New Hampshire Statesman

Miscellaneous Selections.
A Wild Night on Mt. Washington.

"Let us go up there," we said, as we stood at the foot of that strange track upon which a locomotive, reared upon its haunches by Yankee ingenuity, pushes up heavy loads almost to the Tip-Top House.

It was five o'clock P. M., Wednesday, Sept. 16th. The rain had ceased—the clouds were rising, and we had a prospect of a glorious morning. We had been told that the engine would go up with lumber at that hour, and so were caught, and must either go up on foot, or stay in very primitive and not over roomy quarters in the wilderness. The track would be our guide. The sun would be up for two hours yet, and we should be ascending into light. Beside, the track was "boarded in" so that it furnished a very comfortable side walk. We could reach the top by sundown, and then! So we said "Let us go forward." Our horse was stabled, and our bag of oats handed over to the proper authority. Our tent and other baggage lodged in a telegraph office ten feet square in which four men also found lodging. Our glass and satchel of provisions slung upon our shoulders, and we were marching up in about the time it takes to write it.

In less than a half mile we came to the end of our side-walk" and were obliged to take to the "sleepers" which were three feet apart and that on such a grade as only two locomotives have dreamed of yet. Think of stairs "two feet rise and reach" and the flight two miles and three fourths long!

Do you wonder that a box of sardines and a few graham crackers became rather heavy before we reached the end! If you do, try it.

The rails were laid on the rocks or elevated on piers, according to the "face of the country:" In one place these piers were thirty feet high. This gorge we should have avoided by following the old bridle path for a mile, but in taking heed to our steps we did not discover the crossing—and indeed it would require a good deal of sagacity to see a "bridle path" in that mere chafing of the rocks where a man could hardly pick his way safely.

That we were tired by and by, and wished we had not started, might be guessed, but there was now no return. We could go up the track with comparative safety, but not down it. and there was no escape from the track. The rocks were piled almost perpendicularly on the right to a giddy height, and on the left at about the same angle we could faintly discern the first stopping place in that direction. We were on the very verge of vegetation, trees, perhaps a hundred years old, though but four inches high, were scattered here and there.

And now the wind began to rise, and there were mists in the valley charging up the Mountain side. In a few moments the sun was obscured and we were hidden in a most disagreeable twilight. We could hardly see where to place our feet, and every few rods the wind would enforce a halt if our limbs did not advise one. Anon the track became slippery, and thin films of ice would scale off beneath our feet. There was no possible shelter at hand, and no retreat, while to go forward was not only difficult but dangerous; a misstep might be the occasion of an accident which could not be remedied, and then we should certainly freeze to death, for we were reeking with perspiration.

There came a moment when courage and strength both gave way, and we felt almost certain we should perish. One refuge alone remained—the compassion of Him who "walketh upon the wings of the wind." His aid we sought, and in a few moments the wind became so kind as to excite comment, and we thanked God and took courage. But this did not last long, and we were weary and chilled.

"What is that," asked one as he discerned the outline of some thing higher than the horizon. At first it appeared to be a huge boulder, and in hopes of a slight shelter from the wind we made for it at quicker pace. Nearing it, we saw that it was a cabin, and when within less than a stone's throw we could see the light in the window. There the workmen who lay the track "keep house," and by pounding with a stone on the door we gained admittance. No polite knocking could have been heard above the voice of the wind. As we entered, about twenty or thirty strange faces gathered about us to hear our story, and, while quite willing to give us shelter for the time, were rather uncertain whether we could stay all night or not. They gave us tea, and we sat and shivered by their fire until they had finished their dancing for the evening. Two other travelers were there, a Methodist preacher and a student developing in the same direction.

Four of us were then to see more and mightier dancing than one of us ever saw before. A fiddle in the hands of a Frenchman will make music worth hearing, but with twenty heavy-booted Frenchmen on the floor the poor fiddle had a small chance. During the struggle between fiddle and boots we made the acquaintance of "the boss," a sensible man who said very little. and that to the point. My friend asked his permission to speak to the men and offer prayer, if they had no objection, and this was readily granted. When the junket was over one of the men, in broken English, asked us to sing, saying, as if to apologize for their frolic, "we don't have much variety here." We promised to sing an English for a French song, and the concert commenced, with a programme somewhat after this sort: "Napoleon's Lament," "Battle Hymn of the Republic," Dirge "Rosetta," "Star Spangled Banner," (I have forgotten the title of the other song in French,) to which we responded with the college song, "Upidee," at this point our host gave in, saying they had no others fit to sing, but they politely urged us to sing on, and requested "Glory, Hallelujah," again, which was sung with the words "Say brothers, will you meet us." In due time we acknowledged ourselves out of material, unless we should take sacred music, and being still urged to sing we continued with, "Nearer my God to thee," and others until nearly ten o'clock. Then, with a few remarks on the perils of our situation, the danger of being blown over, house and all, and the need of Divine protection, we proposed prayer. They readily assented, though one said. "You need not think the Lord will have any thing to do with us unless it is to damn the whole of us." But prayer was offered, and then they brought out mattresses and blankets, and (we thought) put themselves out to serve us, while the most profane and vulgar ones among them came and talked pleasantly with us for some time. Then we slept, as well as could be expected in such a tempest, until dawn, when our hosts came one by one to say "Good morning, gentlemen." On looking out of the door we saw a sight almost sublime. The frost work in the rocks as if they were porcupines stuck full of glistening white quills about five inches long. Even the telegraph wire had a ruffle on the windward side of about the same width, and over all the mists rushed along at a furious pace, now black, now faintly light, as if struggling to prevent the sunbeams from finding us, and doubling their ranks if a breach was imminent.

After breakfast, with a polite demand for "Glory Hallelujah" again, six of the men went with us to the tip-top. We struck into the Glen House Road, very soon after leaving the track, and the wind was so strong that we were obliged to lean back and scuff along, to prevent falling. But when we turned at the stables and took a full broadside of the blast, we found it difficult both to proceed and to breathe, and before we arrived at the Tip-Top House my friend put up his flag of truce in the shape of a whitened ear.

When inside the door, however, we found a room full of friends; there were the representatives of "a just weight and balance," with their families and relatives—always sociable—and being now companions in danger we made acquaintance speedily.

After a short stay, believing we were not likely to get a clear view at all, we turned to depart, first singing "Glory Hallelujah," at the request of our friends to whom we had repeated our last night's adventures. When half way down the trip we were able to see, under the cloud, the mountain pasture of America. Little hills and great ones, with Camel's Hump and Mansfield for pickets, were corraled beneath us, an uncounted multitude, shining with the gorgeous hues of autumn. I must not omit the little joke of our Canadian friends. Just as we left them to move down, one of them said, "If we come to your prayer-meeting some cold night would you have a little dance with us just 'fore we go away."