By Helen M. Winslow.
It is a divine up-reaching instinct in man that forces him to climb the
hills of science, unlock the mysteries of ages, and wrest from the
natural forces of earth and air, their well-guarded secrets. Is it the
subtle workings of this desire for the mastery over mechanical agencies,
this prying into Nature's secrets, that leads us out into the forest
primeval and gives zest to mountain climbing?
Fortune is said to favor the brave. It certainly favored the writer of
this article when an opportunity was offered for a two days' trip with
the Appalachian Mountain Club up Mounts Kearsarge South and Cardigan in
New Hampshire. A few words in regard to this club. Well known as it has
come to be, the objects of its existence are scarcely understood by the
majority, even, of Bostonians.
"Oh," said one, referring to this very trip. "They go off somewhere,
climb a mountain, have a jolly time and then come home. It's about the
same thing over and over."
Very true. But they do more. According to the by-laws, "the objects of
the club are to explore the mountains of New England and adjacent
regions, both for scientific and artistic purposes, and in general to
cultivate an interest in geographical studies."
In addition they do much to open up new mountain resorts to the public
and render the old ones more attractive. They construct new and accurate
maps. They not only collect scattered scientific information of all
kinds but study to make it available. All this they do by combining
effort, comparing notes and interchanging ideas. They hold monthly
meetings in Boston, publish a magazine, own quite a library, and have
established a reputation second to no similar organization in the
country. The club was established in 1876, and the membership to-day of
over six hundred is ample proof of its popularity. That their researches
are really valuable is demonstrated by the fact that Professor Hitchcock
in his geological works quotes them frequently in support of his own
theories.
On the seventeenth of June some twenty members of the Appalachian
Mountain Club gathered at an early hour in the Lowell station at Boston.
The party was unusually small for one of their popular excursions. The
majority were young and strong and looked amply fitted for mountain
climbing. Yet grave men were there whose silver hair told that they had
already climbed life's rounded hill and saw its westering sun; but
elderly people are never old, so long as they remain young in heart and
spirits, and pleasant anticipation beamed from the faces of all as the
train steamed away toward the north, and the two days' outing was fairly
begun.
The morning was cloudy and a possible rain storm threatened the plans
of the Appalachians. But the clerk of the weather-bureau evidently
understood the necessity for favorable conditions and issued them
accordingly. Before we had reached Canaan, N.H., the clouds had broken
away and the afternoon promised to be perfect. We had with us a Harvard
professor, a topographical surveyor, an amateur photographer, a Concord
philosopher and the champion walker of the club. Apropos of some of the
feats of the latter a story was told of the man who walked forty miles
in two hours. This was putting the Appalachians entirely in the shade,
and the story called forth incredulous remarks. Investigation proved,
however, that the Appalachian was not outdone, for the hero of the
canard accomplished his feat only by taking a Champlain steamer at
Burlington, Vt., and walking deck the entire distance to Rouse's Point!
After passing Concord we advanced through wilder regions where the
swiftly changing views of clustering villages and quiet farm-houses
alternated with wooded slopes and glimpses of pond or river forming a
series of charming pictures. Nature was at her best and the picturesque
hills of New Hampshire were beautiful in all their June finery.
At Penacook the granite monument on Dustin Island was pointed out. In
1697 Hannah Dustin, with her six weeks' old babe and its nurse, were
captured by Indians at Haverhill and brought to the wigwam camp on this
island. The babe was killed before her eyes but the mother planned an
escape. Awaking the nurse and a white lad who had been taken prisoner
also, she took the Indians' own tomahawks and dispatched the men and one
woman. The brave white women then spiked all the cannon save one and
taking the scalps of their victims with them, they embarked on the
Merrimack, then high with the spring floods, and soon reached Haverhill.
Afterwards she was called to Boston, publicly thanked by the General
Court and received a grant of fifty pounds. Fifty years later the
Indians attacked and massacred the settlers in this valley. Today their
descendants, the "Kanucks," cross the country daily in the modern
express trains and find employment in our manufacturing cities.
As we go northward Kearsarge may be seen from the back of the train, now
sinking behind the green hills, now rising abruptly from the horizon and
looming grandly above the surrounding country. Cardigan does not come
into view until we have nearly reached Canaan, whose fair and happy land
was our destination. On alighting from the train, amid the crowd of
assembled villagers, a three seated carriage and two immense Shaker
wagons awaited us. The ride of six miles was a welcome change from the
preceding railway travel. Coming from a city where the mercury had
reached 96 deg. in the shade but the day before, the fresh invigorating
mountain air was like a breath from the open doors of Paradise. The
stout horses scrambled up the steep hills altogether unmindful of the
wagon-loads of people behind. Perhaps the light hearts and buoyant
spirits of the party lessened their avoirdupois and the tonnage was
actually less than it seemed!
Billowy mountains, charming valleys, winding streams and picturesque
bypaths varied our course over the rural highways. The blackberry bushes
were white with bloom and the gardens of the farm-houses gay with
peonies and flower-de-luce. After passing a small mica quarry, we came
suddenly upon a bend of the road where was revealed a grand sweep of the
hazy Green Mountains, and a bewildering view of the New Hampshire
hill-country. Shortly afterward we passed the little box-like white
building, which serves as both church and town house, where the sixty
votes of Dorchester are counted. This building constitutes the entire
town of Dorchester. Surely, in view of the stony soil, the inhabitants
of the place may be said to show great wisdom by not living there!
By three o'clock we found ourselves at the Mountain House, twelve
hundred feet below the summit of Mount Cardigan. This house is nothing
more or less than a barn, in one end of which an attempt has been made
to make a comfortable shelter for the human family. Here the real work
of the day began, although we had already come one hundred and four
miles by train and six by teams. No enterprising railroad man has set
his seal upon this region and we were forced to pursue the journey by
means of the conveyances which nature long ago--(how long, thank
fortune, we are not obliged to tell)--at our disposal. But faint heart
ne'er climbed a high mountain and with the aid of stout walking-sticks
we easily climbed the path which led up under sighing spruces and
stunted birch, filled with a fine exhilaration.
On each side and under foot was a profusion of wild flowers. Not June
flowers, but those found with us in May, so backward was the season at
that altitude. The red and white trillium, the sarsaparilla, Solomon's
seal, "moose-missy" and black-berry bushes, and, farther up, the
blue-berry bushes, all hung full of blossoms, a small Alpine flower of
seven white petals excited much curious comment, for in spite of its
resemblance to the wind-flower, no one seemed able to classify it.
Suddenly some six hundred feet below the summit of Cardigan we came out
from the stunted under-growth and found ourselves traversing the smooth
granite mass which constitutes the entire mountain top. The rock is full
of minute particles of mica, which glitter and flash in the sun like
"gems of purest ray serene." A brisk wind was blowing and the rarefied
air infused us with new strength to make the remaining ascent.
Some distance from each other, half way up the rounded cone, lie several
huge boulders poised in the bed of what was once a glacial drift. They
are of entirely different character from the rock on Cardigan and
without doubt came from much farther north. Whence, and when? The course
of the drift is also very plainly marked from northeast to southwest.
From the character of the rock there is reason to believe that when God
said, "Let the dry land appear," Mount Cardigan was the first to show
his head and came from the very bowels of the earth. Hitchcock's
"Geology of New Hampshire" states that these White Mountains appeared
above the face of the waters as islands at a very early period of the
world's history. "It would not be surprising," he says, "if this
archipelago covered as much area as New Hampshire and Vermont combined."
If these hoary old mountains could tell us their history since creation,
how short-lived and insignificant our own little lives would appear!
Professor Hitchcock has also traced the course of glacial drift among
the mountains in a most interesting manner. Glacial action, and marks of
scarification are numerous on the north and west sides of them while
they are entirely wanting on the southeastern slopes. In some instances
the general course of the drift from the northwest was changed by the
position of the mountains. For instance, Ragged Mountain and Kearsarge,
South, rise abruptly from comparatively level regions and from their
proximity to each other gave rise to a different motion of the ice, the
marks of which still show its course.
The view from this, the oldest of the mountains is scarcely surpassed by
any in the state. To the north, Moosilauke, Chocorua, Lafayette, Mount
Washington and the main peaks of the principal White Mountain group lie
sharply outlined. The Ossipee Mountain toward the east, the Uncanoonacs
in the distance, Ragged and Sunapee and Kearsarge, near neighbors,
claimed attention. In the far western horizon Ascutney, Camel's Hump,
Mount Mansfield, and Jay Peak showed hazy and indistinct. Below us the
broken ranges of green hills surged like immense billows of some Titanic
sea. The fresh verdure of every field and tree made up a landscape
seldom equalled in tone of color, and one which amply repaid the
climber. But while some were content with looking, other true
Appalachians remembered the objects of the club. While one took
photographs of the surrounding scenery, far and near, another made
profile sketches of the distant peaks; while one attempted a bit of
topographical work, another took measurements by means of a powerful
telescope; and the results of all were put on record for future
reference.
A member of the A.M.C. just returned from Florida had been carrying
about some strange looking fruit all day, resembling partly an orange
but more nearly a small yellow winter squash. Now, he made himself
popular by dispensing great pieces of grape-fruit among the thirsty
crowd. It is a necessity of perverse humanity to be thirsty wherever
there is no water; and but for the Florida fruit and the canteens which
had been filled at the spring on the mountain side, we should have
suffered.
Mount Cardigan is but 3,156 feet above the sea-level; but as it stands
alone the view on all sides is unobstructed and clear. It did not take
us an hour to decide that three thousand feet above the sea, under
favorable conditions is quite a sightly place. And we took the homeward
path, feeling that the view was worth a dozen times its cost. Forty
minutes afterward we arrived at the bottom in the condition of the
weak-kneed and trembling saints whom the hymn-book denounces.
An hour of rattling down the hills brought us to Canaan depot again
where our special train awaited us. After a refreshing draught of milk
at the Cardigan House, from the piazzas of which a fine view of the
mountain may be had, we were rapidly whirled away toward Patler Place in
Andover.
This village was named for the once famous sleight of hand performer
Patler. His house is a cozy, pretty affair, freshly painted and nestled
under great embowering trees. Close by is his grave.
Here, too, barges were in waiting to take us to the Winslow House, four
miles distant on Mount Kearsarge. Before we had left the train the soft
rays of the setting sun had changed the hill-sides to amethyst and
deepened the purple gloom of the valleys. Now, as we rode in merry
groups of six or eight, over the country by-ways, the new moon slowly
touched every tree and shrub with her magical wand until the land with
its long, weird shadows and silver radiance seemed to belong to another
world than that of day-light.
It was nine o'clock when the Winslow House suddenly revealed itself.
An open wood fire burned brightly in the brick fireplace, and in that
altitude was a comfort indeed. The ample walls seemed to fairly glow
with welcome as we entered. Some of us acknowledged that we were tired;
others confessed to sleepiness; but one and all openly declared their
hunger. We had only to look at each other to madly accept the theory
that mankind was created of dust; but we were not long in disposing of
a large amount of surplus material. And then the supper bell,--welcome
sound! In view of a cherished reputation for veracity, it would not be
wise to state the exact amount of sirloin steak and broiled salmon that
disappeared from mortal vision that night at ten o'clock, or to tell
how the strawberries and boiled lobster were stored safely away by the
A.M.C. We are sworn to secrecy, and although the supper hour was not
passed over in silence then--far from it! it must be now.
No one need suppose that after the experiences of the day the
representative A.M.C's. were fatigued sufficiently to make them willing
to retire at half-past ten. Besides, nightmare has its horrors, and
there was that supper!
It is popularly supposed throughout the country, that Bostonians make an
annual pilgrimage on the seventeenth of June to Bunker Hill, and
devoutly ascend the monument on their hands and knees. Although
circumstances had prevented the A.M.C. party from discharging their debt
of gratitude to their ancestors in the prescribed method, they could not
forget that it was Bunker Hill Day. One of our gallant and patriotic
brethren had been carrying a mysterious bundle about and guarding it
with jealous care all day. Now, he produced and displayed--sky-rockets!
They went off, soon after, with great success, surprising alike the
stately mountain behind us and the little country girl who had come up
from the valley below, to see the "Boston folks."
The powerful telescopes were also set up and observations of the heavens
occupied the astronomically inclined for an hour or two. Thus the moons
of Jupiter were made to contribute to the evening's entertainment. The
piano, too, was not the instrument of torture usually found masquerading
in hotel-parlors, and we finally gravitated towards it and made night
hideous with our music and college songs until, to pharaphrase the poet,
in to-day already walked to-morrow and it was twelve o'clock,
"My friends," spoke up one of the gentlemen, "I am very sorry to say
that we shall not be able to ascend Mount Kearsarge to-morrow."
"Why?" exclaimed a dozen anxious voices.
"Because," was the impressive answer, "it is to-day!"
In the laugh which followed the party said good night and retired.
The Winslow House was named for Admiral Winslow, of the war-ship
Keasarge, who was present at the opening of the hotel, and gave the
owner a stand of colors. On the parlor table lay a Bible presented by
him, as stated by a gilt inscription on the cover. When the gallant
commander died, a boulder was taken from the side of Mount Kearsarge
for his monument, but the controversy in regard to which of the two
Kearsarges the ship had been named for arose about that time and the
family of the officer finally decided not to use the boulder. It has
been pretty well settled, at last, that the mountain in Merrimack
County, designated by Superintendent Patterson as Kearsarge South, is
the one which gave the famous ship its name. Under the shadow of it,
too, was laid the body of the soldier of the Sixth Massachusetts
Regiment who fell at Baltimore, exclaiming with his dying breath: "All
hail to the Stars and Stripes;" although afterward he was removed to lie
near the soldiers' monument at Lowell. The ancient spelling of this
monument was Carasage, and later, Kyar Sarga; but as early as 1804 the
laws of New Hampshire give it as Kearsage. The local spelling of
Kearsarge North, until a comparatively recent period, was Kiarsarge.
It is still called Pequaket.
Early the next morning, two bold Appalachians rose early and took a run
up the mountain, getting back to breakfast and making the descent of
nearly 1,200 feet in eighteen minutes! The climb was represented as more
difficult than that of the day before. We did not find it so, however,
as we proceeded with the reinforcements furnished by a hearty breakfast;
the clear bracing air of the morning was delightful. The song-sparrows,
perched at a safe distance, poured forth floods of melody, the Peabody
bird added his high weird note, while other wild birds occasionally
chimed in. The path led up through forests of black spruce whose sighing
branches whispered softly over our heads. Every one was in excellent
humor and had a capital story or a bit of geological scientific or
botanical wisdom. The wild-flowers were scarcer than on Cardigan but
there was greater variety of ferns. Half way up, a tiny spring welled
up in the pathway. Our grave philosopher, as well-versed in mystical
wood-craft as metaphysics, cut a strip of birch-bark from one of the
over-hanging trees and deftly fashioned an Indian drinking-cup. Working
from the idea of a birch-bark canoe somebody offered the cup-full, as a
"schooner of water." On being asked to explain her nautical terms, the
joker protested ignorance and entirely disowned her far-fetched joke.
**
As we advanced, here and there, under the white birches or between the
dense growth of spruce, broad glimpses were visible of the townships
below. Suddenly, vegetation ceased and we were again on the bare rock
with several hundred feet between us and the rude structure called, by
courtesy, the Summit House. Beside the latter, we already descried our
companions, not lost but gone before; and we find ourselves in the
awkward predicament of the man with three hands--a right, a left and a
little behind-hand.
The top of Kearsarge is composed of andalusite schist. The marks of
glacial action are even more distinct than on Cardigan, while the
stratification is very curious. When we reached the top, the
first-comers were already busy with surveys, profile sketches and
photographs. As we looked at Cardigan looming up grandly in the
northwest, we were proud of our work of the day before. The view from
the two mountains, only twenty miles apart, is of course much the same.
Kearsarge is in exact line with Wauchusct, the Pack Monadnocks and
Moosilauke. These, except the first, could be plainly seen. Mount
Washington, seventy miles distant, Lafayette, Chocorua, Tridyranid,
the Twin Mountains, and Franconia Notch formed a sharp, clear picture
against the northern sky, and were flanked by scores of smaller
mountains. The green rolling country, flecked by numerous ponds and
rivers, stretched away for miles at our feet, to a line of blue, hazy
mountains. The Black-water hills, Sunapee and dozens of other well-known
mountains seemed from our standpoint hardly more than good-sized
haystacks. So, perhaps, will our greatest earthly achievements look,
when viewed from the heights of eternity.
By noon a blue haze had crept over the horizon and was spreading over
the whole landscape. But we had scored a victory over it by coming
early.
"To have the great poetic heart,
Is more than all the climber's art."
In some sense, we each felt the meaning of the lines, as we turned from
Kearsarge top and made the gradual descent. There is a precipitous
bridle-path which shortens the distance in proportion as it increases
fatigue. The majority of us were unwilling to tempt fate by adopting it,
and took the easier way. As we stopped occasionally in a shady nook to
rest, we severally confessed that scraps of Lowell's matchless poem had
been floating nebulously in the brain ever since the clouds had
disappeared the day before. Two such days as we had been blessed with
are rare, even in June. Up there in the forest primeval, in the happy
shining weather, we were constantly proving that there was
"Not a leaf or a blade too mean
To be some happy creature's palace."
If we waxed sentimental, something must be forgiven the lavish summer.
At the hotel, the bountiful dinner was garnished with the best of all
sauces. Then, reluctantly indeed after our two days' tramping, we
started for Boston, arriving there a little past seven the same evening.
We had had unprecedented weather, and a well-planned and perfectly
executed trip. Never was there a pleasanter excursion or a more
successful outing. If the path up the hill of life were no more
difficult than that up Cardigan! If all earthly troubles could be as
easily surmounted as Kearsarge! Possibly they might be if we went forth
to meet them with the same stout heart and determined spirit.
"Daily with souls that cringe and plot,
We Sinais climb and know it not"
* * * * *