14000 miles, a carriage and two women

by Frances S. Howe

As I am now, so you must be.

Prepare for death and follow me.”

All that night was lost, for we never woke once. Was it the stillness? or was it that cosy, bright room, with its very simple, but effective, “homey” touches? Be that as it may, we were fresh as the morning, and ready to enjoy every mile of the drive to Boston, gladdening our hearts with the sight of friends as we tarried now and then. We in Boston and our Boston friends in the country was something new, but a room at the B. Y. W. C. A. is next to home, and we heartily recommend it to homeless ladies traveling as we were, or on shopping expeditions. The night, with the unceasing din of the horse cars, and the thousand and one noises peculiar to the city, was a marvelous contrast to Stow, but in time we became adjusted to our environments, and were lost in sleep.

How delightful to be in Boston, and know that there were only two things in the whole city we wanted—a Buddhist catechism and a horn hairpin. These procured, we went for Jerry and began the day, which was to be devoted to making calls. We went spinning along over the smoothly paved Columbus avenue on our way to the Highlands, and rattled back on cobble-paved Shawmut avenue. Dinner over, off we started for Allston, Somerville and Cambridge, and as it was not yet five o’clock when we came back over the Mill-dam, we could not resist turning off West Chester Park, and hunting up some friends in Dorchester, returning in early evening. Jerry seemed perfectly at home; perhaps he has been used to city life in Kentucky. The day was long and full of pleasant things, but the diary record was brief; for just this once we will confess we were tired. Secured the catechism and hairpin, and oh! we forgot, a bit of embroidery we got at Whitney’s, and mailed to a friend who asked us to do so if we “happened to be near there,” drove eighteen miles and made twelve calls, that was all.

During the day we decided to stay over Sunday, as a cousin we wanted to see was coming. Jerry rested all day, and we did, except the writing of many letters, dining with a friend, and attending service at the only church we saw lighted on the Back Bay in the evening. We thought of many things to do and places to go to, and wondered how we should like to take a carriage journey and spend all the nights in Boston. There would be no lack of pleasant driving, and if we missed the variety in hotels, we could easily remedy that by going from one to another. Boston would supply that need for a while, and we are sure Jerry would be more than glad to find himself at Nims’s in Mason street, day or night. But we had other things in view for this journey, and, the cousin’s whereabouts being wrapped in mystery, we left Boston early Monday morning.

Now, we will take you by transit, hardly excelled in rapidity by the feats of occultism, to Narragansett Pier, and while you are taking breath in our charming room in that vine-covered hotel at the jumping-off place, with the surf rolling up almost under the windows, we will just tell you a bit about the journey as we had it; driving all day in the rain on Monday and enjoying it, making hasty doorstep calls, spending the night at Lake Massapoag House in Sharon, and on through the Attleboros to Pawtucket the next day, dining Wednesday with friends in Providence, then on to East Greenwich for the night. A drive of twenty-one miles Thursday morning, and we are with you again at the Pier, where our first exclamation was, “Oh! let’s stay here!” We like the mountains, but the ocean is quite satisfying if we can have enough of it, and as our host said, here there is nothing between us and Europe, Asia and Africa. We wrote letters all the afternoon, with one eye on the surf, and the next morning we drove to Point Judith, where we investigated the wrecks, went to the top of the light-house, and were much interested in hearing all about the work at the life-saving station. We took a long walk, and visited the Casino in the afternoon.

We were still enthusiastic about the Pier, but the next morning was so beautiful it seemed wise to enjoy it in Newport. The captain could not take our horse across from the Pier, and we drove twelve miles back to Wickford to take the ferryboat. It was quite cool, but with warm wraps it was just right for a brisk drive. We had time for dinner before going to the boat. The hour’s sail was very delightful, and at half after two we were in Newport, with nothing to do but drive about the city until dark. We saw all there was to be seen, even to the hydrangea star described in the Transcript by “M. H.” We did not know which was Vanderbilt’s and which Oak Glen, but that mattered little to us, for to all intents and purposes they all belonged to us that bright afternoon, and are still ours in memory. We fell into the grand procession of fine turnouts on the prescribed ocean drive, but the people generally did not look as if they were having a good time. They had a sort of “prescribed” look, except one young lady we met several times, perched in a high cart, with a bright-looking pug for company; she really looked as if she was enjoying herself.

The charm of Newport fled when we were inside the hotel. The fountain in the park below our window was very pretty, but it could not compete with our ocean view at the Pier, and we had to sit on the footboard of the bed, too, in order to see to read by the aspiring gaslight.

We walked around the Old Mill and went into the Channing Church and then left Newport for Fall River. There we called on several friends, then inquired for some place to spend a night, on our way to Plymouth, and were directed to Assonet. We had never heard of Assonet before, but we did not mind our ignorance when the widow, who “puts up” people, told us the school committee man where her daughter had gone to teach had never heard of it. Our good woman thought at first she could not take us, as she had been washing and was tired, but as there was no other place for us to go, she consented. When she saw our books, she asked if we were traveling for business or pleasure, and as F—— drove off to the stable she remarked on her ability; she thought a woman was pretty smart if she could “turn round.” We had a very cosy time. People who always plan to have a first-class hotel lose many of the novel experiences which make a pleasant variety in a journey It is interesting occasionally to hear the family particulars and be introduced to the pet dogs and cats, and walk round the kitchen and backyard, where the sunflowers and hollyhocks grow from old-time habit, and not because of a fashion.

The Samoset House at Plymouth seemed all the more luxurious after the modest comforts at Assonet. We “did” Plymouth once more, this time taking in the new monument, and having plenty of time, we drove down to Manomet Point for a night. The Point is quite a resort for artists, but as we have given up sketching, we did not delay there, but returned to Plymouth and on to Duxbury. We did not ask Jerry to travel the extra miles off the main route to take in Brant Rock and Daniel Webster’s old home, as this was our second drive in this vicinity, and rather than drive two miles to a hotel possibly open, we took up with the chances near by. We found oats at a grocery store, but it was too cold to camp; indeed, we did not have one of our wayside camps during the entire journey. There was no hotel, no stable, no “put-up” place or available barn, but the grocer, appreciating our dilemma, said he could easily clear a stall back of his store, and while he was helping us unharness, we saw a large house perched on a high bluff not far away. Although it was a private boarding-house we made bold to cross the fields, mount the many flights of steps and ask for dinner, which was willingly granted.