XII.

MACDONALD'S PASS OF THE SPLUGEN.

I WAS standing on a green Alpine pasturage, looking off upon the Splugen Pass which cut its way through the white snow ridge that lay against the distant horizon, when my guide interrupted my musings by pointing to an aged man sitting by his cottage door. "That man," said he, "was one of Macdonald's guides that conducted him and his army over the Splugen." He immediately became an object of great interest to me, and I went and sat down by his side, and drew from him many incidents of that perilous adventure. "It was forty-three years ago," said he, "when that awful march was made. I was then but twenty-five years of age, but I remember it as if it were but yesterday. I have made many passes in the Alps, but never one like that. That Macdonald was an awful man. He looked as if he wanted to fight the very Alps, and believed that snow-storms could be beaten like an army of men."

"I believe," I replied, "that pass was made in the winter, when even foot travellers found it difficult." "Yes; and the wind blew, and the snow drove in our faces, and the avalanches fell as if the very Alps were coming down. The snow, too, was so thick at times, that we could not see the horses or men ten rods before or behind, while the screaming, and yelling, and cursing, made it ten times worse. Why, sir, it did no good to cry take care, for no one could take care. There we were, up to our arms in snow, amid oxen, and horses, and cannon, and soldiers, and compelled to stand for hours, without getting one rod ahead. Oh, it was dreadful to see the poor soldiers. Often I would hear an avalar.che coming from above, and turn to see where it fell,

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when it would come thundering straight on to the army, and cut it clean in two, leaving a great gap' in the lines. A few feathers tossing amid the snow, a musket or two flying over the brink, and away went men and all into the gulf below. Oh, sir, those poor soldiers looked as if they never would fight again—so downcast and frightened. It did no good to have courage there, for what could courage do against an avalar che! When God fights with man, it does no good to resist." In this manner, though not in the precise words, the old man rattled on, and it was evident I could get nothing from him except separate incidents which gave life and vividness to the whole picture. The falling of a single comrade by his side, or the struggles of a single war horse, as he floundered in the mass of snow that hurried him irresistibly towards the gulf, made a more distinct impression on him than the general movements of the army. The deep beds of snow and the walls of ice he and the peasants were compelled to cut through, were more important to him than the order of march, or the discipline of the troops. How different is the effect produced on a powerful and a common mind by such a scene as this! One dwells on the impression made by the whole. The moral and physical grandeur surrounding it the obstacles, and the resolution that overcame them-the savageness of nature, and the sternness that dared look it in the face; combine to make the impression he carries with him through life. The weak mind, on the other hand, never seems to reach to these generalities—never gets to the outer circle, but is occupied with details and incidents.

To understand this march of Macdonald over the Splugen, a feat greater by far than Bonaparte's famous passage of the St.. Bernard, imagine an awful defile leading up to the height of six thousand, five hundred feet towards heaven-in summer a mere bridle path, and in winter a mass of avalanches, and you will have some conception of the fearful pass through which Macdonald determined to lead fifteen thousand men. The road follows the Rhine, here a mere rivulet, which has cut its channel deep in the mountains that rise frequently to the height of three thousand feet above it. Along the precipices that overhang this turbulent torrent, the path is cut in the solid rock, now hugging the mountain wall like a mere thread, and now shooting in a single arch over

the gorge that sinks three hundred feet below. Strangely silent snow-peaks pierce the heavens in every direction, while dark precipices lean out on every side over the abyss. This mere path crosses and re crosses again this gorge, and often so high above it, that the roar of the mad torrent below can scarcely be heard; and finally strikes off on to the bare face of the mountain and clambers up to the summit. This is the old road in summer time. Now imagine this same gorge swept by a hurricane of snow, and filled with the awful sound of falling avalanches, blending their heavy shock with the dull roar of the giant pines, that wave along the precipices, while half way up from the bottom to the Alpine top, are hanging like an army of insects, fifteen thousand French soldiers; and you will approach to some knowledge of this wintry pass, and this desperate march. But if you have never been in an Alpine gorge, and stood, awe-struck, amid the mighty forms that tower away on every side around you, you can have no true conception of a scene like the one we are to describe. Rocks, going like one solid wall straight up to heavenpinnacles shooting like church spires above the clouds-gloomy ravines where the thunder-clouds burst, and the torrent ravesstill glaciers and solemn snow-fields, and leaping avalanches, combine to render an Alpine gorge one of the most terrific things in nature. Added to all this, you feel so small amid the mighty forms around you—so utterly helpless and worthless, amid these great exhibitions of God's power, that the heart is often utterly overwhelmed with the feelings that struggle in vain for utterance.

There is now a carriage road over the Splugen, cut in sixteen zigzags along the breast of the mountain. This was not in existence when Macdonald made the pass, and there was nothing but a bridle path going through the gorge of the Cardinel. Over such a pass was Macdonald ordered by Napoleon to march his army in the latter part of November, just when the wintry storms are setting in with the greatest violence. Bonaparte wished Macdonald to form the left wing of his army in Italy, and had therefore ordered him to attempt the passage. Macdonald, though no braver or bolder man ever lived, felt that it was a hopeless undertaking, and immediately despatched General Dumas to represent to him the insuperable obstacles in the way. Bona.

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parte heard him through his representations, and then replied, with his usual recklessness of other people's sufferings or death, "I will make no change in my dispositions. Return quickly, and tell Macdonald that an army can always pass in every sea. son, where two men can place their feet."

Macdonald, of course, could do no otherwise than obey commands, and immediately commenced the necessary preparations for his desperate undertaking. It was the 26th of November, and the frequent storms had covered the entire Alps, pass and all, in one mass of yielding snow. His army was at the upper Rheinthal or Rhine valley, at the entrance of the dreadful defile of the Via Mala, the commencement of the Splugen pass. The cannon were taken from their carriages and placed on sleds, to which oxen were harnessed. The ammunition was divided about on the backs of mules, while every soldier had to carry, besides his usual arms, five packets of cartridges and five days' provision. The guides went in advance, and stuck down long black poles to indicate the course of the path beneath, while behind them came the workmen clearing away the snow, and behind them still, the mounted dragoons, with the most powerful horses of the army, to beat down the track. On the 26th of November, the first company left Splugen, and began the ascent. The pass from Splu

gen to Isola is about fifteen miles in length, and the advance company had, after the most wasting toil and exhausting effort, made nearly half of it, and were approaching the hospice on the summit, when a low moaning was heard among the hills, like the voice of the sea before a storm. The guides understood too well its meaning, and gazed on each other with alarm. The ominous sound grew louder every moment, and suddenly the fierce Alpine blast swept in a cloud of snow over the mountain, and howled, like an unchained demon, through the gorge below. In an instant all was confusion, and blindness, and uncertainty. The very heavens were blotted out, and the frightened column stood and listened to the raving tempest that made the pine trees above it sway and groan, as if lifted from their rock-rooted places. But suddenly another still more alarming sound was heard-" An avalanche! an avalanche !" shrieked the guides, and the next moment an awful white form came leaping down the mountain, and striking the

column that was struggling along the path, passed straight through it into the gulf below, carrying thirty dragoons and their horses with it in its wild plunge. The black form of a steed and its rider were seen suspended for a moment in mid heavens, amid clouds of snow, and the next moment they fell among the ice and rocks below, crushed out of the very forms of humanity. The head of the column reached the hospice in safety. The other part, struck dumb by this sudden apparition crossing their path in such lightning-like velocity, bearing to such an awful death their brave comrades, refused to proceed, and turned back to the village of Splugen. For three days the storm raged amid the Alps, filling the heavens with snow, and hurling avalanches into the path, till it became so filled up that the guides declared it would take fifteen days to open it again so as to make it at all passable. But fifteen days Macdonald could not spare. Independent of the urgency of his commands, there was no way to provision his army in these Alpine solitudes, and he must proceed. He ordered four of the strongest oxen that could be found to be led in advance by the best guides. Forty peasants followed behind, clearing away and beating down the snow, and two companies of sappers came after to give still greater consistency to the track, while on their heels marched the remnant of the company of dragoons, part of which had been borne away three days before by the avalanche. The post of danger was given them at their own request. Scarcely had they begun the dangerous enterprise, when one of the noble oxen slipped from the precipice, and with a convulsive fling of his huge frame, went bounding from point to point of the jagged rocks to the deep, dark torrent below.

It was a strange sight for a wintry day. Those three oxen, with their horns just peering above the snow, toiled slowly on, pushing their unwieldy bodies through the drifts, looking like mere specks on the breast of the mountain, while the soldiers, up to their breasts, struggled behind. Not a drum or bugle-note cheered the solitude, or awoke the echoes of those savage peaks. The foot-fall gave back no sound in the soft snow, and the words of command seemed smothered in the very atmosphere. Silently and noiselessly the mighty but disordered column toiled forward,