Part 20 (2/2)

”Trust yourself to me,” replied Sanga-moarta, and he led them with confident knowledge of the place through this unfrequented region.

In places where a path seemed hardly possible, he knew where to find the way over the cleft rocks. He had noticed every root that could help one in climbing; every tree-trunk bridging a chasm; every narrow ledge of rock where one could step by clinging to its projections; in short, he moved through this labyrinth with the utmost confidence.

”We are near the end,” he said, suddenly, after he had climbed a steep wall of rock and looked over the country, and he stretched his hand down and drew the others up after him. The scene was now changed. The declivity of the rock that they had mounted was under them; a smooth surface in semi-circular shape formed a basin hundreds of fathoms deep, where the dark green water of a mountain lake gleamed. There was no breeze but the lake was broken with foam. The opposite side of the basin was formed by a group of mountains with fir trees at the base, and where the two mountain ma.s.ses came together a small stream flowed into this lake, over which the ice that tumbled into the valley made a crystal arch.

”Where will that bring us?” Clement asked, with horror.

”To the head of the stream,” replied Sanga-moarta. ”It has made its way through the ice and if we follow its track we shall reach the place we seek.”

”But how shall we get there? This wall of rock is as smooth as gla.s.s, one slip and there is nothing between us and the bottom of the lake.”

”You must take care, that is all. You will have to lie down on your back and slip down sidewise. Now and then you will find a bush of Alpine roses that you can cling to; but there is no danger of slipping if you are barefoot,--follow my example.”

A blood-curdling pleasure awaited them. The men took off their shoes and clung firmly with hands and feet to the smooth wall of stone. They had gone barely half way when there was a mysterious sound from the opposite mountains; it seemed as if the rocks beneath them trembled.

”Stay where you are,” shouted Sanga-moarta to the others. ”There is a snow-slide.”

And the next moment could be seen the white ball set in motion in the remote mountains, rolling down the steep heights, tearing along with it rocks and uprooted trees, growing every instant more terrible; and as it made great bounds to the valley it shook the mountain to its very foundations.

”Oh my G.o.d!” cried Clement, trying to reach the guide with one hand while he clung to the rock with the other. ”It will come and kill us all.”

”Stay where you are,” Sanga-moarta called out to them, when he saw that they were trying to climb up and would so expose themselves to the danger of slipping back. ”This slide is going toward that rock and there it will be either broken or held fast.”

It was true that the snow-slide, now grown to mammoth size, was rolling toward a jutting cliff that seemed dwarf-like in comparison.

The roll of the avalanche had grown so loud that every other sound was lost in its thundering roar. Now the snow plunged against the rock in its path, struck its peak with a fearful bound and gave the whole mountain such a shock that it quivered to its foundations. For a moment the entire vicinity was covered with a cloud of snow flying with the velocity of steam. After the last clap, the thunder ceased.

Then followed a frightful cracking. The avalanche had torn the opposing rock from its base and the two plunged down into the lake below them. This, lashed to foam, engulfed the ma.s.s and its waves, mounting fearfully, rose to the height of fifty fathoms, where the bold climbers were clinging to the face of the rock. Then the waves settled back, for a few moments took the form of a towering green column which finally subsided, and after some time quiet again ruled over the waters.

Clement lay there more dead than alive, while Sanga-moarta's first look was to see if the bed of the stream had been overflowed by the war of the waters. But the ma.s.s of snow had plunged into the lake without raising it a foot; all had disappeared in the bottomless depths; a mountain lake neither rises nor falls.

”Let us go on our way,” said Sanga-moarta. ”It will be all the easier now that the rock is wet, to climb down.”

In the course of half an hour they had reached the mouth of the stream. A wonderful pa.s.sage opened before them. The stream had its source in a warm spring, which following the course of the valley, was buried under mountains and avalanches. The warm water had hollowed out a covered pa.s.sage, so melting the ice that only its outer surface remained frozen, and this was constantly added to by the influence of the atmosphere, while within it was as constantly melted by the warmth of the spring; the result was that the stream flowed under a crystal archway with glittering icicles. Into this pa.s.sage Sanga-moarta led his companions. Clement could only think of the magic palaces in fairy tales, where the enchanted mortal got the sunlight through transparent water. As they were wading along the stream at one point the underground pa.s.sage suddenly grew dark. Heavy ma.s.ses took the place of the transparent vaulting. The crusting of ice was thicker; it changed to dark blue, and to black; the noise of the waters was the only guide. The men, up to their knees in the water, found it growing warmer and warmer until finally they heard a hissing, and through a cleft in the rock caught sight of the sunlight once more. At the source of the spring, as they clung to some bushes to resist the force of the boiling waters, they found themselves in a deep, well-like valley.

”We are in the Gregyina-Drakuluj.”

It is a round valley with mountains rising about it several hundred feet high. If you would look down from their summits you must crawl on your stomach to the edge of the cliff, and then unless you have strong nerves you will fall from the dizzying height. In this valley-bed below the flowers are always in bloom; in the sternest winter season here you can find those dark green plants with broad indented leaves; those small round-leaved trees that are nowhere else in the country.

The yellow cups of the leather-leaved water-lilies open just at this time. The place is covered, summer and winter, with freshest green; the wild laurel climbs high in the crevices of the rocks and throws its red berries down into the valley, while all around is cold and dead.

The whole winter through the valley is covered with the rarest flowers. That is why the Wallachian calls it the Devil's garden, and is afraid to go near it. Yet the miracle has a purely natural cause.

In a hole in the depth of the valley is a hot mineral spring that never comes to light, but warms through the earth above; and, as warm waters have their own peculiar flora, these strange plants flourish there beside their quickening element. The whole place is like a greenhouse in the open air amid storms and ice mountains.

Sanga-moarta beckoned silently to his comrades to follow him. A feverish unrest was noticeable throughout his whole being. After a few steps he pointed with trembling hand to a dark hollow where there was an iron door.

”What is that?” cried Clement, reaching for his sword. ”Is this hollow inhabited?”

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