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The Crystal Hunters: A Boy's Adventures in the Higher Alps, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 21. "You Think He Is Dead?" |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. "YOU THINK HE IS DEAD?" Saxe never knew how long it was before he was roused from his miserable lethargic state by a faint hail, which acted upon him like magic, making him spring to his feet and answer before going back to the edge of the crevasse, and uttering a cry that was doleful in the extreme. Then he shaded his eyes and gazed downward beneath the labyrinth of ice blocks among which the smoother ice which had formed their path wound its way; but for a long time he could see nothing of Dale, and he was beginning to ask himself whether it was fancy, when there was another hail, and soon after he caught sight of Dale's head and shoulders as he climbed up the icy slope, and saw that the new rope was across his breast. But this sent no thrill of joy through Saxe, for he seemed instinctively to know that it would be useless, and he shook his head. In another ten minutes Dale came panting up, and, without hesitation, leaped the chasm. "Well," he said, "you have heard him?" "No." "Has he not answered once?" "No." Dale stood frowning and in silence for some seconds, before saying sternly, "well, we have our duty to do, Saxe. We must get him out." "Yes, I'm ready," replied the boy; and he stood watching as Dale took the coil of rope from his shoulder, a ball of thin string from his coat pocket, and the lanthorn from his ice-axe, to whose head he had slung it as he came. "Ah!" cried Saxe, "you have brought the lamp and string. You are going to let down a light for us to see where he lies?" "I was going to, my boy; but I think better of it now. You shall go down without. It looks dark there, but it will not be so very black. The long light across will strike down." Saxe told him about the pieces of ice he had thrown down, and Dale looked terribly serious. "So deep as that?" he muttered. Then quickly: "But one piece struck on some ledge. He must have fallen there. Now, lay down your axe, but you must take it with you." Saxe obeyed, and set his teeth hard, as Dale scraped away the snow and found almost directly a narrow crack which ran parallel with the crevasse, but so slight that there was just room to force down the stout ashen staff which formed the handle of the ice-axe, the top of it and about a foot of the staff standing above the ice. "That's firm as rock," said Dale, after trying it. "I could trust myself to it, and the rope will run round it easily." "You think the rope is strong enough?" said Saxe. "I had it thoroughly tested before we left England. I could venture to hang a bull from it, or two or three men. But, ones for all, I have no right to send you down there. Tell me you dare not go, and I will give up, and we must go in search of help, for this is a terrible task. You would rather not go?" Saxe was silent. "Speak!" "I won't," cried Saxe passionately; and then to himself, "I'd die first." He held up his arms for Dale to knot the rope about him, watching the process with knitted brow. "There: that is safe," said Dale. "Now pick up your ice-axe and hold by the rope with your left hand, so as to ease the strain upon your chest. Use the ice-axe cautiously, to keep yourself from turning round and from striking against the side. When you get down to the ledge, which must be, from what you say, only just out of sight, you will chip a secure place for your feet if the ice slopes, and, proceeding quite slowly and calmly, make yourself first quite safe. When this is done, unfasten the rope from about you, and make it fast about poor Melchior. Be very particular about the knot, mind. Don't forget what I have taught you. That knot must not slip in any way, either in tightening round his chest or coming undone." "I'll remember," panted Saxe. "That's right. Now then, I think that is all, except a final word. There is no danger for you to dread. The rope is new and strong, and I am at one end." "You will not let it slip through your hands?" Dale smiled at him sadly, and shook his head. "Ready?" he said. "Yes." "Take off your hat." Saxe obeyed, and Dale removed his and knelt down in the snow, Saxe slowly sinking upon his knees. There was a minute's silence as a brief, heartfelt prayer was offered up for help: and then Dale sprang to his feet with an eager, bright, cheerful look upon his face, and, clapping a hand on either side of Saxe's waist, he lifted him by his belt and set him down again. "Why, I could draw up half a dozen of you," he said. "Now, steady! Down with you, and slide over. Saxe, you are going to the rescue of a fellow-man." The boy set his teeth, his brow furrowed, and there were marks about his eyes, as he saw Dale throw the rope round the handle of the ice-axe, and then over the coil, so that the rings of rope should come off freely. Then he grasped the hemp firmly with one hand, his ice-axe with the other, and threw back his legs over the edge of the crevasse close to where the great piece had broken away. As he did this a piece of snow slipped from under his chest, and went down before him and he was over the side, swinging gently to and fro, as he heard a spattering noise come from below. "Don't be afraid to talk, Saxe," said Dale loudly; and every word came distinctly to the boy's ears as the sides of the crevasse slowly rose above him, and, in spite of himself, he turned his eyes up with a wild longing toward the deep blue sky. "I--I can't talk," he gasped forth. "All right--steady! Take it coolly, lad." "Yes; only don't ask me to talk till I've something to say." "No!" shouted Dale, as the sides of the crevasses grew more distant and represented two jagged lines against the sky. "Splendid rope, Saxe!" came down to him; "runs as easily as if it were made of silk. Cut your chest?" "Not much," shouted the boy, who for an instant felt a sensation of danger as the rope turned him round; but, remembering his instructions, he touched the wall of clear ice with the point at the end of the axe handle, checked himself, and tried to look downward into the blue transparent light which rose up to meet him, as it seemed. "Half the rope out, Saxe!" came from above. "See anything!" "No." "Bit lower down, I suppose. Don't let it turn." The two edges of the crevasse now began to approach, each other, as it seemed to Saxe; and he could see that, except where the piece was broken away, they exactly matched, every angle on the one side having its depression on the other, the curves following each other with marvellous exactness, just as if the fracture were one of only a few weeks old. "See the ledge, Saxe?" came down. "No;" and the lad felt an intense longing now to be able to see Dale's face watching him, for it would have seemed like companionship, instead of his having nothing to gaze at but the strip of blue sky, and the glistening blue-ice walls on either side going off to right and left till they seemed to come together in the blue gloom. And still the rope glided over the ice above, and the slip of sky grew narrow; but though Saxe peered down into the depths, there was no sign of any ledge, and the boy who now felt less nervous, was wondering how much longer the rope was, when Dale's voice was heard. "No more rope!" he cried. "Now, can you see the ledge?" Saxe gazed down in silence for a few moments, and Dale's voice came again--short, sharp and impatient: "I say, can you see the ledge?" "No." "Are you quite sure?" "Yes." There was a pause, and then Dale's voice was heard again: "Does the rope hurt you much?" "No." "Can you bear it five minutes longer!" "Yes--a quarter of an hour." "Bravo! Wait." There was a strange silence then, during which Saxe gazed down below him; but he could see no more than when he had been at the top, only that everything looked blacker and more profound, and that the noise of waters was more plain as it reverberated from the slippery walls. "What is he doing?" thought Saxe. "I hope he will soon draw me up;" and a momentary feeling of panic came over him, and the rope felt painfully cutting. But just then he caught sight of a dark object against the sky. The dark object seemed to be descending, and the next moment he saw that it was light, and he knew that the lanthorn was being sent down at the end of the string. "Call to me if the rope hurts you too much," cried Dale; and to his horror and astonishment Saxe, as he looked up, saw that his companion's head and shoulders were over the side, and it was as if a black face were looking down at his. "The rope doesn't hurt; but--but--is it safe!" "Perfectly; and I am letting down the light so that you may see where the ledge is." "I understand." The lanthorn glided down very rapidly, and in a few moments was level with Saxe's face. Then it descended still, and Dale called to him to say when it should be stopped; but it was some time before the boy sharply uttered the word, "Now!" "See the ledge?" "Yes--with some broken ice upon it." "Does he seem much hurt?" Saxe was silent for a few moments, and then said huskily-- "He is not there!" "He must be. Look again." "Swing the lanthorn backwards and forwards." Dale responded by gradually making the lanthorn describe a considerable arc. "No--no! No--no!" cried Saxe, as he swept the ledge with his eyes from end to end. Dale was silent for a time. Then he said huskily-- "Can you hold out while I lower the lanthorn as far as the string will go?" "Yes." The light descended like a star going down into another firmament of as deep and dark a blue as that above; and as Saxe watched he saw it reflected from the dark walls. Then lower, lower, and down and down, till suddenly it stopped. "That is all the string--a hundred yards. Can you see him now!" "No!" said Saxe hoarsely. "You can see nothing!" "Only the lamp swinging and the ice shining." "Hold fast!" cried Dale, and the rope began to quiver in a peculiar way, as if it were receiving a series of jerks; but Saxe guessed that this must mean that it was being hauled up handover-hand. There was no one gazing down at him now, and he had a full view of the blue strip of sky, which now grew broader and broader, till, after what seemed to have been a very long ascent, the top of the crevasse was reached. "Now," said Dale, "reach over as far as you can, and drive in the pick of your axe." Saxe obeyed. "Now try and draw yourself up. That's right. I've got hold of the rope. Now--together! That's right." There was a heavy tug, and as some more snow rattled down into the gulf Saxe was drawn over the edge on to the surface, where the first thing he noticed was the fact that the other end of the rope had been fastened round Dale's waist and passed round the ashen handle, so that when Dale had lain down he had been able to support Saxe, and yet leave his hands free. "Untie yourself," said Dale gravely. "I am going to draw up the lanthorn." "And what are you going to do then?" asked Saxe, who lay on the snow panting, as if he had just gone through some very great exertion. "Go back and give notice. Get together two or three guides, and consult with them as to what is best to be done." "Then you give him up?" said Saxe mournfully. Dale looked at him in silence, for there seemed to be no answer needed to such a question, as he slowly wound in the string which held the lanthorn. "Now, back to the valley as fast as we can," said Dale, as he dragged his ice-axe out of the crack and threw the rope over his shoulder, and glanced round at the sky. "Got the lanthorn and string?" "Yes," replied Saxe; "but we cannot get there before night." "We cannot get any farther than the camp before dark, my boy," said Dale sadly. "It is impossible to go on then. We must wait there till daybreak, and then go for help." "One minute, sir," said Saxe; but it was three or four before he could go on. "Yes," said Dale. "I only wanted to ask whether you think he is dead!" "I'd give five years of my life, boy, to be able to say no; but I cannot!" _ |
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