Mr. George and Rollo met with various adventures and incidents in going down the next day to Grindelwald which are quite characteristic of mountain travelling in Switzerland.

They did not set out very early in the morning, as Mr. George wished to stay as long as possible to gaze on the face of the Jungfrau and watch the avalanches.

“Rollo,” said he, as they were standing together in front of the hotel after breakfast, “how would you like to go up with me to the top of that hill?”

So saying, Mr. George pointed to the great rounded summit which was seen rising behind the hotel.

“Yes,” said Rollo; “I should like to go very much indeed.”

“Very well,” said Mr. George; “we will go.  But first let me get my pressing book to put some flowers in, in case we find any.”

Mr. George’s pressing book was a contrivance which he had invented for the more convenient desiccation of such flowers as he might gather in his travels and wish to carry home with him and preserve, either for botanical specimens or as souvenirs for his friends.  It was made by taking out all the leaves of a small book and replacing them with an equal number of loose leaves, made for the purpose, of blotting paper, and trimmed to the right size.  Such small flowers as he might gather in the various places that he visited could be much more conveniently pressed and preserved between these loose leaves of blotting paper than between the leaves of an ordinary book.

So Mr. George, taking his pressing book in his hand, led the way; and Rollo following him, they attempted to ascend the hill behind the inn.  They found the ascent, however, extremely steep and difficult.  There were no rocks and no roughnesses of any kind in the way.  It was merely a grassy slope like the steep face of a terrace; but it was so steep that, after Mr. George and Rollo had scrambled up two or three hundred feet, it made Rollo almost dizzy to look down; and he began to cling to the grass and to feel afraid.

“Rollo,” said Mr. George, “I am almost afraid to climb up here any higher.  Do you feel afraid?”

“No, sir,” said Rollo, endeavoring at the same time to reassure himself.  “No, sir; I am not much afraid.”

“Let us stop a few minutes to rest and look at the mountain,” said Mr. George.

Mr. George knew very well that there was no real danger; for the slope, though very steep, was very grassy from the top to the bottom; and even if Rollo had fallen and rolled down it could not have done him much harm.

After a short pause, to allow Rollo to get a little familiar with the scene, Mr. George began to move on.  Rollo followed.  Both Rollo and Mr. George would occasionally look up to see how far they were from the top.  It was very difficult, however, to look up, as in doing so it was necessary to lean the head so far back that they came very near losing their balance.

After going on for about half an hour, Mr. George said that he did not see that they were any nearer the top of the hill than they were at the beginning.

“Nor I either,” said Rollo; “and I think we had better go back again.”

“Well,” said Mr. George, “we will; but let us first stop here a few minutes to look at the Jungfrau.”

The view of the Jungfrau was of course more commanding here than it was down at the inn.  So Mr. George and Rollo remained some time at their resting-place gazing at the mountain and watching for avalanches.  At length they returned to the inn; and an hour or two afterwards they set out on their journey to Grindelwald.

The reader will recollect that Grindelwald was the valley on the other side of the Wengern Alp from Lauterbrunnen, and that our travellers, having come up one way, were going down the other.

The distance from the inn at the Wengern Alp to Grindelwald is seven or eight miles.  For a time the path ascends, for the inn is not at the summit of the pass.  Until it attains the summit it leads through a region of hills and ravines, with swamps, morasses, precipices of rocks, and great patches of snow scattered here and there along the way.  At one place Rollo met with an adventure which for a moment put him in considerable danger.  It was at a place where the path led along on the side of the mountain, with a smooth grassy slope above and a steep descent ending in another smooth grassy slope below.  At a little distance forward there was a great patch of snow, the edge of which came over the path and covered it.

A heavy mist had come up just before Rollo reached this place, and he had accordingly spread his umbrella over his head.  He was riding along, holding the bridle in one hand and his umbrella in the other, so that both his hands were confined.  Mr. George was walking at some distance before.  The guide, too, was a little in advance, for the path was too narrow for him to walk by the side of the horse; and, as the way here was smooth and pretty level, he did not consider it necessary that he should be in very close attendance on Rollo.

Things being in this condition, the horse ­when he came in sight of the snow, which lay covering the path at a little distance before him ­concluded that it would be safer both for him and for his rider that he should not attempt to go through it, having learned by experience that his feet would sink sometimes to great depths in such cases.  So he determined to turn round and go back.  He accordingly stopped; and turning his head towards the grassy bank above the path and his heels towards the brink on the other side, as horses always do when they undertake such a manoeuvre in a narrow path, he attempted to “go about.”  Rollo was of course utterly unable to do any thing to control him except to pull one of the reins to bring him back into the path, and strike his heels into the horse’s side as if he were spurring him.  This, however, only made the matter worse.  The horse backed off the brink; and both he and Rollo, falling head over heels, rolled down the steep slope together.

And not together exactly, either; for Rollo who was usually pretty alert and ready in emergencies of difficulty or danger, when he found himself rolling down the slope, though he could not stop, still contrived to wriggle and twist himself off to one side, so as to get clear of the horse and roll off himself in a different direction.  They both, however, the animal and the boy, soon came to a stop.  Rollo was up in an instant.  The horse, too, contrived, after some scrambling, to gain his feet.  All this time the guide remained in the path on the brink of the descent transfixed with astonishment and consternation.

“Henry,” said Rollo, looking up to the guide, “what is the French for head over heels?”

A very decided but somewhat equivocal smile spread itself over Henry’s features on hearing this question, which, however, he did not understand; and he immediately began to run down the bank to get the horse.

“Because,” said Rollo, still speaking in French, “that is what in English we call going head over heels.”

Henry led the horse round by a circuitous way back to the path.  Rollo followed; and as soon as they reached it Rollo mounted again.  Henry then took hold of the bridle of the horse and led him along till they got through the snow; after which they went on without any further difficulty.

The path led for a time along a very wild and desolate region, which seemed to be bordered on the right, at a distance of two or three miles, by a range of stupendous precipices, surmounted by peaks covered with ice and snow, which presented to the view a spectacle of the most astonishing grandeur.  At one point in the path Rollo saw at a distance before him a number of buildings scattered over a green slope of land.

“Ah,” said he to the guide, “we are coming to a village.”

“No,” said the guide.  “It is a pasturage.  We are too high yet for a village.”

On asking for a further explanation, Rollo learned that the mountaineers were accustomed to drive their herds up the mountains in the summer to places too cold to be inhabited all the year round, and to live there with them in these little huts during the two or three months while the grass was green.  The men would bring up their milking pails, their pans, their churns, their cheese presses, and their kettles for cooking, and thus live in a sort of encampment while the grass lasted, and make butter and cheese to carry down the mountain with them when they returned.

At one time Rollo saw at the door of one of the huts a man with what seemed to be a long pole in his hand.  It was bent at the lower end.  The man came out of a hut, and, putting the bent end of the pole to the ground, he brought the other up near to his mouth, and seemed to be waiting for the travellers to come down to him.

“What is he going to do?” asked Rollo.

“He has got what we call an Alpine horn,” said the guide; “and he is going to blow it for you, to let you hear the echoes.”

So, when Mr. George and Rollo reached the place, the man blew into the end of his pole, which proved to be hollow, and it produced a very loud sound, like that of a trumpet.  The sounds were echoed against the face of a mountain which was opposite to the place in a very remarkable manner.  Mr. George paid the man a small sum of money, and then they went on.

Not long afterwards they came to another hut, which was situated opposite to a part of the mountain range where there was a great accumulation of ice and snow, that seemed to hang suspended, as it were, as if just ready to fall.  A man stood at the door of this hut with a small iron cannon, which was mounted somewhat rudely on a block of wood, in his hand.

“What is he going to do with that cannon?” asked Rollo.

“He is going to fire it,” said Henry, “to start down the avalanches from the mountain.”

Henry here pointed to the face of the mountain opposite to where they were standing, and showed Rollo the immense masses of ice and snow that seemed to hang suspended there, ready to fall.

It is customary to amuse travellers in Switzerland with the story that the concussion produced by the discharge of a gun or a cannon will sometimes detach these masses, and thus hasten the fall of an avalanche; and though the experiment is always tried when travellers pass these places, I never yet heard of a case in which the effect was really produced.  At any rate, in this instance, ­though the man loaded his cannon heavily, and rammed the charge down well, and though the report was very loud and the echoes were extremely sharp and much prolonged, ­there were no avalanches started by the concussion.  Rollo and Mr. George watched the vast snow banks that overhung the cliffs with great interest for several minutes; but they all remained immovable.

So Mr. George paid the man a small sum of money, and then they went on.

After going on for an hour or two longer on this vast elevation, the path began gradually to descend into the valley of Grindelwald.  The village of Grindelwald at length came into view, with the hundreds of cottages and hamlets that were scattered over the more fertile and cultivated region that surrounded it.  The travellers could look down, also, upon the great glaciers of Grindelwald ­two mighty streams of ice, half a mile wide and hundreds of feet deep, which come flowing very slowly down from the higher mountains, and terminate in icy precipices among the fields and orchards of the valley. They determined to go and explore one of these glaciers the next day.

As they drew near to the village, the people of the scattered cottages came out continually, as they saw them coming, with various plans to get money from them.  At one place two pretty little peasant girls, in the Grindelwald costume, came out with milk for them.  One of the girls held the pitcher and the other a mug; and they gave Mr. George and Rollo good drinks. At another house a boy came out with filberts to sell; and at another the merchandise consisted of crystals and other shining minerals which had been collected in the mountains near.

At one time Rollo saw before him three children standing in a row by the side of the road.  They seemed to have something in their hands.  When he reached the place, he found that they had for sale some very cunning little Swiss cottages carved in wood.  These carvings were extremely small and very pretty.  Each one was put in a small box for safe transportation.  In some cases the children had nothing to sell, and they simply held out their hands to beg as the travellers went by; and there were several lame persons, and idiots, and blind persons, and other objects of misery that occasionally appeared imploring charity.  As, however, these unfortunates were generally satisfied with an exceedingly small donation, it did not cost much to make them all look very happy.  There is a Swiss coin, of the value of a fifth part of a cent, which was generally enough to give; so that, for a New York shilling, Rollo found he could make more than sixty donations ­which was certainly very cheap charity.

“In fact,” said Rollo, “it is so cheap that I would rather give them the money than not.”

At length the party arrived safely at Grindelwald and put up at an excellent inn, with windows looking out upon the glaciers.  The next day they went to see the glaciers; and on the day following they returned to Interlachen.