 | The sayings of Dr. Bushwhacker, and other learned men |  |
XV.
Up the Rhine.
A LEAF FROM A NEW BOOK.
“THE clouds now began to break away—once
more we see the distant peaks of the Siebengebirge
and the castled crag of Drachenfels—a flush
of warm sunlight illuminates the wet deck of the Sehnelfahrt;
the passengers peep out of the companion-way,
and finally emerge boldly, to inhale the fresh air and inspect
the beauties of the Rhine. As for the Miller of
Zurich, he had taken the shower as kindly as a duck,
shaking the drops from his grey woolly coat, as they fell,
and tossing off green glass after green glass of Liebfraunmilch,
or Assmanshauser, from either bottle. Betimes his
pretty wife joined us, and walked on tip-toe over the wet
spots; the sun came out, hotter and hotter; the deck,
the little tables, the wooden seats, began to smoke; overcoats
came off, shawls were laid aside; plates oiled up with
flasks of Rhine wine, were handed around to the ladies,
and distributed on the tables; and the red-cheeked German
boy whose imitations of English had so amused us,
shouted the captain's orders to the engineer below, in a
more cheery voice—`Slore! backor! forror!'”
I had had an indistinct vision of a pair of whiskers at
the far end of the breakfast table, brushed out dl' Ang
laise in parallel lines, as thin as a gilder's camel's hair
brush. These whiskers now came up on deck, attached
to a very insignificant countenance, a check cap, and a
woollen suit of purplish cloth, such as travellers from
Angleterre enjoy scenery in. Across the right breast of
this person, a narrow black strap of patent leather wound
its way until it found a green leather satchel, just across
his left hip; while over his left breast, a similar strap
again wound around him, and finally attached itself to a
gigantic opera glass in a black leather case. All these
implements of travel, with little else to note, paced
solemnly up and down the now dry deck of the Schnelfahrt.
In the meantime, my glass, map, guide book, were all
in action, castle following castle, Rolandseck, Rheineck,
Andernach, and all the glorious panorama, rolling in view
with every turn of the steamer. And chiefly I enjoyed
the conversation of my Miller of Zurich, whose plump
forefinger anticipated the distant towers and battlements
which he had seen so often, for so many times, in yearly
stand-point of the deck were fingers pointed, and glasses
raised, at the glories of the castellated Rhine.
But in the midst of this excitement and enthusiasm,
that purple traveller, with whiskers and straps, satchel
and opera glass, walked up and down, unobservant of
the scenery, miserable and melancholic, without a glance
at the vineyards, or the mountains, or the castles. Then
I knew that he was an Englishman, doing the Rhine.
He walked up to our table, where old Zurich and his
pretty wife were seated before the grapes and the wine,
where my shawl and satchel were flung—map spread,
and guide-book open—and said, in that peculiar English
voice which always suggests catarrh—
“Going up the Rhine, sir?”
“Rather,” said I, drily, (for I hate bores).
“Aw!”—now the reader must translate for himself—
“Forst time ye' beene h'yar?”
“Yes,” I answered, “is it your first visit also?”
“Aw—no! 'beene hea-r pu'foh; sev-wal taimes. How
fawr 'goin, sawr?” (Don't talk of Yankee inquisitiveness).
“To Mayence, and no further this evening.” (Opera
glass levelled directly at Ehrenbreitstein).
“Gaw'ng to Hydl'bug?”
“I think so.”
“Hydl'bug's 'good bisness, do it up in 'couple of
awhrs.”
Here old Zurich makes a remark, and says:
“Military engineers build, that other military engineers
may destroy.”
Myself.—“Are those yellow lines against the hill
masonry?—parapets?”
Old Zurich.—“Fortified from top to bottom.”
“Gaw'ng to Italy?” chimes in the camel's hair
whiskers.
“No,” (decidedly no).
“Gaw'ng to Sowth 'f Fwance?”
“Probably.”
“Wal, if 'r not gaw'n t' Italy, and you'r gaw'n to
South 'f Dwance—gaw'n to Nim?”
“To Nismes? what for?”
“'F yawr not gaw'n to Rhawm, it's good bisness to go
to Nim—they've got a ring thar.”
“A ring?”
“Yas, 'ont ye knaw?”
“A ring?”
“Yas—saim's they got at Rhaome; good bisness that—
do it up in tow hawrs; early Christians, y' knaw, and
wild beasts!”
“Oh, you mean the Roman amphitheatre at Nismes—
a sort of miniature Coliseum.”
“Yaas, Col's'm.”
“No, sir, I am not going to Nismes”—another look at
Ehrenbreitstein and its shattered wall.
“Never be'n up th' Rhine before,” quoth whiskers.
“No,”—we are approaching the banks of the “Blue
Moselle.”
“Eh'nbreitstine's good bisness, and that sort o'thing
—do't in about two hawrs!”
“I do not intend to stop at Ehrenbreitstein, and,
therefore, intend to make the best use of my time to see
the general features of the fortress from the river.”
“Aw—then y'd better stop at Coblanz, and go t' Wisbad'n,
by th' rail.”
“What for?”
“Why, the Rhine, you know, 's a tiresome bisness,
and by goin' to Wisbawd'n from Coblanz, by land, you
escape all that sort aw-thing.”
“But I do not wish to escape all this sort of thing—
I want to see the Rhine.”
“Aw!”—with some expression of surprise. “Going
to Switz'land?”
“Yes.”
“Y' got Moy for Switz'land?”
“Moy? I beg your pardon.”
“Yes, Moy—Moy; got Moy for Switz'land?”
“Moy—do you mean money? I hope so.”
“Ged Gad, sir, no! I say Moy.”
“Upon my word, I do not comprehend you.”
“Moy, sir, Moy!” rapping vehemently on the red
cover of my guide book that lay upon the table. “I say
Moy for Switz'land.”
“Oh, you mean Murray.”
“Certainly, sir, didn't I say Moy?”
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