M. Dunod, and we all quickly slid down to a broad shelf. When I say all, however, I must except Hastings, who unluckily inserted his foot into a tempting crack, and found that no effort could subsequently release it. All hands heaved on the rope, but it was of no avail, and he bid fair—save for the dearth of eagles—to rival Prometheus. Some one at last suggested that he should take off his boot. The idea was hailed with approval, and we all shouted and yelled the advice. When, however, one is supported on a steep, not to say perpendicular, slab by one foot jammed in a crack some twelve inches from the surface, it is a problem of no slight complexity to unlace and remove an offending boot. The task was, however, accomplished; but then a second difficulty arose, what was to be done with it? Happily a pocket was discovered large enough to contain the property, and the ledge was soon reached in safety.
A short ascent by an easy gully led us to the gap between the Pic Balfour and the summit. From thence easy ledges brought us down to the C. P. cleft. Our porters greeted us with shouts, and let down a rope for our help. It was obvious, however, that a rock bridge, not, perhaps, wholly easy of access, would have enabled us to turn the obstruction without extraneous aid. Since, however, the porters were at hand, we thought they might as well have the privilege of pulling us up.
