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DESTRUC nON OF THE WILLEY FAMILY ; 
 
 August 28th, 1826. 
 
 Samuel Willey, Jr.* was the second son of the late Samuel Willey, Esq. 
 and was born on the 31st of March, 1788, in Conway, N. H. On the 17th 
 of Sept. 1812, he married Patty Lovejoy, eldest daughter of the late Jere- 
 miah Lovejoy of Conway, and settled in the town of Bartlett, as a farmer. 
 
 In the summer of 1825, he purcliased a tavern stand, situated about two 
 miles south of the Notch of the White Mountains ; and in October of the 
 same year, moved his family there, consisting of his wife, five children, and 
 a servant boy, for the purpose of keeping a public house. Such an estab- 
 lishment was greatly needed at that place, on account of the exposure of 
 the travellers in passing that mountainous region, especially in the boister- 
 ous winter months. 
 
 In June of the following year during a violent rain storm, two large slides 
 came down from the mountain and crossed the road a little north of his 
 house. 
 
 This so alarmed the family that he erected a temporary camp on a ridge 
 of land about eighty rods south of his dwelling ; as a place of refuge in case 
 of the occurrence of a similar storm ; supposing the slides, if any sliould 
 come, would follow the vallies, and that his little household would be secure 
 from harm in this camp. 
 
 Samuel, in conversing with a friend, a few days after the occurrence, in 
 June, of this first slide, observed to him ' that although these slid:;.? moved 
 down the mountains so slowly that a person in the day-time might avoid 
 them, yet on account of the exposure of his buildings in their present loca- 
 tion, he contemplated moving them at some future time to the place where 
 he had erected his camp.' 
 
 • We are indebted to the kindness and intelligence of a near relative of Mr. Willey for many 
 ot the particulars of this melancholy disaster. 
 
 1 • 
 
 1^3 
 
 
4 THE AVALANCHE 
 
 But the probability is that as these were tlie first avalanches of any con- 
 siderable niagiiitude or threatening aspect, which had happened there since 
 the pass through the mountains had been discovered, and the road cut 
 through, about seventy years since, he would ha\e concluded to remain 
 where he was ; trusting that a similar event would never again occur. 
 
 The narrative of the tragic scene whicli soon took place in this devoted 
 valley, shews that had his house been on his camp-ground, it would with all 
 its inmates have been swept away ; while on the other hand had the hapless 
 family remained in the house ^vliero it was located, they would have been 
 saved ; as a large rock in the rear of their dwelling resisted the avalanche, 
 divided the torrent of sliding earth, rocks, trees and water, leaving the house 
 and a few feet of earth in liont undisturbed. But not so was the will ol" 
 Heaven. 
 
 Their death has blended a gloom and terror with the sublimity of 
 the scene. The future traveller to this spot, while he feels a weakness 
 coming over him as he gazes up towards the heavens, and traces the hor- 
 rible path of this disruption ; — while he remembers that a long storm of 
 rain beat upon the overhanging brow of the mountain, and that heavy black 
 clouds girdled it mid-way ; while his imagination draws the curtain of night 
 over the hills and over the valley below, and he almost feels the awful gran- 
 deur of that moment, when a long ridge of the dark ragged mountain 
 loosened itself in the higher regions of the clouds, and rolled its devastations 
 into the gulf beneath,— overwhelming as this must be to his senses, will yet 
 regard it all with deeper and more awful emotions, by the vivid recollection 
 that the wail of desjjair was in that storm, and the angel of death was at 
 work, busied in this tumult of the elements. These hapless sufferers will 
 never need marble to perpetuate their memories. This catastrophe may be 
 always read on the rent-lace of the mountain a monument larger than the 
 pyi'amids. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The Storm. 
 
 It was the stormy night of the 28th of August 1826. A comfortable fire 
 blazed on the broad hearth of the humble farm-house of Samuel Willey, and 
 the ruddy flame, and eddying smoke roared with a heavy sound up the deep 
 throated chimney. Around the cheerful hearth was collected the whole 
 household of the worthy farmer, consisting of his wife and five chikhen, 
 and two hired men. A chill tempest tiom the mountains shook the doors 
 and windows of the tenement, as if eager to gain admittance ; and the very 
 house itself rocked and quaked in all its timbers, like a tempest-tost vessel, 
 on the midnight sea. 
 
 At the same time the unceasing rain poured its deluge on the roof that 
 sheltered the inmates, and dashed in violent gusts against the frail walls of 
 the building. A thousand leaping brooks and torrents Ibrmed by the accu- 
 mulating deluge poured rapidly down the seams of the mountain sides, and 
 some ot them took their boisterous way witliin a few feet of the door-way. 
 
OF THE WHITE HILLS. 5 
 
 But the party within as they listened to the howl and turmoil of the ra- 
 ging elements abroad, gathered closer around the social hearth, as if seek- 
 ing mutual encouragement and courage in each other's society, within reach 
 of the cheerful blaze. The wife and children seemed to feel safe from all 
 harm in the presence of the honest farmer, who strove by his cheerful voice 
 and smile to sustain their drooping spirits ; but still, his wandering eye, as it 
 glanced occasionally through the window, on the darkness of the storm that 
 prevailed without, seemed to indicate that even his biave sj)irit was somewhat 
 daunted, and that he trembled for the safety of the beloved group, that look- 
 ed to him for protection, 
 
 'It is truly a dreadful night,' at length exclaimed the farmer, ' and I pray 
 that no harm will befal us or our poor dwelling this night ; and I pray that 
 no poor traveller is abroad on the mountain paths in this tempest of wind 
 and rain ; and if any such there be, I fear deeply for their safety. The 
 streams now must be swollen to an enormous extent, and the bridges swept 
 away by the torrents ; and any benighted traveller, will stand in great peril 
 if exposed in the storm and darkness. Did you either of you, Nicholson or 
 Allen, notice any traveller on the mountain path during the day ?' 
 
 The two men assured him they had seen no person abroad during the day, 
 and expressed an opinion that there was at that moment no person abroad 
 exposed to the pitiless storm of the night. 
 
 The kind-hearted farmer rejoiced at this information, and seemed to be- 
 come more cheerful than before. At the same time however, he hastened 
 to place a lamp before the window as a Iieacon-light to any passing traveller 
 through the gloom, remarking that it might seiTe as a guide to some unfor- 
 tunate wanderer of the night. 
 
 ' I think,' continued he, ' that we are in perfect safety in this house, unless 
 the storm greatly increases in violence ; and if it does so continue to aug- 
 ment, and we hear any slides of earth and rocks down the mountain sides, 
 similar to those that took place last June, I think it will be prudent for us all 
 to leave this house to-night, and take refuge in the Camp-house, which I 
 have lately erected; which is less exposed to the mountain-slides, than this 
 place we now inhabit. What is your opinion David ?' 
 
 The two men both expressed a belief that there was no immediate dan- 
 ger to be apprehended from the storm, and that they might remain where 
 they were in complete security for the present ; but if the storm should con- 
 tinue to increase in violence, they united in recommending an escape to the 
 camp. 
 
 The fears of the children being now quieted by the renewed cheerfulness 
 of their father, they united in begging that he would now entertain them, 
 and while away the stormj^ hours of the night by the recital of some pleas- 
 ing tale tor then- instruction and amusement. 
 
 'Listen, dear father!' cries little Ehza, the eldest of the children, 'hark! 
 how the rough wind roars up the chimney and whistles through the chinks 
 of the door ; and hear how the lashing rain pours against the casement. I 
 shall begin to think that there are evil spirits abroad in the darkness of the 
 night, and that they are howling to destroy us, unless you will consent to 
 ^muse us with some pleasing tale. Will you not relate to us, in what man- 
 our Notch through the Hills was first discovered. You promised to give 
 us the story, on some leisure evening, and no time can be better than the 
 present.' 
 
 ' Yes, my children,' said the kind father, ' I will now relate to you the 
 tale, as it was told me; but you must promise to be quiet and give me no in- 
 terruption. But first heap on more fuel on the blaze, for my feet are both 
 wet and cold, in wading just now over to the camp, and many a stream did 
 I pa-^.s through on the way, where nothing but the green grass and the dry 
 
6 THE AVALANCHE 
 
 foot-path exi.^.ed but yesterday. But 1 found the camp all right and safe, al- 
 though well deluged \Yith the rain. But now listen quietly to my stoiy. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The Discovery ok the Notch of the White Hills. 
 
 ' For very many years, my children, no passage across these mountains, 
 Avas known to the early settlers ; and those persons wishing to pass them 
 were obliged to make a long circuitous journey of many weary miles. Still 
 many people contended that a i)racticable route must probably exist some- 
 where in the mountain chain, and many attempts were made to discover it, 
 but all in vain ; and at length the attempt was utterly abandoned. 
 
 But at length, many years ago, when the wild beasts of the chase were 
 very abundant, and the liunters were often successfully -engaged in the pur- 
 suit of the bear and the deer, which frequented these mountain solitudes; a 
 large party of men were earnestly employed in hunting for deer in this neigh- 
 borhood. Tins party had been out in the wilderness for many long days, 
 but had met with but little success. During the time, tliey were ex})osed to 
 all the inclemencies of the weather, and suffered greatly from the bitter blast 
 and the drenching rain. They had no Avarm and comtbrtable roof to shelter 
 them, such as this that now stretches its protecting sliield over our heads ; 
 but only enjoyed the imperfect shelter afforded by a rude structui-e of pine 
 and hemlock branches, under which they were glad to creep, to seek such 
 protection as they might there obtain from the cold and storms of the night. 
 When the drift wood, and decayed and fallen branches of the forest were not 
 thoroughly soaked with the rains, they could succeed in kindling a merry 
 blaze, sucli as this we now enjoy ; and so warm their benumbed limbs, and 
 broil upon its embers the wild game they had succeeded in taking. 
 
 At length they began to despair of the chase, and it was proposed that 
 thfey should abandon it and return to tlie settlements; when they unexpect- 
 edly came upon the fresh tracks of a herd of deer, whicli they had been pur- 
 suing, but had managed to elude them in the pathless thickets of the woods. 
 
 But they were bo!(l and resolute fellows, and had insensibly followed the 
 chase, many miles from home, they knew not how far or whither, but were 
 reluctaiit to abandon it altogether, and return em])ty-handed to their distant 
 homes, to encounter the jeers and laughter of their acquaintance. 
 
 At length one of their number, less resolute than the rest, became verj' 
 anxious and uneasy, and proposed to his companions that they should give 
 up the hunt and return without delay, ' for,' said he, 'I hear such a fearful 
 growiing of the bears in the distance, that my courage fairly fails me, and 1 
 think that the sooner we find our way out of these lonesome and gloomy 
 forests the better ; for we are more likely to be slain ourselves by the bears 
 and otlier savage creatures, than ourselves to prey upon them.' 
 
 ' No, no ! not so !' exclaimed another of the party; 'we are all well armed 
 and what have w^e to fear ? Here w'e have travelled over the mountains in 
 pursuit of our game for many days, and how silly should we appear to our 
 friends in the village, if we should now weakly abandon the chase, at the 
 very time when we have again fallen upon the track of our game. Let us 
 then not become disheartened by any idle apprehensions, but gallantly fol- 
 low the hunt, and then return to our friends loaded with the spoil. So, ariae 
 
OF THE WHITE HILLS. 7 
 
 and follow n)e all you who would prove yourselves brave men, and let the 
 cowards meanly sneak l)ack again to the settlements. Here lies the foot- 
 tracks of the deer, as plainly marked out as tlie wagon-road through our vil- 
 lage-' 
 
 fjpon the word, each bold hunter sprang to his feet, and brandishing hia 
 trusty rifle in his grasp, followed their leader in the track of the iligitives. 
 
 Tlie party had not proceeded far on the way, before they suddenly cair.e 
 upon this rugged gap in the mountains, which lias ever since been known by 
 the name of the " Notch of the White Hills." 
 
 In this wild and difficult pass, stood the whole flock of deer, hemmed hi 
 on all sides, and unable to escape in any direction. They could not advanc-i 
 forward, for the path was obstructed by rocks, fallen trees, &c., which have 
 since been removed, and a practicable road opened. 
 
 On the right hand and on the left of the poor creatures, the rugged moun- 
 tains rose upwai'ds boldly and precipitously over their heads and efiFectually 
 debarred their escape ; nor could they reti'acc their steps, tor the numerous 
 band of hunters, with their glittering rifles, formed a living barrier to their 
 retreat, more formidable even than the rocky walls of nature itself. 
 
 In that Avild spot then were they taken, and ibr several minutes did the 
 wild passes of the hills continue for the first time to re-echo to the sharp re- 
 ports of the deadly rifle, and the bold sound of the human voice. In a very 
 short period the whole herd of deer were slaughtered by the hunters ; and 
 then it was that they discovered that the flying herd had led them to a spot, 
 that with a little labor in removing obstructions, formed a very tolerable road 
 across the mountains. By this accident then, my children, was discovered 
 the best road now in use, to conduct tj-avcllers from Lancaster to Bartlett, 
 over Cherry Mountain. 
 
 It was no more than an act of justice in the Legislative grant of a gener- 
 ous tract of laud to these bold adventurers, as a reward for their valuable 
 discovery. 
 
 Indeed, no other route could have been found within a wide circuit of 
 some sixty miles, except this narrow Notch through the hills, so fortunately 
 made known to us by these poor affrighted animals, who paid with their 
 lives for the discoveiy. And if the wild spot seemed so impassable and ter- 
 rific at that moment to the wild animal and the hardy hunter, how vastly 
 more formidable must the place appear to the unaccustomed eyes of the 
 modern city traveller. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The Visit of the Benighted Traveller to the Scene. 
 
 The good man having concluded his story, received the thanks of his at- 
 tentive listeners. He had gained his object in amusing their anxious nunds, 
 and Ju pleasantly beguiling an otherwise dreary hour. But he was not free 
 himself from a load of anxiety, that weighed heavily on his mind. He had 
 often been told that the immense rocks and loose ground of the mountain 
 sides aliove him, might become gradually detached from their beds, by the 
 powerful action of a deluge of water, and sliding down the mountain, bear 
 with them in their resistless course, every object that might lie in their way. 
 
 And though he had almost persuaded himself that nothing less than a 
 powerful convulsion of nature, the occurrence of an eaj-thquake itself, could 
 
8 THE AVALANCHE 
 
 remove these immense nuisses, so formidable did they appear ; yet now as 
 he perceived that the dehige of rain continued hourly to increase in violence, 
 and lliat streams of water, seemed to pour around his humble dwelluig al- 
 most with the roar and vehemence of rivers ; his heart began to fail within 
 him, and he detsply feared lor the satety of tlie dear objects of affection, 
 committed to his charge, and looking confidently to him for counsel and 
 protection. 
 
 The evening was now far advanced, and the children seemed entirely 
 overcome with sleep and weariness. The good farmer after glancing again 
 at the uproar of the elements without, decided that the time had not yet ar- 
 rived for the al)andonment of their dwelling, and a flight to their place of 
 refuge in the camp ; juid he thereupon recommended tliat the whole house- 
 hold should retire to their beds, while he himself should keep a vigilant 
 watch— assuring them all that if any immediate and pressing danger should 
 seem to threaten them, that lie would instantly arouse them and conduct 
 their retreat to the temporary camp. 
 
 The })oor children were comfortably placed in their little beds, and their 
 anxious mother threw herself by theh* side, well nigh overcome with terror 
 and anxiety. 
 
 It is not probable that the flight of this unfortunate family was long de- 
 layed ; but at what hour of the night, they arose in haste to flee towards their 
 place of imaginary refuge ; and at what hour the whole hapless household, 
 consisting of nine human beings, were ovenvhelmed by the descending 
 avalanche of rocks, earth and water, is now, and always will be wi-apped in 
 a cloud of doubt and mystery, until the revelations of the last great day 
 shall reveal all things to light. 
 
 Never again were they seen in life by mortal eyes ; but their mangled re- 
 mains, after the lapse of a few brief hours, were disinterred from beneath 
 an accumulated mass of earth, rock.s, liillen trees, and water. 
 
 In tha midst of the darkness and storm of that tempestuous night, a lone- 
 ly traveller, named Barker reached the deserted house of Samuel Willey. 
 This man afterwards stated that he on the niglit of the disaster, staid at the 
 house of Ethan A. Crawford, about seven miles beyond the Notch-house ; 
 that during the next day, by the aid of Mr. Crawford, he crossed the Am- 
 monusuck river, and by great exertions jairsued his way over rocks, mud 
 and broken bridges, (the road being destroyed,) and at length reached the 
 liouse of Mr. Willey. The faithful doi;- of Mr. W. met him at the door, and 
 for a time prevt^nted his entrance. But by soothing words to him, he at 
 length succeeded in gaining admission ; and to his great astonishment he 
 found tliat all the doors were flung wide open, and not a human being re- 
 mained in the house. He first entered a comfortable kitchen, where a fire 
 was still blazing on the hearth. Around the walls were suspended many 
 articles intended for winter cheer lor the inmates, and for benighted travel- 
 lers. Sti'ings of dried apples, crooked-necked squashes, and bunches of In- 
 dian corn, and other seeds preserved for the following spring-tim", ^vere ar- 
 ranged along the walls. But no living object greeted his eye, save the poor 
 dog that had met him at the door, and a cat that quietly slept on the hearth. 
 All wore the stillness and desolation of death about the house ; and the poor 
 traveller's heart sank within him as he contemplated the forsaken hearth, 
 and the deserted room. But at lengtli he cheered himself with the hope 
 that the affrighted fixmily had fled to the dwelling of Mr. Abel Crawford, six 
 miles below, where they were probably comfortably established in perfect 
 safety. He then threw additional fuel upon the still burning embers, and 
 having thereby warmed his benumbed limbs, he refreshed himself with such 
 food as he found in tlie pantry. He then passed into an inner apartment 
 where he found evident traces of the hasty flight of the devoted family. The 
 
OF THE WHITE HILLS. ^^ 
 
 beds were in disorder, and garments of various descriptions were strewed 
 in confusion about tiie floor. Tiie little cradle of the infant was empty, and 
 the garments of children were strewed around, seeming to prove that so 
 hasty was their flight, that no time was allowed them to cover themselves 
 with their comfortable clothing. 
 
 He then began to have fears for the safety of the family ; and that none 
 survived to tell the tale of their danger ; that they were all buried alive 
 under overwhelming masses of earth and stone. That nine of them in 
 number, frightened from their beds, and running for their lives to what they 
 thought would be a place of greater security, met death in his most appalling 
 terrors, Avlfiie they fondly hoped they were escaping from his fury. The 
 mountains fell upon them and hid them forever from the light of life. 
 
 The traveller hearing groans proceeding apparently from the stable, looked 
 around tor a lantern that he might go out and discover the cause, but find- 
 ing none at hand, and it being very dark, he remained where he was, great- 
 ly intimidated by the gloomy aspect of every thing about him. 
 
 Early the next morning he sallied forth, and there found two horses ly- 
 ing dead, and a pair of oxen crushed beneath the superincumbent weight of 
 the heavy timber of the barn. But they still survived and from them 
 doubtless proceeded the groans that had alarmed him during the night. 
 
 With difflculty he liberated one of them, and partly cut away the timbers 
 which confined the other, but believing him to be about dead, he desisted 
 from further attempts, and hastened on his journey. 
 
 On reaching the river about two miles distant, he found that the bridge 
 was swept away, and was obliged to return to the house to procure an axe 
 to fall a tree at the river's edge, by means of which he might cross to the 
 opposite side. 
 
 On returning he noticed that the ox which he had before partially libera- 
 ted had somewhat revived, and he soon cut away the timbers that boimd 
 him down. 
 
 He then again resumed his route, finding the road torn away and b'ocked 
 up, and the bridges destroyed, and at length arrived at Mr. Crawford's, and 
 gave the alarm. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The Effects of the Avalanche. 
 
 It is believed tliat some time during the night of the 28th, Mr. Willey 
 was up intently and anxiously watching the aspect of the mountains, he being 
 found afterwai-ds partially clothed, while the others were divested of their 
 apparel, as if roused from their midni<iht slumber, without time allowed 
 them to clothe themselves for their hurried flight. It is conjectured that he 
 had some warning of the approaching slide, by the clashing of the falling 
 stones on the mountains, and thit he then hastily aroused his sleeping house- 
 hold, and hurried them away towards his camp, and that they either perished 
 in the attempt, or were swept away to destruction afler they had reached it, 
 and this latter supposition is probably correct. 
 
 The wounds on the dog, indicated that he accompanied them, and barely 
 escaped the calamity that befel the rest of the hapless fugitives The sheep 
 and cattle had taken shelter in almost the only remaining cluster of small 
 trees, a few rods north-west of the stable and were saved. 
 
10 THE AVALANCHE 
 
 Tims in the most appallin<( form, amid the intense darkness of night, the 
 quaking of the crumbling mountains, with their furious streams, together 
 witli the horrid chmgour of rushing miglity winds, breaking wuter-s])outs, 
 and overwhehning waves (emblems of time's hist convulsive agony,) were 
 these inunortal beings hurried to the bar of God. 
 
 In the meanwhile the fiiends of the Willey family, residing at Conway, 
 some miles below the Notch, began to entertain fears for tiie salcty of the 
 family, dwelling in the exposed situation of the Notch-house, 
 
 During the night of the 27tli, it had commenced raining very powerfully, 
 and so continued to do throughout the lollowing day until midnight. Before 
 morning the Saco river had overflowed all its banks, much higher than it 
 had done lor forty years before. The turbid state of the water next day in- 
 dicated that more slides had come down from the mountains, and filled the 
 minds of observers witli alarm lor the safety of the Willey family. A man 
 was immediately despatched thither to ascertain their fate ; who returned in 
 the afternoon, bringing information that the road, bridges rand streams were 
 in such a situation as to render it impos.-ibletoreacli that place with a horse. 
 
 On the next day about sun-set, a messenger arrivea at Crawford's bringing 
 word that a traveller named Barker had reached his house bringing intelli- 
 j^ence that he had stopped at Mr. Willey's the preceding night, and had 
 found it to be destitute of inhabitants, and that in all human probability 
 the hapless inmates were lost. 
 
 The friends and relatives of the Willey family immediately started for the 
 fatal scene ; and by noon of the next day, about one hundred men from 
 Conway, Bartlett, and other towns, had arrived on the ground, where a most 
 dreadful and wide-spread scene of desolation presented itself to their aston- 
 ished view. 
 
 An enormous avalanche had come down from the western mountain, op- 
 posite to Mr. Willey's house, and when within about a rod of it, had sejjara- 
 ted in two parts, the northern half sweeping away the greater part of a sev- 
 enty-five feet stable and demolishing the remainder ; the other half passing 
 by the South into the river, leaving the house uninjured. 
 
 Two horses were found dead under the fallen timber of the stable, and a 
 hog and two oxen badly wounded. The dead poultry were scattered about 
 the spot ; the meadow was entirely covered with drift-wood and stones ; the 
 Saco river had changed its bed from the eastern to the western bank ; the 
 camp was utterly swejtt away, and its place overwhelmed by a tremendous 
 slide ; the sheep were bleating, andtlie cattle lowing in moaning accents, the 
 house was deserted ; the doors ojien ; the beds and wearing apparel scat- 
 tered about the floors. The good master of all these possessions was not 
 there present with his kind smile and voice to welcome his numerous friends 
 and visitoi's. These sad images combined to fill the hearts of all with in- 
 expressible anguish, and many were the tears shed and deep the sorrow 
 manifested on the occasion by their highly respectable friends and relations 
 for this loss of a beloved family. 
 
 A diligent search was instantly commenced afler the bodies of the lost; 
 but so vast and wide-spread was the scene of desolation, that for a while it 
 seemed to be utterly vain and useless. At length it was suggested that the 
 sagacious hoimds of some of the party might prove a powerful auxiliaiy in 
 the investigation ; and without further delay a number of them were col- 
 lected and set upon the track. At once tliese keen-scented animals seemed 
 to divine instinctively the purpose of their masters ; for several of them soon 
 clustered together in a particular spot, and refused lo leave the ground until 
 the earth was opened. But when this was effected a dreadful spectacle pre- 
 sented itself to view. 
 
 After a laborious search of several hours, the bodies of Mr. Willey, his 
 
OF THE WHITE HILLS. IJ 
 
 wife, and David Allen, were disinteiTed, being deeply iml)edded in the gravel 
 and drift-stuff near the place where the camp had stood. These bodies 
 were buiied that night. 
 
 After an iiieficctual search for the others, it was deemed best to leave a se- 
 lect party to continue the search, when the Avaters should have somewhat 
 subsided ; and for the main body of workmen to return home, on account 
 of the want of provisions to sustain so many men in tliat remote place. 
 
 This party a few days afterwards found and buried the bodies of Eliza 
 Ann and Sally, the eldest and youngest daughters, and that of David Nich- 
 olson, the servant-boy. The remains of the otlicr tlu-ee children, Jeremiah, 
 Martha and Elbridge, were never found. 
 
 Tiiose wlio were found were subsequently removed to Conway and there 
 interred. Their ages were as follows : Sanmel Willey, Jr., aged 38 years ; 
 Polly W., wife, aged 35. Children, Eliza Ann, 12 ; Jeremiah L., 11 ; Mar- 
 tha G., 10; Elbridge G., 7; and Sally, 3. David Nicholson, the boy, aged 
 20 ; and David Allen, aged 40 years. 
 
 The funeral is said to have been a most solemn and impressive scene ; ancl 
 many rough and hardy men, whose clieeks were never before seen wet witli 
 a tear, were dissolved iu sorrow, at the mournful cei emony. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The Scene of the Disaster. 
 
 We are now indebted to other sources for further details relative to this 
 terrible calamitJ^ A near relative of the lost Mr. Willey, thus describes tlie 
 scene : 
 
 After leaving Crawford's, and proceeding to tlie scene of our destination, 
 when we entered the opening, a hundred rods perhaps below the Notch- 
 house,(2) which was still hidden from sight by an intervening ascent, we met 
 the first great slip which has crossed our path on level ground, and in some 
 places actually ascending some fifty or sixty and perhaps an huncked rods^ 
 
 After passing this, which consisted of large rocks, trees and sand, and 
 which was impassible except by footmen, and reaching the elevation just 
 mentioned, we came in full view of the Notch-house, and all the ruins 
 which surround it. 
 
 On our right stood iu lengthened prospect the precipitous mountains, 
 which had been scored and riven by the fires and tempests of preceding 
 years. On our left and in front stood those, which though once covered 
 with a wood of pleasant green, now presented their sides lacerated and torn 
 by the convulsion of the recent storm. The plain before us appeared one 
 continued bed of sand and rocks, with here and there the branches of green 
 trees, and their peeled and riven trunks ; with old logs, which from their 
 appearance must long have been buried beneath the mountain soil. 
 
 C2.J It is worthy of remark that heyond the Notch lies an extensive pond of waler ; at llieeast 
 end of which is "an outlet, Ihroiigli which the water passe^s throiiph tlie Note!), and thence 
 through Hart's Location, Harllett and Conway, and at length empties into the sea at Saco. in the 
 State of Maine, forming the Saco river. And at the west end of this pond is another outlet 
 forming the head waters of the .'\mtnonusuck river, which passes through the town of Bethlehem 
 and finally empties into the Connecticut river. This latter stream abounds with trout of fine de- 
 scription ; affording excellent diversion to the sporting travellers in that romantic region. The 
 tables of the e.\cellent hotels in that region are liberally supplied with these delicious fish. 
 
12 THE AVALANCHE 
 
 With these ruins, the meadow which stretches along before the Notch- 
 house was covered, and so deeply that none of the long grass, nor even the 
 alders tliat grew there were to be seen. Moving on from this site, we came 
 upon the next large slip, which continued till it met that of another, which 
 came down below the Notch-house, and within a rod of it. 
 
 Thus far all was one continued heap of ruins ; and beyond the house the 
 slips continued for many rods. The one back of the house started in a di- 
 rection, in Avhicli it must have torn it away, had it not been protected by a 
 ridge of land extending back from the house to a more precipitious part of 
 the moimtain. Descending to the point of this ridge, the slip divided and 
 sought the vallies which lie at tlie base ; one part carrying away in its course 
 the stable above the house ; and the other passing immediately below it, 
 leaving the house itself uninjured. 
 
 It is this part which is generally supposed to have destroyed the Willey 
 family. It is judged by appearances to have been the last slip that came 
 down. It is a connnon and j)robable conjecture, that the lamily designed 
 at first to keep the house ; and did actually remain in it till after the descent 
 of most of the slips. 
 
 From the commencement of the storm in its greatest fury, they Avere prob- 
 ably on the alert, though previously to this time some of them might have 
 retired to rest. That the children had so done is evident from appearances 
 in the house, Avhen first entered after the disaster. 
 
 Mr. Willey, it is pretty certain, had not undressed ; he stood watching the 
 movents and vicissitudes of that awfully anxious season. Wiien the storm 
 had increased to such violence as to threaten their safety, and the descend- 
 ing avalanches seemed to be sounding the world's last knell, he aroused his 
 family, and prepared them as well as he could for a speedy flight, trembling 
 every moment lest they should be buried under the ruins of their falling 
 habitation. 
 
 x'Vt this agitating moment of awful susjjcnse, the slide which parted back 
 of the house, is supposed to have come down, a part of which struck and 
 carried away the stable. Hearing the crash, they probably hastily rushed 
 from the dwelling, and attempted to flee in the opposite direction ; but the 
 thick darkness concealing all objects from their sight, they were almost in- 
 stantly engulphed in the desolating torrent which passed below the hoiise; 
 and which precipitated them together with rocks and trees, into the swollen 
 and frantic tide below, and cut off at once all hope of escape. Amidst the 
 rage and foam of so much water, filled as it was with so many instruments 
 of death, they had Jio alternative but to meet the doom which was their ap- 
 [)ointed allotment. 
 
 Such were prol)a])ly the circumstances ; but as there ai'e no survivors to 
 tell the horrors of that awful night, we sliall never know them with certain- 
 ty until the records of eternity shall disclose them. 
 
 We know that the family perished, and we knowthe circumstances of their 
 death must have been distressing beyond description. Bring them for a mo- 
 ment before your imagination ! The avalanche which only two months be- 
 fore had nearly occasioned the destruction of the family, if it had not in- 
 duced timidity, must have greatly increased their sensibility to dangen and 
 filled them with ominous forebodings, wlien|tliis new war of elements began. 
 
 Add to this the horrors of thick darkness, which surrounded their dwell- 
 ing—the tempest raging with unbridled violence — the bursting thunder, peal 
 answering peal and echoing from hill to hill, — the piercing lightning, wliose 
 momentary flashes only rendered the darkness and their danger the more 
 painfully visible,— huge masses of the mountain tumbling from their aAvful 
 height, with accumulating and crashing ruin into the abyss below — their 
 habitation shaken to its foundation by these concussions of nature ; with all 
 
OF THE WHITE HILLS. 13 
 
 these circumstances of terror conspiring what consternation must have fillea 
 the sou! ! And then the critical instant, when the crashing of the stable by 
 the resistless mass, warned tliem to flee — who can enter into their feeling's 
 in tliis }nomeut of wild uproar and confusion ! Snatching what of their 
 clotliing they could, as a sliglit defence from the pitiless storm— children 
 shrieking through fear— parental love consuUing for their safety at the i-isk 
 of their own — all rushing instantaneously from the house, as the last resort, 
 and alas ! instead of finding safety abroad, plunging into the jaws of instant 
 death ! 
 
 But O ! how feeble are our conceptions compared with the reality. It is 
 impossible to know what they endured — they cannot return to tell the story 
 of then- sufferings. They are gone. Their spirits fled away hastily, as on 
 the wings of the wind, from one of the most dreary spots on earth, and ren- 
 dered doubly so by the circumstances above narrated. Relatives and 
 friends have one consolation — the privilege of hoping, that they haye de- 
 parted from the turmoil and dangers of earth, to the peace and security of 
 Heaven. 
 
 CHAPTEPv VII. 
 
 We continue our narrative, by annexing a description of the scene, as nar- 
 rated by a party of travellers, who reached the disastrous place of desolation 
 from a point opposite to those described in the foregoing pages. 
 
 The rains had been falling for three weeks over the southern parts of New- 
 England ; before they reached the neighl)orhood of the White Mountains. 
 At tlie close of a stormy day, the clouds all seemed to come together as to a 
 resting place, on these lofty summits ; and having retained their chief treas- 
 ures till noon, at midnight discharged them in one terrible burst of rain, the 
 effects of which were awful and disastrous. The storm continued through 
 most of the night ; but the next morning was drear and severe. The view 
 from the hill of Bethlehem was extensive and delightful. 
 
 In the eastern horizon. Mount Washington, with the neighboring peaks, 
 on the North and on the South, formed a grand outline far up in the blue 
 sky. Two or thi-ee small fleecy clouds rested on its side, a little below its 
 summit, while from behind this highest point of land in the United States 
 East of the Mississippi, the sun rolled up, rejoicing in its strength and glory. 
 
 We started oft' towards the object of our journey, with spirits greatly ex- 
 hilerated by the beauty and grandeur of the prospect. As we hastened for- 
 ward with our eyes fixed on the tops of the mountains before us, little did 
 we think of the scene of destruction around their base, on which the sun 
 was now for the first lime beginning to shine. In about half an hour we 
 entered a wilderness in which we were struck with the universal stillness. 
 From every leaf in its immense masses of foliage, the rain hung in large 
 glittering drops ; and the silver note of a single unseen and unknown bird 
 was the only sound that we could hear. 
 
 After we had proceeded a mile or two, the roaring of the Ammonusnck 
 began to break upon the stillness, and now grew so loud as to excite our sur- 
 prise. In consequence of coming to the river almost at right angles, and by 
 a very narrow road, through trees and bushes very thick, we had no view 
 of the water, till with a quick trot, we had advanced upon the bridge too far 
 to retreat ; when the sight that opened at once, on the light hand and on the 
 
14 THE AVALANCHE 
 
 left, drew from all of us similar exclamations of astonishnicut ajid terror ; 
 and wc hurried over the trembling liibric as last as jjossible. Alter finding 
 ourselves safe on the other side, we walked down to the bank, and tlioiigli 
 familiar with mountain sceneiy, we all confessed wc had never seen a moun- 
 tain torrent before. 
 
 The water was as thick with earth as it could be, without being changed 
 into mud. A man living near in a log hut, shew us how high it was at day- 
 break. Though it had lallen six feet, \ie assiued us it was ten feet above its or- 
 dinary level. To this add its ordinary de})th of three or four ieet, and here at 
 day-break ^vas a body of water twenty Ieet deep and sixty feet wide, moving 
 with the i-apidity of a gale of wind, l)etweeu steep banks, covered with hem- 
 locks and pines, and over a bed of large rocks, breaking its surface into bil- 
 lows like tliose of the ocean. After gazing a lew moments on this sublime 
 sight, we proceeded on our way, lor the must i)art at some distance from the 
 river, till we came to the farm of Rosebrook, lying on the banks. We Ibund 
 his lields covered with water, and sand and flood-wood. His fences and 
 bridges were all swejjt away, and the road was so blocked uj) with logs, that 
 we had to wait for the labor of men and oxen before we could reach his 
 house. Here we were told that the river never before was known to bring 
 down any considerable (piautity of earth, and were pointed to bare spots on 
 the White Mountains, never seen till that morning. 
 
 As our road for the remaining six miles lay quite near the river and crossed 
 many small tributar}' streams, we employed a man to accompany us with 
 an axe. We were frequently obliged to remove trees from the road, to fill 
 excavations, to mend and make bridges, or contrive to get our wagon and 
 horses along separately. After toiling in this manner fbi* half a daj^, we 
 reached the end of our journey, not however without being obliged to leave 
 our wagon behind. In many places in those six miles, the road and the 
 whole adjacent woods, as it appeared from the marks on the trees had been 
 overflowed to the depth of ten feet. Intone place the river, in consequence 
 of some obstruction at a remarkable fall, had been tw enty feet higher than it 
 was where we passed. 
 
 We stopped to view the fall which Dr. Dwight calls beautiful. He says 
 of it : ' The descent is from fifty to sixty feet, cut through a mass of strati- 
 fied granite ; the sides of whic^h ai)pear as if they had been laid by a mason 
 in a variety of fantastic forms ; betrajing however by their rude and wild 
 aspect, the masterly hand of nature.' This description is sufficiently correct ; 
 but the beauty of the fall was now lost in its sublimity. You have only to 
 imagine the whole body of the Ammonusuck, as it aj)peared at the bridge 
 which we crossed, now compressed to half its width, and sent do\Miward at 
 an angle of twenty or twenty-five degrees, between perpendicular walls of 
 stone. 
 
 On our arrival at Crawford's, the appearance of his farm was like that ot 
 Rosebrook's, but much worse. Some of his shee]) and cattle were lost, and 
 eight hundred bushels of oats were destroyed. Here we foimd five gentle- 
 men who gave us an interesting aocount of their unsuccessful attemjit to as- 
 cend Mt. Washington the preceding day. They went to the camp at the 
 foot of the mountain, on Sabbath evening, and lodged there with the inten- 
 tion of clind)ing the summit the next morning. 
 
 But in the njorning the mountains were enveloped in thick clouds ; the 
 rain began to fall in torrents. At five o'clock they proposed to spend another 
 night at the camp, and let their guide return home for a fresh supjily of pro- 
 visions for the next day. But the impossibilty of keejjing afire where every 
 thing was so wet, and at length the advice of their guide, made them all con- 
 chide to return, though with great reluctance. 
 
 No time was now to be lost lor they had several miles to travel on foot, 
 
OF Tlia WHITE HILLS. 15 
 
 and six of them by a rugged path through a gloomy forest. They ran as 
 fast as possible ; but the dark evergreens around thcui, and the black clouds 
 above, n)ade it night before they had gone half the way. The rain poured 
 down faster every moment ; and the little streams which they had stepped 
 across the evening before, must now be crossed by waaing, ar by cutting 
 down trees for bi-idges, to which they were obliged to cling lor life. In 
 this way they reached the bridge over the Ammonusuck, near Crawford's, 
 just in time to pass it before it was carried down the current. 
 
 On Wednesday, the weather being clear and beautiful, and the waters 
 having subsided, six gentlemen with a guide, went to Alt. Washington ; and 
 one accompanied Mr. Crawford to the " Notch" tiom which nothing had yet 
 been heard. We met again at evening and related what we had seen. The 
 party which went to the mountain were five hours in I'eaching the site of the 
 eamp, instead of three, the usual time. The path for nearly one-third of the 
 distance was so much excavated, or covered with miry sand, or blocked up 
 with flood-wood, that they were obliged to gi'ope their way through thickets 
 almost impenetrable, where oiie generation of trees after another, had risen 
 and lallen, and were now lying across each other in eveiy direction, and in 
 various stages of decay. The road itself had been wholly swept aAvay; and 
 the bed of the rivulet by which it had stood, was now more than ten rods 
 wide, and with banks from ten to fifteen feet high. 
 
 Four or five other brooks were also passed, whose beds were enlarged, 
 some of them to twice the extent of this. In several the water was now 
 only three or foin- feet wide, while the bed of ten or twenty rods in width, 
 was covered for miles with stones, from two to five feet in diameter, that 
 had rolled down the mountain, and through the forests, by thousands, tear- 
 ing every thing before them. Not a tree or a root of a tree remained in their 
 path. Lntneuse piles of hemlock and other trees, witli their limbs and bark 
 entirely bruised off, were lodged all the way on both sides, as they had been 
 driven in among the standing, and half-standing tz'ees on the banks. While 
 this party were climbing the mountain, thirty slides were coinited, some of 
 which began where the soil and vegetation terminate, and growing wider 
 as they descended, were estimated to contain more than an hundred acres. 
 These were all on the western side of the mountains. They were composed 
 of the whole surface of the earth, with all its growth of woods, audits loose 
 rocks, to the depth of twenty or thirty feet. And wherever the slides of the 
 projecting mountains met, forming a vast ravine the depth was still greater. 
 
 The intelligence from the Notch was of a more melancholy nature. In 
 June last there was a slide at this place, not unlike the one we are describ- 
 ing. The sublimity and awful grandeur of the Notch baffles all description. 
 A person may cast his eye forward or backward, or to either side, — he can 
 see only upward, and tjiere the diminutive circle of his vision is confined 
 by the battlements of nature's cloud-capt towers, which seemed as if they 
 wanted only the breath of a zephyr, or the wafting of a straw against them, 
 to displace them, and crush tlie prisoner in their fall. Early in the summer 
 an immense mass of earth and rocks from the side of the mountain, was 
 loosened from its resting-place, and began to slide towards the bottom, in 
 its coin-se it divided into three portions, each coming down with amazing 
 velocity, into the road, and sweeping before it shrubs, trees and rocks, filling 
 up the road beyond all possibility of its being recovered. 
 
 With great labor a pathway has been made over these fallen masses, which 
 admits the passage of a carriage. The place fiom which this slide or slip 
 was loosened is directly in the rear of Mr. Willey's house ; and were 
 there not a special providence in the fall of a leaf, neither he, nor any of his 
 family, would have lived to tell the tale. They heard the noise when it first 
 
16 THE AVALANCHE OF THE WHITE HILLS. 
 
 began to move and ran to the door. In terror and amazement they beheld 
 the mountain in motion. But what can human power effect in such an 
 emergency? Before they they could think of retreatin;^, or ascertain which 
 way to escape, the daugcr was past. One portion of the avalanche crossed 
 the road about ten rods only from their habitation. 
 
 NoTK. — We would respectfully suggest the hope that some benevolent incli- 
 viJutil would set oa foot a project for erecting a suitable funeral monument on 
 tlie spot wliere the lirjpless family ot" Samuel Willey met with their mournful 
 t'ate. ir each person who visits the fatal spot during a single summer, will con- 
 tribute a trifling sum to this sacred object, leaving it with the good Mr. Craw, 
 ford or Fabin, or some other trustworthy person, near the spot, a suflicient surn 
 may be readily obtained for the purpose. 
 
THE AVALANCHE OF THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 August 28th, 1826. 
 
 Wildly o'er the mountain height 
 Fell tlie dusky veil of night, 
 And a gloomy tb-eateniug cloud, 
 Wrupp'd each cliff as in a shioud ; 
 Then upon tJie mountain's crown 
 Poured the dashing deluge down — 
 And adown the ravine's side 
 Swept the torrent's stormy tide ; 
 'Till each swollen brook did sv.eep 
 Like a river full and deep. 
 And the thunder's roar, the while, 
 Shook each mountainous defile ; 
 Pealing through each rocky gorge 
 Like the thunder of the surge, 
 While the Lightning's Hash did stream 
 Like a thousand torches' gleam. 
 
 Fierce against the farmer's door 
 Did that angi-y tempest pour, 
 Fierce against the ratding pane 
 Poured the deluge of the rain ; 
 Fierce againsj the roof did blow 
 The blast, with wailing and with woe. 
 
 Yet within the cheerful room 
 Was no voice or look of gloom ; 
 Merrily the blazing hearth 
 Threw its cheerful influence forth, 
 Flashing with a joyous glance 
 On each pleasant countenance. 
 Leaning o'er its ruddy flame, 
 Blooming child and sober dame. 
 
 O'er the ruddy crackling fire 
 
 Leaned the deeply-anxious sire ; 
 
 Fain would he conceal the fear 
 
 Weighing on his heart so drear. 
 
 Fain with merry tfjes beguile 
 
 The hours, with laughter and with smile ; 
 
 Yet as wilder blew the blast. 
 
 Wildly swept the torrent past. 
 
 From his smiling group, his eye 
 
 Wandering would scan the sky ; 
 
 Trembling lest the pouring flood, 
 
 Raging in its fiercest mood. 
 
18 THE AVALANCHE OF THE WHITE HILLS. 
 
 Sweeping down the mountain's side, 
 Should o'erwhehu him in its tide. 
 
 Crash ! a deafening thunder peal 
 
 Makes the soHd hills to reel. 
 
 Flash ! a blinding lightning stroke 
 
 Ou the midnight darkness broke — 
 
 Louder than the thunder's roar, 
 
 Downward the wild Torrents pour ; 
 
 Tumbling rock — and sliding earth 
 
 From their mountain-beds launched forth — 
 
 Shattered trunk — and broken branch 
 
 In one )nighty avalanche ! 
 
 Mingling, whchn'd in awful doom 
 
 That household in a frightful tomb ! 
 
 They sleep in peace ! — Lost sire and son — 
 
 Infant, whose race had scarce begun, — 
 
 Mother and daughter, all were found 
 
 Mangled, beneath that fatal mound ; 
 
 And borne by pious hands were laid 
 
 In holy ground beneath the shade 
 
 By the o'erleaning church-spire made. M. 
 
 LRBJa'l?