rsels of dry bread, which
finished our provisions. We had brought along only enough to provide a
lunch on the way to the summit, intending to be back at the Grands
Mulets not later than midday. Then the long afternoon dragged its weary
hours, while the storm got higher, shriller, and colder, and the sense
of our isolation became keener. Finally daylight began to fade. Slowly
the light grew dim in the window at my feet, until it was a mere
glimmer. Since we had to stay, we thanked the storm for hastening the
fall of night. When the gloom became so dense that even the window had
disappeared, Couttet lit a tallow dip, but it would not remain upright
in its improvised holder, and the freezing draughts that stole through
the hut kept it flickering so that he finally put it out, and we
remained in the dark, not "seein' things," like Eugene Field's youthful
hero, but hearing things no less uncanny. The wind whistled, moaned,
screeched, growled, and occasionally shouted with such startling
imitation of human voices that I once asked Couttet if some one were not
calling for help. But investigation showed that we were alone on our
tempestuous perch, and that the cry of agony had been uttered by the
hurricane, or the wind-lashed rocks.

[Illustration: PASSAGE OF A CREVASSE. MONT BLANC.]

Supperless, we wrapped our blankets closer, got ears and noses under,
and tried to sleep. I had a few naps, but the roar outside, and the
shaking of the hut as the storm smote it again and again, rendered
continuous sleep impossible. Something had been loosened on the roof
close overhead, and it rattled and banged as if the destruction of the
hut had actually begun. It was a queer sound, angry, imperious,
menacing, and it produced a quaking sensation. Sometimes it would die
down, and, with a final rap or two, entirely cease. Then it would
resume, with perhaps five strokes to the second, increasing to ten, then
to twenty, and quickly rising to an ear-splitting r-r-r-h, terminated
with a bang! bang!! bang!!! that made the heart leap, while the hut
seemed to rock on its foundations.

Getting out of the bunk, I found by the sense of touch that the powdery
snow-drifts were becoming steadily deeper on the floor. This recalled
another incident which had greatly interested me during my preliminary
reading at Chamonix. The winter before, Monsieur Janssen's men had
stored some of the heavier materials for his observatory near these
rocks. At the opening