“Pr’aps you might, youngster, with your half fledged spider-legs,” said the Captain, “but you’ll not catch fourteen-stun-six goin’ over that with its own free will. What’s to be done now, Antoine?”
The guide, after looking at the crevasse for a few minutes, said that the next thing to be done was to look for a snow-bridge, which he had no doubt would be found somewhere. In search of this he scattered the whole party, and in a few minutes a loud shout from the chamois-hunter told that he had been successful. The members of the party at once converged towards him, but found that the success was only partial. He had indeed found a part of the crevasse, which, during some of the wild storms so frequent on the mountain, had been bridged over by a snow-wreath, but the central part of the bridge had given way, and it was thus divided by a gap of about a foot wide. This would have been but a small and insignificant step to take had the substance been solid, but although the ice on one side was strong the opposite edge was comparatively soft snow, and not much more than a foot thick. The chamois-hunter, being the lightest of the party, was called to the front and ordered to test the strength of the frail bridge, if bridge it could be called.
“Why, he might as well try to step on a bit of sea-foam,” said the Captain in surprise.
Lawrence, Lewis, and Slingsby, having as yet had no experience of such places, expressed, or held a similar opinion, but the Professor bade them wait and see.
Baptist, throwing off his pack, and fastening a rope round his waist, which his comrades held, advanced to the extreme edge of the ice, and with his long-handled axe, gently patted the snow on the opposite side. The surface yielded, and it seemed as if even that small weight would break the lump off, but the operation consolidated the mass in a few minutes, by reason of what the Professor termed “regelation.” He then stepped tenderly on it, crossed over, and drew the rope after him. Antoine followed next, and in a few minutes the whole party was safe on the other side.
“Dr Lawrence,” said Slingsby, in a low grave tone, as they walked along after this, “if we ever see Chamouni again I shall be surprised.”
“Indeed?” returned Lawrence, with a short laugh, “I don’t take quite so gloomy a view of our case. Don’t you think that the free and easy, quiet look of our guide and porters indicates that such work looks more dangerous than it really is?”
“I don’t know that,” said the artist, shaking his head, “when men get thoroughly accustomed to danger they become foolhardy, and don’t realise it. I think it sheer madness to cross such places.”
Lewis, who overheard the conversation, could scarce refrain from a burst of laughter.
“Upon my word, Slingsby,” said he, “such observations come strangely from the lips of a man, who only a day or two ago was caught sketching on a snow-wreath over the edge of a crevasse.”