Our next proceeding was to prospect for suitable holes to crawl into should the weather turn bad, and for soft and dry grassy hollows, should it keep fine. We then made the tea, and enjoyed one of those sumptuous meals with which Hastings invariably treats his companions. It is needless to add that Slingsby and I once more gave the party a graphic description of the Aiguille du Plan, and the joy which its ice slopes afford the faithful.[1] Meanwhile the sun "toward heaven's descent had sloped his westering wheel," and the cold breeze of evening suggested sleeping bags, so we each retired to the lair of our choice, and, pitying the poor wretches cramped in stuffy inns, we were soon sleeping the sleep of the just.
About two o'clock Hastings stirred me out of a refreshing slumber, and we then set up a series of howls to wake Slingsby and Collie, who were concealed in certain remote and invisible hollows. At length they emerged from the gloom and, wrapped in our sleeping bags, we sought to eat our breakfast. But breakfast at 2.30 a.m., when you are totally out of condition, is not a successful meal. It requires much careful training before the stage is reached when, at that hour of the morning, you can eat three questionable eggs and enjoy them. While
- ↑ This scramble has been described by Mr. Ellis Carr, one of the party, in a paper entitled "Two Days on an Ice Slope," Alpine Journal, vol. xvi., p. 442, et seq.
