Whymper - Scrambles in the Alps

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Scrambles Amongst the Alps

IN THE YEARS 1860-69.

BY



EDWARD WHYMPER.

WITH OVER 100 ILLUSTRATIONS.

Toil and pleasure, in their natures opposite, are yet linked together in a kindof necessary connection. Livy.

PHILADELPHIAJ. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.

1872.


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PREFACE.

In the year i860, shortly before leaving England for a long Continentaltour, a certain eminent London publisher requested me to make for himsome sketches of the great Alpine peaks. At this time I had only a literaryacquaintance with mountaineering, and had even not seen much less setfoot upon a riiountain. Amongst the peaks which were upon my list was

Mont Pelvoux, in Dauphine. The sketches that were required of it were tocelebrate the triumph of some Englishmen who intended to make its ascent.They came they saw but they did not conquer. By a mere chance I fellin with a very agreeable Frenchman who accompanied this party, and waspressed by him to return to the assault. In 1861 we did so, with my friendMacdonald, and we conquered. This was the origin of my scramblesamongst the Alps.

The ascent of Mont Pelvoux (including the disagreeables) was a verydelightful scramble. The mountain air did not act as an emetic ; the sky did



not look black instead of blue ; nor did I feel tempted to throw myselfover precipices. I hastened to enlarge my experience, and went to theMatterhorn. I was urged toward Mont Pelvoux by those mysterious im-pulses which cause men to peer into the unknown. Not only was this moun-tain reputed to be the highest in France, and on that account was worthy ofattention, but it was the dominating point of a most picturesque district ofthe highest interest, which, to this day, remains almost unexplored. TheMatterhorn attracted me simply by its grandeur. It was considered to bethe most thoroughly inaccessible of all mountains, even by those who oughtto have known better. Stimulated to make fresh exertions by one repulseafter another, I returned, year after year, as I had opportunity, more andmore determined to find a way up it, or to prove it to be really inaccessible.

A considerable portion of this volume is occupied by the history of theseattacks on the Matterhorn, and the other excursions that are described haveall some connection, more or less remote, with that mountain or with MontPelvoux. All are new excursions (that is, excursions made for the first time),unless the contrary is pointed out. Some have been passed over very briefly,and entire ascents or descents have been disposed of in a single line. Ifthey had been worked out at full length, three volumes instead of one wouldhave been required. Generally speaking, the salient points alone have beendwelt upon, and the rest has been left to the imagination. This treatmenthas saved the reader from much useless repetition.

3


4 PREFACE,

In endeavoring to make the book of some use to those who may wish to gomountain-scrambling, whether in the Alps or elsewhere, undue prominence,perhaps, has been given to our mistakes and failures ; and it will doubtless

be pointed out that our practice must have been bad if the principles whichare laid down are sound, or that the principles must be unsound if the prac-tice was good. It is maintained in an early chapter that the positive, orunavoidable, dangers of mountaineering are very small, yet from subsequentpages it can be shown that very considerable risks were run. The reason isobvious we were not immaculate. Our blunders are not held up to beadmired or to be imitated, but to be avoided.

These scrambles amongst the Alps were holiday excursions, and as suchthey should be judged. They are spoken of as sport, and nothing more.The pleasure that they gave me cannot^ I fear, be transferred to others. Theablest pens have failed, and must always fail, to give a true idea of the grand-

eur of the Alps. The most minute descriptions of the greatest writers donothing more than convey impressions that are entirely erroneous thereader conjures up visions, it may be magnificent ones, but they are infin-itely inferior to the reality. I have dealt sparingly in descriptions, and haveemployed illustrations freely, in the hope that the pencil may perhaps suc-ceed where the pen must inevitably have failed.

The preparation of the illustrations has occupied a large part of my timeduring the last six years. With the exception of the views upon pp. i8, 19and 24, the whole of the illustrations have been engraved expressly for the



book, and, unless it is otherwise specified, all are from my own sketches.About fifty have been drawn on the wood by Mr. James Mahoney, and I ammuch indebted to that artist for the care and fidelity with which he has fol-lowed my slight memoranda, and for the spirit that he has put into hisadmirable designs. Most of his drawings will be identified by his mono-gram. Twenty of the remainder are the work of Mr. Cyrus Johnston, andout of these I would draw especial attention to the view of the Matterhornfacing p. 36, the striated rock upon p. 63, and the bits from the Mer deGlace upon pp. 138, 139. The illustrations have been introduced as illustra-tions, and very rarely for ornamental purposes. We have subordinatedeverything in thera to accuracy, and it is only fair to the artists who havehonored me by their assistance to say that many of their designs wouldhave ranked higher as works of art if they had been subjected to fewerrestrictions.


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

The Drawings were made on the Wood by

H. J. Boot, C. Johnson, J. Mahonby, J. W. North, P. Skblton, W. G. Smith, and C.J. Staniland ;

and were Engraved by J. W. and Edward Whymper.

* From Photographs. ** Designs,

FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS.

PAGB

** I. The Club-room of Zermatt in 1864 Frontispiece.

2, Mont Pelvoux and the ALfePROiDE, from near Mont Dauphin 16

* 3. The Mont Cenis Road and the Fell Railway, on the Italian side.. 30

4. The Matterhorn, from near the Summit of the ThAodule Pass 36

5. "In attempting to pass the corner I slipped and fell" 54

** 6. A Cannonade on the Matterhorn (1862) 57

7. "The Chimney" 64

8. The Crags <5f the Matterhorn during the Storm, Midnight, Aug.10, 1863 71

** 9. Descending Western Ar£te of the Pointe des ficRiNs 89

** 10. " We saw a toe it seemed to belong to Moore ; we saw Reynaud a

FLYING body" 95



** II. The Summit of the Moming Pass in 1864 108

12. The Bergschrund on the Dent Blanche in 1865 117

13. The Matterhorn from the Riffelberg 121

* 14. The Grandes Jorasses from the Val Ferret 133

15. The Summit of the Col Dolent 134

16. Fog-Bow, seen from the Matterhorn on July 14, 1865 ....: 157

IN THE TEXT.

1. Beachy Head 9

2. The Devil of Notre Dame 10

** 3. Mules 10

** 4. A CuRfe IN Difficulties 13

5. At THE St. Bernard 13

** 6. Which is the Brute? 13

** 7. "Garibaldi!" 15

* 8. Brian<;on 16

9. Mont Pelvoux from above La Bessie 18

ID. In the Val d'Alefred 19

11. The Grand Pelvoux de Val Louise 20

12. Buttresses of Mont Pelvoux 21

* 13. Portrait of R. J. S. Macdonald 23

14. Outline to show Route up Mont Pelvoux 24

15. The Blanket Bag 1 27

16. Natural Pillar near Molines 29

** 17. Crossing Mont Cenis 30

** 18. The Little Postilion 31

19. The Centre Rail on a Curve 32

20. Section of the Fell Railway 32

* 21. The Covered Ways of the Fell Railway 33

22. The Centre-Rail Brake 34

23. Outlines of the Matterhorn from the North-east 37



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6 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS,

PAGB

* 24. Portrait of J. J. Bennen 38

?25. Portrait OF Jean-Antoine Carrel 40

26. The Col du Lion; looking toward the TfeTE du Lion 41

** 27. At Breuil (Giomein) 44

28. Outlines of the Matterhorn from the Th^odule Pass 46

29. Diagram to show manner of fastening Tent-poles 47

30. Alpine Tent 47

31. Climbing Claw 51

32. Rope and Ring 51

33. The Matterhorn from Breuil 58

** 34. "But what is this?" 59

35. An Arch of the Aqueduct in the Val Tournanche 61

* 36. Water-worn Rocks in the Gorge below the Corner Glacier 62

37, Striations Produced by Glacier-action 63

** 38. "Carrel lowered me down" * 67

* 39. Portrait of Monsieur Favre ' 73

* 40. Crossing the Channel 74

** 41. A Night with Croz 75

* 42. Portrait of Michel-Auguste Croz 76

43. The Aiguilles d'Arve from above the Chalets of Rieu Blanc 78

* 44, Portrait of Melchior Anderegg 81

45. Map of the Br^che de la Meije, etc 82

* 46. The Vallon des Etan<;ons 83

47. Map of the Central Dauphin^ Alps 84

48. The Pointe des fecRiNs from the Col du Galibier 86



49. Outline to show Route up Pointe des Ecrins 86

50. Fragment from the Summit of the Pointe des fecRiNs 88

** 51. A Snow Couloir 93

** 52. Portraits of Mr. Reilly on a wet Day 99

53. Our Camp on Mont Sue 100

54. Ice-Avalanche on the Moming Pass 108

55. Fac-simile of a Letter from Croz 112

56. Part of the Southern Ridge of the Grand Cornier 113

57. Part of the Northern Ridge of the Grand Cornier 114

* 58. Portrait of Leslie Stephen 116

* 59. Portrait of T. S. Kennedy 119

60. Diagrams to show Dip of Strata on the Matterhorn 122-3

* 61. My Tent-bearer The Hunchback 125

* 62. The Bouquetin 127

63. A Cretin of Aosta 129

64. My Ice-axe 135

65. Kennedy Ice-axe 136

66. Stephen Ice-axe 136

67. Crampon 136

* 68. Portrait of Christian Almer 137

* 69. On the Mer de Glace ? , 138

* 70. Ice-Pinnacles on the Mer de Glace : 139

* 71. Western Side of the Col de Tal^fre 142

** 72. Glissading 143

** 73. The Wrong Way to use a Rope on Glacier 146

** 74. The Right Way to use a Rope on Glacier 146

75. "Croz! Croz! Come here" 153

76. The Actual Summit of the Matterhorn in 1865 154

77. The Summit of the Matterhorn 155

78. Rope broken on the Matterhorn 157



* 79. Portrait of Monsieur Seiler 158

80. Manilla Rope broken on the Matterhorn 159

81. The "Second" Rope broken on the Matterhorn 160

** 82. The End 162

83. Natural Pinnacles in the Valley of the Durance 163


CONTENTS

CHAP. PAGE

I. Introductory 9

II. The Ascent of Mont Pelvoux 16

III. The Mont Cenis Pass and the Fell Railway The Great Tunnel

THROUGH the ALPS 30

IV. My First Scramble on the Matterhorn 35

V. Renewed Attempts to ascend the Matterhorn 44

VI. The Val Tournanche The Breuiljoch Zermatt ^Ascent of the

Grand Tournalin 59

VII. Our Sixth Attempt to ascend the Matterhorn 69

VIII. From St. Michel to La B^rarde by the Col des Aiguilles, d'Arve,

Col de Martignare, and the Br^che de la Meije 75

IX. The Ascent of the Pointe des I^crins 83

X. From Val Louise to La B^rarde by the Col de Pilatte 91

XI. Passage of the Col de Triolet, and Ascents of Mont Dolent,

Aiguille de TRfeLATfexE and Aiguille d'Argenti^re 96

XII. The Moming Pass Zermatt 105

XIII. The Ascent of the Grand Cornier iio

XIV. The Ascent of the Dent Blanche 116

XV. Lost on the Col d'H^rens Seventh Attempt to ascend the Mat-



terhorn 119

XVI. On the Valley of Aosta, and the Ascent of the Grandes Jorasses. 126

XVII. The Col Dolent 133

XVIII. Ascent of the Aiguille Vertje 137

XIX. The Col de Tal^fre ' 142

XX. Ascent of the Ruinette The Matterhorn 144

XXI. The Ascent of the Matterhorn 150

XXII. The Descent of the Matterhorn 155

Appendix 162

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Scrambles Amongst the Alps

IN THE YEARS 1860-69.

BBACHY HEAD.

CHAPTER I.



ON the 23d of July, i860, I startedfor my first tour in the Alps. Aswe steamed out into the Channel,Beachy Head came into view, and re-called a scramble of many years ago.With the impudence of ignorance, mybrother and I, schoolboys both, hadtried to scale that great chalk cliff. Notthe head itself where sea-birds circle,and where the flints are ranged so or-

derly in parallel lines ^but at a placemore to the east, where the pinnaclecalled the Devil's Chimney had fallendown. Since that time we have beenoften in dangers of different kinds, butnever have we more nearly broken ournecks than upon that occasion.

In Paris I made two ascents. Thefirst to the seventh floor of a house in the

Quartier Latin to an artist friend, whowas engaged, at the moment of my

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN 1860-^69.

entry, in combat with a little Jew. Hehurled him with great good-will andwith considerable force into some of

his crockery, and then recommendedme to go up the towers of Notre Dame.Half an hour later I stood on theparapet of the great west front, by theside of the leering fiend which for cen-turies has looked down upon the great



city. It looked over the Hotel Dieuto a small and commonplace building,around which there was always a mov-ing crowd. To that building I descend-ed. It was filled with chattering womenand eager children, who were strug-gling to get a good sight of three corpseswhich were exposed to view. It wasthe Morgue. I quitted the place dis-gusted, and overheard two women dis-cussing the spectacle. One of themconcluded with, " But that it is droll ;"the other answered approvingly, "Butthat it is droll ;** and the Devil of NotreDame, looking down upon them, seemedto say, "Yes, your climax, the cancan your end, not uncommonly, that build-ing : it is droll, but that it is droll."

I passed on to Switzerland ; saw thesunlight lingering on the giants of theOberland ; heard the echoes from thecow horns in the Lauterbrunnen valleyand the avalanches rattling off the Jung-

frau ; and then crossed the Gemmi intothe Valais, resting for a time by thebeautiful Oeschinen See, and getting aforcible illustration of glacier-motion ina neighboring valley the GasterenThai. The upper end of this valley iscrowned by the Tschingel glacier, which,

as it descends, passes over an abruptcliff that is in the centre of its course.On each side the continuity of the gla-

cier is maintained, but in the centre itis cleft in twain by the cliff. Lowe'down it is consolidated again. I scram-bled on to this lower portion, advancedtoward the cliff, and then stopped toadmire the contrast of the brilliant pin-nacles of ice with the blue sky. With-out a warning, a huge slice of the gla-cier broke away and fell over the cliffon to the lower portion with a thunder-ing crash. Fragments rolled beyondme, although, fortunately, not in mydirection. I fled, and did not stop until

off the glacier, but before it was quittedlearned another* lesson in glacial mat-ters : the terminal moraine, which seem-ed to be a solid mound, broke awayunderneath me, and showed that it wasonly a superficial covering resting on aslope of glassy ice.

On the steep path over the Gemmithere were opportunities for observing



the manners and customs of the Swissmule. It is not perhaps in revenge for

generations of ill-treatment that themule grinds one's legs against fencesand stone walls, and pretends to stum-ble in awkward places, particularly

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when coming round corners and on thebrinks of precipices ; but their evil habitof walking on the outside edges of paths(even in the most unguarded positions)is one that is distinctly the result of as-sociation with man. The transport ofwood from the mountains into the val-leys occupies most of the mules during

a considerable portion of the year : thefagots into which the wood is- made upproject some distance on each side, andit is said that they walk intuitively tothe outside of paths having rocks onthe other side to avoid the collisionswhich would otherwise occur. Whenthey carry tourists they behave in asimilar manner; and no doubt whenthe good time for mules arrives, andthey no longer carry burdens, they willstill continue, by natural selection, todo the same. This habit frequently

gives rise to scenes : two mules meet each wishes to pass on the outside, andneither will give way. It requires con-siderable persuasion, through the me-dium of the tail, before such difficultiesare arranged.

I visited the baths of Leuk, and sawthe queer assemblage of men, womenand children, attired in bathing-gowns,



chatting, drinking and playing at chessin the water. The company did notseem to be perfectly sure whether it wasdecorous in such a situation and in suchattire for elderly men to chase youngfemales from one corner to another, butit was unanimous in howling at the ad-vent of a stranger who remained cov-ered, and literally yelled when I depart-ed without exhibiting my sketch.

I trudged up the Rhone valley, andturned aside at Visp to go up the VispThai, where one would expect to seegreater traces of glacial action, if aglacier formerly filled it, as one is saidto have done.

I was bound for the valley of Saas,and my work took me high up the Alpson either side, far beyond the limit oftrees and the tracks of tourists. Theview from the slopes of the Wiessmies,on the eastern side of the valley, five

or six thousand feet above the villageof Saas, is perhaps the finest of its kind

in the Alps. The full height of thethree -peaked Mischabel (the highestmountain in Switzerland) is seen at oneglance eleven thousand feet of denseforests, green alps, pinnacles of rockand glittering glaciers. The peaksseemed to me then to be hopelesslyinaccessible from this direction.

I descended the valley to the villageof Stalden, and then went up the VispThai to Zermatt, and stopped there sev-eral days. Numerous traces of the for-midable earthquake-shocks of five yearsbefore still remained, particularly at St.Nicholas, where the inhabitants hadbeen terrified beyond measure at thedestruction of their churches and houses.At this place, as well as at Visp, a largepart of the population was obliged tolive under canvas for several months.

It is remarkable that there was hardlya life lost on this occasion, althoughthere were about fifty shocks, some ofwhich were very severe.

At Zermatt I wandered in many di-rections, but the weather was bad andmy work was much retarded. One day,after spending a long time in attemptsto sketch near the Hornli, and in futile



endeavors to seize the forms of thepeaks as they for a few seconds peeredout from above the dense banks ofwoolly clouds, I determined not to re-turn to Zermatt by the usual path, butto cross the Corner glacier to the Riffelhotel. After a rapid scramble over thepolished rocks and snow-beds whichskirt the base of the Theodule glacier,and wading through some of the streamswhich flow from it, at that time muchswollen by the late rains, the first dif-ficulty was arrived at, in the shape of aprecipice about three hundred feet high.It seemed that there would be no dif-ficulty in crossing the glacier if the cliffcould be descended, but higher up andlower down the ice appeared, to my in-experienced eyes, to be impassable fora single person. The general contourof the cliff was nearly perpendicular,but it was a good deal broken up, andthere was little difficulty in descendingby zigzagging from one mass to another.

At length there was a long slab, nearly

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69. '

smooth, fixed at an angle of about fortydegrees between two wall-sided pieces ofrock : nothing, except the glacier, couldbe seen below. It was a very awkwardplace, but being doubtful if return werepossible, as I had been dropping from

one ledge to another, I passed at lengthby lying across the slab, putting theshoulder stiffly against one side and thefeet against the other, and graduallywriggling down, by first moving thelegs and then the back. When the bot-tom of the slab was gained a friendlycrack was seen, into which the point ofthe baton could be stuck, and I droppeddown to the next piece. It took a long



time coming down that little bit of cliff,and for a few seconds it was satisfactoryto see the ice close at hand. In anothermoment a second difficulty presenteditself. The glacier swept round an angleof the cliff, and as the ice was not of thenature of treacle or thin putty, it keptaway from the little bay on the edge ofwhich I stood. We* were not widelyseparated, but the edge of the ice washigher than the opposite edge of rock ;and worse, the rock was covered withloose earth and stones which had fallenfrom above. All along the side of thecliff, as far as could be seen in bothdirections, the ice did not touch it, butthere was this marginal crevasse, sevenfeet wide and of unknown depth.

All this was seen at a glance, andalmost at once I concluded that I couldnot jump the crevasse, and began totry along the clifTlower down, but with-out success, for the ice rose higher and

higher, until at last farther progress wasstopped by the cliffs becoming perfectlysmooth. With an axe it would havebeen possible to cut up the side of the ice without one, I saw there was no alter-native but to return and face the jump.

It was getting toward evening, andthe solemn stillness of the High Alpswas broken only by the sound of rush-ing water or of falling rocks. If thejump should be successful, well : if not,I fell into that horrible chasm, to be

frozen in, or drowned in that gurgling,rushing water. Everything dependedon that jump. Again I asked myself,

"Can it be done?'* It must be. So,finding my stick was useless, I threw itand the sketch-book to the ice, and firstretreating as far as possible, ran forwardwith all my might, took the leap, barelyreached the other side, and fell awk-wardly on my knees. Almost at the

same moment a shower of stones fell onthe spot from which I had jumped.

The glacier was crossed without fur-ther trouble, but the RifTel, which wasthen a very small building, was cram-med, with tourists, and could not takeme in. As the way down was unknownto me, some of the people obliginglysuggested getting a man at the chalets,



otherwise the path would be certainlylost in the forest. On arriving at thechalets no man could be found, and thelights of Zermatt, shining through thetrees, seemed to say, " Never mind aguide, but come along down : we'll showyou the way ;" so off I went throughthe forest, going straight toward them.The path was lost in a moment, andwas never recovered : I was tripped upby pine roots, I tumbled over rhododen-dron bushes, I fell over rocks. Thenight was pitch-dark, and after a timethe lights of Zermatt became obscure orwent out altogether. By a series ofslides or falls, or evolutions more or lessdisagreeable, the descent through theforest was at length accomplished, buttorrents of a formidable character hadstill to be passed before one could ar-rive at Zermatt. I felt my way aboutfor hours, almost hopelessly, by an ex-haustive process at last discovering abridge, and about midnight, covered

with dirt and scratches, re-entered theinn which I had quitted in the morning.

Others besides tourists got into dif-ficulties. A day or two afterward, whenon the way to my old station near theHbrnli, I met a stout cur6 who had es-sayed to cross the Theodule pass. Hisstrength or his wind had failed, and hewas being carried down, a helpless bun-dle and a ridiculous spectacle, on theback of a lanky guide, while the peas-ants stood by with folded hands, their

reverence for the Church almost over-come by their sense of the ludicrous.

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I descended the valley, diverging fromthe path at Ran da to mount the slopes



of the Dom (the highest of the Mischa-belhorner), in order to see the Weiss-horn face to face. The latter mountainis the noblest in Switzerland, and fromthis direction it looks especially magnif-icent. On its north there is a largesnowy plateau that feeds the glacier ofwhich a portion is seen from Randa,and which on more than one occasionhas destroyed that village. From thedirection of the Dom that is, immedi-ately opposite this Bies glacier seemsto descend nearly vertically : it doesnot do so, although it is verysteep. Its size is much less thanformerly, and the lower portion,now divided into three tails, clingsin a strange, weird-like manner \y

to the cHffs, to which it seems

scarcely possible that it can re-main attached.

Unwillingly I parted from thesight of this glorious mountain,and went down to Visp. A partyof English tourists had passed upthe valley a short time beforewith a mule. The party num-bered nine eight women and agoverness. The mule carriedtheir luggage, and was ridden byeach in turn. The peasants

themselves not unaccustomed tooverload their beasts were struckwith astonishment at the unwont-ed sight, and made comments,more free than welcome to English ears,on the nonchalance with which youngmiss sat, calm and collected, on the

miserable beast, while it was strugglingunder her weight combined with thatof the luggage. The story was often

repeated ; and it tends to sustain someof the hard things which have been saidof late about young ladies from the agesof twelve or fourteen to eighteen.

Arriving once more in the Rhonevalley, I proceeded to Viesch, and fromthence ascended the ^^Eggischhorn, onwhich unpleas-ant eminence I



lost my way ina fog, and mytemper shortlyafterward.Then, aftercrossing theGrimsel in asevere thunder-storm, I passedon to Brienz,I nterlachenand Berne, andthence to Fri-bourg and Mo-rat, Neuchatel, Martigny and the St.Bernard. The massive walls of theconvent were ^ welcome sight as I

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waded through the snow-beds near thesummit of the pass, and pleasant alsowas the courteous salutation of the

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-»69.

brother who bade me enter. He won-dered at the weight of my knapsack,and I at the hardness of their bread.The saying that the monks make thetoast in the winter that they give totourists in the following season is notfounded on truth : the winter is theirmost busy time of the year. But it istrue they have exercised so much hos-



pitality that at times they have not pos-sessed the means to furnish the fuel forheating their chapel in the winter.

Instead of descending to Aosta, Iturned aside into the Val Pelline, in or-der to obtain views of the Dent d'Erin.The night had come on before Bionawas gained, and I had to knock long andloud upon the door of the curb's house be-fore it was opened. An old woman withquerulous voice and with a large goitreanswered the summons, and demandedrather sharply what was wanted, but be-came pacific, almost good-natured, whena five-franc piece was held in her faceand she heard that lodging and supperwere requested in exchange.

My directions asserted that a passageexisted from Prerayen, at the head ofthis valley, to Breuil, in the Val Tour-nanche, and the old woman, now con-vinced of my respectability, busied her-

self to find a guide. Presently she in-troduced a native picturesquely attiredin high - peaked hat, braided jacket,scarlet waistcoat and indigo pantaloons,who agreed to take me to the villageof Val Tournanche. We set off earlyon the next morning, and got to thesummit of the pass wfthout difficulty.It gave me my first experience of con-siderable slopes of hard, steep snow,and, like all beginners, I endeavoredto prop myself up with my stick, andkept it outside, instead of holding it

between myself and the slope, andleaning upon it, as should have beendone. The man enlightened me, buthe had, properly, a very small opinion,of his employer, and it is probably onthat account that, a few minutes afterwe had passed the summit, he said hewould not go any farther and wouldreturn to Biona. All argument wasuseless : he stood still, and to every-

thing that was said answered nothingbut that he would go back. Beingrather nervous about descending somelong snow-slopes which still intervenedbetween us and the head of the valley,I offered more pay, and he went on alittle way. Presently there were somecliffs, down which we had to scramble.He called to me to stop, then shoutedthat he would go back, and beckoned



to me to come up. On the contrary, Iwaited for him to come down, but in-stead of doing so, in a second or twohe turned round, clambered deliberatelyup the cliff and vanished. I supposedit was only a ruse to extort offers ofmore money, and waited for half anhour, but he did not appear again.This was rather embarrassing, for hecarried off my knapsack. The choiceof action lay between chasing him andgoing on to Breuil, risking the loss ofmy knapsack. I chose the latter course,and got to Breuil the same evening.The landlord of the inn, suspicious ofa person entirely innocent of luggage,was doubtful if he could admit me, andeventually thrust me into a kind of loft,which was already occupied by guidesand by hay. In later years we becamegood friends, and he did not hesitate togive credit and even to advance con-siderable sums.

My sketches from Breuil were madeunder difficulties : my materials hadbeen carried off, nothing better thanfine sugar-paper could be obtained, andthe pencils seemed to contain moresilica than plumbago. However, theywere made, and the pass was againcrossed, this time alone. By the fol-lowing evening the old woman of Bionaagain produced the faithless guide. Theknapsack was recovered after the lapseof several hours, and then I pouredforth all the terms of abuse and re-

proach of which I was master. Theman smiled when called a liar, andshrugged his shoulders when referredto as a thief, but drew his knife whenspoken of as a pig.

The following night was spent at Cor-mayeur, and the day after I crossed theCol Ferrex to Orsieres, and on the next

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the Tete Noir to Chamounix, The Em-peror Napoleon arrived the same day,and access to the Mer de Glace wasrefused to tourists ; but, by scramblingalong the Plan des Aiguilles, I managedto outwit the guards, and to arrive atthe Montanvert as the imperial partywas leaving, failing to get to the Jardinthe same afternoon, but very nearlysucceeding in breaking a leg by dis-lodging great rocks on the moraine ofthe glacier.

From Chamounix I went to Geneva,and thence by the Mont Cenis to Turinand to the Vaudois valleys. A long

and weary day had ended when Paes-ana was reached. The inn was full,and I was tired and about to go to bedwhen some village stragglers enteredand began to sing. They sang to Gari-baldi ! The tenor, a ragged fellow,whose clothes were not worth a shilling,took the lead with wonderful expressionand feeling. The others kept theirplaces and sang in admirable time.For hours I sat enchanted, and longafter I retired the sound of their melodycould be heard, relieved at times by

the treble of the girl who belonged tothe inn.

The next morning I passed the littlelakes which are the sources of the Po,on my way into France. The weatherwas stormy, and misinterpreting thepatois of some natives who in realitypointed out the right way I missed thetrack, and found myself under the cliffs

of Monte Viso. A gap that was occa-sionally seen in the ridge connecting itwith the mountains to the east temptedme up, and after a battle with a snow-slope of excessive steepness, I reachedthe summit. The scene was extraordi-nary, and, in my experience, unique.To the north there was not a particleof mist, and the violent wind comingfrom that direction blew one back stag-



gering. But on the side of Italy thevalleys were completely filled with densemasses of cloud to a certain level ; andthere where they felt the influence ofthe wind they were cut off as level asthe top of a table, the ridges appearingabove them.

I raced down to Abries, and went

on through the gorge of the Guil toMont Dauphin. The next day foundme at La Bessee, at the junction of theVal Louise with the valley of the Du-rance, in full view of Mont Pelvoux ;and by chance I walked into a cabaretwhere a Frenchman was breakfastingwho a few days before had made an un-successful attempt to ascend that moun-tain with three Englishmen ana the guideMichel Croz of Chamounix a rightgood fellow, by name Jean Reynaud.

The same night I slept at Brian9on,intending to take the courier on the fol-lowing day to Grenoble, but all placeshad been secured several days before-hand, so I set out at two p. M. on thenext day for a seventy-mile walk. Theweather was again bad, and on thesummit of the Col de Lautaret I wasforced to seek shelter in the wretchedlittle hospice. It was filled with work-men who were employed on the road,and with noxious vapors which proceed-

ed from them. The inclemency of the

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weather was preferable to the inhospi-tality of the interior. Outside, it wasdisagreeable, but grand inside, it was



disagreeable and mean. The walk wascontinued under a deluge of rain, andI felt the way down, so intense was thedarkness, to the village of La Grave,where the people of the inn detainedme forcibly. It was perhaps fortunatethat they did so, for during that nightblocks of rock fell at several placesfrom the cliffs on to the road with suchforce that they made large holes in themacadam, which looked as if there had

been explosions of gunpowder. I re-sumed the walk at half-past five nextmorning, and proceeded, under steadyrain, through Bourg d*Oysans to Gren-oble, arriving at the latter place soonafter seven p. M., having accomplishedthe entire distance from Brian^on inabout eighteen hours of actual walking.This was the end of the Alpine por-tion of my tour of i860, on which I was

introduced to the great peaks, and ac-quired the passion for mountain- scram-bling the development of which isdescribed in the following chapters.

BRIANgON.

CHAPTER 11.

THE ASCENT OF MONT PELVOUX.

The district of which Mont Pelvouxand the neighboring summits are theculminating points is, both historicallyand topographically, one of the mostinteresting in the Alps. As the nurseryand the home of the Vaudois, it hasclaims to permanent attention : thenames of Waldo and of Neflf will be

remembered when men more famous

in their time are forgotten, and thememory of the heroic courage and thesimple piety of their disciples will en-dure as long as history lasts.

This district contains the highest sum-



mits in France, and some of its finestscenery. It has not perhaps the beau-ties of Switzerland, but has charms ofits own : its cliffs, its torrents and itsgorges are unsurpassed, its deep andsavage valleys present pictures of gran-

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deur, and even sublimity, and it issecond to none in the boldness of itsmountain forms.

The district includes a mass of val-leys which vie with each other in singu-larity of character and dissimilarity ofclimate. Some the rays of the sun cannever reach, they are so deep and nar-row. In others the very antipodes maybe found, the temperature more likethat of the plains of Italy than of alpineFrance. This great range of climate



perched in the banquette en route forBourg d'Oysans, in a miserable vehiclewhich took nearly eight hours to ac-complish less than thirty miles.

At five on a lovely morning I shoul-dered my knapsack and started forBrian9on. Gauzy mists clung to themountains, but melted away whentouched by the sun, and disappearedby jerks (in the manner of views whenfocused in a magic lantern), revealingthe wonderfully bent and folded stratain the limestone cliffs behind the town.Then I entered the Combe de Malval,and heard the Romanche eating its waythrough that wonderful gorge, and pass-ed on to Le Dauphin, where the firstglacier came into view, tailing over themountain-side on the right. From thisplace until the summit of the Col deLautaret was passed, every gap in themountains showed a glittering glacieror a soaring peak : the finest view was

at La Grave, where the Meije rises bya series of tremendous precipices eightthousand feet above the road. Thefinest distant view of the pass is seenafter crossing the col, near Monetier.A mountain, commonly supposed to beMonte Viso, appears at the end of thevista, shooting into the sky : in themiddle distance, but still ten miles off,is Brian^on with its interminable forts,and in the foreground, leading downto the Guisane and rising high up theneighboring slopes, are fertile fields,

studded with villages and church-spires.The next day I walked over from Brian-9on to La Bess6e, to my worthy friendJean Reynaud, the surveyor of roadsof his district.

All the peaks of Mont Pelvoux arewell seen from La Bess6e the highest

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point as well as that upon which theFrench engineers erected their cairn in1828. Neither Reynaud nor any oneelse knew this. The natives knew onlythat the engineers had ascended onepeak, and had seen from that a stillhigher point, which they called thePointe des Arcines or des fecrins. Theycould not say whether this latter couldbe seen from La Bessee, nor could theytell the peak upon which the cairn hadbeen erected. We were under the im-pression that the highest point was con-cealed by the peaks we saw, and wouldbe gained by passing over them. Theyknew nothing of the ascent of Monsieur

Puiseux, and they confidently asserted

that the highest point of Mont Pelvouxhad not been attained by any one : itwas this point we wished to reach.

Nothing prevented our starting atonce but the absence of Macdonaldand the want of a baton. Reynaudsuggested a visit to the postmaster, whopossessed a baton of local celebrity.Down we went to the bureau, but it wasclosed : we hallooed through the slits,but no answer. At last the postmasterwas discovered endeavoring (with very

fair success) to make himself intoxi-cated. He was just able to ejaculate,"France! 'tis the first nation in the

MONT PBLVOUX FROM ABOVE LA BBSS^B.

world !" a phrase used by a French-man when in the state in which a Briton

begins to shout, " We won't go home tillmorning," national glory being upper-most in the thoughts of one, and homein those of the other. The baton wasproduced : it was a branch of a youngoak, about five feet long, gnarled andtwisted in several directions. "Sir,"said the postmaster, as he presented it,** France ! 'tis the first the first nationin the world, by its " He stuck.



"Batons," I suggested. "Yes, yes, sir:by its batons, by its its" and here

he could not get on at all. As I lookedat this young limb, I thought of myown ; but Reynaud, who knew every-thing about everybody in the village,said there was not a better one ; so offwe went with it, leaving the officialstaggering in the road, and muttering," France ! 'tis the first nation in theworld !"

The 3d of August came, but Mac-donald did not appear, so we startedfor the Val Louise, our party consist-ing of Reynaud, myself and a porter,Jean Casimir Giraud, nicknamed "Little

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Nails,'* the shoemaker of the place. Anhour and a half's smart walking took

us to La Ville de Val Louise, our heartsgladdened by the glorious peaks of Pel-voux shining out without a cloud aroundthem. I renewed acquaintance with themayor of La Ville. His aspect wasoriginal and his manners were gracious,but the odor which proceeded from himwas dreadful. The same may be saidof most of the inhabitants of thesevalleys.

Reynaud kindly undertook to lookafter the commissanat^ and 1 found to

my annoyance, when we were about toleave, that I had given tacit consent toa small wine-cask being carried with us,which was a gre^il nuisance from thecommencement. It was excessivelyawkward to handle : one man tried tocarry it, and then another, and at last itwas slung from one of our batons, andwas carried by two, which gave ourparty the appearance



of a mechanical di-agram to illus-trate the uses oflevers.

At La Villethe Val LouisespUts into twobranches theVal d'Entrai-gues on the left,and the Vallond' Alefred ( o rAilefroide)the right:route wasthe latter,we movedsteadily for-ward to the vil-lage of La Pisse, where Pierre S6miondlived, who was reputed to know moreabout the Pelvoux than any other man.He looked an honest fellow, but unfor-

tunately he was ill and could not come.He recommended his brother, an agedcreature, whose furrowed and wrinkledface hardly seemed to announce theman we wanted ; but, having no choice,we engaged him and again set forth.

Walnut and a great variety of other

trees gave shadow to our path and freshvigor to our limbs, while below, in a

sublime gorge, thundered the torrent,whose waters took their rise from thesnows we hoped to tread on the morrow.The mountain could not be seen atLa Ville, owing to a high interveningridge : we were now moving along thefoot of this to get to the chalets of Ale-fred or, as they are sometimes called,A16froide where the mountain actuallycommences. From this di-rection the subordinattjbut more proximatepeaks appear con-

siderably higherthan the loft-ier ones be-hind, andsometimesc o m -pletclv



THE VAL O ALBFRBD.

conceal them. But the whole height ofthe peak, which in these valleys goesunder the name of the "Grand Pel-voux," is seen at one place from itssummit to its base six or seven thou-sand feet of nearly perpendicular cliffs.The chalets of Alefred are a clusterof miserable wooden huts at the foot ofthe Grand Pelvoux, and are close to thejunction of the streams which descendfrom the glacier de Sapeni^re (or du

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Sel6) on the left, and the glaciers Blancand Noir on the right. We rested a

minute to purchase some butter andmilk, and Semiond picked up a disre-putable-looking lad to assist in carry-

ing, pushing and otherwise moving thewine-cask.

Our route now turned sharply to theleft, and all were glad that the day wasdrawing to a close, so that we had the

THE GRAND PELVOUX DE VAL LOUISE.

shadows from the mountains. A morefrightful and desolate valley it is scarce-



ly possible to imagine : it contains milesof boulders, debris, stones, sand andmud few trees, and they placed so highas to be almost out of sight. Not a soulinhabits it : no birds are in the air, no fishin the waters : the mountain is too steepfor the chamois, its slopes too inhos-pitable for the marmot, the whole toorepulsive for the eagle. Not a livingthing did we see in this sterile and sav-age valley during four days, exceptsome few poor goats which had beendriven there against their will.

We rested a little at a small spring,and then hastened onward till we near-ly arrived at the foot of the Sapeni^reglacier, when S6miond said we mustturn to the right, up the slopes. Thiswe did, and clambered for half an hourthrough scattered pines and fallen boul-ders. Then evening began to close inrapidly, and it was time to look for aresting-place. There was no difficulty

in getting one, for all around it was achaotic assemblage of rocks. We se-lected the under side of one, which wasmore than fifty feet long by twenty high,cleared it of rubbish, and then collectedwood for a fire.

That camp-fire is a pleasant reminis-cence. The wine-cask had got throughall its troubles : it was tapped, and theFrenchmen seemed to derive some con-

solation from its execrable contents.Reynaud chanted scraps of Frenchsongs, and each contributed his shareof joke, story or verse. The weatherwas perfect, and our prospects for themorrow were good. My companions'joy culminated when a packet of redfire was thrown into the flames. Ithissed and bubbled for a moment ortwo, and, then broke out into a grandflare. The effect of the momentarylight was magnificent: all around themountains were illuminated for a sec-

ond, and then relapsed into their solemngloom. One by one our party droppedoff to sleep, and at last I got into myblanket-bag. It was hardly necessary,for although we were at a height of atleast seven thousand feet, the minimumtemperature was above 40° Fahrenheit.

We roused at three, but did not starttill half-past four. Giraud had been



engaged as far as this rock only, but ashe wished to go on, we allowed him toaccompany us. We mounted the slopes,and quickly got above th^ trees, then^ad a couple of hours* clambering over

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALAS yJ^..^^§o^'e9^-%%

bits of precipitous rock and banks ofd6bris, and at a quarter to seven got toa narrow glacier Clos de T Homme which streamed out of the plateau on

the summit, and nearly reached theglacier de Sapeni^re. We worked asmuch as possible to the right, in hopethat we should not have to cross it, butwere continually driven back, and atlast we found that it was necessary todo so. Old Semiond had a strong ob-jection to the ice, and made explora-tions on his own account to endeavorto avoid it; but Reynaud and I pre-ferred to cross it, and Giraud stuckto us. It was narrow in fact, onecould throw a stone across it w^'

and was easily mpunted on the 'side, but in the centre swell-ed into a steep dome, up which wewere obliged to cut. Giraud steppedforward and said he should like to tryhis hand, and having got hold of theaxe, would not give it up ; and here, aswell as afterward when it was necessaryto cross the gullies filled with hard snowwhich abound on the higher part of themountain, he did all the work, and didit admirably.

Old Stoiond of course came after uswhen we got across. We then zigzag-ged up some snow-slopes, and shortlyafterward commenced to ascend the in-terminable array of buttresses whichare the great peculiarity of the Pelvoux.They were very steep in * many places,but on the whole afforded a good hold,and no climbing should be called diffi-cult which does that. Gullies abounded



among them, sometimes of great lengthand depth. TAey were frequently rot-ten, and would have been difficult fora single man to pass. The uppermostmen were continually abused for dis-lodging rocks and for harpooning thosebelow with their batons. However,without these incidents the climbingwould have been dull : they helped tobreak the monotony.

We went up chimneys and gullies bythe hour together, and always seemedto be coming to something, although wenever got to it. The outline sketch willhelp to explain the situation. We stood

at the foot of a gfcfkf^Httress perhapsabout two hundred feet high and look-ed up. It did not go to a point as inthe diagram, because we could not see

the top, although we felt convinced thatbehind the fringe of pin-nacles we did see therewas a top, and thatit was the edgeof the pla- .y\^r^

teau we

BUTTKBSSBS OF MONT PELVOUX.

much desired to attain. Up we mount-ed, and reached the pinnacles ; but, lo !another set was seen, and another, andyet more, till we reached the top, andfound it was only a buttress, and thatwe had to descend forty or fifty feetbefore we could commence to mountagain. When this operation had beenperformed a few dozen times it beganto be wearisome, especially as we were

in th^ dark as to our whereabouts.Semiond, however, encouraged us, andsaid he knew we were on the rightroute ; so* away we went once more.

It was now nearly mid-day, and weseemed no nearer the summit of thePelvoux than when we started. At lastwe all joined together and held a coun-cil. " Semiond, old friend, do you know



where we are now *" ** Oh yes, perfect-ly, to a yard and a half." ** Well, then,how much are we below this plateau ?"He affirmed we were not half an hourfrom the edge of the snow. "Verygood : let us proceed.** Half an hourpassed, and then another, but we werestill in the same state : pinnacles, but-tresses and gullies were in profusion,but the plateau was not in sight. Sowe called him again for he had beenstaring about latterly as if in doubt and repeated the question, "How farbelow are we now ?** Well, he thoughtit might be half an hour more. ** Butyou said that just now : are you sure


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we are going right ?" Yes, he believedwe were. Believed ! that would notdo. **Are you sure we are going rightfor the Pic des Arcines?" "Pic desArcines !" he ejaculated in astonish-ment, as if he had heard the words forthe first time " Pic des Arcines ! No,but for the pyramid, the celebrated

pyramid he had helped the great Capi-taine Durand," etc.

Here was a fix. We had been talk-ing about it to him for a whole day, andnow he confessed he knew nothingabout it. I turned to Reynaud, whoseemed thunderstruck : *' What do yousuggest ?" He shrugged his shoulders."Well," we said, after explaining ourminds pretty freely to Semiond, *'thesooner we turn back the better, for wehave no wish to see your pyramid."

We halted for an hour, and then com-menced the descent. It took us nearlyseven hours to come down to our rock,but I paid no heed to the distance, anddo not remember anything about it.When we got down we made a discov-ery which affected us as much as thefootprint in the sand did RobinsonCrusoe : a blue silk veil lay by our fire-



side. There was but one solution Macdonald had arrived, but where washe ? We soon packed our baggage,and tramped in the dusk, through thestony desert, to Alefred, where we ar-rived about half- past nine. "Where isthe Englishman ?" was the first ques-tion. He was gone to sleep at La Ville.

We passed that night in a hay-loft,and in the morning, after settling withS6miond, we posted down to catch Mac-donald. We had already determinedon the plan of operation, which was toget him to join us, return, and be inde-pendent of all guides, simply takingthe best man we could get as a porter.I set my heart on Giraud a good fel-low, with no pretence, although in everyrespect up to the work. But we weredisappointed : he was obliged to go toBrian9on.

The walk soon became exciting. The

natives inquired the result of our expe-dition, and common civility obliged usto stop. But I was afraid of losing my

man, for it was said he would wait onlytill ten o'clock, and that time was nearat hand. At last I dashed over thebridge time from Alefred an hour anda quarter but a cantonnier stopped me,saying that the Englishman had juststarted for La Bess6e. I rushed after

him, turned angle after angle of theroad, but could not see him : at last, asI came round a corner, he was also justturning another, going very fast. Ishouted, and luckily he heard me. Wereturned, reprovisioned ourselves at LaVille, and the same evening saw uspassing our first rock, en route for an-other. I have said we determined totake no guide, but on passing La Pisseold Semiond turned out and offered hisservices. He went well, in spite of hisyears and disregard of truth. "Why

not take him ?" said my friend. So weoffered him a fifth of his previous pay,and in a few seconds he closed with theoffer, but this time came in an inferiorposition we were to lead, he to follow.Our second follower was a youth oftwenty-seven years, who was not allthat could be desired. He drank Rey-naud's wine, smoked our cigars, andquietly secreted the provisions when we



were nearly starving. Discovery of hisproceedings did not at all disconcerthim, and he finished up by getting sev-eral items added to our bill at La Ville,which, not a little to his disgust, wedisallowed.

This night we fixed our camp highabove the tree-line, and indulged our-selves in the healthy employment ofcarrying our fuel up to it. The presentrock was not so comfortable as the first,and before we could settle down we wereobliged to turn out a large mass whichwas in the way. It was very obstinate,but moved at length slowly and gentlyat first, then faster and faster, at lasttaking great jumps in the air, striking astream of fire at every touch, whichshone out brightly as it entered thegloomy valley below ; and long after itwas out of sight we heard it boundingdownward, and then settle with a sub-dued crash on the glacier beneath. As

we turned back from this curious sight.

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Reynaud asked if we had ever seen atorrent on fire, and told us that in thespring the Durance, swollen by themelting of the snow, sometimes bringsdown so many rocks that where it passesthrough a narrow gorge at La Bess6e

no water whatever is seen, but onlyboulders rolling over and over, grind-ing each other into powder, and strikingso many sparks that the stream looksas if it were on fire.

We had another merry evening, withnothing to mar it : the weather was per-fect, and we lay backward in luxuriousrepose, looking at the sky spangled with



its ten thousand brilliant lights.

** The ranges stoodTransfigured in the silver flood.Their snows were flashing cold and keen.Dead white, save where some sharp ravineTook shadow, or the sombre greenOf hemlocks turned to pitchy black,Against the whiteness at their back." *

Macdonald related his experiencesover the cafe noir. He had traveled

R. J. S. MACDONALD.

day and night for several days in orderto join us, but had failed to find ourfirst bivouac, and had encamped a fewhundred yards from us under anotherrock, higher up the mountain. Thenext morning he discerned us going

along a ridge at a great height abovehim, and as it was useless to endeavorto overtake us, he lay down and watch-ed with a heavy heart until we hadturned the corner of a buttress and van-ished out of sight.

Nothing but the heavy breathing ofour already sound -asleep comrades

* J. G. Whittier: Suow-Btmnd.

broke the solemn stillness of the night.It was a silence to be felt. Nothing !Hark ! what is that dull booming soundabove us ? Is that nothing 1 There itis again, plainer : on it comes, nearer,clearer: 'tis a crag escaped from theheights above. What a fearful crash !We jump to our feet. Down it comeswith awful fury : what power can with-stand its violence ? Dancing leaping,flying, dashing against others, roaringas it descends. Ah, it has passed ! No :

there it is again, and we hold our breathas, with resistless force and explosionslike artillery, it darts past, with an ava-lanche of shattered fragments trailingin its rear. 'Tis gone, and we breathemore freely as we hear the finale on theglacier below.

We retired at last, but I was too ex-cited to sleep. At a quarter-past four



every man once more shouldered hispack and started. This time we agreedto keep more to the right, to see if itwere not possible to get to the plateauwithout losing any time by crossing theglacier. To describe our route wouldbe to repeat what has been said before.We mounted steadily for an hour anda half, sometimes walking, but morefrequently climbing, and then found,after all, that it was necessary to crossthe glacier. The part on which westruck came down a very steep slope,and was much crevassed. The wordcrevassed hardly expresses its appear-ance : it was a mass of formidableseracs. We found, however, more dif-ficulty in getting on than across it, but,thanks to the rope, it was passed some-how : then the interminable buttressesbegan again. Hour after hour we pro-ceeded upward, frequently at fault andobliged to descend. The ridge behindus had sunk long ago, and we looked

over it and all others till our eyes restedon the majestic Viso. Hour after hourpassed, and monotony was the orderof the day : when twelve o'clock camewe lunched, and contemplated the scenewith satisfaction : all the summits insight, with the single exception of theViso, had given in, and we looked overan immense expanse a perfect sea of

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peaks and snow-fields. Still the pin-nacles rose above us, and opinionswere freely uttered that we should seeno summit of Pelvoux that day. OldSemiond had become a perfect bore to



all : whenever one rested for a momentto look about, he would say, with acomplacent chuckle, ** Don't be afraid follow me." We came at last to a verybad piece, rotten and steep, and no

MONT PELVOUX

PIC DE LA PYRAMlOeHIGHEST POINT 12,920

12,073

ORAND PELVOUXDE VAL LOUISE12,343

hold. Here Reynaud and Macdonaldconfessed to being tired, and talked ofgoing to sleep. A way was discoveredout of the difficulty: then some onecalled out, " Look at the Viso !'* and wesaw that we almost looked over it. Weworked away with redoubled energy,and at length caught sight of the headof the glacier as it streamed out of theplateau. This gave us fresh hopes : wewere not deceived, and with a simultane-

ous shout we greeted the appearance ofour long wished -for snows. A largecrevasse separated us from them, but abridge was found : we tied ourselves inline and moved safely over it. Directlywe got across there arose before us a finesnow-capped peak. Old S6miond cried,"The' pyramid! I see the pyramid!""Where, S6miond, where?" "There,on the top of that peak."

There, sure enough, was the cairn hehad helped to erect more than thirty

years before. But where was the Picdes Arcines which we were to see ? Itwas nowhere visible, but only a great ex-panse of snow, bordered by three lower

peaks. Somewhat sadly we moved to-ward the pyramid, sighing that therewas no other to conquer, but hai-dly had



we gone two hundred paces before thererose a superb white cone on the left,which had been hidden before by aslope of snow. We shouted, " The Picdes Arcines !" and inquired of S6miondif he knew whether that peak had beenascended. As for him, he knew noth-ing except that the peak before us wascalled the Pyramid, from the cairn hehad, etc., etc., and that it had been as-cended since. "All right, then: faceabout ;" and we immediately turned atright angles for the cone, the portermaking faint struggles for his belovedpyramid. Our progress was stopped inthe sixth of a mile by the edge of theridge connecting the two peaks, and weperceived that it curled over in a love-ly volute. We involuntarily retreated.S6miond, who was last in the line, tookthe opportunity to untie himself, andrefused to come on, said we were run-ning dangerous risks, and talked vague-ly of crevasses. We tied him up again


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and proceeded. The snow was verysoft: we were always knee-deep, andsometimes floundered in up to the waist,but a simultaneous jerk before and be-hind always released one. By this timewe had arrived at the foot of the finalpeak. The left-hand ridge seemed easierthan that upon which we stood, so wecurved round to get to it. Some rocks

peeped out one hundred and fifty feetbelow the summit, and up these wecrawled, leaving our porter behind, ashe said he was afraid. I could not re-sist the temptation, as we went off, toturn round and beckon him onward,saying, "Don't be afraid follow me,"but he did not answer tp the appeal,and never went to the top. The rocksled to a short ridge of ice our plateau



on one side, and a nearly vertical preci-pice on the other. Macdonald cut upit, and at a quarter to two we stoodshaking hands on the loftiest summitof the conquered Pelvoux !

The day still continued everythingthat could be desired, and far and nearcountless peaks burst into sight, withouta cloud to hide them. The mighty MontBlanc, full seventy miles away, firstcaught our eyes, and then, still fartheroff, the Monte Rosa group ; while, roll-ing away to the east, one unknownrange after another succeeded in un-veiled splendor, fainter and fainter intone, but still perfectly defined, till atlast the eye was unable to distinguishsky from mountain, and they died awayin the far-off horizon. Monte Viso roseup grandly, but it was less than fortymiles away, and we looked over it to ahazy mass we knew must be the plainsof Piedmont. Southward, a blue mist

seemed to indicate the existence of thedistant Mediterranean : to the west welooked over to the mountains of Au-vergne. Such was the panorama, aview extending in nearly every direc-tion for more than a hundred miles. Itwas with some difficulty we wrenchedour eyes from the more distant objectsto contemplate the nearer ones. MontDauphin was very conspicuous, but LaBess6e was not readily perceived. Be-sides these, not a human habitation

could be seen : all was rock, snow orice ; and large as we knew were thesnow-fields of Dauphine, we were sur-prised to find that they very far sur-passed our most ardent imagination.Nearly in a line between us and theViso, immediately to the south of Cha-teau Queyras, was a splendid group ofmountains of great height. More tothe south an unknown peak seemedstill higher, while close to us we were

astonished to discover that there was amountain which appeared even higherthan that on which we stood. Atleast this was my opinion : Macdonaldthought it not so high, and Reynaudinsisted that its height was much aboutthe same as our own.

This mountain was distant a coupleof miles or so, and was separated from



us by a tremendous abyss, the bottomof which we could not see. On theother side rose this mighty wall-sidedpeak, too steep for snow, black as night,with sharp ridges and pointed summit.We were in complete ignorance of itswhereabouts, for none of us had beenon the other side : we imagined that LaBerarde was in the abyss at our feet,but it was in reality beyond the othermountain.

We left the summit at last, and de-scended to the rocks and to our porter,where I boiled some water, obtained bymelting snow. After we had fed andsmoked our cigars (lighted without diffi-culty from a common match), we foundit was ten minutes past three, and hightime to be off. We dashed, waded andtumbled for twenty-five minutes throughthe snow, and then began the long de-scent of the rocks. It was nearly fouro'clock, and as it would be dark at eight,

it was evident that there was no time tobe lost, and we pushed on to the utmost.Nothing remarkable occurred goingdown. We kept rather closer to theglacier, and crossed at the same pointas in the morning. Getting off it waslike getting on it rather awkward. OldS^miond had got over, so had Reynaud :Macdonald came next, but as he madea long stretch to get on to a highermass, he slipped, and would have been

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in the bowels of a crevasse in a momenthad he not been tied.

It was nearly dark by the time wehad crossed, but still 1 hoped that weshould be able to pass the night at our



rock. Macdonald was not so sanguine,and he was right ; for at last we foundourselves quite at fault, and wanderedhelplessly up and down for an hour,while Reynaud and the porter indulgedin a little mutual abuse. The drearyfact that, as we could not get down, wemust stay where we were, was now quiteapparent.

We were at least ten thousand fivehundred feet high, and if it commencedto rain or snow, as the gathering cloudsand rising wind seemed to threaten, wemight be in a sore plight. We werehungry, having eaten little since threeA. M., and a torrent we heard close athand, but could not discover, aggra-vated our thirst. Semiond endeavoredto get some water from it, but althoughhe succeeded in doing so, he was whollyunable to return, and we had to solacehim by shouting at intervals throughthe night.

A more detestable locality for a nightout of doors it is difficult to imagine.There was no shelter of any kind, itwas perfectly exposed to the chilly windwhich began to rise, and it was toosteep to promenade. Loose, rubblystones covered the ground, and had tobe removed before we could sit withany comfort. This was an advantage,although we hardly thought so at thetime, as it gave us some employment,and after an hour's active exercise of

that interesting kind 1 obtained a smallstrip, about nine feet long, on which itwas possible to walk. Reynaud was fu-rious at first, and soundly abused theporter, whose opinion as to the routedown had been followed, rather thanthat of our friend, and at last settleddown to a deep dramatic despair, andwrung his hands with frantic gesture, ashe exclaimed, "Oh, malheur, malheur!Oh miserables !"

Thunder commenced to growl and

lightning to play among the peaksabove, and the wind, which had brought

the temperature down to nearly freezing-point, began to chill us to the bones.We examined our resources. Theywere six and half cigars, two boxes ofvesuvians, one-third of a pint of brandy-



and-water, and half a pint of spirits ofwine rather scant fare for three fellowswho had to get through seven hours be-fore daylight. The spirit-lamp was light-ed, and the remaining spirits of wine, thebrandy and some snow were heated byit. It made a strong liquor, but we onlywished for more of it. When that wasover, Macdonald endeavored to dry hissocks by the lamp, and then the threelay down under my plaid to pretend tosleep. Reynaud's woes were aggra-vated by toothache : Macdonald some-how managed to close his eyes.

The longest night must end, and oursdid at last. We got down to our rockin an hour and a quarter, and found thelad not a little surprised at our absence.He said he had made a gigantic fire tolight us down, and shouted with all hismight : we neither saw the fire nor heardhis shouts. He said we looked a ghastlycrew, and no wonder : it was our fourth

night out.

We feasted at our cave, and perform-ed some very necessary ablutions. Thepersons of the natives are infested bycertain agile creatures, whose rapidityof motion is only equaled by their num-bers and voracity. It is dangerous toapproach too near them, and one hasto study the wind, so as to get on theirweather side : in spite of all such pre-cautions my unfortunate companion andmyself were now being rapidly devoured

alive. We only expected a temporarylull of our tortures, for the interiors ofthe inns are like the exteriors of thenatives, swarming with this species ofanimated creation.

It is said that once, when these tor-mentors were filled with an unanimousdesire, an unsuspecting traveler wasdragged bodily from his bed ! Thisneeds confirmation. One word more,and I have done with this vile subject.We returned from our ablutions, and

found the Frenchmen engaged in con-versation. **Ah!'* said old S6miond,

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'* as to fleas, I don't pretend to be dif-ferent to any one else / have themyThis time he certainly spoke the truth.

We got down to La Ville in good time,and luxuriated there for several days :we played many games of bowls withthe natives, and were invariably beatenby them. At last it was necessary topart : I walked southward to the Viso,and Macdonald went to Brian9on.

After parting from my agreeable com-

panions, I walked by the gorge of theGuil to Abries, and made the acquaint-ance at that place of an ex-harbormas-ter of Marseilles a genial man, whospoke English well. Besides the ex-harbormaster and some fine trout inthe neighboring streams, there was littleto invite a stay at Abries. The inn L'^fetoile, chez Richard is a place tobe avoided. Richard, it may be ob-served, possessed the instincts of a rob-ber. At a later date, when forced to

seek shelter in his house, he desired tosee my passport, and catching sight ofthe words John Russell, he entered thatname instead of my own in a report tothe gendarmerie, uttering an exclama-tion of joyful surprise at the same time.I foolishly allowed the mistake to pass,and had to pay dearly for it, for hemade out a lordly bill, against whichall protest was unavailing.

I quitted the abominations of Abriesto seek a quiet bundle of hay at LeChalp, a village some miles nearer tothe Viso. On approaching the placethe odor of sanctity became distinctlyperceptible; and on turning a cornerthe cause was manifested : there wasthe priest of the place, surrounded bysome of his flock. I advanced humbly,hat in hand, but almost before a word



could be said, he broke out with, *' Whoare you ? What are you ? What doyou want?" I endeavored to explain.

THE BLANKET-BAG.

*' You are a deserter I know you are adeserter : go away, you can't stay here :go to Le Monta, down there I won'thave you here ;" and he literally droveme away. The explanation of hisstrange behavior was that Piedmontesesoldiers who were tired of the servicehad not unfrequently crossed the Colde la Traversette into the valley, andtrouble had arisen from harboring them.

However, I did not know this at thetime, and was not a little indignant thatI, who was marching to the attack,should be taken for a deserter.

So I walked away, and shortly after-ward, as it was getting dark, encampedin a lovely hole a cavity or kind ofbasin in the earth, with a stream onone side, a rock to windward and somebroken pine branches close at hand.

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o^'69.

Nothing could be more perfect rock,hole, wood and water. After makinga roaring fire, I nestled in my blanket-bag (an ordinary blanket sewn up,double round the legs, with a piece ofelastic ribbon round the open end) and



slept, but not for long. I was troubledwith dreams of the Inquisition : the tor-tures were being applied, priests wereforcing fleas down my nostrils and intomy eyes, and with red-hot pincers weretaking out bits of flesh, and then cuttingoff my ears and tickling the soles of myfeet. This was too much : I yelled agreat yell, and awoke to find myselfcovered with innumerable crawlingbodies : they were ants. I had campedby an ant-hill, and, after making its in-habitants mad with the fire, had coollylain down in their midst.

The night was fine, and as I settleddown in more comfortable quarters, abrilliant meteor sailed across full 60°of the cloudless sky, leaving a trail oflight behind which lasted for several sec-onds. It was the herald of a splendidspectacle. Stars fell by hundreds, and,not dimmed by intervening vapors, theysparkled with greater brightness than

Sirius in our damp climate.

The next morning, after walking upthe valley to examine the Viso, I return-ed to Abries, and engaged a man froma neighboring hamlet for whom the ex-harbormaster had sent an inveteratesmoker, and thirsty in proportion, whosepipe never left his mouth except to allowhim to drink. We returned up the val-ley together, and slept in the hut of ashepherd whose yearly wage was almostas small as that of the herdsman spoken

of in Hyperion by Longfellow ; and thenext morning, in his company, proceed-ed to the summit of the pass which Ihad crossed in i860; but we weire baf-fled in our attempt to get near the moun-tain. A deep notch with precipitouscliffs cut us off" from it : the snow-slope,too, which existed in the preceding yearon the Piedmontese side of the pass,was now wanting, and we were unableto descend the rocks which lay beneath.A fortnight afterward the mountain wasascended for the first time by Messrs.

Mathews and Jacomb, with the twoCrozes of Chamounix. Their attemptwas made from the southern side, andthe ascent, which was formerly consid-ered a thing totally impossible, has be-come one of the most common andfavorite excursions of the district.



We returned crest-fallen to Abries.The shepherd, whose boots were verymuch out of repair, slipped upon thesteep snow-slopes and performed won-derful but alarming gyrations, whichtook him to the bottom of the valleymore .quickly than he could otherwisehave * descended. He was not muchhurt, and was made happy by a fewneedles and a little thread to repair hisabraded garments : the other man, how-ever, considered it willful waste to givehim brandy to rub in his cuts, when itcould be disposed of in a more ordinaryand pleasant manner.

The night of the 14th of August foundme at St. Veran, a village made famousby Neff", but in no other respect remark-able, saving that it is supposed to be thehighest in Europe. The Protestants nowformx)nly a miserable minority : in 1861there were said to be one hundred and

twenty of them to seven hundred andeighty Roman Catholics. The poor innwas kept by one of the former, and itgave the impression of great poverty.There was no meat, no bread, no but-ter, no cheese : almost the only thingsthat could be obtained were eggs. Themanners of the natives were primitive :the woman of the inn, without the leastsense of impropriety, stayed in the roomuntil I was fairly in bed, and her billfor supper, bed and breakfast amcuntedto one-and-sevenpence.

In this neighborhood, and indeed allround about the Viso, the chamois stillremain in considerable numbers. Theysaid at St. Veran that six had been seenfrom the village on the day I was there,and the innkeeper declared that he hadseen fifty together in the previous week !I myself saw in this and in the previousseason several small companies roundabout the Viso. It is perhaps as favor-able a district as any in the Alps fora sportsman who wishes to hunt the

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kernel.

The same day I crossed the ColIsoard to Brian9on. It was the 1 5thof August, and all the world was enfete: sounds of revelry proceededfrom the houses of Servi^res as Ipassed over the bridge upon whichthe pyrrhic dance is annually per-formed, and natives in all degreesof inebriation staggered about the paths.It was late before the lights of the greatfortress came into sight, but unchal-lenged I passed through the gates, andonce more sought shelter under theroof of the H&tel de I'Ours.

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I=>JLI2/T II,

CROSSING MONT CENIS (1861).

CHAPTER III.

THE MONT CENIS THE FELL RAILWAY.

C'^UIDE-BOOKS say that the pass ofT the Mont Cenis is dull. It is long,certainly, but it has a fair proportion ofpicturesque points, and it is not easy tosee how it can be dull to those whohave eyes. In the days when it was arude mountain track, crossed by trains

of mules, and when it was better knownto smugglers than to tourists, it mayhave been dull ; but when Napoleon'sroad changed the rough path into one30

of the finest highways in Europe, mount-ing in grand curves and by uniform



grades, and rendered the trot possiblethroughout its entire distance, the MontCenis became one of the most interest-ing passes in the Alps. The diligenceservice which was established was ex-cellent, and there was little or nothingto be gained by traveling in a moreexpensive manner. The horses werechanged as rapidly as on the best linesin the best period of coaching in Eng-land, and the diligences themselveswere as comfortable as a "milord"

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could desire. The most exciting por-tion of the route was undoubtedly thatbetween Lanslebourg and Susa. Whenthe zigzags began teams of mules werehooked on, and the driver and his help-ers marched by their side with longwhips, which they handled skillfully.Passengers dismounted and stretchedtheir legs by cutting the curves. Thepace was slow but steady, and scarcelya halt was made during the rise of twothousand feet. Crack ! crack 1 went the

whips as the corners of the zigzags wereturned. Great commotion among themules ! They scrambled and wentround with a rush, tossing their headsand making music with their bells.The summit was gained, the muleswere detached andtrotted back merri-ly, while we, withfresh horses, weredragged at the gal-lop over the plainto the other side.

The little postilionseated on the leadersmacked his whip lustily as he sweptround the corners cut through the rock,and threw his head back as the echoesreturned, expectant of smiles and offuture centimes.

The air was keen and often chilly,but the summit was soon passed, andone quickly descended to warmth again.Once more there was a change. Thehorses, reduced in number to three, or

perhaps two, were the sturdiest andmost sure of foot, and they raced downwith the precision of old stagers. Woeto the diligence if they stumbled ! Sothought the conductor, who screweddown the brakes as the corners wereapproached. The horses, held well inhand, leant inward as the top-heavyvehicle, so suddenly checked, heeledalmost over ; but in another moment



the brake was released, and again theyswept down, urged onward by the whip,"hoi" and "ha" of the driver.

All this is changed. The Victor Em-manuel railway superseded a consider-able portion of Napoleon's road, andthe "Fell" railway the rest, while the

great tunnel of the Alps will soon bringabout another change.

The Fell railway, which has beenopen about eighteen months, is a linethat well deserves attention. Thirty-eight years ago, Mr. Charles VignoUes,the eminent engineer, and Mr. Ericsson,patented the idea which is now an ac-complished fact on the Mont Cenis.Nothing was done with it until Mr. Fell,the projector of the railway which bearshis name, took it up, and to him much

credit is due for bringing an admirableprinciple into operation.

The Fell railway follows the greatGenis road very closely, and divergesfrom it only to avoid villages or houses,or, as at the summit of the pass on theItalian side, to ease the gradients. Theline runs from St. Michel to Susa. Thedistance between these two places is, asthe crow flies, almost exactly equivalentto the distance from London to Chat-ham (30 miles), but by reason of the

numerous curves and detours the lengthof the line is nearly brought up to thedistance of London from Brighton (47miles). From St. Michel to the summitof the pass it rises 4460 feet, or 900 feetmore than the highest point of Snowdonis above the level of the sea ; and fromthe summit of the pass to Susa, a dis-tance less than that from London toKew, it descends no less than 521 1 feet !

The railway itself is a marvel. Forfifteen miles and three-quarters it has

steeper gradients than one in fifteen.In some places it is one in twelve and ahalf! A straight piece of railway con-structed on such a gradient seems to goup a steep hill. One in eighty, or evenone in a hundred, produces a very sen-sible diminution in the pace of a lighttrain drawn by an ordinary locomotive :how, then, is a train to be taken up anincline that is six times as steep ? It is



accomplished by means of a third railplaced midway between the two ordi-nary ones, and elevated above them.*The engines are provided with two pairs

* This third rail, or, as it is termed, " the centrerail," is laid on all the steep portions of the line andround all except the mildest curves. Thirty miles, inall, of the road have the centre rail.

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN 1860-69.

of horizontal driving-wheels, as well aswith the ordinary coupled vertical ones,and the power of the ma-chine is thus enormously-increased, the horizontalwheels gripping the centrerail with great tenacity bybeing brought together, andbeing almost incapable of

slipping like the ordinarywheels when on even a mod-erate gradient.

The third rail is the ordi-nary double - headed rail,and is laid horizontally: itis bolted down to wrought-iron chairs three feet apart,which are fixed by commoncoach-screws to a longitudinal sleeperlaid upon the usual transverse ones : the

sleepers are attached to each other byfang-bolts. The dimensions of the dif-

THE CENTRE RAIL ON A CURVE.



ferent parts will be seen by reference tothe annexed cross section ;

8OALE OF FEET

Let us now take a run on the railway,starting from St. Michel. For somedistance from that place the gradientsare not of an extraordinary character,and a good pace is maintained. Thefirst severe piece is about two miles up,where there is an incline of one in eigh-teen for more than half a mile ; that isto say, the line rises at one step onehundred and sixty -four feet. Fromthence to Modane the gradients areagain moderate (for the Fell railway),and the distance about ten miles anda half from St. Michel is accomplished

without difficulty in an hour. Modanestation is 11 28 feet above St. Michel, sothat on this, easy portion of the linethere is an average rise of 1 10 feet permile, which is equal to a gradient ofone in forty-eight an inclination suf-ficiently steep to bring an ordinary loco-motive very nearly to a halt.

Just after passing: Modane station

there is one of the steepest inclines onthe line, and it seems preposterous tosuppose that any train could ascend it.A stoppage of ten minutes is made atModane, and on leaving that stationthe train goes off at the hill with a rush.In a few yards its pace is reduced, andit comes down and down to about fourmiles an hour, which speed is usuallymaintained until the incline is passed,without a diminution of the steam-press-ure. I say usually, because, if it shouldhappen that there is not sufficient steam,

or should the driver happen to make aslip, the train would most likely comeback to Modane; for, although thebrake-power on the train is much morethan sufficient to prevent it runningback, the driver could hardly start withthe brakes on, and the train would in-evitably run back if they were off.

After this incline is passed, the line



mounts by comparatively easy gradients

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN 1860^69

33

toward Fort Lesseillon : it is then at agreat height above the Arc, and as onewinds round the faces of the cliff outof which the Napoleon road was cut,

looking down upon the foaming streambelow, without a suspicion of a parapetbetween the railway and the edge ofthe precipice, one naturally thinks aboutwhat would happen if the engine shouldleave the rails. The speed, however,that is kept up at this part is very gentle,and there is probably much less risk ofan accident than there was in the daysof diligences.

The next remarkable point on thisline is at Termignon. The valley turns

somewhat abruptly to the east, and the

course of the railway is not at first per-ceived. It makes a great bend to theleft, then doubles back, and rises in alittle more than a mile no less thanthree hundred and thirty -four feet.This is, perhaps, the most striking pieceof the whole line.

Lanslebourg station, 25J miles from,

and 2220 feet above, St. Michel, is, ar-rived at in two hours and a quarterfrom the latter place. The engines arenow changed. Thus far we have beentraversing the easy portion of the route,but here the heavy section begins.From Lanslebourg the line rises con-tinuously to the summit of the MontCenis pass, and accomplishes an ascent



THE COVERED WAYS ON THE " FELL " RAILWAY (ITALIAN SIDE OF THE MONT CENIS).

of 2240 feet in six miles and a third ofdistance.

It is curious and interesting to watchthe ascent of the trains from Lansle-bourg. The puflfs of steam are seenrising above the trees, sometimes goingin one direction, and sometimes directlythe contrary, occasionally concealed bythe covered ways for over two milesout of the six the line is enclosed byplanked sides and a corrugated ironroof, to keep out the snow and thencoming out again into daylight. A haltfor water has to be made about halfwayup ; but the engines are able to startagain, and to resume their rate of seven

miles an hour, although the gradient isno less than one in fourteen and a half.3

The zigzags of the old Cenis road arewell known as one of the most remark-able pieces of road-engineering in theAlps. The railway follows them, andruns parallel to the road on the outsidethroughout its entire distance, with theexception of the turns at the corners,

where it is carried a little farther out, torender the curves less sharp. Never-'theless, they are sufficiently sharp (135feet radius), and would be impracticablewithout the centre rail.

The run across the top of the pass,from the Summit station to the GrandeCroix station a distance of about fivemiles is soon accomplished, and thenthe tremendous descent to Susa is com-menced. This, as seen from the engine,

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN iS6(>-'69.

is little less than terrific. A large partof this section is covered in, and thecurves succeed one another in a man-ner unknown on any other line. Fromthe outside the line looks more like amonstrous serpent than a railway. In-side, one can see but a few yards ahead,the curves are so sharp, and the railsare nearly invisible. The engine vi-brates, oscillates and bounds : it is amatter of difficulty to hold on. Then,on emerging into the open air, one looksdown some three or four thousand feetof precipice and steep mountain-side.The next moment the engine turns sud-denly to the left, and driver and stoker

have to grip firmly to avoid being leftbehind ; the next, it turns as suddenlyto the right ; the next, there is an ac-cession or diminution of speed from achange in the gradient. An ordinaryengine, moving at fifty miles an hour,with a train behind it, is not usuallyvery steady, but its motion is a triflecompared with that of a Fell enginewhen running down hill.

It may be supposed from this thattraveling over the Fell railway is dis-

agreeable rather than pleasant. It isnot so : the train is steady enough, andthe carriages have remarkably little mo-tion. Outside, they resemble the carson the Swiss and American lines : theyare entered at the end, and the seatsare arranged omnibus-fashion, downthe length of the carriage. Each car-riage has a guard and two brakes anordinary one and a centre-rail brake :the handles of these come close to-gether at the platform on one end, andare easily worked by one man. The

steadiness of the train is chiefly due tothese centre-rail brakes. The flat faceA and the corresppnding one on the op-posite side are brought together againstthe two sides of the centre rail by theshaft B being turned, and they hold itas in a vice. This greatly diminishesthe up-and-down motion, and rendersoscillation almost impossible. Thesteadiness of the train is still further



maintained by pairs of flanged guide-wheels under each of the carriages,which, on a straight piece of line, bare-

ly touch the centre rail, but press uponit directly there is the least deviationtoward either side.* There is no occa-

CENTRE-RAIL BRAKE.

sion to use the other brakes when thecentre-rail brakes are on : the wheelsof the carriages are not stopped, butrevolve freely, and consequently do notsuffer the deterioration which wouldotherwise result.

The steam is shut off and the brakesare applied a very few minutes after be-

ginning the descent to Susa. The trainmight then run down for the entire dis-tance by its own weight. In practice,it is difficult to apply the proper amountof retardation : the brakes have fre-quently to be whistled off", and some-times it is necessary to steam downagainst them. Theoretically, this oughtnot of course to occur ; it only happensoccasionally, and ordinarily the traingoes down with the steam shut off, andwith the centre-rail brakes screwed upmoderately. When an average train

that is, two or three carriages and aluggage-van is running down^t themaximum speed allowed (fifteen milesan hour), the brakes can pull it up deadwithin seventy yards. The pace is prop-erly kept down to a low point in descend-ing, and doing so, combined with theknowledge that the brake-power caneasily lessen it, will tend to make thepublic look favorably on what mightotherwise be considered a dangerousinnovation. The engines also are pro-vided with the centre-rail brake, on a

* The carriages are not coupled in the ordinary way,and although there are no buflfers, properly speaking,and in spite of the speed of the train being changed in-cessantly, there is a freedom from the jarring which isso common on other lines. The reason is simply thatthe carriages are coupled up tightly.



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pattern somewhat different from thoseon the carriages, and the flat sideswhich press against the rails are renew-ed every journey. It is highly desirablethat they should be, for a single runfrom Lanslebourg to Susa grinds agroove into them about three-eighthsof an inch in depth.

Driving the trains over the summitsection requires the most constant at-tention and no small amount of nerve,and the drivers, who are all English,have ^ell earned their money at theend of their run. Their opinion of theline was concisely and forcibly express-ed to me by one of them in last August :"Yes, mister, they told us as how the linewas very steep, but they didn't say thatthe engine would be on one curve, whenthe fourgon was on another, and the

carriages was on a third. Them gra-dients, too, mister, they says they areone in twelve, but I think they are onein ten, at the least, and they didn't sayas how we was to come down them inthat snakewise fashion. It's worse thanthe G. I. P.,* mister: there a fellowcould jump off, but here, in them cov-ered ways, there ain't no place to jumpto."

CHAPTER IV.

MY FIRST SCRAMBLE ON THE MATTERHORN.

'* What power must have been required to shatterand to sweep away the missing parts of thi§ pyramid ;for we do not see it surrounded by heaps of fragments :one only sees other peaks themselves rooted to theground whose sides, equally rent, indicate ^n im-mense mass of debris, of which we do not see any



trace in the neighborhood. Doubtless this is thatdebris which, in the form of pebbles, boulders andand, fills our valleys and our plains." Db Saussurb.

Two summits amongst those in theAlps which yet remained virgin had ex-cited my admiration. One of these hadbeen attacked numberless times by thebest mountaineers without success : theether, surrounded by traditional inacces-sibility, was almost untouched. These

*The Great Indian Peninsula Railway, the linewith the celebrated Bhore Ghaut incline, sixteen mileslong, on an average gradient of one in fijrty-eight,which is said to have cost ;^8oc,ooo, or about doublethe entire cost of the Mount Cenis Railway^ and sixtimes its cost mile for mile. The Fell railway cost;£8ooo per mile.

mountains were the Weisshom and theMatterhorn.

After visiting the great tunnel of theAlps in 1 86 1, I wandered for ten daysin the neighboring valleys, intendingpresently to attempt the ascent of thesetwo peaks. Rumors were floating aboutthat the former had been conquered,and that the latter was shortly to be at-tacked, and they were confirmed onmy arrival at Chatillon, at the entranceof the Val Tournanche. My interest inthe Weisshorn abated, but it was raisedto the highest pitch on hearing that

Professor Tyndall was at Breuil, andintending to try to crown his first victoryby another and a still greater one.

Up to this time my experience withguides had not been fortunate, and I wasinclined, improperly, to rate them at alow value. They represented to mepointers-out of paths and great con-sumers of meat and drink, but littlemore ; and, with the recollection ofMont Pelvoux, I should have greatlypreferred the company of a couple of

my countrymen to any number ofguides. In answer to inquiries at Cha-tillon, a series of men came forwardwhose faces expressed malice, pride,envy, hatred and roguery of every de-scription, but who seemed to be desti-tute of all good qualities. The arrivalof two gentlemen with a guide, whothey represented was the embodimentof every virtue and exactly the man for



feet high, and that it rises abruptly, bya series of cliffs which may properly betermed precipices, a clear five thousandfeet above the glaciers which surroundits base. They will know, too, that itwas the last great Alpine peak whichremained unsealed less on account ofthe difficulty of doing so than from theterror inspired by its invincible appear-ance. There seemed to be a cordondrawn around it, up to which one mightgo, but no farther. Within that invisibleline jins and afifreets were supposed toexist ^the Wandering Jew and the spiritsof the damned. The superstitious na-tives in the surrounding valleys (manyof whom still firmly believe it to be notonly the highest mountain in the Alps,but in the world) spoke of a ruined cityon its summit wherein the spirits dwelt ;and if you laughed they gravely shooktheir heads, told you to look yourself tosee the castles and the walls, and warn-ed one against a rash approach, lest the

'infuriate demons from their impregna-ble heights might hurl down vengeancefor one's derision. Such were the tra-ditions of the natives. Stronger mindsfelt the influence of the wonderful form,and men who ordinarily spoke or wrotelike rational beings, when they cameunder its power seemed to quit their

senses and ranted and rhapsodized,losing for a time all common forms of

speech. Even the sober De Saussurewas moved to enthusiasm when he sawthe mountain, and, inspired by thespectacle, he anticipated the specula-tions of modern geologists in the strik-ing sentences which are placed at thehead of this chapter.

The Matterhorn looks equally impos-ing from whatever side it is seen : it neverseems commonplace, and in this re-spect, and in regard to the impression itmakes upon spectators, it stands almost

alone amongst mountains. It has norivals in the Alps, and' but few in theworld.

The seven or eight thousand feetwhich compose the actual peak haveseveral well-marked ridges and numer-ous others. The most continuous is thatwhich leads toward the north-east : thesummit is at its higher, and the little



peak called the Hornli is at its lower,end. Another one that is well pro-nounced descends from the summit tothe ridge called the Furgen Grat. Theslope of the mountain that is betweenthese two ridges will be referred to asthe eastern face. A third, somewhat lesscontinuous than the others, descends ina south-westerly direction, and the por-tion of the mountain that is seen fromBreuil is confined to that which is com-prised between this and the secondridge. This section is not composed,like that between the first and secondridge, of one grand face, but it is brokenup into a series of huge precipices, spot-ted with snow-slopes and streaked withsnow-gullies. The other half of themountain, facing the Z'Mutt glacier, isnot capable of equally simple definition.There are precipices apparent but notactual ; there are precipices absolutelyperpendicular ; there are precipices over-hanging; there are glaciers and there

are hanging glaciers ; there are glacierswhich tumble great seracs over greatercliffs, whose debris, subsequently con-solidated, becomes glacier again ; thereare ridges split by the frost, and washedby the rain and melted snow into towersand spires ; while everywhere there are

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ceaseless sounds of action, telling thatthe causes are still in operation whichhave been at work since the worldbegan, reducing the mighty mass to

atoms and effecting its degradation.

Most tourists obtain their first viewof the mountain either from the valleyof Zermatt or from that of Tournanche.From the former direction the base ofthe mountain is seen at its narrowest,

SUMMIT (14780)

SOUTH-BAST RIDGR

DIRECTION OFTHE z'MUTT glacier

THE HORNLI (949a)

THB MATTERHORN FROM THE NORTH-EAST.

and its ridges and faces seem to be ofprodigious steepness. The tourist toils



up the valley, looking frequently forthe great sight which is to reward hispains, without seeing it (for the moun-tain is first perceived in that directionabout a mile to the north of Zermatt),when all at once, as he turns a rockycorner of the path, it comes into view,not, however, where it is expected : theface has to be raised up to look at it it seems overhead. Although this isthe impression, the fact is that the sum-mit of the Matterhorn from this pointmakes an angle with the eye of lessthan 16°, while the Dom, from the sameplace, makes a larger angle, but is pass-ed by unobserved. So little can de-pendence be placed on unaided vision.The view of the mountain from Breuil,in the Val Tournanche, is not less strik-

ing than that on the other side, butusually it makes less impression, be-

cause the spectator grows accustomedto the sight while coming up or downthe valley. From this direction themountain is seen to be broken up intoa series of pyramidal, wedge-shapedmasses : on the other side it is remark-able for the large, unbroken extent ofcliffs that it presents, and for the sim-plicity of its outline. It was natural tosuppose that a way would more readilybe found to the summit on a side thusbroken up than in any other direction.The eastern face, fronting Zermatt,

seemed one smooth, impossible clifffrom summit to base : the ghastly preci-pices which face the Z'Mutt glacier for-bade any attempt in that direction.There remained only the side of ValTournanche, and it will be found that

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nearly all the earliest attempts to ascendthe mountain were made on that side.

The first efforts to ascend the Matter-horn of which I have heard were madeby the guides or rather by the chas-seurs^-of Val Tournanche. These at-tempts were made in the years 1858-59,from the direction of Breuil, and thehighest point that was attained wasabout as far as the place which is nowcalled the "Chimney** (cheminee), aheight of about twelve thousand sixhundred and fifty feet. Those whowere concerned in these expeditionswere Jean-Antoine Carrel, Jean JacquesCarrel, Victor Carrel, the Abb6 Gorretand Gabrielle Maquignaz. I have beenunable to obtain any further detailsabout them.

The next attempt was a remarkable

one ; and of it, too, there is no publish-ed account. It was made by Messrs.Alfred, Charles and Sandbach Parker,of Liverpool, in July, i860. Thesegentlemen, without guides, endeavoredto storm the citadel by attacking theeastern face, that to which referencewas just now made as a smooth, im-practicable cliff. Mr. Sandbach Park-er informs me that he and his brotherswent along the ridge between the Horn-li and the peak until they came to thepoint where the ascending angle is

considerably increased. This place ismarked on Dufour's map of Switzer-land 3298 metres (10,820 feet). Theywere then obliged to bear a little to theleft to get on to the face of the moun-tain, and afterward they turned to theright and ascended about seven hun-dred feet farther, keeping as nearly aswas practicable to the crest of the ridge,but occasionally bearing a little to theleft ; that is, more on to the face of themountain. The brothers started fromZermatt, and did not sleep out. Clouds,

a high wind and want of time were thecauses which prevented these daringgentlemen from going farther. Thustheir highest point was under twelvethousand feet.

The third attempt upon the mountainwas made toward the end of August,i860, by Mr. Vaughan Hawkins, from



the side of the Val Tournanche. A vividaccount of his expedition has been pub-lished by him in "Vacation Tourists,"and it has been referred to several timesby Professor Tyndall in the numerouspapers he has contributed to Alpine lit-erature. I will dismiss it, therefore, asbriefly as possible.

Mr. Hawkins had inspected the moun-tain in 1859 with the guide J. J. Bennen,and he had formed the opinion that thesouth-west ridge would lead to the sum-mit. He engaged J. Jacques Carrel, whowas concerned in the first attempts, and,accompanied by Bennen (and by Pro-

J. J. BENNEN (1863).

fessor Tyndall, whom he had invited totake part in the expedition), he startedfor the gap between the little and thegreat peak.

Bennen was a guide who was begin-ning to be talked about. During thechief part of his brief career he was inthe service of Wellig, the landlord ofthe inn on the ^Eggischhorn, and washired out by him to tourists. Althoughhis experience was limited, he had ac-quired a good reputation ; and his book

of certificates, which is lying before me,shows that he was highly esteemed byhis employers. A good-looking man,with courteous, gentlemanly manners.

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of ascertaining whether there was anyencouragement to make a more delib-erate attack on the north-east side.

My guide and I arrived at Breuil onthe 28th of August, 1 861, and we foundthat Professor Tyndall had been therea day or two before, but had done noth-ing. I had seen the mountain fromnearly every direction, and it seemed,even to a novice like myself, far toomuch for a single day. I intended tosleep out upon it as high as possible,and to attempt to reach the summit onthe following day. We endeavored to»induce another man to accompany us,but without success. Matthias zumTaugwald and other well-known guideswere there at the time, but they declinedto go on any account. A sturdy oldfellow Peter Taugwalder by name said he would go. His price ? ** Twohundred francs.** ''What! whether weascend or not ?'* "Yes nothing less.*'

The end of the matter was, that all themen who were more or less capableshowed a strong disinclination or posi-tively refused to go (their disinclinationbeing very much in proportion to theircapacity), or else asked a prohibitiveprice. This, it may be said once for all, ,was the reason why so many futile at-tempts were made upon the Matter-horn. One first-rate guide after an-other was brought up to the mountainand patted on the back, but all declinedthe business. The men who went had

no heart in the matter, and took the firstopportunity to turn back,* for they were,with the exception of one man to whomreference will be made presently uni-versally impressed with the belief that ,the summit was entirely inaccessible.

We resolved to go alone, but, antici-pating a cold bivouac, begged the loanof a couple of blankets from the inn-keeper. He refused them, giving thecurious reason that we had bought abottle of brandy at Val Tournanche,

and had not bought any from him ! Nobrandy, no blankets, appeared to be hisrule. We did not require them that

? The guide Bennen must be excepted.

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toward the south ; and thence up to thelevel of the Col du Lion there was along natural staircase, on which it wasseldom necessary to use the hands. Wedubbed the place "The Great Stair-case." Then the cliffs of the Tete duLion, which rise above the couloir, hadto be skirted. This part varies con-siderably in different seasons, and in1 861 we found it difficult, for the finesteady weather of that year had reducedthe snow-beds abutting against it to alower level than usual, and the rockswhich were left exposed at the junctionof the snow with the cliffs had fewledges or cracks to which we could

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hold. But by half-past ten o'clock westood on the col, and looked down upon

the magnificent basin out of which theZ'Mutt glacier flows. We decided topass the night upon the col, for we werecharmed with the capabilities of theplace, although it was one where liber-ties could not be taken. On one side a

shee»* wall overhung the Tiefenmattenglacier on the other, steep, glassyslopes of hard snow descended to theGlacier du Lion, furrowed by water and

by falling stones : on the north therewas the great peak of the Matterhorn,*and on the south the cliffs of the Tetedu Lion. Throw a bottle down to the

THR COL DU LION, LOOKING TOWARD THR TftTR DU LION.



Tiefenmatten no sound returns formore than a dozen seconds.

** How fearfulAnd dizzy 'tis to cast one's eyes so low !"

But no harm could come from thatside neither could it from the other.Nor was it likely that it would from theTete du Lion, for some jutting ledgesconveniently overhung our proposedresting-place. We waited for a while,

basked in the sunshine, and watchedor listened to the Carrels, who weresometimes seen or heard high above U3upon the ridge leading toward the sum-mit; and, leaving at mid-day, we de-scended to the cow-shed, packed up thetent and other properties, and returned

to the col, although heavily laden, be-

* The engraving is made after a sketch taken frowthe rocks of the Matterhorn, just above the col.

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fore SIX o'clock. This tent was con-structed on a pattern suggested by Mr.Francis Galton, and it was not a success.

It looked very pretty when set up inLondon, but it proved thoroughly use-less in the Alps. It was made of lightcanvas, and opened like a book : oneend was closed permanently and theother with flaps: it was supported bytwo alpenstocks, and had the canvassides prolonged so as to turn in under-neath. Numerous cords were sewn tothe lower edges, to which stones were



to be attached, but the main fasteningswere by a cord which passed under-neath the ridge and through iron ringsscrewed into the tops of the alpenstocks,and were secured by pegs. The wind,which playfully careered about the sur-rounding cliffs, was driven through ourgap with the force of a blow-pipe : theflaps of the tent would not keep down,the pegs would not stay in, and it ex-hibited so marked a desire to go to thetop of the Dent Blanche that we thoughtit prudent to take it down and to situpon it. When night came on we wrap-ped ourselves in it, and made our campas comfortable as the circumstanceswould allow. The silence was impress-ive. No living thing was near our soli-tary bivouac; the Carrels had turnedback and were out of hearing; thestones had ceased to fall and the trick-ling water to murmur

*' The music of whose liquid lip

Had been to us companionship.And in our lonely life had grownTo have an almost human tone." *

It was bitterly cold., Water froze hardin a bottle under my head. Not sur-prising, as we were actually on snow,and in a position where the slightestwind was at once felt. For a time wedozed, but about midnight there camefrom high aloft a tremendous explosion,followed by a second of dead quiet. Agreat mass of rock had split off and

was descending toward us. My guidestarted up, . wrung his hands and ex-claimed, "O my God, we are lost!" Weheard it coming, mass after mass pour-ing over the precipices, bounding and

*J. G. Whittier.

rebounding from cliff to cliff, and thegreat rocks in advance smiting one an-other. They seemed to be close, al-

though they were probably distant, butsome small fragments, which droppedupon us at the same time from the ledges'^just above, added to the alarm, and mydemoralized companion passed the re-mainder of the night in a state of shud-der, ejaculating "Terrible!** and otheradjectives.

We put ourselves in motion at day-



break, and commenced the ascent of thesouth-west ridge. There was no moresauntering with hands in the pockets each step had to be earned by down-right climbing. But it was the mostpleasant kind of climbing. The rockswere fast and unencumbered with d6bris,the cracks were good, although not nu-merous, arvd there was nothing to fearexcept from one's self. So we thought,at least, and shouted to awake echoesfrom the cliffs. Ah ! there is no re-sponse. Not yet : wait a while every-thing here is upon a superlative scale :count a dozen and then the echoeswill return from the walls of the Dentd'Herens, miles away, in waves of pureand undefiled sound, soft, musical andsweet. Halt a moment to regard theview ! We overlook the Tete du Lion,and nothing except the Dent d'Herens,whose summit is still a thousand feetabove us, stands in the way : the rangesof the Graian Alps, an ocean of moun-

tains, are seen at a glance, governedby their three great peaks, the Grivola,Grand Paradis and Tour de St. Pierre.How soft, and yet how sharp, they lookin the early morning! The mid-daymists have not begun to rise nothingis obscured : even the pointed Viso, allbut a hundred miles away, is perfectlydefined.

Turn to the east and watch the sun'sslanting rays coming across the MonteRosa snow-fields. Look at the shadow-

ed parts and see ho>v even they, radiantwith reflected light, are more brilliantthan man knows how to depict. Seehow, even there, the gentle undulationsgive shadows within shadows, and how,yet again, where falling stones or ice

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE Ai:f^ ^^T^^^ifi^ <\ ^V'43



have left a track, there are shadowsupon shadows, each with a light and adark side, with infinite gradations ofmatchless tenderness. Then note thesunlight as it steals noiselessly alongand reveals countless unsuspected forms the delicate ripple-lines which markthe concealed crevasse, and the wavesof drifted snow, producing each minutemore lights and fresh shadows, spark-ling on the edges and glittering on theends of the icicles, shining on the heightsand illuminating the depths, until all isaglow and the dazzled eye returns forrelief to the sombre crags.

Hardly an hour had passed since weleft the col before we arrived at the** Chimney." It proved to be the coun-terpart of the place to which refer-ence has been before made : a smooth,straight slab of rock was fixed at a con-

siderable angle between two othersequally smooth. My companion essay-ed to go up, and after crumpling hislong body into many ridiculous posi-tions, he said that he would not, for hecould not do it. With some little troubleI got up it unassisted, and then my guidetied himself on to the end of our rope,and I endeavored to pull him up. Buthe was so awkward that he did little forhimself, and so heavy that he proved toomuch for me, and after several attemptshe untied himself and quietly observed

that he should go down. I told him hewas a coward, and he mentioned hisopinion of me. I requested him to go toBreuil, and to say that he had left his"monsieur" on the mountain, and heturned to go, whereupon I had to eathumble pie and ask him to come back ;for although it was not very difficult togo up, and not at all dangerous with aman standing below, it was quite an-other thing to come down, as the loweredge overhung in a provoking manner.

The day was perfect, the sun was

pouring down grateluTwarmth, the windhad fallen, the way seemed clear, no in-superable obstacle was in sight; butwhat could one do alone ? I stood onthe top, chafing under this unexpectedcontretemps, and remained for some



AT BRBUiL (giombim). Set Page 55.

CHAPTER V.

RENEWED ATTEMPTS TO ASCEND THE MAT-TERHORN.

THE year 1862 was still young, andthe Matterhorn, clad in its wintrygarb, bore but little resemblance to theMatterhorn of the summer, when a newforce came to do battle with the moun-tain from another direction. Mr. T. S.Kennedy of Leeds conceived the extra-ordinary idea that the peak might proveless impracticable in January than inJune, and arrived at Zermatt in the for-mer month to put his conception to the

test. With stout Peter Perm and sturdyPeter Taugwalder he slept in the littlechapel at the Schwarzensee, and on thenext morning, like the Messrs. Parker,44

followed the ridge between the peakcalled Hornli and the great mountain.But they found that snow in winterobeyed the ordinary laws, and that thewind and frost were not less unkind

than in summer. "The wind whirledup the snow and spicules of ice into ourfaces like needles, and flat pieces of icea foot in diameter, carried up from theglacier below, went flying past. Stillno one seemed to like to be the first togive in, till a gust fiercer than usualforced us to shelter for a time behind arock. Immediately it was tacitly under-stood that our expedition must now end,but we determined to leave some me-mento of our visit, and, after descend-ing a considerable distance, we found a

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to have been deceived by the appearance of that partof the south-west ridge which is called " the shoul-der ** (I'ipaule), as seen from Breuil. Viewed fromthat place, its southern end has certainly, throughforeshortening, the semblance of a peak ; but whenone regards it from the Col Th^odule, or from anyplace in the same direction, the delusion is at onceapparent.

his assertions I knew to be wrong. Thecol to which he referred was the Col duLion, upon which he had passed a nightless than a week after he had spokenso authoritatively ; and I had seen aplace not far below the " Chimney " aplace about five hundred feet above thecol where it seemed possible to con-struct a sleeping-place. Bennen*s opin-ions seem to have undergone a completechange. In i860 he is described ashaving been enthusiastic to make anattempt in 1861 he was dead against

one. Nothing dismayed by this, myfriend Mr. Reginald Macdonald, ourcompanion on the Pelvoux to whomso much of our success had been due agreed to join me in a renewed as-sault from the south ; and although wefailed to secure Melchior Anderegg andsome other notable guides, we obtainedtwo men of repute namely, Johannzum Taugwald and Johann Kronig ofZermatt. We met at that place early inJuly, but stormy weather prevented useven from crossing to the other side of

the chain for some time. We crossedthe Col Theodule on the 5th, but theweather was thoroughly unsettled : itwas raining in the valleys and snowingupon the mountains. Shortly beforewe gained the summit we were madeextremely uncomfortable by hearingmysterious rushing sounds, which some-times seemed as if a sudden gust ofwind was sweeping along the snow,and at others almost like the swishingof a long whip ; yet the snow exhibitedno signs of motion and the air was per-

fectly calm. The dense, black storm-clouds made us momentarily expectthat our bodies might be used as light-ning-conductors, and we were well sat-isfied to get under shelter of the inn atBreuil without having submitted to anysuch experience.

We had need of a porter, and by theadvice of our landlord descended to



the chalets of Breuil in search of oneLuc Meynet. We found his house, amean abode, encumbered with cheese-making apparatus, and tenanted onlyby some bright-eyed children ; but asthey said that Uncle Luc would soon be

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home, we waited at the door of the I last a speck was seen coming round thelittle chalet and watched for him. At | corner of the patch of pines below

SUMMIT (14780).

SOUTH-WEST RIDGE.

SHOULDER (l'ApAULE).

COL DU LION,author's first tent PLATFORM.

tStE DU LION, i

NORTH-EAST RIDGE.

THE DENl' BLANCHE

1. Author's Second Tent Platform.

3. Whymper, August 30, i86x.

3. Macdonald and Whymper, July 8, 186a.



4. Tyndall, August 20, i860.

5. Whymper, July 19, 1862.

6. Whymper, July a6, 1862.

7. Tyndall, July 28, 1862.THE MATTERHORN FROM THE SUMMIT OF THE TH^ODULB PASS (Z0899 FBBT).

Breuil, and then the children clappedtheir hands, dropped their toys and raneagerly forward to meet him. We sawan ungainly, wobbling figure stoop downand catch up the little ones, kiss themon each cheek, and put them into theempty panniers on each side of themule, and then heard it come on carol-ing, as if this was not a world of woe ;and yet the face of little Luc Meynet,

the hunchback of Breuil, bore traces oftrouble and sorrow, and there was morethan a touch of sadness in his voicewhen he said that he must look afterhis brother's children. All his difficult-ies were, however, at length overcome,and he agreed to join us to carry thetent.

In the past winter I had turned myattention to tents, and that which wehad brought with us was the result ofexperiments to devise one which should

be sufficiently portable to be taken over

the most difficult ground, and whichshould combine lightness with stability.Its base was just under six feet square,and a section perpendicular to its lengthwas an equilateral triangle, the sides ofwhich were six feet long. It was in-tended to accommodate four persons.It was supported by four ash poles sixfeet and a half long and one inch and

a quarter thick, tapering to the top toan inch and an eighth : these were shodwith iron points. The order of proceed-ing in the construction of the tent wasas follows ; Holes were drilled throughthe poles about five inches from theirtops for the insertion of two wrought-iron bolts, three inches long and one-quarter of an inch thick. The boltswere then inserted, and the two pairs



of poles were set out (and fixed up by acord) to the proper dimensions. Theroof was then put on. This was madeof the rough, unbleached calico calledforfar, which can be obtained in six-feet

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widths, and it was continued round forabout two feeton each side,on to the floor.The wi'dth ofthe materialwas the lengthof the tent, andseams were thusavoided in theroof. The for-far was sewn round each pole, particu-lar care being taken to avoid wrinkles

ihi^.

and to get the whole perfectly taut.The flooring was next put in and sewndown to the forfar. This was of the ordi-nary plaid mackintosh, about nine feetsquare, the surplus three feet being con-

tinued up the sides to prevent draughts.It is as well to have two feet of this sur-plus on one side, and only one foot onthe other, the latter amount being suf-ficient for the side occupied by the feet.One end was then permanently closedby a triangular piece of forfar, which wassewn down to that which was already



ALPINE TBHT.

fixed. The other end was left open,and had two triangular flaps that over-lapped each other, and which were fas-tened up when we were inside by piecesof tape. Lastly, the forfar was naileddown to the poles to prevent the tentgetting out of shape. The cord whichwas used for climbing served for thetent: it was passed over the crossedpoles and underneath the ridge of theroof, and the two ends one fore andthe other aft were easily secured to

pieces of rock. Such a tent costs aboutfour guineas, and its weight is abouttwenty-three pounds ; or, if the lightest

kind of forfar is used, it need not ex-ceed twenty pounds,

Sunday, the 6th of July, was showery,and snow fell on the Matterhorn, butwe started on the following morningwith our three men, and pursued myroute of the previous year. I was re-quested to direct the way, as none savemyself had been on the mountain be-

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86<>-'69.

fore, but I did not distinguish myself onthis occasion, and led my companionsnearly to the top of the small peak be-fore the mistake was discovered. Theparty becoming rebellious, a little ex-ploration was made toward our right,and we found that we were upon the



top of the cliff overlooking the Col duLion. The upper part of the small peakis of a very different character to thelower part ; the rocks are not so firm,and they are usually covered or inter-mixed with snow and glazed with ice :the angle too is more severe. Whiledescending a small snow-slope to geton to the right track, Kronig slipped ona streak of ice and went down at a fearfulpace. Fortunately, he kept on his legs,and by a great effort succeeded in stop-ping just before he arrived at somerocks that jutted through the snow,which would infallibly have knockedhim over. When we rejoined him afew minutes later we found that he wasincapable of standing, much less ofmoving, with a face corpse-like in hue,and trembling violently. He remainedin this condition for more than an hour,and the day was consequently far ad-vanced before we arrived at our camp-ing-place on the col. Profiting by the

experience of last year, we did not pitchthe tent actually on the snow, but col-lected a quantity of debris from theneighboring ledges, and after construct-ing a rough platform of the larger pieces,leveled the whole with the dirt andmud.

Meynet had proved invaluable as atent-bearer, for, although his legs weremore picturesque than symmetrical, andalthough he seemed to be built, on prin-ciple, with no two parts alike, his very

deformities proved of service ; and wequickly found he had a spirit of nocommon order, and that few peasantsare more agreeable companions or bet-ter climbers than little Luc Meynet, thehunchback of Breuil. He now showedhimself not less serviceable as a scav-enger, and humbly asked for gristlypieces of meat rejected by the others, orfor suspicious eggs, and seemed to con-sider it a peculiar favor, if not a treat,

to be permitted to drink the coffee-grounds. With the greatest content-ment he took the worst place at thedoor of the tent, and did all the dirtywork which was put upon him by theguides, as gratefully as a dog who hasbeen well beaten will receive a stroke.

A strong wind sprang up from the



east during the night, and in the morn-ing it was blowing almost a hurricane.The tent behaved nobly, and we re-mained under its shelter for severalhours after the sun had risen, uncertainwhat it was best to do. A lull temptedus to move, but we had scarcely ascend-ed a hundred feet before the storm burstupon us with increased fury. Advanceor return was alike impossible : theridge was denuded of its debris, andwe clutched our hardest when we sawstones as big as a man's fist blownaway horizontally into space. Wedared not attempt to stand upright, andremained stationary on all fours, glued,as it were, to the rocks. It was intense-ly cold, for the blast had swept alongthe main chain of the Pennine Alpsand across the great snow-fields aroundMonte Rosa. Our warmth and couragerapidly evaporated, and at the next lullwe retreated to the tent, having to haltseveral times in that short distance.

Taugwald and Kronig then declaredthat they had had enough, and refusedto have anything more to do with themountain. Meynet also informed usthat he would be required down belowfor important cheese-making operationson the following day. It was thereforeneedful to return to Breuil, and we ar-rived there at 2.30 P. M., extremelychagrined at our complete defeat.

Jean Antoine Carrel, attracted byrumors, had come up to the inn during

our absence, and after some negotia-tions agreed to accompany us, with oneof his friends named Pession, on thefirst fine day. We thought ourselvesfortunate, for Carrel clearly consideredthe mountain a kind of preserve^ andregarded our late attempt as an act ofpoaching. The wind blew itself outduring the night, and we started again,with these two men and a porter, at S

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A. M. on the 9th, with unexceptionableweather. Carrel pleased us by suggest-ing that we should camp even higherthan before; and we accordingly pro-ceeded, without resting at the col, untilwe overtopped the Tete du Lion. Nearthe foot of the *' Chimney," a little be-low the crest of the ridge and on itseastern side, we found a protected place ;and by building up from ledge to ledge(under the direction of our leader, whowas a mason by profession) we atlength constructed a platform of suf-ficient size and of considerable solidity.Its height was about twelve thousandfive hundred and fifty feet above thesea ; and it exists, I believe, at the pres-ent time. We then pushed on, as the

day was very fine, and after a shorthour's scramble got to the foot of theGreat Tower upon the ridge (that is tosay, to Mr. Hawkins' farthest point),and afterward returned to our bivouac.We turned out again at 4 A. M., and at5.15 started upward once more, withfine .weather and the thermometer at28°. Carrel scrambled up the Chimney,and Macdonald and I after him. Pes-sion's turn came, but when he arrivedat the top he looked very ill, declaredhimself to be thoroughly incapable, and

said that he must go back. We waitedsome time, but he did not get better,neither could we learn the nature of hisillness. Carrel flatly refused to go onwith us alone. We were helpless.Macdonald, ever the coolest of the cool,suggested that jve should try what wecould do without them, but our betterjudgment prevailed, and finally we re-turned together to Breuil. On the nextday my friend started for London.

Three times I had essayed the ascent

of this mountain, and on each occasionhad failed ignominiously. I had notadvanced a yard beyond my predeces-sors. Up to the height of nearly thir-teen thousand feet there were no ex-traordinary difficulties : the way so farmight even become *'a matter of amuse-ment." Only eighteen hundred (eetremained, but they were as yet untrod-den, and might present the most for-



midable obstacles. No man could ex-

pect to climb them by himself. A mor-sel of rock only seven feet high mightat any time defeat him if it were per-pendicular. Such a place might bepossible to two, or a bagatelle to threemen. It was evident that a partyshould consist of three men at least.But where could the other two men beobtained? Carrel was the only manwho exhibited any enthusiasm in thematter, and he in i86r had absolutelyrefused to go unless the party consistedof at lesist /our persons. Want of menmade the difficulty, not the mountain* ;

The weather became bad again, so Iwent to Zermatt on the chance of pick-ing up a man, and remained there duringa week of storms. Not one of the goodmen, however, could be induced to

come, and I returned to Breuil on the17th, hoping to combine the skill ofCarrel with the willingness of Meyneton a new attempt by the same route asbefore ; for the Hornli ridge, which Ihad examined in the mean time» seem-^ed to be entirely impracticable* Bothmen were inclined to go, but their ordi-nary occupations prevented them fromstarting at once.

My tent had been left rolled up atthe second platform, and whilst waiting

for the men it occurred to me that itmight have been blown away duringthe late stormy weather; so I startedoff on the i8th to see if this were so ornot. The way was by this time familiar^and I mounted rapidly, astonishing thefriendly herdsmen who nodded recog-nition as I flitted past them and thecows for I was alone, because no manwas available. But more deliberationwas necessary when the pastures werepassed and climbing began, for it wasneedful to mark each step in case of

mist or surprise by night. It is one ofthe few things which can be said infavor of mountaineering alone (a prac-tice which has little besides to commendit) that it awakens a man's faculties andmakes him observe. When one hasno arms to help and no head to guidehim except his own, he must needs takenote even of small things, for he can-not afibrd to throw away a chance ; and



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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS. IN iS6<>-'69.

so it came to pass upon my solitaryscramble, when above the snow-line andbeyond the ordinary limits of floweringplants, when peering about noting an-gles and landmarks, that my eyes fell

upon the tiny straggling plants often-times a single flower on a single stalk pioneers of vegetation, atoms, of life ina world of desolation, which had foundtheir way up who can tell how ? fromfar below, and were obtaining bare sus-tenance from the scanty soil in protect-ed nooks ; and it gave a new interest tothe well-known rocks to see what a gal-lant fight the survivors made (for manymust have perished in the attempt) toascend the great mountain. The gen-tian, as one niight have expected, was

there, but it was run close by saxifragesand by Linaria alpina^ and was beatenby Thlaspi rotundifoHum ; which latterplant was the highest I was able to se-cure, although it too yvas overtopped bya little white flower which I knew notand was unable to reach.

The tent was safe, although snowedup, and I turned to contemplate theview, which, when seen alone and un-disturbed, had all the strength andcharm of complete novelty. The high-

est peaks of the Pennine chain were infront the Breithorn (13,685 feet), theLyskamm (14,889), and Monte Rosa(I5,2r7); then turning to the right, theentire block of mountains which sepa-rated the Val Tournanche from the Vald'Ayas was seen at a glance, with itsdominating summit, the Grand Tourha-lin (11,155). Behind were the rangesdividing the Val d'Ayas from the valley



of Gressoney, backed by higher summits.More still to the right the eye wandereddown the entire length of the Val Tour-nanche, and then rested upon the Gra-ian Alps with .their innumerable peaks,and upon the isolated pyramid of MonteViso (12,643) in the extreme distance.Next, still turning to the right, came themountains intervening between the ValTournanche and the Val Barth61emy :Mont Rouss (a round- topped, snowysummit, which seems so important fromBreuil, but which is in reality only abuttress of the higher mountain, the

Chateau des Dames) had long ago sunk,and the eye passed over it, scarcelyheeding its existence, to the Becca Salle(or, as it is printed on the map. Bee deSale), a miniature Matterhorn, and toother and more important heights.Then the grand mass of the Dent

d'Herens (13,714) stopped the way- -anoble mountain, encrusted on its north-ern slopes with enormous hanging gla-ciers, which broke away at mid-day inimmense slices, and thundered downon to the Tiefenmatten glacier; andlastly, most splendid of all, came theDent Blanche (14,318), soaring abovethe basin of the great Z'Muttgletscher.Such a view is hardly to be matched inthe Alps, and this view is . very rarelyseen, as I saw it, perfectly unclouded.

Time sped away unregarded, and thelittle birds which had built their nestson the neighborfng cliff's had begun tochirp their evening hymn before Ithought of returning. Half mechanic-ally, I turned to the tent, unrolled itand set it up : it contained food enpughfor several days, and I resolved to stayover the night, I had started fromBreuil without provisions or tellingFavre, the innkeeper, who was accus-,tomed to my erratic ways, where I wasgoing. I returned to the view. The

sun was setting, and its rosy rays, blend-ing with the snowy blue, had thrown apale, pure violet far as the eye couldsee ; the valleys were . drowned in apurple gloom, while the summits shonewith unnatural brightness ; and as I satin the door of the tent and watched thetwilight change to darkness, tfce earthseemed to become less earthly and al-most sublime : the world seemed dead,



and I its sole inhabitant. By and bythe moon, as it rose, brought the hillsagain into sight, and by a judicious re-pression of detail rendered the viewyet more magnificent. Something inthe south hung like a great glow-wormin the air : it was too large for a star,and too steady for a meteor, and it waslong before I could realize the incrediblefact that it was the moonlight glitteringon the great snow-slope on the north sideof Monte Viso, at a distance, as the cro\y

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flies, of ninety-eight miles. Shivering,at last I entered the tent and made mycoffee. The night was passed comfort-ably, and the next morning, temptedby the brilliancy of the weather, I pro-ceeded yet higher in search of another

place for a platform.

Solitary scrambling over a pretty widearea had shown me that a single indi-vidual issubjectedto verymany dif-ficultieswhich donot trou-ble a par-or three

that theof being

ty ofmen.



twoanddisadvantiigesalone are more felt whiledescending than duringthe ascent* \w order to neu-tralize these inconveniences, Ihad devised two little appli-ances, which were now broughtinto use for the first time. One wasa claw, a kind of grapnel, about fiveinches long, made of shear steel one-fifth of an inch thick. This was of usein difficult places where there was nohold within arm's length, but wherethere were cracks or ledges some dis-tance higher. It could be stuck on theend of the alpenstock and droppedinto such places, or, on extreme occa-sions, flung up until it attached itself tosomething. The edges that laid holdof the rocks were serrated, which tend-ed to make them catch more readily :

the other end had a ring to which arope was fastened. It must not be un-derstood that this was employed forhauling one's self up by for any greatdistance, but that it was used in ascend-ing, at the most, for only a few yards ata time. In descending, however, itcould be prudently used for a greaterdistance at a time, as the claws couldbe planted firmly ; but it was necessaryto keep the rope taut and the pull con-stantly in the direction of the length ofthe implement, otherwise it had a tend-

ency to slip away. The second device

was merely a modification of a dodgepracticed by all climbers. It is fre-quently necessary for a single man (orfor the last man of a party) during adescent to make a loop in the end of hisrope, which he passes over some rocks,and to come down holding the free end.The loop is then jerked off, and the pro-cess may be repeated. But as it some-

times happensthat there are norocks at handwhich will allowa loose loop tobe used, a slip-knot has to beresorted to, andthe rope is drawnin tightly. Con-



sequently, it willoccur that it isnot possible tojerk the loop off,and the rope hasto be cut and leftbehind. To pre-vent this, I hada wrought -ironring (two and aquarter inches in diameter and three-eighths of an inch thick) attached to oneend of my rope, and a loop could bemade in a moment by passing the otherend of the rope through the ring, whichof course slipped up and held tightly asI descended holding the free end. Astrong piece of cord was also attachedto the ring, and on arriving at the bot-tom this was pulled : the ring shd backagain, and the loop was whipped offreadily. By means of these two simpleappliances I was able to ascend anddescend rocks which otherwise would

have been completely impassable. Thecombined weight of these two thingsamounted to less than half a pound.

The rocks of the south-west ridge areby no means difficult for some distanceabove the Col du Lion. This is true ofthe rocks up to the level of the Chim-ney, but they steepen when that is pass-ed, and remaining smooth and with butfew fractures, and still continuing todip outward, present some steps of a

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very uncertain kind, particularly whenthey are glazed with ice. At this point(just above the Chimney) the climber isobliged to follow the southern (or Breuil)




53

reader understand that it is a positivedanger, and one against which skill,strength and courage are equally un-availing. It occurs at unexpected times,and may occur in almost any place.The critic may retort, ** Your admissionof this one danger destroys all the restof the argument." I agree with himthat it would do so if it were a graverisk to life. But although it is a realdanger, it is not a very serious risk.Not many cases can be quoted of acci-dents which have happened throughfalling stones, and I do not know an

instance of life having been lost in thisway in the High Alps.* I suppose,however, few persons will maintain thatit is unjustifiable to do anything, forsport or otherwise, so long as any riskis incurred, else it would be unjusti-fiable to cross Fleet street at mid-day.If it were one's bounden duty to avoidevery risk, we should have to pass ourlives indoors. I conceive that the pleas-ures of mountaineering outweigh therisks arising from this particular cause,and that the practice will not be vetoed

on its account. Still, I wish to stampit as a positive danger, and as onewhich may imperil the life of the mostperfect mountaineer.

This digression has been caused byan innocent gully which I feared thereader might think was dangerous. Itwas an untrodden vestibule, which ledto a scene so wild that even the mostsober description of it must seem anexaggeration. There was a change inthe quality of the rock, and there was

a change in the appearance of theridge. The rocks (talcose gneiss) be-low this spot were singularly firm itwas rarely necessary to test one's hold :the way led over the living rock, andnot up rent-off fragments. But hereall was decay and ruin. The crest ofthe ridge was shattered and cleft, andthe feet sank in the chips which haddrifted down ; while above, huge blocks,



hacked and carved by the hand of

* The contrary is the case in regard to the LowerAlps. Amongst others, the case may be mentionedof a Udy who (not very long ago) had her skull frac-tured while sitting at the base of the Mer de Glace.

time, nodded to the sky, looking likethe gravestones of giants. Out of curi-osity I wandered to a notch in the ridge,between two tottering piles of immensemasses which seemed to need but a fewpounds on one or the other side tomake them fall, so nicely poised thatthey would literally have rocked in thewind, for they were put in motion by atouch, and based on support so frailthat I wondered they did not collapsebefore my eyes. In the whole rangeof my Alpine experience I have seennothing more striking than this deso-late, ruined and shattered ridge at the

back of the Great Tower. I have seenstranger shapes rocks which mimicthe human form, with monstrous leeringfaces, and isolated pinnacles sharperand greater than any here but I havenever seen exhibited so impressively thetremendous effects which may be pro-duced by frost, and by the long-con-tinued action of forces whose individualeffects are imperceptible.

It is needless to say that it is impossi-ble to climb by the crest of the ridge at

this part : still, one is compelled to keepnear to it, for there is no other way.Generally speaking, the angles on theMatterhorn are too steep to allow theformation of considerable beds of snow,but here there is a corner which per-mits it to accumulate,, and it is turnedto gratefully, for by its assistance onecan ascend four times as rapidly asupon the rocks.

The Tower was now almost out ofsight, and I looked over the central

Pennine Alps to the Grand Combinand to the chain of Mont Blanc. Myneighbor, the Dent d'H6rens, still roseabove me, although but slightly, andthe height which had been attainedcould be measured by its help. So far,I had no doubts about my capacity todescend that which had been ascended ;but in a short time, on looking ahead, Isaw that the cliffs steepened, and I turn-



ed back (without pushing on to them andgetting into inextricable difficulties), ex-ulting in the thought that they would bepassed when we returned together, andthat I had without assistance got nearly

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"IN ATTEMPTING TO PASS THE CORNER I SLIPPED AND FELL."

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taken me in one gigantic leap of eighthundred feet on to the glacier below.

The situation was still sufficiently se-rious. The rocks could not be left gofor a moment, and the blood was spurt-ing out of more than twenty cuts. Themost serious ones were in the head, andI vainly tried to close them with onehand while holding on with the other.



It was useless : the blood jerked out inblinding jets at each pulsation. At last,in a moment of inspiration, I kickedout a big lump of snow and stuck it asa plaster on my head. The idea was ahappy one, and the flow of blood dimin-ished : then, scrambling up, I got. not amoment too soon, to a place of safetyand fainted away. The sun was settingwhen consciousness returned, and it waspitch dark before the Great Staircasewas descended ; but by a combinationof luck and care the whole forty-eighthundred feet of descent to Breuil wasaccomplished without a slip or oncemissing the way. I slunk past the cabinof the cowherds, who were talking andlaughing inside, utterly ashamed of thestate to which I had been brought bymy imbecility, and entered the innstealthily, wishing to escape to my roomunnoticed. But Favre met me in thepassage, demanded, **Who is it?**screamed with fright when he got a

light, and aroused the household. Twodozen heads then held solemn councilover mine, with more talk than action.The natives were unanimous in recom-mending that hot wine (syn. vinegar),mixed with salt, should be rubbed intothe cuts. I protested, but they insisted.It was all the doctoring they received.Whether their rapid healing was to beattributed to that simple remedy or to agood state of health, is a question : theyclosed up remarkably soon, and in afew days I was able to move again.

It was sufficiently dull during thistime. I was chiefly occupied in med-itating on the vanity of human wishes,and in watching my clothes being wash-ed in the tub which was turned by thestream in the front of the house ; and Ivowed that if an Englishman should atany time fall sick in the Val Tour-

nanche, he should not feel so solitary

as I did at this dreary time.*

The news of the accident broughtJean-Antoine Carrel up to Breuil, andalong with the haughty chasseur cameone of his- relatives, a strong and ableyoung fellow named Caesar. With thesetwo men and Meynet I made anotherstart on the 23d of July. We got tothe tent without any trouble, and on



the following day had ascended beyondthe Tower, and were picking our waycautiously over the loose rocks behind(where my traces of the week beforewere well apparent) in lovely weather,when one of those abominable andalmost instantaneous changes occurredto which the Matterhorn is so liable on itssouthern side. Mists were created out ofinvisible vapors, and in a few minutessnow fell heavily. We stopped, as thispart was of excessive difficulty, and,unwilling to retreat, remained* on thespot several hours, in hopes that an-other change would occur; but as itdid not, we at length went down to the

* As it seldom happens that one survives such afall, it may be interesting to record what my sensa-tions were during its occurrence. I was perfectlyconscious of what was happening, and felt each blow,but, like a patient under chloroform, experienced nopain. Each blow was, naturally, more severe thanthat which preceded it, and I distinctly remember

thinking, " Well, if the next is harder still, that willbe the end!" Like persons who have been rescuedfrom drowning, I remember that the recollection of amultitude of things rushed through my head, manyof them trivialities or absurdities which had been for-gotten long before ; and, more remarkable, this bound-ing through space did not feel disagreeable. But Ithink that in no very great distance more conscious-ness as well as sensation would have been lost, andupon that 1 base my belief, improbable as it seems,that death by a fall from a great height is as painlessan end as can be experienced.

The battering was very rough, yet no bones werebroken. The most severe cuts were one four incheslong on the top of the head, and another of threeinches on the right temple : this latter bled frightfully.There was a formidable-looking cut, of about thesame size as the last, on the palm of the left hand,and every limb was grazed or cut more or less seri-ously. The tips of the ears were taken off, and asharp rock cut a circular bit out of the side of the leftboot, sock and ankle at one stroke. The loss of bloodalthough so great, did not seem to be permanently in-jurious. The only serious effect has been the reduc-tion of a naturally retentive memory to a very com-

monplace one ; and although my recollections of moredistant occurrences remain unshaken, the events ofthat particular day would be clean gone but for the fewnotes which were written down before the accident.

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base of the Tower, and commenced tomake a third platform, at the height of12,992 feet above the sea. It still con-tinued to snow, and we took refuge inthe tent. Carrel argued that the weath-er had broken up, and that the moun-tain would become so glazed with iceas to render any attempt futile ; and I,that the change was only temporary,and that the rocks were too hot to allowice to form upon them. I wished to

stay until the weather improved, butmy leader would not endure contradic-tion, grew more positive and insistedthat we must go down. We went down,and when we got below the col his opin-ion was found to be wrong : the cloudwas confined to the upper three thou-sand feet, and outside it there was bril-liant weather.

Carrel was not an easy man to man-age. He was perfectly aware that hewas the cock of the Val Tournanche,

and he commanded the other men asby right. He was equally consciousthat he was indispensable to me, andtook no pains to conceal his knowledgeof the fact. If he had been command-ed or if he had been entreated to stop,it would have been all the same. But,let me repeat, he was the only first-rateclimber I could find who believed thatthe mountain was not inaccessible. Withhim I had hopes, but without him none ;so he was allowed to do as he would.His will on this occasion was almost

incomprehensible. He certainly couldnot be charged with cowardice, for abolder man could hardly be found ; norwas he turning away on account ofdifficulty, for nothing to which we hadyet come seemed to be difficult to him ;and his strong personal desire to makethe ascent was evident. There was nooccasion to come down on account offood, for we had taken, to guard against



this very casualty, enough to last for aweek; and there was no danger andlittle or no discomfort in stopping inthe tent. It seemed to me that he wasspinning out the ascent for his own pur-poses, and that although he wished verymuch to be the first man on the top,and did not object to be accompanied

by any one else who had the same wish,he had no intention of letting one suc-ceed too soon perhaps to give a great-er appearance of eclat when the thingwas accomplished. As he feared norival, he may have supposed that themore difficulties he made the more valu-able he would be estimated, though, todo him justice, he never showed anygreat hunger for money. His demandswere fair, not excessive ; but he alwaysstipulated for so much per day, and so,under any circumstances, he did not do

badly.

Vexed at having my time thus fritter-ed away, I was still well pleased whenhe volunteered to start again on themorrow if it was fine. We were to ad-vance the tent to the foot of the Tower,to fix ropes in the most difficult partsbeyond, and to make a push for thesummit on the following day.

The next morning (Friday, the 25th),when I arose, good little Meynet was

ready and waiting, and he said that thetwo Carrels had gone off some time be-fore, and had left word that they intend-ed marmot- hunting, as the day wasfavorable for that sport. My holidayhad nearly expired, and these menclearly could not be relied upon; so,as a last resort, I proposed to the hunch-back to accompany me alone, to see ifwe could not get higher than before,though of reaching the summit therewas little or no hope. He did not hesi-tate, and in a few hours we stood for

the third time together upon the Coldu Lion, but it was the first time Mey-net had seen the view unclouded. Thepoor little deformed peasant gazed uponit silently and reverently for a time, andthen unconsciously fell on one knee inan attitude of adoration, and claspedhis hands, exclaiming in ecstasy, **0beautiful mountains !" His actions wereas appropriate as his words were natural,



and tears bore witness to the reality ofhis emotion.

Our power was too limited to advancethe tent, so we slept at the old station,and, starting very early the next morn-ing, passed the place where we hadturned back on the 24th, and subse

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A CANNONADE ON THE MATTERHORN. (1862.)


[TJHIYBHSITTI

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS :N i86o-'69.

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quently my highest point on the 19th.We found the crest of the ridge sotreacherous that we took to the cliffs onthe right, although most unwillingly.Little by little we fought our way up,but at length we were both spread-eagled on the ail-but perpendicular face,unable to advance and barely able todescend. We returned to the ridge. Itwas almost equally difficult, and infin-itely more unstable ; and at length,after having pushed our attempts as faras was prudent, I determined to returnto Breuil, and to have a light laddermade to assist us to overcome some ofthe steepest parts. I expected, too, thatby this time Carrel would have hadenough marmot -hunting, and woulddeign to accompany us again.

We came down at a great pace, forwe were now so familiar with the moun-tain and with each other's wants thatwe knew immediately when to give a

helping -hand and when to let alone.The rocks also were in a better statethan I have ever seen them, beingalmost entirely free from glaze of ice.Meynet was always merriest on thedifficult parts, and on the most difficultkept on enunciating the sentiment, " Wecan only die once," which thoughtseemed to afford him infinite satisfac-tion. We arrived at the inn early inthe evening, and I found my projectssummarily and unexpectedly knockedon the head.

Professor Tyndall had arrived whilewe were absent, and he had engagedboth Caesar and Jean-Antoine Carrel.Bennen was also with him, togetherwith a powerful and active friend, aValaisan guide named Anton Walter.They had a ladder already prepared,provisions were being collected, andthey intended to start on the followingmorning (Sunday). This new arrivaltook me by surprise. Bennen, it willbe remembered, refused point-blank to

take Professor Tyndall on the Matter-horn in 1861. "He was dead againstany attempt on the mountain,** saysTyndall. He was now eager to set out.Professor Tyndall has not explained inwhat way this revolution came about in

his guide. I was equally astonished at



the faithlessness of Carrel, and attributedit to pique at our having presumed to dowithout him. It was useless to competewith the professor and his four men,who were ready to start in a few hours,so I waited to see what would come oftheir attempt.

Everything seemed to favor it, andthey set out on a fine morning in highsphits, leaving me tormented with envyand all uncharitableness. If they suc-ceeded, they carried off the prize forv,rhich I had been so long struggling ;and if they failed, there was no time tomake another attempt, for I was due ina few days more in London. Whenthis came home clearly to me, I re-solved to leave Breuil at once, but whenpacking up found that some necessarieshad been left behind in the tent. So Iwent off about mid-day to recover them,caught the army of the professor beforeit reached the col, as they were going

very slowly, left them there (stopping totake food) and went on to the tent. Iwas near to it when all at once I hearda noise aloft, and on looking up per-ceived a stone of at least a foot cubeflying straight at my head. I duckedand scrambled under the lee side of afriendly rock, while the stone went bywith a loud buzz. It was the advancedguard of a perfect storm of stones, whichdescended with infernal clatter downthe very edge of the ridge, leaving atrail of dust behind, with a strong smell

of sulphur that told who had sent them.The men below were on the look-out,but the stones did not come near them,and breaking away on one side wentdown to the glacier.

I waited at the tent to welcome theprofessor, and when he arrived wentdown to Breuil. Early next morningsome one ran to me saying that a flagwas seen on the summit of the Matter-horn. It was not so, however, althoughI saw that they had passed the place

where we had turned back on the 26th.I had now no doubt of their final suc-cess, for they had got beyond the pointwhich Carrel, not less than myself, hadalways considered to be the most ques-

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tionable place on the whole mountain.Up to it there was no choice of route I suppose that at no one point betweenit and the col was it possible to divergea dozen paces to the right or left butbeyond it it was otherwise, and we hadalways agreed in our debates that if itcould be passed success was certain.

The accompanying outline from asketch taken from the door of the innat Breuil will help to explain. The let-ter A indicates the position of the GrealTower ; C, the ** cravate" (the strongly-marked streak of snow referred to innote on page 54, and which we justfailed to arrive at on the 26th) ; B, the

place where we now saw somethingthat looked like a flag. Behind thepoint B a nearly level ridge leads up tothe foot of the linal peak, which will beunderstood by a reference to the outlineon page 46, on which the same lettersindicate the same places. It was justnow said, we considered that if thepoint C could be passed, success wascertain. Tyndall was at B very early inthe morning, and I did not doubt thathe would reach the summit, although ityet remained problematical whether he

would be able to stand on the veryhighest point. The summit was evi-dently formed of a long ridge, on whichthere were two points nearly equallyelevated so equally that one could notsay which was the highest and betweenthe two there seemed to be a deep notch,marked D on the outlines, which mightdefeat one at the very last moment.



My knapsack was packed, and I haddrunk a parting glass of wine with

Favre, who was jubilant at the successwhich was to make the fortune of hisinn, but I could not bring myself toleave until the result was heard, andlingered about, as a foolish lover hoversround the object of his affections evenafter he has been contemptuously re-jected. The sun had set before themen were descried coming over thepastures. There was no spring in theirsteps : they too were defeated. TheCarrels hid their heads, but the otherssaid, as men will do when they havebeen beaten, that the mountain washorrible, impossible, and So forth. - Pro-fessor Tyndall told me they had arrivedwithin a stone's throw of the summit,and admonished me to have nothingmore to do with the mountain. I un-

derstood him to say that he should nottry again, and ran down to the villageof Val Tournanche, almost inclined tobelieve that the mountain was inaccessi-ble, leaving the tent, ropes and other

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matters in the hands of Favre, to beplaced at the disposal of any person

who wished to ascend it more, I amafraid, out of irony than generosity.There may have been those who be-

lieved that the Matterhorn could beascended, but anyhow their faith didnot bring forth works. No one triedagain in 1862.



IP^KyT IV,

* UUT WHAT IS THIS?"

CHAPTER VI.

THE VAL TOURNANCHE THE BREUILJOCH ZERMATT ASCENT OK THE GRANDTOURNALIN.

I CROSSED the Channel on the 29thof July, »i863, embarrassed by thepossession of two ladders, each twelvefeet long, which joined together like

those used by firemen, and shut up likeparallel rulers. My luggage was high-ly suggestive of housebreaking, for, be-sides these, there were several coils ofrope and numerous tools of suspiciousappearance ; and it was reluctantly ad-mitted into France, but it passed throughthe custom-house with less trouble thanI anticipated, after a timely expenditureof a few francs.

I am not in love with the douane. Itis the purgatory of travelers, where un-

congenial spirits mingle together for atime before they are separated into richand poor. The douaniers look upontourists as their natural enemies : seehow eagerly they pounce upon the port-manteaus ! Qne of them has discover-ed something. He has never seen itslike before, and he holds it aloft in thethe face of its owner with inquisitorialinsolence : *' But what is this ?*' The

explanation is but half satisfactory**But what is thisV^ says he, layinghold of a little box. ** Powder." ** Butthat is forbidden to carry of powder onthe railway." "Bah!" says anotherand older hand, "pass the effects ofmonsieur;" and our countryman whose cheeks had begun to reddenunder the stares of his fellow-travelers is allowed to depart with his half-worn



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tooth-brush, while the discomfited dou-

anier gives a mighty shrug at the strangehabits of those "whose insular positionexcludes them from the march of con-tinental ideas.'*

My real troubles commenced at Susa.The officials there, more honest andmore obtuse than the Frenchmen, de-clined at one and the same time to bebribed or to pass my baggage until asatisfactory account of it was rendered ;and as they refused to believe the trueexplanation, I was puzzled what to say,

but was presently relieved from the di-lemma by one of the men, who wascleverer than his fellows, suggestingthat I was going to Turin to exhibit inthe streets that I mounted the ladderand balanced myself on the end of it,then lighted my pipe and put the pointof the baton in its bowl, and caused thebaton to gyrate around my head. Therope was to keep back the spectators,and an Englishman in my companywas the agent. "Monsieur is acrobat,then?" "Yes, certainly." "Pass the

effects of monsieur the acrobat!"

These ladders were the source of end-less trouble. Let us pass over the doubtsof the guardians of the Hotfel d' Europe(Trombetta) whether a person in thepossession of such questionable articlesshould be admitted to their very respect-able house, and get to Chatillon, at theentrance of the Val Tournanche. A



mule was chartered to carry them, andas they were too long to sling across itsback, they were arranged lengthways,and one end projected over the ani-mal's head, while the other extendedbeyond its tail. A mule when going upor down hill always moves with a jerkyaction, and in consequence of this theladders hit my mule severe blows be-tween its ears and its flanks. Thebeast, not knowing what strange crea-ture it had on its back, naturally tossedits head and threw out its legs, andthis, of course, only made the blows thatit received more severe. At last it ranaway, and would have perished by roll-ing down a precipice if the men had notcaught hold of its tail. The end of thematter was, that a man had to follow

the mule, holding the end of the lad-ders, which obliged him to move his

arms up and down incessantly, and tobow to the hind quarters of the animalin a way that afforded more amusementto his comrades than it did to him.

I was once more en route for the Mat-terhorn, for I had heard in the springof 1863 the cause of the failure of Pro-fessor Tyndall, and learned that thecase was not so hopeless as it appearedto be at one time. I found that he ar-rived as far only as the northern end of"the shoulder." Carrel and all the men

who had been with me knew of the exist-ence of the cleft at this point, and of thepinnacle which rose between it and thefinal peak, and we had frequently talk-ed about the best manner of passing theplace. On this we disagreed, but wewere both of opinion that when we gotto "the shoulder " it would be necessaryto bear gradually to the right or to theleft, to avoid coming to the top of thenotch. But Tyndall's party, after ar-riving at "the shoulder," were led byhis guides along the crest of the ridge,

and consequently when they got to itsnorthern end they came to the top ofthe notch, instead of the bottom to thedismay of all but the Carrels. Dr. Tyn-dall's words are : "The ridge was heresplit by a deep cleft which separated itfrom the final precipice, and the casebecame more hopeless as we came morenear." The professor adds: "Themountain is 14,800 feet high, and 14,600



feet had been acomplished." He great-ly deceived himself: by the barometricmeasurements of Signor Giordano thenotch is no less than 800 feet below thesummit. The guide Walter (Dr. Tyn-dall says) said it was impossible to pro-ceed, and the Carrels, appealed to fortheir opinion (this is their own account),gave as an answer, " We are porters ask your guides." Bennen, thus left tohimself, "was finally forced to acceptdefeat." Tyndall had nevertheless ac-complished an advance of about fourhundred feet over one of the most dif-ficult parts of the mountain.

The Val Tournanche is one of themost charming valleys in the Italian

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Alps : it is a paradise to an artist, andif the space at my command weregreater, I would willingly linger over itsgroves of chestnuts, its bright tricklingrills and its roaring torrents, its uplandunsuspected valleys and its noble cliffs.The path rises steeply from Chatillon,but it is well shaded, and the heat ofthe summer sun is tempered by cool airand spray which comes off the ice-coldstreams. One sees from the path, atseveral places on the right bank of thevalley, groups of arches which have

been built high up against the facesof the cliffs. Guide-books repeat onwhose authority I know not that theyare the remains of a Roman aqueduct.They have the Roman boldness of con-ception, but the work has not the usualRoman solidity. The arches have al-ways seemed to me to be the remainsof an unfinished work, and I learn fromJean-Antoine Carrel that there are other



groups of arches, which are not seenfrom the path, all having the same ap-pearance. It may be questioned wheth-er those seen near the village of Anteyare Roman.. Some of them are semi-circular, whilst others are distinctly

. % '.

pointed. Here is one of the latter,which might pass for fourteenth-centurywork or later ^a two-centred arch, withmean voussoirs and the masonry inrough courses. These arches are wellworth the attention of an archaeologist,but some difHculty will be found in ap-proaching them closely.

We sauntered up the valley, and got

to Breuil when all were asleep. A haloround the moon promised watery weath-er, and we were not disappointed, foron the next day (August i) rain fell

heavily, and when the clouds lifted fora time we saw that new snow lay thick-ly over everything higher than ninethousand feet. J.-A. Carrel was readyand waiting (as I had determined togive the bold cragsman another chance);

and he did not need to say that the Mat-terhorn would be impracticable for sev-eral days after all this new snow, evenif the weather were to arrange itself atonce. Our first day together was ac-cordingly spent upon a neighboringsummit, the Cimes Blanches a de-graded mountain well known for its finepanoramic view. It was little that wesaw, for in every direction except to thesouth writhing masses of heavy cloudsobscured everything ; and to the southour view was intercepted by a peak

higher than the Cimes Blanches, namedthe Grand Tournalin. But we got someinnocent pleasure out of watching thegambolings of a number of goats, whobecame fast friends after we had giventhem some salt in fact, too fast, andcaused us no little annoyance when wewere descending. "Carrel," I said, asa number of stones whizzed by whichthey had dislodged, '* this must be put a



stop to." "Diable !" he grunted, '*it isveiy well to talk, but how will you doit?" I said that I would try ; and sit-ting down poured a little brandy intothe hollow of my hand, and allured thenearest goat with deceitful gestures. Itwas one who had gobbled up the paperin which the salt had been carried ananimal of enterprising character andit advanced fearlessly and licked upthe brandy. I shall not easily forget itssurprise. It stopped short and coughed,and looked at me as much as to say,**0h, you cheat!" and spat and ranaway, stopping now and then, to coughand spit again. We were not troubledany more by those goats.

More snow fell during the night, andour attempt on the Matterhorn was post-poned indefinitely. Carrel and I wan-dered out again in the afternoon, andwent, first of all, to a favorite spot withtourists near the end of the Gorner gla-

cier (or, properly speaking, the Bodenglacier), to a little verdant flat studded

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with Euphrasia officinalis, the delightof swarms of bees, who gather there thehoney which afterward appears at thetable d^hote.

On our right the glacier torrent thun-dered down the valley through a gorgewith precipitous sides, not easily ap-proached, for the turf at the top wasslippery, and the rocks had everywherebeen rounded by the glacier, which for-merly extended far away. This gorgeseems to have been made chiefly by thetorrent, and to have been excavated



WATBR-WORN ROCKS IN THE GORGE BBLOW THE CORNER GLACIER.

subsequently to the retreat of the gla-cier. It seems so, because not merelyupon its walls are there the marks ofrunning water, but even upon the round-ed rocks at the top of its walls, at aheight of seventy or eighty feet abovethe present level of the torrent, thereare some of those queer concavitieswhich rapid streams alone are knownto produce on rocks.

A little bridge, apparently frail, spansthe torrent just above the entrance tothis gorge, and from it one perceivesbeing fashioned in the rocks below con-

cavities similar to those to which refer-ence has just been made. The torrentis seen hurrying forward. Not every-where. In some places the water strikesprojecting angles, and, thrown back bythem, remains almost stationary, eddy-ing round and round : in others, ob-structions fling it up in fountains, whichplay perpetually on the under surfacesof overhanging masses ; and sometimesdo so in such a way that the water notonly works upon the under surfaces,

but round the corner; that is to say,upon the surfaces whichare not opposed to thegeneral direction of thecurrent. In all casesconcavities are beingproduced. Projectingangles are rounded, itis true, and are more orless convex, biit they areoverlooked on accountof the prevalence of con-cave forms.

Cause and effect helpeach other here. Theinequalities of the tor-rent bed and walls causeits eddyings, and the^J^KK' eddies fashion the con-'^^^^ cavities. The more pro-found the latter become,the more disturbance is



caused in the water. Thedestruction of the rocksproceeds at an ever-in-creasing rate, for thelarger the amount of sur-face that is exposed, thegreater are the opportunities for the as-saults of heat and cold.

When water is in the form of glacierit has not the power of making concav-ities such as these in rocks, and of work-ing upon surfaces which are not opposedto the direction of the current. Its na-ture is changed : it operates in a differ-ent way, and it leaves marks which arereadily distinguished from those pro-duced by torrent action.

The prevailing forms whicl;i resultfrom glacier action are more or lessconvex. Ultimately, all angles and

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almost all curves are obliterated, andlarge areas of flat surfaces are pro-duced. This perfection of abrasion israrely found except in such localities ashave sustained a grinding much moresevere than that which has occurred inthe Alps. Not merely can the opera-tions of extinct glaciers be traced in de-tail by means of the bosses of rock pop-

ularly termed roches vioutonnees, buttheir effects in the ag-gregate, on a range ofmountains or an en-tire country, can berecognized sometimesat a distance of fifteenor twenty miles, fromthe incessant repeti-tion of these convex



forms.

We finished up the3d of August with awalk over the Findel-en glacier, and return-ed to Zermatt at a laterhour than we intend-ed, both very sleepy.This is noteworthyonly on account ofthat which followed.We had to cross theCol de Valpelline onthe next day, and anearly start was desira-ble. Monsieur Seiler,excellent man ! know-ing this, called us him-self, and when hecame to my door I an-swered. "All right,Seiler, I will get up,"and immediately turn-

ed over to the other side, saying to my-self, "First of all, ten minutes* moresleep.** But Seiler waited and listened,and, suspecting the case, knockedagain : " Herr Whymper, have you gota light ?** Without thinking what theconsequences might be, ' I answered,*No;" and then the worthy man actu-ally forced the lock off his own door togive me one. By similar and equallyfriendly and disinterested acts Monsieur

Seiler has acquired his enviable repu-tation.

At four A. M. we left his Monte Rosahotel, and were soon pushing our waythrough the thickets of gray alder thatskirt the path up the exquisite little val-ley which leads to the Z'muttgletscher.

Nothing can seem or be more inac-cessible than the Matterhorn upon thisside, and even in cold blood one holds

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STRIATIONS PRODUCED BY GLACIBR ACTION (AT GRINDBLWALU).

his breath when looking at its stupend-

ous cliffs. There are but few equal tothem in size in the Alps, and there arenone which can more truly be termedprecipices. Greatest of them all is theimmense north cliff, that which bendsover toward the Z'muttgletscher. Stoneswhich drop from the top of that amaz-ing wall fall for about fifteen hundredfeet before they touch anything, andfhose which roll down from above and

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bound over it fall to a much greaterdepth, and leap wellnigh one thousandfeet beyond its base. This side of themountain has always seemed sombre,sad, terrible : it is painfully suggestiveof decay, ruin and death ; and it isnow, alas! more than terrible by its



associations.

"There is no aspect of destructionabout the Matterhorn cliffs," says Pro-fessor Ruskin. Granted when theyare seen from afar. But approach andsit down by the side of the Z'muttglet-scher, and you will hear that their piece-meal destruction is proceeding cease-lessly, incessantly. You will hear, butpi-obably you will not see; for evenwhen the descending masses thunderas loudly as heavy guns, and the echoesroll back from the Ebihorn opposite,they will still be as pin-points againstthis grand old face, so vast is its scale.

If you would see the " aspects of de-struction," you must come still closerand climb its cliffs and ridges, or mountto the plateau of the Matterhornglet-scher, which is cut up and ploughed upby these missiles, and strewn on thesurface with their smaller fragments :

the larger masses, falling with tremen-dous velocity, plunge into the snow andare lost to sight.

The Matterhorngletacher, too, sendsdown its avalanches, as if in rivalrywith the rocks behind. Round thewhole of its northern side it does notterminate in the usual manner by gentleslopes, but comes to a sudden end atthe top of the steep rocks which lie be-twixt it and the Z'muttgletscher ; andseldom does an hour pass without a

huge slice breaking away and fallingwith dreadful uproar on to the slopesbelow, where it is re- compacted.

The desolate, outside pines of theZ'mutt forests, stripped of their barkand blanched by the weather, are a fitforeground to a scene that can hardlybe surpassed in solemn grandeur. Itis a subject worthy of the pencil of agreat painter, and one which would taxthe powers of the very greatest.

Higher up the glacier the mountainis less savage in appearance, but it is

not less impracticable ; and three hourslater, when we arrived at the island ofrock called the Stockje (which marksthe end of the Z'muttgletscher proper,and which separates its higher feeder,*



the Stockgletscher, from its lower butgreater one, the Tiefenmatten), Carrelhimself, one of the least demonstrativeof men, could not refrain from express-ing wonder at the steepness of its faces,and at the audacity that had promptedus to camp upon the south-west ridge,the profile of which is seen very wellfrom the Stockje. Carrel then saw thenorth and north-west sides of the moun-tain for the first time, and was morefirmly persuaded than ever that anascent was possible only from the di-rection of Breuil.

Three years afterward, I was travers-ing the same spot with the guide FranzBiener, when all at once a puff of windbrought to us a very bad smell, and onlooking about we discovered a deadchamois half-way up the southern cliffsof the Stockje. We clambered up, andfound that it had been killed by a mostuncommon and extraordinary accident.

It had slipped on the upper rocks, hadrolled over and over down a slope ofd6bris without being able to regain itsfeet, had fallen over a little patch ofrocks that projected through the debris,and had caught the points of both hornson a tiny ledge not an inch broad. Ithad just been able to touch the debriswhere it led away down from the rocks,and had pawed and scratched until itcould no longer touch. It had evident-ly been starved to death, and we foundthe poor beast almost swinging in the

air, with its head thrown back andtongue protruding, looking to the skyas if imploring help.

We had no such excitement as this in1863, and crossed this easy pass to thechalets of Prerayen in a very leisurelyfashion. From the summit to Prerayenlet us descend in one step. The wayhas been described before, and thosewho wish for information about it shouldconsult the description of Mr. Jacomb,the discoverer of the pass. Nor need

we stop at Prerayen, except to remark

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"THE CHIMNEY."

(ON THE 801TTH.W£8T RIDOE OF THE MATTXRHOHK.)

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that the owner of the chalets (who isusually taken for a common herdsman)must not be judged by appearances.



He is a man of substance, he has manyflocks and herds ; and although, whenapproached politely, he is courteous, hecan (and probably will) act as the mas-ter of Prerayen if his position is notrecognized, and with all the importanceof a man who pays taxes to the extentof five hundred francs per annum tohis government.

The hill lops were clouded when werose from our hay on the 5th of August.We decided not to continue the tour ofour mountain immediately, and return-ed over our track of the preceding dayto the highest chalet on the left bank ofthe valley, with the intention of attack-ing the Dent d'Erin on the next morn-ing. We were interested in this sum-mit, more on account of the excellentview which it commanded of the south-west ridge and the terminal peak of theMatterhorn than from any other reason.

The Dent d'Erin had not been ascend-ed at this time, and we had divergedfrom our route on the 4th, and hadscrambled some distance up the baseof Mont Brul6, to see how far its south-western slopes were assailable. Wewere divided in opinion as to the bestway of approaching the peak. Carrel,true to his habit of sticking to rocks inpreference to ice, counseled ascendingby the long buttress of the Tete de Bel-la Cia (which descends toward the west,and forms the southern boundary of the

last glacier that falls into the Glacier deZardesan), and thence traversing theheads of all the tributaries of the Zarde-san to the western and rocky ridge ofthe Dent. I, on the other hand, pro-posed to follow the Glacier de Zarde-san itself throughout its entire length,and from the plateau at its head (wheremy proposed route would cross Carrel's)lO make directly toward the summit upthe snow-covered glacier slope, insteadof by the western ridge. The hunch-back, who was accompanying us on

these excursions, declared in favor ofCarrel's route, and it was accordinglyadopted.

The first part of the programme wassuccessfully executed ; and at half-pastten A. M. on the 6th of August we weresitting astride the western ridge, at a



height of about twelve thousand fivehundred feet, looking down upon theTiefenmatten glacier. To all appear-ance, another hour would place us onthe summit, but in another hour wefound that we were not destined to suc-ceed^. The ridge (like all of the prin-cipal rocky ridges of the great peaksupon which I have stood) had beencompletely shattered by frost, and wasnothing more than a heap of piled-upfragments. It was always narrow, andwhere it was narrowest it was also themost unstable and the most difficult.On neither side could we ascend it bykeeping a little below its crest onthe side of the Tiefenmatten because itwas too steep, and on both sides be-cause the dislodgment of a single blockwould have disturbed the equilibriumof those which were above. Forced,therefore, to keep to the very crest ofthe ridge, an'd unable to deviate a sin-gle step either to the right or to the left,

we were compelled to trust ourselvesupon unsteady masses, which trembledunder our tread, which sometimes set-tled down, grating in a hollow andominous manner, and which seemed asif a very little shake would send thewhole roaring down in one awful ava-lanche.

I followed my leader, who said not aword, and did not rebel until we cameto a place where a block had to be sur-mounted which lay poised across the

ridge. Carrel could not climb it with-out assistance, or advance beyond ituntil I joined him above; and as hestepped off my back on to it I felt itquiver and bear down upon me. Idoubted the possibility of another manstanding upon it without bringing itdowni Then I rebelled. There was nohonor to be gained by persevering, ordishonor in turning from a place whichwas dangerous on account of its exces-sive difficulty. So we returned to Pre-rayen, for there was too little time to

allow us to reascend by the other route,

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which was subsequently shown to bethe right way up the mountain.

Four days afterward a party of Eng-lishmen (including my friends W. E.Hall, Crauford Grove and ReginaldMacdonald) arrived in the Valpelline,and (unaware of our attempt) on the 12th,under the skillful guidance of MelchiorAnderegg, made the first ascent of theDent d'Erin by the route which I had.proposed. This is the only mountainwhich I have essayed to ascend that hasnot, sooner or later, fallen to me. Our

failure was mortifying, but I am satis-fied that we did wisely in returning, andthat if we had persevered by Carrel'sroute another Alpine accident wouldhave been recorded. I have not heardthat another ascent has been made ofthe Dent d'Erin.

On the 7th of August we crossed theVa Cornere pass, and had a good lookat the mountain named the Grand Tour-nalin as we descended the Val de Chi-gnana. This mountain was seen from

so many points, and was so much high-er than any peak in its immediate neigh-borhood, that it was bound to give avery fine view ; and (as the weathercontinued unfavorable for the Matter-horn) I arranged with Carrel to ascendit the next day, and despatched himdirect to the village of Val Tournancheto make the necessary preparations,whilst I, with Meynet, made a short cutto Breuil, at the back of Mont Panque-ro, by a little pass locally known as theCol de Fenetre. I rejoined Carrel the

same evening at Val Tournanche, andwe started from that place at a little be-fore five A. M. on the 8th to attack theTournalin.

Meynet was left behind for that day,and most unwillingly did the hunchbackpart from us, and begged hard to beallowed to come. "Pay me nothing,only let me %o with you. I shall want



of the peak, from whence a less easyridge rose directly to the highest point.We followed the first named of theseroutes, and in a little more than half anhour stood upon the col, which com-manded a most glorious view of *he

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southern side of Monte Rosa, and ofthe ranges to its east and to the east ofthe Val d'Ayas.

Whilst we were resting at this point alarge party of vagrant chamois arrivedon the summit of the mountain fromthe northern side, some of whom, bytheir statuesque position, seemed to ap-preciate the grand panorama by whichthey were surrounded, while othersamused themselves, like two-legged

tourists, in rolling stones over the cliflfs.The clatter of these falling fragmentsmade us look up. The chamois wereso numerous that we could not countthem, clustered around the summit, to-tally unaware of our presence ; and theyscattered in a panic, as if a shell hadburst amongst them, when saluted bythe cries of my excited comrade, plung-ing wildly down in several directions,with unfaltering and unerring bounds,with such speed and with such gracethat we were filled with admiration and

respect for their mountaineering abilities.

The ridge that led from the col to-ward the summit was singularly easy,although well broken up by frost, andCarrel thought that it would not bedifficult to arrange a path for mules outof the shattered blocks ; but when wearrived on the summit we found our-selves separated from the very highest



point by a cleft which had been con-cealed up to that time : its southern sidewas nearly perpendicular, but it wasonly fourteen or fifteen feet deep. Car-rel lowered me down, and afterwarddescended on to the head of my axe,and subsequently on to my shoulders,with a cleverness which was almost asfar removed from my awkwardness ashis own efforts were from those of thechamois. A few easy ^eps then placedus on the highest point. It had notbeen ascended before, and we com-memorated the event by building ahuge cairn, which was seen for many amile, and would have lasted for manya year had it not been thrown downby the orders of Canon Carrel, on ac-count of its interrupting the sweep of acamera which he took to the lower sum-mit in 1868 in order to photograph the

panorama. According to that well-known mountaineer, the summit of theGrand Tournalin is 6100 feet above thevillage of Val Tournanche, and 11,155feet abovethe sea. Itsascent (in-eludinghalts) occu-pied us only ./four hours. '

I recom-

mend the as-cent of theTournalinto any per-son who hasa day tospare in theVal Tour-nanche. Itshould berem ember-ed, however(if its ascent

is made forthe sake ofthe view),that thesesouthernPennineAlps sel-dom remainuncloudedafter mid-



day, and in-deed frequently not later than ten oreleven A. m. Toward sunset the equi-librium of the atmosphere is restored,and the clouds very commonly disap-pear.

I advise the ascent of this mountain,not on account of its height or from itsaccessibility or inacessibility, but simplyfor the wide and splendid view whichmay be seen from its summit. Its posi-tion is superb, and the list of the peakswhich can be seen from it includes al-most the whole of the principal mo.un-tains of the Cottian, Dauphin6, Graian,Pennine and Oberland groups. The viewhas, in the highest perfection, those ele-ments of picturesqueness which arewanting in the purely panoramic views


CAKKBL LOWBRED MB DOWN.

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of higher summits. There are threeprincipal sections, each with a centralor dominating point, to which the eyeis naturally drawn. All three alike arepictures in themselves, yet all are dis-similar. In the south, softened by thevapors of the Val d'Aoste, extends thelong line of the Graians, with mountainafter mountain twelve thousand fivehundred feet and upward in height. Itis not upon these, noble as some of themare, that the eye will rest, but upon the

Viso, far off in the background. In thewest and toward the north the range ofMont Blanc and some of the greatestof the Central Pennine Alps (includ-ing the Grand Combin and the DentBlanche) form the background, butthey are overpowered by the grandeurof the ridges which culminate in theMatterhorn. Nor in the east and north,where pleasant grassy slopes lead down-



ward to the Val d'Ayas, nor upon theglaciers and snow-fields above them,nor upon the Oberland in the back-ground, will the eye long linger, whenimmediately in front, several miles away,but seeming close at hand, thrown outby the pure azure sky, there are the glit-tering crests of Monte Rosa.

Those who would, but cannot, standupon the highest Alps may consolethemselves with the knowledge thatthey do not usually yield the views thatmake the strongest and most perma-nent impressions. Marvelous some ofthe panoramas seen from the greatestpeaks undoubtedly are, but they arenecessarily without those isolated andcentral points which are so valuablepictorially. The eye roams over a mul-titude of objects (each perhaps grandindividually),, and, distracted by anembarrassment of riches, wanders fromone to another, erasing by the contem-

plation of the next the effect that wasproduced by the last ; and when thosehappy moments are over, which alwaysfly with too great rapidity, the summitis left with an impression that is seldomdurable because it is usually vague.

No views create such lasting impres-sions as those which are seen but for amoment when a veil of mist is rent in

twain and a single spire or dome is dis-closed. The peaks which are seen atthese moments are not perhaps thegreatest or the noblest, but the recollec-tion of them outlives the memory of anypanoramic view, because the picture,photographed by the eye, has time todry, instead of being blurred while yetwet by contact with other impressions.The reverse is the case with the bird's-eye panoramic views from the greatpeaks, which sometimes embrace a hun-dred miles in nearly every direction.

The eye is confounded by the crowd ofdetails, and unable to distinguish therelative importance of the objects whichare seen. It is almost as difficult toform a just estimate (with the eye) ofthe respective heights of a number ofpeaks from a very high summit as it isfrom the bottom of a valley. I thinkthat the grandest and most satisfactorystand-points for viewing mountain sce-



nery are those which are sufficiently ele-vated to give a feeling of depth as wellas of height which are lofty enough toexhibit wide and varied views, but notso high as to sink everything to the levelof the spectator. The view from theGrand Tournalin is a favorable exampleof this class of panoramic views.

We descended from the summit bythe northern route, and found it tolerablystiff clambering as far as the col, butthence, down the glacier, the way wasstraightforward, and we joined the routetaken on the ascent at the foot of theridge leading toward the east. In theevening we returned to Breuil.

There is an abrupt rise in the valleyabout two miles to the north of the vil-lage of Val Tournanche, and just abovethis step the torrent has eaten its wayinto its bed and formed an extraordi-nary chasm, which has long been known

by the name Gouffre des Busserailles.We lingered about this spot to listen tothe thunder of the concealed water, andto watch its tumultuous boiling as itissued from the gloomy cleft, but ourefforts to peer into the mysteries of theplace were baffled. In November, 1865,the intrepid Carrel induced two trustycomrades the Maquignazes of Val

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Tournanche to lower him by a ropeinto the chasm and over the cataract.The feat required iron nerves and mus-cles and sinews of no ordinary kind,and its performance alone stamps Car-rel as a man of dauntless courage. Oneof the Maquignazes subsequently de-scended in the same way, and these two



men were so astonished at what theysaw that they forthwith set to work withhammer and chisel to make a way intothis romantic gulf. In a few days theyconstructed a rough but convenientplank gallery into the centre of thegouffre, along its walls, and on pay-ment of a toll of half a franc any onecan now enter the GK)uffre des Bus-serailles.

I cannot, without a couple of sectionsand a plan, give an exact idea to thereader of this remarkable place. Itcorresponds in some of its features tothe gorge figured upon page 62, but itexhibits in a much more notable man-ner the characteristic action and powerof running water. The length of thechasm or gouffre is about three hundredand twenty feet, and from the top of itswalls to the surface of the water is aboutone hundred and ten feet. At no partcan the entire length or depth be seen

at a glance, for, although the width atsome places is fifteen feet or more, theview is limited by the sinuosities of thewalls. These are everywhere polishedto a smooth, vitreous - in - appearancesurface. In some places the torrent haswormed into the rock, and has left nat-ural bridges. The most extraordinaryfeatures of the Gouffre des Busserailles,however, are the caverns (or martniteStas they are termed) which the water hashollowed out of the heart of the rock.Carrel's plank path leads into one of

the greatest a grotto that is abouttwenty-eight feet across at its largestdiameter, and fifteen or sixteen feethigh, roofed above by the living rock,and with the torrent roaring fifty feet orthereabouts below, at the bottom of afissure. This cavern is lighted by can-dles, and talking in it can only be man-aged by signs.

I visited the interior of the gouffre in

1869, and my wonder at its caverns wasincreased by observing the hardness ofthe hornblende out of which they havebeen hollowed. Carrel chiseled off alarge piece, which is now lying beforeme. It has a highly polished, glassysurface, and might be mistaken, for amoment, for ice-polished rock. But thewater has found out the atoms which



were least hard, and it is dotted all overwith minute depressions, much as theface of one is who has suffered fromsmallpox. The edges of these littlehollows are rounded, and all the sur-faces of the depressions are polishednearly or quite as highly as the generalsurface of the fragment. The waterhas drilled more deeply into some veinsof steatite than in other places, and thepresence of the steatite may possiblyhave had something to do with the form-ation of the gouffre.

I arrived at Breuil again after an ab-sence of six days, well satisfied withmy tour of the Matterhorn, which hadbeen rendered very pleasant by the will-ingness of my guides and by the kind-liness of the natives. But it must beadmitted that the inhabitants of the ValTournanche are behind the times. Theirpaths are as bad as, or worse than, theywere in the time of De Saussure, and

their inns are much inferior to those onthe Swiss side. If it were otherwisethere would be nothing to prevent thevalley becoming one of the most popu-lar and frequented of all the valleys inthe Alps ; but as it is, tourists who enterit seem to think only about how soonthey can get out of it, and hence it ismuch less known than it deserves to beon account of its natural attractions.

CHAPTER VII.

OUR SIXTH ATTEMPT TO ASCEND THEMATTERHORN.

Carrel had carte blanche in thematter of guides, and his choice fellupon his relative Caesar, Luc Meynetand two others whose names I do notknow. These men were now broughttogether, and our preparations were

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completed, as the weather was clearingup.

We rested on Sunday, August 9,eagerly watching the lessening of themists around the great peak, and start-ed just before dawn upon the loth, ona still and cloudless morning, whichseemed to promise a happy terminationto our enterprise. .

By going always, but gently, we ar-rived upon the Col du Lion beforenine o'clock. Changes were apparent.Familiar ledges had vanished ; the plat-form whereon my tent had stood lookedvery forlorn ; its stones had been scat-

tered by wind and frost, and had halfdisappeared ; and the summit of thecol itself, which in 1862 had alwaysbeen respectably broad and covered bysnow, was now sharper than the ridgeof any church roof,' and was hard ice.Already we had found that the badweather of the past week had done itswork. The rocks for several hundredfeet below the col were varnished withice. Loose, incoherent snow coveredthe older and harder beds below, andwe nearly lost our leader through its

treacherousness. He stepped on somesnow which seemed firm, and raised hisaxe to deliver a swinging blow, but justas it was highest the crust of the slopeupon which he stood broke away, andpoured down in serpentine streams,leaving long bare strips, which glitter-ed in the sun, for they were glassy ice.Carrel, with admirable readiness, flunghimself back on to the rock off whichhe had stepped, and was at once se-cured. He simply remarked, " It istime we were tied up,*' and after we

had been tied up he went to work againas if nothing had happened.

We had abundant illustrations duringthe next two hours of the value of arope to climbers. We were tied uprather widely apart, and advanced gen-erally in pairs. Carrel, who led, wasfollowed closely by another man, wholent him a shoulder or placed an axe-



head under his feet when there wasneed ; and when this couple were wellplaced, the second pair advanced insimilar fashion, the rope being drawn

in by those above and paid out gradual-ly by those below. The leading menadvanced, or the third pair, and so on.This manner of progression was slowbut sure. One man only moved at atime, and if he slipped (and we fre-quently did slip), he could slide scarce-ly a foot without being checked by theothers. The certainty and safety of themethod gave confidence to the one whowas moving, and not only nerved himto put out his powers to the utmost, butsustained nerve in really difficult situa-tions. For these rocks (which, it hasbeen already said, were easy enoughunder ordinary circumstances) werenow difficult in a high degree. The

snow-water, which had trickled downfor many days past in little streams,had taken, naturally, the very route bywhich we wished to ascend ; and, re-frozen in the night, had glazed the slabsover which we had to pass sometimeswith a fine film of ice as thin as a sheetof paper, and sometimes so thickly thatwe could almost cut footsteps in it. Theweather was superb, the men made lightof the toil, and shouted to rouse theechoes from the Dent d'H6rens.

We went on gayly, passed the sec-ond tent -platform, the Chimney andthe other well-remembered points, andreckoned confidently on sleeping thatnight upon the top of "the shoulder;"but before we had well arrived at thefoot of the Great Tower, a sudden rushof cold air warned us to look out.

It was difficult to say where this aircame from : it did not blow as a wind,but descended rather as the water in ashower-bath. All was tranquil again :

the atmosphere showed no signs of dis-turbance : there was a dead calm, andnot a speck of cloud to be seen any-where. But we did not remain verylong in this state. The cold air cameagain, and this time it was difficult tosay where it did not come from. Wejammed down our hats as it beat againstthe ridge and screamed amongst thecrags. Before we had got to the foot



of the Tower mists had been formedabove and below. They appeared atfirst in small, isolated patches (in sev-

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THE " OBCAT TOVKB.'

"orAtk DU COQ."

IHF 0RAC8 OF THE MATTERHORN, DURING THE STORM, MIDNIGHT, AUGUST 10, 1863

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eral places at the same time), whichdanced and jerked and were torn intoshreds by the wind, but grew largerunder the process. They were unitedtogether and rent again, showing us theblue sky for a moment, and blotting itout the next, and augmented incessant-ly until the whole heavens were filledwith whirling, boiling clouds. Beforewe could take off our packs and getunder any kind of shelter a hurricaneof snow burst upon us from the east. Itfell so thickly that in a few minutes theridge was covered by it. " What shallwe do ?'* I shouted to Carrel. ** Mon-sieur,** said he, **the wind is bad, theweather has changed, we are heavilyladen. Here is a ^nt gUe : let us stop.If we go on we shall be half frozen.That is my opinion." No one differedfrom him ; so we fell to work to makea place for the tent, and in a couple ofhours completed the platform which we

had commenced in 1862. The cloudshad blackened during that time, andwe had hardly finished our task beforea thunder-storm broke upon us withappalling fury. Forked lightning shotout at the turrets above and at the cragsbelow. It was so close that we quailedat its darts. It seemed to scorch us :we were in the very focus of the storm.The thunder was simultaneous with theflashes, short and sharp, and more likethe noise of a door violently slammed,multiplied a thousand-fold, than any

noise to which I can compare it.

When I say that the thunder was sim-ultaneous with the lightning, I speak asan inexact person. My meaning is,that the time which elapsed betweenseeing the flash and hearing the reportwas inappreciable to me. I wish tospeak with all possible precision, andthere are two points in regard to thisstorm upon which I can speak withsome accuracy. The first is in regardto the distance of the lightning from our

party. We might have been elevenhundred feet from it if a second of timehad elapsed between seeing the flashesand hearing the reports ; and a second *of time is not appreciated by inexactpersons. It was certain that we were

sometimes less than that distance from



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explosions which had been unnoticed,since in intensity they were scarcelydistinguishable from the true thunder,which during this storm seemed to me,upon every occasion, to consist of asihgle harsh, instantaneous sound.*

Or if, instead of being placed at adistance of less than a thousand feet

from the points of explosion (and con-sequently hearing the report almost inthe same moment as we saw the flash,ant the rollings after a considerable in-terval of time), we had been placed sothat the original report had fallen onour ears nearly at the same moment asthe echoes, we should probably haveconsidered that the successive reportsand rollings of the echoes were reportsof successive explosions occurring near-ly at the same moment, and that theywere not echoes at all.

This is the only time (out of many«torms witnessed in the Alps) I haveobtained evidence that the rollings oftliunder are actually echoes, and thatthey are not, necessarily, the reports ofa number of discharges over a long line,occurring at varying distances from thespectator, and consequently unable toarrive at his ear at the same moment,although they follow each other so swift-ly as to produce a sound more or lesscontinuous.f

* The same has seemed to me to be the case at alltimes when I have been close to the points of explo-sion. There has been always a distinct interval be-tween the first explosion and the rolling sounds andsecondary explosions which I have believed to bemerely echoes ; but it has never been possible (exceptin the above-mentioned case) to identify them as such.

Others have observed the same. " The geologist,



Professor Theobald, of Chur, who was in the Solfe-rino storm, between the Tschiertscher and Urden Alp,in the electric clouds, says that the peals were short,like cannon-shots, but of a clearer, more crackingtone, and that the rolling of the thunder was only heardfarther on." Berlepsch's Alps^ English ed., p. 133.

f .Mr. J. Glaisher has frequently pointed out thatall sounds in balloons at some distance from the earthare notable for their brevity. " It is one sound only :there is no reverberation ^ no reflection ; and this ischaracteristic of all sounds in the balloon one clearsound, continuing during its own vibrations, thengone in a moment." Good Words, 1863, p. 224.

I learn from Mr. Glaisher that the thunder-clapswhich have been heard by him during his " travels inthe air " have been no exception to the general rule,and the absence of rolling has fortified his belief thatthe rolling sounds which accompany thuoder areechoes, and echoes only.

The wind during all this time seemedto blow tolerably consistently from theeast. It smote the tent so vehemently(notwithstanding it was partly protectedby rocks) that we had grave fears ourrefuge might be blown away bodily,with ourselves inside ; so, during someof the lulls, we issued out and built awall to windward. At half-past threethe wind changed to the north-west,and the clouds vanished. We immedi-ately took the opportunity to send downone of the porters (under protection of

some of the others a little beyond theCol du Lion), as the tent would accom-modate only five persons. From thistime to sunset the weather was variable.It was sometimes blowing and snowinghard, and sometimes a dead calm. Thebad weather was evidently confined tothe Mont Cervin, for when the cloudslifted we could see everything thatcould be seen from our gite. MonteViso, a hundred miles off, was clear,and the sun set gorgeously behind therange of Mont Blanc. We passed the

night comfortably, even luxuriously, inour blanket-bags, but there was littlechance of sleeping, between the noiseof the wind, of the thunder and of thefalling rocks. I forgave the thunderfor the sake of the lightning. A moresplendid spectacle than its illuminationof the Matterhorn crags I do not expectto see.



We tiuTied out at 3.30 a. m. on thenth, and were dismayed to find that itstill continued to snow. At 9 A. m. thesnow ceased to fall, and the sun showeditself feebly, so we packed up our bag-gage and set out to try to get upon "theshoulder." We struggled upward untileleven o'clock, and then it commencedto snow again. We held a council : theopinions expressed at it were unanimousagainst advancing, and I decided to re-treat ; for we had risen less than threehundred feet in the past two hours, andhad not even arrived at the rope whichTyndairs party left behind attached tothe rocks, in 1862. At the same rateof progression it would have taken usfrom four to five hours to get upon "theshoulder.** Not one of us cared to at-

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tempt to do so under the existing cir-cumstances; for, besides having tomove our own weight, which was suf-ficiently troublesome at this part of theridge, we had to transport much heavybaggage, tent, blankets, provisions, lad-der and four hundred and fifty feet ofrope, besides many other smaller mat-ters. These, however, were not themost serious considerations. Supposingthat we got upon "the shoulder," wemight find ourselves detained there sev-

eral days, unable either to go up ordown.* I could not risk any such de-tention, being under obligations to ap-pear in London at the end of the week.We got to Breuil in the course of theafternoon : it was quite fine there, andthe tenants of the inn received our state-ments with evident skepticism. They



MONSIEUR FAVRB.

were astonished to learn that we hadbeen exposed to a snow-storm of twen-ty-six hours' duration. "Why," saidFavre, the innkeeper, " we have had nosnow : it has been fine all the time youhave been absent, and there has beenonly that small cloud upon the moun-tain.'* Ah ! that small cloud ! Noneexcept those who have had experienceof it can tell what a formidable obstacleit is.

Why is it that the Matterhorn is sub-ject to these abominable variations ofweather? The ready answer is, "Oh,the mountain is so isolated, it attracts

* Since then (on at least one occasion) several per-sons have found themselves in this predicament forfive or six consecutive days.

the clouds." This is not a sufficientanswer. Although the mountain is iso-lated, it is not so much more isolatedthan the neighboring peaks that it shouldgather clouds when none of the othersdo so. It will not at all account for thecloud to which I refer, which is notformed by an aggregation of smaller,stray clouds drawn together from a dis-tance (as scum collects round a log in

the water), but is created against themountain itself, and springs into exist-ence where no clouds were seen before.It is formed and hangs chiefly againstthe southern sides, and particularlyagainst the south-eastern side. It fre-quently does not envelop the summit,and rarely extends down to the Glacierdu Lion and to the Glacier du Mont Cer-vin below. It forms in the finest weath-er on cloudless and windless days.

I conceive that we should look to dif-

ferences of temperature rather than tothe height or isolation of the mountainfor an explanation. I am inclined toattribute the disturbances which occurin the atmosphere of the southern sidesof the Matterhorn on fine days princi-pally to the fact that the mountain is arock mountain that it receives a greatamount of heat, and is not only warmeritself, but is^ surrounded by an atmo-



sphere of a higher temperature, thansuch peaks as the Weisshorn and theLyskamm, which are eminently snowmountains.

In certain states of the atmosphereits temperature may be tolerably uni-form over wide areas and to great ele-vations. I have known the thermometerto show seventy degrees in the shade atthe top of an Alpine peak more thanthirteen thousand feet high, and but avery few degrees higher six or seventhousand feet lower. At other timesthere will be a difference of forty or fiftydegrees (Fahrenheit) between two sta-tions, the higher not more than six orseven thousand feet above the lower.

Provided that the temperature wasuniform, or nearly so, on all sides ofthe Matterhorn, and to a considerabledistance above its summit, no cloudswould be likely to form upon it. But if

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the atmosphere immediately surround-ing it is warmer than the contiguousstrata, a local "courant ascendant"must necessarily be generated ; andportions of the cooler superincumbent(or circumjacent) air will naturally beattracted toward the mountain, where

they will speedily condense the moist-ure of the warm air in contact with it.I cannot explain the down-rushes ofcold air which occur on it when all therest of the neighborhood appears to betranquil, in any other way. The cloudsare produced by the contact of twostrata of air (of widely different tempe-ratures) charged with invisible moisture,as surely as certain colorless fluids pro-



duce a white, turbid liquid when mixedtogether. The order has been, wind ofa low temperature, mist, rain, snow orhail.

This opinion is borne out to some ex-tent by the behavior of the neighboringmountains. The Dom (14,935 feet) andthe Dent Blanche (14,318) have both ofthem large cliffs of bare rock upon their

southern sides, and against those cliffsclouds commonly form (during fine,still weather) at the same time as thecloud on the Matterhorn ; whilst theWeisshorn (14,804) and the Lyskamm(14,889) mountains of about. the samealtitude, and which are in correspond-ing situations to the former pair usual-ly remain perfectly clear.

I arrived at Chatillon at midnight on

the nth, defeated and disconsolate, but,like a gambler who loses each throw,only" the more eager to have anothertry, to see if the luck would change;anTi returned to London ready to de-vise fresh combinations and to formnew plans.

CROSSING THE CHANNEL.

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T^^I^^T ^.

A NIGHT WITH CROZ. {See p(t^ 90.)

CHAPTER VIII.

FROM ST. MICHEL ON THE MONT CENIS ROAD,BY THE COL DES AIGUILLFIS D'ARVE, Ct*LDE MARTIGNARE AND THE BR^CHE DE LAMEIJE, TO LA BtRARDE.

WHEN we arrived upon the highestsummit of Mont Pelvoux, in Dau-phin^, in 1861, we saw, to our surprise

and disappointment, that it was not the

culminating point of the district, and thatanother mountain, distant about a cou-ple of miles, and separated from us byan impassable gulf, claimed that dis-tinction. I was troubled in spirit aboutthis mountain, and my thoughts oftenreverted to the great wall-sided peak,

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second in apparent inaccessibility onlyto the Matterhorn. It had, moreover,another claim to attention it was thehighest mountain in France.

The year 1862 passed away without achance of getting to it, and my holidaywas too brief in 1863 even to think aboutit ; but in the following year it was pos-sible, and I resolved to set my mind at



rest by completing the task which hadbeen left unfinished in 186 1. .

In the mean time, others had turnedtheir attention to Dauphine. First of

MICHEL-AUGUST CKOZ (1865).

all (in 1862) came Mr. F. Tuckett thatmighty mountaineer, whose name isknown throughout the length and breadthof the Alps with the guides MichelCroz, Peter Perrn and Bartolommeo Pey-rotte, and great success attended hisarms. But Mr. Tuckett halted beforethe Pointe des ficrins, and, dismayed byits appearance, withdrew his forces togather less dangerous laurels elsewhere.His expedition, however, threw somelight upon the fecrins. He pointed outthe direction from which an attack wasmost likely to be successful, and Mr.

William Mathews and the Rev. T. G.Bonney (to whom he communicated theresult of his labors) attempted to executethe ascent, with the brotliers Michel andJ. B. Croz, by following his indications,but they too were defeated.

The guide Michel Croz had thus beenengaged in both of these expeditions in

Dauphin^, and I naturally looked to himfor assistance. Mr. Mathews (to whomI applied for information) gave him ahigh character, and concluded his repiyto me by saying "he was only happywhen upward of ten thousand feethigh."

I know what my friend meant. Crozwas happiest when he was employinghis powers to the utmost. Places whereyou and I would "toil and sweat, andyet be freezing cold," were bagatelles

to him, and it was only when he gotabove the range of ordinary mortals,and was required to employ his mag-nificent strength and to draw uponhis unsurpassed knowledge of ice andsnow, that he could be said to be reallyand truly happy.

Of all the guides with whom I trav-eled, Michel Croz was the man who



was most after my own heart. He didnot work like a blunt razor and taketo his toil unkindly. He did not need¦ urging or to be told a second time to doanything. You had but to say what wasto be done and how it was to be done,and the work was done if it was pos-sible. Such men are not common, andwhen they are known they are valued.Michel was not widely known, butthose who did know him came againand again. The inscription placed uponhis tomb truthfully records that he was"beloved by his comrades and esteemedby travelers."

At the time that I was planning myjourney, my friends Messrs. A. W.Moore and Horace Walker were alsodrawing up their programme, and, aswe found that our wishes were very sim-ilar, we agreed to unite our respectiveparties. My friends had happily securedChristian Aimer of Grindelwald as their

guide. The combination of Croz andAimer was a perfect one. Both men

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were in the prime of life, both were en-dued with strength and activity far be-yond the average, and the courage andthe knowledge of each were alike un-doubted. The temper of Aimer it was

impossible to ruffle : he was ever oblig-ing and enduring a bold but a safeman. That which he lacked in fire, indash, was supplied by Croz, who, in histurn, was kept in place by Aimer. It ispleasant to remember how they workedtogether, and how each one confided toyou that he liked the other so much be-cause he worked so well ; but it is sad,very sad, to those who have known the



necessary to hold a council.

Three questions were submitted to it :Firstly, Which is the highest of theseAiguilles ? Secondly, Which shall we goup ? Thirdly, How is it to be done ?

The French engineers, it was said,had determined that the two highestof them were respectively 11,513 and1 1,529 feet in height ; but we were with-out information as to which two theyhad measured. Joanne indeed said (butwithout specifying whether he meant allthree) that the Aiguilles had been sev-eral times ascended, and particularlymentioned that the one of 1 1 , 5 1 3 feet was"relatively easy."

We therefore said, '*We will go up thepeak of 11,529 feet." But that deter-mination did not settle the second ques-tion. Joanne's "relatively easy" peak,according to his description, was evi-

dently the most northern of the three.Our peak, then, was to be one of- theother two, but which of them? Wewere inclined to favor the central one,but it was hard to determine, they look-ed so equal in height. When, however,the council came to study the third ques-tion, "How is it to be done?" it wasunanimously voted that upon the easternand southern sides it was certainly rela-tively difficult, and that a move shouldbe made round to the northern side.

The movement was duly executed,and after wading up some snow-slopesof considerable steepness (going occa-sionally beyond 40°), we found ourselvesin a gap or nick between the central andnorthernmost Aiguille at 8.45 A. M. Wethen studied the northern face of om


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intended peak, and finally arrived at I shoulders, and said, " My faith ! I think



the conclusion that it was relativelyimpracticable. Croz shrugged his big

you will do well to leave it to others.*'Aimer was more exphcit, and volunteer-

ed the \Ain forma tioij'"that a thou- ~sand francswould not tempthim to try it, ^^'ethen turned to thenonheinmost jieiik, butfound its ioutht'in facese V t! n more hopelessthan the northern f^iccs

of the central one. We

picturesque view of the moun-t:i.inii <ir the Tarentai&t:, whilesojufwhiit east of south wesaw tlu^ monarch of the Dau-phlue massifs whoso closeracLjaaiutance it was our in-tention lo m;tke. Tlirce sun-ny hours passed away, andthen we turned to the descent.

We saw the distant pasturesi)f a valley (which we sup-posed was the \'allon or Ra-vine de la Sausse), and along snow-slope leadingdown to them. But fromthat slope we were cut off byprecipitous rock?;, and ourfirst impression was that we

enjoyed accordingly the the aiguilles d'arve, from above should have to return i

n our

THE CHALETS OF RIEU BLANC.

unwonted luxury of athree hours' rest on the



top of our pass, for pass we were deter-mined it should be.

We might have done worse. Wewere ten thousand three hundred or tenthousand four hundred feet above thelevel of the sea, and commanded a most

track. Some running up anddown, however, discoveredtwo Httle guUies filled with threads ofsnow, and down the most northern ofthese we decided to go. It was a steepway, but a safe one, for the cleft was sonarrow that we could press the shoulderagainst one side whilst the feet were


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against the othei , and the last remnantof the winter's snow, well hardened,

clung to the rift with great tenacity, andgave us a path when the rocks refusedone. In half an hour we got to the topof the great snow-slope. Walker said,'* Let us glissade ;** the guides, *' No, it istoo steep." Our friend, however, start-ed off at a standing glissade, and ad-vanced for a time very skillfully; butafter a while he lost his balance, andprogressed downward and backwardwith great rapidity, in a way that seem-ed to us very much like tumbling heelsover head. He let go his axe and left

it behind, but it overtook him and bat-ted him heartily. He and it traveled inthis fashion for some hundreds of feet,and at last subsided into the rocks at thebottom. In a few moments we were re-assured as to his safety by hearing himironically request us not to keep himwaiting down there.

We others followed the tracks shown



by the dotted line upon the engraving(making zigzags to avoid the little groupsof rocks which jutted through the snow,by which Walker had been upset), descended by a sitting glissade, and re-joined our friend at the bottom. Wethen turned sharply to the left, andtramped down the summit ridge of anold moraine of great size. Its mud wasexcessively hard, and where some largeerratic blocks lay perched upon its crestwe were obliged to cut steps (in the mud)with our ice-axes.

Guided by the sound of a distant"moo," we speedily found the highestchalets in the valley, named Rieu Blanc.They were tenanted by three old women(who seemed to belong to one of themissing links sought by naturalists)destitute of all ideas except in regard tocows, and who spoke a barbarous patoiswellnigh unintelligible to the SavoyardCroz. They would not believe that we

had passed between the Aiguilles : '* It isimpossible, the cows never go there."" Could we get to La Grave over yonderridge ?" "Oh yes ! the cows often cross-ed !" Could they show us the way ?No, but we could follow the dr^w-tracks.

We stayed a while near these chalets

to examine the western sides of theAiguilles d'Arve, and, according to our

united opinion, the central one was asinaccessible from this direction as fromthe east, north or south. On the follow-ing day we saw them again, from aheight of about eleven thousand feet, ina south-easterly direction, and our opin-ion remained unchanged.

We saw (on June 20-22) the centralAiguille from all sides, and very nearlycompletely round the southernmost one.The northern one we also saw on allsides excepting from the north. (It is,

however, precisely from this directionM. Joanne says that its ascent is rela-tively easy.) We do not, therefore,venture to express any opinion respect-ing its ascent, except as regards its actualsummit. This is formed of two curiousprongs or pinnacles of rock, and we donot understand in what way they (oreither of them) can be ascended; norshall we be surprised if this ascent is



discovered to have been made in spiritrather than body in fact, in the samemanner as the celebrated ascent ofMont Blanc, " not entirely to the sum-mit, but as far as the Montanvert !"

All three of the Aiguilles may be ac-cessible, but they look as inaccessible asanything I have seen. They are thehighest summits between the valleys ofthe Romanche and the Arc: they areplaced slightly to the north of the wa-tershed between those two valleys, anda line drawn through them runs prettynearly north and south.

We descended by a rough path fromRieu Blanc to the chalets of La Sausse,which give the name to the Vallon orRavine de la Sausse in which they aresituated. This is one of the numerousbranches of the valley that leads to St.Jean d'Arve, and subsequently to St.Jean de Maurienne.

Two passes, more or less known, leadfrom this valley to the village of LaGrave (on the Lautaret road) in the val-ley of the Romanche viz., the Col derinfernet and the Col de Martignare.The former pass was crossed just thirtyyears ago by J. D. Forbes, and wasmentioned by him in his Norway and

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86c>-'69.

its Glaciers, The latter one lies to thenorth of the former, and is seldom trav-ersed by tourists, but it was convenientfor us, and we set out to cross it on themorning of the 22d, after having passeda comfortable but not luxurious night inthe hay at La Sausse, where, however,the simplicity of the accommodation



was more than counterbalanced by thecivility and hospitality of the people incharge.*

We left the chalets at 4.1 5 A. M. undera shower of good wishes from our host-esses, proceeded at first toward the up-per end of the ravine, then doubledback up a long buttress which projectsin an unusual way, and went toward theCol de Martignare ; but before arrivingat its summit we again doubled and re-sumed the original course. At 6 A. M.we stood on the watershed, and followedit toward the east, keeping for some dis-tance strictly to the ridge, and afterwarddiverging a littie to the south to avoid aconsiderable secondary aiguille, whichprevented a straight track being madeto the summit at which we were aiming.At 9. 1 5 we stood on its top, and saw atonce the lay of the land.

We were very fortunate in the selec-

tion of our summit. Not to speak ofother things, it gaye a grand view of theridge which culminates in the peak call-ed La Meije (13,080 feet), which usedto be mentioned by travelers under thename Aiguille du Midi de la Grave. It

* While stopping in the hospice on the Col de Lau-tarct in 1869, I was accosted by a middle-aged peas-ant, who asked if I would ride (for a consideration)in his cart toward Briangon. He was inquisitive asto my knowledge of his district, and at last asked,*? Have you been at La Sausse?" ** Yes." ** Well,

then, I tell you, you saw there some of the first peoplein the world." " Yes," I said, ** they were primitive,certainly." But he was serious, and went on :* Yes, real brave people ;" and slapping his knee togive emphasis, " 6ut that they are first-rate forminding the cows t"

After this he became communicative. "Youthought, probably," said he, ** when 1 offered to take

you down, that 1 was some poor , not worth a

sou; but I will tell you, that was my mountain tny

mountain that you saw at La Sausse : they were ntycows, a hundred of them altogether." " Why, youare rich 1" " Passably rich. I have another moun-uin on the Col du Galibier, and another at Ville-neuve." He (although a common peasant in outwardappearance) confessed to being worth four thousandpounds.



is the last, the only, great Alpine peakwhich has never known the foot of man, and one cannot speak in exaggeratedterms of its jagged ridges, torrential gla-ciers and tremendous precipices. Butwere I to discourse upon these thingswithout the aid of pictures, or to en-deavor to convey in words a sense ofthe loveliness of curves, of the beautyof color or of the harmonies of sound,I should try to accomplish that which isimpossible, and at the best should suc-ceed in but giving an impression thatthe things spoken of may have beenpleasant to hear or to behold, althoughthey are perfecdy incomprehensible toread about. Let me therefore avoidthese things, not because I have no lovefor or thought of them, but because theycannot be translated into language ; andpresently, when topographical detailsmust of necessity be returned to again,I will endeavor to relieve the povertyof the pen by a free use of the pencil.

Whilst we sat upon the Aiguille de laSausse our attention was concentratedon a point that was immediately oppo-site on a gap or cleft between the Meijeand the mountain called the Rateau. Itwas, indeed, in order to have a goodview of this place that we made theascent of the Aiguille. It (that is, thegap itself) looked, as my companionsremarked, obtrusively and offensively apass. It had not been crossed, but itought to have been ; and this seemed to

have been recognized by the natives, whocalled it, very appropriately, the Brechede la Meije. It led to La B^rarde, amiserable village, without interest, with-out commerce, and almost without popu-lation. Why, then, did we wish to crossit ? Because we were bound to the Pointedes ficrins, to which La B6rarde was thenearest inhabited place.

When we sat upon the Aiguille de laSausse we were rather despondent aboutour prospects of crossing the Breche,

which seemed to present a combinationof all that was formidable. There wasevidently but one way by which it couldbe approached. We saw that at the topof the pass there was a steep wall ofsnow or ice (so steep that it was most





^l

likely ice), protected at its base by a bigschrund or moat, which severed it fromthe snow-fields below. Then (trackingour course downward) we saw undulat-ing snow-fields leading down to a greatglacier. The snow-fields would be easywork, but the glacier was riven andbroken in every direction, huge crevassesseemed to extend entirely across it insome places, and everywhere it had thatstrange twisted look which tells of theunequal motion of the ice. Wherecould we get on to it? At its base itcame to a violent end, being cut shortby a cliff, over which it poured periodical

avalanches, as we saw by a great trian-gular bed of debris below. We couldnot venture there the glacier must betaken in fiank. But on which side?Not on the west no one could climbthose cliffs. It must, if anywhere, beby the rocks on the east, and they lookedas if they were roches moutonnees.

So we hurried down to La Grave, tohear what Melchior Anderegg (who hadjust passed through the village with thefamily of our friend Walker) had to say

on the matter. Who is Melchior Ander-egg ? Those who ask the question can-not have been in Alpine Switzerland,where the name of Melchior is as wellknown as the name of Napoleon. Mel-chior, too, is an emperor in his way avery prince among guides. His empireis amongst the "eternal snows" hissceptre is an ice-axe.

Melchior Anderegg more familiarlyand perhaps more generally known sim-ply as Melchior ^was born at Zaun, near

Meiringen, on April 6, 1828. He wasfirst brought into public notice in H inch-cliff 's Summer Months in the Alps, andwas known to very few persons at thetime that little work was published. In1855 he was "Boots" at the Grimsel ho-tel, and in those days when he wentout on expeditions it was for the benefitof his master, the proprietor : Melchiorhimself only got the trinkgelt. In 1856



he migrated to the Schwarenbach innon the Gemmi, where he employed histime in carving objects for sale. In 1858he made numerous expeditions withMessrs. Hinchcliff and Stephen, and6

proved to his employers that he possess-ed first-rate skill, indomitable courageand an admirable character. His posi-tion has never been doubtful since thatyear, and for a longtime there has beenno guide whose services have been morein request : he is usually engaged a yearin advance.

MBLCHIOK ANDBKBGG IN 1864.

It would be almost an easier task to

say what he has not done than to cata-logue his achievements. Invariable suc-cess attends his arms : he leads his fol-lowers to victory, but not to death. Ibelieve that no accident has ever be-fallen travelers in his charge. Like hisfriend Aimer, he can be called a safeman. It is the highest praise that canbe given to a first-rate guide.

Early in the afternoon we found our-selves in the little inn at La Grave, onthe great Lautaret road, a rickety, tum-

ble-down sort of place, with nothing sta-ble about it, as Moore wittily remarked,except the smell. Melchior had gone,

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and had left behind a note which said,



"I think the passage of the Br^che ispossible, but that it will be very difficult."His opinion coincided with ours, and wewent to sleep, expecting to be afootabout eighteen or twenty hours on themorrow.

At 2.40 the next morning we left LaGrave, in a few minutes crossed the Ro-manche, and at 4 A. m. got to the mo-raine of the eastern branch of the glacierthat descends from the Breche.* Therocks by which we intended to ascendwere placedbetween thetwo branchesof this glacier,and still lookedsmooth and un-broken. Butby five o'clockwe were uponthem. We hadbeen deluded

by them. Nocarpenter couldhave planneda more conve-nient staircase.They were notmoutonne:their smoothlook from a dis-tance was onlyowing to theirsingular firm-ness. In an

hour we hadrisen above themost crevassedportion of theglacier, and be-gan to look fora way on to it. Just at the right placethere was a patch of old snow at theside, and, instead'of gaining the ice bydesperate acrobatic feats, we passed fromthe rocks on to it as easily as one walksacross a gangway. At half-past six wewere on the centre of the glacier, and

the inhabitants of La Grave turned outen masse into the road and watched us

* Our route from La Grave to La B^rardewill beseen on the accompanying map.

SCALE, THREE MILES TO AN



INCH.

with amazement as they witnessed thefalsification of their confident predic-tions. Well might they stare, for our littlecaravan, looking to them like a train offlies on a wall, crept up and up, withouthesitation and without a halt lost totheir sight one minute as it dived into acrevasse, then seen again clamberingup the other side. The higher we rosethe easier became the work, the angleslessened and our pace increased. Thesnow remained shadowed, and we walk-ed as easily as on a high road; andwhen (at 7.45) the summit of the Brechewas seen, we rushed at it as furiously asif it had been a breach in the wall ofa fortress, carried the moat by a dash,with a push behind and a pull before,stormed the steep slope above, and at8.50 stood in the litde gap, 11,054 feet

above the level of the sea. The Brechewas won. Well might they stare fivehours and a quarter had sufficed forsixty-five hundred feet of ascent.f Wescreamed triumphantiy as they turnedin to breakfast.

Our day's work was as good as over(for we knew from Messrs. Mathews andBonney that there was no difficulty uponthe other side), and we abandoned our-selves to ease and luxury; wonderingalternately, as we gazed upon the Rateau

and the £crins, how the one mountaincould possibly hold itself together, andwhether the other would hold out againstus. The former looked so rotten that itseemed as if a puff of wind or a clapof thunder might dash the whole fabricto pieces, while the latter asserted itselfthe monarch of the group, and toweredhead and shoulders above all the restof the peaks which form the great horse-shoe of Dauphine. At length a cruelrush of cold air made us shiver, andshift our quarters to a little grassy plot

three thousand feet below an oasis ina desert ^where we lay nearly four hoursadmiring the splendid wall which pro-tects the summit of the Meije from as-sault upon this side.t Then we tramp-

t Taking one kind of work with another, a thou-sand feet of height per hour is about as much as isusually accomplished on great Alpine ascents.



X This wall may be described as an exaggeratedGem mi, as seen from Leukerbad. From the highest

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN l86o-'69.

83

ed down the Vallon des foan9ons, ahowling wilderness, the abomination ofdesolation ; destitute alike of animal or

vegetable life ; pathless, of course ; sug-gestive of chaos, but of little else ; cov-ered almost throughout its entire lengthwith debris, from the size of a walnutup to that of a house : in a word, itiooked as if half a dozen moraines offirst-rate dimensions had been cartedand shot into it. Our tempers weresoured by constant pitfalls : it was im-possible to take the eyes from the feet,

and if an unlucky individual so muchas blew his nose without standing still toperform the operation, the result waseither an instantaneous tumble or abarked shin or a half-twisted ankle.There was no end to it, and we becamemore savage at every step, unanimouslyagreeing that no power on earth wouldever induce us to walk up or down thisparticular valley again. It was not justto the valley, which was enclosed bynoble mountains unknown, it is true,but worthy of a great reputation, and

THB VALLON DES 6tAN<;ONS (LOOKING TOWARD LA BBKARDB).

which, if placed in other districts, wouldbe sought after and cited as types of



Our porter Pic strolled in next morn-ing with his usual jaunty air, and weseized upon our tooth-brushes, but uponlooking for the cigars we found starva-tion staring us in the face. "Hullo!Monsieur Pic, where are our cigars?""Gentlemen," he began, "I am deso-

lated!" and then, quite pat, he told along rigmarole about a fit on the road,of brigands, thieves, of their ransackingthe knapsacks when he was insensible,and of finding them gone when he re-vived. "Ah, Monsieur Pic ! we see whatit is you have smoked them yourself!""Gentlemen, I never smoke never P'Whereupon we inquired secretly if hewas known to smoke, and found that hewas. However, he said that he hadnever spoken truer words, and perhaps

THlt

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AL DAUPlllM

£ ALl'S.

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he had not, for he is reported to be the



greatest liar in Dauphine !

We were now able to start, and setout at 1. 1 5 p. M. to bivouac upon theGlacier de la Bonne Pierre, accompaniedby Rodier, who staggered under a loadof blankets. Many slopes had to bemounted, and many torrents to be cross-ed, all of which have been described byMr. Tuckett. We, however, avoidedthe difficulties he experienced with thelatter by crossing them high up, wherethey were subdivided. But when we goton to the moraine on the right bank ofthe glacier (or, properly speaking, on to

one of the moraines, for there are sev-eral), mists descended, to our great hin-drance, and it was 5.30 before we ar-rived on the spot at which it was intend-ed to" camp.

Each one selected his nook, and wethen joined round a grand fire made byour men. Fortnum & Mason's portablesoup was sliced up and brewed, and wasexcellent ; but it should be said that be-fore it was excellent three times thequantity named in the directions had tobe used. Art is required in drinking asin making this soup, and one point isthis : always let your friends drink first ;

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not only because it is more polite, but

because the soup has a tendency to bumthe mouth if taken too hot, and onedrink of the bottom is worth two of thetop, as all the goodness settles.

While engaged in these operations themist that enveloped the glacier and sur-rounding peaks was becoming thinner :little bits of blue sky appeared here andthere, until suddenly, when we were



looking toward the head of the glacier,far, far above us, at an almost incon-ceivable height, in a tiny patch of blue,appeared a wonderful rocky pinnacle,bathed in the beams of the fast-sinkingsun. We were so electrified by the glqryof the sight that it was some secondsbefore we realized what we saw, andunderstood that that astounding point,removed apparently miles from theearth, was one of the highest summitsof Les fecrins, and that we hoped, be-fore another sun had set, to stand uponan even loftier pinnacle. The mists roseand fell, presenting us with a series ofdissolving views of ravishing grandeur,and finally died away, leaving the glacierand its mighty bounding precipices un-der an exquisite pale blue sky, free froma single speck of cloud.

The night passed over without any-thing worth mention, but we had oc-casion to observe in the morning an in-

stance of the curious evaporation that isfrequently noticeable in the High Alps.On the previous night we had hung upon a knob of rock our mackintosh bagcontaining five bottles of Rodier's badwine. In the morning, although thestopper appeared to have been in allnight, about four-fifths had evaporated.It was strange : my friends had not takenany, neither had I, and the guides eachdeclared that they had not seen any onetouch it. In fact, it was clear that therewas no explanation of the phenomenon

but in the dryness of the air. Still, it isremarkable that the dryness of the air(or the evaporation of wine) is alwaysgreatest when a stranger is in one'sparty : the dryness caused by the pres-ence of even a single Chamounix porteris sometimes so great that not four-fifthsbut the entire quantity disappears. For

a time I found difficulty in combatingthis phenomenon, but at last discovered

that if I used the wine-flask as a pillowduring the night the evaporation wascompletely stopped.

At 4 A. M. we moved off across theglacier in single file toward the foot of agreat gully which led from the upperslopes of the Glacier de la Bonne Pierreto the lowest point in the ridge that runsfrom the fecrins to the mountain called



Roche Faurio cheered by Rodier, whonow returned with his wraps to LaBerarde.

By five minutes to six we were at thetop of the gully (a first-rate couloir aboutone thousand feet high), and within sightof our work. Hard, thin and wedge-like as the fecrins had looked from afar,it had never looked so hard and so thinas it did when we emerged from the topof the couloir through the gap in theridge: no tender shadows spoke ofbroad and rounded ridges, but sharpand shadowless its serrated edges stoodout against the clear sky. It had beensaid that the route must be taken by oneof the ridges of the final peak, but bothwere alike repellent, hacked and notchedin numberless places. They remindedme of my failure on the Dent d'Herensin 1863, and of a place on a similar ridgefrom which advance or retreat was alikedifficult. But, presuming one or other of

these ridges or aretes to be practicable,there remained the task of getting tothem, for completely round the base ofthe final peak swept an enormous berg-schrund, almost separating it from theslopes which lay beneath. It was evi-dent thus early that the ascent wouldnot be accomplished without exertion,and that it would demand all our facul-ties and all our time. In more than onerespect we were favored. The mistswere gone, the day w*as bright and per-fectly calm, there had been a long stretch

of fine weather beforehand, and the snowwas in excellent order; and, most im-portant of all, the last new snow whichhad fallen on the final peak, unable tosupport itself, had broken away and roll-ed in a mighty avalanche over schrund,n6v6, s6racs, over hills and valleys in

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S6




the glacier (leveling one and filling theother), completely down to the col, where

it lay in huge jammed masses, powerlessto harm us ; and had made a broad track,

almost a road, over which, for part ofthe way at least, we might advance withrapidity.

We took in all this in a few minutes,and seeing there was no time to be lost,despatched a hasty meal, left knapsacks,provisions and all encumbrances by thecol, started again at half-past six, andmade direct for the left side of the

schrund, for it was there alone that apassage was practicable. We crossed itat 8.IO. Our route can now be followedupon the annexed outline. The arrow

marked D points out the direction of theGlacier de la Bonne Pierre. The ridgein front, that extends right across, is theridge that is partially shown on the top

the map atiJ4, leadingRoche Fau-rio toward theW.NAV, We ar-rived upon theplateau of the Gla-cier de I'Encula, behind this ridge, fromthe direction of D, and then made anearly straight track to the left hand ofthe bergschrund at A.

Thus far there was no trouble, but thenature of the work changed immediately.If we regard the upper seven hundredfeet alone of the final peak of the £crins,it may be described as a three-sidedpyramid. One face is toward the GlacierNoir, and forms one of the sheerest pre-cipices in the Alps. Another is toward theGlacier du Vallon, and is less steep and



less uniform in angle than the first. Thethird is toward the Glacier de I'Encula,and it was by this one we approachedthe summit. Imagine a triangular planeseven hundred or eight hundred feethigh, set at an angle exceeding 50° ; letit be smooth, glassy ; let the uppermostedges be cut into spikes and teeth, andlet them be bent, some one way, someanother. Let the glassy face be coveredwith minute fragments of rock, scarcelyattached, but varnished with ice : imag-ine this, and then you will have a veryfaint idea of the face of the fecrins onwhich we stood. It was not possible toavoid detaching stones, which, as they

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87

fell, caused words unmentionable to rise.The greatest friends would have reviled

each other in such a situation. Wegained the eastern arete, and endeav-ored for half an hour to work upwardtoward the summit, but it was useless(each yard of progress cost an incredi-ble time) ; and having no desire to formthe acquaintance of the Glacier Noir ina precipitate manner, we beat a retreatand returned to the schrund. We againheld a council, and it was unanimouslydecided that we should be beaten if wecould not cut along the upper edge ofthe schrund, and, when nearly beneath

the summit, work up to it. So Croz tookoff his -coat and went to work, on ice not that black ice so often mentionedand so seldom seen, but on ice as hardas ice could be. Weary work for theguides. Croz cut for more than half anhour, and we did not seem to hare ad-vanced at all. Some one behind, see-ing how great the labor was and howslow the progress, suggested that after



all we might do better on the arete.Croz*s blood was up, and, indignant atthis slight on his powers, he ceasedworking, turned in his steps, and rushedtoward me with a haste that made me$hudder : " By all means let us go there ! ^the sooner the better.'* No slight wasintended, and he resumed his work, aftera time being relieved by Aimer. Half-past ten came: an hour had passed they were still cutting. Dreary work forus, for there was no capering about tobe done here ; hand as well as foot holeswere necessary ; the fingers and toes gotvery cold; the ice, as it boomed inbounding down the bergschrund, wasvery suggestive ; conversation was veryrestricted, separated as we were by ourtether of twenty feet apiece. Anotherhour passed. We were now almost im-mediately below the summit, and westopped to look up. We were nearly asfar off it (vertically) as we had beenmore than three hours before. The day

seemed going against us. The onlyrocks near at hand were scattered, nobigger than tea-cups, and most of these,we found afterward, were glazed withice. Time forbade cutting right up to

the summit, even had it been possible,which it was not. We decided to go upto the ridge again by means of the rocks,but had we not had a certain confidencein each other, it unquestionably would

not have been done ; for this, it must beunderstood, was a situation where notonly might a. slip have been fatal toevery one, but it would have been sobeyond doubt : nothing, moreover, waseasier than to make one. It was a placewhere all had to work in unison, wheiethere must be no slackening of tiic ropeand no unnecessary tenskw. For an-other hour we were m this trying situa-tion, and at 12.5D we gained the areteagain, but at a much higher point ( B ),close to the summit. Our men were, I

am afraid, wellnigh worn out: cuttingop a couloir one thousand feet high wasnot the right sort of preparation for workof this kind. Be it so or not, we wereall glad to rest for a short time, for wehad not sat down a minute since leavingthe col, six hours before. Aimer, how-ever, was restless, knowing that mid-daywas past, and that much remained to beaccomplished, and untied himself and



FRAGMENT FKOM THE SUMMIT OF THE POINTKDBS 6CRINS.

thing on other occasions, and it is worthyof remark that not only do fragments ofsuch rock as limestone often present thecharacteristic forms of the cliffs fromwhich they have been broken, but thatmorsels of mica slate will represent, ina wonderful manner, the identical shapeof the peaks of which they have formedpart. Why should it not be so if themountain's mass is more or less homo-geneous ? The same causes which pro-duce the small forms fashion the largeones : the same influences are at work the same frost and rain give shape to themass as well as to its parts.

Did space permit me, I could give but

a sorry idea of the view, but it will bereadily imagined that a panorama ex-tending over as much ground as thewhole of England is one worth takingsome trouble to see, and one which isnot often to be seen even in the Alps.No clouds obscured it, and a list of the

summits that we saw would includenearly all the highest peaks of the chain.I saw the Pelvoux now as I had seen

the fecrins from it three years before across the basin of the Glacier Noir. Itis a splendid mountain, although inheight it is equaled, if not surpassed, byits neighbor, the Alefroide.

We could stay on the summit but ashort time, and at a quarter to two pre-pared for the descent. Now, as we look-ed down, and thought of yvhat we hadpassed over in coming up, we one and allhesitated about returning the same way.Moore said. No. Walker said the same,

and I ton ^the guides were both of thesame mind: this, be it remarked, al-though we had considered that therewas no chance whatever of getting upany other way. But those "last rocks "were not to be forgotten. Had they butprotruded to a moderate extent, or hadthey been merely glazed, we shoulddoubtless still have tried ; but they werenot reasonable rocks they would neither



allow us to hold nor would do it them-selves. So we turned to the westernarete, trusting to luck that we shouldfind a way down to the schrund, andsome means of getting over it afterward.Our faces were a tolerable index to ourthoughts, and apparently the thoughtsof the party were not happy ones. Hadany one then said to me, "You are agreat fool for coming here," I shouldhave answered with humility, " It is tootrue." And had my monitor gone on tosay, " Swear you will never ascend an-other mountain if you get down safely,"I am inclined to think I should havetaken the oath. In fact, the game herewas not worth the risk. The guides feltit as well as ourselves, and as Aimer ledoff he remarked, with more piety thanlogic, "The good God has brought usup, and he will take us down in safety ;"which showed pretty well what he wasthinking about.

The ridge down which we now en-deavored to make our way was not in-ferior in difficulty to the other. Bothwere serrated to an extent that made itimpossible to keep strictly to them, andobliged us to descend occasionally for

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^'^J^ Of ''"'"¦

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE

some distance on the northern face andthen mount again. Both were so rottenthat the most experienced of our party,as well as the least, continually upsetblocks large and small. Both areteswere so narrow, so thin, that it was oftena matter for speculation on which sidean unstable block would fall.

At one point it seemed that we shouldbe obliged to return to the summit andtry the other way down. We were on

the very edge of the arete : on one sidewas the enormous precipice facing thePelvoux, which is not far from perpen-dicularon the other a slope exceeding50°. A deep notch brought us to anabrupt halt. Aimer, who was leading,advanced cautiously to the edge on hishands and knees and peered over : hiscare was by no means unnecessary, forthe rocks had broken away from underus unexpectedly several times. In this po-sition he looked down for some moments,and then without a word turned his head

and looked at us. His face may haveexpressed apprehension or alarm, but itcertainly did not show hope or joy. Welearned that there was no means of get-ting down, and that we must, if we want-ed to pass it, jump across on to an un-stable block on the other side. It wasdecided that it should be done, and Ai-mer, with a larger extent of rope than,usual, jumped : the rock swayed as he



came down upon it, but he clutched alarge mass with both arms and broughthimself to anchor. That which wasboth difficult and dangerous for the firstman was easy enough for the others,and we got across with less trouble thanI expected, stimulated by Croz's perfect-ly just observation, that if we couldn'tget across there we were not hkely toget down the other way.

We had now arrived at C, and couldno longer continue on the arte, so wecommenced descending the face again.Before long we were close to the schrund,but unable to see what it was like at thispart, as the upper edge bent over. Twohours had already passed since leavingthe summit, and it began to be highlyprobable that we should have to spenda night on the Glacier Blanc. Aimer,

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who yet ledT ^tit ti tpa rtgfit down to theedge, but still he could not see below :therefore, warning us to hold tight, hemade his whole body rigid, and (stand-

ing in the large step which he had cutfor the purpose) had the upper part ofhis person lowered out until he saw whathe wanted. He shouted that our workwas finished, made me come close to theedge and untie myself, advanced theothers until he had rope enough, andthen with a loud jodel jumped downon to soft snow. Partly by skill andpartly by luck he had hit the crevasseat its easiest point, and we had only tomake a downward jump of eight or tenfeet.

It was now 4.45 p. M. : we had beenmore than eight hours and a half ac-complishing the ascent of the final peak,which, according to an observation byMr. Bonney in 1862, is only 525 feethigh.* During this period we had notstopped for more than half an hour, andour nerves and muscles had been keptat the highest degree of tension the



whole time. It may be imagined thatwe accepted the ordinary conditions ofglacier traveling as an agreeable relief,and that that which at another timemight have seemed formidable we treat-ed as the veriest bagatelle. Late in theday as it was, and soft as was the snow,we put on such pace that we reachedthe Col des £crins in less than fortyminutes. We lost no time in arrangingour baggage, for we had still to traversea long glacier, and to get dear of twoice-falls before it was dark; so at 5.35we resumed the march, adjourning eat-ing and drinking, and put on a spurtwhich took us clear of the Glacier Blancby 7.45 p. M. We got clear of the mo-raine of the Glacier Noir at 8.45, just asthe last remnant of daylight vanished.Croz and myself were a trifle in advanceof the others, and fortunately so for us ;for as they were about to commence thedescent of the snout of the glacier, thewhole of the moraine that rested on its

Sec vol. i., p. 73, tX Alpin* Joumal. We con-sidered the height assigned to the final peak by Mr.Bonney was too small, and thought it should havebeen two hundred feet more.

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face peeled off and came down with atremendous roar.

We had now the pleasure of walkingover a plain that is known by the nameof the Pre de Madame Carle, coveredwith pebbles of all sizes and intersectedby numerous small streams or torrents.Every hole looked like a stone, everystone like a hole, and we tumbled aboutfrom side to side until our limbs and ourtempers became thoroughly jaded. My



companions, being both short-sighted,found the traveling especially disagree-able; so there was little wonder thatwhen we came upon a huge mass ofrock as big as a house, which had fallenfrom the flanks of Pelvoux, a regularcube that offered no shelter whatever,Moore cried out iiy ecstasy, "Oh, howdelightful ! the very thing I have beenlonging for! Let us have a perfectlyextemporaneous bivouac.** This, itshould be said, was when the nightthreatened thunder and lightning, rainand all other delights.

The pleasures of a perfectly extem-poraneous bivouac under these circum-stances not being novelties to Croz andmyself, we thought we would try for themiseries of a roof, but Walker and Ai-mer, with their usual good-nature, de-clared it was the very thing that theytoo were longing for ; so the trio resolvedto stop. We generously left them all

the provisions (a dozen cubic inches orthereabouts of bacon fat and half a can-dle), and pushed on for the chalets ofA16froide, or at least we thought we did,but could not be certain. In the courseof half an hour we got uncommonlyclose to the main torrent, and Croz allat once disappeared. I stepped cau-tiously forward to peer down into theplace where I thought he was, and quiet-ly tumbled head over heels into a bigrhododendron bush. Extricating my-self with some trouble, I fell backward

over some rocks, and got wedged in acleft so close to the torrent that it splash-ed all over me.

The colloquy which then ensued amidthe thundering of the stream was asfollows: "Hullo, Croz! "Eh, mon-sieur?" "Where are you?" "Here,

monsieur. " " Where is here ?" * ' I don'tknow : where are you ?" ** Here, Croz ;*'

and so on.

The fact was, from the intense dark-ness and the noise of the torrent, we hadno idea of each other's situation : in thecourse of ten minutes, however, we join-ed together again, agreed we had quiteenough of that kind of thing, and ad-journed to a most eligible rock* at 10.15. How well I remember the night at



that rock, and the jolly way in whichCroz came out ! We were both very wetabout the legs, and both uncommonlyhungry, but the time passed pleasantlyenough round our fire of juniper, anduntil long past midnight we sat uprecounting, over our pipes, wonderfulstories of the most incredible descrip-tion, in which, I must admit, my com-panion beat me hollow. Then throwingourselves on our beds of rhododendron,we slept an untroubled sleep, and roseon a bright Sunday morning as fresh asmight be, intending to enjoy a day's restand luxury with our friends at La Villede Val Louise.

I have failed to give the impression Iwish if it has not been made evidentthat the ascent of the Pointe des ficrinswas not an ordinary piece of work.There is an increasing disposition now-a-days, amongst those who write on theAlps, to underrate the difficulties and

dangers which are met with, and thisdisposition is, I think, not less mischiev-ous than the old-fashioned style of mak-ing everything terrible. Difficult as wefound the peak, I believe we took it atthe best, perhaps the only possible, tinae'of the year. The great slope on whichwe spent so much time was, from beingdenuded by the avalanche of which Ihave spoken, deprived of its greatestdanger. Had it had the snow still rest-ing upon it, and had we persevered withthe expedition, we should almost without

doubt have ended with calamity insteadof success. The ice of that slope isalways below, its angle is severe, andthe rocks do not project sufficiently toafford the support that snow requires tobe stable when at a great angle. So faram I from desiring to tempt any one to

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repeat the expedition, that I put it onrecord as my belief, however sad andhowever miserable a man may havebeen, if he is found on the summit of

the Pointe des jfecrins after a fall of newsnow, he is likely to experience miseryfar deeper than anything with which hehas hitherto been acquainted.

IP-A-IS/T ^I.

CHAPTER X.

FROM VAL LOUISE TO LA B^RARDE BY

THE COL DE PILATTE.

FROM Ailefroide to Claux, but forthe path, travel would be scarcelymore easy than over the Pre de MadameCarle. The valley is strewn with im-mense masses of gneiss, from the sizeof a large house downward, and it isonly occasionally that rock in situ isseen, so covered up is it by the debris,which seems to have been derived al-most entirely from the neighboring cliffs.

It was Sunday, a day most calm andbright. Golden sunlight had dispersedthe clouds and was glorifying the heights,and we forgot hunger through the bril-liancy of the morning and beauty of themountains.

We meant the 26th to be a day of rest,but it was little that we found in thecabaret of Claude Giraud, and we fledbefore the babel of sound which rose inintensity as men descended to a depthwhich is unattainable by the beasts of

the field, and found at the chalets ofEntraigues the peace that had been de-nied to us at Val Louise.

Again we were received with the mostcordial hospitality. Everything that waseatable or drinkable was brought out



and pressed upon us ; very litde curiositywas exhibited ; all information that couldbe afforded was given; and when weretired to our clean straw we again con-gratulated each other that we had es-caped from the foul den which is wherea good inn should be, and had cast inour lot with those who dwell in chalets.Very luxurious that straw seemed aftertwo nights upon quartz pebbles andglacier mud, and I felt quite aggrieved(expecting it was the summons for de-parture) when, about midnight, the heavywooden door creaked on its hinges, anda man hem'd and ha*d to attract atten-tion ; but when it whispered, " MonsieurEdvard," I perceived my mistake: itwas our Pelvoux companion, MonsieurReynaud, the excellent agent-voyer ofLa Bess6e.

Monsieur Reynaud had been invitedto accompany us on the excursion thatis described in this chapter, but had ar-

rived at Val Louise after we had left,and had energetically pursued us duringthe night Our idea was, that a passmight be made over the high ridge call-ed (on the French map) Crete de BoeufsRouges, near to the peak named LesBans, which might be the shortest routein time (as it certainly would be in dis-

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tance) from Val Louise across the cen-tral Dauphin6 Alps. We had seen thenorthern (or Pilatte) side from the Br^chede la Meije, and it seemed to be practi-cable at one place near the above-men-tioned mountain. More than that couldnot be told at a distance of eleven miles.We intended to try to hit a point on theridge immediately above the part where



it seemed to be easiest.

W^e left Entraigues at 3.30 on themorning of June 27, and proceeded, oververy gently-inclined ground, toward thefoot of the Pic de Bonvoisin (following,in fact, the route of the Col de Sellar,which leads from the Val Louise intothe Val Godemar),* and at 5 a. M., find-ing that there was no chance of obtain-ing a view from the bottom of the val-ley of the ridge over which our routewas to be taken, sent Aimer up the lowerslopes of the Bonvoisin to reconnoitre.He telegraphed that we might proceed,and at 5.45 we quitted the snow-beds atthe bottom of the valley for the slopeswhich rose toward the north.

The course was north-north-west, andwas prodigiously steep. In less than twomiles difference of latitude we rose onemile of absolute height. But the routewas so far from being an exceptionally

difficult one that at 10.45 we stood onthe summit of the pass, having made anascent of more than five thousand feetin five hours, inclusive of halts.

Upon the French map a glacier is laiddown on the south of the Crete desBceufs Rouges, extending along the en-tire length of the ridge, at its foot, fromeast to west. In 1864 this glacier didnot exist as one glacier, but in the placewhere it should have been there wereseveral small ones, all of which were, I

believe, separated from each other.f

We commenced the ascent from the

* The height of Col de Sellar (or de Celar) is 10,073feet (Forbes). I was told by peasants at Entraiguesthat sheep and goats can be easily taken across it.

t It is perhaps just possible, although improbable,that these little glaciers were united together at thetime that the survey was made. Since then the gla-ciers of Dauphine (as throughout the Alps generally)have shrunk very considerably. A notable diminu-

tion took place in their size in 1869, which was at-tributed by the natives to the very heavy rains of thatyear.

Val d' Entraigues to the west of the mostwestern of these small glaciers, andquitted the valley by the first great gapin its cliffs after that glacier was passed.



We did not take to the ice until it afford-ed an easier route than the rocks : then(at 8.30) Croz went to the front, and ledwith admirable skill through a maze ofcrevasses up to the foot of a great snow-couloir that rose from the head of theglacier to the summit of the ridge overwhich we had to pass.

We had settled beforehand in Lon-don, without knowing anything whateverabout the place, that such a couloir asthis should be in this angle ; but whenwe got into the Val d' Entraigues, andfound that it was not possible to see intothe comer, our faith in its existence be-came less and less, until the telegraph-ing of Aimer, who was sent up the oppo-site slopes to search for it, assured usthat we were true prophets.

Snow - couloirs are nothing more orless than gullies partly filled by snow.They are most useful institutions, and

may be considered as natural highwaysplaced, by a kind Providence, in con-venient situations for getting over placeswhich would otherwise be inaccessible.They are a joy to the mountaineer, and,from afar, assure him of a path when allbesides is uncertain ; but they are griefto novices, who, when upon steep snow,are usually seized with two notions first,that the snow will slip, and, secondly,that those who are upon it must slip too.

Nothing, perhaps, could look much

more unpromising to those who do notknow the virtues of couloirs than sucha place as the engraving represents,^and if persons inexperienced in moun-tain-craft had occasion to cross a ridgeor to climb rocks in which there weresuch couloirs, they would instinctivelyavoid them. But practiced mountaineerswould naturally look to them for a path,and would follow them almost as a mat-ter of course, unless they turned out tobe filled with ice or too much swept by

I This drawing was made to illustrate the remarkswhich follow. It does not represent any particularcouloir, but it would serve, tolerably well, as a por-trait of the one which we ascended when crossing theCol de Pilatte.

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falling stones, or the rock at the sidesproved to be of such an exceptionalcharacter as to afford an easier paththan the snow.

Couloirs look prodigiously steepwhen seen from the front, and, soviewed, it is impossible to be certainof their incHnation within many de-grees. Snow, however, does actu-

ally lie at steeper angles in couloi:^than in any other situation : forty-five to fifty degrees is not an un-common inclination. Even at sucliangles, two men with proper axescan mount on snow at the rate ofseven hundred to eight hundred feetper hour. The same amount canonly be accomplished in the sametime on steep rocks when they areof the very easiest character, andfour or five hours may be readilyspent upon an equal height of dif-

ficult rocks. Snow - couloirs aretherefore to be commended becausethey economize time.

Of course, in all gullies one isliable to be encountered by falliii^^stones. Most of those which fallfrom the rocks of a couloir sooneror later spin down the snow whichfills the trough, and as their coursi;and pace are more clearly apparentwhen falling over snow than whenjumping from ledge to ledge, per-

sons with lively imaginations arereadily impressed by them. Thegrooves which are usually seen wan-dering down the length of snow-couloirs are deepened (and perhapsoccasionally originated) by falling

ly only gutters, caused by water trick-



ling off the rocks. Whether this is soor not, one should always consider the

stones, and they aresometimes pointed out by cautious menas reasons why couloirs should not befollowed. I think they are very frequent-

possibility of being struckby falling stones, and, in order to lessenthe risk as far as possible, should mountupon the sides of the snow and not upits centre. Stones that come off the rocksthen ff y over one's head or bound downthe middle of the trough at safe distance.

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At 9.30 A. M. we commenced the ascentof the couloir leading from the namelessglacier ta~a point in the ridge, just to theeast of Mont Bans. So far, the route hadbeen nothing more than a steep grind inan angle where little could be seen, butnow views opened out in several direc-tions, and the way began to be interest-ing. It was more so, perhaps, to us thanto our companion, M. Reynaud, who had

no rest in the last night. He was, more-over, heavily laden. Science was to beregarded ^his pockets were stuffed withbooks; heights and angles were to beobserved ^his knapsack was filled withinstruments ; hunger was to be guardedagainst his shoulders were ornamentedwith a huge nimbus of bread, and a legof mutton swung behind from his knap-sack, looking like an overgrown tail.



Like a good -hearted fellow, he hadbrought this food, thinking we might bein need of it. As it happened, we werewell provided for, and, having our ownpacks to carry, could not relieve him ofhis superfluous burdens, which, natural-^ ly, he did not like to throw away. Asthe angles steepened the strain on hisstrength became more and more appa-rent. At last he began to groan. Atfirst a most gentle and mellow groan,but as we rose so did his groans, till atlast the cliffs were groaning in echo andwe were moved to laughter.

Croz cut the way with unflagging en-ergy throughout the whole of the ascent,and at 10.45 we stood on the summit ofour pass, intending to refresh ourselveswith a good halt ; but just at that mo-ment a mist, which had been playingabout the ridge, swooped down andblotted out the whole of the view on thenorthern side. Croz was the only one

who caught a glimpse of the descent,and it was deemed advisable to push onimmediately while its recollection wasfresh in his memory. We are conse-quently unable to tell anything aboutthe summit of the pass, except that it liesimmediately to the east of Mont Bans,and is elevated about eleven thousandthree hundred feet above the level of thesea. It is the highest pass in Dauphin^.We called it the Col de Pilatte.

. We commenced to descend towardthe Glacier de Pilatte by a slope ofsmooth ice, the face of which, accordingto the measurement of Mr. Moore, hadan inclination of 54° ! Croz still led, andthe others followed at intervals of aboutfifteen feet, all being tied together, andAimer occupying the responsible positionof last man : the two guides were there-fore about seventy feet apart. Theywere quite invisible to each other fromthe mist, and looked spectral even to us.

But the strong man could be heard byall hewing out the steps below, whileevery now and then the voice of thesteady man pierced the cloud: **Slipnot, dear sirs : place well your feet : stirnot until you are certain."

For three-quarters of an hour we pro-gressed in this fashion. The axe ofCroz all at once stopped. "What is the



matter, Croz?" ** Bergschrund, gentle-men." "Can we get over?" "Uponmy word, I don't know : I think we mustjump." The clouds rolled away rightand left as he spoke. The effect wasdramatic. It was a coup de theatre ^preparatory to the "great sensation leap "which was about to be executed by theentire company.

Some unseen cause, some cliff or ob-struction in the rocks underneath, hadcaused our wall of ice to split into twoportions, and the huge fissure which hadthus been formed extended on each handas far as could be seen. We, on theslope above, were separated from theslope below by a mighty crevasse. Norunning up and down to look for aneasier place to cross could be done onan ice-slope of 54° : the chasm had tobe passed then and there.

A downward jump of fifteen or six-

teen feet, and a forward leap of sevenor eight feet, had to be made at thesame time. That is not much, you willsay. It was not much : it was not thequantity, but it was the quality of thejump which gave to it its particularflavor. You had to hit a narrow ridgeof ice. If that was passed, it seemedas if you might roll down for ever andever. If it was not attained, you drop-ped into the crevasse below, which al-

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'WE SAW A TOE-IT SEEMED TO BELONG TO MOORE-WE SAW REYNAUD A FLYING BODY."

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though partly choked by icicles andsnow that had fallen from above, wasstill gaping in many places, ready toreceive an erratic body.

Croz untied* Walker in order to getrope enough, and, warning us to holdfast, sprang over the chasm. He alight-ed cleverly on his feet, untied himselfand sent up the rope to Walker, whofollowed his example. It was then my

turn, and I advanced to the edge of theice. The second which followed waswhat is called a supreme moment. Thatis to say, I felt supremely ridiculous.The world seemed to revolve at a fright-ful pace and my stomach to fly away.The next moment I found myself sprawl-ing in the snow, and then, of course,vowed that it was nothing, and preparedto encourage my friend Reynaud.



He came to the edge and made decla-rations. I do upt believe that he wasa whit more reluctant to pass the placethan we others, but he was infinitelymore demonstrative : in a word, he wasFrench. He wrung his hands : ** Ohwhat a diable of a place !" ** It is noth-ing, Reynaud," I said, "it is nothing.""Jump !" cried the others, "jump !'* Buthe turned round, as far as one can dosuch a thing in an ice-step, and coveredhis face with his hands, ejaculating," Upon my word, it is not possible. No,no, no ! it is not possible."

How he came over I do not know.We saw a toe it seemed to belong toMoore ; we saw Reynaud, a flying body,coming down as if taking a header intowater, with arms and legs all abroad,his leg of mutton flying in the air, hisbaton escaped from his grasp ; and thenwe heard a thud as if a bundle of car-

pets had been pitched out of a window.When set upon his feet he was a sorryspectacle : his head was a great snow-ball, brand) was trickling out of oneside of the knapsack, Chartreuse out ofthe other. We bemoaned its loss, butwe roared with laughter.

I cannot close this chapter withoutpaying a tribute to the ability with whichCroz led us through a dense mist downthe remainder of the Glacier de Pilatte.

As an exhibition of strength and skill ithas probably never been surpassed inthe Alps or elsewhere. On this almostunknown and very steep glacier he wasperfectly at home, even in the mists.Never able to see fifty feet ahead, hestill went on with the utmost certaintyand without having to retrace a singlestep, and displayed from first to lastconsummate knowledge of the materialswith which he was dealing. Now he cut

steps down one side of a serac, wentwith a dash at the other side, and hauledus up after him ; then cut away along aridge until a point was gained fromwhich we could jump on to anotherridge; then, doubling back, found asnow-bridge, across which he crawledon hands and knees, towed us across bythe legs, ridiculing our apprehensions,mimicking our awkwardness, declining



all help, bidding us only to follow him.

About I p. M. .we emerged from themist, and found ourselves just arrivedupon the level portion of the glacier,having, as Reynaud properly remarked,come down as quickly as if there hadnot been any mist at all. Then we at-tacked the leg of mutton which myfriend had so thoughtfully brought withhim, and afterward raced down, withrenewed energy, to La Berarde.

Reynaud and I walked together toSt. Christophe, where we parted. Sincethen we have talked over the doings ofthis momentous day, and I know thathe would not, for a good deal, havemissed the passage of the Col de Pilatte,although we failed to make it an easieror a shorter route than the Col du Sele.I rejoined Moore and Walker the sameevening at Venos, and on the next daywent with them over the Lautaret road

to the hospice on its summit, where weslept.

So our little campaign in Dauphinecame to an end. It was remarkable forthe absence of failures, and for the easeand precision with which all our planswere carried out. This was due verymuch to the spirit of my companions,but it was also owing to the fine weatherwhich we were fortunate enough to enjoy,and to our making a very early start

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALP^ IN i86o-'69.

every morning. By beginning our workat or before the break of day on thelongest days in the year, we were notonly able to avoid hurrying when de-liberation was desirable, but could afford



to spend several hours in delightful easewhenever the fancy seized us.

I cannot too strongly recommend tour-ists in search of amusement to avoidthe inns of Dauphin^. Sleep in thechalets. Get what food you can fromthe inns, but by no means attempt topass a night in them. Sleep in themyou cannot. M. Joanne says that theinventor of the insecticide powder wasa native of Dauphin^. I can well be-lieve it. He must have often felt thenecessity of such an invention in hisinfancy and childhood.

CHAPTER XI.

PASSAGE OF THE COL DE TRIOLET, ANDASCENTS OF MONT DOLENT, AIGUILLE DETRfeLAT^TE AND AIGUILLE D'ARGENTIERE.

Ten years ago very few people knewfrom personal knowledge how extremelyinaccurately the chain of Mont Blancwas delineated. During the previoushalf century thousands had made thetour of the chain, and in that time atleast a thousand individuals had stoodupon its highest summit ; but out of allthis number there was not one capable,willing or able to map the mountainwhich, until recently, was regarded asthe highest in Europe.

Many persons knew that great blun-ders had been perpetrated, and it wasnotorious that even Mont Blanc itselfwas represented in a ludicrously incor-rect manner on all sides excepting thenorth; but there was not, perhaps, a.single individual who knew, at the timeto which I refer, that errors of no lessthan one thousand feet had been com-mitted in the determination of heightsat each end of the chain, that some gla-ciers were represented of double theirreal dimensions, and that ridges and

mountains were laid down which actuallyhad no existence.

One portion alone of the entire chainhad been surveyed, at the time of which

I speak, with anything like accuracy. Itwas not done (as one would have ex-



pected) by a government, but by a pri-vate individual ^by the British De Saus-sure, the late J. D. Forbes. In the year1842 he "made a special survey of theMer de Glace of Chamounix and itstributaries, which in some of the follow-ing years he extended by furthei ob-servations, so as to include the Glacierdes Bossons." The map produced frorthis survey was worthy of its author, andsubsequent explorers of the region heinvestigated have been able to detectonly trivial inaccuracies in his work.

The district surveyed by Forbes re-mained a solitary bright spot in a regionwhere all besides was darkness until theyear 1861. Praiseworthy attempts weremade by different hands to throw lightupon the gloom, but these efforts wereineffectual, and showed how labor maybe thrown away by a number of obser-vers working independently without thedirection of a single head.

In 1 86 1, Sheet xxii. of Dufour's Mapof Switzerland appeared. It includedthe section of the chain of Mont Blancthat belonged to Switzerland, and thisportion of the sheet was executed withthe admirable fidelity and thoroughnesswhich characterizes the whole of Du-four's unique map. The remainder ofthe chain (amounting to about four-fifthsof the whole) was laid down after thework of previous topographers, *and itswretchedness was made more apparent

by contrast with the finished work of theSwiss surveyors.

Strong hands were needed to completethe survey, and it was not long beforethe right men appeared.

In 1863, Mr. Adams-Reilly, who hadbeen traveling in the Alps during sev-eral years, resolved to attempt a surveyof the unsurveyed portions of the chainof Mont Blanc. He provided himselfwith a good theodolite, and, starting

from a base-line measured by Forbes inthe valley of Chamounix, determinedthe positions of no less than two hun-dred points. The accuracy of his workmay be judged from the fact that, afterhaving turned many corners and carried

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his observations over a distance of fiftymiles, his Col Ferret "fell within twohundred yards of the position assignedto it by General Dufour !'*

In the winter of 1863 and the springof 1864, Mr. Reilly constructed an en-tirely original map from his newly-ac-quired data. The spaces between his

trigonometrically-determined points hefilled in after photographs and a series ofpanoramic sketches which he made fromhis different stations. The map so pro-duced was an immense advance uponthose already in existence, and it wasthe first which exhibited the great peaksin their proper positions.

This extraordinary piece of work re-vealed Mr. Reilly to me as a man ofwonderful determination and persever-ance. With very small hope that my

proposal would be accepted, I invitedhim to take part in renewed attacks onthe Matterhorn. He entered heartilyinto my plans, and met me with a coun-ter-proposition namely, that I shouldaccompany him on some expeditionswhich he had projected in the chain ofMont Blanc. The unwritten contracttook this form : I will help you to carryout your desires, and you shall assistme to carry out mine. 1 eagerly closedwith an arrangement in which all theadvantages were upon my side.

Before I pass on to these expeditionsit will be convenient to devote a fewparagraphs to the topography of thechain of Mont Blanc.

At the present time the chain is di-vided betwixt France, Switzerland andItaly. France has the lion's share,Switzerland the most fertile portion, and



Italy the steepest side. It has acquireda reputation which is not extraordinary,but which is not wholly merited. It hasneither the beauty of the Oberland northe sublimity of Dauphine. But it at-tracts the vulgar by the possession of thehighest summit in the Alps. If that isremoved, the elevation of the chain isin nowise remarkable. In fact, exclud-ing Mont Blanc itself, the mountains ofwhich the chain is made up are less im-portant than those of the Oberland andthe central Pennine groups.7

The ascent of Mont Blanc has beenmade from several directions, and per-haps there is no single point of the com-pass from which the mountain cannot beascended. But there is not the leastprobability that any one will discovereasier ways to the summit than those

already known.

I believe it is correct to say that theAiguille du Midi and the Aiguille deMiage were the only two summits in thechain of Mont Blanc which had beenascended at the beginning of 1864.*The latter of these two is a perfectly in-significant point, and the former is onlya portion of one of the ridges just nowmentioned, and can hardly be regard-ed as a mountain separate and distinctfrom Mont Blanc. The really great

peaks of the chain were considered in-accessible, and, I think, with the excep-tion of the Aiguille Verte, had neverbeen assailed.

The finest as well as the highest peakin the chain (after Mont Blanc itself) isthe Grandes Jorasses. The next, with-out a doubt, is the Aiguille Verte. TheAiguille de Bionnassay, which in actualheight follows the Verte, should be con-sidered as a part of Mont Blanc ; and inth^ same way the summit called Les

Droites is only a part of the ridge whichculminates in the Verte. The Aiguillede Trelatete is the next on the list thatis entitled to be considered a separatemountain, and is by far the most im-portant peak (as well as the highest) atthe south-west end of the chain. Thencomes the Aiguille d'Argentiere, whichoccupies the same rank at the north-eastend as the last-mentioned mountain does



in the south-west. The rest of the ai-guilles are comparatively insignificant;and although some of them (such as theMont Dolent) look well from low eleva-tions, and seem to possess a certain im-portance, they sink into their properplaces directly one arrives at a consid-erable altitude.

The summit of the Aiguille Verte wouldhave been one of the best stations out ofall these mountains for the purposes ofmy friend. Its g^eat height and its iso-

* Besides Mont Blanc itself.

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lated and commanding position make ita most admirable point for viewing theintricacies of the chain, but he exercised

a wise discretion in passing it by, and inselecting as our first excursion the pas-sage of the Col de Triolet.

We slept under some big rocks on theCouvercle on the night of July 7, withthe thermometer at 26.5° Fahr., and at4.30 on the 8th made a straight track tothe north of the Jardin, and thence wentin zigzags, to break the ascent, over theupper slopes of the Glacier de Tal^fretoward the foot of the Aiguille de Trio-let. Croz was still my guide; Reilly

was accompanied by one of the MichelPayots of Chamounix ; and Henri Char-let, of the same place, was our porter.

The way was over an undulating plainof glacier of moderate inclination untilthe corner leading to the col, fromwhence a steep secondary glacier leddown into the basin of the.Talefre. Weexperienced no difficulty in making the



ascent of this secondary glacier withsuch ice-men as Croz and Payot, and at7.50 A. M. arrived on the top of the so-called pass, at a height, according toMieulet, of 12,162 feet, and 4530 aboveour camp on the Couvercle.

The descent was commenced by verysteep, firm rocks, and then by a branchof the Glacier de Triolet. Schrunds*were abundant : there were no less thanfive extending completely across theglacier, all of which had to be jumped.Not one was equal in dimensions to theextraordinary chasm on the Col de Pi-latte, but in the aggregate they far sur-passed it. "Our lives," so Reilly ex-pressed it, **were made a burden to uswith schrunds."

Several spurs run out toward thesouth-east from the ridge at the head ofthe Glacier de Triolet, and divide it intoa number of bays. We descended the

most northern of these, and when weemerged from it on to the open glacier,just at the junction of our bay withthe next one, we came across a mostbeautiful ice-arch festooned with icicles,the decaying remnant of an old s6rac,

* Great crevasses. A bergschnind is a schrund,but something more.

which stood isolated full thirty feet above

the surface of the glacier! It was anaccident, and I have not seen its likeelsewhere. When I passed die spot in1865 no vestige of it remained.

We flattered ourselves that we shouldarrive at the chalets of Pr6 du Bar veryearly in the day, but, owing to muchtime being lost on the slopes of MontRouge, it was nearly 4 p. m. before wegot to them. There were no bridgesacross the torrent nearer than Gruetta,and rather than descend so far we pre-

ferred to round the base of Mont Rougeand to cross the snout of the Glacier duMont Dolent.

We occupied the 9th with the ascentof the Mont Dolent. This was a minia-ture ascent. It contained a little ofeverything. First we went up to theCol Ferret (No. i), and had a little grindover shaly banks ; then there was a little



walk over grass ; then a little trampover a moraine (which, strange to say,gave a pleasant path) ; then a little zig-zagging over the snow-covered glacierof Mont Dolent. Then there was ahtde bergschrund ; then a little wall ofsnow, which we mounted by the side ofa little buttress; and when we struckthe ridge descending south-east fromthe summit, we found a little arete ofsnow leading to the highest point. Thesummit itself was little very small in-deed : it was the loveliest little cone ofsnow that was ever piled up on moun-tain-top ; so soft, so pure, it seemed acrime to defile it. It was a miniatureJungfrau, a toy summit : you could coverit with the hand.

But there was nothing little about theview from the Mont Dolent. [Situatedat the junction of three mountain-ridges,it rises in a positive steeple far aboveanything in its immediate neighborhood,

and certain gaps in the surroundingridges, which seem contrived for thatespecial purpose, extend the view inalmost every direction. The precipiceswhich descend to the Glacier d'Argen-tiere I can only compare to those of theJungfrau, and the ridges ori both sidesof that glacier, especially the steep rocksof Les Droites and Les Courtes, sur-

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mounted by the sharp snow-peak of theAiguille Verte, have almost the effect ofthe Grandes Jorasses. Then, framed asit were between the massive tower of theAiguille de Triolet and the more distantJorasses, lies, without exception, the mostdelicately beautiful picture I have everseen the whole massif of Mont .Blanc,



raising its great head of snow far abovethe tangled series of flying buttresseswhich uphold the Monts Maudits, sup-ported on the left by Mont Peuteret andby the mass of ragged aiguilles whichoverhangs the Brenva. This aspect ofMont Blanc is not new, but from thispoint its pose is unrivaled, and it has allthe superiority of a picture grouped bythe hand of a master. . . . The view isas extensive as, and far more lovelythan, that from Mont Blanc itself.] *

We went down to Cormayeur, and pnthe afternoon of July lo started fromthat place to camp on Mont Sue, for theascent of the Aiguille de Trelatete, hope-ful that the mists which were hangingabout would clear away. They did not,so we deposited ourselves and a vastload of straw on the moraine of the MiageGlacier, just above the Lac de Combal,in a charming Utde hole which somesolitary shepherd had excavated beneath

a great slab of rock. We spent the nightthere and the whole of the next day, un-willing to run awa?y, and equally so toget into difficulties by venturing into themist. It was a dull time, and I grewrestiess. Reilly read to me a lecture onthe excellence of patience, and composedhimself in an easy attitude to pore overthe pages of a yellow-covered book.** Patience," I said to him viciously,.** comes very easy to fellows who haveshilling novels, but I have not got one.I have picked all the mud out of the

nails of my boots, and have skinned myface : what shall I do ?" "Go and studythe moraine of the Miage," said he. Iwent, and came back after an hour.* What news ?" cried Reilly, raising him-self on his elbow. " Very litde : it's abig moraine, bigger than I thought, withridge outside ridge, like a fortified camp ;

The bracketed paragraphs in this chapter are ex-tracted from the notes of Mr. Reiily.

^x :^>^^-^'^

and there are walls upon it which havebeen built and loopholed, as if for de-fence." *'Try again," he said as he threw



himself on _ __ _

his back. .Stf^^^

But I went ^:^3J

to Croz, whowas asleep,and tickledhis nose witha straw untilhe awoke;and then, as that amusement was play-ed out, watched Reilly, who wa,s gettingnumbed,and shifteduneasilyfrom side toside, andthrew him-self on his ^.;ristomach, "^and rested,his head on his elbows, and lighted his

pipe and puffed at it savagely. WhenI lookedagain, howwas Reilly?An indistin-guishableheap arms,legs, head,stones and straw, all mixed together, hishat flung on one side, his novel tossedfar away!Then I wentto him and

read him alecture onthe excel-lence of pa-tience.

Bah ! it was a dull time. Our moun-tain, like a beautiful coquette, some-times unveil-ed herselff o r a mo-m e n t andlooked

charmingabove, al-though very mysterious below. It wasnot until eventide she allowed us to ap-proach her : then, as darkness came on,

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the curtains were withdrawn/ the lightdrapery was hfted, and we stole up ontiptoe through the grand portal framedby Mont Sue. But night advanced rap-idly, and we found ourselves left out inthe cold, without a hole to creep into orshelter from overhanging rock. Wemight have fared badly except for ourgood plaids. But when they were sewntogether down their long edges, and oneend tossed over our rope (which waspassed round some rocks), and the other

secured by stones, there was sufficient

protection ; and we slept on this exposedridge, ninety-seven hundred feet abovethe level of the sea, more soundly per-haps than if we had been lying on featherbeds.

We left our bivouac at 4.45 A. m., andat 9.40 arrived upon the highest of thethree summits of the Trelatete by pass-

ing over the lowest one. It was wellabove everything at this end of thechain, and the view from it was extra-ordinarily magnificent. The whole ofthe western face of Mont Blanc was

OUR CAMP ON MONT SUC.



4r

spread out before us : we were the firstby whom it had been ever seen. I cedethe description of this view to my com-rade, to whom it rightfully belongs.

[For four years I had felt great interestin the geography of the chain : the yearbefore I had mapped, more or less suc-cessfully, all but this spot, and this spothad always eluded my grasp. Thepraises, undeserved as they were, whichmy map had received, were as gall andwormwood to me when I thought of thatgreat slope which I had been obliged toleave a blank, speckled over with un-meaning dots of rock, gathered from

previous maps, for I had consulted themall without meeting an intelligible repre-sentation of it. From the surface of theMiage glacier I had gained nothing, forI could only see the feet of magnificentice-streams, but no more ; but now, fromthe top of the dead wall of rock whichhad so long closed my view, I saw thosefine glaciers from top to bottom, pouringdown their streams, nearly as large asthe Bossons, from Motit Blanc, from the

Bosse and from the D6me.

The head of Mont Blanc is supportedon this side by two buttresses, betweenwhich vast glaciers descend. Of these

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS^ 'i&dp^ ^¦

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the most southern takes its rise at thefoot of the precipices which fall steeplydown from the Calotte,* and its stream,as it joins that of the Miage, is cut intwo by an enormous rognon of rock.Next, to the left, comes the largest ofthe buttresses of which I have spoken,almost forming an aiguille in itself. Thenext glacier (Glacier du D6me) descendsfrom a large basin which receives thesnows of the summit-ridge between theBosse and the Dome, and it is dividedfrom the third and last glacier by an-other buttress, which joins the summit-ridge at a point between the D6me andthe Aiguille de.Bionnassay.]

The great buttresses betwixt thesemagnificent ice-streams have supplied alarge portion of the enormous masses ofdebris which are disposed in ridges roundabout, and are strewn over, the termina-tion of the Glacier de Miage in the Val

Veni. These moraines f used to beclassed amongst the wonders of theworld. They are very large for a gla-cier of the size of the Miage.

The dimensions of moraines are notruled by those of glaciers. Many smallglaciers have large moraines, and manylarge ones have small moraines. Thesize of the moraines of any glacier de-pends mainly upon the area of rock-surface that is exposed to atmosphericmfluences within the basin drained by

the glacier, upon the nature of suchrock, whether it is friable or resistant,and upon the dip of strata. Morainesmost hkely will be small if little rock-surface is exposed ; but when large onesare seen, then, in all probability, largeareas of rock, uncovered by snow orice. will be found in immediate contiguityto the glacier. The Miage glacier haslarge ones, because it receives detritusfrom many great cliffs and ridges. Butif this glacier, instead of lying, as itdoes, at the bottom of a trough, were to

*The Calotte is the name given to the dome ofsnow at the summit of Mont Blanc.

1 1 do not know the origin of the term moraine.Dc Saussure says (vol. i. p. 380, \ 536), "The peas-ants of Chamounix call these heaps of debris themoraine of the glacier." It may be inferred fromthis that the term was a local one, peculiar to Cha-mounix.



fill .that trough, if it wereTo completelyenvelop the Aiguille de Trelatete andthe other mountains which border it, andwere to descend from Mont Blanc un-broken by rock or ridge, it would be asdestitute of morainic matter as the greatMer de Glace of Greenland. For if acountry or district is completely coveredup by glacier, the moraines may be ofthe very smallest dimensions.

The contributions that are supplied tomoraines by glaciers themselves, fromthe abrasion of the rocks over whichtheir ice passes, are minute comparedwith the accumulations which are fur-nished from other sources. These greatrubbish-heaps are formed one may sayalmost entirely from debris which fallsor is washed down the flanks of moun-tains, or from cliffs bordering glaciers ;

and are composed, to a very limitedextent only, of matter that is ground,rasped or filed off by the friction of theice.

If the contrary view were to be adopt-ed, if it could be maintained that "gla-ciers, by their motion, break off massesof rock from the sides and bottoms oftheir valley-courses, and crowd alongeverything that is movable, so as toform large accumulations of debris infront and along their sides," % the con-

clusion could not be resisted, the greaterthe glacier the greater should be themoraine.

This doctrine does not find muchfavor with those who have personalknowledge of what glaciers do at thepresent time. From De Saussure?downward it has been pointed out, timeafter time, that moraines are chieflyformed from debris coming from rocksor soil above the ice, not from the bedover which it passes. But amongst the

writings of modern speculators uponglaciers and glacier-action in bygonetimes it is not uncommon to find the

XAt/tu 0/ Physical Geography, \)y Augustus Pe-terman and the Rev. T. Milner. The italics arc noiin the original.

§ " The stones that are found upon the upper ex-tremities of glaciers are of the same nature as the



mountains which rise above ; but, as the ice carriesthem down into the valleys, they arrive between rocksof a totally different nature from their own," I>bSaussukb, g 536

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notions entertained that moraines repre-

sent the amount of excavation (such isthe term employed) performed by gla-ciers, or at least are comprised of matterwhich has been excavated by gla ^iers ;that vast moraines have necessarily beenproduced by vast glaciers; and that agreat extension of glaciers a glacialperiod necessarily causes the produc-tion of vast moraines. It is needless tocite more than one or two examples toshow that such generalizations cannotbe sustained. Innumerable illustrationsmight be quoted.

In the chain of Mont Blanc one maycompare the moraines of the Miage withthose of the Glacier d'Argenti^re. Thelatter glacier drains a basin equal to orexceeding that of the former, but itsmoraines are small compared with thoseof the former. More notable still is thedisparity of the moraines of the Cornerglacier (that which receives so manybranches from the neighborhood ofMonte Rosa) and of the Z'Muttgletscher.The area drained by the Corner greatly

exceeds the basin of the Z'Mutt, yet themoraines of the Z'Mutt are incomparablylarger than those of the Corner. . Noone is likely to say that the Z'Mutt andMiage glaciers have existed for a fargreater length of time than the otherpair: an explanation must be soughtamongst the causes to which referencehas been made.



More striking still is it to see the greatinterior Mer de Clace of Creenlandalmost without moraines. This vast ice-piateau, although smaller than it was informer times, is still so extensive thatthe whole of the glaciers of the Alpsmight be merged into it without its bulkbeing perceptibly increased. If the sizeof moraines bore any sort of relationto the size of glaciers, the moraines ofGreenland should be far greater thanthose of the Alps.

This interior ice-reservoir of Creen-land, enormous as it is, must be con-sidered as but the remnant of a masswhich was incalculably greater, andwhich is unparalleled at the present timeo'utside the Antarctic Circle. With theexception of locahties where the rocks

are easy of disintegration, and the traces

of glacier-action have been to a greatextent destroyed, the whole countrybears the marks of the grinding andpolishing of ice; and, judging by theflatness of tlie curves of the roches mou-tonnees, and by the perfection of thepolish which still remains upon the rocksafter they have sustained (through manycenturies) extreme variations of tem-perature, the period during which sucheffects were produced must have widelyexceeded in duration the "glacial pe-riod" of Europe. If moraines were

built from matter excavated by glaciers,the moraines of Creenland should bethe greatest in the world !

The absence of moraines upon and atthe termination of this great Mer deClace is due to ihe want of rocks risingabove the ice.* On two occasions in1867 I saw, at a glance, at least six hun-dred square miles of it from the summitsof small mountains on its outskirts. Nota single peak or ridge was to be seenrising above, nor a single rock reposing

upon, the ice. The country was co7n'pletely covered up by glacier : all wasice as far as the eye could see.f

There is evidence, then, that consid-erable areas of exposed rock-surface areessential to the production of large mo-raines, and that glacial periods do notnecessarily produce vast moraines ^thatmoraines are not built up of matter



which is excavated by glaciers, but sim-ply illustrate the powers of glaciers fortransportation and arrangement.

We descended in our track to the Lacde Combal, and from thence went overthe Col de la Seigne to Les Motets, wherewe slept : on July 13 crossed the Col duMont Tondu to Contamines (in a sharpthunderstorm), and the Col de Voza to

? I refer to those portions of it which I have seenin the neighborhood of Disco Bay. There are mo-raines in this district, but they were formed when thegreat Mer de Glace stretched nearer to the sea whenit sent arms down through the valleys in the belt ofland which now intervenes between sea and glacier.

f The interior of Greenland appears to be absolute-ly covered by glacier between 68^30' and 70° N. lat.Others speak of peaks peeping through the ice to thenorth and south of this district, but I suspect thatthese peaks are upon the outskirts of the great Metde Glace

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Chamounix. Two days only remainedfor excursions in this neighborhood, andwe resolved to employ them in anotherattempt to ascend the Aiguille d'Argen-tiere, upon which mountain we had beencruelly defeated just eight days before.

It happened in this way : Reilly hada notion that the ascent of the aiguillecould be accTomplished by following theridge leading to its summit from the Coldu Chardonnet. At half-past six on themorning of the 6th we found ourselvesaccordingly on the top of that pass,which is about eleven thousand or elev-en thousand one hundred feet above thelevel of the sea. The party consisted



of our friend Moore and his guide Aimer,Reilly and his guide Francois Cputtet,myself and Michel Croz. So far, theweather had been calm and the wayeasy, but immediately we arrived on thesummit of the pass we got into a furiouswind. Five minutes earlier we werewarm now we were frozen. Fine snow,whirled up into the air, penetrated everycrack in our harness, and assailed ourskins as painfully as if it had been redhot instead of freezing cold. The teethchattered involuntarily ; talking was la-borious ; the breath froze instantaneous-ly ; eating was disagreeable ; sitting wasimpossible.

We looked toward our mountain : itsaspect was not encouraging. The ridgethat led upward had a spiked arete,palisaded with miniature aiguilles, bank-ed up at their bases by heavy snow-beds,which led down at considerable angles,on one side toward the Glacier de Sa-

leinoz, on the other toward the Glacierdu Chardonnet. Under any circum-stances it would have been a stiff pieceof work to clamber up that way. Pru-dence and comfort counseled, "Give itup." Discretion overruled valor. Mooreand Aimer crossed the Col du Chardon-net to go to Orsieres, and we others re-turned toward Chamounix.

But when we got some distance down,the evil spirit which prompts men to as-cend mountains tempted us to stop and

to look back at the Aiguille d'Argentiere.The sky was cloudless ; no wind couldbe felt, nor sign of it perceived ; it was

only eight o'clock in the morning ; andthere, right before us, we saw anotherbranch of the glacier leading high upinto the mountain far above the Col duChardonnet and a little couloir risingfrom its head almost to the top of thepeak. This was clearly the right route

to take. We turned back and went at it.

The glacier was steep, and the snow-gully rising out of it was steeper. Sevenhundred steps were cut. Then the cou-loir became too steep. We took to therocks on its left, and at last gained theridge, at a point about fifteen hundredfeet above the col. We faced about tothe right and went along the ridge,



keeping on some snow a little below itscrest, on the Saleinoz side. Then wegot the wind again, but no one thoughtof turning, for we were within two hun-dred and fifty feet of the summit.

The axes of Croz and Couttet went towork once more, for the slope was aboutas steep as snow could be. Its surfacewas covered with a loose, granular crust,dry and utterly incoherent, which slip-ped away in streaks directly it was med-dled with. The men had to cut throughthis into the old beds underneath, andto pause incessantly to rake away thepowdery stuff, which poured down inhissing streams over the hard substra-tum. Ugh ! how cold it was ! How thewind blew ! Couttet's hat was torn fromits fastenings and went on a tour inSwitzerland. The fiour-hke snow, sweptoff the ridge above, was tossed spirallyupward, eddying in tourmentes, then,dropped in lulls or caught by other

gusts, was fiung far and wide to feed theSaleinoz.

"My feet are getting suspiciouslynumbed," cried Reilly: "how aboutfrost-bites ?" "Kick hard, sir," shoutedthe men: "it's the only way." Tkeirfingers were kept alive by their work,but it was cold for their feet, and theykicked and hewed simultaneously. Ifollowed their example, but was too vio-lent, and made a hole clean through myfooting. A clatter followed as if crock-

ery had been thrown down a well.

I went down a step or two, and dis-covered in a second that all were stand-

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ing over a cavern (not a crevasse, speak-ing properly) that was bridged over bya thin vault of ice, from which greaticicles hung in grooves. Almost in thesame minute Reilly pushed one of hishands right through the roof. The wholeparty might have tumbled through atany moment. *' Go ahead, Croz : we areover a chasm!" "We know it," heanswered, "and we can't find a firmplace."

In the blandest manner my comradeinquired if to persevere would not be todo that which is called "tempting Prov-idence." My reply being in the affirma-tive, he further observed, " Suppose wego down?" "Very willingly." "Askthe guides." They had not the leastobjection ; so we went down, and sleptthat night at the Montanvert.

Off the ridge we were out of the wind.In fact, a hundred feet down to wind-

ward, on the slope fronting the Glacierdu Chardonnet, we were broiling hot:there was not a suspicion of a breeze.Upon that side there was nothing to tellthat a hurricane was raging a hundredfeet higher; the cloudless sky lookedtranquillity itself; whilst to leeward theonly sign of a disturbed atmosphere wasthe friskiness of the snow upon the crestsof the ridges.

We set out on the 14th, with Croz,Payot and Charlet, to finish off the work

which had been cut short so abruptly,and slept, as before, at the Chalets deLognan. On tlie 15th, about midday,we arrived upon the summit of theaiguille, and found that we had actuallybeen within one hundred feet of it whenwe turned back upon the first attempt.

It was a triumph to Reilly. In thisneighborhood he had performed the feat(in 1863) of joining together "two moun-tains,, each about thirteen thousand feethigh, standing on the map about a mile

and a half apart." Long before wemade the ascent he had procured evi-dence which could not be impugnedthat the Pointe des Plines, a fictitioussummit which had figured on other

maps as a distinct mountain, could beno other than the Aiguille d'Argentiere,



and he had accordingly obliterated itfrom the preliminary draft of his map.We saw that it was right to do so. ThePointe des Plines did not exist. We hadocular demonstration of the accuracy ofhis previous observations.

I do not know which to admire most,the fidelity of Mr. Reilly's map or theindefatigable industry by which the ma-terials were accumulated from which itwas constructed. To men who are soundin hmb it may be amusing to arrive ona summit -(as we did upon the top ofMont Dolent), sitting astride a ridge toonarrow to stand upon, or to do battlewith a ferocious wind (as we did on thetop of the Aiguille de Tr^latete), or tofeel half frozen in midsummer (as wedid on the Aiguille d'Argentiere). Butthere is extremely little amusement inmaking sketches and notes under suchconditions. Yet upon all these expedi-tions, under the most adverse circum-

stances and in the most trying situations,Mr. Reilly's brain and fingers were al-ways at work. Throughout all he wasever alike ^the same genial, equable-tempered companion, whether victoriousor whether defeated; always ready tosacrifice his own desires to suit our com-fort and convenience. By a most hap-py union of audacity and prudence,combined with untiring perseverance, heeventually completed his self-imposedtask a work which would have beenintolerable except as a' labor of love,

and which, for a single individual, maywellnigh be termed herculean.

We separated upon the level part ofthe Glacier d'Argentiere, Reilly goingwith Payot and Charlet via the chaletsof Lognan and de la Pendant, whilst I,with Croz, followed the right bank of theglacier to the village of Argentiere. At7 P. M. we entered the humble inn, andten minutes afterward heard the echoesof the cannon which were fired uponthe arrival of our comrades at Cha-

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:pj^i?/T -^rxx.

CHAPTER XII.MOMING PASS ZERMATT.

ON July lo, Croz and I went to Sierre,in the Valais, via the Col de Balme,the Col de la Forclaz and Martigny. TheSwiss side of the Forclaz is not creditableto Switzerland. The path from Martignyto the summit has undergone successiveimprovements in these latter years, butmendicants permanently disfigure it.

We passed many tired pedestrians toil-ing up this oven, persecuted by trains ofparasitic children. These children swarmthere like maggots in a rotten cheese.They carry baskets of fruit with whichto plague the weary tourist. They flitaround him like flies; they thrust the

fruit in his face ; they pester him withtheir pertinacity. Beware of them ! taste, touch not their fruit. In the eyesof these children each peach, each grape,is worth a prince's ransom. It is of nouse to be angry : it is like flapping wasps they only buzz the more. What-ever you do or whatever you say, theend will be the same. " Give me some-thing'* is the alpha and omega of alltheir addresses. They learn the phrase,it is said, before they are taught thealphabet. It is in all their mouths.

From the tiny toddler up to the maiden

of sixteen, there is nothing heard butone universal chorus of *' Give me some-thing: will you have the goodness togive me something ?'*

From Sierre we went up the Val d'An-niviers to Zinal, to join our former com-panions, Moore and Aimer. Moore wasambitious to discover a shorter way from

Zinal to Zermatt than the two passeswhich were known.'' He had shown tome, upon Dufour's map, that a directline connecting the two places passedexactly over the depression between theZinal- Rothhorn and the Schallhorn. Hewas confident that a passage could beeffected over this depression, and wassanguine that it would (in consequenceof its directness) prove to be a quicker



route than the circuitous ones over theTriftjoch and the Col Durand.

He was awaiting us, and we immedi-ately proceeded up the valley and acrossthe foot of the Zinal glacier to the Ar-pitetta Alp, where a chalet was supposedto exist in which we might pass the night.We found it at length,! but it was not

The Col dc Zinal or Triftjoch, between the Trift-horn and the Ober Gabeihorn, and the Col Durand,between the last-mentioned mountain and the DentBlanche.

t High above the Glacier de Moming at the foot ofthe Crete de Milton.

to5

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equal to our expectations. It was notone of those fine timbered chalets withhuge overhanging eaves, covered withpious sentences carved in unintelligiblecharacters. It was a hovel, growing, asit were, out of the hillside, roofed withrough slabs of slaty stone, without dooror window, surrounded by quagmires ofordure and dirt of every description.

A foul native invited us to enter. Theinterior was dark, but when our eyes

became accustomed to the gloom wesaw that our palace was in plan aboutfifteen by twenty feet: on one side itwas scarcely five feet high, but on theother was nearly seven. On this sidethere was a raised platform about sixfeet wide, littered with dirty straw andstill dirtier sheepskins. This was thebed-room. The remainder of the widthof the apartment was the parlor. The



rest was the factory. Cheese was thearticle which was being fabricated, andthe foul native was engaged in its manu-facture. He was garnished behind witha regular cowherd's one-legged stool,which gave him a queer, uncanny lookwhen it was elevated in the air as hebent over into his tub, for the* makingof his cheese required him to blow intoa tub for ten minutes at a time. Hethen squatted on his stool to gain breath,and took a few whiffs at a short pipe,after which he blew away more vigor-ously than before. We were told thatthis procedure was necessary : it appear-ed to us to be nasty. It accounts, per-haps, for the flavor possessed by certainSwiss cheeses.

Big black and leaden-colored cloudsrolled up from Zinal, and met in combaton the Moming glacier with others whichdescended from the Rothhorn. Downcame the rain in torrents and crash went

the thunder. The herd-boys hurriedunder shelter, for the frightened cattleneeded no driving, and tore spontane-ously down the Alp as if running asteeple-chase: Men, cows, pigs, sheepand goats forgot their mutual animos-ities, and rushed to the only refuge onthe mountain. The spell was brokenwhich had bound the elements for someweeks past, and the cirque from the

Weisshom to Lo Besso was the theatrein which they spent their fury.

A sullen morning succeeded an angrynight. We were undecided in our coun-cil whether to advance or to return downthe valley. Good seemed likely to over-power bad ; so, at 5.40, we left the chaleten route for our pass [amidst the mostencouraging assurances from all thepeople on the Alp that we need not dis-tress ourselves about the weather, as itwas not possible to get to the point at

which we were aiming].*

Our course led us at first over ordi-nary mountain-slopes, and then over aflat expanse of glacier. Before this wasquitted it was needful to determine theexact line which was to be taken. Wewere divided betwixt two opinions. Iadvocated that a course should be steer-ed due south, and that the upper plateau



of the Moming glacier should be attainedby making a great detour to our right.This was negatived without a division.Aimer declared in favor of making forsome rocks to the south-west of theSchallhorn, and attaining the upper pla-teau of the glacier by mounting them.Croz advised a middle course, up somevery steep and broken glacier. Croz'sroute seemed likely to turn out to be im-practicable, because much step-cuttingwould be required upon it. Aimer'srocks did not look good : they were, pos-sibly, unassailable. I thought both routeswere bad, and declined to vote for eitherof them. Moore hesitated. Aimer gaveway, and Croz's route was adopted.

He did not go very far, however, be-fore he found that he had undertakentoo much, and after [glancing occasion-ally round at us, to see what we thoughtabout it, suggested that it might, afterall, be wiser to take to the rocks of the

Schallhorn] . That is to say, he suggest-ed the abandonment of his own and theadoption of Aimer's route. No one op-posed the change of plan, and in theabsence of instructions to the contraryhe proceeded to cut steps across an ice-slope toward the rocks.

When we quitted the slopes of theArpitetta Alp we took a south-easterly

* Moore's Journal.

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course over the Morning glacier. Wehalted to settle the plan of attack short-ly after we got upon the ice. The rocksof the Schallhorn, whose ascent Aimerrecommended, were then to our south-



east. Croz's proposed route was to thesouth-west of the rocks, and led up thesouthern side of a very steep and brokenglacier.* The part he intended to trav-erse was, in a sense, undoubtedly prac-ticable. He gave it up because it wouldhave involved too much step-cutting.But the part of this glacier which inter-vened between his route and Aimer'srocks was, in the most complete senseof the word, impracticable. It passedover a continuation of the rocks, andwas broken in half by them. The up-per portion was separated from the lowerportion by a long slope of ice that hadbeen built up from the debris of theglacier which had fallen from above.The foot of this slope was surroundedby immense quantities of the larger av-alanche blocks. These we cautiouslyskirted, and when Croz halted they hadbeen left far below, and we were half-way up the side of the great slope whichled to the base of the ice-wall above.

Across this ice-slope Croz now pro-ceeded to cut. It was executing a flankmovement in the face of an enemy bywhom we might be attacked at any mo-ment. The peril was obvious. It wasa monstrous folly. It was foolhardiness.A retreat should have been sounded.f

** I am not ashamed to confess," wroteMoore in his Journal, " that during thewhole time we were crossing this slopemy heart was in my mouth, and I never

felt relieved from such a load of care aswhen, after, I suppose, a passage of abouttwenty minutes, we got on to the rocksand were in safety. ... I have neverheard a positive oath come from Aimer'smouth, but the language in which hekept up a running commentary, more tohimself than to me, as we went along,was stronger than I should have givenhim credit for using. His prominentfeeling seemed to be one of indignation

Through what is technically called an " ice-fall."

fllie responsibility did not rest with Croz. Hispart wa? to advise, but not to direct.

that we should be in such a position,and self-reproach at being a party tothe proceeding ; while the emphatic wayin which, at intervals, he exclaimed,'Quick! be quick!' sufficiently betoken-



ed his alarm."

It was not necessary to admonish Crozto be quick. He was as fully alive tothe risk as any of the others. He toldme afterward that this place was notonly the most dangerous he had evercrossed, but that no consideration what-ever would tempt him to cross it again.Manfully did he exert himself to escapefrom the impending destruction. Hishead, bent down to his work, never turn-ed to the right or to the left. One, two,three, went his axe, and then he steppedon to the spot where he had been cut-ting. How painfully insecure should wehave considered those steps at any othertime ! But now we thought of nothingbut the rocks in front, and of the hid-eous seracs, lurching over above us,apparently in the act of falling.

We got to the rocks in safety, and ifthey had been doubly as difficult as they

were, we should still have been wellcontent. We sat down and refreshedthe inner man, keeping our eyes on thetowering pinnacles of ice under whichwe had passed, but which now werealmost beneath us. Without a prelim-inary warning sound one of the largest as high as the Monument at LondonBridge fell upon the slope below. Thestately mass heeled over as if upon ahinge (holding together until it bentthirty degrees forward), then it crushedout its base, and, rent into a thousand

fragments, plunged vertically down uponthe slope that we had crossed ! Every atom- of our track that was in its coursewas obliterated : all the new snow wasswept away, and a broad sheet of smooth,glassy ice showed the resistiess force withwhich it had fallen.

It was inexcusable to follow such aperilous path, but it is easy to under-stand why it was taken. To have re-treated from the place where Croz sug-gested a change of plan, to have de-

scended below the reach of danger, andto have mounted again by the route

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mere word, they fall into irremediablecalamities." Such was nearly the casehere. No one could say a word injustification of the course which wasadopted; all were alive to the dangerthat was being encountered ; yet a graverisk was deliberately, although unwill-ingly, incurred, in preference to admit-ting, by withdrawal from an untenaible

mist, and Croz himself would have doneright to pause had he been less mag-

* The summit of the pass has been marked on Du-four's map 3793 metres, or 12,444 feet.

f These snow-cornices are common on the crests ofhigh mountain-ridges, and it is always prudent (justbefore arriving upon the summit of a mountain or

ridge) to sound with the alpenstock ; that is to say,drive it in, to discover whether there is one or not.Men have often narrowly escaped losing their liveshorn n^lecting this precaution.

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IHE SUMMIT OF THE MOMING PASS IN 1864.

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nificent in physique. He acted ratherthan said, ** Where snow lies fast, thereman can go; where ice exists, a waymay be cut ; it is a question of power : Ihave the power all you have to do isto follow me.** Truly, he did not sparehimself, and could he have performedthe feats upon the boards of a theatrethat he did upon this occasion, he wouldhave brought down the house with thun-ders of applause. Here is what Moore

wrote in kis Journal :

[The descent bore a strong resem-blance to the Col de Pilatte, but wasvery much steeper and altogether moredifficult, which is saying a good deal.Croz was in his element, and selectedhis way with marvelous sagacity, whileAimer had an equally honorable, andperhaps more responsible, post in therear, which he kept with his usual stead-iness. . . . One particular passage hasimpressed itself on my mind as one of

the most nervous I have ever made.We had to pass along a crest of ice, amere knife-edge on our left a broadcrevasse, whose bottom was lost in bluehaze, and on our right, at an angle ofseventy degrees or more, a slope fallingto a similar gulf below. Croz, as hewent along the edge, chipped smallnotches in the ice, in which we placedour feet, with the toes well turned out,doing all we knew to preserve our bal-ance. While stepping from one of theseprecarious footholds to another, I stag-

gered for a moment. I had not reallylost my footing, but the agonized tonein which Aimer, whb was behind me,on seeing me waver, exclaimed, "Slipnot, sir!" gave us an even livelier im-pression than we already had of the in-security of the position. . . . One hugechasm, whose upper edge was far abovethe lower one, could neither be leapednor turned, and threatened to prove an



insuperable barrier. But Croz showedhimself equal to the emergency. Heldup by the rest of the party, he cut aseries of holes for the hands and feet,down and along the almost perpendicu-lar wall of ice forming the upper side ofthe schrund. Down this slippery stair-case we crept, with our faces to the wall,

until a point was reached where thewidth of the chasm was not too greatfor us to drop across. Before we haddone we got quite accustomed to takingflying leaps over the schrunds. ... Tomake a long story short: after a mostdesperate and exciting struggle, and asbad a piece of ice-work as it is possibleto imagine, we emerged on to the upperplateau of the Hohlicht glacier.]

The glimpses which had been caughtof the lower part of the Hohlicht glacier

were discouraging, so it was now deter-mined to cross over the ridge betweenit and the Rothhom glacier. This wasnot done without great trouble. Againwe rose to a height exceeding twelvethousand feet. Eventually we took tothe track of the despised Triftjoch, anddescended by the well-known but roughpath which leads to that pass, arrivingat the Monte Rosa hotel at Zermatt at7.20 p. M. We occupied nearly twelvehours of actual walking in coming fromthe chalet on the Arpitetta Alp (which

was two and a half hours above Zinal),and we consequently found that theMoming pass was not the shortest routefrom Zinal to Zermatt, although it wasthe most direct.

Two dozen guides good, bad andindifferent, French, Swiss and Italian can commonly be seen sitting onthe wall in front of the Monte Rosahotel, waiting on their employers andlooking for employers, watching newarrivals, and speculating on the number

of francs which may be extracted fromtheir pockets. The messieurs some-times strangely and wonderfully dressed stand about in groups, or lean backin chairs, or lounge on the bencheswhich are placed by the door. Theywear extraordinary boots, and still moreremarkable head-dresses. Their peeled,blistered and swollen faces are worthstudying. Some, by the exercise of



watchfulness and unremitting care, havebeen fortunate enough to acquire a fineraw sienna complexion. But most ofthem have not been so happy. Theyhave been scorched on rocks and roast-ed on glaciers. Their cheeks first puff-ed, then cracked ^have exuded a tur-

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pentine-like matter, which has courseddown their faces, and has dried inpatches Uke the resin on the trunks ofpines. They have removed it, and atthe same time have pulled off largeflakes of their skin. They have gonefrom bad to worse their case has be-come hopeless knives and scissorshave been called into play: tenderlyand daintily they have endeavored toreduce their cheeks to one uniform hue.

It is not to be done. But they havegone on, fascinated, and at last havebrought their unhappy countenances toa state of helpless and complete ruin.Their lips are cracked, their cheeks areswollen, their eyes are bloodshot, theirnoses are peeled and indescribable.

Such are the pleasures of the moun-taineer! Scornfully and derisively thelast-comer compares the sight with hisown flaccid face and dainty hands, un-conscious that he too, perhaps, will be

numbered with those whom he nowridicules.

There is a frankness of manner aboutthese strangely - appareled and queer-faced men which does not remind oneof drawing-room or city life ; and it isgood to see in this club-room of Zer-matt those cold bodies, our too-frigidcountrymen, melt together when they



are brought into contact; and it is pleas-ant to witness the hearty welcome givento the new-comers by the host and hisexcellent wife.*

I left this agreeable society to seekletters at the post. They yielded dis-astrous intelligence. My holiday wasbrought to an abrupt termination, andI awaited the arrival of Reilly (who wasconvoying the stores for the attack onthe Matterhorn) only to inform him thatour arrangements were upset ; then trav-eled home, day and night, as fast as ex-press-trains would carry me.

? This opportunity has been taken to introduce tothe reader some of the most expert amateur moun-taineers of the time, and a few of the guides whohave been or will be mentioned in the course of thisnarrative.

^eter Perm is on the extreme right. Then comeyoung Peter Taugwalder (upon the bench) and J.J.

Maquignaz (leaning against the door-post). FranzAndermatten occupies the steps, and Ulrich Lauenertowers in the background.

CHAPTER XIIT.THE ASCENT OF THE GRAND CORNIER.

Our career in 1864 had been one ofunbroken success, but the great ascentupon which I had set my heart was notattempted, and until it was accomplished

I was unsatisfied. Other things, too, in-fluenced me to visit the Alps once more.I wished to travel elsewhere, in placeswhere the responsibility of directionwould rest with myself alone. It waswell to know how far my judgment inthe choice of routes could be reliedupon.

The journey of 1865 was chiefly un-dertaken, then, to find out to what ex-tent I was capable of selecting paths overmountainous country. The programme

which was drawn up for this journeywas rather ambitious, since it includedalmost all of the great peaks which hadnot then been ascended, but it was nei-ther lightly undertaken nor hastily exe-cuted. All pains were taken to securesuccess. Information was sought fromthose who could give it, and the defeatsof others were studied, that their errorsmight be avoided. The results which



followed came not so much, perhaps,from luck, as from forethought and care-ful calculation.

For success does not, as a rule, comeby chance, and when one fails there is areason for it. But when any notable orso-called brilliant thing is done, we aretoo apt to look upon the success alone,without considering how it was accom-plished, whilst when men fail we inquirewhy they have not succeeded. So fail-ures are oftentimes more instructive thansuccesses, and the disappointments ofsome become profitable to others.

Up to a certain point the programmewas completely and happily carried out.Nothing but success attended our efifortsso long as the excursions were executedas they had been planned. Most ofthem were made upon the very dayswhich had been fixed for them monthsbeforehand ; and all were accomplished,

comparatively speaking, so easily thattheir descriptions must be, in the absenceof difficulty and danger, less interestingto the general reader than they would

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have been if our course had been mark-ed by blunders and want of judgment.Before proceeding to speak of these ex-

cursions, it will not be entirely useless toexplain the reasons which influenced theselection of the routes which were adopt-ed upon them.

In the course of the past five seasonsmy early practices were revolutionized.My antipathy to snow was overcome,and my predilection for rocks was modi-fied. Like all those who are not moun-



taineers born, I was, at the first, ex-tremely nervous upon steep snow. Thesnow seemed bound to slip, and all thosewho were upon it to go along with it.Snow of a certain quality is undoubtedlyliable to slip when it is at a certain in-clination. The exact states which aredangerous or safe it is not possible todescribe in writing. That is only learntby experience, and confidence uponsnow is not really felt until one hasgained experience. Confidence gradu-ally came to me, and as it came so didmy partiality for rocks diminish. For itwas evident, to use a common expres-sion, that it paid better to travel uponsnow than upon rocks. This applies tosnow-beds pure and simple, or to snowwhich is lying over glacier ; and in theselection of routes it has latterly alwaysbeen my practice to look for the placeswhere snow-slopes or snow-covered gla-ciers reach highest into mountains.

It is comparatively seldom, however,that an ascent of a great mountain canbe executed exclusively upon snow andglacier. Ridges peep through whichhave to be surmounted. In my earlierscramblings I usually took to, or wastaken upon, the summits (or aretes) ofthe ridges, and a good many mountain-eers habitually take to them on principle,as tlie natural and proper way. Ac-cording to my experience, it is seldomwell to do so when any other course isopen. As I have already said, and

presently shall repeat more particularly,the crests of all the main ridges of thegreat peaks of the Alps are shatteredand cleft by frost ; and it not unfrequent-ly happens that a notch in a ridge, whichappears perfectly insignificant from a

distance, is found to be an insuperablebarrier to farther progress, and a greatdetour or a long descent has to be madeto avoid the obstacle. When committed

to an arete, one is tied, almost always,to a particular course, from which it isdifficult to deviate. Much loss of timemust result if any serious obstructionoccurs, and total defeat is not at all im-probable.

But it seldom happens that a great Alpine peak is seen that is cut off ab-ruptly, in all directions, from the snows



and glaciers which surround it. In itsgullies snow will cling, although its facesmay be too steep for the formation ofpermanent snow-beds. The merits ofthese snow -gullies (or couloirs) havebeen already pointed out, and it is hard-ly necessary to observe, after that whichwas just now said about snow, that as-cents of snow-gullies (with proper pre-cautions) are very much to be preferredto ascents of rocky aretes.

By following the glaciers, the snow-slopes above, and the couloirs rising outof them, it is usually possible to get veryclose to the summits of the great peaksin the Alps. The final climb will, per-haps, necessarily, be by an arete. Theless of it the better.

It occasionally occurs that consider-able mountain-slopes or faces are des-titute of snow-gullies. In that case itwill, very likely, be best to adhere to the

faces (or to the guUies or minor ridgesupon them), rather than take to thegreat ridges. Upon a face one canmove to the right or to the left with morefacility than upon the crest of a ridge,and when a difficulty is arrived at, it is,consequently, less troublesome to cir-cumvent.

In selecting the routes which weretaken in 1865, I looked, first, for placeswhere glaciers and snow extended high-est up into the mountains which were

to be ascended or the ridges which wereto be crossed; next, for gullies filledwith snow leading still higher ; and final-ly, from the heads of the gullies we com-pleted the ascents, whenever it was prac-ticable, by faces instead of by aretes.The ascent of the Grand Cornier (13,022),

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of the Dent Blanche (14,318), GrandesJorasses ( 13,700), Aiguille Verte (13,540),Ruinette (12,727), and the Matterhorn(14,780), were all accomplished in thisway, besides the other excursions whichwill be referred to by and by. The routeselected before the start was made wasin every case strictly followed out.

We inspected all of these mountainsfrom neighboring heights before enter-ing upon their ascents. I explained tothe guides the routes I proposed to betaken, and (when the courses were atall complicated) sketched them out onpaper to prevent misunderstanding. Insome few cases they suggested varia-tions, and in every case the route waswell discussed. The execution of thework was done by the guides, and Iseldom interfered with or attempted to

assist in it.

The 13th of June, 1865, I spent in thevalley of Lauterbrunnen with the Rev.W. H. Hawker and the guides Christianand Ulrich Lauener, and on the 14thcrossed the Petersgrat with ChristianAimer and Johann Tannler to Turtman(Tourtemagne) in the Valais. Tannler

was then paid off, as Michel Croz and

Franz Biener were awaiting me.

It was not possible to find two leadingguides who worked together more har-moniously than Croz and Aimer. Bie-ner's part was subordinate to theirs, andhe was added as a convenience ratherthan as a necessity. Croz spoke Frenchalone. Aimer little else than German.Biener spoke both languages, and wasuseful on that account ; but he seldomwent to the front, excepting during theearly part of the day, when the work

was easy, and he acted throughout moreas a porter than as a guide.

The importance of having a reserveof power on mountain expeditions can-not be too strongly insisted upon. Wealways had some in hand, and werenever pressed or overworked so long aswe were together. Come what might,we were ready for it. But by a series of



chances, which I shall never cease toregret, I was first obliged to part withCroz,* and then to dismiss the others ;and so, deviating from the course that Ihad deliberately adopted, which wassuccessful in practice because it was

* I engaged Croz for 1865 before I parted from him in 1864, but upon writing tohim in the month of April tofix the dates of his engagement, I found that he had supposed he was free (in consequence 7f not having heardfrom me earlier), and had engaged himself to a Mr. B from the 27th of June. I endeavored to hold him tohis promise, but he considered himself unable to withdraw from his later obligation. His letters were honorableto him. The following extract from the last one he wrote to me is given as an interesting souvenir of a braveand upright man :

^^iG^ />- ^S&^y^

0^ *.^^^Ld^ ^^1^~

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sound in principle, became fortuitously amember of an expedition that ended withthe catastrophe which brought my scram-bles amongst the Alps to a close.

On June 1 5 we went from Turtman toZ'meiden, and thence over the Forclettapass to Zinal. We diverged from thesummit of the pass up some neighboring



heights to inspect the Grand Cornier, andI decided to have nothing to do with itsnorthern side. The mountain was morethan seven miles away, but it was quitesafe to pronounce itinaccessible fromour direction.

On the 16th we leftZinal at 2.05 a.m.,having been for amoment greatly sur-prised by an entryin the hotel-book,*and ascending bythe Zinal glacier,and giving the baseof our mountain awide berth in orderthat it might the bet-ter be examined,passed graduallyright round to itssouth before a way

up it was seen. At8.30 we arrivedupon the plateau ofthe glacier that de-scends toward theeast, between theGrand Cornier andthe Dent Blanche,and from this place

a route was readily traced. We steeredto the north over the glacier, toward theridge that descends to the east, gained it

by mounting snow-slopes, and followed

* It was an entry describing an ascent of the GrandCornier (which we supposed had never been ascend-ed) from the very direction which we had just pro-nounced to be hopeless ! It was especially startling,because Franz Biener was spoken of in it as havingbeen concerned in the ascent. On examining Biener,it was found that he had made the excursion, and hadsupposed at the time he was upon its summit that itwas the Grand Cornier. He saw afterward that theyhad only ascended one of the several points upon theridge running northward from the Grand Cornier I

bdieve, the Pigne de TAUie (ii,i68 feet)l

it to the summit, which was arrived at be-fore half-past twelve. From first to lastthe route was almost entirely over snow.The ridges leading to the north and tothe south from the summit of the GrandCornier exhibited in a most striking



manner the extraordinary effects thatmay be produced by violent alternationsof heat and cold. The southern onewas hacked and split into the wildestforms, and the northern one was notless cleft and impracticable, and offered

PAKT OP THE SOUTHERN RIDGB OF THE CiKANU COKNIBK.

the droll piece of rock-carving which isrepresented upon pa^e 1 14. Some smallblocks actually tottered and fell beforeour eyes, and starting others in theirdownward course, grew into a perfectavalanche, which descended with a sol-emn roar on the glaciers beneath.

It is natural that the great ridges shouldpresent the wildest forms not on ac-

count of their dimensions, but by reasonof their positions. They are exposed tothe fiercest heat of the sun, and are sel-dom in shadow as long as it is above thehorizon. They arQjaati*"ely unprotected.

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN 1860-^69.

and are attacked by the strongest blastsand by the most intense cold. The

most durable rocks are not proof againstsuch assaults. These grand, apparent-ly solid, eternal mountains, seeming sofirm, so immutable, are yet ever chang-ing and crumbling into dust. Theseshattered ridges are evidence of their suf-ferings. Let me repeat that every prin-cipal ridge of every great peak in theAlps amongst those I have seen hasbeen shattered in



this way, and thatevt^ry iiuinmitamongst ther o c k ' s u m m [ t supon w hi c h Ihiive sttHid has

PART OF THE NORTHERN RIDGE OF THE GRAND CORNIER.

struction is incessant, and increases astime goes on; for the greater the sur-faces which are exposed to the practi-cally inexhaustible powers of sun andfrost, the greater ruin will be effected.

The rock-falls which are continuallyoccurring upon all rock-mountains are,of course, caused by these powers. No

one doubts it, but one never believes itso thoroughly as when the quarries areseen from which their materials havebeen hewn, and when the germs, so tospeak, of these avalanches have beensetji actually starting from above.

Tlicse falls of rock take place fromtwo causes : first, from the heat of thesun detaching small stones or rockssvhich have been arrested on ledges orslopt'S and bound together by snow orice. I have seen such released many

limes when the sun has risen high : theyfall gently at first, gatherstrength, grow in volume, andat last rush down with a cloudtrailing behind, like the dust af-ter an express-train. Second-ly, from the freezing of the wa-ter which trickles during theday into the clefts, fissures andcrannies. This agency is nat-

been nothing but a piled-up heap offragments.

The minor ridges do not usually pre-sent such extraordinary forms as theprincipal ones. They are less exposed,and they are less broken up, and it isreasonable to assume that their annualdegradation is less than that of the sum-mit-ridges.



The wear and tear does not ceaseeven in winter, for these great ridges arenever completely covered up by snow,and the sun has still power.* The de-

? T wrote in the Atheneeunt, August 29, 1863, to thesame effect : " This action of the frost does not ceasein winter, inasmuch as it is impossible for the Matter-horn to be entirely covered by snow. Less precip-itous mountains may be entirely covered up duringwinter, and if they do not then actually gain height,the wear and tear is, at least, suspended. . . . Wearrive, therefore, at the conclusion that although suchsnow-peaks as Mont Blanc may in the course of agesgrow higher, the Matterhorn must decrease in height."These remarks have received confirmation. I

The men who were left by M. Dollfus-Ausset in his I

urally most active in the night,and then, or during very cold weather,

the greatest falls take place.f

When one has continually seen andheard these falls, it is easily understoodwhy the glaciers are laden with moraines.The wonder is, not that they are some-times so great, but that they are not al-ways greater. Irrespective of lithologi-cal considerations, one knows that thisdebris cannot have been excavated bythe glaciers. The moraines are borne

observatory upon the summit of the Col Thiodule

during the winter of 1865, remarked that the snow waspartially melted upon the rocks in their vicinity uponthe 19th, 2oth, 21st, 22d, 23d, 26th and 27th of Decem-ber of that year, and on the 22d of December they en-tered in their journal : " Nous avons vu au Matter-horn que la neige se fondait sur roches et qu'il s'enicoulait de I'eau." Matiriaux pour Vitude desGlaciers, vol. viii. part i. p. 246, 1868; and voUviii.part ii. p. 77, 1869.

t In each of the seven nights I passed upon thesouth-west ridge of the Matterhorn in i86i-'63 'atheights varying from 11,844 to 12,992 feet above the

Ifvel of the sea), the rocks fell incessantly in showersand avalanches.

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by glaciers, but they are bom from theridges. They are generated by the sunand delivered by the frost. "Fire," itis well said in Plutarch's life of Camil-lus, ** is the most active thing in nature,and all generation is motion, or at leastwith motion : all other parts of matterwithout warmth lie sluggish and dead,and crave the influence of heat as theirlife, and when that comes upon themthey immediately acquire some activeor passive qualities."*

If the Alps were granted a perfectlyinvariable temperature, if they were nolonger subjected alternately to freezingblasts and to scorching heat, they mightmore correctly be termed "eternal."They might continue to decay, but theirabasement would be much less rapid.

When rocks are covered by a sheetof glacier they do enjoy an almost in-variable temperature. The extremes ofsummer and winter are unknown torocks which are so covered up : a range

of a very few degrees is the most thatis possible underneath the ice.f There isthen little or no disintegration from un-equal expansion and contraction. Frostthen does not penetrate into the heart ofthe rock and cleave off vast masses.The rocks then sustain grinding insteadof cleaving. Atoms then come awayinstead of masses. Fissures and over-hanging surfaces are bridged, for theice cannot get at them ; and after manycenturies of grinding have been sus-tained, we still find numberless angular

surfaces (in the lee-sides) which werefashioned before the ice began to work.

The points of difference which are soevident between the operations of heat,cold and water, and the action of gla-

? Tonson's ed. of 1758. Bacon may have had thispassage in mind when he wrote, " It must not bethought that heat generates motion, or motion heat



(though in some respects this be true), but that thevery essence of heat, or the substantial self of heat,is motion, and nothing else." Novum Organum^book ii., Devey's translation.

t Doubtless, at the sidts of glacier-beds the rangeof temperature is greater. But there is evidence thatthe winter cold does not penetrate to the innermost re-cesses of glacier-beds in the fact that streams continueto flow underneath the ice all the year round, winteras well as summer, in the Alps and (I was informedin Greenland) in Greenland. Even in midsummer thebottom temperature is close to 32° Fahr.

ciers upon rocks, are as follow. Theformer take advantage of cracks, fis-sures, joints and soft places the latterdoes not. The former can work under-neath overhanging masses the lattercannot. The effects produced by theformer continually increase, becausethey continually expose fresh surfaces

by forming new cracks, fissures andholes. The effects which the latter pro-duces constantly diminish, because thearea of the surfaces operated upon be-comes less and less as they becomesmoother and flatter.

What can one conclude, then, butthat sun, frost and water have had in-finitely more to do than glaciers withthe fashioning of mountain-forms andvalley-slopes? Who can refuse to be-lieve that powers which are at work

everywhere, which have been at workalways, which are so incomparably ac-tive, capable and enduring, must haveproduced greater effects than a solitarypower which is always local in its influ-ence, which has worked comparativelybut for a short time, which is alwaysslow and feeble in its operations, andwhich constantly diminishes in inten-sity ? Yet there are some who refuse tobelieve that sun, frost and water haveplayed an important part in modelingthe Alps, and hold it as an article of

their faith that the Alpine region '* owesits present conformation mainly to theaction of its ancient glaciers"!!

My reverie was interrupted by Crozobserving that it was time'to be off.Less than two hours sufficed to take usto the glacier plateau below (where wlhad left our baggage) : three-quartersof an hour more placed us upon the



depression between the Grand Cornierand the Dent Blanche (Col du GrandCornier), and at 6 p. m. we arrived atAlbricolla. Croz and Biener hankeredafter milk, and descended to a villagelower down the valley, but Aimer andI stayed where we were, and passed achilly night on some planks in a half-burnt chalet.

X Professor Tyndall " On the Conformation of theAlps," PhiL Mag., Sept., x86a.

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ZPJLK/O? ¦viii.

CHAPTER XIV.THE ASCENT OF THE DENT BLANCHE.

CROZ and Biener did not return untilpast 5 A.M. on June 17, and we thenset out at once for Zermatt, intendingto cross the Col d' Kerens. But we didnot proceed far before the attractionsof the Dent Blanchewere felt to be ir-

resistible, and weturned aside up thesteep lateral glacierwhich descendsalong its south-west-ern face.

The Dent Blancheis a mountain littleknown except to theLESLIE STBPHBN. cUmbing fraternity.It was, and is, re-puted to be one of the most difficult

mountains in the Alps. Many attemptswere made to scale it before its ascentwas accomplished. Even Leslie Stephenhimself, fleetest of foot of the wholeAlpine brotherhood, once upon a timereturned discomfited from it.

It was not climbed until 1862, but in

that year Mr. T. S. Kennedy, with Mr.



Wigram and the guides Jean B. Croz

and Kronig, managed to conquer it.

116

They had a hard fight, though, beforethey gained the victory t a furious windand driving snow, added to the natu-ral difficulties, nearly turned the scaleagainst them.

Mr. Kennedy described his expedi^tion in a very interesting paper in theAlpine JournaL His account bore theimpress of truth, but unbelievers saidthat it was impossible to have told (inweather such as was then experienced)whether the sunimit had actually beenattained, and sometimes roundly assert'

ed that the mountain, as the saying is,yet remained virgin.

I did not share these doubts, althoughthey influenced me to make the ascentI thought it might be possible to find aneasier route than that taken by Mr.Kennedy, and that if we succeeded indiscovering one we should be able atonce to refute his traducers and to vauntour superior wisdom. Actuated by theseelevated motives, I halted my littlearmy at the foot of the glacier, and

inquired, " Which is best for us to do ? to ascend the Dent Blanche, or to crossto Zemiatt ?" They answered, withbefitting solemnity, "We think DentBlanche is best."

From the chalets of AbricoUa the south-

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THE BERGSCHRUNO ON THE DENT BLANCHE 'N 1865.

Page 117.

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west face of the Dent Blanche is regard-ed almost exactly in profile. From

thence it is seen that the angle of theface scarcely exceeds thirty degrees,and after observing this I concludedthat the face would, in all probability,give an easier path to the summit thanthe crest of the very jagged ridge whichwas followed by Mr. Kennedy.

We zigzagged up the glacier along thefoot of the face, and looked for a way



on to it. We looked for some time invain, for a mighty bergschrund effect-ually prevented approach, and, like afortress' moat, protected the wall fromassault. We went up and up, until, Isuppose, we were not more than a thou-sand feet below the point marked 3912metres: then a bridge was discovered,and we dropped down on hands andknees to cross it.

A bergschrund, it has been said, is aschrund and something more than aschrund. A schrund is simply a 'bigcrevasse : a bergschrund is frequently,but not always, a big crevasse. Theterm is applied to the last of the cre-vasses one finds, in ascending, beforequitting the glacier and taking to therocks which bound it. It is the moun-tains' schrund. Sometimes it is verylarge, but early in the season (that is tosay, in the month of June or before)bergschrunds are usually snowed up

or well bridged over, and do not givemuch trouble. Later in the year, sayin August, they are frequently very greathindrances, and occasionally are com-pletely impassable.

We crossed the bergschrund of theDent Blanche, I suppose, at a height ofabout twelve thousand feet above thelevel of the sea. Our work may be saidto have commenced at that point. Theface, although not steep in its generalinclination, was so cut up by little ridges

and cliffs, and so seamed with incipientcouloirs, that it had all the difficulty of amuch more precipitous slope. The dif-ficulties were never great, but they werenumerous, and made a very respectabletotal when put together. We passedthe bergschrund soon after nine in themorning, and during the next eleven

hours halted only five and forty min-utes. The whole of the remainder of

the time was occupied in ascending anddescending the twenty-four hundred feetwhich compose this south-western face ;and inasmuch as one thousand feet perhour (taking the mean of ascent anddescent) is an ordinary rate of progres-sion, it is tolerably certain that the DentBlanche is a mountain of exceptionaldifficulty.



The hindrances opposed to us by themountain itself were, however, as noth-ing compared with the atmospheric ob-structions. It is true there was plentyof *'Are you fast, Aimer?" "Yes.""Go ahead, Biener." Biener, made se-cure, cried, "Come on, sir," and mon-sieur endeavored. "No, no,** said Ai-mer, "not there here T pointing withhis baton to the right place to clutch.Then 'twas Croz's turn, and we all drewin the rope as the great man followed."Forward" once more and so on.

Five hundred feet of this kind of workhad been accomplished when we weresaluted (not entirely unexpectedly) bythe first gust of a hurricane which wasragipg above. The day was a lovelyone for dwellers in the valleys, but wehad long ago noted some light, gossamerclouds that were hovering round oursummit, being drawn out in a suspiciousmanner into long, silky threads. Croz,

indeed, prophesied before we had cross-ed the schrund that we should be beatenby the wind, and had advised that weshould return. But I had retorted, " No,my good Croz, you said just now, ' DentBlanche is best:* we must go up theDent Blanche."

I have a very lively and disagreeablerecollection of this wind. Upon the out-skirts of the disturbed region it was onlyfelt occasionally. It then seemed tomake rushes at one particular man, and

when it had discomfited him, it whiskeditself away to some far-off spot, only toreturn presently in greater force thanbefore.

My old enemy, the Matterhorn, seenacross the basin of the Z'Muttgletscher,looked totally unassailable. " Do youthink," the men asked, "that you or any

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one else will ever get up that moun-tain ?" And when, undismayed by theirridicule, I stoutly answered, "Yes, butnot upon that side," they burst intoderisive chuckles. I must confess thatmy hopes sank, for nothing can look,or be, more completely inaccessiblethan the Matterhorn on its northernand north-west sides.

'* Forward'* once again. We over-topped the Dent d'Herens. "Not athousand feet more : in three hours weshall be on the summit." "You mean/<?«," echoed Croz, so slow had beenthe progress. But I was not far wrongin the estimate. At 3.15 we struckthe great ridge followed by Mr. Ken-nedy, close to the top of the mountain.

The wind and cold were terrible there.Progress was oftentimes impossible, andwe waited, crouching under the lee ofrocks, listening to "the shrieking of themindless wind," while the blasts sweptacross, tearing off the upper snow andblowing it away in streamers over theSchonbiihl glacier ^** nothing seen ex-cept an indescribable writhing in theair, like the wind made visible."

Our goal was concealed by the mist,though it was only a few yards away,

and Croz's prophecy that we shouldstay all night upon the summit seemedlikely to come true. The men rose withthe occasion, although even their fingershad nearly lost sensation. There wereno murmurings nor suggestions of re-turn, and they pressed on for the littlewhite cone which they knew must benear at hand. Stopped again a bigmass perched loosely on the ridge barredthe way : we could not crawl over andscarcely dared creep round it. Thewine went round for the last time. The

liquor was half frozen still we wouldmore of it. It was all gone : the botdewas left behind, and we pushed on, forthere was a lull.

The end came almost before it wasexpected. The clouds opened, and Isaw that we' were all but upon the high-est point, and that between us and it,about twenty yards off, there was a little



sible to sit ; and if that had happened,

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I do not think that one would have sur-vived to tell the tale.

We made the descent of the glacier in

a mist, and of the moraine at its baseand of the slopes below in total dark-ness, and regained the chalets of Abri-coUa at 11.45 P. M. We had been ab-sent eighteen and a half hours, and outof that time had been going not lessthan seventeen. That night we sleptthe sleep of those who are thoroughlytired.*

Two days afterward, when wsrHtinginto Zermatt, whom should we meet butMr. Kennedy! "Hullo!" we said, "we

T. S. KENNEDY.

have just seen your cairn on the top ofthe Dent Blanche." " No, you haven't,"he answered very positively. " What doyou mean?" "Why, that you cannothave seen my cairn, because I didn'tmake one!" "Well, but we saw acairn." "No doubt: it was made by a

man who went up the mountain last yearwith Lauener and Zurfluh." "0-o-h!"we said, rather disgusted at hearing newswhen we expected to communicate some "0-o-h! Good-morning, Kennedy."Before this happened we managed tolose our way upon the Col d' Kerens, butan account of that must be reserved forthe next chapter.



* The ascent of the Dent Blanche is the hardestthat I have made. There was nothing upon it sodifficult as the last five hundred feet of the Pointe desEcrins, but on the other hand, there was hardly astep upon it which was positively easy. The wholeof the face required actual climbing. There wasprobably very little difference in difficulty betweenthe route we took in 1865 and that followed by Mr.Kennedy in 1S62.

CHAPTER XV.

LOST ON THE COL D'HtRENS. MY SEVENTHATTEMPT TO ASCEND THE MATTER HORN.

We should have started for Zermattabout 7 A. M. on the i8th, had not Bienerasked to be allowed to go to mass atEvolene, a village about two and a halfhours from Abricolla. He received per-mission, on the condition that he return-ed not later than mid-day, but he did

not come back until 2.30 p. M., and wethereby got into a pretty little mess.

The pass which we were about totraverse to Zermatt the Col d' Kerens is one of the few glacier-passes in thisdistrict which have been known almostfrom time immemorial. It is frequentlycrossed in the summer season, and is avery easy route, notwithstanding that thesummit of the pass is 11,417 feet abovethe level of the sea.

P'rom Abricolla to the summit the waylies chiefly over the flat Glacier de Fer-pecle. The walk is of the most straight-forward kind. The glacier rises in gentleundulations, its crevasses are small andeasily avoided, and all you have to do,after once getting upon the ice, is to pro-ceed due south in the most direct man-ner possible. If you do so, in two hoursyou should be upon the summit of thepass.

We tied ourselves in line, of course,

when we entered upon the glacier, andplaced Biener to lead, as he had fre-quently crossed the pass, supposing thathis local knowledge might save us sometime upon the other side. We had pro-ceeded, I suppose, about halfway up,when a little thin cloud dropped downupon us from above, but It was so light,so gauzy, that we did not for a momentsuppose that it would become embarrass-



ing, and hence I neglected to note atthe proper moment the course which weshould steer that is to say, to observeour precise situation in regard to thesummit of the pass.

For some little time Biener progress-ed steadily, making a tolerably straighttrack, but at length he wavered, anddeviated sometimes to the right andsometimes to the left. Croz rushed for-ward directly he saw this, and, taking

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the poor young man by his shoulders,gave him a good shaking, told him thathe was an imbecile, to untie himself atonce, and go to the rear. Biener lookedhalf frightened, and obeyed without amurmur. Croz led off briskly, and

made a good straight track for a fewminutes, but then, it seemed to me, be-gan to move steadily round to the left.I looked back, but the mist was now toothick to see our traces, and so we con-tinued to follow our leader. At last theothers (who were behind, and in a bet-ter position to judge) thought the sameas I did, and we pulled up Croz to de-liver our opinion. He took our criticismin good part, but when Biener openedhis mouth, that was too much for him tostand, and he told the young man again,

" You are imbecile : I bet you t>yentyfrancs to one that my track is better thanyours twenty francs ! Now then, im-becile !"

Aimer went to the front. He com-menced by returning in the track for ahundred yards or so, and then startedoff at a tangent from Croz's curve. Wekept this course for half an hour, and



then were certain that we were not onthe right route, because the snow be-came decidedly steep. We bore awaymore and more to the right to avoid thissteep bank, but at last I rebelled, as wehad for some time been going almostsouth-west, which was altogether thewrong direction. After a long discus-sion we returned some distance in ourtrack, and then steered a little east ofsouth, but we continually met steepsnow-slopes, and to avoid them wentright or left as the case might require.

We were greatly puzzled, and couldnot in the least tell whether we were toonear the Dent Blanche or too close tothe Tete Blanche. The mists had thick-ened, and were now as dense as a mod-erate London fog. There were no rocksor echoes to direct us, and the guidanceof the compass brought us invariablyagainst these steep snow-banks. Themen were fairly beaten : they had all

had a try, or more than one, and at lastgave it up as a bad job, and asked whatwas to be done. It was 7.30 P. m., and

only an hour of daylight was left. Wewere beginning to feel used up, for wehad wandered about at tiptop speed forthe last three hours and a half; so Isaid, " This is my advice : let us turn inour track, and go back as hard as everwe can, not quitting the track for an in-

stant." They were well content, but justas we were starting off the clouds lifteda little, and we thought we saw the col.It was then to our right, and we went atit with a dash, but before we had gonea hundred paces down came the mistagain. We kept on nevertheless fortwenty minutes, and then, as darknesswas perceptibly coming on, and thesnow was yet rising in front, we turnedback, and by running down the entiredistance managed to get clear of theFerpecle glacier just as it became pitch-

dark. We arrived at our cheerless chaletin due course, and went to bed supper-less, for our food was gone all verysulky, not to say savage, agreeing innothing except in bullying Biener.

At 7 A. M. on the 19th we set out, forthe third time, for the Col d'Herens. Itwas a fine day, and we gradually recov-ered our tempers as we saw the follies



which had been committed on the pre-vious evening. Biener's wavering trackwas not so bad, but Croz had swervedfrom the right route from the first, andhad traced a complete semicircle, so thatwhen we stopped him we were facingAbricolla, whence we had started. Ai-mer had commenced with great discre-tion, but he kept on too long, and cross-ed the proper route. When I stoppedthem (because we were going south-west)we were a long way up the Tete Blanche !Our last attempt was in the right direc-tion : we were actually upon the summitof the pass, and in another ten yardswe should have commenced to go downhill ! It is needless to point out that ifthe compass had been looked to at theproper moment that is, immediately themist came down we should have avoid-ed all our troubles. It was of little useafterward, except to tell us when we weregoing wrong.

We arrived at Zermatt in six and ahalf hours' walking from Abricolla, and

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Seller's hospitable reception set us allright again. On the 20th we crossed theTh6odule pass, and diverged from itssummit up the Theodulhorn (11,391) toexamine a route which I suggested for

the ascent of the Matterhorn ; but beforecontinuing an account of our proceed-ings, I must stop for a minute to explainwhy this new route was proposed, inplace of that up the south-western ridge.

The Matterhorn may be divided intothree sections the first facing the Z'Mutt-gletscher, which looks, and is, complete-ly unassailable; the second facing the



east, which seems inaccessibility itself;the third facing Breuil, which does notlook entirely hopeless. It was from thislast direction that all my previous at-tempts were made. It. was by the south-western ridge, it will be remembered, thatnot only I, but Mr. Hawkins, ProfessorTyndall and the chasseurs of Val Tour-nanche, essayed to climb the mountain.Why, then, abandon a route which hadbeen shown to be feasible up to a certainpoint ?

I gave it up for four reasons : i . Onaccount of my growing disinclination foraretes, and preference for snow and rockfaces. 2. Because I was persuaded thatmeteorological disturbances (by whichwe had been baffled several times) mightbe expected to occur again and again.3. Because I found that the east facewas a gross imposition: it looked notfar from perpendicular, while its anglewas, in fact, scarcely more than 40°. 4.

Because I observed for myself that thestrata of the mountain dipped to thewest-south-west. It is not necessary tosay anything more than has been alreadysaid upon the first two of these four points,but upon the latter two a few words areindispensable. Let us consider, first, whymost persons receive such an exaggeratedimpression of the steepness of the easternface.

When one looks at the Matterhornfrom Zermatt, the mountain is regarded

(nearly) from the north-east. The facethat fronts the east is consequently neith-er seen in profile nor in full front, butalmost halfway between the two: itlooks, therefore, more steep than it really

is. The majority of those who visit Zer-matt go up to the Riffelberg or to theGornergrat, and from these places themountain naturally looks still more pre-cipitous, because its eastern face (which

is almost all that is seen of it) is viewedmore directly in front. From the Riffelhotel the slope seems to be set at anangle of seventy degrees. If the touristcontinues to go southward, and crossesthe Theodule pass, he gets, at one point,immediately in front of the eastern face,which then seems to be absolutely per-pendicular. Comparatively few personscorrect the erroneous impressions they



the two slopes are one and the samething. Its angle scarcely exceeds fortydegrees.

A great step was made when this waslearned. This knowledge alone wouldnot, however, have caused me to try anascent by the eastern face instead of bythe south-west ridge. Forty degrees maynot seem a formidable inclination to thereader, nor is it for only a small cliff.But it is very unusual to find so steep agradient maintained continuously as thegeneral angle of a great mountain-slope,and very few instances can be quotedfrom the High Alps of such an anglebeing preserved over a rise of threethousand feet.

I do not think that the steepness or theheight of this cliff would have deterredclimbers from attempting to ascend it, ifit had not, in addition, looked so repul-sively smooth. Men despaired of find-

ing anything to grasp. Now, some ofthe difficulties of the south-west ridgecame from the smoothness of the rocks,although that ridge, even from a dis-tance, seemed to be well broken up.How much greater, then, might not havebeen the difficulty of climbing a facewhich looked smooth and unbrokenclose at hand ?A more serious hindrance to mountingthe south-west ridgeis found in the dip ofits rocks to the west-

south - west. Thegreat mass of theMatterhorn, it isnow well ascertain-ed, is composed ofregularly stratifiedrocks, which rise to-war(| the east. Ithas been mentionedin the text, more than once, that therocks on some portions of the ridgeleading from the Col du Lion to thesummit dip outward, and that fractured

edges overhang. This is shown veryclearly in the annexed diagram. Fig. i.It will be readily understood that suchan arrangement is not favorable forclimbers, and that the degree of facility

Fig. I.



with which rocks can be ascended thatare so disposed must depend very muchupon the frequency or paucity of fis-sures and joints. The rocks of thesouth-west ridge are sufficiently pro-vided with cracks, but if it were other-wise, their texture and arrangementwould render them unassailable.*

It is not possible to go a single timeupon the rocks of the south-west ridge,from the Col du Lion to the foot ofthe Great Tower, without observing theprevalence of their outward dip, andthat their fractured edges have a tend-ency to overhang; nor can one fail tonotice that it is upon this account thedebris which is rent off by frost does notremain in situ, but pours down in show-ers over the surrounding cliffs. Eachday's work, so to speak, is cleared away

^the ridge is swept clean : there isscarcely anything seen but firm rock.f

The fact that the mountain is com-posed of a series of stratified beds waspointed out long ago. De Saussure re-marked it, and recorded explicitly in hisTravels (^2243) that they "rose to thenorth-east at an angle of about forty-five degrees.** Forbes noticed it also,but gave it as his opinion that the bedswere "less inclined, or nearly horizontal.'*He added, "De Saussure is no doubt

correct.** The truth, I think, lies betweenthe two.

I was acquainted with both of theabove-quoted passages, but did not turnthe knowledge to any practical accountuntil I re-observed the same fact for my-self. It was not until after my repulsein 1863 that I referred the peculiar diffi-culties of the south-west ridge to the dipof the strata, but when once persuadedthat structure and not texture was thereal impediment, it was reasonable to

infer that the opposite side that is to

?Weathered granite is an admirable rock to climb,its gritty texture giving excellent hold to the nails inone's boots. But upon such metamorphic schists ascompose the mass of the great peak of the Matter-horn the texture of the rock itself is of no value.

1 1 refer here only to that portion of the ridge whichis between the Col du Lion and the Great Tower.



Fig. 2.

say, the eastern face ^might be compara-tively easy; in brief, that an arrange-ment shouldbe found likeFig. 2, insteadof like Fig. i.This trivialdeduction wasthe key to theascent of theMatterhorn.The pointwas, Did the strata continue with a sim-ilar dip throughout the mountain? Ifthey did, then this great eastern face,instead of being hopelessly impracti-cable, should be quite the reverse. In

fact, it should be a great natural stair-case, with steps inclining inward; andif it were so, its smooth aspect might beof no account, for the smallest steps, in-clined in this fashion, would afford goodfooting.

They did so, so far as one could judgefrom a distance. When snow fell in thesummer-time, it brought out long terracedlines upon the mountain, rudely parallelto each other ; and the eastern face onthose occasions was often whitened al-

most completely over; while the othersides, with the exception of the powder-ed terraces, remained black, for the snowcould not rest upon them.

The very outline of the mountain, too,confirmed the conjecture that its struc-ture would assist an ascent on the east-ern face, although it opposed one on allother sides. Look at any photographof the peak from the north-east, andyou will see that upon the right-handside (that facing the Z'Muttgletscher)

there is an incessant repetition of over-hanging cliffs and of slopes, all trendingdownward ; in short, that the character ofthe whole of that side is similar to Fig. i ,p. 122 ; and that upon the left hand (orsouth-east) ridge the forms, so far as theygo, are suggestive of the structure shownby Fig. 2, above. There is no doubtthat the contours of the mountain, seenfrom this direction, have been largely in-



fluenced by the direction of its beds.

It was not therefore from a freak thatI invited Mr. Reilly to join in an attack

upon the eastern face, but from a grad-ually-acquired conviction that it wouldprove to give the easiest path to thesummit ; and if we had not been obligedto part the mountain would doubtlesshave been ascended in 1864.

My guides readily admitted that theyhad been greatly deceived as to thesteepness of the eastern face, when theywere halted to look at it in profile as wecame down the Z'Muttgletscher on ourway to Zermatt, but they were far frombeing satisfied that it would turn out tobe easy to climb, and Aimer and Bienerexpressed themselves decidedly averseto making an attempt upon it. I gave

way temporarily before their evident re-luctance, and we made the ascent of theTheodulhorn to examine an alternativeroute, which I expected would commenditself to them in preference to the other,as a great part of it led over snow.

There is an immense gully in the Mat-terhorn which leads up from the Glacierdu Mont Cervin to a point high up onthe south-eastern ridge. I proposed toascend this to its head, and to cross overthe south-east ridge on to the eastern

face. This would have brought us ona level with the bottom of the great snow-slope shown upon the centre of the east-ern face in the engraving. This snow-slope was to be crossed diagonally, withthe view of arriving at the snow uponthe north-east ridge, which is shownupon the same engraving about half aninch from the summit. The remainderof the ascent was to be made by thebroken rocks, mixed with snow, uponthe north side. of the mountain. Crozcaught the idea immediately, and thought

the plan feasible: details were settled,and we descended to Breuil. Luc Mey-net the hunchback was summoned, andexpressed himself delighted to resumehis old vocation of tent-bearer; andFavre's kitchen was soon in commotionpreparing three days' rations, for I in-tended to take that amount of time overthe affair to sleep on the first nightupon the rocks at the top of the gully, to



make a push for the summit, and to re-turn to the tent on the second day ; andupon the third to come back to Breuil.

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We started at 5.45 A. m. on June 21,and followed the route of the Breuiljoch

for three hours. We were then in fullview of our gully, and turned off atright angles for it. The closer we ap-proached the more favorable did it look.There was a good deal of snow in it,which was evidently at a small angle,and it seemed as if one-third of theascent, at least, would be a very simplematter. Some suspicious marks in thesnow at its base suggested that it wasnot free from falling stones, and as ameasure of precaution we turned off onone side, worked up tinder cover of the

cliffs, and waited to see if anythingshould descend. Nothing fell, so we.proceeded up its right or northern side,sometimes cutting steps up the snow,and sometimes mounting by the rocks.Shortly before 10 A. M. we arrived at aconvenient place for a halt, and stoppedto rest upon some rocks close to thesnow which commanded an excellentview of the gully.

While the men were unpacking thefood I went to a little promontory to

examine our proposed route more nar-rowly, and to admire our noble couloir,which led straight up into the heart ofthe mountain for fully one thousand feet.It then bent toward the north, and ranup to the crest of the south-eastern ridge.My curiosity was piqued to know whatwas round this corner, and whilst I wasgazing up at it, and following with theeye the exquisitely drawn curves which



wandered down the snow in the gully,all converging to a large rut in its centre,I saw a few little stones skidding down.I consoled myself with thinking thatthey would not interfere with us if weadhered to the side. But then a largerone came down, a solitary fellow, rush-ing at the rate of sixty miles an hour and anothf- and another. I was un-willing to ri'.se the fears of the men un-necessarily, and said nothing to them.They did not hear the stones. Aimerwas seated on a rock, carving largeslices from a leg of mutton, the otherswere chatting, and the first intimationthey had of danger was from a crash, asudden roar, which reverberated awfully

amongst the cliffs ; and looking up iheysaw rocks, boulders and stones, big andlittle, dart round the corner eight hun-dred feet or so above us, fly with fearful

fury against the opposite cliffs, reboundfrom them against the walls on our side,and descend; some ricochetting fromside to side in a frantic manner, somebounding down in leaps of a hundredfeet or more over the snow, and moretrailing down in a jumbled, confusedmass, mixed with snow and ice, deep-ening the grooves which a moment be-fore had excited my admiration.

The men looked wildly around forprotection, and, dropping the food, dash-

ed under cover in all directions. Theprecious mutton was pitched on one side,the wine-bag was let fall, and its con-tents gushed out from the unclosed neck,while all four cowered under defendingrocks, endeavoring to make themselvesas small as possible. Let it not be sup-posed that their fright was unreasonableor that I was free from it. I took goodcare to make myself safe, and went andcringed in a cleft until the storm hadpassed. But their scramble to get un-der shelter was indescribably ludicrous.

Such a panic I have never witnessed,before or since, upon a mountain-side.

This ricochet practice was a noveltyto me. It arose, of course, from thecouloir being bent, and from the fallingrocks having acquired great pace beforethey passed the angle. In straight gul-lies it will probably never be experienced.The rule is, as I have already remarked,



that falling stones keep down the centresof gullies, and you are out of harm'sway if you follow the sides.

There would have been singularlylittle amusement and very great risk inmounting this gully, and we turned ourbacks upon it with perfect unanimity.The question then arose, ** What is to bedone ?" I suggested climbing the rocksabove us, but this was voted impossible.I thought the men were right, but wouldnot give in without being assured of thefact, and clambered up to settle the ques-tion. In a few minutes I was broughtto a halt. ¦ My forces were scattered :the little hunchback alone was closely

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following me, with a broad grin upon

his face and the tent upon his shoulder ;Croz, more behind, was still keeping aneye upon his monsieur ; Aimer, a hun-dred feet below, sat on a rock with hisface buried in his hands; Biener wasnowhere, out of sight. "Come down,come down,'* shouted Croz, "it is use-less ;" and I turned at length, convincedthat it was even as he said. Thus mylittle plan was knocked on the head,and we were thrown back upon the orig-inal scheme.

We at once made a straight track forMr. Morshead's Breuiljoch (which wasthe most direct route to take in order to

get to the Hornli, where we intended tosleep, preparatory to attacking the east-ern face), and arrived upon its summitat 12.30 P.M. We were then unexpect-



edly checked. The pass, as one, hadvanished ! and we found ourselves cutoff from the Furggengletscher by a smallbut precipitous wall of rock : the glacierhad shrunk so much that descent wasimpracticable. During the last hourclouds had been coming up from thesouth : they now surrounded us, and itbegan to blow hard. The men cluster-ed together, and advocated leaving themountain alone. Aimer asked, withmore point than politeness, " Why don't

^''.^'

MT TBKT-BBARER THB HUNCHBACK.

you try to go up a mountain whichcan be ascended ?" *' It is impossible,"chimed in Biener. "Sir," said Croz, "ifwe cross to the other side we shall losethree days, and very likely shall notsucceed. You want to make ascents inthe chain of Mont Blanc, and I believethey can be made. But I shall not beable to make them with you if I spendthese days here, for I must be at Cha-mounix on the 27th." There was forcein what he said, and his words made mehesitate. I relied upon his strong arms

for some work which it was expectedwould be unusually difficult. Snow be-gan to fall : that settled the matter, and

I gave the word to retreat. We wentback to Breuil, and on to Val Tour-nanche, where we slept; and the nextday proceeded to Chatillon, and thenceup the valley of Aosto to Cormayeur.

I cannot but regret that the counsels

of the guides prevailed. If Croz hadnot uttered his well-intentioned words hemight still have been living. He partedfrom us at Chamounix at the appointedtime, but by a strange chance we metagain at Zermatt three weeks later ; andtwo days afterward he perished beforemy eyes on the very mountain fromwhich we turned away, at his adviceon the 2 1 St of June.



It would be a pity if it were otherwise.They appeal to the sympathies of all asthe remnants of a diminishing race, andno mountaineer or athletic person couldwitness without sorrow the extinction ofan animal possessing such noble quali-ties ; which a few months after birth canjump over a man's head at a bound,without taking a run ; which passes itswhole hfe in a constant fight for exist-ence ; which has such a keen apprecia-tion of the beauties of Nature, and suchdisregard of pain, that it will " stand forhours like a statue in the midst of the bit-terest storm, until the tips of its ears arefrozen " ! and which, when its last hourarrives, "climbs to the highest mountain-peaks, hangs on a rock with its horns,twists itself round and round upon themuntil they are worn off, and then fallsdown and expires"!!* Even Tschudihimself calls this story wonderful. Hemay well do so. I disclaim behef in it the bouquetin is too fine a beast to

indulge in such antics.

Forty-five keepers, selected from themost able chasseurs of the district, guard

* Tschudi's Sketches of Nature in the Alps.

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its haunts. Their task is not a light one,

although they are naturally acquaintedwith those who are most likely to attemptpoaching. If they were withdrawn, itwould not be long before the ibex wouldbe an extinct wild animal, so far as theAlps are concerned. The passion forkilling something, and the present valueof the beast itself, would soon lead to itsextermination. For as meat alone the



THB BOUQUBTIN.

bouquetin is valuable, the gross weightof one that is full grown amounting tofrom one hundred and sixty to two hun-dred pounds, while its skin and hornsare worth ten pounds and upward, ac-cording to condition and dimensions.

In spite of the keepers, and of thesevere penalties which may be inflictedfor killing a bouquetin, poaching occursconstandy. Knowing that this was thecase, I inquired at Aosta, upon my last

visit, if any skins or horns were for sale,and in ten minutes was taken into agarret where the remains of a splendidbeast were concealed a magnificent

male, presumed to be more than twentyyears old, as its massive horns had twen-ty-two more or less strongly -markedknobby rings. The extreme length ofthe skin, from the tip of the nose to theend of the tail, was one metre sixty-ninecentimetres (about five feetseven inches), and from theground to the top of its backhad been, apparently, aboutseventy-seven centimetres.It is rare to meet with a bou-quetin of these dimensions,

and the owner of this skinmight have been visited withseveral years' imprisonmentif it had been known that itwas in his possession.

The chase of the bouque-tin is properly considered asport fit for a king, and HisMajesty Victor Emmanuel,for whom it is reserved, istoo good a sportsman toslaughter indiscriminately

an animal which is an or-nament to his domains.Last year (1869) seventeenSl"?.^]^:^^ fell to his gun at one hun-dred yards and upward. In1 868, His Majesty presenteda fine specimen to the Ital-ian Alpine Club. The mem-bers banqueted, I believe,upon its flesh, and they have



had the skin stuffed and setup in their rooms at Aosta.It is said by connoisseurs tobe badly stuffed ^that it isnot broad enough in the chest and is toolarge behind. Still, it looks well-propor-tioned, although it seems made for hardwork rather than for feats of agility.From this specimen the accompanyingengraving has been made.

It is a full-grown male about twelveyears old, and if it stood upright wouldmeasure three feet three and a halfinches from the ground to the base of itshorns. Its extreme length is four feet

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seven inches. Its horns have elevenwell-marked rings, besides one or two

faintly-marked ones, and are (measuredround their curvature) fifty-four and ahalf centimetres in length. The hornsof the first-mentioned specimen (meas-ured in the same way) had a length ofonly fifty-three and a half centimetres,although they were ornamented withnearly double the number of rings, andwere presumably of double the age, ofthe other.*

The keepers and the chasseurs of thisdistrict not only say that the rings upon

the horns of the ibex tell its age (eachone reckoning as a year), but that thehalf-developed ones, which sometimesare very feebly marked indeed, showthat the animal has suffered from hungerduring the winter. Naturalists are skep-tical upon this point, but inasmuch asthey offer no better reason against thereputed fact than the natives do in itsfavor (one saying that it is not so, and



the other saying that it is so), we mayperhaps be permitted to consider it anopen question. I can only say that ifthe faintly-marked rings do denote yearsof famine, the times for the bouquetinare very hard indeed ; since in most ofthe horns which I have seen the lesserrings have been very numerous, andsometimes more plentiful than the prom-inent ones.

The chef of the keepers (who judgesby the above-mentioned indications)tells me that the ibex not unfrequentlyarrives at the age of thirty years, andsometimes to forty or forty -five. Hesays, too, that it is not fond of traversingsteep snow, and in descending a couloirthat is filled with it will zig-zag down,by springing from one side to the otherin leaps of fifty feet at a time ! JeanTairraz, the worthy landlord of the Ho-tel du Mont Blanc at Aosta (who hashad opportunities of observing the ani-

mal closely), assures me that at theage of four or five months it can easily

* Mr. King, in his Italian Valleys of the Al^s, says," In the pair [of horns] I possess, which are ttvofeetlong, there are eight of these yearly rings." It wouldseem, therefore (if the rings are annual ones), that themaximum hmgth of horn is attained at a compar-atively early age.

clear a height of nine or ten feet at a

bound !

Long live the bouquetin! and longmay its chase preserve the health of themountaineering king, Victor Emmanuel !Long life to the bouquetin ! but downwith the cretin !

The peculiar form of idiocy which iscalled cretinism is so highly developedin the valley of Aosta, and the nativesare so familiarized with it, that they arealmost indignant when the surprised

traveler remarks its frequency. One iscontinually reminded that it is not pe-culiar to the valley, and that there arecretins elsewhere. It is too true that thisterrible scourge is widespread through-out the Alps and over the world, andthat there are places where the propor-tion of cretins to population is, or hasbeen, even greater than in the valley ofAosta ; but I have never seen or heard



of a valley so fertile and so charming of one which, apart from cretinism,leaves so agreeable an impression uponthe wayfarer where equal numbers arereduced to a condition which any re-spectable ape might despise.

The whole subject of cretinism is sur-rounded with difficulty. The numberof those who are afflicted by it is un-known, its cure is doubtful, and its originis mysterious. It has puzzled the mostacute observers, and every general state-ment in regard to it must be fenced byqualifications.

It is tolerably certain, however, thatthe centre of its distribution in the valleyof Aosta is about the centre of the valley.The city of Aosta itself may be regardedas its head-quarters. It is there, and inthe neighboring towns of Gignod, Ville-neuve, St. Vincent and Verrex, and inthe villages and upon the high-road be-

tween those places, that these distorted,mindless beings, more like brutes thanmen, commonly excite one's disgust bytheir hideous, loathsome and uncouthappearance, by their obscene gesturesand by their senseless gabbling. Theaccompanying portrait of one is by nomeans overdrawn : some are too fright-ful for representation.

How can we account for this partic-

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ular intensity toward the middle of thevalley ? Why is it that cretins becomemore and more numerous after Ivrea ispassed, attain their highest ratio andlowest degradation at or about the chieftown of the valley, and then diminish in



numbers as its upper termination is ap-proached ? This maximum of intensitymust certainly point to a cause, or to acombination of causes, operating aboutAosta, which are less powerful at thetwo extremities of the valley ; and if thereason for it could be determined, thesprings of cretinism would be exposed.The disease would be even more puz-

A CRRTIN OF AOSTA.

zling than it is if it were confined to thissingle locality, and the inquirer were tofind not merely that it was almost un-known upon the plains to the east andin the districts to the west, but that thevalleys radiating north and south fromthe main valley were practically un-

affected by it. For it is a remarkablecircumstance, which has attracted thenotice of all who have paid attention tocretinism, that the natives of the trib-utary valleys are almost free from themalady that people of the same race,speaking the same language, breathingthe same air, eating the same food, and9

living the same life, enjoy almost entire

immunity from it, while at the distanceof a very few miles thousands of othersare completely in its power.

A parallel case is found, however, onthe other side of the Pennine Alps. TheRhone valley is almost equally disfiguredby cretinism, and in it, too, the extrem-ities of the valley are slightly affectedcompared with the intermediate districts particularly those between Brieg andSt. Maurice.* This second examplestrengthens the conviction that the great

development of cretinism in the middleof the valley of Aosta is not the resultof accidental circumstances.

It was formerly supposed that cre-tinism arose from the habitual drink-ing of snow- and glacier-water. DeSaussure opposed to this conjecture thefacts that the disease was entirely un-known precisely in those places where



the inhabitants were most dependentupon these kinds of water, and that itwas most common where such wasnot the case that the high valleyswere untainted, while the low oneswere infected. The notion seems tohave proceeded from cretins beingconfounded with persons who weremerely goitred, or at least from thesupposition that goitre was an incipi-' ent stage of cretinism.

Goitre, it is now well ascertained, isinduced by the use of chemically im-pure water, and especially hard water ;and the investigations of various ob-servers have discovered that goitre hasan intimate connection with certaingeological formations. In harmony withthese facts it is found that infants areseldom born with goitres, but that theydevelop as the child grows up, that theywill sometimes appear and disappearfrom mere change of locality, and that

it is possible to produce them inten-tionally.

It is not so certain that the causeswhich produce goitre should be regarded

* It was stated a few years ago that one in twenty-five of the natives of the Canton Valais (which ischiefly occupied by the valley of the Upper Rhone)were cretins. This would give about thirty-five hun-dred to the canton. At the same time the valley otAosta contained about two thousand cretins.

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as causes of the production or mainten-ance of cretinism. It is true that cre-tins are very generally goitrous, but it isalso true that there are tens of thousandsof goitrous persons who are entirely free



from all traces of cretinism. Not onlyso, but that there are districts in the Alpsand outside of them (even in our owncountry) where goitre is not rare, butwhere the cretin is unknown. Still, re-garding the evil state of body whichleads to goitre as being, possibly, inalliance with cretinism, it will not beirrelevant to give the former disease alitde more attention before continuingthe consideration of the main subject.

In this country the possession of agoitre is considered a misfortune ratherthan otherwise, and individuals who areafflicted with these appendages attemptto conceal their shame. In the Alps itis quite the reverse. In France, Italyand Switzerland it is a positive advan-tage to be goitred, as it secures exemp-tion from military service. A goitre isa thing to be prized, exhibited, preserved it is worth so much hard cash ; and itis an unquestionable fact that the per-

petuation of the great goitrous family isassisted by this very circumstance.

When Savoy was annexed to Francethe administration took stock of the re-sources of its new territory, and soondiscovered that although the acres weremany the conscripts would be few. Thegovernment bestirred itself to amend thisstate of affairs, and after arriving at theconclusion that goitre was produced bydrinking bad water (and that its produc-tion was promoted by sottish and bestial

habits), took measures to cleanse thevillages, to analyze the waters (in orderto point out those which should not bedrunk), and to give to children whocame to school lozenges containing smalldoses of iodine. It is said that out offive thousand goitrous children who wereso trctited in the course of eight years,two thousand were cured, and the con-dition of two thousand others was im-proved ; and that the number of cureswould have been greater if the parents** had not opposed the care of the gov-

ernment, in order to preserve the priv-

ilege of exemption from military ser-vice,*' These benighted creatures re-fused the marshal's baton and preferredtheir "wallets of flesh !**

No wonder that the pr6fet for Haute-



Savoie proposes that goitrous personsshall no longer be privileged. Let himgo farther, and obtain a decree that allof them capable of bearing arms shallbe immediately drafted into the army.Let them be formed into regiments bythemselves, brigaded together and com-manded by cretins. Think what espritde corps they would have ! Who couldstand against them ? Who would un-def stand their tactics ? He would savehis iodine and would render an act ofjustice to the non-goitred population.The subject is worthy of serious atten-tion. If goitre is really an ally of cre-tinism, the sooner it is eradicated thebetter.

De Saussure substituted heat and stag-nation of air as the cause of cretinism,in the place of badness of water. Butthis was only giving up one unsatisfac-tory explanation for another equally un-tenable ; and since there are places far

hotter and with pernicious atmosphereswhere the disease is unknown, while, onthe other hand, there are situations inwhich it is common where the heat isnot excessive, and which enjoy a freelycirculating atmosphere, his assumptionmay be set aside as insufficient to ac-count for the cretinism of the valley ofAosta. And in regard to its particularcase it may be questioned whether thereis anything more than an imaginarystagnation of air. For my own part, Iattribute the oppression which strangers

say they feel in the middle of the valleynot to stagnation of air, but to absenceof shadow in consequence of the val-ley's course being east and west; andbelieve that if the force of the wind wereobserved and estimated according to themethods in common use, it would befound that there is no deficiency of mo-tion in the air throughout the entire year.Several towns and villages, moreover,where cretins are most numerous, areplaced at the entrances of valleys andupon elevated slopes, with abundant

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natural facilities for drainage free frommalaria, which has been suggested asaccounting for the cretinism of the Rhonevalley.

Others have imagined that intemper-ance, poor living, foul habits and per-sonal uncleanliness sow the seeds ofcretinism ; and this opinion is entitledto full consideration. Intemperance ofdivers kinds is fruitful in the productionof insanity, and herding together in filthydwellings, with little or no ventilation,may possibly deteriorate physique asmuch as extreme indulgence may the

mind. These ideas are popularly en-tertained, because cretins are morenumerous among the lower orders thanamong the well-to-do classes. Yet theymust, each and all, be regarded as in-adequate to account for the disease, stillless to explain its excess in the centreof the valley ; for in these respects thereis little or no distinction between it,the two extremities and the neighboringdistricts.

A conjecture remains to be considered

regarding the origin of cretinism whichis floating in the minds of many persons(although it is seldom expressed), whichcarries with it an air of probability thatis wanting in the other explanations, andwhich is supported by admitted facts.

The fertility of the valley of Aosta isproverbial. It is covered with vineyardsand cornfields, flocks and herds aboundin it, and its mineral resources are great.There is enough and to spare both forman and beast. There are poor in the

valley, as there are everywhere, but lifeis so far easy that they are not driven toseek for subsistence in other places, andremain from generation to generationrooted to their native soil. The largenumbers of persons who are found inthis valley having the same surnamesis a proof of the well-known fact thatthere is little or no emigration from thevalley, and that there is an indefinite



amount of intermarriage between the1 atives. It is conjectured that the con-tinuance of these conditions through along period has rendered the populationmore or less consanguineous, and that wesee in cretinism an example; upon a large

scale, of the evil effects of alliances ofkindred.

This explanation commends itself byreason of its general applicability to cre-tinism. The disease is commonly foundin valleys, on islands or in other circum-scribed aieas in which circulation is re-stricted or the inhabitants are non-mi-gratory ; and it is rare on plains, wherecommunications are free. It will at oncebe asked, ** Why, then, are not the tribu-tary valleys of the valley of Aosta fullof cretins ?" The answer is, that theselateral valleys are comparatively sterile,

and are unable to support their popula-tion from their internal resources. Largenumbers annually leave and do not re-turn some come back, having formedalliances elsewhere. There is a constantcirculation and introduction of new blood.I am not aware that there are returns toshow the extent to which this goes on,but the fact is notorious.

This conjecture explains, far betterthan the other guesses, why it is thatcretinism has so strong a hold upon the

lower classes, while it leaves the upperones almost untouched; for the formerare most likely to intermarry with peo-ple of their own district, whilst the latterare under no sort of compulsion in thisrespect. It gives a clue, too, to the rea-son of the particular intensity in thecentre of the valley. The inhabitantsof the lower extremity communicate andmix with the untainted dwellers on theplains, whilst the conditions at the up-per extremity approximate to those ofthe lateral valleys. Before this explana-

tion will be generally received a closerconnection will have to be establishedbetween the assumed cause and thepresumed effect. Accepting it, never-theless, as a probable and reasonableone, let us now consider what prospectthere is of checking the progress of thedisease.

It is, of course, impossible to change



the habits of the natives of the valleyof Aosta suddenly, and it would proba-bly be very difficult to cause any largeamount of emigration or immigration.In the present embarrassed condition ofItalian finances there is very small chance

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of any measure of the sort being under-taken if it would involve a considerableexpenditure. The opening of a railwayfrom Ivrea to Aosta might possibly bringabout, in a natural way, more move-ment than would be promoted by anylegislation, and by this means the hap-piest effects might be produced.

There is little hope of practical resultsfrom attempts to cure cretins. Once acretin, you are always one. The experi-

ments of the late Dr. Guggenbiihl de-monstrated that some ^a^-cretins mayeven become useful members of societyif they are taken in hand early in life,but they did not show that the natureof the true or complete cretin could bealtered. He essayed to modify some ofthe mildest forms of cretinism, but didnot strike at the root of the evil. . If fiftyGuggenbuhls were at work in the singlevalley of Aosta, they would take severalgenerations to produce an appreciableeffect, and they would never extirpate

the disease so long as its sources wereunassailed.

Nor will the house which has beenbuilt at Aosta to contain two hundredcretin, beggars do much, unless the in-mates are restrained from perpetuatingtheir own degradation. Even the lowesttypes of cretins may be procreative, andit is said that the unlimited liberty which



is allowed to them has caused infinitemischief. A large proportion of the cre-tins who will be born in the next gen-eration will undoubtedly be offspring ofcretin parents. It is strange that self-interest does not lead the natives ofAosta to place their cretins under suchrestrictions as would prevent their illicitintercourse ; and it is still more surpris-ing to find the Catholic Church actuallylegalizing their marriage. There is some-thing horribly grotesque in the idea ofsolemnizing^^ union of a brace of idiots ;and since it is well known that the dis-ease is hereditary, and develops in suc-cessive generations, the fact that suchmarriages are sanctioned is scandalousand infamous.

The supply, therefore, is kept up fromtwo sources. The first contingent is de-rived from apparently healthy parents ;

the second, by inheritance from diseaseapersons. The origin of the first is ob-scure ; and before its quota can be cutoff", or even diminished, the mysterywhich envelops it must be dissipated.The remedy for the second is obvious,and is in tfie hands of the authorities,particularly in those of the clergy. Mar-riage must be prohibited to all who areaffiected, the most extreme cases must beplaced under restraint, and cretins whoseorigin is illegitimate must be subject to

disabilities. Nothing short of the adop-tion of these measures will meet thecase. Useless it will be, so long as theprimary ^ources of the disease are un-touched, to build hospitals, to cleansedwellings, to widen streets, or to attemptsmall ameliorations of the social circum-stances of the natives. All of thesethings are good enough in themselves,but they are wholly impotent to eff"ect aradical change.

No satisfactory conclusion will be ar-

rived at regarding the origin of cretinismuntil the pedigrees of a large number ofexamples have been traced. The numer-ical test is the only one which is likelyto discover the reality. The necessaryinquiries are beyond the powers of pri-vate persons, and their pursuit will befound sufficiently difficult by official in-vestigators. Great reluctance will beexhibited to disclose the information



which should be sought, and the com-mon cry will certainly be raised thatsuch scrutiny is without general advan-tage and is painful to private feelings.But in matters which affect mankind ingeneral, individual feelings must alwaysbe subordinated to the public interest;and if the truth is to be arrived at inregard to cretinism, the protests of theignorant will have to be overridden.

Cretinism is the least agreeable featureof the valley of Aosta, but it is, at thesame time, the most striking. It hasbeen touched upon for the sake of itshuman interest, and on account of thoseunhappy beings who punished by theerrors of their fathers are powerless tohelp themselves ; the first sight of whomproduced such an impression upon themost earnest of all Alpine writers that

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THE GRANDES JORASSES AND THE OOIRE TORRENT, VAL FERRET (D'lTALIE).

Page 133.


rnirivBRSiTY]

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he declared, in a twice-repeated expres-sion, its recollection would never be ef-faced from his memory.

On the 23d of June, 1865, my guidesand I were reposing upon the top ofMont Saxe, scanning the Grandes Jo-rasses with a view to ascending it. Fivethousand feet of glacier -covered pre-cipices rose above us, and up all thatheight we tracked a way to our satisfac-tion. Three thousand feet more of gla-cier and forest-covered slopes lay be-

neath, and there, there was only onepoint at which it was doubtful if weshould find a path. The glaciers wereshrinking, and were surrounded by bas-tions of rounded rock, far too polishedto please the rough mountaineer. Wecould not track a way across them.However, at 4 a. m. the next day, underthe dexterous leading of Michael Croz,we passed the doubtful spot. Thence itwas all plain sailing, and at i p. m. wegained the summit. The weather wasboisterous in the upper regions, and

storm-clouds driven before the wind andwrecked against our heights envelopedus in misty spray, which danced aroundand fled away, which cut us off from thematerial universe, and caused us to be,as it were, suspended betwixt heavenand earth, seeing both occasionally, butseeming to belong to neither.

The mists lasted longer than my pa-tience, and we descended without hav-ing attained the object for which theascent was made. At first we followed

the little ridge shown upon the accom-panying engraving (The Grandes Jo-rasses from the Val Ferret), leading fromour summit toward the spectator, andthen took to the head of the corridor ofglacier on its left, which in the view isleft perfectly white. The slopes weresteep and covered with new-fallen snow,flour- like and evil to tread upon. Onthe ascent we had reviled it, and had



made our staircase with much caution,knowing full well that the disturbanceof its base would bring down all thatwas above. In descending, the bolderspirits counseled trusting to luck and aglissade : the cautious ones advocated

avoiding the slopes and crossing to therocks on their farther side. The adviceof the latter prevailed, and we had halftraversed the snow to gain the ridgewhen the crust slipped and we wentalong with it. "Halt!" broke from allfour unanimously. The axe-heads flewround as we started on this involuntaryglissade. It was useless they slid overthe underlying ice fruitlessly. "Halt!'*thundered Croz, as he dashed his wea-pon in again with superhuman energy.No halt could be made, and we sliddown slowly, but with accelerating mo-tion, driving up waves of snow in front,

with streams of the nasty stuff hissingall around. Luckily, the slope easedoff at one place, the leading men clev-erly jumped aside out of the movingsnow, we others followed, and the youngavalanche which we had started, con-tinuing to pour down, fell into a yawn-ing crevasse, and showed us where ourgrave would have been if we had re-mained in its company five secondslonger. The whole affair did not occupyhalf a minute. It was the solitary inci-dent of a long day, and at nightfall we

re-entered the excellent house kept bythe courteous Bertolini, well satisfiedthat we had not met with more incidentsof a similar description.

CHAPTER XVII.THE COL DOLENT.

Freethinking mountaineers havebeen latterly in the habit of going upone side of an alp and coming down

the other, and calling the route a pass.In this confusion of ideas may be re-cognized the result of the looseness ofthought which arises from the absenceof technical education. The true be-liever abhors such heresies, and observeswith satisfaction that Providence often-times punishes the offenders for theirgreediness by causing them to be be-nighted. The faithful know that passes



must be made between mountains, andnot over their tops. Their creed declaresthat between any two mountains theremust be a pass, and they believe that

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the end for which big peaks were created

^the office they are especially designedto fulfill is to point out the way oneshould go. This is the true faith, andthere is no other.

We set out upon the 26th of June toendeavor to add one more to the passeswhich are strictly orthodox. We hoped,rather than expected, to discover a quick-er route from Courmayeur to Chamounixthan the Col du Geant, which was theeasiest, quickest and most direct passknown at the time across the main chain

of Mont Blanc. The misgivings whichI had as to the result caused us to startat the unusual hour of 12.40 A. m. At4.30 we passed the chalets of Pr^ duBar, and thence, for some distance, fol-lowed the track which we had madeupon the ascent of Mont Dolent, overthe glacier of the same name. At aquarter-past eight we arrived at the headof the glacier, and at the foot of theonly steep gradient upon the whole ofthe ascent.

It was the beau-ideal of a pass. Therewas a gap in the mountains, with a bigpeak on each side (Mont Dolent and theAiguille de Triolet). A narrow threadof snow led up to the lowest point be-tween those mountains, and the bluesky beyond said. Directly you arrivehere you will begin to go down. Weaddressed ourselves to our task, and atlo.i 5 A. M. arrived at the top of the pass.



Had things gone as they ought, with-in six hours more we should have beenat Chamounix. Upon the other side weknew that there was a couloir in corre-spondence with that up which we hadjust come. If it had been filled withsnow, all would have been well : it turn-ed out to be filled with ice. Croz, wholed, passed over to the other side, andreported that we should get down some-how, but I knew from the sound of hisaxe how the somehow would be, andsettled myself to sketch, well assuredthat / should not be wanted for an hourto come. What I saw is shown in theengraving a sharp aiguille (nameless),perhaps the sharpest in the whole range,backed on the left by the Aiguille deTriolef ; queer blocks of (probably) pro-

togine sticking out awkwardly through

the snow ; and a huge cornice fromwhich big icicles depended, that brokeaway occasionally and went skiddlingdown the slope up which we had como.Of the Argentiere side I could not seeanything.

Croz was tied up with our good manilarope, and the whole two hundred feetwere paid out gradually by Aimer andBiener before he ceased working. Aftertwo hours' incessant toil, he was ableto anchor himself to the rock on his

right. He then untied himself, the ropewas drawn in, Biener was attached tothe end and went down to join his com-rade. There was then room enough forme to stand by the side of Aimer, and Igot my first view of the other side. Forthe first and only time in my life I look-ed down a slope of more than a thou-sand feet long, set at an angle of aboutfifty degrees, which was a sheet of icefrom top to bottom. It was unbrokenby rock or crag, and anything throwndown it sped away unarrested until the

level of the Glacier d' Argentiere wasreached. The entire basin of that nobleglacier was spread out at our feet, andthe ridge beyond, culminating in theAiguille d'Argentiere, was seen to thegreatest advantage. I confess, however,that I paid very little attention to theview, for there was no time to indulgein such luxuries. I descended the icystaircase and joined the others, and then



we three drew in the rope tenderly asAimer came down. His was not an en-viable position, but he descended withas much steadiness as if his whole lifehad been passed on ice-slopes of fiftydegrees. The process was repeated,Croz again going to the front, and avail-ing himself very skillfully of the rockswhich projected from the cliff on ourright. Our two hundred feet of ropeagain came to an end, and we againdescended one by one. From this pointwe were able to clamber down by therocks alone for about three hundred feet.They then became sheer cliff, and westopped for dinner, about 2.30 p. M., atthe last place upon which we could sit.Four hours' incessant work had brought

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FHE SUMMIT OF THE COL DOLENT.

Page 134.

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us rather more than halfway down thegully. We were now approaching,although we were still high above, theschrunds at its base, and the guidesmade out, in some way unknown to me,that Nature had perversely placed theonly snow-bridge across the topmost onetoward the centre of the gully. It wasdecided to cut diagonally across thegully to the point where the snow-bridgewas supposed to be. Aimer and Biener

undertook the work, leaving Croz and

MY ICB-AXB.

myself firmly planted on the rocks topay out rope to them as they advanced.It is generally admitted that veritable

ice-slopes (understanding by ice some-thing more than a crust of hard snowover soft snow) are only rarely met within the Alps. They are frequently spokenof, but such as that to which I refer arevery rarely seen, and still more seldomtraversed. It is, however, always pos-sible that they may be encountered, andon this account, if for no other, it is ne-cessar)' for men who go mountaineeringto be armed with ice-axes, and with

good ones. The form is of more im-portance than might be supposed. Ofcourse, if you intend to act as a simpleamateur and le;t others do the work, andonly follow in their steps, it is not ofmuch importance what kind of ice-axeyou carry, so long as its head does notfall off or otherwise behave itself im-properly. There is no better weapon



for cutting steps in ice than a commonpick-axe, and the forai of ice-axe whichis now usually employed by the bestguides is very like a minia-ture pick. My own axe is.copied from Melchior An-deregg's. It is of wroughtiron, with point and edgesteeled. Its weight, includ-ing spiked handle, is fourpounds. For cutting stepsin ice the pointed end of thehead is almost exclusivelyemployed: the adze -end ishandy for polishing them up,but is principally used forcutting in hard snow. Apartfrom its value as a cuttingweapon, it is invaluable as agrapnel. It is naturally arather awkward implementwhen it is not being employ-ed for its legitimate purpose,and is likely to give rise to

much strong language incrushes at railway termini,unless its head is protectedwith a leathern cap or in someother way. Many attemptshave been made, for the sakeof convenience, to fashion anice-axe with a nwvable head, but itseems difficult or impossible to produceone except at the expense of cuttingqualities and by increasing the weight.

Mr. T. S. Kennedy (of the firm of

Fairbairn & Co.), whose practical ac-quaintance with mountaineering andwith the use and manufacture of toolsmakes his opinion particularly valuable,has contrived the best that I have seen ;but even it seems to me to be deficientin rigidity, and not to be so powerful aweapon as the more common kind withthe fixed head. The simple instrument

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which is shown in the annexed diagramis the invention of Mr. Leslie Stephen,

and it answers the purposes for whichhe devised it namely, for giving better

hold upon snow and ice thancan be obtained from the com-mon alpenstock, and for cuttingan occasional step. The ama-teur scarcely requires anythingmore imposing, but for seriousice-work a heavier weapon is in-dispensable.

To persons armed with theproper tools, ice-slopes are notso dangerous as many placeswhich appeal less to the imagination.Their ascent or descent is necessarilylaborious (to those who do thework), and they may thereforebe termed difficult. They oughtnot to be dangerous. Yet theyalways seem dangerous, for oneis profoundly convinced that ifhe slips he will certainly go to thebottom. Hence, any man who

is not a fool takes particular care to pre-serve his balance, and in consequencewe have the noteworthy fact that acci-dents have seldom or never taken placeupon ice-slopes.

The same slopes covered with snoware much less impressive, and may bemuch more dangerous. They may beless slippery, the balance may be moreeasily preserved, and if one man slipshe may be stopped by his own personalefforts, provided the snow which over-

lies the ice is consolidated and of a rea-sonable depth. But if, as is more likelyto be the case upon an angle of fiftydegrees (or anything approaching thatangle), there is only a thin stratum ofsnow which is not consolidated, the oc-currence of a slip will most likely takethe entire party as low as possible, and,in addition to the chance of brokennecks, there will be a strong probability



that some, at least, will be smothered bythe dislodged snow. Such accidents arefar too common, and their occurrence.

KENNEDY ICK-AXK.

as a rule, may be traced to thewant of caution which is inducedby the apparent absence ofdanger.

I do not believe that the useof the rope, in the ordinary way,affords the least real securityupon ice-slopes. Nor do 1 thinkthat any benefit is derived fromthe employment of crampons.Mr. Kennedy was good enoughto present me with a pair some time ago,and one of these has been engraved.

jnfflmb.

9TEPHBN ICB-AXB

They are the best variety I have seen of

the species, but I only feel comfortablewith them on my feet in places wherethey are not of the slightest use that is,in situations where there is no possibilityof slipping and would not wear them

upon an ice-slope for any considerationwhatever. All such adventitious aidsare useless if you have not a good stepin the ice to stand upon, and if you have

got that nothing more is wanted excepta few nails in the boots.

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Aimer and Biener got to the end oftheir tether : the rope no longer assuredtheir safety, and they stopped work aswe advanced and coiled it up. Shortlyafterward they struck a streak of snowthat proved to be just above the bridgeof which they were in search. The slopesteepened, and for thirty feet or so wedescended face to the wall, making stepsby kicking with the toes and thrustingthe arms well into the holes above, justas if they had been rounds in a ladder.At this time we were crossing the upper-

most of the schrunds. Needless to saythat the snow was of an admirable qual-ity: this performance would otherwisehave been impossible. It was soon over,and we then found ourselves upon ahuge rhomboidal mass of ice, and stillseparated from the Argentiere glacier bya gigantic crevasse. The only bridgeover this lower schrund was at its easternend, and we were obliged to double backto get to it. Cutting continued for halfan hour after it was passed, and it was5.35 p. M. before the axes stopped work,

and we could at last turn back and lookcomfortably at the formidable slope uponwhich seven hours had been spent.*

The Col Dolent is not likely to com-pete with the Col du Geant, and I wouldrecommend any person who starts tocross it to allow himself plenty of time,plenty of rope and ample guide-power.There is no difficulty whatever upon anypart of the route, excepting upon thesteep slopes immediately below the sum-mit on each side. When we arrived

upon the Glacier d' Argentiere our workwas as good as over. We drove a straighttrack to the chalets of Lognan, and thencethe way led over familiar ground. Soonafter dusk we got into the high-road atLes Tines, and at 10 p. m. arrived atChamounix. Our labors were duly re-warded. Houris brought us champagneand the other drinks which are reservedfor the faithful, but before my share was



consumed I fell asleep in an arm-chair.1 slept soundly until daybreak, and thenturned into bed and went to sleep again.

* I estimate its hc'ght at 1200 feet. The triangula-tion of Captain Mieulet places the summit of the pass21,624 feet above the sea. This, I think, is too high.

CHAPTER XVIII.ASCENT OF THE AIGUILLE VERTE.

Michel Croz now parted from us.His new employer had not arrived atChamounix, but Croz considered that hewas bound by honor to wait for him, andthus Christian Aimer of Grindelwald be-came my leading guide.

Aimer displayed aptitude for moun-taineering at an early age. Whilst stilla very young man he was known as acrack chamois-hunter, and he soon de-

veloped into an accomplished guide.Those who have read Mr. Wills' graphicaccount of the first ascent of the Wet-terhorn* will remember that when his

CHRISTIAN ALMBR.

party was approaching the top of themountain two stranger men were seenclimbing by a slightly different route,

one of whom carried upon his back ayoung fir tree, branches, leaves and all.Mr. Wills' guides were extremely indig-nant with these two strangers (who wereevidently determined to be the first atthe summit), and talked of giving themblows. Eventually they gave them acake of chocolate instead, and declaredthat they were good fellows. "Thus thepipe of peace was smoked, and tran-quillity reigned between the rival forces.'*Christian Aimer was one of these twomen.

? Wanderings among the High Alps, 1858.

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ripple-marks where the water was withmore difficulty confined to one channel,and falling over the precipitous walls ofthe great crevasses, sometimes in bound-ing cascades, and sometimes in diffusedstreams, which marked the perpendicu-lar faces with graceful sinuosities.* Asnight came on, their music died away,the rivulets dwindled down to rills, therills ceased to murmur, and the spark-

Admirably rendered in the accompanying draw-ing by Mr. Cyrus Johnson. The " rpple-marks "are seen in the engraving upon p. 139.

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139

ling drops, caught by the hand of frost,were bound to the ice, coating it with an

enameled film which lasted until the sunstruck the glacier once more.

The weathering of the walls of cre-vasses, which obscures the internal struc-ture of the glacier, has led some to con-clude that the stratification which is seenin the higher glacier-regions is obliteratedin the lower ones. Others Agassiz andMr. John Ball, for example have dis-puted this opinion, and my own experi-ences accord with those of these accu-

ON THE MER DE GLACE.

rate observers. It is, undoubtedly, verydifficult to trace stratification in the low-er ends of the Alpine glaciers, but weare not, upon that account, entitled toconclude that the original structure of



the ice has been obliterated. There arethousands of crevasses in the upperregions upon whose walls no traces ofbedding are apparent, and we mightsay, with equal unreasonableness, thatit was obliterated there also. Take anaxe and clear away the ice which hasformed from water trickling down thefaces and the weathered ice beneath,and you will expose sections of the min-

gled strata of pure and of imperfect ice,and see clearly enough that the primi-tive structure of the glacier has not beeneffaced, although it has been obscured.

We camped on the Couvercle (sev-enty-eight hundred feet) under a greatrock, and at 3. 1 5 the next morning start-ed for our aiguille, leaving the porter incharge of the tent and of the food. Twohours' walking over crisp snow brought

us up more than four thousand feet, andwithin about sixteen hundred feet of thesummit. From no other direction can itbe approached so close-ly with equal facility.Thence the mountainsteepens. After his latesevere .piece of ice-work,Aimer had a natural in-clination for rocks ; butthe lower rocks of thefinal peak of the Vertewere not inviting, and he

went on and on, lookingfor a way up them, untilwe arrived in front of agreat snow -couloir thatled from the Glacier deTalefre right up to thecrest of the ridge con-necting the summit ofthe Verte with the moun-tain called Les Droites.This was the route which1 intended to be taken,but Aimer pointed out

that the gully narrowedat the lower part, andthat if stones fell weshould stand some chance of gettingour heads broken ; and so we went onstill more to the east of the summit, toanother and smaller couloir which ranup side by side with the great one. At5.30 we crossed the schrund which pro-tected the final peak, and a few minutes



afterward saw the summit and the wholeof the intervening route. ** Oh, AiguilleVerte !" said my guide, stopping as hesaid it, "you are dead, you are dead!"which, being translated into plain Eng-lish, meant that he was cock-sure weshould make its ascent.Aimer is a quiet man at all times.

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When climbing he is taciturn, and thisis one of his great merits. A garrulousman is always a nuisance, and upon themountain-side he may be a danger, foractual climbing requires a man's wholeattention. Added to this, talkative menare hindrances : they are usually thirsty,and a thirsty man is a drag.

Guide-books recommend mountain-

walkers to suck pebbles to, prevent theirthroats from becoming parched. Thereis not much goodness to be got out ofthe pebbles, but you cannot suck themand keep the mputh open at the sametime, and hence the throat does not be-come dry. It answers just as well tokeep the mouth shut, without any peb-bles inside indeed, I think, better ; forif you have occasion to open your mouthyou can do so without swallowing anypebbles.* As a rule, amateurs, andparticularly novices, will not keep their

mouths shut. They attempt to *' forcethe pace ;" they go faster than they cango without being compelled to open theirmouths to breathe ; they pant, theirthroats and tongues become parched;they drink and perspire copiously, and,becoming exhausted, declare that thedryness of the air or the rarefaction ofthe air (everything is laid upon the air)is in fault. On several accounts, there-



fore, a mountain-climber does well tohold his tongue when he is at his work.

At the top of the small gully we cross-ed oVer the intervening rocks into thelarge one, and followed it so long as itwas filled with snow. At last ice re-placed snow, and we turned over to therocks upon its left. Charming rocksthey were granitic in texture, gritty,holding the nails well. At 9.45 we part-ed from them, and completed the ascentby a little ridge of snow which descend-ed in the direction of the Aiguille duMoine. At 10.15 we stood on the sum-mit ( 1 3,540 feet), and devoured our breadand cheese with a good appetite.

I have already spoken of the disap-pointing nature of purely panoramic

*I heard lately of two well-known mountaineerswho, under the influence of sudden alarm, swalU/wtdtheir crystals. I am happy to say that they were

able to cough them up again.

views. That seen from Mont Blancitself is notoriously unsatisfactory. Whenyou are upon that summit you look downupon all the rest of Europe. There isnothing to look up to all is below;there is no one point for the eye to re?tupon. The man who is there is some-what in the position of one who has at-tained all that he desires he has noth-

ing to aspire to : his position must needsbe unsatisfactory. Upon the summit ofthe Verte there is not this objection.You see valleys, villages, fields ; you seemountains interminable rolling away,lakes resting in their hollows ; you hearthe tinkling of the sheep-bells as it risesthrough the clear mountain air, and theroar of the avalanches as they descendto the valleys ; but above all there is thegreat white dome, with its shining cresthigh above ; with its sparkling glaciers,that descend between buttresses which

support them ; with its brilliant snows,purer and yet purer the farther they areremoved from this unclean world.

Even upon this mountain-top it wasimpossible to forget the world, for somevile wretch came to the Jardin and madehideous sounds by blowing upon a horn.Whilst we were denouncing him a changecame over the weather : cumulous clouds



gathered in all directions, and we startedoff in hot haste. Snow began to fallheavily before we were off the summit-rocks, our track was obscured and fre-quently lost, and everything became sosloppy and slippery that the descent tookas long as the ascent. The schrund wasrecrossed at 3.15 p. M., and thence weraced down to the Couvercle, intendingto have a carouse there; but as werounded our rock a howl broke simul-taneously from all three of us, for theporter had taken down the tent, and wasin the act of moving off with it. ** Stop,there! what are you doing?" He ob-served that he had thought we were kill-ed, or at least lost, and was going toChamounix to communicate his ideas tothe guide chef. ** Unfasten the tent andget out the food." But instead of doingso, the porter fumbled in his pockets."Get out the food," we roared, losing allpatience. ** Here it is," said our worthy

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS

341

friend, producing a dirty piece of breadabout as big as a half-penny roll. Wethree looked solemnly at the fluff-cover-ed morsel. It was past a joke he haddevoured everything. Mutton, loaves,cheese, wine, eggs, sausages all wasgone past recovery. It was idle to grum-

ble and useless to wait. We were light,and could move quickly the porter wasladen inside and out. We went ourhardest he had to shuffle and trot. Hestreamed with perspiration ; the muttonand cheese oozed out in big drops ; helarded the glacier. We had our revenge,and dried our clothes at the same time,but when we arrived at the Montanvertthe porter was as wet as .we had been



upon our arrival at the Couvercle. Wehalted at the inn to get a little food, andat a quarter-past eight re-entered Cha-mounix amidst firing of cannon andother demonstrations of satisfaction onthe part of the hotel-keepers.

One would have thought that the as-cent of this mountain, which had beenfrequently assailed before without suc-cess, would have afforded some gratifi-cation to a population whose chief sup-port is derived from tourists, and thatthe prospect of the perennial flow offrancs which might be expected to resultfrom it would have stifled the jealousyconsequent on the success of foreigners.*

It was not so. Chamounix stood onits rights. A stranger had ignored theirregulations, had imported two foreignguides, and furthermore he had addedinjury to that insult he had not takena single Chamounix guide. Chamounix

would be revenged ! It would bully theforeign guides : it would tell them theyhad lied ^they had not made the ascent !Where were their proofs ? Where wasthe flag upon the summit ?

Poor Aimer and Biener were accord-ingly chivied from pillar to post, fromone inn to another, and at length com-plained to me. Peter Perrn, the Zermattguide, said on the night that we returnedthat this was to happen, but the storyseemed too absurd to be true. I now

bade my men go out again, and follow-

* The Chamounix tariff price for the ascent of theaiguille is now placed at four pounds /^r^vuViV.

ed them myself to see the sport. Cha-mounix was greatly excited. The bureauof the guide chef was thronged withclamoring men. Their ringleader oneZacharie Cachat, a well-known guide,of no particular merit, but not a bad

fellow was haranguing the multitude.He met with more than his match. Myfriend Kennedy, who was on the spot,heard of the disturbance and rushed intothe fray, confronted the burly guide andthrust back his absurdities into his teeth.

There were the materials for a verypretty riot, but they manage these thingsbetter in France than we do, and the



gensdarmes ^three strong came downand dispersed the crowd. The guidesquailed before the cocked hats, and re-tired to cabarets to take little glasses ofabsinthe and other liquors more or lessinjurious to the human frame^ Underthe influence of these stimulants theyconceived an idea which combined re-venge with profit. *' You have ascendedthe Aiguille Verte, you say. We say wedon't believe it. We say, Do it again !Take three of us with you, and we willbet you two thousand francs to one thou-sand that you won't make the ascent !"

This proposition was formally notifiedto me, but I declined it with thanks, andrecommended Kennedy to go in andwin. I accepted, however, a hundred-franc share in the bet, and calculatedupon getting .two hundred per cent, onmy investment. Alas! how vain arehuman expectations ! Zacharie Cachatwas put into confinement, and although

Kennedy actually ascended the aiguillea week later with two Chamounix guidesand Peter Perm, the bet came to nothing.f

The weather arranged itself just as thisstorm in a teapot blew over, and we leftat once for the Montanvert, in order toshow the Chamouniards the easiest wayover the chain of Mont Blanc, in returnfor the civilities which we had receivedfrom them during the past three days.

f It should be said that we received the most polite

apologies for this affair from the chief of the gens-darmes, and an invitation to lodge a complaint againstthe ringleaders. We accepted his apologies and de-clined his invitation. Needless to add, Michel Croitook no part in the demonstration.

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IPJLI^T X.

WBSTBRN SIDE OF THB COL DB TAL&FRB.



CHAPTER XIX.THE COL DE TALfeFRE.

THE person who discovered the Coldu G6ant must have been a shrewdmo ntaineer. The pass was in use be-fore any other was known across themain chain of Mont Blanc, and down tothe present time it remains the easiestand quickest route from Chamounix toCourmayeur, with the single exceptionof the pass that we crossed upon the 3dof July for the first time, which lies aboutmidway between the Aiguille de Trioletand the Aiguille de Talefre, and which,

for want of a better name, I have calledthe Col de Talefre.

When one looks toward the upperend of the Glacier de Talefre from thedirection of the Jardin or of the Couver-

cle, the ridge that bounds the view seemsto be of little elevation. It is overpow-ered by the colossal Grandes Jorassesand by the almost equally magnificentAiguille Verte. The ridge, notwithstand-ing, is by no means despicable. At nopoint is its elevation less than eleventhousand six hundred feet. It does notlook anything like this height. TheGlacier de Talefre mounts with a steadyincline, and the eye is completely de-ceived.

In 1864, when prowling about withMr. Reilly, I instinctively fixed upon abent couloir which led up from the gla-cier to the lowest part of the ridge ; andwhen, after crossing the Col de Triolet,I saw that the other side presented noparticular difficulty, it seemed to me thatthis was the one point in the whole ofthe range which would afford an easierpassage than the Col du G6ant.

We set out from the Montanvert at 4A. M. upon July 3, to see whether this

opinion was correct, and it fortunatelyhappened that the Rev. A. G. Girdle-

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stone and a friend, with two Chamoimixguides, left the inn at the same hour asourselves, to cross the Col du G6ant.We kept in company as far as our routeslay together, and at 9.35 we Arrived atthe top of our pass, haying taken theroute to the south of the Jardin. De-scription is unnecessary, as our track islaid down very clearly on the engravingat the head of this chapter.

Much snow had fallen during the latebad weather, and as we reposed upon

the top of our pass (which was abouteleven thousand six hundred and fiftyfeet above the level of the sea, and sixhundred feet above the Col dii Geant),we saw that the descent of the rockswhich intervened between us and theGlacier de Triolet would require somecaution, for the sun's rays poured downdirectly upon them, and the snow slip-ped away every now and then from ledgeto ledge just as if it had been water incascades not large enough to be impos-ing, but sufficient to knock us over if we

got in their way. This little bit of cliffconsequently took a longer time than itshould have done, for when we heardthe indescribable swishing, hissing soundwhich announced a coming fall, we' ofnecessity huddled under the lee of therocks until the snow ceased to shootover us.

We got to the level of the Glacier deTriolet without misadventure, then steer-ed for its left bank to avoid the upper ofits two formidable ice-falls, and after de-

scending the requisite distance by someold snow lying between the glacier andthe cliffs which border it, crossed direct-ly to the right bank over the level icebetween the two ice-falls. The rightbank was gained without any trouble,and we found there numerous beds ofhard snow (avalanche debris), downwhich we could run or glissade as fastas we liked.



Glissading is a very pleasant employ-ment when it is accomplished success-fully, and I have never seen a placewhere it can be more safely indulged inthan the snowy valley on the right bankof the Glacier de Triolet. In my dreamsI ghssade delightfully, but in practice I

find that somehow the snow will not be-have properly, and that my alpenstockwill get between my legs. Then mylegs go where my head should be, and I

see the sky revolving at a rapid pace :the snow rises up and smites me, andruns away, and when it is at last over-taken it suddenly stops, and we comeinto violent coUision. Those who are

with me say that I tumble head overheels, and there may be some truth inwhat they say. Streaks of ice are aptto make the heels shoot away, and straystone^ cause one to pitch headlong down.Somehow, these things always seem tocome in the way, so it is as well to ghs-sade only when there is something softto tumble into."^

Near the termination of the glacier wecould not avoid traversing a portion ofits abominable moraine, but at 1.30 p. M.

we were clear of it, and threw ourselvesupon some springy turf, conscious thatour day's work was over. An hour after-ward we resumed the march, crossed theDoire torrent by a bridge a little belowGruetta, and at five o'clock entered Cour-mayeur, having occupied somewhat lessthan ten hours on the way. Mr. Girdle-stone's party came in, I beheve, aboutfour hours afterward, so there was nodoubt that we made a shorter pass thanthe Col du Geant ; and I believe we dis-

* In glissading an erect position should be main-tained, and the point of the alpenstock allowed totrail over the snow. If it is necessary to stop or toslacken speed, the point is pressed against the slope,as shown in the illustratiou.

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covered a quicker way of getting fromChamounix to Courmayeur, ox vice versa,than will be found elsewhere so long asthe chain of Mont Blanc remains in itspresent condition.

CHAPTER XX.

ASCENT OF THE RUINETTE ^THE MATTER- HORN.

All of the excursions that were setdown in my programme had been car-ried out, with the exception of the ascentof the Matterhorn, and we now turned ourfaces in its direction, but instead of re-turning via the Val Tournanche, we tooka route across country, and bagged uponour way the summit of the Ruinette.

We passed the night of July 4 at

Aosta, under the roof of the genial Tair--raz, and on the 5th went by the Vald'Ollomont and the Col de la Fenetre(9140 feet) to Chermontane. We sleptthat night at the chalets of Chanrion (afoul spot, which should be avoided), leftthem at 3.50 the next morning, and aftera short scramble over the slope above,and a half-mile tramp on the Glacierde Breney, we crossed directly to theRuinette, and went almost straight up it.There is not, I suppose, another moun-tain in the Alps of the same height that

can be ascended so easily. You haveonly to go ahead : upon its southern sideone can walk about almost anywhere.

Though I speak thus slightingly of avery respectable peak, I will not do any-thing of the kind in regard to the viewwhich it gives. It is happily placed inrespect to the rest of the Pennine Alps,and as a stand-point it has not many



superiors. You see mountains, andnothing but mountains. It is a solemn some would say a dreary view, butit is very grand. The great Combin(14,164 feet), with its noble backgroundof the whole range of Mont Blanc,never looks so big as it does from here.In the contrary direction the Matter-horn overpowers all besides. The Dentd' Kerens, although closer, looks a mereoutlier of its great neighbor, and thesnows of Monte Rosa behind seem in-

tended for no other purpose than to giverelief to the crags in front. To the souththere is an endless array of Bees andBeccas, backed by the great Italianpeaks, whilst to the north Mont Pleureur(12,159 feet) Isolds its own against themore distant Wildstrubel.

We gained the summit at 9.15, and

stayed there an hour and a half. Myfaithful guides then admonished me thatPrerayen, whither we were bound, wasstill far away, and that we had yet tocross two lofty ridges. So we resumedour harness and departed ; not, however,before a huge cairn had been built outof the blocks of gneiss with which thesummit is bestrewn. Then we trotteddown the slopes of the Ruinette, overthe Glacier de Breney, and across a passwhich (if it deserves a name) may becalled the Col des Portons, after the

neighboring peaks. From thence weproceeded across the great Otemmaglacier toward the Col d'Olen.

The part of the glacier that we trav-ersed was overspread with snow, whichcompletely concealed its numerous pit-falls. We marched across it in singlefile, and of course roped together. Allat once Aimer dropped into a crevasseup to his shoulders. I pulled in therope immediately, but the snow gaveway as it was being done, and I had to

spread out my arms to stop my descent.Biener held fast, but said afterward thathis feet went through as well, so, for amoment, all three were in the jaws ofthe crevasse. We now altered our course,so as to take the fissures transversely,and after the centre of the glacier waspassed, changed it again and made di-rectly for the summit of the Col d'Olen.



It is scarcely necessary to observe,after what has been before said, that itis my invariable practice to employ arope when traversing a* snow-coveredglacier. Many guides, even the bestones, object to be roped, more especiallyearly in the morning, when the snow ishard. They object sometimes becausethey think it is unnecessary. Crevassesthat are bridged by snow are almost al-ways more or less perceptible by undu-lations on the surface : the snow droops

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down, and hollows mark the course of thechasms beneath. An experienced guideusually notices these almost impercep-tible wrinkles, steps one side or the other,as the case may require, and rarelybreaks through unawares. Guides think

there is no occasion to employ a rope,because they think that they will not betaken by surprise. Michel Croz used tobe of this opinion. He used to say thatonly imbeciles and children required tobe tied up in the morning. I told himthat in this particular matter I was achild to him. "You see these things,my good Croz, and avoid them. I donot, except you point them out to me,and so that which is not a danger to youis a danger to me." The sharper one'seyes get by use, the less is a rope required

as a protective against these hidden pit-falls, but according to my experiencethe sight never becomes so keen thatthey can be avoided with unvarying cer-tainty, and I mentioned what occurredupon the Otemma glacier to show thatthis is so.

I well remember my first passage ofthe Col Theodule, the easiest of the



higher Alpine glacier passes. We hada rope, but my guide said it was notnecessary he knew all the crevasses.However, we did not go a quarter of amile before he dropped through the snowinto a crevasse up to his neck. He wasa heavy man, and would scarcely haveextricated himself alone ; anyhow, hewas very glad of my assistance. Whenhe got on to his legs again, he said,"Well, I had no idea that there, was acrevasse there." He no longer objectedto use the rope, and we proceeded upon my part with greater peace of mindthan before. I have crossed the passthirteen times since then, and have in-variably insisted upon being tied.

Guides object to the use of the ropeupon snow-covered glacier, because theyare afraid of being laughed at by theircomrades ; and this, perhaps, is the morecommon reason. To illustrate this, hereis another Theodule experience. We

arrived at the edge of the ice, and I re-quired to be tied. My guide (a Zermattman of repute) said that no one used a

rope going across that pass. I declinedto argue the matter, and we put on therope, though very much against the wishof my man, who protested that he shouldhave to submit to perpetual ridicule ifwe met any of his acquaintances. Wehad not gone very f^r before we saw a

train coming in the contrary direction.

** Ah !" cried my man, "there is R "

(mentioning a guide who used to be keptat the Riffel hotel for the ascent of MonteRosa): "it will be as I said I shallnever hear the end of this." The guidewe met was followed by a string of tom-fools, none of whom were tied together,and had his face covered by a mask toprevent it becoming blistered. After we '

had passed, I said, " Now, should R

make any observations to you, ask himwhy he takes such extraordinary care topreserve the skin of his face, which willgrow again in a week, when he neglectssuch an obvious precaution in regard tohis life, which he can only lose once."This was quite a new idea to my guide,and he said nothing more against the use



of the rope so long as we were together.

I believe that the unwillingness to usea rope upon snow-covered glacier whichborn mountaineers not unfrequently ex-hibit, arises first, on the part of expertmen from the consciousness that theythemselves incur little risk ; secondly,on the part of inferior men from fearof ridicule, and from aping the ways oftheir superiors ; and 'thirdly, from pureignorance or laziness. Whatever maybe the reason, I raise my voice againstthe neglect of a precaution so simpleand so effectual. In my opinion, thevery first thing a glacier-traveler requiresis plenty of good rope.

A committee of the English AlpineClub was appointed in 1864 to test, andto report upon, the most suitable ropesfor mountaineering purposes, and thosewhich were approved are probably asgood as can be found. One is made of

Manila and another of Italian hemp.The former is the heavier, and weighs alittle more than an ounce per foot (103ounces to 100 feet). The latter weighs79 ounces per 100 feet, but I prefer theManila rope, because it is more easy

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86<>-»69.

to handle. Both of these ropes will sus-

tain 168 pounds falling 10 feet» or 196pounds falling 8 feet, and they breakwith a dead weight of two tons. In1865 we carried two loo-feet lengths ofthe Manila rope, and the inconveniencearising from its weight was more thanmade up for by the security which itafforded. Upon several occasions it wasworth more than an extra guide.



Now, touching the use of the rope.There is a right way and there are wrongways of using it. I often meet, uponglacier-passes, elegantly got-up persons,who are clearly out of their element,with a guide stalking alongin front, who pays no atten-tion to the innocents in hischarge. They are tied to-gether as a matter of form,but they evidently have noidea why they are tied up,for they walk side by side orclose together, with the ropetrailing on the snow. If onetumbles into a crevasse, therest stare and say, " La ! whatis the matter with Smith?"unless, as is more likely, they all tum-ble in together. This is the wrong wayto use a rope. It is abuse of the rope.

It is of the first importance to keepthe rope taut from man to man. Thereis no real security if this is not done, andyour risks may be considerably magni-fied. There is little or no difficulty inextricating one man who breaks througha bridged crevasse if the rope is taut,but the case may be very awkward iftwo break through at the same moment,close together, and there are cinly twoothers to aid, or perhaps only one other.Further, the rope ought not upon anyaccount to graze over snow, ice or rocks,

otherwise the strands suffer and the livesof the whole party may be endangered.

THE WRONG WAY TO USB THE ROPB.

Apart from this, it is extremely annoy-ing to have a rope knocking about one'sheels. If circumstances render it im-

THE RIGHT WAY TO USB THE ROPB.

possible for the rope to be kept taut byitself, the men behind should gather it



up round their hands,^* and not allowit to incommode those in advance. Aman must either be incompetent,, care-less or selfish if he permits the rope todangle about the heels of the person infront of him.

The distance from man to man mustbe neither too great nor too small. About

* For example, when the leader suspects crevasses,and sounds for them in the manner shown in the en-graving, he usually loses half a step^ or more. Thesecond man shcmid take a turn of the rope around hishand to draw it back in case the leader goes through.

twelve feet is sufficient. If there are onlytwo or three persons, it is prudent to allowa little more say fifteen feet. Morethan this is unnecessary, and less thannine or ten feet is not much good.

It is essential to e^^amine your ropefrom time to time to see that it is in goodcondition. If you are wise you will dothis yourself every day. Latterly, I haveexamined every inch of my rope over-night, and upon more than one occa-sion have found the strands of the Ma-nila rope nearly half severed throughaccidental grazes.

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Thus far the rope has been supposedto be employed upon level, snow-cov-ered glacier, to prevent any risk fromconcealed crevasses. On rocks and onslopes it is used for a different purpose(namely, to guard against slips), and inthese cases it is equally important tokeep it taut and to preserve a reason-



able distance one from the other. It ismuch more troublesome to keep the ropetaut upon slopes than upon the level,and upon difficult rocks it is all but im-possible, except by adopting the plan ofmoving only one at a time.

From the Col d'Olen we proceededdown the combe of the same name tothe chalets of Prerayen, and passed thenight of the 6th under the roof of ourold acquaintance, the wealthy herds-man. On the 7th we crossed the VaCornere Pass, en route for Breuil. Mythoughts were fixed on the Matterhorn,and my guides knew that I wished themto accompany me. They had an aver-sion to the mountain, and repeatedlyexpressed their belief that it was uselessto try to ascend it. ''Anything but Mat-terhorn, dear sir!" said Aimer '" any^thing but Matterhorn." He did notspeak of difficulty or of danger, nor washe shirking work. He offered to go

anywhere, but he entreated that the Mat-terhorn should be abandoned. Bothmen spoke fairly enough. They didnot think that an ascent could be made,and for their own credit, as well as formy sake, they did not wish to undertakea business which in their opinion wouldonly lead to loss of time dnd money.

I sent them by the short cut to Breuil,and walked down to Val Tournanche tolook for Jean-Antoine Carrel. He wasnot there. The villagers said that he

and three others had started on the 6th-to try the Matterhorn by the old way, ontheir own account. They will have noluck, I thought, for the clouds were lowdown on the mountains ; and I walkedup to Breuil, fully expecting to meetthem. Nor was I disappointed. Abouthalfway up I saw a group of men clus-tered around a chalet upon the otherside of the torrent, and crossing over

found that the party had returned.Jean-Antoine and Caesar were there, C.E. Gorret and J. J. Maquignaz. Theyhad had no success. The weather, thevsaid, had been horrible, and they .hadscarcely reached the Glacier du Lion.

I explained the situation to Carrel, andproposed that we, with Caesar and an-other man, should cross the Th6odule




Standing, but the day was not fixed.When I got back to Val Tournanche onFriday night, after leaving you, I founda letter naming the day." I could notobject to the answer, but the prospect ofbeing left guideless was provoking. Theywent up, and I down, the valley.

The sick man declared that he wasbetter, though the exertion of saying asmuch tumbled him over on to the floorin a fiainting-fit. He was badly in wantof medicine, and I tramped down toChatillon to get it. It was late before Ireturned to Val Tournanche, for theweather was tempestuous and rain fellin torrents. A figure passed me underthe church-porch. '* Qui vive .?" " Jean-

Antoine." *' I thought you were at Breuil."**No, sir: when the storm came on Iknew we should not start to-night, andso came down to sleep here." "Ha,Carrel," I said, "this is a great bore.If to-morrow is not fine, we shall not beable to do anything together. I havesent away my guides, relying on you,and now you are going to leave me totravel with a party of ladies. That workis not fit for you'' (he smiled, I supposedat the implied comphment) : '* can't yousend some one else instead?" **No,

monsieur. I am sorry, but my word ispledged. I should like to accompanyyou, but I can't break my engagement."By this time we had arrived at the inndoor. *'Well, it is no fault of yours.Come presently with Caesar, and havesome wine." They came, and we satup till midnight, recounting our old ad-ventures, in the inn of Val Tournanche.

The weather continued bad upon theloth, and I returned to Breuil. The twoCarrels were again hovering about the

above-mentioned chalet, and I badethem adieu. In the evening the sickman crawled up, a good deal better, buthis was the only arrival. The Mondaycrowd * did not cross the Theodule, onaccount of the continued storms. Theinn was lonely. I went to bed early,and was awoke the next morning by theinvalid inquiring if I had heard the news.



* Tourists usually congregate at Zermatt upon Sun-days, and large gangs and droves cross the Theodulepass on Mondays.

" No ^what news ?" '* Why," said he, *' alarge party of guides went off this morn-ing to try the Matterhorn, taking >yiththem a mule laden with provisions."

I went to the door, and with a tele-scope saw the party upon the lowerslopes of the mountain. Favre, thelandlord, stood by. "What is all thisabout?" I inquired: "who is the leaderof this party?" "Carrel." "What!Jean-Antoine ?" "Yes, Jean-Antoine.""Is Caesar there too?" "Yes, he isthere." Then I saw in a moment that Ihad been bamboozled and humbugged,and learned, bit by bit, that the affairhad been arranged long beforehand.The start on the 6th had been for a pre-

liminary reconnaissance ; the mule thatI passed was conveying stores for theattack; the "family of distinction " wasSignor F. Giordano, who had just des-patched the party to facilitate the wayto the summit, and who, when the facil-itation was completed, was to be takento the top along with Signor Sella ! f

I was greatly mortified. My planswere upset: the Italians had clearlystolen a march upon me, and I saw thatthe astute Favre chuckled over my dis-

comfiture, because the route by the east-ern face, if successful, would not benefithis inn. What was to be done ? I re-tired to my room, and, soothed by to-bacco, re-studied my plans, to see if itwas not possible to outmanoeuvre theItalians. "They have taken a mule-load of provisions." That is one pointin my favor, for they will take two orthree days to get through the food, anduntil that is done no work will be ac-complished." "How is the weather?"I went to the window. The mountain

was smothered up in mist another pointin my favor. " They are to facilitate theway. Well, if they do that to any pur-pose, it will be a long job." Altogether,I reckoned that they could not possiblyascend the mountain and come back toBreuil in less than seven days. I gotcooler, for it was evident that the wilyones might be outwitted after all. Therewas time enough to go to Zermatt, to try



f The Italian minister. Signor Giordano had un-dertaken the business arrangements for Signor Sella.

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the eastern face, and, should it prove im-practicable, to come back to Breuil be-

fore the men returned ; and then it seem-ed to me, as the mountain was not pad-locked, one might start at the same timeas the messieurs, and yet get to the topbefore them.

The first thing to do was to go to Zer-matt. Easier said than done. Theseven guides upon the mountain in-cluded the ablest men in the valley, andnone of the ordinary muleteer-guideswere at Breuil. Two men, at least, werewanted for my baggage, but not a soul

could be found. I ran about and sentabout in all directions, but not a singleporter could be obtained. One was withCarrel, another was ill, another was atChatillon, and so forth. Even Meynetthe hunchback could not be induced tocome : he was in the thick of some im-portant cheese - making operations. Iwas in the position of a general withoutan army : it was all very well to makeplans, but there was no one to executethem. This did not much trouble me, forit was evident that so long as the weather

stopped traffic over the Theodule, it wouldhinder the men equally upon the Matter-horn ; and I knew that directly it im-proved company would certainly arrive.

About midday on Tuesday, the nth,a large party hove in sight from Zermatt,preceded by a nimble young English-man and one of old Peter Taugwalder'.ssons.* I went at once to this gentleman



to learn if he could dispense with Taug-walder. He said that he could not, asthey were going to recross to Zermatton the morrow, but that the young manshould assist in transporting my bag-gage, as he had nothing to carry. Wenaturally got into conversation. I toldmy story, and learned that the youngEnglishman was Lord Francis Douglas.fwhose recent exploit; the ascent of theGabelhorn had excited my wonder andadmiration. He brought good news.Gld Peter had lately been beyond theHornli, and had reported that he thought

? Peter Taugwalder, the father, is called old Peter,to distinguish him from his eldest son, young Peter.Tn 1865 the Other's age was about forty-five.

f Brother of the present marquis of Queensbury.

an ascent of the Matterhorn was pos-

sible upon that side. Aimer had leftZermatt, and could not be recovered,so I determined to seek for old Peter.Lord Francis Douglas expressed a warmdesire to ascend the mountain, and be-fore long it was determined that heshould take part in the expedition.

Favre could no longer hinder our de-parture, and lent us one of his men. Wecrossed the Col Theodule on Wednes-day morning, the 1 2th of July, roundedthe foot of the Ober Th^odulgletscher,

crossed the Furggengletscher, and de-posited tent, blankets, ropes and otherthings in the little chapel at the Schwarz-see. All four were heavily laden, forwe brought across the whole of my storesfrom Breuil. Of rope alone there wereabout six hundred feet. There werethree kinds: first, two hundred feet ofManila rope ; second, one hundred andfifty feet of a stouter and probably strong-er rope than the first ; and third, morethan two hundred feet of a lighter andweaker rope than the first, of a kind that

I used formerly (stout sash-line).^ We descended to Zermatt, sought andengaged old Peter, 'and gave him per-mission to choose another guide. Whenwe returned to the Monte Rosa hotel,whom should we see sitting upon thewall in front but my old guide-chef,Michel Croz ! I supposed that he had

come with Mr. B , but I learned that



that gentleman had arrived in ill healthat Chamounix, and had returned to Eng-land. Croz, thus left free, had been im-mediately engaged by the Rev. CharlesHudson, and they had come to Zermattwith the same object as ourselves namely, to attempt the ascent of theMatterhorn I

Lord Francis Douglas and I dined atthe Monte Rosa, and had just finishedwhen Mr. Hudson and a friend enteredthe salle d manger. They had returnedfrom inspecting the mountain, and someidlers in the room demanded their in-tentions. We heard a confirmation ofCroz*s statement, and learned that Mr.Hudson intended to set out on the mor-row at the same hour as ourselves. Weleft the room to consult, and agreed it

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was undesirable that two independent

parties should be on the mountain at thesame time with the same object. Mr.Hudson was therefore invited to join us,and he accepted our proposal. Beforeadmitting his friend, Mr. Hadow, I tookthe precaution to inquire what he haddone in the Alps, and, as well as I re-member, Mr. Hudson's reply was, * Mr.Hadow has done Mont Blanc in less timethan most men." He then mentionedseveral other excursions, that were un-known to me, and added, in answer to afurther question, '* I consider he is a suf-

ficiently good man to go with us." Mr.Hadow was admitted without any furtherquestion, and we then went into the mat-ter of guides. Hudson thought that Crozand old Peter would be sufficient. Thequestion was referred to the men them-selves, and they made no objection.

So Croz and I became comrades oncemore, and as I threw myself on my bed



and tried to go to sleep, I wondered atthe strange series of chances which hadfirst separated us and then brought ustogether again. I thought of the mis-take through which he had accepted

the engagement to Mr. B ; of his

unwillingness to adopt my route ; of hisrecommendation to transfer our energiesto the chain of Mont Blanc ; of the re-tirement of Aimer and Biener; of thedesertion of Carrel ; of the arrival ofLord Francis Douglas ; and lastly ofour accidental meeting at Zermatt ; andas I pondered over these things I couldnot help asking, "What next ?" If anyone of the hnks of this fatal chain of cir-cumstances had been omitted, what adifferent story I should have to tell !

CHAPTER XXI.

THE ASCENT OF THE MATTERHORN.

We started from Zermatt on the 1 3thof July at half-past five, on a brilliantand perfectly cloudless morning. Wewere eight in number Croz, old Peterand his two sons,* Lord Francis Doug-

The two young Taugwalders were taken as por-ters by desire of their father, and carried provisionsamply sufficient for three days, in case the ascentshould prove more troublesome than we anticipated.

las, Hadow, Hudson f and L To en-sure steady motion, one tourist and onenative walked together. The youngestTaugwalder fell to my share, and thelad marched well, proud to be on theexpedition and happy to show his pow-ers. The wine-bags also fell to my lotto carry, and throughout the day, after

f I remember speaking about pedestrianism to awell-known mountaineer some years ago, and ven-

turing to remark that a man who averaged thirtymiles a day might be considered a good walker. ** Afair walker," he said "a /air walker." "What,then, would yOu consider ^<w</ walking?" "Well,"he replied, *' I will tell you. Some time back a friendand I agreed to go to Switzerland, but a short timeafterward he wrote to say he ought to let me knowthat a young and delicate lad was going with him whowould not be equal to great things in fact, he wouldnot be able to do more than fifty miles a day 1"



" What became of the young and delicate lad ?" " Helives." " And who was your extraordinary friend?"" Charles Hudson." I have every reason to believethat the gentlemen referred to wer^ equal to walkingmore than fifty miles a day, but they were exception-al, not g^ood pedestrians.

Charles Hudson, vicar of Skillington in Lincoln-shire, was considered by the mountaineering fraternityto be the best amateur of his time. He was the or-ganizer and leader of the party of Englishmen whoascended Mont Blanc by the Aiguille du Gouter, anddescended by the Grands Mulets route, withoutguides, in 1855. His long practice made him sure-footed, and in that respect he was not greatly inferiorto a born mountaineer. I remember him as a well-made man of middle height and age, neither stout northin, with face pleasant though grave, and with quiet,unassuming manners. Although an athletic man, hewould have been overlooked in a crowd ; and althoughhe had done the greatest mountaineering feats whichhave l)een done, he was the last man to speak of hisown doings. His friend, Mr. Hadow, was a youngman of nineteen, who had the looks and manners of a

greater age. He was a rapid walker, but 1865 washis first season in the Alps. Lord Francis Douglaswas about the same age as Mr. Hadow. He had hadthe advantage of several seasons in the Alps. Hewas nimble as a deer, and was becoming an expertmountaineer. Just before our meeting he had ascend-ed the Ober Gabelhorn (with old Peter and JosephViennin), and this gave me a high opinion of hispowers, for I had examined that mountain all rounda few weeks before, and had declined its ascent onaccount of its apparent difficulty.

My personal acquaintance with Mr. Hudson was

very slight ; still, I should have been content to haveplaced myself under his orders if he had chosen toclaim the position to which he was entitled. Thosewho knew him will not be surprised to learn that, sofar from doing this, he lost no opportunity in consult-ing the wishes and opinions of those around him. Wedeliberated together whenever there was occasion, andour authority was recognized by the others. What-ever responsibility there was devohred upon us. Irecollect with satisfaction that there was no differenceof opinion between us as to what should be done, andthat the most perfect harmony existed between all ofus so long as we were together.

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each drink, I replenished them secretlywith water, so that at the next halt theywere found fuller than before ! Thiswas considered a good omen, and littleshort of miraculous.

On the first day we did not intend toascend to any great height, and wemounted, accordingly, very leisurely,picked up the things which were left inthe chapel at the Schwarzsee at 8.20,and proceeded thence along the ridgeconnecting the Hornli with the Matter-horn. At half- past eleven we arrivedat the base of the actual peak, then quit-

ted the ridge and clambered round someledges on to the eastern faces We werenow fairly upon the mountain, and wereastonished to find that places which fromthe Riffel, or even from the Furggen-gletscher, looked entirely impracticable,were so easy that we could run about.

Before twelve o'clock we had found agood position for the tent, at a height ofeleven thousand feet.* Croz and youngPeter went on to see what was above, inorder to save time on the following morn-

ing. They cut across the heads of thesnow-slopes which descended towardthe Furggengletscher, and disappearedround a corner, but shortly afterward wesaw them high up on the face, movingquickly. We others made a solid plat-form for the tent in a well-protected spot,and then watched eagerly for the returnof the men. The stones which they up-set told that they were very high, andwe supposed that the way must be easy.At length, just before 3 P. m., we sawthem coming down, evidently much ex-

cited. "What are they saying, Peter?""Gentlemen, they say it is no good.**But when they came near we heard adifferent story : ** Nothing but what wasgood not a difficulty, not a single diffi-culty ! We could have gone to the sum-mil and returned to-day easily !"

We passed the remaining hours ofdaylight some basking in the sunshine,



some sketching or collecting and when

* Thus far the guides did not once go to the front.Hudson or I led, and when any cutting was requiredwe did it ourselves. This was done to spare the^ides, and to show them that we were thoroughly inearnest. The spot at which we camped was just fourhours' walking from Zermatt.

the sun went down, giving, as it depart-ed, a glorious promise for the morrow,we returned to the tent to arrange forthe night. Hudson made tea, I coffee,and we then retired each one to hisblanket -bag, the Taugwalders, LordFrancis Douglas and myself occupyingthe tent, the others remaining, by prefer-ence, outside. Long after dusk the cliffsabbve echoed with our laughter and withthe songs of the guides, for we were hap-py that night in camp, and feared noevil.

We assembled together outside thetent before dawn on the morning of the14th, and started directly it was lightenough to move. Young Peter came onwith us as a guide, and his brother re-turned to Zermatt. We followed theroute which had been taken on the pre-vious day, and in a few minutes turnedthe rib which had intercepted the viewof the eastern face from our tent plat-form. The whole of this great slopewas now revealed, rising for three thou-

sand feet like a huge natural staircase.Some parts were more and others wereless easy, but we were not once broughtto a halt by any serious impediment, forwhen an obstruction was met in front itcould always be turned to the right or tothe left. For the greater part of the waythere was indeed no occasion for therope, and sometimes Hudson led, some-times myself. At 6.20 we had attaineda height of t^^'elve thousand eight hun-dred feet, and halted for half an hour :we then continued the ascent without a

break until 9.55, when we stopped forfifty minutes at a height of fourteenthousand feet. Twice we struck thenorth-eastern ridge, and followed it forsome little distance to no advantage,for it was usually more rotten and steep,and always more difficult, than the face.Still, we kept near to it, lest stones per-chance might fall.



We had now arrived at the foot of thatpart which, from the Riffelberg or fromZermatt, seems perpendicular or over-hanging, and could no longer continueupon the eastern side. For a little dis-tance we ascended by snow upon thearete that is, the ridge descending

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toward Zermatt, and then by commonconsent turned over to the right, or to thenorthern side. Before doing so we madea change in the order of ascent. Crozwent first, I followed, Hudson came third :Hadow and old Peter were last. "Now,"said Croz as he led off "now for some-thing altogether different.'* The workbecame difficult, and required caution.In some places there was little to hold,and it was desirable that those should

be in front who were least likely to slip.The general slope of the mountain atthis part was less than forty degrees, andsnow had accumulated in, and had filledup, the interstices of the rock-face, leav-ing only occasional fragments projectinghere and there. These were at timescovered with a thin film of ice, producedfrom the melting and refreezing of thesnow. It was the counterpart, on asmall scale, of the upper seven hundredfeet of the Pointe des tcrins ; only therewas this material difference the face of

the fecrins was about, or exceeded, anangle of fifty degrees, and the Matter-horn face was less than forty degrees.It was a place over which any fair moun-taineer might pass in safety, and Mr.Hudson ascended this part, and, as faras I know, the entire mountain, withouthaving the shghtest assistance renderedto him upon any occasion. Sometimes,after I had taken a hand from Crozijr



received a pull, I turned to offer thesame to Hudson, but he invariably de-clined, saying it was not necessary. Mr.Hadow, however, was not accustomedto this kind of work, and required con-tinual assistance. It is only fair to saythat the difficulty which he found at thispart arose simply and entirely from wantof experience.

This solitar)' difficult part was of nogreat extent. We bore away over it atfirst nearly horizontally, for a distanceof about four hundred feet, then ascend-ed directly toward the summit for aboutsixty feet, and then doubled back to theridge which descends toward Zermatt.A long stride round a rather awkwardcorner brought us to snow once more.The last doubt vanished ! The Matter-horn was ours ! Nothing but two hun-

dred feet of easy snow remained to besurmounted !

You must now carry your thoughtsback to the seven Italians who startedfrom Breuil on the nth of July. Fourdays had passed since their departure,and we were tormented with anxiety lestthey should arrive on the top before us.All the way up we had talked of them,and many false alarms of " men on thesummit" had been raised. The higherwe rose the more intense became the ex-

citement. What if we should be beaten .at the last moment? The slope easedoff, at length we could be detached, andCroz and I, dashing away, ran a neck-and-neck race which ended in a deadheat. At 1.40 p. m. the world was atour feet and the Matterhorn was con-quered ! Hurrah ! Not a footstep couldbe seen.

It was not yet certain that we had notbeen beaten. The summit of the Mat-terhorn was formed of a rudely level

ridge, about three hundred and fifty feetlong,* and the ItaUans might have beenat its farther extremity. I hastened tothe southern end, scanning the snowright and left eagerly. Hurrah again !it was untrodden. ".Where were themen ? ' I peered over the cliff, halfdoubting, half expectant. I saw themimmediately, mere dots on the ridge, atan immense distance below. Up went



my arms and my hat. " Croz ! Croz !come here!" "Where are they, mon-sieur?" "There don't you see themdown there ?" " Ah ! the coquins I theyare low down." " Croz, we must makethose fellows hear us." We yelled untilwe were hoarse. The Italians seemedto regard us we could not be certain."Croz, we must make them hear us they shall hear us !" I seized a blockof rock and hurled it down, and calledupon my companion, in the name of

*Tbe highest points are toward the two ends. In1865 the northern end was slightly higher than thesouthern one. In bygone years Carrel and I oftensuggested to each other that we might one day arriveupon the top, and find ourselves cut off from the veryhighest point by a notch in the summit-ridge which isseen from the Th^odule and froni BreuU. This notchis very conspicuous from below, but when one is ac-tually upon the summit it is hardly noticed, and Itcan be passed without the least difficulty.

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fiiendship, to do the same. We droveour sticks in and prized away the crags,and soon a torrent of stones poureddown the cliffs. There was no mistakeabout it this time. The Italians turnedand fled.*

Still, I would that the leader of that

party could have stood with us at thatmoment, for our victorious shouts con-veyed to him the disappointment of theambition of a Hfetime. He was the man,

"CKOZl CROZ! COMB HEKBI"



of all those who attempted the ascent ofthe Matterhorn, who most deserved tobe the first upon its summit. He wasI he first to doubt its inaccessibility, andhe was the only man who persisted inbelieving that its ascent would be ac-complished. It was the aim of his lifeto make the ascent from the side of Italy

I have learned since from J. -A. Carrel that theyheard our first cries. They were then upon the south-west ridge, close to the " Cravate," and twtlve hun-dred and fifty feet below us, or, as the crow flics, ata distance of about one-third of a mile.

for the honor of his native valley. Fora time he had the game in his hands :he played it as he thought best, but hemade a false move, and lost it. Timeshave changed with Carrel. His suprem-acy is questioned in the Val Tournanche ;new men have arisen, and he is no long-

er recognized as the chasseur above allothers ; but so long as he remains theman that he is to-day it will not be easyto find his superior.

The others had arrived,so we went back to the7^ _: northern end of the ridge.

Croz now took the tent-pole f and planted it inthe highest snow. "Yes,**we said, "there is the flag-

staff, but where is the flag ?**"Here it is," he answered,pulling off his blouse andfixing it to the stick. Itmade a poor flag, andthere was no wind to floatit out, yet it was seen allaround. They saw it atZermatt, at the Riffel, inthe Val Tournanche. AtBreuil the watchers cried,"Victory is ours!" Theyraised "bravos" for Car-

rel and "vivas" for Italy,and hastened to put them-selves en fete. On themorrow they were unde-ceived. All was changed :the explorers returned sad cast down dishearten-ed confounded gloomy." It is true," said the men."We saw them ourselves



they hurled stones at us !The old traditions are true there arespirits on the top of the Matterhorn !" %

t At our departure the men were confident that theascent would be made, and took one of the poles outof the tent. I protested that it was tempting Prov-idence : they took the pole, nevertheless.

X Signor Giordano was naturally disappointed atthe result, and wished the men to start again. Theyall refused to do so, with the exception of yean- Ah-toine. Upon the i6th of July he set out again withthree others, and upon the 17th gained the summit bypassing (at first) up the south-west ridge, and (after-ward) by turning over to the Z'Mutt, or north-west-ern side. On the i8th he returned to Breuil.

Whilst we were upon the southern end of the siun-

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We returned to the southern end ofthe ridge to build a cairn, and then paid

homage to the view * The day was oneof those superlatively calm and clear

THB SUMMIT OP THB MATTBRHORlf IN X865 (NORTHERN BNO).

ones which usually precede bad weather.The atmosphere was perfectly still andfree from all clouds or vapors. Moun-tains fifty nay, a hundred miles offlooked sharp and near. All their de-tails ridge and crag, snow and glacier



mit-ridge we paid some attention to the portion of themountain which intervened between ourselves and theItalian guides. It seemed as if there would not be theleast chance for them if they should attempt to stormthe final peak directly from the end of the " shoulder."In that direction cliffs fell sheer down from the sum-mit, and we were unable to see beyond a certain dis-tance. There remained the route about which Carreland I had often talked namely, to ascend directly atfirst from the end of the "shoulder," and afterwardto swerve to the left (that is, to the Z'Mutt side), andto complete the ascent 'from the north-west. Whenwe were upon the summit we laughed at this idea.The part of the mountain that I have described uponpage 619 was not easy, although its inclination wasmoderate. If that slope were made only ten degreessteeper its difficulty would be enormously increased.To double its inclination would be to make it imprac-ticable. The slope at the southern end of the sum-mit-ridge, falling toward the north-west, was muchsteeper than that over which we passed, and we ridi-culed the idea that any person should attempt to as-

Stood out with faultless definition.Pleasant thoughts of happy days in by-gone years came up unbidden as werecognized the old, familiar forms. Allwere revealed not one of the principalpeaks of the Alps was hidden.f I seethem clearly now the great inner cir

ccnd in that direction when the northern route was soeasy. Nevertheless, the summit was reached by thatroute by the undaunted Carrel. From knowing thefinal slope over which he passed, and from the ac-

count of Mr. F. C. Grove who is the only travelerby whom it has been traversed I do not hesitate toterm the ascent of Carrel and Bich in 1865 the mostdesperate piece of mountain-scrambling upon record.In 1869 I asked Carrel if he had ever done anythingmore difficult. His reply was, " Man cannot do any-thing much more difficult than that."

* The summit-ridge was much shattered, althoughnot so extensively as the south-west and north-eastridges. The highest rock in 1865 was a block ofmica-schist, and the fragment 1 broke off it not onlypossesses in a remarkable degree the character of the

peak, but mimics in an astonishing manner the detailsof its form. (See illustration on page 622.)

t It is most unusual to see the southern half of thepanorama unclouded. A hundred ascents may bemade before this will be the case again.

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cles of giants, backed by the ranges,chains and massifs. First came theDent Blanche, hoary and grand; theGabelhorn and pointed Rothhom, andthen the peerless Weisshorn ; the tower-ing Mischabelhorner, flanked by theAllaleinhorn, Strahlhorn and Rimpfisch-horn ; then Monte Rosa with its manySpitzes the Lyskamm and the Breit-

horn. Behind were the Bernese Ober-land, governed by the Finsteraarhorn,the Simplon and St. Gothard groups, theDisgrazia and the Orteler. Toward the

sunny plains and frigid plateaux. Therewere the most rugged forms and themost graceful outlines bold, perpen-dicular cliffs and gentle, undulatingslopes; rocky mountains and snowy

mountains, sombre and solemn or glit-tering and white, with walls, turrets,pinnacles, pyramids, domes, cones andspires ! There was every combinationthat the world can give, and every con-trast that the heart could desire.

We remained on the summit for onehour

One crowded hour of glorious life.

It passed away too quickly,

and we began to prepare forthe descent.

THE ACTUAL SUMMIT OF THB MATTEKHOKN.

south we looked down to Chivasso onthe plain of Piedmont, and far beyond.The Viso one hundred miles away



seemed close upon us; the MaritimeAlps one hundred and thirty miles dis-tant were free from haze. Then camemy first love ^the Pelvoux ; the fieri nsand the Meije ; the clusters of the Gra-ians ; and lastly, in the west, gorgeousin the full sunlight, rose the monarch ofall Mont Blanc. Ten thousand feet be-neath us were the green fields of Zermatt,dotted with chalets, from which bluesmoke rose lazily. Eight thousand feetbelow, on the other side, were the pas-tures of Breuil. There were forests blackand gloomy, and meadows bright andlively ; bounding waterfalls and tranquillakes ; fertile lands and savage wastes ;

CHAPTER XXII.DESCENT OF THE MATTERHORN.

Hudson and I again consult-ed as to the best and safest ar-

rangement of the party. Weagreed that it would be best forCroz to go first,* and Hadowsecond ; Hudson, who was al-most equal to a guide in sure-ness of foot, wished to be third ;Lord F. Douglas was placednext, and old Peter, the strong-est of the remainder, after him.I suggested to Hudson that weshould attach a rope to the rocks on ourarrival at the difficult bit, and hold it aswe descended, as an additional protec-

tion. He approved the idea, but it wasnot definitely settled that it should bedone. The party was being arrangedin the above order whilst I was sketch-ing the summit, and they had finished,and were waiting for me to be tied inline, when some one remembered thatour names had not been left in a bottle.They requested me to write them down,and moved off while it was being done.A few minutes afterward I tied my-self to young Peter, ran down after theothers, and caught them just as they

were commencing the descent of the dif-

If the members of the party had been more equallyefficient, Croz would have been placed iast.

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ficult part.* Great care was being taken.Only one man was moving at a time :when he was firmly planted, the nextadvanced, and so on. They had not,however, attached the additional rope torocks, and nothing was said about it.*The suggestion was not made for myown sake, and I am not sure that it evenoccurred to me again. For some littledistance we two followed the others, de-tached from them, and should have con-

tinued so had not Lord F. Douglas ask-ed me, about 3 p. m., to tie on to oldPeter, as he feared, he said, that Taug-walder would not be able to hold hisground if a slip occurred.

A few minutes later a sharp-eyed ladran into the Monte Rosa hotel to Seiler,saying that he had seen an avalanchefall from the summit of the Matterhornon to the Matterhorngletscher. The boywas reproved for telling idle stories : hewas right, nevertheless, and this was

what he saw.

Michel Croz had laid aside his axe,and in order to give Mr. Hadow greatersecurity was absolutely taking hold ofhis legs and putting his feet, one by one,into their proper positions.! As far asI know, no one was actually descending.I cannot speak with certainty, becausethe two leading men were partially hid-den from my sight by an interveningmass of rock, biit it is my belief, fromthe movements of their shoulders, that

Croz, having done as I have said, wasin the act of turning round to go downa st^p or two himself: at this momentMr. Hadow slipped, fell against him andknocked him over. I heard one startledexclamation from Croz, then saw himand Mr. Hadow flying downward: inanother moment Hudson was draggedfrom his steps, and Lord F. Douglas im-mediately after him. J All this was the



* Described upon p. 6x9.

f Not at all an unusual proceeding, even betweenborn mountaineers. I wish to convey the impressionthat Croz was using ali pains, rather than to indicateextreme inability on the part of Mr. Hadow.

X At the moment of the accident, Croz, Hadow andHudson were all close together. Between Hudsonand Lord F. Douglas the rope was all but taut, andthe same between all the others who were above.Cror was standing by the side of a rock which afford-

work of a moment. Immediately weheard ^roz's exclamation, old Peter andI planted ourselves as firmly as the rockswould permit:? the rope was taut be-tween us, and the jerk came on us bothas on one man. We held, but the ropebroke midway between Taugwalder andLord Francis Douglas. For a few sec-

onds we saw our unfortunate compan-ions sliding downward on their backs, andspreading out their hands, endeavoringto save themselves. They passed fromour sight uninjured, disappeared one byone, and fell from precipice to precipiceon to the Matterhorngletscher below, adistance of nearly four thousand feet inheight. From the moment the rope brokeit was impossible to help them.

So perished our comrades ! For thespace of half an hour we remained on

the spot without moving a single step.The two men, paralyzed by terror, criedlike infants, and trembled in such amanner as to threaten us with the fateof the others; Old Peter rent the airwith exclamations of *' Chamounix ! oh,what will Chamounix say ?" He meant,Who would believe that Croz could fall ?

ed good hold, and if he had been aware or had sus-pected that anything was about to occur, he might

and would have gripped it, and would have preventedany mischief. He was taken totally by surprise. Mr.Hadow slipped off his feet on to his back, his feet struckCroz in the small of the back and knocked him rightover, head first. Croz's axe was out of his reachj andwithout it he managed to get his head uppermost be-fore \ic disappeared from our sight. If it had beenin his hand I have no doubt that he would have stop-ped himself and Mr. Hadow.



Mr. Hadow, at the moment of the slip, was not oc-cupying a bad position. He could have moved eitherup or down, and could touch with his hand the rockof which I have spoken. Hudson was not so wellplaced, but he had liberty of motion. The rope wasnot taut from him to Hadow, and the two men fell tenor twelve feet before the jerk came upon him. LordF. Douglas was not favorably placed, and couldmove neither up nor down. Old Peter was firmlyplanted, and stood just beneath a large rock which h«hugged with both arms. I enter into these details tomake it more apparent that the position occupied bythe party at the moment of the accident was not byany means excessively trying. We were compelledto pass over the exact spot where the slip occurred,and we found even with shaken nerves that it wasnot a difficult place to pass. I have described thesiope generally as difficult, and it is so undoubtedlyto most persons, but it must be distinctly understoodthat Mr. Hadow slipped at an easy part.

\ Or, more correctly, we held on as tightly as poi-sible. There was no time to change our position.

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FOG-BOW SEEN FROM THE MATTERHORN ON JULY 14, 1865.

"THE TAUGWiiLDERS THOUGHT THAT IT HAD SOME CONNECTION WITH THE ACCIDENT."

Page 157.

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The young man did nothing but screamor sob, **We are lost! we are lost!"Fixed between the two, I could moveneither up nor down. I begged youngPeter to descend, but he dared not. Un-less he did, we could not advance. OldPeter became alive to the danger, and

ROPB BKOKBN ON TUB MATTBKHORN.

swelled the cry, "We are lost! we arelost !" The father s fear was natural he trembled for his son ; the young man'sfear was cowardly-^he thought of selfalone. At last old Peter summoned upcourage, and changed his position to arock to which he could fix the rope : theyoung man then descended, and we allstood together. Immediately we did so,

I asked for the rope which had givenway, and found, to my surprise indeed,to my horror ^that it was the weakest ofthe three ropes. It was not brought, andshould not have been employed, for thepurpose for which it was used. It wasold rope, and, compared with the others,was feeble. It was intended as a reserve,in case we had to leave much rope be-hind attached to rocks. I saw at once



that a serious question was involved,and made them give me the end. It hadbroken in mid-air, and it did not appearto have sustained previous injury.For more than two hours afterward I

thought almost every moment that thenext would be my last, for the Taug-walders, utterly unnerved, were not onlyincg^jable of giving assistance, but werein such a state that a slip might havebeen expected from them at any mo-ment. After a time we were able to dothat which should have been done at first,and fixed rope to firm rocks, in additionto being tied together. These ropes werecut from time to time, and were left be-hind.* Even with their assurance themen were afraid to proceed, and severaltimes old Peter turned with ashy faceand faltering limbs, and said with ter-rible emphasis, ''I cannot f

About 6 p. M. we arrived at the snowupon the ridge descending toward Zer-matt, and all peril was over. We fre-quently looked, but in vain, for tracesof our unfortunate companions : we bentover the ridge and cried to them, but nosound returned. Convinced at last thatihey were within neither sight nor hear-ing, we ceased from our useless efforts,and, too cast down for speech, silentlygathered up our things and the littleeffects of those who were lost, prepara-

tory to continuing the descent. Whenlo ! a mighty arch appeared, rising abovethe Lyskamm high into the sky. Pale,colorless and noiseless, but perfectlysharp and defined, except where it waslost in the clouds, this unearthly appari-tion seemed like a vision from anotherworld, and almost appalled we watchedwith amazement the gradual develop-ment of two vast crosses, one on eitherside. If the Taugwalders had not beenthe first to perceive it, I should havedoubted my senses. They thought it

had some connection with the accident,and I, after a while, that it might bearsome relation to ourselves. But ourmovements had no effect upon it. Thespectral forms remained motionless. Itwas a fearful and wonderful sight, uniquein my experience, and impressive beyonddescription, coming at such a moment.f

* These ends, I believe, are still attached to the



rocks, and mark our line of astlbnt and descent.

t See Illustration. I paid very little attention tothis remarkable phenomenon, and was glad when itdisappeared, as it distracted our attention. Underordinary circumstances I should have felt vexed after-

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I was ready to leave, and waiting forthe others. They had recovered theirappetites and the use of their tongues.They spoke in patois, which I did. notunderstand. At length the son said inFrench, '* Monsieur." **Yes." "We arepoor men ; we have lost our Herr ; weshall not get paid ; we can ill affordthis."* "Stop!" I said, interrupting him *' that is nonsense : I shall pay you, ofcourse, just as if your Herr were here."They talked together in their patois for

a short time, and then the son spokeagain : "We don't wish you to pay us.We wish you to write in the hotel-bookat Zermatt and to your journals that wehave not been paid." "What nonsenseare you talking ? I don't understandyou. What do you mean ?" He pro-ceeded : " Why, next year there will bemany travelers at Zermatt, and we shallget more voyageurs^

Who would answer such a proposition ?I made them no reply in words,t but they

knew very well the indignation that I felt.

ward at not having observed with greater precisionan occurrence so rare and so wonderful. I can addvery little about it to that which is said above. Thesun was directly at our backs that is to say, the fog-bow was opposite to the sun. The time was 6.30p. M. The forms were at once tender and sharp, neu-tral in tone, were developed gradually, and disappear-ed suddenly. The mists were light (that is, not dense),



and were dissipated in the course of the evening.

It has been suggested that the crosses are incorrect-ly figured in the Illustration, and that they wereprobably formed by the intersection of other circles orellipses, as shownin the annexeddiagram. I thinkthis suggestion isvery likely cor-rect, but 1 havepreferred to fol-low my originalmemorandum.

In Parry'sNarrative 0/ anAtttmpt to Reachthe North Pole,4to, 1828, thereis, at pp. 99, 100,an account of the occurrence of a phenomenon analo-gous to the above-mentioned one: "At half-past 5p. M. we witnessed a very beautiful natural phenom-

enon. A broad white fog-bow first appeared oppositeto the sun, as was very commonly the case," etc. Ifollow Parry in using the term fog-bow.

They had been traveling with, and had been en-gaged by. Lord F. Douglas, and so considered himtheir employer, and responsible to them.

t Nor did I speak to them afterward, unless it wasabs<dutely necessary, so long as we were together.

They filled the cup of bitterness to over-flowing, and I tore down the cliff madlyand recklessly, in a way that causedthem, more than once, to inquire if Iwished to kill them. Night fell, and foran hour the descent was continued inthe darkness. At half-past nine a rest-

MONSIBUK ALEX. SBILBR.

ing-place was found, and upon a wretch-ed slab, barely large enough to hold thethree, we passed six miserable hours.At daybreak the descent was resumed,and from the Hornli ridge we ran downto the chalets of Buhl and on to Zermatt.Seiler met me at his door, and followed



in silence to my room : '* What is thematter ?'* "The Taugwalders and I havereturned." He did not need more, andburst into tears, but lost no time in use-less lamentations, and set to work toarouse the village. Ere long a score ofmen had started to ascend the Hohlichtheights, above Kalbermatt and Z'Mutt,which commanded the plateau of theMatterhorngletscher. They returned af-ter six hours, and reported that they hadseen the bodies lying motionless on thesnow. This was on Saturday, and theyproposed that we should leave on Sun-day evening, so as to arrive upon theplateau at daybreak on Monday. Un-willing to lose the slightest chance, theRev. J. M'Cormick and I resolved tostart on Sunday morning. The Zermattmen, threatened with excommunicationby their priests if they failed to attendthe early mass, were unable to accom-pany us. To several of them, at least,this was a severe trial, and Peter Perm

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declared with tears that nothing elsewould have prevented him from joiningin the search for his old comrades. En-glishmen came to our aid. The Rev. J.Robertson and Mr. J. Phillpotts offeredthemselves and their guide, Franz An-dermatten : another Englishman lent us

Joseph Marie and Alexandre Lochmatter.Frederic Payot and Jean Tairraz of Cha-mounix also volunteered.

THE MANILA ROPB.*

We started at 2 A. m. on Sunday, the



1 6th, and followed the route that we hadtaken on the previous Thursday as faras the Hornli. From thence we wentdown to the right of the ridge, andmounted through the seracs of the Mat-terhomgletscher. By 8.30 we had gotto the plateau at the top of the glacier,and within sight of the corner in whichwe knew my companions must be. Aswe saw one weather-beaten man after

The three ropes have been reduced by photogra-phy to the same scale.

another raise the telescope, turn deadlypale and pass it on without a word tothe next, we knew that all hope wasgone. We approached. They had fall-en below as they had fallen above Croz a httle in advance, Hadow nearhim, and Hudson some distance behind,but of Lord F. Douglas we could see

nothing.! We left them where they fell,buried in snow at the base of the grand-est cliff of the most majestic moun-tain of the Alps.

All those who had fallen had beeiitied with the Manila, or with thesecond and equally strong rope, andconsequently there had been onlyone link that between old Peterand Lord F. Douglas where theweaker rope had been used. Thishad a very ugly look for Taugwald-

er, for it was not possible to sup-pose that the others would havesanctioned the employment of arope so greatly inferior in strengthwhen there were more than twohundred and fifty feet of the betterqualities still out of use. J For thesake of the old guide (who bore agood reputation), and upon all otheraccounts, it was desirable that thismatter should be cleared up ; and af-ter my examination before the courtof inquiry which was instituted by

the government was over, I hand-ed in a number of questions whichwere framed so as to afford old Peteran opportunity of exculpating him-self from the grave suspicions whichat once fell upon him. The ques-tions, I was told, were put and an-swered, but the answers, althoughpromised, have never reached me.§



t A pair of gloves, a belt and boot that had be-longed to him were found. This, somehow, becamepublicly known, and gave rise to wild notions, whichwould not have been entertained had it been alsoknown that the boots of a// those who had fallen wereoff, and were lying upon the snow near the bodies.

X I was one hundred feet or more from the otherswhilst they were being tied up, and am unable tothrow any light on the matter. Croz and old Peter nodoubt tied up the others.

JThis is not the only occasion upon which M.Clemenz (who presided over the inquiry) has failed togive up answers that he has promised. It is greatly tobe regretted that he does not feel that the suppressionof the truth is equally against the interests of travelers

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Meanwhile, the administration sent

strict injunctions to recover the bodies,and upon the 19th of July twenty-onemen of Zermatt accomplished that sadand dangerous task. Of the body ofLord Francis Douglas they too saw noth-ing : it is probably still arrested on therocks above.* The remains of Hudsonand Hadow were interred upon the northside of the Zermatt church, in the pres-ence of a reverent crowd of sympathiz-ing friends. The body of Michel Crozlies upon the other side, under a simplertomb, whose inscription bears honorable

testimony to his rectitude, to his. courageand to his devotion.f

and of the guides. If the men are untrustworthy, thepublic should be warned of the fact, but if they areblameless, why allow them to remain under unmeritedsuspicion ? '

Old Peter Taugwalder is a man who is laboringunder an unjust accusation. Notwithstanding repeat-



ed denials, even his comrades and neighbors at Zer-matt persist in asserting or insinuating that he cut therope which led from him to Lord F. Douglas. In re-gard to this infamous charge, I say that he could notdo so at the moment of the slip, and that the end ofthe rope in my possession shows that he did not do sobeforehand. There remains, however, the suspiciousfact that the rope which broke was the thinnest andweakest one that we had. It is suspicious, because itis unlikely that any of the four men in front wouldhave selected an old and weak rope when there wasabundance of new and much stronger rope to spare ;and on the other hand, because if Taugwalder thoughtthat an accident was likely to happen, it was to hisinterest to have the weaker rope where it was placed.

I should rejoice to learn that his answers to thequestions which were put to him were satisfactory.Not only was his act at the critical moment wonderfulas a feat of strength, but it was admirable in its per-formance at the right time. I am told that he is nownearly incapable of work not absolutely mad, butwith intellect gone and almost crazy ; which is not tobe wondered at, whether we regard him as a man who

contemplated a scoundrelly meanness, or as an in-jured man sufTering under an unjust accusation.

In respect to young Peter, it is not possible to speakin the same manner. The odious idea that he pro-pounded (which I believe emanated from him) he hasendeavored to trade upon, in spite of the fact that hisfather was paid (for both) in the presence of witnesses.Whatever may be his abilities as a guide, he is not oneto whom I would ever trust my life or afford anycountenance.

* This or a subsequent party discovered a sleeve.

No other traces have Iteen found.

t At the instance of Mr. Alfred Wills, a subscrip-tion-list was opened for the benefit of the sisters ofMichel Croz, who had been partly dependent uponhis earnings. In a short time more than two hundredand eighty pounds were raised. This was consideredsufficient, and the list closed. The proceeds were in-vested in French Rentes (by Mr. William Mathews),at the recommendation of M. Dupui, at that timemaure of Chamounix.

So the traditional inaccessibility of th^Matterhorn was vanquished, and was re-placed by legends of a more real cha-racter. Others will essay to scale itsproud cliffs, but to none will it be the



THB SECOND ROPE.

mountain that it was to its early ex-plorers. Others may tread its summit-snows, but none will ever know the feel-ings of those who first gazed upon itsmarvelous panorama, and none, I trust,will ever be compelled to tell of joy turn-ed into grief, and of laughter into mourn-ing. It proved to be a stubborn foe ; itresisted long and gave many a hardblow ; it was defeated at last with anease that none could have anticipated,but, hke a relentless enemy conqueredbut not crushed, it took terrible ven-geance. The time may come when theMatterhorn shall have passed away, andnothing save a heap of shapeless frag-ments will mark the spot where the great

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mountain stood, for, atom by atom, inchby inch, and yard by yard, it yields toforces which nothing can withstand.That time is far distant, and ages hencegenerations unborn will gaze upon itsawful precipices and wonder at its uniqueform. However exalted may be theirideas arid however exaggerated theirexpectations, none will come to returndisappointed !

The play is over, and the curtain is

about to fall. Before we part, a wordupon the graver teachings of the moun-tains. See yonder height! *Tis faraway unbidden comes the word *' Im-possible!** "Not so," says the moun-taineer. '* The way is long, I know : it'sdifficult it may be dangerous. It's pos-sible, I'm sure : I'll seek the way, takecounsel of my brother mountaineers, andfind how they have gained similar heights



and learned to avoid the dangers." Hestarts (all slumbering down below) : thepath is slippery maybe laborious too.Caution and perseverance gain the day the height is reached ! and those be-neath cry, *' Incredible ! 'tis superhu-man !"

We who go mountain-scrambling haveconstantly set before us the superiorityof fixed purpose or perseverance to bruteforce. We know that each height, eachstep, must be gained by patient, labor-ious toil, and that wishing cannot takethe place of working: we know thebenefits of mutual aid ^that many a dif-ficulty pust be encountered, and manyan obstacle must be grappled with orturned ; but we know that where there'sa will there's a way ; and we come backto our daily occupations better fitted tofight the battle of hfe and to overcomethe impediments which obstruct ourpaths, strengthened and cheered by the

recollection of past labors and by thememories of victories gained in otherfields.

I have not made myself an advocateor an apologist for mountaineering, nordo I now intend to usurp the functionsof a moralist, but my task would havebeen ill performed if it had been con-cluded without one reference to the

more serious lessons of the mountaineer.We glory in the physical regenerationwhich is the product of our exertions;we exult over the grandeur of the scenesthat are brought before our eyes, thesplendors of sunrise and sunset, and thebeauties of hill, dale, lake, wood andwaterfall ; but we value more highly thedevelopment of manliness, and the evo-lution, under combat with difficulties, ofthose noble qualities of human nature courage, patience, endurance and for-titude.

Some hold these virtues in less esti-mation, and assign base and contempt-ible motives to those who indulge in ourinnocent sport.

Be thou chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt notescape calumny.

Others, again, who are not detractors,



find mountaineering, as a sport, to bewholly unintelligible. It is not greatlyto be wondered at ^we are not all con-stituted alike. Mountaineering is a pur-suit essentially adapted to the young orvigorous, and not to the old or feeble.To the latter toil may be no pleasure,and it is often said by such persons,*' This man is making a toil of pleasure."Toil he must who goes mountaineering,but out of the toil comes strength (notmerely muscular energy more thanthat, an awakening of all the faculties),and from the strength arises pleasure.Then, again, it is often asked, in toneswhich seem to imply that 'the answermust at least be doubtful, '* But does itrepay you ?" Well, we cannot estimateour enjoyment as you measure your wineor weigh your lead : it is real, neverthe-less. If I could blot out every reminis-cence or erase every memory, still Ishould say that my scrambles amongstthe Alps have repaid me, for they have

given me two of the best things a mancan possess health and friends.

The recollections of past pleasurescannot be effaced. Even now as Iwrite they crowd up before me. Firstcomes an endless series of pictures,magnificent in form, effect and color.I see the great peaks with clouded tops,seeming to mount up for ever and ever ;I hear the music Qlj^J^&^t^'^m^%

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the peasant's jodel and the solemnchurch-bells; and I scent the fragrantbreath of the pines: and after thesehave passed away another train ofthoughts succeeds of those who havebeen upright, brave and true ; of kind



hearts and bold deeds; and of cour-tesies received at stranger hands, triflesin themselves, but expressive of thatgood-will toward men which is the es-sence of charity.

Still, the last sad memory hoversround, and sometimes drifts across hke

floating mist, cutting off sunshine andchilling the remembrance of happiertimes. There have been joys too greatto be described in words, and there havebeen griefs upon which I have not daredto dwell ; and with these in mind I say.Climb if you will, but remember thatcourage and strength are naught with-out prudence, and that a momentarynegligence may destroy the happinessof a hfetime. Do nothing in haste, lookwell to each step, and from the begin-ning think what may be the end. \ i

APPENDIX.

A. SUBSEQUENT ASCENTS OF THE MAT-TERHORN.Mr. Craufuro Grovk was the first traveler whoascended the Matterhorn after the accident. Thiswas in August, 1867. He took with him as guides

three mountaineers of the Val Tournanche ^J.-A.Carrel, J. Bich and S. Meynet, Carrel being theleader. The natives of Val Tournanche were, ofcourse, greatly delighted that his ascent was madeupon their side. Some of them, however, were by nomeans well pleased that J. -A. Carrel was so muchregarded. They feared, perhaps, that he would ac-quire the monopoly of the mountain. Just a monthafter Mr. Grove's ascent, six Val Toumanchians setout to see whether they could not learn the route,and so come in for a share of the good things whichwere expected to arrive. They were three Maqui-gnazes, Cssar Carrel (my old guide), J.-B. Carrel, and

a daughter of the last named 1 They left Breuil at 5A. M. on September 12, and at 3 p. M. arrived at thehut, where they passed the night. At 7 a. m the nextday they stanl«d again (leaving J.-B. Carrel behind),and proceeded along the " shoulder " to the finalpeak: passed the cleft which had stopped B^nnen,

and clambered up the comparatively easy rocks on



the other side until they arrived at the base of thelast precipice, down which we had hurled stones onJuly 14, 1865. They (young woman and all) werethen about three hundred and fifty feet from the sum-mit I Then, instead of turning to the left, as Carreland Mr. Grove had done, Joseph and J. -Pierre ftjla-quignaz paid attention to the cliff in front of them,and managed to find a means of passing up, by clefts,ledges and gullies, to the summit. This was a short-er (and it appears to be an easier) route than thattaken by Carrel and Grove, and it has been followedby all those who have since then ascended the moun-tain from the side of Breuil. Subsequently, a ropewas fixed over the most difficult portions of the finalclimb.

In the mean time they had not been idle upon theother side. A hut was constructed upon the easternface at a height of 12,526 feet above the sea, near tothe crest of the ridge which descends toward Zerniatt(north-east ridge). This was done at the expense' ofMonsieur Seller and of the Swiss Alpine Club. Mohs.Seller placed the execution of the work under the dii^e^tion of the KnubelS, of the village of St. Nicholas,

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in the Zermatt valley ; and Peter Knubel, along with I honor of making the second ascent of the mountainJoseph Marie Lochmatter of the same village, had the I upon the northern side with Mr. Elliott. This took

place on July 24 and 25, 1868. Since then numerousascents have been made, and of these the only one

which calls for mention is' that by Signor Giordano,on September 3-5, 1868. This gentleman came to



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Breuil several times after his famous visit in 1865,with the intention of making the ascent, but he wasalways baffled by weather. In July, 1866, he got as highas the "cravate" (with J -A, Carrel and other men),and tvas detained there Jive days and nights, unableto move either uP or down I At last, upon theabove-named date, he was able to gratify his desires,

and accomplished the feat of ascending the mountainupon one side and descending it upon the other.Signor Giordano is, I believe, the only geologist whohas ascended the Matterhom. He spent a consider-able time in the examination of its structure, and be-came benighted on its eastern face in consequence.

B. DENUDATION IN THE VALLEY OFTHE DURANCE.

In the summer of 1869, whilst walking up the val-ley of the Durance from Mont Dauphin to Briangon,I noticed, when about five kilometres from the latter

place, some pinnacles on the mountain-slopes to thewest of the road. I scrambled up, and found the re-markable natural pillars which are represented in theannexed engraving. They were formed out of an un-stratified conglomerate of gritty earth, boulders andstones. Some of them were more thickly studdedwith stones than a plum-pudding usually is withplums, whilst from others the stones projected likethe spines from an echinoderm. The earth (or mud)was extremely hard and tenacious, and the stonesembedded in it were extricated with considerable dif-ficulty. The mud adhered very firmly to the stonesthat were got out, but it was readily washed away in

a little stream near at hand. In a few minutes I ex-tracted fragments of syenite, mica -schist, .severalkinds of limestone and conglomerates, and some fossilplants characteristic of carboniferous strata. Mostof the fragments were covered with scratches, whichtold that they had traveled underneath a glacier.The mud had all the character of glacier-mud, and thehillside was covered with drift. From these indica-tions, and from the situation of the pinnacles, I con-cluded that they Kad been formed out of an old mo-



raine. The greatest of them were sixty to seventyfeet high, and the moraine had therefore been at least

that height. I judged from appearances that the mo-raine was a frontal-terminal one of a glacier whichhad been an affluent of the great glacier that formerlyoccupied the valley of the Durance, and which duringretrogression had made a stand upon this hillside nearSachas. . This lateral glacier had flowed down anameless vallon which descends toward the east-south-east from the mountain called upon the Frenchgovernment map Sommet de I'Eychouda (8740 feet).

Only one of all the pinnacles that I saw was cappedby a stone (a small one), and I did not notice anyboulders lying in their immediate vicinity of a sizesufficient to account for their production in the man-ner of the celebrated pillars near Botzen. The read-ers of Sir Charles Lyell's Principles (loth ed., vol. i.,p. 338) will remember that he attributes the formationof the Botzen pillars chiefly to the protection whichboulders have afforded to the underlying matter from

the direct action of rain. This is no doubt correct :the Botzen pinnacles are mostly capped by bouldersof considerable dimensions. In the present instancethis does not appear to have been exactly the case.Running water has cut the moraine into ridges (shownupon the right hand of the engraving), and has evi-dently assisted in the work of denudation. The groupof pinnacles here figured belonged, in all probability,to a ridge which had been formed in this way, whosecrest, in course of time, became sharp, perhaps at-tenuated. In such a condition very small stones uponthe crest of the ridge would originate little pinnacles :whether these would develop into larger ones would

depend upon the quantity of stones embedded in thesurrounding moraine - matter. I imagine that thelai^est of the Sachas pinnacles owe their existence tothe portions of the moraine out of which they areformed having been studded with a greater quantityof stones and small boulders than the portions of themoraine which formerly filled the gaps between them;and, of course, primarily, to the facts that glacier-mudis extremely tenacious when dry, and is readily wash-ed away. Thus, the present form of the pinnacles ischiefly due to the direct action of rain, but their pro-duction was assisted, in the first instance, by the ac-tion of runm'ng water.

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Whymper - Scrambles in the Alps

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