An Oberland Châlet

by Edith Elmer Wood

It had seemed a matter of course to Belle Soeur and me at the Nieder Rawyl cheese-hut to roll up in blankets and go to sleep in an apartment shared by our escorts and two cowherds. It was physically uncomfortable, but not in the least morally so. But the thought of dividing that hay-heaped sleeping-shelf with those drunken animals in the next room was revolting to the point of nausea. It was impossible.

Biner joined us for a few minutes and came to our rescue with a suggestion. We could curtain off a portion of the shelf for Belle Soeur and me with blankets. No sooner said than done. We chose our end, and in front and on the unprotected side hung blankets. It was arranged that Frater was to sleep immediately outside and Biner next to him, so that the precious trio of fellow-Alpinists would be kept at as great a distance as possible.

When we had completed our arrangements, we sat down and tried to distract our minds by playing cards. It was one of the saddest games I ever indulged in. In the next room, free from the restraint of our presence, the revelry waxed more and more boisterous as the cognac tea circulated. I was a bit worse off than the others for catching a word here and there of the talk. It did not make me happier to realize that they were talking about us. I learned afterwards that they were arranging the order in which the combined parties were to be roped next day. But the fragments that I caught had a singularly unpleasant sound. I did not wish to be a sensationalist and I knew the limitations of my German, so I did not say anything to the others about it, but I am afraid my game of cards was distrait.

This was my birthday. I had spent the previous ones in very various quarters of the world and in very various company—but never anything like this before, and may the like never be my lot again!

Belle Soeur and I now retired to our tent, which, after all, gave us as much privacy as one gets in a sleeping-car, and Frater rolled himself along our only unprotected boundary. Naturally, we did not sleep. Aside from our nervousness, the men in the next room were making too much noise. I have no means of knowing how late they kept it up, but it must have been till after midnight. There were moments when they seemed to be quarreling violently, and we half-hoped they would wind things up neatly by cutting each others’ throats. At other times they were merely hilarious.

All at once the door opened, and they rolled in, still noisy, and bringing with them such a smell of concentrated liquor as I never imagined. They paused and gazed at the blanket-wrapped form of Frater. “Ist das der Herr?” whispered the barber to one of his companions. From the depths of the blankets I heard my brother’s voice growl in disgusted English, “No, you thundering fool, I’m the two ladies.”

The revelers now disposed themselves for slumber, but for another hour or two we heard their giggles and whispers, and the alcohol fumes in the close air were unspeakably nauseating. From time to time Frater pressed my hand under the blanket curtain to reassure me, and I did as much for Belle Soeur.

We were of course in no physical danger. Not only could Frater and the guide have easily handled the trio, but Frater could have done it, I doubt not, single-handed. But the unpleasantness of it was beyond words. We felt as if a month of spiritual Turkish baths would hardly make us clean.

I have told this somewhat unsavory story in all its unsavoriness as a warning to others, the moral being that a party including ladies should never plan for a night in an Alpine Club hut unless they are assured of having it to themselves. Mountaineering is not all poetry, and there might be terrors encountered beside which crevasses and avalanches become attractive.