This is one of the most noted and romantic spots in the vicinity of Columbus, and still possesses an interest for both residents and transient visitors, on account of its natural grandeur and the Indian legend connected with it. The following is the description of the locality and legend connected with it:

This romantic locale is a high and ragged cliff, which terminates an ascending knoll of dark rocks, and projects boldly into the Chattahoochee River. Its summit commands one of the most magnificent displays of river scenery which Nature could present, or which Art could picture. On the left the river pursues its downward course to Columbus, in a straight line. Its flow is rapid and wild, broken by rocks, over which the water frets and foams in angry surges. The bed of the stream is that of a deep ravine, its walls lofty and irregular cliffs, covered to their verge with majestic forest growth. From this point the city of Columbus is but partially visible. At the "'Leap," the river makes a sudden turn and forms an angle with its course below, flowing in a narrow channel so regularly lined with rocks on both sides and of such uniform width as to resemble a canal. A short distance above it makes another right angle and resumes its old course.

In the early part of the present century, this region was inhabited by two powerful tribes of Indians. Rivals were they, and, with numbers equal, and alike proud names, well they vied with each other. There was no tribe among all the powerful nation of the Creeks who boasted of their powers before a Cusseta or a Coweta. But they were not friends, for who of those proud red men would bend before the acknowledged superiority of the other? It may have been a small matter from which their jealousy sprung, but the tiny thing had been cherished, till a serpent-like hatred hissed at the sound of the other's name.

The proud Chief of the Cussetas was now become an old man, and much was he venerated by all who rallied at his battle cry. The boldest heart in all his tribe quailed before his angry eye, and the proudest did him reverence. The old man had outlived his own sons. One by one had the Great Spirit called them from their hunting grounds, and in the flush of their manhood they had gone to the spirit-laud. Yet he was not alone. The youngest of his children, the dark-eyed Mohina, was still sheltered in his bosom, and all his love for the beautiful in life was bestowed upon her, ah, and rightly too, for the young maiden rivaled in grace the bounding fawn, and the young warriors said of her that the smile of the Great Spirit was not so beautiful. While yet a child she was betrothed to the young Eagle of the Cowetas, the proud scoin of their warrior Chief. But stern hatred had stifled kindly feelings in the hearts of all save these two young creatures, and the pledged word was broken when the smoke of the calumet was extinguished. Mohina no longer dared to meet the young Chief openly, and death faced them when they sat in a lone, wild trysting-place, neath the starry blazonry of mid night's dark robe. Still they were undaunted, for pure love dwelt in their hearts, and base fear crouched low before it, and went afar from them to hide in grosser souls. Think not the boy-god changes his arrows when he seeks the heart of the red man. Nay, rather with truer aim and finer point does the winged thing speed from his bow, and deeply the subtle poison sinks in the young heart, while the dark cheek glows with love's proper hue. The deer bounded gladly by when the lovers met, and felt he was free, while the bright eyed maiden leaned upon the bosom of the Young Eagle. Their youthful hearts hoped in the future, though all in vain, for time served but to render more fierce that hostile rivalry, more rank than deadly hatred, which existed between the tribes. Skirmishes were frequent amid their hunters, and open hostilities seemed inevitable.

And now it was told by some who had peered through the tangled under wood and matted foliage of those dim woods that the Coweta had pressed the maiden to his heart in those lone places, and that strange words and passionate were even now breathed by him to her ear. Then the hunters of the Cussetas sprang from their couches and made earnest haste to the dark glen. With savage yell and impetuous rush they bounded before the lovers. They fled, and love and terror added wings to their flight. For a while they distanced their pursuers. But the strength of Mohina failed her in a perilous moment, and had not the Young Eagle snatched her to his fast-beating heart, the raging enemy had made sure their fate. He rushed onward up the narrow defile before him. It led he forgot whither. In a few moments he stood on the verge of this fearful height. Wildly the maiden clung to him, and even then, in that strange moment of life, his heart throbbed proudly beneath his burden. The bold future alone was before him, there was no return. Already the breath of one of the pursuers, a hated rival, came quick upon his cheek, and the bright-gleaming tomahawk shone before him. One moment he gazed on him and triumph flashed in the eye of the young Chief, and then without a shudder he sprang into the seething waters below. Still the young maiden clung to him, nor yet did the death struggle part them. The mad waves dashed fearfully over them, and their loud wail was a fitting requiem to their departing spirits. The horror-stricken warriors gazed wildly into the foaming torrent and then dashed with reckless haste down the declivity, to bear the sad tidings to the old Chief. He heard their tale in silence. But sorrow was on his spirit, and it was broken. Henceforth his seat was unfilled by the council fire, and its red light gleamed fitfully upon his grave.