It was an ambitious trip for a solitary traveler, but as he was known by his Alpinist friends as “The Guideless Wonder,” some indication may be divined of his resourcefulness.
The journey across the Atlantic was interesting. A school of whales played about the ship, coming so close as to create the fear that they would overturn it. The Captain, a shrewd Irishman, was not to be daunted, so he ordered a number of huge barrels or casks thrown overboard, which immediately diverted the attention of the saurians, with the result that a smart breeze coming up, they were left far astern.
A boat, said to be a pirate, was sighted against the horizon, but fortunately made no attempt to come close, heading away towards the Summer Islands, where, say the older generation of mountain folks, arise all the warm south breezes that often temper wintry or early spring days in the Pennsylvania Highlands, with blue sky and fleecy clouds.
The Viscount Adare was pleased with these trifling adventures, and more so with ocean travel, as it was his first long sea voyage, though he had crossed the Channel and the Irish Sea scores of times.
He debarked in Philadelphia after a voyage lasting nearly six weeks, consequently the green foliage of England was replaced by the vivid tints of Autumn on the trees which grew in front of the rows of brick houses near the Front Street Landing Wharf. He had letters to the British Consul, who was anxious to arrange a week or two of social activity for the distinguished traveler, but The Viscount assured him that he must be on his way.
The ride in public coaches to Lancaster and Harrisburg was accomplished without incident. His fellow travelers were anxious to point out the various places of interest, the fine corn crops, livestock and farm buildings, but the Englishman was so anxious to get to the wilds that this interlude only filled him with impatience.
BARK-PEELERS AT WORK. BLACK FOREST
He was impressed not a little by the battlefields of Paoli and Brandywine, but most of all by the grove where the harmless Conestoga Indians were encamped when surprised and massacred by the brutal Paxtang Boys. The word “Indians” thrilled him, and whetted his curiosity, which was somewhat appeased on his arrival at Harrisburg by the sight of five Indians in full regalia, lying on the grass under John Harris’ Mulberry Tree, waiting to be ferried across the river.
He tarried only one night at Harrisburg, then hiring a private conveyance, started down the Cumberland Valley, where he most admired the many groves of tall hardwoods–resting at Carlisle and Shippensburg–as originally planned. At Carlisle, he was waited on at his inn by a German woman, who explained to him that she was none other than “Molly Pitcher,” or Molly Ludwig, the intrepid heroine of the Battle of Monmouth.