The Chronicles, Chapter 5, March to Boston

The Chronicles…
….Chapter 5….
….The March to North Attleborough (Old Town)…

It is early Tuesday morning, at the Natahaniel Greene Homestead. We have rousted ourselves from our sleep, rolled up the overnight gear, packed the carriages, and are on the road to the Slater’s Mill. We have some miles to go in the carriages, this morning, before we arrive at the Mill. In the meantime, we are in communication with Norman Desmaris, noted local author and historian, who has intentions of joining in our adventure this day. He lives near, by the Slater’s Mill in the Pawtucket, Colony of Rhode Island We agree to meet there at Nine of the Clock in this Morning.
As we make out way through the morning rush of civilians traveling to their daily trasks, we note the over clouding skies and the morning chill, both perhaps ominous signs of the day before us.
We greet Norman at the carriage park just outside the door of the Slater’s Mill. The good folks at the mill notice us there and we are invited inside for a quick tour of that place. We, being in a hurry to get on with the days adventure, agree to take a brief look, which in it’s turn, reminds us that we really need to come back another time and spend a more leisurely moment in the inspection of that place. The machines of early industry and commerce, shining in the dim light coming through the over large windows running along the length of the building.
In the meantime, the staff at the mill prepares for a morning visit from local school children, who arrive in rather large carriages, just as we are finishing our good
As has been our traditional custom, for 700 miles and more now, we gather around the Good Book, offered up by our Scribe, piling on of hands upon the cover… wishing ourselves good fortune upon the coming road, and thus refreshed with guidance from the Universal, the Troop, Mike, David, Dave and Norman, sets off. Faces in the wind, the chill of the air biting the cheeks, hastening their steps to provide bodily warmth, the flags flowing in the mild breeze. It dost seem a bit gloomy, it seems, what with the overcast skies, the chill and the threatening rainfall…
The Engineers Carriage moves out upon the road, in search of marking the various travel intersections that the Troop must encounter upon the roadways. They would do this with ties of straw, placed upon poles, to help mark the Trail for the Troop to follow, going just a short distance from an intersection, just some few yards perhaps, along the correct path and then placing the Rod of Straw. Thusly, the Troop could easily follow, without any mischief…
The Troop heads out onto the Roosevelt road, but only for a short distance, crosses over the newly bridged Blackstone River, upon Main St., where it then soon turns into Walnut St. We follow this 15 Road, as described by the Engineers, to the North Bend road, and then onto the Central road, the Troop stopping briefly to chat, now and then, with some civilians intent on knowing what is afoot. The skies, still grey, with little morning light, offer no comfort to the Troop, but rather, seem more threatening. So far, they are still dry… how long will that last, they wonder…
The Engineer’s Carriage has moved ahead of the Troop to help mark the passage, but even that proves no avail as we musts admit that we have foundered upon the many roads and intersections of that place. We are intently searching for the Kenyon road, but, apparently, it is so poorly marked as to make itself unobservable to our morning eyes… or, the jester has played us foolishly and we just missed all the signage of that place…we find ourselves, soon, off the boundaries of the guiding map and must retrace our steps to a place where we can re-gather our wits about us. It is perhaps half of an hour, or more, and some distance, before we regain our footing upon a correct road, having never found the offending Kenyon, but rather have skipped about it.
We do manage to find the 1A road, and we know that will bring us toward a rewarding place in our travel maps. the Troop perseveres through this dis-comfortable time, and with fresh hopes, steps along. They have been on the road for some two hours, and more, and thus t’is time to find a place to refresh again. They cross the 95 road and move into a small hamlet, of some comfort, with a roadside inn. It is there that we refresh, being greeted by the hostess of the place in a most friendly fashion, and also, being found by a local portraitist, who would want to record an image of the Troop along the road. The Troop takes warm beverage and small sandwhich food to help fortify themselves, and then sets off again.
The Troop is heading to Attleborough, in the Colony of Massachusetts now, as the signage attests, some miles ahead. The steps keep coming briskly, and the men moving comfortably, the flags about in the breeze, warning the on-coming carriages of their presence upon the road. The skies start their weeping, and the cold air is now heavy with falling moisture, more than just the morning damps, but a light and gentle, persisting mist. We have moved onto the 123 road, going north, of course. And then we move, left, onto the Newport road, starting the walk up a long and gradual climb…to the highlands of Old Town perhaps…?
We have moved away from the populace centers of this area, finding ourselves now in a rural area, less frequently accosted by other carriage traffic upon the road. The homes are tree surrounded, with clear boundaries marked, most of the same style of architecture, except for one…this one, surrounded by high wrought iron fence, closed and locked, offering a forbidding and uncomfortable face to the world…almost looking to be other worldly in appearance…we move along, remarking on the possible inhabitants there, so different from their surroundings, not bad, just different.
We soon pass the sign announcing our arrival into Old Town, home of that place in which we would spent the evening, much to our delight. It is shortly after the nooning hour, the rain has quickened, the temperature is still cold, the men are damp but the spirits are high. As we come upon our resting place for the evening, the First Congregational Church of North Attleborouugh, we note a sign in front, announcing to the world our warm welcome there. They proudly call this place, Old Town.
The Church proper is a handsome edifice, tall spired and wide of body, double doors in front, with a wood walkway along the side dressed up in bunting of the National Colors. The structure, wood, is of the Colonial period, the Congregation having been established in 1712, they are now, proudly and quite happily, celebrating their 300th Anniversary of Giving Praising to God. We also note the small building across the road from this Church, so obviously related in architecture to the church, as to be a member of the same family. apparently it is, and was the school house, also, with double entrances, one for the girls, the other for the boys. I seem to recall the same situation in my early school days.
It is earlier in the day than we are expected, we see no carriages about, however, it is a good time for the men to rest. They take upon their shoulders oil cloths with which to ward off the rains and wetness, now rather steady in it’s relentless fall. The musket is retired to the Engineers Carriage to prevent the rusting damage, the flags gathered up and redistributed to the men, the Troop steps off for the walk into the center of North Attleborough.
As we step out of the confines of North Attleborough and Old Town, we move along into a much busier place. the pace of this area is much quicker and we must needs to be aware. The Troop gathers much attention form the passing carriages, and in the puzzling trafic, we almost mis-guide our selves, again. The Engineers Carriage makes a sortie upon the nearest road to make sure of the proper direction, plants the straw pole and returns, assuring the Troop of the proper way. With waning enthusiasim, they continue on into North Attleborough, burdened now by the lateness of the day, and the continuing weather which offers no succor. As we pass into the commercial area of downtown toward the Postal Office, we note a marvelous Memorial to Soldiers, of various conflicts, that have gone before. We pausein our movement, taking some moments to appreciate this outpouring of Rememberance to our fellows, of times both past and present.
Shortly thereafter, we move to the center of the Town of North Attleborrough, where we now have reached the end of the days trek, some 10 miles or so, and some 7+ hours. It is time to regropup, get a bit of warmth, before returning to the Old Town Church for the evening repast. We indulge in a bit of warm soup and beverage, board the Carriage…
We must needs to return Norman to the Slater’s Mill where he has left his carriage…which we do. Norman promises to return to the Chrch this evening in order to help us with out presentation there, to the assembled locals, who are intent on learning of our Trek, and history…and then we must return to Old Town, to the Church of warmth friendship. We let Norman disembark at the Mill and we return to Old Town in our carriage…when we arrive now, there are some carriages in the door yard…we knock upon the door, noticing in fact, that the evening is now much warmer than it was but only a few hours earlier, however still raining…the door slowly opens, and there stands Mr. Ed Clavette, with a wide, warm and engaging smile, bidding us to enter…soon the water kettle is bloinling as we make our way into this so warm sanctuary upon the road, during the March to Boston…

next Pst…the Evening in Old Town

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