When the party one by one dropped out from breakfast, the scene in front of the house was at once picturesque and singular—worth remembering by those who shared in it or who have shared in one similar,—and worth the feeble attempt at verbal daguerreotype which may do something to preserve it against that day when the Crawford decays and Mount Washington is either levelled off or ascended by means of a locomotive or a dumb-waiter.
More than twenty names—somewhat more than half of them belonging to ladies—were on the book for the ascent; and a corresponding number of horses were scattered over the broad open space in front of the door. All were saddled and bridled; but among them moved half-a-dozen guides in rough coats, thick boots and slouched hats, inspecting and tightening the girths, looking to the cruppers and bridles, and paying especial attention to the animals provided for the female portion of the cavalcade, for whose safety they ever hold themselves and are ever held by the hotel-proprietors, peculiarly responsible.
By way of back-ground to this singular scene, under a clump of trees to the right walked two full-grown black bears (no mountain resort can be thoroughly complete without its bears!)—chained and surly, ever keeping their weary round and grunting out their disapprobation at being confined to such narrow quarters without an occasional naughty youngster for lunch.
But what a spectacle was presented when the mount was ready and the riders had all emerged from the door of the Crawford! Were these the belles and beaux of previous days, captivating and being captivated by perfection of raiment as well as charm of face and grace of figure? If so, never had such a metamorphosis taken place since long before Ovid. Every man wore some description of slouched hat, brought in his baggage or hired in the hotel wardrobe,—bad, very bad, atrocious, or still worse, and each tied down over the ears with a thick string or a handkerchief. Coarse and old trowsers were turned up over heavy boots; and the roughest and coarsest of box-coats that could be provided were surmounted in the majority of instances by striped Guernsey shirts still rougher. All the dilapidated gloves and coarse tippets that could be mustered, with a few shawls and blankets, completed the equipment of a set of men who certainty looked too badly even for brigands and seemed the enforced victims of some hideous masquerade.
But if the men looked badly, what shall be said of that which should have been the fairer portion of the cavalcade? Salvator Rosa never dreamed of such objects, and Hogarth would have gone stark mad in the attempt to depict them. Ringlets were buried under mob-caps and old woollen-hoods, and smothered in bad straw hats and superannuated felt jockeys, tied down in the same ungraceful manner as those of the men. Hoops had suddenly ceased to be fashionable, even in advance of the sudden Quaker collapse in the cities; and every shape, bulky or lank, showed in its own undisguised proportions—here a form of beauty, there a draped lamp-post, and yonder a bedizened bolster. In short, the very worst riding-dresses possible to achieve seemed to have been carefully gathered from all the old-clothes shops in the universe; and if the men were the ugliest brigands of the dark souled Italian painter, the women were the drollest witches that ever capered through the brain of the master-dramatist.
And yet there were sparkling eyes showing occasionally from under those hideous bonnets, that perhaps looked the brighter for the contrast; and it is not sure that one or two of the sweet auburn curls of Clara Vanderlyn, which had strayed away from their confinement and lay like red gold on the neck of her shabby black riding-dress, could ever have shown to more bewitching advantage.
Every one laughed at the appearance of the other, as the mount was taking place, and as Hartshorne, of the Crawford, who seemed to have measured the capabilities of every horse and calculated the weight and skill of every rider, called off the names from the roll-book, and gave place to each in turn.
Of the material of the mount, it is only necessary to specify three or four of the horses, which have to do with the subsequent details of that eventful excursion. Miss Vanderlyn had a neat little black pony, apparently very careful in step, and an "old-stager" at ascending the mountains. Her brother Frank rode a tall bay, of high spirit and better action than any other horse on the ground. Rowan had asked Hartshorne (some of the others heard him, with a sensation of genuine horror) to give him the worst-tempered horse in the stable; and as he was known to be an old habitue of the mountains, he had been accommodated according to request. So far as could be discovered by his action, his horse, a bay of fifteen and a half or sixteen hands, with blood, foot and bottom, would kick, bite, strike, run away, shy to one side, and do every thing else wicked and unsafe that should taboo a horse from being ridden at all,—except stumble, from which latter fault he was remarkably clear. Townsend was accommodated with a gray mare of moderate size and a dash of Arab blood, that had been unused for nearly a month from having nearly broken the neck of one of the proprietors, on his personal allegation that he was at least a fair rider, and that the breaking of his own neck would be the least damage that could be inflicted on any member of the party.
Thick morning mists still hid the tops of Mount Webster and Mount Willard, visible from the house, and hung amid the heavy woods of Mount Clinton, although the storm had really passed away with the night,—as at nine o'clock, all mounted, the guides took their places, one at the head of the cavalcade and the others scattered at intervals through it, and the whole line moved off up the mountain. It should be mentioned here, however, that Townsend (the observer again) saw during the mount the only recognition which took place between the two principal persons of his outside drama—Halstead Rowan and Clara Vanderlyn. Frank was mounting his horse, after having assisted his sister to her saddle, when Rowan brushed by her on his vicious bay, very near her and to the left. He saw their eyes meet, and saw Rowan bend so low that his head almost touched the neck of his horse. Clara Vanderlyn replied by a gesture quite as mute and quite as unlikely to be observed by any one not especially watchful. She nodded her head quickly but decidedly, and threw the roughly-gloved fingers of her left hand to her lips. That was all, and of course unobserved by Frank Vanderlyn, who may or may not have been aware that the man whom he had insulted was a member of the ascending party; but it was quite enough, beyond a doubt, to set the blood boiling in the veins of the Illinoisan with all the fury of the water surging up in flame and smoke in the Iceland Geysers.
Rowan and Townsend had places assigned them near the middle of the line, but as the cavalcade began to move, the human demon of unrest was missing from his place. He was to be seen at the end of the piazza at that moment, talking to Hartshorne, and no doubt making a few additional inquiries as to the character of the amiable animal he bestrode. The lawyer called out to him to "Come on!" but he answered with a wave of the hand and a shout: