Читать книгу: «Our Little Swiss Cousin», страница 4

CHAPTER V
THE HAYMAKERS

"Mother! mother! here come the mowers," called Carl, as he came toward the house with a pail of milk in each hand. The wooden milking-stool was still strapped around the boy's waist, and its one leg stuck out behind like a little stiff tail. You would have laughed at the sight, as did the two haymakers who had by this time reached the hut.

"What, ho! Carl," said one of the men, "are you changing into a monkey now you have come up to the highlands for the summer?"

"I was so busy thinking," replied the boy, "that I forgot to leave the stool in the stable when I had finished the milking. I am glad you are here to-night. How does the work go?"

"Pretty hard, my boy, pretty hard, but I love it," answered the younger man of the two mowers. "Still, I shouldn't advise you to be a haymaker when you grow up. It is too dangerous a business."

"It isn't such hard work gathering the hay in these parts as it is in most places," said the older man. "Ah! many a time I have worked all day long on the edge of a precipice; it is a wonder I am living now."

"It is not strange that the law allows only one person in a family to be a haymaker," said Carl's mother, who had come to the door to welcome her visitors. "I am very glad my husband never chose the work. I should fret about him all through the summer. But come in, friends, and lay down your scythes. We are glad to see you."

The two mowers were on their way to higher places up on the mountain. They were cutting the wild hay which could be found here and there in little patches among the rocks and cliffs.

Could this work be worth while? We wonder if it is possible. But the Swiss value the mountain hay greatly. It is sweet and tender and full of fine herbs, while the higher it grows, the better it is. The cattle have a treat in the winter-time when they have a dinner of this wild mountain hay.

Carl's friends had large nets tied up in bundles and fastened to their backs. Their shoes had iron spikes in the strong soles. These would keep their feet from slipping, as they reached down over the edge of a sharp cliff or held themselves on some steep slope while they skilfully gathered the hay and put it in the nets. But, even then, they must not make a false step or grow dizzy, or let fear enter their heads. If any of these things should happen, an accident, and probably a very bad one, too, would surely follow.

When all the nets were filled, they would be stored in safe nooks until the snow should come. Then for the sport! For the mowers would climb the mountains with their sledges, load them with the nets full of hay, and slide down the slopes with their precious stores.

"May I go with you when you collect the hay in November?" Carl asked his friends. "I won't be afraid, and it is such fun travelling like the wind."

"It will take your breath away, I promise you," said the boy's father. He had come into the house just in time to hear what was being said. "I will risk you, Carl, however. You would not be afraid, and he who is not afraid is generally safe. It is fear that causes most of the accidents. But come, my good wife has made the supper ready. Let us sit down; then we can go on talking."

"How good this is!" said one of the visitors, as he tasted the bread on which toasted cheese had been spread.

Carl's mother did not sit down to the table with the others. She had said to herself, "I will give the mowers a treat. They are not able to have the comforts of a home very often." So she stood by the fire and held a mould of cheese close to the flames. As fast as it softened, she scraped it off and spread it on the slices of bread. Every one was hungry, so she was kept busy serving first one, then another.

She smiled at the men's praise. They told her they had spent the night before with two goatherds who lived in a cave. It was only a few miles away on the west slope of the mountain.

"They have a fine flock of goats," said one of the men, "and they are getting quantities of rich milk for cheese. But it cannot be good for them to sleep two or three months in such a wretched place. They look pale, even though they breathe this fine mountain air all day long."

"Carl and Franz don't look sickly, by any means," laughed Rudolf, as he pointed to the boys' brown arms. The sleeves of their leather jackets were short and hardly reached to their elbows. The strong sunshine and wind had done their work and changed the colour of the fair skin to a deep brown.

"You will have good weather for haying, to-morrow," said Franz, who was standing at the window and looking off toward a mountain-top in the distance. "Pilatus has his hood on to-night."

"A good sign, surely," said Rudolf. "We shall probably see a fine sunrise in the morning. You all know the old verse,

 
"'If Pilatus wears his hood,
Then the weather's always good.'"
 

The "hood" is a cloud which spreads out over the summit of the mountain and hides it from sight. Carl has often looked for this the night before a picnic or festival. If he saw it, he would go to bed happy, for he felt sure it would be pleasant the next day.

"I shouldn't think Pilatus would be happy with such a name," said Franz. "I wonder if it is really true that Pilate's body was buried in the lake up near its summit."

"That is the story I heard when I was a little boy at my mother's knee," said the old hay-cutter. "I have heard it many times since. It may be only a legend, but it seems true to me, at any rate."

"Tell it to us again," said Rudolf. "There are no stories like the ones we heard in our childhood."

"It was after the death of our Master," said the mower, in a low, sad voice. "Pilate saw too late what he had done. He had allowed the Wise One to be put to death. He himself was to blame, for he could have saved Him. He could not put the thought out of his mind. At last, he could bear it no longer, and he ended his own life.

"His body was thrown into the Tiber, a river that flows by the city of Rome. The river refused to let it stay there, for it was the body of too wicked a man, so it cast it up on the shore. Then it was carried to the Rhine, but this river would not keep it, either. What should be tried now? Some one said, 'We will take it to the summit of a mountain where there is a deep lake, and drop it in the dark waters.'

"It was done, and the body found a resting-place at last."

"You did not finish the story," said Rudolf. "It is said that the restless spirit of Pilate is allowed to arise once each year and roam through the mountains for a single night on a jet-black horse. On that night the waters of the lake surge and foam as if a terrible storm were raging."

"Are you going to the party to-morrow night?" asked the younger mower. "The goatherds told me about it. I wish we could be there, but our work is too far away. The villagers are getting ready for a good time."

"What party?" cried Carl and Franz together. They were excited at the very idea.

"Why, haven't you heard about it? You know there is a little village about two miles below the pasture where those goatherds live. The young folks have planned to have a dance and a wrestling match. I am surprised you have not heard about it. They expect all the herders and mowers to come from near and far. You will certainly be invited in the morning."

And so it was. Before the cows were let out to pasture, a horn was heard in the distance.

"Hail, friends!" it seemed to call.

Carl rushed into the house for his own horn and gave a strong, clear blast, then another and another. It was an answering cry of welcome and good-will.

A boy about twelve years old soon came into view. He wore a tight-fitting leather cap and heavy shoes with iron-spiked soles like Carl's. He came hurrying along.

"There is to be a party at our village to-night," he said, as soon as he was near enough for Carl to hear. "It will be moonlight, you know, and we will have a jolly time. All your folks must come, too."

Carl and Franz were soon talking with the boy as though they had always known him, yet they had never met before.

"My folks came near forgetting there was any one living here this summer," the strange boy said. "They only thought about it last night, but they very much wish you to come."

He stayed only a few moments, as he had been told to return at once.

"There is plenty to do, you know, to get ready for a party," he said. "Besides, it will take me a good hour to go back by the shortest path around the slope, it winds up and down so much. But you will come, won't you?"

Carl's father and mother were as much pleased by the invitation as were the boys. The milking was done earlier than usual, and the cows were locked up in the stable before the sunset light had coloured the snowy tops of the distant mountains.

It was quite a long tramp for Carl's mother, but she only thought how nice it would be to join in dance and song again. The wrestling match took place in the afternoon. The father would not have missed that for a good deal, so he left home three hours, at least, before the others. The boys stayed behind to help the mother in the milking and to show her the way to the village afterward.

The party was a merry one. They drank cup after cup of coffee, and all the good old songs of Switzerland were sung with a will. Carl's mother showed she had not forgotten how to dance. Carl and Franz were too shy to join in the dancing, but it was fun enough for them to watch the others. Oh, yes, it was a merry time, and the moon shone so brightly that it lighted the path homeward almost as plainly as though it were daytime.

"Next week we return to our own little village in the valley," said Rudolf, as the family walked back after the party. "Our old friends will be glad to see us as well as the fine store of cheese we shall bring. Then for another merrymaking. Carl, you must show us then what you learned at the gymnasium last year."

The boy's father was proud of Carl's strength and grace. "How fine it is," he often said to himself, "that every school in our country has a gymnasium, so that the boys are trained in body as well as in mind. That is the way to have strong men to defend our country and to govern it. I will buy Carl a rifle for his very own. The boy deserves it, he has worked so hard and so well all summer. He can shoot well already, and I will train him myself this winter, and in a year or two more he can take part in the yearly rifle match. I am very glad I have a son."

CHAPTER VI
THE MARMOT

It was the week after Carl got back to the village. What a busy day it had been for his mother! You would certainly think so if you had looked at the wide field back of the house. A great part of it was covered with the family wash. Sheets, sheets, sheets! And piece after piece of clothing! What could it all mean?

And did this little family own so much linen as lay spread out on the grass to-day? It was indeed so. In Carl's village it is the custom to wash only twice a year. Of course, chests full of bedding are needed to last six months, if the pieces are changed as often in Switzerland as they are in our country.

When Carl's mother was married, she brought enough linen to her new home to last for the rest of her life. Carl's grandmother had been busy for years getting it ready for her daughter. A Swiss woman would feel ashamed if she did not have a large quantity of such things with which to begin housekeeping.

When the washing had been spread out on the grass, Carl's mother went into the house feeling quite tired from her day's work. The two women who had been helping her had gone home. She sat down in a chair to rest herself, and closed her eyes. Just then she heard steps outside.

"It is Carl getting home from school," she thought, and she did not look up, even when the door opened.

"Well, wife, we have caught you sleeping, while it is still day. Wake up, and see who has come to visit us."

She opened her eyes, and there stood not only her husband and Carl, but a dear brother whom she had not seen for years. How delighted she was! He had changed from a slim young fellow into a big, strong man.

"O, Fritz, how glad I am to see you," she cried. "Do tell us about all that has happened. We have not heard from you for a long time. What have you been doing?"

"I have spent part of my time as a guide among the highest mountains of the Alps. There is not much work of that kind to do around here; the passes are not dangerous, you know. Most of the travellers who come to this part of Switzerland are satisfied if they go up the Rigi in a train. But I have taken many dangerous trips in other parts of the country, and been well paid for them."

"Have you ever been up the Matterhorn?" asked Carl.

"Only once, my boy. It was the most fearful experience of my whole life. I shudder when I think of it. There was a party of three gentlemen besides another guide and myself. You know it is the shape of that mountain that makes it so dangerous to climb. It reaches up toward the heavens like a great icy wedge.

"Of course, we had a long, stout rope to pass from one to another. It was fastened around the waist of each of us, as soon as we reached the difficult part. Our shoes had iron spikes in the soles to help us still more, while each one carried a stout, iron-shod staff. The other guide and myself had hatchets to use in cutting steps when we came to a smooth slope of ice.

"Think of it, as we sit here in this cozy, comfortable room. There were several times that I was lowered over a steep, ice-covered ridge by a rope. And while I hung there, I had to cut out steps with my hatchet.

"There was many a time, too, that only one of us dared to move at a time. In case the footing was not safe, the others could pull him back if he made a misstep and fell."

"Did you climb that dangerous mountain in one day?" asked Rudolf. "I thought it was impossible."

"You are quite right. We went the greater part of the distance the first day, and then camped out for the night. Early the next morning we rose to finish the fearful undertaking. And we did succeed, but I would never attempt it again for all the money in the world."

"O, Fritz, how did you feel when you had reached the summit?" asked Carl's mother.

"In the first place, I was terribly cold. My heart was beating so rapidly I could scarcely think. It was not from fear, though. It was because the air was so thin that it made the blood rush rapidly through the lungs to get enough of it.

"But I can never forget the sight that was before us. Everything we had ever known seemed so little now, it was so far below us. Towns, lakes, and rivers were tiny dots or lines, while we could look across the summits of other snow-capped peaks."

"Was it easy coming down?" asked Carl, "that is, of course, did it seem easy beside the upward climb?"

"I believe the descent was more terrible, my boy. It was hard to keep from growing dizzy, and it would have been so easy to make a false step and slide over some cliff and fall thousands of feet. I couldn't keep out of my mind the story of the first party who climbed to the summit of the Matterhorn."

"I do not wonder, my dear brother, the whole world sorrowed over their fate," said Carl's mother. "Only think of their pride at succeeding, and then of the horrible death of four of the party."

"Do tell us about it; I never heard the story," said Carl.

"A brave man named Whymper was determined to climb the mountain," answered his father. "Every one else had failed. He said to himself: 'I will not give up. I will keep trying even if the storms and clouds and ice-walls drive me back again and again.'

"He kept on trying, but each time with no success. At last Whymper formed a party with three Englishmen. They hired the trustiest guides known in the country, besides two men to carry the tents and provisions. After great trouble they reached the summit and planted a flag there to tell the story of their coming.

"But on their way down one of the Englishmen slipped. He struck the guide as he fell and the two men hung over the precipice. They were fastened to the others by the rope; surely they could be saved! But, alas! the rope broke under the sudden weight. Not only those men, but two others, were swept down four thousand feet!

"The others who were left were filled with such horror they could not move for a long while. Their skilful guide had been killed; could they descend the mountain safely now? It looked impossible; they were dizzy and faint. It seemed as though there were only one thing left: they would have to stay where they were till death should come.

"After a while, however, their courage returned and they succeeded in reaching the foot of the mountain at last without any other accident, but with a sad and fearful story to tell of those who started out with them."

"I should think we would have heard of your climbing the Matterhorn, Fritz," said Rudolf. "It was a great thing to do, and few have dared it. We are proud of you, indeed. How would you have liked to be in your uncle's place, Carl?"

"I wish I could have been with him, father. When I am older, I hope I may have a chance to do such daring deeds. I'll be glad to try, anyway."

Carl's mother shivered, as she quickly said:

"There are other kinds of brave deeds, Carl, which I hope you will be ever ready to do. Speak the truth and be an honest man in all things. That kind of bravery in you will satisfy me. But be willing for your mother's sake to stay away from icy mountain peaks."