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Unsaddling
and picketing the horses securely, making the beds of pine
shoots,
and dragging up logs for fuel, warmed us all. "Jim" built up a
great
fire, and before long we were all sitting around it at supper.
It
didn't matter much that we had to drink our tea out of the
battered
meat
tins in which it was boiled, and eat strips of beef reeking with
pine
smoke without plates or forks.
"Treat
Jim as a gentleman and you'll find him one," I had been told;
and
though his manner was certainly bolder and freer than that of
gentlemen
generally, no imaginary fault could be found. He was very
agreeable
as a man of culture as well as a child of nature; the
desperado
was altogether out of sight. He was very courteous and even
kind
to me, which was fortunate, as the young men had little idea of
showing
even ordinary civilities. That night I made the acquaintance
of
his dog "Ring," said to be the best hunting dog in Colorado, with
the
body and legs of a collie, but a head approaching that of a
mastiff,
a noble face with a wistful human expression, and the most
truthful
eyes I ever saw in an animal. His master loves him if he
loves
anything, but in his savage moods ill-treats him. "Ring's"
devotion
never swerves, and his truthful eyes are rarely taken off his
master's
face. He is almost human in his intelligence, and, unless he
is
told to do so, he never takes notice of any one but "Jim." In a
tone
as if speaking to a human being, his master, pointing to me,
said,
"Ring,
go to that lady, and don't leave her again to-night." "Ring" at
once
came to me, looked into my face, laid his head on my shoulder,
and
then
lay down beside me with his head on my lap, but never taking his
eyes
from "Jim's" face.
The
long shadows of the pines lay upon the frosted grass, an aurora
leaped
fitfully, and the moonlight, though intensely bright, was pale
beside
the red, leaping flames of our pine logs and their red glow on
our
gear, ourselves, and Ring's truthful face. One of the young men
sang
a Latin student's song and two Negro melodies; the other "Sweet
Spirit,
hear my Prayer." "Jim" sang one of Moore's melodies in a
singular
falsetto, and all together sang, "The Star-spangled Banner"
and
"The Red, White, and Blue." Then "Jim" recited a very clever poem
of
his own composition, and told some fearful Indian stories. A
group
of
small silver spruces away from the fire was my sleeping place.
The
artist
who had been up there had so woven and interlaced their lower
branches
as to form a bower, affording at once shelter from the wind
and
a most agreeable privacy. It was thickly strewn with young pine
shoots,
and these, when covered with a blanket, with an inverted saddle
for
a pillow, made a luxurious bed. The mercury at 9 P.M. was 12
degrees
below the freezing point. "Jim," after a last look at the
horses,
made a huge fire, and stretched himself out beside it, but
"Ring"
lay at my back to keep me warm. I could not sleep, but the
night
passed rapidly. I was anxious about the ascent, for gusts of
ominous
sound swept through the pines at intervals. Then wild animals
howled,
and "Ring" was perturbed in spirit about them. Then it was
strange
to see the notorious desperado, a red-handed man, sleeping as
quietly
as innocence sleeps. But, above all, it was exciting to lie
there,
with no better shelter than a bower of pines, on a mountain
11,000
feet high, in the very heart of the Rocky Range, under twelve
degrees
of frost, hearing sounds of wolves, with shivering stars
looking
through the fragrant canopy, with arrowy pines for bed-posts,
and
for a night lamp the red flames of a camp-fire.
Day
dawned long before the sun rose, pure and lemon colored. The rest
were
looking after the horses, when one of the students came running
to
tell
me that I must come farther down the slope, for "Jim" said he had
never
seen such a sunrise. From the chill, grey Peak above, from the
everlasting
snows, from the silvered pines, down through mountain
ranges
with their depths of Tyrian purple, we looked to where the
Plains
lay cold, in blue-grey, like a morning sea against a far
horizon.
Suddenly, as a dazzling streak at first, but enlarging
rapidly
into a dazzling sphere, the sun wheeled above the grey line, a
light
and glory as when it was first created. "Jim" involuntarily and
reverently
uncovered his head, and exclaimed, "I believe there is a
God!"
I felt as if, Parsee-like, I must worship. The grey of the
Plains
changed to purple, the sky was all one rose-red flush, on which
vermilion
cloud-streaks rested; the ghastly peaks gleamed like rubies,
the
earth and heavens were new created. Surely "the Most High
dwelleth
not
in temples made with hands!" For a full hour those Plains
simulated
the ocean, down to whose limitless expanse of purple, cliff,
rocks,
and promontories swept down.
By
seven we had finished breakfast, and passed into the ghastlier
solitudes
above, I riding as far as what, rightly, or wrongly, are
called
the "Lava Beds," an expanse of large and small boulders, with
snow
in their crevices. It was very cold; some water which we crossed
was
frozen hard enough to bear the horse. "Jim" had advised me
against
taking
any wraps, and my thin Hawaiian riding dress, only fit for the
tropics,
was penetrated by the keen air. The rarefied atmosphere soon
began
to oppress our breathing, and I found that Evans's boots were so
large
that I had no foothold. Fortunately, before the real difficulty
of
the ascent began, we found, under a rock, a pair of small
overshoes,
probably
left by the Hayden exploring expedition, which just lasted for
the
day. As we were leaping from rock to rock, "Jim" said, "I was
thinking
in the night about your traveling alone, and wondering where
you
carried your Derringer, for I could see no signs of it." On my
telling
him that I traveled unarmed, he could hardly believe it, and
adjured
me to get a revolver at once.
On
arriving at the "Notch" (a literal gate of rock), we found
ourselves
absolutely
on the knifelike ridge or backbone of Long's Peak, only a
few
feet wide, covered with colossal boulders and fragments, and on
the
other
side shelving in one precipitous, snow-patched sweep of 3,000
feet
to a picturesque hollow, containing a lake of pure green water.
Other
lakes, hidden among dense pine woods, were farther off, while
close
above us rose the Peak, which, for about 500 feet, is a smooth,
gaunt,
inaccessible-looking pile of granite. Passing through the
"Notch,"
we looked along the nearly inaccessible side of the Peak,
composed
of boulders and debris of all shapes and sizes, through which
appeared
broad, smooth ribs of reddish-colored granite, looking as if
they
upheld the towering rock mass above. I usually dislike bird's-eye
and
panoramic views, but, though from a mountain, this was not one.
Serrated
ridges, not much lower than that on which we stood, rose, one
beyond
another, far as that pure atmosphere could carry the vision,
broken
into awful chasms deep with ice and snow, rising into pinnacles
piercing
the heavenly blue with their cold, barren grey, on, on for
ever,
till the most distant range upbore unsullied snow alone. There
were
fair lakes mirroring the dark pine woods, canyons dark and
blue-black
with unbroken expanses of pines, snow-slashed pinnacles,
wintry
heights frowning upon lovely parks, watered and wooded, lying in
the
lap of summer; North Park floating off into the blue distance,
Middle
Park closed till another season, the sunny slopes of Estes Park,
and
winding down among the mountains the snowy ridge of the Divide,
whose
bright waters seek both the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. There,
far
below, links of diamonds showed where the Grand River takes its
rise
to seek the mysterious Colorado, with its still unsolved enigma,
and
lose itself in the waters of the Pacific; and nearer the
snow-born
Thompson
bursts forth from the ice to begin its journey to the Gulf of
Mexico.
Nature, rioting in her grandest mood, exclaimed with voices of
grandeur,
solitude, sublimity, beauty, and infinity, "Lord, what is
man,
that Thou art mindful of him? or the son of man, that Thou
visitest
him?" Never-to-be-forgotten glories they were, burnt in upon
my
memory by six succeeding hours of terror.
You
know I have no head and no ankles, and never ought to dream of
mountaineering;
and had I known that the ascent was a real
mountaineering
feat I should not have felt the slightest ambition to
perform
it. As it is, I am only humiliated by my success, for "Jim"
dragged
me up, like a bale of goods, by sheer force of muscle. At the
"Notch"
the real business of the ascent began. Two thousand feet of
solid
rock towered above us, four thousand feet of broken rock shelved
precipitously
below; smooth granite ribs, with barely foothold, stood
out
here and there; melted snow refrozen several times, presented a
more
serious obstacle; many of the rocks were loose, and tumbled down
when
touched. To me it was a time of extreme terror. I was roped to
"Jim,"
but it was of no use; my feet were paralyzed and slipped on the
bare
rock, and he said it was useless to try to go that way, and we
retraced
our steps. I wanted to return to the "Notch," knowing that my
incompetence
would detain the party, and one of the young men said
almost
plainly that a woman was a dangerous encumbrance, but the
trapper
replied shortly that if it were not to take a lady up he would
not
go up at all. He went on to explore, and reported that further
progress
on the correct line of ascent was blocked by ice; and then for
two
hours we descended, lowering ourselves by our hands from rock to
rock
along a boulder-strewn sweep of 4,000 feet, patched with ice and
snow,
and perilous from rolling stones. My fatigue, giddiness, and
pain
from bruised ankles, and arms half pulled out of their sockets,
were
so great that I should never have gone halfway had not "Jim,"
nolens
volens, dragged me along with a patience and skill, and withal a
determination
that I should ascend the Peak, which never failed. After
descending
about 2,000 feet to avoid the ice, we got into a deep ravine
with
inaccessible sides, partly filled with ice and snow and partly
with
large and small fragments of rock, which were constantly giving
away,
rendering the footing very insecure. That part to me was two
hours
of painful and unwilling submission to the inevitable; of
trembling,
slipping, straining, of smooth ice appearing when it was
least
expected, and of weak entreaties to be left behind while the
others
went on. "Jim" always said that there was no danger, that there
was
only a short bad bit ahead, and that I should go up even if he
carried
me!
Slipping,
faltering, gasping from the exhausting toil in the rarefied
air,
with throbbing hearts and panting lungs, we reached the top of
the
gorge
and squeezed ourselves between two gigantic fragments of rock by
a
passage called the "Dog's Lift," when I climbed on the shoulders
of
one
man and then was hauled up. This introduced us by an abrupt turn
round
the south-west angle of the Peak to a narrow shelf of
considerable
length, rugged, uneven, and so overhung by the cliff in
some
places that it is necessary to crouch to pass at all. Above, the
Peak
looks nearly vertical for 400 feet; and below, the most
tremendous
precipice
I have ever seen descends in one unbroken fall. This is
usually
considered the most dangerous part of the ascent, but it does
not
seem so to me, for such foothold as there is is secure, and one
fancies
that it is possible to hold on with the hands. But there, and
on
the final, and, to my thinking, the worst part of the climb, one
slip,
and a breathing, thinking, human being would lie 3,000 feet
below,
a shapeless, bloody heap! "Ring" refused to traverse the Ledge,
and
remained at the "Lift" howling piteously.
From
thence the view is more magnificent even than that from the
"Notch."
At the foot of the precipice below us lay a lovely lake, wood
embosomed,
from or near which the bright St. Vrain and other streams
take
their rise. I thought how their clear cold waters, growing turbid
in
the affluent flats, would heat under the tropic sun, and
eventually
form
part of that great ocean river which renders our far-off islands
habitable
by impinging on their shores. Snowy ranges, one behind the
other,
extended to the distant horizon, folding in their wintry embrace
the
beauties of Middle Park. Pike's Peak, more than one hundred miles
off,
lifted that vast but shapeless summit which is the landmark of
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