Rivers of Ice Part 16

"Well, where was I?" continued Gillie, "ah, yes. Then, Lord what's-'is-name, _he's_ falled in love with the mountain-tops, an' is for ever tryin' to get at 'em, in which he would succeed, for he's a plucky young feller, if it worn't for that sn.o.b--who's got charge of 'im--Mister Lumbard--whose pecooliarity lies in preferrin' every wrong road to the right one. As I heard Mr Lewis say the other day, w'en I chanced to be pa.s.sin' the keyhole of the sallymanjay, `he'd raither go up to the roof of a 'ouse by the waterspout than the staircase,' just for the sake of boastin' of it."

"And is Mr Lumbard in love with any one?" asked Susan.

"Of course he is," answered Gillie, "he's in love with hisself. He's always talkin' of hisself, an' praisin' hisself, an' boastin' of hisself an' what he's done and agoin' to do. He's plucky enough, no doubt, and if there wor a lightnin'-conductor runnin' to top of Mount Blang, I do b'lieve he'd try to--to--lead his Lords.h.i.+p up _that_; but he's too fond of talkin' an' swaggerin' about with his big axe, an' wearin' a coil of rope on his shoulder when he ain't goin' nowhere. Bah! I don't like him. What do you think, Susan, I met him on the road the other evenin'

w'en takin' a stroll by myself down near the Gla.s.syer day Bossong, an' I says to him, quite in a friendly way, `bong joor,' says I, which is French, you know, an' what the natives here says when they're in good humour an' want to say `good-day,' `all serene,' `how are you off for soap?' an' suchlike purlitenesses. Well, would you believe it, he went past without takin' no notice of me whatsumdever."

"How _very_ impolite," said Susan, "and what did you do?"

"Do," cried Gillie, drawing himself up, "why, I c.o.c.ked my nose in the air and walked on without disdainin' to say another word--treated 'im with suvrin contempt. But enough of _him_--an' more than enough. Well, to continue, then there's Missis Stoutley, she's falled in love too."

"Indeed?"

"Yes, with wittles. The Count Hur--what's-'is-name, who's always doin'

the purlite when he's not mopin', says it's the mountain hair as is agreein' with her, but I think its the hair-soup. Anyhow she's more friendly with her wittles here than she ever was in England. After comin' in from that excursion where them two stout fellers carried her up the mountains, an' all but capsized her and themselves, incloodin'

the chair, down a precipice, while pa.s.sin' a string o' mules on a track no broader than the brim of Mister Slingsby's wide-awake, she took to her wittles with a sort of lovin' awidity that an't describable. The way she shovelled in the soup, an' stowed away the mutton chops, an'

pitched into the pease and taters, to say nothing of cauliflower and cutlets, was a caution to the billions. It made my mouth water to look at her, an' my eyes too--only that may have had somethin' to do with the keyhole, for them 'otels of Chamouni are oncommon draughty. Yes,"

continued Gillie, slowly, as if he were musing, "she's failed in love with wittles, an' it's by no means a misplaced affection. It would be well for the Count if he could fall in the same direction. Did you ever look steadily at the Count, Susan?"

"I can't say I ever did; at least not more so than at other people.

Why?"

"Because, if you ever do look at him steadily, you'll see care a-sittin'

wery heavy on his long yeller face. There's somethin' the matter with that Count, either in 'is head or 'is stummick, I ain't sure which; but, whichever it is, it has descended to his darter, for that gal's face is too anxious by half for such a young and pretty one. I have quite a sympathy, a sort o' feller-feelin', for that Count. He seems to me the wictim of a secret sorrow."

Susan looked at her small admirer with surprise, and then burst into a hearty laugh.

"You're a queer boy, Gillie."

To an unsophisticated country girl like Susan Quick, the London street-boy must indeed have seemed a remarkable being. He was not indeed an absolute "Arab," being the son of an honest hardworking mother, but being also the son of a drunken, ill-doing father, he had, in the course of an extensive experience of bringing his paternal parent home from gin-palaces and low theatres, imbibed a good deal of the superficial part of the "waif" character, and, but for the powerful and benign influence of his mother, might have long ago entered the ranks of our criminal population. As it was, he had acquired a knowledge of "the world" of London--its thoughts, feelings, and manners--which rendered him in Susan's eyes a perfect miracle of intelligence; and she listened to his drolleries and precocious wisdom with open-mouthed admiration.

Of course the urchin was quite aware of this, and plumed himself not a little on his powers of attraction.

"Yes," continued Gillie, without remarking on Susan's observation that he was a "queer boy," for he esteemed that a compliment "the Count is the only man among 'em who hasn't falled in love with nothink or n.o.body.

But tell me, Susan, is _your_ fair buzzum free from the--the tender-- you know what?"

"Oh! yes," laughed the maid, "quite free."

"Ah!" said Gillie, with a sigh of satisfaction, "then there's hope for _me_."

"Of course there is plenty of hope," said Susan, laughing still more heartily as she looked at the thing in blue and b.u.t.tons which thus addressed her.

"But now, tell me, where are they talking of going to-day?"

"To the Jardang," replied Gillie. "It was putt off to please the young ladies t'other day, and now it's putt on to please the Professor. It seems to me that the Professor has got well to wind'ard of 'em all--as the Cappen would say; he can twirl the whole bilin' of 'em round his little finger with his outlandish talk, which I believe is more than half nonsense. Hows'ever, he's goin' to take 'em all to the Jardang, to lunch there, an' make some more obserwations and measurements of the ice. Why he takes so much trouble about sitch a trifle, beats _my_ understandin'. If the ice is six feet, or six hundred feet thick, what then? If it moves, or if it don't move, wot's the odds, so long as yer 'appy? If it _won't_ move, w'y don't they send for a company of London bobbies and make 'em tell it to `move on,' it couldn't refuse, you know, for nothin' can resist that. Hows'ever, they are all goin' to foller the lead of the Professor again to-day--them that was with 'em last time--not the Count though, for I heard him say (much to the distress apperiently of his darter) that he was goin' on business to Marteeny, over the Tait Nwar, though what that is _I_ don't know--a mountain, I suppose. They're all keen for goin' _over_ things in this country, an'

some of 'em goes _under_ altogether in the doin' of it. If I ain't mistaken, that pleasant fate awaits Lord what's-'is-name an' Mr Lumbard, for I heard the Cappen sayin', just afore I come to see you, that he was goin' to take his Lords.h.i.+p to the main truck of Mount Blang by way of the signal halliards, in preference to the regular road."

"Are the young ladies going?" asked Susan.

"Of course they are, from w'ich it follers that Mr Lewis an' the mad artist are goin' too."

"And Mrs Stoutley?" asked Susan.

"_No_; it's much too far and difficult for her."

"Gillie, Gillie!" shouted a stentorian voice at this point in the conversation.

"Ay, ay, Cappen," yelled Gillie, in reply. Rising and thrusting his hands into his pockets, he sauntered leisurely from the room, recommending the Captain, in an undertone, to save his wind for the mountainside.

Not long afterwards, the same parties that had accompanied the Professor to the Montanvert were toiling up the Mer de Glace, at a considerable distance above the scene of their former exploits, on their way to the Jardin.

The day was all that could be desired. There were a few clouds, but these were light and feathery; clear blue predominated all over the sky.

Over the ma.s.ses of the Jora.s.ses and the peaks of the Geant, the Aiguille du Dru, the slopes of Mont Mallet, the pinnacles of Charmoz, and the rounded white summit of Mont Blanc--everywhere--the heavens were serene and beautiful.

The Jardin, towards which they ascended, lies like an island in the midst of the Glacier du Talefre. It is a favourite expedition of travellers, being a verdant gem on a field of white--a true oasis in the desert of ice and snow--and within a five hours' walk of Chamouni.

Their route lay partly on the moraines and partly over the surface of the glacier. On their previous visit to the Mer de Glace, those of the party to whom the sight was new imagined that they had seen all the wonders of the glacier world. They were soon undeceived. While at the Montanvert on their first excursion, they could turn their eyes from the sea of ice to the tree-clad slopes behind them, and at the Chapeau could gaze on a splendid stretch of the Vale of Chamouni to refresh their eyes when wearied with the rugged cataract of the Glacier des Bois; but as they advanced slowly up into the icy solitudes, all traces of the softer world were lost to view. Only ice and snow lay around them. Ice under foot, ice on the cliffs, ice in the mountain valleys, ice in the higher gorges, and snow on the summits,--except where these latter were so sharp and steep that snow could not find a lodgment. There was nothing in all the field of vision to remind them of the vegetable world from which they had pa.s.sed as if by magic. As Lewis remarked, they seemed to have been suddenly transported to within the Arctic circle, and got lost among the ice-mountains of Spitzbergen or Nova Zembla.

"It is magnificent!" exclaimed Nita h.o.r.etzki with enthusiasm, as she paused on the summit of an ice-ridge, up the slippery sides of which she had been a.s.sisted by Antoine Grennon, who still held her little hand in his.

Ah, thoughtless man! he little knew what daggers of envy were lacerating the heart of the mad artist who would have given all that he possessed-- colour-box and camp-stool included--to have been allowed to hold that little hand even for a few seconds! Indeed he had, in a fit of desperation, offered to aid her by taking the other hand when half-way up that very slope, but had slipped at the moment of making the offer and rolled to the bottom. Lewis, seeing the fate of his rival, wisely refrained from putting himself in a false position by offering any a.s.sistance, excusing his apparent want of gallantry by remarking that if he were doomed to slip into a creva.s.se he should prefer not to drag another along with him. Antoine, therefore, had the little hand all to himself.

The Professor, being a somewhat experienced ice-man, a.s.sisted Emma in all cases of difficulty. As for the Captain, Gillie, and Lawrence, they had quite enough to do to look after themselves.

"How different from what I had expected," said Emma, resting a hand on the shoulder of Nita; "it is a very landscape of ice."

Emma's simile was not far-fetched. They had reached a part of the glacier where the slope and the configuration of the valley had caused severe strains on the ice in various directions, so that there were not only transverse creva.s.ses but longitudinal cracks, which unitedly had cut up the ice into blocks of all shapes and sizes. These, as their position s.h.i.+fted, had become isolated, more or less,--and being partially melted by the sun, had a.s.sumed all sorts of fantastic shapes.

There were ice-bridges, ice-caves, and ice obelisks and spires, some of which latter towered to a height of fifty feet or more; there were also forms suggestive of cottages and trees, with here and there real rivulets rippling down their icy beds, or leaping over pale blue ledges, or gliding into blue-green lakes, or plunging into black-blue chasms.

The sun-light playing among these silvery realms--glinting over edges and peaks, blazing on broad ma.s.ses, s.h.i.+mmering through semi-transparent cliffs, and casting soft grey shadows everywhere--was inexpressibly beautiful, while the whole, looming through a thin golden haze, seemed to be of gigantic proportions.

It seemed as if the region of ice around them must at one time have been in tremendous convulsions, but the Professor a.s.sured them that this was not the case, that the formation of creva.s.ses and those confused heaps of ice called _seracs_ was a slow and prolonged process. "Doubtless,"

he said, "you have here and there the wild rush of avalanches, and suchlike convulsions, but the rupture of the great body of the ice is gradual. A creva.s.se is an almost invisible crack at first. It yawns slowly and takes a long time to open out to the dimensions and confusion which you see around."

"What are those curious things?" asked Nita, pointing to some forms before her.

"They look like giant mushrooms," said Captain Wopper.

"They are ice-tables," answered Antoine.

"Blocks of stone on the top of cones of ice," said the Professor.

"Come, we will go near and examine one."

The object in question was well suited to cause surprise, for it was found to be an enormous flat ma.s.s of rock, many tons in weight, perched on a pillar of ice and bearing some resemblance to a table with a central leg.

"Now," said Captain Wopper emphatically, "that _is_ a puzzler. How did it ever get up there?"

"I have read of such tables," said Lawrence.

"They are the result of the sun's action, I believe."

"Oh, it's all very well, Lawrence," said Lewis, with a touch of sarcasm, "to talk in a vague way about the sun's action, but it's quite plain, even to an unphilosophical mind like mine, that the sun can't lift a block of stone some tons in weight and clap it on the top of a pillar of ice about ten feet high."