Part 17 (1/2)
”Nevertheless the sun has done it,” returned Lawrence. ”Am I not right Professor?”
The man of science, who had listened with a bland smile on his broad countenance, admitted that Lawrence was right.
”At first,” he said, ”that big stone fell from the cliffs higher up the valley, and it has now been carried down thus far by the ice. During its progress the sun has been s.h.i.+ning day by day and melting the surface of the ice all round, with the exception of that part which was covered by the rock. Thus the general level of the ice has been lowered and the protected portion left prominent with its protector on the top. The sides of the block of ice on which the rock has rested have also melted slowly, reducing it to the stalk or pillar which you now see. In time it will melt so much that the rock will slide off, fall on another part of the ice, which it will protect from the sun as before until another stem shall support it, and thus it will go on until it tumbles into a creva.s.se, reaches the under part of the glacier, perhaps there gets rolled and rounded into a boulder, and finally is discharged, many years hence, it may be, into the terminal moraine; or, perchance, it may get stranded on the sides of the valley among the _debris_ or rubbish which we call the lateral moraine.”
As the party advanced, new, and, if possible; still more striking objects met the eye, while mysterious sounds struck the ear. Low grumbling noises and gurglings were heard underfoot, as if great boulders were dropping into buried lakes from the roofs of sub-glacial caverns, while, on the surface, the glacier was strewn here and there with _debris_ which had fallen from steep parts of the mountains that rose beside them into the clouds. Sudden rus.h.i.+ng sounds--as if of short-lived squalls, in the midst of which were crashes like the thunder of distant artillery--began now to attract attention, and a feeling of awe crept into the hearts of those of the party who were strangers to the ice-world. Sounds of unseen avalanches, m.u.f.fled more or less according to distance, were mingled with what may be called the shots of the boulders, which fell almost every five minutes from the Aiguille Verte and other mountains, and there was something deeply impressive in the solemn echoes that followed each deep-toned growl, and were repeated until they died out in soft murmurs.
As the party crossed an ice-plain, whose surface was thickly strewn with the wreck of mountains, a sense of insecurity crept into the feelings of more than one member of it but not a word was said until a sudden and tremendous crash, followed by a continuous roar, was heard close at hand.
”An avalanche!” shouted Slingsby, pointing upwards, and turning back with the evident intention to fly.
It did indeed seem the wisest thing that man or woman could do in the circ.u.mstances, for, high up among the wild cliffs, huge ma.s.ses of rock, mingled with ice, dirt, water, and snow, were seen rus.h.i.+ng down a ”couloir,” or steep gully, straight towards them.
”Rest tranquil where you are,” said the guide, laying his hand on the artist's arm; ”the couloir takes a bend, you see, near the bottom.
There is no danger.”
Thus a.s.sured, the whole of the party stood still and gazed upward.
Owing to the great height from which the descending ma.s.s was pouring, the inexperienced were deceived as to the dimensions of the avalanche.
It seemed at first as if the boulders were too small to account for the sounds created, but in a few seconds their real proportions became more apparent, especially when the whole rush came straight towards the spot on which the travellers stood with such an aspect of being fraught with inevitable destruction, that all of them except the guide shrank involuntarily backwards. At this crisis the chaotic ma.s.s was driven with terrible violence against the cliffs to the left of the couloir, and bounding, we might almost say fiercely, to the right, rushed out upon the frozen plain about two hundred yards in advance of the spot on which they stood.
”Is there not danger in being so close to such places?” asked Lewis, glancing uneasily at Nita, whose flas.h.i.+ng eyes and heightened colour told eloquently of the excitement which the sight had aroused in her breast.
”Not much,” answered the Professor, ”no doubt we cannot be said to be in a place of absolute safety, nevertheless the danger is not great, because we can generally observe the avalanches in time to get out of the way of spent shots; and, besides, if we run under the lea of such boulders as _that_, we are quite safe, unless it were to be hit by one pretty nearly as large as itself.” He pointed as he spoke to a ma.s.s of granite about the size of an omnibus, which lay just in front of them.
”But I see,” he added, laughing, ”that Antoine thinks this is not a suitable place for the delivery of lectures; we must hasten forward.”
Soon they surmounted the steeps of the Glacier du Talefre, and reached the object of their desire, the Jardin.
It is well named. A wonderful spot of earth and rock which rises out of the midst of a great basin of half-formed ice, the lower part being covered with green sward and spangled with flowers, while the summit of the rock forms a splendid out-look from which to view the surrounding scene.
Here, seated on the soft gra.s.s--the green of which was absolutely delicious to the eyes after the long walk over the glaring ice--the jovial Professor, with a sandwich in one hand and a flask of _vin ordinaire_ in the other, descanted on the world of ice. He had a willing audience, for they were all too busy with food to use their tongues in speech, except in making an occasional brief demand or comment.
”Glorious!” exclaimed the Professor.
”Which, the view or the victuals?” asked Lewis. ”Both,” cried the Professor, helping himself to another half-dozen sandwiches.
”Thank you--no more at present,” said Nita to the disappointed Slingsby, who placed the rejected limb of a fowl on his own plate with a deep sigh.
”Professor,” said Nita, half-turning her back on the afflicted artist, ”how, when, and where be all this ice formed?”
”A comprehensive question!” cried the Professor. ”Thank you--yes, a wing and a leg; also, if you can spare it, a piece of the--ah! so, you are right. The whole fowl is best. I can then help myself. Miss Gray, shall I a.s.sist you to a--no? Well, as I was about to remark, in reply to your comprehensive question, Mademoiselle, this basin, in which our Jardin lies, may be styled a mighty collector of the material which forms that great tributary of the Mer de Glace, named the Glacier du Talefre. This material is called neve.”
”An' what's nevy?” asked Captain Wopper, as well as a full mouth would allow him.
”Neve,” replied the Professor, ”is snow altered by partial melting, and freezing, and compression--snow in the process of being squeezed into ice. You must know that there is a line on all high mountains which is called the snow-line. Above this line, the snow that falls each year _never_ disappears; below it the snow, and ice too, undergoes the melting process continually. The portion below the snow-line is always being diminished; that above it is always augmenting; thus the loss of the one is counterbalanced by the gain of the other; and thus the continuity of glaciers is maintained. That part of a glacier which lies above the snow-line is styled neve; it is the fountain-head and source of supply to the glacier proper, which is the part that lies below the snow-line. Sometimes, for a series of years, perhaps, the supply from above is greater than the diminution below, the result being that the snout of a glacier advances into its valley, ploughs up the land, and sometimes overturns the cottages. [See Note 1.] On the other hand the reverse process goes on, it may be for years, and a glacier recedes somewhat, leaving a whole valley of _debris_, or terminal moraine, which is sometimes, after centuries perhaps, clothed with vegetation and dotted with cottages.”