I had already gone three-fourths of the length of the defile when I saw that the river turned abruptly to the left, while the road, widening again, went straight on. I had to return almost to the middle of the pass, to the spot where the bank seemed less steep; but weak as I was, and having only one hand of any use, I tried in vain to climb it.
I mounted on an ice-heap, so that without stooping very much some helping hand could be given me. I supported myself with my left hand on my musket, and held out the other to those who, within reach of me, could have pulled me up by a slight effort. But I asked in vain. No one answered me; they had not even the appearance of paying any attention to what I was saying. At last God had pity on me again. Just when the crowd of men had halted, I saw an old trooper of the Imperial Guard on foot, his moustaches and beard covered with icicles, and wrapped in a great white cloak. I spoke to him still in the same tone:
'Comrade, I beg of you, as, like me, you're in the Imperial Guard, give me a hand, and you will save my life.'
'How do you think I am to give you a hand?' he said, 'I have none.' At this answer I nearly fell off the ice-heap. 'However,' he continued, 'if you can take hold of my cloak, I will try to pull you up.'
Then he stooped. I grasped the cloak; I even held it with my teeth, and scrambled on to the road. Happily, at this moment there was no pressing forward, or I might have been trampled under foot without perhaps ever rising again. When I was really safe, the old Grenadier told me to keep a firm hold of him, which I did, but with much difficulty, as the effort which I had just made had greatly weakened me.
Shortly afterwards they began to move forward. We passed by three fallen horses, the waggon having overturned into the river. This was what had caused the delay in the march. At last we reached a point where the pass widened, and where we could walk more easily.
Just then Faloppa, whom I had left at the entrance of the pass, came up weeping and swearing in Italian, saying that he would never be able to go further. The old trooper asked me who this creature was who cried like a woman. I told him he was a barbet, a Piedmontese.
'He will never see the marmots and bears of his native mountains again,' he answered.
I encouraged poor Faloppa to keep on; I gave him my arm, and we continued to follow the column.