Tilting myself back as far as the rope and the ring on my belt allowed, and stretching out my legs horizontally, I awaited the contact.  Half a second later came a heavy blow on the soles of my feet, the pain of which ran through my whole frame like the shock of a galvanic battery.  Had it been my head, the reader would probably never have been troubled with any account of my sensations.  As it was, my feet, though protected by immensely heavy iron-shod shoes, received a concussion the effects of which continued to be felt for weeks.

Almost at the moment of this incident I had noticed a dark object shooting past me, at so close a proximity that I distinctly heard the whistling sound as it cleft the air.  Supposing it to be a stone, I gave it no further thought, and my attention was presently occupied by a sharp gash which the young eagle at my belt managed to inflict on my left thigh.  It was not until I had stopped the haemorrhage by strewing some grains of powder into the wound that I perceived with surprise that I was still stationary, instead of ascending, as in due course I ought to have been.  The boulder of rock projecting a few feet over my head prevented any view of the ledge, and my shouts inquiring the cause of the delay received indistinct answers, the words “patience” and “wait” being the only intelligible ones.  These might have had a consoling influence but for the fact that a thunderstorm—­an occurrence of great frequency in the beginning of summer in the High Alps—­was fast approaching, and my position was one that exposed me to its full fury without any possibility of escape.  Ere long it burst over my head, drenching me to the skin in the first five minutes, while the lightning played about me in every direction, and terrific claps of thunder followed each other at intervals of scarcely a few seconds.  What heightened the danger as well as the absurdity of my situation was the chance that one or both of the old eagles might return at any moment, under circumstances that must render a struggle, if any ensued, a most unequal one.  Supposing my guards to be still at their post, the distance of the ledge was such as to make a shot at a flying bird, large as it might be, anything but a sure one; and the tactics of the golden eagle when defending its home do not allow of any second attempt.  A speck is seen on the horizon, and the next moment the powerful bird is down with one fell swoop:  a flap with its strong wing and the unhappy victim is stunned, and immediately ripped open from the chest to his hip, while his skull is cleft or fractured by a single blow of the tremendous beak.  Instances are, however, known in which the cool and self-possessed “pendant” has shot or cut down his foe at the very instant of the encounter.  Happily, my own powers were not put to so severe a test:  the old birds were that day far off, circling probably in majestic swoops over some distant valley or gorge.