The conduct of our guides was most remarkable: in circumstances of the utmost peril they betrayed a levity almost unnatural, and more than once took to snowballing each other, as if they had been on level ground. We continued to ascend until the dreary waste of the Hill opened on us in all its awful grandeur. No living thing was visible, and the earth below was fading in the misty distance, leaving no trace of its existence but the tops of the tall chimneys on the Birmingham Railway. Once, and once only, Mr. Vult fancied he heard the squeak of a train coming in: this might or might not have been the case. The cold was most intense, but we had made up our minds to succeed or die, and we pushed bravely up the last slope.
At half-past eleven we reached the summit—and never shall I forget the eventful moment. My companions partook of my excitement, with the exception of Mr. Vult, who having had the care of the brandy flask in the ascent, and not being a teetotaller, had indulged in so many tastes, that his conduct was most unscientific. He insisted on trying to waltz with Simmons, and threw his new hat at a bird that flew over our heads. A passing breeze carried it down the Hill with as much ease as if it had been its namesake production of the fields—the work of the Aranea Sylvestris, or Gossamer Spider of Linnæus.
With respect to the view, so dense was the fog reigning around, that we saw nothing beyond twenty yards from us. What lay within that radius was, however, very magnificent, consisting of a deep layer of snow, broken only by our footsteps. In answer to my inquiry of Simmons, if avalanches were common in the winter, he replied, with much candour, "That he didn't disactly know, but he believed there was lots of nuts and brandy-balls, now and then." Having satisfied our eyes, we prepared to act similarly towards our stomachs: and we were glad to find our elevated situation had no other effect upon our animal economy than wonderfully increasing our appetites. The guides feasted at a small distance from us; their provision consisted principally of cold bacon, which they had tied up in their neckcloths, where it acted as a stiffener. We allowed a bottle of Guinness amongst them, fearing, if we gave them more, they would get confused, and unable to find their way down again. After dinner I proposed "Prosperity to Science," which Mr. Vult insisted upon giving with three times six, and finished by falling down on the snow, quite overcome. The sentiment given by Plucky was simple, and indicative of pastoral feeling. He merely exclaimed, as he slapped his hand against his yellow-leather indispensables, "Here's luck!" and drank up nearly all the bottle at a draught, to show how much in earnest he was.
I wrote some notes in pencil for our friends to keep as souvenirs, and made several scientific observations. On endeavouring to ascertain, from the fall of the mercury in my barometer, at what height we stood, I was surprised to see no traces at all of the mercury on the index plate. I subsequently found Mr. Vult had tumbled on it, and all the quicksilver had run out.
As afternoon advanced we prepared to descend, dreading lest night should overtake us in these wild solitudes. Our guides showed us a method of coming down the declivities, at which they seemed very expert. They sat on the snow, and glided down with the rapidity of a railroad. Not liking to trust myself alone, Plucky took me behind him, and we got down safely. Mr. Vult, however, over valiant, would go by himself, and consequently, after sliding at a fearful rate, he suddenly disappeared, having, as we imagined, slipped into some tremendous crevice of the glacier. We found that he had fallen into a hole where the railway navigators had been digging for clay, the water in which had got slightly frozen over, and then covered with snow. This accident somewhat checked our ardour, but we congratulated ourselves upon its fortunate result. At length we reached the level ground, and returned to our inn, highly gratified with our excursion, although we would recommend no one to undertake so perilous a task from mere motives of curiosity.
Champagne.
VII.
Tom Gad has stray'd to a masquerade,