_I.--THE SWISS PEASANT AND HIS SON._
The first beams of the morning sun were tipping with fire the jagged and
icy peaks of the Wellhorn and Matterhorn, those gigantic monarchs of the
Bernese Oberland, when a slender youth came out to the door of a small
herdsman's cottage near Meyringen, and looked up at the sky to note the
weather.
"We shall have a splendid day, father," said he, after glancing all
around for a few minutes. "There isn't a cloud to be seen, and the
fir-trees sparkle like silver in the morning air."
"I am glad to hear it, Walter," replied a powerful voice from inside the
cottage, "for I must cross the hill to Grindelwald to-day to see my
cousin. It is a long journey, and much pleasanter in fine weather than
in rain and fog. You can let out the goats, and look after the cow, for
we must milk them before I go."
"Oh, Liesli is not far off," was the rejoinder; "I see her coming along;
she is passing Frieshardt's house now. She is a good cow, and always
knows when it's milking-time. But what is that?" he exclaimed, after a
short pause. "Frieshardt is driving her into his yard!--Hi, neighbor!
what are you doing? Don't you know whom that cow belongs to?"
"Yes, of course I do," replied the farmer, roughly. "But I've taken a
fancy to the cow, and mean to keep her. You can tell your father that,
if you like, and say that if he wants her he can come and fetch her."
"Father! father!" cried the boy, turning round, "Neighbor Frieshardt has
taken our cow away. Come and get her back."
Obeying his son's call, Toni Hirzel hastened out of the cottage just in
time to see his neighbor locking the byre upon Liesli, the only cow he
possessed. "Oho, my friend," he exclaimed, "what is the meaning of
this?"
"Don't you understand, Hirzel?" replied his neighbor, in a mocking and
sarcastic tone. "Recollect what you promised me the other day. You have
been owing me forty francs since last winter, and said you would pay me
yesterday. But as you have forgotten it, I have taken your cow, and mean
to keep her till I get the money back."
Toni Hirzel frowned and bit his lips. "You know very well," said he,
"that I have not been able to pay my small debt. My poor wife's illness
and funeral cost me a great deal of money; but you know quite well that
I am an honest man, and that there is no need for you to behave in such
an unkind and unfriendly way toward me. It is not neighborly,
Frieshardt."
"Neighborly nonsense!" replied the farmer. "The cow belongs to me until
you pay the money."
With these words he turned on his heel and went into his house, the size
and general appearance of which bespoke the comfort, if not the luxury,
of its owner. With a sad and anxious expression Toni Hirzel followed him
with his eye.
"But, father," said the youth, in surprise and anger, "do you mean
quietly to put up with that? I wouldn't suffer it, if I were you."
"Hush, hush, my boy!" replied his father quietly. "It is certainly not
very kind of Frieshardt to treat a poor neighbor in such a harsh way;
but he has the law on his side, for I can't deny that I owe him the
money. I should have paid him long ago if it had been possible, but your
poor mother's illness and death prevented me. We must have patience. I
dare say my cousin will lend me the forty francs if I ask him, and then
we shall get our cow back again. Don't be afraid, Watty. You shall see
Liesli feeding in the meadow again to-morrow."
"Yes, that she shall, father," said the boy, in a decided tone. "She
shall be brought back whether you get the money or not. Frieshardt shall
give her up to-day, and be thoroughly ashamed into the bargain for his
hard-heartedness. He has got forty cows on the hills, and yet robs a
poor neighbor of the only one he has got. What harm have we done him,
that he should treat us in such a way?"
"I will tell you, Watty, for you are now growing tall and sensible, so
that one can talk to you," replied his father. "He has envied me the
possession of Liesli for a long time, for she is the best cow in the
whole neighborhood; and he offered me two hundred francs for her last
autumn. As I wouldn't sell her, he has seized her now, thinking that I
can't pay him the money he has lent me. If I were to go to law with him,
the cow would be valued, and he would only pay me what she is worth over
and above the debt. That is his calculation. But I hope he will soon
find that he has made a great mistake."
"Yes, I hope he will, father," said the boy. "Go over to Grindelwald
quietly, but don't be annoyed if you can't borrow the money. I tell you
that I will get the cow back this very day; and you know, father, that
when I say so I mean it."
"I hope you haven't got any foolish plans in your head, Watty," said his
father. "It is of no use trying force against our neighbor, for he is to
a certain extent in the right."
"I am not thinking of using force," said the boy. "Leave the matter to
me, and go quietly on your journey. I know perfectly well what I am
going to do, and you may be certain that it is nothing wrong."
The tall and ruddy youth looked at his father with such a steady and
open expression that all his fears were silenced. "Well, you are no
longer a child, Walter," said he. "You were sixteen last May, and ought
to have come to years of discretion. But I should very much like to know
what plan you have got in your head. Won't you tell me, boy?"
"You shall hear to-night, after you come back, father," replied Walter,
smiling. "But I assure you again that there is nothing wrong or wicked
in it, and give you my hand upon it."
"Well, then, do whatever you have a mind to," said his father. "I must
not lose any more time, or it will be too late before I get back.
Farewell, my boy, and see that you don't play any roguish tricks."
With these words the peasant took his alpenstock, as the long
iron-pointed stick is named which is used for crossing the ice-fields,
and set forth.
"Good-by, my dear father," said the boy, gazing after him until a turn
in the road hid him from view. "It is better that you should go away
quietly and without anxiety. If I had told you what I am going to do,
you would have been vexed and nervous, and have tried to turn me from
it. But now I shall have nothing to hinder me, and I can set to work in
earnest. I will milk the goats first, though, that the poor animals may
not suffer till I get back."
Obedient to his loud call, the goats came frisking along; and after
having relieved them of their milk, Walter drank some, ate a little
black bread to it, and then put the rest of the milk in a flat pan,
which he set carefully in the cool cellar. When the goats had returned
to the hills, and were clambering from crag to crag in search of grass
and herbage, Walter slung a light hunting bag across his shoulder, stuck
a small axe with a short handle into his belt, and a knife into his
pocket, filled a bottle with goat's milk, and then cut off a large hunch
of bread and placed it with the bottle in his bag. He then selected a
stout alpenstock and tried it carefully, to see if the iron point was
sharp and strong. When these preparations were made, he looked for a
piece of thin strong cord, such as the chamois-hunters take with them on
their dangerous Alpine journeys, put it into his bag beside the bread
and milk, and quitted the cottage, the door of which he bolted on the
outside.
The cottage was about half an hour's walk from the inn on the road from
Meyringen to Grindelwald, and thither the stout-hearted youth turned his
steps. The sun was still low in the east when he arrived, for it was
early in the morning; but a number of horses and mules stood at the door
of the inn waiting for their riders. Several guides were loitering
about, ready to conduct travellers either to the steep heights lying
above the village, down to the beautiful water-falls of the Reichenbach,
or to the village of Meyringen.
"Well, Watty Hirzel," said one of the guides in answer to the boy's
salute, "I suppose you want to earn a couple of francs to-day, as you
have come armed with alpenstock and game bag? You couldn't have chosen a
better day. Every room in the inn is full, and you will easily get
somebody to take to the glaciers or anywhere else."
"No, no, Mohrle," replied the boy; "I haven't come to take your trade
away from you; I only want to speak to Mr. Seymour, the gentleman from
Scotland who has been staying here for about a month. He hasn't left
yet, I hope?"
"No; there he is at the window," said the guide. "But you won't be able
to earn anything from him, for he knows all the roads of the Oberland as
well as any of us. What do you want to speak to him about?"
"You will find that out in the evening, perhaps, when you come back,"
replied Walter. "It is a secret at present."
"Aha! I understand. You have discovered the track of a chamois, and are
going to take the gentleman to see if he can get a shot at it. He seems
quite mad upon hunting, and I dare say you will get a five-franc piece
if you help him."
"Very likely, Mohrle," replied the youth, with a laugh; and then bowed
to the gentleman, who stood at a window of the inn surveying the lively
scene below. Opening the window, he beckoned to the boy, who bowed
again, and went into the house.
"He is a sharp boy," said the guide to one of his companions. "There are
not many lads in the Oberland who are as bold and active in climbing as
he is. And no one can beat him for deer-stalking. But it's no wonder,
for Toni Hirzel, his father, is the best chamois-hunter in this part of
the country."
"Yes, he is a brave fellow," was the reply. "I know his father well.
There isn't a cleverer sportsman in the mountains; but it's a dangerous
life, and I shouldn't like to change places with him. It is much more
comfortable to show strangers the sights; there is less peril and a
great deal more profit in it."
"And yet I would wager anything that Toni wouldn't change places with
us," replied the first speaker. "He told me only a week ago that it was
impossible to give up the hunting life. 'My father and grandfather both
lost their lives by it,' said he, 'and I know I sha'n't fare any better;
but whenever I see the track of a chamois, I must be off after it.' That
is the way with all your chamois-hunters."
"Well, may God long preserve him from such an awful death!" said the
other. "But there comes our party. Look after your horse, Mohrle."
The conversation was thus abruptly cut short. The ladies and gentlemen
mounted the animals that were waiting for them, and in a few minutes the
space in front of the inn was cleared of the busy throng.
"Now, then," said the young Scotchman, whose attention had been occupied
with the company which had just left, and who now turned to Walter.
"Has your father discovered some new tracks, and sent you to tell me?"
"No, Sir. I have come to ask you if you were in earnest the other day,
and if you really wish to have a vulture's brood."
"A vulture's brood, boy?" inquired the Scotchman, with eager and
sparkling eyes. "Have you discovered one?"
"Yes, Sir," replied the youth. "I have clambered up among the wild
ravines of the Engelhorn for several days, and yesterday I descried a
spot where I am pretty certain there is an eyrie. If so, the young birds
must be well fledged already; so it won't do to lose much time in
getting them."
"Well, go and fetch them, then," exclaimed the gentleman, hastily. "I
have set my mind upon having a couple of young vultures."
"And you shall have them, if Heaven preserves my feet from slipping and
my hand from trembling," said the boy. "But I must first know what you
are willing to give me for the birds."
"I have already told you that you shall have thirty francs if you bring
them here alive."
Walter shook his head. "That is not enough, Sir," he replied. "I can't
do it for that. I must have forty francs."
A smile almost of contempt passed over the lips of Mr. Seymour. "So
young, and already so greedy!" said he. "Begone! I hate avarice, and
will rather lose the birds than be cheated in such a way."
Walter blushed deeply. His feelings were so wounded by these words that
his heart swelled as if it would burst, and his eyes filled with tears.
But with a vigorous effort he controlled himself, and gave a quiet
answer. "It is not greed or avarice that makes me ask for more money.
You condemn me unjustly, Sir."
"What else, then, can it be?" inquired Mr. Seymour, angrily.
In a few simple words Walter described the harsh conduct of the neighbor
who had taken away his father's cow for a debt of forty francs, and said
that he had hoped the stranger would readily give the trifling sum of
ten francs more if he only knew how dangerous it was to attempt the
vulture's eyrie. While he spoke, the angry look gradually disappeared
from the traveller's face, and he smiled with friendliness and goodwill
upon the boy.
"And you will expose yourself to this danger to serve your father?" he
inquired.
"Yes, Sir; I have made up my mind to do so."
"But is it so very dangerous to get at the nest?"
"So dangerous that I couldn't make up my mind to it yesterday," replied
Walter. "It is built on one of the steepest crags of the Engelhorn, and
can only be reached by a very narrow ridge of rock with dreadful
precipices on both sides."
"And you are going to risk your life to help your father to pay the
money he owes?"
"Yes; and I am not afraid, if I can only be sure of the reward."
"Well, then, that alters my opinion. Bring me the young vultures, and
the forty francs are yours."
Walter warmly thanked the liberal stranger for his generosity, and was
about to leave the room; but, surprised at the boy's courage, and
perhaps alarmed at the idea of exposing him to such frightful peril, Mr.
Seymour called him back.
"I have changed my mind," said he: "I really have no use for the birds,
at least not at present, and I dare say you will be able to discover
another nest that can be got at without so much danger; and to tell you
the truth, I don't care about having such young ones. Go quietly home,
my boy. But why do you look so sorrowful and alarmed? Oh, I see: you are
afraid of losing the money. No, no; I didn't mean that. Take these two
gold coins--they are a present from me--that will just make up the sum
that your father wants."
Walter stood as if thunder-struck, unable to understand such generosity,
and thought the stranger was joking with him in giving such a large sum
for nothing.
"Take it, my boy--take it," said Mr. Seymour, smiling. "Your father must
and shall be assisted in his difficulty, for he must be a good man to
have such a brave and affectionate son. But the life of a human being
can't be risked for the sake of a couple of stupid birds."
In surprise and confusion Walter took the money, expressed his
thankfulness in a few mumbled words, and shuffled out of the room. When
he reached the open air, he recovered his self-possession to some
extent, and holding the gold coins fast in one hand, threw his cap up in
the air with the other, uttered a loud shout of joy, and bounded
homeward again at the top of his speed. Having reached the cottage, he
put the money in a corner of the cupboard in which his father kept his
small stock of cash, locked the door, and put the key in a place of
safety, and then left the cottage again.
"Now everything is in first-rate order," said he to himself. "Father
will be sure to find the money when he comes back, and I shall have
plenty of time to see how the vulture's nest is to be got at. Mr.
Seymour shall have the birds, no matter what trouble and danger it may
cost me. He shall soon see that I am neither selfish nor unthankful to
him for his generosity."
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
* * * * *
="I can Swim, Sir."=--During a terrible naval battle between the English
and the Dutch, the English flag-ship, commanded by Admiral Narborough,
was drawn into the thickest of the fight. Two masts were soon shot away,
and the mainmast fell with a fearful crash upon the deck. Admiral
Narborough saw that all was lost unless he could bring up his ships from
the right. Hastily scrawling an order, he called for volunteers to swim
across the boiling water, under the hail of shot and shell. A dozen
sailors at once offered their services, and among them a cabin-boy.
"Why," said the admiral, "what can you do, my fearless lad?" "I can
swim, Sir," the boy replied; "if I be shot, I can be easier spared than
any one else." Narborough hesitated; his men were few, and his position
desperate. The boy plunged into the sea, amid the cheers of the sailors,
and was soon lost to sight. The battle raged fiercer, and, as the time
went on, defeat seemed inevitable. But, just as hope was fading, a
thundering cannonade was heard from the right, and the reserves were
seen bearing down upon the enemy. By sunset the Dutch fleet was
scattered far and wide, and the cabin-boy, the hero of the hour, was
called in to receive the honor due to him. His bearing so won the heart
of the old admiral that he exclaimed, "I shall live to see you have a
flag-ship of your own." The prediction was fulfilled when the cabin-boy,
having become Admiral Cloudesley Shovel, was knighted by the king.