CHAPTER X
THE ASCENT OF MOUNT DE LA BÊCHE
Only a hill: yes, looked at from below;
Facing the usual sea, the frequent west.
Tighten the muscles, feel the strong blood flow,
And set your foot upon the utmost crest!
There where the realms of thought and effort cease,
Wakes on your heart a world of dreams and peace.
On December 8th we left for the Ball hut en route once more for the Malte Brun. Peter Graham was in charge of my Australian friends, and Alex and I were intent on travelling with them to the Malte Brun hut, and there taking up our abode and climbing whatever took our fancy and was practicable for a party of two. We found another party at the Ball hut, and as the ladies' quarters there are rather cramped, I offered to rid them of one superfluous female by sleeping outside. A tiny tent, known as the "dog-box," was rigged up for me. It was just large enough to contain one person, and looked more like an ambulance stretcher with the hood up than anything else I can think of. After dinner I betook myself and a sleeping-bag to these somewhat cramped quarters and prepared for a blissful night. Unfortunately for me, the pack-horses were of a curious disposition and spent the best part of the night sniffing round my abode. Momentarily I expected to feel a hoof descending with a crash through the canvas, and soon began to wish that I
