In order to verify his statement, Professor Mitchell (then in his sixty-fourth year) made a third ascent in June, 1857.  He was alone, and went up from the Swannanoa side.  He did not return.  No anxiety was felt for two or three days, as he was a good mountaineer, and it was supposed he had crossed the mountain and made his way out by the Caney River.  But when several days passed without tidings of him, a search party was formed.  Big Tom Wilson was with it.  They explored the mountain in all directions unsuccessfully.  At length Big Tom separated himself from his companions and took a course in accordance with his notion of that which would be pursued by a man lost in the clouds or the darkness.  He soon struck the trail of the wanderer, and, following it, discovered Mitchell’s body lying in a pool at the foot of a rocky precipice some thirty feet high.  It was evident that Mitchell, making his way along the ridge in darkness or fog, had fallen off.  It was the ninth (or the eleventh) day of his disappearance, but in the pure mountain air the body had suffered no change.  Big Tom brought his companions to the place, and on consultation it was decided to leave the body undisturbed till Mitchell’s friends could be present.

There was some talk of burying him on the mountain, but the friends decided otherwise, and the remains, with much difficulty, were got down to Asheville and there interred.

Some years afterwards, I believe at the instance of a society of scientists, it was resolved to transport the body to the summit of Mount Mitchell; for the tragic death of the explorer had forever settled in the popular mind the name of the mountain.  The task was not easy.  A road had to be cut, over which a sledge could be hauled, and the hardy mountaineers who undertook the removal were three days in reaching the summit with their burden.  The remains were accompanied by a considerable concourse, and the last rites on the top were participated in by a hundred or more scientists and prominent men from different parts of the State.  Such a strange cortege had never before broken the silence of this lonely wilderness, nor was ever burial more impressive than this wild interment above the clouds.

We had been preceded in our climb all the way by a huge bear.  That he was huge, a lunker, a monstrous old varmint, Big Tom knew by the size of his tracks; that he was making the ascent that morning ahead of us, Big Tom knew by the freshness of the trail.  We might come upon him at any moment; he might be in the garden; was quite likely to be found in the raspberry patch.  That we did not encounter him I am convinced was not the fault of Big Tom, but of the bear.

After a struggle of five hours we emerged from the balsams and briers into a lovely open meadow, of lush clover, timothy, and blue grass.  We unsaddled the horses and turned them loose to feed in it.  The meadow sloped up to a belt of balsams and firs, a steep rocky knob, and climbing that on foot we stood upon the summit of Mitchell at one o’clock.  We were none too soon, for already the clouds were preparing for what appears to be a daily storm at this season.