14000 miles, a carriage and two women

by Frances S. Howe

The wife of the proprietor brought some pictures of the town to our room in the evening, and promised us a drive in the morning.

We rested well in our pretty blue room, and were ready for the drive, after leaving Jerry with the blacksmith. We were taken to the river’s edge for one view, and to Sunset Rock for another. All the places we wished to see, and others we did not know of were pointed out to us, and we were sure if people only knew about it, the Quinnebassett House would be full of those who like a quiet, comfortable resting place.

We spend only one night in a place, and are usually ready to go on, but we left Norridgewock reluctantly, and were only consoled for turning away from the lovely Kennebec, by promising ourselves to drive to Norridgewock again some time, and follow still farther up the river. Maine cannot be exhausted in many trips, and we have some fine ones growing in our mind. Every journey makes a better one possible.

We must now face about for this time, and we aimed next for the Androscoggin, driving first to Farmington, then turning south, crossing the Androscoggin on one of those scow ferries run along a wire, that old Charlie disliked so much. He was not a good sailor, like Jerry, who can hardly wait for the scow to touch the shore, before he leaps on.

We should have told you, before crossing the ferry, about our quiet Sunday at a farm house. The man was reading his paper as we drove up, and it seemed almost too bad to disturb their Sunday rest, but his wife said we could stay if we would take them “as they were.” We were soon settled in a cosy parlor with bedroom adjoining, away from all sights and sounds of the busy world. We felt as if we were miles from everywhere, and you can imagine our surprise when the man said that he came down from Boston on the boat with us, and recognized us when we drove to the door.

Monday morning we left our kind host and hostess, with directions for Strickland’s ferry. We have already taken you across, but we did not mention our ferryman. We do not remember now just what he said, but we set him down for a philosopher. All that ride and philosophy for ten cents! We thought it worth twenty-five at least, but he said some grumbled at ten.

Now we renewed our acquaintance with the Androscoggin, which we followed so many miles on one journey farther north. We wondered where all the logs were, and found out all about it from a boy who brought us milk, and entertained us while we had our first and only wayside camp at noon day. Our Sunday hostess had put up luncheon for us, as we were not to pass through any village on our way to Lewiston. Our boy friend took us down to a little beach on the river, and showed us where the river drivers had been for a week, but they were then at work half a mile below. We had often seen a river full of logs, and heard much about the river drivers, when in Maine and northern New Hampshire, but this was our first opportunity to see them at work. They were just coming from their tents after dinner, as we drove along. One of them tied Jerry for us, and conducted us to a nice place on the rocks. We watched them nearly an hour, and concluded it took brains to untangle the snarls of logs. It was quite exciting to see them jump from log to log with their spiked boots, and when the last of a snarl was started, leap into a boat and paddle off for another tangle. The river was low, and it was slow work getting them over the rocks.

The drive to Lewiston was over a sandy road. We met two boys puffing along on their wheels, who asked us if it was sandy all the way up. We were sorry we could not cheer their hearts, by telling them the road was level and hard before them. We spent the night at Auburn, across the river from Lewiston, as the Elm House looked attractive. At the suggestion of the proprietor we took a horse car ride in the evening around the figure 8, one loop being in Lewiston and the other in Auburn. The horses must have been electrified, for we never rode so fast except by electricity, and we returned to our room quite refreshed.

Poland Springs was our next point of interest, and we were well repaid for our drive to the top of the hill, where the immense hotel when filled must be a little world in itself, for all sorts and conditions of men are attracted there. We met Boston friends who invited us to the morning concert, in the music room. After dinner we climbed to the cupola for the view, then ordered Jerry and were off again. Sabbath Day Pond, which lay along our way, is fittingly named. It has no look of a weekday pond, but is a crystal, clear, peaceful perfection, that is indescribable. The Parker House at Gray Corner afforded us every needful comfort, even to a hammock in the side yard through the twilight.

Now we began to lay aside—not forget—the things that were behind, and to strain our eyes for the first glimpse of the ocean. Portland was only sixteen miles away, and as we had left the sand, it did not seem long before we drove to the Portland post office and got home letters, always so welcome, then to the Preble House for dinner.