The Carter Journals

by Shane Phipps

  As they traveled farther west, Cody noticed two things about the terrain: The mountains were getting higher and steeper, and the river was getting smaller. At the end of the fourth day at the evening camp, Daniel said, “We should reach the headwaters of the Yadkin tomorrow morning, Ethan. The source of the river is just a stone’s throw from the Blowing Rock. I’ll take you up there. It’s a special kind of place. I think you’ll like it.”

  “I’ll be lookin’ forward to it,” Cody answered. “So, how many hides have we got so far?”

  “Let’s just see,” replied Daniel. “I’ve shot three buck deer and six does, and you’ve shot two does and one buck…that makes twelve bucks all together.”

  “Not bad for four days,” said Cody.

  “And we ain’t really started huntin’ yet,” Daniel answered. “We’ll hang around in this area for a week or so, and we ought to end up with twenty or thirty more, I reckon. The weather is holdin’ out just right so that we ought to be able to keep these bucks in top shape if things don’t change on us. Rain won’t hurt ’em too much, but a warm spell would be awful hard on ’em.”

  The number of deer that Boone was speaking of amazed Cody. He realized that this was a time when market hunting was prevalent—that is, hunting animals for the purpose of selling their hides. In this case, he learned, the hides, or bucks, were money.

  The next morning, after breakfast, Daniel said, “The trail turns north from here. We just have a little ways to go to reach the source of the Yadkin.”

  After packing up, they headed north along the now-small stream of the Yadkin. After about an hour of hiking steadily uphill, Boone stopped and pointed upward in front of them. “There is the Blowing Rock.”

  Cody looked up and saw a high, steep mountain with a massive outcropping of a stone cliff jutting at an angle from the summit. It must be two thousand feet straight down from that cliff, he thought. He noticed a stiff breeze blowing from the northeast straight down the valley they were climbing through as he continued to gaze up at the impressive natural edifice before him.

  “If you liked the view from the Pilot Mountain,” said Daniel, “you’ll love the view from up on the Blowing Rock. There’s a right good story about this place, too. I’ll tell it to you when we get up there.”

  Cody looked at up at the impressive peak, wondering how they would ever be able to get all the way up there. They began their ascent. The climb wasn’t too bad at first, but it grew gradually steeper as they went. Cody could feel his thigh muscles burning under the strain of the climb. Daniel seemed to be enjoying a pleasant stroll through the park, but it was absolutely all Cody could handle to keep up. It seemed like forever to Cody before they reached the base of the rocky outcropping near the summit of the mountain. They had climbed at least 1,500 vertical feet and now had a huge rocky cliff to scale. Daniel tied the pack horse to a tree and led the way along a narrow craggy passage up the cliff. When they reached the top of the cliff, Cody felt like his breath had been taken away, not from the fatigue of the climb but from the awe-inspiring vistas from this vantage point. It was the most beautiful place Cody had ever been.

  Daniel walked out to the very edge of the cliff and sat down, letting his legs hang over the side. Cody carefully followed. Cody was not exactly afraid of heights, but this was ridiculous. He peered over the edge past his dangling feet and looked straight down for nearly two thousand feet. He instantly began to feel a bit dizzy and sat back up straight.

  “Gives a feller a little pause, eh?” said Daniel.

  “I guess it does!” replied Cody.

  As Cody looked around him over the miles and miles of endless mountain vistas, it became very clear to him how these mountains got their name. A slight haze enveloped the mountains, bathing them in a distinctly blue hue. The mountains stretched out, ridge after ridge, seemingly forever in all directions. Daniel and Cody seemed to be the only two human beings for a hundred miles, and indeed, they may have been. Cody felt tiny. He suddenly became very aware of that strange feeling again, the one he could not define. Daniel had said that God had put a little something extra in these mountains. That must be whatever it is I feel here, thought Cody. He didn’t know how he knew it, but he could feel that this was a very ancient and sacred place. There was unheard music in the air and unspoken voices echoing up from the valleys below. The only audible sounds were of the constant wind blowing through the trees, but the sounds that Cody couldn’t hear were deafening. The experience was unnerving, but by no means unpleasant.

  Daniel reached into his pocket and pulled out a small swatch of deer hide. The piece of hide was about an inch square. “Watch this, Ethan,” he said. He threw the piece of deer hide out over the edge of the cliff, and a moment later, Cody saw it blow straight up past them and land a few yards behind them.

  “That’s strange,” said Cody. “Let me try that.” He crawled back and retrieved the patch of hide and threw it out over the edge of the cliff. He watched in amazement as the scene repeated itself and the hide blew back up onto the cliff.

  Blowing Rock, where Ethan Carter and Daniel Boone sat. Rain, snow, and other light objects are forced up through the walls of the gorge because of the wind’s strong updraft. (Durwood Barbour Collection of North Carolina Postcards, North Carolina Collection, University of North Carolina Library at Chapel Hill)

  “That there leads me to the story of how this place got its name,” said Daniel. “A good while back, before any white settlers ever found this place, the Catawba and the Cherokee were at war with each other. One day the daughter of a Catawba chief was up here on these rocks, and she saw a handsome Cherokee brave hunting nearby. She liked the looks of him and wanted to get his attention, so she playfully shot an arrow over in his direction. Well, she got his attention all right, and the two ended up a’fallin’ in love right here on this rock. This became their rendezvous spot. One day the Cherokee warrior met the Catawba princess here and told her that his chief had called together all his warriors to attack the Catawba camp. The two lovers were heartbroken. They were torn between their love for each other and their tribal allegiance. The Cherokee warrior could not face attacking his lover’s people and decided to take his own life. He jumped off this very cliff. The Catawba princess was grief stricken and prayed to the Great Spirit to send her lover back to her. Just then a great wind swept up from the valley and returned the Cherokee brave to her. That wind has blown here on this cliff ever since. That’s how it came to be called the Blowing Rock.”

  “Do you believe it?” asked Cody.

  “I reckon a Cherokee brave weighs a right smart more than a little patch of deer hide, don’t you?” replied Daniel. They enjoyed a good laugh and began to descend the cliff. As they neared the bottom, Cody felt the familar swimming sensation in his head and butterflies in his stomach. Before he could black out entirely, he found himself back in his bedroom at home.

  Part Three

  The Journal of Landon Carter

  Fort Watauga at Sycamore Shoals, Washington District, North Carolina, 1775–76

  Chapter 6

  Cody looked back at Ethan Carter’s journal. He had thoroughly enjoyed his time in the wilderness with Daniel Boone. He had discovered in his research that within a short time, the Cherokee would be encouraged by the French to drive all the English colonists out of the frontier areas. The Yadkin Valley settlements would be attacked, and the settlers, including the Boone family, would be forced to flee northward toward the more civilized and fortified areas of Virginia colony. Cody assumed that Ethan Carter probably stayed close to the Boones through that ordeal—at least he hoped so. Cody did not relish the idea of going into the journal and living through what must have been a terrifying experience. He convinced himself that he would begin reading a new journal next time.

  It was a very busy week for Cody at school. The year was winding down, and he had a lot of studying to do to prepare for the year-end final exams. In his U.S. history class, they were reviewing for a cumulative f
inal that would cover the entire year’s worth of material. That Friday afternoon, Mr. Foster, Cody’s history teacher, was reviewing the French and Indian War. “Who can tell me something about the French and Indian War?” inquired Mr. Foster.

  Cody’s hand shot up immediately.

  “Young Mr. Carter, what can you tell us?” the teacher asked.

  “The French and Indian War was fought between the French and the British for control of the frontier lands in the western extremes of the American colonies. Both sides recruited the help of native tribes,” Cody answered. “There was this one battle called the Battle of the Wilderness. It was a bad defeat for the British and Americans. George Washington was there, and so was Daniel Boone. They were lucky to survive, because the French wiped out a whole bunch of them, including their leader, General Braddock.”

  As Cody continued to talk, he showed no signs of slowing down. Cody’s classmates had stopped any goofing off they had been doing and were suddenly looking at Cody with a bit of amazement. Mr. Foster seemed no less impressed.

  Cody continued, “The French convinced the Cherokee to change their allegiance from supporting the British to supporting them. They got the Cherokee to attack the settlements on the western frontier of North Carolina and drove most of the settlers out. It was a dangerous time for American colonists to be living on the frontier fringes of the colonies. I guess that’s why the French and Indian War sort of made the American colonists more unified. They felt like they needed to stick together for protection.” Cody seemed to realize that he had been going on rather rapidly. He sensed that he was being watched and listened to with a lot more intensity than normal, and it started to make him self-conscious. He leaned back in his chair rather sheepishly.

  “Cody, that was rather a remarkable little soliloquy,” Mr. Foster said. “I don’t know where you got your information, but some of the things you talked about aren’t even mentioned in the textbook. I can tell you’ve done your research. I’m impressed!”

  Cody felt proud and a little embarrassed. He hadn’t realized that his little journal adventures could have a positive effect on his grade. It was a nice side benefit.

  That evening, after supper, Cody decided it was time to open the next journal. He opened it to the first page and began to read.…

  March 1775 My name is Landon Carter. I am fifteen years old. I live in the Washington District of North Carolina in the Sycamore Shoals settlement near Fort Watauga. My father is Colonel John Carter. He is one of the commissioners for our district government, which was formed three years ago. As I write this entry, there is a tremendous gathering of Cherokee taking place along the Sycamore Shoals. A great council has been arranged by a Virginian named Richard Henderson. He is meeting with the Cherokee with intent to purchase a vast amount of land from them so that he can begin settlement of a new colony named for his company, Transylvania.…

  As he read these words, Cody felt his head swimming in darkness and the roller-coaster sensation in his stomach returning. When he opened his eyes, he found himself on a small rise looking out over an amazing sight.

  To his right was a small fort. It looked like the reproductions of historic forts he had visited. It was an irregular shape, with palisades of vertical logs that were sharpened to points on top. At random intervals along the log walls were little rooms that stuck slightly out over the edge. These, Cody assumed, were lookout rooms for guards. He could not see much inside the gate of the fort.

  A large shallow stream rippled over rocks in front of Cody. On both sides, for as far up and down the shore as he could see, natives were camped. Hundreds of plumes of campfire smoke streamed into the bluebird-spring sky.

  Just off to Cody’s left was a very large elm tree. Under it were gathered several men, both white and Native American. They seemed to be talking about something important. Suddenly, Cody was startled by the deep voice of a man coming from behind him.

  “Quite a sight, isn’t it, son?” the voice inquired.

  Cody thought this man must be John Carter, if Cody was to be Landon in this journal. “How many are there?” he asked.

  “Last count we had over a thousand Cherokee camped and still more on the way. It is an impressive thing to see, but it also sort of makes a man a little nervous, eh?” said John Carter.

  “I never thought I would see this many in one place,” said Cody. “Not too sure I ever wanted to, either.”

  “They’ve come here in peace for a council with this Henderson fellow. They are invited guests. We shouldn’t have anything to fear, but I do know what you mean. Mr. Henderson and some of the chiefs are down there by the big elm. Come along if you like.”

  Looking again toward the elm, Cody recognized Daniel Boone, though Boone now seemed to be in his forties. The other white man, he assumed, was Richard Henderson. As he and John walked toward the tree, John began to point out the Cherokee standing in the group. Among the most notable were Attakullakulla, better known to the whites by his English name, Little Carpenter, and his son, Tsi’yu-gunsini, better known as Dragging Canoe. Little Carpenter was very well known to the white settlers on the frontier as well as to the colonial government leaders. He had even been taken to Britain for a visit once. Little Carpenter was known as an easy man to negotiate with. His son, Dragging Canoe, was a different matter. Dragging Canoe was distrustful of the white settlers and saw them as a tremendous threat.

  The image on this postcard depicts the treaty council at Sycamore Shoals in which Richard Henderson and Daniel Boone met with the Cherokee, including Little Carpenter and Dragging Canoe, to purchase lands in Kentucky and Tennessee for the Transylvania Colony. (“West lunette, the treaty of Wataga: the Cherokee Indians selling Kentucky to the Transylvania Land Company,” Newton Owen Postcard Collection, University of Louisville Archives and Records Center, Louisville, Kentucky)

  Cody could feel the hair rise up on the back of his neck and the gooseflesh beginning to crawl on his arms. He was in the presence of Native Americans, and powerful ones at that. He had never experienced anything close to this. He remembered being anxious about the possibility while hunting with Daniel Boone along the Yadkin. They had not encountered any on that trip, yet here he was in another journal, standing once again in the presence of the great Boone and real, honest-to-goodness Native Americans.

  Cody, trying not to stare too obviously, took a good long look at Little Carpenter and Dragging Canoe. They cut impressive figures. Little Carpenter appeared to be in his forties. Across his chest, he wore a beaded garment with multicolored chevron patterns. Around his waist hung a deerskin loincloth that reached to just above his knees, and he wore nearly knee-high deer-hide boots. A single eagle feather hung down from the jet-black hair that covered part of his face. His skin was a deep brownish-almond color. Distinguished-looking lines and wrinkles were beginning to form around the corners of his eyes and mouth. He was a short man—Cody estimated him to be just over five feet tall—but the overall impression he made was more than impressive enough to cover any height deficiency.

  Dragging Canoe was just as impressive, but for other reasons. He was dressed almost identically to his father. His skin was almost the same hue, but he had a pock-marked face. Cody wondered if the scars were due to smallpox, which he knew often left such marks on survivors of the illness. Dragging Canoe was also much taller than his father, having attained a height of somewhere over five-and-a-half feet, Cody guessed. Something else distinguished Dragging Canoe from his father—his countenance. Anyone who looked Dragging Canoe in the face could see he was a man who meant business. He didn’t strike Cody as a person one would want to have as an enemy.

  John finally introduced Cody to the men in the group. “Landon, these are our guests, Little Carpenter and Dragging Canoe. Gentlemen, this is my son, Landon.” The two men bowed slightly, and Cody followed suit. “And this is Richard Henderson of the Transylvania Land Company. He is here to put the finishing touches on a large purchase of land from the Cherokee. That is why
all these people are gathered. It will be an historic occasion, to be sure.” Henderson extended his hand, and Cody gave his best firm handshake. “And this gentleman is Daniel Boone,” said John, nodding to a man who was all too familiar to Cody.

  “Pleased to make yer acquaintance, Landon,” said Boone as he reached out to shake Cody’s hand. Boone still looked very much the same as he had when Cody had met him in 1755. He was dressed in his buckskins and wide-brimmed, beaver-fur hat. The only changes were a few more wrinkles on his face and a slightly more filled-out frame. He still looked the very picture of a pioneer mountain man. Cody wanted to ask Boone whatever became of Ethan Carter, but the words would not come.

  Later that afternoon, the official treaty council began. Cody positioned himself in a good spot to view the ceremony. Henderson laid out his proposal for the purchase of all the lands lying between the Cumberland River and Cumberland Mountains to the south, the Kentucky River to the east, and the Ohio River to the north and west. In exchange for this land (amounting to over twenty million acres), Henderson would pay the Cherokee two thousand pounds sterling and goods worth a total of about eight thousand additional pounds.

  In turn, the different Cherokee chiefs were permitted some time to get up and speak their minds about the treaty. Most of the chiefs were in favor of making the deal, including Little Carpenter. One of the notable exceptions was Dragging Canoe, who was noticeably agitated.

  Cody looked on nervously when it was Dragging Canoe’s turn to speak. Anyone who had been watching him during the proceedings knew that what he was about to say would not be any kind of endorsement for this purchase. Dragging Canoe walked intently to the speaking area and glared out at the crowd. Cody sensed himself preparing to record every word in his mind. Dragging Canoe began to speak.