A TRAMP ABROAD By Mark Twain

said in my heart he should live to perceive and confess

that the only noble revenge a man can take upon his enemy

is to return good for evil. I resign in his favor.

Appoint him.”

I threw my arms around the generous fellow and said:

“Harris, you are the noblest soul that lives. You shall

not regret this sublime act, neither shall the world

fail to know of it. You shall have opportunity far

transcending this one, too, if I live–remember that.”

I called the head guide to me and appointed him on

the spot. But the thing aroused no enthusiasm in him.

He did not take to the idea at all.

He said:

“Tie myself to an umbrella and jump over the Gorner

Grat! Excuse me, there are a great many pleasanter roads

to the devil than that.”

Upon a discussion of the subject with him, it appeared that he

considered the project distinctly and decidedly dangerous.

I was not convinced, yet I was not willing to try the

experiment in any risky way–that is, in a way that might

cripple the strength and efficiency of the Expedition.

I was about at my wits’ end when it occurred to me to try

it on the Latinist.

He was called in. But he declined, on the plea

of inexperience, diffidence in public, lack of curiosity,

and I didn’t know what all. Another man declined

on account of a cold in the head; thought he ought

to avoid exposure. Another could not jump well–never

COULD jump well–did not believe he could jump so far

without long and patient practice. Another was afraid it

was going to rain, and his umbrella had a hole in it.

Everybody had an excuse. The result was what the reader

has by this time guessed: the most magnificent idea

that was ever conceived had to be abandoned, from sheer

lack of a person with enterprise enough to carry it out.

Yes, I actually had to give that thing up–while doubtless

I should live to see somebody use it and take all the credit from

me.

Well, I had to go overland–there was no other way.

I marched the Expedition down the steep and tedious mule-path

and took up as good a position as I could upon the middle

of the glacier–because Baedeker said the middle part

travels the fastest. As a measure of economy, however,

I put some of the heavier baggage on the shoreward parts,

to go as slow freight.

I waited and waited, but the glacier did not move.

Night was coming on, the darkness began to gather–still we

did not budge. It occurred to me then, that there might

be a time-table in Baedeker; it would be well to find out

the hours of starting. I called for the book–it could not

be found. Bradshaw would certainly contain a time-table;

but no Bradshaw could be found.

Very well, I must make the best of the situation. So I

pitched the tents, picketed the animals, milked the cows,

had supper, paregoricked the men, established the watch,

and went to bed–with orders to call me as soon as we came

in sight of Zermatt.

I awoke about half past ten next morning, and looked around.

We hadn’t budged a peg! At first I could not understand it;

then it occurred to me that the old thing must be aground.

So I cut down some trees and rigged a spar on the starboard

and another on the port side, and fooled away upward of

three hours trying to spar her off. But it was no use.

She was half a mile wide and fifteen or twenty miles long,

and there was no telling just whereabouts she WAS aground.

The men began to show uneasiness, too, and presently they

came flying to me with ashy faces, saying she had sprung

a leak.

Nothing but my cool behavior at this critical time saved us

from another panic. I order them to show me the place.

They led me to a spot where a huge boulder lay in a deep

pool of clear and brilliant water. It did look like

a pretty bad leak, but I kept that to myself. I made