e were on the Grand
Plateau, a much wider level than the other, edged with tremendous ice
cliffs and crevasses, and situated at an elevation of thirteen thousand
feet. For some time now it had been broad day, but the clouds had
thickened rapidly, and the summit was wrapped and completely hidden in
them. Blasts of frigid wind began to whistle about us, driving stinging
pellets of ice into our faces. We quickened our steps, for it would not
do to be caught in a storm here. The Grand Plateau has taken more lives
than its ill-starred neighbor below.

A BLINDING STORM OF SNOW AND WIND.

We now bore off to the right, in order to clamber up the side of the
great channel, or depression, that we had thus far followed, because at
its upper end, where it meets the base of the crowning pyramid of Mont
Blanc, it abuts against ice-covered precipices that no mortal will ever
scale. Snow commenced to fall, and the wind rose. As we neared the crest
of the ridge connecting the Dome du Gouter with the Bosses du Dromadaire
and the summit, the tempest burst fiercely upon us. In an instant we
were enveloped by a cloud of whirling snow that blotted out sky and
mountains alike. It drove into my eyes, and half blinded me. It was so
thick that objects a few yards away would have been concealed even
without a violent wind to confuse the vision. At times Couttet, close
ahead of me, was visible only in a kind of gray outline, like a wraith.
On an open plain such a storm in such a temperature would have had its
dangers for a traveller seeking his way. We were seeking our way, not on
an open plain, but two miles and a half above sea level, in a desert of
snow and ice, encompassed with precipices, chasms, and pitfalls,
treading on we knew not what, assailed by a wild storm, all landmarks
obliterated, and our footsteps filling so fast with drifted snow that in
two minutes we could not see from what direction we had last come.

In such a situation the imagination becomes dramatic. The night before I
had been reading the account of the loss, in 1870, of Dr. Bean, Mr.
Randall, and the Rev. Mr. Corkendale, together with five guides and
three porters, eleven persons in all, in just such a storm and within
sight of this spot. And now as we stumbled along I repeated to myself,
almost word for word, Dr. Bean's message to his wife, found when his
body was discovered:

"September 7, evening--My dear Hessie: We have been two days on Mont
Blanc in the mids