The frost grew more and more intense, and we became icy and covered
over with a crust of frozen snow, as if we had lain cast away in the
drift all winter. In about thirteen hours--every hour like a year--day
began to dawn, but it was long ere the summit's rocks were touched
by the sun. No clouds were visible from where we lay, yet the morning
was dull and blue, and bitterly frosty; and hour after hour passed by
while we eagerly watched the pale light stealing down the ridge to the
hollow where we lay. But there was not a trace of that warm, flushing
sunrise splendor we so long had hoped for.

As the time drew near to make an effort to reach camp, we became
concerned to know what strength was left us, and whether or no we
could walk; for we had lain flat all this time without once rising to
our feet. Mountaineers, however, always find in themselves a reserve
of power after great exhaustion. It is a kind of second life,
available only in emergencies like this; and, having proved its
existence, I had no great fear that either of us would fail, though
one of my arms was already benumbed and hung powerless.

At length, after the temperature was somewhat mitigated on this
memorable first of May, we arose and began to struggle homeward. Our
frozen trousers could scarcely be made to bend at the knee, and we
waded the snow with difficulty. The summit ridge was fortunately
wind-swept and nearly bare, so we were not compelled to lift our feet
high, and on reaching the long home slopes laden with loose snow we
made rapid progress, sliding and shuffling and pitching headlong, our
feebleness accelerating rather than diminishing our speed. When we
had descended some three thousand feet the sunshine warmed our backs
and we began to revive. At 10 a.m. we reached the timber and were
safe.