MY IMPRESSIONS OF SWITZERLAND
by John A. Minger
Uncle John, Fred Fankhauser, Joe
Steinauer 1 and I boarded a Rock Island
passenger train at Bern, Kansas on June
27, 1891. Each of us had a through
ticket to Berne, Switzerland.
We arrived in New York after three days
and two nights of almost continuous
travel. We had stopped one day for
sight-seeing in Washington, D. C. In New
York we had to wait for two days for our
ship. Then on the third of July, word
came to us at the Hotel Gruettli, that
our ship, LATOURAINE, would sail at four
o’clock in the morning.
We boarded the ship on the Fourth of
July. I was so excited that I didn’t
sleep any the night before sailing. The
ship was all decorated with French and
American flags and looked wonderful. It
was almost as long as a city block. We
had third class passage as it was a new
ship and was very neat and clean. At
three-thirty o’clock we were at the
wharf which was so very crowded that we
had to push hard to get around. There
were dozens of wagons on the grounds
unloading trunks, boxes and people. I
don’t think I had ever seen such a jam
before. At four o’clock the big fog horn
blew a blast that vibrated through every
bone and muscle. Then the gates swung
open and a stream of humanity, over one
thousand people, poured up the gang
plank. I thought surely they would sink
the ship. The gang plank which had run
up at an angle of about twenty-five
degrees was nearly level after all those
people were on the ship. Of course more
than half of the people were friends of
passengers and got off before the ship
sailed. The LATOURAINE didn’t leave the
wharf until eight o’clock. Since we had
had no breakfast, you can imagine how
hungry we were when they served dinner
at two o’clock. The second cook or
steward told us this is done as a
precaution against seasickness.
When we got aboard, a little French boy
in uniform, who was very polite, spoke
to us in French. We looked at one
another like dummies. Then he motioned
for us to follow and he took us to our
quarters down in the hold of the ship.
This was a room about fifty or sixty
feet long and about thirty feet wide.
Both ends of this room had beds built
in, three tiers high, something on the
plan of a pullman. Then along the hull
of the ship was a long table hinged to
the wall which was folded up between
meals. We could look out upon the ocean
as we sat at this table, through round
windows about eighteen inches in
diameter. In fine weather these windows
were opened and we got the sea breeze
which was very refreshing. Everything
was attractive and clean. The floors
were scrubbed every day. There were
mostly French and a few American men in
these quarters. Each of us paid one
dollar extra to have our meals served to
us here, otherwise one would have to go
to the kitchen and carry his tray
cafeteria style. The meals were very
good. For dinner we were served a large
bowl of soup, meat, potatoes, butter,
mixed nuts and a tin cup of excellent
wine. After we were out three days they
served five meals a day and yet I was
always hungry. Luckily I never had a
touch of seasickness.
Of course we didn’t stay in our quarters
except for meals and to sleep. We were
allowed on the main deck at all times.
Here we saw the wealthy class entertain
themselves. Old and young played like
kittens. They danced, sang, played
croquet, read books and promenaded about
the deck. All were as happy as a little
boy with his first long pants. Some were
very friendly, too. I had a speaking
acquaintance with several men that
appeared to be millionaires. They wanted
to know all about the wild west, the
grasshoppers, the buffaloes and the
Indians but never a one asked my name or
my business.
After eight days of this pleasant ocean
travel, we landed at Havre, France. It
took about four hours to unload the
passengers. The tide was low and we
could not enter the harbor, so we were
taken ashore in small boats. A
representative of the company took us to
a hotel, HOTEL DE VILLE DE NEW YORK.
This at least was a home-like name. It
was night when we arrived at our hotel.
There was a noise about the city, not
loud as in New York but a hum that
seemed to come from a distance. The
brilliant lights, flags, people,
soldiers, bands, and thousands of small
round tables were out on a board walk.
People sat at the tables drinking or
eating and talking excitedly. I felt
like it was all a dream. I was simply
overwhelmed. How I wished that some of
my friends were there so we could talk
and express our wonder at the
strangeness of these things. There were
Uncle John and Fred Fankhauser, both of
them past sixty years, sitting on chairs
as if it was an everyday occurrence but
I, who was only twenty-four 2, was
bursting for expression. I wanted to
holler out loud. Not a soul except those
two could understand me nor could I
understand the others. Finally a tall
man who had taken our bags came out and
told us that we might have supper if we
wished. He spoke English, German, and
French, so now I felt better for he was
a companionable fellow about fifty years
old but spry as a kitten. He and I had
quite a talk for he knew all about New
York and the east. He had worked in a
hotel there for six years and could
swear and use our slang, so I felt
almost as if I’d found a brother.
After supper he took us to see the
sights but he told us that we would have
to stay six months in order to see all
of Paris. It was two o’clock in the
morning when we got home and we were all
terribly tired. I fell asleep as soon as
my head hit the pillow. The next morning
he took us out again. We paid him five
francs apiece and then he paid all
expenses such as carfare. While
sightseeing we even took a ride on a
merry-go-round. The guide told us the
reason for this unusual merrymaking was
that it was the fourteenth of July which
is a great day in France, and the people
nearly go wild in their celebrating. He
begged us to stay over, as we had
intended to leave on the fourteenth for
Berne, Switzerland. I wanted to see the
spectacle so John and Fred Fankhauser
agreed to stay one day longer. Our guide
also told us to be careful of having
anything to do with strangers who might
represent themselves as Americans or
friends of some well known men of
America. He told us that they were
probably crooks.
Early in the morning our guide rapped at
our bedroom door “Sieben schlafer
perons.” he said in good German. “Es ist
seit fur den trupen umzog.”
We hurriedly dressed, got our breakfast
and went out on the board walk which was
already crowded but our guide found us
some good seats in front where we had a
full view of two streets at an
intersection. Presently we heard
trumpets blowing. A division of cavalry,
then infantry, headed by a brass band
then more cavalry, bands and infantry
and so on, went by for almost two hours.
They were all dressed in brilliant red.
The cavalry wore black shakos with large
white plumes. After dinner there was a
band on the platform at every cross
street, playing dance music. The people,
old and young, danced like crazy on the
street. Our guide insisted that we join
in the dance. I told him I didn’t know
anyone but he just said, “Shucks, you
don’t need an introduction here like in
America. We are not so finicky.”
Our train for Berne left at 10 o’clock
that night. We were in the waiting room
at about 8 o’clock. A tall,
well-dressed, middle-aged man confronted
me, held out his hand and in perfect
English asked me, “How is everything in
America?” Then he introduced himself as
a resident representative of the
Thompson Houston Electric Co. of
America.
“I’ve been here for six years and I see
so few Americans that it is a pleasure
to meet you.”
I introduced Uncle John and Fred
Fankhauser. He talked pleasantly for a
while on American topics then he invited
us to a glass of wine. He was so nice we
just couldn’t refuse. After that he
insisted that we go to his rooms in the
hotel where he would show us that he
really was what he represented himself
to be. Just then I remembered what our
guide had told us about confidence men
and we turned cold toward him. He was so
sorry that we wouldn’t trust him, he
said.
We left him without ceremony. I can
still see him in his plug hat and
diamond shirt stud, with disappointment
written across his face as we left him.
We boarded our train at 10 PM for Dijon
where we had to change cars at 2 o’clock
in the morning for a train that ran to
the Swiss border. Dijon seemed to be a
large railway town. There seemed to be a
train every fifteen minutes. Since none
of us could speak French, we could not
get any information about our train, so
we started to get on every train that
came in. They looked at our tickets then
motioned us back into the waiting room.
Finally they tired of this so the depot
master looked at our tickets then took
out his watch and put his finger on the
hour hand moving it to three thirty.
Then we understood.
A little after daylight we arrived at
les Verrières on the Swiss frontier. Our
baggage was examined and we boarded a
Swiss train. To our delight, it was just
like an American train. You entered the
car at the end just like we do here.
There was an aisle the full length of
the car. The French cars have from eight
to ten doors on the side of the cars
which open into small cubby holes. You
could not pass from one end of the car
to the other for you are shut in a
box-like stall with your knees almost
touching your fellow passengers who sit
opposite.
As the Swiss train was about to start,
two young girls with jaunty hats
decorated with Edelweis entered our car
and began to sing a Swiss song. Uncle
John said:
“Now I feel at home. I am tired of the
French language.”
The railroad followed the Jura
Mountains. As we looked through the
windows, we could see many Swiss
villages with their red tile roofs. They
seemed to be centered around a church.
We arrived at Berne about noon. Here we
heard the familiar “Ja wohl.” We got our
dinner at the depot restaurant. I began
to feel at home here where everybody
spoke the Swiss language 3.
From the stories that Father and Mother
had told us of Berne, I had made a
mental picture of what I expected to
see. Now I had to change that picture,
for Berne was not like that. The newer
part of the city resembled an up-to-date
American city, with wide streets and now
and then beautiful little parks, street
cars and electric lights. Well dressed
men and women that reminded one of
Kansas City.
The older part of the city was really
quaint with its narrow cobblestone paved
streets and a little brook running down
the center in which the women did their
washing. And then those queer arcades
over the sidewalk. There are no cross
streets in the old part of the city.
Instead of a street, there is an arched
passageway every two or three hundred
feet. These are not large enough for a
team or a car to go through but are just
for pedestrians. Most of the homes are
four stories with gable roofs sloping to
the street. The windows of the second
and third stories are set out from the
wall about 18 inches and they open on
hinges in half from the center. There
are shelves in these windows for
flowers. That is what makes the old
quarter charming to visitors. There are
thousands of flowers of almost as many
different shades of color. All these
houses are built of stone and most of
them are four to five hundred years old,
but they do not show their age.
After dinner at the banhoff restaurant
(depot restaurant) we asked a guide
about hotels, for we intended to stay
about two months and wanted to establish
headquarters. “Do you want a good one?”
asked the guide. Of course we answered,
“Yes”, so he took us to the Bellview,
the finest hotel in the city, which
offered board and room for from three to
ten dollars a day. “Does he think we are
millionaires?” said Uncle John. That was
too rich for us. Then the guide took us
to the Hotel de Eagle, down in the old
quarter. Here we got board and room for
three dollars a week with good service.
This hotel was only two blocks from the
“beara graba” (bärengraben or bear’s
den). The city maintains this den of
about ten bears because of tradition
that the founder of the city shot a bear
on the town site. (This happened 700
years ago and they made a pit 20 feet
deep and about 40 feet in diameter
walled up with stone. In this pit they
keep their bears. These bears multiply
and each year they butcher the surplus
and have a feast of the bear’s meat.
This bear’s den is known all over Europe
and perhaps among American tourists.)
I had heard Father and Mother talk about
“beara graba” so much I wanted to see it
so after we were comfortably located at
the Eagle, Uncle John and I went to see
the bears. There are several stands
around this den that sell carrots,
little cakes and other delicacies that
tourists buy and toss to the bears. The
pit is open with a stone parapet around
it about 4 1/2 feet high. You can lean
on this wall and toss your carrots to
the bears. They stand on their hind legs
and beg. They catch the carrots and
cakes just like a man would a baseball
and eat standing up. Whenever I had
time, I always went to the bear’s den. I
usually met many Englishmen and
Americans there.
After a few days in Berne, we went out
to Wohlen, which was the birthplace of
Uncle John and my Father. I saw the old
house, a great big house built of hewn
logs, living quarters, wagon shop
(grandfather was a wagon maker), and
barn all under one roof. Now don’t think
it wasn’t clean. Every bit of manure was
cleaned up every morning and put in a
pit, to be used at the proper season on
the land.
We were strangers here. No one seemed to
know or remember John or Christ Minger.
It was the young set. Some of them said
they had heard of some Mingers going to
America long ago. That was rather a cool
reception for Uncle John so we went to
the village tavern which was operated by
Jana, a young man. He thought his father
would remember the Mingers, but he
wasn’t at home, having gone to the
baths. That night we slept in the
village schoolhouse. Jana had no license
to keep roomers, which was the law. Next
morning we went to Ilis Weal where John
had some cousins, but they were busy
butchering hogs and hardly had time to
talk to us. John was discouraged so we
went back to Wohlen and had Jana call up
Troxel at the Hotel Eagle to come out
and get us. By that time the elder Jana
came home. He found us at his son’s
tavern. Oh yes, he knew all about the
Mingers. He (Jana) was a wealthy man and
he had a special wagon made by Grandpa
Minger. After 50 years it was still
going good, he said. Grandpa Minger made
wagons for scores of emigrants who used
them to drive to Antwerp, from where
they sailed to America.
“Who is this young man here?” said Jana,
pointing to me. Uncle John told him I
was Christian’s son. “Oh-ho, he looks
like Christian.”
He invited us to come to his house and
stay a few days, but Troxel from the
Eagle was there and John didn’t like the
reception we had been given, so we went
back to Berne. It was late when we got
there and Mrs. Troxel had supper ready
for us. She was old enough to be
Troxel’s mother, but a very shrewd
businesswoman. For once, she permitted
Troxel to eat with us. She managed him
as a mother would her son.
Next day, Troxel took us to Stuckey’s,
who lived at Gugisberg. Mrs. Stuckey was
a niece of Uncle John’s. Here we stayed
one night and strange as it may seem, I
slept in a haunted room. It was the same
room in which Sam Pauli, our hired man,
used to sleep. When we were boys, Pauli
used to tell us about how ghosts in that
room would pull the covers off of him at
night. I halfway imagined I could feel
something pulling at the covers that
night, because I was terribly afraid of
ghosts when I was young, the result no
doubt of the many ghost stories I had
heard.
Next we went to the Schwarzsee and
bargained with a French boatman to take
us across for a franc. We learned after
the trip had started that our boatman
was drunk. Soon he began to rock the
boat, trying to frighten us. “Look
down,” he said. We looked and saw a weed
growing in tangled masses about a foot
under the water’s surface.
“Those weeds,” said our tormentor, “are
known as death weeds, because if a man
ever falls into the water, they tangle
around his feet and legs and pull him
under.” Stuckey, our host, said that
this was true. The following day, Mrs.
Stuckey packed me a lunch with a small
bottle of wine and I climbed to the top
of King Mountain. I don’t remember how
high this mountain was, but it was noon
when I got to the top. I followed a well
worn zigzag path and must have walked
seven or eight miles. I know I was tired
and hungry when I got to the top.
The top was not flat, but a sharp ridge.
I straddled this ridge to eat my dinner.
I had one leg in the Simenthal valley
and the other in the Sluson valley. It
was nice and cool here although it was
hot down in the valley. On the lower
third of the mountain, the cheese makers
had their cheese factories and cows. A
little higher up were the sheep herders
with their flocks and their funny
crooked sticks. Above the sheep were
hundreds of goats. There was a solid mat
of grass up to the very top. In going
back down, I loosened a rock
accidentally. This rock, as it gained
momentum, jumped as high as a house
before it reached the valley below.
Luckily, it didn’t strike anybody. One
of the cheese makers told me afterwards
there was a fine of 50 francs for
loosening rocks on this mountain. He
said they sometimes started an
avalanche. It was now time to go back to
Berne and get ready for the 600th
anniversary of the founding of the Swiss
government on August 2nd. We had our
board paid in advance at Lady Troxel’s
Hotel de Eagle, and since we were to be
gone a week, we asked to be reimbursed
for the period. Oh, no, that wasn’t
business; she didn’t ask us to go, she
said. Shrewd business, what! Uncle John
grumbled, but what could we do? We
wanted to see the big celebration.
Between ourselves, we made some
uncomplimentary remarks about her and
let it go at that, and went to the city
of Schwyz, where the show took place. In
the language of the circus, it was the
most stupendous, gigantic and colossal
stage show I had ever seen. It was given
in the natural open air theater and was
all that the above words imply. Every
incident of importance that took place
in the six hundred years was re-enacted
on this stage. Arnold Winklereid, who
grasped ten spears within his grasp,
thus made an opening in the solid
phalanx of the Austrian army, where the
Swiss rushed in and cut the Austrians to
pieces and won their freedom. Winklereid
died a martyr with ten spear points in
his breast and Switzerland again was
free, hence these lines:
“Make way for liberty, he cried,
Make way for liberty, and died”.
Then came Guesler, William Tell and the
apple episode, and thus it continued
from eight o’clock in the morning, with
one hour intermission at noon, until six
o’clock at night, the spectacle kept
moving. Always different people to
represent the different episodes. There
were probably 500 actors, soldiers in
glistening armour, brass bands, women
representing the styles of the different
times, cattle, sheep, goats, even
chickens, all appeared and passed over
the large stage representing certain
epochs in history. The thousands in the
audience stood there not realizing how
tired they were until it was all over.
Uncle John and I went to bed early that
night.
Next day we went to the Schuetzenfest at
Burgdorf, where the soldiers were
showing their skill shooting at targets.
My, what a noise! Hundreds of army
rifles were popping every second. I
couldn’t hear well for a week afterward.
We stayed all night in Burgdorf. There
is an old castle here on top of a steep
hill, dating back to feudal times. We
went through every room and also up into
the tower, from which the barons would
throw stones down on the enemy, we were
told, as they had no guns at that time.
We next bought round trip tickets to the
French cantons or states. We visited
Neuchâtel, Vevey, Lausanne, Geneva,
Montreux, and Yverdon. We had Fred
Fankhauser’s brother, Karl, with us as a
guide and interpreter, as he spoke
French. He had many acquaintances in
this part of Switzerland. They were
jolly good fellows. Even though we
couldn’t speak their language, we drank
their wine and laughed when they
laughed. Our big problem was to keep
sober. At least the first day. After
that, we drank only beer. All these
cities were so neat and clean that one
would hesitate to spit on the streets.
Geneva was the most beautiful of all,
situated where the river Rhone emerges
from the lake. It is built on both banks
of the river. The river is spanned by
many beautiful bridges. One of these
runs to a small island in the middle of
the stream. The island is made into a
small park and from it one can fish in
the clear blue water. One can see fish
twenty feet below.
From Geneva, we took an excursion
steamer to Montreux, a city on the upper
end of the lake. This city is built
right into the side of a mountain cliff.
We visited the historic Castle Chillon,
made famous by Byron’s prisoner. Then by
coach, we continued to Vevey on Lake
Bieluce 4. This is a nice town. Here we
got our dinner. I remember as if it
happened yesterday. The waitress was, I
believe, the tallest woman I ever saw.
Karl Fankhauser made some jocular remark
as to what might happen to a man if he
was of ordinary size. We all broke out
in a laugh and the girl turned and
disappeared in the kitchen. She did not
appear again, so evidently she
understood the Swiss language. After
dinner we went sight seeing. Late in the
evening we entrained for Berne and our
home at the Eagle. Old Mrs. Troxel
seemed to be glad to see us. It was now
the tenth of August and we intended to
start home the fore part of September.
We hadn’t seen the Bernese Oberland. We
couldn’t miss that. Then there was the
700th anniversary of the founding of the
city of Berne. We had to move fast to
see it all, so next day we took a train
for Interlaken, where we stopped for the
night. This city is at the junction of
two mountain rivers, one carrying black
water and the other has white or clean
water. So they call one the Black
Lütischine and the other the White
Lütischine. The rivers run separate for
a mile or more, after they join in the
same channel the river then takes the
name of Zweilütschinen.
Before sunup, we started up the valley
of the White Lütischine to see the Stoub
Bach. This is a small river that starts
back in the glaciers and finally drops
down a cliff, probably 1,000 feet high,
into the valley of Lauterbrunnen. It is
all mist or fog at the valley floor, but
its waters collect again lower down and
find their way into the White
Lütischine. Some of the more credulous
believe that this mist has healing
powers, especially to remove freckles,
warts, and other skin blemishes.
Our next quest was the Grindelwald
glacier, just over the Wengernalp, a
mountain about 5,000 feet high, but not
hard to climb. Uncle John and Fankhauser
took the train by way of Interlaken and
then up the Black Lütischine to
Grindelwald. I wanted to try the
mountain pass on foot, but there were no
guides at home. Finally the wife of a
guide got permission from the staat
halter (city mayor) to let her 14 year
old son go as my guide. I asked the boy
what we’d better take along for lunch
and he said “Kirschen wasser ist gut,”
so I got a flagon of cherry brandy
enclosed in a leather case and a strap
to hang it over my shoulder. We started
on our climb. He took the lead with his
crooked stick. About ten o’clock we
caught up with two men and three young
women on horseback. A flagman had
stopped them. It was an American family
from Chicago. Now I could talk English
to my heart’s content. We were held up
for 15 minutes while some men were
setting off a blast. They were building
a railroad up to the Eiger glacier.
After the blast we started again. Ours
was a foot path and we could climb much
steeper than those horses. They had to
follow what is known as a bridle path,
so we parted. About a mile farther on,
we came up with a man who held what
appeared to me like a long stick in his
hands, about 18 feet long. It had a
mouthpiece at one end and the other had
a large bowl, making it look like a huge
smoke pipe.
“Es kast nur a botz,” (“it costs only a
penny”.) I handed him 2 botz and he blew
that thing till his face turned red and
his cheeks puffed out like a toy
balloon. The sound that came out of that
contraption reminded me of the fog horn
on our ship. It was an Alpenhorn. He
laid down his horn and looked expectant
at an opposite mountain. Then came the
echo with that weird sound that echoes
have. It died out, then started up
again, only there were two echoes now.
They died out, then came three echoes,
all from different directions. I began
to realize why these mountains had
fostered so many superstitions. He also
gave us a yodel with the same number of
echoes. He had another place a little
higher up that had a “donner schoene
klang” (a thundering nice ring) but we
did not have time to listen. I gave him
some kirschen wasser and we went on. At
one o’clock, we got to the Scheideck
Hotel. I ordered dinner. My guide and I
saw the glacier not far away. I asked
him to go with me while waiting for
dinner. We walked out over the ice about
100 yards and, seeing some large
crevices, the boy became frightened and
would go no further. He said he had no
license and if anything happened to me,
he would go to jail for a year or two.
So we went back to the hotel where the
boy left me. I gave him two francs and a
little kirschen wasser. He doffed his
cap and thanked me. When I sat down at
the table, there was still no dinner
ready. The waitress, a rosy cheeked
mountain girl, came up to me and asked
if I knew what my bill would be. So many
from the valley came up, she said, and
did not know that every bit of food had
to be carried on a horse, and therefore
meals were very high. I pulled out my
pocketbook and took out a Swiss 500
franc note. She opened her eyes, ran
back to the kitchen and brought my
dinner out in short order. I had two
fried eggs, a slice of American ham,
cheese, butter, whole wheat bread, honey
and a bottle of beer. It cost 5 francs
or one American dollar.
After dinner, I started my descent
toward Grindelwald. I got very tired
going down the slope and had to rest
quite often. I met no horn blowers on
this side, but when I was about one
third of the way down, two little girls
about 8 and 9 years old stepped out of
the bushes and began to sing in good
voice. They wore pink dresses,
embroidered or lace collars and cute
little crocheted white caps. Little
bouquets of flowers were held by each
girl in her left hand, while the right
hand was held behind her back. As they
sang, they would sometimes turn and thus
I discovered that the hidden hand held a
tin cup. Of course, I knew what these
cups were for. I dropped a franc in each
cup and asked them to sing some more
while I rested. They acted very bashful,
but sang some more, then skedaddled into
the shrubbery. I watched them and a few
yards back a woman stood up, their
mother, no doubt. She took the money.
When I got to Grindelwald, I found John
and Fankhauser at Stettler’s store.
Stettler was anxious for news of his son
who was in America and lived near Bern,
Kansas. He was entertaining John and
Fankhauser with a bottle of wine and
Swiss cheese sandwiches. They asked me
to join them, but I had my kirschen
wasser and anyway, I wanted to cross the
famous Grindelwald glacier, which was
only a short distance from Stettler’s.
Arriving at the glacier, I saw my
American friends from Chicago trying to
make the Swiss guide understand Chicago
English. When I saw the trouble, I acted
as interpreter. We went into the grotto,
a large chamber hewn out of solid ice.
Here two young ladies sang Swiss songs
and sold photographs. Next we crossed
the glacier. There were six of us, the
three Chicago girls, the two men and me.
The glacier was perhaps 50 yards long
and we walked along a path cut into
solid ice along a wall of ice. The
bottom of the gorge was several hundred
feet below. On one side of the path,
which was about two feet wide, was the
glacier, on the other side a thin rope
and the precipitous drop into the gorge.
Three Swiss guides held that rope, which
was tied around their waists. Here we
walked this narrow path. One of the
girls screamed, whether in jest or fear,
I don’t know. At any rate I felt
relieved when we were all across. It’s
just the daredevil in a person that
makes him take those chances. If he
didn’t he would feel like a coward. Next
day we went up to Mürren, high up on a
mountain. You reach this village by
cable road. The track is about as steep
as the roof of a house. It has plenty of
thrills. Sometimes you seem to be
suspended a thousand feet in the air in
a car about the size of a motor bus.
This is the place where my grandmother
on Father’s side was born. By the way,
her maiden name was Gage 5.
Arriving at Mürren, we saw a sign over a
large hotel door, “American Spoken Here,
American Cooking, American Drinks.” As
it was cold in this altitude, we three
decided on a drink of whiskey and a
hamburger. It was true, they spoke good
American, but they had neither whiskey
nor hamburgers, only cocktails and mint
juleps, of which we knew nothing. So we
admired an American flag which was
displayed in one end of the dining room,
chiefly to prove that we were Americans
even if we didn’t partake of those fancy
drinks.
We were pretty well chilled in this high
altitude, so we decided to go back into
the Niederland (the valleys). At Berne
we boarded a train for the south through
the St. Gotthard tunnel and into Italy.
A most interesting trip, this took us up
a valley with high mountains on either
side. Now and then we went into a
tunnel, made a loop and came out several
hundred feet above the place where we
had entered. That was to gain altitude.
There was a little church not far from
the track as we went into a tunnel. When
we came out, the church was a hundred
feet below us. We went into another
tunnel and emerged perhaps 200 feet
above the church. After that, the track
ran high up on the mountain side where
enough rock had been blasted out for a
road bed. After a mile or two of this,
we entered the St. Gotthard tunnel. We
were 20 minutes going through the
tunnel. At about the middle of the way,
we passed another train. The tunnel was
wide enough here for a side track. All
windows were closed, yet the smoke
penetrated the coaches. There was snow
where we entered the tunnel. On the
south side of the mountain where we
emerged from the tunnel, it was warm,
too warm for comfort. We were now in the
canton of Ticino, as Italian as Italy,
but Ticino belongs to the Swiss
Federation of States. The people of this
state are a liberty loving class and
joined the Swiss Federation many years
ago, but their manner and appearance is
decidedly Italian. We were just a little
suspicious of them. While we were at
dinner one of our party, a Swiss from
America, came to us and said he had been
robbed of $500 while eating his dinner.
We reported the theft to a German
speaking policeman. He promised to do
his best to find the guilty party. We
had intended to go south into Italy to
Ariolo, but this seemed to put a scare
in the crowd and we took the first train
north and without a stop we went to
Mount Rigi, which is about 10,000 feet
high. You go up on a cog road. There are
about four large hotels on its summit.
We stopped at Hotel Rigi-Kulm. When we
finally got up there, both Uncle John
and Fankhauser were chilled to the bone.
Their teeth chattered so hard they could
hardly talk and they wanted to go to bed
at once. The change from Italian summer
to the top of a Swiss mountain was too
much. It was about 7 o’clock in the
evening. We registered as Americans, of
course. That gave us special attention.
The hotel was crowded, but we were given
one of the best rooms on the seventh
floor, with a lookout where we could see
one fourth of all Switzerland. I saw
John and Fankhauser were comfortably
laid between two feather beds. Then I
went down to the main floor, drank a cup
of hot coffee and soon felt normal. A
good orchestra was playing, there was
some dancing and the crowd milled around
until the “beleuchtung.” This referred
to the lighting of Seven Falls which
were just across the gorge from the
hotel. This took place at 10 o’clock.
These falls are each about 100 feet
high, one above the other, quite a
spectacle in daytime, but when they are
lighted up with seven different shades
of light which change every minute, it
is truly a wonderful sight. John and
Fankhauser missed all of this. I wasn’t
lonely, because there were many
Americans and Englishmen there. At 12
o’clock I went to bed. John and
Fankhauser were sleeping between their
feather beds like two babies.
Next morning we went to the lookout and
we saw miles and miles of country dotted
with cities and villages in a beautiful
green background. We could see the
complete outline of the Vierwaldstätter
See 6, the lake of the woods. About 10
AM a heavy mist formed below us, then we
heard thunder and lightning. It was
raining down in the valley, while we
were above the clouds. After dinner, we
started back home for Berne.
When we reached the city, we discovered
something had happened in our absence.
All the streets were decorated with tall
arches of evergreen and flags. Every
window was decorated. Our hotel, too,
was all dressed up, for tomorrow would
begin a festival commemorating the 700th
anniversary of the city of Berne, 100
years older than the Swiss government
itself. Every hotel was crowded. We were
asked to pay 10 francs apiece to look
out of the window to see the historical
parade. Mrs. Troxel got money while the
getting was good, since she had about 50
windows. Our large dining room was
crowded with tables and they were filled
up two or three times every meal time.
A very embarrassing thing happened to me
one day at dinner. I was tired of wine
for dinner, so I ordered a bottle of
lemonade, about like lemon pop. I took
it for granted it was cold. When I
pressed down on the cork, the blame
stuff shot out like a rocket. It hit the
ceiling above another table and
spattered down on a dozen or more well
dressed men and women. The look they
gave me would have crumbled a stone.
I’ll bet my face was red. What could I
do? I just started eating soup. John,
with an angry look, said “Why did you do
it?” How did I know? I thought it was
cold. Mrs. Troxel helped to wipe the
offensive liquid off of the other guests
and came to me: “Aha! You did something,
didn’t you?” I told her I thought it was
cold. She said one of the girls made a
mistake and picked up a warm bottle.
Anyway, I survived the ordeal.
This celebration was something like the
one at the city of Schwyz a couple of
weeks before. They re-enacted William
Tell. They had wrestling, folk dances,
singing, a 160-piece orchestra and the
historic parade, the bears parade, Alpen
horn blowing and the killing of the bear
by Zwingly, when the city was started
700 years ago, strange as it may seem,
there was wine everywhere, but among the
thousands of people I didn’t see a
single drunk. This celebration continued
for a week and was open until 11:30
every night and crowded every day.
For the last night of the celebration,
they announced the largest display of
fireworks ever seen. About seven
o’clock, John and I left the hotel for
Kirchenfeld, where the celebration was
held. We had to cross the River Aar over
the Nydeck bridge. This bridge is about
200 yards long and about 75 feet above
the water. It is of very peculiar
construction. The supporting arches,
made of latticed steel, are underneath
the bridge. They rise from thin stone
pillars near the water line like the
half of the rim of a wheel, up to the
floor of the bridge, then curve down to
the next stone pier. There are three
spans like this. Well, as we came near
the bridge the crowd increased. We were
jammed close together, but moving in
military step. There was a band ahead.
We were about the center of the bridge
and could feel the bridge swing from
side to side. The Chinese lanterns along
the railing were swinging to and fro.
Everyone seemed to feel panicky, then
half a dozen soldiers rode in on the
bridge, squeezing through the crowd and
shouted for everyone to stand still. The
swinging motion stopped. They stopped
the band and asked people to break step
and there was no more trouble. The
bridge was strong enough to carry four
times the load, but that swinging motion
might throw it over sideways, they said.
Next day was Sunday and John decided to
go to Gugisberg for a few days to visit
his old friend, Stuckey. Before we left
America, I had promised Otto Kruger to
carry a message to his old boss in
Berlin, Germany. So I bought a ticket
for Berlin. I stopped off at Strasburg
where the international exposition was
being held. Here I met many Americans.
On learning that I had just come from
the states, they wanted to know if I had
any Horseshoe tobacco. I happened to
have about a pound of it. I gave them
each a liberal chunk and they were
happy. I spent most of the day here. At
about 6 PM I went to the banhoff and got
my ticket. I still had one hour’s time
so I strolled around town awhile, then
went to a restaurant to get my supper.
When I paid for the meal, I discovered I
was short one 500 franc note, so I went
back to the depot where I had bought my
ticket and asked the ticket agent if I
hadn’t made a mistake when I bought my
ticket. “You gave me a 500 franc note
instead of 100 francs,” he said. “Here
it is. If you had been 10 minutes later,
I would have been gone.” Well, I felt
relieved.
I rode all that night and arrived in
Berlin at about 10 AM During the night I
went to sleep in the car. About two
o’clock, some self-important German
yanked me out on the floor and gave me a
lecture on manners. If I wanted to
sleep, I ought to go in the sleeping
car, he growled at me. I found this
attitude among all the people I met in
Berlin -- haughty, arrogant. I delivered
Kruger’s message and one of the men
volunteered to show me the city. We took
a sight seeing car, but neither could
understand the other, so without
ceremony we separated. I went to the
famous Thier Garten and spent two or
three hours, then took the first train
back to Berne, with not a very friendly
feeling toward Germany compared to
Switzerland. The German people seemed
cold, unfriendly. The military spirit,
soldiers everywhere. One of the grandest
displays of military pomp was in Berlin.
The Kaiser’s body guard, I think they
called them, about 500 all mounted on
big white horses with trappings of gold
and silver. The uniforms were white as
snow, trimmed in gold and silver lace,
golden epaulets on their shoulders.
First came the heralds, eight abreast,
sitting straight as a stick in their
saddles, their left hands on the rein,
in their right hands they held a
straight trumpet to their lips, probably
three feet long and a golden banner
suspended underneath. They played a
simple but spirited march. Next came the
buglers, then the band or musicians. All
dressed and mounted alike. They wore
tall white shakos with golden plumes.
The horses kept step at all times with
the music, raising their feet high like
circus horses I’ve seen. Witnessing this
spectacle, I forgot for the time the
cold reception that I seemed to get, for
it was the greatest show on earth
exemplifying military power.
When I arrived at Berne, John was still
at Gugisberg. He had sent word to the
Eagle Hotel that he would be home
Sunday. Well, I had a few days to while
away. I went to the bears’ den and fed
the bears. When I came back to the
hotel, everybody was getting ready to go
to the Münster Platz, a large open place
at the cathedral. The soldiers were
coming. There was to be a maneuver, sham
battles, but no one knew just where this
would take place. Anyway, they were
marching through the city and the
Münster Platz would be a good place to
see them. I had formed a habit of
following the crowd. I was a glutton for
big shows. Well, they came about 20
abreast in double file with bands and
banners, about ten thousand, they said.
All branches of the army represented. It
certainly was an imposing sight, but did
not compare with what I had just seen in
Germany. The tinsel and glitter were
missing.
I wanted to see the sham battle. “Where
would it take place?”, I inquired. Some
place in the eastern part of
Switzerland, probably in St. Gallen,
they told me, so I took a train for St.
Gallen. Here they knew no more about it
than I did, anyway I could get no
information. They probably thought I was
a spy. I never saw the soldiers any
more. Generally these people treated me
nice.
I made up my mind to see eastern
Switzerland. I even went into Austria on
Sunday. I traversed Lake Constance,
first on a Swiss boat and then on a
German boat. While on the German boat,
they hoisted the flags and tooted the
old fog horn. I asked the captain what
all this meant. He pointed to a ship
that was coming up behind us with
banners flying. “That ship,” said he,
“is Her Majesty’s ship.” He referred to
the Queen of Bavaria. “It is the law
that we must salute her ship.” I
expressed a wish to land and possibly
see a queen. “Oh, that old swine,” he
said. “I see you Americans want to see
royalty, but you don’t believe in them,
do you?” He cautioned me not to mention
what he had said, because if the queen
heard of it, he would get six months in
jail. We landed and saw the queen land.
There was a double row of flunkies, all
in brilliant uniform, from the landing
to her carriage. Through this line, we
saw a woman, big and fat, loaded down
with regalia. Everybody removed his hat.
She never turned her head.
From here, our boat went to the city of
Constance, a German city. Next I went to
Schaffhausen and saw the great Rhine
fall, the largest waterfall in Europe,
then down the lake again to Rorsach.
Here I took the train to Wallenstadt,
the Wallen valley, then down to Zurich,
a beautiful city, where I spent the
night. Next morning I went by first
class train to Berne, and to the Hotel
Eagle where I found John had about
everything packed for the homeward
journey.
I felt somewhat like a small boy, who
having been in the big tent at the
circus, begs to see the sideshow on the
way out. He hasn’t had enough. After
feasting my eyes on this most scenic and
beautiful country for two months, waited
on like a king, wined and dined, I felt
almost as if it had all been a dream.
The realization that time was up and I
must get back home, to stand behind the
counter and follow the daily grind, was
anything but pleasant.
We bought a few more souvenirs, packed
out trunks, got our passports visaed.
Then we entrained for Mannheim, Germany.
Here we had to pass the inspectors. We
had through tickets from Berne,
Switzerland by rail to Mannheim, then
from Mannheim down the river Rhine to
Amsterdam, Holland, then by ship across
the Atlantic to New York, then by rail
through Canada, then Detroit, Chicago
and home. But it wasn’t as easy as
telling.
The inspectors at Mannheim held our
trunks. They insisted we must pay 15
marks on each trunk as inspection fees,
but luckily our Swiss agent told me when
he visaed our tickets that we might find
crooks that would try that very thing at
the Rhine. He assured me that everything
was paid and billed through to Bern,
Kansas, and for us not to give in to any
request for additional pay. Uncle John
and Fred Fankhauser wanted to pay the
extra 15 marks because those two men
said it would cost 100 marks to send the
trunks on later if they wanted them.
However, I held out and won out. These
two men had our trunks in a little pen
where we couldn’t get them. However,
when we got to Amsterdam, our trunks
were unloaded. How they got on the ship,
I don’t know. Each trunk had a large red
sticker on it marked “delayed in
transit.”
We stayed in Amsterdam two days. A
middle aged man with a hook nose and
straggly black beard met us at the pier
on the Rhine and offered to take us to a
good hotel. About thirty people in all
took the bait. We had dinner there and
it was fine, so we engaged room and
board for two days, paid in advance. But
after that we got sliced bologna, black
bread, one baked potato and dirty
looking coffee. One night we went to the
Circus Royal and saw a few good stunts.
Several clowns were no doubt very funny
but we couldn’t understand a word they
said.
Going to Europe, we had a French ship
and third class tickets. Coming home, we
took the Holland line on second class
tickets. However, the second class
Holland wasn’t as good as the French
third class. The steerage of this
Holland ship was crowded with dirty
looking Jews of several nationalities. A
strong odor of onions and filth came up
from their quarters. There was a
sickness among them. One little girl of
about 12 or 14 died when we were a few
days out. Her father, not too clean
looking a man, was frantic with grief
when he learned that the little girl was
buried at sea. He tried to jump
overboard, but they caught him just in
time. Then he started to tear his hair.
They finally had to put him in chains
(proof that outward appearances may be
deceiving). I witnessed the funeral
service at midnight. It was conducted by
the officers of the ship. The casket was
enclosed in canvas with heavy weights at
one end. There was first a prayer and a
paragraph or two read from the Bible.
There was a ladder-like slide let down
from the rear of the ship that reached
the water. The coffin was carefully
placed on this slide, then with bowed
heads a few words were spoken in concert
by the officers and the casket was
released and slid quietly down into the
waters below. I was acquainted with the
ship’s doctor, a young man, and through
him I was allowed to witness the rites.
It is not customary for any of the
passengers to witness these sea
funerals.
A few days later we had a storm that
lasted for three days. Our ship rolled
until you couldn’t stand on deck. Dishes
were broken, women screamed, and for
awhile everything was chaos. High waves
broke over the ship and water was
sometimes six inches deep on deck. Yet I
wasn’t frightened. I had my eye on a
life preserver and I used to be a good
swimmer. We were on the ocean fourteen
days coming back, compared with just
eight going over.
Back in New York again, where we could
at least talk English and be understood,
at Castle Garden our trunks were
examined for dutiable goods. However, we
passed without paying any duty. We now
went shopping for some new clothes. None
of us had an extra suit and those we had
on were badly worn. After pricing suits
at half a dozen different stores and
finding the prices too high, we about
gave up. Then we saw two men in front of
a clothing store fighting. We wanted to
see what it was all about. Here is what
we heard. “My brudder and I quit
partnership. He all time spent the
money, drunk, and gamble. I sell
everybody for half price.” Here, we
thought, is the place to buy a suit of
clothes. Sure enough, the same suit that
the other stores had asked from 25 to 30
dollars for, he would sell for 14
dollars. Uncle John and I each bought a
suit proper size and all. Mr. Jew was
awfully nice, he even threw in a pair of
suspenders, then asked us into the rest
room till the suits were neatly folded
and wrapped. All OK.
Next we went to the steamship office to
get our railroad tickets OK’d. They told
us we would go second class on an
immigrant train to Chicago and might be
on the way for four or five days. Four
dollars extra on each ticket would give
us first class passage. We paid the four
dollars. When we got to Niagara Falls,
we saw some people who had refused to
pay extra, but they rode on the same
train to Chicago that we did. While in
Chicago, John and I thought we had
better change clothes so as to present a
respectable appearance when we got home.
We stopped at a hotel for dinner. After
dinner, I asked the clerk for a room to
change clothes. Right next door, he
said. That was satisfactory, but when I
opened my bargain suit I found I didn’t
have the suit that I had bought from
that New York Jew, but a cheap thing.
Instead of woven goods, it was shoddy
pasted-on burlap. It would fall to
pieces when it got wet and on top of
this, a man came into the room and
wanted to charge me a dollar for the use
of the room. I had had about enough by
that time. I said something to him that
made him wince and before he recovered,
I got out and lost him. John had the
same luck as I did.
The next day, at about four o’clock PM,
we got back to Bern (Kansas). Everybody
was expecting us and we got a great
reception. It was a noisy one and a
hearty one. A long absence arouses
feelings of friendship that one never
before knew existed, but like all else
it wears off with time. We were home
again. It seemed as if we had been gone
for a year. Back to the old job of
selling hardware and matching wits with
the traveling salesmen.
THE END
- Joe Steinauer must have traveled
only part way; he is not mentioned
again.
- A little math indicates the
author's age was twenty-eight, not
twenty-four.
- The author frequently referred
to the German he knew as "the Swiss
language".
- Lake Bieluce apparently is now
called Lac L‚man or Lake Geneva.
- Pat (Minger) Vorenberg's
genealogy research shows that the
author's paternal grandmother was
Johanna Gertsch of Lauterbrunnen,
although Hazel (Minger) Driggs had
guessed the name might have been
Gelch.
- The Vierwaldst„tter See
apparently is now called Lake
Lucern.
donated by John Minger, grandson of
the author.