USA > New Hampshire > To Monadnock; the records of a mountain in New Hampshire through three centuries > Part 4
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: 65
A NEW HAMPSHIRE SERMON (before 1818)
Mr. Sprague, the minister referred to and a most interesting character (see the History of Dublin), died in December, 1817. Recorded by Edward W. Emerson, M.D., New Eng- land Magazine, 1896.
Last year I had the privilege of a talk with a dweller in that region who cultivates in his old age the farm cleared by his grandfather when the fear of the ambuscading Indian was past. He told me how one Sunday, in the early part of this century, the minister of Dublin was preaching to his people in the old meeting-house on the hill from the text, "If ye have faith as a grain of mustard-seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place, and it shall remove, and nothing shall be impossible unto you." In the course of his sermon, recur- ring to the text, he had gone as far as "Ye shall say unto the mountain"-and naturally stretched out his hand towards Monadnock, but, his eye following his hand, he caught sight through the window of its vast purple bulk. He looked at it a moment, then at his people, and said sincerely: "I don't know-it looks pretty big."
66
THE LAST WOLF HUNT, 1819 OR 1820
From The History of Fitzwilliam by the Rev. John F. Norton, 1888.
A single wolf was still left that alternated between Monad- nock and Watatic, and committed great depredations among the flocks wherever it went. In the winter of 1819-20 a num- ber of hunters with their hounds started in pursuit, but day after day the crafty beast rendered all their efforts fruitless. They followed the wolf through Jaffrey, Fitzwilliam, Winchen- don and Rindge, and even into the towns of Templeton and Gardner. Meanwhile storms came on, the snow became deep, and two of the original hunters becoming discouraged retired, though their places were at once supplied by more courageous and persevering men.
At no time did the wolf neglect his nightly repast, but while the hunters were resting he took his meal in the nearest barn- yard. Phineas Whitney entertained the weary men one night but while they were sleeping the wolf killed several of Mr. Whit- ney's sheep, drinking the blood as it flowed from the opened veins and taking a little of the most delicate meat, apparently not because it was hungry, but for the purpose of a pleasant enter- tainment. Then it lay down under some bushes and rested till it was time to start in the morning. For nine or ten days this war- fare was kept up, and the wolf, though often seen and fired at, seemed as fresh as at the beginning. Colonel Jewett's blood- hounds were now put upon the track, and followed in close pursuit, but night came on and the wolf was safe.
On the morning of the next day (the Sabbath), the people in Fitzwilliam village, having learned that the wolf was ap- proaching Monadnock, turned out and formed lines of men along the roads to Rindge and Jaffrey. The hounds drove the
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TO MONADNOCK
wolf into the Scott meadow, where it was shot first by Shubael Plympton and then by Lewis Robbins, two or three bullets passing through its body and leaving it dead. The prey was at once brought to Fitzwilliam Common amid the cheers of the people. There was no religious service in the meeting- house on the morning of that Sabbath.
This is said to have been the last wolf-hunt in the region about Monadnock.
[See also supra, A Wolf Hunt (about 1795), and post, 1852, I, Monadnock at the Dublin Centennial.]
68
THE SECOND GREAT FIRE (ABOUT 1820)
From the address at the Dublin Centennial June 17, 1852, by Charles Mason, attorney and counsellor-at-law, Fitchburg, Mass. From The History of Dublin by Levi W. Leonard, 1855.
Here, too, we have the Monadnock, rising in cold, proud, isolated grandeur, an emblem at once of the essential stability and the superficial changes of nature. Its rugged sides, now compact of bald, cragged rock, were formerly covered with trees almost to its summit. But, years ago, the ravening fire, kindled whether by accident or design, spread over a great part of the superior portion of the mountain, killing every tree and shrub wherever it went. The dead trees, decaying and falling, furnished materials for another conflagration, which occurred within the memory of many of us. Some thirty years ago, in the latter part of a dry summer, the fire from a clearing on the side of the mountain made its way up to the higher regions, where, feeding upon the decayed wood, and nourished by the wind and the drought, it extended itself over almost the entire northern side. As the daylight paled, giving place to the darkness of night, there might be seen from out the dense sea of livid, flame-tinged smoke, in which the mountain was enveloped by day, countless fires lighting up all along the extended range, glowing with a more vivid brightness as the darkness thickened, until the whole mountain-side blazed with its myriad tongues of waving flame. It was a spectacle beautiful and grand in itself, but rendered sublime and awful by the thought of the dread power of the devouring element, and of the terrible destruction that must ensue, if, the wind and the drought continuing, it should burst its mountain barrier, and invade the domains of man. But fortunately, before such
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TO MONADNOCK
a catastrophe was reached, a drenching rain extinguished the fire, and thus put an end at once to the grandeur and the terror of the scene.
[See also, post, Thoreau's Journal, September 6, 1852, page 118; Thoreau's Journal, 1860, page 153; and The Grand Monadnock by Edward W. Emer- son, page 227.]
70
MONADNOCK [1824]
This first poem on Monadnock was written by the Rev. Wil- liam Bourn Oliver Peabody, a native of Exeter, N. H., but later of Springfield, Mass. It was published in 1824 in the Rockingham Gazette (text not examined) ; in 1842 in The New Hampshire Book, being Specimens of the Literature of the Granite State (a poor text) ; and in The Literary Remains of the late W. B. O. Peabody, D.D., edited by Everett Peabody, 1850 (the text here used).
Upon the far-off mountain's brow
The angry storm has ceased to beat, And broken clouds are gathering now In lowly reverence round his feet. I saw their dark and crowded bands On his firm head in wrath descending, But there, once more redeemed, he stands, And heaven's clear arch is o'er him bending.
I've seen him when the rising sun Shone like a watch-fire on the height; I've seen him when the day was done, Bathed in the evening's crimson light; I've seen him in the midnight hour, When all the world beneath were sleeping, Like some lone sentry in his tower, His patient watch in silence keeping.
And there, as ever steep and clear, That pyramid of nature springs! He owns no rival turret near, No sovereign but the King of Kings.
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TO MONADNOCK
While many a nation hath passed by, And many an age, unknown in story, His walls and battlements on high He rears, in melancholy glory.
And let a world of human pride, With all its grandeur, melt away And spread around his rocky side The broken fragments of decay, Serene his hoary head will tower, Untroubled by one thought of sorrow .: He numbers not the weary hour; He welcomes not nor fears tomorrow.
Farewell! I go my distant way: Perhaps, not far in future years, The eyes that glow with smiles today May gaze upon thee dim with tears. Then let me learn from thee to rise, All time and chance and change defying ; Still pointing upward to the skies, And on the inward strength relying.
If life before my weary eye Grows fearful as the angry sea, Thy memory shall suppress the sigh For that which never more can be, Inspiring all within the heart With firm resolve and strong endeavor To act a brave and faithful part, Till life's short warfare ends forever.
72
THE EMERSON-THOREAU-CHANNING PERIOD, 1834-1871
1
WEBSTER [1834]
From the Phi Beta Kappa Poem, by Ralph Waldo Emerson, 1834. Courtesy of Houghton Mifflin Company.
Ill fits the abstemious Muse a crown to weave For living brows; ill fits them to receive; And yet, if virtue abrogate the law, One portrait,-fact or fancy-we may draw; A form which Nature cast in the heroic mould Of them who rescued liberty of old ; He, when the rising storm of party roared, Brought his great forehead to the council board, There, while hot heads perplexed with fears the state, Calm as the morn the manly patriot sate; Seemed, when at last his clarion accents broke, As if the conscience of the country spoke. Not on its base Monadnoc surer stood, Than he to common sense and common good : No mimic; from his breast his counsel drew, Believed the eloquent was aye the true; He bridged the gulf from th'alway good and wise To that within the vision of small eyes. Self-centered ; when he launched the genuine word It shook or captivated all who heard, Ran from his mouth to mountains and the sea, And burned in noble hearts proverb and prophecy.
75
ON MONADNOCK IN JUNE (1838?)
From the Life of Hosea Ballou, 2d, D.D., by Hosea Starr Ballou, through whose courtesy this jotting from his father's uncle's notebook is here published. Hosea Ballou, 2d, was the first president of Tufts College (1853-1861).
Many years ago I visited Monadnock. It was in the early part of June, on one of the clearest days I ever saw. We reached the summit before noon, I think, and saw the horizon unshaded by a single cloud, and scarcely obscured by any smokiness. In the extreme north there stood a long range of mountains, white as a pile of clouds. These, I suppose, were the Franconia and White Mountains.
[Recorded in 1851 when on August 16 he again climbed Monadnock. And see post, 1861, A College President and Monadnock.]
76
ASCENT OF THE MONADNOCK [1838]
To be found in a little volume entitled Sketches of Martha's Vineyard and Other Reminiscences of Travel at Home, by An Inexperienced Clergyman, 1838. Samuel Adams Devens was that inexperienced clergyman.
Having passed the Sabbath in Dublin, N. H., with a clerical gentlemen of my acquaintance, who was kind enough to invite me to accompany him to this place on an exchange, we set off on Monday morning to return to Fitchburg. The road led us along the base of the Monadnock. As we gazed at it with eager eyes, the ascent appeared gradual and the summit not far distant. We began to talk seriously of attempting the ascent, and at length concluded so to do. We left our horse and chaise at the nearest farm-house, and as we could not obtain a guide, thought there would be no difficulty in guiding our- selves. So off we started. We were not so fortunate as to find a path, and were obliged to make one as we proceeded. This was no easy matter as there was much brush-wood to work through. After something of a strain we reached the top of the first peak. As we looked upward we saw another peak at the distance of a mile. So down we go nearly a half a mile over rocks and fallen trees and up we toil to the height of the second peak. To our surprise and disappointment there is a still higher peak beyond. Surely this, we thought, must be the summit of the mountain. So down we go again and up we toil again. Quite exhausted we reach the height of the third peak. We look beyond and upward, and lo! another still higher and more difficult of access. We were not disposed to give out, though we had little strength left. Like human beings we aspired to reach the utmost elevation. So having reposed awhile we per- form another go-down and go-up, but not without incredible
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TO MONADNOCK
fatigue. We look again and the summit is far off still. We seem to make no approach to it. It appears more distant than when we first began the ascent. Exhausted and heart-sickened we are ready to give over the pursuit. But it is dreadful hard, when one has toiled so much, to fail of the object sought. So we think we will make one more effort, trusting to a kind providence that it will be all required of us. We reach the elevation of this peak and look around. It is the loftiest of all. Our exploit is achieved-our solicitude at an end. Our toil rewarded. We remained some time on 'the summit to derive all the pleasure we could from the wide and varied prospect, and to gather strength sufficient to make the descent. Having nothing to eat or drink with us, we of course were about half famished. At length we left the many peaks over which we had traversed, "alone in their glory," and sought the base of the one on which we stood. How sadly unfortunate! Instead of finding anything like a path as we expected, we were obliged to penetrate through a forest all but impenetrable, and which human foot had never penetrated before, to slide down fearful declivities of bare rocks, and sometimes, with nought to hold by but twigs and shrubs, to drop ourselves from perpendicular precipices, not knowing what foot-hold we should find below. We were in a melancholy plight before we had made half the descent. Our shoes, a few hours before all shining bright, worn to the color of the grey rocks-our suits of black none the more comely for their rough treatment from bushes and briars -our strength all gone-our hearts faint-and countenances as pallid as if the grave was about to claim us. We feared we should die upon the mountain and become the food of the vul- tures, our bones whiten in the depth of the forest, and what had become of us ever be a mystery. However such proved not our fate. We lived to get into the lowlands and made out
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AN INEXPERIENCED CLERGYMAN [1838]
to stagger to the nearest farmhouse. We told the farmer's wife, in the fewest words, the plight we were in and begged of her to accommodate us with a bed to lie down and rest ourselves. We obtained what we wished and soon fell asleep-losing all recollection of the past. It was several hours and towards the close of the day before we again made our appearance. In the meantime our kind hostess had provided for us an excellent supper, and had sent one of her sons after our horse and chaise, which was no less than two or three miles off. We ate heartily and would have repaid her well for all she had done for us, but she refused to take the smallest compensation. Blessings on thee, good woman! Thou hast cast thy bread upon the waters. May it return to thee again! We set off considerably refreshed, and that night we rode to Fitchburg-a distance of thirty miles.
79
HAWTHORNE AND MONADNOCK, 1838
From The American Note Books by Nathaniel Hawthorne, 1868.
July 27th [1838]. Left home [Salem] on the 23d instant. To Boston by stage, and took the afternoon cars for Worcester. . . Stopped at the Temperance House, . . the landlord of the tavern, a decent, active, grave, attentive personage, giving me several cards of his house to distribute on my departure. . .
Started for Northampton at half past nine in the morning. A respectable sort of man and his son on their way to Niagara, -grocers, I believe, and calculating how to perform the tour, subtracting as few days as possible from the shop. Somewhat inexperienced travelers, and comparing everything advanta- geously or otherwise with Boston customs; and considering themselves a long way from home, while yet short of a hun- dred miles from it. Two ladies, rather good-looking. I rode outside nearly all day, and was very sociable with the driver and another outside passenger. . . This driver was a little, dark ragamuffin, apparently of irascible temper, speaking with great disapprobation of his waybill not being timed accurately, but so as to make it appear as if he were longer upon the road than he was. As he spoke, the blood darkened in his cheek, and his eye looked ominous and angry, as if he were enraged with the person to whom he was speaking; yet he had not real grit, for he had never said a word of his grievances to those concerned. "I mean to tell them of it by and by. I won't bear it more than three or four times more," said he.
Left Northampton the next morning, between one and two o'clock. Three other passengers, whose faces were not visible for some hours; so we went on through unknown space, saying
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NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE, 1838
nothing, glancing forth sometimes to see the gleam of the lan- terns on wayside objects.
How very desolate looks a forest when seen in this way,- as if, should you venture one step within its wild, tangled, many- stemmed and dark-shadowed verge, you would inevitably be lost forever. Sometimes we passed a house, or rumbled through a village, stopping perhaps to arouse some drowsy postmaster, who appeared at the door in shirt and pantaloons, yawning, re- ceived the mail, returned it again, and was yawning when last seen. A few words exchanged among the passengers, as they roused themselves from their half-slumbers, or dreamy, slumber- like abstraction. Meantime dawn broke, our faces became par- tially visible, the morning air grew colder, and finally cloudy day came. on. We found ourselves driving through quite a ro- mantic country, with hills or mountains on all sides, a stream on one side, bordered by a high, precipitous bank, up which would have grown pines, only that, losing their footholds, many of them had slipped downward. The road was not the safest in the world; for often the carriage approached within two or three feet of a precipice; but the driver, a merry fellow, lolled on his box, with his feet protruding horizontally, and rattled on at the rate of ten miles an hour. Breakfast between four and five,-newly caught trout, salmon, ham, boiled eggs, and other niceties,-truly excellent. A bunch of pickerel, intended for a tavern-keeper farther on, was carried by the stage-driver. The drivers carry a "time-watch" enclosed in a small wooden case, with a lock, so that it may be known in what time they perform their stages. They are allowed so many hours and minutes to do their work, and their desire to go as fast as pos- sible, combined with that of keeping their horses in good order, produces about a right medium. ..
The highest point of our journey was at Windsor, where we
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TO MONADNOCK
could see leagues around, over the mountain, a terribly bare, bleak spot, fit for nothing but sheep, and without shelter of woods. We rattled downward into a warmer region, behold- ing as we went the sun shining on portions of the landscape, miles ahead of us, while we were yet in chillness and gloom. It is probable that during a part of the stage the mists around us looked like sky clouds to those in the lower regions. Think of driving a stage-coach through the clouds! Seasonably in the forenoon we arrived at Pittsfield ...
The central square of Pittsfield presents all the bustle of a thriving village,-the farmers of the vicinity in light wagons, sulkies, or on horseback; stages at the door of the Berkshire Hotel, under the stoop of which sit or lounge the guests, stage- people, and idlers, observing or assisting in the arrivals and departures. Huge trunks and bandboxes unladed and laded. The courtesy shown to ladies in aiding them to alight, in a shower, under umbrellas. The dull looks of passengers, who have driven all night, scarcely brightened by the excitement of arriving at a new place. The stage agent demanding the names of those who are going on-some to Lebanon Springs, some to Albany. . .
Wednesday, 26th. Left Pittsfield at about eight o'clock in the Bennington stage, intending to go to Williamstown. In- side passengers,-a new married couple taking a jaunt. The lady, with a clear, pale complexion, and a rather pensive cast of countenance, slender, and with a genteel figure; the bride- groom, a shopkeeper in New York probably, a young man with a stout black beard, black eyebrows, which formed one line across his forehead. They were very loving; and while the stage stopped, I watched them, quite entranced in each other, both leaning sideways against the back of the coach, and perus- ing their mutual comeliness, and apparently making compli-
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NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE, 1838
mentary observations upon it to one another. The bride ap- peared the most absorbed and devoted, referring her whole being to him. The gentleman seemed in a most paradisiacal mood, smiling ineffably upon his bride, and, when she spoke, respond- ing to her with a benign expression of matrimonial sweetness, and, as it were, compassion for the "weaker vessel," mingled with great love and pleasant humor. It was very droll. The driver peeped into the coach once, and said that he had his arm round her waist. He took little freedoms with her, tapping her with his cane,-love-pats; and she seemed to see nothing amiss. They kept eating gingerbread all along the road, and dined heartily notwithstanding.
Our driver was a slender, lath-like, round-backed, rough- bearded, thin-visaged, middle-aged Yankee, who became very communicative during our drive. . . I arrived at North Adams in the forenoon of the 26th, and, liking the aspect of matters in- differently well, determined to make my headquarters here for a short time. . .
North Adams still. The village, viewed from the top of a hill to the westward at sunset, has a peculiarly happy and peaceful look. It lies on a level, surrounded by hills, and seems as if it lay in the hollow of a large hand. . . These hills, surrounding the town on all sides, give it a snug and insulated air ; and, viewed from certain points, it would be difficult to tell how to get out, without climbing the mountain ridges; but the roads wind away and accomplish the passage without ascending very high. Sometimes the notes of a horn or bugle may be heard sounding afar among these passes of the mountains, an- nouncing the coming of the stage-coach from Bennington or Troy or Greenfield or Pittsfield. . .
Friday, August 31st. A drive Tuesday to Shelbourne Falls, twenty-two miles or thereabouts distant. Started about eight
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TO MONADNOCK
o'clock in a wagon with Mr. Leach and Mr. Birch ...
The top of this Hoosic Mountain is a long ridge, marked on the county map as two thousand one hundred and sixty feet above the sea; on this summit is a valley, not very deep, but one or two miles wide, in which is the town of L- -. Here there are respectable farmers, though it is a rough, and must be a bleak place. The first house, after reaching the summit, is a small, homely tavern. . . We drove a mile or two farther to the eastern brow of the mountain, whence we had a view, over the tops of a multitude of heights, into the inter- secting valleys down which we were to plunge,-and beyond them the blue and indistinctive scene extended to the east and north for at least sixty miles. Beyond the hills it looked al- most as if the blue ocean might be seen. Monadnock was visible, like a sapphire cloud against the sky. . .
84
THE SPHINX [1841]
From The Sphinx (1841) by Ralph Waldo Emerson. By courtesy of the Houghton Mifflin Company.
Uprose the merry Sphinx, And crouched no more in stone ; She melted into purple cloud, She silvered in the moon ; She spired into a yellow flame ; She flowered in blossoms red ; She flowed into a foaming wave; She stood Monadnoc's head.
Thorough a thousand voices Spoke the universal dame: "Who telleth one of my meanings, Is master of all I am."
85
TO THE MOUNTAINS [1841]
An unused fragment by Henry David Thoreau, written in 1841, apparently at the time of the poem to Monadnock and the Peterborough Hills, immediately following. First pub- lished 1905. By courtesy of the Bibliophile Society.
With all your kindness shown from year to year Ye do but civil demons still appear ;
Still to my mind,
Ye are inhuman and unkind,
And bear an untamed aspect to my sight,
After the "civil-suited" night;
As if ye had lain out
Like to an Indian scout
Who lingers in the purlieus of the towns
With unexplored grace and savage frowns.
86
THOREAU'S HORIZON MOUNTAINS, 1842
By Henry David Thoreau, from A Walk to Wachusett and A Week on the Concord and Merrimac Rivers. Through courtesy of the Houghton Mifflin Company.
Concord, July 19, 1842.
Summer and winter our eyes had rested on the dim outline of the mountains, to which distance and indistinctness lent a grandeur not their own, so that they served to interpret all the allusions of poets and travelers. Standing on the Concord Cliffs, we thus spoke our mind to them :-
With frontier strength ye stand your ground, With grand content ye circle round,
Tumultuous silence for all sound, Ye distant nursery of rills,
Monadnock and the Peterborough Hills ;-
Firm argument that never stirs,
Outcircling the philosophers,- Like some vast fleet, Sailing through rain and sleet,
Through winter's cold and summer's heat ; Still holding on upon your high emprise,
Until ye find a shore amid the skies ; Not skulking close to land, With cargo contraband, For they who sent a venture out by ye Have set the Sun to see Their honesty. Ships of the line, each one, Ye westward run, Convoying clouds,
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TO MONADNOCK
Which cluster in your shrouds, Always before the gale, Under a press of sail, With weight of metal all untold,- I seem to feel ye in my firm seat here, Immeasurable depth of hold, And breadth of beam, and length of running gear.
Methinks ye take luxurious pleasure In your novel western leisure; So cool your brows and freshly blue, As Time had naught for ye to do; For ye lie at your length, An unappropriated strength, Unhewn primeval timber,
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