A TRAMP ABROAD By Mark Twain

it reached the jumping-off place it made a sudden bow,

and went gliding smoothly downstairs, untroubled by

the circumstances.

It was wildly exhilarating to slide along the edge of

the precipices, after this grisly fashion, and look straight

down upon that far-off valley which I was describing a while ago.

There was no level ground at the Kaltbad station;

the railbed was as steep as a roof; I was curious

to see how the stop was going to be managed.

But it was very simple; the train came sliding down,

and when it reached the right spot it just stopped–that

was all there was “to it”–stopped on the steep incline,

and when the exchange of passengers and baggage had

been made, it moved off and went sliding down again.

The train can be stopped anywhere, at a moment’s notice.

There was one curious effect, which I need not take the

trouble to describe–because I can scissor a description

of it out of the railway company’s advertising pamphlet,

and say my ink:

“On the whole tour, particularly at the Descent, we undergo

an optical illusion which often seems to be incredible.

All the shrubs, fir trees, stables, houses, etc., seem to be bent

in a slanting direction, as by an immense pressure of air.

They are all standing awry, so much awry that the chalets

and cottages of the peasants seem to be tumbling down.

It is the consequence of the steep inclination of the line.

Those who are seated in the carriage do not observe that they

are doing down a declivity of twenty to twenty-five degrees

(their seats being adapted to this course of proceeding

and being bent down at their backs). They mistake their

carriage and its horizontal lines for a proper measure

of the normal plain, and therefore all the objects outside

which really are in a horizontal position must show a

disproportion of twenty to twenty-five degrees declivity,

in regard to the mountain.”

By the time one reaches Kaltbad, he has acquired confidence

in the railway, and he now ceases to try to ease the

locomotive by holding back. Thenceforth he smokes his

pipe in serenity, and gazes out upon the magnificent

picture below and about him with unfettered enjoyment.

There is nothing to interrupt the view or the breeze;

it is like inspecting the world on the wing. However–to be

exact–there is one place where the serenity lapses for a while;

this is while one is crossing the Schnurrtobel Bridge,

a frail structure which swings its gossamer frame down

through the dizzy air, over a gorge, like a vagrant

spider-strand.

One has no difficulty in remembering his sins while

the train is creeping down this bridge; and he repents

of them, too; though he sees, when he gets to Vitznau,

that he need not have done it, the bridge was perfectly safe.

So ends the eventual trip which we made to the Rigi-Kulm

to see an Alpine sunrise.

CHAPTER XXX

[Harris Climbs Mountains for Me]

An hour’s sail brought us to Lucerne again. I judged

it best to go to bed and rest several days, for I knew

that the man who undertakes to make the tour of Europe

on foot must take care of himself.

Thinking over my plans, as mapped out, I perceived that

they did not take in the Furka Pass, the Rhone Glacier,

the Finsteraarhorn, the Wetterhorn, etc. I immediately

examined the guide-book to see if these were important,

and found they were; in fact, a pedestrian tour of Europe

could not be complete without them. Of course that decided

me at once to see them, for I never allow myself to do

things by halves, or in a slurring, slipshod way.

I called in my agent and instructed him to go without delay

and make a careful examination of these noted places,

on foot, and bring me back a written report of the result,

for insertion in my book. I instructed him to go to Hospenthal

as quickly as possible, and make his grand start from there;

to extend his foot expedition as far as the Giesbach fall,

and return to me from thence by diligence or mule.

I told him to take the courier with him.