PEANUT LEARNS WHERE THE SIX HUSBANDS’ TRAIL GOT ITS NAME
It was, in truth, getting cold on the mountain, and the wind was
freshening as the sun set. They moved wearily into the hut, and found
three tiers of bunks inside, like a ship’s cabin, and a stove giving
out pleasant heat, and the caretaker getting supper ready.
“No cooking to-night,” said the Scout Master. “You three climb up and
lie down till supper is ready.”
Rob, Art and Peanut made no objection to this order, and soon, from
their bunks, they were discussing the day’s adventures with the other
three.
“We had a wonderful day!” said Lou and Frank. “We climbed every one of
the north peaks except Madison--Clay, Jefferson and Adams--and we got
almost to the hut here before the cloud came. Gee, what views! We kept
looking down into the Gulf for you, but we never saw you. It was lots
of fun climbing back up Adams in the cloud.”
“Well, we had some day ourselves, believe me Judge!” said Peanut. “We
had a swim in Spaulding Lake, and a long hike in the woods down at the
bottom of the Gulf, and then the Six Husbands’ Trail. Say, that’s a
trail!”
“My pack weighed a hundred and twenty-nine pounds before we got to the
top,” Art added.
“And then, when we saw the clouds above us, we hurried, too,” Rob said,
“so we could reach the Gulf Side path before they closed down too far,
and that took our wind.”
“And then Peanut let out a Comanche yell when we did strike the Gulf
Side,” put in Art, “with all the wind he had left----”
“Which wasn’t much,” said Peanut.
“----and out of the cloud, off southwest somewhere we suddenly heard a
faint call for ‘Help!’ It sounded awfully strange, kind of weird-like,
way up there in the clouds.”
“Wonder if they’ve got the woman down by now?” said Frank.
“Lucky that doctor and the other three men were hiking along here,” Lou
put in, “or we’d have had to carry her to the railroad and then walk
way back over the whole Gulf Side Trail again.”
“Not me,” said Peanut. “I’d have kissed the mountains good-night, and
got aboard the train myself.”
“Where did you strike those four?” asked Rob.
“They were at the hut when we first got there at two o’clock, waiting
for the cloud to break,” said Mr. Rogers. “They came up Adams with us
to see you fellows signal, for they said the cloud wouldn’t last long.
Good trampers, they were, on their annual vacation up here. They know
every path like a book.”
The Scouts were discussing signaling and its uses, and Rob was saying
that it made him tired to hear people say the Scouts were taught to be
warlike, when signaling had proved so valuable that very day as a means
of saving life in peace, instead of taking it in war--when steps were
heard outside the hut, and a second later two men stood in the door.
“Hello, any room?” they said.
“Come in,” said the caretaker.
The two men entered. They were rather elderly men, or at least middle
aged, with gray hair; but both of them were tanned and rugged, the
type you learn to recognize as the real trampers on the White Mountain
trails. They made themselves at home at once, tossing their small packs
into a corner. They had no blankets, but both of them carried botanical
specimen cases.
“Where from?” asked Mr. Rogers.
“Jackson,” they said. “We came up Tuckerman’s yesterday to the Tip Top
House, and spent this morning getting specimens on Bigelow Lawn. We’ve
just come over the Gulf Side.”
“Did you meet four men carrying an injured woman?” the boys asked.
“Carrying her where?”
“To the train.”
“They were taking her along the West Side Trail, from Monticello Lawn,
where she sprained her ankle,” Mr. Rogers added. “One of them went
ahead to the summit to telephone.”
“Oh, that explains it!” the two strangers said. “We met him just as
we were turning out of the carriage road into the trail. He was going
about ten miles an hour. And when we got up on Jefferson, we saw a
train climbing the trestle, and wondered why.”
“Hooray, she’s safe!” shouted Peanut. “Bet she never tries to climb in
low shoes again, though.”
Supper was now served, and the combined parties sat down to it. The
boys told the newcomers of their day’s adventures, and Peanut suddenly
shot out, “Say! Can _you_ tell me why it’s called the Six Husbands’
Trail?”
One of the men laughed. “I surely can,” he said.
“Well, for Heaven’s sake, do, then,” Rob said. “He’ll never be happy
till he knows.”
“You came down the head wall of the Gulf, you say?” the man asked.
“Well, did you notice the first waterfall you came to after you reached
the bottom of the wall and started down toward the Gulf camp?”
“Gee, there was nothing but waterfalls,” said Peanut.
“Exactly, but there are some real falls on the trail, though, and some
which are only rapids. Anyhow, the upper fall was named in the summer
of 1908, by Warren W. Hart, a Boston lawyer who cut the trail up to the
head wall. Weetamo Fall, he called it, in honor of Queen Weetamo, the
sister-in-law of the famous Indian chief, King Philip. Maybe you boys
know all about her?”
“Know about King Philip,” said Peanut, “but can’t say I’m intimate with
his sister-in-law.”
“That’s a pity,” said the man, “because she was a fine woman. Her
husband, King Philip’s older brother, Alexander (or Wamsutta) was also
a chief. After he died, Weetamo married again, several times, each time
seeking to bind the New England tribes into a stronger alliance. Some
say she married three times, some say five or more. Mr. Hart, when he
cut the new trail you boys came up this afternoon, decided to give the
lady a liberal allowance, so he made it six. The Six Husbands’ Trail is
named in honor of the husbands of Weetamo, the Indian chieftainess.”
“There, Peanut, now you know!” laughed Art.
“I like it, too,” Peanut declared. “I don’t see why more of these
mountains and places aren’t named after Indians, or with Indian names,
like Moosilauke and Pemigewassett and Ammonoosuc. Why should this
mountain be called Madison, for instance? _He_ didn’t discover it, or
even ever see it, maybe.”
“Who did discover the White Mountains, by the way?” asked Rob. “I never
thought of that before.”
The same man who had answered before again replied. He seemed to know
all about these hills. “Mount Washington, which was named in the first
years of Washington’s administration, when all sorts of things were
being named for him, was the first mountain climbed in the United
States,” he said. “Darby Field accomplished it in 1642, after a trip
of exploration in from the coast, through the then trackless forest.
The only account of the trip is in Governor John Winthrop’s journal,
which you’ll find in your public library, or it ought to be there, if
it isn’t. Field was accompanied by two Indians. It took them eighteen
days to get here and back. At the foot of the ascent was an Indian
village, but these Indians dared accompany him no nearer the top than
eight miles, as they never climbed mountains. His own two Indians went
on with him. From the fact that his ascent was, he says, for the last
twelve miles over bare rocks, he evidently came up over the southern
ridges somewhere, possibly the Giant’s Stairs and Boott Spur. The north
peaks were not explored and named till 1820, less than a hundred years
ago. Lafayette, over in Franconia, was not climbed till 1826.”
“But weren’t there any Indian names for these mountains?” Peanut
persisted.
“They called the whole Presidential range, or perhaps the whole White
Mountains by the name Agiocochook,” the man answered. “I’m afraid my
knowledge ceases there. Our forefathers didn’t make any special effort
to learn what the Indians did call things, or to respect their names
any more than their lands. Certainly we’ve done badly in our naming.
Clay, for instance, and Franklin, were never Presidents, yet their
names are given to two peaks in the Presidential range; and Mount
Pleasant isn’t even named after a statesman. I agree with our young
friend here, and like better the names of the Sandwich range to the
south, Chocorua, Passaconaway, Bald Face. Those are either Indian
names, or are suggestive of the appearance of the mountain.”
“Right-o,” said Peanut.
It was now dark outside, and clear and cold. The Scouts went out into
the windy starlight, and looked far down into the valley to the north,
where the lights of a small town glittered, and filled their lungs
with the bracing, fresh air. Then they one and all turned in, and
though the two new arrivals were talking with the caretaker of the hut,
it wasn’t five minutes before all six were fast asleep.