Mulder-Hill, was the worst station that I took from Limestone to Nasheville. It was destitute of every kind of provision, and I was obliged to sleep on the floor, wrapped up in my rug, without having been able to procure a supper. As there was no stable in this plantation, I turned my horse into a peach orchard for pasture. The fences that inclosed it were broken down, and fearing he would escape in the night, I put a bell on his neck, such as travellers carry with them when compelled to sleep in the woods. The peaches at that time were in full perfection, and I perceived that my horse had been feeding on them, from the immense quantity of kernels lying under three or four trees. This was very easy for him, as the branches, loaded with fruit, hung nearly to the ground.
About eight miles hence I forded Green River, which flows into the Ohio, after innumerable windings, and runs through a narrow valley not more than a mile in breadth. At the place where I crossed it it had not three [feet?] of water in an extent from fifteen to twenty fathoms broad; but in the spring, the only epoch when it is navigable, the water rises about eighteen feet, as may be judged by the roots of the {143} trees that adorn its banks, and which are stripped naked by the current. Beyond the river we regain the road, which for the space of two miles serpentines in that part of the valley which is on the left bank. The soil of these shallows is marshy and very fruitful, where the beech tree, among others, flourishes in great perfection. Its diameter is usually in proportion to its height, and its massy trunk sometimes rises twenty-five or thirty feet from the earth divested of a single branch. The soil occupied by these trees is considered by the inhabitants as the most difficult to clear.
