Chapter XXXIII

"Come over the mountains to me, love,
Over to me--over to me;
My spirit is pining for thee, love,
Pining for thee--pining for thee!"

SONG.

The sun rose bright above the mountains of the Crawford Notch on the following morning, and illuminated with his brilliant rays all the green valley below. Each member of the large party that proposed to ascend Mount Washington was at an early hour mounted on a strong-built pony, and led by a guide into the bridle-path which commenced in the woods at the base of Mount Clinton. Our little band of travellers were foremost in the file, Florence and Ellen in the greatest glee of laughter and spirits.

The whole ascent of Clinton was through a dense forest, over a rough, uneven path, constructed of small, round timbers, called "corduroys." They were in a rotted, dilapidated condition, and unpleasant as well as dangerous to ride over.

Emerging from the woods that covered Clinton, the surrounding mountains began to appear; and from the grassy plain on the summit of Mount Pleasant, a view was obtained which called forth rapturous shouts from the whole company.

The descent of Pleasant was tedious. All the ladies were obliged to dismount, as the path was very rough, and often almost perpendicular over precipitous rocks, while the frightful chasm that yawned far below caused many of the adventurers to grow giddy and pale with fear.

Ellen, who was rather timid, began to wish she had remained in the valley, and continued to disbelieve in mountains; but Florence was all exhilaration and eagerness to push onward.

Mount Franklin towered next before them. As Florence, who was among the foremost, reached its summit, she turned on her pony, and gazed down on the little cavalcade, winding along up the narrow, precipitous path in single file, with the guides hurrying from one bridle to another, as a more difficult and dangerous place occurred in the rough way. And she thought of Napoleon leading an army over the mighty Alps, and how dauntless and sublime must be the soul of a man who could successfully accomplish an enterprise so fraught with perilous hazard and disheartening fatigue.

As the little company wound their way over the unsheltered brow of Mount Franklin, tremendous blasts swept down from the summits above, and threatened to unseat them in their saddles, or hurl the whole party over the fearful gulfs that yawned on every side. The guides collected the band together and informed them half their journey was completed. Many a face grew blank with dismay at this announcement. The weather wore a less promising aspect than when they set out, and the winds pierced them through and through. Several proposed to turn back. The guides said there was about an even chance for the clouds to blow over or gather into a storm, and the party could settle the point among themselves whether they would turn back or go on.

A gentleman, with features so muffled she could not discover them, rode to the side of Florence, and said, in a voice she could barely distinguish among the clamorous winds that howled over the mountain, "Do you favor the project of returning tamely to the valley and leaving Mount Washington a wonder unrevealed?"

"No!" answered she, from beneath her thick veil; the muscles of her face so stiffened with cold she could hardly move her lips.

"Then ride your pony to the centre of these dissenting groups and propose to move on," said he. "There are none in the party so craven-souled as to shrink from what a lady dares encounter."

Florence paused a moment, and then guided her pony into the midst of the company.

"Do you wish to join those who are going back, Miss?" said a guide, taking hold of her bridle-rein.

"No!" said she in a tone of decision. "I'll lead the way for those who choose to follow to the summit of Mount Washington."

"Bravo!"--"hurrah!"--"let us on!"--burst from all sides. Three solitary ones, among them Ellen Williams, turned back, and the others formed into file and moved onward. Down Mount Franklin and over the narrow path cut in the cragged side of Monroe, where a single misstep would hurl the horse and rider down a fathomless abyss, into whose depths the eye dares hardly for a moment gaze. Then appeared a crystal lakelet, and a little plain covered with a seedy-looking grass, where the horses rested and refreshed themselves ere the last desperate trial of their strength and endurance; for the weary band of adventurers had reached at last the base of the mighty Washington, whose summit was veiled in heavy clouds. As they loitered in the plain, the muffled gentleman again approached Florence, and inquired if she was unattended.

"No, sir," said she. "My father is among the party, also a friend; but they are not yet come up."

He lingered a moment, and then asked if she would like to dismount.

As the voice met her ear more distinctly, it struck her it had a familiar sound, and a sudden thought flashed across her mind. She thanked him for his politeness, but said she was too cold to move.

Her father and young Williams now appeared. "How do you brave it, Florence?" said Major Howard, drawing in his breath with a shudder.

"Very well, father," answered she.

When the muffled gentleman heard the name Florence pronounced, he started suddenly and darted a swift glance on the speaker. Then turning away, he remounted his steed and rode into the front ranks of the line that was forming. Soon the band commenced their toilsome ascent. The path wound over perpendicularly-piled masses of gigantic granite boulders. Often it seemed the poor tired animals, with their utmost efforts, would never be able to surmount the prodigious rocks that obstructed their way. Cold, blustering clouds of mists drove in the faces of the forlorn little party as they labored up and up the precipitous steeps, till it seemed to many a despairing heart that the summit of that tremendous mountain would never, never be gained. So densely hung the threatening clouds around them, they could not tell their distance from the wished-for goal. At length the guides halloed to the foremost rider to halt; and directly Florence felt herself in the arms of a strong man, who sprang over the craggy rocks with surprising agility, and soon placed her on the door-stone of a small habitation, which was not only "founded on a rock," but surrounded on all sides by huge piles of gray granite boulders.

In a few moments the whole dripping, half-frozen party were landed safely at the "Summit House," on the brow of Mount Washington. Great was their joy to find a comfortable shelter where they might rest and warm their chilled limbs; but great also was their dismay to find a storm upon them, and nothing visible from the miraculous height they had toiled to gain, but the wet rocks lying close beneath the small windows.