Chapter Twenty Two.From out of the Depths.They began to descend the great ice-torrent in solemn silence; but before they had gone fifty yards Saxe stopped short, darted a wild, apologetic look at Dale, and began to run back toward the crevasse.Dale followed him more slowly, and reached the boy as he was lying down with his head and shoulders over the brink.“Mel—chi—or!” shouted Saxe, with his hands on either side of his mouth—a long-drawn, piteous cry, in which he formed the name into three syllables; and as Dale leaned over and listened to the strange hollow reverberations down below, it was as if a voice repeated the last syllable in a faint, appealing whisper.“There!” cried Saxe excitedly; “I couldn’t go without trying once more. I knew it: he isn’t dead! You heard that?”“Yes,” said Dale, with a pitying look at his companion, “I heard that.”“Well? He’s not dead. I’ll stay here, and keep shouting to him now and then, while you go for help. Run at once. Stop a minute. Give me your flask; I’ll lower it down to him with the string.”“Saxe, my lad,” said Dale sadly, “you are buoying yourself up with false hopes.”“No, no! I heard him answer distinctly,” cried Saxe wildly. “Hark! I’ll call again. Melchior, Mel—chi—or!”He gave forth the last cry with all his might, emphasising the “chi—or!” and, probably from his being on the opposite side of the crevasse, and more favourably placed for the acoustic phenomenon, the syllables were repeated, after a pause, faintly but distinctly—an effect that had not been produced by any of the lad’s cries on the other side of the crevasse.“There!” cried Saxe.Dale laid his hand upon the boy’s shoulder, and shook his head sadly. Then, bending down, he too shouted—“A-hoy-oy-oy!”And, after a pause, there came up distinctly the latter part of the word.“Ahoy!” shouted Dale again, sharply.“Hoy!” came up.“You hear,” said Dale. “It is only an echo. A man down there in peril would not repeat words. In nine cases out of ten he would cry ‘help!’”Saxe turned away from the crevasse with a groan that told how forcibly his companion’s words had gone home; but he turned back again.“It seems so cruel to come away even if he is dead,” he whispered. “Shall I stop while you go!”“No, Saxe. If we could hear him answer, I should at any cost say Stay, or I would myself stop, for I believe that a word or two from time to time would have encouraged him to struggle on for his life. But to stay there by that crevasse through the night, without proper protection, might mean your death. The cold up here must be terrible. Come.”Saxe followed him slowly, with his head bent to hide the tears standing in his eyes, and then Dale took his arm.“We have done our duty so far,” he said; “and we are doing it now in going for help to try and rescue the poor fellow’s remains from yon icy tomb. Believe me, my lad, I would not come away if there was anything more that we could do.”Saxe was silent for a few minutes, as they tramped on over the ice, which was now beginning to take a warm tint in the afternoon’s sunlight. Then, making an effort, he spoke: “You will of course get men and ropes?”“Yes; and bring back a crowbar or tamping iron, and a heavy hammer to drive it into the ice.”Saxe sighed, and, forgetting his weariness, stepped out quickly over the rugged way, as they kept as nearly as they could to the invisible track they had followed during the ascent.The sun was now getting so low down that the great ragged pyramids and crags of ice cast fantastic shadows eastward. There was a deep orange glow in the sky, and at another time they would have stopped enchanted by the dazzling beauty of the effects before them; but now Saxe could see nothing but the pale face of their guide, as he lay far below with his staring eyes fixed upon the narrow rift beyond which was the evening sky; and at such times as the boy conjured up this ghastly picture in his brain, his eyes grew misty, and he stumbled and slipped upon the rugged ice which formed their way.“We must press on,” said Dale; “we have not come down above a mile, and it is a long way yet. We must not be amongst these seracs and crevasses after dark.”“I can walk faster,” said Saxe heavily, and he increased his pace.But it was in many places a task requiring careful descent, and every time they came upon a crevasse Saxe felt a curious shrinking, which called for a strong effort of will to enable him to make the necessary spring to leap across, while several of the wider ones which had been leaped in coming up were now avoided by a détour to the left.All these incidents made their descent slower; and as Dale thought of the long distance yet to go, he grew more and more anxious.“Saxe,” he said at last, as they were now slowly passing along the rocks by the side of the glacier, which they had now left to avoid some patches of rugged ice, “I’m afraid we shall have to rest here in some niche as soon as darkness comes on. I can’t trust to my memory to find the way farther when the light has gone.”“What’s that?” said Saxe, catching his arm.Dale stopped and listened; but the place was utterly still for a few minutes, and then there was a sharp crack and a rattling noise.“Piece of ice broken off and fallen.”“No, no; I did not mean that,” cried Saxe, as his eyes wandered upward among the broken ice now beginning to look cold and grey. “There!—there!”A faint chipping sound was heard as the lad spoke; but as they stood in quite a trough between the steep rock of the valley side and the jagged masses of ice, it was impossible to say exactly from whence it came.“Yes, I heard it,” said Dale, as the sound ceased. “There must be some one on the ice: it sounded just like cutting steps. Listen again.”They stood motionless, but all was perfectly still.“Come along,” cried Dale; “we cannot waste time. It must have been the ice giving way somewhere. Perhaps it was the splitting sound of a crevasse opening.”“There it is again!” cried Saxe.“Yes; it must be some one cutting steps: but it is evidently a long way off. We can’t see from here, but some one must be on the mountain above us, and the sound comes through the clear air, and strikes against the valley wall over yonder. Yes: hark! It seems to come from there; but, depend upon it, the cause is high up overhead.”They started again, for everything was growing greyer, and in spite of the hard work they both began to feel cold. But they had not gone a dozen steps before the sound began again, and Saxe cried excitedly—“It’s from out on the glacier somewhere. There are people there, and we shall get help.”There was so much, decision in the boy’s utterance that Dale was impressed, and he stopped short close up to the ice, listening to the chipping sound, which was distinctly heard now, though very faint.All at once Saxe went forward a step or two, and then dropped upon his knees on the stone where the ice stood a few inches away from the rock, melted and worn by the water that evidently tore down at times.“Well?” said Dale, as Saxe listened.“Yes, you can hear it more plainly here,” said the boy.“No!”“Come and listen.”Dale laid his head against the ice, and for a few moments nothing was heard.“No,” said Dale; “it is what I told you—an echo from above. People don’t cut steps on glaciers, the slope is not enough. Ah! yes. It does certainly seem to come from the ice.”Saxe looked at him wildly. His head was in a whirl, full of thoughts, which seemed to jostle each other, while Dale stood listening to the steady chip, chip, chip.“I cannot quite make it out.”“There’s some one cutting down there,” cried Saxe.“No. The sound is carried a long way; but some one must be cutting steps in the ice not far from here.”“Then it is not an echo?”“No, I think not; but I am not sure.”“Let’s see!” cried Saxe excitedly.“It is like wasting time, my boy; but it may mean the help we want. Yes, we will see.”Dale began to climb on the ice once more, but Saxe hung back.“The sound comes from down here,” he said.“Possibly. But come up here, and we may hear it more plainly. Give me your hand.”“I can manage,” cried Saxe, and he seemed to have forgotten his exhaustion as he sprang up the rugged blocks, and wound in and out till they came to a smooth part, where Dale halted.“Yes,” he said, as the chipping went on; “the ice conducts the sound. It comes more from the centre of the glacier.”“It doesn’t,” said Saxe to himself. “I’m sure it comes from below.”But he said nothing aloud, only followed his companion as he led him on, and in and out, with the sound playing with their ears as the will-o’-the-wisp is said to play with the eyes.For sometimes it was heard plainly. Then, as they wandered on amidst quite a labyrinth of piled-up ice that at another time they would have shunned in dread of danger, and through which they were now impelled by a strange feeling of excitement, the noise died quite away.At such times they were in despair; but as they pressed on they could hear the chipping again.Finally Dale stopped short, beneath a tall spire of ice, and held up his hand.“I’m afraid we have wasted a valuable half-hour, Saxe,” he said. “There can be nothing here.”They shouted as they had shouted a dozen times before, but there was no response, and Dale turned wearily in the direction from which they had come, the perpendicular rocks of the valley indicating the course they had to take, when suddenly the sound began again, apparently from close beneath their feet.“It must be out here,” cried Saxe; and he went off to his right, and at the end of a minute reached a comparatively level space that they had not seen before.“Take care!” cried Dale. “A crevasse over yonder.”Chip, chip, chip. There was the sound again, and as Saxe laid his ear against the ice he heard it more distinctly.“We’re getting nearer,” he cried. “It sounds underneath, but is farther away. I know! I’m sure! I’ve felt it ever so long now. There’s some one down below.”Dale said nothing, but he thought the same, and stepping forward side by side with the boy, they strode on together, with the chipping growing plainer; and as their further progress was stopped by a wide crevasse all doubt was at an end.The sounds came up from the vast rift, which seemed in the failing light to run in a peculiar waving zigzag right across the glacier for nearly half a mile.Saxe uttered a curious hoarse sound, as he dropped upon his knees close to the edge of the crevasse.“Take care, boy; the ice is slippery.”Saxe made no reply, but peered shuddering down into the black darkness, and tried to shout; but his throat was dry, and not a sound would come.It was Dale who shouted, as he now bent over the crevasse.“Ahoy! Any one there?”His voice went reverberating down through the caverns of the ice, and as the sound died away there came an answer—“Au secours! Help!”“Melchior!” yelled Saxe wildly; and the voice came again from out of the black darkness—“Help!”
They began to descend the great ice-torrent in solemn silence; but before they had gone fifty yards Saxe stopped short, darted a wild, apologetic look at Dale, and began to run back toward the crevasse.
Dale followed him more slowly, and reached the boy as he was lying down with his head and shoulders over the brink.
“Mel—chi—or!” shouted Saxe, with his hands on either side of his mouth—a long-drawn, piteous cry, in which he formed the name into three syllables; and as Dale leaned over and listened to the strange hollow reverberations down below, it was as if a voice repeated the last syllable in a faint, appealing whisper.
“There!” cried Saxe excitedly; “I couldn’t go without trying once more. I knew it: he isn’t dead! You heard that?”
“Yes,” said Dale, with a pitying look at his companion, “I heard that.”
“Well? He’s not dead. I’ll stay here, and keep shouting to him now and then, while you go for help. Run at once. Stop a minute. Give me your flask; I’ll lower it down to him with the string.”
“Saxe, my lad,” said Dale sadly, “you are buoying yourself up with false hopes.”
“No, no! I heard him answer distinctly,” cried Saxe wildly. “Hark! I’ll call again. Melchior, Mel—chi—or!”
He gave forth the last cry with all his might, emphasising the “chi—or!” and, probably from his being on the opposite side of the crevasse, and more favourably placed for the acoustic phenomenon, the syllables were repeated, after a pause, faintly but distinctly—an effect that had not been produced by any of the lad’s cries on the other side of the crevasse.
“There!” cried Saxe.
Dale laid his hand upon the boy’s shoulder, and shook his head sadly. Then, bending down, he too shouted—
“A-hoy-oy-oy!”
And, after a pause, there came up distinctly the latter part of the word.
“Ahoy!” shouted Dale again, sharply.
“Hoy!” came up.
“You hear,” said Dale. “It is only an echo. A man down there in peril would not repeat words. In nine cases out of ten he would cry ‘help!’”
Saxe turned away from the crevasse with a groan that told how forcibly his companion’s words had gone home; but he turned back again.
“It seems so cruel to come away even if he is dead,” he whispered. “Shall I stop while you go!”
“No, Saxe. If we could hear him answer, I should at any cost say Stay, or I would myself stop, for I believe that a word or two from time to time would have encouraged him to struggle on for his life. But to stay there by that crevasse through the night, without proper protection, might mean your death. The cold up here must be terrible. Come.”
Saxe followed him slowly, with his head bent to hide the tears standing in his eyes, and then Dale took his arm.
“We have done our duty so far,” he said; “and we are doing it now in going for help to try and rescue the poor fellow’s remains from yon icy tomb. Believe me, my lad, I would not come away if there was anything more that we could do.”
Saxe was silent for a few minutes, as they tramped on over the ice, which was now beginning to take a warm tint in the afternoon’s sunlight. Then, making an effort, he spoke: “You will of course get men and ropes?”
“Yes; and bring back a crowbar or tamping iron, and a heavy hammer to drive it into the ice.”
Saxe sighed, and, forgetting his weariness, stepped out quickly over the rugged way, as they kept as nearly as they could to the invisible track they had followed during the ascent.
The sun was now getting so low down that the great ragged pyramids and crags of ice cast fantastic shadows eastward. There was a deep orange glow in the sky, and at another time they would have stopped enchanted by the dazzling beauty of the effects before them; but now Saxe could see nothing but the pale face of their guide, as he lay far below with his staring eyes fixed upon the narrow rift beyond which was the evening sky; and at such times as the boy conjured up this ghastly picture in his brain, his eyes grew misty, and he stumbled and slipped upon the rugged ice which formed their way.
“We must press on,” said Dale; “we have not come down above a mile, and it is a long way yet. We must not be amongst these seracs and crevasses after dark.”
“I can walk faster,” said Saxe heavily, and he increased his pace.
But it was in many places a task requiring careful descent, and every time they came upon a crevasse Saxe felt a curious shrinking, which called for a strong effort of will to enable him to make the necessary spring to leap across, while several of the wider ones which had been leaped in coming up were now avoided by a détour to the left.
All these incidents made their descent slower; and as Dale thought of the long distance yet to go, he grew more and more anxious.
“Saxe,” he said at last, as they were now slowly passing along the rocks by the side of the glacier, which they had now left to avoid some patches of rugged ice, “I’m afraid we shall have to rest here in some niche as soon as darkness comes on. I can’t trust to my memory to find the way farther when the light has gone.”
“What’s that?” said Saxe, catching his arm.
Dale stopped and listened; but the place was utterly still for a few minutes, and then there was a sharp crack and a rattling noise.
“Piece of ice broken off and fallen.”
“No, no; I did not mean that,” cried Saxe, as his eyes wandered upward among the broken ice now beginning to look cold and grey. “There!—there!”
A faint chipping sound was heard as the lad spoke; but as they stood in quite a trough between the steep rock of the valley side and the jagged masses of ice, it was impossible to say exactly from whence it came.
“Yes, I heard it,” said Dale, as the sound ceased. “There must be some one on the ice: it sounded just like cutting steps. Listen again.”
They stood motionless, but all was perfectly still.
“Come along,” cried Dale; “we cannot waste time. It must have been the ice giving way somewhere. Perhaps it was the splitting sound of a crevasse opening.”
“There it is again!” cried Saxe.
“Yes; it must be some one cutting steps: but it is evidently a long way off. We can’t see from here, but some one must be on the mountain above us, and the sound comes through the clear air, and strikes against the valley wall over yonder. Yes: hark! It seems to come from there; but, depend upon it, the cause is high up overhead.”
They started again, for everything was growing greyer, and in spite of the hard work they both began to feel cold. But they had not gone a dozen steps before the sound began again, and Saxe cried excitedly—
“It’s from out on the glacier somewhere. There are people there, and we shall get help.”
There was so much, decision in the boy’s utterance that Dale was impressed, and he stopped short close up to the ice, listening to the chipping sound, which was distinctly heard now, though very faint.
All at once Saxe went forward a step or two, and then dropped upon his knees on the stone where the ice stood a few inches away from the rock, melted and worn by the water that evidently tore down at times.
“Well?” said Dale, as Saxe listened.
“Yes, you can hear it more plainly here,” said the boy.
“No!”
“Come and listen.”
Dale laid his head against the ice, and for a few moments nothing was heard.
“No,” said Dale; “it is what I told you—an echo from above. People don’t cut steps on glaciers, the slope is not enough. Ah! yes. It does certainly seem to come from the ice.”
Saxe looked at him wildly. His head was in a whirl, full of thoughts, which seemed to jostle each other, while Dale stood listening to the steady chip, chip, chip.
“I cannot quite make it out.”
“There’s some one cutting down there,” cried Saxe.
“No. The sound is carried a long way; but some one must be cutting steps in the ice not far from here.”
“Then it is not an echo?”
“No, I think not; but I am not sure.”
“Let’s see!” cried Saxe excitedly.
“It is like wasting time, my boy; but it may mean the help we want. Yes, we will see.”
Dale began to climb on the ice once more, but Saxe hung back.
“The sound comes from down here,” he said.
“Possibly. But come up here, and we may hear it more plainly. Give me your hand.”
“I can manage,” cried Saxe, and he seemed to have forgotten his exhaustion as he sprang up the rugged blocks, and wound in and out till they came to a smooth part, where Dale halted.
“Yes,” he said, as the chipping went on; “the ice conducts the sound. It comes more from the centre of the glacier.”
“It doesn’t,” said Saxe to himself. “I’m sure it comes from below.”
But he said nothing aloud, only followed his companion as he led him on, and in and out, with the sound playing with their ears as the will-o’-the-wisp is said to play with the eyes.
For sometimes it was heard plainly. Then, as they wandered on amidst quite a labyrinth of piled-up ice that at another time they would have shunned in dread of danger, and through which they were now impelled by a strange feeling of excitement, the noise died quite away.
At such times they were in despair; but as they pressed on they could hear the chipping again.
Finally Dale stopped short, beneath a tall spire of ice, and held up his hand.
“I’m afraid we have wasted a valuable half-hour, Saxe,” he said. “There can be nothing here.”
They shouted as they had shouted a dozen times before, but there was no response, and Dale turned wearily in the direction from which they had come, the perpendicular rocks of the valley indicating the course they had to take, when suddenly the sound began again, apparently from close beneath their feet.
“It must be out here,” cried Saxe; and he went off to his right, and at the end of a minute reached a comparatively level space that they had not seen before.
“Take care!” cried Dale. “A crevasse over yonder.”
Chip, chip, chip. There was the sound again, and as Saxe laid his ear against the ice he heard it more distinctly.
“We’re getting nearer,” he cried. “It sounds underneath, but is farther away. I know! I’m sure! I’ve felt it ever so long now. There’s some one down below.”
Dale said nothing, but he thought the same, and stepping forward side by side with the boy, they strode on together, with the chipping growing plainer; and as their further progress was stopped by a wide crevasse all doubt was at an end.
The sounds came up from the vast rift, which seemed in the failing light to run in a peculiar waving zigzag right across the glacier for nearly half a mile.
Saxe uttered a curious hoarse sound, as he dropped upon his knees close to the edge of the crevasse.
“Take care, boy; the ice is slippery.”
Saxe made no reply, but peered shuddering down into the black darkness, and tried to shout; but his throat was dry, and not a sound would come.
It was Dale who shouted, as he now bent over the crevasse.
“Ahoy! Any one there?”
His voice went reverberating down through the caverns of the ice, and as the sound died away there came an answer—
“Au secours! Help!”
“Melchior!” yelled Saxe wildly; and the voice came again from out of the black darkness—
“Help!”
Chapter Twenty Three.A Rescue.For a few moments Dale and Saxe knelt together there, with their hearts throbbing wildly at their discovery. There was a bewildering train of thoughts, too, running through their minds, as to how the poor fellow could have got there; and Saxe could only find bottom in one idea—that they had been confusedly wandering about, returning another way, till they had accidentally hit upon a further development of the great crevasse into which the guide had fallen.All this was momentary, and then Dale was speaking.“He must be a long way off to the right here, cutting his way up, and the ice conducted the sound. Come,—carefully. It would be terrible if you slipped.”“I sha’n’t slip!” cried Saxe firmly, and he followed on.“Ahoy!” shouted Dale. “Where are you?”“Here!” came from the right still, but apparently from the other side, the voice sounding hollow and strange.Dale caught Saxe’s arm.“Are we on the wrong side of the crevasse!” he muttered. But he went on for another twenty yards and called.The answer still came from the right, but not from the opposite side, the former effect being simply reverberation. Another thirty yards or so brought them to where the hollow-sounding voice seemed to come up from straight below them; and they lay down to speak.“Don’t ask questions about how he came there. Let me speak only,” whispered Dale. “Where are you?” he shouted.“Nearly below you, herr,” came up feebly. “So cold and faint.”“Hold on,” shouted Dale. “Now, Saxe, the ball of string and the lanthorn. Light it quickly.”The boy’s hands trembled so that he could hardly obey, and two matches were spoiled by the touch of his wet fingers before the lamp burned bright and clear.Meanwhile Dale had been securing the lanthorn to the end of the string.“Melchior,” he shouted, “I’m sending you down the light.”His words were short and sharp, and now he lay down and began to lower the lanthorn rapidly, its clear flame reflected from the ice wall, and revealing bit by bit the horrors of the terrible gulf, with its perpendicular walls.Down, down, down went the lamp, till Saxe’s heart sank with it, and with a look of despair he watched it and that which it revealed,—for he could see that it would be impossible for anyone to climb the ice wall, and the lamp had gone down so far that it was beyond the reach of their rope.“Terribly deep down,” said Dale, half aloud, as he watched the descending lanthorn.“Ah! I see him!” cried Saxe. “He is just below the light, on that ledge. Yes, and the ice slopes down from there.”“Can you get it?” cried Dale loudly. “Not yet, herr,” came up feebly. “Lower.”“There is not much more string, Saxe,” whispered Dale: “get the rope ready.”But before this could be done the feeble voice from below cried, “Hold!” and they could see, at a terrible depth, the lanthorn swinging, and then there was the clink of metal against metal, and a horrible cry and a jarring blow.“He has fallen!” cried Saxe. “No: he has got hold, and is climbing back.”Faintly as it was seen, it was plain enough to those who watched with throbbing pulses. The lanthorn had been beyond Melchior’s reach, and as he lay there on a kind of shelf or fault in the ice, he had tried to hook the string toward him with his ice-axe, slipped, and would have gone headlong down lower, but for the mountaineer’s instinctive effort to save himself by striking his axe-pick into the ice.No one spoke, but every pulse was throbbing painfully as the man’s actions were watched, down far beneath them, he seeming to be in the centre of a little halo of light, while everything around was pitchy black.“He has got it,” muttered Saxe, after a painful pause; and then they heard the clink of the ice against the lanthorn, and saw the latter move, while directly after, from out of the silence below, there came the sound of a deeply drawn breath. “Can you hold on there?” said Dale then, sharply. “A little while, herr. I am cold, but hope will put life in me.” Dale waited a few minutes, and Saxe touched him imploringly. “What shall we do?” he whispered. “Shall I go for help?”“No. Get your axe, and begin cutting some foothold for us: three or four good deep, long notches, about a yard apart. Begin six or eight feet away from the edge. We want purchase to pull him out.”“But the rope—the rope!” cried Saxe. “Do as I tell you.”Saxe obeyed without a word, driving the pick-end into the ice, and making the chips fly in the grey light of evening, for the shadows were now falling fast; and as the lad worked and cut the deep groove, Dale bent over the crevasse and spoke.“Better!” he said.“Yes, herr: more life in me now.”“Have you your rope?”Saxe stopped to listen for the answer, and, though it was only a matter of moments, he suffered agonies of expectation before he heard the answer.“Yes.”“Take off the lanthorn and stand it by you, or fasten it to your belt.”“Yes, herr.”“Make fast your rope to the string, and let me draw it up.”“It will not reach, herr.”“I know. I have mine.”There was a pause only broken by the chipping of the ice-axe, and then the voice came up again in a hollow whisper—“Ready!”“If it will only bear it,” muttered Dale, as he steadily drew upon the string, hand over hand, expecting moment by moment that it would part. But it bore the weight of the rope well, and in a few minutes he was able to lift the coil over the edge on to the glacier.Saxe heard him give a sigh of relief as he bent down and drew it away; but he turned back to the crack directly, and shouted down in slow, solemn words—“Keep a good heart man, and if it is to be done we’ll save you.”“With God’s help, herr,” came up; and the voice sounded to Saxe, as he toiled away, less despairing.“Now!” cried Dale, speaking quickly and excitedly: “pray with me, lad, that these two ropes together may be long enough. Quick! Out with your knife.”Saxe obeyed, and stood ready while Dale rapidly joined the two ropes together; but, not content with his knot, he cut off a couple of pieces of string, and rapidly bound down the loose ends so that they should by no possibility slip through the loops.This done, and Saxe once more cutting the grooves he was making more deeply, Dale rapidly ran Melchior’s rope through his hands, and made a knot and slip-noose.“Keep on cutting,” he said to Saxe. “No: a better idea. Pick a hole—there!” He stamped his foot in the place he meant. “Small and deep, so as to turn your axe into an anchor if we want its help. Work—hard!”Saxe drove his axe down on to the ice with vigour, blow after blow sending the tiny crystals flying, while he had to fight down the intense desire to leave off and watch the rescue, as Dale began to lower the noose he had made.“Is it long enough?—is it long enough?” he muttered, as he rapidly passed the rope through his hands, Saxe giving a side glance from time to time as he picked away.Down went the whole length of the guide’s line, and the knot passed Dale’s hands, after which the weight was sufficient to draw down the new rope, whose rings uncoiled rapidly, and, as their number grew fewer, Saxe breathed hard, and he echoed Dale’s words, “Will it be long enough?”The last coil but three—the last coil but two—the last coil but one—the last coil; and Dale’s nervous right hand closed upon the very end, and he went close to the brink and looked down at the light.“Can you reach it?” he shouted.There was a pause, and then the voice came up—“No! Lower a little more.”Dale groaned. Then, lying down, he held his hands close to the edge, giving quite another three feet to the length.“Can you reach it now?”“No.”“How far off is it above you?”There was a pause, and then—“I can just touch it with the end of my finger. I am lying down, and holding on with one hand and my ice-axe. If I could use my axe, I could pull it down.”“No, no!” shouted Dale. “The rope is all out. Stop: if I give you another two feet, can you get your arm well through the noose I have made, and hang on?”“I will try.”“Come here, Saxe. I am going to lean over the edge and hold the rope down as far as I can reach. Drive the head of your axe into the hole you have made, and hold on with one hand; take hold of my ankle with the other. There will be no strain upon you, but it will give me strength by holding me in my place.”The axe was driven in to hold like an anchor, and Saxe shuddered as he held by the handle and took a good grip of Dale by thrusting his fingers in at the top of his heavy mountaineering boot.Then Dale shuffled himself as far over the brink as he dared, and stretched his arms down to their full extent.“Now: can you do it?”Another terrible pause.“No, herr.”Dale groaned, and was wondering whether he could achieve his aim by drawing up the rope, re-knotting it, and making the noose smaller, but just then Melchior spoke.“If I could free my ice-axe, I could hook on to it, herr. I can see the loop quite plainly, but I dare not stir—I can only move one hand.”“Wait!” cried Dale. “Ice-axe!”He drew back, hauled up some of the rope, knelt upon it to keep it fast, and picked up his ice-axe, while Saxe watched him with dilated eyes, as he made a knot and passed the axe handle through to where the steel head stopped it like a cross. Then, cutting off more string, he bound the end of the rope to the handle of his axe, doubly and triply, so that slipping was impossible.This took up nearly a foot for the knot; but the handle was nearly four feet long, so that by this scheme he gained another yard as an addition to the rope.“I am at the end of my wits now, Saxe,” he said softly; and then, with grim irony, “There is no need to wet my hands, boy.”“Now, Melchior!” he shouted; “try again!”He was on his chest as he spoke, with his arms outstretched, holding tightly by the axe handle.“Can you reach it?”Saxe panted, and felt the insides of his hands grow wet and cold as he held on to his companion and listened for the answer that was terribly long in coming. The sensation was almost suffocating; he held his breath, and every nerve and muscle was on the strain for the words which seemed as if they would never reach his ears.“Well?” shouted Dale, in a harsh, angry voice, his word sounding like a snarl.“Can’t quite—can’t. Hah! I have it!”“Hurrah!” burst out Saxe, giving vent in his homely, boyish way to his excitement.Then, feeling ashamed of himself, he was silent and listened for every word.“Get your arm right through, above the elbow.”“Yes, herr. Right.”“Pull, to tighten it.”“Yes, herr,” came back.“Ready? Sure it cannot slip?”“It cuts right into my arm: never slip.”“Now, Saxe, I have him, boy; but Heaven knows whether I can get him up, lying like this. No: it is impossible; I have no strength, and the wood handle is not like rope.”“Oh!” groaned Saxe.“If I could get to the rope, you might help me. It is impossible: I cannot lift him so.”“Can you hold on as you are?” said Saxe huskily.“Yes; but I could not lift—I have no power.”“I must come too, and get hold of the handle. Will the head come off?”“Hush! No. It is too new and strong. But you could not get hold to do any good. There—come and try.”Saxe unhooked his axe from the ice, for an idea had struck him; and, lying down close to Dale, who uttered a sigh of satisfaction as he grasped the boy’s idea, he lowered down his axe, and hooked the rope with it just beneath Dale’s.“Good,” whispered the latter,—“good. Ready?”“Yes.”“Draw steadily hand over hand, till we can get the rope over the edge. Then throw your axe back, and take hold of the rope.”“Yes, I understand.”“Now, Melchior, we are going to haul.”There was no reply beyond what sounded like a groan; and the pair at the edge of the crevasse began to tighten the rope gently as they drew up their axes, with the weight gradually increasing; they saw by the light of the lanthorn that they first dragged the poor fellow up into a sitting position; and not having the full burden to deal with yet, Dale got a shorter hold of the axe handle, Saxe doing the same.“Steady, steady: don’t hurry, boy. It is these first moments that possess the danger. Once we have the rope I don’t mind.”They hauled again hand over hand literally: for in their cribbed position they could do no more than just pass one hand over the other; but they were gaining ground, and even yet they had not the full weight, for fortunately as they hauled they could see the body swing round against the ice wall, and that Melchior’s feet were on the dimly visible ledge.“Now, Saxe, we have his whole weight coming; so as the strain falls, quick with him, one, two, three, and we shall have the rope. Once I can get that between us on to the edge, we shall have a lot of the drag off our arms. Now—one, two, three!”How it was done they could neither of them afterwards have fully explained; but Saxe had some recollection of tugging at his ice handle in answer to those words of command till he touched the head with one hand, passed his other under it, and had hold of the rope.“Now your axe!” shouted Dale; and Saxe unhooked it, and flung it behind him with a clang, as at the same time it felt to him as if his chest were being drawn slowly over the slippery ice, and that he was moving surely on into the gulf.The perspiration stood out in great drops upon his face, his grasp of the rope grew more feeble, and the feeling of self-preservation was thrilling him, when suddenly there was a tremendous reaction; he drew a long breath, and was hauling with renewed strength.It was all nearly momentary, and the reaction came as the boy felt his toes glide into one of the great notches he had cut in the ice.“Steady, steady,” panted Dale. “Oh, if I only had some purchase! Pull, and never mind the skin; get the rope over the edge. Hurrah!”The rope was over the edge, and just between them, and but for the fact that Dale was able to get the head of his axe beneath his chest, and press it down on the ice, it would have glided back once more.“Now, Saxe,” he cried, “I can hold him like this for a few moments: the edge helps. Step back and take a grip of the axe handle.”Saxe obeyed, drawing the handle tight, and getting his boot toes in another of the notches.“Now,” cried Dale, “hold on with all your might while I shuffle back.”“Are you going to leave go?” growled Saxe.“No.”That negative came like the roar of a wild beast.“Got him tight,” cried Saxe; and he set his teeth and shut his eyes, while, holding on with one hand, Dale shuffled himself back as far as he could—that is, to the full extent of his arms and the foot of rope he had dragged over the edge of the ice.Then he paused for a moment or two.“Now I want to get rope enough in for you to take hold.”“Will the ice edge cut?”“No: the rope will cut down a smooth channel in the ice. Ready?—Together.”There was a brief interval of hauling, and several feet were drawn over, so that Saxe was able to get hold of the rope too; and they rested again, for in that position everything depended on their arms.“Now I have him,” cried Dale. “Hold on with one hand while you reach your axe, and anchor it in the hole you made.”“Done,” cried Saxe.“Haul again.”They hauled, and another foot or so was gained.“Now hitch the rope well round the axe handle,” cried Dale, “and get it tight.”This was done; the rope being twisted above the band of leather placed to keep the hand from slipping; and with this to take off the stress, Dale was able, while well holding on, to get to his knees, and then to his feet, when, planting his heels in one of the grooves cut in the ice, he took a fresh grip of the rope.“Now, Saxe,” he cried; “up with you! Behind me!”The lad grasped the position, and leaped up and seized the rope behind Dale.“Now, then!—a steady haul together!”The battle seemed to be nearly won, for the rope glided on steadily over the ice, cutting pretty deeply the while, but after the first few seconds apparently without friction.Foot by foot, a steady pull, till there was a sudden check.“Hah!” ejaculated Dale. “I see. We are at the end of the new rope, and the knot has caught in the groove we’ve made. I can hold him, Saxe. Take your axe, and pick the ice away on one side. Mind! you must not touch the rope.”Saxe took his axe, and a few strokes with the pointed end broke off a good-sized piece. The knot glided over, and the next minute, with the same idea inspiring both, they began to haul up Melchior’s rope.Will this last out, and not be broken by the friction?Foot by foot—foot by foot—till at any moment they felt they would see the man’s hand appear; and all seemed to depend now upon the state in which the poor fellow would be in when he reached the surface. If he were perfectly helpless, the worst part, perhaps, of their task would come. If he could aid, it would be comparatively easy.At last there was a faint glow of light behind the edge, which grew plainer in the gloom in which they had been working, and directly after Melchior’s hand reached the edge.Dale was a man of resource, and he was about to call upon Saxe to hitch the rope round the axe handle once more—that which acted as an anchor—when he saw in the faint glow that the fingers clutched at the edge.“Haul! haul!” he cried; and as they pulled the whole arm appeared above the edge, and was stretched flat on the ice. And the next moment, with a dash, the guide’s axe was swung over the edge, and the sharp point dug down into the glistening surface, giving the poor fellow a slight hold, which, little as it was, proved some help.It has been said that Dale was a man of resource, and he proved it more than ever now.“I can hold him,” he cried. “Take the rope, and lower down a big loop right over his head. That’s right: lower away.” Then, as Saxe responded quickly, he cried to the guide, “Try if you can get one or both your legs through the loop.”There was a little scraping and movement before the poor fellow said, hoarsely—“Through.”“Now, Saxe, twist the rope as quickly as you can, so as to get hold.”Saxe twisted the double rope till the loop closed upon the guide’s leg; and then there was a momentary pause.“Now, ready! When I say haul, try to help us all you can. Haul!”Saxe had his heel in a groove, and he struggled with all his might, Melchior aiding him so effectually that, as Dale drew the poor fellow’s arm farther, Saxe was able to raise the leg he held to the level; and the next moment the guide lay prone on the ice with the lanthorn still burning, and attached to the waist.“Both together again!” cried Dale hoarsely; and they dragged him a few yards along the ice perfectly helpless, for he had exhausted himself in that last effort to reach the surface.“Take—off—that—that light!” said Dale, in a strange tone of voice; and then, before Saxe could run to his assistance, he staggered toward the crevasse and fell heavily.The boy’s heart was in his mouth. For the moment it had seemed as if Dale were going headlong down, but he lay a good two feet from the edge, a distance which Saxe increased by drawing him over the ice; and then, himself utterly exhausted, he sank upon his knees helpless as a child, the ice glimmering in a peculiarly weird and ghastly way, the dark sky overhead—far from all aid—faint and famished from long fasting—and with two insensible men dumbly appealing to him for his assistance.It was not at all a matter of wonder that Saxe should say piteously—“What can I do? Was ever poor fellow so miserable before?”
For a few moments Dale and Saxe knelt together there, with their hearts throbbing wildly at their discovery. There was a bewildering train of thoughts, too, running through their minds, as to how the poor fellow could have got there; and Saxe could only find bottom in one idea—that they had been confusedly wandering about, returning another way, till they had accidentally hit upon a further development of the great crevasse into which the guide had fallen.
All this was momentary, and then Dale was speaking.
“He must be a long way off to the right here, cutting his way up, and the ice conducted the sound. Come,—carefully. It would be terrible if you slipped.”
“I sha’n’t slip!” cried Saxe firmly, and he followed on.
“Ahoy!” shouted Dale. “Where are you?”
“Here!” came from the right still, but apparently from the other side, the voice sounding hollow and strange.
Dale caught Saxe’s arm.
“Are we on the wrong side of the crevasse!” he muttered. But he went on for another twenty yards and called.
The answer still came from the right, but not from the opposite side, the former effect being simply reverberation. Another thirty yards or so brought them to where the hollow-sounding voice seemed to come up from straight below them; and they lay down to speak.
“Don’t ask questions about how he came there. Let me speak only,” whispered Dale. “Where are you?” he shouted.
“Nearly below you, herr,” came up feebly. “So cold and faint.”
“Hold on,” shouted Dale. “Now, Saxe, the ball of string and the lanthorn. Light it quickly.”
The boy’s hands trembled so that he could hardly obey, and two matches were spoiled by the touch of his wet fingers before the lamp burned bright and clear.
Meanwhile Dale had been securing the lanthorn to the end of the string.
“Melchior,” he shouted, “I’m sending you down the light.”
His words were short and sharp, and now he lay down and began to lower the lanthorn rapidly, its clear flame reflected from the ice wall, and revealing bit by bit the horrors of the terrible gulf, with its perpendicular walls.
Down, down, down went the lamp, till Saxe’s heart sank with it, and with a look of despair he watched it and that which it revealed,—for he could see that it would be impossible for anyone to climb the ice wall, and the lamp had gone down so far that it was beyond the reach of their rope.
“Terribly deep down,” said Dale, half aloud, as he watched the descending lanthorn.
“Ah! I see him!” cried Saxe. “He is just below the light, on that ledge. Yes, and the ice slopes down from there.”
“Can you get it?” cried Dale loudly. “Not yet, herr,” came up feebly. “Lower.”
“There is not much more string, Saxe,” whispered Dale: “get the rope ready.”
But before this could be done the feeble voice from below cried, “Hold!” and they could see, at a terrible depth, the lanthorn swinging, and then there was the clink of metal against metal, and a horrible cry and a jarring blow.
“He has fallen!” cried Saxe. “No: he has got hold, and is climbing back.”
Faintly as it was seen, it was plain enough to those who watched with throbbing pulses. The lanthorn had been beyond Melchior’s reach, and as he lay there on a kind of shelf or fault in the ice, he had tried to hook the string toward him with his ice-axe, slipped, and would have gone headlong down lower, but for the mountaineer’s instinctive effort to save himself by striking his axe-pick into the ice.
No one spoke, but every pulse was throbbing painfully as the man’s actions were watched, down far beneath them, he seeming to be in the centre of a little halo of light, while everything around was pitchy black.
“He has got it,” muttered Saxe, after a painful pause; and then they heard the clink of the ice against the lanthorn, and saw the latter move, while directly after, from out of the silence below, there came the sound of a deeply drawn breath. “Can you hold on there?” said Dale then, sharply. “A little while, herr. I am cold, but hope will put life in me.” Dale waited a few minutes, and Saxe touched him imploringly. “What shall we do?” he whispered. “Shall I go for help?”
“No. Get your axe, and begin cutting some foothold for us: three or four good deep, long notches, about a yard apart. Begin six or eight feet away from the edge. We want purchase to pull him out.”
“But the rope—the rope!” cried Saxe. “Do as I tell you.”
Saxe obeyed without a word, driving the pick-end into the ice, and making the chips fly in the grey light of evening, for the shadows were now falling fast; and as the lad worked and cut the deep groove, Dale bent over the crevasse and spoke.
“Better!” he said.
“Yes, herr: more life in me now.”
“Have you your rope?”
Saxe stopped to listen for the answer, and, though it was only a matter of moments, he suffered agonies of expectation before he heard the answer.
“Yes.”
“Take off the lanthorn and stand it by you, or fasten it to your belt.”
“Yes, herr.”
“Make fast your rope to the string, and let me draw it up.”
“It will not reach, herr.”
“I know. I have mine.”
There was a pause only broken by the chipping of the ice-axe, and then the voice came up again in a hollow whisper—
“Ready!”
“If it will only bear it,” muttered Dale, as he steadily drew upon the string, hand over hand, expecting moment by moment that it would part. But it bore the weight of the rope well, and in a few minutes he was able to lift the coil over the edge on to the glacier.
Saxe heard him give a sigh of relief as he bent down and drew it away; but he turned back to the crack directly, and shouted down in slow, solemn words—
“Keep a good heart man, and if it is to be done we’ll save you.”
“With God’s help, herr,” came up; and the voice sounded to Saxe, as he toiled away, less despairing.
“Now!” cried Dale, speaking quickly and excitedly: “pray with me, lad, that these two ropes together may be long enough. Quick! Out with your knife.”
Saxe obeyed, and stood ready while Dale rapidly joined the two ropes together; but, not content with his knot, he cut off a couple of pieces of string, and rapidly bound down the loose ends so that they should by no possibility slip through the loops.
This done, and Saxe once more cutting the grooves he was making more deeply, Dale rapidly ran Melchior’s rope through his hands, and made a knot and slip-noose.
“Keep on cutting,” he said to Saxe. “No: a better idea. Pick a hole—there!” He stamped his foot in the place he meant. “Small and deep, so as to turn your axe into an anchor if we want its help. Work—hard!”
Saxe drove his axe down on to the ice with vigour, blow after blow sending the tiny crystals flying, while he had to fight down the intense desire to leave off and watch the rescue, as Dale began to lower the noose he had made.
“Is it long enough?—is it long enough?” he muttered, as he rapidly passed the rope through his hands, Saxe giving a side glance from time to time as he picked away.
Down went the whole length of the guide’s line, and the knot passed Dale’s hands, after which the weight was sufficient to draw down the new rope, whose rings uncoiled rapidly, and, as their number grew fewer, Saxe breathed hard, and he echoed Dale’s words, “Will it be long enough?”
The last coil but three—the last coil but two—the last coil but one—the last coil; and Dale’s nervous right hand closed upon the very end, and he went close to the brink and looked down at the light.
“Can you reach it?” he shouted.
There was a pause, and then the voice came up—
“No! Lower a little more.”
Dale groaned. Then, lying down, he held his hands close to the edge, giving quite another three feet to the length.
“Can you reach it now?”
“No.”
“How far off is it above you?”
There was a pause, and then—
“I can just touch it with the end of my finger. I am lying down, and holding on with one hand and my ice-axe. If I could use my axe, I could pull it down.”
“No, no!” shouted Dale. “The rope is all out. Stop: if I give you another two feet, can you get your arm well through the noose I have made, and hang on?”
“I will try.”
“Come here, Saxe. I am going to lean over the edge and hold the rope down as far as I can reach. Drive the head of your axe into the hole you have made, and hold on with one hand; take hold of my ankle with the other. There will be no strain upon you, but it will give me strength by holding me in my place.”
The axe was driven in to hold like an anchor, and Saxe shuddered as he held by the handle and took a good grip of Dale by thrusting his fingers in at the top of his heavy mountaineering boot.
Then Dale shuffled himself as far over the brink as he dared, and stretched his arms down to their full extent.
“Now: can you do it?”
Another terrible pause.
“No, herr.”
Dale groaned, and was wondering whether he could achieve his aim by drawing up the rope, re-knotting it, and making the noose smaller, but just then Melchior spoke.
“If I could free my ice-axe, I could hook on to it, herr. I can see the loop quite plainly, but I dare not stir—I can only move one hand.”
“Wait!” cried Dale. “Ice-axe!”
He drew back, hauled up some of the rope, knelt upon it to keep it fast, and picked up his ice-axe, while Saxe watched him with dilated eyes, as he made a knot and passed the axe handle through to where the steel head stopped it like a cross. Then, cutting off more string, he bound the end of the rope to the handle of his axe, doubly and triply, so that slipping was impossible.
This took up nearly a foot for the knot; but the handle was nearly four feet long, so that by this scheme he gained another yard as an addition to the rope.
“I am at the end of my wits now, Saxe,” he said softly; and then, with grim irony, “There is no need to wet my hands, boy.”
“Now, Melchior!” he shouted; “try again!”
He was on his chest as he spoke, with his arms outstretched, holding tightly by the axe handle.
“Can you reach it?”
Saxe panted, and felt the insides of his hands grow wet and cold as he held on to his companion and listened for the answer that was terribly long in coming. The sensation was almost suffocating; he held his breath, and every nerve and muscle was on the strain for the words which seemed as if they would never reach his ears.
“Well?” shouted Dale, in a harsh, angry voice, his word sounding like a snarl.
“Can’t quite—can’t. Hah! I have it!”
“Hurrah!” burst out Saxe, giving vent in his homely, boyish way to his excitement.
Then, feeling ashamed of himself, he was silent and listened for every word.
“Get your arm right through, above the elbow.”
“Yes, herr. Right.”
“Pull, to tighten it.”
“Yes, herr,” came back.
“Ready? Sure it cannot slip?”
“It cuts right into my arm: never slip.”
“Now, Saxe, I have him, boy; but Heaven knows whether I can get him up, lying like this. No: it is impossible; I have no strength, and the wood handle is not like rope.”
“Oh!” groaned Saxe.
“If I could get to the rope, you might help me. It is impossible: I cannot lift him so.”
“Can you hold on as you are?” said Saxe huskily.
“Yes; but I could not lift—I have no power.”
“I must come too, and get hold of the handle. Will the head come off?”
“Hush! No. It is too new and strong. But you could not get hold to do any good. There—come and try.”
Saxe unhooked his axe from the ice, for an idea had struck him; and, lying down close to Dale, who uttered a sigh of satisfaction as he grasped the boy’s idea, he lowered down his axe, and hooked the rope with it just beneath Dale’s.
“Good,” whispered the latter,—“good. Ready?”
“Yes.”
“Draw steadily hand over hand, till we can get the rope over the edge. Then throw your axe back, and take hold of the rope.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“Now, Melchior, we are going to haul.”
There was no reply beyond what sounded like a groan; and the pair at the edge of the crevasse began to tighten the rope gently as they drew up their axes, with the weight gradually increasing; they saw by the light of the lanthorn that they first dragged the poor fellow up into a sitting position; and not having the full burden to deal with yet, Dale got a shorter hold of the axe handle, Saxe doing the same.
“Steady, steady: don’t hurry, boy. It is these first moments that possess the danger. Once we have the rope I don’t mind.”
They hauled again hand over hand literally: for in their cribbed position they could do no more than just pass one hand over the other; but they were gaining ground, and even yet they had not the full weight, for fortunately as they hauled they could see the body swing round against the ice wall, and that Melchior’s feet were on the dimly visible ledge.
“Now, Saxe, we have his whole weight coming; so as the strain falls, quick with him, one, two, three, and we shall have the rope. Once I can get that between us on to the edge, we shall have a lot of the drag off our arms. Now—one, two, three!”
How it was done they could neither of them afterwards have fully explained; but Saxe had some recollection of tugging at his ice handle in answer to those words of command till he touched the head with one hand, passed his other under it, and had hold of the rope.
“Now your axe!” shouted Dale; and Saxe unhooked it, and flung it behind him with a clang, as at the same time it felt to him as if his chest were being drawn slowly over the slippery ice, and that he was moving surely on into the gulf.
The perspiration stood out in great drops upon his face, his grasp of the rope grew more feeble, and the feeling of self-preservation was thrilling him, when suddenly there was a tremendous reaction; he drew a long breath, and was hauling with renewed strength.
It was all nearly momentary, and the reaction came as the boy felt his toes glide into one of the great notches he had cut in the ice.
“Steady, steady,” panted Dale. “Oh, if I only had some purchase! Pull, and never mind the skin; get the rope over the edge. Hurrah!”
The rope was over the edge, and just between them, and but for the fact that Dale was able to get the head of his axe beneath his chest, and press it down on the ice, it would have glided back once more.
“Now, Saxe,” he cried, “I can hold him like this for a few moments: the edge helps. Step back and take a grip of the axe handle.”
Saxe obeyed, drawing the handle tight, and getting his boot toes in another of the notches.
“Now,” cried Dale, “hold on with all your might while I shuffle back.”
“Are you going to leave go?” growled Saxe.
“No.”
That negative came like the roar of a wild beast.
“Got him tight,” cried Saxe; and he set his teeth and shut his eyes, while, holding on with one hand, Dale shuffled himself back as far as he could—that is, to the full extent of his arms and the foot of rope he had dragged over the edge of the ice.
Then he paused for a moment or two.
“Now I want to get rope enough in for you to take hold.”
“Will the ice edge cut?”
“No: the rope will cut down a smooth channel in the ice. Ready?—Together.”
There was a brief interval of hauling, and several feet were drawn over, so that Saxe was able to get hold of the rope too; and they rested again, for in that position everything depended on their arms.
“Now I have him,” cried Dale. “Hold on with one hand while you reach your axe, and anchor it in the hole you made.”
“Done,” cried Saxe.
“Haul again.”
They hauled, and another foot or so was gained.
“Now hitch the rope well round the axe handle,” cried Dale, “and get it tight.”
This was done; the rope being twisted above the band of leather placed to keep the hand from slipping; and with this to take off the stress, Dale was able, while well holding on, to get to his knees, and then to his feet, when, planting his heels in one of the grooves cut in the ice, he took a fresh grip of the rope.
“Now, Saxe,” he cried; “up with you! Behind me!”
The lad grasped the position, and leaped up and seized the rope behind Dale.
“Now, then!—a steady haul together!”
The battle seemed to be nearly won, for the rope glided on steadily over the ice, cutting pretty deeply the while, but after the first few seconds apparently without friction.
Foot by foot, a steady pull, till there was a sudden check.
“Hah!” ejaculated Dale. “I see. We are at the end of the new rope, and the knot has caught in the groove we’ve made. I can hold him, Saxe. Take your axe, and pick the ice away on one side. Mind! you must not touch the rope.”
Saxe took his axe, and a few strokes with the pointed end broke off a good-sized piece. The knot glided over, and the next minute, with the same idea inspiring both, they began to haul up Melchior’s rope.
Will this last out, and not be broken by the friction?
Foot by foot—foot by foot—till at any moment they felt they would see the man’s hand appear; and all seemed to depend now upon the state in which the poor fellow would be in when he reached the surface. If he were perfectly helpless, the worst part, perhaps, of their task would come. If he could aid, it would be comparatively easy.
At last there was a faint glow of light behind the edge, which grew plainer in the gloom in which they had been working, and directly after Melchior’s hand reached the edge.
Dale was a man of resource, and he was about to call upon Saxe to hitch the rope round the axe handle once more—that which acted as an anchor—when he saw in the faint glow that the fingers clutched at the edge.
“Haul! haul!” he cried; and as they pulled the whole arm appeared above the edge, and was stretched flat on the ice. And the next moment, with a dash, the guide’s axe was swung over the edge, and the sharp point dug down into the glistening surface, giving the poor fellow a slight hold, which, little as it was, proved some help.
It has been said that Dale was a man of resource, and he proved it more than ever now.
“I can hold him,” he cried. “Take the rope, and lower down a big loop right over his head. That’s right: lower away.” Then, as Saxe responded quickly, he cried to the guide, “Try if you can get one or both your legs through the loop.”
There was a little scraping and movement before the poor fellow said, hoarsely—
“Through.”
“Now, Saxe, twist the rope as quickly as you can, so as to get hold.”
Saxe twisted the double rope till the loop closed upon the guide’s leg; and then there was a momentary pause.
“Now, ready! When I say haul, try to help us all you can. Haul!”
Saxe had his heel in a groove, and he struggled with all his might, Melchior aiding him so effectually that, as Dale drew the poor fellow’s arm farther, Saxe was able to raise the leg he held to the level; and the next moment the guide lay prone on the ice with the lanthorn still burning, and attached to the waist.
“Both together again!” cried Dale hoarsely; and they dragged him a few yards along the ice perfectly helpless, for he had exhausted himself in that last effort to reach the surface.
“Take—off—that—that light!” said Dale, in a strange tone of voice; and then, before Saxe could run to his assistance, he staggered toward the crevasse and fell heavily.
The boy’s heart was in his mouth. For the moment it had seemed as if Dale were going headlong down, but he lay a good two feet from the edge, a distance which Saxe increased by drawing him over the ice; and then, himself utterly exhausted, he sank upon his knees helpless as a child, the ice glimmering in a peculiarly weird and ghastly way, the dark sky overhead—far from all aid—faint and famished from long fasting—and with two insensible men dumbly appealing to him for his assistance.
It was not at all a matter of wonder that Saxe should say piteously—
“What can I do? Was ever poor fellow so miserable before?”
Chapter Twenty Four.A Great Call on a Boy.Saxe’s depression was only very temporary. As his breath, short from exertion, began to come more regularly, his thoughts dropped back from the tangle of weak helplessness into their proper common-sense groove.Going to Dale, he turned him over on to his back, and then went to Melchior, who lay motionless; but he was quite sensible, and spoke.Saxe drew out the flask, and poured a few drops between Dale’s lips. Then, returning to the guide, he treated him in the same manner before clasping the poor fellow’s hand between both his own, and crying in a choking voice—“Oh, Melchior! Thank God—thank God!”“Ja, herr,” said the poor fellow in a whisper, as he reverted to his native tongue: “Gott sei dank!”Just then Dale began to recover, and uttered a low groan; but consciousness came with one stride, and he sat up, looked sharply round, and said sharply—“Surely I did not swoon? Ah! I was utterly exhausted. Well, Melchior, lad,” he continued, with a forced laugh, “you are no light weight; but we tested the two ropes well. However did you get down to this place?”“Don’t ask me now, herr,” said the guide. “I am weak, and want rest. Will you let me grasp your hand?”“My dear fellow!” cried Dale eagerly, and he seized and held the poor fellow’s hand in both of his. “Now, how are you? Can you get up and walk?”“Oh, yes, herr; and the sooner the better, for I am wet, and it is so cold: I am nearly benumbed.”“Here, let’s help you,” cried Dale, and he and Saxe passed their arms under the poor fellow’s shoulders and raised him up.“Thank you—thank you!” he said. “It is the cold that makes me so helpless. Let me sit on that block for a few minutes while you coil up the ropes.”This was done; and then the question arose—whereabouts on the glacier were they?“I think I know,” said the guide, rather feebly.“Yes: but you are not fit to move,” said Saxe.“I must move, young herr,” replied the man sadly. “To stay as I am means a terrible illness, perhaps death. But I shall fight it down. The movement will send life into me. Now, have you the axes? Please to give me mine, and I shall creep along. We must get to the tent and a fire somehow.”“But you cannot lead, Melchior.”“I will lead, herr,” he replied, as he rested on Saxe’s shoulder. “Here in the mountains man must exert himself if he wishes to live. This way.”To the astonishment of both he used his ice-axe as a walking-stick, holding it by the steel head, striking the spike at the end of the handle into the slippery floor, and walking slowly but steadily on along the edge of the crevasse.Saxe felt a strong inclination to go back and peer down into the black depths again, but he had to resist it, and, carrying the lanthorn, he followed close behind Melchior, with one hand raised, ready to snatch at him if he seemed disposed to fall.It was very dark now, and the light from the lanthorn was reflected in a faint, sickly way from the ghostly-looking masses of ice as they threaded their way onward, the guide whispering to them to be silent and careful, as many of the huge pinnacles were unsteady.But, in spite of their cautious procedure, one mass tottered over and came down with an awful crash just as Dale had passed; and the falling of this meant the destruction of a couple of others, the noise of their splintering raising an echo in the narrow gorge which ran upward reverberating like thunder.Melchior did not speak, but hurried on, and, turning the end of the crevasse, led them diagonally off the ice and down into the narrow stony way between it and the walls of the valley.Here he let himself sink down on a smooth slope of rock, to remain seated for a moment or two and then lie right down upon his back.“It is nothing, herr,” he said quietly,—“only weariness. May I beg for something?”“Yes: what can we do!” cried Dale.“Fill your pipe for me, herr, and light it. My tobacco is so wet it will not burn.”“Of course,” cried Dale.“Hadn’t we better give him some more water?” whispered Saxe.“No, herr,” said the guide; “no more. That which you gave me brought life back to me: it would do no more good now. Let me rest and smoke awhile—not many minutes. Then I can go on.”The pipe was filled and handed to the poor fellow, who held it with trembling fingers to the opened lanthorn; and as soon as he had lit it and begun to smoke, he said feebly—“Have you matches, herr!”“Yes, plenty.”He blew out the light.“We do not want that now,” he said, handing it back to Saxe, and lying back again, to go on smoking rapidly. “The warmth is coming back to my limbs,” he continued. “I shall be able to walk better, herrs, and it will be best for me.”“Then you think you can reach the tent to-night?” said Dale.“Oh yes: we will reach it, herr. It is not so very far now. There will be a fire, and hot coffee, and rugs to cover us from the cold. Oh yes: we are all faint and hungry.”“But look here, Melk,” said Saxe, “suppose I go down and fetch up some wood and the coffee?”“No, herr: it is life to me to get down to camp. There!” he cried, making an effort and rising, “I am getting stronger now. It is hard work to walk, but it is best for me after what I have gone through.”Saxe looked at the dark figure before him with a feeling almost of awe, and his desire was intense to begin questioning; but he restrained himself, waiting till Melchior himself should begin, and following down over the rugged and slippery stones for what seemed to be a weary interminable time. A dozen times over the boy felt as if, regardless of the cold, and the knowledge that it was freezing sharply, he must throw himself down and sleep. But there was the dark figure of the patient guide before him, struggling slowly along, and fighting against the pain and exhaustion that nearly overcame him, and he took heart and stumbled on till he felt as if all the trouble through which he had passed that evening were a dream, of which this was the nightmare-like following, and at last he followed the guide nearly asleep.How long they had been walking Saxe could not tell, but he roused up suddenly as a peculiar cry rang out somewhere close at hand.“What’s that?” he cried excitedly.“The mule trumpeting a welcome back,” cried Dale. “We are close there now;” and, in effect, five minutes after they were in the sheltered nook, where Melchior stumbled to the tent and dropped down under its shelter.“Quick, Saxe! The fire and hot coffee for the poor fellow!”Saxe was wakeful enough now, and in a very short time the coffee kettle was steaming, while the fire threw strange shadows on the rocky wall.Dale had not been idle. His first proceeding had been to throw a couple of rugs over their companion, who in due time sat up to drink the hot coffee with avidity. He could only eat a few morsels of bread, but he partook of the coffee again, and then sank back to drop into a heavy sleep, and Saxe and Dale sat watching him for some time, forgetting their own mental and bodily weariness in their anxiety respecting the poor fellow’s state. But after bending over him several times, and always with the same satisfactory discovery that the sufferer was sleeping easily and well, both Dale and Saxe yielded to their own desire to lie down, carrying on a conversation one minute and the next to be sleeping as heavily as the guide.
Saxe’s depression was only very temporary. As his breath, short from exertion, began to come more regularly, his thoughts dropped back from the tangle of weak helplessness into their proper common-sense groove.
Going to Dale, he turned him over on to his back, and then went to Melchior, who lay motionless; but he was quite sensible, and spoke.
Saxe drew out the flask, and poured a few drops between Dale’s lips. Then, returning to the guide, he treated him in the same manner before clasping the poor fellow’s hand between both his own, and crying in a choking voice—
“Oh, Melchior! Thank God—thank God!”
“Ja, herr,” said the poor fellow in a whisper, as he reverted to his native tongue: “Gott sei dank!”
Just then Dale began to recover, and uttered a low groan; but consciousness came with one stride, and he sat up, looked sharply round, and said sharply—
“Surely I did not swoon? Ah! I was utterly exhausted. Well, Melchior, lad,” he continued, with a forced laugh, “you are no light weight; but we tested the two ropes well. However did you get down to this place?”
“Don’t ask me now, herr,” said the guide. “I am weak, and want rest. Will you let me grasp your hand?”
“My dear fellow!” cried Dale eagerly, and he seized and held the poor fellow’s hand in both of his. “Now, how are you? Can you get up and walk?”
“Oh, yes, herr; and the sooner the better, for I am wet, and it is so cold: I am nearly benumbed.”
“Here, let’s help you,” cried Dale, and he and Saxe passed their arms under the poor fellow’s shoulders and raised him up.
“Thank you—thank you!” he said. “It is the cold that makes me so helpless. Let me sit on that block for a few minutes while you coil up the ropes.”
This was done; and then the question arose—whereabouts on the glacier were they?
“I think I know,” said the guide, rather feebly.
“Yes: but you are not fit to move,” said Saxe.
“I must move, young herr,” replied the man sadly. “To stay as I am means a terrible illness, perhaps death. But I shall fight it down. The movement will send life into me. Now, have you the axes? Please to give me mine, and I shall creep along. We must get to the tent and a fire somehow.”
“But you cannot lead, Melchior.”
“I will lead, herr,” he replied, as he rested on Saxe’s shoulder. “Here in the mountains man must exert himself if he wishes to live. This way.”
To the astonishment of both he used his ice-axe as a walking-stick, holding it by the steel head, striking the spike at the end of the handle into the slippery floor, and walking slowly but steadily on along the edge of the crevasse.
Saxe felt a strong inclination to go back and peer down into the black depths again, but he had to resist it, and, carrying the lanthorn, he followed close behind Melchior, with one hand raised, ready to snatch at him if he seemed disposed to fall.
It was very dark now, and the light from the lanthorn was reflected in a faint, sickly way from the ghostly-looking masses of ice as they threaded their way onward, the guide whispering to them to be silent and careful, as many of the huge pinnacles were unsteady.
But, in spite of their cautious procedure, one mass tottered over and came down with an awful crash just as Dale had passed; and the falling of this meant the destruction of a couple of others, the noise of their splintering raising an echo in the narrow gorge which ran upward reverberating like thunder.
Melchior did not speak, but hurried on, and, turning the end of the crevasse, led them diagonally off the ice and down into the narrow stony way between it and the walls of the valley.
Here he let himself sink down on a smooth slope of rock, to remain seated for a moment or two and then lie right down upon his back.
“It is nothing, herr,” he said quietly,—“only weariness. May I beg for something?”
“Yes: what can we do!” cried Dale.
“Fill your pipe for me, herr, and light it. My tobacco is so wet it will not burn.”
“Of course,” cried Dale.
“Hadn’t we better give him some more water?” whispered Saxe.
“No, herr,” said the guide; “no more. That which you gave me brought life back to me: it would do no more good now. Let me rest and smoke awhile—not many minutes. Then I can go on.”
The pipe was filled and handed to the poor fellow, who held it with trembling fingers to the opened lanthorn; and as soon as he had lit it and begun to smoke, he said feebly—
“Have you matches, herr!”
“Yes, plenty.”
He blew out the light.
“We do not want that now,” he said, handing it back to Saxe, and lying back again, to go on smoking rapidly. “The warmth is coming back to my limbs,” he continued. “I shall be able to walk better, herrs, and it will be best for me.”
“Then you think you can reach the tent to-night?” said Dale.
“Oh yes: we will reach it, herr. It is not so very far now. There will be a fire, and hot coffee, and rugs to cover us from the cold. Oh yes: we are all faint and hungry.”
“But look here, Melk,” said Saxe, “suppose I go down and fetch up some wood and the coffee?”
“No, herr: it is life to me to get down to camp. There!” he cried, making an effort and rising, “I am getting stronger now. It is hard work to walk, but it is best for me after what I have gone through.”
Saxe looked at the dark figure before him with a feeling almost of awe, and his desire was intense to begin questioning; but he restrained himself, waiting till Melchior himself should begin, and following down over the rugged and slippery stones for what seemed to be a weary interminable time. A dozen times over the boy felt as if, regardless of the cold, and the knowledge that it was freezing sharply, he must throw himself down and sleep. But there was the dark figure of the patient guide before him, struggling slowly along, and fighting against the pain and exhaustion that nearly overcame him, and he took heart and stumbled on till he felt as if all the trouble through which he had passed that evening were a dream, of which this was the nightmare-like following, and at last he followed the guide nearly asleep.
How long they had been walking Saxe could not tell, but he roused up suddenly as a peculiar cry rang out somewhere close at hand.
“What’s that?” he cried excitedly.
“The mule trumpeting a welcome back,” cried Dale. “We are close there now;” and, in effect, five minutes after they were in the sheltered nook, where Melchior stumbled to the tent and dropped down under its shelter.
“Quick, Saxe! The fire and hot coffee for the poor fellow!”
Saxe was wakeful enough now, and in a very short time the coffee kettle was steaming, while the fire threw strange shadows on the rocky wall.
Dale had not been idle. His first proceeding had been to throw a couple of rugs over their companion, who in due time sat up to drink the hot coffee with avidity. He could only eat a few morsels of bread, but he partook of the coffee again, and then sank back to drop into a heavy sleep, and Saxe and Dale sat watching him for some time, forgetting their own mental and bodily weariness in their anxiety respecting the poor fellow’s state. But after bending over him several times, and always with the same satisfactory discovery that the sufferer was sleeping easily and well, both Dale and Saxe yielded to their own desire to lie down, carrying on a conversation one minute and the next to be sleeping as heavily as the guide.
Chapter Twenty Five.Melchior’s Adventure.Saxe woke the next morning with a start, and, as full recollection came, he looked round at where Melchior lay; but he was not there. Dale was, however, sleeping soundly; and creeping silently out, so as not to awaken him, Saxe found, to his surprise, that the guide was seated by the fire, feeding it carefully and sparingly with sticks, so as to get all the flame to bear upon the coffee kettle; and, to Saxe’s great delight, he seemed to be much as usual.“Why, Melk,” he said, “I was afraid you would be very bad.”“I? Oh no, herr. I was very bad last night, and it was hard work to get back here; but the sleep did me good. You see, we mountain people get used to being knocked about, and I am not much hurt.”“But—”“Yes, I’ll tell you presently, when the master is awake: it is not pleasant to talk about twice. Here he is.”“Why, Melchior, man, you surprise me!” cried Dale, shaking hands warmly. “Here have I been dreaming all night about a long journey to fetch achaise à porteursto carry you down, and here you are just as usual.”“Yes, herr; and the coffee will be ready by the time you have had your bath.”“But I want to know—”“Yes, herr, I’ll tell you soon;” and a very, very short time after, as they sat round their meal, Melchior went on sipping his coffee and eating his bacon, as if he had never been in peril in his life; while the others, in spite of the hunger produced by the keen mountain air, could hardly partake of a morsel from the excitement they felt as the guide told of his mishap.“I always feel, herrs, when I have had to do with an accident, that I have been in fault, and that I have to examine myself as to what I had left undone; but here I cannot see that I neglected anything. The crevasse was not wide. I had seen you both leap in safety, and I followed. It was one of the misfortunes that happen to people, whether they are mountaineers or quiet dwellers in the valley.”“Yes; a terrible accident, Melchior.”“Yes, herr. Sometimes we go to mishaps, sometimes they come to us. Well, Heaven be thanked, my life was spared. Ah! herr, I am very proud of you two, for I seem to have taught you a little. Very few of our men would have worked more bravely, or done so well.”“Oh, nonsense! We acted as any one else would under the circumstances,” said Dale hastily. “Tell us about your accident.”“My fall, herr? There is very little to tell.”“Little!” echoed Saxe. “Oh, go on: tell us!”“Very well, herr,” said Melchior simply; but he remained silent.“We thought you were killed,” said Dale, to bring the guide’s thoughts back.“Yes, herr; you would. It was a bad fall; very deep, but not like going down from a mountain. I am not broken anywhere; hardly scratched, except my hands and arms in climbing.”“But you jumped across the crevasse, Melk!” cried Saxe, “and then a great piece broke out.”“Yes, herr: so suddenly that I had not time to use my axe, and before I could utter a cry I was falling fast down into the dark depths. I believe I did cry out for help, but the noise of ice and snow falling and breaking on a ledge some way down drowned my voice; and as I turned over in the air, I felt that I had made my last climb, and that the end had come, as I had known it come to better guides.”“There are no better guides,” said Saxe warmly.“No!” echoed Dale, and they saw the man’s face flush a little through his swarthy skin, and his eyes brighten.“Oh yes, herrs,” he said; “but we all try to do our best. What was I saying? I remember: that I was falling down and down, and set my teeth and held my axe with both hands to try and strike if I should reach a slope, so as to stop myself; but there was nothing but the black walls of ice on either side and the roar of waters below. I thought of this as I prepared myself for being broken on the cruel rocks beneath: a great deal to think, herrs, in so short a time, but thoughts come quickly when one is falling. Then I was plunged suddenly into deep, roaring water, and felt myself swept round and then onward as if I had been once more in the schlucht; for I had fallen into one of the great water holes in the river below the gletscher, and then was carried along.”“How horrible!” ejaculated Saxe. “Was it very dark?”“So black that a man might do without eyes, herr,” said Melchior, smiling sadly.“You could not swim in water like that!”“No, herr; and it was so cold that it deadened a man’s strength. But I knew I must fight for my life, for I said to myself I had my two English herrs above there on the gletscher, and how could they find their way back from the wilderness of ice? Then I thought of how the little river must run, and I could tell—for I knew it must be very much like the places where I have looked up from the end of gletschers (glaciers you call them)—that there would be deep holes worn in the rock where great stones are always whirling round and grinding the hollows deeper. These would be hard to pass; but I hoped by clinging to the side to get by them without being drowned. They were not what I feared.”“Then what did you fear!” cried Saxe excitedly; for the guide had paused.“The narrow pieces, where the water touched the roof, herr. I knew it was far down to the foot of the glacier, and that there must be many long hollows where the water rushed through as in a great pipe; and if they were too long, I felt that I could never get my breath again, but that I should be thrown out at the bottom dead.”Dale drew a long, deep breath, and asked himself whether he was justified in exposing a man to such risks for the sake of making his own discoveries.“Well, herrs, I knew that if I stopped I should get benumbed and unable to struggle on, so I began feeling my way along the narrow shore of the little river, now touching stone, now ice, till the shore seemed to end. As I felt about I found the ice arch lower, and that I must begin to wade.”“But why didn’t you try and wade back to the bottom of the crevasse where you fell?” cried Saxe.“I did, herr; but it was impossible to face the water. It rushed down so fiercely that, as it grew deeper and from wading knee deep I was going along with the water at my waist, I had to cling sometimes to the ice above my head to keep from being swept away.”Saxe drew a long breath.“I went on, herr, cheered by the knowledge that every step I took was one nearer to liberty; and now, though the water was all melted ice, I did not feel so cold, till suddenly my feet slipped away from under me, and I felt as if something had given me a heavy push in the back. Then I was under the water, and found that I was gliding round and round. I don’t know how many times, for it was like being in a dream, till I was once more where the water swept me down under the ice arch.“There, I can tell you little more, except that it was all wild confusion, that the roar of the water seemed to crash against my ears till I was once more in a shallow place; and as I struggled to get my breath, I came to what seemed to be a bar, panting heavily till I could turn a little, and I found that the bar to which I clung was the handle of my ice-axe lying across two masses of stone, between which the waters roared.“I felt that I could go no farther, and that if I attempted to pass through that narrow gateway of stone it would be to my death, so I forced myself sidewise till I found myself free from so much pressure, and, stretching out my ice-axe, I felt about till I could hook it on to ice or stone; and as I drew myself along by the handle the water grew less deep, then shallower still; and as I made my way it was over stones among which water ran, and I felt about with my axe, puzzled, for it was so strange. There was the water running over my feet, but gently, and the rushing river a little way behind. What did it mean? why was it so? Those were the questions I asked myself till the light came.”“Ah! it began to get light?” cried Saxe.“In my brain, herr,” said Melchior, smiling; “and I knew that this was a little side stream coming down some crack beneath the ice, one of the many that help to make the other big.“As soon as I understood this I stopped, for I knew that the opening to these rivers would grow smaller and smaller, and that it would be of no use to go up there if I wanted to escape. So, wading along, I tried to reach the wall, to lean against it and rest before going back to the torrent, knowing as I did that this must be the only way.“I must have taken a dozen steps before my ice-axe checked against the ice, and I threw myself against it, trying to calm my burning head by resting it against what I took to be the arch of the large ice-cave into which I had found my way; but, instead of the wall leaning over toward me, as it would in a rugged arch, it sloped away. I did not notice this much as I leaned forward, for the ice felt delightfully cool against my burning head; and as the coldness went in farther and farther, I seemed to be able to think better and clearer, and this set me trying about with the axe, till I found that I was at the bottom of a great ice slope, as it seemed to me; and as I raised my head and gazed upward my heart gave a great throb, for there, high up, far away, was a gleam of light, and at the sight of that strength came to me, and I grasped my axe tightly, for that meant escape from that terrible place, and life.“I was quite cool then, and I knew that I must be at the bottom of some crevasse. I knew, too, that the ice sloped away from me, therefore it would most likely do so all the way up; so I had only to climb to the surface of the gletscher and walk away.”“I’m beginning to understand now,” said Saxe. “An ice slope is not a very serious thing to a guide who has worked upon the mountains ever since he was a boy, herrs. Feeling satisfied now that I had but to cut my way up step by step, I grew more easy in my mind, glanced up, and then, after a little feeling about in the darkness, I chipped my first step, just enough for my toe to hold in, rose up and cut another.”“In the dark? How did you know where to hit?” cried Saxe. “I could cut steps in the ice blindfold, herr,” said Melchior sharply. “When the hands and arms have grown used to doing a thing, they can do it even if the eyes are not watching them. Of course I do not say I always struck exactly in the right place, but I could get sufficiently near to make a notch in the smooth ice; and I kept on, with my heart growing lighter as I chipped away, listening to the echoing of the blows and the hissing sound of the bits of ice as they slipped down the smooth face—for it was perfectly smooth, and as if polished.“Step by step I cut my way. It was slow, tiring work; but every notch made was a step nearer to liberty, and I worked on. As I climbed higher I had to cut my notches deeper, for the slope was not quite so easy, and the slightest slip would have sent me to the bottom; and from the height to which I had at last climbed this might have meant a broken arm or leg, for there was no water to fall into but a few inches trickling among the stones.“And so I cut on and on, herrs, till, as I looked up far above me, I could see the gleam of the sun, and hope grew stronger and sent strength into my arms as I swung my axe.“Higher and higher, always getting up by making a notch for each foot, till my arms began to grow heavy as lead. But still I worked on, every step cut bringing me nearer to the surface, though at the end of each hour’s hard labour I seemed very little advanced; and at last, as I grew more weary, my spirits began to sink again, for the slope grew more and more steep, though I would not own to it myself. Still it was steeper and steeper, and I cut desperately, and made deep notches into which I forced my feet, while I cut again till the last part was nearly perpendicular; and after cutting my last step I felt that my task was done, for I had reached a ledge over which I was able to climb, till I could lie half upon it, knowing that I had come to where the wall went straight up, and that it would be impossible to hold on to that slippery ice and cut my way higher.“Still, I would not give up, herrs; but reached up and cut till I felt that I was gliding off the narrow ledge, and then I had to rest, and use my axe to cut notches for my feet to hold and others for my hands, for the least slip would have sent me down like a stone in a couloir, and I wanted rest before I had to get down again. I asked myself if I could; and a cold feeling came over me, as I thought that all this work had been for nothing, and that the end had now really come.“And then I took my axe again as it lay beside me, and began cutting in a madly foolish kind of way. There was no use in it. I could not help myself by cutting; but I could hear the lumps of ice hissing down, and it made me think, so that the work did me good. More, it did other good, for, as I have thought over it since, it has made me try to pray as a man should pray who has been delivered from a terrible fall. For those last blows of my axe must have been the ones which you heard, Herr Saxe—the blows which brought you to my help just when my arms were ready to sink to my side, and I had fully determined in my own mind that I could never get down from the ledge to the little river alive.”“How deep was it, Melk?” cried Saxe excitedly.The guide shook his head.“You know the rest, gentlemen. You came and saved my life just when I had not sufficient strength left to have tied the rope safely about my waist. It was the noose which saved me, and I could not believe in that safety till you dragged me over the side of the crevasse. Herr Dale—Herr Saxe, how am I to say words to show you how thankful I am?”“Do not try,” said Dale quietly. “Come, Saxe boy, you have let your coffee grow cold.”“Yes,” said Saxe; “but it has made my head hot. I don’t feel as if I want any breakfast now.”“Nonsense: you must eat, for we have a long journey back to the chalet.”“To the chalet, herr? You do not want to go round by the chalet?”“Indeed, but I do. You will want a fortnight’s rest after this adventure.”The guide stared at him in astonishment.“A fortnight’s rest!” he echoed; “and with weather like this! Oh, herr, it would be madness: I want no rest.”“Why, you do not mean to say that you feel equal to going on?”“Oh yes, herr. I am a little stiff and tired this morning, but that will be all gone by to-morrow; and I meant to take you up to a crystal cave to-day.”Saxe looked at Dale’s wondering face, and then burst into a hearty laugh.“It is of no use to dwell upon troubles gone by, herr,” said Melchior. “I shall get well quicker here than down at the chalet. How soon will you be ready to start?”
Saxe woke the next morning with a start, and, as full recollection came, he looked round at where Melchior lay; but he was not there. Dale was, however, sleeping soundly; and creeping silently out, so as not to awaken him, Saxe found, to his surprise, that the guide was seated by the fire, feeding it carefully and sparingly with sticks, so as to get all the flame to bear upon the coffee kettle; and, to Saxe’s great delight, he seemed to be much as usual.
“Why, Melk,” he said, “I was afraid you would be very bad.”
“I? Oh no, herr. I was very bad last night, and it was hard work to get back here; but the sleep did me good. You see, we mountain people get used to being knocked about, and I am not much hurt.”
“But—”
“Yes, I’ll tell you presently, when the master is awake: it is not pleasant to talk about twice. Here he is.”
“Why, Melchior, man, you surprise me!” cried Dale, shaking hands warmly. “Here have I been dreaming all night about a long journey to fetch achaise à porteursto carry you down, and here you are just as usual.”
“Yes, herr; and the coffee will be ready by the time you have had your bath.”
“But I want to know—”
“Yes, herr, I’ll tell you soon;” and a very, very short time after, as they sat round their meal, Melchior went on sipping his coffee and eating his bacon, as if he had never been in peril in his life; while the others, in spite of the hunger produced by the keen mountain air, could hardly partake of a morsel from the excitement they felt as the guide told of his mishap.
“I always feel, herrs, when I have had to do with an accident, that I have been in fault, and that I have to examine myself as to what I had left undone; but here I cannot see that I neglected anything. The crevasse was not wide. I had seen you both leap in safety, and I followed. It was one of the misfortunes that happen to people, whether they are mountaineers or quiet dwellers in the valley.”
“Yes; a terrible accident, Melchior.”
“Yes, herr. Sometimes we go to mishaps, sometimes they come to us. Well, Heaven be thanked, my life was spared. Ah! herr, I am very proud of you two, for I seem to have taught you a little. Very few of our men would have worked more bravely, or done so well.”
“Oh, nonsense! We acted as any one else would under the circumstances,” said Dale hastily. “Tell us about your accident.”
“My fall, herr? There is very little to tell.”
“Little!” echoed Saxe. “Oh, go on: tell us!”
“Very well, herr,” said Melchior simply; but he remained silent.
“We thought you were killed,” said Dale, to bring the guide’s thoughts back.
“Yes, herr; you would. It was a bad fall; very deep, but not like going down from a mountain. I am not broken anywhere; hardly scratched, except my hands and arms in climbing.”
“But you jumped across the crevasse, Melk!” cried Saxe, “and then a great piece broke out.”
“Yes, herr: so suddenly that I had not time to use my axe, and before I could utter a cry I was falling fast down into the dark depths. I believe I did cry out for help, but the noise of ice and snow falling and breaking on a ledge some way down drowned my voice; and as I turned over in the air, I felt that I had made my last climb, and that the end had come, as I had known it come to better guides.”
“There are no better guides,” said Saxe warmly.
“No!” echoed Dale, and they saw the man’s face flush a little through his swarthy skin, and his eyes brighten.
“Oh yes, herrs,” he said; “but we all try to do our best. What was I saying? I remember: that I was falling down and down, and set my teeth and held my axe with both hands to try and strike if I should reach a slope, so as to stop myself; but there was nothing but the black walls of ice on either side and the roar of waters below. I thought of this as I prepared myself for being broken on the cruel rocks beneath: a great deal to think, herrs, in so short a time, but thoughts come quickly when one is falling. Then I was plunged suddenly into deep, roaring water, and felt myself swept round and then onward as if I had been once more in the schlucht; for I had fallen into one of the great water holes in the river below the gletscher, and then was carried along.”
“How horrible!” ejaculated Saxe. “Was it very dark?”
“So black that a man might do without eyes, herr,” said Melchior, smiling sadly.
“You could not swim in water like that!”
“No, herr; and it was so cold that it deadened a man’s strength. But I knew I must fight for my life, for I said to myself I had my two English herrs above there on the gletscher, and how could they find their way back from the wilderness of ice? Then I thought of how the little river must run, and I could tell—for I knew it must be very much like the places where I have looked up from the end of gletschers (glaciers you call them)—that there would be deep holes worn in the rock where great stones are always whirling round and grinding the hollows deeper. These would be hard to pass; but I hoped by clinging to the side to get by them without being drowned. They were not what I feared.”
“Then what did you fear!” cried Saxe excitedly; for the guide had paused.
“The narrow pieces, where the water touched the roof, herr. I knew it was far down to the foot of the glacier, and that there must be many long hollows where the water rushed through as in a great pipe; and if they were too long, I felt that I could never get my breath again, but that I should be thrown out at the bottom dead.”
Dale drew a long, deep breath, and asked himself whether he was justified in exposing a man to such risks for the sake of making his own discoveries.
“Well, herrs, I knew that if I stopped I should get benumbed and unable to struggle on, so I began feeling my way along the narrow shore of the little river, now touching stone, now ice, till the shore seemed to end. As I felt about I found the ice arch lower, and that I must begin to wade.”
“But why didn’t you try and wade back to the bottom of the crevasse where you fell?” cried Saxe.
“I did, herr; but it was impossible to face the water. It rushed down so fiercely that, as it grew deeper and from wading knee deep I was going along with the water at my waist, I had to cling sometimes to the ice above my head to keep from being swept away.”
Saxe drew a long breath.
“I went on, herr, cheered by the knowledge that every step I took was one nearer to liberty; and now, though the water was all melted ice, I did not feel so cold, till suddenly my feet slipped away from under me, and I felt as if something had given me a heavy push in the back. Then I was under the water, and found that I was gliding round and round. I don’t know how many times, for it was like being in a dream, till I was once more where the water swept me down under the ice arch.
“There, I can tell you little more, except that it was all wild confusion, that the roar of the water seemed to crash against my ears till I was once more in a shallow place; and as I struggled to get my breath, I came to what seemed to be a bar, panting heavily till I could turn a little, and I found that the bar to which I clung was the handle of my ice-axe lying across two masses of stone, between which the waters roared.
“I felt that I could go no farther, and that if I attempted to pass through that narrow gateway of stone it would be to my death, so I forced myself sidewise till I found myself free from so much pressure, and, stretching out my ice-axe, I felt about till I could hook it on to ice or stone; and as I drew myself along by the handle the water grew less deep, then shallower still; and as I made my way it was over stones among which water ran, and I felt about with my axe, puzzled, for it was so strange. There was the water running over my feet, but gently, and the rushing river a little way behind. What did it mean? why was it so? Those were the questions I asked myself till the light came.”
“Ah! it began to get light?” cried Saxe.
“In my brain, herr,” said Melchior, smiling; “and I knew that this was a little side stream coming down some crack beneath the ice, one of the many that help to make the other big.
“As soon as I understood this I stopped, for I knew that the opening to these rivers would grow smaller and smaller, and that it would be of no use to go up there if I wanted to escape. So, wading along, I tried to reach the wall, to lean against it and rest before going back to the torrent, knowing as I did that this must be the only way.
“I must have taken a dozen steps before my ice-axe checked against the ice, and I threw myself against it, trying to calm my burning head by resting it against what I took to be the arch of the large ice-cave into which I had found my way; but, instead of the wall leaning over toward me, as it would in a rugged arch, it sloped away. I did not notice this much as I leaned forward, for the ice felt delightfully cool against my burning head; and as the coldness went in farther and farther, I seemed to be able to think better and clearer, and this set me trying about with the axe, till I found that I was at the bottom of a great ice slope, as it seemed to me; and as I raised my head and gazed upward my heart gave a great throb, for there, high up, far away, was a gleam of light, and at the sight of that strength came to me, and I grasped my axe tightly, for that meant escape from that terrible place, and life.
“I was quite cool then, and I knew that I must be at the bottom of some crevasse. I knew, too, that the ice sloped away from me, therefore it would most likely do so all the way up; so I had only to climb to the surface of the gletscher and walk away.”
“I’m beginning to understand now,” said Saxe. “An ice slope is not a very serious thing to a guide who has worked upon the mountains ever since he was a boy, herrs. Feeling satisfied now that I had but to cut my way up step by step, I grew more easy in my mind, glanced up, and then, after a little feeling about in the darkness, I chipped my first step, just enough for my toe to hold in, rose up and cut another.”
“In the dark? How did you know where to hit?” cried Saxe. “I could cut steps in the ice blindfold, herr,” said Melchior sharply. “When the hands and arms have grown used to doing a thing, they can do it even if the eyes are not watching them. Of course I do not say I always struck exactly in the right place, but I could get sufficiently near to make a notch in the smooth ice; and I kept on, with my heart growing lighter as I chipped away, listening to the echoing of the blows and the hissing sound of the bits of ice as they slipped down the smooth face—for it was perfectly smooth, and as if polished.
“Step by step I cut my way. It was slow, tiring work; but every notch made was a step nearer to liberty, and I worked on. As I climbed higher I had to cut my notches deeper, for the slope was not quite so easy, and the slightest slip would have sent me to the bottom; and from the height to which I had at last climbed this might have meant a broken arm or leg, for there was no water to fall into but a few inches trickling among the stones.
“And so I cut on and on, herrs, till, as I looked up far above me, I could see the gleam of the sun, and hope grew stronger and sent strength into my arms as I swung my axe.
“Higher and higher, always getting up by making a notch for each foot, till my arms began to grow heavy as lead. But still I worked on, every step cut bringing me nearer to the surface, though at the end of each hour’s hard labour I seemed very little advanced; and at last, as I grew more weary, my spirits began to sink again, for the slope grew more and more steep, though I would not own to it myself. Still it was steeper and steeper, and I cut desperately, and made deep notches into which I forced my feet, while I cut again till the last part was nearly perpendicular; and after cutting my last step I felt that my task was done, for I had reached a ledge over which I was able to climb, till I could lie half upon it, knowing that I had come to where the wall went straight up, and that it would be impossible to hold on to that slippery ice and cut my way higher.
“Still, I would not give up, herrs; but reached up and cut till I felt that I was gliding off the narrow ledge, and then I had to rest, and use my axe to cut notches for my feet to hold and others for my hands, for the least slip would have sent me down like a stone in a couloir, and I wanted rest before I had to get down again. I asked myself if I could; and a cold feeling came over me, as I thought that all this work had been for nothing, and that the end had now really come.
“And then I took my axe again as it lay beside me, and began cutting in a madly foolish kind of way. There was no use in it. I could not help myself by cutting; but I could hear the lumps of ice hissing down, and it made me think, so that the work did me good. More, it did other good, for, as I have thought over it since, it has made me try to pray as a man should pray who has been delivered from a terrible fall. For those last blows of my axe must have been the ones which you heard, Herr Saxe—the blows which brought you to my help just when my arms were ready to sink to my side, and I had fully determined in my own mind that I could never get down from the ledge to the little river alive.”
“How deep was it, Melk?” cried Saxe excitedly.
The guide shook his head.
“You know the rest, gentlemen. You came and saved my life just when I had not sufficient strength left to have tied the rope safely about my waist. It was the noose which saved me, and I could not believe in that safety till you dragged me over the side of the crevasse. Herr Dale—Herr Saxe, how am I to say words to show you how thankful I am?”
“Do not try,” said Dale quietly. “Come, Saxe boy, you have let your coffee grow cold.”
“Yes,” said Saxe; “but it has made my head hot. I don’t feel as if I want any breakfast now.”
“Nonsense: you must eat, for we have a long journey back to the chalet.”
“To the chalet, herr? You do not want to go round by the chalet?”
“Indeed, but I do. You will want a fortnight’s rest after this adventure.”
The guide stared at him in astonishment.
“A fortnight’s rest!” he echoed; “and with weather like this! Oh, herr, it would be madness: I want no rest.”
“Why, you do not mean to say that you feel equal to going on?”
“Oh yes, herr. I am a little stiff and tired this morning, but that will be all gone by to-morrow; and I meant to take you up to a crystal cave to-day.”
Saxe looked at Dale’s wondering face, and then burst into a hearty laugh.
“It is of no use to dwell upon troubles gone by, herr,” said Melchior. “I shall get well quicker here than down at the chalet. How soon will you be ready to start?”