following stroke in quick, passionatesuccession, as though the
mountain were being rent to its foundations and the fires of the old

volcano were breaking forth again.
Could we at once have begun to descend the snow slopes leading to the

timber, we might have made good our escape, however dark and wild the
storm. As it was, we had first to make our way along a dangerous

ridge nearly a mile and a half long, flanked in many places by steep
ice-slopes at the head of the Whitney Glacier on one side and by

shattered precipices on the other. Apprehensive of this coming
darkness, I had taken the precaution, when the storm began, to make

the most dangerous points clear to my mind, and to mark their
relations with reference to the direction of the wind. When,

therefore, the darkness came on, and the bewildering drift, I felt
confident that we could force our way through it with no other

guidance. After passing the "Hot Springs" I halted in the lee of a
lava-block to let Jerome, who had fallen a little behind, come up.

Here he opened a council in which, under circumstances sufficiently
exciting but without evincing any bewilderment, he maintained, in

opposition to my views, that it was impossible to proceed. He firmly
refused to make the venture to find the camp, while I, aware of the

dangers that would necessarily attend our efforts, and conscious of
being the cause of his present peril, decided not to leave him.

Our discussions ended, Jerome made a dash from the shelter of the
lava-block and began forcing his way back against the wind to the "Hot

Springs," wavering and struggling to resist being carried away, as if
he were fording a rapid stream. After waiting and watching in vain

for some flaw in the storm that might be urged as a new argument in
favor of attempting the descent, I was compelled to follow. "Here,"

said Jerome, as we shivered in the midst of the hissing, sputtering
fumaroles, "we shall be safe from frost." "Yes," said I, "we can lie

in this mud and steam and sludge, warm at least on one side; but how
can we protect our lungs from the acid gases, and how, after our

clothing is saturated, shall we be able to reach camp without
freezing, even after the storm is over? We shall have to wait for

sunshine, and when will it come?"
The tempered area to which we had committed ourselves extended over

about one fourth of an acre; but it was only about an eighth of an
inch in thickness, for the scalding gas jets were shorn off close to

the ground by the oversweeping flood of frosty wind. And how lavishly
the snow fell only mountaineers may know. The crisp crystal flowers

seemed to touch one another and fairly to thicken the tremendous blast
that carried them. This was the bloom-time, the summer of the cloud,

and never before have I seen even a mountain cloud flowering so
profusely.

When the bloom of the Shasta chaparral is falling, the ground is
sometimes covered for hundreds of square miles to a depth of half an

inch. But the bloom of this fertile snow cloud grew and matured and
fell to a depth of two feet in a few hours. Some crystals landed with

their rays almost perfect, but most of them were worn and broken by
striking against one another, or by rolling on the ground. The touch

of these snow-flowers in calm weather is infinitely gentle--glinting,
swaying, settling silently in the dry mountain air, or massed in

flakes soft and downy. To lie out alone in the mountains of a still
night and be touched by the first of these small silent messengers

from the sky is a memorable experience, and the fineness of that touch
none will forget. But the storm-blast laden with crisp, sharp snow

seems to crush and bruise and stupefy with its multitude of stings,
and compels the bravest to turn and flee.

The snow fell without abatement until an hour or two after what seemed
to be the natural darkness of the night. Up to the time the storm

first broke on the summit its development was remarkably gentle.
There was a deliberate growth of clouds, a weaving of translucent

tissue above, then the roar of the wind and the thunder, and the
darkening flight of snow. Its subsidence was not less sudden. The

clouds broke and vanished, not a crystal was left in the sky, and the
stars shone out with pure and tranquil radiance.

During the storm we lay on our backs so as to present as little
surface as possible to the wind, and to let the drift pass over us.

The mealy snow sifted into the folds of our clothing and in many
places reached the skin. We were glad at first to see the snow

packing about us, hoping it would deaden the force of the wind, but it
soon froze into a stiff, crusty heap as the temperature fell, rather

augmenting our novel misery.
When the heat became unendurable, on some spot where steam was

escaping through the sludge, we tried to stop it with snow and mud, or
shifted a little at a time by shoving with our heels; for to stand in

blank exposure to the fearful wind in our frozen-and-broiled condition
seemed certain death. The acrid incrustations sublimed from the

escaping gases frequently gave way, opening new vents to scald us;
and, fearing that if at any time the wind should fall, carbonic acid,

which often formed a considerableportion of the gaseous exhalations
of volcanoes, might collect in sufficient quantities to cause sleep

and death, I warned Jerome against forgetting himself for a single
moment, even should his sufferings admit of such a thing.

Accordingly, when during the long, dreary watches of the night we
roused from a state of half-consciousness, we called each other by

name in a frightened, startled way, each fearing the other might be
benumbed or dead. The ordinary sensations of cold give but a faint

conception of that which comes on after hard climbing with want of
food and sleep in such exposure as this. Life is then seen to be a

fire, that now smoulders, now brightens, and may be easily quenched.
The weary hours wore away like dim half-forgotten years, so long and

eventful they seemed, though we did nothing but suffer. Still the
pain was not always of that bitter, intense kind that precludes

thought and takes away all capacity for enjoyment. A sort of dreamy
stupor came on at times in which we fancied we saw dry, resinous logs

suitable for campfires, just as after going days without food men
fancy they see bread.

Frozen, blistered, famished, benumbed, our bodies seemed lost to us at
times--all dead but the eyes. For the duller and fainter we became

the clearer was our vision, though only in momentary glimpses. Then,
after the sky cleared, we gazed at the stars, blessed immortals of

light, shining with marvelousbrightness with long lance rays, near-looking
and new-looking, as if never seen before. Again they would

look familiar and remind us of stargazing at home. Oftentimes
imagination coming into play would present charming pictures of the

warm zone below, mingled with others near and far. Then the bitter
wind and the drift would break the blissful vision and dreary pains

cover us like clouds. "Are you suffering much? Jerome would inquire
with pitiful faintness. "Yes," I would say, striving to keep my voice

brave, "frozen and burned; but never mind, Jerome, the night will wear
away at last, and tomorrow we go a-Maying, and what campfires we will

make, and what sunbaths we will take!"
The frost grew more and more intense, and we became icy and covered

over with a crust of frozen snow, as if we had lain cast away in the
drift all winter. In about thirteen hours--every hour like a year--day

began to dawn, but it was long ere the summit's rocks were touched
by the sun. No clouds were visible from where we lay, yet the morning

was dull and blue, and bitterlyfrosty; and hour after hour passed by
while we eagerly watched the pale light stealing down the ridge to the

hollow where we lay. But there was not a trace of that warm, flushing
sunrise splendor we so long had hoped for.

As the time drew near to make an effort to reach camp, we became
concerned to know what strength was left us, and whether or no we

could walk; for we had lain flat all this time without once rising to
our feet. Mountaineers, however, always find in themselves a reserve

of power after great exhaustion. It is a kind of second life,
available only in emergencies like this; and, having proved its

existence, I had no great fear that either of us would fail, though
one of my arms was already benumbed and hung powerless.

At length, after the temperature was somewhat mitigated on this