And S.
actually pleaded inability, and determined to remain at the hotel.
However, the Mer de Glace must be seen; so, at seven William, Georgy,
H., and I, set off. When about half way or more up the mountain we
crossed the track of the avalanches, a strip or trail, which looks
from beneath like a mower's swath through a field of tall grass. It is
a clean path, about fifty rods wide, without trees, with few rocks,
smooth and steep, and with a bottom of ice covered with gravel.
"Hurrah, William," said I, "let's have an avalanche!"
"Agreed," said he; "there's a big rock."
"Monsieur le Guide, Monsieur le Guide!" I shouted, "stop a moment. H.,
stop; we want you to see our avalanche."
"No," cried H., "I will not. Here you ask me to stop, right on the
edge of this precipice, to see you roll down a stone!"
So, on she ambled. Meanwhile William and I were already on foot, and
our mules were led on by the guide's daughter, a pretty little lass of
ten or twelve, who accompanied us in the capacity of mule driver.
We found several stones of inferior size, and sent them plunging down.
At last, however, we found one that weighed some two tons, which
happened to lie so that, by loosening the earth before and under it
with our alpenstocks, we were able to dislodge it.
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