deployed themselves into a line which extended completely across the
valley. In this formation they continued to advance upward.
When they first adopted this plan, the ravine was about four hundred
yards in width--so that less than one hundred lay between each two of
them. These equal distances they preserved as well as they could, but
now and then the cracks in the icy mass, and the immense boulders that
lay over its surface, obliged one or other, of them to make considerable
detours. As they advanced, however, the distance between each two grew
less, in consequence of the narrowing of the valley, until at length a
space of only fifty yards separated one from the other. The game could
not now pass them without affording a fine opportunity for all to have a
shot; and with the expectation of soon obtaining one, they kept on in
high spirits.
All at once their hopes appeared to be frustrated. The whole line came
to a halt, and the hunters stood regarding each other with blank looks.
Directly in front of them yawned an immense crevasse in the ice, full
five yards in width at the top, and stretching across the glacier from
cliff to cliff.
A single glance into this great fissure convinced them that it was
impassable. Their hunt was at an end. They could go no farther. Such
was the conviction of all.
The glacier filled the whole ravine from cliff to cliff. There was no
space or path between the ice and the rocky wall. The latter rose
vertically upward for five hundred feet at least, and no doubt extended
downward to as great a depth. Indeed, by looking into the fissure, they
could trace the wall of rock to an immense distance downward, ending in
the green cleft of the ice below. To look down into that terrible abyss
made their heads reel with giddiness; and they could only do so with
safety by crawling up to the edge of the lye, and peeping over.
A glance convinced one and all of them that the crevasse was impassable.
But how had the deer got over it? Surely it had not leaped that fearful
chasm?
But surely it had. Close by the edge its tracks were traced in the
snow, and there, upon the lower side of the cleft, was the spot from
which it had sprung. On the opposite brink the disarrangement of the
snow told where it had alighted, having cleared a space of sixteen or
eighteen feet! This, however, was nothing to a musk-deer, that upon a
deal level often bounds to more than twice that length; for these
animals have been known to spring down a slope to the enormous distance
of sixty feet!
The leap over the crevasse, therefore, fearful as it appeared in the
eyes of our hunters, was nothing to the musk-deer, who is as nimble and
sure-footed as the chamois itself.
"Enough!" said Karl, after they had stood for some minutes gazing into
the lye. "There's no help for it; we must go back as we came--what says
Ossaroo?"
"You speakee true, Sahib--no help for we--we no get cross--too wide
leapee--no bridge--no bamboo for makee bridge--no tree here."
Ossaroo shook his head despondingly as he spoke. He was vexed at losing
the game--particularly as the buck was one of the largest, and might
have yielded an ounce or two of musk, which, as Ossaroo well knew, was
worth a guinea an ounce in the bazaars of Calcutta.
The Hindoo glanced once more across the lye, and then turning round,
uttered an exclamation, which told that he was beaten.
"Well, then, let us go back!" said Karl.
"Stay, brother!" interrupted Caspar, "a thought strikes me. Had we not
better remain here for a while? The deer cannot be far off. It is, no
doubt, up near the end of the ravine; but it won't stay there long.
There appears to be nothing for it to eat but rocks or snow, and it
won't be contented with that. If there's no outlet above, it must come
back this way. Now I propose we lie in wait for it a while, and take it
as it comes down again. What say you to my plan?"
"I see no harm in trying it, Caspar," replied Karl. "We had better
separate, however, and each hide behind a boulder, else it may see us,
and stay back. We shall give it an hour."
"Oh!" said Caspar, "I think it'll tire of being cooped up in less time
than that; but we shall see."
The party now spread themselves right and left along the lower edge of
the crevasse--each choosing a large rock or mass of snowy ice as a
cover. Caspar went to the extreme left, and even to the edge of the
glacier, where a number of large rocks rested on its surface. Having
entered among these, he was hidden from the others, but presently they
heard him calling out--
"Hurrah! come here!--a bridge! a bridge!"
Karl and Ossaroo left their hiding-places, and hastened to the spot.
On arriving among the boulders, they saw, to their delight, that one of
the largest of these--an enormous block of gneiss--lay right across the
crevasse, spanning it like a bridge, and looking as though it had been
placed there by human hands! This, however, would have been impossible,
as the block was full ten yards in length, and nearly as broad as it was
long. Even giants could not have built such a bridge!
A little examination showed where it had fallen from the overhanging
precipice--and it had rested on the glacier, perhaps, before the great
cleft had yawned open beneath it. Its upper end overlapped the ice for
a breadth of scarce two feet, and it seemed a wonder that so huge a
weight could be sustained by such an apparently fragile prop. But there
it rested; and had done so for years--perhaps for ages--suspended over
the beetling chasm, as if the touch of a feather would precipitate it
into the gulf below!
If Karl had been near, he might have warned his brother from crossing by
such a dangerous bridge; but before he had reached the spot, Caspar had
already mounted on the rock, and was hurrying over.
In a few moments he stood upon the opposite side of the crevasse; and,
waving his cap in the air, shouted to the rest to follow.
The others crossed as he had done, and then the party once more
deployed, and kept up the ravine, which grew narrower as they advanced,
and appeared to be regularly closed in at the lop, by a perpendicular
wall. Surely the deer could not escape them much longer?
"What a pity," said Caspar, "we could not throw down that great stone
and widen the crack in the ice, so that the deer could not leap over it!
We should then have it nicely shut up here."
"Ay, Caspar," rejoined Karl, "and where should _we_ be then? Shut up
too, I fear."
"True, brother, I did not think of that. What a terrible thing it would
be to be imprisoned between these black cliffs! It would, I declare."
The words had scarce issued from Caspar's lip, when a crash was heard
like the first bursting of a thunderclap, and then a deafening roar
echoed up the ravine, mingled with louder peals, as though the eternal
mountains were being rent asunder!
The noise reverberated from the black cliffs; eagles, that had been
perched upon the rocks, rose screaming into the air; beasts of prey
howled from their lurking-places; and the hitherto silent valley was all
at once filled with hideous noises, as though it were the doom of the
world!
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.
THE GLACIER SLIDE.
"An avalanche!" cried Karl Linden, as the first crash fell upon his ear;
but on turning, he saw his mistake.
"No," he continued, with a look of terror, "it is not an avalanche! My
God! my God! _the glacier is in motion_!"
He did not need to point out the spot. The eyes of Caspar and Ossaroo
were already turned upon it.--Away down the ravine as far as they could
see the surface of the glacier appeared in motion, like sea-billows;
huge blocks of ice were thrown to the top and rolled over, with a
rumbling crashing noise, while large blue fragments raised high above
the general surface, were grinding and crumbling to pieces against the
faces of the cliffs. A cloud of snow-spray, rising like a thick white
mist, filled the whole ravine--as if to conceal the work of ruin that
was going on--and underneath this ghostly veil, the crushing and tearing
for some moments continued. Then all at once the fearful noises ceased,
and only the screaming of the birds, and the howling of beasts,
disturbed the silence of the place.
Pale, shuddering, almost paralysed by fear, the hunters had thrown
themselves on their hands and knees, expecting every moment to feel the
glacier move beneath them,--expecting to sink beneath the surface, or be
crushed amidst the billows of that icy sea. So long as the dread sounds
echoed in their ears, their hearts were filled with consternation, and
long after the crashing and crackling ceased, they remained the victims
of a terrible suspense; but they felt that that portion of the glacier
upon which they were did not move. It still remained firm; would it
continue so?
They knew not the moment it, too, might commence sliding downward, and
bury them under its masses, or crush them in some deep crevasse.
O heavens! the thought was fearful. It had paralysed them for a moment;
and for some time after the noises had ceased, they remained silent and
motionless. Indeed, absurd as it may seem, each dreaded to stir, lest
the very motion of his body might disturb the icy mass upon which he was
kneeling!
Reflection soon came to their aid. It would never do to remain there.
They were still exposed to the danger. Whither could they retreat? Up
the ravine might be safer? Above them the ice had not yet stirred. The
ruin had all been below--below the crevasse they had just crossed.
Perhaps the rocks would afford a footing? They would not move, at all
events, even if the upper part of the glacier should give way; but was
there footing to be found upon them?
They swept their eyes along the nearest cliff. It offered but little
hope. Yes--upon closer inspection there was a ledge--a very narrow one,
but yet capable of giving refuge to two or three men; and, above all, it
was easy of access. It would serve their purpose.
Like men seeking shelter from a heavy shower, or running to get out of
the way of some impending danger, all three made for the ledge; and
after some moments spent in sprawling and climbing against the cliff,
they found themselves standing safely upon it.--Small standing-room they
had. Had there been a fourth, the place would not have accommodated
him. There was just room enough for the three side by side, and
standing erect.
Small as the space was, it was a welcome haven of refuge. It was the
solid granite, and not the fickle ice. It looked eternal as the hills;
and, standing upon it, they breathed freely.
But the danger was not over, and their apprehensions were still keen.
Should the upper part of the glacier give way, what then? Although it
could not reach them where they stood, the surface might sink far below
its present level, and leave them on the cliff--upon that little ledge
on the face of a black precipice!
Even if the upper ice held firm, there was another thought that now
troubled them. Karl knew that what had occurred was a _glacier slide_--
a phenomenon that few mortals have witnessed. He suspected that the
slide had taken place in that portion of the glacier below the crevasse
they had just crossed. If so, the lye would be widened, the huge gneiss
rock that bridged it gone, and their _retreat down the glacier cut off_!
Upward they beheld nothing but the beetling cliffs meeting together. No
human foot could scale them. If no outlet offered in that direction,
then, indeed, might the jesting allusion of Caspar be realised. They
might be imprisoned between those walls of black granite, with nought
but ice for their bed, and the sky for their ceiling. It was a fearful
supposition, but all three did not fail to entertain it.
As yet they could not tell whether their retreat downwards was in
reality cut off. Where they stood an abutment of the cliff hid the
ravine below. They had rushed to their present position, with the first
instinct of preservation. In their flight, they had not thought of
looking either toward the crevasse or the gneiss rock.--Other large
boulders intervened, and they had not observed whether it was gone.
They trembled to think of such a thing.
The hours passed; and still they dared not descend to the glacier.
Night came on, and they still stood upon their narrow perch. They
hungered, but it would have been of no use to go down to the cold icy
surface. That would not have satisfied their appetite.
All night long they remained standing upon the narrow ledge; now on one
foot, now on the other, now resting their backs against the granite
wall, but all night, without closing an eye in sleep. The dread of the
capricious ice kept them on their painful perch.
They could bear it no longer. With the first light of morning they
determined upon descending.
The ice had remained firm during the night. No farther noises had been
heard. They gradually recovered confidence; and as soon as the day
began to break, all three left the ledge, and betook themselves once
more to the glacier.
At first they kept close to the cliff; but, after a while, ventured out
far enough to get a view of the ravine below.
Caspar mounted upon a rocky boulder that lay upon the surface of the
glacier. From the top of this he could see over the others. _The
crevasse was many yards wide. The bridge-rock was gone_!
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
THE PASS.
The philosophy of the movement of glaciers is but ill understood, even
by the most accomplished geologists. It is supposed that the under
surface of these great icy masses is detached from the ground by the
thaw which continually takes place there, caused by the radiating heat
of the earth. Water is also an agent in loosening their hold; for it is
well-known that currents of water--sometimes large streams,--run under
the glaciers. The icy mass thus detached, and resting on an inclined
surface, is carried down by its own weight.
Sometimes only a very small portion of a glacier moves, causing a
fissure above the part that has given way; and at other times these
fissures are closed up, by the sliding of that portion next above them.
An unusually hot summer produces these effects upon the glacier ice,
combined with the falling of avalanches, or mountain slides, which, with
their weight, serve to impel the icy mass downwards.
The weight of our three hunters was but as a feather, and could have had
no effect in giving motion to the glacier; but it is possible that the
gneiss rock was just upon the balance when they crossed it. Thawed
around its surface, it had no cohesion with the ice on which it rested;
and, as a feather turns the scale, their crossing upon it may have
produced a motion, which resulted in its fall.
So vast a mass hurled into the great cleft, and acting as a driven
wedge, may have been the feather's touch that imparted motion to a
section of the glacier, already hanging upon the balance, and ready to
slide downwards.
Whether or not they had any agency in producing this fearful phenomenon,
our travellers reflected not at the time. They were far too much
terrified at the result to speculate upon causes. One after another
they mounted upon the great boulder, and satisfied themselves of the
facts that the crevasse had widened,--the bridge-rock had disappeared,--
and their retreat was cut off!
After a little, they ventured closer to the fearful chasm. They climbed
upon a ledge of the precipice, that gave them a better view of it.
From this elevation they could partially see into the cleft. At the
surface it was many yards wide. It appeared to be hundreds of feet in
depth. Human agency could not have bridged it. All hope of getting
back down the glacier was at an end; and with consternation in their
looks, they turned their faces away, and commenced ascending towards the
head of the ravine.
They advanced with timid steps. They spoke not at all, or only in low
murmuring voices. They looked right and left, eagerly scanning the
precipice on both sides. On each side of them towered the black cliffs,
like prison walls, frowning and forbidding. No ledge of any size
appeared on either; no terrace, no sloping ravine, that might afford
them a path out of that dark valley. The cliffs, sheer and smooth,
presented no hold for the human foot. The eagles, and other birds that
screamed over their heads, alone could scale them.
Still they had not lost hope. The mind does not yield to despair
without full conviction. As yet they were not certain that there was no
outlet to the ravine; and until certain they would not despair.
They observed the tracks of the musk-deer as they went on. But these
were no longer fresh; it was the trail of yesterday.
They followed this trail with renewed hopes,--with feelings of joy. But
it was not the joy of the hunter who expects ere long to overtake his
game. No, directly the reverse. Hungry as all three were, they
_feared_ to overtake the game; they dreaded the discovery of fresh
tracks!
You will wonder at this; but it is easily explained. They had reasoned
with themselves, that if there existed any outlet above, the deer would
have gone out by it. If the contrary, the animal would still be found
near the head of the ravine. Nothing would have been less welcome than
the sight of the deer at that moment.
Their hopes rose as they advanced. No fresh tracks appeared upon the
glacier. The trail of the musk-deer still continued onward and upward.
The creature had not halted, nor even strayed to either side. It had
gone straight on, as though making for some retreat already known to it.
Here and there it had made detours; but these had been caused by lyes
in the ice, or boulders, that lay across the path.
With beating hearts the trackers kept on; now scanning the cliffs on
each hand, now bending their eyes in advance.
At length they saw themselves within a hundred paces of the extreme end
of the ravine, and yet no opening appeared. The precipice rose high and
sheer as ever, on the right, on the left, before their faces. Nor break
nor path cheered their eyes.
Where could the deer have gone? The ground above was pretty clear of
_debris_. There were some loose rocks lying on one side. Had it hidden
behind these? If so, they would soon find it; for they were within a
few paces of the rocks.
They approached with caution. They had prepared their weapons for a
shot. Despite their fears, they had still taken some precautions.
Hunger instigated them to this.
Caspar was sent on to examine the covert of rocks, while Karl and the
shikarree remained in the rear to intercept the deer if it attempted to
retreat down the ravine.
Caspar approached with due caution. He crawled silently up to the
boulders. He placed himself close to the largest; and, raising his
head, peeped over it.
There was no deer behind the rock, nor any traces of it in the snow.
He passed on to the next, and then to the next. This brought him into a
new position, and near the head of the ravine; so that he could now see
the whole surface of the glacier.
There was no musk-deer to be seen; but a spectacle greeted his eyes far
more welcome than the sight of the largest herd of deer could have been
to the keenest hunter; and a cry of joy escaped him on the instant.
He was seen to start out from the rocks, shouting as he ran across the
ravine--
"Come on, brother! we are safe yet! There's a pass! there's a pass!"
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.
THE LONE MOUNTAIN VALLEY.
A pass there was, sure enough, that opened between the cliffs like a
great gate. Why they had not perceived it sooner was because the gorge
bent a little to the right before opening to this outlet; and, of
course, the bend from a distance appeared to be the termination of the
ravine.
A hundred yards from the bend brought them into the great gate between
the cliffs, and there a view opened before their eyes that filled their
hearts with joy and admiration.
Perhaps in all the world they could not have looked upon a more singular
landscape. Right before their faces, and somewhat below the level on
which they stood, lay a valley. It was nearly of a circular shape, and,
perhaps, a league or more in circumference. In the middle of this
valley was a lake several hundred yards in diameter. The whole bottom
of the valley appeared to be a plane, but slightly elevated above the
water level, consisting of green meadows, beautifully interspersed with
copses of shrubbery and clumps of trees, with foliage of rich and varied
colours. What appeared to be droves of cattle and herds of deer were
browsing on the meadows, or wandering around the copses; while flocks of
waterfowl disported themselves over the blue water of the lake.
So park-like was the aspect of this sequestered valley, that the eyes of
our travellers instinctively wandered over its surface in search of
human dwellings or the forms of human beings; and were only astonished
at not perceiving either. They looked for a house,--a noble mansion,--a
palace to correspond to that fair park. They looked for chimneys among
the trees--for the ascending smoke. No trace of all these could be
detected. A smoke there was, but it was not that of a fire. It was a
white vapour that rose near one side of the valley, curling upward like
steam. This surprised and puzzled them. They could not tell what
caused it, but they could tell that it was not the smoke of a fire.
But the form of the valley--its dimensions--its central lake--its green
meadows and trees--its browsing herds--its wild fowl might have been
seen elsewhere. All these things might occur, and do occur in many
parts of the earth's surface without the scene being regarded as
singular or remarkable. It was not these that have led us to
characterise the landscape in question as one of the most singular in
the world. No--its singularity rested upon other circumstances.
One of these circumstances was, that around the valley there appeared a
dark belt of nearly equal breadth, that seemed to hem it in as with a
gigantic fence. A little examination told that this dark belt was a
line of cliffs, that, rising up from the level bottom on all sides,
fronted the valley and the lake. In other words, the valley was
surrounded by a precipice. In the distance it appeared only a few yards
in height, but that might be a deception of the eye.
Above the black line another circular belt encompassed the valley. It
was the sloping sides of bleak barren mountains. Still another belt
higher up was formed by the snowy crests of the same mountains--here in
roof-like ridges, there in rounded domes, or sharp cone-shaped peaks,
that pierced the heavens far above the line of eternal snow.
There seemed to be no way of entrance into this singular basin except
over the line of black cliff. The gap in which our travellers stood,
and the ravine through which they had ascended appeared to be its only
outlet; and this, filled as it was by glacier ice, raised the summit of
the pass above the level of the valley; but a sloping descent over a
vast _debris_ of fallen rocks--the "moraine" of the glacier itself--
afforded a path down to the bottom of the valley.
For several minutes all three remained in the gap, viewing this strange
scene with feelings that partook of the nature of admiration--of
wonder--of awe. The sun was just appearing over the mountains, and his
rays, falling upon the crystallised snow, were refracted to the eyes of
the spectators in all the colours of the rainbow. The snow itself in
one place appeared of a roseate colour, while elsewhere it was streaked
and mottled with golden hues. The lake, too--here rippled by the
sporting fowl, there lying calm and smooth--reflected from its blue disk
the white cones of the mountains, the darker belting of the nearer
cliffs, or the green foliage upon its shores.
For hours Karl Linden could have gazed upon that fairy-like scene.
Caspar, of ruder mould, was entranced by its beauty; and even the hunter
of the plains--the native of palm-groves and cane fields--confessed he
had never beheld so beautiful a landscape. All of them were well
acquainted with the Hindoo superstition concerning the Himalaya
Mountains. The belief that in lonely valleys among the more
inaccessible peaks, the Brahmin gods have their dwelling and their home;
and they could not help fancying at that moment that the superstition
might be true. Certainly, if it were true, some one of these deities,
Vishnu, or Siva, or even Brahma himself, must dwell in that very valley
that now lay before them.