CHAPTER XVII
Peanut Learns Where the Six Husbands’ Trail Got Its Name
It was, in truth, getting cold on the mountain, and the wind was freshening as the sun set. They moved wearily into the hut, and found three tiers of bunks inside, like a ship’s cabin, and a stove giving out pleasant heat, and the caretaker getting supper ready.
“No cooking to-night,” said the Scout Master. “You three climb up and lie down till supper is ready.”
Rob, Art and Peanut made no objection to this order, and soon, from their bunks, they were discussing the day’s adventures with the other three.
“We had a wonderful day!” said Lou and Frank. “We climbed every one of the north peaks except Madison—Clay, Jefferson and Adams—and we got almost to the hut here before the cloud came. Gee, what views! We kept looking down into the Gulf for you, but we never saw you. It was lots of fun climbing back up Adams in the cloud.”
“Well, we had some day ourselves, believe me Judge!” said Peanut. “We had a swim in Spaulding Lake, and a long hike in the woods down at the bottom of the Gulf, and then the Six Husbands’ Trail. Say, that’s a trail!”
“My pack weighed a hundred and twenty-nine pounds before we got to the top,” Art added.
“And then, when we saw the clouds above us, we hurried, too,” Rob said, “so we could reach the Gulf Side path before they closed down too far, and that took our wind.”
“And then Peanut let out a Comanche yell when we did strike the Gulf Side,” put in Art, “with all the wind he had left——”
“Which wasn’t much,” said Peanut.
“—— and out of the cloud, off southwest somewhere we suddenly heard a faint call for ‘Help!’ It sounded awfully strange, kind of weird-like, way up there in the clouds.”
“Wonder if they’ve got the woman down by now?” said Frank.
“Lucky that doctor and the other three men were hiking along here,” Lou put in, “or we’d have had to carry her to the railroad and then walk way back over the whole Gulf Side Trail again.”
“Not me,” said Peanut. “I’d have kissed the mountains good-night, and got aboard the train myself.”
“Where did you strike those four?” asked Rob.
“They were at the hut when we first got there at two o’clock, waiting for the cloud to break,” said Mr. Rogers. “They came up Adams with us to see you fellows signal, for they said the cloud wouldn’t last long. Good trampers, they were, on their annual vacation up here. They know every path like a book.”
The Scouts were discussing signaling and its uses, and Rob was saying that it made him tired to hear people say the Scouts were taught to be warlike, when signaling had proved so valuable that very day as a means of saving life in peace, instead of taking it in war—when steps were heard outside the hut, and a second later two men stood in the door.
“Hello, any room?” they said.
“Come in,” said the caretaker.
The two men entered. They were rather elderly men, or at least middle aged, with gray hair; but both of them were tanned and rugged, the type you learn to recognize as the real trampers on the White Mountain trails. They made themselves at home at once, tossing their small packs into a corner. They had no blankets, but both of them carried botanical specimen cases.
“Where from?” asked Mr. Rogers.
“Jackson,” they said. “We came up Tuckerman’s yesterday to the Tip Top House, and spent this morning getting specimens on Bigelow Lawn. We’ve just come over the Gulf Side.”
“Did you meet four men carrying an injured woman?” the boys asked.
“Carrying her where?”
“To the train.”
“They were taking her along the West Side Trail, from Monticello Lawn, where she sprained her ankle,” Mr. Rogers added. “One of them went ahead to the summit to telephone.”
“Oh, that explains it!” the two strangers said. “We met him just as we were turning out of the carriage road into the trail. He was going about ten miles an hour. And when we got up on Jefferson, we saw a train climbing the trestle, and wondered why.”
“Hooray, she’s safe!” shouted Peanut. “Bet she never tries to climb in low shoes again, though.”
Supper was now served, and the combined parties sat down to it. The boys told the newcomers of their day’s adventures, and Peanut suddenly shot out, “Say! Canyoutell me why it’s called the Six Husbands’ Trail?”
One of the men laughed. “I surely can,” he said.
“Well, for Heaven’s sake, do, then,” Rob said. “He’ll never be happy till he knows.”
“You came down the head wall of the Gulf, you say?” the man asked. “Well, did you notice the first waterfall you came to after you reached the bottom of the wall and started down toward the Gulf camp?”
“Gee, there was nothing but waterfalls,” said Peanut.
“Exactly, but there are some real falls on the trail, though, and some which are only rapids. Anyhow, the upper fall was named in the summer of 1908, by Warren W. Hart, a Boston lawyer who cut the trail up to the head wall. Weetamo Fall, he called it, in honor of Queen Weetamo, the sister-in-law of the famous Indian chief, King Philip. Maybe you boys know all about her?”
“Know about King Philip,” said Peanut, “but can’t say I’m intimate with his sister-in-law.”
“That’s a pity,” said the man, “because she was a fine woman. Her husband, King Philip’s older brother, Alexander (or Wamsutta) was also a chief. After he died, Weetamo married again, several times, each time seeking to bind the New England tribes into a stronger alliance. Some say she married three times, some say five or more. Mr. Hart, when he cut the new trail you boys came up this afternoon, decided to give the lady a liberal allowance, so he made it six. The Six Husbands’ Trail is named in honor of the husbands of Weetamo, the Indian chieftainess.”
“There, Peanut, now you know!” laughed Art.
“I like it, too,” Peanut declared. “I don’t see why more of these mountains and places aren’t named after Indians, or with Indian names, like Moosilauke and Pemigewassett and Ammonoosuc. Why should this mountain be called Madison, for instance?Hedidn’t discover it, or even ever see it, maybe.”
“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.