In 1998, Brad Wyche, founder and longtime Executive Director of Upstate Forever gave me a copy a book, “The Story of Reedy River.”
Much to my surprise, the little book was a delicious buffet of assorted historical facts, priceless anecdotes and contemporaneous accounts of old Greenville; all woven into a compelling narrative detailing the evolution of the area surrounding the storied waterfall — from Richard Pearis’s Indian trading post in the 1770s to the city that I knew so well in the 1950s and ‘60s.
One aspect of the story grabbed my attention like nothing else — and ultimately compelled me to action. It was the legend of an “Enchanted Tree” that once grew on a boulder that jutted out over the falls.
The Enchanted Tree had roots shaped like a set of bull horns, forming a natural seat. In the 1800s, on moonlit nights, amorous couples would sit in the embrace of the Enchanted Tree and “court,” as they used to say.
Benjamin F. Perry, a young attorney at the time, but later a newspaper editor, governor, legislator, and congressman, was one of those 19th century suitors. He wrote his girlfriend, Elizabeth McCall, the following note. “It was on that high cliff, on a lovely moonlight night, that I first felt that I loved you.”
They later married and lived long, happy lives on their expansive farm, Sans Souci, near Union Bleachery on Old Buncombe Road.
The thing that compelled me to action was one sentence in the book, “The names are engraven there yet upon the everlasting rocks of scores of young people of the day, and even an earlier period…” Of course, I had to go look and see if those names “engraven” on the rock were still there.
The Camperdown bridge was still in place and there was barely enough room for me to crouch down and get out on the rock. It was obvious that someone was living there; a bed roll, beer and wine bottles, along with several hypodermic needles, were scattered all over the place. The rock outcropping was covered in a layer of red dirt; a few inches thick in some places, but much deeper in others.
I went over to Brad Wyche’s office and borrowed a broom. As I swept the surface, the carvings began to emerge. There were several dozen; mostly people’s initials. Two had dates – 1824 and 1829.
The bridge was later taken down and I enlisted the help of my archaeologist friend Tommy Charles, and our friend, Michael Bramlett from Oconee County. This time, we brought shovels and our own broom. We excavated the red dirt, two feet thick on the upper end, and found even more carvings.
I checked as recently as a couple of weeks ago and they are now covered with lichens and mineral stains, and are no longer visible; so absolutely do not attempt to go out on that rock outcropping. It’s too dangerous. You can see the entire surface from the East end of the Liberty bridge.
Dennis Chastain is a Pickens County naturalist, historian and former tour guide. He has been writing feature articles for South Carolina Wildlife magazine and other outdoor publications since 1989.
