When I dismounted, and flung my bridle to the guide, I felt as though I had gained another year of life!
Never shall I forget the fatigue of that ascent!—a weary league over the gnarled roots of the juniper plants, and loose stones which treacherously failed beneath our feet, and frequently lost us six steps for the one that we thought to gain. But at length we stood upon the edge of the rock; we had clomb the ascent, and were looking down upon the mountains that we had traversed in the morning;, as though into a valley; but our task was not yet ended: the loftiest peak, the seat of Jupiter, yet towered above us, and seemed to mock our efforts. Between that peak, and the spot on which we stood, there was a deep hollow, to be descended on our side, and again mounted on the other: the rock was edged with snow many feet in depth; our feet sank among the loose stones; the cold was piercing; and to add to our discomfort, the vapours were rising from the valley beyond the mountain in one dense mass which resembled the concentrated smoke of a burning world.
The effect was sublimely awful! Fold upon fold—shade darkening over shade—nothing was to be seen but the cold, gray, clinging vapour which hung against the mountain, as if to curtain the space beyond. It was frightful to stand upon the edge of the precipice, and to mark the working of that mysterious cloud—fancy ran riot in looking on it—its superhuman extent—its unearthly, impalpable texture—its everchanging form—its deep, dense tint—my brain reeled with watching its shifting wonders; and had not my companion withdrawn me from the brink, I should have sunk down from sheer mental exhaustion.
We had been warned not to linger when on the mountain, and after the lapse of a few moments we again toiled on. At intervals the vapour rolled back, and gave us glimpses of hills, and valleys, and woods, and streams, far below us; but it was like the production of a fairy-wand, for while we yet looked upon them they were lost: another heavy fold of mist rose from the chasm, and again all was chaos.
At length the chibouk was lighted. We stood upon the Grave of the Giant; upon the highest point of Mount Olympus—beside the roofless hut, built for the shelter of the storm-overtaken traveller, and so ingeniously sunk beneath the surface as to form a well, in which such a shower of rain as commonly falls in the neighbourhood of the mountain, would go nigh to drown the hapless wanderer who might trust to the treacherous asylum.
Behind us all was vapour: before us stretched away the mountain-chain across which we had travelled: while far, far in the distance, and almost blent with the horizon, we distinguished the blue Lake of Apollonia. While we yet looked, we saw the mists gathering about our own path; curling up from the swampy patches between the hills; rolling along the rocky channel of the torrents: draping the broad branches of the dark firs; clinging to the mountain sides—we had no time to lose. We were not travellers on a highway; we had neither finger-posts nor landmarks—all is so nearly alike in the wilderness: one pile of cold gray rock looms out from amid the mists shaped so like its neighbour; one rushing torrent brawls over its stony bed so like another: one stretch of forest darkens the mountain side with a gloom so similar to that which shadows the opposite height, that we thought it well to avoid the gathering of the vapours, if we did not wish to sleep in the desart.
To return by the way that we had ascended was out of the question; for we had walked upwards of a league along the summit of the mountain, after having gained the height. The other face of the rock presented a much shorter road, but, as it was extremely dangerous, we held a council to decide on which we should venture—the fatigue and loss of time, or the possibility of accident. We were already travel-worn and foot-sore, but not caring to confess even to each other that it was the exertion from which we shrank, we both talked very sagely of the danger of delay, with the mists gathering so rapidly about us; and decided, as a matter of prudence, on descending the precipice.
I have already mentioned the mountain-ridge that projected over the gulph, and whose jagged and storm-riven outline bore testimony to the ravages of time and tempest; while the huge fragments of fallen rock which heaved up their dark masses from among the accumulated snows beneath, broke the smooth surface, and betrayed the depth of the precipice.
This was the point on which we fixed for our descent: my companion, who was an accomplished sportsman, and accustomed to the dizzy mountains of the East, led the way; and, as he assured me that nothing but nerve was required to ensure success, I followed without hesitation. Seating ourselves, therefore, upon the summit of the mountain, we slid gently down to a narrow ledge of rock, just sufficiently wide to afford us footing; and clinging to the stones which jutted out from the natural wall on the one side, and carefully avoiding to look towards the precipice on the other, we slowly made our way to a second descent similar to the first. This hazardous exploit, thrice repeated, carried us through the most difficult portion of our undertaking, as the rock then projected sufficiently towards the base to enable us to step from stone to stone, until we arrived at the edge of the snow.
As we could form no calculation of its depth, we did not venture to traverse it, which would have shortened the distance very considerably; but skirting the gulph, where it was not more than mid-way to our knees, we at length arrived in a patch of swampy land, inundated by the melting of the mountain snows, and scattered over with rocks, many of them split asunder, as though they had suffered from the wrath of Vulcan in one of his stormy moods. Our wet and weary feet next carried us up a slight ascent, to a stretch of land as brilliant and as sweet as a flower-garden. Were I to enumerate all the blossoms that I saw growing wild on this spot, the next page of my book would resemble a floricultural catalogue; and tired as I was, I could not pass them by without gathering a bouquet which would have done no disgrace to an English parterre.