Chapter 3. Further Ideas Of Magnitude

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_ CHAPTER THREE. FURTHER IDEAS OF MAGNITUDE

The guide had already started off, and for the next half-hour he led them on and upward, gradually ascending a rocky eminence which stood like a vast tower in the middle of the amphitheatre.

Every now and then he stopped to hold out his ice-axe handle to help Saxe; but the latter disdained all aid, and contented himself with planting his feet in the same spots as the guide, till all at once the man stopped.

It was the top of the eminence; and as Saxe reached Melchior's side he paused there, breathless with exertion and wonder, gazing now along the curved part of the comma, which had been hidden for the last hour.

Right and left were the silvery veil-like cascades: down below them some five hundred feet the little river roared and boomed, and the junction of the silvery water of the falls with the grey milky, churned-up foam of the torrent was plainly seen in two cases. But the sight which enchained Saxe's attention was the head of the valley up which they had toiled, filled by what at the first glance seemed to be a huge cascade descending and flowing along the ravine before him, but which soon resolved itself into the first glacier--a wonderfully beautiful frozen river, rugged, wild and vast, but singularly free from the fallen stones and earth which usually rob these wonders of their beauty, and looking now in the bright sunshine dazzling in its purity of white, shaded by rift, crack and hollow, where the compressed snow was of the most delicate sapphire tint.

"Is that a glacier?" said Saxe, after gazing at it for a few minutes.

"Yes, lad, that's a glacier, and a better example than one generally sees, because it is so particularly clean. Glaciers are generally pretty old and dirty-looking in the lower parts."

The guide rested upon his ice-axe, with his eyes half-closed, apparently watching the effect the glacier had upon the visitors; Dale gazed at it contemplatively, as if it were the wrinkled face of an old friend; and Saxe stared wonderingly, for it was so different to anything he had pictured in his own mind.

"Well, what do you think of it?" said Dale, at last.

"Don't quite know, sir," said Saxe, sitting down, drawing up his knees to rest his chin, and throwing his arms about his legs. "It wants looking at. But I'm beginning to understand now. That's the upper part of the river which runs down the valley, only up here it is always frozen. Seems rum, though, for the sun's regularly blistering my neck."

"You have something of the idea, but you are not quite right, Saxe," replied Dale. "That is the upper part of the river, and yet it is not, because it is a distinct river. You speak of it as if the river up here had become frozen. Now, it is frozen because it has never been otherwise."

"Must have been water once, or else it couldn't have run down that narrow valley."

"It has never been anything but ice, Saxe," said Dale, smiling; "and yet it has run down the valley like that."

"Ice can't flow, because it is solid," said Saxe dogmatically.

"Ice can flow, because it is elastic as well as solid."

"Mr Dale!"

"Proof, boy. Haven't you seen it bend when thin, and people have been on it skating?"

"Oh! ah! I'd forgotten that."

"Well, this ice is sufficiently elastic to flow very slowly, forced down by its own weight and that of the hundreds of thousands of tons behind."

"Oh, I say, Mr Dale--gently!" cried Saxe.

"Well, then, millions of tons, boy. I am not exaggerating. You do not understand the vastness of these places. That glacier you are looking at is only one of the outlets of a huge reservoir of ice and snow, extending up there in the mountains for miles. It is forced down, as you see, bending into the irregularities of the valley where they are not too great; but when the depths are extensive the ice cracks right across."

"With a noise like a gun, sometimes," interpolated the guide, who was listening intently.

"And I know, like that," cried Saxe, pointing to a deep-looking jagged rift, extending right across the ice-torrent: "that makes a crevasse."

"Quite correct," said Dale.

"But stop a moment," cried Saxe: "this is all solid-looking blue ice. It's snow that falls on the tops of the mountains."

"Yes; snow at a certain height, while lower that snow becomes rain."

"Well, then, this valley we are looking at ought to be snow, not ice."

"Snow is ice in the form of light flocculent crystals, is it not? Why, at home, if you take up moist snow and press it hard in your hands, you can almost turn it into ice. If you placed it in a press, and applied much force, it would become perfectly clear ice. Well, there's pressure enough here to turn it into ice; and besides, the snow is always melting in the hot sun, and then freezing again at night."

"Yes, I see!" cried Saxe; "but it does seem queer. Why, we've got summer here, with flowers and bees and butterflies, and if we go down to that glacier, I suppose we can step on to winter."

"Yes, my lad; and if we like to climb a little higher up the ice, we can place ourselves in such severe winter that we should be frozen to death."

"Then we will not go," said Saxe, laughing. "You told me one day--No, you didn't, it was in a story I read, 'man is best as he is.' But I say, Mr Dale, how about the river? doesn't it come from the glacier?"

"Yes, of course. These vast glaciers are the sources of the great Swiss and Italian rivers. The Rhine and the Rhone both begin up in the mountains here, and the Aar and the Reuss start pretty close to them. When we get down here you will see how this stream runs from a little ice-cave."

"But what makes it so dirty?"

"My good fellow, we have come to climb, and my name is not Barlow. You must read and search out these things. You know how that stone or mass fell with a roar lower down?"

"Not likely to forget it, sir," replied Saxe, with a laugh.

"Well, the stones are always falling from the bare sides of the gorge; they drop on to the glacier, and in course of time are washed by the melting ice into the crevasses and down to the bare rock beneath the glacier. There they glide down, with its weight upon them, right over the rock, and the surface is worn off from the fallen stone and the bed rock in a thin paste, which is washed away by the glacier. Then, as it descends, it of course discolours the water."

"Shall we go down to the toe of the glacier!" said the guide.

"Yes; come along."

"Can we trust the young herr to descend?"

Dale leaned forward to gaze down the rugged slope, which was excessively steep, but broken up into rift and gully, offering plenty of foot and hand-hold.

"What do you think, Saxe?" he said. "Can you manage to get down there?"

"Get down there?" said the lad contemptuously; "why, I'd race you to the bottom."

"No doubt, and be down first," said Dale quietly; "but I should be ready to go on, and you would want carrying to the nearest chalet to wait for a surgeon."

"What, after getting down that bit of a place?"

"You stupid fellow," said Dale testily; "that bit of a place is a precipice of five hundred feet. How am I to impress upon you that everything here is far bigger than you think? Look here," he continued, pointing: "do you see that cow yonder, on that bit of green slope beside those overhanging rocks?"

"No; I can see a little dog by a heap of stones."

"That will do for an example," said Dale. "Here, Melchior, is not that a cow just across the stream there?"

"Wait a moment," cried Saxe eagerly. "I say it's a little dog. Who's right?"

"You are both wrong," said the guide, smiling. "There is a man here has a chalet behind the pines. He comes up the valley with his cattle for the summer, when the snow is gone."

"Is there snow here in winter, then?" said Saxe.

"The valley is nearly full in winter. No one can come up here."

"But that isn't a cow," cried Saxe, pointing.

"No," said the guide, smiling; "it is Simon Andregg's big bull."

"Well!" cried Saxe, shading his eyes and staring down at the animal, which looked small enough to be a dog.

"You don't believe him?" said Dale, laughing.

"Oh, I don't know," said Saxe; "I suppose I do. But I was thinking that he might have made a mistake. Shall I go first?"

"No, herr; I am the guide," said Melchior quietly; and he began the descent pretty rapidly, but stopped at the foot of each more difficult part to look up and wait for the others. Sometimes he drove the sharp end of his ice-axe into the earth or some crevice, and held it there to act as a step for the others to descend; and at other times he pressed himself against the rock and offered his shoulders as resting-places for their feet, constantly on the watch to lessen the difficulties and guard against dangers in a place where a slip of a few feet might have resulted in the unfortunate person who fell rolling lower with increasing impetus, and the slip developing into a terrible accident.

"It is farther than I thought," said Saxe, as they reached the bottom of the steep bluff from which they had viewed the glacier; and he stepped back a few yards to look up. "The places really are so much bigger than they look. Why, I say, Mr Dale, the glacier seems quite high up from here, and ever so much farther off."

"And it will look bigger still when we reach the cave where the river comes out."

"So!" said Melchior quietly; and he went on, now down the stony slope of the valley, to reach the river bed near its source, with the sides of the thal seeming to grow steeper and higher, and one of the waterfalls they were near infinitely more beautiful, for they had now reached the point necessary for seeing the lovely iris which spanned the cascade, turning its seething spray into a segment of an arch of the most vivid colours, at which the lad seemed disposed to gaze for an indefinite time.

"Vorwarts," said the guide quietly; and they obeyed, following his lead till they reached the spot where the clear waters of the fall glided into the dingy stream, and then followed the latter up and up for quite half an hour before Saxe stopped short, and took off his straw hat to wipe his steaming forehead, as he gazed up at the end of the glacier; he was now so low down that the surface was invisible, and facing him there was a curve rising up and up, looking like a blunted set of natural steps.

"Well?" said Dale, inquiringly.

"I can't make it out," said Saxe, rather breathlessly. "It seems as if that thing were playing games with us, and growing bigger and shrinking away farther at every step one takes."

"Yes," said Dale, "it is giving you a lesson that you will not easily forget."

"But it looked quite small when we were up there," cried Saxe, nodding toward the tower-like bluff they had climbed, again at the top of the glacier.

"Yes, and now it looks quite big, Saxe; and when you have been on it and have walked a few miles upon its surface here and there--"

"Miles?"

"Yes, my boy, miles. Then you will begin to grasp how big all this is, and what vast deserts of ice and snow there are about us in the mountains. But come along; we have not much farther to go to reach the foot."

But it took them quite a quarter of an hour over rounded, scratched and polished masses of rock which were in places cut into grooves, and to all this Dale drew attention.

"Do you see what it means?" he said.

"No," said Saxe, "only that it's very bad walking, now it's so steep."

"But don't you see that--?"

"Yes, I do," cried Saxe, interrupting him; "you mean that this has been all rubbed smooth by the ice and stones grinding over it; but how could it?--the ice couldn't go up hill."

"No, it comes down."

"Then--was it once as far as here?"

"Ever so much farther when I was a boy," said the guide. "It has been shrinking for years. Mind, herr; it is very slippery here. Let me help you."

He hooked his ice-axe into a crevice, and held out his hand, by whose help Saxe mounted beside him, and here descending close to the water they stepped from stone to stone, with the ice towering more and more above their heads, till they were close up, and even below it, for they had entered a low, flat arch, which just admitted them standing upright, and after a few steps into what Saxe called a blue gloom, they stood gazing into the azure depths of the cavern, which grew darker till they were purple and then utterly black. Then they listened to the gurgle and babble of the tiny river, as it came rushing and dashing over the rock in many an eddy and swirl, while from far away up in the darkness there were mysterious whisperings and musical echoes that were strange to hear.

"Like to go in any farther, Saxe?" said Dale.

"Yes, much--very much," said the lad, in a low voice, "just because I don't want to."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I can't exactly explain it, because the place makes me feel nervous and a little shrinking, but I want to try and get over it."

"Better not stay any longer, herr," said the guide; "you are hot with walking, and the place is damp and cold."

"Yes, it would be wiser to go out in the sunshine again. I should like to explore this, though, with a lantern and candles."

"Whenever the herr likes," said the guide quietly. And they passed out again, the icy arch above them looking exquisitely beautiful with its blue tints, some of which were of the delicious brilliancy to be seen in some of our precious stones.

It was a wonderful change from the cool gloom of the cavern to the glaring sunshine outside, where the heat was reflected from the ice and glistening rocks; and now, striking up to the right, Melchior made for where the ice ended and the steep slope-up of the valley side began.

Here with a little difficulty they mounted--sometimes the rock growing too steep and the ice appearing the easier path, then the reverse, till at last they stood well up on the surface of the frozen river and began its toilsome ascent.

"Now you'll find the advantage of your big-nailed boots, Saxe," said his leader merrily. "Go cautiously, my lad; we mustn't spoil our explorations by getting sprained ankles."

The warning was necessary, for the ice surface was broken up into ruts, hollows, folds, and crags that required great caution, and proved to be laborious in the extreme to surmount.

"Is there much more of this rough stuff?" said Saxe, after half an hour's climbing.

The guide smiled.

"The ice gets bigger and wilder higher up," he replied. "There are smooth patches, but it is broken up into crags and seracs."

This was another surprise to Saxe, to whom the surface of the glacier, when seen from above on the bluff, had looked fairly smooth--just, in fact, one great winding mass of ice flowing down in a curve to the foot. He was not prepared for the chaos of worn, tumbled and crushed-up masses, among which the guide led the way. Some parts that were smoother were worn and channelled by the running water, which rushed in all directions, mostly off the roughly curved centre to the sides, where it made its way to the river beneath.

It was quite a wonderland to the boy fresh from town, entering the icy strongholds of nature; for, after ascending a little farther, their way was barred by jagged and pinnacled masses heaped together in the wildest confusion, many of the fragments being thirty, even forty feet high.

"Have we got to climb those?" said Saxe, in dismay.

The guide shook his head.

"No, herr: it would be madness to try. Some of them would give way at the least touch. Stand back a little, and I'll show you why it is dangerous to climb among the seracs."

He stepped aside, and, using his axe, deftly chipped off a piece of ice from a block--a fragment about as large as an ordinary paving-stone.

"Hold my axe, sir," he said; and on Saxe taking it, the man picked up the block he had chipped off, walked a little way from them, and, after looking about a little, signed to them to watch, as he hurled the lump from him, after raising it above his head. As he threw it, he ran back toward them, and the piece fell with a crash between two spires which projected from the icy barrier.

There was a crash, and then the effect was startling. Both the spires, whose bases must have been worn nearly through by the action of sun and water, came down with a roar, bringing other fragments with them, and leaving more looking as if they were tottering to their fall.

Then up rose what seemed to be a cloud of diamond dust, glittering in the bright sunshine, a faint echo or two came from high up the rocky face of the valley, and then all was silent once more.

"You see?" said Melchior. "Why, often a touch of a hand, or even a shout, will bring them tumbling down. Always keep away from the seracs."

He led them now at a safe distance across the glacier to the left, till a wide opening presented itself, through which they passed on to comparatively smooth ice; but even this was all piled together, wedged in blocks, which made the party seem, as Saxe said, like so many ants walking about in a barrel of loaf sugar.

Then there was a smoother stretch, all longitudinal furrows, up which they passed fairly well--that is to say, with only a few falls--till they went round a curve; and there they paused, breathless and wondering.

"Why, that was only a peep down below," cried Saxe. "Look, Mr Dale! look!"

He had cause to exclaim, for from where they stood they had an opening before them right up a side valley running off from the glacier at a sharp angle. This, too, was filled by a glacier, a tributary of the one they were upon, and with the sides of the minor valley covered with snow wherever the slope was sufficient to hold it. Beyond rose peak after peak, flashing pure and white--higher and higher; and even the hollows between them filled with soft-looking pillows and cushions of dazzling snow.

"Those are the mountains you told me about, then?" cried Saxe.

"Some of the outposts, lad. There are others far greater, miles behind those; and you are now having your first genuine look into wonderland."

"I never thought it was like this."

"No one can imagine how wonderful the mountains are," said the guide solemnly. "I looked up at them as a little child, and I have been up amongst them from a boy, while I am now thirty-five; and yet they are always changing and ever new. Sometimes they are all light and sunshine, though full of hidden dangers. Sometimes they are wild and black and angry, when the wind shrieks and the lightning flashes about their shattered heads, and the thunders roar. Yes, young herr, you never thought it was half so wonderful as this. Shall we go on?"

"I was thinking," said Dale. "I only meant to come a little way to-day, and let my companion have a glimpse of what is before him; so we will not go much farther, as it is so far back to the chalet."

"If the herr does not mind simple fare and a bed of clean hay, we could sleep at Andregg's to-night, and be ready for a start in the morning early."

"The very thing," said Dale. "How long will it take us to get from here to Andregg's?"

"An hour," said the guide; "so we have several good hours before us to go on up the glacier, or to cross over the valley ridge, and come back down the next."

"Can we go up the glacier for another mile," said Dale, "and then cross?"

"Easily."

"Then we will do that."

The ascent of the glacier-filled valley was continued, and they toiled on. A mile on level ground would have meant a sharp quarter of an hour's walk; here it meant a slow climb, slipping and floundering over ice, splashing through tiny rivulets that veined the more level parts, and the avoidance of transverse cracks extending for a few yards. Sometimes they had to make for the left, sometimes the right bank of the frozen river; and at last, as they were standing waiting while the guide made his observations as to the best way of avoiding some obstacle in their front, there was a sharp, clear crack.

"What's that?" said Saxe quickly.

"Stand back!" cried the guide. "No! quick--to me!"

They stepped forward to his side; and as, in obedience to a sign, they turned, there was a peculiarly harsh, rending noise, a singing as of escaping air, and to their astonishment, just where they had been standing the ice began to open in a curious, wavy, zigzag line, gradually extending to right and left. At first it was a faint crack, not much more than large enough to admit a knife-blade; but as they watched it slowly opened, till it was an inch--a foot--across, and then all sound ceased, and they could look down for a short distance before the sides came together, the whole forming a long wedge-shaped hollow.

"The opening of a crevasse," said the guide gravely. "It will go on growing bigger, till it will be dangerous."

"You are lucky, Saxe," said Dale. "You have had a fall of rock, seen an ice-cave and the birth of a big river, heard seracs fall, and now watched the opening of a crevasse. We must have that avalanche before we go back."

"When we get up on the ridge we shall see the Bluthenhorn," said Melchior; "the afternoon sun will be full on the high slopes, and we shall hear some of the ice-fall. Hark!"

He held up his hand, and they stood listening to a faintly booming sound, evidently at a great distance before them.

"Was that one?"

"Yes; but right over among the mountains, herr. It was a great fall, though, or we should not have heard it here."

He plodded steadily on, and Saxe noted that he kept his eyes down and seemed to make a business of every step, measuring exactly where he should plant it, and keeping hold, as it were, with his other foot till he was sure that his new step was safe. Not that this took long, but it appeared to be all carefully studied, and the boy learned that such caution must be the result of experience and mean safety in his arduous climbing.

The glacier wound in serpentine fashion along the valley, growing wilder and grander as they ascended. There were masses of piled-up ice, and crevasses into whose blue depths they peered as they listened to the hollow echoing sounds of running water. Some of these were stepped over in an ordinary stride, some had to be jumped; and, though the distance was short, Saxe felt a curious shrinking sensation as he leaped across a four or five feet rift, whose sides were clear blue ice, going right down to what would in all probability mean death to one who fell. Then on again, till it seemed to the lad that they must have journeyed that one mile upward several times over; and, at last, before them there was snow filling up all the irregularities, and offering them a soft smooth path.

It was not snow, though, such as he had seen in England, for it looked more like a thick layer of softened hailstones, which he could scoop up and let fall separately, or scatter at large to glisten in the sun, while upon trying it the particles crackled and crushed under their feet, but felt pretty firm.

"What are you stopping for?" said Dale.

"I don't quite like the look of the snow on beyond this first old part," said the guide. "You have no alpenstock or ice-axe either."

"Shall we give up going any farther to-day?" said Dale.

"No, herr: because I want to get round that piece of rock which runs out from the side. Beyond that there is a couloir running right up to the ridge, and it will be the easiest place for us to mount."

As he spoke he took the coil of rope from across his chest, and began to unfasten the end.

"Is that necessary?" asked Dale; while Saxe looked wonderingly on.

"Who knows, herr? It is the duty of a guide to take care his people run no risks. I want to be a good guide to mine."

"What are we going to do?" asked Saxe.

"Rope ourselves together in case the snow covers a crevasse."

"But if one goes through, he'll pull down the others," cried Saxe. "Is that wise?"

"He will not pull down the others," said Dale, "for they will pull him out."

Melchior said nothing, but slowly unfastened his rope as they stood there with their feet in the depth of a rigid winter and their heads in the height of summer. When he had it ready, hanging in loops on his left arm, he held out one end to his companions with a smile.

"Alpen rope. Good. Best," he said. "English make," and he pulled open one end, to show them a red strand running through it. "Now!"

He fastened one end by a peculiar knot round Saxe's waist, arranging it so that it should not slip and tighten, whatever stress was given. Then, bidding the lad walk away till told to stop, he deliberately counted over a certain number of rings.

"Stop! Keep the rope out of the snow."

Then, with Dale and Saxe holding the rope taut, the middle was attached by similar knots to Dale's waist, and Melchior walked on, and on reaching his end secured the rope to himself.

"Keep it nearly tight," he said, "holding the rope in your right hand. If any one goes wrong in the snow, the others are to stand firm and hang back, so as to hold him firmly. Keep to the steps of the man before you as much as you can. Now, then. Vorwarts!"

He started off now through the snow, with Dale and Saxe following.

"Been better if you had placed him in the middle, wouldn't it, Melchior?" said Dale.

"Yes, herr, I was thinking so. Shall I alter it?"

"No: let's go on as we are this time. Forward again!" And they went on over the dazzling untrodden surface. _

Read next: Chapter 4. On The Rope

Read previous: Chapter 2. An Alpine Valley

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