Somewhat less than a hundred years
ago a party of travelers might have been seen crossing
over the Simplon Road, en route for Italy.
They had been detained at Brieg by reports that the
road was impassable; and, as it was the month of March,
the prospect of snow and storms and avalanches was
sufficient to make them hesitate. At length the
road had been reopened, and they were informed that
the journey might be made on sleds.
Unwilling to wait at Brieg, and equally
unwilling to make a detour so as to take the railroad,
the party decided to go on. They were informed
that they could go on wheels as far as the line of
snow, but that afterward their accommodations would
not be so comfortable as they might desire. The
road had been cleared for only a few feet; the snow
was deep; the sleds were rude; and progress would be
slow. These statements, however, did not shake
the resolution of the party; and the end of it was
that they determined to go on, and cross the mountain
if it were possible.
On leaving Brieg the road began to
ascend with a very slight incline, winding around
in an intricate sort of way, sometimes crossing deep
gullies, at other times piercing the hillside in long
dark tunnels; but amidst all these windings ever ascending,
so that every step took them higher and higher above
the little valley where Brieg lay. The party
saw also that every step brought them steadily nearer
to the line of snow; and at length they found the
road covered with a thin white layer. Over this
they rolled, and though the snow became deeper with
every furlong of their progress, yet they encountered
but little actual difficulty until they approached
the first station where the horses were to be changed.
Here they came to a deep drift. Through this
a pathway had been cleared, so that there was no difficulty
about going through; but the sight of this served
to show them what might be expected further on, and
to fill them all with grave doubts as to the practicability
of a journey which was thus interrupted so early.
On reaching the station these doubts
were confirmed. They were informed that the road
had been cleared for sleds on the preceding day, but
that on the previous night fresh snow had fallen, and
in such quantities that the road would have to be
cleared afresh. The worst of it was that there
was every probability of new snow-storms, which would
cover the road still deeper, and once more obliterate
the track. This led to a fresh debate about the
journey; but they were all unwilling to turn back.
Only a few miles separated them from Domo d’Ossola,
and they were assured that, if no fresh snow should
fall, they would be able to start on the following
morning. This last assurance once more confirmed
their wavering resolution, and they concluded to wait
at the station.
For the remainder of that day they
waited at the little way-side inn, amusing themselves
with looking out upon their surroundings. They
were environed by a scene of universal white.
Above them towered vast Alpine summits, where the
wild wind blew, sweeping the snow-wreaths into the
air. In front was a deep ravine, at the bottom
of which there ran a torrent that foamed and tossed
over rocks and boulders. It was not possible
to take a walk to any distance. Their boots were
made for lighter purposes than plunging through snow-drifts;
and so they were forced to remain indoors, and pass
the time as best they could.
On the following morning they found
every thing in readiness for a start. In front
of the inn they saw five sleds of that kind which is
universally used in the northern part of America.
Each sled was of the rudest possible construction,
and was drawn by one horse; straw was spread over
the sled, upon which fur robes and blankets were flung.
The party was distributed among these sleds, so that
each one should have as light a load as possible,
while one of the rude vehicles carried the luggage.
Thus arranged, they all started off.
And now, since they are all fairly under way, I propose
to introduce them, individually and collectively,
to my very good friend the reader.
First of all I must mention the fact
that the party consisted chiefly of ladies and their
attendants.
Of these the most prominent was a
slim, tall, elderly lady, with large, dark, soft eyes,
that spoke of a vanished youth and beauty from her
heavily wrinkled face. She was the Dowager Lady
Dalrymple, and acted toward the rest of the party
in the multifarious capacity of chaperon, general,
courier, guide, philosopher, friend, and Mentor.
Next came Mrs. Willoughby, a widow
of great beauty and fascination, a brunette, good-natured,
clever, and shrewd. I might here pause, and go
into no end of raptures on the various qualities of
this lady’s character; but, on the whole, I
think I’d better not, as they will be sufficiently
apparent before the end of this story is reached.
Then there was Miss Minnie Fay, sister
to Mrs. Willoughby, and utterly unlike her in every
respect. Minnie was a blonde, with blue eyes,
golden hair cut short and clustering about her little
head, little bit of a mouth, with very red, plump
lips, and very white teeth. Minnie was very small,
and very elegant in shape, in gesture, in dress, in
every attitude and every movement. The most striking
thing about her, however, was the expression of her
eyes and her face. There was about her brow the
glory of perfect innocence. Her eyes had a glance
of unfathomable melancholy, mingled with childlike
trust in the particular person upon whom her gaze
was fastened. Minnie was considered by all her
friends as a child was treated as a child humored,
petted, coaxed, indulged, and talked to as a child.
Minnie, on her part, thought, spoke, lived, moved,
and acted as a child. She fretted, she teased,
she pouted, she cried, she did every thing as a child
does; and thus carried up to the age of eighteen the
bloom and charm of eight.
The two sisters were nieces of the
Dowager Lady Dalrymple. Another niece also accompanied
them, who was a cousin of the two sisters. This
was Miss Ethel Orne, a young lady who had flourished
through a London season, and had refused any number
of brilliant offers. She was a brunette, with
most wonderful dark eyes, figure of perfect grace,
and an expression of grave self-poise that awed the
butterflies of fashion, but offered an irresistible
attraction to people of sense, intellect, intelligence,
esprit, and all that sort of thing like
you and me, my boy.
I am taking up too much time and anticipating
somewhat, I fear, by these descriptions; so let us
drop Miss Ethel.
These ladies being thus all related
formed a family party, and had made the journey thus
far on the best of terms, without any other escort
than that which was afforded by their chaperon, general,
courier, guide, philosopher, friend, and Mentor the
Dowager Lady Dalrymple.
The party was enlarged by the presence
of four maids and a foreign gentleman. This last-mentioned
personage was small in stature, with a very handsome
face and very brilliant eyes. His frame, though
slight, was sinewy and well knit, and he looked like
an Italian. He had come on alone, and had passed
the night at the station-house.
A track about six feet wide had been
cut out through the snow, and over this they passed.
The snow was soft, and the horses sank deep, so that
progress was slow. Nor was the journey without
the excitement of apparent danger. At times before
them and behind them there would come a low, rumbling
sound, and they would see a mass of snow and ice rushing
down some neighboring slope. Some of these fell
on the road, and more than once they had to quit their
sleds and wait for the drivers to get them over the
heaps that had been formed across their path.
Fortunately, however, none of these came near them;
and Minnie Fay, who at first had screamed at intervals
of about five minutes, gradually gained confidence,
and at length changed her mood so completely that
she laughed and clapped her little hands whenever she
saw the rush of snow and ice. Thus slowly, yet
in safety, they pushed onward, and at length reached
the little village of Simplon. Here they waited
an hour to warm themselves, lunch, and change horses.
At the end of that time they set out afresh, and once
more they were on their winding way.
They had now the gratification of
finding that they were descending the slope, and of
knowing that this descent took them every minute further
from the regions of snow, and nearer to the sunny plains
of Italy. Minnie in particular gave utterance
to her delight: and now, having lost every particle
of fear, she begged to be allowed to drive in the
foremost sled. Ethel had been in it thus far,
but she willingly changed places with Minnie, and
thus the descent was made.
The sleds and their occupants were
now arranged in the following order:
First, Minnie Fay alone with the driver.
Second, Mrs. Willoughby and Ethel.
Third, the Dowager and her maid.
Fourth, the three other maids.
Fifth, the luggage.
After these five sleds, containing
our party, came another with the foreign gentleman.
Each of these sleds had a driver to itself.
In this order the party went, until
at length they came to the Gorge of Gondo. This
is a narrow valley, the sides of which rise up very
abruptly, and in some places precipitously, to a great
height. At the bottom flows a furious torrent,
which boils and foams and roars as it forces its impetuous
way onward over fallen masses of rock and trees and
boulders, at one time gathering into still pools, at
other times roaring into cataracts. Their road
had been cut out on the side of the mountain, and
the path had been cleared away here many feet above
the buried road; and as they wound along the slope
they could look up at the stupendous heights above
them, and down at the abyss beneath them, whose white
snow-covering was marked at the bottom by the black
line of the roaring torrent. The smooth slope
of snow ran down as far as the eye could reach at
a steep angle, filling up all crevices, with here
and there a projecting rock or a dark clump of trees
to break its surface.
The road was far beneath them.
The drivers had informed them that it was forty feet
deep at the top of the pass, and that its depth here
was over thirty. Long poles which were inserted
in the snow projected above its surface, and served
to mark where the road ran.
Here, then, they drove along, feeling
wearied with the length of the way, impatient at the
slowness of their progress, and eager to reach their
journey’s end. But little was said.
All had talked till all were tired out. Even
Minnie Fay, who at first had evinced great enthusiasm
on finding herself leading the way, and had kept turning
back constantly to address remarks to her friends,
had at length subsided, and had rolled herself up
more closely in her furs, and heaped the straw higher
about her little feet.
Suddenly, before them, and above them,
and behind them, and all around them, there arose
a deep, low, dull, rushing sound, which seemed as if
all the snow on the slope was moving. Their ears
had by this time become sufficiently well acquainted
with the peculiar sound of the rushing snow-masses
to know that this was the noise that heralded their
progress, and to feel sure that this was an avalanche
of no common size. Yes, this was an avalanche,
and every one heard it; but no one could tell where
it was moving, or whether it was near or far, or whether
it was before or behind. They only knew that it
was somewhere along the slope which they were traversing.
A warning cry came from the foremost
driver. He looked back, and his face was as pale
as death. He waved his hands above him, and then
shouting for the others to follow, he whipped up his
horse furiously. The animal plunged into the
snow, and tossed and floundered and made a rush onward.
But the other drivers held back, and,
instead of following, shouted to the first driver
to stop, and cried to the passengers to hold on.
Not a cry of fear escaped from any one of the ladies.
All did as they were directed, and grasped the stakes
of their sleds, looking up at the slope with white
lips, and expectation of horror in their eyes, watching
for the avalanche.
And down it came, a vast mass of snow
and ice down it came, irresistibly, tremendously,
with a force that nothing could withstand. All
eyes watched its progress in the silence of utter and
helpless terror. It came. It struck.
All the sleds in the rear escaped, but Minnie’s
sled lay in the course of the falling mass. The
driver had madly rushed into the very midst of the
danger which he sought to avoid. A scream from
Minnie and a cry of despair from the driver burst
upon the ears of the horrified listeners, and the sled
that bore them, buried in the snow, went over the
edge of the slope, and downward to the abyss.