Now came the solemn, silent evening. Long, blue, spiky shadows crept out
across the snow-fields, while a rosy glow, at first scarce discernible,
gradually deepened and suffused every mountain-top, flushing the
glaciers and the harsh crags above them. This was the alpenglow, to me
one of the most impressive of all the terrestrial manifestations of God.
At the touch of this divine light, the mountains seemed to kindle to a
rapt, religious consciousness, and stood hushed and waiting like devout
worshipers. Just before the alpenglow began to fade, two crimson clouds
came streaming across the summit like wings of flame, rendering the
sublime scene yet more impressive; then came darkness and the stars.
Icy Ritter was still miles away, but I could proceed no farther that
night. I found a good campground on the rim of a glacier basin about
11,000 feet above the sea. A small lake nestles in the bottom of it,
from which I got water for my tea, and a storm-beaten thicket near by
furnished abundance of resiny fire-wood. Somber peaks, hacked and
shattered, circled half-way around the horizon, wearing a savage aspect
in the gloaming, and a waterfall chanted solemnly across the lake on its
way down from the foot of a glacier.
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