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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 35. A Catastrophe |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE. A CATASTROPHE "When are you going to give us a glissade, Melk?" cried Saxe, as they reached a piece of smooth snow descending at a moderate angle. "The first time there is a suitable place, herr," replied the guide quietly. "Why not here?" "I will show you when we get to the bottom." Saxe looked disappointed, and grew more so as the descent was made slowly and toilsomely, with every precaution taken and warning words uttered from time to time respecting keeping the rope taut. "But there were no crevasses here?" said Saxe, as they reached to where the slope seemed to curve over suddenly and then descend more sharply, for the continuation was out of sight. "No, there are no crevasses," replied Melchior; "but a slip here would have been bad." "This is a cornice, then, Melchior?" said Dale. "Yes, herr, and if you two will hold me, I will step out a little way and break a hole for you to see." In obedience to his instructions, Saxe and Dale stepped back to the full extent of the cord, and then eased it out as the guide stepped forward, till he suddenly held up his hand. "Now," he said, "let me bear out against the rope;" and, raising the ice-axe in both hands, he began to use it vigorously, cutting hard at the frozen snow, till there was a sharp crack, and he threw himself back while a huge piece of the cornice broke away and dropped down out of sight. Then all waited breathlessly till a faint hissing sound told that it had touched rock or ground somewhere below, but how far down Saxe did not realise, till Melchior made way for him to creep to the extreme edge and look. "We have the rope tightly," said Dale, "so you need not hesitate." But the boy did hesitate, and, after peering over, he shrank back appalled. Melchior smiled. "Well, herr," he said, "what do you think of the glissade, if you had taken one?" "It's horrible," said Saxe, in a subdued tone; and he turned and looked down again where the guide had broken away the cornice, which curved out over a tremendous precipice, and saw that had he followed his inclination and slid down the snow slope, he would have gone over the cornice, and then plunged headlong, to fall nearly sheer down what seemed to be three or four thousand feet, to where a glacier wound along past the foot of the precipice. Just then Dale joined him. "Ah!" he said; "this is grand. Look at the course of that river till it disappears in the haze. You can count several villages, too, on the mountain slope and plain." But Saxe had no eye for river or villages. The object that took his attention was the river of ice below, upon which whoever dropped from where he stood must fall; and as Dale spoke to him again, he turned away with quite a start and a shudder. "Hallo!" cried Dale; "that will not do. Too imaginative, Saxe. There's plenty all round to encounter, without your calling up the imaginary. Well, Melchior, which way next?" "Up above that snow slope, herr, and round the shoulder of the mountain that you can see yonder." "Yes; but that's going up again." "Yes, herr; I do not like to be so near this place without letting you see the Silber Grat and the wonderful view. Very few people come to see this place, but it is very grand." "Yes, grand in the extreme," said Dale. "Here, Saxe," he continued, giving the rope a jerk, "come away now." The boy started again, and then frowned, as he felt as if he were being treated like a mule or a donkey, held by a halter. "Ready, herrs?" said the guide. "We must get on, please." "Which way?" said Dale. "Straight up, herr, along by these rocks, till we are above that snow slope; then along the top across the shoulder, where we shall find an easy slope on the other side, and perhaps be able to have a glissade without going down a precipice at the bottom." "Oh, come!" cried Saxe; "that's meant for me. How was I to know that the mountain ended suddenly like a wall?" "Never mind that," said Dale impatiently; "it's growing late, and we want to get back to camp. Why, Melchior, we are going to have a storm!" "Yes, herr; I'm afraid so." "Then why go up there and along the top? Surely we can go diagonally up the snowfield from here to the corner below the shoulder, and we shall save half a mile, at least!" "Yes, herr; nearer a mile," said the guide, gazing up thoughtfully at the smooth snowfield; "but there is a great slope there." "Yes, but away from this horrible precipice. I suppose that goes down into an inner valley?" "Yes, herr; and extends right to the bottom--all snow." "Then a slip and a roll would not matter?" "No, herr." "Then why do you hesitate, man?" cried Dale peevishly, as the guide stood with his brow shaded, gazing up at the dazzling slope which rose from them at a little distance and then curved over and disappeared. "I was looking, herr, because I mistrusted that snow. It does not look healthy." "What, likely to give way? Absurd! There are no crevasses there." "Oh no, herr. It is all rock below." "Of course: it must be. Well, we will take the cut right across that snow to the opposite corner." "The herr desires it?" said Melchior gravely. "Yes, certainly. It is folly to go so far round." "The snow is not always good, herr; and the longest way round is sometimes the nearest." "Yes, but with a storm coming on, perhaps!" said Dale sharply. "It may be hours yet, herr." "The better for us. Let's get back down into shelter." Melchior said no more, but unfastened the rope, and after coiling it up, led them along for some distance, till the great cornice was left behind, and they descended into a little valley over snow, ice and rock, till they reached the stream hurrying down the hollow, crossed it, made a similar ascent, and just as Saxe had it in his mind to say, "I thought we were going over that snowfield," they climbed up through a little wilderness of blocks, and they were upon the edge of the unsullied slope, which ran up to left and down to their right apparently for a mile. "Ah!" cried Dale, springing upon the snow, which allowed his feet to sink in a little; "capital condition! Now, Melchior, forward!" "Yes, herr," said the guide, testing the snow with his foot; "there will be no steps to cut here." He then started off to cross the great snowfield diagonally, so as to reach the rocks at the far top corner, his feet sinking more deeply into the soft crystals than was conducive to good progress, and Saxe first, and then Dale, keeping pretty well to his footprints. "Disappointing, this," said Dale, when they were about a third of the way across. "I thought we were to have nothing but downward progress now." "It is puffing work, too!" cried Saxe. "Herr! herr!" said the guide, stopping short in his tracks, and speaking in a reproachful whisper. "What's the matter?" said Saxe. "There is a great deal of loose snow high up on our left, and if you set any of it in motion it would be bad." "I forgot," said Saxe apologetically. "I will be more careful." "That's right," said Dale. "Not much danger, though, here. No fear of being bombarded by stones--eh, Melchior?" "No, herr," said the guide, looking about him anxiously. "Shall we get on?" Dale nodded, and they tramped on through the soft snow for some distance farther; when, just as Saxe was asking himself whether he was growing tired or the snow much more soft, Melchior paused once more and looked upward. "Yes--what is it?" said Dale quickly. "A minute's rest for the young herr, sir. As soon as he has his breath well go on. The snow is loose, but better than I expected. I was a little afraid at starting." "Afraid? Of what?" "The snow is often a little treacherous in a place like this, herr; and as it is so loose we shall have to be careful about glissading when we get beyond the rocks yonder." "But surely there is nothing treacherous here?" said Dale: "a little soft, perhaps, but that is all. Go on: we ought to be up there in another quarter of an hour." "Yes, herr," said the guide, after another glance up at the wreaths and folds of pure white snow which draped the mountain high above their heads; and then, after giving Saxe an encouraging smile, he went on again, with his boots crunching down the snow, forming a series of impressions which were deepened by those who followed. Half the distance--two-thirds--was passed; and as he struggled on, feeling hot now and as if the exertion were telling upon him, Saxe glanced back, wondering at the length of the track they had made, and how the snowfield had seemed to extend as they trudged along. "Yes," said Dale, from close behind him, as he divined the boy's thoughts, "it is a long way; but we shall soon reach the rocks now, and then the worst part of our journey is done." Crack! A long dull report, as of something breaking; and Melchior stopped short and uttered a groan. "What is it?" cried Dale excitedly. "The snow, herr--the snow!" cried Melchior. "See!" He spoke calmly and solemnly, but made no effort to dash on; though, as he realised their danger, Dale's first impulse was to call upon Saxe to try and reach the rocks. Melchior knew that it would be impossible, and he stood firm, ready to meet his fate. For far above them a dark jagged line had opened across the snowfield, with the dull report they had heard. That crack had begun to widen rapidly, with a curious hissing noise, and the next moment Saxe saw that the vast snow slope was in motion, and that they were being carried by it downward toward the valley, a couple of thousand yards below. Everything happened so quickly that the boy had no time to feel alarm. One quick thought darted through his brain,--that they would be carried so far down that they would have to make a long detour. Then his arm was seized by Melchior, and a sound above him made him gaze upward, to see that the snow was forming in long folds, like waves, upon the slope, and threatening to curve over and bury them. Then their speed increased, the rolling sound rose into a terrific roar, and the boy fully grasped the fact that they had started an avalanche, and were being hurried downward to destruction. "Can't we--we--" Saxe said no more, for at that moment a rush of snow swept by them as if borne upon the wings of some terrible tempest, and in the midst of the suffocating sensation he felt himself sinking lower and lower. The snow was at his waist; then, as he was borne swiftly down, at his breast; and the next instant at his lips; and all the while he was gliding downward at railway speed. "Melk! Help!" he cried hoarsely, as he was twisted violently round and borne down backward; and then the snow seemed to leap right over him, and all was dark. What followed was blind confusion, in which Saxe struggled to fight back the snow, so that he could breathe, for the sense of suffocation was terrible. Then all at once the rapid gliding motion ceased, and in the darkness he felt as if he were being held tightly in some terrible embrace, which closed round him slowly and surely, till only his arms were at liberty, and with these he fought. And now he found that he still held the ice-axe that had been his companion all day. It was stretched right out above him as far as he could reach, and, as he moved it, to his intense joy he could see a pale ray of light, one which increased as he moved the axe again, telling him that, though he was buried, the head of the axe was above the level of the snow. His first efforts were to enlarge the hole that ran right up, very little larger than the handle of the axe, though the beating with his hand had formed quite a little hollow about his head. "The snow has stopped, and I am only buried so deep," he thought to himself, as the horrible feeling of panic began to subside. "If I can make that hole bigger, so as to be able to breathe, I ought soon to be able to creep out." He worked away, enlarging the hole a little; but he had to observe the greatest caution, for fear of filling the little perpendicular tunnel with the loose snow. It was but little, still it enabled him to breathe more freely; and as soon as he reached this pitch he began to strive to raise himself, first one leg and then the other, to force himself out to the surface. And now the feeling of horror, which had passed away for the moment, returned, as he grasped the fact that the loose snow, in which he had been swept down, had been pressed together by the weight above it, till to his waist he felt as if he were enclosed in solid ice. In spite of his position the perspiration broke out upon his forehead, and the wild horror which seized him nearly robbed him of his senses till the reaction came. "Melchior and Mr Dale will seek for me and dig me out," he thought. "I must listen till I hear them, and then shout." He grew calmer now, and listened; but all was perfectly still, and a chill struck through him as he asked himself a terrible question-- "Where were his companions!" He had been plodding on, he remembered, with Mr Dale behind him; but he had not seen a sign of his companion since, though he had seen Melchior, who had caught him by the wrist, and then-- "Yes: what then?" He could remember no more, only that horrible confusion as they were carried down, till he was fighting for breath, buried at the bottom of the drift. Saxe listened again, straining his ears for the faintest sound, but hearing nothing. "They must have been carried farther," he tried to think; "and as soon as they can climb up they will begin to seek for me;" and he repeated this cheering thought to fight back another, which was vague, strange and terrible--a thought which suggested the impossibility of two people discovering the tiny hole made by the head of an ice-axe in the midst of the snow of that tremendous avalanche. "I don't care; I will not give up hoping," he said to himself, as he moved the ice-axe gently, and saw a ray or two more light. Then he began to wonder whether the heat of his body would melt enough of the snow-ice about him to enable him to work his way out; and in this hope he waited and rested for a few minutes, for the exertion even of moving the axe seemed to set his heart beating fast. Then once more the feeling of horror grew more terrible than he could bear; and he was fast succumbing to it and losing his senses, when he fancied that he heard a cry. It ceased directly; and then, as he listened with every nerve on the strain, there it was again--faint, apparently very distant, but plainly enough--the jodel of some Swiss, if it were not that of the guide. Throwing his head back as far as he could, and keeping the axe handle tight against the side of the narrow hole, Saxe sent up a despairing cry for help. As he ceased he made a desperate struggle to free himself, but it was useless; and he listened again and to his great joy the jodel came again, and he answered it. Then there was a terrible period of suspense; and, as no sound was heard, he yelled with all his might, and this time there was undoubtedly an answering call. Once more he shouted, and a hail came from nearer; and then, to his despair, it was repeated from farther away, making the unfortunate prisoner utter a despairing cry of rage, which had the effect of bringing the sound once more nearer and nearer still, and at last so close that he knew it was Melchior's voice which cried-- "Now, once more shout. Where are you?" Saxe's lips parted, and he drew in his breath in the excitement and relief of feeling that help was so close at hand; but no sound would come save a low, hoarse gasp, and then a giddy sensation came over him, and once more all was darkness. _ |
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