“I go to assist the Professor,” said Captain Wopper.
“And I,” said Lewis, “intend to go for fun; so you see, mother, as our reasons are all good, you had better go to bed, for it’s getting late.”
Mrs Stoutley accepted the suggestion, delivered a yawn into her pocket-handkerchief, and retired, as she remarked, to ascend Mont Blanc in dreams, and thus have all the pleasure without the bodily fatigue.
We are on the sides of the mountain monarch now, slowly wending our way through the sable fringe of pines that ornaments the skirt of his white mantle. We tramp along very slowly, for Antoine Grennon is in front and won’t allow us to go faster. To the impatient and youthful spirits of Lawrence and Lewis, the pace appears ridiculously slow, and the latter does not hesitate to make audible reference in his best French to the progress of snails, but Antoine is deaf to such references. One might fancy that he did not understand bad French, but for the momentary twinkle in his earnest eyes. But nothing will induce him to mend his pace, for well does he know that the ascent of Mont Blanc is no trifle; that even trained lungs and muscles are pretty severely taxed before the fifteen thousand seven hundred and eighty feet of perpendicular height above the sea-level is placed below the soles of the feet. He knows, also, from long experience, that he who would climb a mountain well, and use his strength to advantage, must begin with a slow, leisurely pace, as if he were merely out for a saunter, yet must progress with steady, persevering regularity. He knows, too, that young blood is prone to breast a mountain with head erect and spanking action, and to descend with woeful countenance and limp limbs. It must be restrained, and Antoine does his duty.
The ascent of Mont Blanc cannot be accomplished in one day. It is therefore necessary to sleep at a place named the Grands Mulets, from which a fresh start is made for the summit at the earliest hours of morning on the second day. Towards this resting-place our travellers now directed their steps.
The party consisted of the Professor, Captain Wopper, Lewis, Lawrence, and Slingsby, headed by their trusty guide, besides three porters with knapsacks containing food, wine, etcetera. One of these latter was the chamois-hunter, Baptist Le Croix. He brought up the rear of the party, and all proceeded in single file, each, like the North American Indian, treading in his predecessor’s footsteps.
Passing from the dark fringe of pines they emerged upon a more open country where the royal robe was wrought with larch and hazel, bilberry, and varied underwood, and speckled with rhododendrons and other flowers on a ground of rich brown, green, and grey. Steadily upwards, over the Glacier des Bossons, they went, with airy cloudlets floating around them, with the summit at which they aimed, the Dôme du Gouter, and the Aiguille du Gouter in front, luring them on, and other giant Aiguilles around watching them. Several hours of steady climbing brought them to the Pierre l’Échelle, where they were furnished with woollen leggings to protect their legs from the snow. Here also they procured a ladder and began the tedious work of traversing the glaciers. Hitherto their route had lain chiefly on solid ground—over grassy slopes and along rocky paths. It was now to be confined almost entirely to the ice, which they found to be cut up in all directions with fissures, so that great caution was needed in crossing crevasses and creeping round slippery ridges, and progress was for some time very slow.
Coming to one of the crevasses which was too wide to leap, the ladder was put in requisition. The iron spikes with which one end of it was shod were driven firmly into the ice at one side of the chasm and the other end rested on the opposite side.
Antoine crossed first and then held out his hand to the Professor, who followed, but the man of science was an expert ice-man, and in another moment stood at the guide’s side without having required assistance. Not so Captain Wopper.
“I’m not exactly a feather,” he said, looking with a doubtful expression at the frail bridge.