Beneath
was what I can only describe as a great icicle broken off short, and
separated from the cliff by about four yards of space. This icicle was
not more than fifteen feet in length and sloped outwards, so that my
descent was not sheer. Moreover, at the end of it the trickling of
water, or some such accident, had worn away the ice, leaving a little
ledge as broad, perhaps, as a man's hand. There were roughnesses on the
surface below the curve, upon which my clothing caught, also I gripped
them desperately with my fingers. Thus it came about that I slid down
quite gently and, my heels landing upon the little ledge, remained
almost upright, with outstretched arms--like a person crucified to a
cross of ice.
Then I saw everything, and the sight curdled the blood within my veins.
Hanging to the rope, four or five feet below the broken point, was Leo,
out of reach of it, and out of reach of the cliff; as he hung turning
slowly round and round, much as--for in a dreadful, inconsequent fashion
the absurd similarity struck me even then--a joint turns before the
fire. Below yawned the black gulf, and at the bottom of it, far, far
beneath, appeared a faint, white sheet of snow. That is what I saw.
Think of it! Think of it! I crucified upon the ice, my heels resting
upon a little ledge; my fingers grasping excrescences on which a bird
could scarcely have found a foothold; round and below me dizzy space.
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