Plainly we were in an ugly fix.  The guides were naturally unwilling to go alone and seek a way out of the difficulty; so we all went together.  For better security we moved slow and cautiously, for the forest was very dense.  We did not move up the mountain, but around it, hoping to strike across the old trail.  Toward nightfall, when we were about tired out, we came up against a rock as big as a cottage.  This barrier took all the remaining spirit out of the men, and a panic of fear and despair ensued.  They moaned and wept, and said they should never see their homes and their dear ones again.  Then they began to upbraid me for bringing them upon this fatal expedition.  Some even muttered threats against me.

Clearly it was no time to show weakness.  So I made a speech in which I said that other Alp-climbers had been in as perilous a position as this, and yet by courage and perseverance had escaped.  I promised to stand by them, I promised to rescue them.  I closed by saying we had plenty of provisions to maintain us for quite a siege—­and did they suppose Zermatt would allow half a mile of men and mules to mysteriously disappear during any considerable time, right above their noses, and make no inquiries?  No, Zermatt would send out searching-expeditions and we should be saved.

This speech had a great effect.  The men pitched the tents with some little show of cheerfulness, and we were snugly under cover when the night shut down.  I now reaped the reward of my wisdom in providing one article which is not mentioned in any book of Alpine adventure but this.  I refer to the paregoric.  But for that beneficent drug, would have not one of those men slept a moment during that fearful night.  But for that gentle persuader they must have tossed, unsoothed, the night through; for the whiskey was for me.  Yes, they would have risen in the morning unfitted for their heavy task.  As it was, everybody slept but my agent and me—­only we and the barkeepers.  I would not permit myself to sleep at such a time.  I considered myself responsible for all those lives.  I meant to be on hand and ready, in case of avalanches up there, but I did not know it then.

We watched the weather all through that awful night, and kept an eye on the barometer, to be prepared for the least change.  There was not the slightest change recorded by the instrument, during the whole time.  Words cannot describe the comfort that that friendly, hopeful, steadfast thing was to me in that season of trouble.  It was a defective barometer, and had no hand but the stationary brass pointer, but I did not know that until afterward.  If I should be in such a situation again, I should not wish for any barometer but that one.