with a Kentuckian from near Burkesville. He spoke
to all the negroes he met with familiar kindly greetings, addressing them
always as "Uncles" and "Aunts." All travelers one meets
on these roads, white and black, male and female, travel on horseback.
Glasgow is one of the few Southern towns that shows ordinary American life.
At night with a well-to-do farmer.
September 8.
Deep, green, bossy sea of waving, flowing hilltops.
Corn and cotton and tobacco fields scattered here and there. I had imagined
that a cotton field in flower was something magnificent. But cotton is
a coarse, rough, straggling, unhappy looking plant, not half as good-looking
as a field of Irish potatoes. Met a great many negroes going to meeting,
dressed in their Sunday best. Fat, happy looking, and contented. The scenery
on approaching
the Cumberland River becomes still grander. Burkesville,
in beautiful location, is embosomed in a glorious array of verdant flowing
hills. The Cumberland must be a happy stream. I think I could enjoy traveling
with it in the midst of such beauty all my life. This evening I could find
none willing to take me in, and so lay down on a hillside and fell asleep
muttering praises to the happy abounding beauty of Kentucky.
September 9.
Another day in the most favored province of bird
and flower. Many rapid streams, flowing in beautiful flower-bordered canons
embosomed in dense woods. Am seated on a grand hill-slope that leans back
against the sky like a picture. Amid the wide waves of green wood there
are spots of autumnal yellow and the atmosphere, too, has the dawnings
of autumn in colors and sounds. The soft light of morning falls upon ripening
forests of oak and elm, walnut and hickory and all Nature is thoughtful
and calm. Kentucky is the greenest, leafiest State I have yet seen. The
sea of soft temperate plant-green is deepest here.
Comparing volumes
of vegetable verdure in different countries to a wedge, the thick end would
be in the forests of Kentucky, the other in the lichens and mosses of the
North. This verdure wedge would not be perfect in its lines. From Kentucky
it would maintain its thickness long and well in passing the level forests
of Indiana and Canada. From the maples and pines of Canada it would slope
rapidly to the bleak Arctic hills with dwarf birches and alders; thence
it would thin out in a long edge among hardy lichens and liverworts and
mosses to the dwelling-places of everlasting frost. Far the grandest of
all Kentucky plants are her noble oaks. They are the master existences
of her exuberant forests. Here is the Eden, the paradise of oaks. Passed
the Kentucky line towards evening and obtained food and shelter from a
thrifty Tennessee farmer, after he had made use of all the ordinary anti-hospitable
arguments of cautious comfortable families.
September 10.
Escaped from a heap of uncordial kindness to the
generous bosom of the
woods. After a few miles of level ground in
luxuriant tangles of brooding vines, I began the ascent of the Cumberland
Mountains, the first real mountains that my foot ever touched or eyes beheld.
The ascent was by a nearly regular zigzag slope, mostly covered up like
a tunnel by overarching oaks. But there were a few openings where the glorious
forest road of Kentucky was grandly seen, stretching over hill and valley,
adjusted to every slope and curve by the hands of Nature the most sublime
and comprehensive picture that ever entered my eyes. Reached the summit
in six or seven hours
-- a strangely long period of up-grade work to one
accustomed only to the hillocky levels of Wisconsin and adjacent States.
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