252

BOCCA DEI CAMOZZI.

our way. The glacier before us must come down fromthe main ridge. Would this afford a passage? Wedetermined to try, the porter following in sullen silence.After climbing a hard-frozen bank we reached the crestand looked down on a sea of mist. As we stood therethe cloud? enveloped us and snow began to fall heavily.Sheltering in a niche among the rocks on the easternside of the ridge we turned to that universal resourceunder difficulties, the provision-sack, while Francisexplored the cliffs below. Our guide soon returnedwith a face portending failure. After descending about100 feet, he had reached an absolute precipice, solofty that no noise announced the fall of the stones herolled over its edge. The shouts of herdsmen rose tanta-lisingly out of the depths below, coming, no doubt, fromthe highest alp in Yal d r Ambies, a lateral glen whichfalls into the Sarca valley near the Baths of Comano.

What was to be done ? We were, like Bunyan’spilgrims in the Enchanted Ground, amidst the ruins ofCastle Doubting, with no clue to guide us out of thewilderness. My companions appreciated the positionand played their parts accordingly,—one, as Giant De-spair, sallying on us with frightful prognostications of anight in the snow, while another, as Hopeful, main-tained that we should still sleep at Molveno . Finallywe determined to follow wherever the glacier led us.

The porter, the source of all our misfortunes, hadbeen discovered to be profiting by our discussion topocket a large share of our already small stock of provi-sions. He had been engaged only as far as the Bocca,and as he still insisted that we were on it we tookhim at his word and dismissed him on the spot.

Slithering somehow down the ice-slope we tramped