HOURS AMONG THB ROCKS AND CLOUDS- 189 



as a demon, had for a week past shown nothing higher than his red shoulder, 

 Crib Coch. The sun was invisible, and evening hurrying on, as by bog and 

 lichened rock rising at intervals like stones of memorial, we scaled the precipitous 

 Glyder. But I had a guide, for the track was unknown to me, and mist on the 

 summit of every mountain and hill. We paused, wearied, and leant on some 

 mossy masses of stone. Still it was partially clear, but in a moment a grey 

 volume of clouds, volley after volley, shot past us by an opening in the rocks, 

 filled up the whole scene, and, slowly curling round, coldly encircled us in their 

 damp embrace, and deeper and deeper curtained us round. But it was without 

 a sound ; not a whisper of wind or water was heard, not a cry from a Plover or a 

 Raven mixed with the heavy atmosphere. The fog rolled and heaved in denser 

 volumes, and seemed to bring the utter solitude and silence of death. We 

 seemed alone in a world of vapours, before untrodden and unknown, and beyond 

 their solemn shade a new creation seemed concealed from view. On we wandered, 

 silent as the scene around us, ever and anon a pinnacle of grey stone like a half- 

 demolished cromleck or desecrated circle suddenly darkening to view in the fog ; and 

 I thought we were ascending a rocky staircase that had no termination but in the 

 heaven above us. Still my guide progressed before me, his gaunt figure often 

 disappearing entirely from view and sometimes mistaking an oblique rock for him, 

 ere I again recovered him. At length he paused — in a fog who can make every 

 movement true ? and as the best may fail, so my guide had lost his clue, was out 

 in his bearings, and was unable to proceed with certainty. I had enjoyed the 

 cold sullen solemnity — the world of ghosts and vapours we were communing 

 with ; but knowing we were seven or eight miles from quarters, with night im- 

 pending and short rations, I sounded a parley, and called a council. But vainly 

 on Crib Discyl, Moel Siabod, and Cam Davydd did I call to withdraw their 

 forces ; fresh squadrons still pushed on from Wyddva, the Snowdonian praetorium, 

 and nothing remained but a retreat in the face of the enemy, if possible before 

 night fall. We found we were on the verge of a steep precipice, and my com- 

 panion approaching to its very verge, rolled down mass after mass into the deep 

 profundity, and stood listening to its fall — but there was no reply. He then 

 said he must venture the descent alone, and if he found the passages practicable 

 he would give me notice by shouting ; if not he would return when he had 

 examined the vicinity as well as he could. So saying he left me, and his dark 

 figure disappeared instantaneously below the face of the rock. I wrapped my 

 cloak about me, sat on my collecting-book, and long anxiously listened. But 

 there was no sound, and I now began to consider the probability that from the 

 depth below no sound teould reach me, that he might wander on unconsciously, 

 be unable to ascend again, or be altogether uncertain of the exact spot where he 

 left me. Thought crowded upon thought, and anxiety urged me to make an 



