The morning dawned cold, with a north wind, and the Scouts woke up shivering. As they were in the woods on the west slope of a mountain, it would be some time before they could see the sun, but so far as they could get a glimpse through the trees to the west and north, the day promised well for the ascent of Washington.
“Looks clear,” said Art. “I wonder if old Washington has got a cloud cap on?”
“We’ll know before very long,” said the Scout Master. “Even if it has, I don’t think we’ve got much kick coming. Here we’ve been out in the open since the night before the Fourth, and not a bad day yet.”
“Right-o!” said Peanut. “Weather man must have known we were up here.”
The party ate a good breakfast, chiefly of fresh eggs, which Lou ran down to the Crawford House and bought while the fire was being made. Then the packs were carefully packed, the blanket rolls firmly strapped, compasses examined and stowed in the pockets, and the party was ready for the ascent. They moved rather slowly into the path, and turned upward, for the loads were heavy. They were carrying enough provisions for four days, the evaporated vegetables and powdered milk and eggs having been largely saved for this final trip over the bare Presidentials, where they would be far from any sources of fresh supply, and their weight increased by flour, a little butter, some coffee, bacon, potted ham and sweet chocolate purchased the day before in Franconia.
“I feel like a packhorse,” said Peanut.
“Don’t you mean a donkey?” Art laughed.
“Speaking of horses,” said Mr. Rogers, as they plodded up the trail through the woods, “this Crawford Bridle Path was made originally for horses, little burros I suppose they were, and folks even when I was a boy used to go up on their backs. I suppose the cog railroad put that form of transportation gradually out of business. Now nobody goes up this way except on Shanks’ mare.”
“When was this path made?” asked Frank.
“It was the first path cut on the Presidential range,” Mr. Rogers replied. “Abel Crawford opened it in 1819, as far as the summit of Clinton—three miles from the Crawford House. It’s another five and a half or six to the top of Washington, however, and it wasn’t till about 1840, I believe, that one of Abel’s sons converted it into a bridle path and carried it on to Washington. You see, by that time, people had begun to visit the mountains for their vacations in large numbers.”