"Come over the mountains to me, love,
Over to me--over to me;
My spirit is pining for thee, love,
Pining for thee--pining for thee!"
SONG.
The sun rose bright above the mountains of the Crawford Notch on the
following morning, and illuminated with his brilliant rays all the green
valley below. Each member of the large party that proposed to ascend
Mount Washington was at an early hour mounted on a strong-built pony,
and led by a guide into the bridle-path which commenced in the woods at
the base of Mount Clinton. Our little band of travellers were foremost
in the file, Florence and Ellen in the greatest glee of laughter and
spirits.
The whole ascent of Clinton was through a dense forest, over a rough,
uneven path, constructed of small, round timbers, called "corduroys."
They were in a rotted, dilapidated condition, and unpleasant as well as
dangerous to ride over.
Emerging from the woods that covered Clinton, the surrounding mountains
began to appear; and from the grassy plain on the summit of Mount
Pleasant, a view was obtained which called forth rapturous shouts from
the whole company.
The descent of Pleasant was tedious. All the ladies were obliged to
dismount, as the path was very rough, and often almost perpendicular
over precipitous rocks, while the frightful chasm that yawned far below
caused many of the adventurers to grow giddy and pale with fear.
Ellen, who was rather timid, began to wish she had remained in the
valley, and continued to disbelieve in mountains; but Florence was all
exhilaration and eagerness to push onward.
Mount Franklin towered next before them. As Florence, who was among the
foremost, reached its summit, she turned on her pony, and gazed down on
the little cavalcade, winding along up the narrow, precipitous path in
single file, with the guides hurrying from one bridle to another, as a
more difficult and dangerous place occurred in the rough way. And she
thought of Napoleon leading an army over the mighty Alps, and how
dauntless and sublime must be the soul of a man who could successfully
accomplish an enterprise so fraught with perilous hazard and
disheartening fatigue.
As the little company wound their way over the unsheltered brow of Mount
Franklin, tremendous blasts swept down from the summits above, and
threatened to unseat them in their saddles, or hurl the whole party over
the fearful gulfs that yawned on every side. The guides collected the
band together and informed them half their journey was completed. Many a
face grew blank with dismay at this announcement. The weather wore a
less promising aspect than when they set out, and the winds pierced them
through and through. Several proposed to turn back. The guides said
there was about an even chance for the clouds to blow over or gather
into a storm, and the party could settle the point among themselves
whether they would turn back or go on.
A gentleman, with features so muffled she could not discover them, rode
to the side of Florence, and said, in a voice she could barely
distinguish among the clamorous winds that howled over the mountain, "Do
you favor the project of returning tamely to the valley and leaving
Mount Washington a wonder unrevealed?"
"No!" answered she, from beneath her thick veil; the muscles of her face
so stiffened with cold she could hardly move her lips.
"Then ride your pony to the centre of these dissenting groups and
propose to move on," said he. "There are none in the party so
craven-souled as to shrink from what a lady dares encounter."
Florence paused a moment, and then guided her pony into the midst of the
company.
"Do you wish to join those who are going back, Miss?" said a guide,
taking hold of her bridle-rein.
"No!" said she in a tone of decision. "I'll lead the way for those who
choose to follow to the summit of Mount Washington."
"Bravo!"--"hurrah!"--"let us on!"--burst from all sides. Three solitary
ones, among them Ellen Williams, turned back, and the others formed into
file and moved onward. Down Mount Franklin and over the narrow path cut
in the cragged side of Monroe, where a single misstep would hurl the
horse and rider down a fathomless abyss, into whose depths the eye dares
hardly for a moment gaze. Then appeared a crystal lakelet, and a little
plain covered with a seedy-looking grass, where the horses rested and
refreshed themselves ere the last desperate trial of their strength and
endurance; for the weary band of adventurers had reached at last the
base of the mighty Washington, whose summit was veiled in heavy clouds.
As they loitered in the plain, the muffled gentleman again approached
Florence, and inquired if she was unattended.
"No, sir," said she. "My father is among the party, also a friend; but
they are not yet come up."
He lingered a moment, and then asked if she would like to dismount.
As the voice met her ear more distinctly, it struck her it had a
familiar sound, and a sudden thought flashed across her mind. She
thanked him for his politeness, but said she was too cold to move.
Her father and young Williams now appeared. "How do you brave it,
Florence?" said Major Howard, drawing in his breath with a shudder.
"Very well, father," answered she.
When the muffled gentleman heard the name Florence pronounced, he
started suddenly and darted a swift glance on the speaker. Then turning
away, he remounted his steed and rode into the front ranks of the line
that was forming. Soon the band commenced their toilsome ascent. The
path wound over perpendicularly-piled masses of gigantic granite
boulders. Often it seemed the poor tired animals, with their utmost
efforts, would never be able to surmount the prodigious rocks that
obstructed their way. Cold, blustering clouds of mists drove in the
faces of the forlorn little party as they labored up and up the
precipitous steeps, till it seemed to many a despairing heart that the
summit of that tremendous mountain would never, never be gained. So
densely hung the threatening clouds around them, they could not tell
their distance from the wished-for goal. At length the guides halloed to
the foremost rider to halt; and directly Florence felt herself in the
arms of a strong man, who sprang over the craggy rocks with surprising
agility, and soon placed her on the door-stone of a small habitation,
which was not only "founded on a rock," but surrounded on all sides by
huge piles of gray granite boulders.
In a few moments the whole dripping, half-frozen party were landed
safely at the "Summit House," on the brow of Mount Washington. Great was
their joy to find a comfortable shelter where they might rest and warm
their chilled limbs; but great also was their dismay to find a storm
upon them, and nothing visible from the miraculous height they had
toiled to gain, but the wet rocks lying close beneath the small windows.