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Updated: June 11, 2025
This was the man whose name we had seen on the walls in Cataract Canyon. Less than two miles more brought us to the Hite ranch, and post-office. John Hite gave us a cordial reception. He had known of our coming from the newspapers; besides, he had some mail for us.
Encouraged by the knowledge that they had a safe retreat in case of being overmastered, they fought with such heart that the enemy was defeated, and the grateful Mohegans named the place the Bridge of God. It was in 1734 that Joist Hite moved from Pennsylvania to Virginia, with his wife and boys, and helped to make a settlement on the Shenandoah twelve miles south of Woodstock.
"Why," exclaimed the bully, "that man was a walking arsenal." Aaron Pennington, the strong man just mentioned, was, in his younger days, a river pilot. Billy Hite, a mite of a man, was clerk. They had a disagreement, when Aaron told Billy that if he caught him on "the harrican deck," he would pitch him overboard.
Jimmy reached the dais of the man who was said to be the best and the cruellest city editor in the newspaper game. "Jimmy, your vacation begins next week, doesn't it?" Jimmy nodded and looked at his superior expectantly. Hite continued: "Your little tin god, Professor Herman Brierly, is spending the summer up in Canada, isn't he?" Jimmy nodded again.
After a perfunctory look about the scene, Professor Brierly indicated that he was ready to go. On their way to the station he asked Jimmy if he would take him up to see his city editor, Hite. Jimmy, carefully restraining a grin, gravely consented.
"Yes, but the paper is willing to pay all the expenses of your vacation besides. What do you think of that?" The suspicion in Jimmy's eyes grew deeper. He knew his city editor. There was Hite cut in on his reflections. "A swell chance for you to spend part or all of your vacation with Professor Brierly and your friend, Matthews. District Attorney McCall is up there too.
He then related to his nephew what James Drane had already learned from Tom Gaines; namely, that Mary Hollis and her second husband, with her little son, then four years of age, had emigrated to Kentucky in the spring of 1782. "I think you once told me, Uncle Richard," Abner said, later in the conversation with his uncle, "that Andrew Hite visited Lawsonville while my mother was living with you."
Hite turned shortly from the bier. "I farms some," he hesitated; "dad bein' mos'ly out o' the field, nowadays, agin' so constant." "What do you work at mostly?" reiterated the official. Hite divined his suspicion. Some flying rumor had doubtless come to his ears, how credible, how unimpugnable, the moonshiner could not tell.
But, barring the assessment on a small holding of mountain land, Constant Hite seemed in case to contribute naught to his country's exchequer. "It needs all it can get, now," replied the stranger casually, but doubtless from a sophisticated knowledge, as behooved a reader of the journals of the day, of the condition of the treasury.
The next year the regular pleasure travel began and a trail on the Mariposa side of the Valley was opened by Mann Brothers. This trail was afterwards purchased by the citizens of the county and made free to the public. The first house built in the Yosemite Valley was erected in the autumn of 1856 and was kept as a hotel the next year by G. A. Hite and later by J. H. Neal and S. M. Cunningham.
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