A TRAMP ABROAD By Mark Twain

An English friend called my attention to this lapse,

and cut out the reprehensible paragraph for me. Think of

encountering a grin like this on the face of that grim

journal:

ERRATUM.–We are requested by Reuter’s Telegram Company

to correct an erroneous announcement made in their Brisbane

telegram of the 2d inst., published in our impression of the 5th

inst., stating that “Lady Kennedy had given birth to twins,

the eldest being a son.” The Company explain that the message

they received contained the words “Governor of Queensland,

TWINS FIRST SON.” Being, however, subsequently informed

that Sir Arthur Kennedy was unmarried and that there

must be some mistake, a telegraphic repetition was at

once demanded. It has been received today (11th inst.)

and shows that the words really telegraphed by Reuter’s

agent were “Governor Queensland TURNS FIRST SOD,”

alluding to the Maryborough-Gympic Railway in course

of construction. The words in italics were mutilated by

the telegraph in transmission from Australia, and reaching

the company in the form mentioned above gave rise to the mistake.

I had always had a deep and reverent compassion

for the sufferings of the “prisoner of Chillon,”

whose story Byron had told in such moving verse; so I took

the steamer and made pilgrimage to the dungeons of the

Castle of Chillon, to see the place where poor Bonnivard

endured his dreary captivity three hundred years ago.

I am glad I did that, for it took away some of the pain

I was feeling on the prisoner’s account. His dungeon

was a nice, cool, roomy place, and I cannot see why he

should have been dissatisfied with it. If he had been

imprisoned in a St. Nicholas private dwelling, where the

fertilizer prevails, and the goat sleeps with the guest,

and the chickens roost on him and the cow comes in and

bothers him when he wants to muse, it would have been

another matter altogether; but he surely could not have

had a very cheerless time of it in that pretty dungeon.

It has romantic window-slits that let in generous bars

of light, and it has tall, noble columns, carved apparently

from the living rock; and what is more, they are written

all over with thousands of names; some of them–like

Byron’s and Victor Hugo’s–of the first celebrity.

Why didn’t he amuse himself reading these names? Then

there are the couriers and tourists–swarms of them every

day–what was to hinder him from having a good time

with them? I think Bonnivard’s sufferings have been overrated.

Next, we took the train and went to Martigny, on the way

to Mont Blanc. Next morning we started, about eight

o’clock, on foot. We had plenty of company, in the way

of wagon-loads and mule-loads of tourists–and dust.

This scattering procession of travelers was perhaps a

mile long. The road was uphill–interminable uphill–and

tolerably steep. The weather was blisteringly hot,

and the man or woman who had to sit on a creeping mule,

or in a crawling wagon, and broil in the beating sun,

was an object to be pitied. We could dodge among the bushes,

and have the relief of shade, but those people could not.

They paid for a conveyance, and to get their money’s worth

they rode.

We went by the way of the Te^te Noir, and after we

reached high ground there was no lack of fine scenery.

In one place the road was tunneled through a shoulder

of the mountain; from there one looked down into a gorge

with a rushing torrent in it, and on every hand was a

charming view of rocky buttresses and wooded heights.

There was a liberal allowance of pretty waterfalls, too,

on the Te^te Noir route.

About half an hour before we reached the village of

Argentie`re a vast dome of snow with the sun blazing on it

drifted into view and framed itself in a strong V-shaped

gateway of the mountains, and we recognized Mont Blanc,

the “monarch of the Alps.” With every step, after that,

this stately dome rose higher and higher into the blue sky,

and at last seemed to occupy the zenith.

Some of Mont Blanc’s neighbors–bare, light-brown, steeplelike

rocks–were very peculiarly shaped. Some were whittled