Home > Authors Index > George Manville Fenn > Crystal Hunters: A Boy's Adventures in the Higher Alps > This page
The Crystal Hunters: A Boy's Adventures in the Higher Alps, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
||
Chapter 17. Saxe Takes A Shower-Bath |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. SAXE TAKES A SHOWER-BATH The musical tinkling of bells roused Saxe at daybreak; and, as he listened to the pleasant sound produced by quite a large herd of goats, their leader's horn was heard from time to time collecting stragglers who were disposed to stop at intervals to begin breakfasting on the way. "We haven't done much in finding crystals yet," thought Saxe, as he lay. "I wonder what he means to do this morning. I feel as if I should like a day or two's rest; but I don't know--I'm not so very tired." He lay very still for a few minutes, listening to the tinkling chime of the goat-bells, gradually growing more distant as their wearers made their way up the side of the valley; and as he listened he could tell as well as if he were watching when one of the goats broke away from the herd and leaped and bounded among the rocks to some tempting patch of young green grass,--for there was a sudden splash, so to speak, in the stream of sound; and again when two or three young kids rose on their hind legs and butted and danced at each other. The picture Saxe painted in his mind made him restless, and the morning love of another half-hour being chased away, he determined to rise and get out in the clear, fresh air. "Time they woke up," thought Saxe at last, as the pale dawn stole in through the chinks. "Tired, I suppose." He lay listening now to the low murmuring sound of the cowbells, whose chime was silvery and pleasant, and trembled and vibrated in the air; and again he pictured the soft-eyed, meek, lowing creatures, slowly picking their way among the great mossy stones which had been tumbled down from the mountain. "Oh, I sha'n't lie here any longer," said Saxe to himself. "I say!" he cried: "Mr Dale! Ahoy! It's to-morrow morning. Oh, what a noddle I am!" he muttered. "It's broad daylight, Mr Dale. Are you coming for a dip?" No answer. "I say, Mr Dale! Time to get up." All was silent, and Saxe raised himself on his elbow and peered through the darkness at the heap of hay beside him. "He must have been tired last night," he muttered, "and old Melk too. I say, Mr Dale! do you know what you say to me sometimes?" "No: that he doesn't," thought Saxe. "He is sleeping fast, and if I wake him he'll turn rusty. I don't care. Here--hi! Mr Dale. Breakfast!" Still no reply. "Oh, I must rouse him," cried Saxe, and, springing up, he went to where his companion slept, and then gave the hay an angry kick. "What a shame!" he cried. "I do call that shabby. They've been up ever so long, and gone somewhere without me. It's too bad!" He hurried out of the great loft-like place, and encountered the sour-looking man Pierre. "Here!" he cried, in atrociously bad German, bolstered up and patched with English: "where's the herr, and where's Melchior?" Pierre, whose hair was full of scraps of hay, took off his cap and scratched his head. "Where is the herr and where is the guide?" said Saxe, a little louder and with a worse pronunciation. Pierre opened his mouth, let his head hang forward, and stared at the lad in a heavy, stupid way. "I say, William Tell," cried Saxe--in plain English now--"can't you understand your own language?" The man stared more heavily than before. "Regardez donc: parlez-vous Francais?" The stare continued. "Well, you are a lively one," muttered Saxe. "Here, I'll have another try at you. 'Wollen Sie mir.' Let's see: 'wollen Sie mir'--what's 'have the goodness to tell me which way the guide and Mr Dale went?'-- You don't understand? No more do I how you can stand there like an ugly bit of rustic carving. I say, stupid! Can you understand that? Oh, I'm as stupid as he is. Get out of the way, old wooden wisdom, and let's find your master." Just at that moment voices fell upon the lad's ear, evidently coming from a rough building formed of pine logs built up log-hut fashion. He hurried towards it, and found old Andregg standing at the door looking in, but ready to turn and salute him with a pleasant smile and the friendly "good morning" of the Swiss people. "Ah, Saxe! that you?" said Dale, who was busy with Melchior repacking some of the things which had been brought up the valley by Pierre during their absence. "Had a good night's rest?" "Yes. But why didn't you call me when you got up?" "I did, and so did Melchior; but you were so sound that I thought I'd let you sleep. Well, all the traps are right, and I've been packing up what we want to take." "Where?" "Into the heart of the mountains." "And when do you start?" "As soon as ever we have done breakfast and put together a good supply of food. Had your bath?" "No. I meant to go with you." "Go and have it, and by that time we shall be ready for breakfast." Saxe went off rather dissatisfied, towel in hand, to pass their landlord's wife and receive a nod and smile. Then he went on towards the place which he had visited before; and now, one by one, the cold-looking peaks began to turn rosy and brighten, the scene changing so rapidly to orange and gold that Saxe forgot his dissatisfied feelings, and at last stopped to look round in admiration, then in dismay, and at last in something approaching rage; for not a dozen yards behind him was the heavy, stolid face of Pierre, his mouth looking as if it had not been shut since he spoke to him. The man had stopped when Saxe stopped, and he continued his heavy stare. "Oh! I do wish I had paid more attention to my jolly old French and German at school," muttered Saxe, as the man's stare quite worried him. "I wonder what 'be off' is? Allez-vous en he would not understand. 'Gehen!' That's 'to go.' But you can't say 'to go' to a fellow, when you want him to be off. And you can't say 'go to,' because gehen's only one word. I know: 'Gehen sie Jericho!' I'll let that off at him if he follows me any farther." Saxe nodded at the man, said "Morgen," and went on. "'Morgen!' Well, that's 'good morning.' He must understand that; but I don't believe he understands it as we do when one says 'good morning' to a fellow and means he's to go. Oh! I say, what are you following me for? I know. He is a dirty-looking beggar. He's coming for a wash. But after me, please, mein herr. I'll have first go. Ugh! I'd rather have a bath after a pig." Saxe went on rapidly; but the man still followed, walking when he did, and timing his pace to keep up; stopping when he did, and provoking such a feeling of irritation in the English lad, that he suddenly faced round and fired the speech he had prepared, but with lingual additions which ornamented and certainly obscured the meaning. "Here, I say! you, sir!" he cried: "old what's-your-name--Pierre? 'gehen Jericho!'" The man still stared. "I say, 'gehen Jericho!' and if you will, 'danke schon,' and good luck to you. Oh, I say, do shut that ugly mouth of yours. What's the good of keeping it open if you're not going to speak! There's no breakfast here." Pierre still stared, and Saxe swung round again and went on. "It's too bad to be bothered by a foreigner like him," he muttered. "I meant to have a regular natural shower-bath,"--he glanced up at the beautiful spray fall beyond him as he said this to himself--"but now I can't have it, with this fellow watching me, and it'll only mean a scrub and rub." He stopped and turned round again, to find Pierre in his old position just the same distance behind. "I tell you what it is, old chap: if you don't shut up that mouth, I shall be tempted to pitch a round stone into it; and if it wasn't for fear of getting up war between England and Switzerland, I'd come and punch your head. Here, I say! Do you hear? Be off!" Pierre stared. "Oh! I know what you are," grumbled Saxe: "you're a cretin--an idiot. I suppose there are lots of you in the valleys. Here--hi! Catch!" Saxe took a twenty-cent nickel coin from his pocket, and took aim. "I'll pitch it right into his mouth," he said to himself. "There you are, old chap! Don't swallow it!" He threw the coin so truly, that if Pierre had stood still it would, in all probability, have gone where it was aimed. But the man's action was as quick as that of a monkey. With one sharp dash of the hand he caught the piece, scowled as he found that it was not half a florin, and then thrust it into his pocket and stared. "Oh my!" muttered Saxe as he went on; "he's worse than that lost dog, who came and said to me that I was his master, and that he'd never leave me as long as I lived. I hope this chap isn't going to follow me all the time we're here." He stopped once more. "I say, old chap, do you want anything?" No answer but the stolid stare. "Don't you know that it's very rude? Bah! I might as well discuss Euclid with old Gros. Just you wait till I've had my tub and got back to breakfast, and if I don't set old Melchior at you I'm a Dutchman." Fully determined to take no more notice of the man, Saxe went on to the pool, had a comfortable wash in the sparkling water, which was invigorating to a degree, scrubbed himself dry, and all the time battled hard with an intense desire to throw stones at Pierre, who stood watching every act some ten yards away. "Thank you," said Saxe at last, as he opened a pocket-comb, and began to use it to his wet hair: "I've quite done, thank you; but if I might give you a bit of advice, I wouldn't wash much this morning. Do it by degrees. If you made yourself quite clean, you might catch cold; and besides, the cows and goats wouldn't know you. 'Morgen' once more." Saxe started to return, leaving his stolid companion behind and fully expecting to hear him splashing in the pool; but two minutes later he exclaimed: "No fear of his catching cold or frightening the cows. I don't believe he has had a wash for a month. Why, if he isn't following me again! Well, he shall run." It was not a very satisfactory place for running, encumbered as it was with stones; but Saxe was as active as most lads of his age, and he started off dodging in and out among huge blocks of granite, leaping from smooth glacier ground rock to rock, making good speed over the patches of level grass and whin, and sending the blood coursing through his veins in the bright morning air; but to his intense annoyance he found that his activity was nothing to that of the heavy, dirty-looking being who kept up easily close to his heels, for every now and then the man leaped from rock to rock as surely as a goat. But growing a little out of breath, and thinking at last that it was of no use to tire himself so soon in the morning, the boy slowly settled down into a walk just as a loud jodel came echoing from the sheltered hollow where the chalet stood. "Hallo!" said Saxe, whose good humour came back at the thoughts connected with that cry. "There's old Melk ringing the breakfast bell;" and once more he stopped, placed his hand to the side of his mouth, and jodelled. "There, old chap, what do you think of that?" he said, looking back at Pierre, who stood rooted there with quite a different expression upon his countenance. The heavy, vacant look had given way to one of utter astonishment, wonder flashed from his eyes, and as Saxe grasped the reason he swung himself round in dudgeon. "Oh, you ignorant donkey!" he muttered: "it was as good a jodel as old Melk's. I said you were an idiot, and this proves it: never heard an Englishman jodel before?" Five minutes after he was enjoying the steaming hot coffee and delicious milk, butter, eggs and bread, discussing--often with his mouth too fall--the plans of the coming day's work. _ |
||