He
acknowledged our applause in an honest, simple way, and then
disappeared in the crowd. He was not posing as a heroic figure, but
was just an honest mountain-climber who accepted the challenge of the
mountain and won. In our cheering we did just what the world does:
we gave the laurel wreath to the man who wins in a test of courage.
I think "Excelsior" is pretty good stuff in the way of depicting
mountain-climbing, and I always want to cheer that young chap as he
fights his way toward the top. He could have stopped down there in
the valley, where everything was snug and comfortable, but he chose
to climb so as to have a look around. I thought of him one day at
Scheidegg. There we were, nearly a mile and a half above sea-level,
shivering in the midst of ice and snow in mid-July, but we had a look
around that made us glad in spite of the cold. As Virgil says: "It
will be pleasing to remember these things hereafter." I have often
noticed that the old soldiers seem to recall the hardest marches, the
most severe battles, and the greatest privations more vividly than
their every-day experiences.
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