Chapter 23. A Rescue

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_ 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?" _

Read next: Chapter 24. A Great Call On A Boy

Read previous: Chapter 22. From Out Of The Depths

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