The Argosy — page 228: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Letters from Majorca. Zack For twelve o’clock struck and brought no change, except a change for the worse. The higher we ascended, the further we plunged into the mire. ‘The atmosphere grew cold and creepy. We passed into the clouds, which enveloped us like a Scotch mist. Les beaux esprits se rencontrent, and we found that a Mallorcan mist and a Scotch mist differed in name only. Everyone felt very agueish ; and as at the confusion of tongues at the Tower of Babel, each man called out for his sack in which to put his tools (for which reason the word sack is the same in all languages), so now every man called for his flask. ‘A good pull and a strong pull, and a pull altogether.” This was their motto. J had provided myself with a delicious and health-restoring bottle of beef-tea, ‘‘made on the premises,” as some of our English wine merchants do zo? say, but ought to say, and found this much more sustaining. I saw A.’s face lengthen as we went deeper into the mist, and our temperature lowered, and our teeth began to chatter. It certainly was growing extremely uncomfortable. In continuing the ascent I felt that we were pursuing a phantom, working for an idea. ‘Tf we persevere and reach the top, what shall we see?” I ven- tured to ask at last, very mildly. Dead silence fora moment. Then: “ Nothing,” said A. ‘So that we are taking all this trouble and exhausting this patient mule, simply to see Nothing ?” “‘T fear you have uttered only the words of wisdom,” said A. with sphinxlike gravity. ‘But we can shut our eyes and see nothing,” cried H. C. ‘‘Ves ; and we can say weve been to the top without absolutely going there,” returned A. ‘“‘It comes to the same thing on a day like this. Let us all fancy ourselves at the top.” ‘T think it is no fancy that we are uncomfortable,” continued H. C., whose regulation step had long since yielded to Scotch mist, and whose devotion to the flask quite equalled his attentions to the keg that day in the boat, when we paid our visit to the Dragon caves of Manacor. No one answered ; everyone shivered ; great chattering of teeth; songs without words. Silence gave consent to that last remark. And then by common agreement we halted. It was proposed, and carried unanimously, that we should bivouac where we were. The place was favourable to encamping, if any place could be called so in these exalted regions. There was a dry wall running along, built for some mysterious purpose, and we took shelter beneath it. But oh, how cold it was! I have never been so cold in my life; not even at the top of the North Cape, where, in the middle of July, we encountered hail and sleet and a rude easterly hurricane, and never so much as a tree for shelter. As for the midnight sun, we never saw a ray of it. It had fled from all this horrible climate, and taken refuge at the kack of the more kindly North Pole. Ccomicoooks an