Knoxville Whig and chronicle. [volume] (Knoxville, Tenn.) 1875-1882, 1875-08-25
TEMPERANCE MEANDERINGS.
rh" 1ouutain Cbamoise Again.
tie Editors Of tie Chronicle.

TO the Editors Of the Chronicle:
For the first time, with only the
usual incidents of travel, 1 found my
self at Fincastle, far up Powell's Val
ley. In my flight thitherward, | had
orge nized a Lodge at Clinton-had
been stormed out at Careyville-deliv-
cred moving lecture at Jacksboro'-
(it moved some old whisky bibbers out
Of the house) had ssctured at Fincastle
-slashed my way lin company with
Rev. f. b. Clark through rain and
mud up the valley to Pleasant Grove
lectured and lived to get back to Fin
castle where on Saturday afternoon.
| concluded to ascend the Cumberland
mountains, that all these days had
been cloudwrapped and slumbering
only one mile away. All fatal fasci-
nation
Committing the secret of my inten>
tons TO no one, | wended my way
across soft yielding stubblefield-
through softer cornfield-into anoth-
er stubblefield-through barnyard-
up a "spring branch Unto, and
across another field, and finally over
the fence, and 10 the mountain. The
forest swallowed me up. Following a
ravine, down which rushed, during "A
rain storm, n raging torrent. / pant
ingly assembled. Now stepping from
rock to rock, now toiing up steep
weed covered hills, till half way up,
my legs protested, and seated me on q
fallen tree.
Silence and solitude" Where
were the birds? Where the signing
winds? The mountain slept. Sud-
denly the silence stirred at the sound
of dashing hoOfs. A herdman plunged
Ccross the ridge above me, then disap-
peared in a gorge mysteriously as he
came, dropping the curtain of silence
behind him. Had / been superstitious
| might have .swore that the genii
who haunts tue mountains had walked
the echoes, to warn me of the coming
storm.
The storm was coming, but for
awhile | was ignorant of the fact. On
the other side of the mountain an oc-
casional thunderbolt would burst, but
overhead all was serene. In my up
ward toiling | had reached the foot of
the inaccessible precipice which for
miles crown the summit of the Cum
berland. Deep shades fell about me.
The silence could be felt. A worship
full awe stole through my being, and |
could understand why our Savior
turned to the mountain solitude, when
he would spend the night in prayer.
My reverie was suddenly ended by a
binding flash Of lightning, followed
by thunder crash that set all the
mountain echoes believing. | looked
up. The storm had assaulted the
mountains crest, and was rolling the
black clouds over its rocky battle
menls. The thrilling spell that arose
and euwrapped me from the Powell
Valley, spread out like an earthly Eden
far below, was broken. How to es-
cape the fury Of the storm was the
great question. Like frightened deer
(or more aptly mountain sheep |
turned and fled, swift as the wind
(when it don't blow much), | bounded
from rock to rock-Over tall weeds and
PROSTATE trees-down the gloomy
gorge-under the great trees-gather-
ing momentum as / went, until the
question became serious one, how to
stop.
didn't measure my strides
couldn't stop-tried to put on the
brakes-wouldn't work-evidentl a
runaway sclape-I had became I'M
notwithstanding keep couldn't
stop. At length / made a final effort
to get the better of my top-heavy head
and reckless legs-threw all my powers
into back action movement, Just in
time to keep from uprooting a sapling
that was thoughtless enough to stand
right in my road.
Sat down painting. Storm muttered
at my delay; legs said, cant help it. ."
Storm let drop near thunderbolt /;
legs said, "blaze away" Storm said,
81 won't wait )" legs said, come on,
and do your worst, we can't and we
1OOnt.n Reader, the storm came.
His solemn march on the mountains
rolled a sepulchral dirge through the
deepening twilight. A few moments
and he was on me. Torrents from
above awOke the torrents below. Sigh
ing winds, pouring rains, rushing
waters, believing thunders, made up
a hymn the storm god sang, and to
which the red-winged lightnings
danced.
"Did you get wet? Shade of Noah's
flood !! Ask my forlorn silk hat, my
streaming clothes, my poor limp
wheeling gators, that seemed to have
lost all their pride and gone into the
wet-rag business "Wet! !" language
fails. In a subdued state of mind-all
the romance washed out, likewise the
starch-we sauntered on, until coming
to a cabin we turned aside, and soon
thereafter we might have been seen
clad in a butternut gray, while our
clothes were steaming before blazing
fire A good supper, good horseback
ride, and l was in Fincastle once more,
just as Brother Clark began to wonder
what had become of me,
j. F. GOLDMAN