"How strange it seems here," said Nancy Foster leaning forward toward Elizabeth, as they sat in the sunshine on the deck of the schooner; and as she spoke she glanced along the horizon.
Elizabeth before answering turned her head in the direction in which the land, had it been in sight, would have appeared; but no vision of shore broke the wide circuit of ocean and sky. Then her eyes came back to the little vessel as if to assure herself that she was not alone in this waste of water. Her father sat on the opposite side reading. With a word of reply to Nancy, she fell into silence again. Only, instead of the vague wonder how she should meet the future, her thoughts now turned to the past. It was nine mornings since that consultation with her father in the library, and they had been only one night at sea. It had taken a week to get off. From the first she had counted upon Mrs. Eveleigh's remonstrances and vehement reproaches of Mr. Royal's wrong-doing in taking his daughter into such danger. They were only a little more vehement than she had expected. But Mrs. Eveleigh did not know the errand; if she had, that would have made a difference, or, as Elizabeth reflected, she thought that this would have been treated as the strangest part of the affair. But she had kept her own counsel, saying only that her father and she thought it right. Mrs. Eveleigh had been so exasperated by being kept in the dark that she had retained her anger to the very last day. Then she had drowned her resentment in a flood of tears, and declared between her sobs that, frightful as it all was, for she dreaded the very sight of a gun, she would rather go with Elizabeth than have the dear girl set off without any companion. Elizabeth's reminder that her father and Nancy were to accompany her only called forth the assertion that a maid was no companion, and a man was nothing at such a time. Elizabeth thought that at the time of sieges and battles a man might be considered of some little consequence. But she never argued with Mrs. Eveleigh, and she had quitted her thankful for the good lady's affection, and glad that Mrs. Eveleigh was to be left behind on such an expedition.
"You'll never come back," Mrs. Eveleigh sobbed. "The French ships of war will be sure to gobble up you and your father, too. I know just how it will be. You are a crazy girl, and I don't know what is the matter with you," she hadadded irrelevantly; "and as to your father, you must have bewitched him; he used to have plenty of common sense."
The matter with Mr. Royal was, that he knew his daughter well enough to be sure that if Archdale was killed during the siege she would feel always that her silence might have given the opportunity for his death. And he knew that to bring upon Elizabeth the miseries of an uneasy conscience would be to kill her by slow torture. Besides, he himself believed in the danger, his own conscience was aroused, and that was not easily put to sleep. But if he had heard the verdict of Mrs. Eveleigh, who knew nothing of the matter, he would not have blamed her so much.
He had hired this little schooner in which they now were at a ruinous rate, and had not been able to do even that until he had pledged himself to pay all damages in case of loss. Governor Shirley had seized the opportunity to send dispatches several days earlier than he had intended. Mr. Royal went with a picked crew, men both honest and skilful. He knew the dangers of French vessels as well as Mrs. Eveleigh did, but his daughter's persistent assertion: "We shall be murderers," had overborne every objection.
Elizabeth sitting on deck that morning, was thinking of these things, and tracing in this danger which she was trying to avert, one of the consequences of her frolic on the river that summer evening. Then she remembered that but for that she would perhaps have been Edmonson's wife, and she said to herself that the Lord had been very merciful to her, and that she would try not to shrink from her duty.
"How fast we are going," said Nancy again. It was true that the little vessel before a fair wind was flying over the water at a rate that, if kept up, and in the same direction, would soon bring its passengers to their destination. Elizabeth was glad of speed, already it might be too late. And besides, the sooner her errand was done, the sooner she should return with a mind at rest. She began to reckon how long before she should be at home again. In a week, in less time if they were fortunate, they should reach Louisburg. She should not want more than five minutes' talk with Mr. Archdale. Then it would be home again immediately. Her father had hired the schooner for the very reason that it should not be detailed for any other service, but should bring them back at once. How strange it was, she thought, to spend fourteen days for only five minutes' conversation, and that, too, with one who was no especial friend except through his engagement to Katie. But for all the weariness she was thankful to do it, and grateful to her father. She hoped that she should not catch even a glimpse of Edmonson, and it seemed improbable that she would. After the siege was over he would probably go to England again. How she wished he were there now, and she quietly at home, where in that case she might have been now.
The next day there was a head wind, and the day following no wind at all. As time went on, it grew evident that it would be more than a week from their starting before they could drop anchor in Cabanus Bay. Dread lest they should be too late began to harass Elizabeth. But she showed no impatience. Her silence was what Nancy noticed most. But, then, Nancy liked talking, and didnot enjoy the books which her Mistress had brought with her and read most persistently, or sometimes tried to read, unsuccessfully. Even then they served as a protection against the maid's talk when she was in too anxious a mood to endure it.
On the morning of the seventeenth they caught sight of the "Little Gibraltar," but the wind was against them, and it was the afternoon of the next day before the Captain of the schooner could run into the Bay, and go ashore with his dispatches and Mistress Royal's message to the General.
Elizabeth looked about her with breathless interest, realizing that here she was to find war. It happened that on her arrival there was a lull in the cannonading. Both sides had paused to draw breath, but the lull was far from perfect silence, and to her inexperience this occasional thunder of bursting shells seemed sharp conflict. She said so to the Captain as they drew toward shore.
"Bless yer!" he answered with a laugh. "This ain' t no thin' at all, this is nothin' but child's play. Wait till yer see it hot and heavy. I s'pose we shall go back to-morrow, though. I'd like to have yer see some good stout work first."
"Ain't we in danger here?" inquired Nancy.
The skipper rolled his quid of tobacco in his cheek reflectively a moment. "Well, no," he said, "I guess nothin' to speak of. They're too busy answering the batteries; it's only the stray shot that comes our way. There's a thousand chances to one agin' its hitting us, and I guess we can stand the one." He looked at Nancy closely to guage the amount of her courage.
"I guess we can," she answered coolly. This reply seemed to please him. He had before considered Nancy "a nice lookin' girl;" and now, as he put down "grit" in his mental catalogue of her fascinations, he smiled to himself, and thought of a neat little home on the Salem shore where his mother now presided, and where it was not impossible that some day Nancy might be persuaded to reign. But the demands of the hour recalled him from this dream to his usual brisk attention to realities, and as soon as he had cast anchor, he left the ship in charge of the mate, and went in search of the General.
General Pepperell was in his tent, resting after a hard day's work. Not only had he been through the camp cheering the soldiers, by imparting to them something of his own indomitable resolution and by seeing personally that everything possible was done for the sufferers in the hospital, but he had also been for hours superintending the arrangements on the new battery that was to do such execution upon the granite walls of Louisburg. Now everything was in readiness and he had ordered two hours of rest before the firing from it should begin. Nearly an hour of that had gone by before he entered his tent for the rest he needed, when almost immediately the messenger reached him.
"Mr. Royal and his daughter here!" he cried. "And Mr. Royal requests to see Captain Archdale? I don't understand. But I shall hear why from them." He dispatched an orderly for Stephen who was still at the battery, and then went with the skipper to the little vessel that had brought the unexpected guests. Elizabeth never forgot the kindness of his greeting. In the midst of the strange scene and of preparations for work in which women had nopart, the friendliness of his face and tones, and his cordial grasp of her hand made her feel almost at home. She had been sure of courtesy, but she had not dared to look for this, and her eyes grew dim for an instant.
"I suppose that we shall return this evening," she said after the greetings and inquiries were over and Mr. Royal had explained that in a few minutes all that he had come for could be said to Mr. Archdale. Although after thinking the matter over carefully he had decided that it was Elizabeth, filled with the spirit of her warning, who should herself give her message to Archdale yet he spoke to Pepperell as if she had accompanied him. And when the General said that he had already sent for the young man, Mr. Royal told him that his daughter had that in her pocket for him which, if he knew, it would lend wings to his feet.
"A letter from our charming Mistress Katie," pronounced Pepperell, smiling at Elizabeth.
"Yes," she said, and after a little repeated her question of their returning that evening.
"Yes, I know," said the General. He waited a moment, and then added. "But if you come among soldiers, you will feel the exactions of war. There are those dispatches, you remember, not even read yet" and he touched the breast of his coat, "because I was in such haste to pay my respects to you. Now, I should like to send an answer to these, and I am afraid I shall not have it ready before to-morrow morning; the Commodore will probably write me to-night and I want to include whatever news he may have. Will to-morrow do?"
"Oh, yes, I shall be glad to help the cause, even so little as that," she answered. Pepperell thanked her for her words, and ignored the look of disappointment that he had seen flit across her face before she spoke.
"We have been putting up a fascine battery within two hundred and fifteen yards of the west gate," he said, "It will open fire in an hour, and then you will see a cannonade! We have two forty-two pounders there, it will be no child's play." Nothing had then hinted at the Titanic scale of modern war engines. Elizabeth's eyes dilated, but she said nothing. The General sat beside her, and asked how things were going on in Boston, asked about his friends, and many trifling details that neither dispatches nor letters would give him, and that she wondered that he had heart for in the scenes going on about him. Then he told them many particulars of the siege and especially of the terrible labor of dragging the heavy guns from the shore into position, interspersing all this narrative of the life-and-death struggles with amusing anecdotes and bright comments, until she was amazed, and in listening found that she had gained a better knowledge of him than in years of ordinary acquaintance. For she could not have realized by that how many-sided the man was, how full of resources, and how indomitable. She noticed how sympathetically he spoke of the brave fellows he was leading. When he said that the hardships of the campaign and the cold of a severer climate than they had been accustomed to had prostrated numbers of them. Elizabeth saw that it was not only soldiers that he felt he was losing when they died, but men from his own home and neighborhood and in whom he had apersonal interest. Then as he sat there, she begged him not to think of her if others needed him but to go.
"This time is at my own disposal," he answered, adding with a smile. "If the struggle had come, Mistress Royal, I should think of you, no doubt, but I should not give you a moment's attention. The pointing of the smallest cannon would at the moment be of more importance than all your affairs. A besieging army can have no cry of 'Place aux dames;' therefore I shall not invite you to stay after to-morrow. I shall even send you home. Or, lest I should hurt your feelings too much, I will put it this way; I shall send your father home, and he will take you with him."
Elizabeth laughed; and the conversation went on with its interest increasing, when all at once Pepperell rose, and held out his hand to her in farewell. "I may not see you again until we meet in Boston." he said, "but if I can, I will come for a moment in the morning."
She was surprised at his going away so soon after his assurance of being at leisure but as after speaking to her father he stepped over the side of the vessel, she perceived the reason for his sudden departure. His trained eye had caught what the distance had hidden from her, the figure of a man coming rapidly toward the shore.
When the General landed, the keel of the little boat he was in grated on the beach at Stephen Archdale's feet. With a salute to his commander, the latter sprang into it, and before Elizabeth had recovered her breath, was coming over the ship's side.
The General walked on without turning his head toward the schooner. Nevertheless, it is true that once he said to himself distinctly. "The Yankee in me does clamor to know what they want of that fellow."
1(return)Copyright, 1884, by Frances C. Sparhawk.
Never you mind the crowd, lad,Or fancy your life won't tell;The work is the work for a' thatTo him that doeth it well.Fancy the world a hill, lad;Look where the millions stop;You'll find the crowd at the base, lad;There's always room at the top.Courage and faith and patience,There's space in the old world, yet;The better the chance you stand, lad,The further along you get.Keep your eye on the goal, lad,Never despair or drop;Be sure that your path leads upward;There's always room at the top.
Never you mind the crowd, lad,Or fancy your life won't tell;The work is the work for a' thatTo him that doeth it well.Fancy the world a hill, lad;Look where the millions stop;You'll find the crowd at the base, lad;There's always room at the top.
Never you mind the crowd, lad,
Or fancy your life won't tell;
The work is the work for a' that
To him that doeth it well.
Fancy the world a hill, lad;
Look where the millions stop;
You'll find the crowd at the base, lad;
There's always room at the top.
Courage and faith and patience,There's space in the old world, yet;The better the chance you stand, lad,The further along you get.Keep your eye on the goal, lad,Never despair or drop;Be sure that your path leads upward;There's always room at the top.
Courage and faith and patience,
There's space in the old world, yet;
The better the chance you stand, lad,
The further along you get.
Keep your eye on the goal, lad,
Never despair or drop;
Be sure that your path leads upward;
There's always room at the top.
It is a divine up-reaching instinct in man that forces him to climb the hills of science, unlock the mysteries of ages, and wrest from the natural forces of earth and air, their well-guarded secrets. Is it the subtle workings of this desire for the mastery over mechanical agencies, this prying into Nature's secrets, that leads us out into the forest primeval and gives zest to mountain climbing?
Fortune is said to favor the brave. It certainly favored the writer of this article when an opportunity was offered for a two days' trip with the Appalachian Mountain Club up Mounts Kearsarge South and Cardigan in New Hampshire. A few words in regard to this club. Well known as it has come to be, the objects of its existence are scarcely understood by the majority, even, of Bostonians.
"Oh," said one, referring to this very trip. "They go off somewhere, climb a mountain, have a jolly time and then come home. It's about the same thing over and over."
Very true. But they do more. According to the by-laws, "the objects of the club are to explore the mountains of New England and adjacent regions, both for scientific and artistic purposes, and in general to cultivate an interest in geographical studies."
In addition they do much to open up new mountain resorts to the public and render the old ones more attractive. They construct new and accurate maps. They not only collect scattered scientific information of all kinds but study to make it available. All this they do by combining effort, comparing notes and interchanging ideas. They hold monthly meetings in Boston, publish a magazine, own quite a library, and have established a reputation second to no similar organization in the country. The club was established in 1876, and the membership to-day of over six hundred is ample proof of its popularity. That their researches are really valuable is demonstrated by the fact that Professor Hitchcock in his geological works quotes them frequently in support of his own theories.
On the seventeenth of June some twenty members of the Appalachian Mountain Club gathered at an early hour in the Lowell station at Boston. The party was unusually small for one of their popular excursions. The majority were young and strong and looked amply fitted for mountain climbing. Yet grave men were there whose silver hair told that they had already climbed life's rounded hill and saw its westering sun; but elderly people are never old, so long as they remain young in heart and spirits, and pleasant anticipation beamed from the faces of all as the train steamed away toward the north, and the two days' outing was fairly begun.
The morning was cloudy and a possible rain storm threatened the plans of the Appalachians. But the clerk of the weather-bureau evidently understood the necessity for favorable conditions and issued them accordingly. Before we hadreached Canaan, N.H., the clouds had broken away and the afternoon promised to be perfect. We had with us a Harvard professor, a topographical surveyor, an amateur photographer, a Concord philosopher and the champion walker of the club. Apropos of some of the feats of the latter a story was told of the man who walked forty miles in two hours. This was putting the Appalachians entirely in the shade, and the story called forth incredulous remarks. Investigation proved, however, that the Appalachian was not outdone, for the hero of the canard accomplished his feat only by taking a Champlain steamer at Burlington, Vt., and walking deck the entire distance to Rouse's Point!
After passing Concord we advanced through wilder regions where the swiftly changing views of clustering villages and quiet farm-houses alternated with wooded slopes and glimpses of pond or river forming a series of charming pictures. Nature was at her best and the picturesque hills of New Hampshire were beautiful in all their June finery.
At Penacook the granite monument on Dustin Island was pointed out. In 1697 Hannah Dustin, with her six weeks' old babe and its nurse, were captured by Indians at Haverhill and brought to the wigwam camp on this island. The babe was killed before her eyes but the mother planned an escape. Awaking the nurse and a white lad who had been taken prisoner also, she took the Indians' own tomahawks and dispatched the men and one woman. The brave white women then spiked all the cannon save one and taking the scalps of their victims with them, they embarked on the Merrimack, then high with the spring floods, and soon reached Haverhill. Afterwards she was called to Boston, publicly thanked by the General Court and received a grant of fifty pounds. Fifty years later the Indians attacked and massacred the settlers in this valley. Today their descendants, the "Kanucks," cross the country daily in the modern express trains and find employment in our manufacturing cities.
As we go northward Kearsarge may be seen from the back of the train, now sinking behind the green hills, now rising abruptly from the horizon and looming grandly above the surrounding country. Cardigan does not come into view until we have nearly reached Canaan, whose fair and happy land was our destination. On alighting from the train, amid the crowd of assembled villagers, a three seated carriage and two immense Shaker wagons awaited us. The ride of six miles was a welcome change from the preceding railway travel. Coming from a city where the mercury had reached 96 deg. in the shade but the day before, the fresh invigorating mountain air was like a breath from the open doors of Paradise. The stout horses scrambled up the steep hills altogether unmindful of the wagon-loads of people behind. Perhaps the light hearts and buoyant spirits of the party lessened their avoirdupois and the tonnage was actually less than it seemed!
Billowy mountains, charming valleys, winding streams and picturesque bypaths varied our course over the rural highways. The blackberry bushes were white with bloom and the gardens of the farm-houses gay with peonies and flower-de-luce. After passing a small mica quarry, we came suddenly upon a bend of the road where was revealed a grand sweep of the hazy Green Mountains,and a bewildering view of the New Hampshire hill-country. Shortly afterward we passed the little box-like white building, which serves as both church and town house, where the sixty votes of Dorchester are counted. This building constitutes the entire town of Dorchester. Surely, in view of the stony soil, the inhabitants of the place may be said to show great wisdom by not living there!
By three o'clock we found ourselves at the Mountain House, twelve hundred feet below the summit of Mount Cardigan. This house is nothing more or less than a barn, in one end of which an attempt has been made to make a comfortable shelter for the human family. Here the real work of the day began, although we had already come one hundred and four miles by train and six by teams. No enterprising railroad man has set his seal upon this region and we were forced to pursue the journey by means of the conveyances which nature long ago—(how long, thank fortune, we are not obliged to tell)—at our disposal. But faint heart ne'er climbed a high mountain and with the aid of stout walking-sticks we easily climbed the path which led up under sighing spruces and stunted birch, filled with a fine exhilaration.
On each side and under foot was a profusion of wild flowers. Not June flowers, but those found with us in May, so backward was the season at that altitude. The red and white trillium, the sarsaparilla, Solomon's seal, "moose-missy" and black-berry bushes, and, farther up, the blue-berry bushes, all hung full of blossoms, a small Alpine flower of seven white petals excited much curious comment, for in spite of its resemblance to the wind-flower, no one seemed able to classify it.
Suddenly some six hundred feet below the summit of Cardigan we came out from the stunted under-growth and found ourselves traversing the smooth granite mass which constitutes the entire mountain top. The rock is full of minute particles of mica, which glitter and flash in the sun like "gems of purest ray serene." A brisk wind was blowing and the rarefied air infused us with new strength to make the remaining ascent.
Some distance from each other, half way up the rounded cone, lie several huge boulders poised in the bed of what was once a glacial drift. They are of entirely different character from the rock on Cardigan and without doubt came from much farther north. Whence, and when? The course of the drift is also very plainly marked from northeast to southwest. From the character of the rock there is reason to believe that when God said, "Let the dry land appear," Mount Cardigan was the first to show his head and came from the very bowels of the earth. Hitchcock's "Geology of New Hampshire" states that these White Mountains appeared above the face of the waters as islands at a very early period of the world's history. "It would not be surprising," he says, "if this archipelago covered as much area as New Hampshire and Vermont combined." If these hoary old mountains could tell us their history since creation, how short-lived and insignificant our own little lives would appear!
Professor Hitchcock has also traced the course of glacial drift among the mountains in a most interesting manner. Glacial action, and marks of scarification are numerous on the north and west sides of them while they are entirelywanting on the southeastern slopes. In some instances the general course of the drift from the northwest was changed by the position of the mountains. For instance, Ragged Mountain and Kearsarge, South, rise abruptly from comparatively level regions and from their proximity to each other gave rise to a different motion of the ice, the marks of which still show its course.
The view from this, the oldest of the mountains is scarcely surpassed by any in the state. To the north, Moosilauke, Chocorua, Lafayette, Mount Washington and the main peaks of the principal White Mountain group lie sharply outlined. The Ossipee Mountain toward the east, the Uncanoonacs in the distance, Ragged and Sunapee and Kearsarge, near neighbors, claimed attention. In the far western horizon Ascutney, Camel's Hump, Mount Mansfield, and Jay Peak showed hazy and indistinct. Below us the broken ranges of green hills surged like immense billows of some Titanic sea. The fresh verdure of every field and tree made up a landscape seldom equalled in tone of color, and one which amply repaid the climber. But while some were content with looking, other true Appalachians remembered the objects of the club. While one took photographs of the surrounding scenery, far and near, another made profile sketches of the distant peaks; while one attempted a bit of topographical work, another took measurements by means of a powerful telescope; and the results of all were put on record for future reference.
A member of the A.M.C. just returned from Florida had been carrying about some strange looking fruit all day, resembling partly an orange but more nearly a small yellow winter squash. Now, he made himself popular by dispensing great pieces of grape-fruit among the thirsty crowd. It is a necessity of perverse humanity to be thirsty wherever there is no water; and but for the Florida fruit and the canteens which had been filled at the spring on the mountain side, we should have suffered.
Mount Cardigan is but 3,156 feet above the sea-level; but as it stands alone the view on all sides is unobstructed and clear. It did not take us an hour to decide that three thousand feet above the sea, under favorable conditions is quite a sightly place. And we took the homeward path, feeling that the view was worth a dozen times its cost. Forty minutes afterward we arrived at the bottom in the condition of the weak-kneed and trembling saints whom the hymn-book denounces.
An hour of rattling down the hills brought us to Canaan depot again where our special train awaited us. After a refreshing draught of milk at the Cardigan House, from the piazzas of which a fine view of the mountain may be had, we were rapidly whirled away toward Patler Place in Andover.
This village was named for the once famous sleight of hand performer Patler. His house is a cozy, pretty affair, freshly painted and nestled under great embowering trees. Close by is his grave.
Here, too, barges were in waiting to take us to the Winslow House, four miles distant on Mount Kearsarge. Before we had left the train the soft rays of the setting sun had changed the hill-sides to amethyst and deepened the purple gloom of the valleys. Now, as we rode in merry groups of six or eight, over thecountry by-ways, the new moon slowly touched every tree and shrub with her magical wand until the land with its long, weird shadows and silver radiance seemed to belong to another world than that of day-light.
It was nine o'clock when the Winslow House suddenly revealed itself. An open wood fire burned brightly in the brick fireplace, and in that altitude was a comfort indeed. The ample walls seemed to fairly glow with welcome as we entered. Some of us acknowledged that we were tired; others confessed to sleepiness; but one and all openly declared their hunger. We had only to look at each other to madly accept the theory that mankind was created of dust; but we were not long in disposing of a large amount of surplus material. And then the supper bell,—welcome sound! In view of a cherished reputation for veracity, it would not be wise to state the exact amount of sirloin steak and broiled salmon that disappeared from mortal vision that night at ten o'clock, or to tell how the strawberries and boiled lobster were stored safely away by the A.M.C. We are sworn to secrecy, and although the supper hour was not passed over in silence then—far from it! it must be now.
No one need suppose that after the experiences of the day the representative A.M.C's. were fatigued sufficiently to make them willing to retire at half-past ten. Besides, nightmare has its horrors, and there was that supper!
It is popularly supposed throughout the country, that Bostonians make an annual pilgrimage on the seventeenth of June to Bunker Hill, and devoutly ascend the monument on their hands and knees. Although circumstances had prevented the A.M.C. party from discharging their debt of gratitude to their ancestors in the prescribed method, they could not forget that it was Bunker Hill Day. One of our gallant and patriotic brethren had been carrying a mysterious bundle about and guarding it with jealous care all day. Now, he produced and displayed—sky-rockets! They went off, soon after, with great success, surprising alike the stately mountain behind us and the little country girl who had come up from the valley below, to see the "Boston folks."
The powerful telescopes were also set up and observations of the heavens occupied the astronomically inclined for an hour or two. Thus the moons of Jupiter were made to contribute to the evening's entertainment. The piano, too, was not the instrument of torture usually found masquerading in hotel-parlors, and we finally gravitated towards it and made night hideous with our music and college songs until, to pharaphrase the poet, in to-day already walked to-morrow and it was twelve o'clock,
"My friends," spoke up one of the gentlemen, "I am very sorry to say that we shall not be able to ascend Mount Kearsarge to-morrow."
"Why?" exclaimed a dozen anxious voices.
"Because," was the impressive answer, "it is to-day!"
In the laugh which followed the party said good night and retired.
The Winslow House was named for Admiral Winslow, of the war-ship Keasarge, who was present at the opening of the hotel, and gave the owner a stand of colors. On the parlor table lay a Bible presented by him, as stated by a gilt inscription on the cover. When the gallant commander died, a boulder was takenfrom the side of Mount Kearsarge for his monument, but the controversy in regard to which of the two Kearsarges the ship had been named for arose about that time and the family of the officer finally decided not to use the boulder. It has been pretty well settled, at last, that the mountain in Merrimack County, designated by Superintendent Patterson as Kearsarge South, is the one which gave the famous ship its name. Under the shadow of it, too, was laid the body of the soldier of the Sixth Massachusetts Regiment who fell at Baltimore, exclaiming with his dying breath: "All hail to the Stars and Stripes;" although afterward he was removed to lie near the soldiers' monument at Lowell. The ancient spelling of this monument was Carasage, and later, Kyar Sarga; but as early as 1804 the laws of New Hampshire give it as Kearsage. The local spelling of Kearsarge North, until a comparatively recent period, was Kiarsarge. It is still called Pequaket.
Early the next morning, two bold Appalachians rose early and took a run up the mountain, getting back to breakfast and making the descent of nearly 1,200 feet in eighteen minutes! The climb was represented as more difficult than that of the day before. We did not find it so, however, as we proceeded with the reinforcements furnished by a hearty breakfast; the clear bracing air of the morning was delightful. The song-sparrows, perched at a safe distance, poured forth floods of melody, the Peabody bird added his high weird note, while other wild birds occasionally chimed in. The path led up through forests of black spruce whose sighing branches whispered softly over our heads. Every one was in excellent humor and had a capital story or a bit of geological scientific or botanical wisdom. The wild-flowers were scarcer than on Cardigan but there was greater variety of ferns. Half way up, a tiny spring welled up in the pathway. Our grave philosopher, as well-versed in mystical wood-craft as metaphysics, cut a strip of birch-bark from one of the over-hanging trees and deftly fashioned an Indian drinking-cup. Working from the idea of a birch-bark canoe somebody offered the cup-full, as a "schooner of water." On being asked to explain her nautical terms, the joker protested ignorance and entirely disowned her far-fetched joke.
As we advanced, here and there, under the white birches or between the dense growth of spruce, broad glimpses were visible of the townships below. Suddenly, vegetation ceased and we were again on the bare rock with several hundred feet between us and the rude structure called, by courtesy, the Summit House. Beside the latter, we already descried our companions, not lost but gone before; and we find ourselves in the awkward predicament of the man with three hands—a right, a left and a little behind-hand.
The top of Kearsarge is composed of andalusite schist. The marks of glacial action are even more distinct than on Cardigan, while the stratification is very curious. When we reached the top, the first-comers were already busy with surveys, profile sketches and photographs. As we looked at Cardigan looming up grandly in the northwest, we were proud of our work of the day before. The view from the two mountains, only twenty miles apart, is of course much the same. Kearsarge is in exact line with Wauchusct, the Pack Monadnocks and Moosilauke. These, except the first, could be plainly seen. Mount Washington, seventy milesdistant, Lafayette, Chocorua, Tridyranid, the Twin Mountains, and Franconia Notch formed a sharp, clear picture against the northern sky, and were flanked by scores of smaller mountains. The green rolling country, flecked by numerous ponds and rivers, stretched away for miles at our feet, to a line of blue, hazy mountains. The Black-water hills, Sunapee and dozens of other well-known mountains seemed from our standpoint hardly more than good-sized haystacks. So, perhaps, will our greatest earthly achievements look, when viewed from the heights of eternity.
By noon a blue haze had crept over the horizon and was spreading over the whole landscape. But we had scored a victory over it by coming early.
"To have the great poetic heart,Is more than all the climber's art."
"To have the great poetic heart,Is more than all the climber's art."
"To have the great poetic heart,
Is more than all the climber's art."
In some sense, we each felt the meaning of the lines, as we turned from Kearsarge top and made the gradual descent. There is a precipitous bridle-path which shortens the distance in proportion as it increases fatigue. The majority of us were unwilling to tempt fate by adopting it, and took the easier way. As we stopped occasionally in a shady nook to rest, we severally confessed that scraps of Lowell's matchless poem had been floating nebulously in the brain ever since the clouds had disappeared the day before. Two such days as we had been blessed with are rare, even in June. Up there in the forest primeval, in the happy shining weather, we were constantly proving that there was
"Not a leaf or a blade too meanTo be some happy creature's palace."
"Not a leaf or a blade too meanTo be some happy creature's palace."
"Not a leaf or a blade too mean
To be some happy creature's palace."
If we waxed sentimental, something must be forgiven the lavish summer.
At the hotel, the bountiful dinner was garnished with the best of all sauces. Then, reluctantly indeed after our two days' tramping, we started for Boston, arriving there a little past seven the same evening. We had had unprecedented weather, and a well-planned and perfectly executed trip. Never was there a pleasanter excursion or a more successful outing. If the path up the hill of life were no more difficult than that up Cardigan! If all earthly troubles could be as easily surmounted as Kearsarge! Possibly they might be if we went forth to meet them with the same stout heart and determined spirit.
"Daily with souls that cringe and plot,We Sinais climb and know it not."
"Daily with souls that cringe and plot,We Sinais climb and know it not."
"Daily with souls that cringe and plot,
We Sinais climb and know it not."
Should a motto ever be needed for some prospective medal commemorative of the "Old Sixth Reg." none would seem to be more appropriate than a quotation from Virgil,—"Primus tentare viam." Though but little honor attaches to being first, where all were equally ready to be foremost, still, the "chances of war" gave some little advantage to this fortunate military body. Its ready re-response to the call "To Arms," served to awaken a similar enthusiasm in all the other military organizations of the Commonwealth. The admirable state of discipline to which the regiment had been brought by its accomplished and efficient commander, Col. Edward F. Jones, and his subordinate officers, was fully competent to secure the respect and confidence of the multitudes of patriotic citizens with whom it came in contact after leaving Massachusetts; and it is only doing justice to the soldiers of this regiment to say, that amid all the excitement of the commencement of a campaign, and all the flattering attentions and entertainments which they received from every quarter, and on all occasions, they maintained the solid, steady deportment of soldiers well trained, of citizens accustomed to good society, and of patriots ready and willing to do whatever these qualities imply and require.
It can hardly be said that "the order to march" came unlooked for, though it most certainly was sudden. The tender of the services of the regiment had long since been in the hands of Gov. Andrew; meetings of the field and staff officers had been held; there was a free and thorough interchange of opinions and sentiments among the line officers; and not a single soldier could be found who had not fully digested all the particulars of a possible future.
The ready response of our citizen-soldiers to the call of the governor furnishes an apt illustration of the peculiar character of our people. Under a government that requires the constant maintenance of a strong military force, "General Orders" would have been issued to the various camps and garrisons scattered throughout the country. When danger threatened us it became manifest at once, that every peaceful village was a garrison, and every city a fortified camp. It was often a subject of merriment while we, like Christopher North were "under canvas," to relate the particular circumstances of time, place, and occupation at the moment when each of us found himself suddenly transformed into a soldier. Each had his story to tell of his numerous "hair's breadth escapes," as through mud, snow and darkness he made his way to the appointed rendezvous, on the morning of April 16th.
In Lowell the regiment paraded in Huntington Hall, and there received a cordial welcome from the people of that city. Taking the cars we arrived in Boston about noon, and were assigned quarters in one of the armories in Faneuil Hall. With a view to better accomodations, the regiment in the afternoonmarched to Boylston Hall, and there prepared for as comfortable a bivouac as circumstances permitted.
Up to this time the weather had been as gloomy as war and dripping clouds could make it. Having (figuratively) pitched our tents in Boylston Hall, the discipline of camp-life was at once established, and communication with the world outside, was largely cut off. This however did not interfere with the free admission of many tokens of regard from friends outside, in the form of refreshments of various kinds.
Two memorable incidents of the evening will long be remembered. The pretty and graceful daughter of Col. Jones was adopted, with all the honors, as "Daughter of the Regiment"; and secondly the comfortable and becoming overcoats prepared with wise forethought for the regiment were issued. The motley outer-garments, in which, up to this moment, we had found shelter from the storm, were at once discarded. In our new garments we not only found great comfort;—we also felt that the inner as well as the outer man could boast a resemblance to "regular" troops.
On the morning of the 17th we were marched to the State House, then and there to receive the salutations of the Governor, and also to receive, what at the moment struck some of us as a pretty forcible reminder that we were now occupying positions that were entirely new to us.
Drawn up in military array in Doric Hall we were each of us "donated" two blue flannel shirts and some corresponding under garments. This gratuitous equipment impliedservice. To those of us who within a twelvemonth had figured in the hall over our heads, as representatives of the sovereign people, it indicated a very marked change of circumstances.
Among other tokens of the confidence reposed in our patriotism and prowess, a heavy cavalry revolver was bestowed upon each of the field and staff officers. As these could not be conveniently carried, on the return march, by those who had been made the happy recipients of these bulky favors, they were bundled together and consigned for safe-keeping to the Chaplain, to be borne on the line of march back to Boylston Hall. Why that functionary should have been chosen to carry a whole armory of weapons, in the sight of the admiring crowds that lined the streets of Boston remains a question. Opinions are equally divided as to whether,as chaplainhe would be most likely to prevent a hasty and rash use of fire-arms; or whether, he wasde factoa "common carrier," on the ground that ministers were made and designed for "bearing burdens."
Early in the afternoon, the regiments entered the cars of the Worcester Railroad, and the march to Washington was fairly begun. So long as daylight permitted, tokens of the uprising of the people of the commonwealth were everywhere visible; and when darkness had settled down around us, we caught glimpses of excited multitudes as the cars dashed on without stopping, by the brilliantly illuminated depots and settlements along the route. Our reception at Springfield was of a truly jubilant character. Refreshments in great profusion, and of the most appetizing kind were furnished and received a most cordial welcome within our hungry ranks. The streets were illuminated, and cannonthundered in every direction. Our stay was a short one; and we rattled on and on until the morning revealed the fact that we were in Connecticut and not far from New York.
It will require a more gifted pen than the one that traces these lines to picture the march of the "Old Sixth" through the city of New York. Never before had sodeepbecause sopeculiaran enthusiasm pervaded the people of that vast metropolis. Patriotism, under its normal and customary forms, had, on many previous occasions, been wrought up to an intense height; but now it was not to celebrate their national independence, but to secure their national existence, or rather, to settle the question whether the American people were, or were not a Nation.
At the St. Nicholas and other places, the wants of the regiment were sumptuously provided for. At the Astor House, the field and staff officers were entertained in a manner that left nothing to be desired.
Once more on the march, the regiment passed through the crowded streets, everywhere receiving welcome plaudits until they reached the ferry that conducted them to Hoboken, and the places en route to Baltimore and Washington. As we passed into the ferry boats to cross the river, a voice was heard above the tumult of the place and hour, "Good luck to you, boys, but some of you will never return by this route;" a prediction speedily fulfilled. Within about twenty-four hours, three of our number had been transferred to a higher department.
The passage through Delaware to Philadelphia was not marked by any incidents worthy of notice. Their long and weary pilgrimage had begun to change a brisk, wide-awake regiment into a common-place body of weary pilgrims, glad to find a shelter, without much questioning as to what it might be. Quarters were assigned us in the Gerard House which happened at that time to be unoccupied. For a brief period quiet ruled the hour, and the weary soldier had begun his dreams of home and happiness long before he was ready to stretch his limbs upon the mattresses that covered the floors of the spacious hotel.
Suddenly the "Long-roll" was heard echoing along the streets and through the halls of the Gerard House. The accoutrements and garments that had been doffed in readiness for sleep were hastely resumed; and at the word "Fall in," every man was in his place.
The "weight of affliction" in this crisis fell upon the field and staff officers. They had but just assembled in the drawing-room of the Continental Hotel, and gone through with those preliminary forms that are quite as indicative of a good appetite as of good manners, and were quiet taking their places at the table, amid the sumptuous surroundings of a dining hall at that time scarcely equalled on the continent, when Col. Jones entered the apartment, with the abrupt salutation, "Gentlemen, to your posts; we start for Baltimore immediately, the regiment awaits the order to march." "Væ mihi!" the writer of this paper felt thathemight, under the circumstances of the moment, appropriate a few minutes of time's rapid flight to contemplate in sorrow and silence the scene of disappointment and woe. The little he still retained of classic lore brought back images of the Harpies, as he had read of them in Virgil. And even Sancho Panzathrust in his bullet head, with an asinine smile, as the writer recalled poor Sancho's distress at not sharing the feast so tantalizingly spread before him.
But, "hurry up" became the word when the drums and fifes gave notice that the regiment was on the move, and that somebody would "get left" if they did not practise the "Pas redouble."