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Updated: June 22, 2025
When Chocorua returned he could not be persuaded that his son had fallen victim to his own ignorance, but ascribed his death to the white man's treachery, and one day, when Campbell entered his cabin from the fields, he found there the corpses of his wife and children scalped and mangled. He was not a man to lament at such a time: hate was stronger than sorrow. A fresh trail led from his door.
It was now late in the season. Not a human being had they seen since starting out to climb Mt. Chocorua except for Hazel's discovery of the strange man whom she had caught spying on their camp at the "Slide." The memory of that face still lingered in mind, nor had the incident been forgotten by any member of the party. They wondered what the next surprise would be.
While the swallows that built their nests beneath the eaves of the Crawford House were busy many hours with their family cares, the card-crazed players and the dancers of the night before were sleeping the troubled sleep of the idlers. The traveler who comes to the White Mountains should not fail to see Chocorua. "Chocorua," how rich and sonorous is that word.
'In the valley where the lovely forest-clad mountains tower above the blue lakes dwelt Chocorua, the last chief of his tribe. Here too lived a settler by the name of Cornelius Campbell. "Chocorua had a son, nine or ten years old, to whom Caroline Campbell had occasionally made such gaudy present as were likely to attract his savage fancy.
The magnates of West Ossipee had named a mountain near Chocorua for Whittier and challenged him to climb to the top of it and christen it properly with a bottle of champagne, but he said No, that his days for climbing were over; that he thought mountains belonged to the whole country and he had no desire to appropriate any of them.
The chief, in revenge for the loss of his son, who had been slain by the whites in battle, killed a white settler's wife and child. This white man swore to have the life of the powerful Chocorua. Shouldering his gun, he followed the mountain trails for many days and nights. The chief knew that an avenger was on his trail; his braves knew it.
They made every effort to catch the avenging white man, but he was too clever for them. Yet not an Indian was molested. The white man wanted only Chocorua, and Chocorua knew it. The chief fled from place to place, ever pursued by the persistent avenger. Then, at last, the white man found the trail when it was hot.
I know a nook in the woods of New Hampshire, under the shadow of Mount Chocorua, where you might go for six months while your affairs are in the hands of a receiver. I can't say that you would find everything satisfactory, even there. The mountain is not what it used to be. It is decadent, geologically speaking, and it suffered a good deal during the last glacial period.
Seizing his rifle he set forth in pursuit of the murderer. A mark in the dust, a bent grass blade, a torn leaf-these were guides enough, and following on through bush and swamp and wood they led him to this mountain, and up the slope he scrambled breathlessly. At the summit, statue-like, Chocorua stood. He saw the avenger coming, and knew himself unarmed, but he made no attempt to escape his doom.
Drawing himself erect and stretching forth his hands he invoked anathema on his enemies in these words: "A curse upon you, white men! May the Great Spirit curse you when he speaks in the clouds, and his words are fire! Chocorua had a son and you killed him while the sky looked bright. Lightning blast your crops! Winds and fire destroy your dwellings! The Evil One breathe death upon your cattle!
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