New Hampshire Statesman

MOUNTAIN CORRESPONDENCE OF THE STATESMAN.
North-Conway to the Glen House—Bartlett—Jackson—Excellence of Jackson as an agricultural Town—Growing Crops—"Jackson City"—Ellis River—The Pinkham Road, formerly but a path from Jackson to Randolph—A great Wilderness—Its density and primitive character—Monarch Trees within it—A bewildered Trapper dies in its unexplored recesses, after wandering off to the Giant's Stairs—Glen Ellis Cataract—The Glen House, and its commanding position—The Washington Carriage Road.

GLEN HOUSE,
(Green's Grant), July 8, 1861.

I am indebted to a friend in Conway for a day of sight-seeing enjoyed under circumstances of much greater facility than has been usual with me when in this hill country. My friend knew the lay of the land, and was thoroughly acquainted with men and things on the route, from the place of his abode onward to Gorham. He took from his stable a strong and sufficiently fleet horse, and at 6 A. M. in an easy open wagon, with a clear sky above us and the day before us, we set out for "The Glen."

I had on several occasions passed up to the White Mountain Notch, and twice through that pass to towns beyond. But all beyond Bartlett, on the route to the Androscoggin valley, at Gorham, was to me, until to-day, undiscovered country.

The Saco valley, in the towns of Conway and Bartlett, is often spoken of for its quiet, pastoral beauty. It is the admiration of all who are susceptible to impressions awakened by the beautiful, and is written of in the newspapers and represented upon canvas, suspended in the galleries of opulent people in this and other lands. I had a new and more perfect view to-day than on any previous occasion. Reaching an eminence in Bartlett, about 5 miles from the village church in North Conway, the entire oblong valley was before us, stretching off in perfect, beautiful and distinct perspective, a lovely sight—far to the South. There is no rival valley, as a stand-point whence to look upon the mountains, unless it be upon the Androscoggin meadows, in the delightful towns of Gilead and Bethel, Me.

Bartlett derives its name from a former Governor of the State. Together with the adjacent town on the north—Jackson—it has raised a great company of democrats, to go forth and bless a necessitous world. The corporate name of Jackson was Adams up to a period immediately succeeding the Presidential election of 1828, when the Legislature changed it for that of the successful candidate in that memorable conflict.

The available land of Bartlett is nearly all upon the Saco intervale, which lessens in width as the traveller proceeds toward the White Hill Notch. Jackson, however, is fertile to positions far up the sides of those swells which diverge from the Ellis river. Indeed, it is one of the best grazing towns in New-Hampshire; and if there be people in our section of the State who suppose no other crops than working and voting democrats are raised here, let them come and see. Grass, corn, potatoes, and other field products were passed to-day, as well cared for and as luxuriant as can be found in model farming towns of New-Hampshire. Excellent farms are nestled down in quiet nooks, or seen in positions so exalted that the careless observer would suppose them inaccessible to the foot of man.

Soon after passing "Jackson City"—a village of a few dwellings, a church, school-house, post-office, tavern and stores—the traveller going Glen-ward dives into the valley down which the main branch of Ellis river flows, and thenceforward is constantly but almost imperceptibly upon the rise. The river, most of the way, is a bawling stream, and like all others in mountainous countries, in the immediate neighborhood of their rise, contains a bed two or three times wider than the stream when at the usual height. Ellis river, also, like kindred waters, flows over immense numbers of boulders and immovable stones. After leaving Jackson City the habitations of men become less and less frequent, until the Pinkham Road and the primitive forests are reached, when they cease altogether. The course is afterwards through dense, and, under some circumstances, dismal woods There is impressiveness in these mountain road and undisturbed forests, which is dispelled so soon as the dwellings of men are again reached. I do not recollect the exact distance from the commencement of the Pinkham Road, at the northerly line of the town of Jackson, but it is not less than eight or ten miles long. It is entirely an inhospitable waste. In these wilds the woodman's axe is rarely heard, and successive generations of monarch trees fall with age, and crumble upon the earth whence they sprung, became strong, flourished, decayed, and fell. Other ancient forests, now made accessible by the completion of railroads, have become sources of wealth; but the wide spread wilderness which stretches off west and north of Jackson—a distance of many miles—will probably long remain unexplored except by huntsmen and trappers.

And it comes in place here to mention that it was in these dismal wastes that James Fernald, of Jackson, perished last November. He was a single man, with the tastes and propensities of a huntsman, and accustomed to keep traps set in the woods and on the streams. He left his home, on one of the green slopes in the northerly part of the town, on the morning of a Friday, and was not seen until the following Friday. Not returning on the day of his departure, no particular concern was entertained, because it was supposed he had gone, for the night, to the dwelling of a brother. But, on enquiring there, he was not found, and immediately search was instituted, and not given over until the great and howling waste here spoken of was traversed by a multitude of the people of Jackson.

My companion pointed out the place of departure, and, as near as possible, that where the unfortunate man fell to rise no more. The weather was not unpropitious when he left home, but lowering clouds and falling snow succeeded. Fernald was traced to one or more of his traps, and bait that he was known to have carried, was laid in crotches of trees, for use another time; but he became bewildered, and, as others before him have done, went in an opposite direction from that he intended to pursue. I should have said, above, that the snow did not fall until perhaps several days after he left home, and melted where it fell, except in the vicinity of that range of the White Mountains where the body was discovered. Reaching this vicinity, the explorers came to tracks in the snow, and at last to footprints scarcely farther apart than the length of a shoe, when the weary wanderer was soon found, in condition that can readily be imagined. The bewildered and dying sufferer had struggled on until he came near the "Giant's Stairs," an eminence near which the old Abel Crawford bridle-path was laid. His body was not far from that route. To carry it through the almost trackless waste to Jackson was a wearisome and very difficult undertaking.

The Pinkham Road has been known by that name for more than fifty years. It was once merely a foot-path, extending from Jackson to Randolph, and was a rough wagon road before it became a route for summer travellers. No inhabitants dwelling upon it, it has, of necessity, been a highway that has been sustained in part by Legislative appropriations. About ten years ago the Atlantic and St. Lawrence R. R. built or aided in constructing a road from their station in Gorham to the plateau upon which the Glen House stands. It lies up the course of the Peabody river—an uproarious stream, twin brother of Ellis river—and in the eight or nine miles of its course the road makes an ascent from Gorham of one hundred feet to the mile. But the traveller, although aware that he is all the while upon an up grade if going from Gorham to the Glen, is not conscious of the altitude he gains—it is so constant and gradual a rise.

There is so much of which to write that I must pass by, for the present, and bring into a subsequent letter, something of that wild and exceedingly picturesque object—the Glen Ellis cataract—which should be omitted from the bill of no mountain traveller. It is worth a long ride to see. For the present I must direct my pen to another topic.

We were driving along, about half past 10, A. M., having visited the Glen Ellis Cataract, when a clearing ahead lighted up the shade under which we had proceeded, and my travelling companion checked his horse, put on his coat, and said, "We are coming to the Glen House." And, passing over a few rods, we reached the great plateau and rode along the cultivated fields amidst which the celebrated Glen House stands. The change from woods to green fields was sudden and agreeable, and immediately we were again among domestic objects, and in the presence of that great range of the mountains, of which Washington is the monarch.

Most, if not all these mountain houses are amidst scenes which cannot well be omitted from a traveller's list. Each commands its objects of great interest, which are peculiar to the vicinage of that house. The Glen has its great advantage in this—that it stands face to face with a wide and sublime landscape, and is the departing point of the carriage road to the summit of Mount Washington.

The house is large, and its affairs are conducted by its owner, and occupant from the first, Mr. J. M. Thompson. Every facility is here afforded for the ascent of the mountains, and no exertions omitted in order to secure the comfort of sojourners in the house. Carriages proceed from the Glen to Gorham, and from Gorham to the Glen, to meet the trains, and carriages, horses and guides are in readiness, either to ascend the mountains, or for excursions elsewhere.

The pleasant surprise experienced upon coming upon the Glen House plateau is succeeded by admiration of the prospect afforded from every portion of this mountain hotel. When speaking, in our portion of the State, of a carriage road to the summit of Mount Washington, much incredulity is manifested by the listener. The supposition is, that although there is a road, it is any thing but an easy passage way to the dome of the king of these hills. But the carriage road to Mount Washington was planned and has been nearly completed by men who knew what they had to encounter, and adapted means to ends. It is a good, and in many places, a very smooth road. In dangerous places when going along precipitous heights, and around the spurs of mountains, it is very wide, and inclines inward. Its course is visible high up and toward the summit of Washington, and its zig-zag line traceable by the unaided eye in the piazza of the Glen House. A good glass, placed in fixtures in the upper piazza, brings objects throughout this circle of gigantic hills immediately before the spectator.

But I am making a long, though I hope readable letter. I will close by saying that the day I passed from Conway to the Glen, over the Pinkham Road, and in view of the grand objects on the way, is marked in my calendar with a very red line. I am collecting materials for another letter, in the hope that my excursion, although for personal gratification, may be made of some interest to the readers of the Statesman.