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gation is composed of the herdsmen on the mountain. A branch railroad, about four miles long, runs on a ridge of the mountain to a promontory called the Scheideck, from which an admirable prospect may be had, and where there is a hotel; and from the Kaltbad, which was mentioned before, there is a pleasant rural walk toward the other end of the Rigi range, to a place called the Kanzli, from which the most charming views, near and distant, may be had.

Never was there a mountain so well adapted to boys and girls as the Rigi. Once arrived upon the upper parts of this mountain, which stretches far and wide, there is found every inducement for scramble, walk, and climb, in places which are not at all dangerous. The Rothstock, the Kulm, and other grassy peaks, can be ascended; long tramps can be taken through the valleys; the herdsmen's cottages and the monastery can be visited; and all this in a mountain air which gives one strength, spirit, and appetite.

The young folk, as well as grown people, are to be seen rambling everywhere. One day, as I was walking toward a place from which there was a good view, I heard a step behind me, and directly I was passed by a regular mountain climber. He was a

tall young man, with a mighty stride. He wore a flannel shirt, with no coat or vest, but these hung at his back from a strap around his waist. On his powerful legs were knickerbockers and a pair of long red stockings, and in his hand he held a long-pointed alpenstock. Up the mountain, straight toward the highest point of the Kulm, he went, steadily and swiftly as a two-legged steamengine. He was such a man as we would probably meet on the snowy peaks of the Higher Alps, if we should happen to be wandering there.

Shortly after this young athlete had passed, I saw, coming down the mountain, a lady and her little boy. The youngster, about six years old, who marched behind his mother, was equipped in true mountaineer style. His little coat hung at his little back; on his little legs he wore knickerbockers and long stockings, and on his feet a pair of little hob-nailed shoes; in his hand he carried a little alpenstock. His mother was a good walker, but she did not leave her boy behind. With strides as long as his little legs could make, he followed her bravely down the hill, punching his sharp stick into the ground at every step, as if he wished to make the mountain feel that he was there. He was just as full of the spirit of the Alpine climber, and enjoyed his tramp quite as much, as the practiced mountaineer who was striding away toward the Kulm.

Girls there were too, whole parties of them, each with an alpenstock in her hand, on every

grassy knoll, on every path through the valleys, or along the ridges. In ordinary life it is not customary for girls and ladies to carry sticks or canes, but some of these become so fond of their long alpenstocks that I have seen girls with these ironpointed sticks in their hands, walking about the cities of Switzerland, where they were of no more use than a third shoe.

It is not only in fine weather that life on this mountain is to be enjoyed. The approach of a storm is a grand sight; great clouds gathering on the crests of the higher peaks of the mountain chains, and sweeping down in battle array upon hills, valleys, and plains. Even in the rain, the views have a strange and varied appearance which is very attractive, and every change in the weather produces changes in the landscape, sometimes quite novel and unexpected, and almost always grand or beautiful.

There is only one kind of weather in which the Rigi is not attractive. On my third day on the mountain I was sitting in the dining-room of the hotel, taking my midday meal, with about a hundred other guests, when I heard a loud groan from one of the tables; then there was another and another; and, directly, a chorus of groans arose from every part of the long dining-room. Looking about to see what was the matter, I noticed that everybody was staring out of the windows. When I looked out I saw a sight that was worth seeing, and one that was enough to make anybody groan who knew what it meant. A great cloud was coming down out of the sky directly upon the Rigi. It was heavy and gray, and its form was plainly defined in the clear air around it. When it had spread itself above us, almost touching the roof of the house, we could see, below its far-reaching edges, the distant landscape still sparkling in the sunlight. Then it came down, and blotted us out from the view of all the world. To the people below, the top of the Rigi was covered with a cloud, and to us there was nothing to be seen twenty feet from the window. Now there were no views, there were no walks, there was no sitting out-of-doors, there was nothing that one came to the Rigi for. No wonder that the people groaned. All their plans for outdoor pleasure had been brought to a sudden end by this swiftly descending cloud, which those who were wise in such matters believed would not soon disappear. It was evidently the beginning of bad weather, and those who remained on the mountain-tops must live in the clouds for several days. When nothing was to be seen, and nothing was to be done, it was a good time to leave the Rigi; and so, in company with a great many other visitors, for it was near the end of the season, and people could not wait for better weather, as they

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"SOMETIMES, ON THE ROCKS, WE SEE A GIRL BLOWING A HORN TO CALL TOGETHER HER FLOCK OF GOATS. (PAGE 426.)

would have done a few weeks earlier, I took leave of the mountain, knowing very well that the little locomotive could find its way down, cloud or no cloud.

We may not have such an experience as this, but we shall leave the Rigi, carrying with us VOL. XIII.-28.

recollections, which no rain could ever wash away, of that interesting mountain, with its beautiful green slopes and peaks, its magnificent panoramas, its happy boys and girls, its pleasant summer life, its picturesque glades, and herds, and— its railway to the top.

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CHAPTER X.

GEORGE

WASHINGTON.

[A Historical Biography.]

BY HORACE E. SCUDDER.

A TERRIBLE LESSON IN WAR.

HOWEVER keenly Washington may have felt the defeat which he suffered at Great Meadows, no one blamed him for a misfortune which he had tried in so spirited a fashion to prevent. On the contrary, the House of Burgesses, then in session, after hearing an account of the engagement and reading the articles of capitulation, passed a vote of thanks to Colonel Washington and his officers "for their bravery and gallant defense of their country." In point of fact, the expedition had by no means been a failure. It had built many miles of road; it had shown that the Virginian soldiers could fight, and it had made the French respect their enemy.

To Washington it had been an initiation into military service. He had heard the bullets whistling about him, and had known what it was to lead men; he had encountered on a small scale the difficulties which beset commanders of armies; he had stood for nine hours under fire from a superior force. Not all the hardships of the sharp campaign could dampen his ardor. He knew that he was a soldier; he knew, too, that he was a commander, and such knowledge is much more than petty conceit.

He was to be put to the test in this matter in a new way. He went back to Alexandria, where his regiment was quartered, and shortly after received word from Governor Dinwiddie to be in readiness for a fresh movement. It had been resolved to send another expedition to attack Fort Duquesne, and Washington was bidden to at once fill up his regiment to three hundred men and join the other forces at Wills Creek. Eager as the young colonel was for service, he had not taken leave of his good sense. He was something more than a fighter, and his native judgment, as well as his hard-earned experience, showed him the foolhardiness of such an adventure. It does not appear that he wrote to his superior officer, the Governor, remonstrating against the wild project, but he wrote to Lord Fairfax, who had influence, giving his reasons why the enterprise was morally impossible.

They were without money, men, or provisions. It would be impossible in any case to move before November, and he knew well enough, by his ex

perience the year before, what a terrible winter campaign it would be. "To show you the state of the regiment," he writes to Lord Fairfax, "I have sent you a report by which you will perceive what great deficiencies there are of men, arms, tents, kettles, screws (which was a fatal want before), bayonets, cartouch-boxes, and everything else. Again, were our men ever so willing to go, for want of the proper necessaries of life they are unable to do it. The chief part are almost naked, and scarcely a man has either shoes, stockings, or a hat. These things the merchants will not credit them for. The country has made no provision; they have not money themselves, and it can not be expected that the officers will engage for them again, personally, having suffered greatly on this head already; especially now, when we have all the reason in the world to believe that they will desert whenever they have an opportunity. There is not a man that has a blanket to secure him from cold or wet. Ammunition is a material object, and that is to come from Williamsburg or wherever the Governor can procure it. An account must be first sent of the quantity which is wanted; this, added to the carriage up, with the necessary tools that must be had, as well as the time for bringing them round, will, I believe, advance us into that season, when it is usual, in more moderate climates, to retreat into winter-quarters, but here, with us, to begin a campaign!"

The argument of Washington's letter, of which this is a part, was unanswerable. It showed his clear, cool judgment, and the thoroughness with which he considered every detail in a scheme. The Governor gave up his design, but it was not long before he stumbled into a new folly. He had persuaded the Burgesses to grant twenty thousand pounds for military operations, and had received ten thousand more from England. So he set about enlarging the army to ten independent companies of one hundred men each, proposing to place each company under command of a captain. He hoped in this way to be rid of the jealousy which existed between the several officers, since there would be none above the rank of captain.

The plan was only inferior to one by which every soldier who enlisted should have been made captain, so that nobody need be inferior to anybody else. Washington not only saw the folly of the proceeding from a military point of view, (for many

of his difficulties had arisen from the presence of independent companies in the field with his troops,) but he resented the plan as at once reducing him from the rank of colonel to that of captain. He had risen to the position which he held by regular promotion for bravery and soldierly qualities. He could not be the football of a capricious governor, and he resigned his commission. He was instantly wanted in another quarter. Governor Sharpe of Maryland had received a commission from the King, as Commander-in-chief of all the forces in America engaged against the French. As soon as it was known that Washington had resigned his commission as colonel of a Virginia regiment, Governor Sharpe sent to invite him to return to the service under his command. He was to have command of a company, but to retain his rank as colonel. Washington replied at once that he could not think of accepting service upon such terms. He was not to be cajoled into assuming a false position. He cared little for the title. What he wanted was the authority which goes with the title. There was no pressing danger to the country, and he was not so impatient to be in military service that he needed as a soldier to throw away the position which he had fairly won.

There was one consideration which especially determined Washington against serving either as captain of an independent company in Virginia, or as one of Governor Sharpe's captains, with the complimentary title of colonel. By a regulation of government, all officers commissioned by the King took rank above officers commissioned by the governors of provinces. It seems that the English authorities were determined to make the colonies understand that their militia officers were always inferior to the regular army officers who came over from England.

There was such an officer sent over shortly after this to take command of all the forces in the colonies. This was Major-General Edward Braddock. He had been in military service forty-five years and he knew all the rules of war. He was a brave, hot-headed man, who knew to a nicety just how troops should be drawn up, how they should march and perform all the evolutions, how a captain should salute his superior officer, and how much pipeclay a soldier needed to keep his accouterments bright. He was a rigid disciplinarian, and was called harsh and cruel, but that, very likely, was because he demanded strict and instant obedience.

In February, 1755, General Braddock arrived in Virginia, with two regiments of regular troops from England. Governor Dinwiddie was delighted. He should have no more trouble with obstinate Burgesses and quarrelsome Virginia captains.

Everybody expected that the French would at once be driven out of the Ohio valley, and General Braddock was not the least confident. There was a bustle in every quarter, and Alexandria was made the headquarters from which troops, military stores and provisions were to be sent forward, for they could be brought up the river to that point in menof-war and transports.

As soon as Braddock had arrived in the country, Washington had addressed him a letter of welcome, and now he was keenly intent on the General's movements. From Mount Vernon he could see the ships in the Potomac and hear the din of preparation. He could not ride into town or to Belvoir without being in the midst of the excitement. This was something very different from the poor, niggardly conduct of war which he had known in the colony. It was on a great scale; it was war carried on by His Majesty's troops, wellclad, splendidly equipped and drilled under the lead of a veteran general. He longed to join them. Here would be a chance such as he had never had, to learn something of the art of war; but he held no commission now, and had not even a company to offer. Nor was he willing to be a militia captain and subject to the orders of some lieutenant in the regular army.

He was considering how he might volunteer, when he received exactly the kind of invitation which he desired. He was a marked man now, and it did not take long for word to reach General Braddock that the young Virginian colonel, who had shown great spirit and ability in the recent expedition, and was thoroughly familiar with the route they were to take, desired to serve under him, but not as a subordinate captain. There was a way out of the difficulty, and the General at once invited Washington to join his military family as aid-de-camp.

Washington joyfully accepted. There was only one drawback to his pleasure. His mother, as soon as she heard of his decision, was filled with alarm, and hurried to Mount Vernon to beg her son to reconsider. No doubt they both remembered how, at her earnest wish, he had abandoned his purpose to join the British navy, eight or nine years before. But these eight or nine years had made a great difference. He was a man now, and, without loss of respect for his mother, he was bound to decide for himself. He would be a loser by the step in many ways. There was no one to whom he could intrust the management of his affairs at Mount Vernon, and his attendance on General Braddock would involve him in considerable expense. Nor could he expect, as a mere aid-de-camp, to advance his interests in the military profession. Nevertheless, Washington had

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