De L'Orme. / The Works of G. P. R. James, Esq., Vol. XVI.

by G. P. R. James

After we had changed the order of our progression, however, we went on for some time much more securely, the mule stepping on with a quiet caution and certainty peculiar to those animals, and my horse following it step by step, as if perfectly well understanding her superiority in such circumstances, and allowing her to lead without one feeling of jealousy.

Still the snow fell, and the wind blew, and the irritating howling and roaring of the mountains continued with increasing violence, while the blank darkness of the night surrounded us on all sides; when suddenly the mule stopped, and showed an evident determination of proceeding no farther. Fearful lest there should be any hidden danger which she did not choose to pass, I dismounted as carefully from my horse as I could, and proceeding round the spot where she stood, I went on a few paces, trying the ground at each step I took; but all was firm and even--indeed, much more smooth than any we had hitherto passed. The path, it is true, ran along on the verge of the precipice, but there wanted no room for two or three horses to have advanced abreast, and, consequently, seeing that the beast was actuated by a fit of obstinacy, I mounted again, and proceeded to ride round for the purpose of leading the way, to try whether she would not then follow. Accordingly, I spurred on my horse to pass her, but he had scarcely taken two steps forward, when the vicious mule struck out with her hind feet full in his chest. He reared--plunged--reared again, and in a moment I found his haunches slipping over the precipice behind. It was the work of a moment; but, with the overpowering instinct of self-preservation, I let go the bridle, sprang forward from his back, and catching hold of the rhododendrons and other tough shrubs on the brink, found myself hanging in the air with my feet just beating against the face of the rock. My brain turned giddy, and an agonising cry, something between a neigh and a scream, from the depth below, told me dreadfully the fate which I had just escaped.

Slowly, and cautiously, fearing every moment that the slender twigs by which I held would give way, and precipitate me down into the horrid abyss that had received my poor horse, I contrived to raise myself till I stood once more upon firm ground; and then replied to the anxious calls of Father Francis, who had dimly seen the horse plunge over, and had heard his cry from below, but knew not whether I had fallen with him or not.

My heart still beat too fast, and my brain turned round too much to permit of our proceeding for some minutes; the loss of my horse, also, was likely to prove a serious addition, if not to our danger, at least to my fatigues. Nothing, however, could be done to remedy the misfortune; and, after pausing for a while, in order to gain breath, we attempted to recommence our journey. For the purpose of leading her on, I laid my hand upon the mule's bridle, but nothing would make her move; and the moment I tried to pull her forward, or Father Francis touched her with the whip, she ran back towards the edge of the precipice, till another step would have plunged her over. Nothing now remained but for the good priest to descend and take his journey forward also on foot. As soon as he was safely off the back of the vicious beast which had caused us so much uncomfort and danger, I again attempted to make her proceed; resolving, in the height of my anger, if she again approached the side, rather to push her over than save her: but with cunning equal to her obstinacy, she perceived that we should not entertain the same fear as when her rider was upon her back, and instead of pulling backwards as before, she calmly laid herself down on her side, leaving us no resource but to go forward without her.

The most painful part of our journey now began. Every step was dangerous--every step was difficult; nothing but horror and gloom surrounded us on all sides, and death lay around us in a thousand unknown shapes. Wherever we ascended, we had to struggle with the full force of the overpowering blast, and wherever the path verged into a descent, there we had slowly to choose our way with redoubled caution, with a road so slippery, that it was hardly possible to keep one's feet, and a profound precipice below; while the wind tore us in its fury, and the snow and sleet beat upon us without ceasing. For nearly an hour we continued to bear up against it, struggling onward with increasing difficulties, sometimes falling, sometimes dashed back by the wind, with our clothes drenched in consequence of the snow melting upon us, and the cold of the atmosphere growing more intense as every minute of the night advanced. At length hope itself was wearied out; and at a spot where the ravine opened out into a valley to the right and left, while our path continued over a sort of causeway, with the river on one hand, and a deep dell filled up with snow on the other, Father Francis, who had hitherto struggled on with more vigour than might have been expected from his age, suddenly stopped, and resting on a rock, declared his incapacity to go any farther. "My days are over, Louis," said he: "leave me, and go forward as fast as you can. If I mistake not, that is the pass just above Laruns. Speed on, speed on, my dear boy; a quarter of an hour, I know, would put us in safety, but I have not strength to sustain myself any longer: I have done my utmost, and I must stop."

He spoke so feebly, that the very tone of his voice left me no hope that he would be able to proceed, especially across that open part of the valley, where we were exposed to the full force of the wind. It already dashed against us with more tremendous gusts than we had yet felt, whirling up the snow into thick columns that threatened every moment to overwhelm us, and I doubted not that the path beyond lay still more open to its fury. To leave the good old man in that situation was of course what I never dreamed of; and, consequently, I expressed my own determination to wait there also for the return of Houssaye, who, I deemed, could not be long in coming to search for us.

"No, Louis, no!" cried Father Francis; "the wind, the snow, the cold, are all increasing. You must attempt to go on, for, if you do not, you will perish also. But first listen to an important piece of information which has been confided to me. As I cannot bear the message myself, you must deliver it to your mother.--Tell her----"

I could hardly hear what he said, his voice was so faint, and the howling of the storm so dreadful: a few more broken words were added; but before he had concluded, a gust of wind more violent than any we had hitherto encountered whirled round us both with irresistible power. I strove to hold by the rock with all my force, but in vain. I was torn from it as if I had been a straw, and the next moment was dashed with the good priest into the midst of the snow that had collected in the dell below. We sunk deep down into the yielding drift, which, rising high above our heads, for a moment nearly suffocated me. Soon, however, I found that I could breathe, and though all hope was now over, I contrived to remove the snow that lay between myself and Father Francis, of whose gown I had still retained a hold. I told him I was safe, and called to him to answer me. He made no reply--I raised his head--he moved not--I put my hand upon his heart--it had ceased to beat!

CHAPTER XII.

I have told all that I remember of that night,--a night whose horrible events still haunt my memory like the ghosts of the unburied on the banks of Styx, often flitting across my mind's eye, when it would fain turn to scenes of happiness and joy. If ever a horrible dream disturbs my slumber, it is also sure to refer to that night, and I find myself labouring on in the midst of wilds and darkness, rocks and precipices, the tempest dashing in my face, and the wind hurling me into the midst of the suffocating snow.