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not give the signal for departure for a good hour.

The three Icelanders, who were as taciturn as their comrade, did not say
a word; but went on eating and drinking very quietly and soberly.

From this, our first real stage, we began to ascend the slopes of the
Sneffels volcano. Its magnificent snowy nightcap, as we began to call
it, by an optical delusion very common in mountains, appeared to me to
be close at hand; and yet how many long weary hours must elapse before
we reached its summit. What unheard-of fatigue must we endure!

The stones on the mountain side, held together by no cement of soil,
bound together by no roots or creeping herbs, gave way continually under
our feet, and went rushing below into the plains, like a series of small
avalanches.

In certain places the sides of this stupendous mountain were at an angle
so steep that it was impossible to climb upwards, and we were compelled
to get round these obstacles as best we might.

Those who understand Alpine climbing will comprehend our difficulties.
Often we were obliged to help each other along by means of our climbing
poles.

I must say this for my uncle, that he stuck as close to me as possible.
He never lost sight of me, and on many occasions his arm supplied me
with firm and solid support. He was strong, wiry, and apparently
insensible to fatigue. Another great advantage with him was that he had
the innate sentiment of equilibrium--for he never slipped or failed in
his steps. The Icelanders, though heavily loaded, climbed with the
agility of mountaineers.

Looking up, every now and then, at the height of the great volcano of
Sneffels, it appeared to me wholly impossible to reach to the summit on
that side; at all events, if the angle of inclination did not speedily
change.

Fortunately, after an hour of unheard-of fatigues, and of gymnastic
exercises that would have been trying to an acrobat, we came to a vast
field of ice, which wholly surrounded the bottom of the cone of the
volcano. The natives called it the tablecloth, probably from some such
reason as the dwellers in the Cape of Good Hope call their mountain
Table Mountain, and their roads Table Bay.

Here, to our mutual surprise, we found an actual flight of stone steps,
which wonderfully assisted our ascent. This singular flight of stairs
was, like everything else, volcanic. It had been formed by one of those
torrents of stones cast up by the eruptions, and of which the Icelandic
name is stina. If this singular torrent had not been checked in its
descent by the peculiar shape of the flanks of the mountain, it would
have swept into the sea, and would have formed new islands.

Such as it was, it served us admirably. The abrupt character of the
slopes momentarily increased, but these remarkable stone steps, a little
less difficult than those of the Egyptian pyramids, were the one simple
natural means by which we were enabled to proceed.

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