“Here was the same low-ceiled, comfortable room in which we had sat before, while the landlord and his friends talked the whole evening away, with a big dog snoozing by the stove. We had taken supper at this very table with Casper Grass, the Pontresina guide, on Christmas Eve. Here had huddled together an Italian couple, busily writing endless cards of Christmas greetings. The landlord, ever to be remembered, his bead-like eyes looking out from behind his spectacles with a malicious twinkle, stood up at times, munching a long ‘Brissago,’ to see that all was right, while talking volubly in Italian. A maidservant sat at the corner table, pen in hand and with vacant look, evidently stuck fast in the midst of her literary endeavours. Not a star was to be seen outside, and the howling wind, rattling the shutters with every gust, made us feel how rash it was to have come at all. To drown the sound of the storm we set the phonograph going, which cheered but little our drooping spirits. Still, we started on the morrow, but on arriving at the Alp Grüm, the violence of the wind made it impossible to go further—a disappointment we had anticipated.
“But now we were out on our second attempt, and would not go back. This time our friend Grass had unfortunately been obliged to remain behind at Pontresina, in spite of his longing to join our expedition. The weather was fine and cold, intensely cold. Our chances of success were great; the reconnoitring done on Christmas Eve had sharpened our appetite for the unknown beyond.
“The alarum had rung long since, and our candle had been alight some time. The window-panes, white with frost, shut out the black night and the piercing cold; never had one’s bed felt so comfortable. If our bodies remained motionless, our thoughts wandered forth, trying to pry into the secrets still lying concealed in the lap of the coming day, just as the watchman’s lamp pierces the darkness of the night.
“There is a delightful thrill of impending battle hazards in being the first to break upon new ground, as when a troop nearing the line of fire eagerly questions the dissolving morning mists and doubtingly greets the light that will expose it to the enemy’s strokes. What unkind shafts might Fate have in store? What bolts might the glacier be preparing to fire off, when we should pass under the portcullisses of its castellated strongholds? With what pitfalls might the snow desert not be strewn under the winning aspect of its rustling silken gown?
“If we wished to reach the Roseg glacier before nightfall, we must cross the Fuorcla Sella between four and five o’clock that afternoon. This, supposing that we should have passed the Palü glacier by midday. All that, and back to Pontresina, in one day! Would it be very hard work? That was the question, for nobody had yet ventured there in winter, and on ski.
“Thus did our thoughts travel till we finally dropped off to sleep again, only to wake a few minutes later with a start, and leap from our beds to make up for lost time.
“At 6.30 we left the hospice. It was pitch dark, though numberless were the stars shining overhead, so the lantern was lighted which had already guided many travellers. A cheery voice, from one of the windows above, wished us good luck, and with this pleasant sound in our ears we started on our way.
PIZ BERNINA CIRCUIT.
(Reproduction made with authorisation of the Swiss Topographic Service, 26.8.12.)