UNCLE.
Rudy had now come to his uncle's house, and found to his relief that
the people were like those he had been used to. There was only one
_crétin_, a poor silly boy--one of those who rove from one house to
another in the canton of Vallais, staying a month or two in each
house, and the unfortunate Saperli was there when Rudy came.
Uncle was a great hunter, and also knew the cooper's trade. His wife
was a lively little person, and almost looked like a bird; her eyes
were like those of an eagle, and her long neck was quite downy.
Rudy found everything new to him--dress, habits and customs, and
language, though he would soon get used to that. They seemed more
comfortably off than in his grandfather's house. The rooms were large,
and the walls were decorated with chamois' horns and polished guns,
and there was a picture of the Virgin over the door; fresh Alpine
roses and a burning lamp stood before it.
Uncle was, as I have said, one of the most successful chamois-hunters
in the neighborhood, and also one of the best guides. Rudy soon became
the pet of the household. They had one pet already, an old hound,
blind and deaf; he was no longer able to go out hunting, but they took
care of him in return for his former services. Rudy patted the dog,
and wished to make friends; but he did not care to make friends with
strangers, though Rudy was not long a stranger there.
"We live very well here in the canton of Vallais," said uncle; "we
have chamois, who are not so easily killed as the steinbock, but we
get on better than in the old days. It is all very well to praise
former times, but we are better off now. An opening has been made, and
the air blows through our secluded vale. We always get something
better when the old thing is done with," said he; for uncle had much
to say, and would tell tales of his childhood, and of the days when
his father was vigorous, when Vallais was, as he said, a closed bag,
full of sick folk and unfortunate _crétins_; "but the French soldiers
came, and they were the right sort of doctors, for they killed both
the disease and the persons who had it. The French knew all about
fighting; they struck their blows in many ways, and their maidens
could strike too!" and here uncle nodded at his wife, who was a
Frenchwoman. "The French struck at our stones in fine style! They
struck the Simplon road through the rocks; they struck the road, so
that I may say to a child of three years old, 'Go to Italy, keep right
on the highway!' and the child will find himself in Italy if he only
keeps right on the road!" and then uncle sang a French song, "Hurrah
for Napoleon Buonaparte!"
[Illustration: His uncle would tell tales of his childhood.]
Rudy now heard for the first time of France, and of Lyons, a great
town on the river Rhone, where his uncle had been.
In a few years Rudy was to become an active chamois-hunter. His uncle
said he was capable of it; he therefore taught him to handle a gun and
to shoot. In the hunting season he took him to the mountains, and made
him drink the warm blood from the chamois, which keeps a hunter from
giddiness. He taught him to know the seasons when avalanches would
roll down the mountain sides, at midday or in the afternoon, according
to whether the sun had been strong on the places. He taught him to
watch how the chamois sprang, and notice how his feet fell that he
might stand firm; and that where he could obtain no foothold he must
catch hold with his elbows, grasp with his muscles, and hold with his
thighs and knees--that he might even hold with his neck if necessary.
The chamois were very wary,--they would send one to look out; but the
hunter must be still more wary,--put them off the scent. He had known
them so stupid that if he hung his coat and hat on an alpenstock, the
chamois took the coat for a man. Uncle played his trick one day when
he and Rudy were out hunting.
The mountain paths were narrow; they were often a mere cornice or
ledge projecting over a giddy precipice. The snow was half melted, and
the rock crumbled beneath the feet; so the uncle laid himself down at
full length and crept along. Each stone, as it broke off, fell,
striking and rolling from ledge to ledge till it was out of sight.
Rudy stood about a hundred paces from his uncle on a projecting rock,
and from this point he saw a great bearded vulture swooping over his
uncle, whom it seemed to be about to strike over the precipice with
its wings, to make him its prey. Uncle had his eye on the chamois,
which he could see with its kid on the other side of the ravine; Rudy
kept his eye on the bird, knew what it would do, and had his hands on
his gun ready to fire; the chamois suddenly sprang up, uncle fired,
the animal fell dead, the kid made off as if it was used to dangers.
At the sound of the gun the bird flew away, and uncle knew nothing of
his danger until told of it by Rudy.
[Illustration: "Hold fast, Rudy!" shouted his uncle, and Rudy clung to
the tree.]
As they were going home in the best of humors, uncle whistling one of
his songs, they suddenly heard a strange noise not far off; they
looked round them, and saw that the snow on the side of the mountain
was all in motion. It waved up and down, broke into pieces, and came
down with a roar like thunder. It was an avalanche, not over Rudy and
uncle, but near, too near, to them.
"Hold fast, Rudy!" he shouted; "fast, with all your power!"
And Rudy clung to the stem of a tree; uncle climbed above him up to
the branches and held fast, while the avalanche rolled past at a
distance of a few yards; but the rush of air broke the trees and
bushes all around like reeds, and cast the fragments down, and left
Rudy pressed to the earth. The tree-stem to which he had held was
broken, and the top flung to a distance; there, among the broken
branches, lay uncle, his head crushed; his hand was still warm, but
you would not know his face. Rudy stood pale and trembling; it was the
first shock in his life, the first time he had felt horror.
It was late when he brought the tidings of death to what was now a
sorrowful home. The wife was speechless and tearless until they
brought the body home, then her grief broke forth. The unfortunate
_crétin_ hid himself in his bed, nor did they see him all the next
day; but in the evening he came to Rudy.
"Write a letter for me! Saperli cannot write! Saperli can go with the
letter to the post!"
"A letter from thee?" exclaimed Rudy. "And to whom?"
"To the Lord Christ!"
"What do you mean?"
And the half-idiot, as they called the _crétin_, cast a pathetic
glance at Rudy, folded his hands, and said solemnly and slowly:
"Jesus Christ! Saperli wishes to send a letter to ask Him that Saperli
may lie dead, and not the man in this house."
And Rudy took him by the hand. "That letter would not go there! that
letter would not bring him back."
But it was impossible for Rudy to make him understand.
"Now thou art the support of the house," said the widow, and Rudy
became so.