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[Illustration: TRAVELLERS IN A STORM, MOUNT WASHINGTON.]
Tourist's Edition
THE HEART
OF THE
WHITE MOUNTAINS
THEIR LEGEND AND SCENERY
BY
SAMUEL ADAMS DRAKE
AUTHOR OF "NOOKS AND CORNERS OF THE NEW ENGLAND COAST"
"CAPTAIN NELSON" ETC.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
W. HAMILTON GIBSON
"_Eyes loose: thoughts close_"
NEW YORK
HARPER & BROTHERS. FRANKLIN SQUARE
1882
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1881, by
HARPER & BROTHERS,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
_All rights reserved._
To JOHN G. WHITTIER:
_An illustrious and venerated bard, who shares with you the love and
honor of his countrymen, tells us that the poets are the best travelling
companions. Like Orlando in the forest of Arden, they "hang odes on
hawthorns and elegies on thistles."
In the spirit of that delightful companionship, so graciously announced,
it is to you, who have kindled on our aged summits
"The light that never was on sea or land,
The consecration and the poet's dream."
that this volume is affectionately dedicated by_
THE AUTHOR.
PREFACE.
The very flattering reception which the sumptuous holiday edition
of "The Heart of the White Mountains" received on its _début_ has
decided the Messrs. Harper to re-issue it in a more convenient and less
expensive form, with the addition of a Tourist's Appendix, and an Index
farther adapting it for the use of actual travellers. While all the
original features remain intact, these additions serve to render the
references in the text intelligible to the uninstructed reader, and at
the same time help to make a practical working manual. One or two new
maps contribute to the same end.
I take the opportunity thus afforded me to say that, when "The Heart of
the White Mountains" was originally prepared, I hoped it might go into
the hands of those who, making the journey for the first time, feel the
need of something different from the conventional guide-book of the day,
and for whom it would also be, during the hours of travel or of leisure
among the mountains, to some extent an entertaining as well as a useful
companion. So far as author and publisher are concerned, that purpose is
now realized.
Finally, I wrote the book because I could not help it.
SAMUEL ADAMS DRAKE.
MELROSE, _January, 1882_.
GENERAL CONTENTS.
FIRST JOURNEY.
PAGE
I. _MY TRAVELLING COMPANIONS_.....1
II. _INCOMPARABLE WINNIPISEOGEE_: Voyage from Wolfborough to Centre
Harbor.--The Indians.--Centre Harbor.--Legendary.--Ascent of Red
Hill.--Sunset on the Lake.....8
III. _CHOCORUA_: Stage Journey to Tamworth.--Scramble for
Places.--Valley of the Bear Camp.--Legend of Chocorua.--Sandwich
Mountains.--Chocorua Lake.--Ascent of Mount Chocorua.....18
IV. _LOVEWELL_: Fryeburg.--Lovewell's Fight.--Desperate Encounter with
the Pigwackets.--Death of Paugus.....33
V. _NORTH CONWAY_: The Antechamber of the Mountains.--White
Horse Ledge.--Fording the Saco.--Indian Custom.--Echo Lake.--The
Cathedral.--Diana's Baths.--Artists' Falls.--The Moats.--Winter Ascent
of Mount Kearsarge.....39
VI. _FROM KEARSARGE TO CARRIGAIN_: Conway Intervales.--Bartlett
Bowlder.--Singular Homicide.--Bartlett.--A Lost Village.--Ascent of
Mount Carrigain.--A Shaggy Wilderness.....55
VII. _VALLEY OF THE SACO_: Autumnal Foliage.--The Story of
Nancy.--Doctor Bemis.--Abel Crawford, the Veteran Guide.--Ethan A.
Crawford.--The Mount Crawford Glen.--Giant's Stairs.--Frankenstein
Cliff.--Superb View of Mount Washington.--Mount Willey.....66
VIII. _THROUGH THE NOTCH_: Great Notch of the White Mountains.--The
Willey House, and Slide of 1826.--"Colonizing" Voters.--Mount
Willard.--Mount Webster, and its Cascades.--Gate of the Notch.--Summit
of the Pass.....76
IX. _CRAWFORD'S_: The Elephant's Head.--Crawford House, and
Glen.--Discovery of The Notch.--Ascent of Mount Willard.--Magnificent
_coup d'oeil_.....87
X. _THE ASCENT FROM CRAWFORD'S_: The Bridle-path.--Wreck of
the Forest.--A Forest of Ice.--Dwarf Trees.--Summit of Mount
Clinton.--Caught in a Snow-storm.--The Colonel's Hat.--Oakes's
Gulf.--The Plateau.--Climbing the Dome.--The Summit at Last.....95
SECOND JOURNEY.
I. _LEGENDS OF THE CRYSTAL HILLS_: Indian Tradition and Legend.--Ascent
of Mount Washington by Darby Field.--Indian Name of the White Mountains
.....113
II. _JACKSON AND THE ELLIS VALLEY_: Thorn Hill.--Jackson.--Jackson
Falls.--Goodrich Falls.--The Ellis.--A Captive Maiden's Song.--Pretty
Indian Legend.--Pinkham Notch, from the Ellis.--A Mountain
Homestead.--Artist Life.....122
III. _THE CARTER NOTCH_: Valley of the Wildcat.--The Guide.--The
Way In.--Summit of The Notch.--Awful Desolation.--The Giant's
Barricade.--Carter Dome.--The Way Out.....132
IV. _THE PINKHAM NOTCH_: The Glen House.--Thompson's Falls.--Emerald
Pool.--Crystal Cascade.--Glen Ellis and its Legend.....144
V. _A SCRAMBLE IN TUCKERMAN'S_: Tuckerman's Ravine.--The Path.--Hermit
Lake.--"No Thoroughfare."--Interior of the Ravine.--The Snow
Arch.....155
VI. _IN AND ABOUT GORHAM_: The Peabody Valley.--Copp's Farm.--The
Imp.--Nathaniel Copp's Adventure.--Gorham and the Androscoggin.--Mount
Hayes.--Mount Madison.--Wholesale Destruction of the Forests.--Logging
in the Mountains.--Berlin Falls.--Shelburne and Bethel.....165
VII. _ASCENT BY THE CARRIAGE-ROAD_: Bruin and the Travellers.--The
Ledge.--The Great Gulf.--Fatal Accident.--Lost Travellers.--Arrival at
the Signal-station.--A Night on the Summit.....178
VIII. _MOUNT WASHINGTON_: View from the Summit.--The Great Gale.--Life
on the Summit.--Shadow of Mount Washington.--Bigelow's Lawn.--The Hunter
Monument.--Lake of the Clouds.--The Mountain Butterfly.....189
THIRD JOURNEY.
I. _THE PEMIGEWASSET IN JUNE_: Plymouth.--Death of Hawthorne.--John
Stark, the Hunter.--Livermore Fall.--Trout and Salmon
Breeding.--Franconia Mountains from West Campton.--Settlement of
Campton.--Valley of Mad River.--Tripyramid Mountain.--Waterville and its
Surroundings.....209
II. _THE FRANCONIA PASS_: The Flume House.--The Pool.--The
Flume.--Ascent of Mount Pemigewasset.--The Basin.--Mount
Cannon.--Profile Lake.--Old Man of the Mountain.--Summit of the
Pass.....224
III. _THE KING OF FRANCONIA_: Profile House and Glen.--Eagle
Cliff.--Echo Lake.--Ascent of Mount Lafayette.--The Lakes.--Singular
Atmospheric Effects.....237
IV. _FRANCONIA, AND THE NEIGHBORHOOD_: The Roadside Spring.--Franconia
Iron Works and Vicinity.--Sugar Hill.....248
V. _THE CONNECTICUT OX-BOW_: Newbury and Haverhill.....256
VI. _THE SACK OF ST. FRANCIS DE SALES_: Robert Rogers, the
Ranger.--Destruction of the Abenaqui Village.--Retreat and Pursuit of
the Rangers.--Legend of the Silver Image.....259
VII. _MOOSEHILLOCK_: Ascent of the Mountain from Warren.--View from the
Summit.....267
VIII. _BETHLEHEM_: Bethlehem Street.--Sudden Rise of a Mountain
Resort.--The Environs.--Maplewood and the Great Range.--The Place of
Sunsets.--The "Hermit."--The Soldier turned Peddler.....276
IX. _JEFFERSON, AND THE VALLEY OF ISRAEL'S RIVER_: Jefferson
Hill.--Starr King and Cherry Mountains.--The Great Chain Again.--Thomas
Starr King.--Ethan Crawford's.--Ravine of the Cascades.--Randolph Hill
and King's Ravine.--The Cherry Mountain Road.--Fabyan's.--Captain
Rosebrook .....291
X. _THE GREAT NORTHERN PEAKS_: The Mountain Railway.--An Evening
Ascension.--Moonlight on the Summit.--Sunrise.--A March to Mount
Adams.--The Great Gulf of the Five Mountains.--The Castellated
Ridge.--Peak of Mount Adams.--Conclusion.....304
Illustrations.
These Illustrations, excepting those marked *, were designed by W.
HAMILTON GIBSON.
SUBJECT. ENGRAVER. PAGE.
TRAVELLERS IN A STORM, MOUNT WASHINGTON _R. Hoskin_ Frontispiece
WINNIPISEOGEE, FROM RED HILL _J. Tinkey_ 15
*"ALONE WITH ALL THOSE MEN!" _V. Bernstrom_ 20
_Designed by W. A. Rogers._
PASSACONNAWAY, FROM THE BEAR-CAMP RIVER _Smithwick and French_ 24
CHOCORUA _R. Hoskin_ 26
LOVEWELL'S POND _J. P. Davis_ 34
MOUNT WASHINGTON, FROM THE SACO _F. S. King_ 40
THE LEDGES, NORTH CONWAY _E. Held_ 41
ECHO LAKE, NORTH CONWAY _G. J. Buechner_ 45
KEARSARGE IN WINTER _R. Hoskin_ 48
*SLIDING DOWN KEARSARGE _H. Deis_ 53
_Designed by W. A. Rogers._
CONWAY MEADOWS _W. H. Morse_ 56
BARTLETT BOWLDER _E. Held_ 58
*NANCY IN THE SNOW _J. P. Davis_ 68
_Designed by Sol Eytinge._
*ABEL CRAWFORD (PORTRAIT) _Thos. Johnson_ 70
STORM ON MOUNT WILLEY _J. Linton_ 75
MOUNT WILLARD, FROM WILLEY BROOK _G. Smith_ 78
THE CASCADES, MOUNT WEBSTER _F. S. King_ 85
ELEPHANT'S HEAD, WINTER _H. Wolf_ 88
LOOKING DOWN THE NOTCH _C. Mayer_ 91
GIANT'S STAIRS, FROM THORN MOUNTAIN _J. Hellawell_ 124
MOAT MOUNTAIN, FROM JACKSON FALLS _F. Pettit_ 126
THE CARTER NOTCH _Smithwick and French_ 134
THE EMERALD POOL _W. H. Morse_ 147
THE CRYSTAL CASCADE _H. Wolf_ 149
THE PATH, TUCKERMAN'S RAVINE _R. Hoskin_ 157
HERMIT LAKE _W. J. Dana_ 160
SNOW ARCH, TUCKERMAN'S RAVINE _N. Orr_ 163
THE IMP _J. Tinkey_ 166
THE ANDROSCOGGIN AT SHELBURNE _G. Smith_ 176
MOUNT ADAMS AND THE GREAT GULF _W. H. Morse_ 182
WINTER STORM ON THE SUMMIT _R. Schelling_ 187
*THE TORNADO FORCING AN ENTRANCE _J. Tinkey_ 194
_Designed by Thure de Thulstrup_
LAKE OF THE CLOUDS _J. P. Davis_ 200
ON THE PROFILE ROAD _Smithwick and French_ 213
WELCH MOUNTAIN, FROM MAD RIVER _J. Hellawell_ 217
BLACK AND TRIPYRAMID MOUNTAINS _J. S. Harley_ 220
FRANCONIA NOTCH, FROM THORNTON _F. S. King_ 222
A GLIMPSE OF THE POOL _C. Mayer_ 225
THE FLUME, FRANCONIA NOTCH _J. P. Davis_ 227
THE BASIN _G. J. Buechner_ 230
*THE OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAIN _A. Measom_ 234
_Designed by Granville Perkins._
*EAGLE CLIFF AND THE ECHO HOUSE _P. Annin_ 238
_Designed by Granville Perkins._
ECHO LAKE, FRANCONIA _G. J. Buechner_ 240
MOUNT CANNON, FROM THE BRIDLE-PATH,
LAFAYETTE _R. Schelling_ 242
CLOUD EFFECTS ON MOUNT LAFAYETTE _R. Hoskin_ 245
*FRANCONIA IRON WORKS AND NOTCH _C. Mayer_ 248
_Designed by Granville Perkins._
*THE ROADSIDE SPRING 250
_Designed by W. A . Rogers._
*ROBERT ROGERS (PORTRAIT) _C. Mayer_ 260
*THE BUCK-BOARD WAGON 274
_Designed by W. A. Rogers._
MOUNT LAFAYETTE, FROM BETHLEHEM _J. Tinkey_ 280
THE NORTHERN PEAKS, FROM JEFFERSON _Smithwick and French_ 292
MOUNT WASHINGTON, FROM FABYAN'S _E. Held_ 301
*MOUNTAIN RAILWAY-STATION IN STAGING
TIMES _T. Johnson_ 305
_Designed by Granville Perkins._
ASCENT BY THE RAILWAY _J. Hellawell_ 309
THE CASTELLATED RIDGE, MOUNT JEFFERSON _J. Tinkey_ 315
MAP OF THE WHITE MOUNTAINS (_East Side_) xv
" " " (_Central and Northern Section_) 111
" " " (_West Side_) 207
FIRST JOURNEY.
PAGE
I. _MY TRAVELLING COMPANIONS_ 1
II. _INCOMPARABLE WINNIPISEOGEE_ 8
III. _CHOCORUA_ 18
IV. _LOVEWELL_ 33
V. _NORTH CONWAY_ 39
VI. _KEARSARGE TO CARRIGAIN_ 55
VII. _VALLEY OF THE SACO_ 66
VIII. _THROUGH THE NOTCH_ 76
IX. _CRAWFORD'S_ 87
X. _ASCENT FROM CRAWFORD'S_ 95
[Illustration: [Map]]
THE
HEART OF THE WHITE MOUNTAINS.
FIRST JOURNEY.
I.
_MY TRAVELLING COMPANIONS._
"Si jeunesse savait! si viellesse pouvait!"
One morning in September I was sauntering up and down the
railway-station waiting for the slow hands of the clock to reach the
hour fixed for the departure of the train. The fact that these hands
never move backward did not in the least seem to restrain the impatience
of the travellers thronging into the station, some with happy, some with
anxious faces, some without trace of either emotion, yet all betraying
the same eagerness and haste of manner. All at once I heard my name
pronounced, and felt a heavy hand upon my shoulder.
"What!" I exclaimed, in genuine surprise, "is it you, colonel?"
"Myself," affirmed the speaker, offering his cigar-case.
"And where did you drop from"--accepting an Havana; "the Blue Grass?"
"I reckon."
"But what are you doing in New England, when you should be in Kentucky?"
"Doing, I? oh, well," said my friend, with a shade of constraint; then
with a quizzical smile, "You are a Yankee; guess."
"Take care."
"Guess."
"Running away from your creditors?"
The colonel's chin cut the air contemptuously.
"Running after a woman, perhaps?"
My companion quickly took the cigar from his lips, looked at me with
mouth half opened, then stammered, "What in blue brimstone put that into
your head?"
"Evidently you are going on a journey, but are dressed for an evening
party," I replied, comprising with a glance the colonel's black suit,
lavender gloves, and white cravat.
"Why," said the colonel, glancing rather complacently at himself--"why
we Kentuckians always travel so at home. But it's now your turn; where
are you going yourself?"
"To the mountains."
"Good; so am I: White Mountains, Green Mountains, Rocky Mountains, or
Mountains of the Moon, I care not."
"What is your route?"
"I'm not at all familiar with the topography of your mountains. What is
yours?"
"By the Eastern to Lake Winnipiseogee, thence to Centre Harbor, thence
by stage and rail to North Conway and the White Mountain Notch."
My friend purchased his ticket by the indicated route, and the train
was soon rumbling over the bridges which span the Charles and Mystic.
Farewell, Boston, city where, like thy railways, all extremes meet, but
where I would still rather live on a crust moistened with east wind than
cast my lot elsewhere.
When we had fairly emerged into the light and sunshine of the open
country, I recognized my old acquaintance George Brentwood. At a gesture
from me he came and sat opposite to us.
George Brentwood was a blond young man of thirty-four or thirty-five,
with brown hair, full reddish beard, shrewdish blue eyes, a robust
frame, and a general air of negligent repose. In a word, he was the
antipodes of my companion, whose hair, eyebrows, and mustache were
coal-black, eyes dark and sparkling, manner nervous, and his attitudes
careless and unconstrained, though not destitute of a certain natural
grace. Both were men to be remarked in a crowd.
"George," said I, "permit me to introduce my friend Colonel Swords."
After a few civil questions and answers, George declared his
destination to be ours, and was cordially welcomed to join us. By way
of breaking the ice, he observed,
"Apropos of your title, colonel, I presume you served in the Rebellion?"
The colonel hitched a little on his seat before replying. Knowing him
to be a very modest man, I came to his assistance. "Yes," said I, "the
colonel fought hard and bled freely. Let me see, where were you wounded?"
"Through the chest."
"No, I mean in what battle?"
"Spottsylvania."
"Left on the field for dead, and taken prisoner," I finished.
George is a fellow of very generous impulses. "My dear sir," said he,
effusively, grasping the colonel's hand, "after what you have suffered
for the old flag, you can need no other passport to the gratitude and
friendship of a New-Englander. Count me as one of your debtors. During
the war it was my fortune--my misfortune, I should say--to be in a
distant country; otherwise we should have been found fighting shoulder
to shoulder under Grant, or Sherman, or Sheridan, or Thomas.
The colonel's color rose. He drew himself proudly up, cleared his
throat, and said, laconically, "Hardly, stranger, seeing that I had the
honor to fight under the Confederate flag."
You have seen a tortoise suddenly draw back into his shell. Well, George
as suddenly retreated into his. For an instant he looked at the Southron
as one might at a confessed murderer; then stammered out a few random
and unmeaning words about mistaken sense of duty--gallant but useless
struggle, you know--drew a newspaper from his pocket, and hid his
confusion behind it.
Fearing my fiery Kentuckian might let fall some unlucky word that would
act like a live coal dropped on the tortoise's back, I hastened to
interpose. "But really, colonel," I urged, returning to the charge,
"with the Blue Ridge always at your back, I wager you did not come a
thousand miles merely to see our mountains. Come, what takes you from
Lexington?"
"A truant disposition."
"Nothing else?"
His dark face grew swarthy, then pale. He looked at me doubtfully a
moment, and then leaned close to my ear. "You guessed it," he whispered.
"A woman?"
"Yes; you know that I was taken prisoner and sent North. Through the
influence of a friend who had known my family before the war, I was
allowed to pass my first days of convalescence in a beautiful little
village in Berkshire. There I was cured of the bullet, but received a
more mortal wound."
"What a misfortune!"
"Yes; no; confound you, let me finish."
"Helen, the daughter of the gentleman who procured my transfer from the
hospital to his pleasant home" (the proud Southerner would not say his
benefactor), "was a beautiful creature. Let me describe her to you."
"Oh," I hastened to say, "I know her." Like all lovers, that subject
might have a beginning but no ending.
"You?"
"Of course. Listen. Yellow hair, rippling ravishingly from an alabaster
forehead, pink cheeks, pouting lips, dimpled chin, snowy throat--"
The colonel made a gesture of impatience. "Pshaw, that's a type, not a
portrait. Well, the upshot of it was that I was exchanged, and ordered
to report at Baltimore for transportation to our lines. Imagine my
dismay. No, you can't, for I was beginning to think she cared for me,
and I was every day getting deeper and deeper in love. But to tell her!
That posed me. When alone with her, my cowardly tongue clove to the roof
of my mouth. Once or twice I came very near bawling out, 'I love you!'
just as I would have given an order to a squadron to charge a battery."
"Well; but you did propose at last?"
"Oh yes."
"And was accepted."
The colonel lowered his head, and his face grew pinched.
"Refused gently, but positively refused."
"Come," I hazarded, thinking the story ended, "I do not like your Helen."
"Why?"
"Because either you are mistaken, or she seems just a little of a
coquette."
"Oh, you don't know her," said the colonel, warmly; "when we parted she
betrayed unusual agitation--for her; but I was cut to the quick by her
refusal, and determined not to let her see how deeply I felt it. After
the Deluge--you know what I mean--after the tragedy at Appomattox, I
went back to the old home. Couldn't stay there. I tried New Orleans,
Cuba. No use."
Something rose in the colonel's throat, but he gulped it down and went
on:
"The image of that girl pursues me. Did you ever try running away from
yourself? Well, after fighting it out with myself until I could endure
it no longer, I put pride in my pocket, came straight to Berkshire, only
to find Helen gone."
"That was unlucky; where?"
"To the mountains, of course. Everybody seems to be going there; but I
shall find her."
"Don't be too sanguine. It will be like looking for a needle in a
hay-stack. The mountains are a perfect Dædalian labyrinth," I could not
help saying, in my vexation. Instead of an ardent lover of nature, I had
picked up the "baby of a girl." But there was George Brentwood. I went
over and sat by George.
It was generally understood that George was deeply enamored of a young
and beautiful widow who had long ceased to count her love affairs,
who all the world, except George, knew loved only herself, and who
had therefore nothing left worth mentioning to bestow upon another.
By nature a coquette, passionately fond of admiration, her self-love
was flattered by the attentions of such a man as George, and he, poor
fellow, driven one day to the verge of despair, the next intoxicated
with the crumbs she threw him, was the victim of a species of slavery
which was fast undermining his buoyant and generous disposition. The
colonel was in hot pursuit of his adored Helen. Two words sufficed to
acquaint me that George was escaping from his beautiful tormentor. At
all events, I was sure of him.
"How charming the country is! What a delightful sense of freedom!"
George drew a deep breath, and stretched his limbs luxuriously. "Shall
we have an old-fashioned tramp together?" He continued, with assumed
vivacity, "The deuce take me if I go back to town for a twelve-month.
How we creep along! I feel exultation in putting the long miles between
me and the accursed city," said George, at last.
"You experience no regret, then, at leaving the city?"
George merely looked at me; but he could not have spoken more eloquently.
The train had just left Portsmouth, when the conductor entered the car
holding aloft a yellow envelope. Every eye was instantly riveted upon
it. Conversation ceased. For whom of the fifty or sixty occupants of
the car had this flash overtaken the express train? In that moment the
criminal realized the futility of flight, the merchant the uncertainty
of his investments, the man of leisure all the ordinary contingencies of
life. The conductor put an end to the suspense by demanding,
"Is Mr. George Brentwood in this car?"
In spite of an heroic effort at self-control, George's hand trembled as
he tore open the envelope; but as he read his face became radiant. Had
he been alone I believe he would have kissed the paper.
"Your news is not bad?" I ventured to ask, seeing him relapse into a
fit of musing, and noting the smile that came and went like a ripple on
still water.
"Thank you, quite the contrary; but it is important that I should
immediately return to Boston."
"How unfortunate!"
George turned on me a fixed and questioning look, but made no reply.
"And the mountains?" I persisted.
"Oh, sink the mountains!"
I last saw George striding impatiently up and down the platform of the
Rochester station, watch in hand. Without doubt he had received his
recall. However, there was still the lovelorn colonel.
Never have I seen a man more thoroughly enraptured with the growing
beauty of the scenery. I promised myself much enjoyment in his society,
for his comments were both original and picturesque; so that by the time
we arrived at Wolfborough I had already forgotten George and his widow.
There was the usual throng of idlers lounging about the pier with
their noses in the air, and their hands in their pockets; perhaps more
than the usual confusion, for the steamer merely touched to take and
leave passengers. We went on board. As the bell tolled the colonel
uttered an exclamation. He became all on a sudden transformed from a
passive spectator into an excited and prominent actor in the scene.
He gesticulated wildly, swung his hat, and shouted in a frantic way,
apparently to attract the attention of some one in the crowd; failing in
which he seized his luggage, took the stairs in two steps, and darting
like a rocket among the astonished spectators, who divided to the right
and left before his impetuous onset, was in the act of vigorously
shaking hands with a hale old gentleman of fifty odd when the boat swung
clear. He waved his unoccupied hand, and I saw his face wreathed in
smiles. I could not fail to interpret the gesture as an adieu.
"Halloo!" I shouted, "what of the mountains?"
"Burn the mountains!" was his reply. The steamer glided swiftly down the
little bay, and I was left to continue my journey alone.
II.
_INCOMPARABLE WINNIPISEOGEE._
First a lake
Tinted with sunset, next the wavy lines
Of far receding hills.--WHITTIER.
When the steamer glides out of the land-locked inlet at the bottom
of which Wolfborough is situated, one of those pictures, forever
ineffaceable, presents itself. In effect, all the conditions of a
picture are realized. Here is the shining expanse of the lake stretching
away in the distance, and finally lost among tufted inlets and
foliage-rounded promontories. To the right are the Ossipee mountains,
dark, vigorously outlined, and wooded to their summits. To the left,
more distant, rise the twin domes of the Belknap peaks. In front, and
closing the view, the imposing Sandwich summits dominate the scene.
All these mountains seem advancing into the lake. They possess a
special character of color, outline, or physiognomy which fixes them
in the memory, not confusedly, but in the place appropriate to this
beautiful picture, to its fine proportions, exquisite harmony, and
general effectiveness. Even M. Chateaubriand, who maintains that
mountains should only be seen from a distance--even he would have found
in Winnipiseogee the perfection of his ideal _mise en scène_; for here
they stand well back from the lake, so as to give the best effect of
perspective.
Lovely as the lake is, the eye will rove among the mountains that we
have come to see. They, and they alone, are the objects which have
enticed us--entice us even now with a charm and mystery that we cannot
pretend to explain. We do not wish it explained. We know that we are
as free, as light of heart, as the birds that skim the placid surface
of the lake, and coquet with their own shadows. The memory of those
mountains is like snatches of music that come unbidden and haunt you
perpetually.
Having taken in the grander features, the eye is occupied with its
details. We see the lake quivering in sunshine. From bold summit to
beautiful water the shores are clothed in most vivid green. The islands,
which we believe to be floating gardens, are almost tropical in the
luxuriance and richness of their vegetation. The deep shadows they fling
down image each islet so faithfully that it seems, like Narcissus,
gloating over its own beauty. Here and there a glimmer of water through
the trees denotes secluded little havens. Boats float idly on the calm
surface. Water-fowl rise and beat the glossy, dark water with startled
wings. White tents appear, and handkerchiefs flutter from jutting points
or headlands. Over all tower the mountains.
The steamer glided swiftly and noiselessly on, attended by the echo
of her paddles from the shores. Dimpled waves, parting from her prow,
rolled indolently in, and broke on the foam-fretted rocks. There was a
warmth of color about these rocks, a pure transparency to the water, a
brightness to the foliage, an invigorating strength in the mountains
that exerted a cheerful influence upon our spirits.
As we advanced up the lake new and rare vistas rapidly succeeded.
After leaving Long Island behind, the near ranges drew apart, holding
us admiring and absorbed spectators of a moving panorama of distant
summits. An opening appeared, through which Mount Washington burst upon
us blue as lapis-lazuli, a chaplet of clouds crowning his imperial
front. Slowly, majestically, he marches by, and now Chocorua scowls upon
us. A murmur of admiration ran from group to group as these monumental
figures were successively unveiled. Men kept silence, but women could
not repress the exclamation, "How beautiful!" The two grandest types
which these mountains enclose were thus displayed in the full splendor
of noonday.
I should add that those who now saw Mount Washington for the first
time, and whose curiosity was whetted by the knowledge that it was the
highest peak of the whole family of mountains, openly manifested their
disappointment. That Mount Washington! It was in vain to remind them
that the eye traversed forty miles in its flight from lake to summit.
Fault of perspective or not, the mountain was not nearly so high as
they imagined. Chocorua, on the contrary, with its ashen spire and
olive-green flanks, realized more fully their idea of a high mountain.
One was near, the other far. Imagination fails to make a mountain higher
than it looks. The mind takes its measure after the eye.
Our boat was now rapidly nearing Centre Harbor. On the right its
progress gradually unmasking the western slopes of the Ossipee range,
more fully opened the view of Chocorua and his dependent peaks. We
were looking in the direction of Tamworth. Ossipee, and Conway. Red
Hill, a detached mountain at the head of the lake, now moved into the
gap, excluding further views of distant summits. Moosehillock, lofty
but unimpressive, has for some time showed its flattened heights over
the Sandwich Mountains, but is now sinking behind them. To the west,
thronged with islands, is the long reach of water toward the outlet of
the lake at Weirs.[1]
This lake was the highway over which Indian war-parties advanced or
retreated during their predatory incursions from Canada. Many captives
must have crossed it whom its mountain walls seemed forever destined to
separate from friends and kindred. The Indians who inhabited villages at
Winnipiseogee (Weirs), Ossipee, and Pigwacket (Fryeburg), were hostile;
and from time to time during the old wars troops were marched from
the English settlements to subdue them. These scouting-parties found
the woods well stocked with bear, moose, and deer, and the lake with
salmon-trout, some of which, according to the narrative before me, were
three feet long, and weighed twelve pounds each.
Traces of Indian occupation remained up to the present century.
Fishing-weirs and woodland paths were frequently discovered by the
whites; but a greater curiosity than either is mentioned by Dr. Belknap,
in his "History of New Hampshire," who there tells of a pine-tree,
standing on the shore of Winnipiseogee River, on which was carved a
canoe with two men in it, supposed to have been a mark of direction to
those who were expected to follow. Another was a tree in Moultonborough,
standing near a carrying-place between two ponds. On this tree was a
representation of one of their expeditions. The number of killed and
the prisoners were shown by rude drawings of human beings, the former
being distinguished by the mark of a knife across the throat. Even the
distinction of sex was preserved in the drawing.
Centre Harbor is advantageously situated for a sojourn more or less
prolonged. Although settled as early as 1755, it is, in common with the
other lake towns, barren of history or tradition. Its greatest impulse
is, beyond question, the tide of tourists which annually ebbs and flows
among the most sequestered nooks, enriching this charming region like an
inundation of the Nile. An anecdote will, however, serve to illustrate
the character of the men who first subdued this wilderness. Our anecdote
represents its hero a man of resources. His career proves him a man of
courage. Although a veritable personage, let us call him General Hampton.
The fact that General Hampton lived in that only half-cleared atmosphere
following the age of credulity and superstition, naturally accounts
for the extraordinary legend concerning him which, for the rest, had
its origin among his own friends and neighbors, who merely shared the
general belief in the practice of diabolic arts, through compacts with
the arch-enemy of mankind himself, universally prevailing in that
day--yes, prevailing all over Christendom. By a mere legend, we are thus
able to lay hold of the thread which conducts us back through the dark
era of superstition and delusion, and which is now so amazing.
The general, says the legend, encountered a far more notable adversary
than Abenaki warriors or conjurers, among whom he had lived, and whom it
was the passion of his life to exterminate.
In an evil hour his yearning to amass wealth suddenly led him to declare
that he would sell his soul for the possession of unbounded riches.
Think of the devil, and he is at your elbow. The fatal declaration was
no sooner made--the general was sitting alone by his fireside--than
a shower of sparks came down the chimney, out of which stepped a man
dressed from top to toe in black velvet. The astonished Hampton noticed
that the stranger's ruffles were not even smutted.
"Your servant, general," quoth the stranger, suavely, "but let us make
haste, if you please, for I am expected at the governor's in a quarter
of an hour," he added, picking up a live coal with his thumb and
forefinger and consulting his watch with it.
The general's wits began to desert him. Portsmouth was five leagues,
long ones at that, from Hampton House, and his strange visitor talked,
with the utmost unconcern, of getting there in fifteen minutes. His
astonishment caused him to stammer out,
"Then you must be the--"
"Tush! what signifies a name?" interrupted the stranger, with a
deprecating wave of the hand. "Come, do we understand each other? is it
a bargain or not?"
At the talismanic word "bargain" the general pricked up his ears. He had
often been heard to say that neither man nor devil could get the better
of him in a trade. He took out his jack-knife and began to whittle. The
devil took out his, and began to pare his nails.
"But what proof have I that you can perform what you promise?" demanded
Hampton, pursing up his mouth, and contracting his bushy eyebrows.
The fiend ran his fingers carelessly through his peruke; a shower of
golden guineas fell to the floor, and rolled to the four corners of the
room. The general quickly stooped to pick up one; but no sooner had his
fingers closed upon it than he uttered a yell. It was red-hot.
The devil chuckled. "Try again," he said.
But Hampton shook his head, and retreated a step.
"Don't be afraid."
Hampton cautiously touched a coin. It was cool. He weighed it in his
hand, and rung it on the table. It was full weight and true ring. Then
he went down on his hands and knees, and began to gather up the guineas
with feverish haste.
"Are you satisfied?" demanded Satan.
"Completely, your majesty."
"Then to business. By-the-way, have you anything to drink in the house?"
"There is some Old Jamaica in the cupboard."
"Excellent. I am as thirsty as a Puritan on election-day," said the
devil, seating himself at the table and negligently flinging his mantle
back over his shoulder.
Hampton brought a decanter and a couple of glasses from the cupboard,
filled one and passed it to his infernal guest, who tasted it, and
smacked his lips with the air of a connoisseur. Hampton watched every
gesture. "Does your excellency not find it to his taste?" he ventured to
ask.
"H'm, I have drunk worse; but let me show you how to make a salamander,"
replied Satan, touching the lighted end of the taper to the liquor,
which instantly burst into a spectral blue flame. The fiend then
raised the tankard, glanced approvingly at the blaze--which to
Hampton's disordered intellect resembled an adder's forked and agile
tongue--nodded, and said, patronizingly, "To our better acquaintance."
He then quaffed the contents at a single gulp.
Hampton shuddered. This was not the way he had been used to seeing
healths drunk. He pretended, however, to drink, for fear of giving
offence, but somehow the liquor choked him. The demon set down the
tankard, and observed, in a matter-of-fact way that put his listener in
a cold sweat,
"Now that you are convinced I am able to make you the richest man in all
the province, listen. In consideration of your agreement, duly signed
and sealed, to deliver your soul"--here he drew a parchment from his
breast--"I engage, on my part, on the first day of every month, to fill
your boots with golden elephants like these before you. But mark me
well," said Satan, holding up a forefinger glittering with diamonds; "if
you try to play me any trick you will repent it. I know you, Jonathan
Hampton, and shall keep my eye upon you. So beware!"
Hampton flinched a little at this plain speech; but a thought seemed to
strike him, and he brightened up. Satan opened the scroll, smoothed out
the creases, dipped a pen in the inkhorn at his girdle, and pointing to
a blank space said, laconically, "Sign!"
Hampton hesitated.
"If you are afraid," sneered Satan, "why put me to all this trouble?"
And he began to put the gold in his pocket.
His victim seized the pen, but his hand shook so he could not write. He
gulped down a swallow of rum, stole a look at his infernal guest, who
nodded his head by way of encouragement, and a second time approached
his pen to the paper. The struggle was soon over. The unhappy Hampton
wrote his name at the bottom of the fatal list, which he was astonished
to see numbered some of the highest personages in the province. "I shall
at least be in good company," he muttered.
"Good!" said Satan, rising and putting the scroll carefully within his
breast. "Rely on me, general, and be sure you keep faith. Remember!"
So saying, the demon waved his hand, wrapped his mantle about him, and
vanished up the chimney.
Satan performed his part of the contract to the letter. On the first day
of every month the boots, which were hung on the crane in the fireplace
the night before, were found in the morning stuffed full of guineas. It
is true that Hampton had ransacked the village for the largest pair to
be found, and had finally secured a brace of trooper's boots, which came
up to the wearer's thigh; but the contract merely expressed boots, and
the devil does not stand upon trifles.
Hampton rolled in wealth. Everything prospered. His neighbors regarded
him first with envy, then with aversion, at last with fear. Not a few
affirmed he had entered into a league with the Evil One. Others shook
their heads, saying, "What does it signify? that man would outwit the
devil himself."
But one morning, when the fiend came as usual to fill the boots, what
was his astonishment to find that he could not fill them. He poured in
the guineas, but it was like pouring water into a rat-hole. The more he
put in, the more the quantity seemed to diminish. In vain he persisted:
the boots could not be filled.
The devil scratched his ear. "I must look into this," he reflected.
No sooner said than he attempted to descend, but found his progress
suddenly arrested. The chimney was choked up with guineas. Foaming with
rage, the demon tore the boots from the crane. The crafty general had
cut off the soles, leaving only the legs for the devil to fill. The
chamber was knee-deep with gold.
The devil gave a horrible grin, and disappeared. The same night Hampton
House was burnt to the ground, the general only escaping in his shirt.
He had been dreaming he was dead and in hell. His precious guineas were
secreted in the wainscot, the ceiling, and other hiding-places known
only to himself. He blasphemed, wept, and tore his hair. Suddenly he
grew calm. After all, the loss was not irreparable, he reflected. Gold
would melt, it is true; but he would find it all, of course he would,
at daybreak, run into a solid lump in the cellar--every guinea. That is
true of ordinary gold.
The general worked with the energy of despair clearing away the rubbish.
He refused all offers of assistance: he dared not accept them. But the
gold had vanished. Whether it was really consumed, or had passed again
into the massy entrails of the earth, will never be known. It is certain
that every vestige of it had disappeared.
When the general died and was buried, strange rumors began to circulate.
To quiet them, the grave was opened; but when the lid was removed from
the coffin, it was found to be empty.
Having reached Centre Harbor at two in the afternoon, there was still
time to ascend Red Hill before sunset. This eminence would be called
a mountain anywhere else. Its altitude is inconsiderable, but its
situation at the head of the lake, on its very borders, is highly
favorable to a commanding prospect of the surrounding lake region.
There are two summits, the northern and highest being only a little
more than two thousand feet.
[Illustration: WINNIPISEOGEE FROM RED HILL.]
For such an excursion little preparation is necessary. In fact a
carriage-road ascends within a mile of the superior summit; and from
this point the path is one of the easiest I have ever traversed. The
value of a pure atmosphere is so well understood by every mountain
tourist that he will neglect no opportunity which this thrice-fickle
element offers him. This was a day of days.
After a little promenade of two hours, or two hours and a half, I
reached the cairn on the summit, from which a tattered signal flag
fluttered in the breeze. Without extravagance, the view is one of the
most engaging that the eye ever looked upon. I had before me that
beautiful valley extending between the Sandwich chain on the left and
the Ossipee range on the right, the distance filled by a background of
mountains. It was across this valley that we saw Mount Washington, while
coming up the lake. But that noble peak was now hid.
The first chain trending to the west threw one gigantic arm around the
beautiful little Squam Lake, which like a magnificent gem sparkled at my
feet. The second stretched its huge rampart along the eastern shores of
Winnipiseogee.
The surface of this valley is tumbled about in most charming disorder.
Three villages crowned as many eminences in the foreground; three little
lakes, half hid in the middle distance, blue as turquoise, lighted the
fading hues of field and forest. Hamlets and farms, groves and forests
innumerable, were scattered broadcast over this inviting landscape. The
harvests were gathered, and the mellowed tints of green, orange, and
gold resembled rich old tapestry. Men and animals looked like insects
creeping along the roads.
From this point of view the Sandwich Mountains took far greater interest
and character, and I remarked that no two summits were precisely alike
in form or outline. Higher and more distant peaks peered curiously
over their brawny shoulders from their lairs in the valley of the
Pemigewasset; but more remarkable, more weird than all, was the gigantic
monolith which tops the rock-ribbed pile of Chocorua. The more I looked,
the more this monstrous freak of nature fascinated. As the sun glided
down the west, a ruddy glow tinged its pinnacle; while the shadows
lurking in the ravines stole up the mountain side and crouched for a
final spring upon the summit. Little by little, twilight flowed over the
valley, and a thin haze rose from its surface.
I had waited for this moment, and now turned to the lakes. Winnipiseogee
was visible throughout its whole length, the multitude of islands
peeping above it giving the idea of an inundation rather than an inland
sea. On the farthest shores mere specks of white denoted houses; and
traced in faint relief on the southern sky, so unsubstantial, indeed,
as to render it doubtful if it were sky or mountain, was the Grand
Monadnock, the fixed sentinel of all this august assemblage of mountains.
Glowing in sunset splendor, streaked with all the hues of the rainbow,
the lake was indeed magnificent.
In vain the eve roved hither and thither seeking some foil to this
peerless beauty. Everywhere the same unrivalled picture led it captive
over thirty miles of gleaming water, up the graceful curves of the
mountains, to rest at last among crimson clouds floating in rosy vapor
over their notched summits.
Imagination must assist the reader to reproduce this ravishing
spectacle. To attempt to describe it is like a profanation. Paradise
seemed to have opened wide its gates to my enraptured gaze; or had
I surprised the secrets of the unknown world? I stood silent and
spellbound, with a strange, exquisite feeling at the heart. I felt a
thrill of pain when a voice from the forest broke the solemn stillness
which alone befitted this almost supernatural vision. Now I understood
the pagan's adoration of the sun. My mind ran over the most striking or
touching incidents of Scripture, where the sublimity of the scene is
always in harmony with the grandeur of the event--the Temptation, the
Sermon on the Mount, the Transfiguration--and memory brought to my aid
these words, so simple, so tender, yet so expressive, "And he went up
into the mountain to pray, himself, alone."
III.
_CHOCORUA._
"There I saw above me mountains,
And I asked of them what century
Met them in their youth."
After a stay at Centre Harbor long enough to gain a knowledge of its
charming environs, but which seemed all too brief, I took the stage at
two o'clock one sunny afternoon for Tamworth. I had resolved, if the
following morning should be clear, to ascend Chocorua, which from the
summit of Red Hill seemed to fling his defiance from afar.
Following my custom, I took an outside seat with the driver. There being
only three or four passengers, what is frequently a bone of contention
was settled without that display of impudent selfishness which is seen
when a dozen or more travellers are all struggling for precedence. But
at the steamboat landing the case was different. I remained a quiet
looker-on of the scene that ensued. It was sufficiently ridiculous.
At the moment the steamboat touched her pier the passengers prepared to
spring to the shore, and force had to be used to keep them back until
she could be secured. An instant after the crowd rushed pell-mell up
the wharf, surrounded the stage, and began, women as well as men, a
promiscuous scramble for the two or three unoccupied seats at the top.
Two men and one woman succeeded in obtaining the prizes. The woman
interested me by the intense triumph that sparkled in her black eyes
and glowed on her cheeks at having distanced several competitors of her
own sex, to say nothing of the men. She beamed! As I made room for her,
she said, with a toss of the head, "I guess I haven't been through Lake
George for nothing."
Crack! We were jolting along the road, around the base of Red Hill, the
horses stepping briskly out at the driver's chirrup, the coach pitching
and lurching like a gondola in a sea. What a sense of exhilaration,
of lightness! The air so pure and elastic, the odor of the pines so
fragrant, so invigorating, which we breathe with all the avidity of
a convalescent who for the first time crosses the threshold of his
chamber. Each moment I felt my body growing lighter. A delicious
sense of self-ownership breaks the chain binding us to the toiling,
struggling, worrying life we have left behind. We carry our world with
us. Life begins anew, or rather it has only just begun.
The view of the ranges which on either side elevate two immense walls of
green is kept for nearly the whole distance. As we climb the hill into
Sandwich, Mount Israel is the prominent object; then brawny Whiteface,
Passaconnaway's pyramid, Chocorua's mutilated spire advance, in their
turn, into line. Sometimes we were in a thick forest, sometimes on a
broad, sunny glade; now threading our way through groves of pitch-pine,
now winding along the banks of the Bear-Camp River.
The views of the mountains, as the afternoon wore away, grew more
and more interesting. The ravines darkened, the summits brightened.
Cloud-shadows chased each other up and down the steeps, or, flitting
slowly across the valley, spread thick mantles of black that seemed to
deaden the sound of our wheels as we passed over them. On one side all
was light, on the other all gloom. But the landscape is not all that may
be seen to advantage from the top of a stage-coach.
From time to time, as something provoked an exclamation of surprise or
pleasure, certain of the inside occupants manifested open discontent.
They were losing something where they had expected to see everything.
While the horses were being changed, one of the insides, I need not say
it was a woman, thrust her head out of the window, and addressed the
young person perched like a bird upon the highest seat. Her voice was
soft and persuasive:
"Miss!"
"Madam!"
"I'm so afraid you find it too cold up there. Sha'n't I change places
with you?"
The little one gave her voice a droll inflection as she briskly replied,
"Oh dear no, thank you; I'm very comfortable indeed."
"But," urged the other, "you don't look strong; indeed, dear, you don't.
Aren't you very, very tired, sitting so long without any support to your
back?"
"Thanks, no; my spine is the strongest part of me."
"But," still persisted the inside, changing her voice to a loud whisper,
"to be sitting alone with all those men!"
[Illustration: "ALONE WITH ALL THOSE MEN!"]
"They mind their business, and I mind mine," said the little one,
reddening; "besides," she quickly added, "you proposed changing places,
I believe!"
"Oh!" returned the other, with an accent impossible to convey in words,
"if you like it."
"I tell you what, ma'am," snapped the one in possession, "I've been all
over Europe alone, and was never once insulted except by persons of my
own sex."