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Scrambles Amongst the Alps

IN THE YEARS 1860-69.

EDWARD WHYMPER.

WITH OVER 100 ILLUSTRATIONS.

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

PHILADELPHIA
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.

1872.

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PREFACE.

In the year i860, shortly before leaving England for a long Continental
tour, a certain eminent London publisher requested me to make for him
some sketches of the great Alpine peaks. At this time I had only a literary
acquaintance with mountaineering, and had even not seen — much less set
foot upon — a riiountain. Amongst the peaks which were upon my list was
Mont Pelvoux, in Dauphine. The sketches that were required of it were to
celebrate 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 fell
in with a very agreeable Frenchman who accompanied this party, and was
pressed by him to return to the assault. In 1861 we did so, with my friend
Macdonald, and we conquered. This was the origin of my scrambles
amongst the Alps.

The ascent of Mont Pelvoux (including the disagreeables) was a very
delightful 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 myself
over precipices. I hastened to enlarge my experience, and went to the
Matterhorn. 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 of
attention, but it was the dominating point of a most picturesque district of
the highest interest, which, to this day, remains almost unexplored. The
Matterhorn attracted me simply by its grandeur. It was considered to be
the most thoroughly inaccessible of all mountains, even by those who ought
to have known better. Stimulated to make fresh exertions by one repulse
after another, I returned, year after year, as I had opportunity, more and
more 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 these
attacks on the Matterhorn, and the other excursions that are described have
all some connection, more or less remote, with that mountain or with Mont
Pelvoux. 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. If
they had been worked out at full length, three volumes instead of one would
have been required. Generally speaking, the salient points alone have been
dwelt upon, and the rest has been left to the imagination. This treatment
has saved the reader from much useless repetition.

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4 PREFACE,

In endeavoring to make the book of some use to those who may wish to go
mountain-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 which
are 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, or
unavoidable, dangers of mountaineering are very small, yet from subsequent
pages it can be shown that very considerable risks were run. The reason is
obvious — we were not immaculate. Our blunders are not held up to be
admired or to be imitated, but to be avoided.

These scrambles amongst the Alps were holiday excursions, and as such
they 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. The
ablest 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 do
nothing more than convey impressions that are entirely erroneous — the
reader conjures up visions, it may be magnificent ones, but they are infin-
itely inferior to the reality. I have dealt sparingly in descriptions, and have
employed 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 time
during the last six years. With the exception of the views upon pp. i8, 19
and 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 am
much 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 his
admirable designs. Most of his drawings will be identified by his mono-
gram. Twenty of the remainder are the work of Mr. Cyrus Johnston, and
out of these I would draw especial attention to the view of the Matterhorn
facing p. 36, the striated rock upon p. 63, and the bits from the Mer de
Glace upon pp. 138, 139. The illustrations have been introduced as illustra-
tions, and very rarely for ornamental purposes. We have subordinated
everything in thera to accuracy, and it is only fair to the artists who have
honored me by their assistance to say that many of their designs would
have ranked higher as works of art if they had been subjected to fewer
restrictions.

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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

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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 started
for my first tour in the Alps. As
we steamed out into the Channel,
Beachy Head came into view, and re-
called a scramble of many years ago.
With the impudence of ignorance, my
brother and I, schoolboys both, had
tried to scale that great chalk cliff. Not
the head itself— where sea-birds circle,
and where the flints are ranged so or-

derly in parallel lines — ^but at a place
more to the east, where the pinnacle
called the Devil's Chimney had fallen
down. Since that time we have been
often in dangers of different kinds, but
never have we more nearly broken our
necks than upon that occasion.

In Paris I made two ascents. The
first to the seventh floor of a house in the
Quartier Latin — to an artist friend, who
was engaged, at the moment of my

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN 1860-^69.

entry, in combat with a little Jew. He
hurled him with great good-will and
with considerable force into some of
his crockery, and then recommended
me to go up the towers of Notre Dame.
Half an hour later I stood on the
parapet of the great west front, by the
side of the leering fiend which for cen-
turies has looked down upon the great

city. It looked over the Hotel Dieu
to 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 women
and eager children, who were strug-
gling to get a good sight of three corpses
which were exposed to view. It was
the Morgue. I quitted the place dis-
gusted, and overheard two women dis-
cussing the spectacle. One of them
concluded with, " But that it is droll ;"
the other answered approvingly, "But
that it is droll ;** and the Devil of Notre
Dame, looking down upon them, seemed
to 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 the
sunlight lingering on the giants of the
Oberland ; heard the echoes from the
cow horns in the Lauterbrunnen valley
and the avalanches rattling off the Jung-
frau ; and then crossed the Gemmi into
the Valais, resting for a time by the
beautiful Oeschinen See, and getting a
forcible illustration of glacier-motion in
a neighboring valley — the Gasteren
Thai. The upper end of this valley is
crowned by the Tschingel glacier, which,

as it descends, passes over an abrupt
cliff that is in the centre of its course.
On each side the continuity of the gla-
cier is maintained, but in the centre it
is cleft in twain by the cliff. Lowe'
down it is consolidated again. I scram-
bled on to this lower portion, advanced
toward the cliff, and then stopped to
admire 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 cliff
on to the lower portion with a thunder-
ing crash. Fragments rolled beyond
me, although, fortunately, not in my
direction. I fled, and did not stop until
off the glacier, but before it was quitted
learned another* lesson in glacial mat-
ters : the terminal moraine, which seem-
ed to be a solid mound, broke away
underneath me, and showed that it was
only a superficial covering resting on a
slope of glassy ice.

On the steep path over the Gemmi
there were opportunities for observing
the manners and customs of the Swiss
mule. It is not perhaps in revenge for

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

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

when coming round corners and on the
brinks of precipices ; but their evil habit
of 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 of
wood from the mountains into the val-
leys occupies most of the mules during
a considerable portion of the year : the
fagots into which the wood is- made up
project some distance on each side, and
it is said that they walk intuitively to
the outside of paths having rocks on
the other side to avoid the collisions
which would otherwise occur. When
they carry tourists they behave in a
similar manner; and no doubt when
the good time for mules arrives, and
they no longer carry burdens, they will
still continue, by natural selection, to
do the same. This habit frequently
gives rise to scenes : two mules meet —
each wishes to pass on the outside, and
neither will give way. It requires con-
siderable persuasion, through the me-
dium of the tail, before such difficulties
are arranged.

I visited the baths of Leuk, and saw
the queer assemblage of men, women
and children, attired in bathing-gowns,
chatting, drinking and playing at chess
in the water. The company did not
seem to be perfectly sure whether it was
decorous in such a situation and in such
attire for elderly men to chase young
females from one corner to another, but
it 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, and
turned aside at Visp to go up the Visp
Thai, where one would expect to see
greater traces of glacial action, if a
glacier formerly filled it, as one is said
to have done.

I was bound for the valley of Saas,
and my work took me high up the Alps
on either side, far beyond the limit of
trees and the tracks of tourists. The
view from the slopes of the Wiessmies,
on the eastern side of the valley, five
or six thousand feet above the village
of Saas, is perhaps the finest of its kind

in the Alps. The full height of the
three -peaked Mischabel (the highest
mountain in Switzerland) is seen at one
glance — eleven thousand feet of dense
forests, green alps, pinnacles of rock
and glittering glaciers. The peaks
seemed to me then to be hopelessly
inaccessible from this direction.

I descended the valley to the village
of Stalden, and then went up the Visp
Thai to Zermatt, and stopped there sev-
eral days. Numerous traces of the for-
midable earthquake-shocks of five years
before still remained, particularly at St.
Nicholas, where the inhabitants had
been terrified beyond measure at the
destruction of their churches and houses.
At this place, as well as at Visp, a large
part of the population was obliged to
live under canvas for several months.
It is remarkable that there was hardly
a life lost on this occasion, although
there were about fifty shocks, some of
which were very severe.

At Zermatt I wandered in many di-
rections, but the weather was bad and
my work was much retarded. One day,
after spending a long time in attempts
to sketch near the Hornli, and in futile
endeavors to seize the forms of the
peaks as they for a few seconds peered
out from above the dense banks of
woolly clouds, I determined not to re-
turn to Zermatt by the usual path, but
to cross the Corner glacier to the Riffel
hotel. After a rapid scramble over the
polished rocks and snow-beds which
skirt the base of the Theodule glacier,
and wading through some of the streams
which flow from it, at that time much
swollen by the late rains, the first dif-
ficulty was arrived at, in the shape of a
precipice about three hundred feet high.
It seemed that there would be no dif-
ficulty in crossing the glacier if the cliff
could be descended, but higher up and
lower down the ice appeared, to my in-
experienced eyes, to be impassable for
a single person. The general contour
of the cliff was nearly perpendicular,
but it was a good deal broken up, and
there was little difficulty in descending
by 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 forty
degrees between two wall-sided pieces of
rock : nothing, except the glacier, could
be seen below. It was a very awkward
place, but being doubtful if return were
possible, as I had been dropping from
one ledge to another, I passed at length
by lying across the slab, putting the
shoulder stiffly against one side and the
feet against the other, and gradually
wriggling down, by first moving the
legs and then the back. When the bot-
tom of the slab was gained a friendly
crack was seen, into which the point of
the baton could be stuck, and I dropped
down to the next piece. It took a long
time coming down that little bit of cliff,
and for a few seconds it was satisfactory
to see the ice close at hand. In another
moment a second difficulty presented
itself. The glacier swept round an angle
of the cliff, and as the ice was not of the
nature of treacle or thin putty, it kept
away from the little bay on the edge of
which I stood. We* were not widely
separated, but the edge of the ice was
higher than the opposite edge of rock ;
and worse, the rock was covered with
loose earth and stones which had fallen
from above. All along the side of the
cliff, as far as could be seen in both
directions, the ice did not touch it, but
there was this marginal crevasse, seven
feet wide and of unknown depth.

All this was seen at a glance, and
almost at once I concluded that I could
not jump the crevasse, and began to
try along the clifTlower down, but with-
out success, for the ice rose higher and
higher, until at last farther progress was
stopped by the cliffs becoming perfectly
smooth. With an axe it would have
been 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, and
the solemn stillness of the High Alps
was broken only by the sound of rush-
ing water or of falling rocks. If the
jump should be successful, well : if not,
I fell into that horrible chasm, to be
frozen in, or drowned in that gurgling,
rushing water. Everything depended
on that jump. Again I asked myself,

"Can it be done?'* It must be. So,
finding my stick was useless, I threw it
and the sketch-book to the ice, and first
retreating as far as possible, ran forward
with all my might, took the leap, barely
reached the other side, and fell awk-
wardly on my knees. Almost at the
same moment a shower of stones fell on
the spot from which I had jumped.

The glacier was crossed without fur-
ther trouble, but the RifTel, which was
then a very small building, was cram-
med, with tourists, and could not take
me in. As the way down was unknown
to me, some of the people obligingly
suggested getting a man at the chalets,
otherwise the path would be certainly
lost in the forest. On arriving at the
chalets no man could be found, and the
lights of Zermatt, shining through the
trees, seemed to say, " Never mind a
guide, but come along down : we'll show
you the way ;" so off I went through
the forest, going straight toward them.
The path was lost in a moment, and
was never recovered : I was tripped up
by pine roots, I tumbled over rhododen-
dron bushes, I fell over rocks. The
night was pitch-dark, and after a time
the lights of Zermatt became obscure or
went out altogether. By a series of
slides or falls, or evolutions more or less
disagreeable, the descent through the
forest was at length accomplished, but
torrents of a formidable character had
still to be passed before one could ar-
rive at Zermatt. I felt my way about
for hours, almost hopelessly, by an ex-
haustive process at last discovering a
bridge, and about midnight, covered
with dirt and scratches, re-entered the
inn which I had quitted in the morning.

Others besides tourists got into dif-
ficulties. A day or two afterward, when
on the way to my old station near the
Hbrnli, I met a stout cur6 who had es-
sayed to cross the Theodule pass. His
strength or his wind had failed, and he
was being carried down, a helpless bun-
dle and a ridiculous spectacle, on the
back 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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SCRAMBLES .AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

I descended the valley, diverging from
the 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 mountain
is the noblest in Switzerland, and from
this direction it looks especially magnif-
icent. On its north there is a large
snowy plateau that feeds the glacier of
which a portion is seen from Randa,
and which on more than one occasion
has destroyed that village. From the
direction of the Dom — that is, immedi-
ately opposite — this Bies glacier seems
to descend nearly vertically : it does
not do so, although it is very
steep. Its size is much less than
formerly, and the lower portion,
now divided into three tails, clings
in 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 the
sight of this glorious mountain,
and went down to Visp. A party
of English tourists had passed up
the valley a short time before
with a mule. The party num-
bered nine— eight women and a
governess. The mule carried
their luggage, and was ridden by
each in turn. The peasants —
themselves not unaccustomed to
overload their beasts — were struck
with astonishment at the unwont-
ed sight, and made comments,
more free than welcome to English ears,
on the nonchalance with which young
miss sat, calm and collected, on the

miserable beast, while it was struggling
under her weight combined with that
of the luggage. The story was often
repeated ; and it tends to sustain some
of the hard things which have been said
of late about young ladies from the ages
of twelve or fourteen to eighteen.

Arriving once more in the Rhone
valley, I proceeded to Viesch, and from
thence ascended the ^^Eggischhorn, on
which unpleas-
ant eminence I
lost my way in
a fog, and my
temper shortly
afterward.
Then, after
crossing the
Grimsel in a
severe thunder-
storm, I passed
on to Brienz,
I nterlachen
and Berne, and
thence to Fri-
bourg and Mo-
rat, Neuchatel, Martigny and the St.
Bernard. The massive walls of the
convent were ^ welcome sight as I

'^^

waded through the snow-beds near the
summit of the pass, and pleasant also
was the courteous salutation of the

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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 the
toast in the winter that they give to
tourists in the following season is not
founded on truth : the winter is their
most busy time of the year. But it is
true they have exercised so much hos-
pitality that at times they have not pos-
sessed the means to furnish the fuel for
heating their chapel in the winter.

Instead of descending to Aosta, I
turned aside into the Val Pelline, in or-
der to obtain views of the Dent d'Erin.
The night had come on before Biona
was gained, and I had to knock long and
loud upon the door of the curb's house be-
fore it was opened. An old woman with
querulous voice and with a large goitre
answered the summons, and demanded
rather sharply what was wanted, but be-
came pacific, almost good-natured, when
a five-franc piece was held in her face
and she heard that lodging and supper
were requested in exchange.

My directions asserted that a passage
existed from Prerayen, at the head of
this 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 attired
in high - peaked hat, braided jacket,
scarlet waistcoat and indigo pantaloons,
who agreed to take me to the village
of Val Tournanche. We set off early
on the next morning, and got to the
summit of the pass wfthout difficulty.
It gave me my first experience of con-
siderable slopes of hard, steep snow,
and, like all beginners, I endeavored
to prop myself up with my stick, and
kept it outside, instead of holding it
between myself and the slope, and
leaning upon it, as should have been
done. The man enlightened me, but
he had, properly, a very small opinion,
of his employer, and it is probably on
that account that, a few minutes after
we had passed the summit, he said he
would not go any farther and would
return to Biona. All argument was
useless : he stood still, and to every-

thing that was said answered nothing
but that he would go back. Being
rather nervous about descending some
long snow-slopes which still intervened
between us and the head of the valley,
I offered more pay, and he went on a
little way. Presently there were some
cliffs, down which we had to scramble.
He called to me to stop, then shouted
that he would go back, and beckoned
to me to come up. On the contrary, I
waited for him to come down, but in-
stead of doing so, in a second or two
he turned round, clambered deliberately
up the cliff and vanished. I supposed
it was only a ruse to extort offers of
more money, and waited for half an
hour, but he did not appear again.
This was rather embarrassing, for he
carried off my knapsack. The choice
of action lay between chasing him and
going on to Breuil, risking the loss of
my knapsack. I chose the latter course,
and got to Breuil the same evening.
The landlord of the inn, suspicious of
a person entirely innocent of luggage,
was doubtful if he could admit me, and
eventually thrust me into a kind of loft,
which was already occupied by guides
and by hay. In later years we became
good friends, and he did not hesitate to
give credit and even to advance con-
siderable sums.

My sketches from Breuil were made
under difficulties : my materials had
been carried off, nothing better than
fine sugar-paper could be obtained, and
the pencils seemed to contain more
silica than plumbago. However, they
were made, and the pass was again
crossed, this time alone. By the fol-
lowing evening the old woman of Biona
again produced the faithless guide. The
knapsack was recovered after the lapse
of several hours, and then I poured
forth all the terms of abuse and re-
proach of which I was master. The
man smiled when called a liar, and
shrugged his shoulders when referred
to as a thief, but drew his knife when
spoken of as a pig.

The following night was spent at Cor-
mayeur, and the day after I crossed the
Col 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 was
refused to tourists ; but, by scrambling
along the Plan des Aiguilles, I managed
to outwit the guards, and to arrive at
the Montanvert as the imperial party
was leaving, failing to get to the Jardin
the same afternoon, but very nearly
succeeding in breaking a leg by dis-
lodging great rocks on the moraine of
the glacier.

From Chamounix I went to Geneva,
and thence by the Mont Cenis to Turin
and 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 bed
when some village stragglers entered
and 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 expression
and feeling. The others kept their
places and sang in admirable time.
For hours I sat enchanted, and long
after I retired the sound of their melody
could be heard, relieved at times by
the treble of the girl who belonged to
the inn.

The next morning I passed the little
lakes which are the sources of the Po,
on my way into France. The weather
was stormy, and misinterpreting the
patois of some natives — who in reality
pointed out the right way — I missed the
track, and found myself under the cliffs
of Monte Viso. A gap that was occa-
sionally seen in the ridge connecting it
with the mountains to the east tempted
me up, and after a battle with a snow-
slope of excessive steepness, I reached
the summit. The scene was extraordi-
nary, and, in my experience, unique.
To the north there was not a particle
of mist, and the violent wind coming
from that direction blew one back stag-
gering. But on the side of Italy the
valleys were completely filled with dense
masses of cloud to a certain level ; and
there — where they felt the influence of
the wind — they were cut off as level as
the top of a table, the ridges appearing
above them.

I raced down to Abries, and went

on through the gorge of the Guil to
Mont Dauphin. The next day found
me at La Bessee, at the junction of the
Val Louise with the valley of the Du-
rance, in full view of Mont Pelvoux ;
and by chance I walked into a cabaret
where a Frenchman was breakfasting
who a few days before had made an un-
successful attempt to ascend that moun-
tain with three Englishmen ana the guide
Michel Croz of Chamounix — a right
good 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 places
had been secured several days before-
hand, so I set out at two p. M. on the
next day for a seventy-mile walk. The
weather was again bad, and on the
summit of the Col de Lautaret I was
forced to seek shelter in the wretched
little 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 was
disagreeable, but grand — inside, it was
disagreeable and mean. The walk was
continued under a deluge of rain, and
I felt the way down, so intense was the
darkness, to the village of La Grave,
where the people of the inn detained
me forcibly. It was perhaps fortunate
that they did so, for during that night
blocks of rock fell at several places
from the cliffs on to the road with such
force that they made large holes in the
macadam, which looked as if there had

been explosions of gunpowder. I re-
sumed the walk at half-past five next
morning, and proceeded, under steady
rain, through Bourg d*Oysans to Gren-
oble, arriving at the latter place soon
after seven p. M., having accomplished
the entire distance from Brian^on in
about 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 is
described in the following chapters.

BRIANgON.

CHAPTER 11.

THE ASCENT OF MONT PELVOUX.

The district of which Mont Pelvoux
and the neighboring summits are the
culminating points is, both historically
and topographically, one of the most
interesting in the Alps. As the nursery
and the home of the Vaudois, it has
claims to permanent attention : the
names of Waldo and of Neflf will be
remembered when men more famous

in their time are forgotten, and the
memory of the heroic courage and the
simple 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 finest
scenery. It has not perhaps the beau-
ties of Switzerland, but has charms of
its own : its cliffs, its torrents and its
gorges are unsurpassed, its deep and
savage valleys present pictures of gran-

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

deur, and even sublimity, and it is
second to none in the boldness of its
mountain forms.

The district includes a mass of val-
leys which vie with each other in singu-
larity of character and dissimilarity of
climate. Some the rays of the sun can
never reach, they are so deep and nar-
row. In others the very antipodes may
be found, the temperature more like
that of the plains of Italy than of alpine
France. This great range of climate
has a marked effect on the flora of these
valleys : sterility reigns in some, stones
take the place of trees, debris and mud
replace plants and flowers : in others,
in the space of a few miles, one passes
vines, apple, pear and cherry trees, the
birch, alder, walnut, ash, larch and pine
alternating with fields of rye, barley,
oats, beans and potatoes.

The valleys are for the most part
short and erratic. They are not, ap-
parently, arranged on any definite plan :
they are not disposed, as is frequently
the case elsewhere, either at right angles
to, or parallel with, the highest sum-
mits, but they wander hither and thither,
taking one direction for a few miles,
then doubling back, and then perhaps
resuming their original course. Thus
long perspectives are rarely to be seen,
and it is difficult to form a general idea
of the disposition of the peaks.

The highest summits are arranged
almost in a horse-shoe form. The high-
est of all, which occupies a central po-
sition, is the Pointe des jfecrins ; the
second in height, the Meije, is on the
north; and the Mont Pelvoux, which
gives its name to the entire block, stands
almost detached by itself on the outside.

At the beginning of July, 1861, I des-
patched to Reynaud from Havse blank-
ets (which were taxed as "prohibited
fabrics"), rope, and other things desi^
rable for the excursion, and set out on
the tour of France, but four weeks later,
at Nimes, found myself completely col-
lapsed by the heat, then 94° Fahr. in
the shade, so I took a night train at
once to Grenoble.

I lost my way in the streets of this
picturesque but noisome town, and hav-

ing but a half hour left in which to get
a dinner and take a place in the dili-
gence, was not well pleased to hear
that an Englishman wished to see me.
It turned out to be my friend Macdon-
ald, who confided to me that he was
going to try to ascend a mountain call-
ed Pelvoux in the course of ten days,
but on hearing of my intentions agreed
to join us at La Bess6e on the 3d of
August. In a few moments more I was
perched in the banquette en route for
Bourg d'Oysans, in a miserable vehicle
which took nearly eight hours to ac-
complish less than thirty miles.

At five on a lovely morning I shoul-
dered my knapsack and started for
Brian9on. Gauzy mists clung to the
mountains, but melted away when
touched by the sun, and disappeared
by jerks (in the manner of views when
focused in a magic lantern), revealing
the wonderfully bent and folded strata
in the limestone cliffs behind the town.
Then I entered the Combe de Malval,
and heard the Romanche eating its way
through that wonderful gorge, and pass-
ed on to Le Dauphin, where the first
glacier came into view, tailing over the
mountain-side on the right. From this
place until the summit of the Col de
Lautaret was passed, every gap in the
mountains showed a glittering glacier
or a soaring peak : the finest view was
at La Grave, where the Meije rises by
a series of tremendous precipices eight
thousand feet above the road. The
finest distant view of the pass is seen
after crossing the col, near Monetier.
A mountain, commonly supposed to be
Monte Viso, appears at the end of the
vista, shooting into the sky : in the
middle distance, but still ten miles off,
is Brian^on with its interminable forts,
and in the foreground, leading down
to the Guisane and rising high up the
neighboring 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 friend
Jean Reynaud, the surveyor of roads
of his district.

All the peaks of Mont Pelvoux are
well seen from La Bess6e — the highest

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point as well as that upon which the
French engineers erected their cairn in
1828. Neither Reynaud nor any one
else knew this. The natives knew only
that the engineers had ascended one
peak, and had seen from that a still
higher point, which they called the
Pointe des Arcines or des fecrins. They
could not say whether this latter could
be seen from La Bessee, nor could they
tell the peak upon which the cairn had
been erected. We were under the im-
pression that the highest point was con-
cealed by the peaks we saw, and would
be gained by passing over them. They
knew nothing of the ascent of Monsieur

Puiseux, and they confidently asserted
that the highest point of Mont Pelvoux
had not been attained by any one : it
was this point we wished to reach.

Nothing prevented our starting at
once but the absence of Macdonald
and the want of a baton. Reynaud
suggested a visit to the postmaster, who
possessed a baton of local celebrity.
Down we went to the bureau, but it was
closed : we hallooed through the slits,
but no answer. At last the postmaster
was 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 till
morning," national glory being upper-
most in the thoughts of one, and home
in those of the other. The baton was
produced : it was a branch of a young
oak, about five feet long, gnarled and
twisted in several directions. "Sir,"
said the postmaster, as he presented it,
** France ! 'tis the first — the first nation
in 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 looked
at this young limb, I thought of my
own ; but Reynaud, who knew every-
thing about everybody in the village,
said there was not a better one ; so off
we went with it, leaving the official
staggering in the road, and muttering,
" France ! 'tis the first nation in the
world !"

The 3d of August came, but Mac-
donald did not appear, so we started
for 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. An
hour and a half's smart walking took
us to La Ville de Val Louise, our hearts
gladdened by the glorious peaks of Pel-
voux shining out without a cloud around
them. I renewed acquaintance with the
mayor of La Ville. His aspect was
original and his manners were gracious,
but the odor which proceeded from him
was dreadful. The same may be said
of most of the inhabitants of these
valleys.

Reynaud kindly undertook to look
after the commissanat^ and 1 found to
my annoyance, when we were about to
leave, that I had given tacit consent to
a small wine-cask being carried with us,
which was a gre^il nuisance from the
commencement. It was excessively
awkward to handle : one man tried to
carry it, and then another, and at last it
was slung from one of our batons, and
was carried by two, which gave our
party the appearance
of a mechanical di-
agram to illus-
trate the uses of
levers.

At La Ville
the Val Louise
spUts into two
branches — the
Val d'Entrai-
gues on the left,
and the Vallon
d' Alefred ( o r
Ailefroide)
the right:
route was
the latter,
we moved
steadily for-
ward to the vil-
lage of La Pisse, where Pierre S6miond
lived, who was reputed to know more
about 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 aged
creature, whose furrowed and wrinkled
face hardly seemed to announce the
man 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 fresh
vigor to our limbs, while below, in a
sublime gorge, thundered the torrent,
whose waters took their rise from the
snows we hoped to tread on the morrow.
The mountain could not be seen at
La Ville, owing to a high intervening
ridge : we were now moving along the
foot of this to get to the chalets of Ale-
fred — or, as they are sometimes called,
A16froide — where the mountain actually
commences. From this di-
rection the subordinattj
but more proximate
peaks appear con-
siderably higher
than the loft-
ier ones be-
hind, and
sometimes
c o m -
pletclv

THE VAL O ALBFRBD.

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

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Sel6) on the left, and the glaciers Blanc
and Noir on the right. We rested a
minute to purchase some butter and
milk, and Semiond picked up a disre-
putable-looking lad to assist in carry-

ing, pushing and otherwise moving the
wine-cask.

Our route now turned sharply to the
left, and all were glad that the day was
drawing to a close, so that we had the

THE GRAND PELVOUX DE VAL LOUISE.

shadows from the mountains. A more
frightful and desolate valley it is scarce-
ly possible to imagine : it contains miles
of boulders, debris, stones, sand and
mud — few trees, and they placed so high
as to be almost out of sight. Not a soul
inhabits it : no birds are in the air, no fish
in the waters : the mountain is too steep
for the chamois, its slopes too inhos-
pitable for the marmot, the whole too
repulsive for the eagle. Not a living
thing did we see in this sterile and sav-
age valley during four days, except
some few poor goats which had been
driven 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^re
glacier, when S6miond said we must
turn to the right, up the slopes. This
we did, and clambered for half an hour
through scattered pines and fallen boul-
ders. Then evening began to close in
rapidly, and it was time to look for a
resting-place. There was no difficulty
in getting one, for all around it was a
chaotic assemblage of rocks. We se-
lected the under side of one, which was
more than fifty feet long by twenty high,
cleared it of rubbish, and then collected
wood for a fire.

That camp-fire is a pleasant reminis-
cence. The wine-cask had got through
all its troubles : it was tapped, and the
Frenchmen seemed to derive some con-
solation from its execrable contents.
Reynaud chanted scraps of French
songs, and each contributed his share
of joke, story or verse. The weather
was perfect, and our prospects for the
morrow were good. My companions'
joy culminated when a packet of red
fire was thrown into the flames. It
hissed and bubbled for a moment or
two, and, then broke out into a grand
flare. The effect of the momentary
light was magnificent: all around the
mountains were illuminated for a sec-
ond, and then relapsed into their solemn
gloom. One by one our party dropped
off to sleep, and at last I got into my
blanket-bag. It was hardly necessary,
for although we were at a height of at
least seven thousand feet, the minimum
temperature was above 40° Fahrenheit.

We roused at three, but did not start
till half-past four. Giraud had been
engaged as far as this rock only, but as
he wished to go on, we allowed him to
accompany us. We mounted the slopes,
and quickly got above th^ trees, then
^ad a couple of hours* clambering over

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bits of precipitous rock and banks of
d6bris, and at a quarter to seven got to
a narrow glacier — Clos de T Homme —
which streamed out of the plateau on
the summit, and nearly reached the
glacier de Sapeni^re. We worked as
much as possible to the right, in hope
that we should not have to cross it, but
were continually driven back, and at
last we found that it was necessary to
do so. Old Semiond had a strong ob-
jection to the ice, and made explora-
tions on his own account to endeavor
to avoid it; but Reynaud and I pre-
ferred to cross it, and Giraud stuck
to us. It was narrow — in fact, one
could 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 we
were obliged to cut. Giraud stepped
forward and said he should like to try
his hand, and having got hold of the
axe, would not give it up ; and here, as
well as afterward when it was necessary
to cross the gullies filled with hard snow
which abound on the higher part of the
mountain, he did all the work, and did
it admirably.

Old Stoiond of course came after us
when we got across. We then zigzag-
ged up some snow-slopes, and shortly
afterward commenced to ascend the in-
terminable array of buttresses which
are 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 length
and depth. TAey were frequently rot-
ten, and would have been difficult for
a single man to pass. The uppermost
men were continually abused for dis-
lodging rocks and for harpooning those
below with their batons. However,
without these incidents the climbing
would have been dull : they helped to
break the monotony.

We went up chimneys and gullies by
the hour together, and always seemed
to be coming to something, although we
never got to it. The outline sketch will
help to explain the situation. We stood

at the foot of a gfcfkf^Httress — perhaps
about two hundred feet high — and look-
ed up. It did not go to a point as in
the diagram, because we could not see
the top, although we felt convinced that
behind the fringe of pin-
nacles we did see there
was a top, and that
it was the edge
of 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, and
yet more, till we reached the top, and
found it was only a buttress, and that
we had to descend forty or fifty feet
before we could commence to mount
again. When this operation had been
performed a few dozen times it began
to be wearisome, especially as we were
in th^ dark as to our whereabouts.
Semiond, however, encouraged us, and
said he knew we were on the right
route ; so* away we went once more.

It was now nearly mid-day, and we
seemed no nearer the summit of the
Pelvoux than when we started. At last
we 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 hour
from the edge of the snow. "Very
good : let us proceed.** Half an hour
passed, and then another, but we were
still in the same state : pinnacles, but-
tresses and gullies were in profusion,
but the plateau was not in sight. So
we called him again — for he had been
staring about latterly as if in doubt —
and repeated the question, "How far
below are we now ?** Well, he thought
it might be half an hour more. ** But
you said that just now : are you sure

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we are going right ?" Yes, he believed
we were. Believed ! — that would not
do. **Are you sure we are going right
for the Pic des Arcines?" "Pic des
Arcines !" he ejaculated in astonish-
ment, as if he had heard the words for
the 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, and
now he confessed he knew nothing
about it. I turned to Reynaud, who
seemed thunderstruck : *' What do you
suggest ?" He shrugged his shoulders.
"Well," we said, after explaining our
minds pretty freely to Semiond, *'the
sooner we turn back the better, for we
have no wish to see your pyramid."

We halted for an hour, and then com-
menced the descent. It took us nearly
seven hours to come down to our rock,
but I paid no heed to the distance, and
do not remember anything about it.
When we got down we made a discov-
ery which affected us as much as the
footprint in the sand did Robinson
Crusoe : a blue silk veil lay by our fire-
side. There was but one solution —
Macdonald had arrived, but where was
he ? We soon packed our baggage,
and tramped in the dusk, through the
stony desert, to Alefred, where we ar-
rived about half- past nine. "Where is
the 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 with
S6miond, we posted down to catch Mac-
donald. We had already determined
on the plan of operation, which was to
get him to join us, return, and be inde-
pendent of all guides, simply taking
the best man we could get as a porter.
I set my heart on Giraud — a good fel-
low, with no pretence, although in every
respect up to the work. But we were
disappointed : he was obliged to go to
Brian9on.

The walk soon became exciting. The
natives inquired the result of our expe-
dition, and common civility obliged us
to stop. But I was afraid of losing my

man, for it was said he would wait only
till ten o'clock, and that time was near
at hand. At last I dashed over the
bridge — time from Alefred an hour and
a quarter — but a cantonnier stopped me,
saying that the Englishman had just
started for La Bess6e. I rushed after
him, turned angle after angle of the
road, but could not see him : at last, as
I came round a corner, he was also just
turning another, going very fast. I
shouted, and luckily he heard me. We
returned, reprovisioned ourselves at La
Ville, and the same evening saw us
passing our first rock, en route for an-
other. I have said we determined to
take no guide, but on passing La Pisse
old Semiond turned out and offered his
services. He went well, in spite of his
years and disregard of truth. "Why
not take him ?" said my friend. So we
offered him a fifth of his previous pay,
and in a few seconds he closed with the
offer, but this time came in an inferior
position — we were to lead, he to follow.
Our second follower was a youth of
twenty-seven years, who was not all
that could be desired. He drank Rey-
naud's wine, smoked our cigars, and
quietly secreted the provisions when we
were nearly starving. Discovery of his
proceedings did not at all disconcert
him, and he finished up by getting sev-
eral items added to our bill at La Ville,
which, not a little to his disgust, we
disallowed.

This night we fixed our camp high
above the tree-line, and indulged our-
selves in the healthy employment of
carrying our fuel up to it. The present
rock was not so comfortable as the first,
and before we could settle down we were
obliged to turn out a large mass which
was in the way. It was very obstinate,
but moved at length — slowly and gently
at first, then faster and faster, at last
taking great jumps in the air, striking a
stream of fire at every touch, which
shone out brightly as it entered the
gloomy valley below ; and long after it
was out of sight we heard it bounding
downward, and then settle with a sub-
dued crash on the glacier beneath. As
we turned back from this curious sight.

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

Reynaud asked if we had ever seen a
torrent on fire, and told us that in the
spring the Durance, swollen by the
melting of the snow, sometimes brings
down so many rocks that where it passes
through a narrow gorge at La Bess6e
no water whatever is seen, but only
boulders rolling over and over, grind-
ing each other into powder, and striking
so many sparks that the stream looks
as if it were on fire.

We had another merry evening, with
nothing to mar it : the weather was per-
fect, and we lay backward in luxurious
repose, looking at the sky spangled with
its ten thousand brilliant lights.

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

Macdonald related his experiences
over the cafe noir. He had traveled

R. J. S. MACDONALD.

day and night for several days in order
to join us, but had failed to find our
first bivouac, and had encamped a few
hundred yards from us under another
rock, higher up the mountain. The
next morning he discerned us going
along a ridge at a great height above
him, and as it was useless to endeavor
to overtake us, he lay down and watch-
ed with a heavy heart until we had
turned the corner of a buttress and van-
ished out of sight.

Nothing but the heavy breathing of
our 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 sound
above us ? Is that nothing 1 There it
is again, plainer : on it comes, nearer,
clearer: 'tis a crag escaped from the
heights above. What a fearful crash !
We jump to our feet. Down it comes
with awful fury : what power can with-
stand its violence ? Dancing leaping,
flying, dashing against others, roaring
as it descends. Ah, it has passed ! No :
there it is again, and we hold our breath
as, with resistless force and explosions
like artillery, it darts past, with an ava-
lanche of shattered fragments trailing
in its rear. 'Tis gone, and we breathe
more freely as we hear the finale on the
glacier below.

We retired at last, but I was too ex-
cited to sleep. At a quarter-past four
every man once more shouldered his
pack and started. This time we agreed
to keep more to the right, to see if it
were not possible to get to the plateau
without losing any time by crossing the
glacier. To describe our route would
be to repeat what has been said before.
We mounted steadily for an hour and
a half, sometimes walking, but more
frequently climbing, and then found,
after all, that it was necessary to cross
the glacier. The part on which we
struck came down a very steep slope,
and was much crevassed. The word
crevassed hardly expresses its appear-
ance : it was a mass of formidable
seracs. 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 buttresses
began again. Hour after hour we pro-
ceeded upward, frequently at fault and
obliged to descend. The ridge behind
us had sunk long ago, and we looked
over it and all others till our eyes rested
on the majestic Viso. Hour after hour
passed, and monotony was the order
of the day : when twelve o'clock came
we lunched, and contemplated the scene
with satisfaction : all the summits in
sight, with the single exception of the
Viso, had given in, and we looked over
an immense expanse — a perfect sea of

GooQle

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peaks and snow-fields. Still the pin-
nacles rose above us, and opinions
were freely uttered that we should see
no summit of Pelvoux that day. Old
Semiond had become a perfect bore to

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

MONT PELVOUX

PIC DE LA PYRAMlOe
HIGHEST POINT 12,920

12,073

ORAND PELVOUX
DE VAL LOUISE
12,343

hold. Here Reynaud and Macdonald
confessed to being tired, and talked of
going to sleep. A way was discovered
out of the difficulty: then some one
called out, " Look at the Viso !'* and we
saw that we almost looked over it. We
worked away with redoubled energy,
and at length caught sight of the head
of the glacier as it streamed out of the
plateau. This gave us fresh hopes : we
were not deceived, and with a simultane-
ous shout we greeted the appearance of
our long wished -for snows. A large
crevasse separated us from them, but a
bridge was found : we tied ourselves in
line and moved safely over it. Directly
we got across there arose before us a fine
snow-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 he
had helped to erect more than thirty
years before. But where was the Pic
des Arcines which we were to see ? It
was 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 there
was no other to conquer, but hai-dly had
we gone two hundred paces before there
rose a superb white cone on the left,
which had been hidden before by a
slope of snow. We shouted, " The Pic
des Arcines !" and inquired of S6miond
if he knew whether that peak had been
ascended. As for him, he knew noth-
ing except that the peak before us was
called the Pyramid, from the cairn he
had, etc., etc., and that it had been as-
cended since. "All right, then: face
about ;" and we immediately turned at
right angles for the cone, the porter
making faint struggles for his beloved
pyramid. Our progress was stopped in
the sixth of a mile by the edge of the
ridge connecting the two peaks, and we
perceived that it curled over in a love-
ly volute. We involuntarily retreated.
S6miond, who was last in the line, took
the opportunity to untie himself, and
refused 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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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

and proceeded. The snow was very
soft: we were always knee-deep, and
sometimes floundered in up to the waist,
but a simultaneous jerk before and be-
hind always released one. By this time
we had arrived at the foot of the final
peak. The left-hand ridge seemed easier
than that upon which we stood, so we
curved round to get to it. Some rocks
peeped out one hundred and fifty feet
below the summit, and up these we
crawled, leaving our porter behind, as
he said he was afraid. I could not re-
sist the temptation, as we went off, to
turn 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 rocks
led to a short ridge of ice — our plateau
on one side, and a nearly vertical preci-
pice on the other. Macdonald cut up
it, and at a quarter to two we stood
shaking hands on the loftiest summit
of the conquered Pelvoux !

The day still continued everything
that could be desired, and far and near
countless peaks burst into sight, without
a cloud to hide them. The mighty Mont
Blanc, full seventy miles away, first
caught our eyes, and then, still farther
off, the Monte Rosa group ; while, roll-
ing away to the east, one unknown
range after another succeeded in un-
veiled splendor, fainter and fainter in
tone, but still perfectly defined, till at
last the eye was unable to distinguish
sky from mountain, and they died away
in the far-off horizon. Monte Viso rose
up grandly, but it was less than forty
miles away, and we looked over it to a
hazy mass we knew must be the plains
of Piedmont. Southward, a blue mist
seemed to indicate the existence of the
distant Mediterranean : to the west we
looked over to the mountains of Au-
vergne. Such was the panorama, a
view extending in nearly every direc-
tion for more than a hundred miles. It
was with some difficulty we wrenched
our eyes from the more distant objects
to contemplate the nearer ones. Mont
Dauphin was very conspicuous, but La
Bess6e was not readily perceived. Be-
sides these, not a human habitation

could be seen : all was rock, snow or
ice ; and large as we knew were the
snow-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 the
Viso, immediately to the south of Cha-
teau Queyras, was a splendid group of
mountains of great height. More to
the south an unknown peak seemed
still higher, while close to us we were
astonished to discover that there was a
mountain which appeared even higher
than that on which we stood. At
least this was my opinion : Macdonald
thought it not so high, and Reynaud
insisted that its height was much about
the same as our own.

This mountain was distant a couple
of miles or so, and was separated from
us by a tremendous abyss, the bottom
of which we could not see. On the
other side rose this mighty wall-sided
peak, too steep for snow, black as night,
with sharp ridges and pointed summit.
We were in complete ignorance of its
whereabouts, for none of us had been
on the other side : we imagined that La
Berarde was in the abyss at our feet,
but it was in reality beyond the other
mountain.

We left the summit at last, and de-
scended to the rocks and to our porter,
where I boiled some water, obtained by
melting snow. After we had fed and
smoked our cigars (lighted without diffi-
culty from a common match), we found
it was ten minutes past three, and high
time to be off. We dashed, waded and
tumbled for twenty-five minutes through
the snow, and then began the long de-
scent of the rocks. It was nearly four
o'clock, and as it would be dark at eight,
it was evident that there was no time to
be lost, and we pushed on to the utmost.
Nothing remarkable occurred going
down. We kept rather closer to the
glacier, and crossed at the same point
as in the morning. Getting off it was
like getting on it — rather awkward. Old
S^miond had got over, so had Reynaud :
Macdonald came next, but as he made
a long stretch to get on to a higher
mass, he slipped, and would have been

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

in the bowels of a crevasse in a moment
had he not been tied.

It was nearly dark by the time we
had crossed, but still 1 hoped that we
should be able to pass the night at our
rock. Macdonald was not so sanguine,
and he was right ; for at last we found
ourselves quite at fault, and wandered
helplessly up and down for an hour,
while Reynaud and the porter indulged
in a little mutual abuse. The dreary
fact that, as we could not get down, we
must stay where we were, was now quite
apparent.

We were at least ten thousand five
hundred feet high, and if it commenced
to rain or snow, as the gathering clouds
and rising wind seemed to threaten, we
might be in a sore plight. We were
hungry, having eaten little since three
A. M., and a torrent we heard close at
hand, but could not discover, aggra-
vated our thirst. Semiond endeavored
to get some water from it, but although
he succeeded in doing so, he was wholly
unable to return, and we had to solace
him by shouting at intervals through
the night.

A more detestable locality for a night
out of doors it is difficult to imagine.
There was no shelter of any kind, it
was perfectly exposed to the chilly wind
which began to rise, and it was too
steep to promenade. Loose, rubbly
stones covered the ground, and had to
be removed before we could sit with
any comfort. This was an advantage,
although we hardly thought so at the
time, as it gave us some employment,
and after an hour's active exercise of
that interesting kind 1 obtained a small
strip, about nine feet long, on which it
was possible to walk. Reynaud was fu-
rious at first, and soundly abused the
porter, whose opinion as to the route
down had been followed, rather than
that of our friend, and at last settled
down to a deep dramatic despair, and
wrung his hands with frantic gesture, as
he exclaimed, "Oh, malheur, malheur!
Oh miserables !"

Thunder commenced to growl and
lightning to play among the peaks
above, and the wind, which had brought

the temperature down to nearly freezing-
point, began to chill us to the bones.
We examined our resources. They
were six and half cigars, two boxes of
vesuvians, one-third of a pint of brandy-
and-water, and half a pint of spirits of
wine — rather scant fare for three fellows
who had to get through seven hours be-
fore daylight. The spirit-lamp was light-
ed, and the remaining spirits of wine, the
brandy and some snow were heated by
it. It made a strong liquor, but we only
wished for more of it. When that was
over, Macdonald endeavored to dry his
socks by the lamp, and then the three
lay down under my plaid to pretend to
sleep. Reynaud's woes were aggra-
vated by toothache : Macdonald some-
how managed to close his eyes.

The longest night must end, and ours
did at last. We got down to our rock
in an hour and a quarter, and found the
lad not a little surprised at our absence.
He said he had made a gigantic fire to
light us down, and shouted with all his
might : we neither saw the fire nor heard
his shouts. He said we looked a ghastly
crew, and no wonder : it was our fourth
night out.

We feasted at our cave, and perform-
ed some very necessary ablutions. The
persons of the natives are infested by
certain agile creatures, whose rapidity
of motion is only equaled by their num-
bers and voracity. It is dangerous to
approach too near them, and one has
to study the wind, so as to get on their
weather side : in spite of all such pre-
cautions my unfortunate companion and
myself were now being rapidly devoured
alive. We only expected a temporary
lull of our tortures, for the interiors of
the inns are like the exteriors of the
natives, swarming with this species of
animated creation.

It is said that once, when these tor-
mentors were filled with an unanimous
desire, an unsuspecting traveler was
dragged bodily from his bed ! This
needs 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 themy
This 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 with
the natives, and were invariably beaten
by them. At last it was necessary to
part : I walked southward to the Viso,
and Macdonald went to Brian9on.

After parting from my agreeable com-
panions, I walked by the gorge of the
Guil to Abries, and made the acquaint-
ance at that place of an ex-harbormas-
ter of Marseilles — a genial man, who
spoke English well. Besides the ex-
harbormaster and some fine trout in
the neighboring streams, there was little
to invite a stay at Abries. The inn —
L'^fetoile, chez Richard — is a place to
be 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 to
see my passport, and catching sight of
the words John Russell, he entered that
name instead of my own in a report to
the 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 he
made out a lordly bill, against which
all protest was unavailing.

I quitted the abominations of Abries
to seek a quiet bundle of hay at Le
Chalp, a village some miles nearer to
the Viso. On approaching the place
the odor of sanctity became distinctly
perceptible; and on turning a corner
the cause was manifested : there was
the priest of the place, surrounded by
some of his flock. I advanced humbly,
hat in hand, but almost before a word
could be said, he broke out with, *' Who
are you ? What are you ? What do
you want?" I endeavored to explain.

THE BLANKET-BAG.

*' You are a deserter — I know you are a
deserter : go away, you can't stay here :
go to Le Monta, down there — I won't
have you here ;" and he literally drove
me away. The explanation of his
strange behavior was that Piedmontese
soldiers who were tired of the service
had not unfrequently crossed the Col
de la Traversette into the valley, and
trouble had arisen from harboring them.

However, I did not know this at the
time, and was not a little indignant that
I, 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, encamped
in a lovely hole — a cavity or kind of
basin in the earth, with a stream on
one side, a rock to windward and some
broken pine branches close at hand.

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Nothing could be more perfect — rock,
hole, wood and water. After making
a roaring fire, I nestled in my blanket-
bag (an ordinary blanket sewn up,
double round the legs, with a piece of
elastic ribbon round the open end) and
slept, but not for long. I was troubled
with dreams of the Inquisition : the tor-
tures were being applied, priests were
forcing fleas down my nostrils and into
my eyes, and with red-hot pincers were
taking out bits of flesh, and then cutting
off my ears and tickling the soles of my
feet. This was too much : I yelled a
great yell, and awoke to find myself
covered with innumerable crawling
bodies : they were ants. I had camped
by an ant-hill, and, after making its in-
habitants mad with the fire, had coolly
lain down in their midst.

The night was fine, and as I settled
down in more comfortable quarters, a
brilliant meteor sailed across full 60°
of the cloudless sky, leaving a trail of
light behind which lasted for several sec-
onds. It was the herald of a splendid
spectacle. Stars fell by hundreds, and,
not dimmed by intervening vapors, they
sparkled with greater brightness than
Sirius in our damp climate.

The next morning, after walking up
the valley to examine the Viso, I return-
ed to Abries, and engaged a man from
a neighboring hamlet for whom the ex-
harbormaster had sent — an inveterate
smoker, and thirsty in proportion, whose
pipe never left his mouth except to allow
him to drink. We returned up the val-
ley together, and slept in the hut of a
shepherd whose yearly wage was almost
as small as that of the herdsman spoken
of in Hyperion by Longfellow ; and the
next morning, in his company, proceed-
ed to the summit of the pass which I
had crossed in i860; but we weire baf-
fled in our attempt to get near the moun-
tain. A deep notch with precipitous
cliffs cut us off" from it : the snow-slope,
too, which existed in the preceding year
on the Piedmontese side of the pass,
was now wanting, and we were unable
to descend the rocks which lay beneath.
A fortnight afterward the mountain was
ascended for the first time by Messrs.

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

We returned crest-fallen to Abries.
The shepherd, whose boots were very
much out of repair, slipped upon the
steep snow-slopes and performed won-
derful but alarming gyrations, which
took him to the bottom of the valley
more .quickly than he could otherwise
have * descended. He was not much
hurt, and was made happy by a few
needles and a little thread to repair his
abraded garments : the other man, how-
ever, considered it willful waste to give
him brandy to rub in his cuts, when it
could be disposed of in a more ordinary
and pleasant manner.

The night of the 14th of August found
me at St. Veran, a village made famous
by Neff", but in no other respect remark-
able, saving that it is supposed to be the
highest in Europe. The Protestants now
formx)nly a miserable minority : in 1861
there were said to be one hundred and
twenty of them to seven hundred and
eighty Roman Catholics. The poor inn
was kept by one of the former, and it
gave the impression of great poverty.
There was no meat, no bread, no but-
ter, no cheese : almost the only things
that could be obtained were eggs. The
manners of the natives were primitive :
the woman of the inn, without the least
sense of impropriety, stayed in the room
until I was fairly in bed, and her bill
for supper, bed and breakfast amcunted
to one-and-sevenpence.

In this neighborhood, and indeed all
round about the Viso, the chamois still
remain in considerable numbers. They
said at St. Veran that six had been seen
from the village on the day I was there,
and the innkeeper declared that he had
seen fifty together in the previous week !
I myself saw in this and in the previous
season several small companies round
about the Viso. It is perhaps as favor-
able a district as any in the Alps for
a sportsman who wishes to hunt the

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chamois, as the ground over which they
wander is by no means of excessive
difficulty.

The next day I descended the valley
to Ville Vieille, and passed, near the

NATXJRAI. PILLAR NEAR MOLINES (WEATHER ACTION).

village of Molines, but on the opposite
side of the valley, a remarkable natural
pillar, in form not unlike a champagne
bottle, about seventy feet high, which
had been produced by the action of the
weather, and in all probability chiefly

by rain. In this case a "block of
euphotide or diallage rock protects a
friable limestone :" the contrast of this
dark cap with the white base, and the
singularity of the form, made it a strik-
ing object. These natural pillars
are among the most remarkable
examples of the potent effects pro-
duced by the long - continued ac-
tion of quiet -working forces. They
are found in several other places
in the Alps, as well as elsewhere.

The village of Ville Vieille boasts
of an inn with the sign of the Ele-
phant, which, in the opinion of local
amateurs, is a proof that Hannibal
passed through the gorge of the
Guil. I remember the place be-
cause its bread, being only a month
old, was unusually soft, and for the
first time during ten days it was
possible to eat some without first
of all chopping it into small pieces
and soaking it in hot water, which
produced a slimy paste on the out-
side, but left a hard, untouched
kernel.

The same day I crossed the Col
Isoard to Brian9on. It was the 1 5th
of August, and all the world was en
fete: sounds of revelry proceeded
from the houses of Servi^res as I
passed over the bridge upon which
the pyrrhic dance is annually per-
formed, and natives in all degrees
of inebriation staggered about the paths.
It was late before the lights of the great
fortress came into sight, but unchal-
lenged I passed through the gates, and
once more sought shelter under the
roof 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 of
T the Mont Cenis is dull. It is long,
certainly, but it has a fair proportion of
picturesque points, and it is not easy to
see how it can be dull to those who
have eyes. In the days when it was a
rude mountain track, crossed by trains
of mules, and when it was better known
to smugglers than to tourists, it may
have been dull ; but when Napoleon's
road changed the rough path into one
30

of the finest highways in Europe, mount-
ing in grand curves and by uniform
grades, and rendered the trot possible
throughout its entire distance, the Mont
Cenis became one of the most interest-
ing passes in the Alps. The diligence
service which was established was ex-
cellent, and there was little or nothing
to be gained by traveling in a more
expensive manner. The horses were
changed as rapidly as on the best lines
in the best period of coaching in Eng-
land, and the diligences themselves
were as comfortable as a "milord"

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

could desire. The most exciting por-
tion of the route was undoubtedly that
between Lanslebourg and Susa. When
the zigzags began teams of mules were
hooked on, and the driver and his help-
ers marched by their side with long
whips, which they handled skillfully.
Passengers dismounted and stretched
their legs by cutting the curves. The
pace was slow but steady, and scarcely
a halt was made during the rise of two
thousand feet. Crack ! crack 1 went the
• whips as the corners of the zigzags were
turned. Great commotion among the
mules ! They scrambled and went
round with a rush, tossing their heads
and making music with their bells.
The summit was gained, the mules
were detached and
trotted back merri-
ly, while we, with
fresh horses, were
dragged at the gal-
lop over the plain
to the other side.
The little postilion
seated on the leader
smacked his whip lustily as he swept
round the corners cut through the rock,
and threw his head back as the echoes
returned, expectant of smiles and of
future centimes.

The air was keen and often chilly,
but the summit was soon passed, and
one quickly descended to warmth again.
Once more there was a change. The
horses, reduced in number to three, or
perhaps two, were the sturdiest and
most sure of foot, and they raced down
with the precision of old stagers. Woe
to the diligence if they stumbled ! So
thought the conductor, who screwed
down the brakes as the corners were
approached. The horses, held well in
hand, leant inward as the top-heavy
vehicle, so suddenly checked, heeled
almost over ; but in another moment
the brake was released, and again they
swept 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, and
the "Fell" railway the rest, while the

great tunnel of the Alps will soon bring
about another change.

The Fell railway, which has been
open about eighteen months, is a line
that 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 bears
his name, took it up, and to him much
credit is due for bringing an admirable
principle into operation.

The Fell railway follows the great
Genis road very closely, and diverges
from it only to avoid villages or houses,
or, as at the summit of the pass on the
Italian side, to ease the gradients. The
line runs from St. Michel to Susa. The
distance between these two places is, as
the crow flies, almost exactly equivalent
to the distance from London to Chat-
ham (30 miles), but by reason of the
numerous curves and detours the length
of the line is nearly brought up to the
distance of London from Brighton (47
miles). From St. Michel to the summit
of the pass it rises 4460 feet, or 900 feet
more than the highest point of Snowdon
is above the level of the sea ; and from
the summit of the pass to Susa, a dis-
tance less than that from London to
Kew, it descends no less than 521 1 feet !

The railway itself is a marvel. For
fifteen miles and three-quarters it has
steeper gradients than one in fifteen.
In some places it is one in twelve and a
half! A straight piece of railway con-
structed on such a gradient seems to go
up a steep hill. One in eighty, or even
one in a hundred, produces a very sen-
sible diminution in the pace of a light
train drawn by an ordinary locomotive :
how, then, is a train to be taken up an
incline that is six times as steep ? It is
accomplished by means of a third rail
placed 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 centre
rail," is laid on all the steep portions of the line and
round all except the mildest curves. Thirty miles, in
all, of the road have the centre rail.

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN 1860-69.

of horizontal driving-wheels, as well as
with the ordinary coupled vertical ones,
and the power of the ma-
chine is thus enormously-
increased, the horizontal
wheels gripping the centre
rail with great tenacity by
being brought together, and
being almost incapable of
slipping like the ordinary
wheels when on even a mod-
erate gradient.

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

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

THE CENTRE RAIL ON A CURVE.

ferent parts will be seen by reference to
the annexed cross section ;

8OALE OF FEET

Let us now take a run on the railway,
starting from St. Michel. For some
distance from that place the gradients
are not of an extraordinary character,
and a good pace is maintained. The
first severe piece is about two miles up,
where there is an incline of one in eigh-
teen for more than half a mile ; that is
to say, the line rises at one step one
hundred and sixty -four feet. From
thence to Modane the gradients are
again moderate (for the Fell railway),
and the distance — about ten miles and
a half from St. Michel — is accomplished
without difficulty in an hour. Modane
station is 11 28 feet above St. Michel, so
that on this, easy portion of the line
there is an average rise of 1 10 feet per
mile, which is equal to a gradient of
one 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 on
the line, and it seems preposterous to
suppose that any train could ascend it.
A stoppage of ten minutes is made at
Modane, and on leaving that station
the train goes off at the hill with a rush.
In a few yards its pace is reduced, and
it comes down and down to about four
miles an hour, which speed is usually
maintained until the incline is passed,
without a diminution of the steam-press-
ure. I say usually, because, if it should
happen that there is not sufficient steam,
or should the driver happen to make a
slip, the train would most likely come
back to Modane; for, although the
brake-power on the train is much more
than sufficient to prevent it running
back, the driver could hardly start with
the 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

toward Fort Lesseillon : it is then at a
great height above the Arc, and as one
winds round the faces of the cliff out
of which the Napoleon road was cut,
looking down upon the foaming stream
below, without a suspicion of a parapet
between the railway and the edge of
the precipice, one naturally thinks about
what would happen if the engine should
leave the rails. The speed, however,
that is kept up at this part is very gentle,
and there is probably much less risk of
an accident than there was in the days
of diligences.

The next remarkable point on this
line 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 the
left, then doubles back, and rises in a
little more than a mile no less than
three hundred and thirty -four feet.
This is, perhaps, the most striking piece
of the whole line.

Lanslebourg station, 25J miles from,
and 2220 feet above, St. Michel, is, ar-
rived at in two hours and a quarter
from the latter place. The engines are
now changed. Thus far we have been
traversing the easy portion of the route,
but here the heavy section begins.
From Lanslebourg the line rises con-
tinuously to the summit of the Mont
Cenis 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 of
distance.

It is curious and interesting to watch
the ascent of the trains from Lansle-
bourg. The puflfs of steam are seen
rising above the trees, sometimes going
in one direction, and sometimes directly
the contrary, occasionally concealed by
the covered ways — for over two miles
out of the six the line is enclosed by
planked sides and a corrugated iron
roof, to keep out the snow — and then
coming out again into daylight. A halt
for water has to be made about halfway
up ; but the engines are able to start
again, and to resume their rate of seven
miles an hour, although the gradient is
no less than one in fourteen and a half.
3

The zigzags of the old Cenis road are
well known as one of the most remark-
able pieces of road-engineering in the
Alps. The railway follows them, and
runs parallel to the road on the outside
throughout its entire distance, with the
exception of the turns at the corners,
where it is carried a little farther out, to
render the curves less sharp. Never-
'theless, they are sufficiently sharp (135
feet radius), and would be impracticable
without the centre rail.

The run across the top of the pass,
from the Summit station to the Grande
Croix station — a distance of about five
miles — is soon accomplished, and then
the tremendous descent to Susa is com-
menced. This, as seen from the engine,

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is little less than terrific. A large part
of this section is covered in, and the
curves succeed one another in a man-
ner unknown on any other line. From
the outside the line looks more like a
monstrous serpent than a railway. In-
side, one can see but a few yards ahead,
the curves are so sharp, and the rails
are nearly invisible. The engine vi-
brates, oscillates and bounds : it is a
matter of difficulty to hold on. Then,
on emerging into the open air, one looks
down some three or four thousand feet
of 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 left
behind ; the next, it turns as suddenly
to the right ; the next, there is an ac-
cession or diminution of speed from a
change in the gradient. An ordinary
engine, moving at fifty miles an hour,
with a train behind it, is not usually
very steady, but its motion is a trifle
compared with that of a Fell engine
when running down hill.

It may be supposed from this that
traveling over the Fell railway is dis-
agreeable rather than pleasant. It is
not so : the train is steady enough, and
the carriages have remarkably little mo-
tion. Outside, they resemble the cars
on the Swiss and American lines : they
are entered at the end, and the seats
are arranged omnibus-fashion, down
the length of the carriage. Each car-
riage has a guard and two brakes — an
ordinary one and a centre-rail brake :
the handles of these come close to-
gether at the platform on one end, and
are easily worked by one man. The
steadiness of the train is chiefly due to
these centre-rail brakes. The flat face
A and the corresppnding one on the op-
posite side are brought together against
the two sides of the centre rail by the
shaft B being turned, and they hold it
as in a vice. This greatly diminishes
the up-and-down motion, and renders
oscillation almost impossible. The
steadiness 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 upon
it directly there is the least deviation
toward either side.* There is no occa-

CENTRE-RAIL BRAKE.

sion to use the other brakes when the
centre-rail brakes are on : the wheels
of the carriages are not stopped, but
revolve freely, and consequently do not
suffer the deterioration which would
otherwise result.

The steam is shut off and the brakes
are applied a very few minutes after be-
ginning the descent to Susa. The train
might then run down for the entire dis-
tance by its own weight. In practice,
it is difficult to apply the proper amount
of retardation : the brakes have fre-
quently to be whistled off", and some-
times it is necessary to steam down
against them. Theoretically, this ought
not of course to occur ; it only happens
occasionally, and ordinarily the train
goes down with the steam shut off, and
with the centre-rail brakes screwed up
moderately. When an average train —
that is, two or three carriages and a
luggage-van — is running down^t the
maximum speed allowed (fifteen miles
an hour), the brakes can pull it up dead
within seventy yards. The pace is prop-
erly kept down to a low point in descend-
ing, and doing so, combined with the
knowledge that the brake-power can
easily lessen it, will tend to make the
public look favorably on what might
otherwise be considered a dangerous
innovation. 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 is
so common on other lines. The reason is simply that
the carriages are coupled up tightly.

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

pattern somewhat different from those
on the carriages, and the flat sides
which press against the rails are renew-
ed every journey. It is highly desirable
that they should be, for a single run
from Lanslebourg to Susa grinds a
groove into them about three-eighths
of an inch in depth.

Driving the trains over the summit
section 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 the
end of their run. Their opinion of the
line was concisely and forcibly express-
ed to me by one of them in last August :
"Yes, mister, they told us as how the line
was very steep, but they didn't say that
the engine would be on one curve, when
the fourgon was on another, and the
carriages was on a third. Them gra-
dients, too, mister, they says they are
one in twelve, but I think they are one
in ten, at the least, and they didn't say
as how we was to come down them in
that snakewise fashion. It's worse than
the G. I. P.,* mister: there a fellow
could jump off, but here, in them cov-
ered ways, there ain't no place to jump
to."

CHAPTER IV.

MY FIRST SCRAMBLE ON THE MATTERHORN.

'* What power must have been required to shatter
and 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 the
ground — 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 that
debris which, in the form of pebbles, boulders and
•and, fills our valleys and our plains."— Db Saussurb.

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

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

mountains were the Weisshom and the
Matterhorn.

After visiting the great tunnel of the
Alps in 1 86 1, I wandered for ten days
in the neighboring valleys, intending
presently to attempt the ascent of these
two peaks. Rumors were floating about
that the former had been conquered,
and that the latter was shortly to be at-
tacked, and they were confirmed on
my arrival at Chatillon, at the entrance
of the Val Tournanche. My interest in
the Weisshorn abated, but it was raised
to the highest pitch on hearing that
Professor Tyndall was at Breuil, and
intending to try to crown his first victory
by another and a still greater one.

Up to this time my experience with
guides had not been fortunate, and I was
inclined, improperly, to rate them at a
low value. They represented to me
pointers-out of paths and great con-
sumers of meat and drink, but little
more ; and, with the recollection of
Mont Pelvoux, I should have greatly
preferred the company of a couple of
my countrymen to any number of
guides. In answer to inquiries at Cha-
tillon, a series of men came forward
whose faces expressed malice, pride,
envy, hatred and roguery of every de-
scription, but who seemed to be desti-
tute of all good qualities. The arrival
of two gentlemen with a guide, who
they represented was the embodiment
of every virtue and exactly the man for
the Matterhorn, rendered it unnecessary
to engage any of the others. My new
guide in physique was a combination of
Chang and Anak ; and although in ac-
quiring him I did not obtain exactly
what was wanted, his late employers
did exactly what they wanted, for I ob-
tained the responsibility, without know-
ledge, of paying his back fare, which
must have been a relief at once to their
minds and to their purses.

When walking up toward Breuil, we
inquired for another man of all the
knowing ones, and they, with one voice,
proclaimed that Jean-Antoine Carrel,
of the village of Val Tournanche, was
the cock of his valley. We sought, of
course, for Carrel, and found him a

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well-made, resolute-looking fellow, with
a certain defiant air which was rather
taking. Yes, he would go. Twenty
francs a day, whatever was the result,
was his price. I assented. But I must
take his comrade. "Why so?" Oh, it
was absolutely impossible to get along
without another man. As he said this
an evil countenance came forth out of
the darkness and proclaimed itself the
comrade. I demurred, the negotiations
broke off, and we went up to Breuil.
This place will be frequently mentioned
in subsequent chapters, and was in full
view of the extraordinary peak the as-
cent of which we were about to attempt.

It is unnecessary to enter into a mi-
nute description of the Matterhorn after
all that has been written about that fa-
mous mountain. My readers will know
that that peak is nearly fifteen thousand
feet high, and that it rises abruptly, by
a series of cliffs which may properly be
termed precipices, a clear five thousand
feet above the glaciers which surround
its base. They will know, too, that it
was the last great Alpine peak which
remained unsealed — less on account of
the difficulty of doing so than from the
terror inspired by its invincible appear-
ance. There seemed to be a cordon
drawn around it, up to which one might
go, but no farther. Within that invisible
line jins and afifreets were supposed to
exist — ^the Wandering Jew and the spirits
of the damned. The superstitious na-
tives in the surrounding valleys (many
of whom still firmly believe it to be not
only the highest mountain in the Alps,
but in the world) spoke of a ruined city
on its summit wherein the spirits dwelt ;
and if you laughed they gravely shook
their heads, told you to look yourself to
see 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 vengeance
for one's derision. Such were the tra-
ditions of the natives. Stronger minds
felt the influence of the wonderful form,
and men who ordinarily spoke or wrote
like rational beings, when they came
under its power seemed to quit their

senses and ranted and rhapsodized,
losing for a time all common forms of
speech. Even the sober De Saussure
was moved to enthusiasm when he saw
the mountain, and, inspired by the
spectacle, he anticipated the specula-
tions of modern geologists in the strik-
ing sentences which are placed at the
head of this chapter.

The Matterhorn looks equally impos-
ing from whatever side it is seen : it never
seems commonplace, and in this re-
spect, and in regard to the impression it
makes upon spectators, it stands almost
alone amongst mountains. It has no
rivals in the Alps, and' but few in the
world.

The seven or eight thousand feet
which compose the actual peak have
several well-marked ridges and numer-
ous others. The most continuous is that
which leads toward the north-east : the
summit 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 to
the ridge called the Furgen Grat. The
slope of the mountain that is between
these two ridges will be referred to as
the eastern face. A third, somewhat less
continuous than the others, descends in
a south-westerly direction, and the por-
tion of the mountain that is seen from
Breuil is confined to that which is com-
prised between this and the second
ridge. This section is not composed,
like that between the first and second
ridge, of one grand face, but it is broken
up into a series of huge precipices, spot-
ted with snow-slopes and streaked with
snow-gullies. The other half of the
mountain, facing the Z'Mutt glacier, is
not capable of equally simple definition.
There are precipices apparent but not
actual ; there are precipices absolutely
perpendicular ; there are precipices over-
hanging; there are glaciers and there
are hanging glaciers ; there are glaciers
which tumble great seracs over greater
cliffs, whose debris, subsequently con-
solidated, becomes glacier again ; there
are ridges split by the frost, and washed
by the rain and melted snow into towers
and spires ; while everywhere there are

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

ceaseless sounds of action, telling that
the causes are still in operation which
have been at work since the world
began, reducing the mighty mass to
atoms and effecting its degradation.

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

SUMMIT (14780)

SOUTH-BAST RIDGR

DIRECTION OF
THE z'MUTT glacier

THE HORNLI (949a)

THB MATTERHORN FROM THE NORTH-EAST.

and its ridges and faces seem to be of
prodigious steepness. The tourist toils
up the valley, looking frequently for
the great sight which is to reward his
pains, without seeing it (for the moun-
tain is first perceived in that direction
about a mile to the north of Zermatt),
when all at once, as he turns a rocky
corner of the path, it comes into view,
not, however, where it is expected : the
face has to be raised up to look at it —
it seems overhead. Although this is
the impression, the fact is that the sum-
mit of the Matterhorn from this point
makes an angle with the eye of less
than 16°, while the Dom, from the same
place, 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, but
usually it makes less impression, be-
cause the spectator grows accustomed
to the sight while coming up or down
the valley. From this direction the
mountain is seen to be broken up into
a series of pyramidal, wedge-shaped
masses : on the other side it is remark-
able for the large, unbroken extent of
cliffs that it presents, and for the sim-
plicity of its outline. It was natural to
suppose that a way would more readily
be found to the summit on a side thus
broken up than in any other direction.
The eastern face, fronting Zermatt,
seemed one smooth, impossible cliff
from 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 Val
Tournanche, and it will be found that

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

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

The first efforts to ascend the Matter-
horn of which I have heard were made
by 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 the
highest point that was attained was
about as far as the place which is now
called the "Chimney** (cheminee), a
height of about twelve thousand six
hundred and fifty feet. Those who
were concerned in these expeditions
were Jean-Antoine Carrel, Jean Jacques
Carrel, Victor Carrel, the Abb6 Gorret
and Gabrielle Maquignaz. I have been
unable to obtain any further details
about 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. These
gentlemen, without guides, endeavored
to storm the citadel by attacking the
eastern face, that to which reference
was just now made as a smooth, im-
practicable cliff. Mr. Sandbach Park-
er informs me that he and his brothers
went along the ridge between the Horn-
li and the peak until they came to the
point where the ascending angle is
considerably increased. This place is
marked on Dufour's map of Switzer-
land 3298 metres (10,820 feet). They
were then obliged to bear a little to the
left to get on to the face of the moun-
tain, and afterward they turned to the
right and ascended about seven hun-
dred feet farther, keeping as nearly as
was practicable to the crest of the ridge,
but occasionally bearing a little to the
left ; that is, more on to the face of the
mountain. The brothers started from
Zermatt, and did not sleep out. Clouds,
a high wind and want of time were the
causes which prevented these daring
gentlemen from going farther. Thus
their highest point was under twelve
thousand feet.

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

the side of the Val Tournanche. A vivid
account of his expedition has been pub-
lished by him in "Vacation Tourists,"
and it has been referred to several times
by Professor Tyndall in the numerous
papers he has contributed to Alpine lit-
erature. I will dismiss it, therefore, as
briefly as possible.

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

J. J. BENNEN (1863).

fessor Tyndall, whom he had invited to
take part in the expedition), he started
for the gap between the little and the
great peak.

Bennen was a guide who was begin-
ning to be talked about. During the
chief part of his brief career he was in
the service of Wellig, the landlord of
the inn on the ^Eggischhorn, and was
hired out by him to tourists. Although
his 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 by
his employers. A good-looking man,
with courteous, gentlemanly manners.

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skillful and bold, he might by this time
have taken a front place amongst guides
if he had only been endowed with more
prudence. He perished miserably in
the spring of 1864 not far from his home,
on a mountain called the Haut de Cry,
in the Valais.

Mr. Hawkins' party, led by Bennen,
climbed the rocks ^abutting against the
Couloir du Lion on its south side, and
attained the Col du Lion, although not
without difficulty. They then followed
the south-west ridge, passed the place at
which the earliest explorers had turned
back (the Chimney), and ascended about
three hundred feet more. Mr. Hawkins
and J. J. Carrel then stopped, but Ben-
nen and Professor Tyndall mounted a
few feet higher. They retreated, how-
ever, in less than half an hour, finding
that there was too little time, and, de-
scending to the col by the same route
as they had followed on the ascent, pro-
ceeded thence to Breuil — down the cou-
loir instead of by the rocks. The point
at which Mr. Hawkins stopped is easily
identified from his descriptjion. Its
height is 12,992 feet above the sea. I
think that Bennen and Tyndall could
not have ascended more than fifty or
sixty feet beyond this in the few minutes
they were absent from the others, as
they were upon one of the most difficult
parts of the mountain. This party
therefore accomplished an advance of
about three hundred and fifty or four
hundred feet.

Mr. Hawkins did not, as far as I
know, make another attempt ; and the
next was made by the Messrs. Parker
in July, 1 86 1. They again started from
Zermatt, followed the route they had
struck out on the previous year, and
got a little higher than before ; but they
were defeated by want of time, left Zer-
matt shortly afterward on account of
bad weather, and did not again renew
iheir attempts. Mr. Parker says : " In
neither case did we go as high as we
could. At the point where we turned
we saw our way for a few hundred feet
farther, but beyond that the difficulties
seemed to increase." I am informed
that both attempts should be considered

as excursions undertaken with the view
of ascertaining whether there was any
encouragement to make a more delib-
erate attack on the north-east side.

My guide and I arrived at Breuil on
the 28th of August, 1 861, and we found
that Professor Tyndall had been there
a day or two before, but had done noth-
ing. I had seen the mountain from
nearly every direction, and it seemed,
even to a novice like myself, far too
much for a single day. I intended to
sleep out upon it as high as possible,
and to attempt to reach the summit on
the following day. We endeavored to»
induce another man to accompany us,
but without success. Matthias zum
Taugwald and other well-known guides
were there at the time, but they declined
to go on any account. A sturdy old
fellow — Peter Taugwalder by name —
said he would go. His price ? ** Two
hundred francs.** ''What! whether we
ascend or not ?'* "Yes — nothing less.*'
The end of the matter was, that all the
men who were more or less capable
showed a strong disinclination or posi-
tively refused to go (their disinclination
being very much in proportion to their
capacity), or else asked a prohibitive
price. 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 mountain
and patted on the back, but all declined
the business. The men who went had
no heart in the matter, and took the first
opportunity to turn back,* for they were,
with the exception of one man — to whom
reference 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 loan
of a couple of blankets from the inn-
keeper. He refused them, giving the
curious reason that we had bought a
bottle of brandy at Val Tournanche,
and had not bought any from him ! No
brandy, no blankets, appeared to be his
rule. We did not require them that

♦ The guide Bennen must be excepted.

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

night, as it was passed in the highest
cow- shed in the valley, which is about
an hour nearer to the mountain than is
the hotel. The cowherds, worthy fel-
lows seldom troubled by tourists, hailed
our company with delight, and did their
best to make us comfortable, brought
out their little stores of simple food, and,
as we sat with them round the great
copper pot which hung over the fire,
bade us in husky voice, but with honest
intent, to beware of the perils of the
haunted clitfs. When night was com-
ing on we saw stealing up the hillside
the forms of Jean-Antoine Carrel and
the comrade. "Oh ho !" I said,
"you have repented?"
" Not at all : you deceive
yourself." "Why,
then, have you
come here?" "Be-
cause we our-
selves are go-
ing on. the
mountain to-
morrow."
"Oh, then it is
not necessary
to have more
than three?'
"Not for usy I
, ad mired their
pluck, and had a
strong inclination to
engage the pair, but Tinal
ly decided against it. The
comrade turned out to be
the J. J. Carrel who had
been with Mr. Hawkins, and was nearly
related to the other man.

Both were bold mountaineers, but
Jean - Antoine was incomparably the
better man of the two, and he is the
finest rock-climber I have ever seen.
He was the only man who persistently
refused to accept defeat, and who con-
tinued to believe, in spite of all discour-
agements, that the great mountain was
not inaccessible, and that it could be
ascended from the side of his native
valley.

The night wore away without any ex-
citement, except from the fleas, a party
of whom executed a spirited fandango

on my cheek to the sound of music pro-
duced on the drum of my ear by one
of their fellows beating with a wisp of
hay. The two Carrels crept noiselessly
out before daybreak, and went off. We
did not leave until nearly seven o'clock,
and followed them leisurely, leaving all
our properties in the cow-shed, saunter-
ed over the gentian- studded slopes which
intervene between the shed and the Gla-
cier du Lion, left cows and their pastures
behind, traversed the stony wastes and
arrived at the ice. Old, hard beds of
snow lay on its right bank (our left
hand), and we mounted over them on
to the lower portion of the gla-
cier with ease. But as we
ascii^nded crevasses be-
came numerous, and
we were at last
\ brought to a halt
\ by some which
were of very
W. ^\ large dimen-

sions ; and as

JBAN-ANTOINE CARREL (1869).

our cutting
powers were
limited, we
sought an easier
. / route, and turned
f naturally to the
lower rocks of the
Tete du Lion, which
overlook the glacier on
its weiit. Some good
scrambling took us in a
short time on to the crest
of the ridge which descends
toward the south ; and thence up to the
level of the Col du Lion there was a
long natural staircase, on which it was
seldom necessary to use the hands. We
dubbed the place "The Great Stair-
case." Then the cliffs of the Tete du
Lion, which rise above the couloir, had
to be skirted. This part varies con-
siderably in different seasons, and in
1 861 we found it difficult, for the fine
steady weather of that year had reduced
the snow-beds abutting against it to a
lower level than usual, and the rocks
which were left exposed at the junction
of the snow with the cliffs had few
ledges or cracks to which we could

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SC^RAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86<>-'69.

hold. But by half-past ten o'clock we
stood on the col, and looked down upon
the magnificent basin out of which the
Z'Mutt glacier flows. We decided to
pass the night upon the col, for we were
charmed with the capabilities of the
place, although it was one where liber-
ties could not be taken. On one side a

shee»* wall overhung the Tiefenmatten
glacier — on the other, steep, glassy
slopes of hard snow descended to the
Glacier du Lion, furrowed by water and
by falling stones : on the north there
was the great peak of the Matterhorn,*
and on the south the cliffs of the Tete
du Lion. Throw a bottle down to the

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

Tiefenmatten — no sound returns for
more than a dozen seconds.

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

But no harm could come from that
side — neither could it from the other.
Nor was it likely that it would from the
Tete du Lion, for some jutting ledges
conveniently overhung our proposed
resting-place. We waited for a while,

basked in the sunshine, and watched
or listened to the Carrels, who were
sometimes seen or heard high above U3
upon the ridge leading toward the sum-
mit; and, leaving at mid-day, we de-
scended to the cow-shed, packed up the
tent and other properties, and returned
to the col, although heavily laden, be-

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

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

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 in
London, but it proved thoroughly use-
less in the Alps. It was made of light
canvas, and opened like a book : one
end was closed permanently and the
other with flaps: it was supported by
two alpenstocks, and had the canvas
sides prolonged so as to turn in under-
neath. Numerous cords were sewn to
the lower edges, to which stones were
to be attached, but the main fastenings
were by a cord which passed under-
neath the ridge and through iron rings
screwed into the tops of the alpenstocks,
and were secured by pegs. The wind,
which playfully careered about the sur-
rounding cliffs, was driven through our
gap with the force of a blow-pipe : the
flaps of the tent would not keep down,
the pegs would not stay in, and it ex-
hibited so marked a desire to go to the
top of the Dent Blanche that we thought
it prudent to take it down and to sit
upon it. When night came on we wrap-
ped ourselves in it, and made our camp
as comfortable as the circumstances
would allow. The silence was impress-
ive. No living thing was near our soli-
tary bivouac; the Carrels had turned
back and were out of hearing; the
stones 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 grown
To have an almost human tone." *

It was bitterly cold., Water froze hard
in a bottle under my head. Not sur-
prising, as we were actually on snow,
and in a position where the slightest
wind was at once felt. For a time we
dozed, but about midnight there came
from high aloft a tremendous explosion,
followed by a second of dead quiet. A
great mass of rock had split off and
was descending toward us. My guide
started up, . wrung his hands and ex-
claimed, "O my God, we are lost!" We
heard it coming, mass after mass pour-
ing over the precipices, bounding and

*J. G. Whittier.

rebounding from cliff to cliff, and the
great rocks in advance smiting one an-
other. They seemed to be close, al-
though they were probably distant, but
some small fragments, which dropped
upon us at the same time from the ledges'^
just above, added to the alarm, and my
demoralized companion passed the re-
mainder of the night in a state of shud-
der, ejaculating "Terrible!** and other
adjectives.

We put ourselves in motion at day-
break, and commenced the ascent of the
south-west ridge. There was no more
sauntering with hands in the pockets •
each step had to be earned by down-
right climbing. But it was the most
pleasant kind of climbing. The rocks
were fast and unencumbered with d6bris,
the cracks were good, although not nu-
merous, arvd there was nothing to fear
except from one's self. So we thought,
at least, and shouted to awake echoes
from 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 echoes
will return from the walls of the Dent
d'Herens, miles away, in waves of pure
and undefiled sound, soft, musical and
sweet. Halt a moment to regard the
view ! We overlook the Tete du Lion,
and nothing except the Dent d'Herens,
whose summit is still a thousand feet
above us, stands in the way : the ranges
of the Graian Alps, an ocean of moun-
tains, are seen at a glance, governed
by their three great peaks, the Grivola,
Grand Paradis and Tour de St. Pierre.
How soft, and yet how sharp, they look
in the early morning! The mid-day
mists have not begun to rise — nothing
is obscured : even the pointed Viso, all
but a hundred miles away, is perfectly
defined.

Turn to the east and watch the sun's
slanting rays coming across the Monte
Rosa snow-fields. Look at the shadow-
ed parts and see ho>v even they, radiant
with reflected light, are more brilliant
than man knows how to depict. See
how, even there, the gentle undulations
give 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 shadows
upon shadows, each with a light and a
dark side, with infinite gradations of
matchless tenderness. Then note the
sunlight as it steals noiselessly along
and reveals countless unsuspected forms
— the delicate ripple-lines which mark
the concealed crevasse, and the waves
of drifted snow, producing each minute
more lights and fresh shadows, spark-
ling on the edges and glittering on the
ends of the icicles, shining on the heights
and illuminating the depths, until all is
aglow and the dazzled eye returns for
relief to the sombre crags.

Hardly an hour had passed since we
left 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 others
equally smooth. My companion essay-
ed to go up, and after crumpling his
long body into many ridiculous posi-
tions, he said that he would not, for he
could not do it. With some little trouble
I got up it unassisted, and then my guide
tied himself on to the end of our rope,
and I endeavored to pull him up. But
he was so awkward that he did little for
himself, and so heavy that he proved too
much for me, and after several attempts
he untied himself and quietly observed
that he should go down. I told him he
was a coward, and he mentioned his
opinion of me. I requested him to go to
Breuil, and to say that he had left his
"monsieur" on the mountain, and he
turned to go, whereupon I had to eat
humble pie and ask him to come back ;
for although it was not very difficult to
go up, and not at all dangerous with a
man standing below, it was quite an-
other thing to come down, as the lower
edge overhung in a provoking manner.

The day was perfect, the sun was

pouring down grateluTwarmth, the wind
had fallen, the way seemed clear, no in-
superable obstacle was in sight; but
what could one do alone ? I stood on
the top, chafing under this unexpected
contretemps, and remained for some
time irresolute ; but as it became ap-
parent that the Chimney was swept
more frequently than was necessary (it
was a natural channel for falling stones),
I turned at last, descended with the
assistance of my companion, and re-
turned with him to Breuil, where we
arrived about mid-day.

The Carrels did not show themselves,
but we were told that they had not got
to any great height,* and that the "com-
rade," who for convenience had taken
off his shoes and tied them round his
waist, had managed to let one of them
slip, and had come down with a piece
of cord fastened round his naked foot.
Notwithstanding this, they had boldly
glissaded down the Couloir du Lion,
J. J. Carrel having his shoeless foot tied
up in a pocket handkerchief.

The Matterhorn was not assailed again
in 1861. I left Breuil with the convic-
tion that it was little use for a single
tourist to organize an attack upon it, so
great was its influence on the morals of
the guides, and persuaded that it was
desirable at least two should go, to back
each other when required ; and depart-
ed with my guide over the Col Th6o-
dule, longing more than before to make
the ascent, and determined to return —
if possible with a companion — to lay
siege to the mountain until one or the
other was vanquished.

* I learned afterward from Jean-Antoine Carrel that
they got considerably higher than upon their previous
attempts, and about two hundred and fifty or three
hundred feet higher than Professor Tyndall in i860.
In 1862 I saw the initials of J.-A. Carrel cut on the
rocks at the place where he and his comrade had
turned back.

-^^

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:p-Al.i2;T III.

AT BRBUiL (giombim). Set Page 55.

CHAPTER V.

RENEWED ATTEMPTS TO ASCEND THE MAT-
TERHORN.

THE year 1862 was still young, and
the Matterhorn, clad in its wintry
garb, bore but little resemblance to the
Matterhorn of the summer, when a new
force 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 prove
less impracticable in January than in
June, and arrived at Zermatt in the for-
mer month to put his conception to the
test. With stout Peter Perm and sturdy
Peter Taugwalder he slept in the little
chapel at the Schwarzensee, and on the
next morning, like the Messrs. Parker,
44

followed the ridge between the peak
called Hornli and the great mountain.
But they found that snow in winter
obeyed the ordinary laws, and that the
wind and frost were not less unkind
than in summer. "The wind whirled
up the snow and spicules of ice into our
faces like needles, and flat pieces of ice
a foot in diameter, carried up from the
glacier below, went flying past. Still
no one seemed to like to be the first to
give in, till a gust fiercer than usual
forced us to shelter for a time behind a
rock. 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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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

suitable place with loose stones of which
to build a cairn. In half an hour a
tower six feet high was erected, a bottle,
with the date, was placed inside, and we
retreated as rapidly as possible." This
cairn was placed at the spot marked
upon Dufour*s Map of Switzerland
10,820 feet (3298 metres), and the high-
est point attained by Mr. Kennedy was
not, I imagine, more than two or three
hundred feet above it.

Shortly after this. Professor Tyndall
gave, in his little tract — Mountaineer-
ing in 1 861 — an account of the reason
why he had left Breuil in August, 1861,
without doing anything. It seems that
he sent his guide Bennen to recon-
noitre, and that the latter made the fol-
lowing report to his employer: "Herr,
I have examined the mountain care-
fully, and find it more difficult and dan-
gerous than I had imagined. There is
no place upon it where we could well
pass the night. We might do so on
yonder col upon the snow, but there we
should be almost frozen to death, and
totally unfit for the work of the next
day. On the rocks there is no ledge or
cranny which could give us proper har-
borage ; and starting from Breuil, it is
certainly impossible to reach the sum-
mit in a single day." ** I was entirely
taken aback," says Tyndall, **by this
report. I felt like a man whose grip
had given way, and who was dropping
through the air. . . . Bennen was evi-
dently dead against any attempt upon
the mountain. * We can, at all events,
reach the lower of the two summits/ I
remarked. ' Even that is difficult,* he
replied ; * but when you have reached
it, what then ? The peak has neither
name nor fame.* "*

I was more surprised than discouraged
by this report by Bennen. One-half of

* Mountaineering in 1861, pp. 86, 87. Tyndall and
Bennen were mistaken in supposing that the moun-
tain has two summits ; it has only one. They seem
to have been deceived by the appearance of that part
of the south-west ridge which is called " the shoul-
der ** (I'ipaule), as seen from Breuil. Viewed from
that place, its southern end has certainly, through
foreshortening, the semblance of a peak ; but when
one regards it from the Col Th^odule, or from any
place in the same direction, the delusion is at once
apparent.

his assertions I knew to be wrong. The
col to which he referred was the Col du
Lion, upon which he had passed a night
less than a week after he had spoken
so authoritatively ; and I had seen a
place not far below the " Chimney " — a
place about five hundred feet above the
col — where it seemed possible to con-
struct a sleeping-place. Bennen*s opin-
ions seem to have undergone a complete
change. In i860 he is described as
having been enthusiastic to make an
attempt — in 1861 he was dead against
one. Nothing dismayed by this, my
friend Mr. Reginald Macdonald, our
companion on the Pelvoux — to whom
so much of our success had been due
— agreed to join me in a renewed as-
sault from the south ; and although we
failed to secure Melchior Anderegg and
some other notable guides, we obtained
two men of repute — namely, Johann
zum Taugwald and Johann Kronig of
Zermatt. We met at that place early in
July, but stormy weather prevented us
even from crossing to the other side of
the chain for some time. We crossed
the Col Theodule on the 5th, but the
weather was thoroughly unsettled : it
was raining in the valleys and snowing
upon the mountains. Shortly before
we gained the summit we were made
extremely uncomfortable by hearing
mysterious rushing sounds, which some-
times seemed as if a sudden gust of
wind was sweeping along the snow,
and at others almost like the swishing
of a long whip ; yet the snow exhibited
no signs of motion and the air was per-
fectly calm. The dense, black storm-
clouds made us momentarily expect
that our bodies might be used as light-
ning-conductors, and we were well sat-
isfied to get under shelter of the inn at
Breuil without having submitted to any
such experience.

We had need of a porter, and by the
advice of our landlord descended to
the chalets of Breuil in search of one
Luc Meynet. We found his house, a
mean abode, encumbered with cheese-
making apparatus, and tenanted only
by some bright-eyed children ; but as
they said that Uncle Luc would soon be

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

home, we waited at the door of the I last a speck was seen coming round the
little 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 clapped
their hands, dropped their toys and ran
eagerly forward to meet him. We saw
an ungainly, wobbling figure stoop down
and catch up the little ones, kiss them
on each cheek, and put them into the
empty panniers on each side of the
mule, 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 of
trouble and sorrow, and there was more
than a touch of sadness in his voice
when he said that he must look after
his brother's children. All his difficult-
ies were, however, at length overcome,
and he agreed to join us to carry the
tent.

In the past winter I had turned my
attention to tents, and that which we
had brought with us was the result of
experiments to devise one which should
be sufficiently portable to be taken over

the most difficult ground, and which
should combine lightness with stability.
Its base was just under six feet square,
and a section perpendicular to its length
was an equilateral triangle, the sides of
which were six feet long. It was in-
tended to accommodate four persons.
It was supported by four ash poles six
feet and a half long and one inch and
a quarter thick, tapering to the top to
an inch and an eighth : these were shod
with iron points. The order of proceed-
ing in the construction of the tent was
as follows ; Holes were drilled through
the poles about five inches from their
tops for the insertion of two wrought-
iron bolts, three inches long and one-
quarter of an inch thick. The bolts
were then inserted, and the two pairs
of poles were set out (and fixed up by a
cord) to the proper dimensions. The
roof was then put on. This was made
of the rough, unbleached calico called
forfar, which can be obtained in six-feet

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widths, and it was continued round for
about two feet
on each side,
on to the floor.
The wi'dth of
the material
was the length
of the tent, and
seams were thus
avoided in the
roof. 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 sewn
down to the forfar. This was of the ordi-
nary plaid mackintosh, about nine feet
square, 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 on
the other, the latter amount being suf-
ficient for the side occupied by the feet.
One end was then permanently closed
by a triangular piece of forfar, which was
sewn 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 pieces
of tape. Lastly, the forfar was nailed
down to the poles to prevent the tent
getting out of shape. The cord which
was used for climbing served for the
tent: it was passed over the crossed
poles and underneath the ridge of the
roof, and the two ends — one fore and
the other aft — were easily secured to

pieces of rock. Such a tent costs about
four guineas, and its weight is about
twenty-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, but
we started on the following morning
with our three men, and pursued my
route of the previous year. I was re-
quested to direct the way, as none save
myself had been on the mountain be-

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

fore, but I did not distinguish myself on
this occasion, and led my companions
nearly to the top of the small peak be-
fore the mistake was discovered. The
party 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 du
Lion. The upper part of the small peak
is of a very different character to the
lower 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. While
descending a small snow-slope to get
on to the right track, Kronig slipped on
a streak of ice and went down at a fearful
pace. Fortunately, he kept on his legs,
and by a great effort succeeded in stop-
ping just before he arrived at some
rocks that jutted through the snow,
which would infallibly have knocked
him over. When we rejoined him a
few minutes later we found that he was
incapable of standing, much less of
moving, with a face corpse-like in hue,
and trembling violently. He remained
in 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 pitch
the tent actually on the snow, but col-
lected a quantity of debris from the
neighboring ledges, and after construct-
ing a rough platform of the larger pieces,
leveled the whole with the dirt and
mud.

Meynet had proved invaluable as a
tent-bearer, for, although his legs were
more picturesque than symmetrical, and
although he seemed to be built, on prin-
ciple, with no two parts alike, his very
deformities proved of service ; and we
quickly found he had a spirit of no
common order, and that few peasants
are more agreeable companions or bet-
ter climbers than little Luc Meynet, the
hunchback of Breuil. He now showed
himself not less serviceable as a scav-
enger, and humbly asked for gristly
pieces of meat rejected by the others, or
for 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 the
door of the tent, and did all the dirty
work which was put upon him by the
guides, as gratefully as a dog who has
been 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 several
hours after the sun had risen, uncertain
what it was best to do. A lull tempted
us to move, but we had scarcely ascend-
ed a hundred feet before the storm burst
upon us with increased fury. Advance
or return was alike impossible : the
ridge was denuded of its debris, and
we clutched our hardest when we saw
stones as big as a man's fist blown
away horizontally into space. We
dared not attempt to stand upright, and
remained stationary on all fours, glued,
as it were, to the rocks. It was intense-
ly cold, for the blast had swept along
the main chain of the Pennine Alps
and across the great snow-fields around
Monte Rosa. Our warmth and courage
rapidly evaporated, and at the next lull
we retreated to the tent, having to halt
several times in that short distance.
Taugwald and Kronig then declared
that they had had enough, and refused
to have anything more to do with the
mountain. Meynet also informed us
that he would be required down below
for important cheese-making operations
on the following day. It was therefore
needful to return to Breuil, and we ar-
rived there at 2.30 P. M., extremely
chagrined at our complete defeat.

Jean • Antoine Carrel, attracted by
rumors, had come up to the inn during
our absence, and after some negotia-
tions agreed to accompany us, with one
of his friends named Pession, on the
first fine day. We thought ourselves
fortunate, for Carrel clearly considered
the mountain a kind of preserve^ and
regarded our late attempt as an act of
poaching. The wind blew itself out
during the night, and we started again,
with these two men and a porter, at S

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS JN 1860-^69.

A. M. on the 9th, with unexceptionable
weather. Carrel pleased us by suggest-
ing that we should camp even higher
than before; and we accordingly pro-
ceeded, without resting at the col, until
we overtopped the Tete du Lion. Near
the foot of the *' Chimney," a little be-
low the crest of the ridge and on its
eastern side, we found a protected place ;
and by building up from ledge to ledge
(under the direction of our leader, who
was a mason by profession) we at
length constructed a platform • of suf-
ficient size and of considerable solidity.
Its height was about twelve thousand
five hundred and fifty feet above the
sea ; and it exists, I believe, at the pres-
ent time. We then pushed on, as the
day was very fine, and after a short
hour's scramble got to the foot of the
Great Tower upon the ridge (that is to
say, to Mr. Hawkins' farthest point),
and afterward returned to our bivouac.
We turned out again at 4 A. M., and at
5.15 started upward once more, with
fine .weather and the thermometer at
28°. Carrel scrambled up the Chimney,
and Macdonald and I after him. Pes-
sion's turn came, but when he arrived
at the top he looked very ill, declared
himself to be thoroughly incapable, and
said that he must go back. We waited
some time, but he did not get better,
neither could we learn the nature of his
illness. Carrel flatly refused to go on
with us alone. We were helpless.
Macdonald, ever the coolest of the cool,
suggested that jve should try what we
could do without them, but our better
judgment prevailed, and finally we re-
turned together to Breuil. On the next
day my friend started for London.

Three times I had essayed the ascent
of this mountain, and on each occasion
had failed ignominiously. I had not
advanced 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 far
might even become *'a matter of amuse-
ment." Only eighteen hundred (eet
remained, 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 might
at any time defeat him if it were per-
pendicular. Such a place might be
possible to two, or a bagatelle to three
men. It was evident that a party
should consist of three men at least.
But where could the other two men be
obtained? Carrel was the only man
who exhibited any enthusiasm in the
matter, and he in i86r had absolutely
refused to go unless the party consisted
of at lesist /our persons. Want of men
made the difficulty, not the mountain* ;

The weather became bad again, so I
went to Zermatt on the chance of pick-
ing up a man, and remained there during
a week of storms. Not one of the good
men, however, could be induced to
come, and I returned to Breuil on the
17th, hoping to combine the skill of
Carrel with the willingness of Meynet
on a new attempt by the same route as
before ; for the Hornli ridge, which I
had examined in the mean time» seem-^
ed to be entirely impracticable* Both
men were inclined to go, but their ordi-
nary occupations prevented them from
starting at once.

My tent had been left rolled up at
the second platform, and whilst waiting
for the men it occurred to me that it
might have been blown away during
the late stormy weather; so I started
off on the i8th to see if this were so or
not. The way was by this time familiar^
and I mounted rapidly, astonishing the
friendly herdsmen — who nodded recog-
nition as I flitted past them and the
cows — for I was alone, because no man
was available. But more deliberation
was necessary when the pastures were
passed and climbing began, for it was
needful to mark each step in case of
mist or surprise by night. It is one of
the few things which can be said in
favor of mountaineering alone (a prac-
tice which has little besides to commend
it) that it awakens a man's faculties and
makes him observe. When one has
no arms to help and no head to guide
him except his own, he must needs take
note 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 solitary
scramble, when above the snow-line and
beyond the ordinary limits of flowering
plants, 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 in
a world of desolation, which had found
their way up — who can tell how ? — from
far below, and were obtaining bare sus-
tenance from the scanty soil in protect-
ed nooks ; and it gave a new interest to
the well-known rocks to see what a gal-
lant fight the survivors made (for many
must have perished in the attempt) to
ascend the great mountain. The gen-
tian, as one niight have expected, was
there, but it was run close by saxifrages
and by Linaria alpina^ and was beaten
by Thlaspi rotundifoHum ; which latter
plant was the highest I was able to se-
cure, although it too yvas overtopped by
a little white flower which I knew not
and was unable to reach.

The tent was safe, although snowed
up, and I turned to contemplate the
view, which, when seen alone and un-
disturbed, had all the strength and
charm of complete novelty. The high-
est peaks of the Pennine chain were in
front — the Breithorn (13,685 feet), the
Lyskamm (14,889), and Monte Rosa
(I5,2r7); then turning to the right, the
entire block of mountains which sepa-
rated the Val Tournanche from the Val
d'Ayas was seen at a glance, with its
dominating summit, the Grand Tourha-
lin (11,155). Behind were the ranges
dividing the Val d'Ayas from the valley
of Gressoney, backed by higher summits.
More still to the right the eye wandered
down 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 Monte
Viso (12,643) in the extreme distance.
Next, still turning to the right, came the
mountains intervening between the Val
Tournanche and the Val Barth61emy :
Mont Rouss (a round- topped, snowy
summit, which seems so important from
Breuil, but which is in reality only a
buttress of the higher mountain, the

Chateau des Dames) had long ago sunk,
and the eye passed over it, scarcely
heeding its existence, to the Becca Salle
(or, as it is printed on the map. Bee de
Sale), a miniature Matterhorn, and to
other and more important heights.
Then the grand mass of the Dent
d'Herens (13,714) stopped the way- -a
noble mountain, encrusted on its north-
ern slopes with enormous hanging gla-
ciers, which broke away at mid-day in
immense slices, and thundered down
on to the Tiefenmatten glacier; and
lastly, most splendid of all, came the
Dent Blanche (14,318), soaring above
the basin of the great Z'Muttgletscher.
Such a view is hardly to be matched in
the Alps, and this view is . very rarely
seen, as I saw it, perfectly unclouded.

Time sped away unregarded, and the
little birds which had built their nests
on the neighborfng cliff's had begun to
chirp their evening hymn before I
thought of returning. Half mechanic-
ally, I turned to the tent, unrolled it
and set it up : it contained food enpugh
for several days, and I resolved to stay
over the night, I had started from
Breuil without provisions or telling
Favre, the innkeeper, who was accus-,
tomed to my erratic ways, where I was
going. I returned to the view. The
sun was setting, and its rosy rays, blend-
ing with the snowy blue, had thrown a
pale, pure violet far as the eye could
see ; the valleys were . drowned in a
purple gloom, while the summits shone
with unnatural brightness ; and as I sat
in the door of the tent and watched the
twilight change to darkness, tfce earth
seemed to become less earthly and al-
most sublime : the world seemed dead,
and I its sole inhabitant. By and by
the moon, as it rose, brought the hills
again into sight, and by a judicious re-
pression of detail rendered the view
yet more magnificent. Something in
the south hung like a great glow-worm
in the air : it was too large for a star,
and too steady for a meteor, and it was
long before I could realize the incredible
fact that it was the moonlight glittering
on the great snow-slope on the north side
of Monte Viso, at a distance, as the cro\y

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

flies, of ninety-eight miles. Shivering,
at last I entered the tent and made my
coffee. The night was passed comfort-
ably, and the next morning, tempted
by the brilliancy of the weather, I pro-
ceeded yet higher in search of another
place for a platform.

Solitary scrambling over a pretty wide
area had shown me that a single indi-
vidual is
subjected
to very
many dif-
ficulties
which do
not trou-
ble a par-
or three
that the
of being

ty of
men.

two
and
disadvantiiges
alone are more felt while
descending than during
the ascent* \w order to neu-
tralize these inconveniences, I
had devised two little appli-
ances, which were now brought
into use for the first time. One was
a claw, a kind of grapnel, about five
inches long, made of shear steel one-
fifth of an inch thick. This was of use
in difficult places where there was no
hold within arm's length, but where
there were cracks or ledges some dis-
tance higher. It could be stuck on the
end of the alpenstock and dropped
into such places, or, on extreme occa-
sions, flung up until it attached itself to
something. The edges that laid hold
of the rocks were serrated, which tend-
ed to make them catch more readily :
the other end had a ring to which a
rope was fastened. It must not be un-
derstood that this was employed for
hauling one's self up by for any great
distance, but that it was used in ascend-
ing, at the most, for only a few yards at
a time. In descending, however, it
could be prudently used for a greater
distance at a time, as the claws could
be planted firmly ; but it was necessary
to keep the rope taut and the pull con-
stantly in the direction of the length of
the implement, otherwise it had a tend-
ency to slip away. The second device

was merely a modification of a dodge
practiced by all climbers. It is fre-
quently necessary for a single man (or
for the last man of a party) during a
descent to make a loop in the end of his
rope, 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 happens
that there are no
rocks at hand
which will allow
a loose loop to
be used, a slip-
knot has to be
resorted to, and
the rope is drawn
in tightly. Con-
sequently, it will
occur that it is
not possible to
jerk the loop off,
and the rope has
to be cut and left
behind. To pre-
vent this, I had
a wrought -iron
ring (two and a
quarter inches in diameter and three-
eighths of an inch thick) attached to one
end of my rope, and a loop could be
made in a moment by passing the other
end of the rope through the ring, which
of course slipped up and held tightly as
I descended holding the free end. A
strong piece of cord was also attached
to the ring, and on arriving at the bot-
tom this was pulled : the ring shd back
again, and the loop was whipped off
readily. By means of these two simple
appliances I was able to ascend and
descend rocks which otherwise would
have been completely impassable. The
combined weight of these two things
amounted to less than half a pound.

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

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

very uncertain kind, particularly when
they are glazed with ice. At this point
(just above the Chimney) the climber is
obliged to follow the southern (or Breuil)
side of the ridge, but in a few feet more
one must turn over to the northern
(or Z'Mutt) side, where in most years
Nature kindly provides a snow-slope.
When this is surmounted, one can again
return to the crest of the ridge, and fol-
low it by easy rocks to the foot of the
Great Tower. This was the highest
point attained by Mr, Hawkins in i860,
and it was also our highest on the 9th
of July.

This Great Tower is one of the most
striking features of the ridge. It stands
out like a turret at the angle of a castle.
Behind it a battlemented wall leads up-
ward to the citadel. Seen from the
Theodule pass, it looks only an insig-
nificant pinnacle, but as one approaches
it (on the ridge), so it seems to rise, and
lyhen one is at its base it completely
conceals the upper parts of the moun-.
tain. I /ound here a suitable place for
the tent, which, although not so well
protected as the second platform, pos-
sessed the advantage of being three
hundred feet higher up ; and fascinated
by the wildness of the cliffs, and enticed
by the perfection of the weather, I went
on to see what was behind.

The first step was a difficult one : the
ridge became diminished to the least
possible width, it was hard to keep one's
balance, and just where it was narrow-
est a more than perpendicular mass
barred the way. Nothing fairly within
arm's reach could be laid hold of: it
was necessary to spring up, and then
to haul one's self over the sharp edge
by sheer strength. Progression directly
upward was then impossible. Enor-
mous and appalling precipices plunged
down to the Tiefenmatten glacier on the
left, but round the right-hand side it was
just possible to go. One hindrance then
succeeded another, and much time was
consumed in seeking the Way. I have
a vivid recollection of a gully of more
than usual perplexity at the side of the
Great Tower, with minute ledges and
steep walls ; of the ledges dwindling

down, and at last ceasing; of finding
myself, with arms and legs divergent,
fixed as if crucified, pressing against
the rock, and feeling each rise and fall
of my chest as I breathed ; of screwing
my head round to look for a hold, and
not seeing any, and of jumping side-
ways on to the other side.

Places such as this gully have their
charm so long as a man feels that the
difficulties are within his power, but
their enchantment vanishes directly
they are too much for him, and when
he feels this they are dangerous to him.
The line which separates the difficult
from the dangerous is sometimes a very
shadowy, but it is not an imaginary one.
It is a true line, without breadth. It is
often easy to pass and very hard to see.
It is sometimes passed unconsciously,
and the consciousness that it has been
passed is felt too late ; but so long as a
man undertakes that which is well with-
in his power, he is not likely to pass
this line, or consequently to get into any
great danger, although he may meet with
considerable difficulty. That which is
within a man's power varies, of course,
according to time, place and circum-
stance, but as a rule he can tell pretty
well when he is arriving at the end of
his tether ; and it seems to me, although
it is difficult to determine for another,
even approximately, the limits to which
it is prudent for him to go, that it is
tolerably easy to do so for one's self.
But (according to my opinion) if the
doubtful line is crossed consciously,
deliberately, one passes from doing that
which is justifiable to doing that which
is unjustifiable, because it is imprudent.

I expect that any intelligent critic will
inquire, "But do you really mean to
assert that dangers in mountaineering
arise only from superlative difficulty,
and that the perfect mountaineer does
not run any risks ?" I am not prepared
to go quite so far as this, although there
is only one risk to which the scrambler
on the Higher Alps is unavoidably sub-
ject which does not occur to pedestrians
in London's streets. This arises from
falling rocks, and I shall endeavor in
the course of this work to make the

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reader understand that it is a positive
danger, 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 admission
of this one danger destroys all the rest
of the argument." I agree with him
that it would do so if it were a grave
risk to life. But although it is a real
danger, it is not a very serious risk.
Not many cases can be quoted of acci-
dents which have happened through
falling stones, and I do not know an
instance of life having been lost in this
way in the High Alps.* I suppose,
however, few persons will maintain that
it is unjustifiable to do anything, for
sport or otherwise, so long as any risk
is incurred, else it would be unjusti-
fiable to cross Fleet street at mid-day.
If it were one's bounden duty to avoid
every risk, we should have to pass our
lives indoors. I conceive that the pleas-
ures of mountaineering outweigh the
risks arising from this particular cause,
and that the practice will not be vetoed
on its account. Still, I wish to stamp
it as a positive danger, and as one
which may imperil the life of the most
perfect mountaineer.

This digression has been caused by
an innocent gully which I feared the
reader might think was dangerous. It
was an untrodden vestibule, which led
to a scene so wild that even the most
sober description of it must seem an
exaggeration. There was a change in
the quality of the rock, and there was
a change in the appearance of the
ridge. The rocks (talcose gneiss) be-
low this spot were singularly firm — it
was rarely necessary to test one's hold :
the way led over the living rock, and
not up rent-off fragments. But here
all was decay and ruin. The crest of
the ridge was shattered and cleft, and
the feet sank in the chips which had
drifted down ; while above, huge blocks,
hacked and carved by the hand of

* The contrary is the case in regard to the Lower
Alps. Amongst others, the case may be mentioned
of 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 like
the gravestones of giants. Out of curi-
osity I wandered to a notch in the ridge,
between two tottering piles of immense
masses which seemed to need but a few
pounds on one or the other side to
make them fall, so nicely poised that
they would literally have rocked in the
wind, for they were put in motion by a
touch, and based on support so frail
that I wondered they did not collapse
before my eyes. In the whole range
of my Alpine experience I have seen
nothing more striking than this deso-
late, ruined and shattered ridge at the
back of the Great Tower. I have seen
stranger shapes — rocks which mimic
the human form, with monstrous leering
faces, and isolated pinnacles sharper
and greater than any here — but I have
never seen exhibited so impressively the
tremendous effects which may be pro-
duced by frost, and by the long-con-
tinued action of forces whose individual
effects 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 keep
near to it, for there is no other way.
Generally speaking, the angles on the
Matterhorn are too steep to allow the
formation of considerable beds of snow,
but here there is a corner which per-
mits it to accumulate,, and it is turned
to gratefully, for by its assistance one
can ascend four times as rapidly as
upon the rocks.

The Tower was now almost out of
sight, and I looked over the central
Pennine Alps to the Grand Combin
and to the chain of Mont Blanc. My
neighbor, the Dent d'H6rens, still rose
above me, although but slightly, and
the height which had been attained
could be measured by its help. So far,
I had no doubts about my capacity to
descend that which had been ascended ;
but in a short time, on looking ahead, I
saw that the cliffs steepened, and I turn-
ed back (without pushing on to them and
getting into inextricable difficulties), ex-
ulting in the thought that they would be
passed when we returned together, and
that 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 eight
hundred feet on to the glacier below.

The situation was still sufficiently se-
rious. The rocks could not be left go
for a moment, and the blood was spurt-
ing out of more than twenty cuts. The
most serious ones were in the head, and
I vainly tried to close them with one
hand while holding on with the other.
It was useless : the blood jerked out in
blinding jets at each pulsation. At last,
in a moment of inspiration, I kicked
out a big lump of snow and stuck it as
a plaster on my head. The idea was a
happy one, and the flow of blood dimin-
ished : then, scrambling up, I got. not a
moment too soon, to a place of safety
and fainted away. The sun was setting
when consciousness returned, and it was
pitch dark before the Great Staircase
was descended ; but by a combination
of luck and care the whole forty-eight
hundred feet of descent to Breuil was
accomplished without a slip or once
missing the way. I slunk past the cabin
of the cowherds, who were talking and
laughing inside, utterly ashamed of the
state to which I had been brought by
my imbecility, and entered the inn
stealthily, wishing to escape to my room
unnoticed. But Favre met me in the
passage, demanded, **Who is it?**
screamed with fright when he got a
light, and aroused the household. Two
dozen heads then held solemn council
over mine, with more talk than action.
The natives were unanimous in recom-
mending that hot wine (syn. vinegar),
mixed with salt, should be rubbed into
the cuts. I protested, but they insisted.
It was all the doctoring they received.
Whether their rapid healing was to be
attributed to that simple remedy or to a
good state of health, is a question : they
closed up remarkably soon, and in a
few days I was able to move again.

It was sufficiently dull during this
time. 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 the
stream in the front of the house ; and I
vowed that if an Englishman should at
any 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 brought
Jean-Antoine Carrel up to Breuil, and
along with the haughty chasseur came
one of his- relatives, a strong and able
young fellow named Caesar. With these
two men and Meynet I made another
start on the 23d of July. We got to
the tent without any trouble, and on
the following day had ascended beyond
the Tower, and were picking our way
cautiously over the loose rocks behind
(where my traces of the week before
were well apparent) in lovely weather,
when one of those abominable and
almost instantaneous changes occurred
to which the Matterhorn is so liable on its
southern side. Mists were created out of
invisible vapors, and in a few minutes
snow fell heavily. We stopped, as this
part was of excessive difficulty, and,
unwilling to retreat, remained* on the
spot several hours, in hopes that an-
other change would occur; but as it
did not, we at length went down to the

* As it seldom happens that one survives such a
fall, it may be interesting to record what my sensa-
tions were during its occurrence. I was perfectly
conscious of what was happening, and felt each blow,
but, like a patient under chloroform, experienced no
pain. Each blow was, naturally, more severe than
that which preceded it, and I distinctly remember
thinking, " Well, if the next is harder still, that will
be the end!" Like persons who have been rescued
from drowning, I remember that the recollection of a
multitude of things rushed through my head, many
of them trivialities or absurdities which had been for-
gotten long before ; and, more remarkable, this bound-
ing through space did not feel disagreeable. But I
think that in no very great distance more conscious-
ness as well as sensation would have been lost, and
upon that 1 base my belief, improbable as it seems,
that death by a fall from a great height is as painless
an end as can be experienced.

The battering was very rough, yet no bones were
broken. The most severe cuts were— one four inches
long on the top of the head, and another of three
inches on the right temple : this latter bled frightfully.
There was a formidable-looking cut, of about the
same 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 a
sharp rock cut a circular bit out of the side of the left
boot, sock and ankle at one stroke. The loss of blood
although 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 more
distant occurrences remain unshaken, the events of
that particular day would be clean gone but for the few
notes which were written down before the accident.

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base of the Tower, and commenced to
make a third platform, at the height of
12,992 feet above the sea. It still con-
tinued to snow, and we took refuge in
the tent. Carrel argued that the weath-
er had broken up, and that the moun-
tain would become so glazed with ice
as to render any attempt futile ; and I,
that the change was only temporary,
and that the rocks were too hot to allow
ice to form upon them. I wished to
stay until the weather improved, but
my leader would not endure contradic-
tion, grew more positive and insisted
that we must go down. We went down,
and when we got below the col his opin-
ion was found to be wrong : the cloud
was 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 he
was the cock of the Val Tournanche,
and he commanded the other men as
by right. He was equally conscious
that he was indispensable to me, and
took no pains to conceal his knowledge
of 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-rate
climber I could find who believed that
the mountain was not inaccessible. With
him 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 could
not be charged with cowardice, for a
bolder man could hardly be found ; nor
was he turning away on account of
difficulty, for nothing to which we had
yet come seemed to be difficult to him ;
and his strong personal desire to make
the ascent was evident. There was no
occasion to come down on account of
food, for we had taken, to guard against
this very casualty, enough to last for a
week; and there was no danger and
little or no discomfort in stopping in
the tent. It seemed to me that he was
spinning out the ascent for his own pur-
poses, and that although he wished very
much 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 thing
was accomplished. As he feared no
rival, he may have supposed that the
more difficulties he made the more valu-
able he would be estimated, though, to
do him justice, he never showed any
great hunger for money. His demands
were fair, not excessive ; but he always
stipulated 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 when
he volunteered to start again on the
morrow if it was fine. We were to ad-
vance the tent to the foot of the Tower,
to fix ropes in the most difficult parts
beyond, and to make a push for the
summit on the following day.

The next morning (Friday, the 25th),
when I arose, good little Meynet was
ready and waiting, and he said that the
two Carrels had gone off some time be-
fore, and had left word that they intend-
ed marmot- hunting, as the day was
favorable for that sport. My holiday
had nearly expired, and these men
clearly could not be relied upon; so,
as a last resort, I proposed to the hunch-
back to accompany me alone, to see if
we could not get higher than before,
though of reaching the summit there
was little or no hope. He did not hesi-
tate, and in a few hours we stood — for
the third time together — upon the Col
du Lion, but it was the first time Mey-
net had seen the view unclouded. The
poor little deformed peasant gazed upon
it silently and reverently for a time, and
then unconsciously fell on one knee in
an attitude of adoration, and clasped
his hands, exclaiming in ecstasy, **0
beautiful mountains !" His actions were
as appropriate as his words were natural,
and tears bore witness to the reality of
his emotion.

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

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:^rjA

A CANNONADE ON THE MATTERHORN. (1862.)

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[TJHIYBHSITTI

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS :N i86o-'69.

quently my highest point on the 19th.
We found the crest of the ridge so
treacherous that we took to the cliffs on
the 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 to
descend. We returned to the ridge. It
was almost equally difficult, and infin-
itely more unstable ; and at length,
after having pushed our attempts as far
as was prudent, I determined to return
to Breuil, and to have a light ladder
made to assist us to overcome some of
the steepest parts. I expected, too, that
by this time Carrel would have had
enough marmot -hunting, and would
deign to accompany us again.

We came down at a great pace, for
we were now so familiar with the moun-
tain and with each other's wants that
we knew immediately when to give a
helping -hand and when to let alone.
The rocks also were in a better state
than I have ever seen them, being
almost entirely free from glaze of ice.
Meynet was always merriest on the
difficult parts, and on the most difficult
kept on enunciating the sentiment, " We
can only die once," which thought
seemed to afford him infinite satisfac-
tion. We arrived at the inn early in
the evening, and I found my projects
summarily and unexpectedly knocked
on the head.

Professor Tyndall had arrived while
we were absent, and he had engaged
both Caesar and Jean-Antoine Carrel.
Bennen was also with him, together
with a powerful and active friend, a
Valaisan guide named Anton Walter.
They had a ladder already prepared,
provisions were being collected, and
they intended to start on the following
morning (Sunday). This new arrival
took me by surprise. Bennen, it will
be remembered, refused point-blank to
take Professor Tyndall on the Matter-
horn in 1861. "He was dead against
any attempt on the mountain,** says
Tyndall. He was now eager to set out.
Professor Tyndall has not explained in
what way this revolution came about in

his guide. I was equally astonished at
the faithlessness of Carrel, and attributed
it to pique at our having presumed to do
without him. It was useless to compete
with the professor and his four men,
who were ready to start in a few hours,
so I waited to see what would come of
their attempt.

Everything seemed to favor it, and
they set out on a fine morning in high
sphits, leaving me tormented with envy
and all uncharitableness. If they suc-
ceeded, they carried off the prize for
v,rhich I had been so long struggling ;
and if they failed, there was no time to
make another attempt, for I was due in
a few days more in London. When
this came home clearly to me, I re-
solved to leave Breuil at once, but when
packing up found that some necessaries
had been left behind in the tent. So I
went off about mid-day to recover them,
caught the army of the professor before
it reached the col, as they were going
very slowly, left them there (stopping to
take food) and went on to the tent. I
was near to it when all at once I heard
a noise aloft, and on looking up per-
ceived a stone of at least a foot cube
flying straight at my head. I ducked
and scrambled under the lee side of a
friendly rock, while the stone went by
with a loud buzz. It was the advanced
guard of a perfect storm of stones, which
descended with infernal clatter down
the very edge of the ridge, leaving a
trail 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 went
down to the glacier.

I waited at the tent to welcome the
professor, and when he arrived went
down to Breuil. Early next morning
some one ran to me saying that a flag
was seen on the summit of the Matter-
horn. It was not so, however, although
I 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 point
which Carrel, not less than myself, had
always considered to be the most ques-

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

tionable place on the whole mountain.
Up to it there was no choice of route —
I suppose that at no one point between
it and the col was it possible to diverge
a dozen paces to the right or left — but
beyond it it was otherwise, and we had
always agreed in our debates that if it
could be passed success was certain.

The accompanying outline from a
sketch taken from the door of the inn
at Breuil will help to explain. The let-
ter A indicates the position of the Greal
Tower ; C, the ** cravate" (the strongly-
marked streak of snow referred to in
note on page 54, and which we just
failed to arrive at on the 26th) ; B, the

place where we now saw something
that looked like a flag. Behind the
point B a nearly level ridge leads up to
the foot of the linal peak, which will be
understood by a reference to the outline
on page 46, on which the same letters
indicate the same places. It was just
now said, we considered that if the
point C could be passed, success was
certain. Tyndall was at B very early in
the morning, and I did not doubt that
he would reach the summit, although it
yet remained problematical whether he
would be able to stand on the very
highest point. The summit was evi-
dently formed of a long ridge, on which
there were two points nearly equally
elevated — so equally that one could not
say which was the highest — and between
the two there seemed to be a deep notch,
marked D on the outlines, which might
defeat one at the very last moment.

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

Favre, who was jubilant at the success
which was to make the fortune of his
inn, but I could not bring myself to
leave until the result was heard, and
lingered about, as a foolish lover hovers
round the object of his affections even
after he has been contemptuously re-
jected. The sun had set before the
men were descried coming over the
pastures. There was no spring in their
steps : they too were defeated. The
Carrels hid their heads, but the others
said, as men will do when they have
been beaten, that the mountain was
horrible, impossible, and So forth. - Pro-
fessor Tyndall told me they had arrived
within a stone's throw of the summit,
and admonished me to have nothing
more to do with the mountain. I un-
derstood him to say that he should not
try again, and ran down to the village
of Val Tournanche, almost inclined to
believe that the mountain was inaccessi-
ble, leaving the tent, ropes and other

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

matters in the hands of Favre, to be
placed at the disposal of any person
who wished to ascend it — more, I am
afraid, out of irony than generosity.
There may have been those who be-

lieved that the Matterhorn could be
ascended, but anyhow their faith did
not bring forth works. No one tried
again in 1862.

IP^KyT IV,

* UUT WHAT IS THIS?"

CHAPTER VI.

THE VAL TOURNANCHE — THE BREUILJOCH
— ZERMATT — ASCENT OK THE GRAND
TOURNALIN.

I CROSSED the Channel on the 29th
of July, »i863, embarrassed by the
possession of two ladders, each twelve
feet long, which joined together like
those used by firemen, and shut up like
parallel rulers. My luggage was high-
ly suggestive of housebreaking, for, be-
sides these, there were several coils of
rope and numerous tools of suspicious
appearance ; and it was reluctantly ad-
mitted into France, but it passed through
the custom-house with less trouble than
I anticipated, after a timely expenditure
of a few francs.

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

congenial spirits mingle together for a
time before they are separated into rich
and poor. The douaniers look upon
tourists as their natural enemies : see
how eagerly they pounce upon the port-
manteaus ! Qne of them has discover-
ed something. He has never seen its
like before, and he holds it aloft in the
the face of its owner with inquisitorial
insolence : *' But what is this ?*' The
explanation is but half satisfactory
**But what is thisV^ says he, laying
hold of a little box. ** Powder." ** But
that is forbidden to carry of powder on
the railway." "Bah!" says another
and older hand, "pass the effects of
monsieur;" and our countryman —
whose cheeks had begun to redden
under the stares of his fellow-travelers—
is allowed to depart with his half-worn

f- •■

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

tooth-brush, while the discomfited dou-
anier gives a mighty shrug at the strange
habits of those "whose insular position
excludes them from the march of con-
tinental ideas.'*

My real troubles commenced at Susa.
The officials there, more honest and
more obtuse than the Frenchmen, de-
clined at one and the same time to be
bribed or to pass my baggage until a
satisfactory account of it was rendered ;
and as they refused to believe the true
explanation, I was puzzled what to say,
but was presently relieved from the di-
lemma by one of the men, who was
cleverer than his fellows, suggesting
that I was going to Turin to exhibit in
the streets — that I mounted the ladder
and balanced myself on the end of it,
then lighted my pipe and put the point
of the baton in its bowl, and caused the
baton to gyrate around my head. The
rope was to keep back the spectators,
and an Englishman in my company
was 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 doubts
of the guardians of the Hotfel d' Europe
(Trombetta) whether a person in the
possession of such questionable articles
should be admitted to their very respect-
able house, and get to Chatillon, at the
entrance of the Val Tournanche. A
mule was chartered to carry them, and
as they were too long to sling across its
back, they were arranged lengthways,
and one end projected over the ani-
mal's head, while the other extended
beyond its tail. A mule when going up
or down hill always moves with a jerky
action, and in consequence of this the
ladders hit my mule severe blows be-
tween its ears and its flanks. The
beast, not knowing what strange crea-
ture it had on its back, naturally tossed
its head and threw out its legs, and
this, of course, only made the blows that
it received more severe. At last it ran
away, and would have perished by roll-
ing down a precipice if the men had not
caught hold of its tail. The end of the
matter 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 to
bow to the hind quarters of the animal
in a way that afforded more amusement
to his comrades than it did to him.

I was once more en route for the Mat-
terhorn, for I had heard in the spring
of 1863 the cause of the failure of Pro-
fessor Tyndall, and learned that the
case was not so hopeless as it appeared
to 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 the
pinnacle which rose between it and the
final peak, and we had frequently talk-
ed about the best manner of passing the
place. On this we disagreed, but we
were both of opinion that when we got
to "the shoulder " it would be necessary
to bear gradually to the right or to the
left, to avoid coming to the top of the
notch. But Tyndall's party, after ar-
riving at "the shoulder," were led by
his guides along the crest of the ridge,
and consequently when they got to its
northern end they came to the top of
the notch, instead of the bottom — to the
dismay of all but the Carrels. Dr. Tyn-
dall's words are : "The ridge was here
split by a deep cleft which separated it
from the final precipice, and the case
became more hopeless as we came more
near." The professor adds: "The
mountain is 14,800 feet high, and 14,600
feet had been acomplished." He great-
ly deceived himself: by the barometric
measurements of Signor Giordano the
notch is no less than 800 feet below the
summit. The guide Walter (Dr. Tyn-
dall says) said it was impossible to pro-
ceed, and the Carrels, appealed to for
their opinion (this is their own account),
gave as an answer, " We are porters —
ask your guides." Bennen, thus left to
himself, "was finally forced to accept
defeat." Tyndall had nevertheless ac-
complished an advance of about four
hundred feet over one of the most dif-
ficult parts of the mountain.

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

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

Alps : it is a paradise to an artist, and
if the space at my command were
greater, I would willingly linger over its
groves of chestnuts, its bright trickling
rills and its roaring torrents, its upland
unsuspected valleys and its noble cliffs.
The path rises steeply from Chatillon,
but it is well shaded, and the heat of
the summer sun is tempered by cool air
and spray which comes off the ice-cold
streams. One sees from the path, at
several places on the right bank of the
valley, groups of arches which have
been built high up against the faces
of the cliffs. Guide-books repeat — on
whose authority I know not — that they
are the remains of a Roman aqueduct.
They have the Roman boldness of con-
ception, but the work has not the usual
Roman solidity. The arches have al-
ways seemed to me to be the remains
of an unfinished work, and I learn from
Jean-Antoine Carrel that there are other
groups of arches, which are not seen
from the path, all having the same ap-
pearance. It may be questioned wheth-
er those seen near the village of Antey
are Roman.. Some of them are semi-
circular, whilst others are distinctly

. % '.

pointed. Here is one of the latter,
which might pass for fourteenth-century
work or later — ^a two-centred arch, with
mean voussoirs and the masonry in
rough courses. These arches are well
worth 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 halo
round the moon promised watery weath-
er, and we were not disappointed, for
on the next day (August i) rain fell

heavily, and when the clouds lifted for
a time we saw that new snow lay thick-
ly over everything higher than nine
thousand feet. J.-A. Carrel was ready
and waiting (as I had determined to
give 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, even
if the weather were to arrange itself at
once. Our first day together was ac-
cordingly spent upon a neighboring
summit, the Cimes Blanches — a de-
graded mountain well known for its fine
panoramic view. It was little that we
saw, for in every direction except to the
south writhing masses of heavy clouds
obscured everything ; and to the south
our view was intercepted by a peak
higher than the Cimes Blanches, named
the Grand Tournalin. But we got some
innocent pleasure out of watching the
gambolings of a number of goats, who
became fast friends after we had given
them some salt — in fact, too fast, and
caused us no little annoyance when we
were descending. "Carrel," I said, as
a number of stones whizzed by which
they had dislodged, '* this must be put a
stop to." "Diable !" he grunted, '*it is
veiy well to talk, but how will you do
it?" I said that I would try ; and sit-
ting down poured a little brandy into
the hollow of my hand, and allured the
nearest goat with deceitful gestures. It
was one who had gobbled up the paper
in which the salt had been carried — an
animal of enterprising character — and
it advanced fearlessly and licked up
the brandy. I shall not easily forget its
surprise. It stopped short and coughed,
and looked at me as much as to say,
**0h, you cheat!" and spat and ran
away, stopping now and then, to cough
and spit again. We were not troubled
any more by those goats.

More snow fell during the night, and
our attempt on the Matterhorn was post-
poned indefinitely. Carrel and I wan-
dered out again in the afternoon, and
went, first of all, to a favorite spot with
tourists near the end of the Gorner gla-
cier (or, properly speaking, the Boden
glacier), to a little verdant flat studded

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with Euphrasia officinalis, the delight
of swarms of bees, who gather there the
honey which afterward appears at the
table d^hote.

On our right the glacier torrent thun-
dered down the valley through a gorge
with precipitous sides, not easily ap-
proached, for the turf at the top was
slippery, and the rocks had everywhere
been rounded by the glacier, which for-
merly extended far away. This gorge
seems to have been made chiefly by the
torrent, 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 merely
upon its walls are there the marks of
running water, but even upon the round-
ed rocks at the top of its walls, at a
height of seventy or eighty feet above
the present level of the torrent, there
are some of those queer concavities
which rapid streams alone are known
to produce on rocks.

A little bridge, apparently frail, spans
the torrent just above the entrance to
this gorge, and from it one perceives
being fashioned in the rocks below con-

cavities similar to those to which refer-
ence has just been made. The torrent
is seen hurrying forward. Not every-
where. In some places the water strikes
projecting angles, and, thrown back by
them, remains almost stationary, eddy-
ing round and round : in others, ob-
structions fling it up in fountains, which
play perpetually on the under surfaces
of overhanging masses ; and sometimes
do so in such a way that the water not
only works upon the under surfaces,
but round the corner; that is to say,
upon the surfaces which
are not opposed to the
general direction of the
current. In all cases
concavities are being
produced. Projecting
angles are rounded, it
is true, and are more or
less convex, biit they are
overlooked on account
of the prevalence of con-
cave forms.

Cause and effect help
each other here. The
inequalities of the tor-
rent bed and walls cause
its 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. The
destruction of the rocks
proceeds at an ever-in-
creasing rate, for the
larger the amount of sur-
face that is exposed, the
greater are the opportunities for the as-
saults of heat and cold.

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

The prevailing forms whicl;i result
from glacier action are more or less
convex. Ultimately, all angles and

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

(>z

almost all curves are obliterated, and
large areas of flat surfaces are pro-
duced. This perfection of abrasion is
rarely found except in such localities as
have sustained a grinding much more
severe than that which has occurred in
the 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, but
their effects in the ag-
gregate, on a range of
mountains or an en-
tire country, can be
recognized sometimes
at a distance of fifteen
or twenty miles, from
the incessant repeti-
tion of these convex
forms.

We finished up the
3d of August with a
walk over the Findel-
en glacier, and return-
ed to Zermatt at a later
hour than we intend-
ed, both very sleepy.
This is noteworthy
only on account of
that which followed.
We had to cross the
Col de Valpelline on
the next day, and an
early start was desira-
ble. Monsieur Seiler,
excellent man ! know-
ing this, called us him-
self, and when he
came 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* more
sleep.** But Seiler waited and listened,
and, suspecting the case, knocked
again : " Herr Whymper, have you got
a light ?** Without thinking what the
consequences might be, ' I answered,
•*No;" and then the worthy man actu-
ally forced the lock off his own door to
give me one. By similar and equally
friendly and disinterested acts Monsieur

Seiler has acquired his enviable repu-
tation.

At four A. M. we left his Monte Rosa
hotel, and were soon pushing our way
through the thickets of gray alder that
skirt 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 this
side, and even in cold blood one holds

M^JIM

Hfe^^m^^H

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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 to
them in size in the Alps, and there are
none which can more truly be termed
precipices. Greatest of them all is the
immense north cliff, that which bends
over toward the Z'muttgletscher. Stones
which drop from the top of that amaz-
ing wall fall for about fifteen hundred
feet before they touch anything, and
fhose which roll down from above and

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

bound over it fall to a much greater
depth, and leap wellnigh one thousand
feet beyond its base. This side of the
mountain has always seemed sombre,
sad, terrible : it is painfully suggestive
of decay, ruin and death ; and it is
now, alas! more than terrible by its
associations.

"There is no aspect of destruction
about the Matterhorn cliffs," says Pro-
fessor Ruskin. Granted — when they
are seen from afar. But approach and
sit 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, but
pi-obably you will not see; for even
when the descending masses thunder
as loudly as heavy guns, and the echoes
roll back from the Ebihorn opposite,
they will still be as pin-points against
this grand old face, so vast is its scale.

If you would see the " aspects of de-
struction," you must come still closer
and climb its cliffs and ridges, or mount
to the plateau of the Matterhornglet-
scher, which is cut up and ploughed up
by these missiles, and strewn on the
surface with their smaller fragments :
the larger masses, falling with tremen-
dous velocity, plunge into the snow and
are lost to sight.

The Matterhorngletacher, too, sends
down its avalanches, as if in rivalry
with the rocks behind. Round the
whole of its northern side it does not
terminate in the usual manner by gentle
slopes, but comes to a sudden end at
the top of the steep rocks which lie be-
twixt it and the Z'muttgletscher ; and
seldom does an hour pass without a
huge slice breaking away and falling
with dreadful uproar on to the slopes
below, where it is re- compacted.

The desolate, outside pines of the
Z'mutt forests, stripped of their bark
and blanched by the weather, are a fit
foreground to a scene that can hardly
be surpassed in solemn grandeur. It
is a subject worthy of the pencil of a
great painter, and one which would tax
the powers of the very greatest.

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

not less impracticable ; and three hours
later, when we arrived at the island of
rock called the Stockje (which marks
the end of the Z'muttgletscher proper,
and which separates its higher feeder,*
the Stockgletscher, from its lower but
greater one, the Tiefenmatten), Carrel
himself, one of the least demonstrative
of men, could not refrain from express-
ing wonder at the steepness of its faces,
and at the audacity that had prompted
us to camp upon the south-west ridge,
the profile of which is seen very well
from the Stockje. Carrel then saw the
north and north-west sides of the moun-
tain for the first time, and was more
firmly persuaded than ever that an
ascent was possible only from the di-
rection of Breuil.

Three years afterward, I was travers-
ing the same spot with the guide Franz
Biener, when all at once a puff of wind
brought to us a very bad smell, and on
looking about we discovered a dead
chamois half-way up the southern cliffs
of the Stockje. We clambered up, and
found that it had been killed by a most
uncommon and extraordinary accident.
It had slipped on the upper rocks, had
rolled over and over down a slope of
d6bris without being able to regain its
feet, had fallen over a little patch of
rocks that projected through the debris,
and had caught the points of both horns
on a tiny ledge not an inch broad. It
had just been able to touch the debris
where it led away down from the rocks,
and had pawed and scratched until it
could no longer touch. It had evident-
ly been starved to death, and we found
the poor beast almost swinging in the
air, with its head thrown back and
tongue protruding, looking to the sky
as if imploring help.

We had no such excitement as this in
1863, and crossed this easy pass to the
chalets of Prerayen in a very leisurely
fashion. From the summit to Prerayen
let us descend in one step. The way
has been described before, and those
who wish for information about it should
consult 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.)

Page 64.

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or THB

IVSRSITY]

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN lS6o-'69.

that the owner of the chalets (who is
usually taken for a common herdsman)
must not be judged by appearances.
He is a man of substance, he has many
flocks and herds ; and although, when
approached politely, he is courteous, he
can (and probably will) act as the mas-
ter of Prerayen if his position is not
recognized, and with all the importance
of a man who pays taxes to the extent
of five hundred francs per annum to
his government.

The hill lops were clouded when we
rose from our hay on the 5th of August.
We decided not to continue the tour of
our mountain immediately, and return-
ed over our track of the preceding day
to the highest chalet on the left bank of
the 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 excellent
view which it commanded of the south-
west ridge and the terminal peak of the
Matterhorn than from any other reason.

The Dent d'Erin had not been ascend-
ed at this time, and we had diverged
from our route on the 4th, and had
scrambled some distance up the base
of Mont Brul6, to see how far its south-
western slopes were assailable. We
were divided in opinion as to the best
way of approaching the peak. Carrel,
true to his habit of sticking to rocks in
preference to ice, counseled ascending
by 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 de
Zardesan), and thence traversing the
heads of all the tributaries of the Zarde-
san to the western and rocky ridge of
the 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 (where
my proposed route would cross Carrel's)
lO make directly toward the summit up
the snow-covered glacier slope, instead
of by the western ridge. The hunch-
back, who was accompanying us on
these excursions, declared in favor of
Carrel's route, and it was accordingly
adopted.

The first part of the programme was
successfully executed ; and at half-past
ten A. M. on the 6th of August we were
sitting astride the western ridge, at a
height of about twelve thousand five
hundred feet, looking down upon the
Tiefenmatten glacier. To all appear-
ance, another hour would place us on
the summit, but in another hour we
found that we were not destined to suc-
ceed^. The ridge (like all of the prin-
cipal rocky ridges of the great peaks
upon which I have stood) had been
completely shattered by frost, and was
nothing more than a heap of piled-up
fragments. It was always narrow, and
where it was narrowest it was also the
most unstable and the most difficult.
On neither side could we ascend it by
keeping a little below its crest — on
the side of the Tiefenmatten because it
was too steep, and on both sides be-
cause the dislodgment of a single block
would have disturbed the equilibrium
of those which were above. Forced,
therefore, to keep to the very crest of
the ridge, an'd unable to deviate a sin-
gle step either to the right or to the left,
we were compelled to trust ourselves
upon unsteady masses, which trembled
under our tread, which sometimes set-
tled down, grating in a hollow and
ominous manner, and which seemed as
if a very little shake would send the
whole roaring down in one awful ava-
lanche.

I followed my leader, who said not a
word, and did not rebel until we came
to 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 it
until I joined him above; and as he
stepped off my back on to it I felt it
quiver and bear down upon me. I
doubted the possibility of another man
standing upon it without bringing it
downi Then I rebelled. There was no
honor to be gained by persevering, or
dishonor in turning from a place which
was 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 be
the right way up the mountain.

Four days afterward a party of Eng-
lishmen (including my friends W. E.
Hall, Crauford Grove and Reginald
Macdonald) arrived in the Valpelline,
and (unaware of our attempt) on the 12th,
under the skillful guidance of Melchior
Anderegg, made the first ascent of the
Dent d'Erin by the route which I had.
proposed. This is the only mountain
which I have essayed to ascend that has
not, sooner or later, fallen to me. Our
failure was mortifying, but I am satis-
fied that we did wisely in returning, and
that if we had persevered by Carrel's
route another Alpine accident would
have been recorded. I have not heard
that another ascent has been made of
the Dent d'Erin.

On the 7th of August we crossed the
Va Cornere pass, and had a good look
at 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 a
very fine view ; and (as the weather
continued unfavorable for the Matter-
horn) I arranged with Carrel to ascend
it the next day, and despatched him
direct to the village of Val Tournanche
to make the necessary preparations,
whilst I, with Meynet, made a short cut
to Breuil, at the back of Mont Panque-
ro, by a little pass locally known as the
Col de Fenetre. I rejoined Carrel the
same evening at Val Tournanche, and
we started from that place at a little be-
fore five A. M. on the 8th to attack the
Tournalin.

Meynet was left behind for that day,
and most unwillingly did the hunchback
part from us, and begged hard to be
allowed to come. "Pay me nothing,
only let me %o with you. I shall want
but a little bread and cheese, and of
that I won't eat much. I would much
rather go with you than carry things
down the valley." Such were his argu-
ments, and I was really sorry that the
rapidity of our movements obliged us
tM desert the good little man.

Carrel led over the meadows on the
south and east of the bluff upon which
the village of Val Tournanche is built,
and then by a zigzag path through a
long and steep forest, making many
short cuts, which showed he had a
thorough knowledge of the ground.
After we came again into daylight our
route took us up one of those little,
concealed lateral valleys which are so
numerous on the slopes bounding the
Val Tournanche.

This valley, the Combe de Ceneil,
has a general easterly trend, and con-
tains but one small cluster of houses
(Ceneil). The Tournalin is situated at
the head of the combe, and nearly due
east of the village of Val Tournanche,
but from that place no part of the moun-
tain is visible. After Ceneil is passed
it comes into view, rising above a cirque
of cliffs (streaked by several fine water-
falls), at the end of the combe. To
avoid these cliffs the path bends some-
what to the south, keeping throughout
to the left bank of the valley ; and at
about thirty-five hundred feet above
Val Tournanche, and fifteen hundred
feet above Ceneil, and a mile or so to
its east, arrives at the base of some
moraines, which are remarkably large,
considering the dimensions of the gla-
ciers which formed them. The ranges
upon the western side of the Val Tour-
nanche are seen to great advantage
from this spot, but here the path ends
and the way steepens.

When we arrived at these moraines
we had a choice of two routes — one
continuing to the east over the moraines
themselves, the d6bris above them, and
a large snow-bed still higher up, to a
kind of col or depression to the south
of the peak, from whence an easy ridge
led toward the summit ; the other,, over
a shrunken glacier on our north-east
(now, perhaps, not in existence), which
led to a well-marked col on the north
of the peak, from whence a less easy
ridge rose directly to the highest point.
We followed the first named of these
routes, and in a little more than half an
hour stood upon the col, which com-
manded a most glorious view of *he

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

Whilst we were resting at this point a
large party of vagrant chamois arrived
on the summit of the mountain from
the northern side, some of whom, by
their statuesque position, seemed to ap-
preciate the grand panorama by which
they were surrounded, while others
amused themselves, like two-legged
tourists, in rolling stones over the cliflfs.
The clatter of these falling fragments
made us look up. The chamois were
so numerous that we could not count
them, clustered around the summit, to-
tally unaware of our presence ; and they
scattered in a panic, as if a shell had
burst amongst them, when saluted by
the cries of my excited comrade, plung-
ing wildly down in several directions,
with unfaltering and unerring bounds,
with such speed and with such grace
that 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, and
Carrel thought that it would not be
difficult to arrange a path for mules out
of the shattered blocks ; but when we
arrived 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 side
was nearly perpendicular, but it was
only fourteen or fifteen feet deep. Car-
rel lowered me down, and afterward
descended on to the head of my axe,
and subsequently on to my shoulders,
with a cleverness which was almost as
far removed from my awkwardness as
his own efforts were from those of the
chamois. A few easy ^eps then placed
us on the highest point. It had not
been ascended before, and we com-
memorated the event by building a
huge cairn, which was seen for many a
mile, and would have lasted for many
a year had it not been thrown down
by the orders of Canon Carrel, on ac-
count of its interrupting the sweep of a
camera 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 the
Grand Tournalin is 6100 feet above the
village of Val Tournanche, and 11,155
feet above
the sea. Its
ascent (in-
eluding
halts) occu-
pied us only ./
four hours. '

I recom-
mend the as-
cent of the
Tournalin
to any per-
son who has
a day to
spare in the
Val Tour-
nanche. It
should be
rem ember-
ed, however
(if its ascent
is made for
the sake of
the view),
that these
southern
Pennine
Alps sel-
dom remain
unclouded
after mid-
day, and in-
deed frequently not later than ten or
eleven 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 its
accessibility or inacessibility, but simply
for the wide and splendid view which
may be seen from its summit. Its posi-
tion is superb, and the list of the peaks
which 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 view
has, in the highest perfection, those ele-
ments of picturesqueness which are
wanting in the purely panoramic views

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

of higher summits. There are three
principal sections, each with a central
or dominating point, to which the eye
is naturally drawn. All three alike are
pictures in themselves, yet all are dis-
similar. In the south, softened by the
vapors of the Val d'Aoste, extends the
long line of the Graians, with mountain
after mountain twelve thousand five
hundred feet and upward in height. It
is not upon these, noble as some of them
are, that the eye will rest, but upon the
Viso, far off in the background. In the
west and toward the north the range of
Mont Blanc and some of the greatest
of the Central Pennine Alps (includ-
ing the Grand Combin and the Dent
Blanche) form the background, but
they are overpowered by the grandeur
of the ridges which culminate in the
Matterhorn. Nor in the east and north,
where pleasant grassy slopes lead down-
ward to the Val d'Ayas, nor upon the
glaciers and snow-fields above them,
nor upon the Oberland in the back-
ground, will the eye long linger, when
immediately in front, several miles away,
but seeming close at hand, thrown out
by the pure azure sky, there are the glit-
tering crests of Monte Rosa.

Those who would, but cannot, stand
upon the highest Alps may console
themselves with the knowledge that
they do not usually yield the views that
make the strongest and most perma-
nent impressions. Marvelous some of
the panoramas seen from the greatest
peaks undoubtedly are, but they are
necessarily without those isolated and
central points which are so valuable
pictorially. The eye roams over a mul-
titude of objects (each perhaps grand
individually),, and, distracted by an
embarrassment of riches, wanders from
one to another, erasing by the contem-
plation of the next the effect that was
produced by the last ; and when those
happy moments are over, which always
fly with too great rapidity, the summit
is left with an impression that is seldom
durable because it is usually vague.

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

twain and a single spire or dome is dis-
closed. The peaks which are seen at
these moments are not perhaps the
greatest or the noblest, but the recollec-
tion of them outlives the memory of any
panoramic view, because the picture,
photographed by the eye, has time to
dry, instead of being blurred while yet
wet by contact with other impressions.
The reverse is the case with the bird's-
eye panoramic views from the great
peaks, which sometimes embrace a hun-
dred miles in nearly every direction.
The eye is confounded by the crowd of
details, and unable to distinguish the
relative importance of the objects which
are seen. It is almost as difficult to
form a just estimate (with the eye) of
the respective heights of a number of
peaks from a very high summit as it is
from the bottom of a valley. I think
that the grandest and most satisfactory
stand-points for viewing mountain sce-
nery are those which are sufficiently ele-
vated to give a feeling of depth as well
as of height — which are lofty enough to
exhibit wide and varied views, but not
so high as to sink everything to the level
of the spectator. The view from the
Grand Tournalin is a favorable example
of this class of panoramic views.

We descended from the summit by
the northern route, and found it tolerably
stiff clambering as far as the col, but
thence, down the glacier, the way was
straightforward, and we joined the route
taken on the ascent at the foot of the
ridge leading toward the east. In the
evening we returned to Breuil.

There is an abrupt rise in the valley
about two miles to the north of the vil-
lage of Val Tournanche, and just above
this step the torrent has eaten its way
into 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 to
the thunder of the concealed water, and
to watch its tumultuous boiling as it
issued from the gloomy cleft, but our
efforts to peer into the mysteries of the
place were baffled. In November, 1865,
the intrepid Carrel induced two trusty
comrades — the Maquignazes of Val

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Tournanche — to lower him by a rope
into 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. One
of the Maquignazes subsequently de-
scended in the same way, and these two
men were so astonished at what they
saw that they forthwith set to work with
hammer and chisel to make a way into
this romantic gulf. In a few days they
constructed a rough but convenient
plank gallery into the centre of the
gouffre, along its walls, and on pay-
ment of a toll of half a franc any one
can now enter the GK)uffre des Bus-
serailles.

I cannot, without a couple of sections
and a plan, give an exact idea to the
reader of this remarkable place. It
corresponds in some of its features to
the gorge figured upon page 62, but it
exhibits in a much more notable man-
ner the characteristic action and power
of running water. The length of the
chasm or gouffre is about three hundred
and twenty feet, and from the top of its
walls to the surface of the water is about
one hundred and ten feet. At no part
can the entire length or depth be seen
at a glance, for, although the width at
some places is fifteen feet or more, the
view is limited by the sinuosities of the
walls. These are everywhere polished
to a smooth, vitreous - in - appearance
surface. In some places the torrent has
wormed into the rock, and has left nat-
ural bridges. The most extraordinary
features of the Gouffre des Busserailles,
however, are the caverns (or martniteSt
as they are termed) which the water has
hollowed out of the heart of the rock.
Carrel's plank path leads into one of
the greatest — a grotto that is about
twenty-eight feet across at its largest
diameter, and fifteen or sixteen feet
high, roofed above by the living rock,
and with the torrent roaring fifty feet or
thereabouts below, at the bottom of a
fissure. 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 was
increased by observing the hardness of
the hornblende out of which they have
been hollowed. Carrel chiseled off a
large piece, which is now lying before
me. It has a highly polished, glassy
surface, and might be mistaken, for a
moment, for ice-polished rock. But the
water has found out the atoms which
were least hard, and it is dotted all over
with minute depressions, much as the
face of one is who has suffered from
smallpox. The edges of these little
hollows are rounded, and all the sur-
faces of the depressions are polished
nearly or quite as highly as the general
surface of the fragment. The water
has drilled more deeply into some veins
of steatite than in other places, and the
presence of the steatite may possibly
have 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 with
my tour of the Matterhorn, which had
been rendered very pleasant by the will-
ingness of my guides and by the kind-
liness of the natives. But it must be
admitted that the inhabitants of the Val
Tournanche are behind the times. Their
paths are as bad as, or worse than, they
were in the time of De Saussure, and
their inns are much inferior to those on
the Swiss side. If it were otherwise
there would be nothing to prevent the
valley becoming one of the most popu-
lar and frequented of all the valleys in
the Alps ; but as it is, tourists who enter
it seem to think only about how soon
they can get out of it, and hence it is
much less known than it deserves to be
on account of its natural attractions.

CHAPTER VII.

OUR SIXTH ATTEMPT TO ASCEND THE
MATTERHORN.

Carrel had carte blanche in the
matter of guides, and his choice fell
upon his relative Caesar, Luc Meynet
and two others whose names I do not
know. These men were now brought
together, and our preparations were

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completed, as the weather was clearing
up.

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

By going always, but gently, we ar-
rived upon the Col du Lion before
nine o'clock. Changes were apparent.
Familiar ledges had vanished ; the plat-
form whereon my tent had stood looked
very forlorn ; its stones had been scat-
tered by wind and frost, and had half
disappeared ; and the summit of the
col itself, which in 1862 had always
been respectably broad and covered by
snow, was now sharper than the ridge
of any church roof,' and was hard ice.
Already we had found that the bad
weather of the past week had done its
work. The rocks for several hundred
feet below the col were varnished with
ice. Loose, incoherent snow covered
the older and harder beds below, and
we nearly lost our leader through its
treacherousness. He stepped on some
snow which seemed firm, and raised his
axe to deliver a swinging blow, but just
as it was highest the crust of the slope
upon which he stood broke away, and
poured down in serpentine streams,
leaving long bare strips, which glitter-
ed in the sun, for they were glassy ice.
Carrel, with admirable readiness, flung
himself back on to the rock off which
he had stepped, and was at once se-
cured. He simply remarked, " It is
time we were tied up,*' and after we
had been tied up he went to work again
as if nothing had happened.

We had abundant illustrations during
the next two hours of the value of a
rope to climbers. We were tied up
rather widely apart, and advanced gen-
erally in pairs. Carrel, who led, was
followed closely by another man, who
lent him a shoulder or placed an axe-
head under his feet when there was
need ; and when this couple were well
placed, the second pair advanced in
similar fashion, the rope being drawn

in by those above and paid out gradual-
ly by those below. The leading men
advanced, or the third pair, and so on.
This manner of progression was slow
but sure. One man only moved at a
time, and if he slipped (and we fre-
quently did slip), he could slide scarce-
ly a foot without being checked by the
others. The certainty and safety of the
method gave confidence to the one who
was moving, and not only nerved him
to put out his powers to the utmost, but
sustained nerve in really difficult situa-
tions. For these rocks (which, it has
been already said, were easy enough
under ordinary circumstances) were
now difficult in a high degree. The
snow-water, which had trickled down
for many days past in little streams,
had taken, naturally, the very route by
which we wished to ascend ; and, re-
frozen in the night, had glazed the slabs
over which we had to pass — sometimes
with a fine film of ice as thin as a sheet
of paper, and sometimes so thickly that
we could almost cut footsteps in it. The
weather was superb, the men made light
of the toil, and shouted to rouse the
echoes from the Dent d'H6rens.

We went on gayly, passed the sec-
ond tent -platform, the Chimney and
the other well-remembered points, and
reckoned confidently on sleeping that
night upon the top of "the shoulder;"
but before we had well arrived at the
foot of the Great Tower, a sudden rush
of cold air warned us to look out.

It was difficult to say where this air
came from : it did not blow as a wind,
but descended rather as the water in a
shower-bath. All was tranquil again :
the atmosphere showed no signs of dis-
turbance : there was a dead calm, and
not a speck of cloud to be seen any-
where. But we did not remain very
long in this state. The cold air came
again, and this time it was difficult to
say where it did not come from. We
jammed down our hats as it beat against
the ridge and screamed amongst the
crags. Before we had got to the foot
of the Tower mists had been formed
above and below. They appeared at
first in small, isolated patches (in sev-

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v.^ Of imi"^-^
[UiriTSRSITT]

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THE " OBCAT TOVKB.'

"orAtk DU COQ."

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

Page 71.
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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

eral places at the same time), which
danced and jerked and were torn into
shreds by the wind, but grew larger
under the process. They were united
together and rent again, showing us the
blue sky for a moment, and blotting it
out the next, and augmented incessant-
ly until the whole heavens were filled
with whirling, boiling clouds. Before
we could take off our packs and get
under any kind of shelter a hurricane
of snow burst upon us from the east. It
fell so thickly that in a few minutes the
ridge was covered by it. " What shall
we do ?'* I shouted to Carrel. ** Mon-
sieur,** said he, **the wind is bad, the
weather has changed, we are heavily
laden. Here is a ^nt gUe : let us stop.
If we go on we shall be half frozen.
That is my opinion." No one differed
from him ; so we fell to work to make
a place for the tent, and in a couple of
hours completed the platform which we
had commenced in 1862. The clouds
had blackened during that time, and
we had hardly finished our task before
a thunder-storm broke upon us with
appalling fury. Forked lightning shot
out at the turrets above and at the crags
below. It was so close that we quailed
at its darts. It seemed to scorch us :
we were in the very focus of the storm.
The thunder was simultaneous with the
flashes, short and sharp, and more like
the 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 as
an inexact person. My meaning is,
that the time which elapsed between
seeing the flash and hearing the report
was inappreciable to me. I wish to
speak with all possible precision, and
there are two points in regard to this
storm upon which I can speak with
some accuracy. The first is in regard
to the distance of the lightning from our
party. We might have been eleven
hundred feet from it if a second of time
had elapsed between seeing the flashes
and hearing the reports ; and a second *
of time is not appreciated by inexact
persons. It was certain that we were

sometimes less than that distance from
the lightning, because I saw it pass in
front of well-known points on the ridge,
both above and below us, which were
less (sometimes considerably less) than
a thousand feet distant.

Secondly, in regard to the difficulty
of distinguishing sounds which are
merely echoes from true thunder or the
noise which occurs simultaneously with
lightning. Arago entered into this sub-
ject at some length in his Meteorological
Essays, and seemed to doubt if it would
ever be possible to determine whether
echoes are always the cause of the roll-
ing sounds commonly called thunder.
I shall not attempt to show whether the
rolling sounds should ever or never be
regarded as true thunder, but only that
during this storm upon the Matterhorn
it was possible to distinguish the sound
of the thunder itself from the sounds
(rolling and otherwise) which were
merely the echoes of the first, original
sound.

At the place where we were camped
a remarkable echo could be heard (one
so remarkable that if it could be heard
in this country it would draw crowds for
its own sake) : I believe it came from
the cliffs of the Dent d'H6rens. It was
a favorite amusement with us to rouse
this echo, which repeated any sharp cry
in a very distinct manner several times,
after the lapse of something like a dozen
seconds. The thunderstorm lasted near-
ly two hours, and raged at times with
great fury ; and the prolonged rollings
from the surrounding mountains after
one flash had not usually ceased before
another set of echoes took up the dis-
course, and maintained the reverbera-
tions without a break. Occasionally
there was a pause, interrupted present-
ly by a single clap, the accompaniment
of a single discharge, and after such
times I could recognize the echoes from
the Dent d'H6rens by their peculiar
repetitions, and by the length of time
which had passed since the reports had
occurred of which they were the echoes.

If I had been unaware of the existence
of this echo, I should have supposed that
the resounds were original reports of

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

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

Or if, instead of being placed at a
distance of less than a thousand feet
from the points of explosion (and con-
sequently hearing the report almost in
the same moment as we saw the flash,
ant the rollings after a considerable in-
terval of time), we had been placed so
that the original report had fallen on
our ears nearly at the same moment as
the echoes, we should probably have
considered that the successive reports
and rollings of the echoes were reports
of successive explosions occurring near-
ly at the same moment, and that they
were not echoes at all.

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

* The same has seemed to me to be the case at all
times 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 and
secondary explosions which I have believed to be
merely echoes ; but it has never been possible (except
in 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 cracking
tone, and that the rolling of the thunder was only heard
farther on." — Berlepsch's Alps^ English ed., p. 133.

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

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

The wind during all this time seemed
to blow tolerably consistently from the
east. It smote the tent so vehemently
(notwithstanding it was partly protected
by rocks) that we had grave fears our
refuge might be blown away bodily,
with ourselves inside ; so, during some
of the lulls, we issued out and built a
wall to windward. At half-past three
the wind changed to the north-west,
and the clouds vanished. We immedi-
ately took the opportunity to send down
one of the porters (under protection of
some of the others a little beyond the
Col du Lion), as the tent would accom-
modate only five persons. From this
time to sunset the weather was variable.
It was sometimes blowing and snowing
hard, and sometimes a dead calm. The
bad weather was evidently confined to
the Mont Cervin, for when the clouds
lifted we could see everything that
could be seen from our gite. Monte
Viso, a hundred miles off, was clear,
and the sun set gorgeously behind the
range of Mont Blanc. We passed the
night comfortably, even luxuriously, in
our blanket-bags, but there was little
chance of sleeping, between the noise
of the wind, of the thunder and of the
falling rocks. I forgave the thunder
for the sake of the lightning. A more
splendid spectacle than its illumination
of the Matterhorn crags I do not expect
to see.

We tiuTied out at 3.30 a. m. on the
nth, and were dismayed to find that it
still continued to snow. At 9 A. m. the
snow ceased to fall, and the sun showed
itself feebly, so we packed up our bag-
gage and set out to try to get upon "the
shoulder." We struggled upward until
eleven o'clock, and then it commenced
to snow again. We held a council : the
opinions expressed at it were unanimous
against advancing, and I decided to re-
treat ; for we had risen less than three
hundred feet in the past two hours, and
had not even arrived at the rope which
Tyndairs party left behind attached to
the rocks, in 1862. At the same rate
of progression it would have taken us
from four to five hours to get upon "the
shoulder.** Not one of us cared to at-

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

tempt to do so under the existing cir-
cumstances; for, besides having to
move our own weight, which was suf-
ficiently troublesome at this part of the
ridge, we had to transport much heavy
baggage, tent, blankets, provisions, lad-
der and four hundred and fifty feet of
rope, besides many other smaller mat-
ters. These, however, were not the
most serious considerations. Supposing
that we got upon "the shoulder," we
might find ourselves detained there sev-
eral days, unable either to go up or
down.* 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 the
afternoon : it was quite fine there, and
the tenants of the inn received our state-
ments with evident skepticism. They

MONSIEUR FAVRB.

were astonished to learn that we had
been exposed to a snow-storm of twen-
ty-six hours' duration. "Why," said
Favre, the innkeeper, " we have had no
snow : it has been fine all the time you
have been absent, and there has been
only that small cloud upon the moun-
tain.'* Ah ! that small cloud ! None
except those who have had experience
of it can tell what a formidable obstacle
it is.

Why is it that the Matterhorn is sub-
ject to these abominable variations of
weather? 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 for
five or six consecutive days.

the clouds." This is not a sufficient
answer. Although the mountain is iso-
lated, it is not so much more isolated
than the neighboring peaks that it should
gather clouds when none of the others
do so. It will not at all account for the
cloud to which I refer, which is not
formed 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 the
mountain itself, and springs into exist-
ence where no clouds were seen before.
It is formed and hangs chiefly against
the southern sides, and particularly
against the south-eastern side. It fre-
quently does not envelop the summit,
and rarely extends down to the Glacier
du 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 to
the height or isolation of the mountain
for an explanation. I am inclined to
attribute the disturbances which occur
in the atmosphere of the southern sides
of the Matterhorn on fine days princi-
pally to the fact that the mountain is a
rock mountain — that it receives a great
amount of heat, and is not only warmer
itself, but is^ surrounded by an atmo-
sphere of a higher temperature, than
such peaks as the Weisshorn and the
Lyskamm, which are eminently snow
mountains.

In certain states of the atmosphere
its temperature may be tolerably uni-
form over wide areas and to great ele-
vations. I have known the thermometer
to show seventy degrees in the shade at
the top of an Alpine peak more than
thirteen thousand feet high, and but a
very few degrees higher six or seven
thousand feet lower. At other times
there will be a difference of forty or fifty
degrees (Fahrenheit) between two sta-
tions, the higher not more than six or
seven thousand feet above the lower.

Provided that the temperature was
uniform, or nearly so, on all sides of
the Matterhorn, and to a considerable
distance above its summit, no clouds
would be likely to form upon it. But if

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

the atmosphere immediately surround-
ing it is warmer than the contiguous
strata, a local "courant ascendant"
must necessarily be generated ; and
portions of the cooler superincumbent
(or circumjacent) air will naturally be
attracted 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 of
cold air which occur on it when all the
rest of the neighborhood appears to be
tranquil, in any other way. The clouds
are produced by the contact of two
strata of air (of widely different tempe-
ratures) charged with invisible moisture,
as surely as certain colorless fluids pro-
duce a white, turbid liquid when mixed
together. The order has been, wind of
a low temperature, mist, rain, snow or
hail.

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

southern sides, and against those cliffs
clouds commonly form (during fine,
still weather) at the same time as the
cloud on the Matterhorn ; whilst the
Weisshorn (14,804) and the Lyskamm
(14,889) — mountains of about. the same
altitude, 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 another
try, to see if the luck would change;
anTi returned to London ready to de-
vise fresh combinations and to form
new plans.

CROSSING THE CHANNEL.

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?f -y

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*L
DE MARTIGNARE AND THE BR^CHE DE LA
MEIJE, TO LA BtRARDE.

WHEN we arrived upon the highest
summit 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 that
another mountain, distant about a cou-
ple of miles, and separated from us by
an impassable gulf, claimed that dis-
tinction. I was troubled in spirit about
this mountain, and my thoughts often
reverted to the great wall-sided peak,

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

second in apparent inaccessibility only
to the Matterhorn. It had, moreover,
another claim to attention — it was the
highest mountain in France.

The year 1862 passed away without a
chance of getting to it, and my holiday
was too brief in 1863 even to think about
it ; but in the following year it was pos-
sible, and I resolved to set my mind at
rest by completing the task which had
been left unfinished in 186 1. .

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

MICHEL-AUGUST CKOZ (1865).

all (in 1862) came Mr. F. Tuckett— that
mighty mountaineer, whose name is
known throughout the length and breadth
of the Alps — with the guides Michel
Croz, Peter Perrn and Bartolommeo Pey-
rotte, and great success attended his
arms. But Mr. Tuckett halted before
the Pointe des ficrins, and, dismayed by
its appearance, withdrew his forces to
gather less dangerous laurels elsewhere.
His expedition, however, threw some
light upon the fecrins. He pointed out
the direction from which an attack was
most likely to be successful, and Mr.

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

The guide Michel Croz had thus been
engaged in both of these expeditions in
Dauphin^, and I naturally looked to him
for assistance. Mr. Mathews (to whom
I applied for information) gave him a
high character, and concluded his repiy
to me by saying "he was only happy
when upward of ten thousand feet
high."

I know what my friend meant. Croz
was happiest when he was employing
his powers to the utmost. Places where
you and I would "toil and sweat, and
yet be freezing cold," were bagatelles
to him, and it was only when he got
above the range of ordinary mortals,
and was required to employ his mag-
nificent strength and to draw upon
his unsurpassed knowledge of ice and
snow, that he could be said to be really
and truly happy.

Of all the guides with whom I trav-
eled, Michel Croz was the man who
was most after my own heart. He did
not work like a blunt razor and take
to his toil unkindly. He did not need
■ urging or to be told a second time to do
anything. You had but to say what was
to be done and how it was to be done,
and the work was done if it was pos-
sible. Such men are not common, and
when they are known they are valued.
Michel was not widely known, but
those who did know him came again
and again. The inscription placed upon
his tomb truthfully records that he was
"beloved by his comrades and esteemed
by travelers."

At the time that I was planning my
journey, my friends Messrs. A. W.
Moore and Horace Walker were also
drawing up their programme, and, as
we found that our wishes were very sim-
ilar, we agreed to unite our respective
parties. My friends had happily secured
Christian Aimer of Grindelwald as their
guide. The combination of Croz and
Aimer was a perfect one. Both men

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

were in the prime of life, both were en-
dued with strength and activity far be-
yond the average, and the courage and
the 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 safe
man. That which he lacked in fire, in
dash, was supplied by Croz, who, in his
turn, was kept in place by Aimer. It is
pleasant to remember how they worked
together, and how each one confided to
you 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
men, to know that they can never work
together again.

We met at St. Michel on the Mont
Cenis road at mid-day on June 20, 1864,
and proceeded in the afternoon over the
Col de Valloires to the village of the
same name. The summit of this pretty
Htde pass is about thirty-five hundred
feet above St. Michel, and from it we
had a fair view of the Aiguilles d'Arve,
a group of three peaks of singular form,
which it was our Especial object to in-
vestigate. They had been seen by our-
selves and others from numerous distant
points, and always looked very high and
very inaccessible ; but we had been un-
able to obtain any information about
them, except the few words in Joanne's
Itineraire du Dauphine, Having made
out from the summit of the Col de Val-
loires that they could be approached
from the valley of Valloires, we hastened
down to find a place where we could
pass the night, as near as possible to the
entrance of the little valley leading up
to them.

By nightfall we arrived at the entrance
to this litde valley (Vallon des Aiguilles
d'Arve), and found some buildings
placed just where they were wanted.
The proprietress received us with civil-
ity, and placed a large bam at our dis-
posal, on the condition that no lights
were struck or pipes smoked therein;
and when her terms were agreed to, she
took us into her own chalet, made up a
huge fire, heated a gallon of milk and
treated us with genuine hospitality.

In the morning we found that the Val-

lon des Aiguilles d'Arve led away near
ly due west from the valley of Valloires
and that the village of Bonnenuit was
placed (in the latter valley) almost ex-
actly opposite to the junction of the two.

At 3.55 A. M. on the 21st we set out up
the Vallon, passed for a time over pas-
ture-land, and then over a stony waste,
deeply channeled by water-courses. At
5.30 the two principal Aiguilles were well
seen, and as by this time it was evident
that the authors of the Sardinian official
map had romanced as extensively in
this neighborhood as elsewhere, it was
necessary to hold a council.

Three questions were submitted to it :
Firstly, Which is the highest of these
Aiguilles ? Secondly, Which shall we go
up ? Thirdly, How is it to be done ?

The French engineers, it was said,
had determined that the two highest
of them were respectively 11,513 and
1 1,529 feet in height ; but we were with-
out information as to which two they
had measured. Joanne indeed said (but
without specifying whether he meant all
three) that the Aiguilles had been sev-
eral times ascended, and particularly
mentioned that the one of 1 1 , 5 1 3 feet was
"relatively easy."

We therefore said, '*We will go up the
peak 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- the
other two, but which of them? We
were 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 was
unanimously voted that upon the eastern
and southern sides it was certainly rela-
tively difficult, and that a move should
be made round to the northern side.

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

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

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

the conclusion that it was relatively
impracticable. Croz shrugged his big

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

ed the \A
in forma tioij'"
that a thou- ~
sand francs
would not tempt
him to try it, ^^'e
then turned to the
nonheinmost jieiik, but
found its ioutht'in faces
e V t! n more hopeless
than the northern f^iccs
of the central one. We

picturesque view of the moun-
t:i.inii <ir the Tarentai&t:, while
sojufwhiit east of south we
saw tlu^ monarch of the Dau-
phlue massifs whoso closer
acLjaaiutance it was our in-
tention lo m;tke. Tlirce sun-
ny hours passed away, and
then we turned to the descent.
We saw the distant pastures
i)f a valley (which we sup-
posed was the \'allon or Ra-
vine de la Sausse), and a
long snow-slope leading
down to them. But from
that slope we were cut off by
precipitous rock?;, and our
first impression was that we

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

THE CHALETS OF RIEU BLANC.

unwonted luxury of a
three hours' rest on the
top of our pass, for pass we were deter-
mined it should be.

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

track. Some running up and
down, however, discovered
two Httle guUies filled with threads of
snow, and down the most northern of
these we decided to go. It was a steep
way, but a safe one, for the cleft was so
narrow that we could press the shoulder
against one side whilst the feet were

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^8'

SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS JN i86o-'69.

against the othei , and the last remnant
of the winter's snow, well hardened,
clung to the rift with great tenacity, and
gave us a path when the rocks refused
one. In half an hour we got to the top
of the great snow-slope. Walker said,
'* Let us glissade ;** the guides, *' No, it is
too steep." Our friend, however, start-
ed off at a standing glissade, and ad-
vanced for a time very skillfully; but
after a while he lost his balance, and
progressed downward and backward
with great rapidity, in a way that seem-
ed to us very much like tumbling heels
over head. He let go his axe and left
it behind, but it overtook him and bat-
ted him heartily. He and it traveled in
this fashion for some hundreds of feet,
and at last subsided into the rocks at the
bottom. In a few moments we were re-
assured as to his safety by hearing him
ironically request us not to keep him
waiting down there.

We others followed the tracks shown
by the dotted line upon the engraving
(making zigzags to avoid the little groups
of rocks which jutted through the snow,
by which Walker had been upset), de-
• scended by a sitting glissade, and re-
joined our friend at the bottom. We
then turned sharply to the left, and
tramped down the summit ridge of an
old moraine of great size. Its mud was
excessively hard, and where some large
erratic blocks lay perched upon its crest
we were obliged to cut steps (in the mud)
with our ice-axes.

Guided by the sound of a distant
"moo," we speedily found the highest
chalets in the valley, named Rieu Blanc.
They were tenanted by three old women
(who seemed to belong to one of the
missing links sought by naturalists)
destitute of all ideas except in regard to
cows, and who spoke a barbarous patois
wellnigh unintelligible to the Savoyard
Croz. • They would not believe that we
had passed between the Aiguilles : '* It is
impossible, the cows never go there."
" Could we get to La Grave over yonder
ridge ?" "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 the
Aiguilles d'Arve, and, according to our
united opinion, the central one was as
inaccessible from this direction as from
the east, north or south. On the follow-
ing day we saw them again, from a
height of about eleven thousand feet, in
a south-easterly direction, and our opin-
ion remained unchanged.

We saw (on June 20-22) the central
Aiguille from all sides, and very nearly
completely round the southernmost one.
The northern one we also saw on all
sides excepting from the north. (It is,
however, precisely from this direction
M. 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 actual
summit. This is formed of two curious
prongs or pinnacles of rock, and we do
not understand in what way they (or
either of them) can be ascended; nor
shall we be surprised if this ascent is
discovered to have been made in spirit
rather than body — in fact, in the same
manner as the celebrated ascent of
Mont 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 as
anything I have seen. They are the
highest summits between the valleys of
the Romanche and the Arc: they are
placed slightly to the north of the wa-
tershed between those two valleys, and
a line drawn through them runs pretty
nearly north and south.

We descended by a rough path from
Rieu Blanc to the chalets of La Sausse,
which give the name to the Vallon or
Ravine de la Sausse in which they are
situated. This is one of the numerous
branches of the valley that leads to St.
Jean d'Arve, and subsequently to St.
Jean de Maurienne.

Two passes, more or less known, lead
from this valley to the village of La
Grave (on the Lautaret road) in the val-
ley of the Romanche — viz., the Col de
rinfernet and the Col de Martignare.
The former pass was crossed just thirty
years ago by J. D. Forbes, and was
mentioned by him in his Norway and

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its Glaciers, The latter one lies to the
north of the former, and is seldom trav-
ersed by tourists, but it was convenient
for us, and we set out to cross it on the
morning of the 22d, after having passed
a comfortable but not luxurious night in
the hay at La Sausse, where, however,
the simplicity of the accommodation
was more than counterbalanced by the
civility and hospitality of the people in
charge.*

We left the chalets at 4.1 5 A. M. under
a shower of good wishes from our host-
esses, proceeded at first toward the up-
per end of the ravine, then doubled
back up a long buttress which projects
in an unusual way, and went toward the
Col de Martignare ; but before arriving
at its summit we again doubled and re-
sumed the original course. At 6 A. M.
we stood on the watershed, and followed
it toward the east, keeping for some dis-
tance strictly to the ridge, and afterward
diverging a littie to the south to avoid a
considerable secondary aiguille, which
prevented a straight track being made
to the summit at which we were aiming.
At 9. 1 5 we stood on its top, and saw at
once the lay of the land.

We were very fortunate in the selec-
tion of our summit. Not to speak of
other things, it gaye a grand view of the
ridge which culminates in the peak call-
ed La Meije (13,080 feet), which used
to be mentioned by travelers under the
name 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 as
to 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 people
in the world." " Yes," I said, ** they were primitive,
certainly." But he was serious, and went on :
*• Yes, real brave people ;" and slapping his knee to
give emphasis, " 6ut that they are first-rate for
minding the cows t"

After this he became communicative. "You
thought, 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 nty
cows, a hundred of them altogether." " Why, you
are 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 outward
appearance) confessed to being worth four thousand
pounds.

is the last, the only, great Alpine peak
which has never known the foot of man, •
and one cannot speak in exaggerated
terms of its jagged ridges, torrential gla-
ciers and tremendous precipices. But
were I to discourse upon these things
without the aid of pictures, or to en-
deavor to convey in words a sense of
the loveliness of curves, of the beauty
of color or of the harmonies of sound,
I should try to accomplish that which is
impossible, and at the best should suc-
ceed in but giving an impression that
the things spoken of may have been
pleasant to hear or to behold, although
they are perfecdy incomprehensible to
read about. Let me therefore avoid
these things, not because I have no love
for or thought of them, but because they
cannot be translated into language ; and
presently, when topographical details
must of necessity be returned to again,
I will endeavor to relieve the poverty
of the pen by a free use of the pencil.

Whilst we sat upon the Aiguille de la
Sausse our attention was concentrated
on a point that was immediately oppo-
site — on a gap or cleft between the Meije
and the mountain called the Rateau. It
was, indeed, in order to have a good
view of this place that we made the
ascent of the Aiguille. It (that is, the
gap itself) looked, as my companions
remarked, obtrusively and offensively a
pass. It had not been crossed, but it
ought to have been ; and this seemed to
have been recognized by the natives, who
called it, very appropriately, the Breche
de la Meije. It led to La B^rarde, a
miserable village, without interest, with-
out commerce, and almost without popu-
lation. Why, then, did we wish to cross
it ? Because we were bound to the Pointe
des ficrins, to which La B6rarde was the
nearest inhabited place.

When we sat upon the Aiguille de la
Sausse we were rather despondent about
our prospects of crossing the Breche,
which seemed to present a combination
of all that was formidable. There was
evidently but one way by which it could
be approached. We saw that at the top
of the pass there was a steep wall of
snow or ice (so steep that it was most

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likely ice), protected at its base by a big
schrund or moat, which severed it from
the snow-fields below. Then (tracking
our course downward) we saw undulat-
ing snow-fields leading down to a great
glacier. The snow-fields would be easy
work, but the glacier was riven and
broken in every direction, huge crevasses
seemed to extend entirely across it in
some places, and everywhere it had that
strange twisted look which tells of the
unequal motion of the ice. Where
could we get on to it? At its base it
came to a violent end, being cut short
by a cliff, over which it poured periodical
avalanches, as we saw by a great trian-
gular bed of debris below. We could
not venture there — the glacier must be
taken in fiank. But on which side?
Not on the west — no one could climb
those cliffs. It must, if anywhere, be
by the rocks on the east, and they looked
as if they were roches moutonnees.

So we hurried down to La Grave, to
hear what Melchior Anderegg (who had
just passed through the village with the
family 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 well
known as the name of Napoleon. Mel-
chior, too, is an emperor in his way — a
very prince among guides. His empire
is amongst the "eternal snows" — his
sceptre is an ice-axe.

Melchior Anderegg — more familiarly
and perhaps more generally known sim-
ply as Melchior — ^was born at Zaun, near
Meiringen, on April 6, 1828. He was
first brought into public notice in H inch-
cliff 's Summer Months in the Alps, and
was known to very few persons at the
time that little work was published. In
1855 he was "Boots" at the Grimsel ho-
tel, and in those days when he went
out on expeditions it was for the benefit
of his master, the proprietor : Melchior
himself only got the trinkgelt. In 1856
he migrated to the Schwarenbach inn
on the Gemmi, where he employed his
time in carving objects for sale. In 1858
he made numerous expeditions with
Messrs. Hinchcliff and Stephen, and
6

proved to his employers that he possess-
ed first-rate skill, indomitable courage
and an admirable character. His posi-
tion has never been doubtful since that
year, and for a longtime there has been
no guide whose services have been more
in request : he is usually engaged a year
in 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. I
believe that no accident has ever be-
fallen travelers in his charge. Like his
friend Aimer, he can be called a safe
man. It is the highest praise that can
be given to a first-rate guide.

Early in the afternoon we found our-
selves in the little inn at La Grave, on
the 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 is
possible, but that it will be very difficult."
His opinion coincided with ours, and we
went to sleep, expecting to be afoot
about eighteen or twenty hours on the
morrow.

At 2.40 the next morning we left La
Grave, in a few minutes crossed the Ro-
manche, and at 4 A. m. got to the mo-
raine of the eastern branch of the glacier
that descends from the Breche.* The
rocks by which we intended to ascend
were placed
between the
two branches
of this glacier,
and still looked
smooth and un-
broken. But
by five o'clock
we were upon
them. We had
been deluded
by them. No
carpenter could
have planned
a more conve-
nient staircase.
They were not
moutonne:
their smooth
look from a dis-
tance was only
owing to their
singular firm-
ness. In an
hour we had
risen above the
most crevassed
portion of the
glacier, and be-
gan to look for
a way on to it. Just at the right place
there was a patch of old snow at the
side, and, instead'of gaining the ice by
desperate acrobatic feats, we passed from
the rocks on to it as easily as one walks
across a gangway. At half-past six we
were on the centre of the glacier, and
the inhabitants of La Grave turned out
en masse into the road and watched us

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

SCALE, THREE MILES TO AN
INCH.

with amazement as they witnessed the
falsification of their confident predic-
tions. Well might they stare, for our little
caravan, looking to them like a train of
flies on a wall, crept up and up, without
hesitation and without a halt — lost to
their sight one minute as it dived into a
crevasse, then seen again clambering
up the other side. The higher we rose
the easier became the work, the angles
lessened and our pace increased. The
snow remained shadowed, and we walk-
ed as easily as on a high road; and
when (at 7.45) the summit of the Breche
was seen, we rushed at it as furiously as
if it had been a breach in the wall of
a fortress, carried the moat by a dash,
with a push behind and a pull before,
stormed the steep slope above, and at
8.50 stood in the litde gap, 11,054 feet
above the level of the sea. The Breche
was won. Well might they stare — five
hours and a quarter had sufficed for
sixty-five hundred feet of ascent.f We
screamed triumphantiy as they turned
in to breakfast.

Our day's work was as good as over
(for we knew from Messrs. Mathews and
Bonney that there was no difficulty upon
the other side), and we abandoned our-
selves to ease and luxury; wondering
alternately, as we gazed upon the Rateau
and the £crins, how the one mountain
could possibly hold itself together, and
whether the other would hold out against
us. The former looked so rotten that it
seemed as if a puff of wind or a clap
of thunder might dash the whole fabric
to pieces, while the latter asserted itself
the monarch of the group, and towered
head and shoulders above all the rest
of the peaks which form the great horse-
shoe of Dauphine. At length a cruel
rush of cold air made us shiver, and
shift our quarters to a little grassy plot
three thousand feet below — an oasis in
a desert — ^where we lay nearly four hours
admiring 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 is
usually accomplished on great Alpine ascents.

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

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ed down the Vallon des foan9ons, a
howling wilderness, the abomination of
desolation ; destitute alike of animal or
vegetable life ; pathless, of course ; sug-
gestive of chaos, but of little else ; cov-
ered almost throughout its entire length
with debris, from the size of a walnut
up to that of a house : in a word, it
iooked as if half a dozen moraines of
first-rate dimensions had been carted
and shot into it. Our tempers were
soured by constant pitfalls : it was im-
possible to take the eyes from the feet,

and if an unlucky individual so much
as blew his nose without standing still to
perform the operation, the result was
either an instantaneous tumble or a
barked shin or a half-twisted ankle.
There was no end to it, and we became
more savage at every step, unanimously
agreeing that no power on earth would
ever induce us to walk up or down this
particular valley again. It was not just
to the valley, which was enclosed by
noble 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, would
be sought after and cited as types of
daring form and graceful outline.

CHAPTER IX.
THE ASCENT OF THE POINTE DES feCRINS.

Before five o'clock on the afternoon
of June 23 we were trotting down the

summit of La Meije right down to the Glacier des
iltan^ns (a depth of about thirty-two hundred feet),
the cliff is all but perpendicular, and appears to be
completely unassailable. The dimensions of these
pages are insufficient to do justice to this magnificent
wall, which is the most imposing of its kind that I
have seen ; otherwise It would have been engraved.

steep path that leads into La B^rarde.
We put up, of course, with the chasseur-
guide Rodier (who, as usual, was smooth
and smiling), and after congratulations
were over we returned to the exterior to
watch for the arrival of one Alexander
Pic, who had been sent overnight with
our baggage via Freney and Venos.
But when the night fell and no Pic ap-
peared, we saw that our plans must be
modified, for he was necessary to our
very existence : he carried our food, our
tobacco, our all. So, after some discus-
sion, it was agreed that a portion of our
programme should be abandoned, that

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the night of the 24th should be passed
at the head of the Glacier de la Bonne
Pierre, and that on the 25th a push
should be made for the summit of the
ficrins. We then went to straw.

Our porter Pic strolled in next morn-
ing with his usual jaunty air, and we
seized upon our tooth-brushes, but upon
looking 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 a
long rigmarole about a fit on the road,
of brigands, thieves, of their ransacking
the knapsacks when he was insensible,
and of finding them gone when he re-
vived. "Ah, Monsieur Pic ! we see what
it is — you have smoked them yourself!"
"Gentlemen, I never smoke — never P'
Whereupon we inquired secretly if he
was known to smoke, and found that he
was. However, he said that he had
never spoken truer words, and perhaps

THl
t

£ cl:ntk

AL DAUPlllM

£ ALl'S.

htiH A0UTJL3

■ ILILk^h aiUhAlB

1m 1

he had not, for he is reported to be the
greatest liar in Dauphine !

We were now able to start, and set
out at 1. 1 5 p. M. to bivouac upon the
Glacier de la Bonne Pierre, accompanied
by Rodier, who staggered under a load
of blankets. Many slopes had to be
mounted, and many torrents to be cross-
ed, all of which have been described by
Mr. Tuckett. We, however, avoided
the difficulties he experienced with the
latter by crossing them high up, where
they were subdivided. But when we got
on to the moraine on the right bank of
the 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 we
then joined round a grand fire made by
our men. Fortnum & Mason's portable
soup was sliced up and brewed, and was
excellent ; but it should be said that be-
fore it was excellent three times the
quantity named in the directions had to
be used. Art is required in drinking as
in making this soup, and one point is
this : 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 bum
the mouth if taken too hot, and one
drink of the bottom is worth two of the
top, as all the goodness settles.

While engaged in these operations the
mist that enveloped the glacier and sur-
rounding peaks was becoming thinner :
little bits of blue sky appeared here and
there, 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-sinking
sun. We were so electrified by the glqry
of the sight that it was some seconds
before we realized what we saw, and
understood that that astounding point,
removed apparently miles from the
earth, was one of the highest summits
of Les fecrins, and that we hoped, be-
fore another sun had set, to stand upon
an even loftier pinnacle. The mists rose
and fell, presenting us with a series of
dissolving views of ravishing grandeur,
and finally died away, leaving the glacier
and its mighty bounding precipices un-
der an exquisite pale blue sky, free from
a 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 is
frequently noticeable in the High Alps.
On the previous night we had hung up
on a knob of rock our mackintosh bag
containing five bottles of Rodier's bad
wine. In the morning, although the
stopper appeared to have been in all
night, about four-fifths had evaporated.
It was strange : my friends had not taken
any, neither had I, and the guides each
declared that they had not seen any one
touch it. In fact, it was clear that there
was no explanation of the phenomenon
but in the dryness of the air. Still, it is
remarkable that the dryness of the air
(or the evaporation of wine) is always
greatest when a stranger is in one's
party : the dryness caused by the pres-
ence of even a single Chamounix porter
is sometimes so great that not four-fifths
but the entire quantity disappears. For

a time I found difficulty in combating
this phenomenon, but at last discovered
that if I used the wine-flask as a pillow
during the night the evaporation was
completely stopped.

At 4 A. M. we moved off across the
glacier in single file toward the foot of a
great gully which led from the upper
slopes of the Glacier de la Bonne Pierre
to the lowest point in the ridge that runs
from the fecrins to the mountain called
Roche Faurio — cheered by Rodier, who
now returned with his wraps to La
Berarde.

By five minutes to six we were at the
top of the gully (a first-rate couloir about
one thousand feet high), and within sight
of our work. Hard, thin and wedge-
like as the fecrins had looked from afar,
it had never looked so hard and so thin
as it did when we emerged from the top
of the couloir through the gap in the
ridge: no tender shadows spoke of
broad and rounded ridges, but sharp
and shadowless its serrated edges stood
out against the clear sky. It had been
said that the route must be taken by one
of the ridges of the final peak, but both
were alike repellent, hacked and notched
in numberless places. They reminded
me of my failure on the Dent d'Herens
in 1863, and of a place on a similar ridge
from which advance or retreat was alike
difficult. But, presuming one or other of
these ridges or aretes to be practicable,
there remained the task of getting to
them, for completely round the base of
the final peak swept an enormous berg-
schrund, almost separating it from the
slopes which lay beneath. It was evi-
dent thus early that the ascent would
•not be accomplished without exertion,
and that it would demand all our facul-
ties and all our time. In more than one
respect we were favored. The mists
were gone, the day w*as bright and per-
fectly calm, there had been a long stretch
of fine weather beforehand, and the snow
was in excellent order; and, most im-
portant of all, the last new snow which
had fallen on the final peak, unable to
support itself, had broken away and roll-
ed in a mighty avalanche over schrund,
n6v6, s6racs, over hills and valleys in

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

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

almost a road, over which, for part of
the way at least, we might advance with
rapidity.

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 the
col, started again at half-past six, and
made direct for the left side of the
schrund, for it was there alone that a
passage was practicable. We crossed it
at 8.IO. Our route can now be followed
upon the annexed outline. The arrow

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

the map at
iJ4, leading
Roche Fau-
rio toward the
W.NAV, We ar-
rived upon the
plateau of the Gla-
cier de I'Encula, behind this ridge, from
the direction of D, and then made a
nearly straight track to the left hand of
the bergschrund at A.

Thus far there was no trouble, but the
nature of the work changed immediately.
If we regard the upper seven hundred
feet alone of the final peak of the £crins,
it may be described as a three-sided
pyramid. One face is toward the Glacier
Noir, and forms one of the sheerest pre-
cipices in the Alps. Another is toward the
Glacier du Vallon, and is less steep and
less uniform in angle than the first. The
third is toward the Glacier de I'Encula,
and it was by this one we approached
the summit. Imagine a triangular plane
seven hundred or eight hundred feet
high, set at an angle exceeding 50° ; let
it be smooth, glassy ; let the uppermost
edges be cut into spikes and teeth, and
let them be bent, some one way, some
another. Let the glassy face be covered
with minute fragments of rock, scarcely
attached, but varnished with ice : imag-
ine this, and then you will have a very
faint idea of the face of the fecrins on
which we stood. It was not possible to
avoid detaching stones, which, as they

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fell, caused words unmentionable to rise.
The greatest friends would have reviled
each other in such a situation. We
gained the eastern arete, and endeav-
ored for half an hour to work upward
toward the summit, but it was useless
(each yard of progress cost an incredi-
ble time) ; and having no desire to form
the acquaintance of the Glacier Noir in
a precipitate manner, we beat a retreat
and returned to the schrund. We again
held a council, and it was unanimously
decided that we should be beaten if we
could not cut along the upper edge of
the schrund, and, when nearly beneath
the summit, work up to it. So Croz took
off his -coat and went to work, on ice —
not that black ice so often mentioned
and so seldom seen, but on ice as hard
as ice could be. Weary work for the
guides. Croz cut for more than half an
hour, and we did not seem to hare ad-
vanced at all. Some one behind, see-
ing how great the labor was and how
slow the progress, suggested that after
all we might do better on the arete.
Croz*s blood was up, and, indignant at
this slight on his powers, he ceased
working, turned in his steps, and rushed
toward me with a haste that made me
$hudder : " By all means let us go there !
— ^the sooner the better.'* No slight was
intended, and he resumed his work, after
a time being relieved by Aimer. Half-
past ten came: an hour had passed —
they were still cutting. Dreary work for
us, for there was no capering about to
be done here ; hand as well as foot holes
were necessary ; the fingers and toes got
very cold; the ice, as it boomed in
bounding down the bergschrund, was
very suggestive ; conversation was very
restricted, separated as we were by our
tether of twenty feet apiece. Another
hour passed. We were now almost im-
mediately below the summit, and we
stopped to look up. We were nearly as
far off it (vertically) as we had been
more than three hours before. The day
seemed going against us. The only
rocks near at hand were scattered, no
bigger than tea-cups, and most of these,
we found afterward, were glazed with
ice. Time forbade cutting right up to

the summit, even had it been possible,
which it was not. We decided to go up
to the ridge again by means of the rocks,
but had we not had a certain confidence
in each other, it unquestionably would
not have been done ; for this, it must be
understood, was a situation where not
only might a. slip have been fatal to
every one, but it would have been so
beyond doubt : nothing, moreover, was
easier than to make one. It was a place
where all had to work in unison, wheie
there must be no slackening of tiic rope
and no unnecessary tenskw. For an-
other hour we were m this trying situa-
tion, and at 12.5D we gained the arete
again, but at a much higher point ( B ),
close to the summit. Our men were, I
am afraid, wellnigh worn out: cutting
op a couloir one thousand feet high was
not the right sort of preparation for work
of this kind. Be it so or not, we were
all glad to rest for a short time, for we
had not sat down a minute since leaving
the col, six hours before. Aimer, how-
ever, was restless, knowing that mid-day
was past, and that much remained to be
accomplished, and untied himself and
commenced working toward the summit.
Connecting the teeth of rock were beds
of snow, and Aimer, but a few feet from
me, was crossing the top of one of these,
when suddenly, without a moment's
warning, it broke away under him and
plunged down on to the glacier. As he
staggered for a second, one foot in the
act of stepping and the other on the fall-
ing mass, I thought him lost, but he
happily fell on to the right side and stop-
ped himself. Had he taken the step
with his right instead of his left foot,
he would, in all probability, have fallen
several hundred feet without touching
anything, and would not have been ar-
rested before reaching the glacier, a ver-
tical distance of at least three thousand
feet.

Small, ridiculously small, as the dis-
tance was to the summit, we were occu-
pied nearly another hour before it was
gained. Aimer was i few feet in front,
and he, with characteristic modesty,
hesitated to step on the highest point,
and drew back to allow us to pass. A

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86c>-'69.

cry was raised for Croz, who had done
the chief part of the work, but he de-
clined the honor, and we marched on to
the top simultaneously — that is to say,
clustered round it, a yard or two below,
for it was much too small to get upon.

According to my custom, I bagged a
piece from off the highest rock (chlorite
slate), and I found afterward that it had
a striking similarity to the final peak of
the jfecrins. I have noticed the same

FRAGMENT FKOM THE SUMMIT OF THE POINTK
DBS 6CRINS.

thing on other occasions, and it is worthy
of remark that not only do fragments of
such rock as limestone often present the
characteristic forms of the cliffs from
which they have been broken, but that
morsels of mica slate will represent, in
a wonderful manner, the identical shape
of the peaks of which they have formed
part. Why should it not be so if the
mountain's mass is more or less homo-
geneous ? The same causes which pro-
duce the small forms fashion the large
ones : the same influences are at work —
the same frost and rain give shape to the
mass as well as to its parts.

Did space permit me, I could give but
a sorry idea of the view, but it will be
readily imagined that a panorama ex-
tending over as much ground as the
whole of England is one worth taking
some trouble to see, and one which is
not often to be seen even in the Alps.
No clouds obscured it, and a list of the

summits that we saw would include
nearly 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. It
is a splendid mountain, although in
height it is equaled, if not surpassed, by
its neighbor, the Alefroide.

We could stay on the summit but a
short time, and at a quarter to two pre-
pared for the descent. Now, as we look-
ed down, and thought of yvhat we had
passed over in coming up, we one and all
hesitated about returning the same way.
Moore said. No. Walker said the same,
and I ton — ^the guides were both of the
same mind: this, be it remarked, al-
though we had considered that there
was no chance whatever of getting up
any other way. But those "last rocks "
were not to be forgotten. Had they but
protruded to a moderate extent, or had
they been merely glazed, we should
doubtless still have tried ; but they were
not reasonable rocks — they would neither
allow us to hold nor would do it them-
selves. So we turned to the western
arete, trusting to luck that we should
find a way down to the schrund, and
some means of getting over it afterward.
Our faces were a tolerable index to our
thoughts, and apparently the thoughts
of the party were not happy ones. Had
any one then said to me, "You are a
great fool for coming here," I should
have answered with humility, " It is too
true." And had my monitor gone on to
say, " Swear you will never ascend an-
other mountain if you get down safely,"
I am inclined to think I should have
taken the oath. In fact, the game here
was not worth the risk. The guides felt
it as well as ourselves, and as Aimer led
off he remarked, with more piety than
logic, "The good God has brought us
up, and he will take us down in safety ;"
which showed pretty well what he was
thinking about.

The ridge down which we now en-
deavored to make our way was not in-
ferior in difficulty to the other. Both
were serrated to an extent that made it
impossible to keep strictly to them, and
obliged us to descend occasionally for

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE

some distance on the northern face and
then mount again. Both were so rotten
that the most experienced of our party,
as well as the least, continually upset
blocks large and small. Both aretes
were so narrow, so thin, that it was often
a matter for speculation on which side
an unstable block would fall.

At one point it seemed that we should
be obliged to return to the summit and
try the other way down. We were on
the very edge of the arete : on one side
was the enormous precipice facing the
Pelvoux, which is not far from perpen-
dicular—on the other a slope exceeding
50°. A deep notch brought us to an
abrupt halt. Aimer, who was leading,
advanced cautiously to the edge on his
hands and knees and peered over : his
care was by no means unnecessary, for
the rocks had broken away from under
us 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 have
expressed apprehension or alarm, but it
certainly did not show hope or joy. We
learned 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 was
decided 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 a
large mass with both arms and brought
himself to anchor. That which was
both difficult and dangerous for the first
man was easy enough for the others,
and we got across with less trouble than
I expected, stimulated by Croz's perfect-
ly just observation, that if we couldn't
get across there we were not hkely to
get down the other way.

We had now arrived at C, and could
no longer continue on the ar€te, so we
commenced descending the face again.
Before long we were close to the schrund,
but unable to see what it was like at this
part, as the upper edge bent over. Two
hours had already passed since leaving
the summit, and it began to be highly
probable that we should have to spend
a night on the Glacier Blanc. Aimer,

^}P>-'i

who yet ledT ^tit ti tpa rtgfit down to the
edge, but still he could not see below :
therefore, warning us to hold tight, he
made his whole body rigid, and (stand-
ing in the large step which he had cut
for the purpose) had the upper part of
his person lowered out until he saw what
he wanted. He shouted that our work
was finished, made me come close to the
edge and untie myself, advanced the
others until he had rope enough, and
then with a loud jodel jumped down
on to soft snow. Partly by skill and
partly by luck he had hit the crevasse
at its easiest point, and we had only to
make a downward jump of eight or ten
feet.

It was now 4.45 p. M. : we had been
more than eight hours and a half ac-
complishing the ascent of the final peak,
which, according to an observation by
Mr. Bonney in 1862, is only 525 feet
high.* During this period we had not
stopped for more than half an hour, and
our nerves and muscles had been kept
at the highest degree of tension the
whole time. It may be imagined that
we accepted the ordinary conditions of
glacier traveling as an agreeable relief,
and that that which at another time
might have seemed formidable we treat-
ed as the veriest bagatelle. Late in the
day as it was, and soft as was the snow,
we put on such pace that we reached
the Col des £crins in less than forty
minutes. We lost no time in arranging
our baggage, for we had still to traverse
a long glacier, and to get dear of two
ice-falls before it was dark; so at 5.35
we resumed the march, adjourning eat-
ing and drinking, and put on a spurt
which took us clear of the Glacier Blanc
by 7.45 p. M. We got clear of the mo-
raine of the Glacier Noir at 8.45, just as
the last remnant of daylight vanished.
Croz and myself were a trifle in advance
of the others, and fortunately so for us ;
for as they were about to commence the
descent of the snout of the glacier, the
whole 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 have
been two hundred feet more.

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

face peeled off and came down with a
tremendous roar.

We had now the pleasure of walking
over a plain that is known by the name
of the Pre de Madame Carle, covered
with pebbles of all sizes and intersected
by numerous small streams or torrents.
Every hole looked like a stone, every
stone like a hole, and we tumbled about
from side to side until our limbs and our
tempers became thoroughly jaded. My
companions, being both short-sighted,
found the traveling especially disagree-
able; so there was little wonder that
when we came upon a huge mass of
rock as big as a house, which had fallen
from the flanks of Pelvoux, a regular
cube that offered no shelter whatever,
Moore cried out iiy ecstasy, "Oh, how
delightful ! the very thing I have been
longing for! Let us have a perfectly
extemporaneous bivouac.** This, it
should be said, was when the night
threatened thunder and lightning, rain
and all other delights.

The pleasures of a perfectly extem-
poraneous bivouac under these circum-
stances not being novelties to Croz and
myself, we thought we would try for the
miseries of a roof, but Walker and Ai-
mer, with their usual good-nature, de-
clared it was the very thing that they
too were longing for ; so the trio resolved
to stop. We generously left them all
the provisions (a dozen cubic inches or
thereabouts of bacon fat and half a can-
dle), and pushed on for the chalets of
A16froide, or at least we thought we did,
but could not be certain. In the course
of half an hour we got uncommonly
close to the main torrent, and Croz all
at once disappeared. I stepped cau-
tiously forward to peer down into the
place where I thought he was, and quiet-
ly tumbled head over heels into a big
rhododendron bush. Extricating my-
self with some trouble, I fell backward
over some rocks, and got wedged in a
cleft so close to the torrent that it splash-
ed all over me.

The colloquy which then ensued amid
the thundering of the stream was as
follows: "Hullo, Croz! "Eh, mon-
sieur?" "Where are you?" "Here,

monsieur. " " Where is here ?" * ' I don't
know : where are you ?" ** Here, Croz ;*'
and so on.

The fact was, from the intense dark-
ness and the noise of the torrent, we had
no idea of each other's situation : in the
course of ten minutes, however, we join-
ed together again, agreed we had quite
enough 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 which
Croz came out ! We were both very wet
about the legs, and both uncommonly
hungry, but the time passed pleasantly
enough round our fire of juniper, and
until long past midnight we sat up
recounting, over our pipes, wonderful
stories of the most incredible descrip-
tion, in which, I must admit, my com-
panion beat me hollow. Then throwing
ourselves on our beds of rhododendron,
we slept an untroubled sleep, and rose
on a bright Sunday morning as fresh as
might be, intending to enjoy a day's rest
and luxury with our friends at La Ville
de Val Louise.

I have failed to give the impression I
wish if it has not been made evident
that the ascent of the Pointe des ficrins
was not an ordinary piece of work.
There is an increasing disposition now-
a-days, amongst those who write on the
Alps, to underrate the difficulties and
dangers which are met with, and this
disposition is, I think, not less mischiev-
ous than the old-fashioned style of mak-
ing everything terrible. Difficult as we
found the peak, I believe we took it at
the best, perhaps the only possible, tinae'
of the year. The great slope on which
we spent so much time was, from being
denuded by the avalanche of which I
have spoken, deprived of its greatest
danger. Had it had the snow still rest-
ing upon it, and had we persevered with
the expedition, we should almost without
doubt have ended with calamity instead
of success. The ice of that slope is
always below, its angle is severe, and
the rocks do not project sufficiently to
afford the support that snow requires to
be stable when at a great angle. So far
am I from desiring to tempt any one to

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

repeat the expedition, that I put it on
record as my belief, however sad and
however miserable a man may have
been, if he is found on the summit of

the Pointe des jfecrins after a fall of new
snow, he is likely to experience misery
far deeper than anything with which he
has 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 for
the path, travel would be scarcely
more easy than over the Pre de Madame
Carle. The valley is strewn with im-
mense masses of gneiss, from the size
of a large house downward, and it is
only occasionally that rock in situ is
seen, 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 and
bright. Golden sunlight had dispersed
the clouds and was glorifying the heights,
and we forgot hunger through the bril-
liancy of the morning and beauty of the
mountains.

•We meant the 26th to be a day of rest,
but it was little that we found in the
cabaret of Claude Giraud, and we fled
before the babel of sound which rose in
intensity as men descended to a depth
which is unattainable by the beasts of
the field, and found at the chalets of
Entraigues the peace that had been de-
nied to us at Val Louise.

Again we were received with the most
cordial hospitality. Everything that was
eatable or drinkable was brought out

and pressed upon us ; very litde curiosity
was exhibited ; all information that could
be afforded was given; and when we
retired to our clean straw we again con-
gratulated each other that we had es-
caped from the foul den which is where
a good inn should be, and had cast in
our lot with those who dwell in chalets.
Very luxurious that straw seemed after
two nights upon quartz pebbles and
glacier mud, and I felt quite aggrieved
(expecting it was the summons for de-
parture) when, about midnight, the heavy
wooden door creaked on its hinges, and
a man hem'd and ha*d to attract atten-
tion ; but when it whispered, " Monsieur
Edvard," I perceived my mistake: it
was our Pelvoux companion, Monsieur
Reynaud, the excellent agent-voyer of
La Bess6e.

Monsieur Reynaud had been invited
to accompany us on the excursion that
is described in this chapter, but had ar-
rived at Val Louise after we had left,
and had energetically pursued us during
the night Our idea was, that a pass
might be made over the high ridge call-
ed (on the French map) Crete de Boeufs
Rouges, near to the peak named Les
Bans, which might be the shortest route
in time (as it certainly would be in dis-

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

tance) from Val Louise across the cen-
tral Dauphin6 Alps. We had seen the
northern (or Pilatte) side from the Br^che
de la Meije, and it seemed to be practi-
cable at one place near the above-men-
tioned mountain. More than that could
not be told at a distance of eleven miles.
We intended to try to hit a point on the
ridge immediately above the part where
it seemed to be easiest.

W^e left Entraigues at 3.30 on the
morning of June 27, and proceeded, over
very gently-inclined ground, toward the
foot of the Pic de Bonvoisin (following,
in fact, the route of the Col de Sellar,
which leads from the Val Louise into
the 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 route
was to be taken, sent Aimer up the lower
slopes of the Bonvoisin to reconnoitre.
He telegraphed that we might proceed,
and at 5.45 we quitted the snow-beds at
the bottom of the valley for the slopes
which rose toward the north.

The course was north-north-west, and
was prodigiously steep. In less than two
miles difference of latitude we rose one
mile of absolute height. But the route
was so far from being an exceptionally
difficult one that at 10.45 we stood on
the summit of the pass, having made an
ascent of more than five thousand feet
in five hours, inclusive of halts.

Upon the French map a glacier is laid
down on the south of the Crete des
Bceufs Rouges, extending along the en-
tire length of the ridge, at its foot, from
east to west. In 1864 this glacier did
not exist as one glacier, but in the place
where it should have been there were
several 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 10,073
feet (Forbes). I was told by peasants at Entraigues
that 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 the
time 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 that
year.

Val d' Entraigues to the west of the most
western of these small glaciers, and
quitted the valley by the first great gap
in 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 led
with admirable skill through a maze of
crevasses up to the foot of a great snow-
couloir that rose from the head of the
glacier to the summit of the ridge over
which we had to pass.

We had settled beforehand in Lon-
don, without knowing anything whatever
about the place, that such a couloir as
this should be in this angle ; but when
we got into the Val d' Entraigues, and
found that it was not possible to see into
the 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 us
that we were true prophets.

Snow - couloirs are nothing more or
less than gullies partly filled by snow.
They are most useful institutions, and
may be considered as natural highways
placed, by a kind Providence, in con-
venient situations for getting over places
which would otherwise be inaccessible.
They are a joy to the mountaineer, and,
from afar, assure him of a path when all
besides is uncertain ; but they are grief
to 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 not
know the virtues of couloirs than such
a place as the engraving represents,^
and if persons inexperienced in moun-
tain-craft had occasion to cross a ridge
or to climb rocks in which there were
such couloirs, they would instinctively
avoid them. But practiced mountaineers
would naturally look to them for a path,
and would follow them almost as a mat-
ter of course, unless they turned out to
be filled with ice or too much swept by

I This drawing was made to illustrate the remarks
which follow. It does not represent any particular
couloir, but it would serve, tolerably well, as a por-
trait of the one which we ascended when crossing the
Col de Pilatte.

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86c>-'69.

falling stones, or the rock at the sides
proved to be of such an exceptional
character as to afford an easier path
than the snow.

Couloirs look prodigiously steep
when seen from the front, and, so
viewed, it is impossible to be certain
of 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 sucli
angles, two men with proper axes
can mount on snow at the rate of
seven hundred to eight hundred feet
per hour. The same amount can
only be accomplished in the same
time on steep rocks when they are
of the very easiest character, and
four or five hours may be readily
spent upon an equal height of dif-
ficult rocks. Snow - couloirs are
therefore to be commended because
they economize time.

Of course, in all gullies one is
liable to be encountered by falliii^^
stones. Most of those which fall
from the rocks of a couloir sooner
or later spin down the snow which
fills the trough, and as their coursi;
and pace are more clearly apparent
when falling over snow than when
jumping from ledge to ledge, per-
sons with lively imaginations are
readily impressed by them. The
grooves which are usually seen wan-
dering down the length of snow-
couloirs are deepened (and perhaps
occasionally originated) by falling

ly only gutters, caused by water trick-
ling off the rocks. Whether this is so
or not, one should always consider the

stones, and they are
sometimes pointed out by cautious men
as reasons why couloirs should not be
followed. I think they are very frequent-

possibility of being struck
by falling stones, and, in order to lessen
the risk as far as possible, should mount
upon the sides of the snow and not up
its centre. Stones that come off the rocks
then ff y over one's head or bound down
the middle of the trough at safe distance.

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

At 9.30 A. M. we commenced the ascent
of the couloir leading from the nameless
glacier ta~a point in the ridge, just to the
east of Mont Bans. So far, the route had
been nothing more than a steep grind in
an angle where little could be seen, but
now views opened out in several direc-
tions, and the way began to be interest-
ing. It was more so, perhaps, to us than
to our companion, M. Reynaud, who had
no rest in the last night. He was, more-
over, heavily laden. Science was to be
regarded — ^his pockets were stuffed with
books; heights and angles were to be
observed — ^his knapsack was filled with
instruments ; hunger was to be guarded
against — his shoulders were ornamented
with a huge nimbus of bread, and a leg
of mutton swung behind from his knap-
sack, looking like an overgrown tail.
Like a good -hearted fellow, he had
brought this food, thinking we might be
in need of it. As it happened, we were
well provided for, and, having our own
packs to carry, could not relieve him of
his superfluous burdens, which, natural-
^ ly, he did not like to throw away. As
the angles steepened the strain on his
strength became more and more appa-
rent. At last he began to groan. At
first a most gentle and mellow groan,
but as we rose so did his groans, till at
last the cliffs were groaning in echo and
we 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 of
our pass, intending to refresh ourselves
with a good halt ; but just at that mo-
ment a mist, which had been playing
about the ridge, swooped down and
blotted out the whole of the view on the
northern side. Croz was the only one
who caught a glimpse of the descent,
and it was deemed advisable to push on
immediately while its recollection was
fresh in his memory. We are conse-
quently unable to tell anything about
the summit of the pass, except that it lies
immediately to the east of Mont Bans,
and is elevated about eleven thousand
three hundred feet above the level of the
sea. It is the highest pass in Dauphin^.
We called it the Col de Pilatte.

. We commenced to descend toward
the Glacier de Pilatte by a slope of
smooth ice, the face of which, according
to the measurement of Mr. Moore, had
an inclination of 54° ! Croz still led, and
the others followed at intervals of about
fifteen feet, all being tied together, and
Aimer occupying the responsible position
of last man : the two guides were there-
fore about seventy feet apart. They
were quite invisible to each other from
the mist, and looked spectral even to us.
But the strong man could be heard by
all hewing out the steps below, while
every now and then the voice of the
steady man pierced the cloud: **Slip
not, dear sirs : place well your feet : stir
not until you are certain."

For three-quarters of an hour we pro-
gressed in this fashion. The axe of
Croz all at once stopped. "What is the
matter, Croz?" ** Bergschrund, gentle-
men." "Can we get over?" "Upon
my word, I don't know : I think we must
jump." The clouds rolled away right
and left as he spoke. The effect was
dramatic. It was a coup de theatre ^
preparatory to the "great sensation leap "
which was about to be executed by the
entire company.

Some unseen cause, some cliff or ob-
struction in the rocks underneath, had
caused our wall of ice to split into two
portions, and the huge fissure which had
thus been formed extended on each hand
as far as could be seen. We, on the
slope above, were separated from the
slope below by a mighty crevasse. No
running up and down to look for an
easier place to cross could be done on
an ice-slope of 54° : the chasm had to
be passed then and there.

A downward jump of fifteen or six-
teen feet, and a forward leap of seven
or eight feet, had to be made at the
same time. That is not much, you will
say. It was not much : it was not the
quantity, but it was the quality of the
jump which gave to it its particular
flavor. You had to hit a narrow ridge
of ice. If that was passed, it seemed
as if you might roll down for ever and
ever. 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."

Page 95.

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01 TEtS 4^

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though partly choked by icicles and
snow that had fallen from above, was
still gaping in many places, ready to
receive an erratic body.

Croz untied* Walker in order to get
rope enough, and, warning us to hold
fast, sprang over the chasm. He alight-
ed cleverly on his feet, untied himself
and sent up the rope to Walker, who
followed his example. It was then my
turn, and I advanced to the edge of the
ice. The second which followed was
what is called a supreme moment. That
is 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 prepared
to encourage my friend Reynaud.

He came to the edge and made decla-
rations. I do upt believe that he was
a whit more reluctant to pass the place
than we others, but he was infinitely
more demonstrative : in a word, he was
French. He wrung his hands : ** Oh
what a diable of a place !" ** It is noth-
ing, Reynaud," I said, "it is nothing."
"Jump !" cried the others, "jump !'* But
he turned round, as far as one can do
such a thing in an ice-step, and covered
his 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 to
Moore ; we saw Reynaud, a flying body,
coming down as if taking a header into
water, with arms and legs all abroad,
his leg of mutton flying in the air, his
baton escaped from his grasp ; and then
we 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 sorry
spectacle : his head was a great snow-
ball, brand) was trickling out of one
side of the knapsack, Chartreuse out of
the other. We bemoaned its loss, but
we roared with laughter.

I cannot close this chapter without
paying a tribute to the ability with which
Croz led us through a dense mist down
the remainder of the Glacier de Pilatte.

As an exhibition of strength and skill it
has probably never been surpassed in
the Alps or elsewhere. On this almost
unknown and very steep glacier he was
perfectly at home, even in the mists.
Never able to see fifty feet ahead, he
still went on with the utmost certainty
and without having to retrace a single
step, and displayed from first to last
consummate knowledge of the materials
with which he was dealing. Now he cut
steps down one side of a serac, went
with a dash at the other side, and hauled
us up after him ; then cut away along a
ridge until a point was gained from
which we could jump on to another
ridge; then, doubling back, found a
snow-bridge, across which he crawled
on hands and knees, towed us across by
the legs, ridiculing our apprehensions,
mimicking our awkwardness, declining
all help, bidding us only to follow him.

About I p. M. .we emerged from the
mist, and found ourselves just arrived
upon the level portion of the glacier,
having, as Reynaud properly remarked,
come down as quickly as if there had
not been any mist at all. Then we at-
tacked the leg of mutton which my
friend had so thoughtfully brought with
him, and afterward raced down, with
renewed energy, to La Berarde.

Reynaud and I walked together to
St. Christophe, where we parted. Since
then we have talked over the doings of
this momentous day, and I know that
he would not, for a good deal, have
missed the passage of the Col de Pilatte,
although we failed to make it an easier
or a shorter route than the Col du Sele.
I rejoined Moore and Walker the same
evening at Venos, and on the next day
went with them over the Lautaret road
to the hospice on its summit, where we
slept.

So our little campaign in Dauphine
came to an end. It was remarkable for
the absence of failures, and for the ease
and precision with which all our plans
were carried out. This was due very
much to the spirit of my companions,
but it was also owing to the fine weather
which we were fortunate enough to enjoy,
and to our making a very early start

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every morning. By beginning our work
at or before the break of day on the
longest days in the year, we were not
only able to avoid hurrying when de-
liberation was desirable, but could afford
to spend several hours in delightful ease
whenever the fancy seized us.

I cannot too strongly recommend tour-
ists in search of amusement to avoid
the inns of Dauphin^. Sleep in the
chalets. Get what food you can from
the inns, but by no means attempt to
pass a night in them. Sleep in them
you cannot. M. Joanne says that the
inventor of the insecticide powder was
a native of Dauphin^. I can well be-
lieve it. He must have often felt the
necessity of such an invention in his
infancy and childhood.

CHAPTER XI.

PASSAGE OF THE COL DE TRIOLET, AND
ASCENTS OF MONT DOLENT, AIGUILLE DE
TRfeLAT^TE AND AIGUILLE D'ARGENTIERE.

Ten years ago very few people knew
from personal knowledge how extremely
inaccurately the chain of Mont Blanc
was delineated. During the previous
half century thousands had made the
tour of the chain, and in that time at
least a thousand individuals had stood
upon its highest summit ; but out of all
this number there was not one capable,
willing or able to map the mountain
which, until recently, was regarded as
the highest in Europe.

Many persons knew that great blun-
ders had been perpetrated, and it was
notorious that even Mont Blanc itself
was represented in a ludicrously incor-
rect manner on all sides excepting the
north; but there was not, perhaps, a.
single individual who knew, at the time
to which I refer, that errors of no less
than one thousand feet had been com-
mitted in the determination of heights
at each end of the chain, that some gla-
ciers were represented of double their
real dimensions, and that ridges and
mountains were laid down which actually
had no existence.

One portion alone of the entire chain
had been surveyed, at the time of which

I speak, with anything like accuracy. It
was 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 year
1842 he "made a special survey of the
Mer de Glace of Chamounix and its
tributaries, which in some of the follow-
ing years he extended by furthei ob-
servations, so as to include the Glacier
des Bossons." The map produced fror
this survey was worthy of its author, and
subsequent explorers of the region he
investigated have been able to detect
only trivial inaccuracies in his work.

The district surveyed by Forbes re-
mained a solitary bright spot in a region
where all besides was darkness until the
year 1861. Praiseworthy attempts were
made by different hands to throw light
upon the gloom, but these efforts were
ineffectual, and showed how labor may
be thrown away by a number of obser-
vers working independently without the
direction of a single head.

In 1 86 1, Sheet xxii. of Dufour's Map
of Switzerland appeared. It included
the section of the chain of Mont Blanc
that belonged to Switzerland, and this
portion of the sheet was executed with
the admirable fidelity and thoroughness
which characterizes the whole of Du-
four's unique map. The remainder of
the chain (amounting to about four-fifths
of the whole) was laid down after the
work of previous topographers, *and its
wretchedness was made more apparent
by contrast with the finished work of the
Swiss surveyors.

Strong hands were needed to complete
the survey, and it was not long before
the right men appeared.

In 1863, Mr. Adams-Reilly, who had
been traveling in the Alps during sev-
eral years, resolved to attempt a survey
of the unsurveyed portions of the chain
of Mont Blanc. He provided himself
with a good theodolite, and, starting
from a base-line measured by Forbes in
the valley of Chamounix, determined
the positions of no less than two hun-
dred points. The accuracy of his work
may be judged from the fact that, after
having turned many corners and carried

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his observations over a distance of fifty
miles, his Col Ferret "fell within two
hundred yards of the position assigned
to it by General Dufour !'*

In the winter of 1863 and the spring
of 1864, Mr. Reilly constructed an en-
tirely original map from his newly-ac-
quired data. The spaces between his
trigonometrically-determined points he
filled in after photographs and a series of
panoramic sketches which he made from
his different stations. The map so pro-
duced was an immense advance upon
those already in existence, and it was
the first which exhibited the great peaks
in their proper positions.

This extraordinary piece of work re-
vealed Mr. Reilly to me as a man of
wonderful determination and persever-
ance. With very small hope that my
proposal would be accepted, I invited
him to take part in renewed attacks on
the Matterhorn. He entered heartily
into my plans, and met me with a coun-
ter-proposition — namely, that I should
accompany him on some expeditions
which he had projected in the chain of
Mont Blanc. The unwritten contract
took this form : I will help you to carry
out your desires, and you shall assist
me to carry out mine. 1 eagerly closed
with an arrangement in which all the
advantages were upon my side.

Before I pass on to these expeditions
it will be convenient to devote a few
paragraphs to the topography of the
chain of Mont Blanc.

At the present time the chain is di-
vided betwixt France, Switzerland and
Italy. France has the lion's share,
Switzerland the most fertile portion, and
Italy the steepest side. It has acquired
a reputation which is not extraordinary,
but which is not wholly merited. It has
neither the beauty of the Oberland nor
the sublimity of Dauphine. But it at-
tracts the vulgar by the possession of the
highest summit in the Alps. If that is
removed, the elevation of the chain is
in nowise remarkable. In fact, exclud-
ing Mont Blanc itself, the mountains of
which the chain is made up are less im-
portant than those of the Oberland and
the central Pennine groups.
7

The ascent of Mont Blanc has been
made from several directions, and per-
haps there is no single point of the com-
pass from which the mountain cannot be
ascended. But there is not the least
probability that any one will discover
easier ways to the summit than those
already known.

I believe it is correct to say that the
Aiguille du Midi and the Aiguille de
Miage were the only two summits in the
chain of Mont Blanc which had been
ascended at the beginning of 1864.*
The latter of these two is a perfectly in-
significant point, and the former is only
a portion of one of the ridges just now
mentioned, and can hardly be regard-
ed as a mountain separate and distinct
from 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 never
been assailed.

The finest as well as the highest peak
in the chain (after Mont Blanc itself) is
the Grandes Jorasses. The next, with-
out a doubt, is the Aiguille Verte. The
Aiguille de Bionnassay, which in actual
height follows the Verte, should be con-
sidered as a part of Mont Blanc ; and in
th^ same way the summit called Les
Droites is only a part of the ridge which
culminates in the Verte. The Aiguille
de Trelatete is the next on the list that
is entitled to be considered a separate
mountain, and is by far the most im-
portant peak (as well as the highest) at
the south-west end of the chain. Then
comes the Aiguille d'Argentiere, which
occupies the same rank at the north-east
end 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 the
Mont Dolent) look well from low eleva-
tions, and seem to possess a certain im-
portance, they sink into their proper
places directly one arrives at a consid-
erable altitude.

The summit of the Aiguille Verte would
have been one of the best stations out of
all these mountains for the purposes of
my friend. Its g^eat height and its iso-

* Besides Mont Blanc itself.

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

lated and commanding position make it
a most admirable point for viewing the
intricacies of the chain, but he exercised
a wise discretion in passing it by, and in
selecting as our first excursion the pas-
sage of the Col de Triolet.

We slept under some big rocks on the
Couvercle on the night of July 7, with
the thermometer at 26.5° Fahr., and at
4.30 on the 8th made a straight track to
the north of the Jardin, and thence went
in zigzags, to break the ascent, over the
upper slopes of the Glacier de Tal^fre
toward the foot of the Aiguille de Trio-
let. Croz was still my guide; Reilly
was accompanied by one of the Michel
Payots of Chamounix ; and Henri Char-
let, of the same place, was our porter.

The way was over an undulating plain
of glacier of moderate inclination until
the corner leading to the col, from
whence a steep secondary glacier led
down into the basin of the.Talefre. We
experienced no difficulty in making the
ascent of this secondary glacier with
such ice-men as Croz and Payot, and at
7.50 A. M. arrived on the top of the so-
called pass, at a height, according to
Mieulet, of 12,162 feet, and 4530 above
our camp on the Couvercle.

The descent was commenced by very
steep, firm rocks, and then by a branch
of the Glacier de Triolet. Schrunds*
were abundant : there were no less than
five extending completely across the
glacier, all of which had to be jumped.
Not one was equal in dimensions to the
extraordinary 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 us
with schrunds."

Several spurs run out toward the
south-east from the ridge at the head of
the Glacier de Triolet, and divide it into
a number of bays. We descended the
most northern of these, and when we
emerged from it on to the open glacier,
just at the junction of our bay with
the next one, we came across a most
beautiful 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 an
accident, and I have not seen its like
elsewhere. When I passed die spot in
1865 no vestige of it remained.

We flattered ourselves that we should
arrive at the chalets of Pr6 du Bar very
early in the day, but, owing to much
time being lost on the slopes of Mont
Rouge, it was nearly 4 p. m. before we
got to them. There were no bridges
across the torrent nearer than Gruetta,
and rather than descend so far we pre-
ferred to round the base of Mont Rouge
and to cross the snout of the Glacier du
Mont Dolent.

We occupied the 9th with the ascent
of the Mont Dolent. This was a minia-
ture ascent. It contained a little of
everything. First we went up to the
Col Ferret (No. i), and had a little grind
over shaly banks ; then there was a little
walk over grass ; then a little tramp
over a moraine (which, strange to say,
gave a pleasant path) ; then a little zig-
zagging over the snow-covered glacier
of Mont Dolent. Then there was a
htde bergschrund ; then a little wall of
snow, which we mounted by the side of
a little buttress; and when we struck
the ridge descending south-east from
the summit, we found a little arete of
snow leading to the highest point. The
summit itself was little — very small in-
deed : it was the loveliest little cone of
snow that was ever piled up on moun-
tain-top ; so soft, so pure, it seemed a
crime to defile it. It was a miniature
Jungfrau, a toy summit : you could cover
it with the hand.

But there was nothing little about the
view from the Mont Dolent. [Situated
at the junction of three mountain-ridges,
it rises in a positive steeple far above
anything in its immediate neighborhood,
and certain gaps in the surrounding
ridges, which seem contrived for that
especial purpose, extend the view in
almost every direction. The precipices
which descend to the Glacier d'Argen-
tiere I can only compare to those of the
Jungfrau, and the ridges ori both sides
of that glacier, especially the steep rocks
of Les Droites and Les Courtes, sur-

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN l86o-'69.

mounted by the sharp snow-peak of the
Aiguille Verte, have almost the effect of
the Grandes Jorasses. Then, framed as
it were between the massive tower of the
Aiguille de Triolet and the more distant
Jorasses, lies, without exception, the most
delicately beautiful picture I have ever
seen — the whole massif of Mont .Blanc,
raising its great head of snow far above
the tangled series of flying buttresses
which uphold the Monts Maudits, sup-
ported on the left by Mont Peuteret and
by the mass of ragged aiguilles which
overhangs the Brenva. This aspect of
Mont Blanc is not new, but from this
point its pose is unrivaled, and it has all
the superiority of a picture grouped by
the hand of a master. . . . The view is
as extensive as, and far more lovely
than, that from Mont Blanc itself.] *

We went down to Cormayeur, and pn
the afternoon of July lo started from
that place to camp on Mont Sue, for the
ascent of the Aiguille de Trelatete, hope-
ful that the mists which were hanging
about would clear away. They did not,
so we deposited ourselves and a vast
load of straw on the moraine of the Miage
Glacier, just above the Lac de Combal,
in a charming Utde hole which some
solitary shepherd had excavated beneath
a great slab of rock. We spent the night
there and the whole of the next day, un-
willing to run awa?y, and equally so to
get into difficulties by venturing into the
mist. It was a dull time, and I grew
restiess. Reilly read to me a lecture on
the excellence of patience, and composed
himself in an easy attitude to pore over
the pages of a yellow-covered book.
** Patience," I said to him viciously,.
** comes very easy to fellows who have
shilling novels, but I have not got one.
I have picked all the mud out of the
nails of my boots, and have skinned my
face : what shall I do ?" "Go and study
the moraine of the Miage," said he. I
went, and came back after an hour.
•* What news ?" cried Reilly, raising him-
self on his elbow. " Very litde : it's a
big moraine, bigger than I thought, with
ridge 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 have
been 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, who
was asleep,
and tickled
his nose with
a straw until
he awoke;
and then, as that amusement was play-
ed out, watched Reilly, who wa,s getting
numbed,
and shifted
uneasily
from side to
side, and
threw him-
self on his ^.;ri
stomach, "^
and rested,
his head on his elbows, and lighted his
pipe and puffed at it savagely. When
I looked
again, how
was Reilly?
An indistin-
guishable
heap — arms,
legs, head,
stones and straw, all mixed together, his
hat flung on one side, his novel tossed
far away!
Then I went
to him and
read him a
lecture on
the excel-
lence of pa-
tience.

Bah ! it was a dull time. Our moun-
tain, like a beautiful coquette, some-
times unveil-
ed herself
f o r a mo-
m e n t and
looked
charming
above, al-
though very mysterious below. It was
not until eventide she allowed us to ap-
proach her : then, as darkness came on,

^^^

-Hai^»-^/-

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

the curtains were withdrawn/ the light
drapery was hfted, and we stole up on
tiptoe through the grand portal framed
by Mont Sue. But night advanced rap-
idly, and we found ourselves left out in
the cold, without a hole to creep into or
shelter from overhanging rock. We
might have fared badly except for our
good plaids. But when they were sewn
together down their long edges, and one
end tossed over our rope (which was
passed round some rocks), and the other
secured by stones, there was sufficient

protection ; and we slept on this exposed
ridge, ninety-seven hundred feet above
the level of the sea, more soundly per-
haps than if we had been lying on feather
beds.

We left our bivouac at 4.45 A. m., and
at 9.40 arrived upon the highest of the
three summits of the Trelatete by pass-
ing over the lowest one. It was well
above everything at this end of the
chain, and the view from it was extra-
ordinarily magnificent. The whole of
the western face of Mont Blanc was

OUR CAMP ON MONT SUC.

spread out before us : we were the first
by whom it had been ever seen. I cede
the description of this view to my com-
rade, to whom it rightfully belongs.

[For four years I had felt great interest
in the geography of the chain : the year
before I had mapped, more or less suc-
cessfully, all but this spot, and this spot
had always eluded my grasp. The
praises, undeserved as they were, which
my map had received, were as gall and
wormwood to me when I thought of that
great slope which I had been obliged to
leave a blank, speckled over with un-
meaning dots of rock, gathered from

previous maps, for I had consulted them
all without meeting an intelligible repre-
sentation of it. From the surface of the
Miage glacier I had gained nothing, for
I could only see the feet of magnificent
ice-streams, but no more ; but now, from
the top of the dead wall of rock which
had so long closed my view, I saw those
fine glaciers from top to bottom, pouring
down their streams, nearly as large as
the Bossons, from Motit Blanc, from the
Bosse and from the D6me.

The head of Mont Blanc is supported
on this side by two buttresses, between
which vast glaciers descend. Of these

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.K^\

the most southern takes its rise at the
foot of the precipices which fall steeply
down from the Calotte,* and its stream,
as it joins that of the Miage, is cut in
two by an enormous rognon of rock.
Next, to the left, comes the largest of
the buttresses of which I have spoken,
almost forming an aiguille in itself. The
next glacier (Glacier du D6me) descends
from a large basin which receives the
snows of the summit-ridge between the
Bosse and the Dome, and it is divided
from the third and last glacier by an-
other buttress, which joins the summit-
ridge at a point between the D6me and
the Aiguille de.Bionnassay.]

The great buttresses betwixt these
magnificent ice-streams have supplied a
large portion of the enormous masses of
debris which are disposed in ridges round
about, and are strewn over, the termina-
tion of the Glacier de Miage in the Val
Veni. These moraines f used to be
classed amongst the wonders of the
world. They are very large for a gla-
cier of the size of the Miage.

The dimensions of moraines are not
ruled by those of glaciers. Many small
glaciers have large moraines, and many
large ones have small moraines. The
size of the moraines of any glacier de-
pends mainly upon the area of rock-
surface that is exposed to atmospheric
mfluences within the basin drained by
the glacier, upon the nature of such
rock, whether it is friable or resistant,
and upon the dip of strata. Moraines
most hkely will be small if little rock-
surface is exposed ; but when large ones
are seen, then, in all probability, large
areas of rock, uncovered by snow or
ice. will be found in immediate contiguity
to the glacier. The Miage glacier has
large ones, because it receives detritus
from many great cliffs and ridges. But
if this glacier, instead of lying, as it
does, at the bottom of a trough, were to

*The Calotte is the name given to the dome of
snow 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 the
moraine of the glacier." It may be inferred from
this that the term was a local one, peculiar to Cha-
mounix.

fill .that trough, if it wereTo completely
envelop the Aiguille de Trelatete and
the other mountains which border it, and
were to descend from Mont Blanc un-
broken by rock or ridge, it would be as
destitute of morainic matter as the great
Mer de Glace of Greenland. For if a
country or district is completely covered
up by glacier, the moraines may be of
the very smallest dimensions.

The contributions that are supplied to
moraines by glaciers themselves, from
the abrasion of the rocks over which
their ice passes, are minute compared
with the accumulations which are fur-
nished from other sources. These great
rubbish-heaps are formed — one may say
almost entirely — from debris which falls
or is washed down the flanks of moun-
tains, or from cliffs bordering glaciers ;
and are composed, to a very limited
extent only, of matter that is ground,
rasped or filed off by the friction of the
ice.

If the contrary view were to be adopt-
ed, if it could be maintained that "gla-
ciers, by their motion, break off masses
of rock from the sides and bottoms of
their valley-courses, and crowd along
everything that is movable, so as to
form large accumulations of debris in
front and along their sides," % the con-
clusion could not be resisted, the greater
the glacier the greater should be the
moraine.

This doctrine does not find much
favor with those who have personal
knowledge of what glaciers do at the
present time. From De Saussure?
downward it has been pointed out, time
after time, that moraines are chiefly
formed from debris coming from rocks
or soil above the ice, not from the bed
over which it passes. But amongst the
writings of modern speculators upon
glaciers and glacier-action in bygone
times it is not uncommon to find the

XAt/tu 0/ Physical Geography, \)y Augustus Pe-
terman and the Rev. T. Milner. The italics arc noi
in 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 carries
them down into the valleys, they arrive between rocks
of a totally different nature from their own,"— I>b
Saussukb, g 536

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notions entertained that moraines repre-
sent the amount of excavation (such is
the term employed) performed by gla-
ciers, or at least are comprised of matter
which has been excavated by gla ^iers ;
that vast moraines have necessarily been
produced by vast glaciers; and that a
great extension of glaciers — a glacial
period — necessarily causes the produc-
tion of vast moraines. It is needless to
cite more than one or two examples to
show that such generalizations cannot
be sustained. Innumerable illustrations
might be quoted.

In the chain of Mont Blanc one may
compare the moraines of the Miage with
those of the Glacier d'Argenti^re. The
latter glacier drains a basin equal to or
exceeding that of the former, but its
moraines are small compared with those
of the former. More notable still is the
disparity of the moraines of the Corner
glacier (that which receives so many
branches from the neighborhood of
Monte Rosa) and of the Z'Muttgletscher.
The area drained by the Corner greatly
exceeds the basin of the Z'Mutt, yet the
moraines of the Z'Mutt are incomparably
larger than those of the Corner. . No
one is likely to say that the Z'Mutt and
Miage glaciers have existed for a far
greater length of time than the other
pair: an explanation must be sought
amongst the causes to which reference
has been made.

More striking still is it to see the great
interior Mer de Clace of Creenland
almost without moraines. This vast ice-
piateau, although smaller than it was in
former times, is still so extensive that
the whole of the glaciers of the Alps
might be merged into it without its bulk
being perceptibly increased. If the size
of moraines bore any sort of relation
to the size of glaciers, the moraines of
Greenland should be far greater than
those of the Alps.

This interior ice-reservoir of Creen-
land, enormous as it is, must be con-
sidered as but the remnant of a mass
which was incalculably greater, and
which is unparalleled at the present time
o'utside the Antarctic Circle. With the
exception of locahties where the rocks

are easy of disintegration, and the traces
of glacier-action have been to a great
extent destroyed, the whole country
bears the marks of the grinding and
polishing of ice; and, judging by the
flatness of tlie curves of the roches mou-
tonnees, and by the perfection of the
polish which still remains upon the rocks
after they have sustained (through many
centuries) extreme variations of tem-
perature, the period during which such
effects were produced must have widely
exceeded in duration the "glacial pe-
riod" of Europe. If moraines were
built from matter excavated by glaciers,
the moraines of Creenland should be
the greatest in the world !

The absence of moraines upon and at
the termination of this great Mer de
Clace is due to ihe want of rocks rising
above the ice.* On two occasions in
1867 I saw, at a glance, at least six hun-
dred square miles of it from the summits
of small mountains on its outskirts. Not
a single peak or ridge was to be seen
rising above, nor a single rock reposing
upon, the ice. The country was co7n'
pletely covered up by glacier : all was
ice as far as the eye could see.f

There is evidence, then, that consid-
erable areas of exposed rock-surface are
essential to the production of large mo-
raines, and that glacial periods do not
necessarily produce vast moraines — ^that
moraines are not built up of matter
which is excavated by glaciers, but sim-
ply illustrate the powers of glaciers for
transportation and arrangement.

We descended in our track to the Lac
de Combal, and from thence went over
the Col de la Seigne to Les Motets, where
we slept : on July 13 crossed the Col du
Mont Tondu to Contamines (in a sharp
thunderstorm), and the Col de Voza to

♦ I refer to those portions of it which I have seen
in the neighborhood of Disco Bay. There are mo-
raines in this district, but they were formed when the
great Mer de Glace stretched nearer to the sea — when
it sent arms down through the valleys in the belt of
land 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 the
north and south of this district, but I suspect that
these peaks are upon the outskirts of the great Met
de Glace

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Chamounix. Two days only remained
for excursions in this neighborhood, and
we resolved to employ them in another
attempt to ascend the Aiguille d'Argen-
tiere, upon which mountain we had been
cruelly defeated just eight days before.

It happened in this way : Reilly had
a notion that the ascent of the aiguille
could be accTomplished by following the
ridge leading to its summit from the Col
du Chardonnet. At half-past six on the
morning of the 6th we found ourselves
accordingly on the top of that pass,
which is about eleven thousand or elev-
en thousand one hundred feet above the
level 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, the
weather had been calm and the way
easy, but immediately we arrived on the
summit of the pass we got into a furious
wind. Five minutes earlier we were
warm — now we were frozen. Fine snow,
whirled up into the air, penetrated every
crack in our harness, and assailed our
skins as painfully as if it had been red
hot instead of freezing cold. The teeth
chattered involuntarily ; talking was la-
borious ; the breath froze instantaneous-
ly ; eating was disagreeable ; sitting was
impossible.

We looked toward our mountain : its
aspect was not encouraging. The ridge
that 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 Glacier
du Chardonnet. Under any circum-
stances it would have been a stiff piece
of work to clamber up that way. Pru-
dence and comfort counseled, "Give it
up." Discretion overruled valor. Moore
and 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 could
be felt, nor sign of it perceived ; it was

only eight o'clock in the morning ; and
there, right before us, we saw another
branch of the glacier leading high up
into the mountain — far above the Col du
Chardonnet — and a little couloir rising
from its head almost to the top of the
peak. 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. Seven
hundred steps were cut. Then the cou-
loir became too steep. We took to the
rocks on its left, and at last gained the
ridge, at a point about fifteen hundred
feet above the col. We faced about to
the right and went along the ridge,
keeping on some snow a little below its
crest, on the Saleinoz side. Then we
got the wind again, but no one thought
of turning, for we were within two hun-
dred and fifty feet of the summit.

The axes of Croz and Couttet went to
work once more, for the slope was about
as steep as snow could be. Its surface
was 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 through
this into the old beds underneath, and
to pause incessantly to rake away the
powdery stuff, which poured down in
hissing streams over the hard substra-
tum. Ugh ! how cold it was ! How the
wind blew ! Couttet's hat was torn from
its fastenings and went on a tour in
Switzerland. The fiour-hke snow, swept
off the ridge above, was tossed spirally
upward, eddying in tourmentes, then,
dropped in lulls or caught by other
gusts, was fiung far and wide to feed the
Saleinoz.

"My feet are getting suspiciously
numbed," cried Reilly: "how about
frost-bites ?" "Kick hard, sir," shouted
the men: "it's the only way." Tkeir
fingers were kept alive by their work,
but it was cold for their feet, and they
kicked and hewed simultaneously. I
followed their example, but was too vio-
lent, and made a hole clean through my
footing. 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 by
a thin vault of ice, from which great
icicles hung in grooves. Almost in the
same minute Reilly pushed one of his
hands right through the roof. The whole
party might have tumbled through at
any moment. *' Go ahead, Croz : we are
over a chasm!" "We know it," he
answered, "and we can't find a firm
place."

In the blandest manner my comrade
inquired if to persevere would not be to
do that which is called "tempting Prov-
idence." My reply being in the affirma-
tive, he further observed, " Suppose we
go down?" "Very willingly." "Ask
the guides." They had not the least
objection ; so we went down, and slept
that 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 Glacier
du Chardonnet, we were broiling hot:
there was not a suspicion of a breeze.
Upon that side there was nothing to tell
that a hurricane was raging a hundred
feet higher; the cloudless sky looked
tranquillity itself; whilst to leeward the
only sign of a disturbed atmosphere was
the friskiness of the snow upon the crests
of 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 de
Lognan. On tlie 15th, about midday,
we arrived upon the summit of the
aiguille, and found that we had actually
been within one hundred feet of it when
we turned back upon the first attempt.

It was a triumph to Reilly. In this
neighborhood he had performed the feat
(in 1863) of joining together "two moun-
tains,, each about thirteen thousand feet
high, standing on the map about a mile
and a half apart." Long before we
made the ascent he had procured evi-
dence which could not be impugned
that the Pointe des Plines, a fictitious
summit which had figured on other

maps as a distinct mountain, could be
no other than the Aiguille d'Argentiere,
and he had accordingly obliterated it
from the preliminary draft of his map.
We saw that it was right to do so. The
Pointe des Plines did not exist. We had
ocular demonstration of the accuracy of
his previous observations.

I do not know which to admire most,
the fidelity of Mr. Reilly's map or the
indefatigable industry by which the ma-
terials were accumulated from which it
was constructed. To men who are sound
in hmb it may be amusing to arrive on
a summit -(as we did upon the top of
Mont Dolent), sitting astride a ridge too
narrow to stand upon, or to do battle
with a ferocious wind (as we did on the
top of the Aiguille de Tr^latete), or to
feel half frozen in midsummer (as we
did on the Aiguille d'Argentiere). But
there is extremely little amusement in
making sketches and notes under such
conditions. 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 was
ever alike — ^the same genial, equable-
tempered companion, whether victorious
or whether defeated; always ready to
sacrifice his own desires to suit our com-
fort and convenience. By a most hap-
py union of audacity and prudence,
combined with untiring perseverance, he
eventually completed his self-imposed
task — a work which would have been
intolerable except as a' labor of love,
and which, for a single individual, may
wellnigh be termed herculean.

We separated upon the level part of
the Glacier d'Argentiere, Reilly going
with Payot and Charlet via the chalets
of Lognan and de la Pendant, whilst I,
with Croz, followed the right bank of the
glacier to the village of Argentiere. At
7 P. M. we entered the humble inn, and
ten minutes afterward heard the echoes
of the cannon which were fired upon
the arrival of our comrades at Cha-

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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. The
Swiss side of the Forclaz is not creditable
to Switzerland. The path from Martigny
to the summit has undergone successive
improvements in these latter years, but
mendicants permanently disfigure it.

We passed many tired pedestrians toil-
ing up this oven, persecuted by trains of
parasitic children. These children swarm
there like maggots in a rotten cheese.
They carry baskets of fruit with which
to plague the weary tourist. They flit
around him like flies; they thrust the
fruit in his face ; they pester him with
their pertinacity. Beware of them ! —
taste, touch not their fruit. In the eyes
of these children each peach, each grape,
is worth a prince's ransom. It is of no
use to be angry : it is like flapping wasps
— they only buzz the more. What-
ever you do or whatever you say, the
end will be the same. " Give me some-
thing'* is the alpha and omega of all
their addresses. They learn the phrase,
it is said, before they are taught the
alphabet. It is in all their mouths.
From the tiny toddler up to the maiden

of sixteen, there is nothing heard but
one universal chorus of *' Give me some-
thing: will you have the goodness to
give me something ?'*

From Sierre we went up the Val d'An-
niviers to Zinal, to join our former com-
panions, Moore and Aimer. Moore was
ambitious to discover a shorter way from
Zinal to Zermatt than the two passes
which were known.'' He had shown to
me, upon Dufour's map, that a direct
line connecting the two places passed
exactly over the depression between the
Zinal- Rothhorn and the Schallhorn. He
was confident that a passage could be
effected over this depression, and was
sanguine that it would (in consequence
of its directness) prove to be a quicker
route than the circuitous ones over the
Triftjoch and the Col Durand.

He was awaiting us, and we immedi-
ately proceeded up the valley and across
the foot of the Zinal glacier to the Ar-
pitetta Alp, where a chalet was supposed
to 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 Dent
Blanche.

t High above the Glacier de Moming at the foot of
the Crete de Milton.

to5

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equal to our expectations. It was not
one of those fine timbered chalets with
huge overhanging eaves, covered with
pious sentences carved in unintelligible
characters. It was a hovel, growing, as
it were, out of the hillside, roofed with
rough slabs of slaty stone, without door
or window, surrounded by quagmires of
ordure and dirt of every description.

A foul native invited us to enter. The
interior was dark, but when our eyes
became accustomed to the gloom we
saw that our palace was in plan about
fifteen by twenty feet: on one side it
was scarcely five feet high, but on the
other was nearly seven. On this side
there was a raised platform about six
feet wide, littered with dirty straw and
still dirtier sheepskins. This was the
bed-room. The remainder of the width
of the apartment was the parlor. The
rest was the factory. Cheese was the
article which was being fabricated, and
the foul native was engaged in its manu-
facture. He was garnished behind with
a regular cowherd's one-legged stool,
which gave him a queer, uncanny look
when it was elevated in the air as he
bent over into his tub, for the* making
of his cheese required him to blow into
a tub for ten minutes at a time. He
then 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 that
this procedure was necessary : it appear-
ed to us to be nasty. It accounts, per-
haps, for the flavor possessed by certain
Swiss cheeses.

Big black and leaden-colored clouds
rolled up from Zinal, and met in combat
on the Moming glacier with others which
descended from the Rothhorn. Down
came the rain in torrents and crash went
the thunder. The herd-boys hurried
under shelter, for the frightened cattle
needed no driving, and tore spontane-
ously down the Alp as if running a
steeple-chase: Men, cows, pigs, sheep
and goats forgot their mutual animos-
ities, and rushed to the only refuge on
the mountain. The spell was broken
which had bound the elements for some
weeks past, and the cirque from the

Weisshom to Lo Besso was the theatre
in which they spent their fury.

A sullen morning succeeded an angry
night. We were undecided in our coun-
cil whether to advance or to return down
the valley. Good seemed likely to over-
power bad ; so, at 5.40, we left the chalet
en route for our pass [amidst the most
encouraging assurances from all the
people on the Alp that we need not dis-
tress ourselves about the weather, as it
was 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 a
flat expanse of glacier. Before this was
quitted it was needful to determine the
exact line which was to be taken. We
were divided betwixt two opinions. I
advocated that a course should be steer-
ed due south, and that the upper plateau
of the Moming glacier should be attained
by making a great detour to our right.
This was negatived without a division.
Aimer declared in favor of making for
some rocks to the south-west of the
Schallhorn, and attaining the upper pla-
teau of the glacier by mounting them.
Croz advised a middle course, up some
very steep and broken glacier. Croz's
route seemed likely to turn out to be im-
practicable, because much step-cutting
would be required upon it. Aimer's
rocks did not look good : they were, pos-
sibly, unassailable. I thought both routes
were bad, and declined to vote for either
of them. Moore hesitated. Aimer gave
way, and Croz's route was adopted.

He did not go very far, however, be-
fore he found that he had undertaken
too much, and after [glancing occasion-
ally round at us, to see what we thought
about it, suggested that it might, after
all, be wiser to take to the rocks of the
Schallhorn] . That is to say, he suggest-
ed the abandonment of his own and the
adoption of Aimer's route. No one op-
posed the change of plan, and in the
absence of instructions to the contrary
he proceeded to cut steps across an ice-
slope toward the rocks.

When we quitted the slopes of the
Arpitetta Alp we took a south-easterly

* Moore's Journal.

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107

course over the Morning glacier. We
halted to settle the plan of attack short-
ly after we got upon the ice. The rocks
of the Schallhorn, whose ascent Aimer
recommended, were then to our south-
east. Croz's proposed route was to the
south-west of the rocks, and led up the
southern side of a very steep and broken
glacier.* The part he intended to trav-
erse was, in a sense, undoubtedly prac-
ticable. He gave it up because it would
have involved too much step-cutting.
But the part of this glacier which inter-
vened between his route and Aimer's
rocks was, in the most complete sense
of the word, impracticable. It passed
over a continuation of the rocks, and
was broken in half by them. The up-
per portion was separated from the lower
portion by a long slope of ice that had
been built up from the debris of the
glacier which had fallen from above.
The foot of this slope was surrounded
by immense quantities of the larger av-
alanche blocks. These we cautiously
skirted, and when Croz halted they had
been left far below, and we were half-
way up the side of the great slope which
led to the base of the ice-wall above.

Across this ice-slope Croz now pro-
ceeded to cut. It was executing a flank
movement in the face of an enemy by
whom we might be attacked at any mo-
ment. The peril was obvious. It was
a monstrous folly. It was foolhardiness.
A retreat should have been sounded.f

** I am not ashamed to confess," wrote
Moore in his Journal, " that during the
whole time we were crossing this slope
my heart was in my mouth, and I never
felt relieved from such a load of care as
when, after, I suppose, a passage of about
twenty minutes, we got on to the rocks
and were in safety. ... I have never
heard a positive oath come from Aimer's
mouth, but the language in which he
kept up a running commentary, more to
himself than to me, as we went along,
was stronger than I should have given
him credit for using. His prominent
feeling seemed to be one of indignation

•Through what is technically called an " ice-fall."
fllie responsibility did not rest with Croz. His
part wa? to advise, but not to direct.

that we should be in such a position,
and self-reproach at being a party to
the proceeding ; while the emphatic way
in which, at intervals, he exclaimed,
'Quick! be quick!' sufficiently betoken-
ed his alarm."

It was not necessary to admonish Croz
to be quick. He was as fully alive to
the risk as any of the others. He told
me afterward that this place was not
only the most dangerous he had ever
crossed, but that no consideration what-
ever would tempt him to cross it again.
Manfully did he exert himself to escape
from the impending destruction. His
head, bent down to his work, never turn-
ed to the right or to the left. One, two,
three, went his axe, and then he stepped
on to the spot where he had been cut-
ting. How painfully insecure should we
have considered those steps at any other
time ! But now we thought of nothing
but 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 if
they had been doubly as difficult as they
were, we should still have been well
content. We sat down and refreshed
the inner man, keeping our eyes on the
towering pinnacles of ice under which
we had passed, but which now were
almost beneath us. Without a prelim-
inary warning sound one of the largest
— as high as the Monument at London
Bridge — fell upon the slope below. The
stately mass heeled over as if upon a
hinge (holding together until it bent
thirty degrees forward), then it crushed
out its base, and, rent into a thousand
fragments, plunged vertically down upon
the slope that we had crossed ! Every •
atom- of our track that was in its course
was obliterated : all the new snow was
swept away, and a broad sheet of smooth,
glassy ice showed the resistiess force with
which it had fallen.

It was inexcusable to follow such a
perilous 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, and
to have mounted again by the route

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which Aimer suggested, <vould have
been equivalent to abandoning the ex-
cursion, for no one would have passed
another night in the chalet on the Arpi-
tetta Alp. "Many," says Thucydides,
*' though seeing well the perils ahead, are
forced along by fear of dishonor, as the
world calls it, so that, vanquished by a

position, that an error of judgment had
been committed.

After a laborious trudge over many
species of snow, and through many va-
rieties of vapor — from the quality of a
Scotch mist to that of a London fog — we
at length stood on the depression between
the Rothhorn and the Schallhorn.* A
steep wall of snow was upon the
Zinal side of the summit, but
what the descent was like on the
other side wc could not tell, for
a billow of snow tossed over its
crest by the western winds, sus-
pended over Zermatt with mo-
tion arrested, resembling an
ocean wave frozen in the act
of breaking, cut off the view.f
Croz, held hard in by the
others, who kept down the Zinal
side, opened his shoulders, flog-
ged down the foam, and cut
away the cornice to its junction
with the summit; then boldly
leaped down, and called on us
to follow him,

It was well for us now that
^ve had such a man as leader.
An inferior or less daring guide
would have hesitated to enter
upon the descent in a dense

ICE-AVALANCHB ON THE MOMING PASS.

mere word, they fall into irremediable
calamities." Such was nearly the case
here. No one could say a word in
justification of the course which was
adopted; all were alive to the danger
that was being encountered ; yet a grave
risk was deliberately, although unwill-
ingly, incurred, in preference to admit-
ting, by withdrawal from an untenaible

mist, and Croz himself would have done
right 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 of
high mountain-ridges, and it is always prudent (just
before 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 lives
horn n^lecting this precaution.

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IHE SUMMIT OF THE MOMING PASS IN 1864.

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109

nificent in physique. He acted rather
than said, ** Where snow lies fast, there
man can go; where ice exists, a way
may be cut ; it is a question of power : I
have the power — all you have to do is
to follow me.** Truly, he did not spare
himself, and could he have performed
the feats upon the boards of a theatre
that he did upon this occasion, he would
have 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 was
very much steeper and altogether more
difficult, which is saying a good deal.
Croz was in his element, and selected
his way with marvelous sagacity, while
Aimer had an equally honorable, and
perhaps more responsible, post in the
rear, which he kept with his usual stead-
iness. . . . One particular passage has
impressed itself on my mind as one of
the most nervous I have ever made.
We had to pass along a crest of ice, a
mere knife-edge — on our left a broad
crevasse, whose bottom was lost in blue
haze, and on our right, at an angle of
seventy degrees or more, a slope falling
to a similar gulf below. Croz, as he
went along the edge, chipped small
notches in the ice, in which we placed
our feet, with the toes well turned out,
doing all we knew to preserve our bal-
ance. While stepping from one of these
precarious footholds to another, I stag-
gered for a moment. I had not really
lost my footing, but the agonized tone
in which Aimer, whb was behind me,
on seeing me waver, exclaimed, "Slip
not, sir!" gave us an even livelier im-
pression than we already had of the in-
security of the position. . . . One huge
chasm, whose upper edge was far above
the lower one, could neither be leaped
nor turned, and threatened to prove an
insuperable barrier. But Croz showed
himself equal to the emergency. Held
up by the rest of the party, he cut a
series of holes for the hands and feet,
down and along the almost perpendicu-
lar wall of ice forming the upper side of
the schrund. Down this slippery stair-
case we crept, with our faces to the wall,

until a point was reached where the
width of the chasm was not too great
for us to drop across. Before we had
done we got quite accustomed to taking
flying leaps over the schrunds. ... To
make a long story short: after a most
desperate and exciting struggle, and as
bad a piece of ice-work as it is possible
to imagine, we emerged on to the upper
plateau of the Hohlicht glacier.]

The glimpses which had been caught
of the lower part of the Hohlicht glacier
were discouraging, so it was now deter-
mined to cross over the ridge between
it and the Rothhom glacier. This was
not done without great trouble. Again
we rose to a height exceeding twelve
thousand feet. Eventually we took to
the track of the despised Triftjoch, and
descended by the well-known but rough
path which leads to that pass, arriving
at the Monte Rosa hotel at Zermatt at
7.20 p. M. We occupied nearly twelve
hours of actual walking in coming from
the chalet on the Arpitetta Alp (which
was two and a half hours above Zinal),
and we consequently found that the
Moming pass was not the shortest route
from Zinal to Zermatt, although it was
the most direct.

Two dozen guides — good, bad and
indifferent, French, Swiss and Italian
— can commonly be seen sitting on
the wall in front of the Monte Rosa
hotel, waiting on their employers and
looking for employers, watching new
arrivals, and speculating on the number
of francs which may be extracted from
their pockets. The messieurs — some-
times strangely and wonderfully dressed
— stand about in groups, or lean back
in chairs, or lounge on the benches
which are placed by the door. They
wear extraordinary boots, and still more
remarkable head-dresses. Their peeled,
blistered and swollen faces are worth
studying. Some, by the exercise of
watchfulness and unremitting care, have
been fortunate enough to acquire a fine
raw sienna complexion. But most of
them have not been so happy. They
have been scorched on rocks and roast-
ed on glaciers. Their cheeks — first puff-
ed, then cracked — ^have exuded a tur-

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

pentine-like matter, which has coursed
down their faces, and has dried in
patches Uke the resin on the trunks of
pines. They have removed it, and at
the same time have pulled off large
flakes of their skin. They have gone
from bad to worse — their case has be-
come hopeless — knives and scissors
have been called into play: tenderly
and daintily they have endeavored to
reduce their cheeks to one uniform hue.
It is not to be done. But they have
gone on, fascinated, and at last have
brought their unhappy countenances to
a state of helpless and complete ruin.
Their lips are cracked, their cheeks are
swollen, their eyes are bloodshot, their
noses are peeled and indescribable.

Such are the pleasures of the moun-
taineer! Scornfully and derisively the
last-comer compares the sight with his
own flaccid face and dainty hands, un-
conscious that he too, perhaps, will be
numbered with those whom he now
ridicules.

There is a frankness of manner about
these strangely - appareled and queer-
faced men which does not remind one
of drawing-room or city life ; and it is
good to see — in this club-room of Zer-
matt — those cold bodies, our too-frigid
countrymen, melt together when they
are brought into contact; and it is pleas-
ant to witness the hearty welcome given
to the new-comers by the host and his
excellent wife.*

I left this agreeable society to seek
letters at the post. They yielded dis-
astrous intelligence. My holiday was
brought to an abrupt termination, and
I awaited the arrival of Reilly (who was
convoying the stores for the attack on
the Matterhorn) only to inform him that
our 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 to
the reader some of the most expert amateur moun-
taineers of the time, and a few of the guides who
have been or will be mentioned in the course of this
narrative.

^eter Perm is on the extreme right. Then come
young Peter Taugwalder (upon the bench) and J.J.
Maquignaz (leaning against the door-post). Franz
Andermatten occupies the steps, and Ulrich Lauener
towers in the background.

CHAPTER XIIT.
THE ASCENT OF THE GRAND CORNIER.

Our career in 1864 had been one of
unbroken success, but the great ascent
upon which I had set my heart was not
attempted, 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 places
where the responsibility of direction
would rest with myself alone. It was
well to know how far my judgment in
the choice of routes could be relied
upon.

The journey of 1865 was chiefly un-
dertaken, then, to find out to what ex-
tent I was capable of selecting paths over
mountainous country. The programme
which was drawn up for this journey
was rather ambitious, since it included
almost all of the great peaks which had
not then been ascended, but it was nei-
ther lightly undertaken nor hastily exe-
cuted. All pains were taken to secure
success. Information was sought from
those who could give it, and the defeats
of others were studied, that their errors
might 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, come
by chance, and when one fails there is a
reason for it. But when any notable or
so-called brilliant thing is done, we are
too apt to look upon the success alone,
without considering how it was accom-
plished, whilst when men fail we inquire
why they have not succeeded. So fail-
ures are oftentimes more instructive than
successes, and the disappointments of
some become profitable to others.

Up to a certain point the programme
was completely and happily carried out.
Nothing but success attended our efiforts
so long as the excursions were executed
as they had been planned. Most of
them were made upon the very days
which had been fixed for them months
beforehand ; and all were accomplished,
comparatively speaking, so easily that
their descriptions must be, in the absence
of difficulty and danger, less interesting
to the general reader than they would

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Ill

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 to
explain the reasons which influenced the
selection of the routes which were adopt-
ed upon them.

In the course of the past five seasons
my 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. The
snow seemed bound to slip, and all those
who were upon it to go along with it.
Snow of a certain quality is undoubtedly
liable to slip when it is at a certain in-
clination. The exact states which are
dangerous or safe it is not possible to
describe in writing. That is only learnt
by experience, and confidence upon
snow is not really felt until one has
gained experience. Confidence gradu-
ally came to me, and as it came so did
my partiality for rocks diminish. For it
was evident, to use a common expres-
sion, that it paid better to travel upon
snow than upon rocks. This applies to
snow-beds pure and simple, or to snow
which is lying over glacier ; and in the
selection of routes it has latterly always
been my practice to look for the places
where snow-slopes or snow-covered gla-
ciers reach highest into mountains.

It is comparatively seldom, however,
that an ascent of a great mountain can
be executed exclusively upon snow and
glacier. Ridges peep through which
have to be surmounted. In my earlier
scramblings I usually took to, or was
taken upon, the summits (or aretes) of
the 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 seldom
well to do so when any other course is
open. As I have already said, and
presently shall repeat more particularly,
the crests of all the main ridges of the
great peaks of the Alps are shattered
and cleft by frost ; and it not unfrequent-
ly happens that a notch in a ridge, which
appears perfectly insignificant from a

distance, is found to be an insuperable
barrier to farther progress, and a great
detour or a long descent has to be made
to avoid the obstacle. When committed
to an arete, one is tied, almost always,
to a particular course, from which it is
difficult to deviate. Much loss of time
must result if any serious obstruction
occurs, 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 its
gullies snow will cling, although its faces
may be too steep for the formation of
permanent snow-beds. The merits of
these snow -gullies (or couloirs) have
been already pointed out, and it is hard-
ly necessary to observe, after that which
was just now said about snow, that as-
cents of snow-gullies (with proper pre-
cautions) are very much to be preferred
to ascents of rocky aretes.

By following the glaciers, the snow-
slopes above, and the couloirs rising out
of them, it is usually possible to get very
close to the summits of the great peaks
in the Alps. The final climb will, per-
haps, necessarily, be by an arete. The
less of it the better.

It occasionally occurs that consider-
able mountain-slopes or faces are des-
titute of snow-gullies. In that case it
will, very likely, be best to adhere to the
faces (or to the guUies or minor ridges
upon them), rather than take to the
great ridges. Upon a face one can
move to the right or to the left with more
facility 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 were
taken in 1865, I looked, first, for places
where glaciers and snow extended high-
est up into the mountains which were
to be ascended or the ridges which were
to be crossed; next, for gullies filled
with 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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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

of the Dent Blanche (14,318), Grandes
Jorasses ( 13,700), Aiguille Verte (13,540),
Ruinette (12,727), and the Matterhorn
(14,780), were all accomplished in this
way, besides the other excursions which
will be referred to by and by. The route
selected before the start was made was
in every case strictly followed out.

We inspected all of these mountains
from neighboring heights before enter-
ing upon their ascents. I explained to
the guides the routes I proposed to be
taken, and (when the courses were at
all complicated) sketched them out on
paper to prevent misunderstanding. In
some few cases they suggested varia-
tions, and in every case the route was
well discussed. The execution of the
work was done by the guides, and I
seldom interfered with or attempted to
assist in it.

The 13th of June, 1865, I spent in the
valley of Lauterbrunnen with the Rev.
W. H. Hawker and the guides Christian
and Ulrich Lauener, and on the 14th
crossed the Petersgrat with Christian
Aimer 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 leading
guides who worked together more har-
moniously than Croz and Aimer. Bie-
ner's part was subordinate to theirs, and
he was added as a convenience rather
than as a necessity. Croz spoke French
alone. Aimer little else than German.
Biener spoke both languages, and was
useful on that account ; but he seldom
went to the front, excepting during the
early part of the day, when the work
was easy, and he acted throughout more
as a porter than as a guide.

The importance of having a reserve
of power on mountain expeditions can-
not be too strongly insisted upon. We
always had some in hand, and were
never pressed or overworked so long as
we were together. Come what might,
we were ready for it. But by a series of
chances, which I shall never cease to
regret, I was first obliged to part with
Croz,* and then to dismiss the others ;
and so, deviating from the course that I
had deliberately adopted, which was
successful in practice because it was

* I engaged Croz for 1865 before I parted from him in 1864, but upon writing to him in the month of April to
fix the dates of his engagement, I found that he had supposed he was free (in consequence 7f not having heard
from me earlier), and had engaged himself to a Mr. B— — from the 27th of June. I endeavored to hold him to
his promise, but he considered himself unable to withdraw from his later obligation. His letters were honorable
to him. The following extract from the last one he wrote to me is given as an interesting souvenir of a brave
and upright man :

^^iG^ />- ^S&^y^

0^ *.^^^Ld^ ^^1^~

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113

sound in principle, became fortuitously a
member of an expedition that ended with
the catastrophe which brought my scram-
bles amongst the Alps to a close.

On June 1 5 we went from Turtman to
Z'meiden, and thence over the Forcletta
pass to Zinal. We diverged from the
summit of the pass up some neighboring
heights to inspect the Grand Cornier, and
I decided to have nothing to do with its
northern side. The mountain was more
than seven miles away, but it was quite
safe to pronounce it
inaccessible from
our direction.

On the 16th we left
Zinal at 2.05 a.m.,
having been for a
moment greatly sur-
prised by an entry
in the hotel-book,*
and ascending by
the Zinal glacier,
and giving the base
of our mountain a
wide berth in order
that it might the bet-
ter be examined,
passed gradually
right round to its
south before a way
up it was seen. At
8.30 we arrived
upon the plateau of
the glacier that de-
scends toward the
east, between the
Grand Cornier and
the Dent Blanche,
and from this place

a route was readily traced. We steered
to the north over the glacier, toward the
ridge that descends to the east, gained it
by mounting snow-slopes, and followed

* It was an entry describing an ascent of the Grand
Cornier (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 having
been concerned in the ascent. On examining Biener,
it was found that he had made the excursion, and had
supposed at the time he was upon its summit that it
was the Grand Cornier. He saw afterward that they
had only ascended one of the several points upon the
ridge 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 last
the route was almost entirely over snow.
The ridges leading to the north and to
the south from the summit of the Grand
Cornier exhibited in a most striking
manner the extraordinary effects that
may be produced by violent alternations
of heat and cold. The southern one
was hacked and split into the wildest
forms, and the northern one was not
less cleft and impracticable, and offered

PAKT OP THE SOUTHERN RIDGB OF THE CiKANU COKNIBK.

the droll piece of rock-carving which is
represented upon pa^e 1 14. Some small
blocks actually tottered and fell before
our eyes, and starting others in their
downward course, grew into a perfect
avalanche, which descended with a sol-
emn roar on the glaciers beneath.

It is natural that the great ridges should
present the wildest forms — not on ac-
count of their dimensions, but by reason
of their positions. They are exposed to
the fiercest heat of the sun, and are sel-
dom in shadow as long as it is above the
horizon. They arQjaati*"ely unprotected.

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN 1860-^69.

and are attacked by the strongest blasts
and by the most intense cold. The
most durable rocks are not proof against
such assaults. These grand, apparent-
ly solid, eternal mountains, seeming so
firm, so immutable, are yet ever chang-
ing and crumbling into dust. These
shattered ridges are evidence of their suf-
ferings. Let me repeat that every prin-
cipal ridge of every great peak in the
Alps amongst those I have seen has
been shattered in
this way, and that
evt^ry iiuinmit
amongst the
r o c k ' s u m m [ t s
upon w hi c h I
hiive sttHid has

PART OF THE NORTHERN RIDGE OF THE GRAND CORNIER.

struction is incessant, and increases as
time goes on; for the greater the sur-
faces which are exposed to the practi-
cally inexhaustible powers of sun and
frost, the greater ruin will be effected.

The rock-falls which are continually
occurring upon all rock-mountains are,
of course, caused by these powers. No
one doubts it, but one never believes it
so thoroughly as when the quarries are
seen from which their materials have
been hewn, and when the germs, so to
speak, of these avalanches have been
setji actually starting from above.

Tlicse falls of rock take place from
two causes : first, from the heat of the
sun detaching small stones or rocks
svhich have been arrested on ledges or
slopt'S and bound together by snow or
ice. I have seen such released many
limes when the sun has risen high : they
fall gently at first, gather
strength, grow in volume, and
at last rush down with a cloud
trailing behind, like the dust af-
ter an express-train. Second-
ly, from the freezing of the wa-
ter which trickles during the
day into the clefts, fissures and
crannies. This agency is nat-

been nothing but a piled-up heap of
fragments.

The minor ridges do not usually pre-
sent such extraordinary forms as the
principal ones. They are less exposed,
and they are less broken up, and it is
reasonable to assume that their annual
degradation is less than that of the sum-
mit-ridges.

The wear and tear does not cease
even in winter, for these great ridges are
never completely covered up by snow,
and the sun has still power.* The de-

♦ T wrote in the Atheneeunt, August 29, 1863, to the
same effect : " This action of the frost does not cease
in 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 during
winter, and if they do not then actually gain height,
the wear and tear is, at least, suspended. . . . We
arrive, therefore, at the conclusion that although such
snow-peaks as Mont Blanc may in the course of ages
grow 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 and
heard these falls, it is easily understood
why 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 this
debris cannot have been excavated by
the glaciers. The moraines are borne

observatory upon the summit of the Col Thiodule
during the winter of 1865, remarked that the snow was
partially melted upon the rocks in their vicinity upon
the 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'en
icoulait de I'eau." — Matiriaux pour Vitude des
Glaciers, vol. viii. part i. p. 246, 1868; and voUviii.
part ii. p. 77, 1869.

t In each of the seven nights I passed upon the
south-west ridge of the Matterhorn in i86i-'63 'at
heights varying from 11,844 to 12,992 feet above the
Ifvel of the sea), the rocks fell incessantly in showers
and avalanches.

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115

by glaciers, but they are bom from the
ridges. They are generated by the sun
and delivered by the frost. "Fire," it
is well said in Plutarch's life of Camil-
lus, ** is the most active thing in nature,
and all generation is motion, or at least
with motion : all other parts of matter
without warmth lie sluggish and dead,
and crave the influence of heat as their
life, and when that comes upon them
they immediately acquire some active
or passive qualities."*

If the Alps were granted a perfectly
invariable temperature, if they were no
longer subjected alternately to freezing
blasts and to scorching heat, they might
more correctly be termed "eternal."
They might continue to decay, but their
abasement would be much less rapid.

When rocks are covered by a sheet
of glacier they do enjoy an almost in-
variable temperature. The extremes of
summer and winter are unknown to
rocks which are so covered up : a range
of a very few degrees is the most that
is possible underneath the ice.f There is
then little or no disintegration from un-
equal expansion and contraction. Frost
then does not penetrate into the heart of
the rock and cleave off vast masses.
The rocks then sustain grinding instead
of cleaving. Atoms then come away
instead of masses. Fissures and over-
hanging surfaces are bridged, for the
ice cannot get at them ; and after many
centuries of grinding have been sus-
tained, we still find numberless angular
surfaces (in the lee-sides) which were
fashioned before the ice began to work.

The points of difference which are so
evident between the operations of heat,
cold and water, and the action of gla-

♦ Tonson's ed. of 1758. Bacon may have had this
passage in mind when he wrote, " It must not be
thought that heat generates motion, or motion heat
(though in some respects this be true), but that the
very 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 range
of temperature is greater. But there is evidence that
the winter cold does not penetrate to the innermost re-
cesses of glacier-beds in the fact that streams continue
to flow underneath the ice all the year round, winter
as well as summer, in the Alps and (I was informed
in Greenland) in Greenland. Even in midsummer the
bottom temperature is close to 32° Fahr.

ciers upon rocks, are as follow. The
former take advantage of cracks, fis-
sures, joints and soft places — the latter
does not. The former can work under-
neath overhanging masses — the latter
cannot. The effects produced by the
former continually increase, because
they continually expose fresh surfaces
by forming new cracks, fissures and
holes. The effects which the latter pro-
duces constantly diminish, because the
area of the surfaces operated upon be-
comes less and less as they become
smoother and flatter.

What can one conclude, then, but
that sun, frost and water have had in-
finitely more to do than glaciers with
the fashioning of mountain-forms and
valley-slopes? Who can refuse to be-
lieve that powers which are at work
everywhere, which have been at work
always, which are so incomparably ac-
tive, capable and enduring, must have
produced greater effects than a solitary
power which is always local in its influ-
ence, which has worked comparatively
but for a short time, which is always
slow and feeble in its operations, and
which constantly diminishes in inten-
sity ? Yet there are some who refuse to
believe that sun, frost and water have
played an important part in modeling
the Alps, and hold it as an article of
their faith that the Alpine region '* owes
its present conformation mainly to the
action of its ancient glaciers"!!

My reverie was interrupted by Croz
observing that it was time'to be off.
Less than two hours sufficed to take us
to the glacier plateau below (where wl
had left our baggage) : three-quarters
of an hour more placed us upon the
depression between the Grand Cornier
and the Dent Blanche (Col du Grand
Cornier), and at 6 p. m. we arrived at
Albricolla. Croz and Biener hankered
after milk, and descended to a village
lower down the valley, but Aimer and
I stayed where we were, and passed a
chilly night on some planks in a half-
burnt chalet.

X Professor Tyndall " On the Conformation of the
Alps," 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 until
past 5 A.M. on June 17, and we then
set out at once for Zermatt, intending
to cross the Col d' Kerens. But we did
not proceed far before the attractions
of the Dent Blanche
were felt to be ir-
resistible, and we
turned aside up the
steep lateral glacier
which descends
along its south-west-
ern face.

The Dent Blanche
is a mountain little
known except to the
LESLIE STBPHBN. cUmbing fraternity.
It was, and is, re-
puted to be one of the most difficult
mountains in the Alps. Many attempts
were made to scale it before its ascent
was accomplished. Even Leslie Stephen
himself, fleetest of foot of the whole
Alpine brotherhood, once upon a time
returned 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, before
they gained the victory t a furious wind
and driving snow, added to the natu-
ral difficulties, nearly turned the scale
against them.

Mr. Kennedy described his expedi^
tion in a very interesting paper in the
Alpine JournaL His account bore the
impress of truth, but unbelievers said
that it was impossible to have told (in
weather such as was then experienced)
whether the sunimit had actually been
attained, and sometimes roundly assert'
ed that the mountain, as the saying is,
yet remained virgin.

I did not share these doubts, although
they influenced me to make the ascent
I thought it might be possible to find an
easier route than that taken by Mr.
Kennedy, and that if we succeeded in
discovering one we should be able at
once to refute his traducers and to vaunt
our superior wisdom. Actuated by these
elevated motives, I halted my little
army at the foot of the glacier, and
inquired, " Which is best for us to do ? —
to ascend the Dent Blanche, or to cross
to Zemiatt ?" They answered, with
befitting solemnity, "We think Dent
Blanche 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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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

117

west face of the Dent Blanche is regard-
ed almost exactly in profile. From
thence it is seen that the angle of the
face scarcely exceeds thirty degrees,
and after observing this I concluded
that the face would, in all probability,
give an easier path to the summit than
the crest of the very jagged ridge which
was followed by Mr. Kennedy.

We zigzagged up the glacier along the
foot of the face, and looked for a way
on to it. We looked for some time in
vain, for a mighty bergschrund effect-
ually prevented approach, and, like a
fortress' moat, protected the wall from
assault. We went up and up, until, I
suppose, we were not more than a thou-
sand feet below the point marked 3912
metres: then a bridge was discovered,
and we dropped down on hands and
knees to cross it.

A bergschrund, it has been said, is a
schrund and something more than a
schrund. A schrund is simply a 'big
crevasse : a bergschrund is frequently,
but not always, a big crevasse. The
term is applied to the last of the cre-
vasses one finds, in ascending, before
quitting the glacier and taking to the
rocks which bound it. It is the moun-
tains' schrund. Sometimes it is very
large, but early in the season (that is to
say, in the month of June or before)
bergschrunds are usually snowed up
or well bridged over, and do not give
much trouble. Later in the year, say
in August, they are frequently very great
hindrances, and occasionally are com-
pletely impassable.

We crossed the bergschrund of the
Dent Blanche, I suppose, at a height of
about twelve thousand feet above the
level of the sea. Our work may be said
to have commenced at that point. The
face, although not steep in its general
inclination, was so cut up by little ridges
and cliffs, and so seamed with incipient
couloirs, that it had all the difficulty of a
much more precipitous slope. The dif-
ficulties were never great, but they were
numerous, and made a very respectable
total when put together. We passed
the bergschrund soon after nine in the
morning, 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 and
descending the twenty-four hundred feet
which compose this south-western face ;
and inasmuch as one thousand feet per
hour (taking the mean of ascent and
descent) is an ordinary rate of progres-
sion, it is tolerably certain that the Dent
Blanche is a mountain of exceptional
difficulty.

The hindrances opposed to us by the
mountain itself were, however, as noth-
ing compared with the atmospheric ob-
structions. It is true there was plenty
of — *'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 with
his baton to the right place to clutch.
Then 'twas Croz's turn, and we all drew
in the rope as the great man followed.
"Forward" once more — and so on.

Five hundred feet of this kind of work
had been accomplished when we were
saluted (not entirely unexpectedly) by
the first gust of a hurricane which was
ragipg above. The day was a lovely
one for dwellers in the valleys, but we
had long ago noted some light, gossamer
clouds that were hovering round our
summit, being drawn out in a suspicious
manner into long, silky threads. Croz,
indeed, prophesied before we had cross-
ed the schrund that we should be beaten
by the wind, and had advised that we
should return. But I had retorted, " No,
my good Croz, you said just now, ' Dent
Blanche is best:* we must go up the
Dent Blanche."

I have a very lively and disagreeable
recollection of this wind. Upon the out-
skirts of the disturbed region it was only
felt occasionally. It then seemed to
make rushes at one particular man, and
when it had discomfited him, it whisked
itself away to some far-off spot, only to
return presently in greater force than
before.

My old enemy, the Matterhorn, seen
across the basin of the Z'Muttgletscher,
looked totally unassailable. " Do you
think," the men asked, "that you or any

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-»69.

one else will ever get up that moun-
tain ?" And when, undismayed by their
ridicule, I stoutly answered, "Yes, but
not upon that side," they burst into
derisive chuckles. I must confess that
my hopes sank, for nothing can look,
or be, more completely inaccessible
than the Matterhorn on its northern
and north-west sides.

'* Forward'* once again. We over-
topped the Dent d'Herens. "Not a
thousand feet more : in three hours we
shall be on the summit." "You mean
/<?«," echoed Croz, so slow had been
the progress. But I was not far wrong
in the estimate. At 3.15 we struck
the 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, and
we waited, crouching under the lee of
rocks, listening to "the shrieking of the
mindless wind," while the blasts swept
across, tearing off the upper snow and
blowing it away in streamers over the
Schonbiihl glacier — ^** nothing seen ex-
cept an indescribable writhing in the
air, 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 should
stay all night upon the summit seemed
likely to come true. The men rose with
the occasion, although even their fingers
had nearly lost sensation. There were
no murmurings nor suggestions of re-
turn, and they pressed on for the little
white cone which they knew must be
near at hand. Stopped again — a big
mass perched loosely on the ridge barred
the way : we could not crawl over and
scarcely dared creep round it. The
wine went round for the last time. The
liquor was half frozen — still we would
more of it. It was all gone : the botde
was left behind, and we pushed on, for
there was a lull.

The end came almost before it was
expected. The clouds opened, and I
saw that we' were all but upon the high-
est point, and that between us and it,
about twenty yards off, there was a little
artificial pile of stones. Kennedy was
a true man — it was a cairn which he

had erected. "What is that, Croz.?"
''Homme de pierres,^'' he bawled. It
was needless to proceed farther : I jerked
the rope from Biener, and motioned that
we would go back. He did the same
to Aimer, and we turned immediately.
They did not see the stones (they were
cutting footsteps), and misinterpreted the
reason of the retreat. Voices were in-
audible and explanations impossible.

We commenced the descent of the
face. It was hideous work. The men
looked like impersonations of Winter,
with their hair all frosted and their beards
matted with ice. My hands were numb-
ed — dead. I begged the others to stop.
" We cannot afford to stop : we must con-
tinue to move," was their reply. They
were right: to stop was to be entirely
frozen. So we went down, gripping rocks
varnished with ice, which pulled the skin
from the fingers. Gloves were useless :
they became, iced too, and the batons
slid through them as slippery as eels.
The iron of the axes stuck to the fingers
— it felt red hot; but it was useless to
shrink : the rocks and the axes had to
be f!rmly grasped — no faltering would do
here.

We turned back at 4.12 p. m., and at
8.15 crossed the bergschrund again, not
having halted for a minute upon the en-
tire descent. During the last two hours
it was windless, but time was of such
vital importance that we pressed on in-
cessantly, and did not stop until we were
fairly upon the glacier. Then we took
stock of what remained of the tips of
our fingers. There was not much skin
left : they were perfectly raw, and for
weeks afterward I was reminded of the
ascent of the Dent Blanche by the
twinges which I felt when I pulled on
my boots. The others escaped with
some slight frost-bites, and altogether
we had reason to congratulate ourselves
that we. got off so lightly. The men
complimented me upon the descent, and
I could do the same honesdy by them.
If they had worked less vigorously or
harmoniously, we should have been be-
nighted upon the face, where there was
not a single spot upon which it was pos
sible to sit ; and if that had happened,

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119

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 base
and 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 out
of that time had been going not less
than seventeen. That night we slept
the sleep of those who are thoroughly
tired.*

Two days afterward, when wsrHting
into Zermatt, whom should we meet but
Mr. Kennedy! "Hullo!" we said, "we

T. S. KENNEDY.

have just seen your cairn on the top of
the Dent Blanche." " No, you haven't,"
he answered very positively. " What do
you mean?" "Why, that you cannot
have seen my cairn, because I didn't
make one!" "Well, but we saw a
cairn." "No doubt: it was made by a
man who went up the mountain last year
with Lauener and Zurfluh." "0-o-h!"
we said, rather disgusted at hearing news
when we expected to communicate some
— "0-o-h! Good-morning, Kennedy."
Before this happened we managed to
lose our way upon the Col d' Kerens, but
an account of that must be reserved for
the next chapter.

* The ascent of the Dent Blanche is the hardest
that I have made. There was nothing upon it so
difficult as the last five hundred feet of the Pointe des
Ecrins, but on the other hand, there was hardly a
step upon it which was positively easy. The whole
of the face required actual climbing. There was
probably very little difference in difficulty between
the route we took in 1865 and that followed by Mr.
Kennedy in 1S62.

CHAPTER XV.

LOST ON THE COL D'HtRENS. — MY SEVENTH
ATTEMPT TO ASCEND THE MATTER HORN.

We should have started for Zermatt
about 7 A. M. on the i8th, had not Biener
asked to be allowed to go to mass at
Evolene, a village about two and a half
hours 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 we
thereby got into a pretty little mess.

The pass which we were about to
traverse to Zermatt — the Col d' Kerens —
is one of the few glacier-passes in this
district which have been known almost
from time immemorial. It is frequently
crossed in the summer season, and is a
very easy route, notwithstanding that the
summit of the pass is 11,417 feet above
the level of the sea.

P'rom Abricolla to the summit the way
lies chiefly over the flat Glacier de Fer-
pecle. The walk is of the most straight-
forward kind. The glacier rises in gentle
undulations, its crevasses are small and
easily 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 hours
you should be upon the summit of the
pass.

We tied ourselves in line, of course,
when we entered upon the glacier, and
placed Biener to lead, as he had fre-
quently crossed the pass, supposing that
his local knowledge might save us some
time upon the other side. We had pro-
ceeded, I suppose, about halfway up,
when a little thin cloud dropped down
upon us from above, but It was so light,
so gauzy, that we did not for a moment
suppose that it would become embarrass-
ing, and hence I neglected to note at
the proper moment the course which we
should steer — that is to say, to observe
our precise situation in regard to the
summit of the pass.

For some little time Biener progress-
ed steadily, making a tolerably straight
track, but at length he wavered, and
deviated sometimes to the right and
sometimes 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 that
he was an imbecile, to untie himself at
once, and go to the rear. Biener looked
half frightened, and obeyed without a
murmur. Croz led off briskly, and
made a good straight track for a few
minutes, but then, it seemed to me, be-
gan to move steadily round to the left.
I looked back, but the mist was now too
thick to see our traces, and so we con-
tinued to follow our leader. At last the
others (who were behind, and in a bet-
ter position to judge) thought the same
as I did, and we pulled up Croz to de-
liver our opinion. He took our criticism
in good part, but when Biener opened
his mouth, that was too much for him to
stand, and he told the young man again,
" You are imbecile : I bet you t>yenty
francs to one that my track is better than
yours — twenty francs ! Now then, im-
becile !"

Aimer went to the front. He com-
menced by returning in the track for a
hundred yards or so, and then started
off at a tangent from Croz's curve. We
kept this course for half an hour, and
then were certain that we were not on
the right route, because the snow be-
came decidedly steep. We bore away
more and more to the right to avoid this
steep bank, but at last I rebelled, as we
had for some time been going almost
south-west, which was altogether the
wrong direction. After a long discus-
sion we returned some distance in our
track, and then steered a little east of
south, but we continually met steep
snow-slopes, and to avoid them went
right or left as the case might require.

We were greatly puzzled, and could
not in the least tell whether we were too
near the Dent Blanche or too close to
the Tete Blanche. The mists had thick-
ened, and were now as dense as a mod-
erate London fog. There were no rocks
or echoes to direct us, and the guidance
of the compass brought us invariably
against these steep snow-banks. The
men were fairly beaten : they had all
had a try, or more than one, and at last
gave it up as a bad job, and asked what
was to be done. It was 7.30 P. m., and

only an hour of daylight was left. We
were beginning to feel used up, for we
had wandered about at tiptop speed for
the last three hours and a half; so I
said, " This is my advice : let us turn in
our track, and go back as hard as ever
we can, not quitting the track for an in-
stant." They were well content, but just
as we were starting off the clouds lifted
a little, and we thought we saw the col.
It was then to our right, and we went at
it with a dash, but before we had gone
a hundred paces down came the mist
again. We kept on nevertheless for
twenty minutes, and then, as darkness
was perceptibly coming on, and the
snow was yet rising in front, we turned
back, and by running down the entire
distance managed to get clear of the
Ferpecle glacier just as it became pitch-
dark. We arrived at our cheerless chalet
in due course, and went to bed supper-
less, for our food was gone — all very
sulky, not to say savage, agreeing in
nothing except in bullying Biener.

At 7 A. M. on the 19th we set out, for
the third time, for the Col d'Herens. It
was 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 track
was not so bad, but Croz had swerved
from the right route from the first, and
had traced a complete semicircle, so that
when we stopped him we were facing
Abricolla, 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 stopped
them (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 summit
of the pass, and in another ten yards
we should have commenced to go down
hill ! It is needless to point out that if
the compass had been looked to at the
proper moment — that is, immediately the
mist came down — we should have avoid-
ed all our troubles. It was of little use
afterward, except to tell us when we were
going wrong.

We arrived at Zermatt in six and a
half hours' walking from Abricolla, and

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121

Seller's hospitable reception set us all
right again. On the 20th we crossed the
Th6odule pass, and diverged from its
summit up the Theodulhorn (11,391) to
examine a route which I suggested for
the ascent of the Matterhorn ; but before
continuing an account of our proceed-
ings, I must stop for a minute to explain
why this new route was proposed, in
place of that up the south-western ridge.

The Matterhorn may be divided into
three 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 not
look entirely hopeless. It was from this
last direction that all my previous at-
tempts were made. It. was by the south-
western ridge, it will be remembered, that
not only I, but Mr. Hawkins, Professor
Tyndall and the chasseurs of Val Tour-
nanche, essayed to climb the mountain.
Why, then, abandon a route which had
been shown to be feasible up to a certain
point ?

I gave it up for four reasons : i . On
account of my growing disinclination for
aretes, and preference for snow and rock
faces. 2. Because I was persuaded that
meteorological disturbances (by which
we had been baffled several times) might
be expected to occur again and again.
3. Because I found that the east face
was a gross imposition: it looked not
far from perpendicular, while its angle
was, in fact, scarcely more than 40°. 4.
Because I observed for myself that the
strata of the mountain dipped to the
west-south-west. It is not necessary to
say anything more than has been already
said upon the first two of these four points,
but upon the latter two a few words are
indispensable. Let us consider, first, why
most persons receive such an exaggerated
impression of the steepness of the eastern
face.

When one looks at the Matterhorn
from Zermatt, the mountain is regarded
(nearly) from the north-east. The face
that fronts the east is consequently neith-
er seen in profile nor in full front, but
almost halfway between the two: it
looks, therefore, more steep than it really

is. The majority of those who visit Zer-
matt go up to the Riffelberg or to the
Gornergrat, and from these places the
mountain naturally looks still more pre-
cipitous, because its eastern face (which
is almost all that is seen of it) is viewed
more directly in front. From the Riffel
hotel the slope seems to be set at an
angle of seventy degrees. If the tourist
continues to go southward, and crosses
the Theodule pass, he gets, at one point,
immediately in front of the eastern face,
which then seems to be absolutely per-
pendicular. Comparatively few persons
correct the erroneous impressions they
receive in these quarters by studying the
face in profile, and most go away with a
very incorrect and exaggerated idea of
the precipitousness of this side of the
mountain, because they have considered
the question from one point of view alone.
Several years passed away before I
shook myself clear of my early and false
impressions regarding the steepness of
this side of the Matterhorn. First of
all, I noticed that there were places on
this eastern face where snow remained
permanently all the year round. I do
not speak of snow in gullies, but of the
considerable slopes which are seen in
the accompanying engraving about half-
way up the face. Such beds as these
could not continue to remain throughout
the summer unless the snow had been
able to accumulate in the winter in large
masses; and snow cannot accumulate
and remain in large masses, in a situa-
tion such as this, at angles much exceed-
ing forty-five degrees.* Hence I was
bound to conclude that the eastern face
was many degrees removed from perpen-
dicularity ; and to be sure on this point,
I went to the slopes between the Z'Mutt-
gletscher and the Matterhorngletscher,
above the chalets of Staffel, whence the
face could be seen in profile. Its ap-
pearance from this direction would be
amazing to one who had seen it only
from the east. It looks so totally differ-
ent from the apparently sheer and per-
fectly unclimbable cliff one sees from

* I prefer to be on the safe side. My impression is,
that snow cannot accumulate in large masses at forty-
five degrees.

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the Riffelberg that it is hard to believe
the two slopes are one and the same
thing. Its angle scarcely exceeds forty
degrees.

A great step was made when this was
learned. This knowledge alone would
not, however, have caused me to try an
ascent by the eastern face instead of by
the south-west ridge. Forty degrees may
not seem a formidable inclination to the
reader, nor is it for only a small cliff.
But it is very unusual to find so steep a
gradient maintained continuously as the
general angle of a great mountain-slope,
and very few instances can be quoted
from the High Alps of such an angle
being preserved over a rise of three
thousand feet.

I do not think that the steepness or the
height of this cliff would have deterred
climbers from attempting to ascend it, if
it had not, in addition, looked so repul-
sively smooth. Men despaired of find-
ing anything to grasp. Now, some of
the difficulties of the south-west ridge
came 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 have
been the difficulty of climbing a face
which looked smooth and unbroken
close at hand ?
A more serious hindrance to mounting
the south-west ridge
is found in the dip of
its rocks to the west-
south - west. The
great mass of the
Matterhorn, it is
now well ascertain-
ed, is composed of
regularly stratified
rocks, which rise to-
war(| the east. It
has been mentioned
in the text, more than once, that the
rocks on some portions of the ridge
leading from the Col du Lion to the
summit dip outward, and that fractured
edges overhang. This is shown very
clearly in the annexed diagram. Fig. i.
It will be readily understood that such
an arrangement is not favorable for
climbers, and that the degree of facility

Fig. I.

with which rocks can be ascended that
are so disposed must depend very much
upon the frequency or paucity of fis-
sures and joints. The rocks of the
south-west ridge are sufficiently pro-
vided with cracks, but if it were other-
wise, their texture and arrangement
would render them unassailable.*

It is not possible to go a single time
upon the rocks of the south-west ridge,
from the Col du Lion to the foot of
the Great Tower, without observing the
prevalence of their outward dip, and
that their fractured edges have a tend-
ency to overhang; nor can one fail to
notice that it is upon this account the
debris which is rent off by frost does not
remain in situ, but pours down in show-
ers over the surrounding cliffs. Each
day's work, so to speak, is cleared away
— ^the ridge is swept clean : there is
scarcely anything seen but firm rock.f

The fact that the mountain is com-
posed of a series of stratified beds was
pointed out long ago. De Saussure re-
marked it, and recorded explicitly in his
Travels (^2243) that they "rose to the
north-east at an angle of about forty-
five degrees.** Forbes noticed it also,
but gave it as his opinion that the beds
were "less inclined, or nearly horizontal.'*
He added, "De Saussure is no doubt
correct.** The truth, I think, lies between
the two.

I was acquainted with both of the
above-quoted passages, but did not turn
the knowledge to any practical account
until I re-observed the same fact for my-
self. It was not until after my repulse
in 1863 that I referred the peculiar diffi-
culties of the south-west ridge to the dip
of the strata, but when once persuaded
that structure and not texture was the
real 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 in
one's boots. But upon such metamorphic schists as
compose 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 which
is between the Col du Lion and the Great Tower.
The remarks would not apply to the rocks higher up ;
higher still the rocks are firm again ; yet higher (upon
the "Shoulder ") they are much disintegrated; and
then, upon the final peak; they are again firm.

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THE MAlTERHOfiN FROM THE RIFFELBERG.

Page 121.

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>^V

Fig. 2.

say, the eastern face — ^might be compara-
tively easy; in brief, that an arrange-
ment should
be found like
Fig. 2, instead
of like Fig. i.
This trivial
deduction was
the key to the
ascent of the
Matterhorn.
The point
was, Did the strata continue with a sim-
ilar dip throughout the mountain? If
they 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; and
if it were so, its smooth aspect might be
of no account, for the smallest steps, in-
clined in this fashion, would afford good
footing.

They did so, so far as one could judge
from a distance. When snow fell in the
summer-time, it brought out long terraced
lines upon the mountain, rudely parallel
to each other ; and the eastern face on
those occasions was often whitened al-
most completely over; while the other
sides, with the exception of the powder-
ed terraces, remained black, for the snow
could 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 all
other sides. Look at any photograph
of the peak from the north-east, and
you will see that upon the right-hand
side (that facing the Z'Muttgletscher)
there is an incessant repetition of over-
hanging cliffs and of slopes, all trending
downward ; in short, that the character of
the whole of that side is similar to Fig. i ,
p. 122 ; and that upon the left hand (or
south-east) ridge the forms, so far as they
go, are suggestive of the structure shown
by Fig. 2, above. There is no doubt
that the contours of the mountain, seen
from this direction, have been largely in-
fluenced by the direction of its beds.

It was not therefore from a freak that
I invited Mr. Reilly to join in an attack

upon the eastern face, but from a grad-
ually-acquired conviction that it would
prove to give the easiest path to the
summit ; and if we had not been obliged
to part the mountain would doubtless
have been ascended in 1864.

My guides readily admitted that they
had been greatly deceived as to the
steepness of the eastern face, when they
were halted to look at it in profile as we
came down the Z'Muttgletscher on our
way to Zermatt, but they were far from
being satisfied that it would turn out to
be easy to climb, and Aimer and Biener
expressed themselves decidedly averse
to making an attempt upon it. I gave
way temporarily before their evident re-
luctance, and we made the ascent of the
Theodulhorn to examine an alternative
route, which I expected would commend
itself 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 Glacier
du Mont Cervin to a point high up on
the south-eastern ridge. I proposed to
ascend this to its head, and to cross over
the south-east ridge on to the eastern
face. This would have brought us on
a 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, with
the view of arriving at the snow upon
the north-east ridge, which is shown
upon the same engraving about half an
inch from the summit. The remainder
of the ascent was to be made by the
broken rocks, mixed with snow, upon
the north side. of the mountain. Croz
caught the idea immediately, and thought
the plan feasible: details were settled,
and we descended to Breuil. Luc Mey-
net the hunchback was summoned, and
expressed himself delighted to resume
his old vocation of tent-bearer; and
Favre's kitchen was soon in commotion
preparing three days' rations, for I in-
tended to take that amount of time over
the affair — to sleep on the first night
upon 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 ; and
upon 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 full
view of our gully, and turned off at
right 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 the
ascent, at least, would be a very simple
matter. Some suspicious marks in the
snow at its base suggested that it was
not free from falling stones, and as a
measure of precaution we turned off on
one side, worked up tinder cover of the
cliffs, and waited to see if anything
should 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 a
convenient place for a halt, and stopped
to rest upon some rocks close to the
snow which commanded an excellent
view of the gully.

While the men were unpacking the
food 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 of
the mountain for fully one thousand feet.
It then bent toward the north, and ran
up to the crest of the south-eastern ridge.
My curiosity was piqued to know what
was round this corner, and whilst I was
gazing up at it, and following with the
eye 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 that
they would not interfere with us if we
adhered to the side. But then a larger
one 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. Aimer
was seated on a rock, carving large
slices from a leg of mutton, the others
were chatting, and the first intimation
they had of danger was from a crash, a
sudden roar, which reverberated awfully

amongst the cliffs ; and looking up ihey
saw rocks, boulders and stones, big and
little, dart round the corner eight hun-
dred feet or so above us, fly with fearful
fury against the opposite cliffs, rebound
from them against the walls on our side,
and descend; some ricochetting from
side to side in a frantic manner, some
bounding down in leaps of a hundred
feet or more over the snow, and more
trailing down in a jumbled, confused
mass, mixed with snow and ice, deep-
ening the grooves which a moment be-
fore had excited my admiration.

The men looked wildly around for
protection, and, dropping the food, dash-
ed under cover in all directions. The
precious 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 defending
rocks, endeavoring to make themselves
as small as possible. Let it not be sup-
posed that their fright was unreasonable
or that I was free from it. I took good
care to make myself safe, and went and
cringed in a cleft until the storm had
passed. 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 novelty
to me. It arose, of course, from the
couloir being bent, and from the falling
rocks having acquired great pace before
they 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 centres
of gullies, and you are out of harm's
way if you follow the sides.

There would have been singularly
little amusement and very great risk in
mounting this gully, and we turned our
backs upon it with perfect unanimity.
The question then arose, ** What is to be
done ?" I suggested climbing the rocks
above us, but this was voted impossible.
I thought the men were right, but would
not give in without being assured of the
fact, and clambered up to settle the ques-
tion. In a few minutes I was brought
to 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 an
eye upon his monsieur ; Aimer, a hun-
dred feet below, sat on a rock with his
face buried in his hands; Biener was
nowhere, out of sight. "Come down,
come down,'* shouted Croz, "it is use-
less ;" and I turned at length, convinced
that it was even as he said. Thus my
little plan was knocked on the head,
and we were thrown back upon the orig-
inal scheme.

We at once made a straight track for
Mr. Morshead's Breuiljoch (which was
the most direct route to take in order to

get to the Hornli, where we intended to
sleep, preparatory to attacking the east-
ern face), and arrived upon its summit
at 12.30 P.M. We were then unexpect-
edly checked. The pass, as one, had
vanished ! and we found ourselves cut
off from the Furggengletscher by a small
but precipitous wall of rock : the glacier
had shrunk so much that descent was
impracticable. During the last hour
clouds had been coming up from the
south : they now surrounded us, and it
began to blow hard. The men cluster-
ed together, and advocated leaving the
mountain alone. Aimer asked, with
more point than politeness, " Why don't

^''.^'

MT TBKT-BBARER— THB HUNCHBACK.

you try to go up a mountain which
can be ascended ?" *' It is impossible,"
chimed in Biener. "Sir," said Croz, "if
we cross to the other side we shall lose
three days, and very likely shall not
succeed. You want to make ascents in
the chain of Mont Blanc, and I believe
they can be made. But I shall not be
able to make them with you if I spend
these days here, for I must be at Cha-
mounix on the 27th." There was force
in what he said, and his words made me
hesitate. I relied upon his strong arms
for some work which it was expected
would be unusually difficult. Snow be-
gan to fall : that settled the matter, and

I gave the word to retreat. We went
back to Breuil, and on to Val Tour-
nanche, where we slept; and the next
day proceeded to Chatillon, and thence
up the valley of Aosto to Cormayeur.

I cannot but regret that the counsels
of the guides prevailed. If Croz had
not uttered his well-intentioned words he
might still have been living. He parted
from us at Chamounix at the appointed
time, but by a strange chance we met
again at Zermatt three weeks later ; and
two days afterward he perished before
my eyes on the very mountain from
which we turned away, at his advice
on the 2 1 St of June.

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:p-A.ie.T jx.

CHAPTER XVI.

VALLEY OF AOSTA, AND ASCENT OF THE

GR ANDES JOR ASSES.

THE valley of Aosta is famous for
its bouquetins and infamous for its
cretins. The bouquetin, steinbock, or
ibex, was formerly widely distributed
throughout the Alps. It is now confined
almost entirely, or absolutely, to a small
district in the south of the valley of
Aosta, and fears have been repeatedly
expressed in late years that it will speed-
ily become extinct.

But the most sanguine person does
not imagine that cretinism will be eradi-
cated for many generations. It is wide-
ly spread throughout the Alps, it is by
no means peculiar to the valley of Aosta,
but nowhere does it thrust itself more
frequently upon the attention of the
traveler, and in no valley where "every
prospect pleases '* is one so often and so
painfully reminded that "only man is
vile."

It seems premature to fear that the
bouquetins will soon become extinct. It
is not easy to take a census of them, for,
although they have local habitations, it
is extremely difficult to find them at
home. But there is good reason to be-
lieve that there are at least six hundred
126

still roaming over the mountains in
the neighborhood of the valleys of Gri-
sanche, Rhemes, Savaranche and Cogne.

It would be a pity if it were otherwise.
They appeal to the sympathies of all as
the remnants of a diminishing race, and
no mountaineer or athletic person could
witness without sorrow the extinction of
an animal possessing such noble quali-
ties ; which a few months after birth can
jump over a man's head at a bound,
without taking a run ; which passes its
whole hfe in a constant fight for exist-
ence ; which has such a keen apprecia-
tion of the beauties of Nature, and such
disregard of pain, that it will " stand for
hours like a statue in the midst of the bit-
terest storm, until the tips of its ears are
frozen " ! and which, when its last hour
arrives, "climbs to the highest mountain-
peaks, hangs on a rock with its horns,
twists itself round and round upon them
until they are worn off, and then falls
down and expires"!!* Even Tschudi
himself calls this story wonderful. He
may 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 the
most able chasseurs of the district, guard

* Tschudi's Sketches of Nature in the Alps.

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127

its haunts. Their task is not a light one,
although they are naturally acquainted
with those who are most likely to attempt
poaching. If they were withdrawn, it
would not be long before the ibex would
be an extinct wild animal, so far as the
Alps are concerned. The passion for
killing something, and the present value
of the beast itself, would soon lead to its
extermination. For as meat alone the

THB BOUQUBTIN.

bouquetin is valuable, the gross weight
of one that is full grown amounting to
from one hundred and sixty to two hun-
dred pounds, while its skin and horns
are worth ten pounds and upward, ac-
cording to condition and dimensions.

In spite of the keepers, and of the
severe penalties which may be inflicted
for killing a bouquetin, poaching occurs
constandy. Knowing that this was the
case, I inquired at Aosta, upon my last

visit, if any skins or horns were for sale,
and in ten minutes was taken into a
garret where the remains of a splendid
beast were concealed — a magnificent
male, presumed to be more than twenty
years old, as its massive horns had twen-
ty-two more or less strongly -marked
knobby rings. The extreme length of
the skin, from the tip of the nose to the
end of the tail, was one metre sixty-nine
centimetres (about five feet
seven inches), and from the
ground to the top of its back
had been, apparently, about
seventy-seven centimetres.
It is rare to meet with a bou-
quetin of these dimensions,
and the owner of this skin
might have been visited with
several years' imprisonment
if it had been known that it
was in his possession.

The chase of the bouque-
tin is properly considered a
sport fit for a king, and His
Majesty Victor Emmanuel,
for whom it is reserved, is
too good a sportsman to
slaughter indiscriminately
an animal which is an or-
nament to his domains.
Last year (1869) seventeen
Sl"?.^]^:^^ fell to his gun at one hun-
dred yards and upward. In
1 868, His Majesty presented
a 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 set
up in their rooms at Aosta.
It is said by connoisseurs to
be badly stuffed — ^that it is
not broad enough in the chest and is too
large behind. Still, it looks well-propor-
tioned, although it seems made for hard
work rather than for feats of agility.
From this specimen the accompanying
engraving has been made.

It is a full-grown male about twelve
years old, and if it stood upright would
measure three feet three and a half
inches from the ground to the base of its
horns. Its extreme length is four feet

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seven inches. Its horns have eleven
well-marked rings, besides one or two
faintly-marked ones, and are (measured
round their curvature) fifty-four and a
half centimetres in length. The horns
of the first-mentioned specimen (meas-
ured in the same way) had a length of
only fifty-three and a half centimetres,
although they were ornamented with
nearly double the number of rings, and
were presumably of double the age, of
the other.*

The keepers and the chasseurs of this
district not only say that the rings upon
the horns of the ibex tell its age (each
one reckoning as a year), but that the
half-developed ones, which sometimes
are very feebly marked indeed, show
that the animal has suffered from hunger
during the winter. Naturalists are skep-
tical upon this point, but inasmuch as
they offer no better reason against the
reputed fact than the natives do in its
favor (one saying that it is not so, and
the other saying that it is so), we may
perhaps be permitted to consider it an
open question. I can only say that if
the faintly-marked rings do denote years
of famine, the times for the bouquetin
are very hard indeed ; since in most of
the horns which I have seen the lesser
rings have been very numerous, and
sometimes more plentiful than the prom-
inent ones.

The chef of the keepers (who judges
by the above-mentioned indications)
tells me that the ibex not unfrequently
arrives at the age of thirty years, and
sometimes to forty or forty -five. He
says, too, that it is not fond of traversing
steep snow, and in descending a couloir
that is filled with it will zig-zag down,
by springing from one side to the other
in leaps of fifty feet at a time ! Jean
Tairraz, the worthy landlord of the Ho-
tel du Mont Blanc at Aosta (who has
had opportunities of observing the ani-
mal closely), assures me that at the
age 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 ttvofeet
long, there are eight of these yearly rings." It would
seem, therefore (if the rings are annual ones), that the
maximum 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 long
may its chase preserve the health of the
mountaineering king, Victor Emmanuel !
Long life to the bouquetin ! but down
with the cretin !

The peculiar form of idiocy which is
called cretinism is so highly developed
in the valley of Aosta, and the natives
are so familiarized with it, that they are
almost indignant when the surprised
traveler remarks its frequency. One is
continually reminded that it is not pe-
culiar to the valley, and that there are
cretins elsewhere. It is too true that this
terrible scourge is widespread through-
out the Alps and over the world, and
that there are places where the propor-
tion of cretins to population is, or has
been, even greater than in the valley of
Aosta ; 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 upon
the wayfarer — where equal numbers are
reduced to a condition which any re-
spectable ape might despise.

The whole subject of cretinism is sur-
rounded with difficulty. The number
of those who are afflicted by it is un-
known, its cure is doubtful, and its origin
is mysterious. It has puzzled the most
acute observers, and every general state-
ment in regard to it must be fenced by
qualifications.

It is tolerably certain, however, that
the centre of its distribution in the valley
of Aosta is about the centre of the valley.
The city of Aosta itself may be regarded
as its head-quarters. It is there, and in
the neighboring towns of Gignod, Ville-
neuve, St. Vincent and Verrex, and in
the villages and upon the high-road be-
tween those places, that these distorted,
mindless beings, more like brutes than
men, commonly excite one's disgust by
their hideous, loathsome and uncouth
appearance, by their obscene gestures
and by their senseless gabbling. The
accompanying portrait of one is by no
means overdrawn : some are too fright-
ful for representation.

How can we account for this partic-

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129

ular intensity toward the middle of the
valley ? Why is it that cretins become
more and more numerous after Ivrea is
passed, attain their highest ratio and
lowest degradation at or about the chief
town of the valley, and then diminish in
numbers as its upper termination is ap-
proached ? This maximum of intensity
must certainly point to a cause, or to a
combination of causes, operating about
Aosta, which are less powerful at the
two extremities of the valley ; and if the
reason for it could be determined, the
springs 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 this
single locality, and the inquirer were to
find not merely that it was almost un-
known upon the plains to the east and
in the districts to the west, but that the
valleys radiating north and south from
the main valley were practically un-
affected by it. For it is a remarkable
circumstance, which has attracted the
notice of all who have paid attention to
cretinism, that the natives of the trib-
utary valleys are almost free from the
malady — that people of the same race,
speaking the same language, breathing
the same air, eating the same food, and
9

living the same life, enjoy almost entire
immunity from it, while at the distance
of a very few miles thousands of others
are completely in its power.

A parallel case is found, however, on
the other side of the Pennine Alps. The
Rhone valley is almost equally disfigured
by cretinism, and in it, too, the extrem-
ities of the valley are slightly affected
compared with the intermediate districts
— particularly those between Brieg and
St. Maurice.* This second example
strengthens the conviction that the great
development of cretinism in the middle
of the valley of Aosta is not the result
of accidental circumstances.

It was formerly supposed that cre-
tinism arose from the habitual drink-
ing of snow- and glacier-water. De
Saussure opposed to this conjecture the
facts that the disease was entirely un-
known precisely in those places where
the inhabitants were most dependent
upon these kinds of water, and that it
was most common where such was
not the case — that the high valleys
were untainted, while the low ones
were infected. The notion seems to
have proceeded from cretins being
confounded with persons who were
merely goitred, or at least from the
supposition that goitre was an incipi-
•' ent stage of cretinism.

Goitre, it is now well ascertained, is
induced by the use of chemically im-
pure water, and especially hard water ;
and the investigations of various ob-
servers have discovered that goitre has
an intimate connection with certain
geological formations. In harmony with
these facts it is found that infants are
seldom born with goitres, but that they
develop as the child grows up, that they
will sometimes appear and disappear
from mere change of locality, and that
it is possible to produce them inten-
tionally.

It is not so certain that the causes
which 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 is
chiefly 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 ot
Aosta 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 is
also true that there are tens of thousands
of goitrous persons who are entirely free
from all traces of cretinism. Not only
so, but that there are districts in the Alps
and outside of them (even in our own
country) where goitre is not rare, but
where the cretin is unknown. Still, re-
garding the evil state of body which
leads to goitre as being, possibly, in
alliance with cretinism, it will not be
irrelevant to give the former disease a
litde more attention before continuing
the consideration of the main subject.

In this country the possession of a
goitre is considered a misfortune rather
than otherwise, and individuals who are
afflicted with these appendages attempt
to conceal their shame. In the Alps it
is quite the reverse. In France, Italy
and Switzerland it is a positive advan-
tage to be goitred, as it secures exemp-
tion from military service. A goitre is
a thing to be prized, exhibited, preserved
— it is worth so much hard cash ; and it
is an unquestionable fact that the per-
petuation of the great goitrous family is
assisted by this very circumstance.

When Savoy was annexed to France
the administration took stock of the re-
sources of its new territory, and soon
discovered that although the acres were
many the conscripts would be few. The
government bestirred itself to amend this
state of affairs, and after arriving at the
conclusion that goitre was produced by
drinking bad water (and that its produc-
tion was promoted by sottish and bestial
habits), took measures to cleanse the
villages, to analyze the waters (in order
to point out those which should not be
drunk), and to give to children who
came to school lozenges containing small
doses of iodine. It is said that out of
five thousand goitrous children who were
so 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 cures
would 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 preferred
their "wallets of flesh !**

No wonder that the pr6fet for Haute-
Savoie proposes that goitrous persons
shall no longer be privileged. Let him
go farther, and obtain a decree that all
of them capable of bearing arms shall
be immediately drafted into the army.
Let them be formed into regiments by
themselves, brigaded together and com-
manded by cretins. Think what esprit
de corps they would have ! Who could
stand against them ? Who would un-
def stand their tactics ? He would save
his iodine and would render an act of
justice 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 the
better.

De Saussure substituted heat and stag-
nation of air as the cause of cretinism,
in the place of badness of water. But
this was only giving up one unsatisfac-
tory explanation for another equally un-
tenable ; and since there are places far
hotter and with pernicious atmospheres
where the disease is unknown, while, on
the other hand, there are situations in
which it is common where the heat is
not excessive, and which enjoy a freely
circulating atmosphere, his assumption
may be set aside as insufficient to ac-
count for the cretinism of the valley of
Aosta. And in regard to its particular
case it may be questioned whether there
is anything more than an imaginary
stagnation of air. For my own part, I
attribute the oppression which strangers
say they feel in the middle of the valley
not to stagnation of air, but to absence
of shadow in consequence of the val-
ley's course being east and west; and
believe that if the force of the wind were
observed and estimated according to the
methods in common use, it would be
found 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, are
placed at the entrances of valleys and
upon elevated slopes, with abundant

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131

natural facilities for drainage — free from
malaria, which has been suggested as
accounting for the cretinism of the Rhone
valley.

Others have imagined that intemper-
ance, poor living, foul habits and per-
sonal uncleanliness sow the seeds of
cretinism ; and this opinion is entitled
to full consideration. Intemperance of
divers kinds is fruitful in the production
of insanity, and herding together in filthy
dwellings, with little or no ventilation,
may possibly deteriorate physique as
much as extreme indulgence may the
mind. These ideas are popularly en-
tertained, because cretins are more
numerous among the lower orders than
among the well-to-do classes. Yet they
must, each and all, be regarded as in-
adequate to account for the disease, still
less to explain its excess in the centre
of the valley ; for in these respects there
is little or no distinction between it,
the two extremities and the neighboring
districts.

A conjecture remains to be considered
regarding the origin of cretinism which
is floating in the minds of many persons
(although it is seldom expressed), which
carries with it an air of probability that
is wanting in the other explanations, and
which is supported by admitted facts.

The fertility of the valley of Aosta is
proverbial. It is covered with vineyards
and cornfields, flocks and herds abound
in it, and its mineral resources are great.
There is enough and to spare both for
man and beast. There are poor in the
valley, as there are everywhere, but life
is so far easy that they are not driven to
seek for subsistence in other places, and
remain from generation to generation
rooted to their native soil. The large
numbers of persons who are found in
this valley having the same surnames
is a proof of the well-known fact that
there is little or no emigration from the
valley, and that there is an indefinite
amount of intermarriage between the
1 atives. It is conjectured that the con-
tinuance of these conditions through a
long period has rendered the population
more or less consanguineous, and that we
see in cretinism an example; upon a large

scale, of the evil effects of alliances of
kindred.

This explanation commends itself by
reason of its general applicability to cre-
tinism. The disease is commonly found
in 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, where
communications are free. It will at once
be asked, ** Why, then, are not the tribu-
tary valleys of the valley of Aosta full
of cretins ?" The answer is, that these
lateral valleys are comparatively sterile,
and are unable to support their popula-
tion from their internal resources. Large
numbers annually leave and do not re-
turn — some come back, having formed
alliances elsewhere. There is a constant
circulation and introduction of new blood.
I am not aware that there are returns to
show the extent to which this goes on,
but the fact is notorious.

This conjecture explains, far better
than the other guesses, why it is that
cretinism has so strong a hold upon the
lower classes, while it leaves the upper
ones almost untouched; for the former
are most likely to intermarry with peo-
ple of their own district, whilst the latter
are under no sort of compulsion in this
respect. It gives a clue, too, to the rea-
son of the particular intensity in the
centre of the valley. The inhabitants
of the lower extremity communicate and
mix with the untainted dwellers on the
plains, whilst the conditions at the up-
per extremity approximate to those of
the lateral valleys. Before this explana-
tion will be generally received a closer
connection will have to be established
between the assumed cause and the
presumed effect. Accepting it, never-
theless, as a probable and reasonable
one, let us now consider what prospect
there is of checking the progress of the
disease.

It is, of course, impossible to change
the habits of the natives of the valley
of Aosta suddenly, and it would proba-
bly be very difficult to cause any large
amount of emigration or immigration.
In the present embarrassed condition of
Italian finances there is very small chance

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of any measure of the sort being under-
taken if it would involve a considerable
expenditure. The opening of a railway
from Ivrea to Aosta might possibly bring
about, in a natural way, more move-
ment than would be promoted by any
legislation, and by this means the hap-
piest effects might be produced.

There is little hope of practical results
from attempts to cure cretins. Once a
cretin, you are always one. The experi-
ments of the late Dr. Guggenbiihl de-
monstrated that some ^a^-cretins may
even become useful members of society
if they are taken in hand early in life,
but they did not show that the nature
of the true or complete cretin could be
altered. He essayed to modify some of
the mildest forms of cretinism, but did
not strike at the root of the evil. . If fifty
Guggenbuhls were at work in the single
valley of Aosta, they would take several
generations to produce an appreciable
effect, and they would never extirpate
the disease so long as its sources were
unassailed.

Nor will the house which has been
built at Aosta to contain two hundred
cretin, beggars do much, unless the in-
mates are restrained from perpetuating
their own degradation. Even the lowest
types of cretins may be procreative, and
it is said that the unlimited liberty which
is allowed to them has caused infinite
mischief. A large proportion of the cre-
tins who will be born in the next gen-
eration will undoubtedly be offspring of
cretin parents. It is strange that self-
interest does not lead the natives of
Aosta to place their cretins under such
restrictions as would prevent their illicit
intercourse ; and it is still more surpris-
ing to find the Catholic Church actually
legalizing their marriage. There is some-
thing horribly grotesque in the idea of
solemnizing^^ 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 such
marriages are sanctioned is scandalous
and infamous.

The supply, therefore, is kept up from
two sources. The first contingent is de-
rived from apparently healthy parents ;

the second, by inheritance from diseasea
persons. The origin of the first is ob-
scure ; and before its quota can be cut
off", or even diminished, the mystery
which 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 are
affiected, the most extreme cases must be
placed under restraint, and cretins whose
origin is illegitimate must be subject to
disabilities. Nothing short of the adop-
tion of these measures will meet the
case. Useless it will be, so long as the
primary ^ources of the disease are un-
touched, to build hospitals, to cleanse
dwellings, to widen streets, or to attempt
small ameliorations of the social circum-
stances of the natives. All of these
things are good enough in themselves,
but they are wholly impotent to eff"ect a
radical change.

No satisfactory conclusion will be ar-
rived at regarding the origin of cretinism
until the pedigrees of a large number of
examples have been traced. The numer-
ical test is the only one which is likely
to discover the reality. The necessary
inquiries are beyond the powers of pri-
vate persons, and their pursuit will be
found sufficiently difficult by official in-
vestigators. Great reluctance will be
exhibited to disclose the information
which should be sought, and the com-
mon cry will certainly be raised that
such scrutiny is without general advan-
tage and is painful to private feelings.
But in matters which affect mankind in
general, individual feelings must always
be subordinated to the public interest;
and if the truth is to be arrived at in
regard to cretinism, the protests of the
ignorant will have to be overridden.

Cretinism is the least agreeable feature
of the valley of Aosta, but it is, at the
same time, the most striking. It has
been touched upon for the sake of its
human interest, and on account of those
unhappy beings who — punished by the
errors of their fathers — are powerless to
help themselves ; the first sight of whom
produced such an impression upon the
most earnest of all Alpine writers that

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THE GRANDES JORASSES AND THE OOIRE TORRENT, VAL FERRET (D'lTALIE).

Page 133.

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

'33

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 guides
and I were reposing upon the top of
Mont Saxe, scanning the Grandes Jo-
rasses with a view to ascending it. Five
thousand feet of glacier -covered pre-
cipices rose above us, and up all that
height 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 one
point at which it was doubtful if we
should find a path. The glaciers were
shrinking, and were surrounded by bas-
tions of rounded rock, far too polished
to please the rough mountaineer. We
could not track a way across them.
However, at 4 a. m. the next day, under
the dexterous leading of Michael Croz,
we passed the doubtful spot. Thence it
was all plain sailing, and at i p. m. we
gained the summit. The weather was
boisterous in the upper regions, and
storm-clouds driven before the wind and
wrecked against our heights enveloped
us in misty spray, which danced around
and fled away, which cut us off from the
material universe, and caused us to be,
as it were, suspended betwixt heaven
and earth, seeing both occasionally, but
seeming to belong to neither.

The mists lasted longer than my pa-
tience, and we descended without hav-
ing attained the object for which the
ascent was made. At first we followed
the little ridge shown upon the accom-
panying engraving (The Grandes Jo-
rasses from the Val Ferret), leading from
our summit toward the spectator, and
then took to the head of the corridor of
glacier on its left, which in the view is
left perfectly white. The slopes were
steep and covered with new-fallen snow,
flour- like and evil to tread upon. On
the ascent we had reviled it, and had
made our staircase with much caution,
knowing full well that the disturbance
of its base would bring down all that
was above. In descending, the bolder
spirits counseled trusting to luck and a
glissade : the cautious ones advocated

avoiding the slopes and crossing to the
rocks on their farther side. The advice
of the latter prevailed, and we had half
traversed the snow to gain the ridge
when the crust slipped and we went
along with it. "Halt!" broke from all
four unanimously. The axe-heads flew
round as we started on this involuntary
glissade. It was useless — they slid over
the underlying ice fruitlessly. "Halt!'*
thundered Croz, as he dashed his wea-
pon in again with superhuman energy.
No halt could be made, and we slid
down slowly, but with accelerating mo-
tion, driving up waves of snow in front,
with streams of the nasty stuff hissing
all around. Luckily, the slope eased
off at one place, the leading men clev-
erly jumped aside out of the moving
snow, we others followed, and the young
avalanche which we had started, con-
tinuing to pour down, fell into a yawn-
ing crevasse, and showed us where our
grave would have been if we had re-
mained in its company five seconds
longer. The whole affair did not occupy
half a minute. It was the solitary inci-
dent of a long day, and at nightfall we
re-entered the excellent house kept by
the courteous Bertolini, well satisfied
that we had not met with more incidents
of a similar description.

CHAPTER XVII.
THE COL DOLENT.

Freethinking mountaineers have
been latterly in the habit of going up
one 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 of
thought which arises from the absence
of technical education. The true be-
liever abhors such heresies, and observes
with satisfaction that Providence often-
times punishes the offenders for their
greediness by causing them to be be-
nighted. The faithful know that passes
must be made between mountains, and
not over their tops. Their creed declares
that between any two mountains there
must be a pass, and they believe that

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

the end for which big peaks were created
— ^the office they are especially designed
to fulfill — is to point out the way one
should go. This is the true faith, and
there is no other.

We set out upon the 26th of June to
endeavor to add one more to the passes
which are strictly orthodox. We hoped,
rather than expected, to discover a quick-
er route from Courmayeur to Chamounix
than the Col du Geant, which was the
easiest, quickest and most direct pass
known at the time across the main chain
of Mont Blanc. The misgivings which
I had as to the result caused us to start
at the unusual hour of 12.40 A. m. At
4.30 we passed the chalets of Pr^ du
Bar, and thence, for some distance, fol-
lowed the track which we had made
upon the ascent of Mont Dolent, over
the glacier of the same name. At a
quarter-past eight we arrived at the head
of the glacier, and at the foot of the
only steep gradient upon the whole of
the ascent.

It was the beau-ideal of a pass. There
was a gap in the mountains, with a big
peak on each side (Mont Dolent and the
Aiguille de Triolet). A narrow thread
of snow led up to the lowest point be-
tween those mountains, and the blue
sky beyond said. Directly you arrive
here you will begin to go down. We
addressed ourselves to our task, and at
lo.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 been
at Chamounix. Upon the other side we
knew that there was a couloir in corre-
spondence with that up which we had
just come. If it had been filled with
snow, all would have been well : it turn-
ed out to be filled with ice. Croz, who
led, passed over to the other side, and
reported that we should get down some-
how, but I knew from the sound of his
axe how the somehow would be, and
settled myself to sketch, well assured
that / should not be wanted for an hour
to come. What I saw is shown in the
engraving — a sharp aiguille (nameless),
perhaps the sharpest in the whole range,
backed on the left by the Aiguille de
Triolef ; queer blocks of (probably) pro-

togine sticking out awkwardly through
the snow ; and a huge cornice from
which big icicles depended, that broke
away occasionally and went skiddling
down the slope up which we had como.
Of the Argentiere side I could not see
anything.

Croz was tied up with our good manila
rope, and the whole two hundred feet
were paid out gradually by Aimer and
Biener before he ceased working. After
two hours' incessant toil, he was able
to anchor himself to the rock on his
right. He then untied himself, the rope
was drawn in, Biener was attached to
the end and went down to join his com-
rade. There was then room enough for
me to stand by the side of Aimer, and I
got my first view of the other side. For
the 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 about
fifty degrees, which was a sheet of ice
from top to bottom. It was unbroken
by rock or crag, and anything thrown
down it sped away unarrested until the
level of the Glacier d' Argentiere was
reached. The entire basin of that noble
glacier was spread out at our feet, and
the ridge beyond, culminating in the
Aiguille d'Argentiere, was seen to the
greatest advantage. I confess, however,
that I paid very little attention to the
view, for there was no time to indulge
in such luxuries. I descended the icy
staircase and joined the others, and then
we three drew in the rope tenderly as
Aimer came down. His was not an en-
viable position, but he descended with
as much steadiness as if his whole life
had been passed on ice-slopes of fifty
degrees. The process was repeated,
Croz again going to the front, and avail-
ing himself very skillfully of the rocks
which projected from the cliff on our
right. Our two hundred feet of rope
again came to an end, and we again
descended one by one. From this point
we were able to clamber down by the
rocks alone for about three hundred feet.
They then became sheer cliff, and we
stopped for dinner, about 2.30 p. M., at
the 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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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

^35

us rather more than halfway down the
gully. We were now approaching,
although we were still high above, the
schrunds at its base, and the guides
made out, in some way unknown to me,
that Nature had perversely placed the
only snow-bridge across the topmost one
toward the centre of the gully. It was
decided to cut diagonally across the
gully to the point where the snow-bridge
was supposed to be. Aimer and Biener
undertook the work, leaving Croz and

MY ICB-AXB.

myself firmly planted on the rocks to
pay 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 snow
over soft snow) are only rarely met with
in the Alps. They are frequently spoken
of, but such as that to which I refer are
very rarely seen, and still more seldom
traversed. It is, however, always pos-
sible that they may be encountered, and
on this account, if for no other, it is ne-
cessar)' for men who go mountaineering
to be armed with ice-axes, and with

good ones. The form is of more im-
portance than might be supposed. Of
course, if you intend to act as a simple
amateur and le;t others do the work, and
only follow in their steps, it is not of
much importance what kind of ice-axe
you carry, so long as its head does not
fall off or otherwise behave itself im-
properly. There is no better weapon
for cutting steps in ice than a common
pick-axe, and the forai of ice-axe which
is now usually employed by the best
guides is very like a minia-
ture pick. My own axe is.
copied from Melchior An-
deregg's. It is of wrought
iron, with point and edge
steeled. Its weight, includ-
ing spiked handle, is four
pounds. For cutting steps
in ice the pointed end of the
head is almost exclusively
employed: the adze -end is
handy for polishing them up,
but is principally used for
cutting in hard snow. Apart
from its value as a cutting
weapon, it is invaluable as a
grapnel. It is naturally a
rather awkward implement
when it is not being employ-
ed for its legitimate purpose,
and is likely to give rise to
much strong language in
crushes at railway termini,
unless its head is protected
with a leathern cap or in some
other way. Many attempts
have been made, for the sake
of convenience, to fashion an
ice-axe with a nwvable head, but it
seems difficult or impossible to produce
one except at the expense of cutting
qualities and by increasing the weight.

Mr. T. S. Kennedy (of the firm of
Fairbairn & Co.), whose practical ac-
quaintance with mountaineering and
with the use and manufacture of tools
makes his opinion particularly valuable,
has contrived the best that I have seen ;
but even it seems to me to be deficient
in rigidity, and not to be so powerful a
weapon as the more common kind with
the fixed head. The simple instrument

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

which is shown in the annexed diagram
is the invention of Mr. Leslie Stephen,

and it answers the purposes for which
he devised it — namely, for giving better

hold upon snow and ice than
can be obtained from the com-
mon alpenstock, and for cutting
an occasional step. The ama-
teur scarcely requires anything
more imposing, but for serious
ice-work a heavier weapon is in-
dispensable.

To persons armed with the
proper tools, ice-slopes are not
so dangerous as many places
which appeal less to the imagination.
Their ascent or descent is necessarily
laborious (to those who do the
work), and they may therefore
be termed difficult. They ought
not to be dangerous. Yet they
always seem dangerous, for one
is profoundly convinced that if
he slips he will certainly go to the
bottom. Hence, any man who
is not a fool takes particular care to pre-
serve his balance, and in consequence
we have the noteworthy fact that acci-
dents have seldom or never taken place
upon ice-slopes.

The same slopes covered with snow
are much less impressive, and may be
much more dangerous. They may be
less slippery, the balance may be more
easily preserved, and if one man slips
he may be stopped by his own personal
efforts, provided the snow which over-
lies the ice is consolidated and of a rea-
sonable depth. But if, as is more likely
to be the case upon an angle of fifty
degrees (or anything approaching that
angle), there is only a thin stratum of
snow which is not consolidated, the oc-
currence of a slip will most likely take
the entire party as low as possible, and,
in addition to the chance of broken
necks, there will be a strong probability
that some, at least, will be smothered by
the dislodged snow. Such accidents are
far too common, and their occurrence.

KENNEDY ICK-AXK.

as a rule, may be traced to the
want of caution which is induced
by the apparent absence of
danger.

I do not believe that the use
of the rope, in the ordinary way,
affords the least real security
upon ice-slopes. Nor do 1 think
that any benefit is derived from
the employment of crampons.
Mr. Kennedy was good enough
to 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 comfortable
with them on my feet in places where
they are not of the slightest use — that is,
in situations where there is no possibility
of slipping — and would not wear them

upon an ice-slope for any consideration
whatever. All such adventitious aids
are useless if you have not a good step
in the ice to stand upon, and if you have
got that nothing more is wanted except
a few nails in the boots.

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

^37

Aimer and Biener got to the end of
their tether : the rope no longer assured
their safety, and they stopped work as
we advanced and coiled it up. Shortly
afterward they struck a streak of snow
that proved to be just above the bridge
of which they were in search. The slope
steepened, and for thirty feet or so we
descended face to the wall, making steps
by kicking with the toes and thrusting
the arms well into the holes above, just
as if they had been rounds in a ladder.
At this time we were crossing the upper-
most of the schrunds. Needless to say
that the snow was of an admirable qual-
ity: this performance would otherwise
have been impossible. It was soon over,
and we then found ourselves upon a
huge rhomboidal mass of ice, and still
separated from the Argentiere glacier by
a gigantic crevasse. The only bridge
over this lower schrund was at its eastern
end, and we were obliged to double back
to get to it. Cutting continued for half
an hour after it was passed, and it was
5.35 p. M. before the axes stopped work,
and we could at last turn back and look
comfortably at the formidable slope upon
which seven hours had been spent.*

The Col Dolent is not likely to com-
pete with the Col du Geant, and I would
recommend any person who starts to
cross it to allow himself plenty of time,
plenty of rope and ample guide-power.
There is no difficulty whatever upon any
part of the route, excepting upon the
steep slopes immediately below the sum-
mit on each side. When we arrived
upon the Glacier d' Argentiere our work
was as good as over. We drove a straight
track to the chalets of Lognan, and thence
the way led over familiar ground. Soon
after dusk we got into the high-road at
Les Tines, and at 10 p. m. arrived at
Chamounix. Our labors were duly re-
warded. Houris brought us champagne
and the other drinks which are reserved
for the faithful, but before my share was
consumed I fell asleep in an arm-chair.
1 slept soundly until daybreak, and then
turned 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 pass
21,624 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 at
Chamounix, but Croz considered that he
was bound by honor to wait for him, and
thus Christian Aimer of Grindelwald be-
came my leading guide.

Aimer displayed aptitude for moun-
taineering at an early age. Whilst still
a very young man he was known as a
crack chamois-hunter, and he soon de-
veloped into an accomplished guide.
Those who have read Mr. Wills' graphic
account of the first ascent of the Wet-
terhorn* will remember that when his

CHRISTIAN ALMBR.

party was approaching the top of the
mountain two stranger men were seen
climbing by a slightly different route,
one of whom carried upon his back a
young fir tree, branches, leaves and all.
Mr. Wills' guides were extremely indig-
nant with these two strangers (who were
evidently determined to be the first at
the summit), and talked of giving them
blows. Eventually they gave them a
cake of chocolate instead, and declared
that they were good fellows. "Thus the
pipe of peace was smoked, and tran-
quillity reigned between the rival forces.'*
Christian Aimer was one of these two
men.

♦ Wanderings among the High Alps, 1858.

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

This was in 1854. In 1858-59 he
made the first ascents of the Eigher and
the Monch, the former with a Mr. Har-
rington (?), and the latter with Dr. Porges.
Since then he has wandered far and near,
from Dauphine to the Tyrol. With the
exception of Melchior Anderegg, there
is not, perhaps, another guide of such
wide experience, or one who has been
so invariably successful ; and his numer-
ous employers concur in saying that there

is not a truer heart or a surer foot to be
found amongst the Alps.

Before recrossing the chain to Cour-
mayeur we ascended the Aiguille Verte.
In company with Mr. Reilly I inspected
this mountain from every direction in
1864, and came to the conclusion that
an ascent could more easily be made
from the south than upon any other side.
We set out upon the 28th from Chamou-
nix 40 attack it, minus Croz, and plus

ON THE MER DB GLACB.

a porter (of whom I will speak more
particularly presently), leaving our com-
rade very downcast at having to kick
his heels in idleness, whilst we were
about to scale the most celebrated of his
native aiguilles.

Our course led us over the old Mer de
Glace, the glacier made famous by De
Saussure and Forbes. The heat of the
day was over, but the little rills and
rivulets were still flowing along the sur-
face of the ice ; cutting deep troughs
where the gradients were small, leaving

ripple-marks where the water was with
more difficulty confined to one channel,
and falling over the precipitous walls of
the great crevasses, sometimes in bound-
ing cascades, and sometimes in diffused
streams, which marked the perpendicu-
lar faces with graceful sinuosities.* As
night came on, their music died away,
the rivulets dwindled down to rills, the
rills 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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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

139

ling drops, caught by the hand of frost,
were bound to the ice, coating it with an
enameled film which lasted until the sun
struck 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 seen
in the higher glacier-regions is obliterated
in the lower ones. Others — Agassiz and
Mr. 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, very
difficult to trace stratification in the low-
er ends of the Alpine glaciers, but we
are not, upon that account, entitled to
conclude that the original structure of
the ice has been obliterated. There are
thousands of crevasses in the upper
regions upon whose walls no traces of
bedding are apparent, and we might
say, with equal unreasonableness, that
it was obliterated there also. Take an
axe and clear away the ice which has
formed from water trickling down the
faces 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 been
effaced, although it has been obscured.

We camped on the Couvercle (sev-
enty-eight hundred feet) under a great
rock, and at 3. 1 5 the next morning start-
ed for our aiguille, leaving the porter in
charge of the tent and of the food. Two
hours' walking over crisp snow brought
us up more than four thousand feet, and
within about sixteen hundred feet of the
summit. From no other direction can it
be approached so close-
ly with equal facility.
Thence the mountain
steepens. After his late
severe .piece of ice-work,
Aimer had a natural in-
clination for rocks ; but
the lower rocks of the
final peak of the Verte
were not inviting, and he
went on and on, looking
for a way up them, until
we arrived in front of a
great snow -couloir that
led from the Glacier de
Talefre right up to the
crest of the ridge con-
necting the summit of
the Verte with the moun-
tain called Les Droites.
This was the route which
1 intended to be taken,
but Aimer pointed out
that the gully narrowed
at the lower part, and
that if stones fell we
should stand some chance of getting
our heads broken ; and so we went on
still more to the east of the summit, to
another and smaller couloir which ran
up side by side with the great one. At
5.30 we crossed the schrund which pro-
tected the final peak, and a few minutes
afterward saw the summit and the whole
of the intervening route. ** Oh, Aiguille
Verte !" said my guide, stopping as he
said it, "you are dead, you are dead!"
which, being translated into plain Eng-
lish, meant that he was cock-sure we
should make its ascent.
Aimer is a quiet man at all times.

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When climbing he is taciturn, and this
is one of his great merits. A garrulous
man is always a nuisance, and upon the
mountain-side he may be a danger, for
actual climbing requires a man's whole
attention. Added to this, talkative men
are hindrances : they are usually thirsty,
and a thirsty man is a drag.

Guide-books recommend mountain-
walkers to suck pebbles to, prevent their
throats from becoming parched. There
is not much goodness to be got out of
the pebbles, but you cannot suck them
and keep the mputh open at the same
time, and hence the throat does not be-
come dry. It answers just as well to
keep the mouth shut, without any peb-
bles inside — indeed, I think, better ; for
if you have occasion to open your mouth
you can do so without swallowing any
pebbles.* As a rule, amateurs, and
particularly novices, will not keep their
mouths shut. They attempt to *' force
the pace ;" they go faster than they can
go without being compelled to open their
mouths to breathe ; they pant, their
throats and tongues become parched;
they drink and perspire copiously, and,
becoming exhausted, declare that the
dryness of the air or the rarefaction of
the air (everything is laid upon the air)
is in fault. On several accounts, there-
fore, a mountain-climber does well to
hold his tongue when he is at his work.

At the top of the small gully we cross-
ed oVer the intervening rocks into the
large one, and followed it so long as it
was filled with snow. At last ice re-
placed snow, and we turned over to the
rocks upon its left. Charming rocks
they were — granitic in texture, gritty,
holding the nails well. At 9.45 we part-
ed from them, and completed the ascent
by a little ridge of snow which descend-
ed in the direction of the Aiguille du
Moine. At 10.15 we stood on the sum-
mit ( 1 3,540 feet), and devoured our bread
and cheese with a good appetite.

I have already spoken of the disap-
pointing nature of purely panoramic

*I heard lately of two well-known mountaineers
who, under the influence of sudden alarm, swalU/wtd
their crystals. I am happy to say that they were
able to cough them up again.

views. That seen from Mont Blanc
itself is notoriously unsatisfactory. When
you are upon that summit you look down
upon all the rest of Europe. There is
nothing to look up to — all is below;
there is no one point for the eye to re?t
upon. 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 needs
be unsatisfactory. Upon the summit of
the Verte there is not this objection.
You see valleys, villages, fields ; you see
mountains interminable rolling away,
lakes resting in their hollows ; you hear
the tinkling of the sheep-bells as it rises
through the clear mountain air, and the
roar of the avalanches as they descend
to the valleys ; but above all there is the
great white dome, with its shining crest
high above ; with its sparkling glaciers,
that descend between buttresses which
support them ; with its brilliant snows,
purer and yet purer the farther they are
removed from this unclean world.

Even upon this mountain-top it was
impossible to forget the world, for some
vile wretch came to the Jardin and made
hideous sounds by blowing upon a horn.
Whilst we were denouncing him a change
came over the weather : cumulous clouds
gathered in all directions, and we started
off in hot haste. Snow began to fall
heavily before we were off the summit-
rocks, our track was obscured and fre-
quently lost, and everything became so
sloppy and slippery that the descent took
as long as the ascent. The schrund was
recrossed at 3.15 p. M., and thence we
raced down to the Couvercle, intending
to have a carouse there; but as we
rounded our rock a howl broke simul-
taneously from all three of us, for the
porter had taken down the tent, and was
in 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 to
Chamounix to communicate his ideas to
the guide chef. ** Unfasten the tent and
get out the food." But instead of doing
so, the porter fumbled in his pockets.
"Get out the food," we roared, losing all
patience. ** Here it is," said our worthy

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friend, producing a dirty piece of bread
about as big as a half-penny roll. We
three looked solemnly at the fluff-cover-
ed morsel. It was past a joke — he had
devoured everything. Mutton, loaves,
cheese, wine, eggs, sausages — all was
gone past recovery. It was idle to grum-
ble and useless to wait. We were light,
and could move quickly — the porter was
laden inside and out. We went our
hardest — he had to shuffle and trot. He
streamed with perspiration ; the mutton
and cheese oozed out in big drops ; he
larded the glacier. We had our revenge,
and dried our clothes at the same time,
but when we arrived at the Montanvert
the porter was as wet as .we had been
upon our arrival at the Couvercle. We
halted at the inn to get a little food, and
at a quarter-past eight re-entered Cha-
mounix amidst firing of cannon and
other demonstrations of satisfaction on
the part of the hotel-keepers.

One would have thought that the as-
cent of this mountain, which had been
frequently assailed before without suc-
cess, would have afforded some gratifi-
cation to a population whose chief sup-
port is derived from tourists, and that
the prospect of the perennial flow of
francs which might be expected to result
from it would have stifled the jealousy
consequent on the success of foreigners.*

It was not so. Chamounix stood on
its rights. A stranger had ignored their
regulations, had imported two foreign
guides, and furthermore he had added
injury to that insult — he had not taken
a single Chamounix guide. Chamounix
would be revenged ! It would bully the
foreign guides : it would tell them they
had lied— ^they had not made the ascent !
Where were their proofs ? Where was
the flag upon the summit ?

Poor Aimer and Biener were accord-
ingly chivied from pillar to post, from
one inn to another, and at length com-
plained to me. Peter Perrn, the Zermatt
guide, said on the night that we returned
that this was to happen, but the story
seemed too absurd to be true. I now
bade my men go out again, and follow-

* The Chamounix tariff price for the ascent of the
aiguille is now placed at four pounds /^r^vuViV.

ed them myself to see the sport. Cha-
mounix was greatly excited. The bureau
of the guide chef was thronged with
clamoring men. Their ringleader — one
Zacharie 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. My
friend Kennedy, who was on the spot,
heard of the disturbance and rushed into
the fray, confronted the burly guide and
thrust back his absurdities into his teeth.

There were the materials for a very
pretty riot, but they manage these things
better in France than we do, and the
gensdarmes — ^three strong — came down
and dispersed the crowd. The guides
quailed before the cocked hats, and re-
tired to cabarets to take little glasses of
absinthe and other liquors more or less
injurious to the human frame^ Under
the influence of these stimulants they
conceived an idea which combined re-
venge with profit. *' You have ascended
the Aiguille Verte, you say. We say we
don't believe it. We say, Do it again !
Take three of us with you, and we will
bet you two thousand francs to one thou-
sand that you won't make the ascent !"

This proposition was formally notified
to me, but I declined it with thanks, and
recommended Kennedy to go in and
win. I accepted, however, a hundred-
franc share in the bet, and calculated
upon getting .two hundred per cent, on
my investment. Alas! how vain are
human expectations ! Zacharie Cachat
was put into confinement, and although
Kennedy actually ascended the aiguille
a week later with two Chamounix guides
and Peter Perm, the bet came to nothing.f

The weather arranged itself just as this
storm in a teapot blew over, and we left
at once for the Montanvert, in order to
show the Chamouniards the easiest way
over the chain of Mont Blanc, in return
for the civilities which we had received
from 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 against
the ringleaders. We accepted his apologies and de-
clined his invitation. Needless to add, Michel Croi
took 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 Col
du G6ant must have been a shrewd
mo ntaineer. The pass was in use be-
fore any other was known across the
main chain of Mont Blanc, and down to
the present time it remains the easiest
and quickest route from Chamounix to
Courmayeur, with the single exception
of the pass that we crossed upon the 3d
of July for the first time, which lies about
midway between the Aiguille de Triolet
and the Aiguille de Talefre, and which,

for want of a better name, I have called
the Col de Talefre.

When one looks toward the upper
end of the Glacier de Talefre from the
direction of the Jardin or of the Couver-
cle, the ridge that bounds the view seems
to be of little elevation. It is overpow-
ered by the colossal Grandes Jorasses
and by the almost equally magnificent
Aiguille Verte. The ridge, notwithstand-
ing, is by no means despicable. At no
point is its elevation less than eleven
thousand six hundred feet. It does not
look anything like this height. The
Glacier de Talefre mounts with a steady
incline, and the eye is completely de-
ceived.

In 1864, when prowling about with
Mr. Reilly, I instinctively fixed upon a
bent couloir which led up from the gla-
cier to the lowest part of the ridge ; and
when, after crossing the Col de Triolet,
I saw that the other side presented no
particular difficulty, it seemed to me that
this was the one point in the whole of
the range which would afford an easier
passage than the Col du G6ant.

We set out from the Montanvert at 4
A. M. upon July 3, to see whether this
opinion was correct, and it fortunately
happened that the Rev. A. G. Girdle-

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143

stone and a friend, with two Chamoimix
guides, left the inn at the same hour as
ourselves, to cross the Col du G6ant.
We kept in company as far as our routes
lay together, and at 9.35 we Arrived at
the top of our pass, haying taken the
route to the south of the Jardin. De-
scription is unnecessary, as our track is
laid down very clearly on the engraving
at the head of this chapter.

Much snow had fallen during the late
bad weather, and as we reposed upon
the top of our pass (which was about
eleven thousand six hundred and fifty
feet above the level of the sea, and six
hundred feet above the Col dii Geant),
we saw that the descent of the rocks
which intervened between us and the
Glacier de Triolet would require some
caution, for the sun's rays poured down
directly upon them, and the snow slip-
ped away every now and then from ledge
to ledge just as if it had been water — in
cascades not large enough to be impos-
ing, but sufficient to knock us over if we
got in their way. This little bit of cliff
consequently took a longer time than it
should have done, for when we heard
the indescribable swishing, hissing sound
which announced a coming fall, we' of
necessity huddled under the lee of the
rocks until the snow ceased to shoot
over us.

We got to the level of the Glacier de
Triolet without misadventure, then steer-
ed for its left bank to avoid the upper of
its two formidable ice-falls, and after de-
scending the requisite distance by some
old snow lying between the glacier and
the cliffs which border it, crossed direct-
ly to the right bank over the level ice
between the two ice-falls. The right
bank was gained without any trouble,
and we found there numerous beds of
hard snow (avalanche debris), down
which we could run or glissade as fast
as we liked.

Glissading is a very pleasant employ-
ment when it is accomplished success-
fully, and I have never seen a place
where it can be more safely indulged in
than the snowy valley on the right bank
of the Glacier de Triolet. In my dreams
I ghssade delightfully, but in practice I

find that somehow the snow will not be-
have properly, and that my alpenstock
will get between my legs. Then my
legs go where my head should be, and I

see the sky revolving at a rapid pace :
the snow rises up and smites me, and
runs away, and when it is at last over-
taken it suddenly stops, and we come
into violent coUision. Those who are
with me say that I tumble head over
heels, and there may be some truth in
what they say. Streaks of ice are apt
to make the heels shoot away, and stray
stone^ cause one to pitch headlong down.
Somehow, these things always seem to
come in the way, so it is as well to ghs-
sade only when there is something soft
to tumble into."^

Near the termination of the glacier we
could not avoid traversing a portion of
its abominable moraine, but at 1.30 p. M.
we were clear of it, and threw ourselves
upon some springy turf, conscious that
our day's work was over. An hour after-
ward we resumed the march, crossed the
Doire torrent by a bridge a little below
Gruetta, and at five o'clock entered Cour-
mayeur, having occupied somewhat less
than ten hours on the way. Mr. Girdle-
stone's party came in, I beheve, about
four hours afterward, so there was no
doubt that we made a shorter pass than
the Col du Geant ; and I believe we dis-

* In glissading an erect position should be main-
tained, and the point of the alpenstock allowed to
trail over the snow. If it is necessary to stop or to
slacken speed, the point is pressed against the slope,
as shown in the illustratiou.

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

covered a quicker way of getting from
Chamounix to Courmayeur, ox vice versa,
than will be found elsewhere so long as
the chain of Mont Blanc remains in its
present condition.

CHAPTER XX.

ASCENT OF THE RUINETTE — ^THE MATTER-
• HORN.

All of the excursions that were set
down in my programme had been car-
ried out, with the exception of the ascent
of the Matterhorn, and we now turned our
faces in its direction, but instead of re-
turning via the Val Tournanche, we took
a route across country, and bagged upon
our 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 Val
d'Ollomont and the Col de la Fenetre
(9140 feet) to Chermontane. We slept
that night at the chalets of Chanrion (a
foul spot, which should be avoided), left
them at 3.50 the next morning, and after
a short scramble over the slope above,
and a half-mile tramp on the Glacier
de Breney, we crossed directly to the
Ruinette, 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 have
only to go ahead : upon its southern side
one can walk about almost anywhere.

Though I speak thus slightingly of a
very respectable peak, I will not do any-
thing of the kind in regard to the view
which it gives. It is happily placed in
respect to the rest of the Pennine Alps,
and as a stand-point it has not many
superiors. You see mountains, and
nothing but mountains. It is a solemn
— some would say a dreary — view, but
it is very grand. The great Combin
(14,164 feet), with its noble background
of 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 Dent
d' Kerens, although closer, looks a mere
outlier of its great neighbor, and the
snows of Monte Rosa behind seem in-

tended for no other purpose than to give
relief to the crags in front. To the south
there is an endless array of Bees and
Beccas, backed by the great Italian
peaks, whilst to the north Mont Pleureur
(12,159 feet) Isolds its own against the
more distant Wildstrubel.

We gained the summit at 9.15, and
stayed there an hour and a half. My
faithful guides then admonished me that
Prerayen, whither we were bound, was
still far away, and that we had yet to
cross two lofty ridges. So we resumed
our harness and departed ; not, however,
before a huge cairn had been built out
of the blocks of gneiss with which the
summit is bestrewn. Then we trotted
down the slopes of the Ruinette, over
the Glacier de Breney, and across a pass
which (if it deserves a name) may be
called the Col des Portons, after the
neighboring peaks. From thence we
proceeded across the great Otemma
glacier toward the Col d'Olen.

The part of the glacier that we trav-
ersed was overspread with snow, which
completely concealed its numerous pit-
falls. We marched across it in single
file, and of course roped together. All
at once Aimer dropped into a crevasse
up to his shoulders. I pulled in the
rope immediately, but the snow gave
way as it was being done, and I had to
spread out my arms to stop my descent.
Biener held fast, but said afterward that
his feet went through as well, so, for a
moment, all three were in the jaws of
the crevasse. We now altered our course,
so as to take the fissures transversely,
and after the centre of the glacier was
passed, 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 it
is my invariable practice to employ a
rope when traversing a* snow-covered
glacier. Many guides, even the best
ones, object to be roped, more especially
early in the morning, when the snow is
hard. They object sometimes because
they think it is unnecessary. Crevasses
that 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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145

down, and hollows mark the course of the
chasms beneath. An experienced guide
usually notices these almost impercep-
tible wrinkles, steps one side or the other,
as the case may require, and rarely
breaks through unawares. Guides think
there is no occasion to employ a rope,
because they think that they will not be
taken by surprise. Michel Croz used to
be of this opinion. He used to say that
only imbeciles and children required to
be tied up in the morning. I told him
that in this particular matter I was a
child to him. "You see these things,
my good Croz, and avoid them. I do
not, except you point them out to me,
and so that which is not a danger to you
is a danger to me." The sharper one's
eyes get by use, the less is a rope required
as a protective against these hidden pit-
falls, but according to my experience
the sight never becomes so keen that
they can be avoided with unvarying cer-
tainty, and I mentioned what occurred
upon the Otemma glacier to show that
this is so.

I well remember my first passage of
the Col Theodule, the easiest of the
higher Alpine glacier passes. We had
a rope, but my guide said it was not
necessary — he knew all the crevasses.
However, we did not go a quarter of a
mile before he dropped through the snow
into a crevasse up to his neck. He was
a heavy man, and would scarcely have
extricated himself alone ; anyhow, he
was very glad of my assistance. When
he got on to his legs again, he said,
"Well, I had no idea that there, was a
crevasse there." He no longer objected
to use the rope, and we proceeded —
upon my part with greater peace of mind
than before. I have crossed the pass
thirteen times since then, and have in-
variably insisted upon being tied.

Guides object to the use of the rope
upon snow-covered glacier, because they
are afraid of being laughed at by their
comrades ; and this, perhaps, is the more
common reason. To illustrate this, here
is another Theodule experience. We
arrived at the edge of the ice, and I re-
quired to be tied. My guide (a Zermatt
man of repute) said that no one used a

rope going across that pass. I declined
to argue the matter, and we put on the
rope, though very much against the wish
of my man, who protested that he should
have to submit to perpetual ridicule if
we met any of his acquaintances. We
had 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 kept
at the Riffel hotel for the ascent of Monte
Rosa): "it will be as I said — I shall
never hear the end of this." The guide
we met was followed by a string of tom-
fools, none of whom were tied together,
and had his face covered by a mask to
prevent it becoming blistered. After we '

had passed, I said, " Now, should R

make any observations to you, ask him
why he takes such extraordinary care to
preserve the skin of his face, which will
grow again in a week, when he neglects
such an obvious precaution in regard to
his 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 use
a rope upon snow-covered glacier which
born mountaineers not unfrequently ex-
hibit, arises — first, on the part of expert
men from the consciousness that they
themselves incur little risk ; secondly,
on the part of inferior men from fear
of ridicule, and from aping the ways of
their superiors ; and 'thirdly, from pure
ignorance or laziness. Whatever may
be the reason, I raise my voice against
the neglect of a precaution so simple
and so effectual. In my opinion, the
very first thing a glacier-traveler requires
is plenty of good rope.

A committee of the English Alpine
Club was appointed in 1864 to test, and
to report upon, the most suitable ropes
for mountaineering purposes, and those
which were approved are probably as
good as can be found. One is made of
Manila and another of Italian hemp.
The former is the heavier, and weighs a
little more than an ounce per foot (103
ounces to 100 feet). The latter weighs
79 ounces per 100 feet, but I prefer the
Manila 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 196
pounds falling 8 feet, and they break
with a dead weight of two tons. In
1865 we carried two loo-feet lengths of
the Manila rope, and the inconvenience
arising from its weight was more than
made up for by the security which it
afforded. Upon several occasions it was
worth more than an extra guide.

Now, touching the use of the rope.
There is a right way and there are wrong
ways of using it. I often meet, upon
glacier-passes, elegantly got-up persons,
who are clearly out of their element,
with a guide stalking along
in front, who pays no atten-
tion to the innocents in his
charge. They are tied to-
gether as a matter of form,
but they evidently have no
idea why they are tied up,
for they walk side by side or
close together, with the rope
trailing on the snow. If one
tumbles into a crevasse, the
rest stare and say, " La ! what
is the matter with Smith?"
unless, as is more likely, they all tum-
ble in together. This is the wrong way
to use a rope. It is abuse of the rope.

It is of the first importance to keep
the rope taut from man to man. There
is no real security if this is not done, and
your risks may be considerably magni-
fied. There is little or no difficulty in
extricating one man who breaks through
a bridged crevasse if the rope is taut,
but the case may be very awkward if
two break through at the same moment,
close together, and there are cinly two
others to aid, or perhaps only one other.
Further, the rope ought not upon any
account to graze over snow, ice or rocks,
otherwise the strands suffer and the lives
of 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's
heels. If circumstances render it im-

THE RIGHT WAY TO USB THE ROPB.

possible for the rope to be kept taut by
itself, the men behind should gather it
up round their hands,^* and not allow
it to incommode those in advance. A
man must either be incompetent,, care-
less or selfish if he permits the rope to
dangle about the heels of the person in
front of him.

The distance from man to man must
be 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. The
second man shcmid take a turn of the rope around his
hand to draw it back in case the leader goes through.

twelve feet is sufficient. If there are only
two or three persons, it is prudent to allow
a little more — say fifteen feet. More
than this is unnecessary, and less than
nine or ten feet is not much good.

It is essential to e^^amine your rope
from time to time to see that it is in good
condition. If you are wise you will do
this yourself every day. Latterly, I have
examined 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 through
accidental grazes.

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Thus far the rope has been supposed
to be employed upon level, snow-cov-
ered glacier, to prevent any risk from
concealed crevasses. On rocks and on
slopes it is used for a different purpose
(namely, to guard against slips), and in
these cases it is equally important to
keep it taut and to preserve a reason-
able distance one from the other. It is
much more troublesome to keep the rope
taut upon slopes than upon the level,
and upon difficult rocks it is all but im-
possible, except by adopting the plan of
moving only one at a time.

From the Col d'Olen we proceeded
down the combe of the same name to
the chalets of Prerayen, and passed the
night of the 6th under the roof of our
old acquaintance, the wealthy herds-
man. On the 7th we crossed the Va
Cornere Pass, en route for Breuil. My
thoughts were fixed on the Matterhorn,
and my guides knew that I wished them
to accompany me. They had an aver-
sion to the mountain, and repeatedly
expressed their belief that it was useless
to try to ascend it. ''Anything but Mat-
terhorn, dear sir!" said Aimer — '" any^
thing but Matterhorn." He did not
speak of difficulty or of danger, nor was
he shirking work. He offered to go
anywhere, but he entreated that the Mat-
terhorn should be abandoned. Both
men spoke fairly enough. They did
not think that an ascent could be made,
and for their own credit, as well as for
my sake, they did not wish to undertake
a business which in their opinion would
only lead to loss of time dnd money.

I sent them by the short cut to Breuil,
and walked down to Val Tournanche to
look for Jean-Antoine Carrel. He was
not there. The villagers said that he
and three others had started on the 6th
-to try the Matterhorn by the old way, on
their own account. They will have no
luck, I thought, for the clouds were low
down on the mountains ; and I walked
up to Breuil, fully expecting to meet
them. Nor was I disappointed. About
halfway up I saw a group of men clus-
tered around a chalet upon the other
side 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. They
had had no success. The weather, thev
said, had been horrible, and they .had
scarcely reached the Glacier du Lion.

I explained the situation to Carrel, and
proposed that we, with Caesar and an-
other man, should cross the Th6odule
by moonlight on the 9th, and that upon
the loth we shoruld pitch the tent as high
as possible upon the east face. He was
unwilling to abandon the old route, and
urged me to try it again. I promised
to do so provided the new route failed.
This satisfied him, and he agreed to my
proposal. I then went up to Breuil, and
discharged Aimer and Biener — with
much regret, for no two men ever served
me more faithfully or more willingly.*
On the next day they crossed to Zermatt.

The 8th was occupied with prepara-
tions. The weather was stormy, and
black, rainy vapors obscured the moun-
tains. Toward evening a young man
came from Val Tournanche, and report-
ed that an Englishman was lying there
extremely ill. Now was the time for the
performance of my vow, and on the
morning of Sunday, the 9th, I went
down the valley to look after the sick
man. On my way I passed a foreign
gentleman, with a mule and several
porters laden with baggage. Amongst
these men were Jean-Antoine and Caesar,
carrying some barometers. *' Hullo !'* I
said, "what are you doing?" They ex-
plained that the foreigner had arrived
just as they were setting out, and that
they were assisting his porters. *' Very
well : go on to Breuil, and await me there
— ^we start at midnight, as agreed." Jean-
Antoine then said that he should not be
able to serve me after Tuesday, the i ith,
as he was engaged to travel "with a
family of distinction" in the valley of
Aosta. "And Csesar?" "And Caesar
also." "Why did you not say this be-
fore ?" " Because," said he, " it was not
settled. The engagement is of long

•During the preceding eighteen days (I exclude
Sundays and other non-working days) we ascended
more than one hundred thousand feet, and descended
ninety-eight thousand feet.

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Standing, but the day was not fixed.
When I got back to Val Tournanche on
Friday night, after leaving you, I found
a letter naming the day." I could not
object to the answer, but the prospect of
being left guideless was provoking. They
went up, and I down, the valley.

The sick man declared that he was
better, though the exertion of saying as
much tumbled him over on to the floor
in a fiainting-fit. He was badly in want
of medicine, and I tramped down to
Chatillon to get it. It was late before I
returned to Val Tournanche, for the
weather was tempestuous and rain fell
in torrents. A figure passed me under
the church-porch. '* Qui vive .?" " Jean-
Antoine." *' I thought you were at Breuil."
**No, sir: when the storm came on I
knew we should not start to-night, and
so came down to sleep here." "Ha,
Carrel," I said, "this is a great bore.
If to-morrow is not fine, we shall not be
able to do anything together. I have
sent away my guides, relying on you,
and now you are going to leave me to
travel with a party of ladies. That work
is not fit for you'' (he smiled, I supposed
at the implied comphment) : '* can't you
send some one else instead?" **No,
monsieur. I am sorry, but my word is
pledged. I should like to accompany
you, but I can't break my engagement."
By this time we had arrived at the inn
door. *'Well, it is no fault of yours.
Come presently with Caesar, and have
some wine." They came, and we sat
up till midnight, recounting our old ad-
ventures, in the inn of Val Tournanche.

The weather continued bad upon the
loth, and I returned to Breuil. The two
Carrels were again hovering about the
above-mentioned chalet, and I bade
them adieu. In the evening the sick
man crawled up, a good deal better, but
his was the only arrival. The Monday
crowd * did not cross the Theodule, on
account of the continued storms. The
inn was lonely. I went to bed early,
and was awoke the next morning by the
invalid inquiring if I had heard the news.

* Tourists usually congregate at Zermatt upon Sun-
days, and large gangs and droves cross the Theodule
pass on Mondays.

" No — ^what news ?" '* Why," said he, *' a
large party of guides went off this morn-
ing to try the Matterhorn, taking >yith
them a mule laden with provisions."

I went to the door, and with a tele-
scope saw the party upon the lower
slopes of the mountain. Favre, the
landlord, stood by. "What is all this
about?" I inquired: "who is the leader
of this party?" "Carrel." "What!
Jean-Antoine ?" "Yes, Jean-Antoine."
"Is Caesar there too?" "Yes, he is
there." Then I saw in a moment that I
had been bamboozled and humbugged,
and learned, bit by bit, that the affair
had been arranged long beforehand.
The start on the 6th had been for a pre-
liminary reconnaissance ; the mule that
I passed was conveying stores for the
attack; the "family of distinction " was
Signor F. Giordano, who had just des-
patched the party to facilitate the way
to the summit, and who, when the facil-
itation was completed, was to be taken
to the top along with Signor Sella ! f

I was greatly mortified. My plans
were upset: the Italians had clearly
stolen a march upon me, and I saw that
the astute Favre chuckled over my dis-
comfiture, because the route by the east-
ern face, if successful, would not benefit
his inn. What was to be done ? I re-
tired to my room, and, soothed by to-
bacco, re-studied my plans, to see if it
was not possible to outmanoeuvre the
Italians. "They have taken a mule-
load of provisions." That is one point
in my favor, for they will take two or
three days to get through the food, and
until 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 point
in my favor. " They are to facilitate the
way. Well, if they do that to any pur-
pose, it will be a long job." Altogether,
I reckoned that they could not possibly
ascend the mountain and come back to
Breuil in less than seven days. I got
cooler, for it was evident that the wily
ones might be outwitted after all. There
was 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 time
as the messieurs, and yet get to the top
before them.

The first thing to do was to go to Zer-
matt. Easier said than done. The
seven guides upon the mountain in-
cluded the ablest men in the valley, and
none of the ordinary muleteer-guides
were at Breuil. Two men, at least, were
wanted for my baggage, but not a soul
could be found. I ran about and sent
about in all directions, but not a single
porter could be obtained. One was with
Carrel, another was ill, another was at
Chatillon, and so forth. Even Meynet
the hunchback could not be induced to
come : he was in the thick of some im-
portant cheese - making operations. I
was in the position of a general without
an army : it was all very well to make
plans, but there was no one to execute
them. This did not much trouble me, for
it was evident that so long as the weather
stopped traffic over the Theodule, it would
hinder 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'.s
sons.* I went at once to this gentleman
to learn if he could dispense with Taug-
walder. He said that he could not, as
they were going to recross to Zermatt
on the morrow, but that the young man
should assist in transporting my bag-
gage, as he had nothing to carry. We
naturally got into conversation. I told
my story, and learned that the young
Englishman was Lord Francis Douglas.f
whose recent exploit; — the ascent of the
Gabelhorn— had excited my wonder and
admiration. He brought good news.
Gld Peter had lately been beyond the
Hornli, 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 left
Zermatt, and could not be recovered,
so I determined to seek for old Peter.
Lord Francis Douglas expressed a warm
desire to ascend the mountain, and be-
fore long it was determined that he
should take part in the expedition.

Favre could no longer hinder our de-
parture, and lent us one of his men. We
crossed the Col Theodule on Wednes-
day morning, the 1 2th of July, rounded
the foot of the Ober Th^odulgletscher,
crossed the Furggengletscher, and de-
posited tent, blankets, ropes and other
things in the little chapel at the Schwarz-
see. All four were heavily laden, for
we brought across the whole of my stores
from Breuil. Of rope alone there were
about six hundred feet. There were
three kinds: first, two hundred feet of
Manila rope ; second, one hundred and
fifty feet of a stouter and probably strong-
er rope than the first ; and third, more
than two hundred feet of a lighter and
weaker rope than the first, of a kind that
I used formerly (stout sash-line).
^ We descended to Zermatt, sought and
engaged old Peter, 'and gave him per-
mission to choose another guide. When
we returned to the Monte Rosa hotel,
whom should we see sitting upon the
wall 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 health
at Chamounix, and had returned to Eng-
land. Croz, thus left free, had been im-
mediately engaged by the Rev. Charles
Hudson, and they had come to Zermatt
with the same object as ourselves —
namely, to attempt the ascent of the
Matterhorn I

Lord Francis Douglas and I dined at
the Monte Rosa, and had just finished
when Mr. Hudson and a friend entered
the salle d manger. They had returned
from inspecting the mountain, and some
idlers in the room demanded their in-
tentions. We heard a confirmation of
Croz*s statement, and learned that Mr.
Hudson intended to set out on the mor-
row at the same hour as ourselves. We
left the room to consult, and agreed it

,nr.i;r,^t5^Googk

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

was undesirable that two independent
parties should be on the mountain at the
same time with the same object. Mr.
Hudson was therefore invited to join us,
and he accepted our proposal. Before
admitting his friend, Mr. Hadow, I took
the precaution to inquire what he had
done in the Alps, and, as well as I re-
member, Mr. Hudson's reply was, * Mr.
Hadow has done Mont Blanc in less time
than most men." He then mentioned
several other excursions, that were un-
known to me, and added, in answer to a
further question, '* I consider he is a suf-
ficiently good man to go with us." Mr.
Hadow was admitted without any further
question, and we then went into the mat-
ter of guides. Hudson thought that Croz
and old Peter would be sufficient. The
question was referred to the men them-
selves, and they made no objection.

So Croz and I became comrades once
more, and as I threw myself on my bed
and tried to go to sleep, I wondered at
the strange series of chances which had
first separated us and then brought us
together 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 his
recommendation to transfer our energies
to the chain of Mont Blanc ; of the re-
tirement of Aimer and Biener; of the
desertion of Carrel ; of the arrival of
Lord Francis Douglas ; and lastly of
our accidental meeting at Zermatt ; and
as I pondered over these things I could
not help asking, "What next ?" If any
one of the hnks of this fatal chain of cir-
cumstances had been omitted, what a
different story I should have to tell !

CHAPTER XXI.
THE ASCENT OF THE MATTERHORN.

We started from Zermatt on the 1 3th
of July at half-past five, on a brilliant
and perfectly cloudless morning. We
were eight in number — Croz, old Peter
and his two sons,* Lord Francis Doug-

• The two young Taugwalders were taken as por-
ters by desire of their father, and carried provisions
amply sufficient for three days, in case the ascent
should prove more troublesome than we anticipated.

las, Hadow, Hudson f and L To en-
sure steady motion, one tourist and one
native walked together. The youngest
Taugwalder fell to my share, and the
lad marched well, proud to be on the
expedition and happy to show his pow-
ers. The wine-bags also fell to my lot
to carry, and throughout the day, after

f I remember speaking about pedestrianism to a
well-known mountaineer some years ago, and ven-
turing to remark that a man who averaged thirty
miles a day might be considered a good walker. ** A
fair walker," he said — "a /air walker." "What,
then, would yOu consider ^<w</ walking?" "Well,"
he replied, *' I will tell you. Some time back a friend
and I agreed to go to Switzerland, but a short time
afterward he wrote to say he ought to let me know
that a young and delicate lad was going with him who
would not be equal to great things — in fact, he would
not be able to do more than fifty miles a day 1"
" What became of the young and delicate lad ?" " He
lives." " And who was your extraordinary friend?"
" Charles Hudson." I have every reason to believe
that the gentlemen referred to wer^ equal to walking
more 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 fraternity
to be the best amateur of his time. He was the or-
ganizer and leader of the party of Englishmen who
ascended Mont Blanc by the Aiguille du Gouter, and
descended by the Grands Mulets route, without
guides, in 1855. His long practice made him sure-
footed, and in that respect he was not greatly inferior
to a born mountaineer. I remember him as a well-
made man of middle height and age, neither stout nor
thin, with face pleasant though grave, and with quiet,
unassuming manners. Although an athletic man, he
would have been overlooked in a crowd ; and although
he had done the greatest mountaineering feats which
have l)een done, he was the last man to speak of his
own doings. His friend, Mr. Hadow, was a young
man of nineteen, who had the looks and manners of a
greater age. He was a rapid walker, but 1865 was
his first season in the Alps. Lord Francis Douglas
was about the same age as Mr. Hadow. He had had
the advantage of several seasons in the Alps. He
was nimble as a deer, and was becoming an expert
mountaineer. Just before our meeting he had ascend-
ed the Ober Gabelhorn (with old Peter and Joseph
Viennin), and this gave me a high opinion of his
powers, for I had examined that mountain all round
a few weeks before, and had declined its ascent on
account of its apparent difficulty.

My personal acquaintance with Mr. Hudson was
very slight ; still, I should have been content to have
placed myself under his orders if he had chosen to
claim the position to which he was entitled. Those
who knew him will not be surprised to learn that, so
far from doing this, he lost no opportunity in consult-
ing the wishes and opinions of those around him. We
deliberated together whenever there was occasion, and
our authority was recognized by the others. What-
ever responsibility there was devohred upon us. I
recollect with satisfaction that there was no difference
of opinion between us as to what should be done, and
that the most perfect harmony existed between all of
us so long as we were together.

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each drink, I replenished them secretly
with water, so that at the next halt they
were found fuller than before ! This
was considered a good omen, and little
short of miraculous.

On the first day we did not intend to
ascend to any great height, and we
mounted, accordingly, very leisurely,
picked up the things which were left in
the chapel at the Schwarzsee at 8.20,
and proceeded thence along the ridge
connecting the Hornli with the Matter-
horn. At half- past eleven we arrived
at the base of the actual peak, then quit-
ted the ridge and clambered round some
ledges on to the eastern faces We were
now fairly upon the mountain, and were
astonished to find that places which from
the 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 a
good position for the tent, at a height of
eleven thousand feet.* Croz and young
Peter went on to see what was above, in
order to save time on the following morn-
ing. They cut across the heads of the
snow-slopes which descended toward
the Furggengletscher, and disappeared
round a corner, but shortly afterward we
saw them high up on the face, moving
quickly. We others made a solid plat-
form for the tent in a well-protected spot,
and then watched eagerly for the return
of the men. The stones which they up-
set told that they were very high, and
we supposed that the way must be easy.
At length, just before 3 P. m., we saw
them 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 a
different story : ** Nothing but what was
good — 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 of
daylight — 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 required
we did it ourselves. This was done to spare the
^ides, and to show them that we were thoroughly in
earnest. The spot at which we camped was just four
hours' 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 for
the night. Hudson made tea, I coffee,
and we then retired each one to his
blanket -bag, the Taugwalders, Lord
Francis Douglas and myself occupying
the tent, the others remaining, by prefer-
ence, outside. Long after dusk the cliffs
abbve echoed with our laughter and with
the songs of the guides, for we were hap-
py that night in camp, and feared no
evil.

We assembled together outside the
tent before dawn on the morning of the
14th, and started directly it was light
enough to move. Young Peter came on
with us as a guide, and his brother re-
turned to Zermatt. We followed the
route which had been taken on the pre-
vious day, and in a few minutes turned
the rib which had intercepted the view
of the eastern face from our tent plat-
form. The whole of this great slope
was now revealed, rising for three thou-
sand feet like a huge natural staircase.
Some parts were more and others were
less easy, but we were not once brought
to a halt by any serious impediment, for
when an obstruction was met in front it
could always be turned to the right or to
the left. For the greater part of the way
there was indeed no occasion for the
rope, and sometimes Hudson led, some-
times myself. At 6.20 we had attained
a 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 for
fifty minutes at a height of fourteen
thousand feet. Twice we struck the
north-eastern ridge, and followed it for
some 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 that
part which, from the Riffelberg or from
Zermatt, seems perpendicular or over-
hanging, and could no longer continue
upon the eastern side. For a little dis-
tance we ascended by snow upon the
arete — that is, the ridge — descending

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toward Zermatt, and then by common
consent turned over to the right, or to the
northern side. Before doing so we made
a change in the order of ascent. Croz
went 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 work
became 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 at
this part was less than forty degrees, and
snow had accumulated in, and had filled
up, the interstices of the rock-face, leav-
ing only occasional fragments projecting
here and there. These were at times
covered with a thin film of ice, produced
from the melting and refreezing of the
snow. It was the counterpart, on a
small scale, of the upper seven hundred
feet of the Pointe des tcrins ; only there
was this material difference — the face of
the fecrins was about, or exceeded, an
angle 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 far
as I know, the entire mountain, without
having the shghtest assistance rendered
to him upon any occasion. Sometimes,
after I had taken a hand from Crozijr
received a pull, I turned to offer the
same to Hudson, but he invariably de-
clined, saying it was not necessary. Mr.
Hadow, however, was not accustomed
to this kind of work, and required con-
tinual assistance. It is only fair to say
that the difficulty which he found at this
part arose simply and entirely from want
of experience.

This solitar)' difficult part was of no
great extent. We bore away over it at
first nearly horizontally, for a distance
of about four hundred feet, then ascend-
ed directly toward the summit for about
sixty feet, and then doubled back to the
ridge which descends toward Zermatt.
A long stride round a rather awkward
corner 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 be
surmounted !

You must now carry your thoughts
back to the seven Italians who started
from Breuil on the nth of July. Four
days had passed since their departure,
and we were tormented with anxiety lest
they should arrive on the top before us.
All the way up we had talked of them,
and many false alarms of " men on the
summit" had been raised. The higher
we rose the more intense became the ex-
citement. What if we should be beaten .
at the last moment? The slope eased
off, at length we could be detached, and
Croz and I, dashing away, ran a neck-
and-neck race which ended in a dead
heat. At 1.40 p. m. the world was at
our feet and the Matterhorn was con-
quered ! Hurrah ! Not a footstep could
be seen.

It was not yet certain that we had not
been beaten. The summit of the Mat-
terhorn was formed of a rudely level
ridge, about three hundred and fifty feet
long,* and the ItaUans might have been
at its farther extremity. I hastened to
the southern end, scanning the snow
right and left eagerly. Hurrah again !
it was untrodden. ".Where were the
men ? ' I peered over the cliff, half
doubting, half expectant. I saw them
immediately, mere dots on the ridge, at
an immense distance below. Up went
my arms and my hat. " Croz ! Croz !
come here!" "Where are they, mon-
sieur?" "There — don't you see them
down there ?" " Ah ! the coquins I they
are low down." " Croz, we must make
those fellows hear us." We yelled until
we were hoarse. The Italians seemed
to regard us — we could not be certain.
"Croz, we must make them hear us —
they shall hear us !" I seized a block
of rock and hurled it down, and called
upon my companion, in the name of

*Tbe highest points are toward the two ends. In
1865 the northern end was slightly higher than the
southern one. In bygone years Carrel and I often
suggested to each other that we might one day arrive
upon the top, and find ourselves cut off from the very
highest point by a notch in the summit-ridge which is
seen from the Th^odule and froni BreuU. This notch
is very conspicuous from below, but when one is ac-
tually upon the summit it is hardly noticed, and It
can be passed without the least difficulty.

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^53

fiiendship, to do the same. We drove
our sticks in and prized away the crags,
and soon a torrent of stones poured
down the cliffs. There was no mistake
about it this time. The Italians turned
and fled.*

Still, I would that the leader of that
party could have stood with us at that
moment, for our victorious shouts con-
veyed to him the disappointment of the
ambition of a Hfetime. He was the man,

"CKOZl CROZ! COMB HEKBI"

of all those who attempted the ascent of
the Matterhorn, who most deserved to
be the first upon its summit. He was
I he first to doubt its inaccessibility, and
he was the only man who persisted in
believing that its ascent would be ac-
complished. It was the aim of his life
to make the ascent from the side of Italy

• I have learned since from J. -A. Carrel that they
heard 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, at
a distance of about one-third of a mile.

for the honor of his native valley. For
a time he had the game in his hands :
he played it as he thought best, but he
made a false move, and lost it. Times
have 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 all
others ; but so long as he remains the
man that he is to-day it will not be easy
to find his superior.

The others had arrived,
so we went back to the
7^ _: northern end of the ridge.

Croz now took the tent-
pole f and planted it in
the highest snow. "Yes,**
we said, "there is the flag-
staff, but where is the flag ?**
"Here it is," he answered,
pulling off his blouse and
fixing it to the stick. It
made a poor flag, and
there was no wind to float
it out, yet it was seen all
around. They saw it at
Zermatt, at the Riffel, in
the Val Tournanche. At
Breuil the watchers cried,
"Victory is ours!" They
raised "bravos" for Car-
rel and "vivas" for Italy,
and hastened to put them-
selves en fete. On the
morrow 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 are
spirits on the top of the Matterhorn !" %

t At our departure the men were confident that the
ascent would be made, and took one of the poles out
of the tent. I protested that it was tempting Prov-
idence : they took the pole, nevertheless.

X Signor Giordano was naturally disappointed at
the result, and wished the men to start again. They
all refused to do so, with the exception of yean- Ah-
toine. Upon the i6th of July he set out again with
three others, and upon the 17th gained the summit by
passing (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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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

We returned to the southern end of
the ridge to build a cairn, and then paid

homage to the view * The day was one
of 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 and
free from all clouds or vapors. Moun-
tains fifty — nay, a hundred — miles off
looked sharp and near. All their de-
tails — ridge and crag, snow and glacier

mit-ridge we paid some attention to the portion of the
mountain which intervened between ourselves and the
Italian guides. It seemed as if there would not be the
least chance for them if they should attempt to storm
the 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 Carrel
and I had often talked — namely, to ascend directly at
first from the end of the "shoulder," and afterward
to swerve to the left (that is, to the Z'Mutt side), and
to complete the ascent 'from the north-west. When
we were upon the summit we laughed at this idea.
The part of the mountain that I have described upon
page 619 was not easy, although its inclination was
moderate. If that slope were made only ten degrees
steeper 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 much
steeper 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 we
recognized the old, familiar forms. All
were revealed — not one of the principal
peaks of the Alps was hidden.f I see
them clearly now — the great inner cir

ccnd in that direction when the northern route was so
easy. Nevertheless, the summit was reached by that
route by the undaunted Carrel. From knowing the
final slope over which he passed, and from the ac-
count of Mr. F. C. Grove — who is the only traveler
by whom it has been traversed — I do not hesitate to
term the ascent of Carrel and Bich in 1865 the most
desperate piece of mountain-scrambling upon record.
In 1869 I asked Carrel if he had ever done anything
more difficult. His reply was, " Man cannot do any-
thing much more difficult than that."

* The summit-ridge was much shattered, although
not so extensively as the south-west and north-east
ridges. The highest rock in 1865 was a block of
mica-schist, and the fragment 1 broke off it not only
possesses in a remarkable degree the character of the
peak, but mimics in an astonishing manner the details
of its form. (See illustration on page 622.)

t It is most unusual to see the southern half of the
panorama unclouded. A hundred ascents may be
made before this will be the case again.

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155

cles of giants, backed by the ranges,
chains and massifs. First came the
Dent Blanche, hoary and grand; the
Gabelhorn and pointed Rothhom, and
then the peerless Weisshorn ; the tower-
ing Mischabelhorner, flanked by the
Allaleinhorn, Strahlhorn and Rimpfisch-
horn ; then Monte Rosa — with its many
Spitzes — the Lyskamm and the Breit-
horn. Behind were the Bernese Ober-
land, governed by the Finsteraarhorn,
the Simplon and St. Gothard groups, the
Disgrazia and the Orteler. Toward the

sunny plains and frigid plateaux. There
were the most rugged forms and the
most graceful outlines — bold, perpen-
dicular cliffs and gentle, undulating
slopes; rocky mountains and snowy
mountains, sombre and solemn or glit-
tering and white, with walls, turrets,
pinnacles, pyramids, domes, cones and
spires ! There was every combination
that the world can give, and every con-
trast that the heart could desire.

We remained on the summit for one
hour —

One crowded hour of glorious life.

It passed away too quickly,
and we began to prepare for
the descent.

THE ACTUAL SUMMIT OF THB MATTEKHOKN.

south we looked down to Chivasso on
the plain of Piedmont, and far beyond.
The Viso — one hundred miles away —
seemed close upon us; the Maritime
Alps — one hundred and thirty miles dis-
tant — were free from haze. Then came
my first love — ^the Pelvoux ; the fieri ns
and the Meije ; the clusters of the Gra-
ians ; and lastly, in the west, gorgeous
in the full sunlight, rose the monarch of
all — Mont Blanc. Ten thousand feet be-
neath us were the green fields of Zermatt,
dotted with chalets, from which blue
smoke rose lazily. Eight thousand feet
below, on the other side, were the pas-
tures of Breuil. There were forests black
and gloomy, and meadows bright and
lively ; bounding waterfalls and tranquil
lakes ; 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. We
agreed that it would be best for
Croz to go first,* and Hadow
second ; Hudson, who was al-
most equal to a guide in sure-
ness of foot, wished to be third ;
Lord F. Douglas was placed
next, and old Peter, the strong-
est of the remainder, after him.
I suggested to Hudson that we
should attach a rope to the rocks on our
arrival at the difficult bit, and hold it as
we descended, as an additional protec-
tion. He approved the idea, but it was
not definitely settled that it should be
done. The party was being arranged
in the above order whilst I was sketch-
ing the summit, and they had finished,
and were waiting for me to be tied in
line, when some one remembered that
our 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 the
others, and caught them just as they
were commencing the descent of the dif-

• If the members of the party had been more equally
efficient, Croz would have been placed iast.

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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

ficult part.* Great care was being taken.
Only one man was moving at a time :
when he was firmly planted, the next
advanced, and so on. They had not,
however, attached the additional rope to
rocks, and nothing was said about it.*
The suggestion was not made for my
own sake, and I am not sure that it even
occurred to me again. For some little
distance 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 old
Peter, as he feared, he said, that Taug-
walder would not be able to hold his
ground if a slip occurred.

A few minutes later a sharp-eyed lad
ran into the Monte Rosa hotel to Seiler,
saying that he had seen an avalanche
fall from the summit of the Matterhorn
on to the Matterhorngletscher. The boy
was reproved for telling idle stories : he
was right, nevertheless, and this was
what he saw.

Michel Croz had laid aside his axe,
and in order to give Mr. Hadow greater
security was absolutely taking hold of
his legs and putting his feet, one by one,
into their proper positions.! As far as
I know, no one was actually descending.
I cannot speak with certainty, because
the two leading men were partially hid-
den from my sight by an intervening
mass of rock, biit it is my belief, from
the movements of their shoulders, that
Croz, having done as I have said, was
in the act of turning round to go down
a st^p or two himself: at this moment
Mr. Hadow slipped, fell against him and
knocked him over. I heard one startled
exclamation from Croz, then saw him
and Mr. Hadow flying downward: in
another moment Hudson was dragged
from 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 between
born mountaineers. I wish to convey the impression
that Croz was using ali pains, rather than to indicate
extreme inability on the part of Mr. Hadow.

X At the moment of the accident, Croz, Hadow and
Hudson were all close together. Between Hudson
and Lord F. Douglas the rope was all but taut, and
the same between all the others who were above.
Cror was standing by the side of a rock which afford-

work of a moment. Immediately we
heard ^roz's exclamation, old Peter and
I planted ourselves as firmly as the rocks
would permit:? the rope was taut be-
tween us, and the jerk came on us both
as on one man. We held, but the rope
broke midway between Taugwalder and
Lord Francis Douglas. For a few sec-
onds we saw our unfortunate compan-
ions sliding downward on their backs, and
spreading out their hands, endeavoring
to save themselves. They passed from
our sight uninjured, disappeared one by
one, and fell from precipice to precipice
on to the Matterhorngletscher below, a
distance of nearly four thousand feet in
height. From the moment the rope broke
it was impossible to help them.

So perished our comrades ! For the
space of half an hour we remained on
the spot without moving a single step.
The two men, paralyzed by terror, cried
like infants, and trembled in such a
manner as to threaten us with the fate
of the others; Old Peter rent the air
with 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 prevented
any mischief. He was taken totally by surprise. Mr.
Hadow slipped off his feet on to his back, his feet struck
Croz in the small of the back and knocked him right
over, head first. Croz's axe was out of his reachj and
without it he managed to get his head uppermost be-
fore \ic disappeared from our sight. If it had been
in 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 either
up or down, and could touch with his hand the rock
of which I have spoken. Hudson was not so well
placed, but he had liberty of motion. The rope was
not taut from him to Hadow, and the two men fell ten
or twelve feet before the jerk came upon him. Lord
F. Douglas was not favorably placed, and could
move neither up nor down. Old Peter was firmly
planted, and stood just beneath a large rock which h«
hugged with both arms. I enter into these details to
make it more apparent that the position occupied by
the party at the moment of the accident was not by
any means excessively trying. We were compelled
to pass over the exact spot where the slip occurred,
and we found — even with shaken nerves— that it was
not a difficult place to pass. I have described the
siope generally as difficult, and it is so undoubtedly
to most persons, but it must be distinctly understood
that 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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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

157

The young man did nothing but scream
or sob, **We are lost! we are lost!"
Fixed between the two, I could move
neither up nor down. I begged young
Peter to descend, but he dared not. Un-
less he did, we could not advance. Old
Peter became alive to the danger, and

ROPB BKOKBN ON TUB MATTBKHORN.

swelled the cry, "We are lost! we are
lost !" The father s fear was natural —
he trembled for his son ; the young man's
fear was cowardly-^he thought of self
alone. At last old Peter summoned up
courage, and changed his position to a
rock to which he could fix the rope : the
young man then descended, and we all
stood together. Immediately we did so,
I asked for the rope which had given
way, and found, to my surprise — indeed,
to my horror — ^that it was the weakest of
the three ropes. It was not brought, and
should not have been employed, for the
purpose for which it was used. It was
old 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 had
broken in mid-air, and it did not appear
to have sustained previous injury.
For more than two hours afterward I

thought almost every moment that the
next would be my last, for the Taug-
walders, utterly unnerved, were not only
incg^jable of giving assistance, but were
in such a state that a slip might have
been expected from them at any mo-
ment. After a time we were able to do
that which should have been done at first,
and fixed rope to firm rocks, in addition
to being tied together. These ropes were
cut from time to time, and were left be-
hind.* Even with their assurance the
men were afraid to proceed, and several
times old Peter turned with ashy face
and faltering limbs, and said with ter-
rible emphasis, ''I cannot f

About 6 p. M. we arrived at the snow
upon the ridge descending toward Zer-
matt, and all peril was over. We fre-
quently looked, but in vain, for traces
of our unfortunate companions : we bent
over the ridge and cried to them, but no
sound returned. Convinced at last that
ihey were within neither sight nor hear-
ing, we ceased from our useless efforts,
and, too cast down for speech, silently
gathered up our things and the little
effects of those who were lost, prepara-
tory to continuing the descent. When
lo ! a mighty arch appeared, rising above
the Lyskamm high into the sky. Pale,
colorless and noiseless, but perfectly
sharp and defined, except where it was
lost in the clouds, this unearthly appari-
tion seemed like a vision from another
world, and almost appalled we watched
with amazement the gradual develop-
ment of two vast crosses, one on either
side. If the Taugwalders had not been
the first to perceive it, I should have
doubted my senses. They thought it
had some connection with the accident,
and I, after a while, that it might bear
some relation to ourselves. But our
movements had no effect upon it. The
spectral forms remained motionless. It
was a fearful and wonderful sight, unique
in my experience, and impressive beyond
description, 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 to
this remarkable phenomenon, and was glad when it
disappeared, as it distracted our attention. Under
ordinary circumstances I should have felt vexed after-

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I was ready to leave, and waiting for
the others. They had recovered their
appetites and the use of their tongues.
They spoke in patois, which I did. not
understand. At length the son said in
French, '* Monsieur." **Yes." "We are
poor men ; we have lost our Herr ; we
shall not get paid ; we can ill afford
this."* "Stop!" I said, interrupting him
— *' that is nonsense : I shall pay you, of
course, just as if your Herr were here."
They talked together in their patois for
a short time, and then the son spoke
again : "We don't wish you to pay us.
We wish you to write in the hotel-book
at Zermatt and to your journals that we
have not been paid." "What nonsense
are you talking ? I don't understand
you. What do you mean ?" He pro-
ceeded : " Why, next year there will be
many travelers at Zermatt, and we shall
get 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 precision
an occurrence so rare and so wonderful. I can add
very little about it to that which is said above. The
sun was directly at our backs — that is to say, the fog-
bow was opposite to the sun. The time was 6.30
p. 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 were
probably formed by the intersection of other circles or
ellipses, as shown
in the annexed
diagram. I think
this suggestion is
very likely cor-
rect, but 1 have
preferred to fol-
low my original
memorandum.

In Parry's
Narrative 0/ an
Atttmpt to Reach
the North Pole,
4to, 1828, there
is, at pp. 99, 100,
an account of the occurrence of a phenomenon analo-
gous to the above-mentioned one: "At half-past 5
p. M. we witnessed a very beautiful natural phenom-
enon. A broad white fog-bow first appeared opposite
to the sun, as was very commonly the case," etc. I
follow Parry in using the term fog-bow.

•They had been traveling with, and had been en-
gaged by. Lord F. Douglas, and so considered him
their employer, and responsible to them.

t Nor did I speak to them afterward, unless it was
abs<dutely necessary, so long as we were together.

They filled the cup of bitterness to over-
flowing, and I tore down the cliff madly
and recklessly, in a way that caused
them, more than once, to inquire if I
wished to kill them. Night fell, and for
an hour the descent was continued in
the 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 the
three, we passed six miserable hours.
At daybreak the descent was resumed,
and from the Hornli ridge we ran down
to the chalets of Buhl and on to Zermatt.
Seiler met me at his door, and followed
in silence to my room : '* What is the
matter ?'* "The Taugwalders and I have
returned." He did not need more, and
burst into tears, but lost no time in use-
less lamentations, and set to work to
arouse the village. Ere long a score of
men had started to ascend the Hohlicht
heights, above Kalbermatt and Z'Mutt,
which commanded the plateau of the
Matterhorngletscher. They returned af-
ter six hours, and reported that they had
seen the bodies lying motionless on the
snow. This was on Saturday, and they
proposed that we should leave on Sun-
day evening, so as to arrive upon the
plateau at daybreak on Monday. Un-
willing to lose the slightest chance, the
Rev. J. M'Cormick and I resolved to
start on Sunday morning. The Zermatt
men, threatened with excommunication
by their priests if they failed to attend
the 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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159

declared with tears that nothing else
would have prevented him from joining
in the search for his old comrades. En-
glishmen came to our aid. The Rev. J.
Robertson and Mr. J. Phillpotts offered
themselves 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 had
taken on the previous Thursday as far
as the Hornli. From thence we went
down to the right of the ridge, and
mounted through the seracs of the Mat-
terhomgletscher. By 8.30 we had got
to the plateau at the top of the glacier,
and within sight of the corner in which
we knew my companions must be. As
we saw one weather-beaten man after

• The three ropes have been reduced by photogra-
phy to the same scale.

another raise the telescope, turn deadly
pale and pass it on without a word to
the next, we knew that all hope was
gone. We approached. They had fall-
en below as they had fallen above —
Croz a httle in advance, Hadow near
him, 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 beeii
tied with the Manila, or with the
second and equally strong rope, and
consequently there had been only
one link — that between old Peter
and Lord F. Douglas — where the
weaker rope had been used. This
had a very ugly look for Taugwald-
er, for it was not possible to sup-
pose that the others would have
sanctioned the employment of a
rope so greatly inferior in strength
when there were more than two
hundred and fifty feet of the better
qualities still out of use. J For the
sake of the old guide (who bore a
good reputation), and upon all other
accounts, it was desirable that this
matter should be cleared up ; and af-
ter my examination before the court
of inquiry which was instituted by
the government was over, I hand-
ed in a number of questions which
were framed so as to afford old Peter
an opportunity of exculpating him-
self from the grave suspicions which
at once fell upon him. The ques-
tions, I was told, were put and an-
swered, but the answers, although
promised, have never reached me.§

t A pair of gloves, a belt and boot that had be-
longed to him were found. This, somehow, became
publicly known, and gave rise to wild notions, which
would not have been entertained had it been also
known that the boots of a// those who had fallen were
off, and were lying upon the snow near the bodies.

X I was one hundred feet or more from the others
whilst they were being tied up, and am unable to
throw any light on the matter. Croz and old Peter no
doubt tied up the others.

JThis is not the only occasion upon which M.
Clemenz (who presided over the inquiry) has failed to
give up answers that he has promised. It is greatly to
be regretted that he does not feel that the suppression
of 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-one
men of Zermatt accomplished that sad
and dangerous task. Of the body of
Lord Francis Douglas they too saw noth-
ing : it is probably still arrested on the
rocks above.* The remains of Hudson
and Hadow were interred upon the north
side of the Zermatt church, in the pres-
ence of a reverent crowd of sympathiz-
ing friends. The body of Michel Croz
lies upon the other side, under a simpler
tomb, whose inscription bears honorable
testimony to his rectitude, to his. courage
and to his devotion.f

and of the guides. If the men are untrustworthy, the
public should be warned of the fact, but if they are
blameless, why allow them to remain under unmerited
suspicion ? '

Old Peter Taugwalder is a man who is laboring
under an unjust accusation. Notwithstanding repeat-
ed denials, even his comrades and neighbors at Zer-
matt persist in asserting or insinuating that he cut the
rope which led from him to Lord F. Douglas. In re-
gard to this infamous charge, I say that he could not
do so at the moment of the slip, and that the end of
the rope in my possession shows that he did not do so
beforehand. There remains, however, the suspicious
fact that the rope which broke was the thinnest and
weakest one that we had. It is suspicious, because it
is unlikely that any of the four men in front would
have selected an old and weak rope when there was
abundance of new and much stronger rope to spare ;
and on the other hand, because if Taugwalder thought
that an accident was likely to happen, it was to his
interest to have the weaker rope where it was placed.

I should rejoice to learn that his answers to the
questions which were put to him were satisfactory.
Not only was his act at the critical moment wonderful
as a feat of strength, but it was admirable in its per-
formance at the right time. I am told that he is now
nearly incapable of work — not absolutely mad, but
with intellect gone and almost crazy ; which is not to
be 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 speak
in the same manner. The odious idea that he pro-
pounded (which I believe emanated from him) he has
endeavored to trade upon, in spite of the fact that his
father was paid (for both) in the presence of witnesses.
Whatever may be his abilities as a guide, he is not one
to whom I would ever trust my life or afford any
countenance.

* 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 of
Michel Croz, who had been partly dependent upon
his earnings. In a short time more than two hundred
and eighty pounds were raised. This was considered
sufficient, and the list closed. The proceeds were in-
vested in French Rentes (by Mr. William Mathews),
at the recommendation of M. Dupui, at that time
maure 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 its
proud 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 its
marvelous 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 ; it
resisted long and gave many a hard
blow ; it was defeated at last with an
ease that none could have anticipated,
but, hke a relentless enemy conquered
but not crushed, it took terrible ven-
geance. The time may come when the
Matterhorn shall have passed away, and
nothing save a heap of shapeless frag-
ments will mark the spot where the great

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mountain stood, for, atom by atom, inch
by inch, and yard by yard, it yields to
forces which nothing can withstand.
That time is far distant, and ages hence
generations unborn will gaze upon its
awful precipices and wonder at its unique
form. However exalted may be their
ideas arid however exaggerated their
expectations, none will come to return
disappointed !

The play is over, and the curtain is
about to fall. Before we part, a word
upon the graver teachings of the moun-
tains. See yonder height! *Tis far
away — unbidden comes the word *' Im-
possible!** "Not so," says the moun-
taineer. '* The way is long, I know : it's
difficult — it may be dangerous. It's pos-
sible, I'm sure : I'll seek the way, take
counsel of my brother mountaineers, and
find how they have gained similar heights
and learned to avoid the dangers." He
starts (all slumbering down below) : the
path 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 have
constantly set before us the superiority
of fixed purpose or perseverance to brute
force. We know that each height, each
step, must be gained by patient, labor-
ious toil, and that wishing cannot take
the place of working: we know the
benefits of mutual aid — ^that many a dif-
ficulty pust be encountered, and many
an obstacle must be grappled with or
turned ; but we know that where there's
a will there's a way ; and we come back
to our daily occupations better fitted to
fight the battle of hfe and to overcome
the impediments which obstruct our
paths, strengthened and cheered by the
recollection of past labors and by the
memories of victories gained in other
fields.

I have not made myself an advocate
or an apologist for mountaineering, nor
do I now intend to usurp the functions
of a moralist, but my task would have
been ill performed if it had been con-
cluded without one reference to the

more serious lessons of the mountaineer.
We glory in the physical regeneration
which is the product of our exertions;
we exult over the grandeur of the scenes
that are brought before our eyes, the
splendors of sunrise and sunset, and the
beauties of hill, dale, lake, wood and
waterfall ; but we value more highly the
development of manliness, and the evo-
lution, under combat with difficulties, of
those 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 our
innocent sport.

Be thou chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not
escape calumny.

Others, again, who are not detractors,
find mountaineering, as a sport, to be
wholly unintelligible. It is not greatly
to be wondered at — ^we are not all con-
stituted alike. Mountaineering is a pur-
suit essentially adapted to the young or
vigorous, 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 (not
merely muscular energy — more than
that, an awakening of all the faculties),
and from the strength arises pleasure.
Then, again, it is often asked, in tones
which seem to imply that 'the answer
must at least be doubtful, '* But does it
repay you ?" Well, we cannot estimate
our enjoyment as you measure your wine
or weigh your lead : it is real, neverthe-
less. If I could blot out every reminis-
cence or erase every memory, still I
should say that my scrambles amongst
the Alps have repaid me, for they have
given me two of the best things a man
can possess — health and friends.

The recollections of past pleasures
cannot be effaced. Even now as I
write they crowd up before me. First
comes 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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l62

SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

the peasant's jodel and the solemn
church-bells; and I scent the fragrant
breath of the pines: and after these
have passed away another train of
thoughts succeeds — of those who have
been upright, brave and true ; of kind
hearts and bold deeds; and of cour-
tesies received at stranger hands, trifles
in themselves, but expressive of that
good-will toward men which is the es-
sence of charity.

Still, the last sad memory hovers
round, and sometimes drifts across hke

floating mist, cutting off sunshine and
chilling the remembrance of happier
times. There have been joys too great
to be described in words, and there have
been griefs upon which I have not dared
to dwell ; and with these in mind I say.
Climb if you will, but remember that
courage and strength are naught with-
out prudence, and that a momentary
negligence may destroy the happiness
of a hfetime. Do nothing in haste, look
well 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 who
ascended the Matterhorn after the accident. This
was 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 the
leader. The natives of Val Tournanche were, of
course, greatly delighted that his ascent was made
upon their side. Some of them, however, were by no
means well pleased that J. -A. Carrel was so much
regarded. They feared, perhaps, that he would ac-
quire the monopoly of the mountain. Just a month
after Mr. Grove's ascent, six Val Toumanchians set
out to see whether they could not learn the route,
and so come in for a share of the good things which
were 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 5
A. M. on September 12, and at 3 p. M. arrived at the
hut, where they passed the night. At 7 a. m the next
day they stanl«d again (leaving J.-B. Carrel behind),
and proceeded along the " shoulder " to the final
peak: 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 the
last precipice, down which we had hurled stones on
July 14, 1865. They (young woman and all) were
then about three hundred and fifty feet from the sum-
mit I Then, instead of turning to the left, as Carrel
and 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 that
taken by Carrel and Grove, and it has been followed
by all those who have since then ascended the moun-
tain from the side of Breuil. Subsequently, a rope
was fixed over the most difficult portions of the final
climb.

In the mean time they had not been idle upon the
other side. A hut was constructed upon the eastern
face at a height of 12,526 feet above the sea, near to
the crest of the ridge which descends toward Zerniatt
(north-east ridge). This was done at the expense' of
Monsieur 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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SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

163

in the Zermatt valley ; and Peter Knubel, along with I honor of making the second ascent of the mountain
Joseph 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 numerous
ascents 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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164

SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS IN i86o-'69.

Breuil several times after his famous visit in 1865,
with the intention of making the ascent, but he was
always baffled by weather. In July, 1866, he got as high
as the "cravate" (with J -A, Carrel and other men),
and tvas detained there Jive days and nights, unable
to move either uP or down I At last, upon the
above-named date, he was able to gratify his desires,
and accomplished the feat of ascending the mountain
upon one side and descending it upon the other.
Signor Giordano is, I believe, the only geologist who
has 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 OF
THE 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 the
west of the road. I scrambled up, and found the re-
markable natural pillars which are represented in the
annexed engraving. They were formed out of an un-
stratified conglomerate of gritty earth, boulders and
stones. Some of them were more thickly studded
with stones than a plum-pudding usually is with
plums, whilst from others the stones projected like
the spines from an echinoderm. The earth (or mud)
was extremely hard and tenacious, and the stones
embedded in it were extricated with considerable dif-
ficulty. The mud adhered very firmly to the stones
that 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, .several
kinds of limestone and conglomerates, and some fossil
plants characteristic of carboniferous strata. Most
of the fragments were covered with scratches, which
told that they had traveled underneath a glacier.
The mud had all the character of glacier-mud, and the
hillside 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 seventy
feet 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 which
had been an affluent of the great glacier that formerly
occupied the valley of the Durance, and which during
retrogression had made a stand upon this hillside near
Sachas. . This lateral glacier had flowed down a
nameless vallon which descends toward the east-
south-east from the mountain called upon the French
government map Sommet de I'Eychouda (8740 feet).

Only one of all the pinnacles that I saw was capped
by a stone (a small one), and I did not notice any
boulders lying in their immediate vicinity of a size
sufficient 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 formation
of the Botzen pillars chiefly to the protection which
boulders have afforded to the underlying matter from
the direct action of rain. This is no doubt correct :
the Botzen pinnacles are mostly capped by boulders
of considerable dimensions. In the present instance
this does not appear to have been exactly the case.
Running water has cut the moraine into ridges (shown
upon the right hand of the engraving), and has evi-
dently assisted in the work of denudation. The group
of pinnacles here figured belonged, in all probability,
to a ridge which had been formed in this way, whose
crest, in course of time, became sharp, perhaps at-
tenuated. In such a condition very small stones upon
the crest of the ridge would originate little pinnacles :
whether these would develop into larger ones would
depend upon the quantity of stones embedded in the
surrounding moraine - matter. I imagine that the
lai^est of the Sachas pinnacles owe their existence to
the portions of the moraine out of which they are
formed having been studded with a greater quantity
of stones and small boulders than the portions of the
moraine which formerly filled the gaps between them;
and, of course, primarily, to the facts that glacier-mud
is extremely tenacious when dry, and is readily wash-
ed away. Thus, the present form of the pinnacles is
chiefly 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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