CHAPTER XVIII 

 A SWISS INTERLUDE 



AFTER the hot summer of 191 i I escaped from 

 London in September and made straight for Inter- 

 laken. Thence I was " wafted " by the electric railway to 

 the " Schynige Platte" — a wonderful hill-side, 4500 feet 

 above the '* Bodeli," the flat meadowland in which Inter- 

 laken is placed. At the Schynige Platte we are separated 

 to the south from the Jungfrau and the great Oberland 

 range of mountains only by a deep rift in which rushes 

 the " Black Lutschine," coming down from Grindelwald 

 to join its " white " brother-torrent close beneath us at 

 Zweillitschinen. To reach the " Platte " we creep in our 

 train up the northern side of the mountain — one of whose 

 peaks is known by the curious name " Gummihorn " — 

 for more than an hour without a glimpse of what is on 

 the other side. Then, when we are 6000 feet above 

 sea-level, we enter a short tuimel in the shoulder of the 

 mountain, and all is dark. When the train emerges 

 every one in it gasps. You hear a cry from every mouth 

 — for the scene is astounding ! Coming through that 

 tunnel we have stolen surreptitiously upon a band of 

 gigantic snow-white brethren — the Wetterhorner, the 

 Schreckhorner, the Eiger, the Monch, the Jungfrau, the 

 Mittaghorn, the Breithorn, and the Tschingelhorn. There 

 they are — lying close to us, unaware of our approach — 



naked and unashamed, glistening in the sunlight, variously 



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