14000 miles, a carriage and two women

by Frances S. Howe

Now we were really going somewhere, we must fix upon some place to meet letters from home. We took the map and cast our eyes up and down New Hampshire, but whether we fled to the borders or zigzagged through the interior, there was no escaping familiar routes. Being unanimously persistent in facing north, we bethought ourselves of the transformed “Flume,” and immediately fixed upon Plymouth for a mail centre. Charlie’s spirits were unabated the next day, and we rested him at Warren. It was useless to ask directions, for everybody was determined we must take the great highway to the mountains, through Concord. This we were not going to do, and as a first digression we drove around Mt. Kearsarge in Warner and spent a night at the Winslow House, a very attractive hotel half way up the mountain. A slight repentance may have come over us as we left the main road and attacked the hills that lay between us and the house on the mountain, especially as we felt compelled to walk, lest the hard pull prove too much for Charlie. Just before we reached the Mountain House we got into our phaeton, and all signs of repentance must have fled, for a lady on the piazza exclaimed, as we drove up, that we must be the ladies she had read of in the Transcript, for we looked as if we were having such a good time!

Once there, no one could have any regrets. The night was perfect. We asked leave to change our seats at the supper table, in order to add the sunset to our bill of fare; and in the evening we were cordially welcomed by the guests, who gathered around the open fire in the large parlor. At ten o’clock we all went out to see the moon rise over the mountain. A gentleman coming up the mountain saw it rise several times, and we got the effect of these repetitions by walking down a little way.

The morning was as lovely as the night, and the view simply beautiful, satisfying in all moods. There was no sensation of awe or isolation, but a feeling that one could be content forever. Kearsarge is about three thousand feet high. We were already fifteen hundred feet up, and directly after breakfast we started for the summit. No other parties were ready for a climb that morning, so full directions for the bridle path and walking sticks were given us, and with maps, drinking cup and revolver strapped about us, we were ready for any emergency.

There is nothing more bewitching than an old bridle path, and we enjoyed every moment of the hour it took us to reach the summit. If the lovely, woodsy ascent and final scramble over the rocks had not fully rewarded us, the view itself must have more than repaid our efforts. With the aid of a little book we studied out the various mountain peaks and traced our route along the country to Moosilauke. We drank our fill of the beauty, then leisurely descended, and reached the Winslow House just in season to prepare for dinner, which means to people traveling without their wardrobe, a dash of water, a touch of the whisk broom and a little rub on the dusty boots.

We were just tired enough to enjoy a drive of twenty miles to Bristol in the afternoon—twelve miles up and down hills, and eight miles by a beautiful river. Our remembrance of Bristol is that we slept in one hotel and ate in another, that the moon rose two hours earlier than on Kearsarge, and that by some unaccountable mistake we arose an hour earlier than we thought, hastened to the office with our letters on the way to our refreshment hotel, where we supposed we had the dining-room to ourselves because we were last instead of first, wondered what could have happened to our watch, and did not discover that the watch was all right and we all wrong until we stopped, as we drove out of the village, to inquire the way to Plymouth, which would take us seven miles by the shore of Newfound Lake. It happened very well, however, for if we had been an hour later we should have missed the guardianship of that kindly couple who chanced to come along just in season to accompany us in passing a large company of gypsies, whom we had been following for some time, dreading to pass them in such a lonely place, lest they should think we had something they might like.

We had a “way” now, if we were going to Moosilauke, and Plymouth was eight miles out of our way, but we had to go there to get our letters. One or two we expected had not arrived, and we requested the postmaster to keep them until we called or sent for them. The good words we got from home shortened the eight miles extra to Rumney, which proved to be the loveliest part of our day’s drive.

Rumney is quiet and just the place we wanted for Sunday. We were the only guests at the little hotel, and everything was cosy as possible. We watched the people going to church, and after the last straggler had disappeared we put on our hats and followed, taking seats in the back pew of the smallest of the three small churches in that small place, where we heard a thrilling discourse on the atonement.

Sunday night there was a heavy shower, and Monday was just the day for Moosilauke, so bright and clear. Before we left Rumney we learned the gypsies had traveled while we rested, and were again in our path. We drove on, looking for them at every turn, and when we finally overtook them no guardian couple came along, and we tucked our wraps and bags out of sight, looked at the revolver’s hiding-place, and decided to brave it. They were scattered all along the road with their lumbering wagons, and Charlie pricked up his ears and refused to pass them. Immediately a brawny woman appeared, and saying, “Is your horse afraid?” took him by the bit and led him by the long procession. We kept her talking all the way, and when she left us we thought, surely this is the way with half the anticipated troubles in life; they are only imaginary. At another point, a large tree had fallen across the road during the rain and gale of the night. An old man was hard at work upon it, and had just got to the last limb which obstructed our way as we drove up; with a cheery word he drew it aside, and as neither gypsies nor gales had succeeded in detaining us, we now looked hopefully towards the summit of Moosilauke.

It is twelve miles from Rumney to Warren, and five miles from Warren to the Breezy Point House, on the slope of the mountain. This hotel was burned a few weeks after we were there; indeed, it has happened to so many hotels where we have been in our journeyings, that one would not wonder we never sleep when we travel, until we have packed “in case of fire,” and when we are up very high, we plan our escape; then rest as peacefully as if warranted not to burn.

The drive to Breezy Point House was very like that to the Winslow House on Kearsarge—partly walking. We got there before noon, and again we were the only persons to go to the top. As it takes three hours for the drive to the summit, we had no time to wait for dinner, so had a lunch, and a buckboard and driver were ordered for us. We had been warned to take plenty of wraps, and before we went to lunch had laid them aside, leaving the things we did not wish to take in the office. Everybody was waiting to see us off as we came from the dining-room, and the clerk said, “Your wraps are all right, under the seat.” We always envy everybody on a buckboard, and now we had one all to ourselves, a pair of horses equal to two mountain trips a day, and a chatty little driver ready to answer all our questions. It was a perfect summer afternoon, and we were delighted at every turn until we reached the “Ridge,” when a cold blast struck us, and the soft breezes suddenly changed to wind that threatened to take our hats off, if not our heads. Now for the wraps; and will you believe it? the man had put in the things we did not want, and those we did want were probably on the chair in the parlor, where we had left them. Between us we had one veil and one neckhandkerchief, with which we secured our hats and heads. There were one or two light sacques and a basque! Thinking of our warm wraps at the hotel did no good, so we dressed up in what we had, and with a little imagination, were comfortable.