Summary

Portrait of John Buchan John Buchan Mr Standfast — Chapter 17: The Col of the Swallows (1919)

And then, still possessed with a demon of disquiet, I was on the road again, heading for the pass that led to Italy.
The mist had gone from the sky, and the stars were shining brightly. The moon, now at the end of its first quarter, was setting in a gap of the mountains, as I climbed the low col from the St Anton valley to the greater Staubthal. There was frost and the hard snow crackled under my wheels, but there was also that feel in the air which preludes storm. I wondered if I should run into snow in the high hills. The whole land was deep in peace.
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Portrait of John Buchan John Buchan Mr Standfast — Chapter 17: The Col of the Swallows (1919)

We crossed it by a snow bridge, and started out on the seracs of the Schwarzstein glacier.
I am no mountaineer—not of the snow and ice kind, anyway—but I have a big share of physical strength and I wanted it all now. For those seracs were an invention of the devil. To traverse that labyrinth in a blinding snowstorm, with a fainting companion who was too weak to jump the narrowest crevasse, and who hung on the rope like lead when there was occasion to use it, was more than I could manage.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of John Buchan John Buchan Mr Standfast — Chapter 17: The Col of the Swallows (1919)

The first pinewoods were beginning, and at last came a straight slope where I could let the car out. I began to recover my spirits, which had been very dashed, and to reckon the distance I had still to travel . . . And then, without warning, a new world sprang up around me. Out of the blue dusk white shapes rose like ghosts, peaks and needles and domes of ice, their bases fading mistily into shadow, but the tops kindling till they glowed like jewels.
Source: Wikisource

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