CHAPTER V.CROSSING THE GLACIER.

Thenight did not prove promising for the safety of thePanther. At intervals alarming sounds proceeded from the glacier, and now and then a quick sharp crack, followed by a heavy thud, would tell us that a mass had split from it and fallen to the sea, which in the morning was covered with small fragments that had been thus disengaged; and masses, some of them of considerable size, were drifting past the vessel with the current.

At an early hour I set out to cross the fiord, accompanied by the captain, with the purpose of seeking a harbor, or at least a more safe anchorage. Owing to the loose ice, the passage was not accomplished without difficulty. In many places the boat could not be propelled with oars, and we were obliged to push our way along by main force, using the boat-hooks and the oars as poles.

The scene had greatly changed in every respect from the day before. Besides the fragments of ice upon the sea that had been broken off during the night, the sky was leaden, and there was a perfect absence of color everywhere. The ice was a dull cold gray, the atmosphere was chilly, and, although our labors were by no means light, overcoats were not uncomfortably warm. The sun had scarcely risen above the hills when we reached our destination, where we were fortunate enough to find a good anchoring-ground, with plenty of room to swing, in a bay where there was no current and very little ice. There being only five fathoms water, there wasno chance of any large pieces of ice coming down upon us. Accordingly it was determined to shift our ground; but, since we had come so far, we concluded that we would go farther; and so we landed, to find ourselves upon a green slope, with the side of the glacier to our right, a cliff to our left, and a gorge in front. Over the green slope we walked half a mile, then through the gorge a mile farther; and, having arrived at this point, we concluded to cross the glacier, and to return to the opposite side of the fiord on foot rather than by boat. So we sent back our crew and set out upon a hazardous adventure.

The captain, always ready for any proposition of an adventurous nature, had quickly responded to my own desires; in fact, he was the only man on board who was always prepared for whatever might turn up. Such another captain there never was, as I believe. Brave almost to temerity; yet, possessing excellent judgment, he was just the man to get into a difficulty, and the very man to get out of it. Although only twenty-five years old, he had, nevertheless, been eight years in command of one sort of craft or another, and was a thorough sailor. Buoyant and clever besides, he was always good company; but on a journey his indefatigable zeal and long legs were apt to lead his companions a lively race.

We had no difficulty in climbing the side of the glacier, at a point where the slope was almost thirty degrees. The ice here contained much foreign matter—stones and sand—which deprived it entirely of a slippery character. In a few minutes we were on the summit, and a dreary scene it was that met us there. Imagine the rapids above Niagara Falls congealed to the very bottom; the falls and river frozen everywhere, and Lake Erie solid: then imagine the banks above the falls lofty like those below, and yourself standing on the rapids. Imagine Lake Erieso near that you can see its frozen surface, and you have, on a small scale, themer de glacewhich we saw when looking at the glacier. The frozen rapids are the glacier itself; the falls below, the glacier’s front (with the horse-shoe reversed); the river sweeping down to Lake Ontario is the fiord; and Ontario itself the ocean, into which the icebergs drift that break away from the glacier, and go off with the current.

There is this great difference, however—the river, from bank to bank, is straight upon the surface, while the glacier curves. The accompanying cuts will better illustrate my meaning.

It was along the gorge formed by the curve of the glacier on the one side, and the slope of the land on the other, that we made our way up from the sea, all except the first half mile, which, as I have said before, was over a green slope, formed by the lofty land breaking away and leaving a beautiful spot which is one day destined to be completely covered with the ice-flood. And it was such a beautiful spot that I could but regret its ultimate blotting out; for, notwithstanding the wall of ice that was so close to it, it was covered with thick brush-wood, consisting of birch, dwarf-willow, and juniper; among which were matted tufts of heather, crake-berry, and whortle-berry; and many bright flowers were here and there scattered over a rich turf of grass and moss. A greater contrast could hardly be imagined than between this spot of green which we had left and the glacier upon which we stood.

Here the glacier is two and a half miles wide. To cross it was no easy matter; nor was the effort without danger, for it was full of cracks, into which we were constantly in dread of falling from the slippery ridges which separated them. These cracks, or crevasses, were, in a general way, parallel, running inward and upward from the shore at angles varying with the locality, but averaging about forty degrees. In places they were very near together, being separated by only a few yards; in other places they were twenty or thirty yards apart. But they were continually running into and crossing each other, although pursuing a general sameness of direction. It was this circumstance that gave to our journey its dangerous character; for as we followed the ridges in their course inward and upward we were, from time to time, brought to a stand at a sharp point where the two chasms united. We had then to spring over an unfathomable abyss, or to retrace our steps and seek a better track. Sometimes we did the one, sometimes the other. Luckily we were both sure of foot; yet the leaps were often such as could only have been made under the spur of curiosity to see, or the no less common one of unwillingness to abandon an undertaking.

Towards the middle the travelling became better. Here, for the space of a couple of miles, there was a dead level, and the ice was very little disturbed; while above, where the glacier appeared to have poured over a precipice, or at least down a very rapid descent, there was the most wonderful jumble that can be conceived of. The crevasses there ran in every direction, though the prevailing one was, as in other places, inward and upward. The ice appeared at one point to have been let down by successive stages, forming a series of terraces, or escalades, which might be likened to the steps of some giant temple. Indeed,it was a stairway befitting the grand palaces of nature which lie away upon the mountain-tops beyond.

I never tread these ice-wildernesses without awe. One sees so much, and yet so little. There is nothing to withdraw the attention from one sole manifestation of nature. In other places as in the forest, where there is life in various forms; by the sea-shore, where there is perceptible movement, and at all times something suggestive of life; anywhere, indeed, almost, the thoughts are not concentrated upon one, and only one, peculiar force. There is something almost terrible in this boundless desolation. God seems nearer in these deserts; His laws, which never change, are not hidden from the consciousness by delighted senses; and the mind is there inspired with a lofty emotion when contemplating the simple grandeur of His handiwork.

I was particularly impressed on the present occasion. The groaning of the mighty river of ice, which could not have been less than a thousand feet in depth, was constant, and proceeded from every side; even beneath my feet there seemed to be an uneasy trembling; and how much soever I might have been alarmed, I would not have been surprised had a yawning chasm opened beside me or underneath me at any moment.

These deep voices of the ice were, however, not the only sounds that greeted the ear; for rivulets meandered here and there over the icy plain. In one place many of these uniting formed a considerable stream, that ultimately found a crack into which it fell roaring and hissing down through all the vast depth of ice to the glacier’s bed, there to help swell the stream which, as before described, pours out from beneath the glacier into the fiord.

By this time the sun was well up, and the day was growing warm. Even here, upon the summit of the glacier,the temperature was not at all chilly or uncomfortable. The ice and snow were melting rapidly, and our inconvenience was rather from dampness than from cold, for we were often, in our efforts to get along, compelled to crawl upon all-fours, or even flat upon our bellies, to get over treacherous places, so that our clothing was soon thoroughly water-soaked.

In crossing the middle part of the glacier we experienced little difficulty; but when we had begun to descend towards the opposite shore from where we had started, our troubles of the beginning were renewed, and even magnified. It became often a serious question whether we could proceed at all—whether we would not, after all our labor, be compelled to return. The crevasses were then of great width, much too wide for us to spring over, and, after winding to and fro, springing here and there, we were several times forced to take our leaps over again on the backward track, as there was no place to be found where a leap forward seemed possible. At length, as we neared the shore, the case became desperate. After much effort we found ourselves out upon a very acute angle, with a deep chasm on each side. Two crevasses had here crossed; but from the two sharp points there appeared to be a bridge, or at least a connecting link. When the cracks were formed a large mass of ice had apparently fallen off, and become wedged between the walls as one sometimes sees a rock in a mountain gorge. It had not fallen far, and was not difficult of access, but it was sharp like a house-roof, and slippery as a house-roof when covered with sleet. It was, clearly, take this natural bridge, or turn back and return over all the tedious distance which we had already traversed. This, however, was not to be thought of while there was a possible chance; so we tossed hats for the first venture, and the lot fell to me.

CROSSING THE CREVASSE ON AN ICE-BRIDGE.

Getting down on all-fours, I crawled out as far as I could go in that way. I then bestrode the ridge, and propelled myself along upon my bare hands, making a few inches headway with each effort. On either side there was a bridge, with a yawning depth of blue beneath me melting into “darkness most profound,” from which came the roar of falling waters. It fairly made my head swim as I clung insecurely to the sharp, narrow, slippery bridge and looked down first one side, then the other, into the abyss. Retreat I could not, even if so disposed, for I had descended from the start, and could not back myself up with my hands, nor could I turn round. There was nothing to do but push ahead; and this I did, cheered on by the captain’s shouts to be careful and not break down the bridge, for he wanted the use of it. Finally, the effort was rewarded with success, and as I scrambled up the slope and along the ridge of the other side to a place where I could sit down and rest myself, I experienced a profound sensation of relief. The captain followed, and, after accomplishing the feat successfully, as I had done, he said, looking back at the dangerous pass, “Well, I don’t want any more of that sort of thing,” a sentiment which I very heartily echoed. But the very next crack we took, although having much less the appearance of risk, had like to have proved fatal to me, for, on a leap of about eight feet I partly missed my footing, and fell short of my intended mark. When I felt myself going back I experienced that horrid sinking feeling which comes over one only with the prospect of immediate death, without the chance for a struggle. So far as I could know, I was gone; and in an instant more I should have been plunging down into the chasm, had not my foot brought up on a slight projection, which gave me an opportunity to use my hands; and the captain coming now to my assistance,I scrambled up to a place of safety. After this we encountered no more serious difficulties, and, discovering a smooth slope, we descended by it to the shore, which we reached very wet, very sore, and much fatigued.

MAP OF THE GLACIER.

We were about two miles now from the vessel, which distance was traversed through a gorge corresponding to that by which we had ascended on the opposite side of the glacier. It was, however, much rougher, and the shore being more abrupt, the disturbance, both of rock and ice, was much greater. And here we observe a most interesting feature of the glacier movement and formation. The glacier, in its progress down the valley into the fiord, must necessarily adapt itself to every inequality of the bank. But this is not done without serious resistance. Thousands and millions of tons of earth, sand, and rock are rooted up, and pushed aside when the glacier expands into the side valleys, and, when a solid cliff receives the pressure, the crushed and disturbed condition of the ice, as the glacier impinges against the rock, shows how immenselypowerful is the force. Something must give way before this irresistible flood. In one place there was a ridge rolled up to the height of fifty feet, and rocks weighing hundreds of tons were treated as if they were the merest pebbles turned over and scattered by the mould-board of a plough.

Our descent through the gorge was not without interest of another character. Down near the fiord the disturbance of the ice had been greatest in consequence of passing over a more rapid declivity, and here several cracks opened from the bottom, and, closing more or less perfectly at about fifty feet altitude, appeared like the mouths to great caverns. Inspired by curiosity, I entered one of these, to find myself scrambling along over rocks and through deep mud, while water dropped down upon my head in torrents, for a distance of about thirty yards, when I came upon the border of a rushing stream of muddy water. This was the stream already mentioned, which gushes out from beneath the glacier’s front.

Of all the signs and tokens of watery tumult that I have ever witnessed this excelled them all. The roar of the fast-flowing stream as it dashed down the steep declivity over the rocks beneath, and against the ice above, breaking around the enormous boulders upon which the glacier was supported, was perfectly deafening. I had come in alongside of a ledge of a rock about ten feet high, upon which the ice rested firmly. This ledge, terminating where I stood, formed a protecting barrier, behind which I could witness the spectacle in perfect security, though not with comfort, for to be drenched with ice-water is not at all agreeable.

As I stood here, I realized more perfectly than ever before the process by which have been formed those markings on the rocks which Professor Agassiz has so conspicuouslypointed out in regions which were once covered with ice during the glacial epoch. The effect of this enormous pressure of these hundreds of feet of ice that were above my head, sliding down over the rocks, and rolling upon the boulders, was there evident to the senses. The movable rocks were being rounded or ground to powder, and the bed was being scarred with deep and ineffaceable scratches. Below me the bottom of the cavern allowed of my continuing down beside the stream about fifty feet to a point where both a stream of light and a stream of water were admitted into the blackness through a wide crevasse.

Curiosity once satisfied, I began to realize the perilous situation into which I had thus voluntarily come. The darkness through which I was groping made it not improbable that I might stumble and plunge headlong into the muddy river and be borne away by the

“Dark water that tumbled through the gloom.”

Then it seemed as if the great arch might give way and bury me in its ruins, or a mass might break off from above, and, falling upon my head, crush me to death; and while creeping cautiously along, with my face turned towards the opening by which I had rashly entered, and with no longer an unsatisfied longing to quiet my fears, I could not but accuse myself of an absurd temerity, when I suffered myself to be led into a place where,

“Bellowing, there groanedA voice as of a sea in tempest tornBy warring winds.”

“Bellowing, there groaned

A voice as of a sea in tempest torn

By warring winds.”

I was soon, however, in the open air again, and as thoroughly water-soaked as if I had fallen bodily into the sea; and being perfectly chilled, I did not long delay in finding my way down to the beach, where I joined the captain,who was awaiting me. He had hailed for a boat, and I was soon out of my shivering condition, but not soon enough to prevent me from moralizing over the unfathomable depths of human folly, while yet reflecting upon the wonders we had seen, and the unusual adventures we had experienced during our morning walk; for be it known we had started off without breakfast, and after six hours’ continuous labor we were returning at eleven o’clock, with stomachs which could not be beaten for emptiness. It is only in such a bracing air as that of the Arctic regions that one can endure such continued exposure without suffering severe prostration. The idea that people necessarily consume more food in that region than another, is a popular error. Excessive feeding is everywhere a habit and not a necessity; but as “the sleep of the laboring man is sweet,” so is his appetite vigorous everywhere.

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