“Who did discover the White Mountains, by the way?” asked Rob. “I never thought of that before.”
The same man who had answered before again replied. He seemed to know all about these hills. “Mount Washington, which was named in the first years of Washington’s administration, when all sorts of things were being named for him, was the first mountain climbed in the United States,” he said. “Darby Field accomplished it in 1642, after a trip of exploration in from the coast, through the then trackless forest. The only account of the trip is in Governor John Winthrop’s journal, which you’ll find in your public library, or it ought to be there, if it isn’t. Field was accompanied by two Indians. It took them eighteen days to get here and back. At the foot of the ascent was an Indian village, but these Indians dared accompany him no nearer the top than eight miles, as they never climbed mountains. His own two Indians went on with him. From the fact that his ascent was, he says, for the last twelve miles over bare rocks, he evidently came up over the southern ridges somewhere, possibly the Giant’s Stairs and Boott Spur. The north peaks were not explored and named till 1820, less than a hundred years ago. Lafayette, over in Franconia, was not climbed till 1826.”
“But weren’t there any Indian names for these mountains?” Peanut persisted.
“They called the whole Presidential range, or perhaps the whole White Mountains by the name Agiocochook,” the man answered. “I’m afraid my knowledge ceases there. Our forefathers didn’t make any special effort to learn what the Indians did call things, or to respect their names any more than their lands. Certainly we’ve done badly in our naming. Clay, for instance, and Franklin, were never Presidents, yet their names are given to two peaks in the Presidential range; and Mount Pleasant isn’t even named after a statesman. I agree with our young friend here, and like better the names of the Sandwich range to the south, Chocorua, Passaconaway, Bald Face. Those are either Indian names, or are suggestive of the appearance of the mountain.”
“Right-o,” said Peanut.
It was now dark outside, and clear and cold. The Scouts went out into the windy starlight, and looked far down into the valley to the north, where the lights of a small town glittered, and filled their lungs with the bracing, fresh air. Then they one and all turned in, and though the two new arrivals were talking with the caretaker of the hut, it wasn’t five minutes before all six were fast asleep.
CHAPTER XVIII
Through King’s Ravine and Home Again
Art was not the first one up in the morning. When he opened his eyes, he saw the caretaker of the hut moving about the stove. Nobody else was astir in the Scouts’ party, but through the open door Art saw the two men who had arrived the previous evening standing on the rocks, looking off. It was full daylight!
Art climbed hastily down out of his bunk and shook Peanut.