“At this point I took off my skirt, and removed my boots, putting on tennis shoes instead. The rubber soles of these are far safer than nails on the smooth and slabby Dolomite rock.
“The guides jabbered between themselves; Bettega smiled sublimely and looked utterly in his element, but Tavernaro seemed rather subdued; he is under the moral influence of Bettega, for though Tavernaro may have more education and cleverness he rounds upon his comrade at times owing to his excitable disposition. But on the mountains he slinks at Bettega’s elbow, as the two roll along with the peculiar mountaineer’s bending stride on level ground, and Tavernaro never asks a price or arranges for an excursion without consulting Bettega. But, on the other hand, Bettega lives in fear of Tavernaro’s lively tongue, so it is about balanced!
“Having finished our meal, we set off. I was roped to Bettega, who led. After about five minutes Bettega, who till then had held in his hand all the rope we were not using, dropped it in a big coil, and told me to ‘Remain firm’ where I was. He then climbed upwards for a few minutes, but I did not watch, for though my head had not swum at all as yet, I wasn’t too sure of it, and the rock face was very sheer, so I neither looked up nor down, but sat with my cheek against the rock and held on! But all went merrily. Tavernaro occasionally placed one of my feet, which was placeless, and we got up the first camino, or rocky chimney, fairly well. ‘Wait a moment, signorina,’ said Bettega, and then he disappeared overhead—literally disappeared, for he was quite hidden when he cried cheerily, ‘Come! Come!’ I got up, and found a very small posto or tiny platform on which to wait, with a disagreeably obtrusive precipice below it. Above was a second camino, which looked smooth and gloomy. I leant affectionately against the rock, pondering deeply of anything except ‘empty space.’ ‘The signorina is all right there?’ enquired Bettega solicitously. ‘To be sure she is!’ cried Tavernaro gaily, as he leant over me against the rock. Then up clomb Bettega, and G—— advanced slowly and surely from below. As the minutes went by I shut my eyes, and was gloomily thankful when the summons came from above. Looking up, I could just see Bettega’s bushy black head and flannel cap couched amongst the rocks. Fifteen feet up the camino a big stone was wedged, and between this and the back of the chimney one had to pass, emerging above at the top of the wall. G—— having now reached the posto, I began to go up, with Tavernaro closely following me. Bit by bit I climbed; a grab, a hoist, a foot tucked into a crevice on either side of the camino, a long reach with my arm, a steady pull—and likewise, it must be confessed, a pull from the rope!—and so up, up again. The rock wall was abominably straight and holeless. Under the stone, with the three members placed on ledges or in cracks, I in vain sought a point of rest for the fourth before hauling. ‘Good heavens!’ I exclaimed in melancholy undertones, and a gurgling chuckle from below showed that Tavernaro sympathised. ‘Here you are, signorina,’ he said, giving me his shoulder for a momentary foot-hold. With that instant of support I swung up on to the stone, and so to the next posto sicuro, or safe spot. G—— came up without help, but he assured me that it was a really hard place.
“Of course I don’t pretend I did it all myself. Quite half a dozen times I doubt if I could have got up without material aid from the cord, or from Tavernaro below. Once, in a camino, the latter gave me a butt with his head, which made me reflect how great a man was lost to the game of football, while the way he placed my feet was a great help to one who, as a novice, had not yet learnt to study the foot-holds in advance.
“We now reached a place where a third camino ran up above us, while an awkward traverse led to another on the right. Here I heard Tavernaro remonstrate with Bettega on the route he had taken, but the latter said, very decidedly, that he intended going straight on, so Tavernaro, as usual, subsided, but became very quiet. He had never before ascended this camino, which was a discovery of Bettega’s, but no doubt he had heard about it.
“We began to climb it, Bettega first and I following him closely. It had rained heavily the previous day, and all the loose stones had been washed to the very edge of the ledges. Not having been cautioned about these, and intent on getting up, I let several fall. ‘Hi! Gently with the stones!’ gasped Tavernaro from below, and when he reached my side I saw that his knuckles were bleeding. ‘Have you hurt yourself?’ I enquired. ‘No, it is you who have done it, and you’ve twice nearly killed your brother,’ he replied, but G—— told me to tell Tavernaro he had sent down a much worse stone than any of mine, whereat he looked resigned, and remarked, ‘Oh, yes, these things can’t always be avoided.’
“‘Stay quietly where you are, and wait till I tell you to come on,’ Bettega now remarked. I crouched in a very narrow chimney for a little, watched not—a hundred pities—and heard Bettega go up beyond. Not more than three minutes elapsed before his deep voice sang out: ‘Now, come up!’ and though I replied: ‘I’m coming,’ I wondered how I was to do it. We were near the top of the chimney. Further up, it became too narrow for any human form to squeeze into. One had therefore to come out of it to the right and climb up and over a huge bulging mass of rock about 15 feet high, which overhung the precipice. This mass of gently bulging rock was worn smooth by rain and stones. There was no proper foot-hold, hardly the tiniest crack. How had Bettega managed it? I got up the cold, damp chimney as far as I could, leant gasping against the rock, and felt near the end of my courage. Tavernaro was stowed away yards below, G—— also out of sight, Bettega invisible above. There was just the cord, pulling me away from the inhospitable rocks, and at my very heels an abyss of 2000 feet. I made one bold grab on the smooth wall, but speedily retired to the end of the camino, and feebly yelled, ‘Wait! Ah, I can’t do it!’ ‘All right! Catch hold of this cord!’ came the answer, and a loop of rope was let slowly down. I seized it, contrived to get one foot on to a tiny, weeny point, came out of the chimney, and heard Bettega call, ‘To the right, signorina!’ ‘To the right; that’s all very well!’ I muttered fiercely, and felt my hand slipping; my foot gave, my fingers ran down the rope, the cord round my waist tightened, I pushed my arm through the loop of the free rope with one last effort, and then finding no support of any kind for my feet, was ignominiously pulled, kicking, up the precipice by Bettega, who, firmly fixed with both feet against rocks, hauled me up most joyously hand over hand.
“‘But, Michele, how did you manage to get up?’ I panted, as I sank on a ledge, and gazed in awed admiration at him. ‘Well, not like that, signorina!’ he said, with his honest laugh; ‘I really came up by pressure. There are no hand-grips, so you have to do without.’ ‘It’s marvellous! It’s stupendous!’ murmured I, really awed by the man’s power. Then we both listened for Tavernaro’s coming, and a proper little comedy, for us two at least, ensued. Of course one could see nothing, the rock bulged too much, but one could hear Tavernaro’s voice some 20 feet below, as he groped about, swearing softly. Five minutes went by and all was still, so Bettega began haranguing him. ‘More to the right, Tony; you must come out, don’t go too high in the chimney!’ Then—‘Look out, Tony, I’ll send you the rope-end!’ But an ominous ‘No,’ quickly answered this proposal. A guide’s honour is very sensitive on this point. Another three or four minutes passed. ‘How is Tavernaro getting on?’ I whispered, and Bettega replied, smiling broadly, ‘He wishes to try.’
“Some gasps from the direction of the chimney were now heard, and Bettega again expostulated gently. ‘Look here, Tony, we are old friends; take the rope!’ ‘No’ in gloomy defiance. ‘Oh, if we were alone it would be different, but we must not keep the rest of the party waiting, and the signorina may take cold.’ This was all in patois, but I caught some of it, and here struck in quickly, ‘Oh, not at all!’ Bettega looked surprised, and resumed more energetically his exhortations to Tony to pocket his pride and accept the loop of rope. At last Tony, who must have been within 10 feet of the top and so at the worst spot, suddenly jerked on to the proffered cord, and was up the next moment, hatless, with huge beads of sweat on his forehead and his black hair as straight as matches. There was a great rent in the side of one of his hands, which bled profusely. What struck me most, however, was the expression of suffering and shaken confidence on his face. Tavernaro ranks only second to Bettega and Zecchini, and was asked to go to the Caucasus and other distant mountains. He just stumbled to a safe spot, wrung his left hand, and panted out, ‘Jesu Maria! it was cruel!’ I fear that Bettega’s smile was more triumphant than sympathetic. Nevertheless, he enquired kindly for Tavernaro’s hand, but for fully two minutes the latter’s loquaciousness was lost. The look of anguish on his face meant, I think, that he had seen death pretty near to him. He told us that he went far too much into the crack on the left, and had remained sticking in it till his hands got so cold he feared he would lose his grip. If he had, he was lost, and probably G—— also, so he had actually held on with his head and left his cap jammed in the crack. I called to G—— to hook the rope over a point of rock in case Tavernaro fell, and this he had done, but even so the frightful jerk might have torn him down, and in any case Tavernaro must have been either killed or frightfully hurt, as he had, I should think, about 30 feet of rope out.
“While I was in the throes of the difficult part, Papa’s cap fell off my head, but Tavernaro caught it and brought it up. He was in an awful state of mind about his own cap, which had his guide’s badge, etc., on it, and begged me to call down to my brother about it. I did so, but G—— replied several times with some asperity that he had enough to do to get himself up. ‘Why can’t he bring it up in his mouth?’ cried Tavernaro excitedly, and, in the end, G—— brought it in his belt.