14000 miles, a carriage and two women

by Frances S. Howe

We went up to the churchyard to watch the sunset clouds, strolled down to the bridge, and when it grew dark we went “home.” Our hostess borrowed a yesterday’s paper, as we were anxious for the latest news from the President, and after reading we crocheted and chatted. The good lady opened her heart to us, and freely poured forth her lifetime joys and sorrows. Speaking of the children and grandchildren reminded her how much she enjoyed the seraphine in the other room when they visited her. We said we would like to try it, when she eagerly proposed having it brought into the sitting-room, where it was warm. We moved it for her, and sang through all the psalm-tune and Moody and Sankey books we could find. Our friend was very grateful, and when at a late hour we proposed removing the instrument to its proper place, she said, “Oh! leave it, and perhaps you will sing one more tune in the morning.” We rested well on a feather bed, in an unpretentious room, with odds and ends of furniture and ware which would tempt the enthusiastic relic hunters, and breakfasted in the kitchen. While waiting for Charlie, we sang another gospel hymn, and the good lady once more thanked us, saying she always liked to take care of good people, and really rather “put up” a gentleman than a tin peddler.

The day was misty and disagreeable, but on we went, imagining the charms of Sunapee Lake on a bright, sunny day, as we followed its shores, and resting and writing at Newport. Here, too, we again considered our course, but with no inclination to face about. We talked of going to Claremont and following the river, but were advised to keep our present direction and avoid the sandy valley roads. We left Newport without any idea where we should find shelter for the night, as hotels were scarce, but before dark we were again very comfortably “put up.”

The clouds were heavy next morning when we resumed our driving, and in the afternoon the rain fell in torrents. When the first shower came, we drove under a church shed for protection, but after a half-hour we concluded time was too precious to be spent in that way, so put aside our books and prepared to brave the storm. Our courage and waterproofs were put to the test, but neither failed, and at night we hung ourselves up to dry in a little country tavern.

The next day we crossed the Connecticut River into Thetford, leaving New Hampshire to begin our wanderings in Vermont; and wanderings they proved to be, for the first day at least. We were in the region of copper mines and of friends, but we did not know exactly where either the mines or the friends were to be found. We drove to West Fairlee, for we had ordered our mail forwarded there, and our first letters from home were eagerly anticipated. The news was good, and after dinner we began inquiries about our mining explorations. There seemed to be as many opinions as there were people, but we started off at last with directions to turn twice to the right, go two miles, leave the red school-house to the left, cross a bridge, go down a hill and through Bear or Bare Gap (we never found out which), strike a new road, etc. We were not sure that we remembered the precise order of these directions, but we did strike a new road, and went down a hill—such a hill! We preferred walking, and Charlie was willing to be led, so that difficulty was overcome. After quite an afternoon’s experience we found a little hotel, where we passed the night, and next morning we retraced the latter part of our drive in search of Pike Hill, where we were told we should find friends and mines all together.

We were heartily welcomed and initiated into the mysteries of mining, and collected some specimens, all of which were very interesting to us.

It would seem as if we ought now to be content to turn towards home; but, after some deliberation, we convinced ourselves it was advisable to go a little farther, now we had got so far, for we might not have another opportunity so good. “A bird in the hand,” you know, and it is just as true of a horse. So, after supper and a little music, we got together a good supply of maps, and organized our friends into a geography class. We were very familiar with our own map, but drove into the northern margin last year, and now we seemed likely to entirely overstep its borders. As we studied and questioned our friends, we began to feel as if we could go anywhere; but prudence prompted us to follow the line of the railroad, so we traced the towns along the Passumpsic, and pinned the precious scrap of paper to our map.

We watched the clouds until half-past ten next day (we never heed the weather except we are with friends, who always think it seems inhospitable to let us drive off in a storm); then started for Wells River, a drive of thirty-one miles. This was the first time since we left home that we had any idea in the morning where we should sleep at night. The twelve-miles’ drive to Bradford was as lovely as our friends described it; the road follows Wait’s River very closely nearly all the way; it is a clear stream, with a bright, stony bottom, much more beautiful than many larger rivers with greater reputation.

We lunched as we drove, on bread and honey, the last sweet gift of our friends at Pike Hill, then rested our horse and made our daily contribution to the mail at Bradford. We had our prettiest view of the Connecticut that afternoon as we drove through Newbury and made another of our “surprise calls” on friends visiting in that vicinity.

Our landlord at Wells River, an old gentleman, made many inquiries when he found we lived very near his birthplace. His face brightened as we told him of his friends, who were our next-door neighbors, and he wondered at the distance we had driven “alone.”

It seemed quite natural to make another start with uncertainty before us. We followed the Connecticut to Barnet, and just as we left the hotel, after two hours’ rest, the contents of a huge black cloud were poured upon us; it was such a deluging rain, that as soon as we were out of the village we drove under a tree for partial shelter, and while waiting, finished up our honey. We got to St. Johnsbury in advance of our mail, and ordered it forwarded to Newport, thinking we might leave our horse for a day or two, and take a little trip by rail.