WHITE COUNTY, GA - HISTORY Nacoochee Valley Legend

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This file was contributed for use in the USGenWeb Archives by:
Iris Thompson Fry  IrisAngelLink@aol.com 


Legends of Georgia
by
Florine Garner
Lee Institute, Lula, Georgia
Thesis, 1922

Every country has its folk lore...its old heros; it's
stories handed down from father to son, fireside
stories told and retold by the mothers to their
children. These beautiful and simple stories have
formed the romantic background and have molded the
destiny of every nation. There are the old Greek and
Roman legends, familiar to everyone, the old Norse
myths equally as familiar, the herotic tales of the
Anglos and Saxons and Jutes, yet none of these are
our very own. For the true setting of our people we
must turn to the Indian. The Legends of the Indian
are both varied and romantic. In Georgia lived the
most romantic and daring race.

The chief tribes of Georgia are the Cherokee, Creeks
and Seminoles. There were others and lesser tribes
almost as interesting. The Creeks had control of the
Northern part of the state, the Cherokees, the lower
part and the Seminoles, who were a fierce warlike
nation owned the extreme southern part of the state
and most of Florida. To the Cherokee's belong most of
the tales of chivalry and adventure. The Seminoles
and Creeks, the tales of war and bloodshed. Yet, each
alike hold our interest.

One of the most interesting and perhaps as well known
is the beautiful story of Nacoochee Valley. Long
before the Anglo-Saxon had made his first footprints
on these western shores; long before even the Genoese
visionary had dreamed of a new world beyond Hercules,
there dwelt in this lovely valley a young maiden of
wonderful and almost celestial beauty. She was the
daughter of a chieftain; a princess. In doing homage
to her, the people of her tribe almost forgot the
Great Spirit who made and endowed her with the
strange beauty. Her name was Nacoochee..."The Evening
Star." A son of the chieftain of a neighboring and
hostile tribe saw the beautiful Nacoochee and loved
her. He stole her heart. She loved him with an
intensity of passion such as only the noblest souls
know. They met beneath the holy stars and sealed
their simple vows with kisses. In the valley, where
from the interlocked branches overhead hung with
festoons, in which the white flowers of climate and
the purple blossoms of the magnificient wild passion
flower, mingled with the dark foliage of the
muscadine, they found a fitting place.

The song of the mockingbird and the murmur of the
Chattahoochee's hurrying waters were marriage hymn
and anthem to them. They vowed eternal love. They
vowed to live and die with each other. Intelligence
of these secret meetings reached the ear of the old
chief, Nacoochee's father, and his anger was terrible
but love for Laceola was stronger in the heart of
Nacoochee than even the reverence for her father's
commands. One night the maiden was missed from her
tent. The old chieftain commanded his warriors to
pursue the fugitive. They found her with Laceola, the
son of a hated race. In an instant an arrow was aimed
at Laceola's breast. Nacoochee sprang before him and
received the barbed shaft in her own heart. Her lover
was stupefied. He made no resistance and his blood
mingled with hers. The lovers were buried in the same
grave and a lofty mount was raised to mark the spot.
Deep grief seized the old chief and all his people.
The valley was forever called Nacoochee. The mound
marks the trysting place and the grave of the maiden
and her bethrothed, surmounted by a solitary pine,
are still to be seen and form some of the most
interesting features of the landscape of this lovely
vale.

This small bit of a volume is written by my mother,
Florine Garner Thompson, for her thesis upon
graduation from Lee's Institute, Lula, Georgia.

Transcribed by:
Iris Thompson Fry,
Loving daughter