“That I observed, too, last year,” said an officer, who was of the party, “at Prince Lamberg’s, where there is the best chamois-hunting in Germany, perhaps. They were there so well preserved that they were not more shy or difficult to shoot than other game; and instead of their only being to be found in the evening, or at dawn, they rambled about all day; and when the weather was mild, did not even seek the shade.”
“I have heard of Prince Lamberg’s mountains,” said Baron Z——; “he has fifteen or sixteen hundred chamois on them, I hear; but, after all, when one can have them without much trouble, one does not value them so highly; for instance, I shot a chamois some years ago, in Bayrishzill, but was out nearly twenty-four hours before I got a shot—here is his beard, which I have preserved and worn ever since,” he added, taking off his hat and showing a little fan-like ornament, which Hamilton had before observed without knowing its value.
“Then they have beards like goats?” said Hamilton.
“No,” replied Baron Z—. “This is called a beard, but it is the hair which grows along the back.”
“I see something very like a chamois up there,” said the officer, who held a small telescope to his eye.
Everyone wished to look—some could not find the place—others imagined they saw something—one thought it was the stump of a tree—but some practised eyes having pronounced it to be the desired animals feeding, the party broke up and the chase began.
Hamilton climbed with an ease and lightness which surprised his companions; but he so often stopped to admire a handsome beech-tree, or to “seek for fresh evening air in the opening glades,” that they by degrees went on, and he found himself at last alone in a spot where some convulsion of Nature had split the mountain partly asunder. He saw far, far beneath him, the road into Tyrol; the heavy-laden wagons, which a few days before he had thought packed dangerously high, now wound, pigmy-like, along, the motion of the endless team of horses scarcely perceptible. Hill rose beyond hill, until the prospect was bounded by the grotesque masses of rocks which, rising from the wooded mountains, increase their gigantic appearance by their partial concealment behind those light wreaths of clouds which seldom entirely desert their summits. For the inhabitants of the valley, the sun had long disappeared; but around Hamilton everything was in the glow of sunset: he seated himself on the mossy turf and deliberately resigned himself to contemplation. No place could have been better chosen, and he was therefore surprised and disappointed to find that the sublime thoughts which he had expected did not present themselves to his mind. He admired the surpassing luxuriance of the vegetation in the valleys, the different-coloured foliage of the trees; the wild irregular course of the foaming river;—he tried to think of the greatness of the Creator in His works, the insignificance of man and his endeavours—in vain. An agreeable feeling of general satisfaction stole over him, while fancy conveyed him home to his family, to his youthful friends. A handsome English residence rose before him, with well-kept lawns, gravelled walks, and shrubberies; groups of well-dressed people were visible among the trees, and on the steps leading to the hall-door a large party was assembled. Carriages and riding-horses were there; laughing girls, in their long habits, young men carelessly loitering near them.
They were to visit a well-preserved ruin in the neighbourhood—so often seen, it is true, that everything was thought of more than the nominal object. Camp-stools, servants in livery, champagne and pine-apples began to chase each other in pleasing confusion before Hamilton’s mind’s eye—when the distant report of a gun destroyed the “baseless fabric” of his “waking vision,” and he started up, remembering with some amazement that he was engaged in a chamois-hunt! “It is of little consequence,” he thought; “for had I fired ten times, I should never have hit one.”
He plunged into the wood, and commenced a regular and steady ascent, which he continued even after the fir-tree had begun to dwindle into a dwarfy shrub, and the beautiful wild rhododendron had disappeared altogether. His path became steeper and more rocky, and at length he was reduced to the necessity of creeping round the intervening obstacles, and of supporting himself by the few plants which vegetated among the fissures of the rocks. Not a sound broke the silence around him; the moon slowly rose above the darkening horizon, which was slightly streaked with a faint crimson tinge, leaving on the dim grey of the mountain tops the still perceptible reflection of the fading sunlight. The valleys were in the deepest shade, and from the dispersed peasant-houses lights began to twinkle. Hamilton looked carefully round him, to ascertain, if possible, his position, before he descended into the thick wood which lay beneath him. The falling of some loose stones and a fragment of rock in his vicinity made him start; but immediately supposing it to be some of his former companions, he called out that if anyone were there he wished they would wait for him: a clattering of stones and scampering ensued, accompanied by a sharp sound, perfectly incomprehensible to him, until on a projecting rock far above him he perceived three chamois, standing in strong relief between him and the cloudless sky, and gazing irresolutely around them. They allowed him to examine them for some time, as the distance and moonlight would admit; but as he endeavoured to approach nearer, they suddenly sprang up the rocks, and sending a shower of stones, and sand over him, disappeared in a few seconds. By this time he had lost all idea of where he might be, and although extremely unwilling to increase his distance from the châlet, he saw the absolute necessity of still climbing in order to see into the Alpine valley, in which it was situated. Perfectly unacquainted with the irregularities of the mountain, he kept as much as possible in the light, following occasionally what he supposed to be paths, but which were in fact the stony beds of the mountain rivulets, formed by the thawing snow in spring. He wandered on in this manner, sometimes ascending, sometimes descending, for more than two hours, looking around in every direction, but not a trace could he find of the châlet, nor, indeed, at last, of any habitation whatever. On reaching a part of the ridge of the mountain, he was somewhat startled to find that the other side descended in a perpendicular precipice of rock, apparently so smooth and destitute of verdure that it might be supposed a wall. He stopped—and all A. Z. had said to him recurred at once to his memory. The moon was still too young to remain visible to him much longer, and it would be totally dark by the time he reached the wood; he saw no alternative but to stay where he was until morning, and had actually chosen a place of repose, when the distant sound of guns fired at regular intervals, made him imagine that he, and no longer the chamois, was the object of pursuit. A faint echo of human voices too reached his ear, and he shouted loudly in answer. A frightfully distinct echo from the mountain opposite made him desist; he feared that his deliverers might be misled, and he now hurried along in the direction from whence the welcome sounds had first reached him. Keeping on the top of the mountain, and avoiding any place where the shadows of the rocks prevented him from seeing his way distinctly, he walked and ran, and sprang and vaulted with his long pole, until the moon, disappearing behind a mountain, created a sort of half-night, which again forced him to a halt. Suspecting that the echo had misled him, and fearing that he was farther than ever from his companions, he perceived without regret the gradual cessation of the treacherous sounds, and at length, with a sort of desperate English calmness, he seated himself on the ground, and after a few not very successful efforts to place himself comfortably against a sandy bank, he took a cigar, lighted it, and crossing his arms, resigned himself to his fate. The night proved darker than he expected, and he gazed on the starry firmament until his thoughts became confused, and his eyes closed in heavy slumber, which remained unbroken until the cold breeze of breaking day caused a chill to pass through his stiffened limbs. He rose, and looked about him with astonishment for some minutes, and then, with long strides, began a rapid descent.
Great was afterwards his annoyance to find that, instead of arriving, as he had expected, at the châlet, he had quite reached the base of the mountain, and that merely a narrow ravine separated him from another of precisely the same description. He stood for a moment irresolute, and felt—very hungry. The sun had begun to colour vividly the eastern sky, and after a little consideration, he found that returning to the alp would oblige him to mount again, and he was still very uncertain in what direction it lay; whereas, if he took another course, he would probably in an hour or two find some opening into one of the surrounding roads, where he could enter the first peasant’s house he should see, and procure something to eat. In this conjecture he was perfectly right. Sooner than he had dared to hope, a cheerful house, prettily situated on a green hill, and surrounded by fruit-trees, rejoiced his eyes. Some wild sunburnt little boys and girls announced his approach, and when he came to the door he found a large family assembled. His wants were soon made known; and a table, placed before the wooden bench which ran along the front of the house, was soon covered with a rustic, but not frugal breakfast—an enormous loaf of dark-brown bread, a basin of milk, covered with thick yellow cream, some pounds of butter, honey, cheese, fried eggs, and a sort of mashed-up omelette, called Schmarn. While Hamilton was eating, the peasant’s wife stood near, her youngest child on her arm, and a couple of others leaning against her. She assured him if he had not been in such a hurry she could have made some coffee for him; she always bought coffee at the fair, and drank it every Sunday! She was so sorry her husband was not at home, but she expected him every moment; he had gone up to the alp at daybreak, with fresh rolls for the breakfast of the gentlemen who had been out shooting.