In the Heart of the Mountains. 135 



The left side of the valley is irregularly clothed 

 with pines, and there are patches of forest further on. 

 A great part of the bottom of the gorge is covered by 

 a broad belt of stones — the bed of a great torrent in 

 winter time. In summer there is still a stream fed by 

 the Zugspitze Glacier, but it runs under the stones. 



Right before us, at the foot of the pine-covered 

 slope, was our hut. 



I suppose that everyone, as he first read the story of 

 Robinson Crusoe, was fired with the desire to go and 

 live on an uninhabited island — to be shipwrecked in 

 preference to any other way of getting there; to go 

 about clad in the quaint costume of that amiable 

 recluse, and armed with guns of ancient pattern but 

 unrivalled performance ; and to live all alone in a hut 

 constructed by his own hands. 



Here was our chance, then. Here was a log-hut in 

 the very heart of the wilderness, far away from sight 

 or sound of man. In the silence of this lonely valley 

 was a solitude like that of Crusoe. 



The hut was built for the use of the foresters of the 

 district, and is like an Alpine refuge, only rather more 

 clean, and dry, and comfortable. There was not much 

 superfluous furniture. There was a stove and sauce- 

 pans ; the usual shelf of hay to sleep on ; and blankets 

 of the ordinary Alpine colour and pattern — that is to 

 say, black and tattered. 



We were soon in possession. In a few minutes a 

 fire was crackling in the little stove ; a fatigue-party 



