The Dismal Swamp and Lake Drummond, Early recollections | Page 7

Tony was, perhaps, the oldest person, and knew more about
the Lake than any person then engaged at it, he was awakened, and Mr.
Woodward said: "Uncle Tony, I want you to tell us about the man
whom you said you brought to the Lake in 1821." "Who tole you 'bout
dat boss?" inquired Uncle Tony, with an air of conscious pride. "It will
make no difference, go on and tell us," returned Mr. Woodward. Tony
scratched his head, then putting some tobacco in his pipe, took out his
flint and steel (matches not being known in the swamp at that day,) and
soon had fire enough to light his pipe. Drawing on it enough to get his
"nigger head" tobacco to burn, and fixing himself on the end of his log,
he commenced: "Boss, I shall nebber forgit dat time. One mornin' as I
war gittin' my skiff ready to go to de Lake, a mity nice lookin' man cum
up to me an' said: 'Buck, ar' you de man dat will carry me to de Lake ob
de Dismal Swamp, for which I will pay you one pound?' De gemman
talked so putty, dat I tole him to git in my skiff, an' I wud carry him to
de Lake. I notice' dat he kep' writin' all de way. When I got to de horse
camps I stopped to get somfin to eat. He cum outen de skiff an' ax me
what I stop for. I tole him I stop to eat some meat an' bread. He ax me if
I wud hav' a drink. I tuk off my hat an' tole him dat I wud be much
obleged to him for it. He foched a silber jug, wid a silber cup for a
stopper, and said: 'My man, dis is Irish whiskey. I brung it all de way
from home.' He tole me dat his name was Thomas Moore, an' dat he
cum fom 'way ober yonder--I dun forgot de name of de place--an' was
gwine to de Lake to write 'bout a spirit dat is seed dar paddlin' a kunnue.
De har 'gin tu rise on my hed an' I ax him ef dat was a fac'. He sed dat
he was told so in Norfolk. It was gin out dar dat a mity putty gal had
loss her sweethart, an' had dun gone crazy, an' had gone to de Lake ob
de Dismal Swamp an' drown herself, an' dat she ken be seen ebery
night by de lite ob some sort ob fli." "I tell you, boss," continued the
old man, "when he tole me 'bout dat gal paddlin' dat bote on de Lake at
nite, I diden' want to go any furder wid him, but he tole me dar wud be
no danger. I cud not see hur, so I carrid him on to de Lake. He rit like
de gal had run away an' had been drowned rite here. I shal nebber

forget dat gentman. I fotch him back an' he gin me de poun', which war
five dollars, an' he lef' for Norfolk, bein' mitey glad dat I had carrid him
to de Lake."
"Tony, did he tell you anything about his trip?" inquired Mr.
Woodward.
"Yas, sar," replied the old man. "He tole me dat he had trabbled an'
seen sites, but dat he nebber was so 'stonish befo'; he did not spec' to
see at de end ob de kunel such a putty place; an' dat I wud hear som
time what he was gwine tu say 'bout it." "That was Tom Moore, the
Irish poet," said Mr. W. "De who?" interrupted Tony. "He came to this
country," continued Mr. W. "to visit the Lake, as being one of the
wonders of nature, and you were fortunate in having to wait on such a
distinguished person."
Tom Moore, after he had arrived in this country, no doubt heard of the
Lake of the Dismal Swamp, and when he reached Norfolk, Va., and the
story of the fair maiden and her lover being fresh, might have induced
him to visit it, and it was on that occasion that he penned the following
lines:
"They made her a grave that was too cold and damp, For a soul so
warm and true."
His poem on the "Lake of the Dismal Swamp," no doubt, is familiar
with every person of ordinary information, and can be found in every
library, and should be read by every person who has never done so.
CHAPTER VI.
PORTE CRAYON'S VISIT, INCIDENTS, ETC.
At a much later date the Lake was visited by Porte Crayon, who was at
that time writing for Harper's Monthly. The account given of his trip,
with his illustrations, are very life-like and interesting, and