On our way up the mountain we had to stop several times, for our guide complained of diarrhoea, but here he came to a dead stop and said he could not proceed any farther.  We were suspicious at first that he was only feigning illness to escape the bad weather which we could see approaching.  We did our best to persuade him to proceed, but without effect, and then we threatened to reduce his fee by one-half if he did not conduct us to the summit of Ben Nevis as agreed.  Finally we asked him to remain where he was until we returned after completing the ascent alone; but he pleaded so earnestly with us not to make the attempt to reach the summit, and described the difficulties and dangers so vividly, that we reluctantly decided to forgo our long-cherished ambition to ascend the highest mountain in Great Britain.  We were very much disappointed, but there was no help for it, for the guide was now really ill, so we took his advice and gave up the attempt.

Ben Nevis, we knew, was already covered with snow at the top, and a further fall was expected, and without a guide we could not possibly find the right path.  We had noticed the clouds collecting upon the upper peaks of the great mountain and the sleet was already beginning to fall, while the wind, apparently blowing from an easterly direction, was icy cold.  My brother, who had had more experience in mountain-climbing than myself, remarked that if it was so bitterly cold at our present altitude of 2,200 feet, what might we expect it to be at 4,400, and reminded me of a mountain adventure he had some years before in North Wales.

On his first visit to the neighbourhood he had been to see a relative who was the manager of the slate quarries at Llanberis and resided near Port Dinorwic.  The manager gave him an order to ride on the slate train to the quarries, a distance of seven miles, and to inspect them when he arrived there.  Afterwards he went to the Padaro Villa Hotel for dinner, and then decided to go on to Portmadoc.  There was no railway in those days, and as the coach had gone he decided to walk.  The most direct way, he calculated, was to cross Snowdon mountain, and without asking any advice or mentioning the matter to any one he began his walk over a mountain which is nearly 3,600 feet high.  It was two o’clock in the afternoon when he left the hotel at Llanberis, and from the time he passed a stone inscribed “3-3/4 miles to the top of Snowdon” he did not see a single human being.  It was the 23rd of November, and the top of the mountain, which was clearly visible, was covered with snow.

All went well with him until he passed a black-looking lake and had reached the top of its rocky and precipitous boundary, when with scarcely any warning he suddenly became enveloped in the clouds and could only see a yard or two before him.  He dared not turn back for fear he should fall down the precipice into the lake below, so he continued his walk and presently reached the snow.  This, fortunately, was frozen,