14000 miles, a carriage and two women

by Frances S. Howe

This was our first drive along the Hudson; but were it not for the occasional glimpses of the farther shore through the wooded grounds, we might have fancied ourselves driving through Beverly-Farms-by-the-Sea. The stately entrances and lodges of these grand old estates, with their shaded drives, towards the turrets and towers we could see in the distance, looked almost familiar to us.

It rained very hard during the night at Rhinebeck and until ten o’clock in the morning. While waiting for the final shower, we discussed our route for the day, and somehow inclination got the better of wisdom, and we left the old post road for one which we were told would take us near the river. When shall we learn that river roads are rarely near the river? We hope we learned it for life that day, for repentance set in early, and has not ceased yet, because of our compassion for Charlie.

The roads grew heavier every hour, and the twenty-six miles seemed endless. We scarcely saw the river, and the outline of the Catskills was all there was to divert us. We will touch as briefly as possible on the dinner at Tivoli. “Driving up the Hudson must be charming,” our friends wrote us with envy, but we forgot its charms when we were placed at the table which the last members of the family were just leaving, and the “boiled dish” was served. We were near the river, however, for which we had sacrificed comfort for the day. We survived the ordeal, smothering our smiles at the misery our folly had brought us, and with renewed avowals that we would never be enticed from a straightforward course by a river road again, we went on our wretched way. Thunder clouds gathered and broke over the Catskills, but the grumbling thunder was all that crossed the river to us. The fact that somehow the river was to be crossed, and exactly how we knew not, did not make us any happier. You may remember Charlie is particular about ferries.

Is there no end to this dragging through the mud, we thought, as the showers threatened, the night came on and no one was near to tell us whether we were right or wrong, when we came to turn after turn in the road. We were about lost in mud and despair, when we heard a steam whistle, and came suddenly upon express and freight trains, a railway station and ferryboat landing all in a huddle. Charlie’s ears were up and he needed all our attention. We drove as near as he was willing to go, then went to inquire the next step. No old scows this time, happily, but a regular ferryboat, and the ferryman has a way of whispering confidentially to timid horses which wins them at once, so we were soon safely landed into the darkness and rain on the other side. We spent the night in Catskill Village, and gave the evening up to study of the ins and outs of the Catskills. The heavy rain all night and half the morning prepared more mud for us, and we were five hours driving twelve miles. The wheels were one solid mass of clay mud, and we amused ourselves watching it as it reluctantly rolled off.

We took directions for the old Catskill Mountain House, but, luckily for Charlie, we guessed wrong at some turn where there was no guide-board, or place to inquire, and brought up at the Sunny Slope House at the foot of the mountain instead of at the top. We walked two miles after supper and were tempted to stay over a day and walk up the four-mile path to the famous Kaaterskill House, but it was a beautiful day to go through Kaaterskill Clove, and it seemed best to make sure of it. It was up hill about four miles, and as interesting as Franconia and Dixville notches, with its Fawn’s Leap, Profile, Grotto, Cascades and superb views. All this we should have missed if we had gone over the mountain. We dined at Tannersville and fancied we were in Jerusalem, for every hotel in the place was full of Jews. The afternoon drive along the valley was very restful, after the morning’s rough climb.

We were now in a country entirely new to us, and we little dreamed that the Schoharie Kill or Creek driving would eclipse the Hudson. We had at last found a river road which followed the river. The shore scenery was simply exquisite. Miles of hills—mountains we should call them—with cultivated grain fields even to the summit. Surely we had never seen anything more lovely. The roads were not like the post road on the Hudson; indeed, they were the worst roads we ever encountered. Annual overflows undo the repairs which are rarely made, and in many places the highway is simply the bed which the creek has deserted. At home we improve roads by clearing the stones from them, but there they improve them by dumping a cartload of stones into them. We learned this fact by hearing an enterprising citizen declare he would do it himself, if the town authorities did not attend to their duty, and we can testify to the truth of it, having been over the roads.

Our hotel experiences were new, too. We spent one night at Lexington, and when Charlie was brought to the door and all was ready for our departure we noticed something wrong about the harness. Investigation proved that things were decidedly mixed at the stable, and probably a part of Charlie’s new harness had gone to Hunter, ten miles back, after the skating rink frolic of the night before. We had suspected our choice of hotels for that night was not a happy one, but the landlord did his best. He despatched a man to Hunter, and took our bags back to our room, saying we should stay till the next day at his expense. We resumed our reading and writing, the stray harness returned that night, and early next morning we shook the dust of Lexington from us and were on our way again.

We drove twenty-six miles that day over the crazy roads close by the Schoharie all the way. We had been hemmed in for some time, with the creek on one side and overhanging rocks on the other, when we came suddenly to a ford, the first we had chanced to come across in our travels, and we feared it might be more objectionable to Charlie than a ferry, for he is really afraid of water. Only a few rods to the right was a leaping, foaming cascade seventy-five or one hundred feet high, which was a real terror to him, but he seemed to take in the situation and to see at once, as we did, that escape or retreat was impossible and the stream must be crossed. Oh, how we dreaded it! but we drew up the reins with a cheering word to him and in he plunged, pulling steadily through in spite of his fright. “Well, that is over, what next?” we wondered.

We wanted to drive to Middlebury for the night, but a fatherly old man we saw on the road said, “I wouldn’t drive eight miles more tonight if I were you; it will make it late, and you better stop at Breakabean.” We asked the meaning of the unique name and were told it signified rushes, but we saw none. Things were rushing, however, at the speck of a hotel, which was undergoing general repairs and cleaning. The cabinet organ was in the middle of the sitting-room and everything socially clustered around it. Out of two little rooms up stairs we managed to get things convenient. To be sure we had to pin up a shawl for a screen in our dressing-room, and a few such little things, but we assured our hostess we could be comfortable and should not be annoyed by the brass band of native talent which would practise in the little dancing-hall close by our rooms. When we went down to supper all was peaceful; the organ had retired to its corner and things were “picked up” generally.

There were two ways we could take the next day, but to avoid the mountain we were strongly advised to take the ford. We objected, but yielded at last, being assured it was by far our best course. If it was the best we are heartily glad we took it, and we got through the morning safely, but we are never going there again. We reached the ford in time, but had we not known it was a ford by directions given and unmistakable signs, we should as soon have thought of driving into the sea. The water was high, current strong—how deep we knew not—and it was quite a distance across. Charlie was sensible as before. We tucked our wraps in close, for where roads are made of rocks you cannot expect a smooth-running ford, and in we plunged again. Directly the water was over the hubs, and we felt as if it would reach the carriage top before we could get across. We held our breath in the spot where the current was strongest, but Charlie pulled steadily and all went well.