I coughed loudly, holding my pole in readiness for whatever might
befall, but he did not stir; I then holloaed, and was answered by the
echoes of my own voice among the rocks. His stillness persuaded me he
was in one of those deep slumbers which fall upon a man in frozen
places, for I could not persuade myself he was dead, so living was his
posture.
This will not do, thought I; so I went close to him and peered into his
face.
His eyes were fixed; they resembled glass painted as eyes, the colours
faded. He had a broad belt round his waist, and the hilt of a kind of
cutlass peeped from under his cloak. Otherwise he was unarmed. I thought
he breathed, and seemed to see a movement in his breast, and I took him
by the shoulder; but in the hurry of my feelings I exerted more strength
than I was sensible of. I pushed him with the violence of sudden
trepidation; my hand slipped off his shoulder, and he fell on his side,
exactly as a statue would, preserving his posture as though, like a
statue, he had been chiselled out of marble or stone.
I started back frightened by his fall, in which my fears found a sort of
life; but it was soon clear to me his rigidity was that of a man frozen
to death. His very hair and beard stood stiff, as before, as though they
were some exquisite counterfeit in ebony. Perfectly satisfied that he
was dead, I stepped round to the other side of him, and set him up as I
had found him. He was as heavy as if he had been alive, and when I put
his back to the rock his posture was exactly as it had been, that of one
deeply meditating.
Who had this man been in life? How had he fallen into this pass? How
long had he been dead there, seated as I saw him?
These were speculations not to be resolved by conjecture. On looking at
the rock against which he leaned and observing its curvature, it seemed
to me that it had formed part of a cave, or of some large, deep hole of
ice; and this I was sure must have been the case, for it is certain
that, had this body remained long unsheltered, it must have been hidden
by the snow.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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