Rivers of Ice

“And I,” said Lewis, “intend to go for fun; so you see, mother, as our reasons are all good, you had better go to bed, for it’s getting late.”

Mrs Stoutley accepted the suggestion, delivered a yawn into her pocket-handkerchief, and retired, as she remarked, to ascend Mont Blanc in dreams, and thus have all the pleasure without the bodily fatigue.

We are on the sides of the mountain monarch now, slowly wending our way through the sable fringe of pines that ornaments the skirt of his white mantle. We tramp along very slowly, for Antoine Grennon is in front and won’t allow us to go faster. To the impatient and youthful spirits of Lawrence and Lewis, the pace appears ridiculously slow, and the latter does not hesitate to make audible reference in his best French to the progress of snails, but Antoine is deaf to such references. One might fancy that he did not understand bad French, but for the momentary twinkle in his earnest eyes. But nothing will induce him to mend his pace, for well does he know that the ascent of Mont Blanc is no trifle; that even trained lungs and muscles are pretty severely taxed before the fifteen thousand seven hundred and eighty feet of perpendicular height above the sea-level is placed below the soles of the feet. He knows, also, from long experience, that he who would climb a mountain well, and use his strength to advantage, must begin with a slow, leisurely pace, as if he were merely out for a saunter, yet must progress with steady, persevering regularity. He knows, too, that young blood is prone to breast a mountain with head erect and spanking action, and to descend with woeful countenance and limp limbs. It must be restrained, and Antoine does his duty.

The ascent of Mont Blanc cannot be accomplished in one day. It is therefore necessary to sleep at a place named the Grands Mulets, from which a fresh start is made for the summit at the earliest hours of morning on the second day. Towards this resting-place our travellers now directed their steps.

The party consisted of the Professor, Captain Wopper, Lewis, Lawrence, and Slingsby, headed by their trusty guide, besides three porters with knapsacks containing food, wine, etcetera. One of these latter was the chamois-hunter, Baptist Le Croix. He brought up the rear of the party, and all proceeded in single file, each, like the North American Indian, treading in his predecessor’s footsteps.

Passing from the dark fringe of pines they emerged upon a more open country where the royal robe was wrought with larch and hazel, bilberry, and varied underwood, and speckled with rhododendrons and other flowers on a ground of rich brown, green, and grey. Steadily upwards, over the Glacier des Bossons, they went, with airy cloudlets floating around them, with the summit at which they aimed, the Dôme du Gouter, and the Aiguille du Gouter in front, luring them on, and other giant Aiguilles around watching them. Several hours of steady climbing brought them to the Pierre l’Échelle, where they were furnished with woollen leggings to protect their legs from the snow. Here also they procured a ladder and began the tedious work of traversing the glaciers. Hitherto their route had lain chiefly on solid ground—over grassy slopes and along rocky paths. It was now to be confined almost entirely to the ice, which they found to be cut up in all directions with fissures, so that great caution was needed in crossing crevasses and creeping round slippery ridges, and progress was for some time very slow.

Coming to one of the crevasses which was too wide to leap, the ladder was put in requisition. The iron spikes with which one end of it was shod were driven firmly into the ice at one side of the chasm and the other end rested on the opposite side.

Antoine crossed first and then held out his hand to the Professor, who followed, but the man of science was an expert ice-man, and in another moment stood at the guide’s side without having required assistance. Not so Captain Wopper.

“I’m not exactly a feather,” he said, looking with a doubtful expression at the frail bridge.

“It bore me well enough, Captain,” said the Professor with a smile.

“That’s just what it didn’t,” replied the Captain, “it seemed to me to bend too much under you; besides, although I’m bound to admit that you’re a good lump of a man, Professor, I suspect there’s a couple of stones more on me than on you. If it was only a rope, now, such as I’ve bin used to, I’d go at it at once, but—”

“It is quite strong enough,” said the guide confidently.

“Well, here goes,” returned the mariner, “but if it gives way, Antoine, I’ll have you hanged for murder.”

Uttering this threat he crossed in safety, the others followed, and the party advanced over a part of the glacier which was rugged with mounds, towers, obelisks, and pyramids of ice. For some time nothing serious interrupted their progress until they came to another wide crevasse, when it was found, to the guide’s indignation, that the ladder had been purposely left behind by the porter to whom it had been intrusted, he being under the impression that it would not be further required.

“Blockhead!” cried the Professor, whose enthusiastic spirit was easily roused to indignation, “it was your duty to carry it till ordered to lay it down. You were hired to act, sir, not to think. Obedience is the highest virtue of a servant! Shall we send him back for it?” he said, turning to Antoine with a flushed countenance.

“Not now, Monsieur,” answered the guide, “it would create needless delay. We shall try to work round the crevasse.”

This they did by following its edge until they found a part where crossing was possible, though attended with considerable danger in consequence of the wedge-like and crumbling nature of the ice.

Hoping that such a difficulty would not occur again they pushed on, but had not gone far when another, and still more impassable, fissure presented itself.

“How provoking, couldn’t we jump it?” said Lewis, looking inquiringly into the dark-blue depths.

“Pr’aps you might, youngster, with your half fledged spider-legs,” said the Captain, “but you’ll not catch fourteen-stun-six goin’ over that with its own free will. What’s to be done now, Antoine?”

The guide, after looking at the crevasse for a few minutes, said that the next thing to be done was to look for a snow-bridge, which he had no doubt would be found somewhere. In search of this he scattered the whole party, and in a few minutes a loud shout from the chamois-hunter told that he had been successful. The members of the party at once converged towards him, but found that the success was only partial. He had indeed found a part of the crevasse, which, during some of the wild storms so frequent on the mountain, had been bridged over by a snow-wreath, but the central part of the bridge had given way, and it was thus divided by a gap of about a foot wide. This would have been but a small and insignificant step to take had the substance been solid, but although the ice on one side was strong the opposite edge was comparatively soft snow, and not much more than a foot thick. The chamois-hunter, being the lightest of the party, was called to the front and ordered to test the strength of the frail bridge, if bridge it could be called.

“Why, he might as well try to step on a bit of sea-foam,” said the Captain in surprise.

Lawrence, Lewis, and Slingsby, having as yet had no experience of such places, expressed, or held a similar opinion, but the Professor bade them wait and see.

Baptist, throwing off his pack, and fastening a rope round his waist, which his comrades held, advanced to the extreme edge of the ice, and with his long-handled axe, gently patted the snow on the opposite side. The surface yielded, and it seemed as if even that small weight would break the lump off, but the operation consolidated the mass in a few minutes, by reason of what the Professor termed “regelation.” He then stepped tenderly on it, crossed over, and drew the rope after him. Antoine followed next, and in a few minutes the whole party was safe on the other side.

“Dr Lawrence,” said Slingsby, in a low grave tone, as they walked along after this, “if we ever see Chamouni again I shall be surprised.”

“Indeed?” returned Lawrence, with a short laugh, “I don’t take quite so gloomy a view of our case. Don’t you think that the free and easy, quiet look of our guide and porters indicates that such work looks more dangerous than it really is?”

“I don’t know that,” said the artist, shaking his head, “when men get thoroughly accustomed to danger they become foolhardy, and don’t realise it. I think it sheer madness to cross such places.”

Lewis, who overheard the conversation, could scarce refrain from a burst of laughter.

“Upon my word, Slingsby,” said he, “such observations come strangely from the lips of a man, who only a day or two ago was caught sketching on a snow-wreath over the edge of a crevasse.”

“Ah, but I didn’t know it,” retorted the other, “and even if I had known it, the ledge of snow was immensely stronger than that on which we have just stood.”

At this point the conversation was interrupted by the guide stopping and saying that it was now necessary to tie the party together.

They had reached those higher parts of the glacier where snow frequently falls and covers, to some extent the narrower crevasses, thus, by concealing them, rendering them extremely dangerous traps. It therefore became necessary to attach the various members of the party together by means of a rope, which, passing round their waists, with a few feet between each, enabled them to rescue any one who should chance to break through.

Thus, in a string, they advanced, and had scarcely proceeded a hundred yards when a surprised “hallo!” from Captain Wopper arrested them. He had sunk up to the knees in snow. A “hallo!” of alarm instantly succeeded. He was waist deep. A stentorian yell followed:

“Ho! hallo! hi!—avast! Hold on there abaft! My legs are waublin’ in nothin’!”

His great weight had indeed nearly plunged him into a hidden crevasse, over which those who preceded him had passed in safety. If the Captain had stood alone that crevasse would certainly have been his grave, but his friends held him tight, and in a few seconds he was dragged out of danger.

“Well, well,” he said, wiping some large drops of perspiration from his brow, as he stood on the other side of the chasm, “land-lubbers talk about seafarin’ men havin’ nothin’ but a plank between them an’ death, but to my thinkin’ the rottenest plank that ever was launched is absolute safety compared to ‘a snow-wreath.’”

“Ah! Captain,” said the Professor, laughing, “you think so just now because you’re not used to it. In a few weeks you’ll hold a different opinion.”

“May be so,” replied the Captain quietly, “but it don’t feel so—heave ahead, my hearties!”

Thus encouraged the party proceeded with caution, the guide sounding the snow at each step with his long axe-handle as he moved in advance.

Slowly they mounted higher and higher, occasionally meeting with, but always overcoming, difficulties, until towards evening they reached the little log cabin on the Grands Mulets, not sorry to find in it a sufficient though humble resting-place for the night.

Here they proceeded to make themselves comfortable. Some firewood had been carried up by the porters, with which a fire was kindled, wet garments were hung up to dry, and hot coffee was prepared, while the sun sank in a gorgeous world of amber and crimson fire.

One by one the stars came out and gradually twinkled into brilliancy, until at last the glorious host of heaven shone in the deepening sky with an intensity of lustre that cannot be described, contrasting strangely with the pallid ghostly aspect of the surrounding snow-fields. These were the only trace of earth that now remained to greet the eyes of our travellers when they looked forth from the door of the little hut. Besides being calm and beautiful, the night was intensely cold. There is this peculiarity, on Alpine mountain tops, that when the sun’s last rays desert them the temperature falls abruptly, there being little or nothing of earth or rock to conserve the heat poured out during the day. The mountaineers, therefore, soon after night closed in, found it necessary to shut the door of their cabin, where they roused up the fire, quaffed their steaming coffee, and smoked their pipes, in joyful anticipation of the coming day.

Chapter Fifteen.

The Grand Ascent Continued and Completed

Need we say that the younger of our adventurers—for such they may truly be styled—felt a tendency to “spin yarns,” as Captain Wopper expressed it, till a late hour that night, as they sat round the fire at the Grands Mulets?

During this enjoyable period, Lawrence and Lewis made themselves better acquainted with Baptist Le Croix, the chamois-hunter, whose quiet, gentle, and unobtrusive manner was very attractive to them. Many an anecdote did he relate of adventures among the Alpine peaks and passes while pursuing the chamois, or guiding travellers on their way, and it is probable that he might have roamed in spirit among his beloved haunts—eagerly followed in spirit by the young men—if he had not been called to order by the guide, who, remembering the hard work that lay before them on the morrow, suggested repose. The profound silence that soon reigned in the hut was broken only by an occasional long-drawn sigh. Even Captain Wopper was quiet, having been so powerfully influenced by fresh mountain air and exercise as to have forgotten or foregone his ordinary and inveterate snore.

There is something peculiarly disagreeable in being awakened, when one is very tired and sleepy, about two minutes after one has dropped into a profound refreshing slumber; and the annoyance is severely aggravated when it is caused by the wanton act of one of whom we had expected better things.

So, in a hazy way, thought Lewis Stoutley when he felt a hand laid on his shoulder, and heard the voice of Antoine Grennon.

“Monsieur! Monsieur!” said the guide.

“G–t—long. D–n borer me,” murmured Lewis, in tones so sleepy that the dash of crossness was barely perceptible.