THE PERILOUS DESCENT.
The shriek of Minnie and the driver's cry of despair were both stopped
abruptly by the rush of snow, and were smothered in the heap under
which they were buried. The whole party stood paralyzed, gazing
stupidly downward where the avalanche was hurrying on to the abyss,
bearing with it the ill-fated Minnie. The descent was a slope of
smooth snow, which went down at an angle of forty-five degrees for at
least a thousand feet. At that point there seemed to be a precipice.
As their aching eyes watched the falling mass they saw it approach
this place, and then as it came near the whole avalanche seemed to
divide as though it had been severed by some projecting rock. It
divided thus, and went to ruin; while in the midst of the ruin they
saw the sled, looking like a helpless boat in the midst of foaming
breakers. So, like such a helpless boat, it was dashed forward, and
shot out of sight over the precipice.
Whither had it gone? Into what abyss had it fallen? What lay beneath
that point over which it had been thrown? Was it the fierce torrent
that rolled there, or were there black rocks and sharp crags lying at
the foot of the awful precipice? Such were the questions which flashed
through every mind, and deepened the universal horror into universal
despair.
In the midst of this general dismay Ethel was the first to speak and
to act. She started to her feet, and looking back, called in a loud
voice:
"Go down after her! A thousand pounds to the man who saves her!
Quick!"
At this the drivers came forward. None of them could understand
English, and so had not comprehended her offer; but they saw by her
gestures what she wanted. They, however, did not seem inclined to act.
They pointed down, and pointed up, and shook their heads, and jabbered
some strange, unintelligible patois.
"Cowards!" cried Ethel, "to leave a young girl to die. I will go down
myself."
And then, just as she was, she stepped from the sled, and paused for a
moment, looking down the slope as though selecting a place. Lady
Dalrymple and Mrs. Willoughby screamed to her to come back, and the
drivers surrounded her with wild gesticulations. To all this she paid
no attention whatever, and would certainly have gone down in another
moment had not a hand been laid on her arm, and a voice close by her
said, with a strong foreign accent,
"Mees!"
She turned at once.
It was the foreign gentleman who had been driving behind the party. He
had come up and had just reached the place. He now stood before her
with his hat in one hand and the other hand on his heart.
"Pardon, mees," he said, with a bow. "Eet is too periloss. I sall go
down eef you 'low me to mak ze attemp."
"Oh, monsieur," cried Ethel, "save her if you can!"
"Do not fear. Be calm. I sall go down. Nevare mine."
The stranger now turned to the drivers, and spoke to them in their own
language. They all obeyed at once. He was giving them explicit
directions in a way that showed a perfect command of the situation. It
now appeared that each sled had a coil of rope, which was evidently
supplied from an apprehension of some such accident as this. Hastily
yet dextrously the foreign gentleman took one of these coils, and then
binding a blanket around his waist, he passed the rope around this, so
that it would press against the blanket without cutting him. Having
secured this tightly, he gave some further directions to the drivers,
and then prepared to go down.
Hitherto the drivers had acted in sullen submission rather than with
ready acquiescence. They were evidently afraid of another avalanche;
and the frequent glances which they threw at the slope above them
plainly showed that they expected this snow to follow the example of
the other. In spite of themselves an expression of this fear escaped
them, and came to the ears of the foreign gentleman. He turned at once
on the brink of the descent, and burst into a torrent of invective
against them. The ladies could not understand him, but they could
perceive that he was uttering threats, and that the men quailed before
him. He did not waste any time, however. After reducing the men to a
state of sulky submission, he turned once more and began the descent.
As he went down the rope was held by the men, who allowed it to pass
through their hands so as to steady his descent. The task before the
adventurer was one of no common difficulty. The snow was soft, and at
every step he sank in at least to his knees. Frequently he came to
treacherous places, where he sank down above his waist, and was only
able to scramble out with difficulty. But the rope sustained him; and
as his progress was downward, he succeeded in moving with some
rapidity toward his destination. The ladies on the height above sat in
perfect silence, watching the progress of the man who was thus
descending with his life in his hand to seek and to save their lost
companion, and in the intensity of their anxiety forgot utterly about
any danger to themselves, though from time to time there arose the
well-known sound of sliding masses, not so far away but that under
other circumstances of less anxiety it might have filled them with
alarm. But now there was no alarm for themselves.
And now the stranger was far down, and the coil of rope was well-nigh
exhausted. But this had been prepared for, and the drivers fastened
this rope to another coil, and after a time began to let out that one
also.
Farther and farther down the descent went on. They saw the stranger
pursuing his way still with unfaltering resolution; and they sent
after him all their hearts and all their prayers. At last he plunged
down almost out of sight, but the next moment he emerged, and then,
after a few leaps, they saw that he had gained the place where lay the
ruins of the shattered avalanche. Over this he walked, sometimes
sinking, at other times running and leaping, until at length he came
to the precipice over which the sled had been flung.
And now the suspense of the ladies became terrible. This was the
critical moment. Already his eyes could look down upon the mystery
that lay beneath that precipice. And what lay revealed there? Did his
eyes encounter a spectacle of horror? Did they gaze down into the
inaccessible depths of some hideous abyss? Did they see those jagged
rocks, those sharp crags, those giant boulders, those roaring billows,
which, in their imaginations, had drawn down their lost companion to
destruction? Such conjectures were too terrible. Their breath failed
them, and their hearts for a time almost ceased to beat as they sat
there, overcome by such dread thoughts as these.
Suddenly a cry of delight escaped Ethel. She was kneeling down beside
Lady Dalrymple and Mrs. Willoughby, with her eyes staring from her
pallid face, when she saw the stranger turn and look up. He took off
his hat, and waved it two or three times. Then he beckoned to the
drivers. Then he sat down and prepared to let himself over the
precipice. This incident inspired hope. It did more. It gave a
moment's confidence, and the certainty that all was not lost. They
looked at each other, and wept tears of joy. But soon that momentary
hope vanished, and uncertainty returned. After all, what did the
stranger's gesture mean? He might have seen her--but how? He might
reach her, but would she be safe from harm? Could such a thing be
hoped for? Would she not, rather, be all marred and mutilated? Dared
they hope for any thing better? They dared not. And now they sat once
more, as sad as before, and their short-lived gleam of hope faded
away.
They saw the stranger go over the precipice.
Then he disappeared.
The rope was let out for a little distance, and then stopped. Then
more went out. Then it stopped again.
The rope now lay quite loose. There was no tension.
What was the meaning of this? Was he clinging to the side of the
precipice? Impossible. It looked rather as though he had reached some
place where he was free to move, and had no further need of descent.
And it seemed as though the precipice might not be so deep or so
fearful as they had supposed.
In a short time their eyes were greeted by the appearance of the
stranger above the precipice. He waved his hat again. Then he made
some gestures, and detached the rope from his person. The drivers
understood him as if this had been preconcerted. Two of them instantly
unharnessed the horse from one of the sleds, while the others pulled
up the rope which the stranger had cast off. Then the latter
disappeared once more behind the precipice. The ladies watched now in
deep suspense; inclining to hope, yet dreading the worst. They saw the
drivers fasten the rope to the sled, and let it down the slope. It was
light, and the runners were wide. It did not sink much, but slid down
quite rapidly. Once or twice it stuck, but by jerking it back it was
detached, and went on as before. At last it reached the precipice at a
point not more than a hundred feet from where the stranger had last
appeared.
And now as they sat there, reduced once more to the uttermost
extremity of suspense, they saw a sight which sent a thrill of rapture
through their aching hearts. They saw the stranger come slowly above
the precipice, and then stop, and stoop, and look back. Then they
saw--oh, Heavens! who was that? Was not that her red hood--and that
figure who thus slowly emerged from behind the edge of the precipice
which had so long concealed her--that figure! Was it possible? Not
dead--not mangled, but living, moving, and, yes--wonder of
wonders--scaling a precipice! Could it be! Oh joy! Oh bliss! Oh
revulsion from despair! The ladies trembled and shivered, and laughed
and sobbed convulsively, and wept in one another's arms by turns.
As far as they could see through the tears that dimmed their eyes,
Minnie could not be much injured. She moved quite lightly over the
snow, as the stranger led her toward the sled; only sinking once or
twice, and then extricating herself even more readily than her
companion. At last she reached the sled, and the stranger, taking off
the blanket that he had worn under the rope, threw it over her
shoulders.
Then he signaled to the men above, and they began to pull up the sled.
The stranger climbed up after it through the deep snow, walking behind
it for some distance. At last he made a despairing gesture to the men,
and sank down.
The men looked bewildered, and stopped pulling.
The stranger started up, and waved his hands impatiently, pointing to
Minnie.
The drivers began to pull once more at the sled, and the stranger once
more sank exhausted in the snow.
At this Ethel started up.
"That noble soul!" she cried; "that generous heart! See! he is saving
Minnie, and sitting down to die in the snow!"
She sprang toward the men, and endeavored to make them do something.
By her gestures she tried to get two of the men to pull at the sled,
and the third man to let the fourth man down with a rope to the
stranger. The men refused; but at the offer of her purse, which was
well filled with gold, they consented. Two of them then pulled at the
sled, and number four bound the rope about him, and went down, while
number three held the rope. He went down without difficulty, and
reached the stranger. By this time Minnie had been drawn to the top,
and was clasped in the arms of her friends.
But now the strength and the sense which had been so wonderfully
maintained gave way utterly; and no sooner did she find herself safe
than she fell down unconscious.
They drew her to a sled, and tenderly laid her on the straw, and
lovingly and gently they tried to restore her, and call her back to
consciousness. But for a long time their efforts were of no avail.
She lay there a picture of perfect loveliness, as beautiful as a
dream--like some child-angel. Her hair, frosted with snow dust,
clustered in golden curls over her fair white brow; her little hands
were folded meekly over her breast; her sweet lips were parted, and
disclosed the pearly teeth; the gentle eyes no longer looked forth
with their piteous expression of mute appeal; and her hearing was deaf
to the words of love and pity that were lavished upon her.