Chapter Nineteen.A Strange Incident.It was very dark and cold, the stars gleamed frostily overhead, and the nearest mountain peak stood out weird-looking and strange against the purple sky, as the little party stood together listening, and then questioning each other in an awe-stricken whisper.“You heard it, Saxe?” said Dale.“Heard it? Yes, it was horrible. What was it, Melchior?”The guide shook his head, and then took up his ice-axe for a protection against whatever the object might be that had alarmed them, as he began to peer cautiously in all directions.“It woke me up with a start,” whispered Saxe.“Yes; the most unearthly cry I ever heard. It must have been some kind of owl, and its shriek sounded the more terrible from being up in this land of echoes.”“Then if it was a bird there is nothing to be afraid of,” said Saxe. “It gave me the shivers.”“It was startling. Found anything, Melchior?”“No, herr; and I’m puzzled.”“We think it was a bird.”“No, herr; that was no bird.”“Could it have been an animal?”“There are no animals up at this height, but chamois and marmots. They could not have made such a cry.”“No,” said Dale thoughtfully.“Stop!” said the guide, as if he had caught at an idea; “could it have been a bear?”“No–o–o!” cried Saxe. “It was a shriek, not a growl.”“You are right, herr,” said the guide. “Bears are very scarce now, and I do not think one of them could make such a noise unless he were being killed. This is another mystery of the mountains that I cannot explain. Some guides would say it was the mountain spirit.”“But you do not, Melchior?”“No, herr; I believe now that all these old stories ate fables. Shall we lie down again to rest?”“I want to rest,” said Dale; “but it seems impossible to lie down expecting to be roused up by such an unearthly cry.”“Then the English herr thinks it was unearthly?”“Oh, I don’t mean that,” said Dale hastily. “The mountains are full of awful things, but not of that kind. Well, Saxe, shall we lie down?”“What’s the good?” replied the boy: “we couldn’t go to sleep if we did. I say, isn’t it cold?”“Get one of the rugs to put round you.”“Shall we have a good look round, first, herr?”“No, don’t,” said Saxe. “It is so dark, and there are so many stones about. Yes, let’s go,” he added suddenly, as the thought flashed across his brain that if he declined his companions would think him cowardly.Just at that moment, from out of the darkness, about fifty yards away, the cry rose again, but short and sudden, like a bit of the fag end of the shriek which had roused them from their sleep.“There!” cried Saxe.“Yes, herr—there!” said the guide, and he began to laugh silently. “Why, it quite startled me. I ought to have known.”“What was it?” cried Dale, as the curious wild cry seemed still to be ringing in his ears.“What was it, herr? Don’t you know?”“Of course not.”“It was Gros.”“The old mule?” cried Saxe. “Oh, I wish I was close by him with a stick.”“I suppose he feels the cold. No, stop: it can’t be that,” added the guide, as if suddenly struck by an idea. “There must be a reason for his crying out.”He walked away hurriedly into the darkness, and they followed, to hear him talking directly after to the mule, which responded with a low whinnying sound.“Perhaps the poor brute has slipped into a hole or a crack in the rock,” suggested Dale; but as they drew nigh they could see the mule standing out dimly in the darkness, and the guide close by his neck.“Have we overdriven him?” said Saxe. “Is he ill?”“You couldn’t overdrive Gros, herr,” said Melchior quietly.“Why not?”“You heard what old Andregg said to us, Gros would not be overdriven, herr; he would lie down when he had done as much work as he felt was enough.”“What’s the matter, then? Is he ill?”“No, herr; his coat is smooth and dry.”“I know,” cried Saxe.“You know, herr?”“Yes; of course, he has been trying to find enough to eat amongst these stones, and there is scarcely anything. He is hungry, and crying out for supper.”“Oh no, herr. I showed him where he could find plenty of green shoots, and I gave him half a loaf of black bread as well before we had our meal.”“Then he wants kicking for waking us up like this.”“No, herr,” said the guide drily; “and it is bad work to kick Gros. He is a very clever animal, and can kick much harder than a man. I remember Pierre kicking him once, and he kicked back and nearly broke the man’s leg.”“Then don’t kick him. But what is the matter with him?”“I cannot tell you, herr, unless some one has been here since we lay down to sleep.”“But, surely, Melchior, if any one came he would have seen the tent and spoken.”“Yes, herr, one would think so, for out in the mountains here we are all friends. We should have given him to eat and drink just as we should have expected it if we came upon a camp.”“Well,” said Dale, “it was a false alarm, and I’m going to lie down again. Come, Saxe.”“But suppose—”“No, no; we have so much hard work to do to-morrow that we want all the rest we can get. There is nothing to suppose, is there, Melchior?”“Oh no, herr; and besides, if the herr likes, I will sit up and watch.”“There is no need. Come: sleep.”“I can’t sleep,” thought Saxe, as he lay down once more in the shelter of the tent. “I shall be listening, and expecting to hear that cry again.”But his head had hardly touched the rug before he was breathing heavily; and he slept without moving till a hand was laid upon his shoulder; and as he opened his eyes he saw that it was daybreak and that the dark figure bending over him was the guide.“Time to get up?”“Yes, herr—quick!” was the reply. “Will you wake up the herr?”“Eh? Yes: all right, Melchior,” cried Dale. “Hah! what a splendid sleep! It does not seem five minutes since I lay down.”“Will you come out, sir?” said the guide, in rather a peculiar manner.“Yes, of course. Eh? Is anything the matter?”“I don’t quite know, herr,” replied the guide, as they stood together; “but it is clear some one has been here in the night.”“Then that is what frightened the mule?”“Yes, herr; that is what made him cry out. Look!”“What at?” said Dale quietly, as they now stood beside the ashes of the last night’s fire.“Cannot the herr see?”Dale looked sharply round, and Saxe followed his example.“I see nothing,” said the former.“Nor I,” said Saxe; “only that the bits of burnt wood seem to have been kicked about.”“That’s it, herr,” cried Melchior; “and look there!”He bent down, and pointed.“Ah! look, Saxe!” cried Dale: “some one’s footmark in the pine ash!”“’Tisn’t mine,” said Saxe: “it’s too big.”“Nor mine,” said Dale. “An English boot does not leave a print like that. It’s yours, Melchior. A false alarm.”“No, herr—no false alarm,” said the guide; and he raised one foot so as to expose the sole. “Look at the open way in which I nail my boots—with big nails, so that they shall not slip on the rock or ice. That footprint is not mine.”“No: you are right. Then whose could it be?”Melchior shook his head.“Some one must have been prowling round the tent in the night.”“It must have been one of Melk’s spirits—the one who threw stones at us yesterday. I say, Melk, they wear very big boots.”The guide smiled.“Yes, herr, it was some one with big boots; and I do not understand it.”Dale’s first idea—a natural one under the circumstances—was that plunder was the object; and he said so.“No, herr; I do not think there is anybody about here who would steal.”“I’m very glad to hear it,” said Dale: “but let’s see if anything has gone.”The guide said nothing—only looked on while an examination was made.“No,” said Dale; “I do not miss anything. Yes: my little binocular is missing!”“No, herr; you put it inside the big basket last night.”“Yes, here it is,” cried Saxe.“Then you are right, Melchior: it could not have been robbery.”“No, herr, it is strange; but I will light the fire and get breakfast.”As he spoke he began kindling some dry stuff he had collected, and shortly after the coffee-pot was promising to boil. Then some bacon was sliced and frizzled, and the appetising odour soon made the memories of the night alarm pass away in the thoughts of the excellent breakfast, which was finished while the pass in which they were seated was still grey, though the mountain peaks looked red-hot in the coming sunshine.“Well, I’m not going to let an incident like that interfere with our progress, Melchior. Where do you propose going next?”“Up whichever thal the herr chooses, and then up the mountain.”“And not quite over the pass?”“No, herr. We are in the highest part here, and we may come upon crystals in any of these solitary peaks.”“Very well; then we’ll make a start at any time you like. Do we come back here?”“No, herr. I propose that we take the mule on to the foot of the Great Oberweiss glacier, an hour from here. There is good camping ground, and then we will go up the mountain by the side of the ice meer.”“And to shake off our stone-throwing friend,” said Dale. “Good. We will, and will keep a better look-out for the crevasses this time—eh, Saxe?”“Yes, and we can try the new rope.”A few minutes sufficed for saddling up the mule with his load, and then they started once more farther into the wilds, in all the glorious beauty of the early summer morning, Melchior leading them in and out through such a labyrinth of cracks and rifts that after some hours’ walking, Saxe glanced at his leader.“Yes?”“I was wondering how we could find our way back.”Melchior laughed.“Oh, easily enough, herr.”“But I couldn’t,” cried Saxe.“No, herr. That shows the use of a guide. But I could have come an easier way, only I am taking a short cut. We are a thousand feet higher than when we started. Look, herr: go on by that shelf of rock: it is perfectly safe. Then come back and tell me what you see.”Saxe started forward, from the ragged slope they were ascending; and a minute or two after passing quite a mossy niche, which ran some forty or fifty yards right into the mountain, to where a silvery-veil-like cascade fell, he stopped short, threw up his hands, and then turned and signalled to Dale.“What is it?” cried the latter, as he hurried to the boy’s side. “Hah!”He wanted no explanation, for they were standing at the edge of a precipice, gazing down at another huge glacier, which glittered in the rays of the morning sun—a vast chaos of ice whose cracks and shadows were of a vivid blue; and as they gazed up towards the point where it suddenly curved round an immense buttress, there beyond, peak after peak, as far as eye could reach, stood out in the clear air, and all seeming to rise out of the fields and beds of snow which clung around them and filled every ravine and chasm running up from their feet.“Oh!” cried Saxe—“did you ever see anything so beautiful? Why, the place is all crystals!”“Grand!” said Dale slowly, as he stood rapt in a reverie of wonder and admiration at the scene before him. “Why, Saxe, we couldn’t have had a better guide! We must make a halt here, and begin to explore.”“But you’ll go up another mountain?”“Didn’t you have enough of the last?”“No!” cried the boy excitedly. “I know I was very stupid and clumsy, and wasn’t half so brave as I should have liked to be; but I long to begin again.”“Then you shall.”“When? Now?”“Too late in the day. We’ll explore about here first, and if the weather is right we’ll make a start to-morrow.”“Oh!” said Saxe in a disappointed tone.“There—you’ll have plenty of work to-day, for we must go down on this wonderful glacier and examine the sides. Look! there’s what they call a mill there.”“A mill? I don’t see it.”“Moulin. No, no—not a building. That fall, where the water rushes into the crevasse you can see. There—up yonder, a quarter of a mile away.”At that moment there was a tremendous crash on their left; and, as they turned sharply, it was to see from far below them what appeared to be a cloud of smoke rising and wreathing round, full of tiny specks of silver, and over which an iris glimmered for a few moments, and faded away with the ice dust caused by the toppling over of a huge serac, which had crushed half a dozen others in its fall.“Come along. Let’s arrange about our camp; and then we’ll take hammers and a chisel, and begin to examine the side of this glacier at once.”They turned back. Saxe quitting the glorious view of the crystal silver land, as he mentally dubbed it, very unwillingly.To his surprise, as they descended they found Gros on his back, in a gully full of sand and stones, snorting, flapping his ears and throwing up his legs, as he fell over first on one side, then on the other, in the full enjoyment of a good roll; while as they advanced it was to find Melchior in the sheltered nook setting up the tent, after rolling some huge pieces of rock to the four corners ready to secure the ropes; for there was no spot in that stony ravine where a peg of iron, let alone one of wood, could be driven in.“Hah! a capital spot, Melchior.”“Yes, herr, well sheltered from three winds, and there is plenty of good water; but we shall have to be sparing with the wood. To-morrow I’ll take Gros, and go down to the nearest pine forest and bring up a load.”“Then you mean to stay here?”“For a few days, herr. You have peaks all round which you can climb. There is the glacier, and there are bare mountain precipices and crevices where you may find that of which you are in search.”“Yes,” said Dale, as he looked back out of the narrow opening of the gash in the mountain which the guide had chosen for their shelter; “I think this place will do.”“Then the herr is satisfied?”“Well, yes, for the present. Now, then, leave what you are doing, and we’ll descend to the glacier at once.”“Yes, herr. One moment. I’ll hang up the lanthorn and the new English rope here. The glass may be kicked against and broken.”He suspended the English-made stout glass lanthorn to the little ridge-pole; and then, resuming his jacket, he threw the coil of rope over his shoulder, took his ice-axe, Dale and Saxe taking theirs, all new and bright, almost as they had left the manufacturer’s, and started at once for the shelf from which the grand view of the snow-clad mountains had met their gaze. After proceeding along this a short distance, Melchior stopped, climbed out upon a projecting point, and examined the side of the precipice.“We can get down here, herr,” he said; and, setting the example, he descended nimbly from ledge to ledge, pausing at any difficult place to lend a hand or point out foothold, till they were half-way down, when the ledges and crevices by which they had descended suddenly ceased, and they stood upon a shelf from which there seemed to be no further progression, till, as if guided by the formation, Melchior crept to the very end, peered round an angle of the rock, and then came back.“No,” he said—“not that way: the other end.”He passed his two companions, and, going to the farther part, climbed up a few feet, and then passed out of their sight.“This way, gentlemen!” he shouted; and upon joining him they found that he had hit upon quite an easy descent to the ice.This proved to be very different to the glacier they had first examined. It was far more precipitous in its descent, with the consequence that it was greatly broken up into blocks, needles and overhanging seracs. These were so eaten away beneath that it seemed as if a breath would send them thundering down.“Not very safe—eh, Melchior?” said Dale.“No, herr; we must not venture far from the edge.”This vast glacier had also shrunk, leaving from ten to twenty feet of smoothly polished rock at the side—that is, at the foot of the precipitous gorge down which it ran—and thus forming a comparatively easy path for the travellers, who climbed upwards over the rounded masses, stopping from time to time where the ice curved over, leaving spaces between it and its rocky bed, down which Saxe gazed into a deep blue dimness, and listened to the murmuring roar of many waters coursing along beneath.Suddenly Dale uttered an ejaculation, and, taking a hammer from his belt, began to climb up the rocky side of the valley.Melchior saw the place for which he was making, and uttered a grunt indicative of satisfaction.The spot beneath which Dale stopped was only a dark-looking crack; but as Saxe went nearer he could see that it was edged with dark-coloured crystals set closely together, and resembling in size and shape the teeth of a small saw.Dale began to probe the crack directly with the handle of his ice-axe, to find that the crevice gradually widened; and on applying his mouth there and shouting, he could feel that it was a great opening.“There ought to be big crystals in there, Melchior,” cried Dale excitedly.“Yes, herr; but without you brought powder and blasting tools you could not get at them, and if you did blast you would break them up.”Dale said nothing, but laying down his ice-axe he took hammer and chisel and began to chip energetically at the hard rock, while the others looked on till he ceased hammering, with a gesture full of impatience.“You are right, Melchior,” he said; “I shall never widen it like this.”“Why try, herr? I can show you holes already large enough for us to get in.”“You know for certain of such places?”“I cannot tell you exactly where they are now, but I have seen them in the mountains!”“In the mountains?”“Well, then, right in these mountains, I feel sure. Let us go on and try. If we do not find a better place we know where this is, and can try it another time.”“Go on, then,” said Dale, rather reluctantly; and they continued climbing, with the rock towering up on one side, the ice curving over on the other, and rising in the middle of the glacier to a series of crags and waves and smooth patches full of cracks, in which lay blocks of granite or limestone that had been tumbled down from the sides or far up toward the head of the valley ages before.They had not progressed far before the guide pointed out another crack in the rock fringed with gem-like crystals, and then another and another, but all out of reach without chipping steps in the stone—of course a most arduous task.“All signs that we are in the right formation, Saxe,” said Dale more hopefully, after they had toiled on up the side of the glacier for about a couple of hours; and they stood watching Melchior, who had mounted on to the ice to see if he could find better travelling for them.“Yes,” he shouted—“better here;” and the others climbed up and joined him, to find that the surface was much smoother, and that the broken-up masses of ice were far less frequent.“Plenty of crevasses, herr,” said Melchior; “but they are all to be seen. There is no snow to bridge them over.”He stood looking down one of the blue cracks zigzagged across the glacier, and Saxe could not help a shudder as he gazed down into its blue depths and listened to the roar of water which came up from below.But it was not more than a yard in width, and in turn they leaped across and continued their way.Then they had to pass another, half the width, and others that were mere fissures, which Dale said were slowly splitting; but soon after stepping across the last of these, further progress over the ice was barred by a great chasm four or five yards from edge to edge, along which they had to skirt till its end could be turned and their journey continued.“Can we take to the rocks again?” said Dale, looking anxiously toward the almost perpendicular sides of the valley up which they slowly made their way.“Not yet, herr: I have been watching, and we are still only passing mere crevices in the rock. Hah! now we are coming to the enow, and shall have to take care.”He pointed with his ice-axe to where, a hundred yards or so farther on, the surface of the ice suddenly changed; but they did not pass at once on to the snow, for as they neared it they found that they were parted from it by another crevasse of about four feet wide.“We need not go round this, I suppose,” said Dale, as he stood peering down into its depths—Saxe following his example, and listening to a peculiar hissing rush of water far below.“No, herr, the leap is so short. Shall I go first?”“Oh no,” said Dale, stepping back and then jumping lightly across, to alight on the snow; “beautiful landing, Saxe. Take a bit of a run.”“Yes,” said the boy; and he stepped back also for a few yards, sprang and cleared the gap with a yard or so to spare. “What a place it would be to fall down, though!” said Saxe, as he began to tramp on over the snow by Dale’s side. “I couldn’t help thinking so as I flew over it.”“And very stupid of you too! There’s no danger in leaping over a dry ditch four feet wide, so why should you make a fuss about the same distance because it is deep?”Boom!“Hallo!” said Dale. “That sounded like snow somewhere up in the mountains; and by the way, we’re on snow now: Melchior ought to rope us. How do we know there are not crevasses close at hand?” He turned to speak to the guide, and found Saxe standing there staring back. “Hallo!” he cried, “where’s Melchior?”“I don’t know,” faltered Saxe.“Didn’t you see him jump over the crack?”“No. Didn’t you?”“It was such a trifle, I did not think of it. Good heavens! he has not met with an accident? Ah, that noise!”They turned back together for about a hundred yards over the smooth snow, following their own steps clearly marked in the white surface; and then stopped short aghast, for the deeply indented place in the snow where they had landed in their jump was gone, and in its stead they saw a great triangular-shaped opening widening the crevasse to more than double its original dimensions, while just at its edge close to their feet there was a peculiar mark, such as would have been made by an ice-axe suddenly struck down through the snow to plough its way till it disappeared over the edge.
It was very dark and cold, the stars gleamed frostily overhead, and the nearest mountain peak stood out weird-looking and strange against the purple sky, as the little party stood together listening, and then questioning each other in an awe-stricken whisper.
“You heard it, Saxe?” said Dale.
“Heard it? Yes, it was horrible. What was it, Melchior?”
The guide shook his head, and then took up his ice-axe for a protection against whatever the object might be that had alarmed them, as he began to peer cautiously in all directions.
“It woke me up with a start,” whispered Saxe.
“Yes; the most unearthly cry I ever heard. It must have been some kind of owl, and its shriek sounded the more terrible from being up in this land of echoes.”
“Then if it was a bird there is nothing to be afraid of,” said Saxe. “It gave me the shivers.”
“It was startling. Found anything, Melchior?”
“No, herr; and I’m puzzled.”
“We think it was a bird.”
“No, herr; that was no bird.”
“Could it have been an animal?”
“There are no animals up at this height, but chamois and marmots. They could not have made such a cry.”
“No,” said Dale thoughtfully.
“Stop!” said the guide, as if he had caught at an idea; “could it have been a bear?”
“No–o–o!” cried Saxe. “It was a shriek, not a growl.”
“You are right, herr,” said the guide. “Bears are very scarce now, and I do not think one of them could make such a noise unless he were being killed. This is another mystery of the mountains that I cannot explain. Some guides would say it was the mountain spirit.”
“But you do not, Melchior?”
“No, herr; I believe now that all these old stories ate fables. Shall we lie down again to rest?”
“I want to rest,” said Dale; “but it seems impossible to lie down expecting to be roused up by such an unearthly cry.”
“Then the English herr thinks it was unearthly?”
“Oh, I don’t mean that,” said Dale hastily. “The mountains are full of awful things, but not of that kind. Well, Saxe, shall we lie down?”
“What’s the good?” replied the boy: “we couldn’t go to sleep if we did. I say, isn’t it cold?”
“Get one of the rugs to put round you.”
“Shall we have a good look round, first, herr?”
“No, don’t,” said Saxe. “It is so dark, and there are so many stones about. Yes, let’s go,” he added suddenly, as the thought flashed across his brain that if he declined his companions would think him cowardly.
Just at that moment, from out of the darkness, about fifty yards away, the cry rose again, but short and sudden, like a bit of the fag end of the shriek which had roused them from their sleep.
“There!” cried Saxe.
“Yes, herr—there!” said the guide, and he began to laugh silently. “Why, it quite startled me. I ought to have known.”
“What was it?” cried Dale, as the curious wild cry seemed still to be ringing in his ears.
“What was it, herr? Don’t you know?”
“Of course not.”
“It was Gros.”
“The old mule?” cried Saxe. “Oh, I wish I was close by him with a stick.”
“I suppose he feels the cold. No, stop: it can’t be that,” added the guide, as if suddenly struck by an idea. “There must be a reason for his crying out.”
He walked away hurriedly into the darkness, and they followed, to hear him talking directly after to the mule, which responded with a low whinnying sound.
“Perhaps the poor brute has slipped into a hole or a crack in the rock,” suggested Dale; but as they drew nigh they could see the mule standing out dimly in the darkness, and the guide close by his neck.
“Have we overdriven him?” said Saxe. “Is he ill?”
“You couldn’t overdrive Gros, herr,” said Melchior quietly.
“Why not?”
“You heard what old Andregg said to us, Gros would not be overdriven, herr; he would lie down when he had done as much work as he felt was enough.”
“What’s the matter, then? Is he ill?”
“No, herr; his coat is smooth and dry.”
“I know,” cried Saxe.
“You know, herr?”
“Yes; of course, he has been trying to find enough to eat amongst these stones, and there is scarcely anything. He is hungry, and crying out for supper.”
“Oh no, herr. I showed him where he could find plenty of green shoots, and I gave him half a loaf of black bread as well before we had our meal.”
“Then he wants kicking for waking us up like this.”
“No, herr,” said the guide drily; “and it is bad work to kick Gros. He is a very clever animal, and can kick much harder than a man. I remember Pierre kicking him once, and he kicked back and nearly broke the man’s leg.”
“Then don’t kick him. But what is the matter with him?”
“I cannot tell you, herr, unless some one has been here since we lay down to sleep.”
“But, surely, Melchior, if any one came he would have seen the tent and spoken.”
“Yes, herr, one would think so, for out in the mountains here we are all friends. We should have given him to eat and drink just as we should have expected it if we came upon a camp.”
“Well,” said Dale, “it was a false alarm, and I’m going to lie down again. Come, Saxe.”
“But suppose—”
“No, no; we have so much hard work to do to-morrow that we want all the rest we can get. There is nothing to suppose, is there, Melchior?”
“Oh no, herr; and besides, if the herr likes, I will sit up and watch.”
“There is no need. Come: sleep.”
“I can’t sleep,” thought Saxe, as he lay down once more in the shelter of the tent. “I shall be listening, and expecting to hear that cry again.”
But his head had hardly touched the rug before he was breathing heavily; and he slept without moving till a hand was laid upon his shoulder; and as he opened his eyes he saw that it was daybreak and that the dark figure bending over him was the guide.
“Time to get up?”
“Yes, herr—quick!” was the reply. “Will you wake up the herr?”
“Eh? Yes: all right, Melchior,” cried Dale. “Hah! what a splendid sleep! It does not seem five minutes since I lay down.”
“Will you come out, sir?” said the guide, in rather a peculiar manner.
“Yes, of course. Eh? Is anything the matter?”
“I don’t quite know, herr,” replied the guide, as they stood together; “but it is clear some one has been here in the night.”
“Then that is what frightened the mule?”
“Yes, herr; that is what made him cry out. Look!”
“What at?” said Dale quietly, as they now stood beside the ashes of the last night’s fire.
“Cannot the herr see?”
Dale looked sharply round, and Saxe followed his example.
“I see nothing,” said the former.
“Nor I,” said Saxe; “only that the bits of burnt wood seem to have been kicked about.”
“That’s it, herr,” cried Melchior; “and look there!”
He bent down, and pointed.
“Ah! look, Saxe!” cried Dale: “some one’s footmark in the pine ash!”
“’Tisn’t mine,” said Saxe: “it’s too big.”
“Nor mine,” said Dale. “An English boot does not leave a print like that. It’s yours, Melchior. A false alarm.”
“No, herr—no false alarm,” said the guide; and he raised one foot so as to expose the sole. “Look at the open way in which I nail my boots—with big nails, so that they shall not slip on the rock or ice. That footprint is not mine.”
“No: you are right. Then whose could it be?”
Melchior shook his head.
“Some one must have been prowling round the tent in the night.”
“It must have been one of Melk’s spirits—the one who threw stones at us yesterday. I say, Melk, they wear very big boots.”
The guide smiled.
“Yes, herr, it was some one with big boots; and I do not understand it.”
Dale’s first idea—a natural one under the circumstances—was that plunder was the object; and he said so.
“No, herr; I do not think there is anybody about here who would steal.”
“I’m very glad to hear it,” said Dale: “but let’s see if anything has gone.”
The guide said nothing—only looked on while an examination was made.
“No,” said Dale; “I do not miss anything. Yes: my little binocular is missing!”
“No, herr; you put it inside the big basket last night.”
“Yes, here it is,” cried Saxe.
“Then you are right, Melchior: it could not have been robbery.”
“No, herr, it is strange; but I will light the fire and get breakfast.”
As he spoke he began kindling some dry stuff he had collected, and shortly after the coffee-pot was promising to boil. Then some bacon was sliced and frizzled, and the appetising odour soon made the memories of the night alarm pass away in the thoughts of the excellent breakfast, which was finished while the pass in which they were seated was still grey, though the mountain peaks looked red-hot in the coming sunshine.
“Well, I’m not going to let an incident like that interfere with our progress, Melchior. Where do you propose going next?”
“Up whichever thal the herr chooses, and then up the mountain.”
“And not quite over the pass?”
“No, herr. We are in the highest part here, and we may come upon crystals in any of these solitary peaks.”
“Very well; then we’ll make a start at any time you like. Do we come back here?”
“No, herr. I propose that we take the mule on to the foot of the Great Oberweiss glacier, an hour from here. There is good camping ground, and then we will go up the mountain by the side of the ice meer.”
“And to shake off our stone-throwing friend,” said Dale. “Good. We will, and will keep a better look-out for the crevasses this time—eh, Saxe?”
“Yes, and we can try the new rope.”
A few minutes sufficed for saddling up the mule with his load, and then they started once more farther into the wilds, in all the glorious beauty of the early summer morning, Melchior leading them in and out through such a labyrinth of cracks and rifts that after some hours’ walking, Saxe glanced at his leader.
“Yes?”
“I was wondering how we could find our way back.”
Melchior laughed.
“Oh, easily enough, herr.”
“But I couldn’t,” cried Saxe.
“No, herr. That shows the use of a guide. But I could have come an easier way, only I am taking a short cut. We are a thousand feet higher than when we started. Look, herr: go on by that shelf of rock: it is perfectly safe. Then come back and tell me what you see.”
Saxe started forward, from the ragged slope they were ascending; and a minute or two after passing quite a mossy niche, which ran some forty or fifty yards right into the mountain, to where a silvery-veil-like cascade fell, he stopped short, threw up his hands, and then turned and signalled to Dale.
“What is it?” cried the latter, as he hurried to the boy’s side. “Hah!”
He wanted no explanation, for they were standing at the edge of a precipice, gazing down at another huge glacier, which glittered in the rays of the morning sun—a vast chaos of ice whose cracks and shadows were of a vivid blue; and as they gazed up towards the point where it suddenly curved round an immense buttress, there beyond, peak after peak, as far as eye could reach, stood out in the clear air, and all seeming to rise out of the fields and beds of snow which clung around them and filled every ravine and chasm running up from their feet.
“Oh!” cried Saxe—“did you ever see anything so beautiful? Why, the place is all crystals!”
“Grand!” said Dale slowly, as he stood rapt in a reverie of wonder and admiration at the scene before him. “Why, Saxe, we couldn’t have had a better guide! We must make a halt here, and begin to explore.”
“But you’ll go up another mountain?”
“Didn’t you have enough of the last?”
“No!” cried the boy excitedly. “I know I was very stupid and clumsy, and wasn’t half so brave as I should have liked to be; but I long to begin again.”
“Then you shall.”
“When? Now?”
“Too late in the day. We’ll explore about here first, and if the weather is right we’ll make a start to-morrow.”
“Oh!” said Saxe in a disappointed tone.
“There—you’ll have plenty of work to-day, for we must go down on this wonderful glacier and examine the sides. Look! there’s what they call a mill there.”
“A mill? I don’t see it.”
“Moulin. No, no—not a building. That fall, where the water rushes into the crevasse you can see. There—up yonder, a quarter of a mile away.”
At that moment there was a tremendous crash on their left; and, as they turned sharply, it was to see from far below them what appeared to be a cloud of smoke rising and wreathing round, full of tiny specks of silver, and over which an iris glimmered for a few moments, and faded away with the ice dust caused by the toppling over of a huge serac, which had crushed half a dozen others in its fall.
“Come along. Let’s arrange about our camp; and then we’ll take hammers and a chisel, and begin to examine the side of this glacier at once.”
They turned back. Saxe quitting the glorious view of the crystal silver land, as he mentally dubbed it, very unwillingly.
To his surprise, as they descended they found Gros on his back, in a gully full of sand and stones, snorting, flapping his ears and throwing up his legs, as he fell over first on one side, then on the other, in the full enjoyment of a good roll; while as they advanced it was to find Melchior in the sheltered nook setting up the tent, after rolling some huge pieces of rock to the four corners ready to secure the ropes; for there was no spot in that stony ravine where a peg of iron, let alone one of wood, could be driven in.
“Hah! a capital spot, Melchior.”
“Yes, herr, well sheltered from three winds, and there is plenty of good water; but we shall have to be sparing with the wood. To-morrow I’ll take Gros, and go down to the nearest pine forest and bring up a load.”
“Then you mean to stay here?”
“For a few days, herr. You have peaks all round which you can climb. There is the glacier, and there are bare mountain precipices and crevices where you may find that of which you are in search.”
“Yes,” said Dale, as he looked back out of the narrow opening of the gash in the mountain which the guide had chosen for their shelter; “I think this place will do.”
“Then the herr is satisfied?”
“Well, yes, for the present. Now, then, leave what you are doing, and we’ll descend to the glacier at once.”
“Yes, herr. One moment. I’ll hang up the lanthorn and the new English rope here. The glass may be kicked against and broken.”
He suspended the English-made stout glass lanthorn to the little ridge-pole; and then, resuming his jacket, he threw the coil of rope over his shoulder, took his ice-axe, Dale and Saxe taking theirs, all new and bright, almost as they had left the manufacturer’s, and started at once for the shelf from which the grand view of the snow-clad mountains had met their gaze. After proceeding along this a short distance, Melchior stopped, climbed out upon a projecting point, and examined the side of the precipice.
“We can get down here, herr,” he said; and, setting the example, he descended nimbly from ledge to ledge, pausing at any difficult place to lend a hand or point out foothold, till they were half-way down, when the ledges and crevices by which they had descended suddenly ceased, and they stood upon a shelf from which there seemed to be no further progression, till, as if guided by the formation, Melchior crept to the very end, peered round an angle of the rock, and then came back.
“No,” he said—“not that way: the other end.”
He passed his two companions, and, going to the farther part, climbed up a few feet, and then passed out of their sight.
“This way, gentlemen!” he shouted; and upon joining him they found that he had hit upon quite an easy descent to the ice.
This proved to be very different to the glacier they had first examined. It was far more precipitous in its descent, with the consequence that it was greatly broken up into blocks, needles and overhanging seracs. These were so eaten away beneath that it seemed as if a breath would send them thundering down.
“Not very safe—eh, Melchior?” said Dale.
“No, herr; we must not venture far from the edge.”
This vast glacier had also shrunk, leaving from ten to twenty feet of smoothly polished rock at the side—that is, at the foot of the precipitous gorge down which it ran—and thus forming a comparatively easy path for the travellers, who climbed upwards over the rounded masses, stopping from time to time where the ice curved over, leaving spaces between it and its rocky bed, down which Saxe gazed into a deep blue dimness, and listened to the murmuring roar of many waters coursing along beneath.
Suddenly Dale uttered an ejaculation, and, taking a hammer from his belt, began to climb up the rocky side of the valley.
Melchior saw the place for which he was making, and uttered a grunt indicative of satisfaction.
The spot beneath which Dale stopped was only a dark-looking crack; but as Saxe went nearer he could see that it was edged with dark-coloured crystals set closely together, and resembling in size and shape the teeth of a small saw.
Dale began to probe the crack directly with the handle of his ice-axe, to find that the crevice gradually widened; and on applying his mouth there and shouting, he could feel that it was a great opening.
“There ought to be big crystals in there, Melchior,” cried Dale excitedly.
“Yes, herr; but without you brought powder and blasting tools you could not get at them, and if you did blast you would break them up.”
Dale said nothing, but laying down his ice-axe he took hammer and chisel and began to chip energetically at the hard rock, while the others looked on till he ceased hammering, with a gesture full of impatience.
“You are right, Melchior,” he said; “I shall never widen it like this.”
“Why try, herr? I can show you holes already large enough for us to get in.”
“You know for certain of such places?”
“I cannot tell you exactly where they are now, but I have seen them in the mountains!”
“In the mountains?”
“Well, then, right in these mountains, I feel sure. Let us go on and try. If we do not find a better place we know where this is, and can try it another time.”
“Go on, then,” said Dale, rather reluctantly; and they continued climbing, with the rock towering up on one side, the ice curving over on the other, and rising in the middle of the glacier to a series of crags and waves and smooth patches full of cracks, in which lay blocks of granite or limestone that had been tumbled down from the sides or far up toward the head of the valley ages before.
They had not progressed far before the guide pointed out another crack in the rock fringed with gem-like crystals, and then another and another, but all out of reach without chipping steps in the stone—of course a most arduous task.
“All signs that we are in the right formation, Saxe,” said Dale more hopefully, after they had toiled on up the side of the glacier for about a couple of hours; and they stood watching Melchior, who had mounted on to the ice to see if he could find better travelling for them.
“Yes,” he shouted—“better here;” and the others climbed up and joined him, to find that the surface was much smoother, and that the broken-up masses of ice were far less frequent.
“Plenty of crevasses, herr,” said Melchior; “but they are all to be seen. There is no snow to bridge them over.”
He stood looking down one of the blue cracks zigzagged across the glacier, and Saxe could not help a shudder as he gazed down into its blue depths and listened to the roar of water which came up from below.
But it was not more than a yard in width, and in turn they leaped across and continued their way.
Then they had to pass another, half the width, and others that were mere fissures, which Dale said were slowly splitting; but soon after stepping across the last of these, further progress over the ice was barred by a great chasm four or five yards from edge to edge, along which they had to skirt till its end could be turned and their journey continued.
“Can we take to the rocks again?” said Dale, looking anxiously toward the almost perpendicular sides of the valley up which they slowly made their way.
“Not yet, herr: I have been watching, and we are still only passing mere crevices in the rock. Hah! now we are coming to the enow, and shall have to take care.”
He pointed with his ice-axe to where, a hundred yards or so farther on, the surface of the ice suddenly changed; but they did not pass at once on to the snow, for as they neared it they found that they were parted from it by another crevasse of about four feet wide.
“We need not go round this, I suppose,” said Dale, as he stood peering down into its depths—Saxe following his example, and listening to a peculiar hissing rush of water far below.
“No, herr, the leap is so short. Shall I go first?”
“Oh no,” said Dale, stepping back and then jumping lightly across, to alight on the snow; “beautiful landing, Saxe. Take a bit of a run.”
“Yes,” said the boy; and he stepped back also for a few yards, sprang and cleared the gap with a yard or so to spare. “What a place it would be to fall down, though!” said Saxe, as he began to tramp on over the snow by Dale’s side. “I couldn’t help thinking so as I flew over it.”
“And very stupid of you too! There’s no danger in leaping over a dry ditch four feet wide, so why should you make a fuss about the same distance because it is deep?”
Boom!
“Hallo!” said Dale. “That sounded like snow somewhere up in the mountains; and by the way, we’re on snow now: Melchior ought to rope us. How do we know there are not crevasses close at hand?” He turned to speak to the guide, and found Saxe standing there staring back. “Hallo!” he cried, “where’s Melchior?”
“I don’t know,” faltered Saxe.
“Didn’t you see him jump over the crack?”
“No. Didn’t you?”
“It was such a trifle, I did not think of it. Good heavens! he has not met with an accident? Ah, that noise!”
They turned back together for about a hundred yards over the smooth snow, following their own steps clearly marked in the white surface; and then stopped short aghast, for the deeply indented place in the snow where they had landed in their jump was gone, and in its stead they saw a great triangular-shaped opening widening the crevasse to more than double its original dimensions, while just at its edge close to their feet there was a peculiar mark, such as would have been made by an ice-axe suddenly struck down through the snow to plough its way till it disappeared over the edge.
Chapter Twenty.A fearful Watch.It was all plain enough now. The weight of the two who had first leaped must have cracked a portion of the edge of the crevasse—a part rotten from long exposure to the sun, rain and frost. Then Melchior must have sprung over, the great triangular piece had given way, he had made a desperate attempt to save himself with his axe, but that had not struck home, and he had gone down with the mass of ice and snow, the echoing crash and boom having drowned any cry he might have uttered, even if he had time to call for help.Saxe gave one horrified look at his companion, and then, stepping aside to the unbroken part of the crevasse, he went down on his hands and knees in the snow, then upon his breast, and drew himself close to the edge till his head and chest were over and he could peer down.“Take care! take care!” cried Dale hoarsely, though he was doing precisely the same. “Can you see anything?”Saxe’s negative sounded like a groan, for he could see nothing but the pale blue sides of the ice going down perpendicularly to where, growing from pale to dark blue, they became black as the darkness out of which came the deep, loud, hissing, rushing sound of waters which he had heard before.“He must be lying down there stunned by his fall!” cried Dale; and then to himself, in a whisper full of despair—“if he is not killed.”“Melk! Melk!” yelled Saxe just then. But there was nothing but the strange echo of his own voice, mingled with the curious hissing rush of water, which sounded to the listeners like the hurried whisperings and talk of beings far down below.“Ahoy, Melchior!” cried Dale, now shouting with all his might.No answer; and he shouted again.“Do—do you feel sure he did fall down here?” said Saxe with difficulty, for his voice seemed to come from a throat that was all dry, and over a tongue that was parched.“There can be no doubt about it,” said Dale sadly. “Oh, poor fellow! poor fellow! I feel as if I am to blame for his death.”“Melk—Mel–chi–or!” shouted Saxe, with his hands to his mouth, as he lay there upon his chest, and he tried to send his voice down into the dark depths below.There was a curious echo, that was all; and he lay listening to the rushing water and trying to pierce the darkness which looked like a mist.At another time he would have thought of the solemn beauty of the place, with its wonderful gradations of blue growing deeper as they descended. Now there was nothing but chilly horror, for the chasm was to him the tomb of the faithful companion and friend of many days.Dale shouted again with all his might, but there were only the awe-inspiring, whispering echoes, as his voice reverberated from the smoothly fractured ice, and he rose to his feet, but stood gazing down into the crevasse.“Yes, he is lying there, stunned and helpless—perhaps dead,” he added to himself. “Saxe, one of us must go down and help him.”“Of course,” cried Saxe, speaking out firmly, though a curious sensation of shrinking came over him as he spoke. “I’ll go.”“I would go myself, boy,” said Dale huskily; “but it is impossible. You could not draw me out, and I’m afraid that I could not climb back; whereas I could lower you down and pull you up again.”“Yes, I’ll go!” cried Saxe excitedly.“One moment, my lad. You must recollect what the task means.”“To go down and help Melchior.”“Yes; and taking the rope from round your waist to tie it round his for me to draw him up first. Have you the courage to do that!”Saxe was silent.“You see, it means staying down there alone in that place till I can send you back the rope. There must be no shrinking, no losing your head from scare. Do you think you have the courage to do this coolly!”Saxe did not speak for a few moments, and Dale could see that his face looked sallow and drawn till he had taken a long, deep breath, and then he said quickly.“No, I haven’t enough courage to do it properly; but I’m going down to do it as well as I can.”“God bless you, my boy!” cried Dale earnestly, as he grasped Saxe’s hand. “There, lay down your axe while I fasten on the rope, and then I’ll drive mine down into this crack and let the rope pass round it. I can lower you down more easily then. Ah!”He ejaculated this last in a tone full of disappointment, for as he suddenly raised his hands to his breast, he realised the absence of that which he had before taken for granted—the new rope hanging in a ring over his shoulder.“The ropes!” cried Saxe excitedly. “Melk has one; the other is hanging in the tent. Here, I’ll run back.”“No,” said Dale; “I am stronger and more used to the work: I’ll go. You shout every now and then. Even if he does not answer you he may hear, and it will encourage him to know that we are near.”“But hadn’t we better go back for help?”“Before we could get it the poor fellow might perish from cold and exhaustion. Keep up your courage; I will not be a minute longer than I can help.”He was hurrying along the upper side of the crevasse almost as he spoke, and then Saxe felt his blood turn cold as he saw his companion step back and leap over from the snow on to the ice at the other side, and begin to descend the glacier as rapidly as the rugged nature of the place would allow.Saxe stood watching Dale for some time, and saw him turn twice to wave his hand, while he became more than ever impressed by the tiny size of the descending figure, showing as it did how vast were the precipices and blocks of ice, and how enormous the ice river on which he stood, must be.Then, as he gazed, it seemed that another accident must have happened, for Dale suddenly disappeared as if swallowed up in another crevasse. But, as Saxe strained his eyes downward into the distance, he caught a further glimpse of his companion as he passed out from among some pyramids of ice, but only to disappear again. Then Saxe saw his head and shoulders lower down, and after an interval the top of his cap, and he was gone.To keep from dwelling upon the horror of his position, alone there in that icy solitude, Saxe lay down again, with his face over the chasm, and hailed and shouted with all his might. But still there was no reply, and he rose up from the deep snow once more, and tried to catch sight of Dale; but he had gone. And now, in spite of his efforts to be strong and keep his head cool, the horror began to close him in like a mist. Melchior had fallen down that crevasse, and was killed. Dale had gone down to their camp to fetch the rope, but he was alone. He had no guide, and he might lose his way, or meet with an accident too, and fall as Melchior had fallen. Even if he only had a slip, it would be terrible, for he might lie somewhere helpless, and never be found.In imagination, as he stood here, Saxe saw himself waiting for hours, perhaps for days, and no help coming. And as to returning, it seemed impossible to find his way farther than their camp; for below the glacier Melchior had led them through a perfect labyrinth of narrow chasms, which he had felt at the time it would be impossible to thread alone.It required a powerful mental drag to tear his thoughts away from these wild wanderings to the present; and, determining to forget self, he tried hard to concentrate his mind, not upon his own position, but upon that of the poor fellow who lay somewhere below.He lay down once more in the snow, shrinkingly, for in spite of his efforts, the thought would come, “Suppose a great piece of the side should give way beneath me, and carry me down to a similar fate to Melchior’s.” These fancies made him move carefully in his efforts to peer down farther than before, so as to force his eyes to pierce the gloom and make out where Melchior lay.But it was all in vain. He could see a long way, and sometimes it almost seemed as if he saw farther than at others; but lower down there was always that purply transparent blackness into which his eyesight plunged, but could not quite plumb.“I wonder how deep it is?” said Saxe aloud, after shouting till he grew hoarse, and speaking out now for the sake of hearing a voice in that awful silence. “I wonder how deep it is?” he said again, feeling startled at the peculiar whisper which had followed his words. “It must go right down to the rocks which form the bottom of the valley, and of course this ice fills it up. It may be fifty, a hundred, or five hundred feet. Who can say?”The thought was very terrible as he gazed down there, and once more imagination was busy, and he mentally saw poor Melchior falling with lightning speed down, down through that purply-blackness, to lie at last at a tremendous depth, jammed in a cleft where the crevasse grew narrower, ending wedge-shape in a mere crack.He rose from the snow, beginning to feel chilled now; and he shook off the glittering crystals and tramped heavily up and down in the warm sunshine, glad of the reflection from the white surface as well, though it was painful to his eyes.But after forming a narrow beat a short distance away from the crevasse, he ceased as suddenly as he had begun, feeling that he might even there be doing something which would cause the ice to crack; and he had hardly come to the conclusion that he would go gently in future, when a peculiar rending, splitting sound fell upon his ears, and he knew that it was the ice giving way and beginning to form a new crevasse.For the first few moments he fancied that it was beneath his feet; but, as it grew louder and developed into a heavy sudden report, he knew that it must be some distance away.He crept back to the crevasse, and listened and shouted again, to begin wondering once more how deep the chasm would be; and at last, with the horror of being alone there in that awful solitude creeping over him, he felt that he must do something, and, catching up his ice-axe from where it lay, he tramped away fifty yards to where a cluster of ragged pinnacles of ice hung together, and with a few blows from the pick-end of the axe he broke off a couple of fragments as big as his head, and then bounded back.None too soon, for the towering piece which he had hacked at suddenly turned over towards him, and fell forward with a crash that raised the echoes around, as it broke up into fragments of worn and honeycombed ice.As soon as he had satisfied himself that no other crag would fall, he stepped back, and, as he picked up two more pieces about the same size as he had selected before, he saw why the serac had fallen.Heaped around as it had been with snow, it had seemed to have quite a pyramidal base, but the solid ice of its lower parts had in the course of time been eaten away till it was as fragile as the waxen comb it in some places resembled, and had crumbled down as soon as it received a shock.Carrying his two pieces back, Saxe set them down at the edge of the crevasse, about a dozen yards from where Melchior had fallen; and, then going back along the side to that spot, he shouted again—a dismal, depressing cry, which made his spirits lower than before; and at last, after waiting some time for a reply, knowing all the while that it would not come, he crept back to where he had laid the two pieces of ice, and stood looking down at them, hesitating as to whether he should carry out his plan.“I must be doing something,” he cried piteously. “If I stand still in the snow, thinking, I shall go mad. It will be hours before Mr Dale gets back, and it is so dreadful to do nothing but think—think—think.”He gazed about him, to see a peak here and a peak there, standing up dazzling in its beauty, as it seemed to peer over the edge of the valley; but the glory had departed, and the wondrous river of ice, with its frozen waves and tumbling waters and solid foam, all looked cold and terrible and forbidding.“I must do something,” said Saxe at last, as if answering some one who had told him it would be dangerous to throw pieces of ice into the crevasse. “It is so far away from where he fell that it cannot hurt him. It will not go near him, and I want to know how far down he has fallen.”He laid down his ice-axe, picked up one of the lumps, balanced it for a moment or two, and then pitched it into the narrow chasm, to go down on his hands and knees the next instant and peer forward and listen.He was so quick that he saw the white block falling, and as it went lower it turned first of a delicate pale blue, then deeper in colour, and deeper still, and then grew suddenly dark purple and disappeared, while, as Saxe strained eyes and ears, there came directly after a heavy crash, which echoed with a curious metallic rumble far below.“Not so very deep,” cried Saxe, as he prepared to throw down the other piece; and, moving a few yards farther along towards the centre of the glacier, he had poised the lump of ice in his hands, when there came a peculiar hissing, whishing sound from far below and he shrank back wondering, till it came to him by degrees that the piece he had thrown down must have struck upon some ledge, shattered to fragments, and that these pieces had gone on falling, till the hissing noise he had heard was caused by their disappearing into water at some awful depth below.Saxe stood there with the shrinking sensation increasing, and it was some time before he could rouse himself sufficiently to carry out his first intention and throw the second piece of ice into the gulf. As it fell his heart beat heavily, and he once more dropped upon his hands and knees to follow its downward course and watch the comparatively slow and beautiful changes through which it passed before it disappeared in the purply-black darkness, while he listened for the crash as it broke upon the ledge preparatory to waiting in silence for the fall of the fragments lower down.But there was no crash—no hissing, spattering of small fragments dropping into water—nothing but the terrible silence, which seemed as if it would never end; and at last a heavy dull splash, the hissing of water, and a curious lapping sound repeated by the smooth water, till all died away, and there was silence once again. “Awful!” muttered Saxe, as he wiped his damp brow. “Poor Melchior!—no wonder he didn’t answer to my cries.”A feeling of weary despondency came over the boy now, and he shrank away from the edge and threw himself down on the snow.For it was hopeless, he knew. And when Mr Dale returned he should have to tell him of his terrible discovery; when he, too, would own that no human being could fall down that terrible gulf and live.The snow was cold beneath him, and the sun poured down upon his back with blistering power, but the boy felt nothing save the despairing agony of mind; and as he lay there one desire, one wish came to his mind, and that was full of longing for forgetfulness—the power to put all this terrible trouble behind him—a miserable feeling of cowardice: in short, of desire to evade his share of the cares of life, which come to all: for he had yet to learn what is the whole duty of a man.
It was all plain enough now. The weight of the two who had first leaped must have cracked a portion of the edge of the crevasse—a part rotten from long exposure to the sun, rain and frost. Then Melchior must have sprung over, the great triangular piece had given way, he had made a desperate attempt to save himself with his axe, but that had not struck home, and he had gone down with the mass of ice and snow, the echoing crash and boom having drowned any cry he might have uttered, even if he had time to call for help.
Saxe gave one horrified look at his companion, and then, stepping aside to the unbroken part of the crevasse, he went down on his hands and knees in the snow, then upon his breast, and drew himself close to the edge till his head and chest were over and he could peer down.
“Take care! take care!” cried Dale hoarsely, though he was doing precisely the same. “Can you see anything?”
Saxe’s negative sounded like a groan, for he could see nothing but the pale blue sides of the ice going down perpendicularly to where, growing from pale to dark blue, they became black as the darkness out of which came the deep, loud, hissing, rushing sound of waters which he had heard before.
“He must be lying down there stunned by his fall!” cried Dale; and then to himself, in a whisper full of despair—“if he is not killed.”
“Melk! Melk!” yelled Saxe just then. But there was nothing but the strange echo of his own voice, mingled with the curious hissing rush of water, which sounded to the listeners like the hurried whisperings and talk of beings far down below.
“Ahoy, Melchior!” cried Dale, now shouting with all his might.
No answer; and he shouted again.
“Do—do you feel sure he did fall down here?” said Saxe with difficulty, for his voice seemed to come from a throat that was all dry, and over a tongue that was parched.
“There can be no doubt about it,” said Dale sadly. “Oh, poor fellow! poor fellow! I feel as if I am to blame for his death.”
“Melk—Mel–chi–or!” shouted Saxe, with his hands to his mouth, as he lay there upon his chest, and he tried to send his voice down into the dark depths below.
There was a curious echo, that was all; and he lay listening to the rushing water and trying to pierce the darkness which looked like a mist.
At another time he would have thought of the solemn beauty of the place, with its wonderful gradations of blue growing deeper as they descended. Now there was nothing but chilly horror, for the chasm was to him the tomb of the faithful companion and friend of many days.
Dale shouted again with all his might, but there were only the awe-inspiring, whispering echoes, as his voice reverberated from the smoothly fractured ice, and he rose to his feet, but stood gazing down into the crevasse.
“Yes, he is lying there, stunned and helpless—perhaps dead,” he added to himself. “Saxe, one of us must go down and help him.”
“Of course,” cried Saxe, speaking out firmly, though a curious sensation of shrinking came over him as he spoke. “I’ll go.”
“I would go myself, boy,” said Dale huskily; “but it is impossible. You could not draw me out, and I’m afraid that I could not climb back; whereas I could lower you down and pull you up again.”
“Yes, I’ll go!” cried Saxe excitedly.
“One moment, my lad. You must recollect what the task means.”
“To go down and help Melchior.”
“Yes; and taking the rope from round your waist to tie it round his for me to draw him up first. Have you the courage to do that!”
Saxe was silent.
“You see, it means staying down there alone in that place till I can send you back the rope. There must be no shrinking, no losing your head from scare. Do you think you have the courage to do this coolly!”
Saxe did not speak for a few moments, and Dale could see that his face looked sallow and drawn till he had taken a long, deep breath, and then he said quickly.
“No, I haven’t enough courage to do it properly; but I’m going down to do it as well as I can.”
“God bless you, my boy!” cried Dale earnestly, as he grasped Saxe’s hand. “There, lay down your axe while I fasten on the rope, and then I’ll drive mine down into this crack and let the rope pass round it. I can lower you down more easily then. Ah!”
He ejaculated this last in a tone full of disappointment, for as he suddenly raised his hands to his breast, he realised the absence of that which he had before taken for granted—the new rope hanging in a ring over his shoulder.
“The ropes!” cried Saxe excitedly. “Melk has one; the other is hanging in the tent. Here, I’ll run back.”
“No,” said Dale; “I am stronger and more used to the work: I’ll go. You shout every now and then. Even if he does not answer you he may hear, and it will encourage him to know that we are near.”
“But hadn’t we better go back for help?”
“Before we could get it the poor fellow might perish from cold and exhaustion. Keep up your courage; I will not be a minute longer than I can help.”
He was hurrying along the upper side of the crevasse almost as he spoke, and then Saxe felt his blood turn cold as he saw his companion step back and leap over from the snow on to the ice at the other side, and begin to descend the glacier as rapidly as the rugged nature of the place would allow.
Saxe stood watching Dale for some time, and saw him turn twice to wave his hand, while he became more than ever impressed by the tiny size of the descending figure, showing as it did how vast were the precipices and blocks of ice, and how enormous the ice river on which he stood, must be.
Then, as he gazed, it seemed that another accident must have happened, for Dale suddenly disappeared as if swallowed up in another crevasse. But, as Saxe strained his eyes downward into the distance, he caught a further glimpse of his companion as he passed out from among some pyramids of ice, but only to disappear again. Then Saxe saw his head and shoulders lower down, and after an interval the top of his cap, and he was gone.
To keep from dwelling upon the horror of his position, alone there in that icy solitude, Saxe lay down again, with his face over the chasm, and hailed and shouted with all his might. But still there was no reply, and he rose up from the deep snow once more, and tried to catch sight of Dale; but he had gone. And now, in spite of his efforts to be strong and keep his head cool, the horror began to close him in like a mist. Melchior had fallen down that crevasse, and was killed. Dale had gone down to their camp to fetch the rope, but he was alone. He had no guide, and he might lose his way, or meet with an accident too, and fall as Melchior had fallen. Even if he only had a slip, it would be terrible, for he might lie somewhere helpless, and never be found.
In imagination, as he stood here, Saxe saw himself waiting for hours, perhaps for days, and no help coming. And as to returning, it seemed impossible to find his way farther than their camp; for below the glacier Melchior had led them through a perfect labyrinth of narrow chasms, which he had felt at the time it would be impossible to thread alone.
It required a powerful mental drag to tear his thoughts away from these wild wanderings to the present; and, determining to forget self, he tried hard to concentrate his mind, not upon his own position, but upon that of the poor fellow who lay somewhere below.
He lay down once more in the snow, shrinkingly, for in spite of his efforts, the thought would come, “Suppose a great piece of the side should give way beneath me, and carry me down to a similar fate to Melchior’s.” These fancies made him move carefully in his efforts to peer down farther than before, so as to force his eyes to pierce the gloom and make out where Melchior lay.
But it was all in vain. He could see a long way, and sometimes it almost seemed as if he saw farther than at others; but lower down there was always that purply transparent blackness into which his eyesight plunged, but could not quite plumb.
“I wonder how deep it is?” said Saxe aloud, after shouting till he grew hoarse, and speaking out now for the sake of hearing a voice in that awful silence. “I wonder how deep it is?” he said again, feeling startled at the peculiar whisper which had followed his words. “It must go right down to the rocks which form the bottom of the valley, and of course this ice fills it up. It may be fifty, a hundred, or five hundred feet. Who can say?”
The thought was very terrible as he gazed down there, and once more imagination was busy, and he mentally saw poor Melchior falling with lightning speed down, down through that purply-blackness, to lie at last at a tremendous depth, jammed in a cleft where the crevasse grew narrower, ending wedge-shape in a mere crack.
He rose from the snow, beginning to feel chilled now; and he shook off the glittering crystals and tramped heavily up and down in the warm sunshine, glad of the reflection from the white surface as well, though it was painful to his eyes.
But after forming a narrow beat a short distance away from the crevasse, he ceased as suddenly as he had begun, feeling that he might even there be doing something which would cause the ice to crack; and he had hardly come to the conclusion that he would go gently in future, when a peculiar rending, splitting sound fell upon his ears, and he knew that it was the ice giving way and beginning to form a new crevasse.
For the first few moments he fancied that it was beneath his feet; but, as it grew louder and developed into a heavy sudden report, he knew that it must be some distance away.
He crept back to the crevasse, and listened and shouted again, to begin wondering once more how deep the chasm would be; and at last, with the horror of being alone there in that awful solitude creeping over him, he felt that he must do something, and, catching up his ice-axe from where it lay, he tramped away fifty yards to where a cluster of ragged pinnacles of ice hung together, and with a few blows from the pick-end of the axe he broke off a couple of fragments as big as his head, and then bounded back.
None too soon, for the towering piece which he had hacked at suddenly turned over towards him, and fell forward with a crash that raised the echoes around, as it broke up into fragments of worn and honeycombed ice.
As soon as he had satisfied himself that no other crag would fall, he stepped back, and, as he picked up two more pieces about the same size as he had selected before, he saw why the serac had fallen.
Heaped around as it had been with snow, it had seemed to have quite a pyramidal base, but the solid ice of its lower parts had in the course of time been eaten away till it was as fragile as the waxen comb it in some places resembled, and had crumbled down as soon as it received a shock.
Carrying his two pieces back, Saxe set them down at the edge of the crevasse, about a dozen yards from where Melchior had fallen; and, then going back along the side to that spot, he shouted again—a dismal, depressing cry, which made his spirits lower than before; and at last, after waiting some time for a reply, knowing all the while that it would not come, he crept back to where he had laid the two pieces of ice, and stood looking down at them, hesitating as to whether he should carry out his plan.
“I must be doing something,” he cried piteously. “If I stand still in the snow, thinking, I shall go mad. It will be hours before Mr Dale gets back, and it is so dreadful to do nothing but think—think—think.”
He gazed about him, to see a peak here and a peak there, standing up dazzling in its beauty, as it seemed to peer over the edge of the valley; but the glory had departed, and the wondrous river of ice, with its frozen waves and tumbling waters and solid foam, all looked cold and terrible and forbidding.
“I must do something,” said Saxe at last, as if answering some one who had told him it would be dangerous to throw pieces of ice into the crevasse. “It is so far away from where he fell that it cannot hurt him. It will not go near him, and I want to know how far down he has fallen.”
He laid down his ice-axe, picked up one of the lumps, balanced it for a moment or two, and then pitched it into the narrow chasm, to go down on his hands and knees the next instant and peer forward and listen.
He was so quick that he saw the white block falling, and as it went lower it turned first of a delicate pale blue, then deeper in colour, and deeper still, and then grew suddenly dark purple and disappeared, while, as Saxe strained eyes and ears, there came directly after a heavy crash, which echoed with a curious metallic rumble far below.
“Not so very deep,” cried Saxe, as he prepared to throw down the other piece; and, moving a few yards farther along towards the centre of the glacier, he had poised the lump of ice in his hands, when there came a peculiar hissing, whishing sound from far below and he shrank back wondering, till it came to him by degrees that the piece he had thrown down must have struck upon some ledge, shattered to fragments, and that these pieces had gone on falling, till the hissing noise he had heard was caused by their disappearing into water at some awful depth below.
Saxe stood there with the shrinking sensation increasing, and it was some time before he could rouse himself sufficiently to carry out his first intention and throw the second piece of ice into the gulf. As it fell his heart beat heavily, and he once more dropped upon his hands and knees to follow its downward course and watch the comparatively slow and beautiful changes through which it passed before it disappeared in the purply-black darkness, while he listened for the crash as it broke upon the ledge preparatory to waiting in silence for the fall of the fragments lower down.
But there was no crash—no hissing, spattering of small fragments dropping into water—nothing but the terrible silence, which seemed as if it would never end; and at last a heavy dull splash, the hissing of water, and a curious lapping sound repeated by the smooth water, till all died away, and there was silence once again. “Awful!” muttered Saxe, as he wiped his damp brow. “Poor Melchior!—no wonder he didn’t answer to my cries.”
A feeling of weary despondency came over the boy now, and he shrank away from the edge and threw himself down on the snow.
For it was hopeless, he knew. And when Mr Dale returned he should have to tell him of his terrible discovery; when he, too, would own that no human being could fall down that terrible gulf and live.
The snow was cold beneath him, and the sun poured down upon his back with blistering power, but the boy felt nothing save the despairing agony of mind; and as he lay there one desire, one wish came to his mind, and that was full of longing for forgetfulness—the power to put all this terrible trouble behind him—a miserable feeling of cowardice: in short, of desire to evade his share of the cares of life, which come to all: for he had yet to learn what is the whole duty of a man.
Chapter Twenty One.“You think he is dead?”Saxe never knew how long it was before he was roused from his miserable lethargic state by a faint hail, which acted upon him like magic, making him spring to his feet and answer before going back to the edge of the crevasse, and uttering a cry that was doleful in the extreme.Then he shaded his eyes and gazed downward beneath the labyrinth of ice blocks among which the smoother ice which had formed their path wound its way; but for a long time he could see nothing of Dale, and he was beginning to ask himself whether it was fancy, when there was another hail, and soon after he caught sight of Dale’s head and shoulders as he climbed up the icy slope, and saw that the new rope was across his breast.But this sent no thrill of joy through Saxe, for he seemed instinctively to know that it would be useless, and he shook his head.In another ten minutes Dale came panting up, and, without hesitation, leaped the chasm.“Well,” he said, “you have heard him?”“No.”“Has he not answered once?”“No.”Dale stood frowning and in silence for some seconds, before saying sternly, “well, we have our duty to do, Saxe. We must get him out.”“Yes, I’m ready,” replied the boy; and he stood watching as Dale took the coil of rope from his shoulder, a ball of thin string from his coat pocket, and the lanthorn from his ice-axe, to whose head he had slung it as he came.“Ah!” cried Saxe, “you have brought the lamp and string. You are going to let down a light for us to see where he lies?”“I was going to, my boy; but I think better of it now. You shall go down without. It looks dark there, but it will not be so very black. The long light across will strike down.”Saxe told him about the pieces of ice he had thrown down, and Dale looked terribly serious.“So deep as that?” he muttered. Then quickly: “But one piece struck on some ledge. He must have fallen there. Now, lay down your axe, but you must take it with you.”Saxe obeyed, and set his teeth hard, as Dale scraped away the snow and found almost directly a narrow crack which ran parallel with the crevasse, but so slight that there was just room to force down the stout ashen staff which formed the handle of the ice-axe, the top of it and about a foot of the staff standing above the ice.“That’s firm as rock,” said Dale, after trying it. “I could trust myself to it, and the rope will run round it easily.”“You think the rope is strong enough?” said Saxe.“I had it thoroughly tested before we left England. I could venture to hang a bull from it, or two or three men. But, ones for all, I have no right to send you down there. Tell me you dare not go, and I will give up, and we must go in search of help, for this is a terrible task. You would rather not go?”Saxe was silent.“Speak!”“I won’t,” cried Saxe passionately; and then to himself, “I’d die first.”He held up his arms for Dale to knot the rope about him, watching the process with knitted brow.“There: that is safe,” said Dale. “Now pick up your ice-axe and hold by the rope with your left hand, so as to ease the strain upon your chest. Use the ice-axe cautiously, to keep yourself from turning round and from striking against the side. When you get down to the ledge, which must be, from what you say, only just out of sight, you will chip a secure place for your feet if the ice slopes, and, proceeding quite slowly and calmly, make yourself first quite safe. When this is done, unfasten the rope from about you, and make it fast about poor Melchior. Be very particular about the knot, mind. Don’t forget what I have taught you. That knot must not slip in any way, either in tightening round his chest or coming undone.”“I’ll remember,” panted Saxe.“That’s right. Now then, I think that is all, except a final word. There is no danger for you to dread. The rope is new and strong, and I am at one end.”“You will not let it slip through your hands?”Dale smiled at him sadly, and shook his head.“Ready?” he said.“Yes.”“Take off your hat.”Saxe obeyed, and Dale removed his and knelt down in the snow, Saxe slowly sinking upon his knees.There was a minute’s silence as a brief, heartfelt prayer was offered up for help: and then Dale sprang to his feet with an eager, bright, cheerful look upon his face, and, clapping a hand on either side of Saxe’s waist, he lifted him by his belt and set him down again.“Why, I could draw up half a dozen of you,” he said. “Now, steady! Down with you, and slide over. Saxe, you are going to the rescue of a fellow-man.”The boy set his teeth, his brow furrowed, and there were marks about his eyes, as he saw Dale throw the rope round the handle of the ice-axe, and then over the coil, so that the rings of rope should come off freely. Then he grasped the hemp firmly with one hand, his ice-axe with the other, and threw back his legs over the edge of the crevasse close to where the great piece had broken away. As he did this a piece of snow slipped from under his chest, and went down before him and he was over the side, swinging gently to and fro, as he heard a spattering noise come from below.“Don’t be afraid to talk, Saxe,” said Dale loudly; and every word came distinctly to the boy’s ears as the sides of the crevasse slowly rose above him, and, in spite of himself, he turned his eyes up with a wild longing toward the deep blue sky.“I—I can’t talk,” he gasped forth.“All right—steady! Take it coolly, lad.”“Yes; only don’t ask me to talk till I’ve something to say.”“No!” shouted Dale, as the sides of the crevasses grew more distant and represented two jagged lines against the sky. “Splendid rope, Saxe!” came down to him; “runs as easily as if it were made of silk. Cut your chest?”“Not much,” shouted the boy, who for an instant felt a sensation of danger as the rope turned him round; but, remembering his instructions, he touched the wall of clear ice with the point at the end of the axe handle, checked himself, and tried to look downward into the blue transparent light which rose up to meet him, as it seemed.“Half the rope out, Saxe!” came from above. “See anything!”“No.”“Bit lower down, I suppose. Don’t let it turn.”The two edges of the crevasse now began to approach, each other, as it seemed to Saxe; and he could see that, except where the piece was broken away, they exactly matched, every angle on the one side having its depression on the other, the curves following each other with marvellous exactness, just as if the fracture were one of only a few weeks old.“See the ledge, Saxe?” came down.“No;” and the lad felt an intense longing now to be able to see Dale’s face watching him, for it would have seemed like companionship, instead of his having nothing to gaze at but the strip of blue sky, and the glistening blue-ice walls on either side going off to right and left till they seemed to come together in the blue gloom.And still the rope glided over the ice above, and the slip of sky grew narrow; but though Saxe peered down into the depths, there was no sign of any ledge, and the boy who now felt less nervous, was wondering how much longer the rope was, when Dale’s voice was heard.“No more rope!” he cried. “Now, can you see the ledge?”Saxe gazed down in silence for a few moments, and Dale’s voice came again—short, sharp and impatient:“I say, can you see the ledge?”“No.”“Are you quite sure?”“Yes.”There was a pause, and then Dale’s voice was heard again:“Does the rope hurt you much?”“No.”“Can you bear it five minutes longer!”“Yes—a quarter of an hour.”“Bravo! Wait.”There was a strange silence then, during which Saxe gazed down below him; but he could see no more than when he had been at the top, only that everything looked blacker and more profound, and that the noise of waters was more plain as it reverberated from the slippery walls.“What is he doing?” thought Saxe. “I hope he will soon draw me up;” and a momentary feeling of panic came over him, and the rope felt painfully cutting. But just then he caught sight of a dark object against the sky. The dark object seemed to be descending, and the next moment he saw that it was light, and he knew that the lanthorn was being sent down at the end of the string.“Call to me if the rope hurts you too much,” cried Dale; and to his horror and astonishment Saxe, as he looked up, saw that his companion’s head and shoulders were over the side, and it was as if a black face were looking down at his.“The rope doesn’t hurt; but—but—is it safe!”“Perfectly; and I am letting down the light so that you may see where the ledge is.”“I understand.”The lanthorn glided down very rapidly, and in a few moments was level with Saxe’s face. Then it descended still, and Dale called to him to say when it should be stopped; but it was some time before the boy sharply uttered the word, “Now!”“See the ledge?”“Yes—with some broken ice upon it.”“Does he seem much hurt?”Saxe was silent for a few moments, and then said huskily—“He is not there!”“He must be. Look again.”“Swing the lanthorn backwards and forwards.”Dale responded by gradually making the lanthorn describe a considerable arc.“No—no! No—no!” cried Saxe, as he swept the ledge with his eyes from end to end.Dale was silent for a time. Then he said huskily—“Can you hold out while I lower the lanthorn as far as the string will go?”“Yes.”The light descended like a star going down into another firmament of as deep and dark a blue as that above; and as Saxe watched he saw it reflected from the dark walls. Then lower, lower, and down and down, till suddenly it stopped.“That is all the string—a hundred yards. Can you see him now!”“No!” said Saxe hoarsely.“You can see nothing!”“Only the lamp swinging and the ice shining.”“Hold fast!” cried Dale, and the rope began to quiver in a peculiar way, as if it were receiving a series of jerks; but Saxe guessed that this must mean that it was being hauled up handover-hand. There was no one gazing down at him now, and he had a full view of the blue strip of sky, which now grew broader and broader, till, after what seemed to have been a very long ascent, the top of the crevasse was reached.“Now,” said Dale, “reach over as far as you can, and drive in the pick of your axe.”Saxe obeyed.“Now try and draw yourself up. That’s right. I’ve got hold of the rope. Now—together! That’s right.”There was a heavy tug, and as some more snow rattled down into the gulf Saxe was drawn over the edge on to the surface, where the first thing he noticed was the fact that the other end of the rope had been fastened round Dale’s waist and passed round the ashen handle, so that when Dale had lain down he had been able to support Saxe, and yet leave his hands free.“Untie yourself,” said Dale gravely. “I am going to draw up the lanthorn.”“And what are you going to do then?” asked Saxe, who lay on the snow panting, as if he had just gone through some very great exertion.“Go back and give notice. Get together two or three guides, and consult with them as to what is best to be done.”“Then you give him up?” said Saxe mournfully.Dale looked at him in silence, for there seemed to be no answer needed to such a question, as he slowly wound in the string which held the lanthorn.“Now, back to the valley as fast as we can,” said Dale, as he dragged his ice-axe out of the crack and threw the rope over his shoulder, and glanced round at the sky. “Got the lanthorn and string?”“Yes,” replied Saxe; “but we cannot get there before night.”“We cannot get any farther than the camp before dark, my boy,” said Dale sadly. “It is impossible to go on then. We must wait there till daybreak, and then go for help.”“One minute, sir,” said Saxe; but it was three or four before he could go on.“Yes,” said Dale.“I only wanted to ask whether you think he is dead!”“I’d give five years of my life, boy, to be able to say no; but I cannot!”
Saxe never knew how long it was before he was roused from his miserable lethargic state by a faint hail, which acted upon him like magic, making him spring to his feet and answer before going back to the edge of the crevasse, and uttering a cry that was doleful in the extreme.
Then he shaded his eyes and gazed downward beneath the labyrinth of ice blocks among which the smoother ice which had formed their path wound its way; but for a long time he could see nothing of Dale, and he was beginning to ask himself whether it was fancy, when there was another hail, and soon after he caught sight of Dale’s head and shoulders as he climbed up the icy slope, and saw that the new rope was across his breast.
But this sent no thrill of joy through Saxe, for he seemed instinctively to know that it would be useless, and he shook his head.
In another ten minutes Dale came panting up, and, without hesitation, leaped the chasm.
“Well,” he said, “you have heard him?”
“No.”
“Has he not answered once?”
“No.”
Dale stood frowning and in silence for some seconds, before saying sternly, “well, we have our duty to do, Saxe. We must get him out.”
“Yes, I’m ready,” replied the boy; and he stood watching as Dale took the coil of rope from his shoulder, a ball of thin string from his coat pocket, and the lanthorn from his ice-axe, to whose head he had slung it as he came.
“Ah!” cried Saxe, “you have brought the lamp and string. You are going to let down a light for us to see where he lies?”
“I was going to, my boy; but I think better of it now. You shall go down without. It looks dark there, but it will not be so very black. The long light across will strike down.”
Saxe told him about the pieces of ice he had thrown down, and Dale looked terribly serious.
“So deep as that?” he muttered. Then quickly: “But one piece struck on some ledge. He must have fallen there. Now, lay down your axe, but you must take it with you.”
Saxe obeyed, and set his teeth hard, as Dale scraped away the snow and found almost directly a narrow crack which ran parallel with the crevasse, but so slight that there was just room to force down the stout ashen staff which formed the handle of the ice-axe, the top of it and about a foot of the staff standing above the ice.
“That’s firm as rock,” said Dale, after trying it. “I could trust myself to it, and the rope will run round it easily.”
“You think the rope is strong enough?” said Saxe.
“I had it thoroughly tested before we left England. I could venture to hang a bull from it, or two or three men. But, ones for all, I have no right to send you down there. Tell me you dare not go, and I will give up, and we must go in search of help, for this is a terrible task. You would rather not go?”
Saxe was silent.
“Speak!”
“I won’t,” cried Saxe passionately; and then to himself, “I’d die first.”
He held up his arms for Dale to knot the rope about him, watching the process with knitted brow.
“There: that is safe,” said Dale. “Now pick up your ice-axe and hold by the rope with your left hand, so as to ease the strain upon your chest. Use the ice-axe cautiously, to keep yourself from turning round and from striking against the side. When you get down to the ledge, which must be, from what you say, only just out of sight, you will chip a secure place for your feet if the ice slopes, and, proceeding quite slowly and calmly, make yourself first quite safe. When this is done, unfasten the rope from about you, and make it fast about poor Melchior. Be very particular about the knot, mind. Don’t forget what I have taught you. That knot must not slip in any way, either in tightening round his chest or coming undone.”
“I’ll remember,” panted Saxe.
“That’s right. Now then, I think that is all, except a final word. There is no danger for you to dread. The rope is new and strong, and I am at one end.”
“You will not let it slip through your hands?”
Dale smiled at him sadly, and shook his head.
“Ready?” he said.
“Yes.”
“Take off your hat.”
Saxe obeyed, and Dale removed his and knelt down in the snow, Saxe slowly sinking upon his knees.
There was a minute’s silence as a brief, heartfelt prayer was offered up for help: and then Dale sprang to his feet with an eager, bright, cheerful look upon his face, and, clapping a hand on either side of Saxe’s waist, he lifted him by his belt and set him down again.
“Why, I could draw up half a dozen of you,” he said. “Now, steady! Down with you, and slide over. Saxe, you are going to the rescue of a fellow-man.”
The boy set his teeth, his brow furrowed, and there were marks about his eyes, as he saw Dale throw the rope round the handle of the ice-axe, and then over the coil, so that the rings of rope should come off freely. Then he grasped the hemp firmly with one hand, his ice-axe with the other, and threw back his legs over the edge of the crevasse close to where the great piece had broken away. As he did this a piece of snow slipped from under his chest, and went down before him and he was over the side, swinging gently to and fro, as he heard a spattering noise come from below.
“Don’t be afraid to talk, Saxe,” said Dale loudly; and every word came distinctly to the boy’s ears as the sides of the crevasse slowly rose above him, and, in spite of himself, he turned his eyes up with a wild longing toward the deep blue sky.
“I—I can’t talk,” he gasped forth.
“All right—steady! Take it coolly, lad.”
“Yes; only don’t ask me to talk till I’ve something to say.”
“No!” shouted Dale, as the sides of the crevasses grew more distant and represented two jagged lines against the sky. “Splendid rope, Saxe!” came down to him; “runs as easily as if it were made of silk. Cut your chest?”
“Not much,” shouted the boy, who for an instant felt a sensation of danger as the rope turned him round; but, remembering his instructions, he touched the wall of clear ice with the point at the end of the axe handle, checked himself, and tried to look downward into the blue transparent light which rose up to meet him, as it seemed.
“Half the rope out, Saxe!” came from above. “See anything!”
“No.”
“Bit lower down, I suppose. Don’t let it turn.”
The two edges of the crevasse now began to approach, each other, as it seemed to Saxe; and he could see that, except where the piece was broken away, they exactly matched, every angle on the one side having its depression on the other, the curves following each other with marvellous exactness, just as if the fracture were one of only a few weeks old.
“See the ledge, Saxe?” came down.
“No;” and the lad felt an intense longing now to be able to see Dale’s face watching him, for it would have seemed like companionship, instead of his having nothing to gaze at but the strip of blue sky, and the glistening blue-ice walls on either side going off to right and left till they seemed to come together in the blue gloom.
And still the rope glided over the ice above, and the slip of sky grew narrow; but though Saxe peered down into the depths, there was no sign of any ledge, and the boy who now felt less nervous, was wondering how much longer the rope was, when Dale’s voice was heard.
“No more rope!” he cried. “Now, can you see the ledge?”
Saxe gazed down in silence for a few moments, and Dale’s voice came again—short, sharp and impatient:
“I say, can you see the ledge?”
“No.”
“Are you quite sure?”
“Yes.”
There was a pause, and then Dale’s voice was heard again:
“Does the rope hurt you much?”
“No.”
“Can you bear it five minutes longer!”
“Yes—a quarter of an hour.”
“Bravo! Wait.”
There was a strange silence then, during which Saxe gazed down below him; but he could see no more than when he had been at the top, only that everything looked blacker and more profound, and that the noise of waters was more plain as it reverberated from the slippery walls.
“What is he doing?” thought Saxe. “I hope he will soon draw me up;” and a momentary feeling of panic came over him, and the rope felt painfully cutting. But just then he caught sight of a dark object against the sky. The dark object seemed to be descending, and the next moment he saw that it was light, and he knew that the lanthorn was being sent down at the end of the string.
“Call to me if the rope hurts you too much,” cried Dale; and to his horror and astonishment Saxe, as he looked up, saw that his companion’s head and shoulders were over the side, and it was as if a black face were looking down at his.
“The rope doesn’t hurt; but—but—is it safe!”
“Perfectly; and I am letting down the light so that you may see where the ledge is.”
“I understand.”
The lanthorn glided down very rapidly, and in a few moments was level with Saxe’s face. Then it descended still, and Dale called to him to say when it should be stopped; but it was some time before the boy sharply uttered the word, “Now!”
“See the ledge?”
“Yes—with some broken ice upon it.”
“Does he seem much hurt?”
Saxe was silent for a few moments, and then said huskily—
“He is not there!”
“He must be. Look again.”
“Swing the lanthorn backwards and forwards.”
Dale responded by gradually making the lanthorn describe a considerable arc.
“No—no! No—no!” cried Saxe, as he swept the ledge with his eyes from end to end.
Dale was silent for a time. Then he said huskily—
“Can you hold out while I lower the lanthorn as far as the string will go?”
“Yes.”
The light descended like a star going down into another firmament of as deep and dark a blue as that above; and as Saxe watched he saw it reflected from the dark walls. Then lower, lower, and down and down, till suddenly it stopped.
“That is all the string—a hundred yards. Can you see him now!”
“No!” said Saxe hoarsely.
“You can see nothing!”
“Only the lamp swinging and the ice shining.”
“Hold fast!” cried Dale, and the rope began to quiver in a peculiar way, as if it were receiving a series of jerks; but Saxe guessed that this must mean that it was being hauled up handover-hand. There was no one gazing down at him now, and he had a full view of the blue strip of sky, which now grew broader and broader, till, after what seemed to have been a very long ascent, the top of the crevasse was reached.
“Now,” said Dale, “reach over as far as you can, and drive in the pick of your axe.”
Saxe obeyed.
“Now try and draw yourself up. That’s right. I’ve got hold of the rope. Now—together! That’s right.”
There was a heavy tug, and as some more snow rattled down into the gulf Saxe was drawn over the edge on to the surface, where the first thing he noticed was the fact that the other end of the rope had been fastened round Dale’s waist and passed round the ashen handle, so that when Dale had lain down he had been able to support Saxe, and yet leave his hands free.
“Untie yourself,” said Dale gravely. “I am going to draw up the lanthorn.”
“And what are you going to do then?” asked Saxe, who lay on the snow panting, as if he had just gone through some very great exertion.
“Go back and give notice. Get together two or three guides, and consult with them as to what is best to be done.”
“Then you give him up?” said Saxe mournfully.
Dale looked at him in silence, for there seemed to be no answer needed to such a question, as he slowly wound in the string which held the lanthorn.
“Now, back to the valley as fast as we can,” said Dale, as he dragged his ice-axe out of the crack and threw the rope over his shoulder, and glanced round at the sky. “Got the lanthorn and string?”
“Yes,” replied Saxe; “but we cannot get there before night.”
“We cannot get any farther than the camp before dark, my boy,” said Dale sadly. “It is impossible to go on then. We must wait there till daybreak, and then go for help.”
“One minute, sir,” said Saxe; but it was three or four before he could go on.
“Yes,” said Dale.
“I only wanted to ask whether you think he is dead!”
“I’d give five years of my life, boy, to be able to say no; but I cannot!”