Going down a little way to where the slope eased off, and gathering together on the ice, we lit the lantern, hung it on an ice-axe stuck in the snow, and proceeded to explore the rücksacks for food and drink. We had been climbing for twenty-two and three-quarter hours, with but little food or drink. Even now we could scarcely eat; but the little water and a very small quantity of wine left in the bottles were soon disposed of. I had some of my Demerara sugar, and the others were content with a sardine or two and a little bread and jam. What remained of our provisions we now threw away. Fyfe, Graham, and I also indulged in a little whisky that Dr. Fitchett had sent us to the Ball Hut, and a small flask of which Fyfe had carried in his rücksack during the descent. Now that the mental strain of the climb was practically over, we felt that a little stimulant would do us no harm. Drink and sleep were what we most needed. We almost went to sleep standing up.

After our long spell of over twenty-two hours’ climbing, we had now to devote ourselves to a journey of ten or eleven miles down the Hooker Glacier and the valley at its termination to the Hermitage. There was some little trouble amongst the enormous crevasses and séracs, which, even in the moonlight, were a magnificent sight. We got through the first crevasses by candle-light, and then plodded on down the glacier by the light of the moon. Twice we got blocked, and had to retrace our steps to find a route through the maze of crevasses and broken ice. The sunrise was splendid. The silver of the moon gave place to the grey of dawn, and then the higher snows were flushed with rose and gold, the ice-cap of Mount Stokes being the first to catch the glow. The great ice-paved valley, loath to reveal the secrets of its grandeur, waited yet awhile in the sombre shade. But presently the sun searched the dimmest recesses of the lower crags, blazed upon the gleaming snows, and all the world was filled with light.

But it will be as well to draw a veil over the details of that long, dreary walk—the zigzagging to find a way down through the broken ice; the jumping of many crevasses; the uncertain steps along the crumbling live moraine; and the mechanical, sleepy trudge along the final pathway. Our throats were parched, and, early in the morning, the roar of a waterfall on the range across the valley mocked our thirst; but on the final slopes of the clear ice of the glacier we broke the frozen surface of some pools with our ice-axes and drank mighty draughts.

Hour by hour we plodded on down the valley, lifting our feet almost mechanically, halting at every stream, and falling asleep at every resting-place, till some resolute member of the party would prod the sleepy ones into mechanical action once more. Never, in all my life, have I travelled such long, weary miles. Towards the end of the journey, the one impression fixed indelibly on the brain seemed to be “the Hermitage.” Once across the Hooker River, it was “the Bar,” which loomed large in our minds with a capital B. We pulled ourselves together for the last hundred yards; but I am afraid it was with a rather faltering stride that we reached the winning-post after our long struggle of thirty-six hours from the Bivouac Rock many miles away on the other side of the great range. Turner, for sartorial reasons, had to make a bee-line for his bedroom; but the three New Zealanders went boldly into the kitchen of the Hermitage and discussed a bottle of wine amidst the congratulations of friend Macdonald and his worthy family. Fyfe and Graham followed this up with ham and eggs and copious draughts of milk. I had a jug of hot milk, a hot bath, and bed. We had not had a wash nor taken off our clothes for several days, and were now in a position to fully appreciate the luxuries of civilization. I slept till the dinner-gong woke me in the evening, and as there was not time to dress I had dinner in bed. Later on, Fyfe, Graham, and Clark came into my room, and we climbed the mountain over again.

On the way down the Hooker I had sworn to myself that I would never climb another peak; but so strange an animal is man, and so fascinating is his most glorious sport, that no sooner had we recovered from our exertions than we now immediately began to discuss plans for the ascent of Mount Sefton! But next day, through the glasses, we could plainly see great icicles hanging from the rocks on the main arête. The ridge was plastered with ice, and we had no immediate desire to repeat the performance we had just gone through.

THE END

INDEX