My guide, who had been snuffing the air and stretching his vision in every direction for the last quarter of an hour, now assured me that a snow-storm was coming, and advised an immediate return down the mountain. I was not disposed to comply, as I had heard that these people are very ready to discourage travellers at the least appearance of any danger, because they are unwilling to encounter the cold of the upper regions. I told him to push on, and never mind the wind, which was now blowing in violent gusts. But in a few minutes, large flakes of snow began to fall, and soon the whole air was obscured. The mules showed some reluctance to proceed, and we had much ado to urge them onward. The guide kept talking of the dangers of our undertaking, and told a story of an Englishman who was lost here about six weeks before in a snow-storm, just like the one that was now raging. It seems he was going up the mountain with two others of his countrymen, and being overtaken by the snow, they strayed from the path, and got into a great plain, full of deep pools of water, covered with a thin crust of ice. In attempting to cross one of these, they broke through, and one of the travellers was drowned, the rest escaping with difficulty after losing all their baggage. This melancholy catastrophe called forth all the sympathies of my companion, who related the circumstances with many mournful ejaculations and shakes of the head, assuring me that he was a bel giovanotto, or fine young fellow.
As I had never heard a syllable of this story at Catania in all my inquiries respecting the mountain, I guessed at once that the fellow had made it up out of his own head, to scare me from my undertaking. I asked him if he was sure the story was true. He protested that it was true, every word, and there could be no doubt of it, for he had seen the very mule which the drowned man rode, no longer ago than last Friday, trotting through the Corso of Catania. He was a long-backed beast, dark red, mixed with iron gray; and if that was not the dead Englishman’s mule, whose mule was it? I could not help laughing in his face at this odd proof of the story. He was a good deal disconcerted to see me so much amused instead of being frightened, and jogged on without telling any more tales of the misfortunes of travellers.
The snow continued to fall so thick that we could see only a few yards before us; but the mules, who always follow a beaten path, continued to keep in the track till the middle of the afternoon, when the ground became so deeply covered that there seemed to be danger of their missing the way, and I began to feel some small apprehension that we might encounter an accident of the kind which had been related of the young Englishman, though I did not believe a word of the story. Luckily, about this time, the snow ceased to fall, and before sunset the sky grew clear. The prospect around me was desolate in the extreme. The whole surface of the mountain above was covered with snow, diversified here and there with huge red and black spots, where hills of burnt rock and volcanic sand, or craggy masses of lava, lifted their heads above the white expanse.
Just as daylight shut in we reached a little hut called the “Englishman’s House,” which had been erected here for the accommodation of travellers. The shelter it afforded us was exceedingly welcome, for we were almost frozen to death with the keen air of the mountain. Luckily, the building, though destitute of furniture, contained a considerable quantity of dry sticks, which enabled us to make a good fire; else we should have passed a sleepless night, for my limbs were stiff with cold and fatigue. I lay down to rest as soon as I had eaten my supper, in order to be awake before daylight the next morning, as I was determined if possible to get to the top of the mountain before sunrise. I gave my companion strict injunctions to waken me as soon as his eyes should be open. But we both slept so soundly that it was broad daylight before we knew anything about it; and by the time we were fairly on our journey, the sun rose. I was much disappointed in not witnessing this spectacle from the mountain-top, as it would have afforded me something to boast of all my life; but the sight, as it was, might be thought enough to compensate for the fatigue and trouble of climbing so far. The snowy cap of the mountain, on the lower edge of which we were standing, glowed with the pure rosy tints of morning. Next to this was the green belt of forest, which first appeared dark and gloomy, but by degrees brightened into livelier tints, as the advancing sun threw his beams more directly upon the thick masses of leaves. Further down, the eye expatiated over the diversified surface of the skirts of the mountain, with its red cones, spots of green vegetation, and countless villages and towns, scattered right and left down to the water’s edge. The prospect to the east was bounded by the broad expanse of the ocean, which the brilliant morning sun had brightened up into a mirror of fire. Further to the north, the eye reposed on the dark mountains of Calabria, whose snowy summits glimmered with a faint roseate hue in the distance.
The wind blew a steady breeze from the southwest, which carried the smoke from the crater away from us; and we proceeded on foot directly up the cone of the mountain. The distance to the top was eight or nine miles, though it did not appear to be more than two or three. The snow, instead of being soft like that of yesterday, was frozen into a hard crust, over which we were continually sliding. I could not help thinking, as I looked on this great, steep mountain-top, covered with a glare of ice, what a capital coasting place it would be for the Boston boys! They might slide half a dozen miles at a stretch, and then warm their toes in hot ashes and lava. However, this sliding on the frozen snow was a thing I never thought of when I began my journey, or I should have provided myself with a pair of corks. The only way I could make any progress, was by shambling along sideways, and digging the edges of my boot-soles through the crust, so as to get a footing at each step. This labor was excessively fatiguing, and before we had climbed two miles, the guide flatly refused to go any further, declaring that he was completely out of breath. I told him to go back and wait for me, as I was determined to go on, even if I went alone.
I had no fear of getting lost, because I had but to follow my own tracks backward when matters got to be desperate. I continued to climb upward with the help of a stout walking-stick, and soon lost sight of my companion. Now that I was all alone, trudging up to the top of Mount Ætna, I really felt something of the dignity of a traveller, and was absolutely delighted with the lonely adventure. My fingers were benumbed with the cold, and the rays of the sun, which was now pretty high, were reflected with so fierce a glare from the snow, that in a short time I was unable to keep my eyes open. It was impossible to go any further without the power of looking before me, for every slip and stumble I made sent me a hundred yards backward. I was just on the point of giving up the enterprise, when a thought struck me. I had a black silk handkerchief round my neck: this I took off and bound round my forehead in such a manner as to screen my eyes. The expedient answered admirably well, and with this help I gained the top of the mountain.
When I found myself on the summit of the crater, the excitement of my feelings was such as to banish all sensations of pain, fatigue, or even fear. I stood on the edge of that great yawning gulf, which has vomited smoke and flame, for thousands of years. At the foot of the mountain, this summit appears drawn to a point, but I found it to be an immense hollow, two or three miles in diameter, and shelving down on all sides to the depth of half a mile or more. The bottom of the crater was full of chasms, through which volumes of white smoke were ascending, which rolled over the edge of the crater, and then shot off horizontally through the air. The sides were craggy, red, yellow, and black, with great masses of brimstone, big enough to load a ship. The smoke that burst out through every crevice and opening was loaded with fumes of sulphur, and on thrusting the end of my stick into a crack of the lava at my feet, it took fire.
(To be continued.)
HYMN.
Almighty God, when morning light