—PART TWO—
While researching A. B. Lamberton’s activities at the Fulton Chain, I found an article written for FOREST AND STREAM, March 23 1876, the only reference to Lamberton in “Adirondack Bibliography” published by the Adirondack Mountain Club.
Alexander B. Lamberton’s informative and historically entertaining article continues…
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The woods were entered with song and story; night overtook us, however, before we reached their heart.
As we advanced, the depth of snow increased remarkably fast, and ever and anon the horses plunged into mud and mire—the sink holes of the road—and the sleighs disappeared, where all remained until levers were cut and the whole pried out.
Stony Creek was reached, the famous slough pond of the woods. In this the horses were mired and the sleigh tongue broken. It took but a few minutes, however, to mend the one and extricate the other.
The road now led through a swamp where the snow lay three feet deep.
The horses now gave unmistakable signs of fatigue. We concluded to stop at a brook and give them an hour to rest and feed.
As John proceeded to light a fire, he expressed his surprise that the bottom had fallen out of the road.
Talk about genius, patience and skill. If I ever saw them centered in one man, it was in him, who had knelt in the snow and essayed to build a fire with everything wet around, and in the midst of a snow storm. He plunged into the snow up to his waist and, with the blade of his axe, swept the covering off a great pine tree.
Striking a few vigorous blows, he hewed out by the moonlight, no, by no light for there was neither moon nor lantern, fuel enough to build a fire.
Next, he scooped a great fire-place in the snow with an immense pine tree as a back-log, then a pile of shaving were manufactured, and the process of match-lighting began. Not less than twenty were consumed before the wood blazed. The fire was kindled, however, and after enjoying it awhile, was left, burning.
A mile further on the horses failed us altogether. We had not the heart to urge them farther. Whip and word would avail nothing. It was 11 o’clock and we were still six miles from the Forest House [Lamberton’s name for the Forge House built in 1871]. What was to be done?
It was soon decided that two should remain all night with the fishes, and the other two push forward with the horses to the hotel.
This being agreed upon, the teamster and the writer took their departure, agreeing to return as soon as possible with a fresh team.
I would have willingly have given my place to Mark Twain, that he might have ridden that horse bareback through the banks of snow, he would have had communicated to his sensitive system the pleasures of a skeleton ride, and though the animal stood fifteen hands high, I could shut my eyes and see nothing of the quadruped but his back-bone. That impressed me.
