Lost in a Snow Storm An Island Sleighing Party in 1833. by Edouard A. Stackpole
(from the files of The Inquirer) ON THE 2nd DAY of March, 1833, a heavy snowfall lay over the Island of Nantucket. The town, rising from the harbor up the gentle slopes of the Wesco Hills, had been transformed into a snow village, the houses huddled together as if in mutual admiration of the effect produced by the frost king. Stretching from Madaket to Squam, the Island had become covered by the white, crystalline blanket of winter, the wide commons unbroken stretches of purest white, dazzling in the morning sun, softening the undulating land scape. With the sunrise the Town was suddenly alive. The blue sky and the soft air gave a touch of spring that belied the snow. A vagrant band of robins, obviously delighted, had cruised down harbor from their cold fastness of Coskata's cedars to circle backyard havens. Youngsters emerged as if by magic, dragging their sleds, their excited voices raised in eager anticipation of coasting at Dead Horse Valley or on Seul Winn's hills. Some young gentlemen appeared on the Square, striding down to the Union News Room, where they joined others, young and old, that thronged the room. Some exchanges brought laughter, and tobacco smoke grew thicker as the newcomers entered. A group of the younger citizens had occupied one end of the room, and the conversation became more animated. Suddenly, one of them raised his hand for a momentary silence. Others listened as he spoke. "Seth Swain's just had a great idea!" he announced. "How about join ing him on a sleighing ride to 'Sconset." The response was enthusiastic. "Count me in," exclaimed one; "Sign me on," declared another; "When do we start!" called out a third. The announcer became suddenly serious. "It all depends on the girls," he remarked. "If we can get them to agree - put enough food together - we should get under way by ten o'clock!" The next few minutes found them counting sleighs. Within twenty minutes it was well arranged, and they parted to agree on a rendezvous on the corner of Union and Main Streets. Mid-forenoon found a gay cavalcade of fif teen sleighs speeding along the way, over the closely packed snow, with fifteen whips crackling in the air as the horses responded to the excited drivers. Snuggled under warm robes, some with hands clasped in the strong hands of their- escorts, the bevy of Island belles, laughing and whispering in turn, caught the enthusiasm of all. Along the old South Road they sped. The landscape was one vast, glit tering blanket of white, as far as the eye could see. The gay atmosphere
