George Peck's WYOMING, 1858 - Pennsylvania - Chapter 14 Contributed for use in the USGenWeb Archives by Judy Banja jbanja@comcast.net USGENWEB ARCHIVES (tm) NOTICE All documents placed in the USGenWeb Archives remain the property of the contributors, who retain publication rights in accordance with US Copyright Laws and Regulations. In keeping with our policy of providing free information on the Internet, these documents may be used by anyone for their personal research. They may be used by non-commercial entities, when written permission is obtained from the contributor, so long as all notices and submitter information are included. These electronic pages may NOT be reproduced in any format for profit. Any other use, including copying files to other sites, requires permission from the contributors PRIOR to uploading to the other sites. The submitter has given permission to the USGenWeb Archives to store the file permanently for free access. http://www.usgwarchives.net/copyright.htm http://www.usgwarchives.net/pa/pafiles.htm ________________________________________________ HTML with illustrations: http://www.usgwarchives.net/pa/1pa/1picts/peckwyo/peck-wyo.htm WYOMING; ITS HISTORY, STIRRING INCIDENTS AND ROMANTIC ADVENTURES. By GEORGE PECK, D.D. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS. NEW YORK: HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE, 1858 344 WYOMING. XIV. A VIEW FROM CAMPBELL'S LEDGE, CONTRIBUTED BY REV. L. W. PECK. AT the head of Wyoming Valley is Campbell's Ledge. The Susquehanna comes in from the northwest, and the Lackawanna winds around the base of the mountain from the northeast to mingle with the larger and bolder river. The mountain whose base they thus lave, and separate from the valley, is crowned by Campbell's Ledge. Having a few hours at Pittston, I cast my eye wishfully over at the mountain, a distance of about two miles, and resolved to make the ascent. I was alone. My way led over the canal bridge, over the viaduct, and across the meadows to the mountain. I had just entered the wood and begun the ascent when a beautiful pheasant started out near my feet, and ran some distance through the leaves, and then flew into the deep forest. I pursued my way, following an old mountain road, or making a path for myself through the underbrush. At length I came out upon a plateau of ground gently sloping to the north; but the thick foliage would permit no view of the valley, which I was looking for as one looks for the genial face of an old friend. Still I wandered on, seeking the higher ground, but no ledge was visible. A pile of rocks, crowned with a scraggy oak, now and then appeared, but nothing was to be seen that answered the description I had received. I began to reproach myself for coming without a guide, and wondered whether I should know Campbell's Ledge if I should happen CAMPBELL'S LEDGE [illustration] A VIEW FROM CAMPBELL'S LEDGE. 347 to come in sight of it. The woods at last became more open, and I saw the mountains at the west nearer. I turned at once toward them, when I found myself just ready to step off from the abrupt brow of a frightful precipice. I seized hold of a tree and hung upon the verge, and gazed down with awe upon the calm river, the green fields, and the grazing flocks hundreds of feet below. This, said I, in a subdued breath, is Campbell's Ledge. I sank back upon the grass, and looked down upon Wyoming cradled between the mountains. The view of the Valley here presented differs from every other. The hilly portions are more prominent, and undulate far away southward till they terminate in the mountains. The river, like a broken belt of steel, is seen here and there glittering in the sun. I have often wandered in Wyoming, admiring her beauty, but Campbell's Ledge inspired me with a new emotion, that of overpowering sublimity. This view reminds me of the Hudson and the Catskills, but the precipice is more stupendous than that on which stands the Mountain House. Ye grand old mountains, which laugh in the sunshine and reverberate in the storm, "ye are wondrous strong, yet lovely in your strength." I have been carrying in my mind, amid these scenes, the stirring words of Ruskin: "Mountains are to the rest of the earth what muscular action is to the body of man. The muscles and tendons of its anatomy are, in the mountains, brought out with force and convulsive energy, full of expression, passion, and strength; the plains and lower hills are the repose and the effortless motion of the frame, when its muscles lie dormant and concealed beneath the lines of its beauty, yet ruling those lines in their 348 WYOMING. every undulation. This, then, is the first grand principle of the truth of the earth. The spirit of the hills is action, that of the lowlands repose; and between these there is to be found every variety of motion and of rest, from the inactive plain, sleeping like the firmament, with cities for stars, to the fiery peaks, which, with heaving bosoms and exulting limbs, with the clouds drifting like hair from their bright foreheads, lift up their Titan hands to heaven, saying, 'I live forever.'" There is a wild legend which has given the name to this ledge. A man named Campbell was pursued by the Indians. He had taken refuge in the ravines of this mountain, where are many fine living springs, and where the thick foliage afforded a safe shelter. But the fierce Red Men are on his track. He is an old enemy, and is singled out for special torture. He knows his fate if taken. He tries every path that winds out into the deeper forest, but without success. He is hemmed in like the roe by the relentless wolves. But he does not hesitate; he springs forward to the verge of the hanging rock. One glance behind him shows him that escape is utterly hopeless. The shouts of the savages are heard as they rush upon their prey. With a scream of defiance, he leaps into the friendly arms of death. The solemn traditions of the olden time were stealing around me like an enchanter's spell as I gazed down upon the plain and the river where once my kindred struggled with the dusky foe. A loud yell, as if a thousand Indian warriors were in the wood, started me to my feet; it was the whistle of the locomotive, which told of civilization bursting through the ancient gloom.