CHAPTER VIII

A STORM AT JAEGERVAND

GREAT is the contrast between the wild tempests of Nordland and its calm, cloudless days. We experienced both at Jaegervand, and the storm I have specially in my mind was so sudden and violent that it remains to me a type of what such storms can be.

One morning very early-about six o'clock, I think we were returning from a climb which we had made during the night. Except in early summer, when the sunlight lingers ever on the mountains, a climb at night is to me extremely depressing. I cannot tell why this. is so, but I know that when I have been at work for some hours in that light which is neither of the day nor of the night, I begin to feel strangely downhearted, and mountaineering seems but a poor thing after all.

It was after a night of this sort that we were returning down a particularly stony and desolate valley, itself enough to give one an attack of the blues, to Jaegervand. My usual feelings at that hour were neither improved by the surroundings, by the recollection that we had reached the summit far too early for photography, nor by the fact that we had been chilled to the bone by a biting wind, and that now, an hour or so from camp, a storm, which had come suddenly tearing across the pale blue sky of dawn, was about to break furiously on us. And break it did.

As we silently and doggedly trudged on, the wind shrieking around us and the rain descending in torrents, we suddenly caught sight of the lake. It was milky green in colour, and raked up by the gale into angry foam-edged waves. My heart sank yet more. It was Wednesday, and somehow or other I must before evening get a letter home posted on the steamer, which at that time called but once a week at the village of Jaegervand.

Our clumsy boat, if manned by a couple of experienced natives and with the wind at her

back, would have been safe enough on the lake. But my guides knew nothing about boats, and Emil had tried rowing only a few times. I row a little myself, but I wondered if I dare venture on a six-miles row thus poorly seconded in such awful weather, especially after having been out on a mountain all night. I thought not, yet somehow that letter had to go.

It may seem that under the circumstances the obvious course was to walk. But this the guides were naturally reluctant to do if we could manage otherwise, for much of the ground by the lake is a hideous swamp, and a river has to be forded.

Thus gloomily pondering, we reached the tents. I had not been two minutes in mine when I heard Imboden exclaim that his would stand up no longer, and sure enough it immediately proceeded to subside quietly against mine, which still, however, kept its footing, though it swayed violently with the force of the storm. I struggled wildly with a basin of water and a change of clothes, determined to get through my toilet before the whole thing came down

on my head. When I emerged Emil's tent was already flat on the ground, with two of the poles broken. Imboden's had propped itself against mine, and altogether the whole encampment looked decidedly crazy. I pulled the tents into a position in which they could not get further damaged, and then went into the hut where the guides sat dozing. It was a long and weary morning, for I was desperately sleepy and had nowhere to go and rest. So I too sat in a chair and dozed till it was time to begin cooking the dinner.

While we dined, we discussed the expedition to Jaegervand village; and as the wind was by now rather less, we hoped the lake would soon be calmer. I turned to the window to look out.

Horrors! The boat was gone! She had been pulled well up the bank, but such a gale as we were experiencing was almost enough to send the capital of Switzerland itself out

to sea.

Well, this narrowed down our plans considerably. In fact, nothing remained except for the guides to walk.

At 2.30 P.M. they set off, telling me not to expect their return till the next day, for I had begged them to await better weather in the "town."

So for the first time in my life I was left absolutely alone, miles from any other human being-quite, entirely alone!

No one can picture a safer country than I was in. Still, the first experience of complete solitude, especially to a woman, is strange, and in my case was accentuated by the knowledge that I was in a place which it was not easy to get out of. Of course, if I wished I could walk, as the guides had done. But I was not at all sure if I could ford the river alone, now swollen far beyond its usual size. I knew of a place a couple of hours further up, near the foot of the glacier, where I could get over, but the marshes had anyhow to be crossed. The other bank of the lake was still more inaccessible, as a large and rapid river lay between me and it, so it is small wonder if the camp seemed just then not unlike a prison, from which to escape was difficult.