The accompanying illustration gives a good idea of the operation of the road. In addition to the ordinary rails of the common railroad, there is a toothed rail midway between, in which there “meshes” the geared wheel attached to the axle of the locomotive, which thus steadily climbs up the mountain by the revolution of the machinery. All the axles, both of the engine and passenger coach, are provided with geared wheels, by means of which the train could be instantly anchored to the track, as in the case above cited. Each car has its own locomotive, and will carry about fifty passengers. The seats are inclined backward, so as to be in a good position on ascending the mountain. The car is always above the engine, both in the ascent and descent. The latter is accomplished by gravitation alone, the brakes being kept in requisition to hold the train in check.

The ride up the mountain constitutes an experience never to be forgotten. Leaving Ammonoosuc Station, as the starting point at the base is called, the train immediately surmounts a considerable elevation before emerging from the forest, which is soon left behind as we rise above the “tree-line,” and reach the region of stunted shrubs, which in turn give place to moss and lichens, and finally to rocks, bare of vegetation, and as cheerless as it is possible to imagine. Above the trees, the prospect broadens, as the landscape spreads out in a grand panorama, almost illimitable, and of wonderful grandeur and beauty. Several stops are made for water, which is taken from large tanks fed by mountain springs, far above, and conducted down in pipes. These stopping places have been appropriately named, according to their location, such as Waumbek Station, Gulf Station, etc., the latter being near the yawning chasm in the mountain-side, named the Gulf of Mexico. Banks of snow may frequently be seen in its recesses, even in midsummer, and a game of snowballing is not an uncommon August recreation.

Jacob’s Ladder is a long section of trestle work, with a considerable elevation and steep inclination, after passing which the grade diminishes somewhat, as the road winds around the crown of the mountain.

Near the summit is a pile of rocks surmounted by a tablet, known as the “Lizzie Bourne Monument,” marking the spot where the young lady perished from exposure, in September, 1855; having undertaken the ascent of the mountain in company with two male relatives, without a guide, and becoming chilled and bewildered, she lost her way, and despairingly sank down to die almost in sight of the summit.

Nearing the summit, the view changes, as the scenery of the eastern side comes in view. The highlands of Maine are now the background of the picture, with intervening valleys, lakes and rivers, while far below, the white buildings of the Glen House dot the landscape as a mere speck in the lovely valley in which they nestle.

The trip from base to summit occupies about an hour and a quarter, the distance being three miles, with an average grade of 1,300 feet to the mile, the most abrupt ascent being in the proportion of one foot in three. An approximate idea of this grade may be had by placing a yard-stick upon a level surface, as a table, and raising one end of it a foot, with the other end upon the table. Then imagine a train of cars climbing such an ascent, and you have a fair conception of the grade; but the most vivid imagination would fail to take in the sensations actually experienced in the journey.

THE MOUNT WASHINGTON SUMMIT HOUSE.

The provisions for the entertainment of guests at the summit were formerly very limited, a few rude stone structures furnishing shelter for such as dared brave the hardships of a night in the clouds. But now all is changed. The capacious and comfortable building which serves the double purpose of depot and hotel, not only provides comfortable shelter, but a first-class table and excellent fare for about one hundred and fifty guests. The house was opened to the public in 1873, and has been in successful operation since, sometimes being taxed to its utmost capacity.

The view from the summit is indescribably grand. At an altitude of 6,193 feet, or more than a mile and one-fifth above sea-level, the line of vision bounds a circle nearly a thousand miles in circumference; and within that circle are lakes, rivers, mountains, valleys, dark forests, smiling villages, and in fact a variety of scenery, ever changing as the gaze is
directed to the different points of the compass. In a clear day, the distant glimmer of the Atlantic may be seen, away to the southeast. A little more to the south a brighter gleam reveals the location of Lake Winnipesaukee, while the Saco valley and Chocorua Mountain are in the nearer foreground. Turning still to the right, you see other mountains of the range on whose highest summit you are standing, Mount Monroe, the Twin Ponds, Mount Pleasant, Mount Franklin, Mount Willey, the scene of the famous “slide,” and lesser elevations beyond.

Westward, away in the dim distance, the horizon is broken by the Green Mountains of Vermont, with an occasional view of the remote Adirondacks in New York; while nearer, you see the valley of the Ammonoosuc, the Fabyan House, Bethlehem, Mount Lafayette, and the expanse of forest which fills the picture. To the northwest, the villages of Littleton, Jefferson and Lancaster appear, while in the distance, to the north, the table lands of Canada unite with the sky in bounding the horizon. To the northeast, the eye reaches to the unbroken forests of Maine. Mount Katahdin throws its dim outline against the sky, while in the foreground Mounts Jefferson, Adams and Madison tower grandly up before you as a grim body-guard to Washington. Nestled in the glen, the white hotel buildings of the Glen House establishment are visible; while near at hand, toward the southeast, Mount Jackson appears, and in the distance, the Pequaket or Kiarsarge may be seen, together with Sebago Lake in Maine.

SUNRISE ON MOUNT WASHINGTON.

The grand, culminating view from this lofty point of observation is to be had at the rising of the sun. For this incomparable prospect you must spend a night among the clouds, and perchance more than one night, as nature is fickle at that altitude as well as in the valleys below, and not unfrequently “old Sol” has half a forenoon’s work before him to dispel “the mists of the morning” before his face is visible to the watchers on the summit. Should you be favored, however, with both a clear sunrise and sunset in one day, as was the writer on the occasion of his first visit, you will cherish in the chambers of memory the most enchanting pictures of a lifetime. Sunset at sea has awakened the lyre of many a poet, and inspired the pencil of many a painter; but neither pen nor pencil can give an adequate picture of the beauties of a sunrise as viewed from the summit of Mount Washington.

At early dawn the inmates of the house are roused, and such as
choose arise and dress, and take their position on the platform east of the building, to watch for the first appearance of the “golden orb of day.” Beneath you the valleys are still in slumber, and a deep gloom is spread over all, in sharp contrast with the light of dawn which already illumines the mountain peaks around you. Banks of mist here and there indicate the location of bodies of water, and possibly overhanging clouds may partially hide some of the mountain summits from view.

All eyes are turned expectantly towards the east, which is beginning to show a faint rosy tinge, deepening every moment till it reaches a crimson or perhaps a golden hue, a fitting couch from which the brilliant day king is about to spring forth to enter upon his glorious reign. Suddenly one point in the eastern horizon grows more intensely bright than all the rest, and the disc of the sun is then discernible, quickly increasing in proportions until the broad face of the great luminary so dazzles the eye as to compel a withdrawal of the gaze.

Looking then into the valleys below, the effect is transcendently beautiful. While the spectator is bathed in the full golden sunshine, the somber shadows are just beginning to flit away, presenting in the strongest possible manner the contrasts of light and shade; and not until some minutes have elapsed, does the new-born day reach down into the deepest valleys to drive forth the lingering remnants of night.

The view of the mountain peaks around, as, one after another, according to their height, they are touched by the rays of the rising sun, is very beautiful; and even the dullest mind can scarcely resist the enthusiastic inspiration awakened by the scene. And then, as the sun mounts steadily upward, giving heat as well as light with his cheering rays, the mists below are slowly dispelled, and nature puts on her most bewitching countenance, with her gloomy frowns banished, supplanted by the sweetest smiles.

Such is but a faint description of a sunrise witnessed by the writer. The picture will vary with the changing circumstances, and that which it may be the reader’s fortune to behold, though entirely unlike it, may be none the less beautiful and enchanting.

The old Tip-Top and Summit Houses still stand, together with the buildings of the U. S. Signal Service, the ticket-office and station of the Glen House stage line, with its stables, and the engine house of the railway. The office of Among the Clouds, a daily paper, occupies the old Tip-Top House; and in the Signal Service building a band of resolute men brave the rigors of winter in the interests of science, recording the temperature, the velocity of the wind, etc. With the thermometer at fifty degrees below zero, and the wind blowing with a velocity of one hundred and fifty miles an hour, it must require nerves of steel and a hardy constitution to survive the ordeal.

The old bridle path from the Crawford House to the summit is still employed by those who wish to make the ascent, as in the “good old days,” but the favorite method, next to the railroad trip, is by the

GLEN HOUSE STAGE LINE.

The road is eight miles in length, and by skillful engineering has been so built as to rise, on an average, only about one foot in eight, the steepest place being one foot in six, and that for a short distance only, rendering the ascent easy and comfortable. Passengers by way of Gorham, on the Grand Trunk, reach the summit by this method, and then have the privilege of descending by rail on the other side.

Tuckerman’s Ravine, an immense seam in the side of Mount Washington, may be explored from the summit, or by following up the stream which takes its rise in this gorge. The chasm is filled to a great depth by the snows of winter, which, in the process of melting, form beautiful arches, sometimes visible till late in the summer.

Returning to the base, we are again at the Fabyan House, from which point we may make excursions in various directions, the excellent livery in connection furnishing carriages and trusty drivers, who will act as guides, and give interesting information to those in their charge.

Before proceeding in our onward journey toward the sea, let us retrace our steps for a visit to the famous Franconia Valley.