through the glass. In spite of their conceit, their skulls were thicker
than that of the persecuted Breton fisherman.

Samson for a moment turned his face to the north and raised his face
towards heaven. Whether it was an appeal to the saints he believed in,
or an invocation to the distant ocean he was never more to look upon,
who can tell?

After a moment's pause he flung himself headlong down the slope towards
the section of the regiment which lounged on the bank of the river.
Over and over he rolled, and then in place of the black figure there
came downwards a white ball, gathering bulk at every bound.

It was several seconds before the significance of what they were gazing
at burst upon officers and men. It came upon them simultaneously, and
with it a wild panic of fear. In the still air a low sullen roar arose.

"An avalanche! An avalanche!!" they cried.

The men and officers were hemmed in by the boiling torrent. Some of
them plunged in to get to the other side, but the moment the water laid
hold of them their heels were whirled into the air, and they
disappeared helplessly down the rapids.

Samson was hours going up the mountain, but only seconds coming down.
Like an overwhelming wave came the white crest of the avalanche,
sweeping officers and men into and over the stream and far across the
plateau.

There was one mingled shriek which made itself heard through the sullen