14000 miles, a carriage and two women

by Frances S. Howe

Only those who have traveled by carriage nearly four thousand miles, within a radius of two hundred miles, in twelve successive summers, can appreciate the difficulty which increases each year in deciding which way to go. Railway travelers escape that difficulty, for they can only go where the rails are laid; but we belong to the great company of tramps who wander aimlessly, and rarely know in the morning where they will rest at night. We had only one definite idea when we decided to go somewhere, and that was, not to go to the seashore, because it was hot there last year; we believe in having a reason, however senseless it may be.

During the small hours of the morning of July 13th we found ourselves packing. Packing for a carriage journey means looking over once more the “must haves” which have been carefully selected, to see how many can be dispensed with in order to reduce the quantity to the amount of “baggage allowed” in a phaeton. This allowance is so small that, however limited one’s wardrobe may be, it looks plentiful after a month’s absence from it. This fact may well be mentioned as one of the decided advantages which a journey by carriage has over almost every other kind of summer traveling. The fewest things possible having been condensed into the smallest space possible, we were ready for a start at eight o’clock; but the clouds hung heavy, and we waited awhile for the sun to find its way through them; then said “good morning” to friends and were off. We drove to Fitchburg because we like to start north, and from there we went to Ashburnham. Before we left Fitchburg the sun forgot all about us and hid behind the clouds, which had no consideration for our desire not to get wet the first day, and poured their contents on us unsparingly until we got to Ashburnham, where we stopped an hour or two. With seeming maliciousness the rain ceased during our stay, and began with renewed energy directly we were on our way again; and as we drove on through Winchendon the thunder and lightning rapidly increased. We had quite enjoyed the distant rumbling, but it was getting unpleasantly near. The freshness of all our equipments was decidedly marred when we drove to the hotel in Fitzwilliam, and waterproofs and blankets were despatched to the kitchen fire to dry.

We devoted the evening to an earnest debate on “Why did we come to Fitzwilliam?” We had not even the reason we had for going to Fitchburg, and wherever we might drive, it did not seem as if Fitzwilliam was likely to be on our way. We do not know yet how it happened, unless the thunder and lightning so diverted us that we did not look on the map to see that Fitzwilliam was not on the way to anywhere. It is indeed delightful enough to be a terminus, and we were well cared for and ready for an early start when the bright morning greeted us. We faced toward Jaffrey, but were not out of sight of the hotel when we noticed our horse was lame. We drove on, thinking he might have stepped on a stone, and would soon be all right; but instead he grew worse, and, as we could not discover the cause after careful examination, we settled into a walk, and decided to stop at the first hotel we came to.

This was a new experience, and it looked serious. We found such slow traveling tiresome, and stopped for an hour in a very inviting spot by the wayside, where the rocks, under the shade of a large tree, seemed to be arranged for our especial comfort. We had luncheon from our basket, and read aloud, and watched between times the movements of a little green snake that evidently considered us intruders and was not disposed to give us absolute possession of the place.

We were refreshed, but Charlie was no better, and we were glad when we came to a hotel so pleasantly located that we felt we could spend Sunday there very comfortably, and hoped Charlie would be well by that time. Of course our limping condition interested the bystanders, and their wise opinions were freely volunteered. One said it was a sprain; another, strained cords of the right foot; a third thought the difficulty was in the left foot; when the landlord removed his pipe from his mouth and wisely declared he did not know, and as he resumed his smoking his manner indicated that the horse was as well as he ever would be. The best of care was promised, and to make sure of hitting the right place, the faithful hostler compressed both legs.

We established ourselves comfortably in a large front room facing Monadnock, a mountain we never tire of, and tried to enjoy as much as other people do who go to places to stay, instead of being always on the wing as we are. The afternoon and evening passed pleasantly, although we occasionally grew retrospective and thought of our usual good time and how some people would say, “That comes of starting on Friday.” Should we have to go home? and where would we be if Charlie had not been lame? Sunday morning we went quietly into the back pew of the little church across the green; then we read and read, and after that we read some more. Charlie seemed a little better at night, and Monday morning the landlord said he thought it would be well to drive him. (We think he expected parties to take our room.)

We started towards East Jaffrey, and tried to think he was better, but it was of no use. There was serious trouble somewhere. Having the day before us, we concluded to try to get to Peterboro, an easy drive if a man had not carelessly given us a wrong direction, which took us a long way over hard hills instead of along the pretty river road. Poor Charlie! he did his best; and so did we, for, despite the heat, we walked much of the way and dragged him. We looked and felt forlorn as lost children, but our wits were sharpened by our discouragements, and we concluded he had sand or gravel under his shoe. We did wish we had had a blacksmith instead of a compress at Jaffrey!

We hobbled into Peterboro in course of time, and asked to have Charlie taken directly to a blacksmith, who said we were right, but he feared the trouble was not discovered in season for immediate relief. We again settled down to await our fate. The hotel was very nice, but the outlook was a poor exchange for Monadnock; nothing but stores, the signs on which we read until it seemed as if we could never forget them, as our eyes wandered up and down the street in search of something restful. All things have an end, so had this unsatisfactory day. We made an early call, next morning, on the blacksmith, who said we had better let Charlie rest that day, and take him down to the shop Wednesday morning.

Another day! Our diary record for that day is, “We do not like this way of taking a carriage journey.” Before the sun set we were driven to an extremity never reached before, in all our journeyings—an afternoon nap to kill time. After breakfast Wednesday morning, in desperation, we took matters into our own hands, went to the stable, led Charlie out, and trotted him about the yard. He was certainly better, and as we were determined not to act upon any advice, we asked none, but paid our bill and packed our traps before we drove to the blacksmith’s shop—a model establishment, by the way. The humblest one has a charm; but this shop was the most luxurious one we had ever seen, and everything was in harmony, from the fair, genial face of the proprietor to the speck of a boy who earned two cents a horse, or twelve cents a day, for brushing flies while the horses were being shod. We watched anxiously while the examination went on, and when the man looked up with a face worthy a second Collyer and said it was all right, we felt like having a jubilee. He carefully protected the injured spot, reset the shoes, and pronounced the horse ready for use. We added this Boston-born blacksmith to our list of never-to-be-forgotten friends and began our journey anew.

Was this an inspired creature we were driving? On he sped, and his eyes were in every direction, looking for some adequate excuse to jump. Surely, the limping Charlie was a myth! Bennington and Antrim were left behind, and night found us at Hillsboro Bridge, twenty miles from our good blacksmith, the pleasantest remembrance we had of Peterboro.