“Mark time—­by the right flank—­forward—­march!”

The procession began to move, to the impressive strains of a battle-chant, and I said to myself, “Now, if the rope don’t break I judge this will fetch that guide into the camp.”  I watched the rope gliding down the hill, and presently when I was all fixed for triumph I was confronted by a bitter disappointment; there was no guide tied to the rope, it was only a very indignant old black ram.  The fury of the baffled Expedition exceeded all bounds.  They even wanted to wreak their unreasoning vengeance on this innocent dumb brute.  But I stood between them and their prey, menaced by a bristling wall of ice-axes and alpenstocks, and proclaimed that there was but one road to this murder, and it was directly over my corpse.  Even as I spoke I saw that my doom was sealed, except a miracle supervened to divert these madmen from their fell purpose.  I see the sickening wall of weapons now; I see that advancing host as I saw it then, I see the hate in those cruel eyes; I remember how I drooped my head upon my breast, I feel again the sudden earthquake shock in my rear, administered by the very ram I was sacrificing myself to save; I hear once more the typhoon of laughter that burst from the assaulting column as I clove it from van to rear like a Sepoy shot from a Rodman gun.

I was saved.  Yes, I was saved, and by the merciful instinct of ingratitude which nature had planted in the breast of that treacherous beast.  The grace which eloquence had failed to work in those men’s hearts, had been wrought by a laugh.  The ram was set free and my life was spared.

We lived to find out that that guide had deserted us as soon as he had placed a half-mile between himself and us.  To avert suspicion, he had judged it best that the line should continue to move; so he caught that ram, and at the time that he was sitting on it making the rope fast to it, we were imagining that he was lying in a swoon, overcome by fatigue and distress.  When he allowed the ram to get up it fell to plunging around, trying to rid itself of the rope, and this was the signal which we had risen up with glad shouts to obey.  We had followed this ram round and round in a circle all day—­a thing which was proven by the discovery that we had watered the Expedition seven times at one and same spring in seven hours.  As expert a woodman as I am, I had somehow failed to notice this until my attention was called to it by a hog.  This hog was always wallowing there, and as he was the only hog we saw, his frequent repetition, together with his unvarying similarity to himself, finally caused me to reflect that he must be the same hog, and this led me to the deduction that this must be the same spring, also—­which indeed it was.

I made a note of this curious thing, as showing in a striking manner the relative difference between glacial action and the action of the hog.  It is now a well-established fact that glaciers move; I consider that my observations go to show, with equal conclusiveness, that a hog in a spring does not move.  I shall be glad to receive the opinions of other observers upon this point.