A TRAMP ABROAD By Mark Twain

The chief guide advised a delay; he said he feared it

was going to rain. We waited until nine o’clock, and then

got away in tolerably clear weather.

Our course led up some terrific steeps, densely wooded with

larches and cedars, and traversed by paths which the rains

had guttered and which were obstructed by loose stones.

To add to the danger and inconvenience, we were constantly

meeting returning tourists on foot and horseback,

and as constantly being crowded and battered by ascending

tourists who were in a hurry and wanted to get by.

Our troubles thickened. About the middle of the afternoon

the seventeen guides called a halt and held a consultation.

After consulting an hour they said their first suspicion

remained intact–that is to say, they believed they

were lost. I asked if they did not KNOW it? No, they said,

they COULDN’T absolutely know whether they were lost or not,

because none of them had ever been in that part of the

country before. They had a strong instinct that they

were lost, but they had no proofs–except that they

did not know where they were. They had met no tourists

for some time, and they considered that a suspicious sign.

Plainly we were in an ugly fix. The guides were naturally

unwilling to go alone and seek a way out of the difficulty;

so we all went together. For better security we moved

slow and cautiously, for the forest was very dense.

We did not move up the mountain, but around it, hoping to

strike across the old trail. Toward nightfall, when we

were about tired out, we came up against a rock as big

as a cottage. This barrier took all the remaining spirit

out of the men, and a panic of fear and despair ensued.

They moaned and wept, and said they should never see

their homes and their dear ones again. Then they began

to upbraid me for bringing them upon this fatal expedition.

Some even muttered threats against me.

Clearly it was no time to show weakness. So I made

a speech in which I said that other Alp-climbers had been

in as perilous a position as this, and yet by courage

and perseverance had escaped. I promised to stand by them,

I promised to rescue them. I closed by saying we had plenty

of provisions to maintain us for quite a siege–and did they

suppose Zermatt would allow half a mile of men and mules

to mysteriously disappear during any considerable time,

right above their noses, and make no inquiries? No,

Zermatt would send out searching-expeditions and we should be

saved.

This speech had a great effect. The men pitched the tents

with some little show of cheerfulness, and we were snugly

under cover when the night shut down. I now reaped

the reward of my wisdom in providing one article which is

not mentioned in any book of Alpine adventure but this.

I refer to the paregoric. But for that beneficent drug,

would have not one of those men slept a moment during that

fearful night. But for that gentle persuader they must

have tossed, unsoothed, the night through; for the whiskey

was for me. Yes, they would have risen in the morning

unfitted for their heavy task. As it was, everybody slept

but my agent and me–only we and the barkeepers.

I would not permit myself to sleep at such a time.

I considered myself responsible for all those lives.

I meant to be on hand and ready, in case of avalanches

up there, but I did not know it then.

We watched the weather all through that awful night,

and kept an eye on the barometer, to be prepared for

the least change. There was not the slightest change

recorded by the instrument, during the whole time.

Words cannot describe the comfort that that friendly,

hopeful, steadfast thing was to me in that season

of trouble. It was a defective barometer, and had no hand

but the stationary brass pointer, but I did not know that

until afterward. If I should be in such a situation again,

I should not wish for any barometer but that one.

All hands rose at two in the morning and took breakfast,