THE GLACIER

Even that day came to an end at last, and after a few more lumps of yak, our tent being gone, we drew his hide over us and rested as best we could, knowing that at least we had no more avalanches to fear.  That night it froze sharply, so that had it not been for the yak’s hide and the other rugs and garments, which fortunately we were wearing when the snow-slide began, it would, I think, have gone hard with us.  As it was, we suffered a great deal.

“Horace,” said Leo at the dawn, “I am going to leave this.  If we have to die, I would rather do so moving; but I don’t believe that we shall die.”

“Very well,” I said, “let us start.  If the snow won’t bear us now, it never will.”

So we tied up our rugs and the yak’s hide in two bundles and, having cut off some more of the frozen meat, began our descent.  Now, although the mount was under two hundred feet high, its base, fortunately for us ­for otherwise it must have been swept away by the mighty pressure of the avalanche ­was broad, so that there was a long expanse of piled-up snow between us and the level ground.

Since, owing to the overhanging conformation of the place, it was quite impossible for us to descend in front where pressure had made the snow hard as stone, we were obliged to risk a march over the looser material upon its flank.  As there was nothing to be gained by waiting, off we went, Leo leading and step by step trying the snow.  To our joy we discovered that the sharp night frost had so hardened its surface that it would support us.  About half way down, however, where the pressure had been less, it became much softer, so that we were forced to lie upon our faces, which enabled us to distribute our weight over a larger surface, and thus slither gently down the hill.

All went well until we were within twenty paces of the bottom, where we must cross a soft mound formed of the powdery dust thrown off by the avalanche in its rush.  Leo slipped over safely, but I, following a yard or two to his right, of a sudden felt the hard crust yield beneath me.  An ill-judged but quite natural flounder and wriggle, such as a newly-landed flat-fish gives upon the sand, completed the mischief, and with one piercing but swiftly stifled yell, I vanished.

Any one who has ever sunk in deep water will know that the sensation is not pleasant, but I can assure him that to go through the same experience in soft snow is infinitely worse; mud alone could surpass its terrors.  Down I went, and down, till at length I seemed to reach a rock which alone saved me from disappearing for ever.  Now I felt the snow closing above me and with it came darkness and a sense of suffocation.  So soft was the drift, however, that before I was overcome I contrived with my arms to thrust away the powdery dust from about my head, thus forming a little hollow into which air filtered slowly.  Getting my hands upon the stone, I strove to rise, but could not, the weight upon me was too great.

Then I abandoned hope and prepared to die.  The process proved not altogether unpleasant.  I did not see visions from my past life as drowning men are supposed to do, but ­and this shows how strong was her empire over me ­my mind flew back to Ayesha.  I seemed to behold her and a man at her side, standing over me in some dark, rocky gulf.  She was wrapped in a long travelling cloak, and her lovely eyes were wild with fear.  I rose to salute her, and make report, but she cried in a fierce, concentrated voice ­“What evil thing has happened here?  Thou livest; then where is my lord Leo?  Speak, man, and say where thou hast hid my lord ­or die.”

The vision was extraordinarily real and vivid, I remember, and, considered in connection with a certain subsequent event, in all ways most remarkable, but it passed as swiftly as it came.

Then my senses left me.

I saw a light again.  I heard a voice, that of Leo.  “Horace,” he cried, “Horace, hold fast to the stock of the rifle.”  Something was thrust against my outstretched hand.  I gripped it despairingly, and there came a strain.  It was useless, I did not move.  Then, bethinking me, I drew up my legs and by chance or the mercy of Heaven, I know not, got my feet against a ridge of the rock on which I was lying.  Again I felt the strain, and thrust with all my might.  Of a sudden the snow gave, and out of that hole I shot like a fox from its earth.

I struck something.  It was Leo straining at the gun, and I knocked him backwards.  Then down the steep slope we rolled, landing at length upon the very edge of the precipice.  I sat up, drawing in the air with great gasps, and oh! how sweet it was.  My eyes fell upon my hand, and I saw that the veins stood out on the back of it, black as ink and large as cords.  Clearly I must have been near my end.

“How long was I in there?” I gasped to Leo, who sat at my side, wiping off the sweat that ran from his face in streams.

“Don’t know.  Nearly twenty minutes, I should think.”

“Twenty minutes!  It seemed like twenty centuries.  How did you get me out?  You could not stand upon the drift dust.”

“No; I lay upon the yak skin where the snow was harder and tunnelled towards you through the powdery stuff with my hands, for I knew where you had sunk and it was not far off.  At last I saw your finger tips; they were so blue that for a few seconds I took them for rock, but thrust the butt of the rifle against them.  Luckily you still had life enough to catch hold of it, and you know the rest.  Were we not both very strong, it could never have been done.”

“Thank you, old fellow,” I said simply.

“Why should you thank me?” he asked with one of his quick smiles.  “Do you suppose that I wished to continue this journey alone?  Come, if you have got your breath, let us be getting on.  You have been sleeping in a cold bed and want exercise.  Look, my rifle is broken and yours is lost in the snow.  Well, it will save us the trouble of carrying the cartridges,” and he laughed drearily.

Then we began our march, heading for the spot where the road ended four miles or so away, for to go forward seemed useless.  In due course we reached it safely.  Once a mass of snow as large as a church swept down just in front of us, and once a great boulder loosened from the mountain rushed at us suddenly like an attacking lion, or the stones thrown by Polyphemus at the ship of Odysseus, and, leaping over our heads, vanished with an angry scream into the depths beneath.  But we took little heed of these things:  our nerves were deadened, and no danger seemed to affect them.

There was the end of the road, and there were our own footprints and the impress of the yak’s hoofs in the snow.  The sight of them affected me, for it seemed strange that we should have lived to look upon them again.  We stared over the edge of the precipice.  Yes, it was sheer and absolutely unclimbable.

“Come to the glacier,” said Leo.

So we went on to it, and scrambling a little way down its root, made an examination.  Here, so far as we could judge, the cliff was about four hundred feet deep.  But whether or no the tongue of ice reached to the foot of it we were unable to tell, since about two thirds of the way down it arched inwards, like the end of a bent bow, and the conformation of the overhanging rocks on either side was such that we could not see where it terminated.  We climbed back again and sat down, and despair took hold of us, bitter, black despair.

“What are we to do?” I asked.  “In front of us death.  Behind us death, for how can we recross those mountains without food or guns to shoot it with?  Here death, for we must sit and starve.  We have striven and failed.  Leo, our end is at hand.  Only a miracle can save us.”

“A miracle,” he answered.  “Well, what was it that led us to the top of the mount so that we were able to escape the avalanche?  And what was it which put that rock in your way as you sank into the bed of dust, and gave me wit and strength to dig you out of your grave of snow?  And what is it that has preserved us through seventeen years of dangers such as few men have known and lived?  Some directing Power.  Some Destiny that will accomplish itself in us.  Why should the Power cease to guide?  Why should the Destiny be baulked at last?”

He paused, then added fiercely, “I tell you, Horace, that even if we had guns, food, and yaks, I would not turn back upon our spoor, since to do so would prove me a coward and unworthy of her.  I will go on.”

“How?” I asked.

“By that road,” and he pointed to the glacier.

“It is a road to death!”

“Well, if so, Horace, it would seem that in this land men find life in death, or so they believe.  If we die now, we shall die travelling our path, and in the country where we perish we may be born again.  At least I am determined, so you must choose.”

“I have chosen long ago.  Leo, we began this journey together and we will end it together.  Perhaps Ayesha knows and will help us,” and I laughed drearily.  “If not ­come, we are wasting time.”

Then we took counsel, and the end of it was that we cut a skin rug and the yak’s tough hide into strips and knotted these together into two serviceable ropes, which we fastened about our middles, leaving one end loose, for we thought that they might help us in our descent.

Next we bound fragments of another skin rug about our legs and knees to protect them from the chafing of the ice and rocks, and for the same reason put on our thick leather gloves.  This done, we took the remainder of our gear and heavy robes and, having placed stones in them, threw them over the brink of the precipice, trusting to find them again, should we ever reach its foot.  Now our preparations were complete, and it was time for us to start upon perhaps one of the most desperate journeys ever undertaken by men of their own will.

Yet we stayed a little, looking at each other in piteous fashion, for we could not speak.  Only we embraced, and I confess, I think I wept a little.  It all seemed so sad and hopeless, these longings endured through many years, these perpetual, weary travellings, and now ­the end.  I could not bear to think of that splendid man, my ward, my most dear friend, the companion of my life, who stood before me so full of beauty and of vigour, but who must within a few short minutes be turned into a heap of quivering, mangled flesh.  For myself it did not matter.  I was old, it was time that I should die.  I had lived innocently, if it were innocent to follow this lovely image, this Siren of the caves, who lured us on to doom.

No, I don’t think that I thought of myself then, but I thought a great deal of Leo, and when I saw his determined face and flashing eyes as he nerved himself to the last endeavour, I was proud of him.  So in broken accents I blessed him and wished him well through all the aeons, praying that I might be his companion to the end of time.  In few words and short he thanked me and gave me back my blessing.  Then he muttered ­“Come.”

So side by side we began the terrible descent.  At first it was easy enough, although a slip would have hurled us to eternity.  But we were strong and skilful, accustomed to such places moreover, and made none.  About a quarter of the way down we paused, standing upon a great boulder that was embedded in the ice, and, turning round cautiously, leaned our backs against the glacier and looked about us.  Truly it was a horrible place, almost sheer, nor did we learn much, for beneath us, a hundred and twenty feet or more, the projecting bend cut off our view of what lay below.

So, feeling that our nerves would not bear a prolonged contemplation of that dizzy gulf, once more we set our faces to the ice and proceeded on the downward climb.  Now matters were more difficult, for the stones were fewer and once or twice we must slide to reach them, not knowing if we should ever stop again.  But the ropes which we threw over the angles of the rocks, or salient points of ice, letting ourselves down by their help and drawing them after us when we reached the next foothold, saved us from disaster.

Thus at length we came to the bend, which was more than half way down the precipice, being, so far as I could judge, about two hundred and fifty feet from its lip, and say one hundred and fifty from the darksome bottom of the narrow gulf.  Here were no stones, but only some rough ice, on which we sat to rest.

“We must look,” said Leo presently.

But the question was, how to do this.  Indeed, there was only one way, to hang over the bend and discover what lay below.  We read each other’s thought without the need of words, and I made a motion as though I would start.

“No,” said Leo, “I am younger and stronger than you.  Come, help me,” and he began to fasten the end of his rope to a strong, projecting point of ice.  “Now,” he said, “hold my ankles.”

It seemed an insanity, but there was nothing else to be done, so, fixing my heels in a niche, I grasped them and slowly he slid forward till his body vanished to the middle.  What he saw does not matter, for I saw it all afterwards, but what happened was that suddenly all his great weight came upon my arms with such a jerk that his ankles were torn from my grip.

Or, who knows! perhaps in my terror I loosed them, obeying the natural impulse which prompts a man to save his own life.  If so, may I be forgiven, but had I held on, I must have been jerked into the abyss.  Then the rope ran out and remained taut.

“Leo!” I screamed, “Leo!” and I heard a muffled voice saying, as I thought, “Come.”  What it really said was ­“Don’t come.”  But indeed ­and may it go to my credit ­I did not pause to think, but face outwards, just as I was sitting, began to slide and scramble down the ice.

In two seconds I had reached the curve, in three I was over it.  Beneath was what I can only describe as a great icicle broken off short, and separated from the cliff by about four yards of space.  This icicle was not more than fifteen feet in length and sloped outwards, so that my descent was not sheer.  Moreover, at the end of it the trickling of water, or some such accident, had worn away the ice, leaving a little ledge as broad, perhaps, as a man’s hand.  There were roughnesses on the surface below the curve, upon which my clothing caught, also I gripped them desperately with my fingers.  Thus it came about that I slid down quite gently and, my heels landing upon the little ledge, remained almost upright, with outstretched arms ­like a person crucified to a cross of ice.

Then I saw everything, and the sight curdled the blood within my veins.  Hanging to the rope, four or five feet below the broken point, was Leo, out of reach of it, and out of reach of the cliff; as he hung turning slowly round and round, much as ­for in a dreadful, inconsequent fashion the absurd similarity struck me even then ­a joint turns before the fire.  Below yawned the black gulf, and at the bottom of it, far, far beneath, appeared a faint, white sheet of snow.  That is what I saw.

Think of it!  Think of it!  I crucified upon the ice, my heels resting upon a little ledge; my fingers grasping excrescences on which a bird could scarcely have found a foothold; round and below me dizzy space.  To climb back whence I came was impossible, to stir even was impossible, since one slip and I must be gone.

And below me, hung like a spider to its cord, Leo turning slowly round and round!

I could see that rope of green hide stretch beneath his weight and the double knots in it slip and tighten, and I remember wondering which would give first, the hide or the knots, or whether it would hold till he dropped from the noose limb by limb.

Oh!  I have been in many a perilous place, I who sprang from the Swaying Stone to the point of the Trembling Spur, and missed my aim, but never, never in such a one as this.  Agony took hold of me; a cold sweat burst from every pore.  I could feel it running down my face like tears; my hair bristled upon my head.  And below, in utter silence, Leo turned round and round, and each time he turned his up-cast eyes met mine with a look that was horrible to see.

The silence was the worst of it, the silence and the helplessness.  If he had cried out, if he had struggled, it would have been better.  But to know that he was alive there, with every nerve and perception at its utmost stretch.  Oh! my God!  Oh! my God!

My limbs began to ache, and yet I dared not stir a muscle.  They ached horribly, or so I thought, and beneath this torture, mental and physical, my mind gave.

I remembered things:  remembered how, as a child, I had climbed a tree and reached a place whence I could move neither up nor down, and what I suffered then.  Remembered how once in Egypt a foolhardy friend of mine had ascended the Second Pyramid alone, and become thus crucified upon its shining cap, where he remained for a whole half hour with four hundred feet of space beneath him.  I could see him now stretching his stockinged foot downwards in a vain attempt to reach the next crack, and drawing it back again; could see his tortured face, a white blot upon the red granite.

Then that face vanished and blackness gathered round me, and in the blackness visions:  of the living, resistless avalanche, of the snow-grave into which I had sunk ­oh! years and years ago; of Ayesha demanding Leo’s life at my hands.  Blackness and silence, through which I could only hear the cracking of my muscles.

Suddenly in the blackness a flash, and in the silence a sound.  The flash was the flash of a knife which Leo had drawn.  He was hacking at the cord with it fiercely, fiercely, to make an end.  And the sound was that of the noise he made, a ghastly noise, half shout of defiance and half yell of terror, as at the third stroke it parted.

I saw it part.  The tough hide was half cut through, and its severed portion curled upwards and downwards like the upper and lower lips of an angry dog, whilst that which was unsevered stretched out slowly, slowly, till it grew quite thin.  Then it snapped, so that the rope flew upwards and struck me across the face like the lash of a whip.

Another instant and I heard a crackling, thudding sound.  Leo had struck the ground below.  Leo was dead, a mangled mass of flesh and bone as I had pictured him.  I could not bear it.  My nerve and human dignity came back.  I would not wait until, my strength exhausted, I slid from my perch as a wounded bird falls from a tree.  No, I would follow him at once, of my own act.

I let my arms fall against my sides, and rejoiced in the relief from pain that the movement gave me.  Then balanced upon my heels, I stood upright, took my last look at the sky, muttered my last prayer.  For an instant I remained thus poised.

Shouting, “I come,” I raised my hands above my head and dived as a bather dives, dived into the black gulf beneath.