# William Tell Told Again/Chapter 3

CHAPTER III
In a picturesque little châlet high up in the mountains, covered with snow and edelweiss (which is a ﬂower that grows in the Alps, and you are not allowed to pick it), dwelt Tell, his wife Hedwig, and his two sons, Walter and William. Such a remarkable man was Tell that I think I must devote a whole chapter to him and his exploits. There was really nothing he could not do. He was the best shot with the cross–bow in the whole of Switzerland. He had the courage of a lion, the sure-footedness of a wild goat, the agility of a squirrel, and a beautiful beard. If you wanted someone to hurry across desolate ice-ﬁelds, and leap from crag to crag after a chamois, Tell
| ​ PLATE III. The crowd about the pole at morn Used various “persuaders”— They ﬂung old cans (to prove their scorn Of all tin-pot invaders); And cabbage-stumps were freely dealt, And apples (inexpensive), And rotten eggs (to show they felt A foreign yoke offensive). | ​ |
​was the man for your money. If you wanted a man to say rude things to the Governor, it was to Tell that you applied ﬁrst. Once when he was hunting in the wild ravine of Schächenthal, where men were hardly ever to be seen, he met the Governor face to face. There was no way of getting past. On one side the rocky wall rose sheer up, while below the river roared. Directly Gessler caught sight of Tell striding along with his cross-bow, his cheeks grew pale and his knees tottered, and he sat down on a rock feeling very unwell indeed.
“Aha!" said Tell. “Oho! so it’s you, is it? I know you. And a nice sort of person you are, with your taxes on bread and sheep, aren’t you! You'll come to a bad end one of these days, that's what will happen to you. Oh, you old reprobate! Pooh!” And he had passed on with a look of scorn, leaving Gessler to think over what he had said. And Gessler ever ​since had had a grudge against him, and was only waiting for a chance of paying him out.
“Mark my words,” said Tell’s wife, Hedwig, when her husband told her about it after supper that night—"mark my words, he will never forgive you.”
“I will avoid him,” said Tell. “He will not seek me.”
“Well, mind you do,” was Hedwig’s reply.
On another occasion, when the Governor's soldiers were chasing a friend of his, called Baumgarten, and when Baumgarten's only chance of escape was to cross the lake during a ﬁerce storm, and when the ferryman, sensibly remarking, “What! must I rush into the jaws of death? No man that hath his senses would do that!” refused to take out his boat even for twice his proper fare, and when the soldiers rode down to seize their prey with dreadful shouts, Tell jumped into the boat, and, rowing with all ​his might, brought his friend safe across after a choppy passage. Which made Gessler the Governor still more angry with him.
But it was as a marksman that Tell was so extraordinary. There was nobody in the whole of the land who was half so skilful. He attended every meeting for miles around where there was a shooting competition, and every time he won first prize. Even his rivals could not help praising his skill. “Behold!” they would say, “Tell is quite the pot-hunter,” meaning by the last word a man who always went in for every prize, and always won it. And Tell would say, “Yes, truly am I a pot-hunter, for I hunt to ﬁll the family pot.” And so he did. He never came home empty-handed from the chase. Sometimes it was a chamois that he brought back, and then the family had it roasted on the ﬁrst day, cold on the next four, and minced on the sixth, with sippets of toast round the edge ​of the dish. Sometimes it was only a bird (as on the cover of this book), and then Hedwig would say, “Mark my words, this fowl will not go round.” But it always did, and it never happened that there was not even a fowl to eat.
In fact, Tell and his family lived a very happy, contented life, in spite of the Governor Gessler and his taxes.
Tell was very patriotic. He always believed that some day the Swiss would rise and rebel against the tyranny of the Governor, and he used to drill his two children so as to keep them always in a state of preparation. They would march about, beating tin cans and shouting, and altogether enjoying themselves immensely, though Hedwig, who did not like noise, and wanted Walter and William to help her with the housework, made frequent complaints. “Mark my words,” she would say, “this growing spirit of militarism in the young and foolish ​will lead to no good,” meaning that boys who played at soldiers instead of helping their mother to dust the chairs and scrub the kitchen ﬂoor would in all probability come to a bad end. But Tell would say, “Who hopes to ﬁght his way through life must be prepared to wield arms. Carry on, my boys!” And they carried on. It was to this man that the Swiss people had determined to come for help.