I threw my arms around the generous fellow and said:
"Harris, you are the noblest soul that lives. You shall
not regret this sublime act, neither shall the world
fail to know of it. You shall have opportunity far
transcending this one, too, if I live - remember that."
I called the head guide to me and appointed him on
the spot. But the thing aroused no enthusiasm in him.
He did not take to the idea at all.
He said:
"Tie myself to an umbrella and jump over the Gorner
Grat! Excuse me, there are a great many pleasanter roads
to the devil than that."
Upon a discussion of the subject with him, it appeared that he
considered the project distinctly and decidedly dangerous.
I was not convinced, yet I was not willing to try the
experiment in any risky way - that is, in a way that might
cripple the strength and efficiency of the Expedition.
I was about at my wits' end when it occurred to me to try
it on the Latinist.
He was called in. But he declined, on the plea
of inexperience, diffidence in public, lack of curiosity,
and I didn't know what all. Another man declined
on account of a cold in the head; thought he ought
to avoid exposure. Another could not jump well - never
COULD jump well - did not believe he could jump so far
without long and patient practice. Another was afraid it
was going to rain, and his umbrella had a hole in it.
Everybody had an excuse. The result was what the reader
has by this time guessed: the most magnificent idea
that was ever conceived had to be abandoned, from sheer
lack of a person with enterprise enough to carry it out.
Yes, I actually had to give that thing up - while doubtless
I should live to see somebody use it and take all the credit from
me.
Well, I had to go overland - there was no other way.
I marched the Expedition down the steep and tedious mule-path
and took up as good a position as I could upon the middle
of the glacier - because Baedeker said the middle part
travels the fastest. As a measure of economy, however,
I put some of the heavier baggage on the shoreward parts,
to go as slow freight.
I waited and waited, but the glacier did not move.
Night was coming on, the darkness began to gather - still we
did not budge. It occurred to me then, that there might
be a time-table in Baedeker; it would be well to find out
the hours of starting. I called for the book - it could not
be found. Bradshaw would certainly contain a time-table;
but no Bradshaw could be found.
Very well, I must make the best of the situation. So I
pitched the tents, picketed the animals, milked the cows,
had supper, paregoricked the men, established the watch,
and went to bed - with orders to call me as soon as we came
in sight of Zermatt.
I awoke about half past ten next morning, and looked around.
We hadn't budged a peg! At first I could not understand it;
then it occurred to me that the old thing must be aground.
So I cut down some trees and rigged a spar on the starboard
and another on the port side, and fooled away upward of
three hours trying to spar her off. But it was no use.
She was half a mile wide and fifteen or twenty miles long,
and there was no telling just whereabouts she WAS aground.
The men began to show uneasiness, too, and presently they
came flying to me with ashy faces, saying she had sprung
a leak.
Nothing but my cool behavior at this critical time saved us
from another panic. I order them to show me the place.
They led me to a spot where a huge boulder lay in a deep
pool of clear and brilliant water. It did look like
a pretty bad leak, but I kept that to myself. I made
a pump and set the men to work to pump out the glacier.
We made a success of it. I perceived, then, that it was not
a leak at all. This boulder had descended from a precipice
and stopped on the ice in the middle of the glacier,
and the sun had warmed it up, every day, and consequently
it had melted its way deeper and deeper into the ice,
until at last it reposed, as we had found it, in a deep
pool of the clearest and coldest water.
Presently Baedeker was found again, and I hunted eagerly
for the time-table. There was none. The book simply said
the glacier was moving all the time. This was satisfactory,
so I shut up the book and chose a good position to view
the scenery as we passed along. I stood there some time
enjoying the trip, but at last it occurred to me that we did
not seem to be gaining any on the scenery. I said to myself,
"This confounded old thing's aground again, sure," - and
opened Baedeker to see if I could run across any remedy
for these annoying interruptions. I soon found a sentence
which threw a dazzling light upon the matter. It said,
"The Gorner Glacier travels at an average rate of a little
less than an inch a day." I have seldom felt so outraged.
I have seldom had my confidence so wantonly betrayed.
I made a small calculation: One inch a day, say thirty
feet a year; estimated distance to Zermatt, three and
one-eighteenth miles. Time required to go by glacier,
A LITTLE OVER FIVE HUNDRED YEARS!
